#me when. me when sometimes I look in her eyes and that’s where I find a glimpse of us. WHAT EVER DUDE

[mameillieureennemie]

this was the idea i had. i had to write it, or else i'd lose my mind. so have some smut, freshly baked, and homemade. 👍🏾

mechanic!vi x afab!reader

cw: mechanic!vi, afab!reader, 18+, nsfw; minors don't you DARE interact with this

summary: vi's work takes her away sometimes. she misses you a lot.

work takes vi away sometimes, to different cities and, at times, countries that require her attention. she's good at what she does; there isn't anyone who can fix and restore cars like she can. it's a skill she's developed and built since she was old enough to hold a screwdriver, her interest in mechanics starting long before that, too.

she enjoys her career, adores that she gets to work with cars every day, and get paid quite handsomely for it. there are times, though, where she wishes she wasn't so damn good at her job because, like now, it whisks her away.

away from you.

she's currently attending to a client's urgent call; their car had been having engine trouble, and none of the surrounding mechanics could fix it. It's a luxury car, too, with a price tag that has too many zeros on it, so it requires delicate hands and patient.

both of which vi has.

when she's working, at least.

she's been away from you for the past week now, and it's driving her a bit insane. these jobs only take a few days, at most, but parts are a struggle to find sometimes. so she has to stay until they arrive so she can get the job done.

her cilents treat her nicely, have paid for her accommodation and feeding. she's being well-looked after, having her every whim be catered to.

but still.

she wishes you were here.

"it's only a few more days," you tell her one evening via video call. you're so gorgeous it hurts, your smile shining with your smile. you're lounging on your shared bed, curled up around the pillow against your chest. "didn't you say the order's coming in tomorrow?"

vi sighs, leaning back against the headboard of her hotel room's bed. which sucks because you're not in it with her. "yeah, but i'm kind of scared it's gonna get delayed because of the weather and shit," she grumbles. "if that happens, can you come? because if i go another two days without you, i'll lose my goddamn mind."

"aw," you coo teasingly, hiding behind your (her) pillow enough so only your beautiful eyes show. a coy move that has vi's blood roaring. "only two days?"

"i'd say one, but i don't want you to think i'm obsessed with you or something," vi replies, partly playfully because god knows how obsessed she is with you. "wouldn't want to chase you off, especially when i'm not there to catch you."

"ooh scary," you say, still a tease as you lift your head a little from behind the pillow. enough so she can see your lovely mouth, so sweet and waiting to be kissed. "and if i ran and you caught me, what would you do to me?"

heat starts to simmer beneath vi's skin, warming her up nicely from within. she roves her eyes over your pretty face, licks her lips when she thinks about all the things she could do to you.

all the things she's planning to do to you once she gets home.

"can't give away all my secrets," vi replies, her voice having gone a bit hoarse from her budding arousal. "you'll find it soon enough."

your breath hitches a little, at the implication, and your gaze darkens ever so slightly. it's enough to have both of you suddenly on edge, desperation raging violently in the both of you.

the order does come in the next day, thank god, and vi jumps into work. if she's able to finish this today, she can flight back home to you tomorrow. all her focus is thrown into doing an immaculate job, as always, so she can get paid and use that money to spoil you rotten.

she's on a short break when her phone chimes, notifying her of a message. she instantly knows it's you, judging by the jingle and how you personalised it on a drunken night. vi's never bothered to change it because it's yours, and anything of yours is perfect.

vi chugs her bottle of water while simultaneously unlocking her phone and tapping the notification. the chat opens, greeting her with a video that appears rather inconspicuous at first. vi doesn't think anything of it; in fact, she's smiling already, thinking it's one of those cute video messages you send her when she's away.

but when she taps play, and the first breathy note of your moan floats through the speaker, vi's world flips upside down. she quickly pauses the video, cheeks aflame, as she clutches her phone to her chest. her heartbeat is thundering loudly in her ears, sending through a message of panic and instant arousal.

vi blinks into the emptiness of the huge garage, swallows, draws in a shaky breath, and manages to look back down at her phone.

with a shaky thumb, she presses play again and...

there you are.

straddling her motorcycle, clad in a tiny skirt that rides high with every grind of your hips. your hands grip at the handlebars, quivering a little as you use them for balance, use them to pull yourself up and push down.

you're a vision, eyes tightly closed as you find your pleasure on the leather seat. soft whimpers fall from your parted lips, gradually increasing in volume as you grind your dripping cunt down harder.

vi watches, entranced and halfway soaked, as your head falls back with a whine of her name.

"violet,"

fuck.

she can't see the mess that you're leaving on her seat, but she knows it's drenched. knows that your slick is soaking into the fabric, making it easier and smoother for you to ride. making it better, so much better, and vi's vision grows hazy at the thought.

"please, ah, please, vi," you moan, needy, as your grinds turn into harsh bounces. "i...i need you, hah, w-wanna cum—"

vi's eyes flutter, her free hand shooting down to slip past the pants of her coveralls. she hisses when she feels how wet she is, releasing a keen as she starts to rub at her throbbing clit.

"vi, vi—" you gasp, one of your hands leaving the handlebars to slip under your skirt. you moan loudly, lips parting further as you nearly cry. "i'm gonna—"

"you're gonna cum, sweetheart?" vi pants, her own orgasm cresting already. "gonna, ah fuck, cum for me?"

as if you could hear her, you suddenly nod frantically and give a startled cry, eyes going wide and unseeing as you convulse with the strength of your orgasm. there's a faint splash that catches vi's attention and that, that has her biting back a scream as she makes a mess of herself. all wet and messy and so fucking good, it has her seeing stars.

it leaves her loose-limbed, has her leaning against a wall as she struggles to catch her breath. but she's barely given a chance when her phone rings and she answers it without checking the caller ID.

she already knows who it is.

"you're so evil, baby," vi says, still breathless, and you laugh for a full thirty seconds before saying,

"so i guess you don't want to see the other video then?"

"oh my god."

vi can't fucking wait to get home.

[janeyseymour]

Accidentally In Love

Summary: sometimes you and melissa joke that you're 'wives'. somewhere along the line, it's not a joke anymore.

WC: 3.35k

If there’s one thing that you love about working at Abbott Elementary, it’s your coworkers. Of course, the children are wonderful no matter where you would’ve ended up, but your coworkers can make or break the work day for you. And this quirky, rundown school, with a ragtag group of teachers that have quickly made their way into your heart, has the best team that you could ask for. While all of the teachers are supportive for the most part, you have found yourself in that exclusive little friend group that has agreed to be part of a documentary on the Philadelphia public school system.

Janine Teagues, Gregory Eddie, Jacob Hill, Barbara Howard, Mr. Johnson (you realize far too late into the friendship that you genuinely don’t have the slightest clue what his first name is), Principal Ava Coleman, and… perhaps your favorite one: Melissa Schemmenti. 

All of your friends are wonderful in their own ways, but the redhead has a special place in your heart. It’s been made known to you that the second grade teacher is usually rough around the edges, but since your appearance she’s softened significantly.

It’s been a couple of years since you’ve joined the second grade team, and at this point, it’s odd to see you or Melissa on your own. It seems that the two of you are always together and close whenever possible at school.

And that… that might be your doing. You’re hopelessly in love with the woman who took you under her wing and helped you succeed in this less affluent community. You soak up any time that you can get with her, and it’s clear to you that she doesn’t mind in the slightest. If you don’t seek her out, she meanders her way down to your classroom to sit with you while you grade. It’s always like the calm amidst the chaos that is always happening at the school.

There’s something warm and comforting about the two of you being in a room together. There are times where the silence that comes over the two of you is more than comfortable- just sitting together in peace while you grade student work. And then there are times where the two of you chat about what’s happening at the Abbott. And then of course, there are the conversations that take place surrounding real life things- like now.

You had just received an email from your landlord that your rent was going up a significant amount- enough that you wouldn’t necessarily be sitting comfortably anymore. You groan quietly and lay your head down on your desk.

“What is it?” Melissa asks you. “A kid fail? Was it Kimiyah?”

You shake your head softly before turning your laptop to face the redhead. “From my landlord.”

The woman looks through her glasses to skim over the email that you had just received. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly. “This- this could break me.”

“So move in with me,” your colleague suggests casually.

You turn to face her, eyes drifting from the papers in front of you to those green eyes. “What?”

“I have an extra room, and I could use a roommate again since Jacob moved out,” the redhead shrugs. When you only continue to look at her strangely, she sighs. “You can move into my nice house with me, or you can go find some slum where you’re paying a ridiculous amount of money to hate your home. Your choice.”

“I-” you smile softly. “I’ll move in with you.”

“Good choice,” Melissa tells you as she sets a gentle hand on your knee. “We can start moving stuff in this weekend.”

You technically still have your apartment for another month, but almost all of your things are out and moved into the Schemmenti household.

“Just move in early,” your coworker tells you at lunch that day. “It’s not like you’re paying rent.”

“I already told you, I’d pay rent,” you argue back.

“You’re not payin’ me nothin, hun,” Melissa tells you sternly.

At the table beside you, Jacob, Janine, and Gregory all smile to themselves. It’s so nice to see the two of you happy and together.

You end up going to Melissa’s house (your house too, you guess) that night.

“You’ve been here before,” the redhead rolls her eyes. “You know the deal with everything.”

You just nod and smile at the kitchen counter while she cooks. And damn, is it a good meal. Of course, because she cooks, that means you clean. She never lingers far from sight though- mostly perching herself at the island with a glass of wine, watching to make sure you do it right. You do. Of course you do.

The two of you settle on the couch with your respective drinks and sigh with content.

“This is nice,” you mumble as you maneuver it so that your legs are tucked under you.

Melissa hums her agreement. “To a new chapter in life.” She raises her glass slightly, and you have to lean over just a little to clink your mug with her glass. 

The weekend passes nicely and calmly. There is one hitch in your morning though. You had never thought that Melissa could look more beautiful than she does at work, but it turns out that she’s incredibly stunning as she comes down the steps from a night’s rest. You find that her natural beauty is something that draws you in much more than you thought it could.

You and your new roommate go grocery shopping together, finding that it’s easier to do such a tedious errand together. You lounge around for the rest of that Saturday, and on Sunday, you help her prep meals for lunch. You find that you’re quite excited to not be resigned to boring sandwiches and salads anymore. 

Come Monday, Melissa insists on driving to work, and she’s bringing you along with her.

“Why would we drive separately?” she raises a brow. “Save gas, and save the planet.”

“I see Jacob influenced you,” you smirk.

“Shut up.” Green eyes are rolled.

“You love me,” you tease her.

“You’re lucky.”

You can only give your coworker and roommate an innocent smile.

“You want coffee?” Melissa tosses over her shoulder as you go to the refrigerator to put your lunches away.

“Please,” you chuckle weakly before sitting in your designated spot.

By the time the redhead is bringing over two mugs of coffee, the staff room has filled up significantly.

Jacob watches as his former roommate sets the cup of coffee down in front of you. And then he watches the way that you look up from the papers that you’re grading to smile warmly at the redhead.

“Thank you.” There’s something about the look in your eyes that makes the social studies teacher’s heart warm.

As the two of you get used to living with each other, life becomes quite domestic. There’s a natural flow and easiness that follows the two of you. There’s rarely a disagreement, and when there is, it’s resolved quickly- the two of you have come to realize that it’s you two against the world.

On work days, the two of you carpool- almost exclusively in her car. She’ll tease you and tell you that you’re her passenger princess. It gets you to roll your eyes each and every time. You eat the lunches that she preps for you, not caring in the slightest that you get teased for taking advantage of her cooking. And when you head home, both of you make dinner before settling on the couch to get some work done as the television drones on softly in the background. It’s not uncommon for one or both of you to doze off on the couch once you’ve given up with grading and preparation for the days to come, curling up into the other’s side with a soft hum.

And on weekends, it’s just as domestic- if not more so. There’s warm mornings with breakfast, joint grocery shopping, lazy days, times at church together, even a few Schemmenti family dinners that you’re invited to.

It’s gotten to a point where the two of you have been living together for quite some time, and at this point, you joke that you’re wives. You really are in all ways- aside from the fact that you aren’t in a relationship. It’s almost like a common law marriage at this point. You’ve been referring to her as your “wife” for a while now, you live together, and neither of you really has the intention to stop living together any time soon. The only thing that doesn’t make your common law marriage official is the fact that you aren’t actually together romantically- at least not on both ends of the relationship.

You’re somehow more in love with the redhead than you were when you first started. And unbeknownst to you, Melissa has only fallen further in love with your than she ever thought possible. But because neither of you want to ruin what you have going for you, you stay quiet. You keep your thoughts on the matter to yourself and mask those emotions through jokes. She does the same. 

Your coworkers know that the two of you are practically inseparable- you’ve even managed to edge your way past Barbara. It’s not that she minds though; now she’s more available to Gerald.

Today though, after work, Melissa is supposed to go out with Barbara. And at lunch, the kindergarten teacher has to tell her colleague that she’s unable to follow through with their plans.

“I’m so sorry dear,” Barbara sighs softly. “It entirely slipped my mind that Gerald has an appointment that I have to pick him up from.”

The second grade teacher shrugs.

“But I’m sure it will give you some more of that quality time with your wife,” the veteran teacher smiles.

“My wife?” Melissa raises her brow. “What do you mean ‘my wife’?”

“Y/N,” Barbara says casually. “Haven’t the two of you been married for like… three years now? Together for five?”

That gets you to pause the conversation that you’re currently participating in with Gregory and Janine and turn to face both older teachers.

“No?” Melissa states, although it sounds much more like a question.

“But you call her your wife!” Jacob cuts in, and he points his finger accusatorially.

Green eyes look to you, and there’s a hint of mischief in them. But then when she turns back to your coworkers, she realizes that they all think the two of you were being serious- Barbara Howard included. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” you echo softly.

“They- they really think we’re together,” Melissa nudges you. “I- Youse are… raise your hand if you thought that we were together romantically.”

Immediately, everyone’s hand goes up. Panic filled eyes look to you. “Oh my god, have we been dating, and I didn’t know it?”

You can’t help the bubble of laughter that erupts out of you as you lay a gentle hand over the redhead’s. “I mean, no, but the way we act sometimes… I see why people think that we are.”

“You two really are so… loving with each other,” Janine sighs dreamily. “It’s honestly relationship goals.”

“What do you-”

“Melissa, you call her your wife!” Barbara exclaims with gusto. “It would make sense for us to assume that the two of you are married!”

“Barb, if I got married while we worked here, you damn well know that you would’ve been invited to the wedding… probably would’ve been my matron of honor,” the redhead deadpans.

The kindergarten teacher takes that information, clearly touched, before nodding. “I suppose that would make sense.”

“So we all lost the bet,” Ava sighs heavily.

“A bet?” you raise a brow at the principal.

Melissa whips around to look at the boss, who looks as uninterested as ever as she files her nails.

“The bet that we all made about how long the two of you have actually been together,” Mr. Johnson states from the corner of the staff room. “No one bet that you weren’t actually together.”

“So what are we supposed to do with the-”

“Barbara,” Melissa admonishes. “You bet on my love life?”

The eldest teacher just shrugs innocently. “I thought it was a slam dunk, as the kids would say.”

“Donate the money to the school,” you roll your eyes as you begin to pack up your lunch. “I have to prep my science lesson, so I’ll see you guys later.” You gently pat Melissa’s shoulder as you thank her for lunch quietly, and head out.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the redhead grumbles as she too begins to pack up her lunch. “I’m gonna go help my wi- my friend.”

“You was gonna say wife, girl!” Ava calls as Melissa leaves the room. “Just admit it so I can win my money!” 

Neither of you say anything in terms of the conversation that had taken place at lunch- not at work, at least. And you both end up throwing yourselves into work- not bothering to look at your phones throughout the afternoon. Had you, the two of you would see an abundance of apologies from your fellow staff members. Well, every staff member aside from your boss. Ava is asking both of you to lie for her to be able to win the bet; apparently she had a lot riding on it. 

The only time that either of you speak of it is once you’re in the comfort of her car. You hazard a glance at your phone, as does Melissa.

“Oh Jesus,” your roommate groans. She sees the face that you’re making as you stare at your phone. “They texted you too?”

You nod. “You got Ava’s text?”

“I’ll yell at her tomorrow,” Melissa rolls her eyes as she sets her phone down and pulls the car out of the lot.

Instinctively, the woman driving the car lays her hand gently over the gear shift, and your hand rests over top of it. And then you sigh softly.

But still, neither of you speak of what’s on your mind in regard to the situation.

Your evening plans go as they usually do. It’s only when you curl up on the couch together, not having any work to catch up on, that you know you have to talk to her about what’s going through your head.

“Lis?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think… I don’t know. I think maybe we should talk about what happened at work today,” you bite the bullet.

“Probably,” the redhead next to you sighs softly.

“What do you think about the situation?”

Your roommate bites her lip as she thinks. “I- I mean, we are practically married anyway.” You just nod silently and urge her to go on. “If we did get married…” You feel your heart flutter. Is this the moment that she’s going to tell you that she is in love with you? 

“… we would get a nice tax break.”

You do everything you can to not let it show how you feel about that proposal. “Uh, yeah. We could do that. We’re essentially in a common law marriage at this point anyway.”

“But I also…” the redhead continues to worry her lip through her teeth. “I guess I have been thinking about what they were saying.”

“What do you mean?” you prompt.

Green eyes turn soft as they look into your own. “I think that maybe… in all of the ebbs and flows of life, jokingly calling you my wife, it- it stopped becoming a joke.”

Your heart begins to beat faster. It’s now or never. “For me too.”

A brow raises. “What?”

“It’s not a joke for me anymore either,” you whisper. “Somewhere along the line, I really did fall for you.”

“Have we been dating for the last five years without knowing it?” Melissa asks you as she gently cups your cheek.

“I think so,” you chuckle.

And then, just like in the movies, the woman of your dreams leans in slowly and her lips meet yours for the first time.

When you pull away, your eyes shimmer with happy tears. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Me too, hun,” Melissa whispers as she pulls you back in again.

It’s later that night, once the two of you have truly spoken about how you want to go about this new relationship that you’ve found yourselves in.

“So, if we’ve been unintentionally dating for the last five years, how would you really feel about getting married? Not just for the tax break,” Melissa asks you. “Although, that would be nice.”

You just roll your eyes. “Melissa Schemmenti, are you proposing to me right now?”

“Do you want me to?”

And so, the next day, the two of you make your way down to City Hall to file for a marriage license before heading into Abbott to work your half day. During your prep period, the two of you search for wedding bands on Amazon to be delivered in time for Saturday when you’ll officially be wed.

On Friday, you and your fiancee request that Barbara come to Melissa’s room at the end of the day. Of course, she complies.

“What’s this about?” the kindergarten teacher asks.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” you ask your coworker.

“Why? What’s happening tomorrow?”

“We were hoping you would come be the witness at our wedding,” Melissa states casually.

Brown eyes are blown as wide as saucers. “I- Oh! Oh my goodness! Are you serious?”

“You know I wouldn’t joke about a nice tax break,” the redhead smirks.

“Still don’t like that joke,” you roll your eyes as you lean over, a hand resting on Melissa’s shoulder as you kiss her cheek.

“So the two of you have been together!”

“No,” you laugh. “We only got together Tuesday after we both realized that maybe calling each other our ‘wife’ wasn’t a joke anymore.”

“An’ if we’ve been dating for the last five years, we might as well get married,” Melissa smiles.

“And catch that tax break,” you chuckle.

Your fiancee glares at you playfully. “I thought you hate that joke.”

“Only when you make it,” you reply sweetly before turning back to Barbara. “So, can you come?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” your beloved coworker promises you.

On Monday, you wait for your entire work family to make their way into the staff lounge.

“So,” you sigh as you glance to your boss.

“What the hell could you want on a Monday morning?” Ava groans.

“Not much,” you chuckle, your left hand still stuffed in your Eagles sweatshirt. “Just going to need a sign change.”

“A sign change?”

“The sign outside my door with my name on it. I’m gonna need it changed.”

“To?” the principal rolls her eyes, not yet putting it together.

“Mrs. Schemmenti,” you say innocently as you hold up your left hand. Your now wife does the same.

Both you and Melissa look around the room anticipating your coworkers’ reactions. And they’re exactly what you expect- it’s hilarious. And as the excitement of this news dies down, Jacob raises his hand to ask a question.

“You don’ need to raise your hand, Hill,” the redhead rolls her eyes. “What?”

“So who won the bet?”

“Yeah!” Mr. Johnson exclaims.

“Still no one,” you run a hand over your face.

“There ain’t no way the two of you haven’t been hiding this for years,” Ava tells you.

“We haven’t been,” Melissa tells the group. “Ask Barb.”

All eyes turn to the kindergarten teacher quietly sipping her coffee. “Got married on Saturday. I was there, just like Melissa said I would be.”

“See?”

“But,” Barbara holds a hand up. “While I was incorrect about the amount of time they’ve been married, I am the only one that said they were together for five years.”

“We haven’t been together for five years,” you furrow a brow.

Barb shrugs. “You both told me that the two of you have been essentially dating for the last five years.”

“Barbara.”

Tags (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits @schmentisgf

[sneepity-snoop-snorpity-sneep]

I apparently come across as the same age as my younger coworkers, possibly because I am holding the vestiges of my whimsy in a deathgrip and also because they are experiencing the highs and lows of marriage and I'm not (seriously, I once had a conversation with an old lady at an urgent care where she was talking about her kids, stopped mid-conversation and went "you don't have any, i can see it in your eyes" TTvTT). If i were a cartoon I might be failing the above person's character design test

a lot of people do NOT 'look like adults'. Hell, in my experience a lot of folks look about the same if they're between 16 and 25 depending on the person and the only real way to find out where they fall on that range is to straight-up ask them

on one hand, yes, fiction and character design in cartoons specifically is meant to convey information about the characters to the audience quickly and easily - that doesn't mean shorthand like this is a good idea

visually conveying important information about your characters to your viewers is one thing, catering to the members of the audience who become viscerally uncomfy with characters not fitting in the exact boxes they think characters (and usually real people) should fit in is another thing ENTIRELY. People are gonna surprise you and do backflips around your expectations in real life just by being themselves sometimes, and frankly fiction gets better when this part of the human experience is included (at least i think it does)

like this whole complaint could've just stopped at "I don't like it when writers/designers sexualize characters whose role in the story doesn't have anything to do with their sexuality or lack thereof" and most folks would agree - like anybody from the clone wars fandom remember what they decided to have ahsoka wear for the first couple of seasons for no real reason? but that doesn't actually have any bearing on the character themself, again, see young ahsoka running around doing jedi commander stuff and having character arcs that her clothes are coincidental for at best (girl was literally in a war zone with not only no protective clothing, but not clothing at all covering at least three vital organs hhhhhhhhh)

and also, since this seems to be about hazbin hotel, I'd like to point out that there's probably some overlap OOP is seeing between 'character is being sexualized by the writers and/or fans' and 'character is in a story that includes adult themes about sexuality, lust, etc, and is shown to visibly have a sex drive/sex life/sexual experience', as many adults do.

But i still don't really see this as a bug over a feature, i mean....yeah hazbin hotel writes adults whose lives include sex-related stuff in a very different way than other adult shows which include sexuality (gonna use arcane and castlevania here, because i just recently re-watched both), but they're also all very different kinds of stories.

hazbin hotel, while not being quite the same kind of show like say family guy or south park, where you might find over-the-top sex/profanity based comedy, is the kind of adult animation that decided to have sex be a more relevant part of the setting and sometimes plot. Characters make sexual references, innuendos, jokes, etc, all the time even when there isn't any actual sex going on, while the other two shows I mention simply have sex being A Thing Adults Do Sometimes and there isn't (usually, with a particular exception *cough cough Lenore + Hector*) anything majorly plot-relevant about it.

but as far as your audience goes, that's really a difference in preference than a sign of good/bad writing or character design. Like i'm definitely more of a fan of the latter style of including sexuality in stories about adults. The hazbin hotel take on writing adults and sex isn't my cup of tea, but neither is it a deal breaker for adult media in general for me. This may be because I am Not Going To Pay Attention To Whatever Nonsense The Horny Fans Are Doing Now. i'm just not.

like a lot of the above complains seem to be rooted in how members of the audience will see the character, which is really not the greatest way to judge a work of fiction. Inevitably, at least some fans will draw porn of any character regardless of canonical age or if the story they're from actually has any kind of sexual content or not (doesn't Disney have an official vault of porn of characters from a bunch of their kids movies/shows? yeah) and if that's an issue for you you may not be curating your own online experience as much as you should. Gotta learn to think 'Do i actually want to see/engage with this or will it just make me unhappy' before u actually look at something. I regret to inform u i dont know any way outside of experiencing the consequences of NOT doing that to learn when I should. I'm talking about the moment when i see a unfamiliar word online ending in 'philia' and i take a moment to notice my curiosity before pondering if i really care to look it up

in conclusion, trying to box actual adult's appearance/behavior into boxes on who should and shouldn't be allowed to have a visible sexuality is just kinda reminiscent on the aspects of western shame culture that presume you can stop people behaving badly by making the potential targets of that behavior act so as not to encourage it.

Understandable gut motivation. Poorly thought out reaction

Alright.

At First I Was Going To Make A Joke About How Stupid This Thing Is, But Now That I’m Thinking About It This Is Just More Gross, Infuriating, And Sexist Than It Is Stupid And Funny.

Adult Are Adults.

Fictional Adult Are Fictional Adults.

I Don’t Care What Height They Are, If They Have Curves Or Not, If Their Personality Is Childish Or Adultish, Or If They Look Like A Child Or A Adult.

They Are Adults No Matter What.

Also “ProShippers Take Her And Run”… Can You Just… Not Do Or Say Anything Ever Again?

Either That Or Change Your Ways?

[angstywaifu]

Insomnia - Garrick Tavis

Anonymous Request: Garrick x reader where she struggles with sleep/has insomnia and she goes to Garrick for comfort or he finds out somehow and comforts her and she can only fall asleep with him there 💕 just a very fluffy fic

Garrick Tavis x Reader

Masterlist | Support Me

“You look like shit.” Imogen says as I sit down in front of her in the dining hall.

”And you wonder why you’re single.” Bodhi mutters before Imogen smacks him across the head. “Hey!”

”She’s not wrong.” I point out as I shove my fork into a roast potato. “Sleeps been…. difficult lately.”

Bodhi turns to me, concern written all over his face as he looks me over. “You can so no, you know that right?”

I know what he’s getting at. But Xaden sending us on supply runs has got nothing to do with it. I wish that was the issue. But I’ve struggled with sleep every since the day our parents got burned. And every now and then I hit a rough patch of a few weeks were I barely get an hours sleep at night. And right now was one of those patches.

”I’m aware. But it’s got nothing to do with that.” I tell him with a tight lipped smile. “I’ve been struggling with sleep for quite some time now.”

He nods, clearly getting the hint behind my words. And if I can’t sleep, I may as well be on supply runs and make use of not being able to sleep.

”I can take over for you tonight. You look like you’re going to pass out in your chair.” Imogen offers

I shake my head. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. It’s only a short one.”

She purses her lips but nods at me. She knew better than to push it. Both of us were as stubborn as each other. Bodhi mutters something about leadership duties and gets up from the table, leaving Imogen and I to eat alone until Quinn joins us. I quickly finish my dinner, getting up from the table before Quinn can notice how tired I look. I feel Imogen’s eyes follow me as I get up from the table and make my way out of the dining hall and towards the flight field. As I make my way into the courtyard, skirting my way around the edges, shadows consume me, hiding me from any prying eyes. I look around, but don’t see Xaden anywhere. But I knew he had eyes on me if he was covering me. Luckily the courtyard is empty with everyone eating dinner. But it was better to be safe than sorry. As I walk up the final steps into the field, Xaden is waiting for me. I’d expected him to be down in the courtyard. It was scary how powerful he was with those shadows.

”Everything ready to go?” I ask him as I walk up to him.

He nods over to my dragon, two loaded packs ready to go next to her. Big enough for her to grab onto, but small enough no one would notice them once she held them in her claws.

”All ready to go. You sure you’re up to this?” He asks me, his onyx eyes bearing into me.

I shake my head and laugh. “Let me guess, Bodhi came to you worried about me.”

He nods. “And with good reason. You look like you’re about to keel over. I can get someone else to do this.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. Like I told Bodhi I’ve struggled with sleep for years now. Sometimes I hit rough patches where I barely get any. But I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

He narrows his eyes at me but eventually nods. “Fine, but I want you to report to me when you get back.”

”You got it Wingleader.” I say with a mock salute before turning and walking over to my dragon.

I groan as we land back in the flight field. The shockwave making everything hurt. Exhaustion was royally kicking my ass, but I could tell sleep still evaded me and I would probably get none once I got back to my room. I slide down my dragons leg, staggering as my feet hit the ground. I stumble for a few steps, putting my hands out to stop the fall I know is coming before something stops me. Not something. Someone. Their hands grip my upper arms tightly from behind, pulling me up right.

”You are far from ok.” A familiar gruff voice growls from behind me.

My eyes widen. Shit. Their hands loosen as I turn to face a very angry Garrick.

”I’m fine.” I tell him sternly, though I know it does little to convince him after what he just saw.

”You nearly falling off your dragon is not fine. When was the last time you slept?” He demands as he takes in the shadows under my eyes.

”I got an hour last night.” I say with shrug before quickly stifling a yawn.

He narrows his hazel eyes at me. “When was the last time you got proper sleep?”

”You know I haven’t slept properly in years.” I shoot back.

Garrick was probably the only one that knew the extent of my sleeping problem. Kind of hard to hide something like that when we we’re fostered together. Countless nights he’d found me awake in my room reading or drawing. Had seen me go through my first rough patch where I’d practically passed out on him during a training session.

”Well aware. So why didn’t you come to me?” He asks with a cocked eyebrow.

”Because we have far bigger issues than sleeping issues we can’t fix. I’ll be fine.” I tell him sternly, before swaying slightly.

Garrick’s hands fly out and catch me before I stumble again. He grumbles something I can’t make out before dipping down and scooping me into his arms. I go to protest, but as he tightens his hold on me, I know I have no chance in fighting this. And I couldn’t deny, the familiar gesture was exactly what I needed. I rest my head on his shoulder as he walks us out of the flight field. It doesn’t take long for the rocking movement and his presence to make my heavy eyes flutter close, lulling me into a deep sleep.

I squint against the bright light, hand flying up to shield me from the sun coming through the open drapes. I groan, burying my head into what should be my pillow, but isn’t. No this solid, harder than a pillow but not uncomfortable. A steady beat thrumming against my ear. The familiar scent of leather, cinnamon and musk instantly having my body relax.

”About time you woke up.” Garrick’s familiar teasing tone meeting my ears.

I smack him lightly on the chest, causing him to laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest into me. “If you keep that up I’m never coming to you if this happens again.”

Garrick’s chest rumbles with laughter again. “You say that every time sweetheart.” He tells me before kissing the top of my head lightly.

”One day I won’t come back.” I warn him teasingly as I turn my head to look up at him.

Cocky bastard just smiles down at me knowingly. “I’ll believe it when it happens. Now get some more rest.” He tells me before shutting his own eyes and leaning his head back against the wall.

“Maybe if someone hadn’t left my drapes open I could.” I retort.

Garrick doesn’t even open his eyes as he raises his hand and waves it, the drapes sliding close and plunging the room into darkness. “Problem solved. Now go to sleep.”

[oc-brainstorms]

My strange addiction 18+

Perv!Dom!Voyeur!Kang Dae-ho x Sex addict!Fem!reader/Thanos x Reader(kinda)

Synopsis: SMUT! Sex addict reader finds Dae-ho jerking off to her and Thanos having sex, she makes it her mission to try him out next and Dae-ho treats her exactly how she wants to be treated wink wink

warnings: Kinda dark/swearing/mentions of death/murder/ kinda cheating?/Mentions god(in a bad way)/Voyeurism/bathroom sex/public sex/mentions of anal/smut/reader uses thanos/Dae-ho is kinda pervy/rough/non-con?dub-con?ish/unprotected sex/p in v/Oral (M receiving)/daddy kink/reader is a sex addict/horny af/reader is fucking feral/overall filth/aftercare/angst/fluff/reader has some major issues (I haven't slept so if I've forgotten anything let me know) READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Words: 4.5K (it’s a long one)/

Unedited! there's gotta be a few mistakes in it but I wrote this instead of my dissertation and sleeping so take it for what it is I guess.

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I was never one to drink, do drugs or jump off tall things all for a little adrenaline rush-No, I was particular in my chosen addiction. Sex was always my vice. I tasted it one and couldn't get enough. It’s never really mattered to me what they look like or how good at it they were, if the thought pops into my head then it’s all I crave, like an itch that demands to be scratched. Sometimes I don’t even want it, like when a smoker who's trying to quit doesn't even think about lighting the cigarette in their mouth, it's basically a habbit.

Many interactions with vile, disgusting men and bad life choices led me right here, surrounded by people in green sweatsuits playing deadly children’s games for money. It’s not exactly where I thought I'd end up, I always thought I’d die in a ditch somewhere-discarded and used without a care in the world.

Salty sweat drops fall on my forehead from the purple-haired man thrusting to his hearts content in an out of me, grunting in my ear like he's on a mission. He’s not bad, a little too desperate and loud for my liking but hey, a fuck is a fuck. Plus he was pretty good-looking under the whole wannabe-bad-boy-rapper persona.

“You like that? hmph-So good-so so good.” He grumbles, his voice mere groans of hot breath in my ear.

“Feels so good daddy-please keep going please!” My voice was no higher than a pathetic whisper in return, becoming conscious of the creaks the bed was emitting, echoing in the empty space of the room. Thankfully many people this side had died in the previous game.

My hips were beginning to ache from the angle I’m spread to- My jaw clenching as I feel him wrap his hands behind my knees and shove them up until they hit my shoulders. The pain was easing from my hips but it did nothing for the lack of excitement I was feeling. It was a little mundane for me, stuck in missionary while he has the time of his life-but it will satisfy my needs nonetheless.

I can’t help but let my thoughts wander, craning my neck to glance over his shoulder as his pounding continued, just listening the the sounds of our skin slapping and the weak sounds of the bed frame holding us up.

My attention is suddenly drawn to a rusting from a bed on the other side of the room. Under the glow of the obnoxiously large piggy bank I can just make out a large figure, laid in bed with the covers just covering his hip. Squinting into the darkness I make out rapid movements under the covers.

Is this perv getting off to us?

I let my eyes linger for a while, feeling myself getting wetter from the idea of this stranger pleasuring himself to the sounds of us fucking. Trailing my eyes up I can just about make out his number, 388. Taking a mental note, I try to peak at his face through the darkness.

A gasp gets caught in my throat as I make eye contact with dark eyes that stare back at me. His whole face wasn't clear but I could sense his eyes burning into mine as he welcomed himself to the free porn he was witnessing.

‘So fucking wet for me.’ Thanos panted out, snapping me back to his attention. Thankfully his head was buried in my neck and he was too busy chasing his own high to notice my distraction.

Maybe I should give him a show.

I took my hands and placed them firmly on Thanos’ chest.

“Stop.” I manage to gasp out, pushing him back enough to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are crazy, Purple strands sticking to his forehead. His thrusts stagger a little before coming to a stop.

“What the fuck is wrong girl, why are you stopping me when I'm about to fill you up?” The tone of his voice is slightly erratic, and a little too loud-but I had new priorities than everyone else's sleep.

“I just wanna ride you Daddy, please?” Fluttering my eyelashes up at him, I knew he couldn't disagree with me, especially as I clenched myself around him.

“Fuck okay-okay.” He talks over himself, gripping at my sides to manoeuvre me on top of him.

I knock my head on the metallic grate on underneath the bunk on top of us, but don’t even stop to acknowledge the pain, I've got a new task to complete. I can’t let poor 388 go to bed unsatisfied now can I?

I reposition myself straddling him, letting my hands rest on his chest while he sinks his dick into my hole. I’m already pretty raw so it stings from the stretch, feeling him throb inside me from the sensation, a small gasp erupts from my throat.

Rocking my hips back and forth, I feel him glide in and out of me, making sure to arch my back and stick my ass out to give the best possible view to my new friend.

“Just like tha-fuck just like that.” he mutters through staggered breaths. I can feel him getting close so I need to do my best with the time I have.

In a brave move, I move my hands up from his chest and glide them up my body, stopping to grip onto my breasts and squeeze, Hard. I moan louder than necessary, but not loud enough to cause a scene.

Bouncing hard on his dick, I bring my hand to my throat and start to lightly choke myself, throwing my head back and feel my hair hit my back.

“Fuck this pussy, oh god, oh my fucking god-so good, so tight oh fuck.” I hear him groan, reaching his climax as hot spurts of cum squirt inside of me, filling me up.

I lean forward, laying my chest back down and craning my neck to glance over my shoulder. I watch how 388’s covers slowly come to a halt, a subtle shake as he finally finishes. I wish I could hear him trying to catch his breath over the snoring of the rest of the room, but ill sleep happy with the knowledge I've done my job-for now.

“You finished right, girl?” My attention is drawn back to the heavy breathing of the purple haired asshole under me, his hands still feeling up my hips and ass as I catch my breath.

“Yeah sure.” I nod, through gritted teeth, slipping him out of me and laying beside him.

“Good, gotta take care of my girl, especially when she’s being so damn good for me!” He ruffles my hair before turning over, falling asleep almost instantly.

God he has so much faith in me not to kill him in his sleep.

My mind didn't relax enough to sleep, too focused on all the ideas I had to get my way, I will seduce this man, I don’t even care if he’s ugly or horrible. Anyone that desperate to cum clearly needs my help, maybe he’ll actually make me cum.

My lord isn’t it bad I'm more focused on this than the games? well I guess it is a game of sorts… wtf is wrong with me, anyways.

I roll my eyes and try to push my thoughts away. Ignoring the sweaty body next to me, I pull my crumped clothes back onto my body and lay back down, fading off to a dreamless sleep.

----

The most irritating and mind-numbing sickly song wakes me up in the morning. That along with the bright lights is enough to make me kill someone-even outside of the game.

I’ve never been a morning person, nighttime is where all the fun happens-hell I don't even wake up till gone 2pm most days. However, this morning I have a task-find this mystery man.

I sit up in bed-taking no notice of the absence of the man next to me, and try to brush my fingers through my knotted hair, pinching my cheeks and lips to look more alive.

God did they have to give us these ugly ass outfits.

Doing the best with what I have, I tie up the top into an extreme crop and pull the joggers down lower on my hip, lazily throwing the sweatshirt on.

It'll do.

I scan my eyes around the room like a predator hunting its prey, reading everyone’s number until my eyes land on the one I'm looking for.

Bingo.

He’s tall, good looking-man bun be damned, chuckling along with something an older man is saying and a-is that bitch pregnant? Damn. He stretches, his muscles flexing as he does, almost having me salivate on myself. He doesn't even glance over here before waltzing over to to the breakfast queue.

My footsteps are fast but inconspicuous, anyone else probably would’ve thought I was just hungry- and I guess they'd be right, but not for food.

I manage to squeeze in behind him, shuffling my feet closer to his.

“You’re pretty cute for a perv.” His shoulders stiffened, glancing at me over his shoulder.

‘What?” He mutters back to me, his eyes raking over my body before returning his eyes forward.

“I thought guys who liked to watch people fuck without them knowing were balding and lived in their parents basement with food stuck to their face and a box of tissues next to them.” Ok, that was a weird thing to say- but am I wrong?

His breathing takes a sharp incline as he shuffles forward with everyone else in the line.

“I wasn't watching you.”

“It’s okay baby I'm not mad a you, was I good for you?” my voice is confident but low, closer to his ear than before because of the people joining the queue behind me. Not sure if he's really as in to public humiliation as he is into public masturbation.

“I'm sorry, okay?” he whispers, without glancing back. More of a whimper really, slut.

“I just told you I'm not mad.” Im more short in my answers-im starting to get bored from this restrictive situation. I do get bored easily.

My lips almost touch his ear as I lean in, playing dangerous.

“Should've let me know you needed it daddy, this pussy has your name all over it.” I stroke over his back as I come down, tits grazing his back.

He chuckled darkly, looking down at his shoes, before turning his body to to me, a slick smirk playing on his mouth as he leant down and met my eyes.

“Really? Because to me it looks like it has that guy’s cum all over it.”

He blinked, before turning back and continuing to follow the queue.

I don’t have an answer for that, he really got me there to be fair.

My lips form a sharp line and I feel a heat rush to my cheeks, I kept my eyes down and stayed silent. I didn't know I could still feel embarrassed by anything-but here we are. I also tried to ignore the wetness growing between my thighs at the situation, the degrading really does it for me I guess.

He grabbed breakfast from the guard before sauntering off, out of the corner of my eye I saw him silently giggling to himself as he walked away, asshole.

I picked up my pathetic little apple and grumbled, taking a harsh bite out of it. If he's playing hard to get then I guess I'm just gonna have to play harder.

----

After the games, the vibes really sucked. Thanos was loud and annoying as usual but at least he didn't let me die. That was kinda nice of him, or maybe it was the fact I promised him anal if he got me through it-but nevertheless, it good to be alive.

I spent a long time in the bathroom, making sure I looked perfect after that mess. I also scrubbed myself raw, feeling dirty after the game, and the fuck and especially after 388’s comment. The 5 minute shower I somehow convinced the guard to let me have did wonders. He did watch me the entire time-but at least I'm clean!

After we once again got voted to stay, I got bored of the repetitive conversation and laid on my bed, staring at nothing in particular.

I glanced down over my feet at the door to the bathrooms, taking notice of the tall pretty boy leaving.

I didn't think twice about it, my feet moving on their own. I had to have it out with this man- he acts like a disgusting pervert watching me fuck and suddenly he's all cocky? I don't think so.

Thankfully the guards really don't give a fuck about who goes into what bathroom. I stand outside waiting, watching for the door to open. I didn't want to enter the bathroom and catch him pooping- I may be deranged but I'm not a total freak.

He wasn't in there long, and nobody had come in or out since him. Hearing footsteps approaching the door I give a quick wink to one of the guards, Showtime.

He barely opened the door before I pushed him back inside, closing us in the empty bathroom.

“Woah.” He managed, jumping on the defence and getting ready to attack before his eyes locked on me.

“Oh its you.” he relaxed, sighing.

“You miss me?” I asked sweetly, leaning back against the door with my hand resting on the metal handle.

“It's hard to miss you when you keep showing up,” his hands moved to his hips and his face bore an amused smirk, playful.

“You upset me earlier, thought you'd wanna make it up to me.”

“By telling you the truth? if that upsets you darling then you put have a real hard time with everything else in here.”

“Listen, you-”

“No you listen,” He steps towards me, a strange dominance lurking under his voice.

“I have enough going on here without some needly little whore deciding she's important enough to start bratting out because I used her pathetic show of attention-seeking to get myself off.”

My breathing increases as he steps closer, I was not expecting that to come out of his mouth, I’m not often too stunned to speak but somehow he's done it in the two conversations I've had with him.

I stare up at him through my lashes, my mouth dropping open a little as I pant through it. God is this turning me on?

“You gonna do something about it, tough guy?” Is all I manage to conjure, coming out in a stupidly quiet voice.

“Since you seem so desperate for me I'll do you a favour and put that dirty little mouth to use shall I?” He suddenly reaches forwards and grips my hair in his hand, a sound between a moan and a sob exiting my mouth as he does.

He shoves me across the room and into a stall, pushing us both in before slamming and locking it shut behind us. His grip stayed strong in my hair.

I don't know what I thought this guy would be like, I thought he would be a sweet little perv who helps pregnant girls and laughs along with old men’s jokes and then rubs one out while watching two people fuck like animals.

“Kneel.” He demands, his grip one my hair beginning to give me a headache. I don’t move, sure I've had men be rough before but this really took me by surprise.

“You want me don't you?” He spits out, but something in his eyes seemed softer, like a shimmer of guilt washed over them.

“Yes sir.”

“Then be a good girl and show me how much you want it, down on your knees.”

My knees buckled by themselves, gripping his thigh for support I hit the dirty bathroom floor and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“You know what to do slut, I'm sure you've had enough practice.” His eyes were back to being hard now, whether it was all the emotions during the games or something else had hardened him, and he desperately needed release, and Im more than happy to help with that.

I bring my hands up to his waistband, dragging down the green joggers and his boxers down together, watching as his hard cock flung free.

“Spit on it.”

I swirled my tongue around my mouth and tried to muster all the saliva I could, bringing my lips to the tip of his dick and letting my spit slowly drip onto it.

His eyes glaze over and he leans his head back, a groan slipping through his lips.

Taking my chance, I grab his throbbing cock with my hand and slowly pump my spit all over his shaft.

“I-is that good daddy?” I manage to stutter out, hand moving up and down as I slowly trail my tongue up his tip, tasting the pre cum that's already leaking out.

What the fuck is wrong with you, get your shit together.

“You know that's good slut, you're just begging for my validation aren't you?” He chuckled again, that deep chuckle he keeps doing that sounds like he's just been told a dirty joke, amused but interested.

I ignored the degrading tone and looked back down to his cock, its big and throbbing-a lot bigger than what I'm used to, or at least than what I've had in a long time.

Nervousness seeps into my brain but I push it back, taking him into my mouth and guiding him to the back of my throat.

As my nose hits his clothe stomach, my head is whipped back by his grip on my hair, a sudden flash of pain strikes my cheek and I feel tears welling up in my eyes from the sting.

“I asked you a question slut, or are you too stupid to use your words?” The look in his eyes flashed with amusement, like he was speaking to a cute puppy who just learnt a new trick.

“Yes sir.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir, I want your validation.” It hurt to spit the words out, but as soon as I did my head was thrusted back onto him.

He doesn't speak for a while, just grunting softly and leaning his head back against the cubicle wall with his eyes shut, fucking his dick right to the back of my throat like I'm nothing but a fleshlight he's using. All I can do is stifle my gags and take him, my face wet with my tears and the saliva dripping down my chin.

“So.Fucking.Good.” He chokes out between thrusts.

My mind goes black with everything else other than pleasing him, nothing but the pain in my throat and the blurry vision of his body above me.

His breathing quickens and I'm sure he's about to cum, my hair now fully being ripped out by the strength of his hands tangled in it.

“What should I do?”

I look up at him and try to muster up the most confused face I can under the circumstances, managing to furrow my eyebrows.

“Should I cum…down your throat?” His thrusts begin to slow slightly as he drags out his question.

“Or on this pretty little face?” His finger drops down and traces my jaw.

“Or should I have you lift up your shirt so I can cum on those perfect tits of yours, baby?” His questions receive no answer considering my mouth was still bing invaded by his thick cock.

“No, No, I know the perfect place.” His voice is dominant and looms over me.

With a swift movement he pulls me off of him, one arm under my armpit while the other stays in its place in my hair. They glide down to my own joggers, ripping them down to the floor along with my underwear, leaving me exposed and shaking from all the sensations of my body.

His large hands find my thighs and grips onto the backs of them.

“Jump.” He orders, and of course I follow through. Before I know it I’m pinned up against the cold wall, and being forced to bounce on his solid dick that's thrusting in and out of me at a rapid pace.

My arms find his shoulders and I cling on, hiding my whimpers in the Crook of his neck as I let him use my cunt for his pleasure.

“You want me to make you cum don't you doll?” He teases.

“Ye-Yes s-sir, please sir, yes, yes, yes!” I hate how the pathetic yelps come out of my mouth but the pleasure rocking through me takes my mind away from any embarrassment.

“That other little boy couldn't do it for you could he? You need a man to make you cum don't you huh?”

“Please make me cum Daddy, I'll do anything.” my voice sounded more like broken sobs coming through my lazily parted lips, already cock drunk from this humiliating situation.

He grips my wrist tightly and drags it between my legs.

“Rub yourself, c’mon princess I know you can do it,” His sweet words hit my ears and I immediately obey, becoming a gasping, moaning mess as I rub rapid circles around my sensitive clit.

Almost immediately after I feel myself reaching my climax, my head throwing itself back as he lunges for my throat, leaving sharp hickeys down my neck.

His breathing changes and soon after he's open-mouthed kissing my neck as I feel him pump his cum up into me, the grip he has on me weakening with every moan he produces.

As he lets go of the hold he has on me I drop to the floor, knees weak after the use he put them through. Im tired, and sore and sticky, I can feel him dripping out of me and onto the disgusting toilet floor. My eyes are heavy and my face flushed, with chapped lips and baby hairs sticking with sweat to my forehead and a tangled mess behind.

As the glow of my orgasm fades I get the same sinking feeling I always get when I finish, the feeling where Im immediately disgusted and ashamed and just want to cry and try and forget that I've just made a fool out of myself for a strange man.

I bring my hands to my face and sigh deeply, still trying to catch my breath. I forget the man*-whose name I still don't know* is there. Im sure he’ll see himself out eventually.

My unravelling show of self-pity is interrupted as I feel the man crouch down next to me, silently watching me cry into my hands.

Awkward, I bet he's regretting even meeting me now.

“Hey,hey.” He coos, his voice softer than soft. He seems afraid to touch me as his fingers ghost over my arm.

I bet he's so fucking irritated god I would be.

Imagine you've just fucked someone out of pity and they start crying on the fucking floor.

“I’m just gonna clean you up okay angel?” I sniffle and stop in confused awe. Moving my hands away from my face I wipe the tears off and pull them down until my eyes are peaking through.

He keeps eye contact for a moment before reaching over and grabbing toilet paper from behind him, ripping some off he starts to clean up the mess between my legs, uttering small apologies as I hiss from the contact.

“Shh..it's okay baby, you're okay.” His words are soft and comforting as he manoeuvres my clothes back on me. His hands stop at my waist as he tries to catch my eyes, but I'm looking everywhere but his face with my half-lidded gaze.

“Can I see that pretty face again? Please baby, let me clean you up.” I nod, eyebrows still subtly furrowed in suspicion.

With the softest touch he moves my hands away from my face, taking them in one of his and using the other to gently wipe off any moisture that remained. His touch felt like a feather grazing my skin, it was nice, I've never been treated so nicely before.

He fucking hates me doesn't he, oh well what do I care, I don't care anyways.

He places a hand on my knee, not in a way that's sexual but more of a calming gesture, probably to help stop the shaking by body has absentmindedly started doing.

Everything inside me is telling me to run, push him away and go find my bed to rock myself to sleep in, but something about the kind care in his eyes and the gentle touches he's gracing me with is making me want to stay here for as long as I can.

His other hand comes up to my hair, his fingers attempting to gently remove the knots that had built up from his harsh tugs.

‘Did I hurt you, go too far?”

I shook my head.

“Why are you doing this?” I broke my silence, voice barely audible.

“Doing what, sweetness?” He glanced down at my face, his voice soft and caring with a glance of concern.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” The words left my lips with a short chuckle, not an amused, joking chuckle, but more of disbelief and confusion-like when you hear something so ridiculous you can't help but let a chuckle slip out.

I sound so fucking pathetic.

“I’m taking care of you, you deserve it.” His confusion grew, his eyebrows getting more furrowed together the more he took in the disbelief on my face.

“You don't even know me, I don't even know your name, you don't know mine.”

“I would like to.” I stopped, staring blankly at him.

“My name Is Y/N.” I mustered up, I'm sure he doesn't really care-but it would be nice to be on a first name basis with this man, at least he's being helpful.

“Beautiful name, it suits you.” He spoke without moving his head away from the focus he had on my hair.

“What's your name?”

“Dae-Ho” His fingers freed themselves and he leant forwards, placing a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” he whispered against the skin of my forehead, the coolness of his breath causing a shiver to sneak down my spine.

“For telling me your name.”

Thank you for being nice, for holding me softly, for being so sweet and kind and affectionate to someone you don't care about.

“Angel I will tell you every single thing I know if it makes you happy.” My breath hitched and all wordings fell short in my throat. His eyes were light and kind, he didn't seem at all to mind easing me through this mini meltdown.

“Why?”

“I told you, i’d like to get to know you.’ He paused, his mind seemingly somewhere else, thinking deeply about his next words.

“Would you like to sleep in my bed with me tonight? i’d like to be able to hold you now, it feels wrong to part ways after this, unless you have plans with the crayon you were sleeping with before.” The sarcasm in his voice seeps through when he speaks about Thanos, a subtle spit of jealousy perhaps mixed in with his words.

Interesting development.

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

A/N: Lit havent slept and wrote this with no editing so if its ass lmk lol- also my first piece of writing on tumblr! exciting times-many ideas ahead.

[yandere-sins]

Hi! I just currently discovered your works and I love it! Can you do a story where a serial killer (any fictional character you want, as long as it's not real people) who has gotten married to the y/n's mom but he's so obsessed with his new step-daughter the first time they met. The ending's up to you.

Hey! Thank you so much for reading my stories and requesting ♥ Took me some time to think of something, and I won't do a specific character, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

A long time ago, he chose to go down this path.

The decision had to be made; any waver in his resolve would have resulted in him getting caught and locked up for life. Sometimes, it was nice to be with the humans that would end up dead; sometimes, it was merely business. There were some pleasures to take from these gullible idiots. Money, sex, opportunities.

Businesswomen, housewives, lonely singles, and, if he had to, men just as much. They only sought the warmth of a lover, someone who truly understood them. And why would he not accept their gratitude and gifts for so little work as rubbing their back and telling them how special they were? It made them feel better most of the time and him richer, as their gratitude almost always ended in gifts.

And in their contentment, they didn't see the knife that was about to sink into their back as soon as they weren't useful to him anymore.

As soon as their money ran out, the gifts died down, and they started to become suspicious of him; he'd make sure to skip town after burying his latest lover in a ditch. He never met their friends, never saw what the life of his victims was, and especially: he didn't love them.

Oftentimes, he wondered, late at night, after yet another kill, what it was like to be loved and to love. His victims always looked so happy and content, hanging off his arm and whispering the magic words to him at night. What he did wasn't right, but why did it matter when he never got caught? As long as he could live in the lap of luxury that he could never achieve through honest work, he didn't really need much else.

But he was getting old.

Too old to sugar-baby his way through life, at least, too much on par in terms of age now with his victims. It physically hurt him to have to be extra careful in the future when killing random strangers. It would never give him the satisfaction or the looks of betrayal that left him all hot and bothered. But now was the last time he could find someone willing to finance his life, and giving up his prolific murder spree was better than spending the rest of his damnation in a dirty, old motel room with nothing to do.

Thus, his way of life ended. A serial killer turned houseman and loverboy to a very successful CEO and mother. Thanks to his charms, the wedding went through much faster than expected, and soon enough, with a credit card linked to her bank account and well-situated in the luxury home of his now-wife, everything could have stayed like this for a long, long time.

Until you showed up.

You were a blessing and a curse in the form of an adult stepchild. It was weird meeting the family of his victim for the first time. But the moment he laid eyes on you, his mouth began to water, pupils blown wide to spy every inch of deliciousness that you swept through the front door to his home. And despite spikes of murderous desires making his body shake uncontrollably, even more prevalent was the twisting and churning of his heart as it beat viciously against his ribs, blood rushing through his whole body and especially between his legs.

All evening long, he couldn't stop smiling at you. He sat across from you like a silly little teenage boy, nodding and listening to everything you told your mom, words dripping off your lips like honey that he wished to lick up. However, he merely did the next best thing, offering to take care of the dishes so he could lick your plate clean and steal your cutlery to enjoy later. He sat with you long into the night on the couch as you told him about yourself; you two had never met before since the wedding was such a rushed affair, and you were the trust fund child sent to an international college for your studies. There was so much to catch up on and get acquainted with.

If only he had met you sooner.

The time together was short, so he suggested all kinds of family vacations, telling his wife it was totally okay if she couldn't make it, and he'd spend time with you and bond. All was in his favor, and every second spent with you was the happiest of his life. For years, he thought that only riches and luxuries could satisfy him—but not anymore.

He had to have you.

No matter what he had to do, fate had already been decided. There was simply no way to not be with you. Slipping into your bed at night and touching you as much as possible just wasn't enough. Stealing your underwear and imagining you on your knees while he used the fabric on himself didn't quell his urges completely. Not even when he imagined you while pleasing his wife was enough, and neither was smelling you every day and pressing up to you innocently in the kitchen or hanging out with you. You going back to another country to continue your studies? Impossible. It would have killed him.

And then, the painfully put aside urges arose. The ones that screamed for blood and gore, torture, and the satisfaction of witnessing someone's last breath. He had already established himself in your life, and you liked him enough that were you to lose someone dear to you... would you run to him?

The question was just a hypothesis, but one that had him rock hard and twitching as he stared at the ceiling at night, feeling his wife—your mother—in his arm, sighing contently. What was her testament like? Would there be enough to live happily ever after with you? Would you accept your stepdad as more than just a superficial family member? Would you let him hold you? Kiss you? Lick you? Make you scream and sob?

Would you allow him to drag you into hell with him, even though he'd make it seem like heaven?

It had always been his way of doing things. Pretend to be someone perfect, pleasant, and loveable, when really, he was this cruel, pathetic monster. But a long time, he chose to go down this path of embracing the beast, and sitting up in his bed, he remembered still holding onto the table knife you used on the first day you returned home. It would be awful, downright gruesome, to be killed by her own daughter's knife, wouldn't it? Your mom would feel so betrayed by being stabbed in the middle of the night; it would be heart-wrenching and devastating.

Absolutely exhilarating.

Why change something that had always worked for him?

By tomorrow morning, you would be his.

[milla-frenchy]

I read "Raider!Joel xf!reader" and here I am

Ughhhhhh I love them so much 😍❤️❤️ (I know I said it a million times but what can I say? I love them)

And if he looked at the backs of your knees for too long, his shoulders would itch for the weight of your legs.

Damn 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 what a hot, perfect sentence...

As the air cooled, he'd lose the quick access to his favorite place to be, but he had to keep you warm.

Oh please... please. He's perfect. "He'd lose the quick access to his favorite place to be, but he had to keep you warm." Damn, that man. It's raider. It's raider fn Joel. The one who used to take what he wanted. But look at him. He had to keep her warm, even if it meant losing quick access to his favorite place to be. That's how that man shows his love

Now, when it came to quickies, the pants were a bit of a hassle at first, but he came to enjoy the barrier. He was a wild animal earning his meal, clawing at buttons. Ravenous: peeling off the courderoy fur of his prey, just enough to dig in.

!!!!! 🫠🫠🫠

The primal display turned you on--that was no secret, the way your back arched as he undressed you, grunting, panting. Quiet growls from his chest. By the time you were spread open for him, he was aching to be in you. Sometimes he didn't realize he was holding his breath until he bottomed out and gasped for air, then let out a shudder of a sigh.

I can picture them so perfectly in my head 😍😍😍

At first, he was taking your pants and panties down together, but you enjoyed this primal ritual so much that he found the patience to prolong it. He'd tug your pants down first, then bring his face to where you throbbed for him. He'd gnash his teeth and gnaw at your panties, dampening the cotton as he hooked his fingers under the sides to pull them down.

Once again, he found the patience, took his time, for her. It moves me so much 🥹🥹🥹

His favorite pair had a bow on the front. He'd bite it and growl with a dark glance up at you, a twinkle in his eye. It made you giggle and it made you gush, but after a few seconds, you'd start to help take them off. He'd release the bow from his mouth, and the elastic waistband would snap back against you.

I loved how you described it, so perfectly 😍😍😍

He'd rest his open mouth against your neck or cheek, and each thrust would drag his lips toward your ear and heighten his animal sounds.

damn it's so hot. He's so hot

You'd writhe and moan, gasp and sigh, let out pretty little grunts and whimpers. Your hips would tilt to meet his, and your head would roll back. You'd whine his name and tug at his hair, you'd dig your nails into his back as he packed you tight, and when you came, the world disappeared. Except for the pulse of his shaft and the spread of warmth in your belly.

Ughhhhh how hot is that paragraph??? And the bold part omggggg

As the burning heat of your skin began to fade into the weather, he'd find the will to pull out. And then, he'd kiss your forehead, and pull up your panties with care, planting a kiss on the bow before buttoning your pants.

This was perfect. Thank you so, so much Toxy for sharing, I don't have enough words to say how much I love reading them, and how emotional it always makes me 🥹🥹🥹🖤🖤🖤🫶

What if Raider tugged on the little decorative pink bow on Sweetpea's panties with his teeth. Huh, what about that? Maybe he lets out a little playful growl and she giggles. 🎀

pants

raider!joel xf!reader

18+ drabble, unsafe piv

Joel hadn't taken the mild weather for granted. He was always aware, always grateful for your sweet little dresses. Grateful for a little breeze. He'd watch your quads quake or your calves flex as you moved. And if he looked at the backs of your knees for too long, his shoulders would itch for the weight of your legs.

As the air cooled, he'd lose the quick access to his favorite place to be, but he had to keep you warm. Pants were inevitable, but he didn't know how much he'd enjoy them... Certain pairs hugged your form in ways the dresses didn't. Your favorite were the corduroys you got for Christmas, and Joel enjoyed the velvet stripes under his palm as he rubbed your thigh or squeezed your butt. At times, he couldn't resist a quick smack of your ass. His palm might linger, or he might watch the jiggle from his impact. God damn.

Now, when it came to quickies, the pants were a bit of a hassle at first, but he came to enjoy the barrier. He was a wild animal earning his meal, clawing at buttons. Ravenous: peeling off the courderoy fur of his prey, just enough to dig in. The primal display turned you on--that was no secret, the way your back arched as he undressed you, grunting, panting. Quiet growls from his chest. By the time you were spread open for him, he was aching to be in you. Sometimes he didn't realize he was holding his breath until he bottomed out and gasped for air, then let out a shudder of a sigh.

At first, he was taking your pants and panties down together, but you enjoyed this primal ritual so much that he found the patience to prolong it. He'd tug your pants down first, then bring his face to where you throbbed for him. He'd gnash his teeth and gnaw at your panties, dampening the cotton as he hooked his fingers under the sides to pull them down.

His favorite pair had a bow on the front. He'd bite it and growl with a dark glance up at you, a twinkle in his eye. It made you giggle and it made you gush, but after a few seconds, you'd start to help take them off. He'd release the bow from his mouth, and the elastic waistband would snap back against you. Then he'd pin your wrists together with one hand as he used the other to tease you through the panties until he just had to yank them down and bury himself in your snug, wet heat.

Bottoming out felt like its own climax to both of you, and by then you were often half-way to the big one. His hips pushed you toward it with each punch of his cock bringing him closer, too. His eyes would go wild and he'd grit his teeth. He'd rest his open mouth against your neck or cheek, and each thrust would drag his lips toward your ear and heighten his animal sounds.

You'd writhe and moan, gasp and sigh, let out pretty little grunts and whimpers. Your hips would tilt to meet his, and your head would roll back. You'd whine his name and tug at his hair, you'd dig your nails into his back as he packed you tight, and when you came, the world disappeared. Except for the pulse of his shaft and the spread of warmth in your belly.

As the burning heat of your skin began to fade into the weather, he'd find the will to pull out. And then, he'd kiss your forehead, and pull up your panties with care, planting a kiss on the bow before buttoning your pants.

----

----

Ty for reading! ❤️❤️ And ty anon for the inspiring thot. Grrrr it was hot.

[jalicecookie]

Purple Haired Friend

You're visit the set of Squid Game 2 , to surprise your Father Ha-neul Kang. Unfortunately, you get lost while searching for him and end up near the men's toilets, completely shy and lost of orientation. Luckily for you, an Actor with black and purple hair and a big heart , is your savior. Or in short Words - Seung-hyun helps a Toddler to find her Father on the set of Squid Game 2.

⁓ A little Gift for the very talented @thanosscross. The Way you write Seung Hyun is super inspiring and made me try my very ever first Jump , into writing something, that is about the filming Set of an Series/ the Actor Career Focus Point. I can imagine that T.O.P// Seung Hyun as a very gentle soul , with a good Heart for Kids, so yeah i hope i could surprise you with this small Project <3 ⁓

Check out her Stories and her Works she wrote, it is very good and i enjoy every Post from he that shows up on my Dashboard :-)

TW: None, just a lot of Cuteness and Fluffness (at least i tried to write it so ^^)

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

"….Appa will definitely be happy to see us, it will be a great surprise! Sometimes there are a lot of people on a set, he said, so we have to be good and not cause any trouble, okay? And when we see Appa, we'll shout "surprise" really loudly, okay?" - the words of your big brother Min-Jun come into your field of vision, as does the face of the 9-year-old, while your mother parks the car in the studio's visitor parking lot and puts on the handbrake.

It was a special day and, unlike your older brother, you still can't understand the bigger picture , behind your father - Ha-Neul-Kang's - public life and the man's associated success as an actor in film productions and television series.

For you, since you have better understood the rough structure of the day, it is completely normal that your father comes home earlier or later due to the working day and the overtime during filming.

Sometimes you visit him as a family on the set of different productions and in most cases you hardly notice the hustle and bustle and the crowds of people on the studio premises.

In the past , you usually slept through the whole drama or shyly fled into your mother's arms and avoided all eye contact… it was strange to often see your father under makeup and with a different haircut, it always took a lot of convincing for your father to really convince you that this stranger was not a strange person but still your Appa.

You were always more of a shy, timid toddler and your third birthday, which you celebrated together with the family a few days ago (Ha-Neul specially blew up the balloons on the decorated dining room table himself and hoped that they would blow out the candles on the chocolate cake for you!) didn't really change much… well… apart from the fact that your big brother seemed to somehow lure you out of your shell with his euphoria about the surprise visit.

"Surprise!" you say, giggling and clapping your hands once.

"Not until we see Appa and are allowed to go to him, Silly," your big brother replied and helped you to unbuckle the seat belt of the child seat before your mother picked you up and took Min-Jun's hand to go through security together and then let one of the nice crew members lead you through the long corridors and hallways of the set.

"Mommy? Down? wanna walk like Min-Ju" - you say as you make a short stop and are near the cafeteria, where your mother and brother meet a family friend (mother and daughter) whose father also stars in the Netflix series Squid Game and they start talking.

"You stay with Mommy and Min-Ju, okay? Don't run away or walk off okay", - your mother said to you as she slowly put you on the floor. You obey…for a period of 2 minutes…the adult women talk, your big brother and the big girl talk too and…oh does that one adult look like your dad? In the suit…sometimes your dad wears a similar suit.

You tug on your mommy's sleeve once but she is so engrossed in the conversation with the other adult, that she didn't notice for the moment…and your big brother started playing rock paper scissors with the other girl and then a mini version of tag…what if the man in the suit was Appa and wouldn't hear if they all shouted surprise?

You look away from your mother and big brother, the man in the suit is talking to another adult and then walks away from the hallway…you can still hear the parting words of the suit wearer's conversation partner echoing over to you.

"…..you should go to the mask trailer - Gong-Yoo"

Gong-Yoo….wasn't that the last name that Mommy and Appa sometimes use to answer a phone call - Kang….Gong-Yoo…..that sounded kind of the same and since you couldn't see the man's face for the moment, you decided to do the most sensible thing your little 3-year-old brain was capable of - follow the suit man who could possibly be your father. Great idea right?

Maybe it was because the set of a series production was so crowded that several people were bustling around the aisles and a school class was visiting that no one noticed how clumsily and shyly you were simply following the man in the suit, like a little duckling blindly following its mother duck… until you lost your bearings because the man whose name sounded so similar to the name your parents always use to answer boring adult calls, of course didn't know or notice that someone was following him.

(How were you supposed to know that the actor playing the salesman/recruiter would just take a quick bathroom break before going to the make-up room and that he just happened to wear a similar suit to your father at premieres and press conferences/interviews was really mean of fate, wasn't it?)

In any case, you lose sight of the man because you quickly lose sight of your father and find yourself completely clueless and shy in front of the men's toilets in the studio. You look around uncertainly, but there is no sign of the suit wearer or your father anywhere…where were Mommy and Min-Ju again?

You stumble somewhat aimlessly into the area of ​​the sinks in the men's restroom in the hope of spotting the suit there, but here too there was a gaping emptiness…you became afraid and were about to cry quietly when the footsteps approached and suddenly stopped.

"Hello - are you lost, young lady?"

You flinch and look up for a moment…not far from the sinks stood an adult in a green suit and purple-black hair. His look seemed to be confused and surprised at the same time to find a young child completely alone in the bathrooms…but your overwhelm and fear made this question and the appearance of the strange man, even more threatening for you…where was your family?

You shake your head, sniff fearfully and shyly take a few steps back towards the toilet cabines.

Now the first tears are running down your cheeks and a quiet whimper escapes you.

"Mommy! Appa! Min-Ju!" - you cry quietly and of course you don't trust the strange adult one bit.

You have always been shy around strangers and just wanted the safety of your family around you.

"Did you got lost? Were is your Family? Oh no, we can look for them together?" - the voice of the man with the purple hair took on a very cautious and calming tone as you keep backing away and land backwards on your bottom in your fear of this overwhelming situation.

"You don't need to be afraid…actually…I think I'll just sit down for a litle while as, oay?" - the tone was still calming and you still watched with fear and uncertainty as the purple adult man simply sat down cross-legged on the floor a few steps away from you and gave you space…he didn't go any further towards you and with this gesture he put himself at eye level with you…which in this case was not only very sensitive, but also the right decision for your shy nature.

There was silence for a moment and your quiet crying echoed off the high ceilings of the bathroom.

"Is orange your favorite color? Look, two of my fingernails are orange too," said the man in a now shy tone…just like you feel, shy and unsure.

You briefly look down at the color of the orange jacket you are wearing.

It is your favorite jacket…and one of your favorite colors. At home you have orange rubber boots with little ducks on them.

Mommy said you can't wear those rubber boots today, because it hasn't rained.

"Orange?" - you say carefully and tap your T-shirt once and then you cast a very cautious glance at the purple adult , who is still sitting cross-legged on the floor and holding out his hand to you so that you can see that one of his fingernails is also orange.

Then the stranger held out his other hand to you, one of the fingernails was also painted orange.

"One…two…two orange" - you say, looking from the stranger's hands back to your T-shirt and lowering your gaze again.

"Do you know the other colors to? My Fingernails very colorful today aren´t they?" - the adult said kindly, somewhat in his shy tone, and the fact that he stayed where he was and made no attempt to simply pick you up or even grab your hand or otherwise pressure you, made you look up in dismay… and crawl very carefully closer to the man, at arm's length of course - to look at the other colors on his fingernails.

He was right… there were other colors besides orange. What colorful fingernails.

"That's right, it really does look like a rainbow, hm? May I ask what your name is, young lady? My name is Seung-Hyun," - the adult replied with a quiet laugh at the rainbow comparison.

It took a moment, until you could come out of your shell a little further and shyly answer the question…but the interest in the dark colors on the back of Seung-hyun's hand captured your interest.

"Me - Nali.....Ouchie on Seung hand?", was your reply.

A gentle smile creeps onto the adult's face as he answers your question.

"This one? Oh no, it's a tattoo… well, not a real one, it's just color, but shhh, don't tell, okay Nali?", he said playfully and a few moments later he makes a shhh gesture by holding a finger in front of his mouth.

You imitate him and carefully do the same.

Then your gaze slides back to the adult's hair and you tilt your head for a moment.

"Hair too, shhh - secret?" - you ask, pointing to the man's purple-black hair.

"Not really, but I know a magic trick - what do you have behind your right ear, Nali?", said Seung in surprise and his right hand went once in the direction of your left ear before you heard something jingling and looked surprised into Seung's still closed hand.

"What's behind Nali's ear? Magic trick?", you said now, a little curious.

"Hm… it sounds like… you can't find a coin? But… oh, I can't open my hand, the magic trick was probably too difficult for me… can you maybe help me?", said Seung to you in surprise and when he tried to open his fist, he couldn't do it even with all his effort… that must have been a pretty difficult magic trick!

You nod, thawing out a little more with every passing minute and Seung's calm, level-headed and slightly shy manner suits your own insecure character, he is just right when dealing with you and the fact that he can do magic is a great bonus.

"Nali help Seung… but how?" you ask and nod once.

"Okay Nali… we'll both say the magic spell now - and then you have to tap my fist once, OK?"

You nod again and after your new friend whispers the magic spell to you very quietly, you do exactly what he told you and oooooh it worked! After you carefully tapped Seung's closed fist, the adult was able to open it very slowly and one of the rings appeared (which he had previously taken off without you noticing)

"Magic! Ring! Nali helped!" - you say in surprise and clap your hands once.

"Well done Nali… would you like to hold the ring for me for a moment? I don't want to lose it… if you want to hold my hand, we could see if we can find your family?" - Seugn suggested and you very slowly and carefully take the ring and nod slowly.

Your haired purple friend was nice to you and you slowly stand up, bridge the last few steps and very carefully reach for the hand - or rather the little and ring finger of Seugn's right hand, while your free hand holds the ring proudly and importantly.

Seugn slowly stands up too and nods at you in praise before you leave the sanitary facilities of the men's toilet together.

In the hallway, Seugn makes sure that you don't get lost, but you continue to hold onto his little finger and ring finger, as you walk on the adult's right side and repeatedly make cautious eye contact with him.

He asks you, among other things, if you know where you last saw your family, if you know the names of your mommy and your appa and how old you are.

You know the answer to some of the questions, but you just shake your head to the others and when a group of crew members pass you, you press yourself closer to the man's leg for protection.

"Oh, thank God! Nali!" - your father's voice echoes across the hallway and both Seugn and your steps stop - you don't let go of your new purple-haired friend and look in the direction from which your father's voice echoes to you.

A short exchange of words followed between Seugn and Ha-Neul before your mother and big brother joined the group and expressed their relief at finding you.

You, still holding Seugn's hand, cast a long, critical look at your Appa… before you burst into a childish giggle and utter the following unfiltered words.

"Appa long hair! No purple ! Appa look funny!"

Your parents told you again , that it wasn't okay to just run away like that (they worried a lot) and that they were very grateful to , Seugn for finding you and bringing you back.

And yet you were a little sad, when you had to say goodbye to your new purple-haired friend - because he had to shoot a new scene with the other actors very soon.

Seugn forgot to take the ring back, though.

By pure Coincidence.

Of course.

THE END

[baby-greatness]

warnings: MDNI fictional dirty book, implications of arousal, teensy bit of implied sexism (you're not allowed to know certain things because it's "improper of a lady")

snippet from princess!reader x royal guard!simon drabble that I write sometimes instead of sleeping.

You, my dear, had been in such a lovely mood all morning—sneaking out the way you usually would to go read beneath the big willow on the property. Obviously, it would only be about a half hour (shit, maybe less) before Simon found you and dragged you back inside your gilded cage where father wanted you to be, but you would enjoy your privacy and the fresh air until then.

Recently you'd gotten some books imported from France, courtesy of your own wit and cunning which you'd thanked your mother for so graciously passing onto you.

The only part of the title you cared for was the word Sodom.

The book was written by someone you'd already forgotten the name of and it was the most shocking piece of literature you'd ever read in your little twenty something or so years of existence. Could hardly put the damn thing down, it was so full of incredibly explicit, filthy themes that no one would ever dare teach you lest your father have them bleed till dry.

Oh how heat bloomed in your tummy when you read such words—how it would make soft thighs press together and made a wicked grin bloom across such plush lips any time you would partake in its pages.

The princess was doing something she wasn't meant to and of course such knowledge made it one of her favorite pastimes.

"Enjoyin' th'read, princess?" His brown eyes run over your form tucked into the roots of that tree and this man has the gaul to look amused! It's hardly a question, you know, more of an announcement of his presence.

'You tried to hide from me, but I caught you.' His eyes would say, and you'd have to follow him back inside, tail betwixt your legs before he got to scolding you for nearly getting him dismissed.

He's quiet on his feet, one of the things you both love and hate about him. Could easily sneak you back where you are meant to be—but that meant he could surprise you too. Like just now, where you felt your heart stop beating for a fraction of a moment from the terror that you might've been caught by someone who it would actually matter to.

But Simon was naughty. You knew that because he'd help you hide things from your father, things like night walks in the gardens and reading if you can believe it.

He'd let you do as you pleased when you pleased to do so, as long as there were no prying eyes to witness how soft handed could be with you.

Simon's the one that taught you how best to do things you weren't meant to do, which kept father off your case for the most part. This is how you knew he was naughty. About as naughty as you. So he would have to know these things that he wasn't meant to. Wouldn't he?

"Yes, Simon, I am.. what's this word here mean?"

He'd lean forward and find the word you were trying to show him, and his eyes would widen before he wrangled his expression back into that quiet amusement.

"Ol'right, back inside with you."

[defencelessarcher]

The off the record story

Summary: A cheating ex, a golden Amex, and tequila-fueled revenge—what could go wrong? Meeting him wasn’t part of the plan, but sometimes the best nights start with chaos and end with unexpected sparks.

Pairing: mgg x actress!reader

Tw: alcohol consumption, cheating, kinda emotional manipulation?, revenge, mention of being drunk idk what else lol

wc: 1.8k!

A/N: this is my first post and im so anxious omg hopefully you will like it!

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

Matthew and you actually knew each other way before you started being coworkers in Criminal Minds. If somebody asked you in an interview you would say it was on the set of “The beauty inside”, where you had so much fun together running across the museum for the shots.

The reality, though, was better. 

You had actually met on a night that started as personal revenge. The plan was to wear your best outfit, steal your boyfriend's credit card and max it out in every expensive bar you could find in New york. Why? you had found out he was cheating you with a model. Were you going to cry yourself to sleep? probably later, because it did hurt. But for now? Fuck him and his stupid songs, they were too generic anyway and you were a rising star among movie directors. 

It was in the third bar that you and Matthew crossed paths, introduced through a friend who knew him from college. You already had two shots in your system by then, the awkwardness and ability to feel cringe burned away by tequila and adrenaline.

“Hey guys! This is my friend Matthew! we were together in college!” Your friend’s voice was too cheerful, slurring slightly as she swayed on her heels. Matthew gave a small wave, his hand awkwardly brushing through his messy hair, looking every bit the guy who didn’t belong in a place like this.

You barely registered his name at first, your head still buzzing with tequila and the bitter satisfaction of using Austin’s credit card. But when you glanced up from the dance floor and noticed there were more people in the group and that your feet were starting to hurt, time to get more booze. 

Walking to the table, you called out to everyone while looking for the Golden Amex. “Okay, everyone, I am not feeling drunk enough, so to the bar we go!” You held up the card between your middle and index finger, grinning as the table erupted in cheers and a few drumrolls pounded on the wood. You led the charge, your friends stumbling after you in a glorious, tipsy parade.

“Hi Joe! We need to max this baby out, so let’s start with…” You glanced back at your friends for inspiration, counting them off and ticked off a list of drinks for the group, each one more elaborate than the last, adding, “And a Espresso Martini for me. For the drama.”

Joe gave you an amused look, already knowing exactly what you meant, he was the one who’d caught your boyfriend in the act, after all. He wasn’t just your bartender tonight; he was part of the crew that had helped you plot your revenge,"Anything else?" he asked, still shaking a cocktail.

You glanced at the guy your friend had just introduced as Matthew. He stood slightly apart from the group, looking a little too put-together for the chaos around him. “And what about you?”

Matthew shook his head awkwardly, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Uh, I’m fine, thanks.”

You couldn’t help but notice his messy chocolate curls along with his hazel eyes and the way his shirt fit, casual but not careless. “Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning a little closer. “I love spending money when I’m drunk, so the more expensive your order is, the more I’ll like you.” You flashed him a tipsy smirk, your eyes half-lidded and daring.

Matthew gave a soft laugh but shook his head again. “I’m good, really.”

You turned to the group, just in case. “Anyone else want something exotic or complicated, like a Negroni or a frozen margarita? I’m on a roll here.” You gave Matthew a playful look, fully expecting him to refuse again.

Matthew gave a soft laugh but shook his head again. “I’m good, really.”

Rolling your eyes dramatically, you turned back to the bartender. “And a tequila shot, please. If he won’t drink it, I will.” You kissed the card and handed it over.

When you turned back, Matthew had moved closer, leaning slightly against the bar. “You don’t look like your name is Austin,” he said, his tone light but curious.

You chuckled at the way he said it, drawing out the name as if testing it. “Well, it’s not.” You extended your hand, introducing yourself with a grin. He took it, his grip warm but hesitant, and maybe your hand lingered a second longer than it should have. Or maybe it was just the alcohol.

“It’s my boyfriend’s... soon-to-be ex’s name,” you explained, motioning toward the card now sitting on the bar.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight: you’re celebrating by using his card to buy drinks for a crowd of people?”

“Exactly,” you said with a grin, lifting your espresso martini as the bartender placed it in front of you. “It’s what he deserves. A little payback for cheating with some model.”

As an actress and newly public figure, you didn't want too much pictures of yourself getting wasted at a bar at the moment, the public would understand it once the news of your unloyal boyfriends gets out, but for now nobody except your friends knew, not even Austin knew that you knew, but alcohol made everything seem so stupid and funny and who cares right? The fact that he had cheated did hurt you, not like a full break heart what-did-i-do-wrong? type of thing, you considered that you both were a good couple and you both got introduced to each other by your agents saying it would be good to be seen together as a rising singer and rising actress. And it was him the one who insisted on being fully exclusive and very public, after the rumors about you and your costar and love interest in the show you were in, so why take the effort to just screw up anyway?.

Matthew raised his eyebrows, clearly amused, though he was trying to hide it. "So, let me get this straight—you're celebrating by maxing out your boyfriend's card before dumping him?"

You grinned, leaning slightly closer. "Exactly. Call it... a down payment on my emotional damages. And trust me, Matthew," you drawled, savoring his name like the martini you were drinking, "I deserve every penny."

As you sipped your drink, you studied him more closely. His curls were slightly messy, his hazel eyes warm but cautious. There was something familiar about him. “Wait a second,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “I know I’ve seen you before.”

He gave a small shrug. “Maybe. I had a small role in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou recently.”

Your eyes lit up. “The one with the little curls! I knew it! I’m a huge Wes Anderson fan.”

He chuckled. “Good taste.”

“And you? Netflix, right?” he asked.

“HBO,” you corrected, taking another sip. “City Lights.” you said casually, trying not to make it a big deal. “It’s still pretty new, but people seem to like it so far.”

You were actually really proud of yourself for being in that show, the numbers were going up and your dream was going from a thin line to a more consistent future where your parents expectations did not matter. 

He nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “I think I’ve heard of it. Sounds like it’s picking up steam.”

You grinned, tapping your glass against the bar. “Well, let’s hope so. Otherwise, I’ll just have to keep crashing bars with stolen credit cards for fun.”

Matthew laughed, shaking his head. “I have a feeling you won’t need to do that for long.”

“And what about you? will i see you in the big screen any time soon?” you asked

He chuckles and shakes his head “Hardly.. i've been auditioning for this show.. they called me for a third time this morning and said again that im perfect just totally wrong for the part” he says 

You huff with humor as Joe slid the drinks across the bar, and you pushed the tequila shot towards him. "Here. Your reward for getting casted."

"I told you, I don't really drink plus i haven't got the part," he protested, 

"Matthew," you said dramatically, as if it was the most serious thing in the world, "a face like that is the type that gets casted and if you don’t take this shot, I’m going to have to drink it, and I’ll probably embarrass myself. Do you want that on your conscience?"

He laughed, genuinely this time, and finally picked up the shot glass. "Fine. But only because I don't want to be responsible for whatever happens next."

You clinked your glass against his. "Good choice."

As you both downed your drinks, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you, curious and maybe even intrigued.

Before you could reply, your blurry vision caught sight of Austin walking into the bar.

Your smile froze for half a second. Then, with the skill of an actress, you stood up, finishing your martini in one last sip before looking at Matthew. You grabbed his arm with a grin. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew,” you said. “But if the tabloids ask, I paid for this martini myself.”

His laugh followed you as you walked away, maybe letting your arm linger a little, slipping into the role of the charming, oblivious girlfriend for Austin’s benefit.

The second part of your plan was in motion now. Getting Austin wasted wouldn’t be difficult, he was a lightweight, after all, and when he eventually found out about the card, you'd just say it was probably someone else who stole it and used it. By the time the dust settled, you’d be long gone. You were sure of it.

You flashed your best smile, scrunching your nose at him playfully, something you knew would make him think you were still into him. The truth? You couldn’t stand him anymore. But the smile felt easy enough. It wasn’t like you had to try to be nice to him anymore. You were almost done with him, just had to play it out a little longer.

But as you laughed and played your part, you felt the weight of Matthew’s gaze on you. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe some chocolate curls or maybe it was something else, but for a moment, Austin didn’t seem all that important anymore.

The night ended with Joe calling you to say the card had reached its limit, you secretly high five all your friends, including Matthew, as you signed the receipt, doing a quick math for Joe’s collaboration, leaving a very good tip.

So yeah, if anyone asks, you and Matthew met on set. Not in a bar, not with tequila and revenge. Definitely not while maxing out Austin’s credit card. Just a normal, boring introduction, nothing worth writing about.

[richeeduvie]

✭ UNDOING ✭

PART ONE? // The Sickness That is a Daughter

AN ARCANE FIC: JINX AND SILCO (featuring a Sevika who's actually soft for a hot minute??)

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WORD COUNT: 6.8K

Powder gets very sick, but not sick enough to believe she can't help with every little thing. In his frustrated attempts to convince his ward otherwise, he scares her. Sometimes, the idea that Silco only wants Zaun's respect feels like a fantasy, a lie so tasteful that he almost forgets he likes to be feared.

But not in that moment. Never with her.

(Based on the headcanon that Silco only started to wear makeup to not scare Jinx when she was little Powder. Sorry blog regulars had to pop this one out...probably not gonna write more Arcane stuff but I HAD this idea and I needed to GET IT OUT I'M SORRY LALO AND ROMAN LOVERS…tell me what y’all think tho)

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Silco never put much thought into how little Powder would feel about his face. At this point in life, people either ignore it or fear him because of it. Sometimes it's a neutral, sometimes an advantage. He makes do with what Vander gave him. The girl only questioned it once, a couple days after he took her in all those months ago. It'll be...

A year and some already. And how he's weakened so readily. There is no guilt in the way Silco came to accept his feelings for her. His child that has so much fire, sometimes he's so desperate to nurture it, but other times, he just wants to watch it burn. It's alright. He'll never go anywhere.

"...What's with the eye?"

He took it as a moment to be cheeky. It wasn't his first day on earth, he remembers what children become comfortable with. It was just...he didn't know why it came easy, the desire to see her, Powder Blue, almost-daughter of brother betrayal, comfortable with him. But it's how he ended up where he is now. An almost father.

He's not going to deny it for the sake of ego. Like his deepening care for Powder, it's not beneficial for him.

If you are to not consider the blooming of his flamed heart and angry, coiling bones beneficial.

"I fell on my cigar."

Silco played it seriously. Powder stared before she giggled. Her knobby arms splayed out on the table as she rested her chin there.

"Come on, I'm not stupid. No WAY you fell on your cigar. Your eye would stink like shit!"

His lips flattened into the first smile he ever gave her.

"Language."

Silco was already natural in his discipline (although with every downward tilt of Powder's head, he finds every consequence for her actions slipping away), even when the corners of himself flashed Vander over him - through the water, holding him down and down and down. And he didn't feel the need to tell Powder the truth about what happened to him, to hurt Vander's blue-haired...scrawny extension. Looking at her toothy smile meant not even a thought of hurting her like that.

Is this what being a parent is? Having someone you never want hurt in a world of fatal things? Why would he do this to himself? Why doesn't he end up claiming it's so he can hone in on her growing, literally explosive talents? Why is it so obvious that it's growing into a braided bond that's noosed around his neck. He'll accept the hanging.

But now...now she's hurt. Sick, at least. In this moment, with the way he's feeling watching Powder tiny in the bed, sweating -- confused, he almost regrets taking her in at all.

How could he choose to feel like he's going to rot and burn all at once at the first, first sight of her in pain? It feels like his own sickness. Who'd choose to feel like death with your body still upright?

Fathers. Even if Silco doesn't think the word yet.

"Powder, where does it hurt the most?"

Silco doesn't blink as Powder turns her body on her side, somehow curled and stretched all at once. Her little, round and bug-eyed - a face he's become familiar with, twists. The familiarity makes a difference with how he wants this over now. He thinks, at least.

"Everywhere."

"Everywhere. All alright. I suppose we'll work with that. When did you start feeling like this, how long was it before you came into my room and told me you weren't feeling well?"

Powder blinks hard, but up at the ceiling instead of Silco. "I was...my throat was sore in the morning, I thought it was gonna go away. It always used to go away when they could find things to make soup. But then I started to get sweaty...even though its cold. Why is it cold? I wanna pull my hair out."

"Your hair is fine where it is. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Why did you wait until you were at your absolute worst to crawl into my bed and make me feel like death is coming onto me instead?

Silco noticed that this morning, or yesterday's morning, the way there was no natural cheekiness or child-like intensity, a searing fire that is Powder. What a terrible thing that is. The years will come to pass and the man wonders if she can twist all the things that she is, all the things that will happen to her into something of normalcy. He doesn't think that ideal, they're - she, they're fine as is.

"I told you, I thought it was gonna go bye-bye, like how everything goes away."

Powder sniffles. Silco does not move for a dragging moment, just until he reaches out his thin, cold palm to press to her forehead.

She's burning from the inside.

"Not everything, little girl."

Powder mms. Is it a whine of pain, or a whine of annoyance at the idea she's being corrected? Silco wouldn't know at this point. Maybe one day, when the whole of her grows into something fiery, invasive, jerking, something so insanely nerved, and something he'll always want to take care of to the point where Sevika will see it pointless to mention how much of a problem the girl is.

Silco sighs, eyes closed, ears pierced at the sound of Powder's pained whimpers.

"We'll find you a doctor."

"...A what?"

Silco opens his eyes, head tilting. What? "A doctor, Powder. Because you cannot go five minutes without throwing up, and I'm afraid you'll sweat off a pound you can't afford to lose."

"I don't know what that is. I don't want one."

That's when the man runs his thumb over the sweat of her forehead, wading in the thought that...this - is this really the world the children of Zaun grow up in? He knows it's a hell he's trying to maintain, trying to change for the better, for all of them - so he very much knows that its people aren't going to have the best access to easy, decent health, but he wouldn't have thought it so far that Powder and others wouldn't know what a doctor is.

Unfortunately, he hopes it's her sickly delirium, making her believe she doesn't know what a doctor is. But if not, this is why he's doing what he does, so Zaun can thrive.

Powder coughs. It's nearly manic, all in her throat. Silco kisses her forehead. He doesn't know what else to do because he's not a doctor and might as well have taken his injector and placed it over his heart with the way he's feeling at the sight of her right now.

"We'll make you soup."

It'll be nothing, he won't put Powder in a life where she has to hope that her guardians are able to find things to heal her. That's not a life this wild thing deserves.

Powder coughs again, it's heavy.

"And you'll see a doctor. Or, a doctor will see you. They can only make you feel better. Unless you try to bite them like you did Sevika when she came to check on you, then they'll put you down."

A false meanness that can only bring her smile, or at the very least, a whine without pain.

Powder jolts upright.

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???"

Silco shushes, it feels like a smile on his tongue.

"I'm fooling you, little girl. But I'm not going to beg you to behave nicely once they come."

"I'll pull their hair out if I can't pull out mine. And don't ever lie again."

Powder's not teasing, it's an order for Silco. And he understands, being lied to is the worst feeling - next to what his heart wears now.

He wouldn't underestimate the child as if she couldn't. Or wouldn't.

"Alright, I'll remind them and myself to be on our best behavior."

Powder, limbs mangled and sickly face hardened, simply ploofs right back into the bed, coughing again. She nuzzles her head into Silco's pillows. It's only him observing how she's coating his bed with her sickness. He's not angry or frustrated, he accepts it like he accepts the noose.

"I'm sleeping here tonight."

Silco can't place the exact moment when his ward stopped asking for things and started to take them. He's just aware he's never put much effort into stopping her.

"Am I allowed to say no?"

"No."

He already knew that. Powder didn't ask to sleep in his bed when she crawled into it a few hours ago, he had to realize there was a tiny body tossing and turning in his bed at the sound of terrible coughs and snotty sniffles. Silco wasn't dreaming, so it wasn't as if she was a bother anyway, but since she's grow into his home and life, Powder has found the habit of sleeping at his side when she feels like it.

It crosses a boundary he didn't know was there, but with her nightmares, the bug-eyed little face that walks in against the Zaun's night light...Silco can't deny her.

"You already know how to wear an aura of impose, hm?"

"Of course I do. You should know that already, silly. Don't be silly."

Powder's voice goes high, still child-like in its scratchiness. Silco wears a genuine smile that, although small, is one he can't afford.

"I'll be whatever I want to be and you'll be just fine by tomorrow, or the next day."

If Janna wants peace in this world, Powder will be healthy very soon. Silco will come to hurt the things in front of him, against logic, against morals if it means he can release the pit of what he feels looking at his sick child. But he's not in the wrong.

That's only if she doesn't get better. And she will.

"Don't be silly, silly, silly-"

Powder hacks, Silco smile drops. The way she's spilling her words, there's nothing intentional about it. There isn't the intensity that grows with her in weight and height, it's just...sickness. Sickness growing with every droplet of sweat and clammy glance at him.

"Silly. I'm not silly either-"

"One of our people has been feeding our information to enforcers."

He would've known Sevika was coming down the hall a mile away if it were any other night. He only turns his head, hand resting on Powder's ankle.

"What?"

"Everything went as planned...except for the fact there were about two dozens of those fuckers swarming where the trade was supposed to take place. Your paying customer was trapped, it was hell trying to get to him and fuck, I think he was holding his breath the entire time."

Silco looks to the wall. He feels a tiny but harsh squeeze to his hand on his knee. Sevika stands straight, hand ready to point and fist in her incoming ramble.

"You said Piltover's goons would be one less thing to deal with in terms of trading and building all of this now that we have Marcus's dick choked. I believe it, but there is no possible way that what I had to deal with today was a result of the topside's peachy genius investigation techniques. They had to have gotten a tip, I don't think Marcus has the balls to go against you for the sake of his morals yet."

Silco doesn't make a movement, something natural in an attempt to not reveal what he's thinking.

But he squeezes the tiny, clammy hand over his.

"You sound right. So be right. You'll find out who it is and bring them to me, and you'll get your due for today."

There is a sudden boiling of rage at the idea someone is betraying him. Again, only this time, it'll be so much easier to bring whoever the rat is to justice. So, he won't put so much of his feeling, said rat doesn't deserve his anger. He won't rage in front of Powder.

"We need your...recognizable personality. Some locals took advantage of the situation and stole twenty cases of Shimmer."

"Are you-" Silco stifles his own words. Still, the ability to control his anger in situations like this for Powder hasn't come naturally just yet. "Twenty? The enforcers were the problem. The rat is the problem, but also the fact you can't stop addict gutter trash from thieving our supply?"

"Not gutter trash, Silco. A mid-level gang, you could almost call them an organization."

"Who are you calling gutter trash-"

"Powder, rest."

Sevika shrugs harshly, she might as well act like a child herself and roll her eyes.

"...I'm not calling them gutter trash, that's the whole damn point, kid-"

"She's sick, Sevika."

"Yeah, no shit. She's sicker than before. Her immune system has made her even more of a problem for you, who knew-"

Silco stands. His movement is a as quick as an impulse and his fist is as tight as the way Powder held him the day he found her.

"Sevika, do you forget yourself? When did it become so easy for you to allow yourself excuses. An organization? Oh my. What are we to do but...oh, b-but shiver and crawl into our favorite hiding spaces?" He rolls his shoulders. "Will you continue to lessen your failures by blowing up the egos of our competitors? Or will you do your job and burn them in flame and duty to get back what our networking customers have paid us?"

Sevika stares. Her silence means Silco's harsh, teething words were successful. Productive. As the way of a boss. Her hand drops.

"That's why I need you. You don't think bloodshed was my first thought? It's easy, it gets the job done, but yeah...they're an organization. We get the Shimmer back with blood on our hands and we have the issue of their surviving crew coming after us."

The woman, brown-skinned and harsh-eyed, takes a step or two closer. Silco does not miss the way her sights flicker behind him at Powder's coughing.

No, not coughing.

Rasping. Rattling.

Silco turns to Powder in the bed, sitting back down as quickly as he stood up. His palm engulfs the skin of her cheek.

"Powder, breathe. Cough and breathe. What is wrong?"

"...My throat," The little blue one blinks hard, as if her vision isn't quite there when she doesn't. "My lungs are being silly."

She giggles herself into more rasping. Silco's mouth parts, worry flared at the nose and in the way his usually slicked-back hair falls over. Of course, he doesn't have it gelled in bed. Powder likes to pull on it sometimes when she has sleepy questions concerning dreams or memories. Things that frustrate him in the night, things that are answered with "Why don't you go to bed and figure it out yourself?"

But Silco wants to strangle the feeling at the pit of his chest, the feeling -- the need to make sure she doesn't fall asleep. Why would he not want to her to rest when she's like this?

That's only if something this sickly would make sure she doesn't wake up again, and the thought eats away at me, as if she isn't just a girl I took in only a year ago, my life would go back to what it was before.

"Powder. How about you look at me, hm? What's wrong? Will you tell Silco what's wrong? Powder."

No. No, it wouldn't.

"...We don't have the image or the name right now. You know that, you know we can't just kill whoever we want and expect Zaun to fear to the point of submission. We need time for that. We need to play the waiting game. You go into their spot, make a deal of long-term trading for the twenty cases. They'll see that's a better investment than twenty cases now. We play the submissive for now, and then...we burn them. We burn them when your name grows with whatever empire you fantasize about."

Whatever Sevika's saying, suggesting - Silco knows she's right. It's why she's his number one in his mission, his dream for Zaun. But her plan isn't colored right in his head, it's washed out by the little one. He feels no guilt or frustration over it.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Fine. But not tonight."

He can feel Sevika's eyes widen and body shrug up in her own frustration.

"Not tonight? They could scab all the supply by tomorrow!"

"It doesn't matter how many cases we get back, does it?" It's venom on the man's tongue. He won't regret it later. "We'll be selling it back to them in your plan of long-term tradings and dealings. So yes. Not tonight. Sniff out the rat and go. Before I change my mind just to punish your failings of today."

Silco press the back of his palm to Powder's cheek and forehead. If she was a fire just ten minutes ago, there's a hell inside her now.

She whimpers. He shushes.

"When I tell you she's becoming a problem, half of the time, I don't mean that as an insult to her. And you know that."

Silco does, but he won't admit it to the one-armed woman who does mean it as an insult to Powder the other half of the time.

"If her fever's so high to the point where she can't understand what's being said around her, then we should've gotten a doctor hours ago. But you can let her rest. She's not going to die within the three hours you're gone-"

"Sevika. Do not assume what I'm thinking. It isn't smart. Nor needed."

"I can help."

Somehow - and suddenly, Powder's sitting up. She almost falls over, she would've if Silco didn't hold her by the shoulders. He squeezes them, head coming lower.

She can barely hold her own head up, let alone her whole body.

"We can all go. We don't have to wait for a millionnnn years, Sevika. That's stupid. And I do know what's being talked around me. I know because I can tell you that we can just make em' go.....boom."

He didn't think he'd have to deal with Powder's need to be needed tonight. The vomit, the rotting fear, and the coil of seeing her sick, something going wrong with the deal? Yes, he could handle and assume all those things would be things to deal with, but the little girl's so sick that Silco didn't possibly think she'd manage to bring up her extreme desire to be useful, to have anything to do if it means her guardian trusts her.

He doesn't know when he noticed Powder's need to be needed, but it's trickled into the business end of his life. Always the little girl asking for him to bring her bombs along just in case they're needed, and she's always hoping things get dire enough that they will be.

Maybe his feelings will change later on, but there's nothing much he feels comfortable with having her do. To pick her satisfaction over her safety is something Silco has done on more one occasion, but not tonight.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Powder, you have to rest for when the doctor comes. And what has happened tonight...one day,"

It feels natural, need to lower his head more and press his forehead against hers. Blue against black.

"One day, you'll set every fire that is needed. But not tonight. That doesn't mean your work is put to waste...but you need to rest."

"...No. I can go. I can bring the bombs I showed you, I can-"

"No. You can't. I think you're aware of that, child-"

Even though she's a sickly sixty-pounder, Silco finds it difficult to hold her down by the shoulders when she fights against him.

"No! I can help, I promise! Do you think I'm gonna-I'm gonna ruin everything?!"

"No, Powder. I don't doubt that you can be of use, but you're sick, and we're not going tonight anyhow."

His convincing feels genuine, it feels like a second talent, but Powder doesn't take. She squirms - Silco's nearly thankful Sevika doesn't take this moment to mutter or sigh, his frustration boils with every weak fist his child throws at him.

"You're lying! You think I'm gonna ruin everything!"

"I never said that, who's the liar now? Is it still me? You-"

He exhales low when trying to put her down into the bed. "You need rest. You know everything hurts, you know you can barely get out of my bed. You're not stupid, Powder, so stop pretending you are."

"You're only not going tonight because of me! I'm already ruining it! I don't want to! I promise I don't! I can stop being sick-"

She's right about why Silco has no thought of leaving tonight. Sevika might agree with the child for the first time since she's taken home here.

"Powder. Enough."

Her head jolts suddenly, off to side...as if something on the bed has interrupted her breaking tantrum. It happens sometimes, she'll be talking to him, it's a conversation that's not turning to be an enjoyable one, and then...she'll be looking past him, or behind herself - like someone's shouting her name, as if she can see ghosts.

Who doesn't? But if Silco were to turn back to see whatever Powder's looking at, he always thinks he'll see a monster of hell himself. That's how real Powder's tension comes to when she's like this.

"Shut up! Shut up! I know I am! I'm trying not to! That's why I want to go! Aren't you listening to me?!"

She breaks free from Silco's grasp, pushing her body back into the headboard. It sounds harsh. All so harsh and pained for a girl who shouldn't even be sitting upright.

What she's never done when she's like this is talk. Silco doesn't think she's screaming at him.

"Go away! Get away from us!"

This girl is so much more than he could imagine. It's the worst thing. The best thing. He'll see. It doesn't matter anyhow.

But here, it's the worst. It's Powder terrified and rageful at whatever's colored the room, whatever she can only see. He can admit it. He doesn't have the faintest idea of what to do. But he needs to see her stop screaming, stop acting like she's in pain.

His heart can't handle it.

"You know what? I'll call a doctor."

Sevika's off in quick, heavy footsteps. Silco runs his hand through his hair, standing up and over Powder.

"Powder. That's enough. Whatever you're hearing, ignore it. You need rest, it's no use..." He couldn't know now. He'll have to learn, and still, he won't regret this. This girl, even if her insecurities kill him with a heartbreak he would have never had in his lifetime. "Arguing with them. It's pointless."

"Just take me with you! Please." Powder puts her hand over hear ears. "Or at least my bombs? Please!"

"No. I told you. I'm not going. That is final. And do not make this about you and your false ideas of destruction. I choose to stay. You are my responsibility. That is not a fault. It is a fact. I get to decide what I prioritize. Not Sevika. Not you. Do you understand?"

Tears fall from her grey bug eyes. It's only his frustration that allows Silco to not turn into a pond at the sight. He stands tall.

The order gets the girl to look at him, it feels like a stand-off. Not just between him and her.

And she's lost when she flinches, eyes squeezing shut with all the frustration her little body can hold.

"SHUT UP! THEY'RE SAYING YOU'RE LYING! THAT YOU'RE A LIA-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Silco, in the piercing silence, doesn't realize how close he's gotten to Powder's face in his shout. Their noses nearly touch.

Her eyes are open, only to flinch again when she stare back into his. It's not the air she's yelled into. It's him, it's all him.

He's sure of it when Powder attempts to look him in the eyes - the eye again, only to whimper and turn away, like something horrible will happen if she's to stare at it for too long.

It's a fatal whimper, a fatal avoidance of him and the eye, the monstrosity he's come to embrace at his iris, at his soul...it's fatal. It kills whatever strength he had to distance himself from her.

It's fatal to his strength in general. He's hurt. Janna forbid, Janna who hates his soul so, he's hurt at her fear.

"Powder. Look at me."

There was a point after Vander's betrayal, after his recovery that Silco couldn't dare to look at a mirror. He despised what his brother in arms turned his face into, but no...in a way, he can thank the false friend for what he did. The breaking and poisoning of his eye only revealed what Silco was underneath.

A body to be imposing. Feared. Respected. All for the man who wanted to see Zaun freed from Piltover. But for the first time since, Silco can't handle the thought of being seen a monster.

Not with his little one.

It's grating, the growing panic at the way she won't look at him.

"Will you look at the man who wants to give you everything?"

It's the first time he's admitted it by word and not just by thought. He gets down on one knee, inhaling sharp when Powder flinches under his hand touching her shoulder.

She lies flat on the bed, turning over. They sit in the heavy silence for a bit. Silco, smooth in word as he is, can't do much but curse his panic and hurt.

"I want to give you everything. Will you let me, Powder? Will you let the old man give you everything you want?"

She wants to be needed. Trusted. He'll find a way, not knowing that he's never had the same desire - except with her.

"...A doc's coming. One of the...medicinal kind, if you understand what I'm saying."

Silco closes his eyes when he hears the rasping grow from Powder again.

"Did you hear Sevika? Someone's coming to make sure you feel better. You'll feel better, and you'll stop scaring me so, hm? We'll stop scaring each other."

He sighs when the only response is more rasping, his forehead falls against her back. Her shirt is cold with sweat.

The three of them fail to move until Silco half-heartedly decides it's time to fall away from the girl after a waiting minute or so, give her some time alone before the doctor comes. But it's possible she won't be alone, he doesn't know how to fix that. Except to be the real thing in the room with her.

"Those types of healers, they're vials are expensive."

Silco stands and turns to Sevika, already at the doorway with his arms very, very slightly bend at his sides. "That concerns me how?"

"Kids get sick. It's not the end of the world, she might be better by tomorrow if you knock her out right now."

Silco will not accept the word might when it comes to Powder. Never.

"You can go, if you want."

He puts his hands behind his back. Sevika's brow furrows.

"What?"

"You don't need me, only my word. If you want to be fun with it, play it as if you're going behind my back. I'm sure growing drug empires that happen to be made of gutter trash don't appreciate loyalty as much as I do."

Silco leaves her there, no care the woman's in his personal chambers. He needs to be sure the girl will never come to fear him again, because what happened tonight can never happen again.

There's not enough people in his path to bury the rage in if it does.

For now, it's a wall when he turns the corner. He can't know Sevika keeps herself watching Powder's rattling body curled on his bed.

She sighs, walking over. She could know how the tiny, blue-haired soul of sickness and pale-born tragedy blinks in confusion. She knows the weight creaking on the bed isn't Silco's.

"I know what it's like to be a daughter, kid. Most women do. Sometimes...sometimes daughters are problems. You can't beat it. And it doesn't mean anything to the people who love you most of the time. You'll see." Sevika leans forward, elbows on her knees. "What I'll have to deal with that man in the years to come if he doesn't make the right decision of booting you out of our lives is what you'll see so clearly. You'll be so fucking happy. Peached. Watch."

Sevika looks down. Because fathers never make the right decision. They never care about the problem that is a child that latches onto you and pulls down into the water until your lungs drown. They don't even think to regret it when it becomes their end.

It'd be beautiful if it wasn't so stupid.

"I hope when you get better, you make it so you're less of a problem for me. Hopefully, all this sickness is making you feel for a more grateful approach to what you have."

Sevika gets up, bed creaking under her again.

"You better not tell Silco I sat on his bed."

She leaves in silence, both in lack of word and thought. Powder curls.

"I will."

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Silco sits in his chair, holding up the compact. He can't remember the last time he cared to use this. He stares into the orange flame of his eye, blinking at the mirror.

There's no embarrassment when powdering on the foundation. He simply covers the rot of his eyelid and cheek. If this is what it takes for Powder to not be afraid of him, then so be it. It doesn't even matter if it was only because the situation was a cocktail of anger and already well-born fear. He won't take the chance.

Silco can't waste his time remembering when he'd be so strong to have never cared in the first place. He can't trust little Powder to stay strong at the sight of his scar, but he can let her know he is to be trusted. Always.

He patters it along the skin until it almost looks like...the face of an approachable man. Huh.

"Ta-da."

There's no tone but a lack there of in his voice. He stands up, taking his injector out of his pocket and into the hall.

The doctor, the healer said Powder was infected with a quick-acting virus, nothing too dangerous as long as the needed medicine is regularly given over the course of a few days. Silco didn't take it with smiles and praise. No, not when the little one was out of it for the entire check-up. He trusted the doctor to be right, but it didn't change the fact that seeing her so ill meant a loss of logic on his head and heart.

Silco, on his way to his room, stops at the doorway of Powder's. It's a moment that sits with him.

He opens the door, looking at the colored, messy space that is hers. It's decorated with drawings (the walls and papers all over the floor). There's no chance Vander ever thought to teach her to make a bed. Silco's not sure he could get her to learn now.

But the bombs strewn about the floor are what truly belongs to the girl's mind. With every passing day and chance he takes on her, Silco can see the fire of her brain, what destruction she's able to take on with every creation.

"You, you, you, little girl."

It's a prize. Her mind is prize. There is even no even when it comes to Powder and her mind, there is not fault he can accept with a "despite". No, it's just her that he'll watch grow into something bigger than what he could know now.

He picks up one of her bombs, studies it in the light of Zaun. The room's getting cramped, he'll have to find her a space for her toys.

The one he's picked up is pink, butterflies and monkeys doodled all over what could kill an entire building of people with a pull of its string. What's under his shoe is a drawing.

Of him. Or he thinks. It's obvious her true talent lies in her explosives. But it's a man suited in red and black, one eye bright with orange and hair pushed back.

Silco does not smile, he just picks the drawing up. He folds it into his pocket. He leaves Powder's room, her bomb in one hand and the injector in the other.

"Janna! Silco, sorry."

Sevika's always in a hurry, she's nearly slammed into him on his way out into the hall.

"Gonna get rid of the kid with her own stuff? I never mentioned to be that cruel-"

"I tell you. Do not forget yourself." The woman stills, licking her lips. It's defeat on her face. "You are going?"

"Yeah. I'm going. And I thought about your jab. It works. If I pretend this is me going behind your back, they might feel inclined to not pull this shit again when their dealings gotta be dealt under your nose."

Silco smirks, although half of his face can't give into his knowing amusement. "That is a benefit. Yes. But there's been a change of plans." He hands Sevika the bomb. "You'll play for a moment or two, let them think they're on top. Everyone deserves something like that before they're blown into mist."

Sevika's head jolts in a tilt.

"Wait. No. That's not what we agreed. That goes against everything about what we planned-"

"What you came up with. And it was the best idea of the hour. But I thought on it...you want the name, Sevika? You'd like our image seared into the minds of our enemies, present and eventual?"

Silco closes her palm over Powder's creation.

"You give them a show."

The woman can't bear to look at him. Silco can't bear to care. "We don't need to play waiting games when we have ticking time bombs. Any Zaunite organization with half a brain won't think to do us misjustice after it's shown we’ll blow any wrongdoers to pieces. And if they do end up at the door with all those misjustices...see the previous statement."

Silco's off to his room, there's no argument to be lost on him there. His hand tightens over his injector when he reaches the door.

He does understand wanted to be needed to certain extents. Zaun did not ask for him specifically in their quest for freedom, he put himself in the role of a revolutionary because he had to.

His understanding, his need to see Powder happy is why he turns the injection device over in his hand as he pushes the door open.

He creeps into his own bed, careful not to wake the girl with a bounce and tumble out of it. He leans up against the headboard, hands on his lap with his legs straightened out in his sitting up.

He looks to the sleeping child beside him.

"Powder. I have something for you to do for me."

Silco's aware he's stated that she should be asleep. But assuming a restless little girl is awake instead of off in a dream is the smart thing.

"M' not Powder."

"No? Who are you then?"

Powder, or apparently not-Powder, rolls her head. Maybe she's sleeptalking through her dreams, actually.

"M' a...Jinx. M' Jinx. No Powder."

Silco's head leans back, eyes still on her. "Ah, I see. Or...we'll see about that. Jinx or Powder, I have something for you." He watches her turns over, eyes close, palms rested into a gentle fist.

"Sevika sat on your bed."

Most definitely sleeptalking a dream. He taps her nose. Her eyes blink open. For the sake of his heart, he'll ignore the drying tears.

"Would you like to help me with my eye?"

Powder blinks again, this time in confusion. "Your eye? It looks..."

The man lets head tilt down at her. "It looks what?"

Cleaner.

Powder sits up. "Nothing. I don' know. What about your eye?"

"You've seen me with this before, yes?" Silco gestures to his injector. She nods. "This is what I use to put medicine into my eye. I need it to lessen the pain. I can do it, but lately I've been struggling. These types of device require steady hands, accurate hands. Would you like to do it for me? For tonight?"

He nearly regrets this whole ordeal when Powder jumps up as if her lungs weren't rattling away a hour ago.

"Powder! Calm yourself, this is not what you do to get you better. Do you remember what the doctor said-"

Powder snatches the injector from Silco, studying it over above her head. "Duh! I can help-" She begins to hack.

Maybe this should've been saved for the morning, just like how he won't tell her about the use of her bomb until then. When she can fully take in the praise and pride of the moment.

"Powder. Breathe. This can wait til tomorro-"

"NO!"

Powder sniffles after her short but powered cry, like even she understand that was an intensity she shouldn't have allowed herself.

"I can do it now and then we can go to bed."

We. Silco's lips thin like he'll smile.

"Alright. Come closer, follow my instructions."

She does, her knees press into his thigh. When he's guiding her tiny, still clammy hand over his eye socket, Silco realizes it isn't the brightest idea to give a small child a needle to inject into his literal eyeball.

But it'll be her satisfaction over his safety now, he supposes.

"You place it right here, just let it rest for a bit. And then you'll push this." The man puts Powder's other hand over the end of the injector. "It works as a syringe, if you've ever seen one."

"I used to find them on the street all the time! Vander almost knocked out when I stepped on one and started to feel funky. Turned out it was just something called a coincidence. It was just dinner from the night before."

Huh. Her mentions of Vander have lessened, but not died not. Silco doesn't know how to feel about that.

"You have a habit of making your guardians take care of your terrible illnessness?"

But he will not deny her the mention at this time.

Powder shrugs.

"I guess. Now. Do I push in?"

Silco prepares himself, breathing in. "When you're ready-"

And maybe the girl's never not ready, because she just needled his eye with no hesitation, but it was precise. Silco grips the sheets as the shimmer bleeds into him. He won't scare Powder in his rage or in his pain. He does not grunt or groan.

After the pain subsides, Silco looks to Powder staring up at him. Waiting. Nervous. Sitting on her calves.

"...Did I do good?"

"You did very well. You're a natural."

He goes to grab his injector from the girl, but she pulls it to her chest. She ploofs on the bed, eyes already closing.

"Goodnight, Silco."

Silco blinks. He didn't think to make it a patterned thing for her, just tonight - to make her feel better after his slew of mistakes and whatever her head put her through.

"I'll need that back at some point."

"No."

Powder doesn't even shift. Silco sighs.

If Sevika wants to go on about problems with Powder, this is the only one, cause he will need it back at some point and the idea to deny her this isn't a strong one.

"There will be days where you won't be able to do it. Nothing wrong with that, but I don't expect you to do it everyday."

"I don't think so. Goodnight."

Her hand tighten around the injector. As tiny as they are, Silco doesn't think he'd be able to take them from her if he tried.

He sighs, putting the deep-red blanket over her.

He kisses the blue of her hair.

"Goodnight, Powder."

Silco goes to lie beside her, a sleep falling on him so quickly and he won't know that's the exhaust of being a father.

He won't know the closed-eyed smile his little one gives besides him, as smirked as his few can be.

[rom-e-o]

The idea of Manfred just, innocently as can be, ruining surprises and secrets between Papa and Mama. Like any little kid.🤣

Example: Guinevere making herself a custom lingerie set decorated in choice grave gold pieces Emmrich has lavished upon her. She plans to surprise him on his birthday night. Manfred finds it first, is drawn to it because of the glitter and shine, of course, and assumes it's some sort of special mage armor. Cue him rushing out from the house's interior somewhere to greet Emmrich dressed in a glittery, jingling lingerie set bearing a train and dripping in gold.🤣

What does he ruin for Belismrich?

HELLLP, that's is so precious. Manfred having these silly, whimsical little moments of pure joy as he explores the world fills is so wonderful to imagine. He's a spirit of Curiosity, after all! It's only natural that he seek out treasures and oddities and then share them.

Like you said, I'm sure this leads to a few spoiled surprises, haha. The little guy has hones his exploration skills from helping Emmrich explore the Necropolis, so you know he's got some experience sneaking into places and training his eyes on details.

OHHHH MANFRED, DARLINGGG LMAO.

Listen, you know ... sometimes you find armor while hunting in dungeons. It's gold. It's shiny. So, he finds this set, and his first thought is that it's very rare gear. It's gold, too! Gold is valuable! Papa taught him that.

So he dons it and parades out joyfully, arms raised happily. "Look! Treasure!"

Emmrich, who was browsing his library for books, practically drops the stack at the display. "M-Manfred! Where did you...?"

"Grave gold!" He does a twirl to emphasize the train. "Pretty! Like Mama!"

"V-Very much so, my dear boy, but..."

He has to fight back a laugh and try very hard to be stern, but ohhhh, it's so hard. He can't stop grinning.

"Manfred? Where did you find that?" He knows from where, of course. It's not his or Manfred's after all, and let's just say he's familiar enough with that cup size to know it from a glance, haha.

"Wardrobe! In back!"

"Oh, dear. I'll have to warn G'iney to not hide her projects there."

He tells G'iney, of course. To keep an honest dialogue between them, but also ... because it is pretty hilarious, haha. He does ask Manfred to apologize, and promise to not go through people's clothes anymore. Chests in a home are not the same as chests in a dungeon, haha.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he tells her with a bashful smile. "I'm sure you were hiding it for a reason. I took care to avert my gaze as much as I could, but from what I saw? You have outdone yourself again."

He'd still very much like to see her in it for the occasion she had planned. "If the mood still moves you, my beloved."

And thanks to Manfred? He already has some knowledge of how to take it off~ Which will come in handy. Well, at least, after a few rounds. ;)

Oh, what does Manny do for Belismerich?

Hmmm ... okay, remember my hc that Emmrich really enjoys studying Isma's form? Especially while she dances, he loves to observe her muscles and anatomy at work. Each movement of hers is pure art to him, even on an anatomical level.

He sketches her often. While she dances, relaxes, etc.

Well, let's just say, perhaps Manfred finds these sketches? And he likes them. ("That's Mama! Pretty!")

What does Emmrich do when Manfred gets positive marks? He posts the paper for all to see.

So...later that day, Isma and Emmrich are returning from a ritual one day, and Emmrich sees a familiar drawing on a light post. Emmrich recognizes it, and grabs it before Isma can see.

"What was...?"

"N-Nothing!"

Then, one light up, there are two more. And more drawings are on the fence leading to his lodgings. The papers have drawn some small, inquisitive crowds of students.

"Are those me?" she asks, very confused.

Emmrich, who knows that they are but is VERY confused as to what they're doing pasted across the city, just keeps grabbing them while leading Isma home very quickly.

Whey reach the front door, Manfred throws it open happily. "Surprise!"

The intimate drawings were (thankfully) placed indoors only, haha. Ones of her laying supine, breasts bare, lips parted, long hair flowing unbound. Some of her sleeping. Some of her arms, her legs; all the finer points of her anatomy.

"Yay! Proud!"

Poor Emmrich can barely stay conscious from the rush of blood to his cheeks, all while Isma coos and gently thanks Manfred, urging him to bring his papa his chair while she desperately tries to calm his blush.

"F-Forgive me, darling. I-I intended to show them to you for our anniversary."

All is well, as Belisma is so honored by his devotion, that she vows to give him much more source material in time for their celebration. And for that day, Emmrich keeps the drawings in a locked drawer.

[aspenmissing]

Hi!! Could you please write Arcane characters (Jayce, Viktor, Sevika, and basically all the mains) x reader with a self harm addiction? But reader never told them about it, and they find out after reader relapses after a fight? If it's okay of course (I'm projecting hard with this one)

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʀꜰᴀᴄᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ-ɪꜱʜ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 9204 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ||

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴇʟꜰ-ʜᴀʀᴍ, ᴅʀᴜɢꜱ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ! ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴀᴡᴀʏ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ (ɴᴏᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ), ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ

JAYCE

Y/N had always kept her struggles hidden from Jayce, afraid of how he would react or if he'd see her as weak. She was his rock, the one he could always rely on, and she refused to burden him with the darkness that lingered in her heart. The weight of his dreams, his work, and his battles were all that seemed to matter. She couldn’t add her own turmoil to his already heavy load.

But Jayce wasn’t blind. He noticed the subtle signs—the faint tremble in her hands when they touched, the shadows that clung to her eyes even on the brightest of days, the bruises she tried to hide with layers of clothing. He saw how she disappeared into her workshop at night, and sometimes how she’d come back with that distant look in her eyes, as if she were trying to drown something inside her. But despite all that, he had never asked, never pushed her to talk. He simply believed she’d come to him when she was ready.

It was a Sunday evening when the fight started. Jayce had been consumed by the mounting pressure from the council, the looming responsibilities of his position, and the endless plans that seemed to drain him of everything. Y/N, ever the supportive partner, tried to help, tried to offer guidance or simply a listening ear. She knew how hard the constant demands were on him, and she just wanted him to lean on her as he had so many times before.

But this time, when she suggested an alternative approach, Jayce snapped.

"You don’t understand, Y/N," he barked, the tension in his voice thicker than it had ever been. "You never understand the weight of what I’m dealing with. I don’t need you telling me how to handle things!"

Y/N recoiled at his words, the sting of his anger like a slap across her chest. "I do understand, Jayce," she said, her voice shaking as she tried to keep the tears at bay. "I know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning. But you never let me help."

Jayce’s frustration boiled over. "You just don’t get it," he shot back. "You’re not the one in charge here. You don’t have to carry all the responsibility. Just let me do this my way!"

His words hit her harder than she could have prepared for. It felt as though all the weight of her own battles—the ones she’d fought alone—was being discounted. She had tried, so hard, to be there for him. Yet in that moment, it felt like she was failing. Like she was invisible. Like she was just in the way.

"I’m sorry," Y/N whispered, the words barely audible as they choked on the lump in her throat. "I’m sorry I’m not enough for you."

Jayce’s anger faltered, guilt flashing across his face for a fraction of a second. But the damage had already been done. There was no taking back what had been said. The silence that followed was deafening. Without another word, Y/N turned and fled from his presence, the familiar ache of isolation wrapping itself around her.

She didn’t know where to go. Her heart felt as though it might burst from the weight of her emotions. She couldn’t be here. She couldn’t be near him when he saw her as a failure, when the very core of her had been torn apart by his words.

=

Back in the solitude of her apartment, she threw herself onto the bed, trying to breathe through the searing ache in her chest. Her hands shook as she reached for the bottle she had promised herself she would never touch again. But the darkness was suffocating. The pain was overwhelming, and the pull of her addiction, the thing that had always been there, whispering softly, calling her back—was too powerful to resist.

She cracked open the bottle, the smell of alcohol hitting her immediately, sharp and familiar. With trembling hands, she took a swig, the liquid burning its way down her throat. The numbing sensation took over almost immediately, washing away the sting of the fight, the shame, and the guilt. She hadn’t realised how much she needed this until it was already too late.

Her telephone rang, the familiar sound cutting through the fog of her thoughts. Jayce. She stared at it, her heart pounding in her chest. She should answer. She should talk to him. But the pain inside her felt like it would rip her apart if she did. She didn’t want him to see this side of her—the broken, imperfect side she’d tried so desperately to hide.

Instead, she let the phone ring before it promptly cut off, and she took another drink. She just needed to forget, to numb the guilt, the sorrow, the crushing weight of feeling like she was never enough. The alcohol worked for a while, but soon the emptiness grew larger, the voices in her head louder.

In a moment of desperate escape, her hand found the small blade she had hidden in her drawer—a blade she had used once before in her darkest times. She didn’t think, didn’t care. The sharp sting of the metal cutting into her skin was a quick relief, a fleeting moment of peace. But as the blood pooled beneath her fingers, the guilt and self-loathing came rushing back in waves. She hadn’t wanted to hurt Jayce. She hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone.

But she was drowning again, and this was all she had to keep her head above water.

=

The hours passed in a blur. The telephone continued to ring, but she didn’t answer. Her head grew heavy, her limbs numb, and the world seemed so far away. She was spiraling, and there was no way out.

Jayce, on the other hand, was frantic. His anxiety was quickly growing into something worse—something dark and suffocating. He couldn’t understand why she had run away, why she was avoiding him. Every gut feeling told him something was terribly wrong.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he entered her apartment, his breath shaky as he searched every corner. His heart dropped when he saw her on the floor, her arm bleeding, her body curled into itself in a desperate attempt to hide from the world.

"Y/N!" Jayce cried, rushing to her side, his voice breaking with fear and concern. "What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?"

Y/N’s eyes were glazed over, filled with shame and pain. She could barely meet his gaze. "I didn’t want you to see me like this," she whispered, her voice thin and fragile. "I didn’t want you to think I was weak."

Jayce felt his chest tighten as he knelt beside her. He gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing away the tears that stained her cheeks. "Oh love," he said softly, his voice trembling, "You’re not weak. You’re human. I don’t care about your flaws, your mistakes. I care about you."

Her breath hitched, and for the first time in ages, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable. The dam inside her broke, and she collapsed into him, her arms wrapping around him tightly as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"I’m so sorry, Jayce," she whispered, her words muffled against his chest. "I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt anyone."

Jayce held her tighter, feeling the weight of her pain in his own heart. He knew she’d been struggling, but this—this—was something deeper, something far darker than he had realised. He would never let her fight this alone. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice full of resolve. "I love you. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m here for you. Always. You’re not alone in this."

They stayed like that for a long time, Jayce gently stroking her hair as she cried. There were no words left. There didn’t need to be. He would help her through this. They would face it together, step by step, no matter how long it took.

In time, Y/N would find her way back from the darkness. And with Jayce by her side, she knew she wasn’t as lost as she’d once thought.

VIKTOR

The dim glow of the workshop filled the room as Viktor hunched over his desk, scribbling intricate designs on a yellowed piece of parchment. The rhythmic scratch of his quill filled the quiet space, occasionally interrupted by the soft hum of machinery in the corner. Across from him, Y/N sat on a battered stool, her hands loosely clasped in her lap. She watched him quietly, her eyes tracing the lines of his face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the faint glow of his golden cane resting nearby.

Her presence usually brought him a sense of calm—an anchor in his chaotic world of innovation and ambition. But tonight, something felt off. She had been distant lately, retreating behind a carefully constructed wall he couldn’t seem to break through. Viktor, ever perceptive, had noticed the signs: the way her hands trembled when she thought no one was looking, the way her eyes lingered on nothing in particular, as if lost in some distant place, and the way her laugh, once warm and genuine, now seemed hollow.

“Y/N,” Viktor said softly, his voice breaking the silence as he glanced up from his work. “Is something bothering you?”

She stiffened at the question, her gaze darting away as if the answer might be found in the scattered tools and papers around the room. Viktor leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes studying her. He knew her well enough to recognise when she was hiding something, and tonight, it was as if her entire being screamed of a silent battle raging within.

“It’s nothing, Viktor,” she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with shaky fingers. The lie came easily, but it didn’t fool him.

“You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?” he pressed, his voice filled with quiet concern. Setting his quill down, he stood, crossing the small distance between them. His cane clicked softly against the floor as he reached her side, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

For a fleeting moment, her expression softened, and Viktor thought she might let him in. But just as quickly, something dark flickered in her eyes—fear, shame, perhaps both. She pulled away from his touch, her arms crossing defensively over her chest.

“I just need space,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and walked towards the door.

“Miláčku—” Viktor started, but she didn’t look back. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him standing there, confusion and worry gnawing at his insides. He sank back into his chair, his head in his hands. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slipping through his fingers, and the thought of losing her was unbearable. (Darling)

=

Hours passed, but Viktor couldn’t focus. The designs on his desk blurred together as his mind replayed the scene over and over. He knew something was deeply wrong, but she wouldn’t let him in. He felt helpless—a sensation he despised. The sound of the workshop door creaking open pulled him from his thoughts.

Y/N stood in the doorway, her figure outlined by the dim light from the hallway. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though she tried to hide it, and her posture was tense, like a tightly wound spring. Viktor’s heart clenched at the sight of her. She looked fragile, as if the slightest gust of wind might shatter her.

“Y/N…” he said softly, standing. He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. “What’s going on? You’re not yourself.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked as though she might break down. But instead, she took a shaky breath and shook her head. “You want to know what’s going on?” she snapped, her voice sharp, though it trembled. “You can’t fix everything, Viktor. I’m fine. I’m just tired of pretending.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Pretending? Y/N, I—”

“No!” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You don’t understand what it’s like. You don’t get it, Viktor. You can’t just fix me like one of your machines!”

The words hit him like a physical blow, and he felt a flicker of anger rise, though it was quickly overshadowed by concern. “You’re right, I don’t understand,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try. I love you, Y/N. Why won’t you let me help you?”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. “Because I don’t need your pity! I don’t need your help! I just…” Her voice broke, and she looked away. “I need you to leave me alone.”

Viktor stepped closer, his expression softening. “Y/N, I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “But I can’t help you if you keep pushing me away.”

“I don’t need your help, Viktor!” she shouted, her voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over. She turned and stormed out of the workshop, leaving Viktor standing there, the weight of her words pressing heavily on his chest.

=

The cold night air bit at Y/N’s skin as she wandered the streets of Zaun, the fight replaying in her mind like a broken record. Shame and anger twisted together in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. She felt like she was drowning, and she couldn’t see a way out.

Her feet carried her to a familiar alleyway, one she had hoped never to return to. Her hands trembled as she reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a small vial. The liquid inside glistened faintly under the dim streetlights. She hated herself for this, but it was the only thing that quieted the storm.

“Y/N.”

Her heart stopped at the sound of his voice. She spun around to see Viktor standing a few feet away, his cane in hand, his eyes filled with worry and pain. He had followed her.

“Viktor…” she whispered, her voice shaking.

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “Please, don’t do this,” he said softly, his voice tinged with desperation.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at the vial in her hand. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly ashamed. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to stop.”

Viktor reached out, gently taking the vial from her trembling hands. His touch was firm but careful, as if he were afraid she might break. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said quietly. “I don’t have all the answers, but I’m here. We’ll face this together.”

The dam broke, and Y/N collapsed into his arms, her sobs muffled against his chest. Viktor held her tightly, his hand running soothingly through her hair. He didn’t say anything—there were no words that could fix this—but his presence was enough.

In that moment, Viktor realised that love wasn’t about fixing someone. It was about standing by them, even in their darkest moments. And no matter how hard the road ahead might be, he would never give up on her. Not now. Not ever.

JAYVIK

The apartment was unusually quiet, save for the faint hum of the streetlights outside their windows. Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as Viktor and Jayce stood in the adjacent living room. The tension was suffocating, coiling in the air like a storm waiting to break.

“You don’t understand, Viktor!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she snapped, her eyes glistening with frustration. “You can’t keep shutting me out when things get hard!”

Viktor’s expression was guarded, though his fingers gripped his cane tighter than usual. “And you cannot expect me to involve you in everything,” he replied, his voice measured but sharp. “This work is dangerous, Y/N. I do it to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Y/N repeated, her tone incredulous. “By pushing me away? By making me feel like I don’t matter?”

Jayce, who had been sitting on the edge of the sofa, stood abruptly. “Alright, let’s all take a step back,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “We’re all stressed, but yelling isn’t helping anyone.”

Y/N turned on him, her voice rising. “And you! You always take his side, Jayce! Every single bloody time!”

“That’s not fair,” Jayce shot back, his face clouding with worry. “I’m just trying to keep this from spiralling out of control!”

“Well, congratulations,” she said bitterly, throwing her arms up. “It’s already out of control.”

The argument escalated, words tumbling out before they could be reconsidered. Y/N’s hurt came out like daggers, while Viktor’s temper, usually restrained, began to flare. Finally, in a moment of uncharacteristic anger, Viktor snapped, “If you cannot handle this, maybe you should leave!”

The room fell silent.

Y/N stared at him, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Then, without another word, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the frames on the walls.

Jayce let out a low groan, running a hand through his hair. “Well done, Viktor. That was bloody brilliant.”

Viktor closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. “She just needs time,” he murmured. “She will come back.”

But as the hours ticked by, their apartment felt emptier, the tension hanging in the air refusing to dissipate.

=

By morning, the shared apartment was filled with an uneasy stillness. Jayce paced back and forth in the kitchen, his hands on his hips, his brows furrowed deeply. He hadn’t slept. His concern weighed heavy, gnawing at him as he glanced repeatedly at the front door.

“She’s never stayed out this long,” he muttered, his voice tight with worry. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall and then back to the door, as if willing it to open.

At the dining table, Viktor sat hunched, his cane resting against the edge of the chair. He stared at a mug of tea that had long since gone cold, his fingers twitching slightly as they drummed against the wood. “Perhaps we should go looking for her,” he said at last, his voice soft but tinged with hesitation.

Before they could decide, a sharp knock at the door shattered the silence. Both men froze, their gazes snapping to the source of the sound. Jayce moved first, his long strides taking him to the door in an instant.

He opened it to reveal an enforcer in full uniform. The man’s expression was professional, but there was a hint of weariness in his eyes.

“Is this the residence of Y/N L/N?” the enforcer asked.

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance, dread flashing in their eyes. Jayce’s voice was strained as he replied, “Yes. I-Is she alright?”

The enforcer sighed, a slight shift in his posture betraying the unpleasantness of the news he carried. “She’s alright. She spent the night in a cell. Got into a fight at a tavern. She was drunk and caused quite a scene.”

Jayce’s stomach dropped, his heart sinking like a stone. Viktor’s grip on his cane tightened, his knuckles turning white. “Where is she now?” Viktor asked, his voice trembling slightly, though he tried to mask his fear.

“She’s still at the station,” the enforcer replied. “We figured someone would want to collect her.”

=

The walk to the station was silent, the kind of silence that pressed down on their shoulders like a weight. Jayce’s jaw was set, his shoulders tense, every step reflecting his inner turmoil. Viktor walked beside him, outwardly composed but gripping his cane with such force it seemed as though it might snap in his hand.

When they arrived, the scene in the holding area was far from reassuring. Y/N was slumped on a wooden bench, her head bowed slightly, her hair dishevelled, and her clothes rumpled and stained. She looked smaller somehow, as if the night had drained the fight out of her.

“Y/N,” Jayce said softly, crouching in front of her. His voice was gentle, almost pleading.

She lifted her head sluggishly, her bloodshot eyes meeting his. A bitter laugh escaped her lips, hoarse and broken. “Great,” she muttered, her voice laced with sarcasm. “My knights in shining armour.” She avoided their gazes, looking instead at a spot on the floor.

Jayce flinched at the bitterness in her tone, but he didn’t argue. He simply stood and moved to the counter to handle the paperwork. Viktor stayed where he was, his gaze lingering on her, his heart heavy.

=

Once everything was settled, they guided her out of the station and into the early morning streets. The walk home was just as quiet as before, save for the rhythmic tap of Viktor’s cane and Y/N’s occasional sniffles. Jayce glanced at her every few steps, his concern etched plainly on his face, while Viktor kept close to her side, his usually steady hands trembling slightly.

When they finally reached the apartment, Y/N headed straight for the bedroom, shutting the door behind her without a word. Jayce and Viktor stood in the living room, exchanging worried glances. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken fears.

“I’ll check on her,” Jayce offered after a long pause, his voice low.

Viktor shook his head and stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “No. Let me.” He moved slowly to the bedroom door and knocked gently. "Miláčku?"

There was no response. After a moment of hesitation, he pushed the door open slightly. What he saw made his heart sink.

Y/N stood by the dresser, her back to him as she pulled on a clean shirt. Her arms were bare, and the scars were impossible to miss—long, jagged lines running along her skin. Some were faint, faded with time, while others were fresh and angry red, a painful reminder of battles fought in silence.

“Oh, Lásko…” Viktor’s voice cracked, the word barely more than a whisper.

She froze, her hands trembling as she quickly yanked the shirt down. Turning to face him, her eyes widened, glistening with tears that she blinked back furiously. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Viktor stepped forward, his cane forgotten as he reached out to her. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked, his voice soft but heavy with pain.

“Because it’s not your burden to bear!” she cried, her voice rising as tears spilled down her cheeks. “It’s mine, and I don’t need you trying to fix me!”

Jayce appeared in the doorway, his expression stricken. “Oh, Y/N…” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“You weren’t supposed to see this!” she sobbed, her knees threatening to give way beneath her. “You weren’t supposed to know!”

Viktor moved closer, his hands trembling as he cupped her face gently. “You are not a burden,” he said firmly, his golden eyes meeting hers. “You never were, and you never will be.”

Jayce stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “We’re here for you, Y/N,” he said softly. “Whatever it takes, we’ll get through this. Together.”

Y/N stared at them, her defences crumbling under their unwavering support. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to break. She collapsed into their arms, her sobs wracking her body as Viktor and Jayce held her tightly, their presence a promise that she wouldn’t have to face her pain alone.

And for the first time, Y/N began to believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.

VANDER

The Last Drop was alive with its usual buzz, the murmur of voices mixing with the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Zaun’s finest and most desperate alike had gathered here tonight, the haze of smoke and the scent of cheap liquor creating a familiar, suffocating atmosphere.

Y/N sat at the bar, her fingers clenched tightly into fists on her lap, her nails digging into the rough skin of her palms. She felt caged by the noise, every sound around her grating against her nerves like steel on glass. Her chest tightened with frustration, a storm brewing just beneath her skin, and she struggled to keep it all contained.

Across the bar, Vander leaned against the counter, his broad shoulders a familiar and comforting sight—though not tonight. He was chatting with some regulars, his deep voice cutting through the din, but Y/N couldn’t focus on his words.

Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of the day. A deal gone wrong. Tensions in the Undercity reaching an unbearable peak. And now, this fight.

It wasn’t even about anything that mattered, not really. Yet the way his words earlier had cut through her had set her off, poking at wounds she’d worked so hard to bury.

“Why won’t you just talk to me, Y/N? I can’t help if you keep shutting me out.”

It had struck a nerve, slicing through her defences like a blade.

“Maybe I don’t need your help, Vander!” she’d snapped, her voice rising over the low hum of the bar. Her tone had been sharp, dripping with venom she hadn’t meant to release, but it was too late.

The look on his face—disappointment flickering in his tired eyes, his jaw tightening as he took in her words—was like a punch to the gut.

He’d opened his mouth to respond, but she didn’t give him the chance. She’d stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor, and stormed out of the bar before the emotions threatening to spill over could take hold.

=

The air outside was cold, biting against her skin as she stepped into the dimly lit streets of Zaun. The usual hum of the city echoed around her—the hiss of steam pipes, the distant clatter of machinery—but it felt muted, distant. Her own heartbeat pounded louder in her ears.

She walked aimlessly, her fists still clenched tightly at her sides, her breathing shallow. The anger inside her was a living thing, coiled and writhing, demanding release. She needed to let it out before it consumed her completely.

She found herself in a narrow, empty alleyway, far from the crowds. The shadows clung to the walls, the only light coming from a dim, flickering streetlamp at the entrance. Her chest heaved as she tried to steady herself, but it was no use.

The anger bubbled over.

Her gaze locked onto the wall in front of her, and before she could think twice, her fist shot out. The impact was jarring, the rough surface scraping against her skin. Pain shot up her arm, but it was a welcome distraction—a way to drown out everything else.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Her punches came harder, faster, the sound of her knuckles cracking against the brick mixing with her ragged breaths. Blood smeared across the surface, her skin splitting open as she continued. She swore she felt something break—a finger, maybe—but she didn’t care.

The pain wasn’t enough.

Nothing was ever enough.

“Y/N.”

The voice cut through the haze, soft but firm, and her movements faltered for just a moment. Her breath hitched, her vision blurry from unshed tears, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

“Y/N, stop.”

This time, there was a presence between her and the wall—warm, solid, familiar. Vander’s hand caught her wrist mid-swing, his grip firm but gentle. His other hand came up to press against her bloodied fist, shielding it from the wall.

She blinked, her tears spilling over as she tried to focus on him. He was crouched in front of her, his broad frame a stark contrast to the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Let me go,” she choked out, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Not until you stop,” he said, his tone steady but strained, the worry evident in every word.

She tried to pull away, but his grip didn’t falter. His hand was so much larger than hers, warm against the cold, shaking skin of her wrist. She finally looked at him, really looked at him, and the sight broke something inside her.

His brows were drawn together, his expression a mixture of anguish and determination. His blue eyes weren’t filled with anger as she’d expected—they were pained, desperate, as if her own hurt was reflected in his gaze.

Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground, her bloodied hand cradled against her chest. Vander sank to his knees in front of her, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid she might shatter at the slightest touch.

“What are you doing to yourself, love?” he asked, his voice breaking. He reached for her hand, but she flinched instinctively. He pulled back slightly, his gaze softening even further. “Please. Let me see.”

She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat, but eventually, she extended her trembling hand towards him.

His jaw tightened as he took it in, his rough fingers brushing over the swollen, split skin. Blood coated her knuckles, and her fingers were bent at unnatural angles. He sucked in a sharp breath, his thumb brushing lightly over her wrist where her pulse raced erratically.

“I… I didn’t mean—” she started, but her voice broke, and the words died in her throat.

“You didn’t mean to hurt yourself?” he asked gently, his voice low and filled with something she couldn’t quite name. “Or you didn’t mean for me to find out?”

She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even look at him.

“Y/N,” he murmured, shifting closer. “You can’t keep doing this.” His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, a rawness that made her chest ache. “You think hurting yourself makes it better? That it solves anything?”

“It’s the only thing that stops the anger,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “No, it doesn’t. It just hurts you more.”

His hand moved to cup her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. His touch was impossibly gentle, as if he was afraid of breaking her further.

“You don’t have to go through this alone. You hear me? You’ve got me. Always.”

The sincerity in his voice was too much. Her walls crumbled, and the tears came in full force, her body shaking as sobs wracked her frame.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt as he pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve got you, love,” he murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, she believed him.

SILCO

The Last Drop was unusually quiet that night, the hum of the neon lights casting a cold glow through the damp, smoke-filled air. The faint crackle of electricity and the distant murmur of drunken voices filtered up to Silco’s office, but none of it registered. His sharp, mismatched eyes stared out of the large, cracked window, his gaze focused but unseeing as he paced the room.

The argument still echoed in his head, a whirlwind of barbed words and heated accusations. Y/N’s fiery spirit had always been one of the things that drew him to her, but tonight, it had burned too hot. Her stubbornness against his unrelenting need for control had caused their tempers to flare. He had said things meant to wound, words he regretted even as they left his lips. She had fired back with equal venom, her eyes brimming with tears even as she stood her ground.

And then she had left.

=

He hadn’t seen her since. Hours had passed, and with each one, the gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach grew.

The creak of the door to their shared quarters broke the silence. Silco hesitated for a moment, steeling himself before pushing it open. The sight that greeted him froze him in place, his breath catching sharply in his throat.

Y/N lay sprawled across their bed, her body unnaturally limp and her skin pale under the dim light. Scattered around her were empty vials and syringes, their contents long gone, leaving only the sharp, metallic tang of chemicals in the air. Her chest rose and fell faintly, the movement so slight it was almost imperceptible.

“Y/N,” Silco whispered, his voice low and urgent as he crossed the room in long, deliberate strides.

She didn’t stir.

Kneeling on the bed, he leaned closer, his gloved fingers brushing strands of hair from her clammy forehead. He hesitated, his hands trembling for the first time in years. He pressed his ear close to her lips, straining to hear the faintest whisper of breath. Relief washed over him when he found it, but it was fleeting, swallowed by the rage and fear bubbling beneath his skin.

“What did you take?” His voice broke, sharp and laced with desperation. “What did you take, Y/N?!”

Her head lolled to the side, her lips slightly parted as if she were trying to answer, but no sound came.

Cursing under his breath, Silco slipped an arm beneath her, lifting her as though she were made of porcelain. Her body was limp against his chest, her weight unfamiliar and alarming. He carried her to the worn sofa tucked in the corner of the room, laying her down gently.

“Stay with me,” he muttered, almost to himself.

He checked her pulse, pressing his fingers against the fragile skin of her wrist. It was faint but steady, a fragile thread anchoring her to the world. Relief flickered in his mismatched eyes, though it did little to soothe the storm raging within him.

Silco didn’t leave her side. The hours dragged on as he sat in the chair beside the sofa, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped tightly. His sharp, angular features were etched with an uncharacteristic vulnerability, his brows furrowed in an expression of anguish and frustration.

The neon glow outside began to fade, replaced by the dim, grey light of dawn creeping through the grimy windows. Silco’s gaze remained fixed on Y/N, watching every shallow rise and fall of her chest.

=

Finally, she stirred. A soft groan escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered open, squinting against the dull morning light. Her head pounded, her body ached, and nausea churned in her stomach. As her vision cleared, the first thing she saw was Silco, his rigid posture and bloodshot eyes betraying the sleepless night he had spent beside her.

“Good,” he said, his voice cold but edged with relief. “You’re awake.”

“Silco…” she began, her voice hoarse and trembling.

“No.” He held up a hand, silencing her. “You’re going to listen, and you’re going to tell me why.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to her lap, tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t meet his piercing stare, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on her like a heavy shroud.

“I— I was angry,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “We fought, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I… I wasn’t thinking, and they were there.”

“The same people I helped you leave behind,” Silco spat, his tone venomous. His mismatched eyes narrowed, his anger barely restrained. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What could have happened?!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Sorry won’t save you next time,” Silco interrupted, his voice softening slightly but still laced with frustration. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. “You can’t do this to me. To us. I’ve fought too hard to pull you out of that pit, and now you’re clawing your way back into it.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N sobbed, her hands trembling as she wiped at her eyes. “I don’t want to go back to that life.”

“Then don’t,” Silco said firmly, his voice steady and resolute. His gaze locked onto hers, his mismatched eyes burning with intensity. “But if you do… I won’t be able to save you again. Do you understand?”

Y/N nodded, the weight of his words sinking in like stones in her chest.

Silco reached out, his gloved hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. His touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fire in his gaze.

“I won’t give up on you,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with conviction. “But you have to fight for yourself, too. This isn’t a battle I can win for you.”

“I will,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

Silco let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. They had a long road ahead of them, fraught with challenges and the ghosts of her past, but he wasn’t about to let her walk it alone. Not this time, not ever.

JINX/POWDER

The Last Drop was as loud and chaotic as ever, the air thick with the sounds of laughter, shouting, and the occasional clink of glass. The atmosphere felt tense, but not in a way anyone could place — it was the sort of unease that seeped in from every corner. There, at the edge of the bar, Jinx leaned back, her posture lazy, arms crossed as her gaze lingered on Y/N.

Y/N was crouched low, attending to a Zaunite child who had scraped their knee. She was focused, her movements careful as she applied a bandage to the small cut, her expression softening with an unspoken affection. The child, a younger boy, watched her with wide, trusting eyes, not even flinching when she gently patted the wound. She always did this for them, making the pain a little less real.

Jinx’s gaze, however, turned colder, narrowing with something darker beneath the surface. Her hands gripped the edge of the bar as she watched. Her voice sliced through the noise. “Why do you always waste your time with them?”

Y/N paused mid-motion, looking up, her frown immediate. She met Jinx’s gaze, trying to read the storm brewing in her eyes. “They need someone, Jinx. Not everyone has someone to look out for them.”

Jinx rolled her eyes dramatically, her posture shifting into something that was almost like a snarl, but she forced it into indifference. “They’ve got other places for that,” she muttered, voice laced with bitterness. “You’re supposed to be my person, not theirs.”

Y/N’s expression softened, but there was something resigned in the way she sighed as she finished bandaging the child. She gave the boy a reassuring pat on the head, watching him scamper off with a soft smile before walking over to Jinx. Her footsteps were light, but the air between them heavy.

“I am your person, Jinx,” she said, her voice steady. “But I can’t just ignore everyone else who needs help. It’s not who I am.”

Jinx’s sharp intake of breath was all the warning Y/N had before she was face-to-face with a storm of emotion. Jinx’s eyes, usually so mischievous and unpredictable, were now wide and wild. She was angry, and the fury was bubbling over. “Yeah, well, maybe you’re too busy playing saviour to remember the people who actually care about you!” Her voice cracked as the words spilled out, the vulnerability there too sharp to ignore.

Y/N’s heart clenched. She could feel the sting of those words more than she’d ever let on. “That’s not fair, Jinx. I’ve been here for you through everything. You know that.”

Jinx's mouth twisted into something almost painful, the hurt and jealousy in her eyes making Y/N’s chest ache. “Do I?” Her voice was quieter now, a tremor of emotion cutting through. “Because it feels like I’m always second place to your little sob stories!”

Y/N’s fists clenched by her sides, the weight of the accusation like a slap in the face. “That’s not true, and you know it!” she snapped, her voice sharper than intended. She wanted to reach for Jinx, to pull her close, but instead, she stood still, trying to hold her ground.

But Jinx wasn’t listening anymore. Her fists clenched at her sides, and in a burst of frustration, she threw her hands up into the air, muttering curses to herself. “You never get it, do you? You always think you’re better than everyone else, like you’ve got all the answers!”

Before Y/N could respond, Jinx turned and stormed out, her shoulders tense, her back rigid with fury. The door to the bar slammed behind her, and Y/N was left standing there, the emptiness of her heart settling in like a deep chill. Her hands shook slightly, and she bit her lip, trying to keep herself from sinking further into the storm that raged inside her.

=

The walk back to her flat felt endless. Every step felt like it was dragging her further into a pit, every memory of Jinx’s angry words echoing louder and louder in her head.

Maybe she was right, Y/N thought, her mind clouding. Maybe I have been too distant.

The door to her flat clicked shut behind her, and she leaned back against it, breathing in deeply, trying to steady herself. The usual peace of the small room was shattered, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N didn’t feel safe here.

She dropped to the floor, her back against the door as she slid down, her hands shaking violently. She dug through the drawer beside her, her fingers trembling as they closed around the small, cold object hidden inside. Her breath caught in her throat as she held it in her palm, the familiar weight, the cold steel, beckoning her in. She knew it was wrong, but the relief it brought... it was the only thing that could silence the noise in her mind.

The sting was sharp, cutting deep enough to pull her from the spiraling thoughts, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing ever was. The silence that followed was thick with guilt and shame. And yet, it was still the only thing that gave her even a moment’s peace.

=

Jinx had, as expected, cooled off faster than she’d thought. But the guilt gnawed at her like a persistent ache in her chest. She hated herself for saying the things she had to Y/N, especially when she knew how much the other cared. She didn’t want to hurt Y/N. She just... didn’t want to lose her.

By the time she reached Y/N’s flat, her mind was racing. “Stupid fight,” she muttered to herself, kicking at a small rock in frustration. “Stupid me. I’ll just say sorry, and it’ll be fine.”

She pushed open the door without thinking, hoping to find Y/N sitting in her usual spot. But what she saw made her stomach drop.

Y/N was curled up on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her face pale and streaked with tears. Blood stained her sleeve, and the small blade that had been the catalyst of her pain lay discarded beside her.

Jinx’s breath caught in her throat. She felt the world tilt on its axis as she took in the sight, her mind barely able to process the horror in front of her. “Y/N?” Her voice barely registered in the silence that hung heavy around them.

Y/N flinched at the sound, her body going rigid, and her hands hurriedly moved to cover the fresh wound. “Jinx, I—” she stuttered, her voice breaking. She was already trying to hide it, but there was no use. The damage had been done, both physically and emotionally.

Jinx’s heart slammed in her chest. She didn’t think. She didn’t care. She dropped to her knees beside Y/N, her hands shaking as she reached for her, pulling Y/N’s hands away from her arm. Her eyes — usually wild and erratic — softened, the fierce anger that had driven her earlier replaced by something far more vulnerable.

“Why... why didn’t you tell me?” Jinx asked, her voice cracking. She wanted to shake her, wanted to scream, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Not when Y/N looked so broken.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she tried to swallow the sobs threatening to escape. “I didn’t want you to know,” she whispered, voice strained. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Jinx’s fingers trembled as they touched Y/N’s wrist, pulling it gently away from the wound. “I’m always going to worry about you, idiot. You think you’re the only one who can look after people?” Her voice was low but fierce, her own tears threatening to fall. “I’m your person too, Y/N. You don’t get to do this alone.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, but it was more a choked sob than anything else. “I didn’t want to burden you... You’ve got enough going on.”

Jinx shook her head furiously, her blue hair falling around her face like a halo of wildness. “You’re not a burden!” she shouted, her eyes fiery and wide. “You’re my family, Y/N. You’re my person. And if you’re hurting, you tell me. Got it?”

Y/N nodded, tears falling freely now, her chest heaving with the force of her emotions. “I’m sorry, Jinx,” she whispered.

Without another word, Jinx pulled Y/N into her arms, holding her tight, her own pain momentarily forgotten in the need to keep Y/N safe. “Don’t apologise,” she muttered, her voice trembling. “Just... just don’t do this alone anymore, okay? I’m not letting you slip away, not now, not ever. You’ve got me. Always.”

As they sat there on the floor, holding onto each other, Y/N allowed herself to sink into Jinx’s embrace, the weight of her pain lifting just a little. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone.

And Jinx, despite all the chaos inside her, held her tighter, silently vowing to never let Y/N slip away again.

SEVIKA

The streets of Zaun were a labyrinth of decay, thick with the ever-present stench of chemicals, rust, and the low hum of machinery. It was a city built on the backs of those who dared to survive the grind, each day just another battle for those born without the luxury of choice. It was the perfect place for someone like Y/N—a Vastaya in a world that didn’t care for the different, the strange, the unique. A city where no one asked questions as long as you could fight, survive, and keep moving.

Y/N wasn’t just a survivor, though. She lived her life like a storm, a force that charged headfirst into whatever came her way, with no fear and no concern for the consequences. She wore her arrogance like armour, keeping the world at arm's length, pushing through the pain, the bruises, the blood. She didn’t care. Or at least, that’s what she wanted everyone to believe.

Sevika, on the other hand, saw through it. There was something about Y/N that tugged at her, something in the way she threw herself into danger, as if daring the world to take her down. It wasn’t reckless bravery. It wasn’t the kind of heroism that drove someone to fight for others. It was self-destructive. Y/N wasn’t just pushing forward. She was pushing herself to the edge, as if she didn’t care if she fell.

Sevika had seen it before—people like her, people who wore their pain like a badge, hiding behind the bravado of their tough exterior. People who wanted to be left alone with their demons. But Sevika wasn’t the type to ignore it. She couldn’t.

=

The first crack appeared after a brutal street fight that had left Y/N bloodied and bruised. They had been cornered by a gang looking for trouble, and Y/N had met them with a ferocity that bordered on madness. Sevika had taken care of the rest, but Y/N hadn’t slowed down—not even when her knuckles split open, not when a fist collided with her cheek, leaving her jaw sore and swollen. When the fight ended and the alley grew quiet, Y/N stood tall, as though she were untouched by the violence that had just unfolded.

Sevika watched her carefully, the concern in her gut growing with each step Y/N took. She was acting like nothing had happened, but Sevika knew better. There was too much blood on her skin for this to be normal. Too much pain buried beneath that stoic expression.

“You alright?” Sevika asked, her voice softer than she intended. Y/N didn’t look at her, but the way her shoulders stiffened told Sevika that her question had hit a nerve.

“Just another day in Zaun,” Y/N replied, her tone dismissive, like the cuts and bruises didn’t matter. But Sevika could hear the hollow note beneath her words. There was something wrong. She just couldn’t place it yet.

Sevika knew better than to push—at least not right away. But the unease remained in the pit of her stomach. Y/N had always been reckless, always pushing the boundaries of what was safe. But this… this was something else. She wasn’t fighting to win, or to survive. It was as if she was fighting to feel something, anything. And that terrified Sevika more than the violent streets of Zaun ever could.

=

Their mission for Silco wasn’t supposed to be complicated. A simple delivery, an easy in-and-out. But as they walked down the familiar, grimy path toward the rendezvous point, the sharp crack of gunfire shattered the silence. An ambush.

Without hesitation, Y/N charged forward into the gunfire, her movements fluid and fast, instinct taking over as she dove headfirst into the chaos. She didn’t pause. Didn’t think. It was as if she had already decided that this was her fate.

“Y/N!” Sevika shouted, her voice cutting through the cacophony of gunshots. Her footsteps were heavy as she tried to keep up, pushing through the smoke and the noise. “Get back here!”

But Y/N didn’t hear her. She didn’t care. She was too caught up in the adrenaline, too absorbed in the fight to notice anything else. Her movements were dangerous, graceful, and reckless. She darted between gunfire, taking down enemies with the precision of a trained killer, but there was no passion in her strikes. No hunger. Only a coldness that made Sevika’s heart tighten in her chest.

Y/N wasn’t fighting to protect anyone. She wasn’t fighting for Silco. She was fighting because it was the only thing that made her feel alive.

Sevika’s blood boiled. She had seen this before—people so willing to die that they no longer cared about the world around them. People like her. People who pushed others away because they didn’t want to be saved.

“Damn it, Y/N!” Sevika cursed, her voice low and furious. She saw Y/N dodge a bullet by mere inches, the flash of the shot almost too fast to register. But Y/N didn’t flinch. She didn’t even seem to notice.

That was when it hit her. The hollow look in Y/N’s eyes wasn’t just the result of battle. This was something deeper. Y/N was actively courting death. She wasn’t just being reckless. She was numb.

Sevika’s stomach twisted with anger and something else—something that made her fists clench. She couldn’t let this happen. Not to her. Not to someone who had stood by her side through so much. She couldn’t allow Y/N to keep hurting herself this way.

As the gunfight died down and the remaining enemies fled, Sevika pushed her way through the bodies, her eyes fixed on Y/N. The younger woman stood at the centre of the chaos, breathing heavily, but there was no satisfaction in her expression. No pride. Just… emptiness.

Sevika reached out, grabbing Y/N by the arm, pulling her around to face her. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, her voice rough with frustration. “You’re not invincible, Y/N. You’re throwing your life away!”

Y/N’s gaze flickered, but she quickly masked it, her cold facade slipping back into place. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice sharp but distant. “I’m always fine.”

Sevika wasn’t buying it. Not anymore. She stepped closer, her tone softening, but only slightly. “You don’t have to pretend with me. What happened to you, Y/N? What are you running from?”

For a moment, Y/N didn’t answer. She looked away, her shoulders tight, her breathing shallow. She was hiding something. And Sevika knew that until she pushed her, she wouldn’t get it out.

But Y/N wasn’t going to let her in so easily. “Nothing,” she muttered, the words cold and empty.

Sevika’s heart clenched. She had been where Y/N was—lost, broken, unable to see the point in anything. She had her own scars, her own demons. But she wasn’t going to let Y/N face hers alone. She wasn’t going to let Y/N destroy herself just because she thought she deserved it.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Sevika said, her voice gentle but firm. “Whatever it is you’re hiding, whatever’s eating you alive… you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

Y/N’s defences wavered, but only for a moment. Her gaze dropped to the ground, and her lips tightened in a grimace. Sevika’s hand reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face, fingers grazing over the fresh cut on her cheek.

For the first time, Y/N didn’t pull away.

“I don’t deserve to be saved,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible, a shiver of vulnerability in her words that was too quiet to hear unless you were paying attention.

Sevika’s chest tightened. The words were a punch to her gut, a painful reminder of just how deep Y/N’s self-loathing ran. Sevika’s eyes softened, her resolve hardening. She wasn’t going to let Y/N slip through her fingers. Not like this.

“You do,” Sevika said firmly, stepping closer, her hand cupping Y/N’s cheek. “You deserve more than this. You deserve someone who won’t let you fall.”

Y/N’s walls were crumbling, slowly, ever so slowly. The fierce, self-destructive mask she wore was fading, and for the first time, Sevika could see the woman beneath it. The one who wasn’t just a warrior, but someone who had been hurt beyond measure.

“I’m here,” Sevika repeated, her voice soft, almost soothing, as she reached out, offering her hand. “Don’t push me away, Y/N. Not this time.”

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flickering between Sevika’s hand and her face. The weight of everything seemed to press down on her, but Sevika’s steady presence was grounding. For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N didn’t want to run. Didn’t want to push her away.

Slowly, her hand moved towards Sevika’s, and without a word, she placed her palm in Sevika’s, finally letting someone else in. The fight was far from over. But maybe, just maybe, this was the first step toward healing.

[unsensiblelover]

HOW ARE THE BOYS WHILST BAKING WITH THEM?

FORMULA 1 BOYS ✷

synopsis 🍪 : you and boyfriend try out baking for a chance. agreeing that you two need to at least learn how to cook what you'd like to eat.

FEATURING 🍰 : max, logan, franco, and charles

authors note 🧁 : fun to do, hope you all enjoy!

MAX :

you and max were in the kitchen, having just come back from the grocery store. today, you were going to try your hand at baking. you had a bit of experience with it, but max was completely new to the whole process. as you began setting things up, arranging the ingredients, max started unpacking the bags.

"i’m so happy we get to bake. hopefully, these turn out good, yeah?" you said with a smile, plugging in the whisking machine.

max smiled back, setting down a carton of eggs. "honestly, i’ve never baked anything before, so this should be... interesting. let’s just hope i don’t mess it up too badly."

you raised an eyebrow. "wait—you’re telling me you’ve never baked with your mom as a kid? not even cookies or cakes?"

max paused for a moment, his expression shifting slightly. "i moved in with my dad when i was eight, and baking wasn’t exactly his thing." he told you, pulling out the bag of chocolate chips.

you nodded, understanding. "well then, we can fix that, let's start now, yeah?" you smile at your boyfriend. max chuckled, his tone light. "guess so. if i don’t burn the house down first."

"hey, if anyone’s going to burn anything, it’s probably me," you teased, grabbing the flour.

LOGAN :

with your loving boyfriend, you decided to bake a cake with logan, your annoyingly handsome, golden retriever boyfriend who was sometimes clueless, and blonde.

you sent logan out to buy the ingredients, it was a hassle because the american didn't know how to cook, it was you that cooked frequently in your shared apartment with logan. unfortunately, you told logan to stay where he was and you'd be there.

eventually, you arrived at your local grocery store and walked to the baking aisle, albeit you didn't see logan there. you sighed and walked at least three aisles before seeing him near the frozen produce aisle, petting someone's dog. insanely enough the two looked alike.

you sighed, walking over to your boyfriend and lady besides him, her dog kept on a leash. "who's the cutest guy ever?" logan gushed with cuteness at the dog, rubbing its belly.

you smiled at the sight, and humbly greeted the women beside you before grabbing the americans attention. "loges?" you say, the other, lifting up his head, "babe!" logan says, happy to just see you, standing up properly, and immediately standing by your side, automatically interlacing fingers.

logan happily told the lady goodbye before petting the dog one more time, the two of you walking away to grab baking ingredients.

..

it was a disaster, the cake honestly didn't turn out well...after the whole baking fiasco, you two just decided to order out, not wanting to even exert more energy into cooking dinner for yourself and logan.

FRANCO :

after his morning walk, franco entered your shared apartment with him, a smile on his face. he's had an epiphany. after collecting his breath, he began to speak.

"mi amor, we should bake something," franco happily, giving a quick peck, ignoring that he's sweaty. "bake something, early this morning?" you ask the argentinian groggily.

"yes! it would be great for us to do!" franco exclaimed, his hands finding yours. his eyes, wide and eager like a bunny's, melted any lingering resistance you had.

you sighed, "alright, alright, after you shower we can bake." you say, and smiled once more giving you a kiss on your forehead before walking away to the bathroom.

..

you two were in the kitchen figuring out basic steps to making simple chocolate chip cookies, couldn't be that hard? well, you spoke too soon.

you already fixed up the dry and wet ingredients, you mixed them, now you just need to add vanilla flavouring. you asked franco to give you the vanilla and he did, the argentinian was lost in setting up the oven. as you added drops of it and passed it back to franco you realized you needed a lot more.

the second time he passed you the vanilla flavoring you added it without looking at the bottle, you excused yourself to the bathroom and told franco you went to the restroom and to finish up whilst you were gone. when you came back, the batter was red. you blinked once, confused on why your cookie batter was red.

"love, why is the cookie batter red?" you asked, not confused but amused. franco looked up and realized the cookies were red, sheepishly, he shifted, "because red means love?" he tells you. unaware that he mixed up using red dye in replacement of vanilla flavoring.

..

at the end of the day, the cookies were delicious and red.

CHARLES :

as you two were lounging around lazily with nothing to do, you proposed making cookies. charles agreed, and weirdly enough it was eleven in the afternoon.

so you stood up, walking to the kitchen. charles joined right behind you. you grab the ingredients, whilst charles' pulls out the bowls and utensils.

everything was going so well before mixing the dry ingredients. as he mixed them, he did not realize that he put it on a high setting, so unfortunately the mix literally got everywhere.

you snickered until you felt a gust of flour being thrown on you. you splutter out flour from your mouth. the monegasque man snickered to himself. and if you knew anything...it was that he wasn't going to get the last laugh.

immediately aware, you grabbed a handful of flour and threw it into charles' face. the man's face dropped, honestly, he looked hilarious, flour covered his face. you laughed at him and pointed at his face.

..

in the end, it didn't end well for both of you, you're pretty sure you've got flour up your nose. charles almost choked on the powder. it was alot, especially to clean up.

[lucygxybaird]

billy x shy reader - preview

“You with me, sweetheart?” Billy says softly, ducking his head to look you in the eye. “If you really wanna go home, we—”

You shake your head firmly. You don’t want to go home, not least of all because you know Billy really wants to stay; it’s hard for you, to be around people you don’t know very well, but Billy is the type of man who has never met a stranger. He likes parties like this (at least ones that are given by his friends, rather than — for example — a selfish, self-serving smarmy slimeball with an Irish accent and a proclivity for taking what doesn’t belong to him). 

You’re determined to stay at least an hour for him, maybe two if you can manage it. You know you’re going to be exhausted by the end of the evening, wrung out like a rag hung on the line, but you want to stick it out for Billy’s sake. 

It does help that he looks good. You love to see him in his neatly pressed shirt and waistcoat, the string tie — which you helped knot — around his neck, his hair neatly combed and smelling faintly of the apple-scented pomade he uses to make that sweet little cowlick he has lay flat. As if he’s reading your mind, Billy leans down further, his lips brushing against your ear. 

“Everybody’s gonna be jealous of me, walkin’ in with you on my arm,” he says. “Stick close to me, honey. I don’t want anyone stealing you away.” 

You only have time to giggle before the door is swinging open, revealing one of Tunstall’s maids. She gestures for you to come inside, and by the time you’ve flashed her a small, tight smile, people have already come up to Billy. You relax a little when you realize you recognize some of them — Manuela and Charlie, Tom, Mr. McSween and his wife, Susan. 

“You look lovely,” Susan says, smiling softly as she cups your elbow.

Your heart gives a little uneven thud, and you swallow. “Thank you,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth flickering briefly in return. 

You don’t let go of Billy’s arms as Charlie and Billy start talking about the last herd of cattle they moved for Tunstall, with Manuela and Susan chiming in every now and then — how Charlie came home late one evening, a cow pie smeared all over his boots and the seat of his pants; how Susan remembers one summer when she stayed with her uncle, who raised cows, and she gave them all flower names. 

You have a story yourself, one about your father trying (and failing) to get a cow up a flight of stairs to play a trick on a friend of his, but you can’t quite get your mouth to work. 

Even though you know these people, your throat still feels a little tight, the pit of your stomach going hollow, like you’re balancing on a tightrope. A part of you knows you’re being ridiculous. It’s the part that sounds an awful lot like your mother, when she would tell you to speak up, to enunciate, to stop hunching your shoulders. 

You wish you could explain it to her — to anyone — but it’s so difficult to put into words. 

Sometimes you feel as though who you really are is wrapped up in all these layers, wound around and around you, bound up so tight that it can be suffocating. You have to fight tooth and nail to drag out the same words, the same smiles, that seem to come so easily to everyone else. 

It takes time, to get through those layers, and not many people seem to want to put forth the effort. Certainly not at a gathering like this, where they’re just trying to have fun. And you can’t really blame them for that. You yourself have often wondered if what they find is worth the effort. 

Then, of course, there’s Billy. He’s never once made you feel like getting to know you, working through the awkward pauses and nervous huffs of laughter, the uncertain silences, is anything less than a pleasure. As if all that is nothing but a treasure map, and you’re the fortune waiting on the other end.

[softgh0stbites]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Where Desire Slumbers

Rating: Suggestive 18+ Pairing: Vincent x Reader Summary: Vincent has nightly thoughts about you, always the gentlemen to never act on them though. ⋆˙⟡Notes: I'm pretty new to tumblr in general and I'm usually only here to self indulge in fanfiction and the occasional art piece. I might drop ideas or ramblings that just come to my mind- currently that being of final fantasy vii characters as well as other video game characters that capture my hyperfixation. Enjoy~ · · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · · A man bleeding from the inside, quietly so it disturbs no one. But you see it—you’re the first to cup your hands around these invisible wounds. You’re there at every corner, a soft, benign malice beginning to grow for you. You’re annoying in every sense of the word. Your smile is too bright, your eyes still lit with a radiance untouched by the darkest nights. When he’s around you, he often thinks of himself even more—how it would feel to go all the way back to secret whispers in the night and naps in the sunlight. There’s a longing for that euphoric dream, where he replaces the unsightly with visions of you in his waking hours, when sleep is far from his thoughts.

He imagines pulling that smile from your lips with his fingers, brushing your bottom lip with just a caress of his thumb, while you fall apart above him.

You wear your innocence so thin, the dusting of rouge on your cheeks like the sunset when you’re caught staring. He remembers these stolen glances, observing you now more than ever. He wonders if you’d bite down on your own hands and fingers, silencing melodies he so desperately wants to hear. Would you act shyly, perched above him in your night chemise? Would you let him in so close, so easily, if he only murmured a soft, “Please”?

Oh.

How would you act if he were to beg? If he gave in to every carnal desire, would you fear the embers—or are you afraid of being burned? He pictures you so sweetly in the night. He shouldn’t; he can’t fathom being the one to taint you so badly. But a part of his guilt revels in it. It would cause him so much misery, so much self-doubt, but he would enjoy it. He wouldn’t falter. He wouldn’t let your lithe hips escape when it became too much. He would still you, murmuring endearing words like a sedative poison.

“So good. Don’t steal away from me yet.”

Of course, if you wanted none of this, his hands would remain forever untouched by you. But the days that blend around you wind him to believe that you think of him sometimes—perhaps in your makeshift bed during your travels, sweetly trailing your hands between the apex of your thighs, while the candescent glow of a candle is your only audience and the thin walls of an inn do little to hold back your hushed gasps and cries.

He would wait for you to approach him. Always. He couldn’t allow himself such a luxury—a taste of something so sweet. Instead, he would sink deeper into his thoughts, where he always had you, cherished you, devoured you. And in return, you marked him back with golden smiles and reassuring caresses through his long hair. He wanted love so bittersweet it stung and left him breathless.

He does his daily tasks of cleaning his section of the Highwind. It isn’t much, but it keeps his mind busy when mornings feel bleak. After landing to gather resources or take on small jobs, he finds a quiet place to brood. Normally, he wanders into ruins or shrouded places to feel the first rays of the sun fall across his pale lids. He could watch the kaleidoscope colors forever if time allowed. He’s warming up to the idea of naps in the sun, after all.

“Vincent?” A gentle, quivering voice calls out to him. He can almost hear her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her shirt without even needing to look. She pushes through when he finally exhales and offers a glance, accompanied by a slight tilt of his head.

“Want some company?”

And it begins.