#there's just NO GOOD LIGHTING ANYWHERE >:(

[kirammanswifey]

Would you be down to write some reverse comfort with the Arcane characters?

Basically just make them go through one of the worst days of their lives then have the reader take care of them (I mostly just wanted to see Viktor in this scenario, but if you want to write for other characters too that'd be awesome)

Either way take your time and I hope you have a wonderful day ~☁️

arcane characters reverse comfort x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: i'm always down for this kind of scenarios, make me feel like a teenage girl again. as you already know request are open ;)

Viktor

It has been an exhausting day in the lab. The experiments have failed time and again, each mistake weighing heavier on Viktor’s shoulders. You can see it in his eyes when he finally gives in, letting the tools fall with a long, heavy sigh. He leans against the workbench, his slender, hunched figure casting a shadow of defeat on the walls illuminated by the flickering equipment.

"This doesn't make sense..." he murmurs, as though the words are a burden he needs to release. His fingers drum frustratedly on the metallic surface, and you feel the despair in every tap. "I’ve made mistake after mistake... Maybe this was all a mistake from the start."

His words hit you, but it’s the tone of his voice that wounds you more, filled with a self-criticism that is painfully familiar but no less difficult to hear. You know how much his work matters to him, how much of himself he has poured into these projects. And you know this failure consumes him more than he’s willing to admit. You can't just stand by and watch him spiral.

"Viktor," you say softly, stepping closer and placing a firm yet comforting hand on his arm. "You’re a genius, and even geniuses have tough days. Today was one of those days, but it doesn’t define who you are or what you do."

At first, he doesn’t respond. His gaze is lost, searching for answers in the shadows that stretch across the lab. But then his grey eyes meet yours, filled with doubt and exhaustion. "How can you be so sure? Every day without progress... I feel like I’m wasting time, like I’m failing everyone, even myself."

Your heart tightens at his words. You take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers gently, feeling the coolness of his skin against yours. "Because I know you, Viktor. I’ve seen your dedication, your passion. Every mistake, every small setback is part of the process. You don't have to carry this weight alone. I’m here to help you shoulder it."

The silence that follows is thick, but instead of uncomfortable, it’s a space where words aren’t necessary. Slowly, you see his posture relax, the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. Without letting go of his hand, you step even closer, sensing the fragility of the moment.

"Let’s step outside for a bit," you whisper, "You need to clear your mind, get some fresh air. You don’t have to do it all today, not tonight."

He looks at you again, with a mix of gratitude and weariness, and finally nods. "Alright," he says softly, as if it’s hard for him to admit he needs the break.

You walk together to the exit, your fingers still entwined with his. The night air is a balm, cool and light, carrying away some of the day's heaviness. You walk in silence through the almost deserted streets, the distant hum of the city a constant murmur.

"Thank you," he finally whispers, breaking the silence with a voice soft, almost breaking. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

You stop, turning to face him. "You don’t have to know, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, through the good and the bad days. You don’t have to bear this burden alone."

He tilts his head, and for a moment it seems like he’s about to say more, but instead, he simply squeezes your hand tighter, a silent gesture that speaks volumes.

"Come here," you say, leading him to a nearby bench. You sit beside him, and for the first time all night, you see him take a deep breath, as if the fresh air could cleanse not just his lungs but also his mind and soul.

Viktor rests his head on your shoulder, allowing himself to close his eyes and savor the moment. You kiss his head and gently stroke his hair, cherishing these rare moments, knowing how precious they are when they happen.

"Today was a bad day," he finally says, his voice tinged with a quiet melancholy. "But, for some reason, it doesn’t feel as overwhelming with… with you here."

You smile softly, feeling warmth spread from his acceptance, from his openness. "I’ll always be here to remind you that even the worst days come to an end. And that you are stronger than you think."

He looks at you, and for an instant, the world seems to stop. His gaze, filled with gratitude and something deeper, envelops you. Before you can say anything more, you feel him leaning towards you, and in that moment, everything falls into place. His lips brush against yours with a tenderness that disarms you, a kiss soft yet laden with unspoken emotions.

When you part, just inches away, his eyes remain closed as if he wants to hold onto the moment a little longer. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper.

You cradle his face in your hands, gently caressing his cheeks. "There’s no need to thank me, my love."

Jinx

The day had been chaos, even by Jinx's standards. Everything had gone wrong: a botched attack, crumbling plans, and to top it all off, an unexpected explosion that almost trapped her in her own trap. Now, she sat in her lair, surrounded by the wreckage of her shattered inventions, her breath short and pulse racing. Her mind, always a whirlwind, now felt like a hurricane of uncontrollable voices and thoughts.

The laughter of her imaginary "friends" echoed in her head, growing louder, mocking her. "Failed again, Jinx. You always fail." She pressed her hands against her temples, squeezing as if she could silence the voices. But the laughter wouldn’t stop, and the crushing weight of loneliness and failure bore down on her.

You approached cautiously, knowing that Jinx in this state was a minefield. But you also knew you couldn’t leave her alone in her internal storm. "Jinx," you called softly, keeping your voice low and calm. "I’m here, sweets."

She didn’t respond at first, her body tense like a spring about to snap. But as you drew closer, her bright blue eyes, wide and wild, met yours with a mixture of anger and desperation. "Why? Why do you keep coming back? Don’t you get it? I don’t need anyone. I don’t want anyone to see me like this."

"I’m not here to judge you," you replied gently, sitting down next to her without encroaching too much on her space. "I’m here because I care. Because I know that sometimes, even the strongest people need a breather. And there’s nothing wrong with that."

She let out a bitter laugh, dripping with sarcasm. "A breather? You think I can just... breathe and everything will be fine? That’s not how my head works. It’s... broken. Everything’s broken."

Your eyes softened at the pain in her words, the self-loathing and anger intertwining dangerously. Without much thought, you reached out, lightly touching her hand, hoping the physical contact might ground her somehow.

"Maybe you can’t fix everything right away," you said softly, "but at least you’re not alone in this boat. I’m on board with you, and I’m not getting off, even if we hit an iceberg." You joked to lighten the tense atmosphere.

She looked at your hand on hers, and for a moment, it seemed like she would pull away. But instead, her trembling fingers closed around yours, with a grip that betrayed just how desperately she needed something—someone—to understand her.

"Why do you care?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I’m a mess. Everything I touch... I ruin."

"Because you’re more than your mistakes," you said, squeezing her hand gently. "You’re strong, creative, and even if the world doesn’t understand you, I want to be here for you, to help you see that, even when everything gets tough."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice breaking as she murmured, "I don’t know if I can do it... but thank you... for not giving up on me."

You smiled softly, leaning closer to her. "I’ll never give up on you. And you know what? Let’s make a deal. Today was a bad day, but just for today, we’ll do whatever you want. How about we start with some ice cream?"

Her eyes lit up slightly, though there was still a shadow of doubt in her expression. "Ice cream? Really?"

"Serious business," you said, smiling a little more. "Pick your favorite flavor. We’ll go get it, and then we can do whatever you want. You can draw, launch rockets, blow things up—whatever makes you feel better."

"Can I dye your hair blue?" she asked, her tone teasing but her eyes hopeful.

"Anything but that," you corrected, not quite understanding her obsession with wanting to dye your hair.

She burst out laughing, pressing a hard kiss to your cheek. "Just kidding, hon. I love everything about you, even your boring dark hair."

"Hey!" you playfully patted her shoulder.

Suddenly, her smile faded again, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

"But what if everything keeps going wrong?"

"Then I’ll be here to pick up the pieces with you," you said, gently stroking her hand. "You’re not alone, sweets. Not today, not any day."

She launched herself into your arms, hugging you tightly, her body trembling slightly. "Thank you..." she whispered against your neck, clinging to you as if you were her anchor in a storm. And in that moment, you knew the only thing that mattered was her feeling your presence, your unwavering support.

Vi

Vi’s mind was still trapped in the ring, replaying the final moments of that crucial fight. She had bet everything on it—her money, her pride, her reputation. Everything hung by a thread, and she had lost. The cheers had faded, leaving only the echo of failure resonating in her head.

She limped back to her hideout, her knuckles bloodied and her jaw clenched. Dropping onto the worn-out sofa, she let out a frustrated growl, covering her face with a hand as she tried to contain the fury and humiliation. She had risked so much, and now it was all gone.

The whispers of her defeat spread like wildfire. You knew Vi wasn’t one to admit defeat easily, nor to ask for help. So, with a heart full of concern, you went to find her, worried about her state.

The door creaked open as you stepped inside. "Vi," you called gently, finding her on the couch, shoulders tense and gaze fixed on the floor. You approached cautiously and sat on the floor in front of her, your chin resting on your hands as you looked at her intently. "Are you okay?"

"I don’t need your pity," she snapped, her voice sharp but laced with vulnerability. "I’m fine. Just... need a moment."

"Vi," you said softly, "it’s just one loss. You’re incredible in the ring, babe, but you can’t expect to win every time. Besides, we learn more from our mistakes than from our victories. It’s okay."

"No, it’s not okay," she shot back, finally lifting her head to meet your gaze, her blue eyes filled with frustration. "I bet everything on that fight. Everything. And now I have nothing."

"That’s why I’m here," you responded, sitting beside her and gently taking her bloodied hand in yours, inspecting it with care. "You don’t have to carry this alone. Let me help you."

"I don’t want your help," she protested, trying to pull her hand away, but you held on firmly. "I don’t need saving. I can handle this."

"Vi, don’t be stubborn," you chided, your voice firm yet warm. "I care about you, and I’m not going to stand by while you drown over something we can fix together."

Her gaze softened, a mix of wounded pride and unspoken gratitude in her eyes. "I can’t take your money," she muttered, looking down again. "It’s not fair to you."

"Babe, if the roles were reversed, I know you’d do the same for me," you reminded her. "This isn’t about fairness or debt. It’s about caring for someone I love."

The last word hung in the air, making Vi look up again. "You... love me?" she whispered, as if it was something she hadn’t allowed herself to hear before.

"Love you? I’m crazy about you, woman!" you admitted with a chuckle, gently squeezing her hand. "And because of that, I’m going to help you through this. Take the money, just this once. It’s not weakness to accept help, Vi. It’s strength to know when you need someone."

She let out a deep sigh, her body relaxing slightly as the tension began to ease. "Alright," she murmured finally, her voice barely a whisper. "I’ll take your help... just this once."

"That’s all I needed to hear," you said, smiling softly as you caressed her hand. "We’ll get through this, together."

Vi looked at you, and for the first time that night, a faint smile curved her lips. "Thank you," she said, leaning toward you. Her hand suddenly slid to your ass, giving it a playful squeeze.

You looked at her, a mix of confusion and amusement on your face. She just shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"What? It’s my way of saying thanks," Vi defended, following it up with a loud slap.

Laughing, you climbed onto her lap, leaning in close to her mouth, "Well, if I’d known your gratitude was this charming, I’d hope for favors more often."

Vi leaned in and kissed you, a tender kiss that spoke of gratitude and something deeper, needing no words. "I love you," she murmured against your lips.

"And I love you," you whispered, your lips still brushing hers.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn's office was silent, the only sound breaking the stillness was the soft scratch of her pencil against paper as she reviewed the reports that had come in. It had been a particularly difficult day for her. The weight of the decisions she'd had to make hung heavily on her shoulders, and her mind couldn't stop replaying the latest case she had been handling. Even though she tried to maintain her composure, you knew Caitlyn wasn't invincible.

You approached cautiously, gently tapping on the door before stepping inside. "Cait," you called softly, seeing her immersed in her work, her eyes glued to the desk, but her rigid posture betrayed her exhaustion.

She looked up and forced a smile. "Don’t worry, everything’s under control," she said, her voice slightly tenser than usual.

Leaning against the doorframe, you watched her with concern. "I know you're working hard, Cait, but this isn’t just about work, is it?"

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes narrowing as if fighting herself not to admit what was clearly troubling her. "It’s nothing. Just... tough cases. Nothing you need to worry about."

You knew her too well. Something wasn’t right. Caitlyn always maintained her facade of strength, never showing vulnerability, but you knew even she had limits. You decided to step closer, gently removing the papers from her hands and sitting on her desk, right in front of her, catching her off guard. Her hands instinctively found your thighs, her fingers pressing into your skin as a silent sign of her pent-up stress.

"You're not doing this alone tonight, Cait," you told her firmly. "I know you feel the pressure, but you don’t have to carry it all by yourself."

She tried to smile, but the gesture only highlighted her fatigue. "I can't afford to show weakness. Everyone expects me to have the answers."

"That’s precisely what makes you human," you replied softly, cradling her face and appreciating her delicate features. "The burden of leadership, the tough decisions... it can’t all rest on you. If you need a break, you’ll take one. If you need to talk, I’m here."

Caitlyn remained silent, her gaze now locked onto yours, as if considering your words for the first time. You could see her defenses slowly crumbling, her breathing easing into a calmer rhythm. "Sometimes I feel like no one understands... how hard it is to keep everything together, always being the one expected to know what to do."

"I understand," you said, gently holding the hand that gripped your thigh. "And you don’t always have to have all the answers, Cait. It’s okay to feel lost. You can lean on me for these things and anything else."

She didn’t speak for a long moment, simply watching you, and for once, her face displayed a vulnerability she rarely showed. Finally, she sighed, letting the tension in her face melt away.

"I know," she murmured, almost as a confession. "Sometimes it’s just hard not to feel like a burden."

"You’re never a burden to me," you assured her, leaning in and wrapping your arms around her, your fingers tenderly running through her hair. She responded with a soft sigh of relief. "You’re the strongest person I know, Cait. And that strength doesn’t make you invulnerable. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You carry so much responsibility and expectation, and you handle it as best you can. You can share that with me too, love. I’m not in your life just to enjoy your company and admire your beautiful face."

With an intense gaze, Caitlyn gently squeezed your hand, displaying a rare tenderness. "Thank you," she whispered, her tone much softer than usual. "Thank you for this. For always being there when I need it. For knowing what I need when I don’t even know myself."

You moved a little closer and, without thinking, kissed her forehead, a warm and comforting gesture. "I’ll always be here, Cait. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to rest in your presence. And although the day's worries wouldn't vanish immediately, there was something about that small gesture, that silent connection between you two, that made her feel less alone. She knew that, no matter what, she would always have a refuge in you.

Jayce

The door creaked open, and instantly, the tension that Jayce carried with him filled the room like an unwelcome guest. He stood in the doorway, his figure worn down as if each step of his day had chipped away at his strength. His face was a canvas of frustration and exhaustion, the lines of weariness on his forehead barely hidden by his tousled hair. The warm light of home contrasted sharply with the cold night air, but even the comforting ambiance seemed powerless against the heavy burden he bore.

Without a word, you moved towards him, your presence a sanctuary in the storm he was weathering. You gently took his cold hands in yours and led him to the couch, where he sank down with a deep, weary sigh. The weight of the day clung to him, a cloak of responsibility and fatigue. He barely acknowledged you as you spoke.

"Rough day?" Your voice was gentle, laced with concern.

Jayce exhaled sharply, his exhaustion evident as he turned his head to you. "More than you can imagine." His tone was rough, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Viktor and I... the experiment in the lab was a disaster. Then, the Council meeting... a complete mess. I’m not even sure how I made it back here tonight." His voice cracked for a moment, followed by a bitter laugh. "And tomorrow? I have to give that damned speech to the entire city. I haven’t even started writing it."

The air felt thick, laden with everything he couldn't put into words. You squeezed his hand, holding it with a tenderness that cut through the fog of his mind. "Breathe, Jayce. You don’t have to solve everything at once. One step at a time."

Instinctively, you sat behind him, guiding him until his back rested against your chest. You began to massage his shoulders, feeling the tension slowly seep from his muscles. Each movement of your fingers seemed to ease his burdens, though his sighs suggested the thoughts still swirled in his mind.

"I’ll help you with the speech," you offered softly. "We’ll write it together. You don’t have to face it all alone."

Jayce closed his eyes briefly, as if clinging to your words to prevent drowning in his thoughts. "But... it all depends on me. If I screw this up, the consequences are massive. I can’t afford to fail." His voice broke, and he sat up abruptly, anxiety gripping him once more.

"It’s just a speech, Jayce. It doesn’t define you." You wrapped your arms around his torso, holding him from behind. "What matters most to me is that it doesn’t destroy you. The city needs you, yes. But you need yourself too."

A long sigh escaped his chest, a release of some of the weight he'd been carrying. "How do you stay so calm through all of this? How do you have the patience to listen to my problems over and over?" His tone softened, a realization of what your presence meant to him.

"Because I love you, you big lug. And because I respect you," you said without hesitation. "Now... first things first. Dinner. I made your favorite." You whispered in his ear, the warmth of your embrace surrounding him, offering a sliver of peace. "Then, I’ll draw you a bath. You need to relax, to stop thinking about everything for a while. We’ll have dinner together, and afterward, we’ll stay up as long as you need. I’ll help with the speech. And if you need to rehearse all night, we will. The important thing is you’re not facing it alone. I’m here, Jayce, because I know how much this means to you."

Jayce let the silence hang for a moment, absorbing your words, your support the anchor he desperately needed. Slowly, he turned to look at you, his face finally showing signs of easing. "I don’t deserve you," he murmured, a small pout forming on his lips.

"Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my spoiled giant baby," you teased with a soft laugh, cupping his face with care.

Jayce chuckled, a low, grateful sound that was music to your ears, and you hugged him tighter, feeling the anxiety that had gripped him start to dissipate. "Can we stay like this a little longer?" he asked quietly, his tone vulnerable, more human than ever.

"Of course, love," you whispered. "There’s no rush tonight."

And there, between tender laughs and promises of unwavering support, time seemed to pause. In that moment, there was only the two of you, the warmth of home, and the certainty that, no matter what the next day brought, you would face it together.

Ekko

The sound of gears grinding and tools sparking filled Ekko's workshop, a familiar symphony that usually brought him a sense of calm. But today, the rhythm was frantic, almost as if he believed that focusing on the intricate mechanical details could help him outrun the weight pressing down on his heart. It wasn’t working.

"Ekko, what’s wrong?" Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it cut through the tension hanging thick in the air. You could sense something was off, not just from the hurried way he moved but from the pallor that had taken over his face in the past few hours.

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers continued their precise dance over the wires and components, but there was a distant look in his eyes, a clear sign that his mind was far from the task at hand. Finally, he looked up, and though he tried to hide it, you could see the frustration and pain etched into his features.

"Things are... out of control," he admitted, his voice heavy. "The people of Zaun keep dying, and we can’t do anything about it. The illnesses are spreading, the air is becoming unbreathable, and the solutions... they seem further away than ever. How am I supposed to lead them when I have nothing to offer?"

His question lingered in the air, a cry of desperation in the stillness. Ekko had borne the weight of leading the Firelights since their inception. It was his strength, his refuge, yet also his greatest burden. Every day, he witnessed more of his people falling victim to the oppression and the harsh realities of Zaun, the toxic air swallowing those he cared about, and the seeming futility of their efforts gnawed at his resolve. What could one do when everything seemed stacked against them?

"Ekko," you approached him, gently taking his hands in yours. "Listen to me. I know what you're thinking. I know it feels like everything is collapsing, like there’s no way out. But you're not alone in this. You have the Firelights, and you have me. Caitlyn Kiramman might be able to help with this problem."

Ekko raised an eyebrow, confused. He knew Caitlyn, as an Enforcer, symbolized the oppressive system that had kept Zaun in misery, but he also knew you didn’t speak lightly. You must have had a plan.

"I don’t trust Piltover," Ekko muttered, his tone firm. "Or their damn Enforcers. How am I supposed to ask someone like Caitlyn for help? After everything they’ve done to us?"

"I know," you said, gently stroking his hands to calm him, "but hear me out. You're not just asking Caitlyn for help. You’re asking the person who owes me a few favors. Trust me. I think we can secure some supplies, maybe some of the medicines we need, at least to keep us going for a while. Something to help the Firelights keep fighting. Don’t see it as surrendering, Ekko; it’s a step towards giving us a real chance to make our voices heard."

For a moment, Ekko stared at the ground, lost in thought. It was clear he struggled to trust anyone outside his circle, especially someone like Caitlyn, who embodied Piltover’s oppressive power. But your words resonated with him, and for the first time that day, something inside him eased slightly.

"Maybe you’re right," he finally said, his voice low, as if only partially convinced. "But this... it can’t just be words. We need to do something real, something that actually makes a difference."

"We will," you assured him with a soft smile, trying to instill a bit of hope. "Together, step by step. Let’s start by talking to Caitlyn and see what we can secure. I don’t know how, but I believe we’ll make it happen."

Ekko looked at you, and for a moment, everything in his expression changed. The usual anger gave way to a mixture of gratitude and, perhaps, a hint of relief. He was exhausted, but the idea that not everything was lost gave him a tiny spark of hope.

"Thank you, babe," he murmured, his voice softer than before. "I don’t know how you do it. You always know what to say."

"That’s because I’ve learned how to deal with your stubborn, grumpy self," you said with a light laugh. "Now, how about we take a stroll through the city? Maybe a few hours of disconnecting will help."

A trace of a smile appeared on his face, though still tinged with fatigue. "What? Are you planning to make me forget all this by tagging the walls with graffiti?"

"Exactly," you responded with a mischievous grin. "That way, at least for a while, we can forget the world and do whatever we want."

Ekko finally gave in, his soft laugh filling the air as he grabbed his hoverboard. "You know, that sounds like a great idea. Let’s go before I change my mind."

And as you wandered the streets of Zaun, the weight on his shoulders didn’t entirely vanish, but for a while, Ekko could relax, paint his frustrations on the walls, and most importantly, remember that he wasn’t alone. Sometimes, all it took was stepping back and breathing, even if just for a moment.

Silco

The air in Silco's office was heavy, thick with the unmistakable scent of Zaun: metal, sweat, and burnt chemicals. Yet beyond those familiar odors, the room was saturated with the tension of recent events. The sting of failure clung to him, unsettling the usually composed mastermind. His meticulously laid plans had unraveled, and while his followers proclaimed loyalty, cracks in their devotion were becoming apparent. Zaun teetered on the brink of internal rebellion. The Firelights, the Enforcers, even the streets themselves seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

But what truly unsettled him, what gnawed at his very core, was the ever-present specter of betrayal, the fear of losing those who mattered most. In these moments, when chaos felt imminent, you chose to enter.

Silco stood with his back to you, staring out at the city’s dim lights through the window. You could sense the disquiet within him. His silhouette was somber, almost ghostly, with one hand resting on the glass. He seemed like a man who had lost faith in everything around him. Without hesitation, you approached him with a calmness that contrasted starkly with the storm raging within him.

"Silco," you began, your voice gentle but resolute. You refused to let his fragility consume him, not now. "We've faced this before. You don’t have to bear it all alone."

At first, he remained silent. The tension in his frame was palpable, and you could tell he was fighting a battle he wasn’t ready to share. Yet, you knew that struggle all too well. Beneath his layers of hatred and ambition lay a man as broken and vulnerable as any other.

Finally, he turned toward you, his eyes, usually burning with disdain, now dulled. "You don’t understand," he said, his voice low, roughened by a restrained fury. "This isn’t like before. It’s not just about winning anymore. It’s about maintaining control, about not losing everything. If I fail now, all we’ve built will be for nothing. What’s looming isn’t just a challenge—it’s war, and I need to be ready."

You stepped closer, studying the exhaustion etched into his face. His words were a glimpse into the turmoil that consumed him. "You will be ready. We will be ready. But isolating yourself in this downward spiral won’t help."

Silco’s gaze met yours, and for a fleeting moment, vulnerability surfaced. He appeared more human, less the monster Zaun feared. But his pride fought to keep that part of him hidden.

"I don’t need your pity," he said, though his words lacked conviction, a feeble defense against the truth you were unveiling. "Spare me the empty reassurances."

"They’re not empty," you replied, your voice steady. "I know what you’re feeling. This isn’t just about controlling Zaun. This is about you."

A heavy silence followed, thick with unspoken truths. Silco’s brow furrowed, not in anger but in contemplation. "It’s a war I can’t win. The city hates me, even my own daughter—"

"Don’t speak of her as if you’re some monster," you interrupted gently but firmly. "Jinx needs you, and you need her. This war isn’t just against Piltover, Silco. It’s against yourself. And if you keep fighting it alone, you will lose."

The room was still, the weight of your words settling in the air. Silco’s expression softened, touched by a realization he couldn’t deny. He wasn’t accustomed to being seen so clearly, to having his inner battles laid bare.

You took another step forward and, without allowing him time to withdraw, you took his hand. "You don’t have to do this alone," you whispered. "Not now, not ever."

For a brief moment, conflict flickered across his features, but then it happened—he relented. It wasn’t the surrender of a defeated man but of someone willing to trust, if only for a moment, that there was more to life than his solitary fight.

"I don’t know why you persist in keeping me upright," he murmured, his voice softer, laced with weariness. "Sometimes… sometimes it feels like too much."

"It’s not," you assured him without hesitation. "We’ll face it together. I won’t let you fall."

Silco said nothing more, but he didn’t pull away as you held his hand more firmly, a silent acceptance of your comfort. And for the first time in a long while, the cold steel of his demeanor cracked, if only for a fleeting second.

Mel

Mel's balcony was as sleek and cold, a testament to her meticulous nature. The soft glow of lanterns cast a gentle light over the cityscape, illuminating the endless sea of Piltover's lights below. Yet, amidst the serenity of the night, an unseen storm brewed within her. Tonight, her mind wasn't consumed with political maneuvers or strategic plans. Something far deeper gnawed at her: the weight of her ambitions had begun to manifest in ways she hadn't anticipated, threatening to fracture the carefully constructed facade of her life.

She stood by the railing, gazing out at the city that never slept, as if the twinkling lights could somehow chase away the growing void in her heart. You could see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the railing a little too tightly. She was a picture of composed authority, yet the subtle cracks in her armor betrayed the turmoil within.

"Mel..." Your voice, soft yet firm, broke the silence. You approached from behind, your footsteps light but deliberate. You didn't need to be loud; she had always been attuned to your presence, as if you existed in a part of her consciousness she couldn't ignore.

Mel turned slowly, her face a mask of unyielding calm, but her eyes... her eyes told a different story. They held a flicker of vulnerability, a silent plea she wasn't ready to voice. "What is it?" Her voice was cool, almost detached, but you knew better. The detachment was a shield, one she had crafted over years of political warfare.

"What’s wrong?" you asked again, your gaze unwavering as you closed the distance between you. You could sense her struggle, her reluctance to admit that something was amiss. "I can see it, Mel. You're not okay."

She sighed—a sound so heavy it seemed to carry the weight of the city. It wasn't frustration; it was the exhaustion of someone who had carried too much for too long. "It’s Piltover. My role in the Council... I can't keep up with it all," she admitted, her words slow, measured, as if each one was a reluctant confession. "I’ve been playing this game for so long, but the pieces are moving in directions I can’t control. And..."

Her voice faltered, and she didn't need to continue. You understood. This wasn't about Piltover alone. It was about her, about the toll her ambitions had taken on her soul. Here, on this balcony, she wasn't the indomitable Mel Medarda. She was a woman, weary and yearning for something she couldn't quite name.

"Mel, not everything needs to be under control. Not everything needs to be perfect," you said gently, stepping closer. "You can handle what’s happening in Piltover, but you don’t have to carry it all on your own."

Her eyes darted away, as if looking at you would make her break. She was so used to being the one in control, to bearing the burdens without complaint. "And if I fail... what then? What’s left after all of this? I've given everything to Piltover… everything."

Her voice trembled with a sadness that cut through you. Despite her steely exterior, you knew there was a part of her that longed for something more—connection, peace, perhaps even love. But the world she had built around herself left little room for such indulgences.

"If you fail, Mel, you’ll have the chance to start over. You don’t have to keep fighting for something that's slipping through your fingers," you said, your voice steady as you reached for her. "Sometimes, letting go of what we fear losing the most is what sets us free."

Mel's eyes met yours, and in them, you saw a vulnerability she rarely showed. She wasn’t used to conversations like this, to empathy. But in your gaze, she found something she hadn’t seen in a long time: safety, support, and perhaps... the promise of something different. Something better.

"I know it’s not easy," you continued, your hand gently brushing her arm. "But you don’t have to carry the weight of Piltover alone. You have people who respect you, who admire you. There are other ways to move forward without losing yourself in the process."

The silence that followed was thick, but not oppressive. It was as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting for her response. For a moment, Mel said nothing. Then, her lips, always so carefully set in lines of authority, softened. "And if I fail… what happens to you?"

"You won’t fail," you said with a conviction that only you could have. "But even if you did, I’d be right here, helping you rebuild. Because what really matters isn’t the power or the control. What really matters is you, Mel."

For a second, she looked at you as if seeing you for the first time. The iron-willed woman everyone knew, the strategist, the leader, was now gazing at you with a newfound sense of recognition. And in that moment, she allowed herself a rare indulgence: she let her guard down.

"Maybe... maybe it’s not always about winning," she murmured, more to herself than to you. "Maybe you're right."

You smiled softly, knowing that Mel had just taken a step towards something beyond ambition—towards her humanity.

Sevika

The night had fallen with an oppressive stillness, but Sevika couldn’t find peace. The hours had dragged her into a whirlwind of stress and frustration. Each minute felt heavier than the last, and the air around her seemed thick, as if the city itself was pressing down on her chest. The decisions she had to make, the moves she had to plan, the constant need to watch over and protect her people… all of it had left her exhausted. But what weighed her down the most was the lack of control over her own life.

The shadows of the streets seemed to stretch out, enveloping her with an invisible pressure. Silco, as if things weren’t bad enough, was more erratic than ever, his paranoia brushing the edges of madness. To top it off, Jinx had played one of her twisted jokes: locking her in a room with a bomb that looked ready to explode. Sevika had been on the brink of death, only to discover that the bomb was a cruel joke, the kind only Jinx could conjure. If she had the time, she would have made sure the girl paid for it. She despised feeling vulnerable. But there was more. She had to deal with some of Silco’s men, and her day culminated with a direct punch to the face, leaving a visible mark on her otherwise stoic features.

On any other day, Sevika might have sought solace or at least retreated into the quiet of solitude, but today was different. No matter what she did, the sense of losing control gnawed at her insides. She needed to see you. She needed your presence, your calm way of looking at her and making her feel that everything, even if just for a while, would be okay.

Finally, the door creaked open. The sound of your footsteps was a balm to her weary spirit, and Sevika lifted her gaze. The damp night air lent a melancholic intensity to her eyes, now etched with fatigue and disdain. Though she tried to maintain her tough exterior, you quickly noticed the bruise marking her face.

“What happened?” Your voice, soft yet filled with concern, echoed in the room. Sevika tried to muster a smile, but it was futile.

“Just another day, you know?” she rasped, moving to lean against the table. She wasn’t about to crumble in front of you, but the exasperation in her tone was unmistakable. “Silco’s paranoid as ever. Jinx pulled one of her idiotic pranks… locked me in a room with a fake bomb about to explode. I thought I’d die there, amidst confetti and laughter. And if that wasn’t enough, one of Silco’s guys managed to land a punch on me.”

Your gaze, laced with worry and tenderness, softened instantly. You stepped forward, cupping her face gently, trying to ease the storm swirling inside her. Sevika stood still, unresponsive at first, but the hard lines of her face began to relax, even if only slightly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” you asked, your eyes never leaving hers, your words carrying a silent concern. You knew she hated appearing weak, but it didn’t matter; you would never see her that way. Sevika closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh.

“You know I don’t like to worry you.” Her tone was sharp, but softer than before. She could feel how your warmth affected her in ways she wasn’t ready to admit, but needed more than she was willing to acknowledge.

Without missing a beat, you acted. With a small smile, you stepped back a little, creating some space to prepare something that might bring her some comfort.

“Tonight, I’m making something special for my strong and sexy warrior,” you said, a mix of tenderness and teasing in your voice. “It’s not much, but I know you’ll like it.” You headed to the kitchen, and instead of a typical meal, you decided on something you knew would make Sevika smile: a homemade chocolate cupcake, with a hint of vanilla and a soft cream topping. While the sweet treat took shape, you thought about how this small gesture might lighten the night. The smell of freshly baked chocolate began to fill the air.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a slight smile. “A cupcake?” she asked, almost playfully, though her voice held a softness rarely heard. “Am I a child needing comfort now?”

“Maybe,” you replied, smiling as you set the table. “Sometimes we all need something simple and sweet.” You playfully tapped her nose.

With the cupcake served and a cup of aromatic tea, the two of you sat together, letting the calm settle for a moment. As she savored the cupcake, your fingers brushed hers gently, as if that simple touch could convey something deeper. Sevika’s gaze, usually so hard and closed off, softened as it met yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost with a humility that was unlike her. “I needed this more than I thought.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said with a gentle smile, intertwining your fingers with hers.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter what was happening in the outside world. For an instant, everything else faded away. Only that small space between the two of you existed, where love and understanding felt like the answer to all the burdens Sevika carried within.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 7: Your Hand In Mine✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: Get ready to meet soft, angsty Joel in this chapter. I would like to give him a big hug 🥺

Chapter Summary: Your first day of therapy is a little scary, but Joel helps you through it.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 4.7k

Chapter Tags: Soft! Joel, so much angst, yearning, reader goes to therapy, dual POV, age gap (reader late 20’s, Joel late 40’s), mentions of violence and kidnapping, grief

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“You nervous?” Joel asks from the driver’s seat, hands locked around the leather steering wheel.

   You nod while your hands fidget with your leggings. “Mmm, a little.” But a little’s a lie. You’re downright terrified. You’ve never been to therapy, never talked about yourself before like that. Well, Joel was the closest. You’ve talked to him, and you’re oddly comfortable with that now. But other than that? You haven’t done this.

   He must see the lie on your worried face and the terror ringing through your wide eyes. Giving you a gentle smile, he turns his focus back to the road ahead that’s shrouded in mist from the December rain. “Don’t be. Tess is great. You’re going to be great, sweetheart. I know it’s scary, but just know you’re taking that first step into the unknown. That first step of healing, and you’re going to do so well. I jus’ know it.”

   He’s always so supportive, so gentle, so easy with you. It makes your heart clench, makes it beat a little more just for him. 

   You take a good look at him. Watch as he cards a hand back through his tousled curls, watch as his green flannel clings to his flexed biceps, watch as that easy smile melts across his plush mouth. He’s just so nice to watch, so easy to keep your eyes trained on. 

   Darting your tongue across your bottom lip, you tilt your head toward him and give him an easy smile. “You’re always so sure about me.”

   “Yeah, guess I am.” He turns his head toward you and gives you a heart-stopping smile. “I guess I see all the potential in those pretty eyes of yours.”

   Your mouth parts, cheeks redden as you repeat that sentence over in your mind. He thinks you have pretty eyes. He’s always so sure of you. 

   Turning back toward the fogged-up passenger window, you lean against the door and smile. A smile that’s bigger than you’ve ever smiled before. You’re completely smitten by the handsome Texas man with big brown eyes. And he’s just continuing to show you how much life is worth living. Telling you how far he thinks you’ll go. But you don’t want to go far in distance. No. You just want to stay right here beside him. You think you’d follow him anywhere.

   When he stops at a red light, you brave another stare at him and smile like your whole heart is right there in his eyes. “Thanks for seeing the potential in me.”

   One side of his mouth curls up into a crooked smile, and his cinnamon-brown eyes sparkle against the windshield. “You’re so welcome, sweetheart.”

   When you catch your breath from melting, you ask, “Sarah said you see Tess, too?”

   He nods as the truck’s engine revs to life again. “She’s right. See her every couple of weeks or so. She’s patient and understanding and she really helps, I think. Helps when the nights get a little too dark for me.”

   The way he says the last sentence, his low voice sounds a little weary like maybe he fights the nights as much as you do. And you don’t miss the flinch in his right eye or the way his hand tightens on the steering wheel. He must get them too. The nightmares that haunt your dreams every few nights. You wish you could just scoop them up, replace them with dreams of ocean tides or snowy mountains filled with deep green trees. You wish you could take away his pain, whatever’s hurting him so deeply. He hides it well—the pain. But sometimes it creeps up on him, and it spills in different shades across his shadows that slip in his brown eyes. That’s something you don’t miss.

   Steady rain pelts against the windows, making the few trees in the distance look like monsters with tangled vines draping low to the ground. You flick your gaze back to Joel in the driver’s seat and another slow smile brushes against your lips. “Thanks again for driving me.”

   “It ain’t no trouble, sweetheart. I’ll drive you till you don’t need me to.”

   Another skipped heartbeat, another butterfly flitting through your stomach. The man is so sweet. 

   Biting your lower lip, you brave a question, mildly testing the waters. “What if I always need you to?” It comes out quiet, but not so quiet that he doesn’t hear you.

   He slows to a halt at a stop sign and turns to face you, eyes sparkling with promises. “Then I’ll be there every single time you need me.”

   “Promise?” 

   Another smile. “Cross my heart.” He folds a hand over his chest, promising once again. 

   You giggle under your breath, your eyes never leaving his. “Well, looks like I can trust you then.”

   “You can always trust me, sweetheart.” And he means it. You can always trust him, and you know that. God, you know that. 

   When the tires start spinning again on the damp pavement and the low sounds of an old Western song plays through the speakers, he clears his throat and speaks. “It’s gonna be a late night for me.”

   You flip your eyes back to him and give him a worried stare. “Do you have to go somewhere?” You already know what that means. He’s got an important job to do. One where he might be gone all night, maybe till morning. 

   He nods subtly. “Got an important run I gotta do with Tommy. So I might not be home till mornin’…” His voice cuts off. He knows you hate it when he’s away so long.

   “Gone the whole night?” Your voice is a meek whisper because you’re afraid what his answer will be. 

   He’s silent a beat. “Afraid so, but hopefully that ain’t the case. But still, even if I am back earlier, it’ll be well after two o’clock in the mornin’.”

   Your stomach churns just thinking about it. When he’s not across the hall when you’re sleeping, when he’s not just mere feet apart from you, it’s like something’s missing. There’s a void in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t seem to unravel that feeling till he’s in your space again. “I hate when you’re gone all night…” Your words falter, they break like your voice shakes.

   “I know, sweetheart. I know.” His right hand drops to the center console, just inches from yours. He seems conflicted, seems like he wants to reach out and graze his calloused skin against yours, but he doesn’t. But he’s trying. He’s still hesitant to touch you because you’re still so unsure of touch. He doesn’t want to scare you, and you know that. He’s just being careful. And maybe you’re still scared of physical touch, but his touch? That warm, gentle, soft graze he sometimes gives you. Well, it feels like sunlight skimming over you. 

   Carefully, you move your fingers in his direction. Just enough where you can feel the heat of his skin. You don’t touch him, not quite. But this is enough. This is your middle ground. “I umm… I worry about you at night when you’re not home. I’m always scared that… that...” You can’t even speak it out loud. You’re scared he won’t come back one night. And you can’t bear the thought of that. 

   His brown eyes soften. “I’ll be alright, sweetheart. I’ll come back. I can promise you that.” You give him a small smile and nod, keeping your fingers right by his just so you can feel the heat cover your own skin. 

   Physical contact is still something you’re struggling with, but you think Joel understands that. And he does. Always so careful around you. Never one to put you in an uncomfortable situation because he does understand your situation. He knows exactly what you’ve been through, and he wouldn’t dare make the wrong move because he doesn’t want to scare you. And you appreciate that. You appreciate him. So this is enough. Right now in this truck—hands centimeters apart, heat gliding over your fingers, a whispered promise that he’s going to take care of you. 

   Yes. This is enough.

   After a few more minutes, Joel’s pulling into a little parking lot, right in front of a tiny building with a lit-up white sign that says "Essence of Healing.” Your heart starts beating faster, your breath tightening in your chest as your eyes scan the brightly-lit sign. “Well, here we are. You ready?” He turns off the ignition and pulls the key out, his brown eyes flitting over to you. 

   You swallow once and nod, an array of emotions spinning in your head. “Yeah, I think so,” you breathe out as calmly as you can.

   He gives you an encouraging smile and pushes the door open. “C’mon, then.” You open the passenger door slowly and close it with a bang, your knees shaky, legs wobbly with every step you take toward the door. 

   This is it. You’re actually going to talk to a therapist for the first time in your life. What if you’re not ready, what if you choke, what if you burst out into tears and can’t sputter words from your choked-up throat? These are all valid questions, ones you never really considered, but you’re here. You have to do this. You have to do it for yourself. You owe that much to yourself. You are worth it.

   When Joel goes up to the front desk with you, the one covered in green succulents and a calming, trickling desk fountain running the corner, you collect all the paperwork you need to fill out and in exchange give her your photo ID. Joel was kind enough to go with you to get a new one since your old one was lost somewhere in Washington. As for health insurance, Joel was paying out of pocket for you to be seen. But he promised he was working to get you on your own health insurance plan. You still don’t know why he’s being so nice to you, but without him, you’d probably be dead by now…

   After a few minutes of fighting with the paperwork and scribbling out wrong information, you’re about to break out in tears. They’re swelling in the backs of your eyes, making your lips quiver and the words blur on the page.

   “Hey. You’re alright,” Joel coos, taking the pen from your shaky hand. “Let me help.” And you do let him. He fills out the questions you couldn’t answer yourself—his home address, your phone number you still haven’t memorized, emergency contact information, insurance details, even going as far as helping you fill out medical questions you’re having trouble with. 

   As you look up at him all focused and intent on getting your paperwork done, a little spark sizzles in your chest. You study him—eyes glued to the page, jaw flexed as his rapt attention is on each question, tousled curls a little disheveled as he cards his fingers attentively while he thumbs through the pages. You’re a little mesmerized, a little surprised he didn’t just leave you to shovel through the numerous papers. Instead, he chose to stay right by your side, saving you from breaking down from the weight of so many unknowns. 

   You’re scared, a little overwhelmed, a little more nervous than you’d like to be. But with Joel, it seems like you can get through anything. 

   When the paperwork is all completed and he’s back at your side, waiting patiently for them to call you back, you feel a little better—like you can do anything if he’s there next to you. Call him your knight in shining armor, but he truly is. He keeps saving you, and you hope he’ll never stop. 

   The nervous jitters start up again when you glance up at the clock. Five till noon, right when your appointment is supposed to be. Your knee is bouncing up and down in tandem with your flexed fingers against your leggings. Fear trickles down your spine, slides into the deepest parts of your veins. And suddenly, you’re downright terrified. 

   You’re about to get up, run out the door, but Joel senses your worry. He slides the back of his hand against yours, brushing your skin gently, a way to say ‘Hey, I’m right here.’ And when you look up and see those big brown eyes gazing softly down at you, you instantly quiet down inside. Your knee stops bouncing, and you’re left with this overwhelming peace that seems to radiate through every part of your body. Like a quiet forest that soothes your soul, that’s what Joel does to you. He makes everything else around you so still, so quiet. 

   When you’re about to say something to break the trance you’re in, you faintly hear your name being called from the open office door.

   You sit up straight and look toward the door, up at the woman that just called your name. “That’s me,” you call out with a shaky voice. 

   “Ahh. There you are.” She strides up to you and holds her hand out. You slowly take it. She has long light brown hair, strong cheekbones, welcoming hazel eyes, and a smile that instantly soothes you. “I’m Tess, by the way. It’s so good to meet you. This one’s told me a lot about you.” She flicks her eyes to Joel.

   When you take her hand, it’s warm. “It’s nice to meet you, Tess. And of course he has.”

   Joel shakes his head and lets a low chuckle leave his lips. “Guilty as charged.”

   “You got lucky with this one. He’s one of the good ones,” Tess nods as your hands disconnect.

   “He is…” you repeat back, getting lost just for a second in his syrupy brown eyes. He seems to get lost in yours too.

   “You ready?” Tess asks.

   “Oh, uhh. Yeah.” You take a second to push yourself up off the cushioned leather chair, let your legs stop wobbling beneath you. 

   When you’re just about to follow her back, Joel’s low voice serenades your ears. “I’ll be right here waitin’. You’re gonna do great, sweetheart.”

   “Thanks, Joel.” You give him a lasting smile, until Tess beckons you back to her office. 

   “Come on. This way.”

   With one last glance his way, you watch the front office door shut and what awaits you is a long hallway with mint-green wallpaper. Pictures of oceans, fields of wildflowers, and open spaces fill the painted walls. A small white table sits in the middle of the hall with multi-colored flowers hanging over the table that are tucked inside a cream-colored pot. 

   When you make it to the fourth door on the left, Tess nods inside and lets you go first. “Welcome to my office. Hope it’s cozy enough for you.”

   Gasping, you take in her array of rocks and seashells on her back wall. Dozens of colorful shapes and sizes fill the expanse of it. But what really catches your attention is all the little sand dollars spread out by her computer monitor. Her walls are almost the color of sunlight, and she’s got a massive portrait of a west coast beach framed with love behind her desk chair. A white leather couch sits right across from her mahogany desk, and the scent of soothing lavender fills the air. 

   “It’s perfect,” you whisper, amazed by all the decorative details of her office. It’s so inviting and welcoming. It instantly calms you down. 

   “Glad you like it,” she smiles. “Well, have a seat. Get comfortable.” You comply as she gets situated in her chair and pulls up your paperwork. Sifting through it for a minute, she looks up at you with a bright smile lit across her face. “So. This is your first session, is that correct?”

   “Yeah. I… I’ve never done this before,” you answer honestly, a little scared of what she might say, but she only gives you another encouraging smile.

   “Well, you came to the right place then. We’re just going to take this slow, take it one session at a time. Healing is a journey. There’s no one single path to it. We’ll do what works for you, what you’re comfortable with. That sound okay to you?”

   “Mhm,” you nod with your hands clasped tightly in your lap. You’re so fucking nervous, but this is normal, right? Everyone is scared of something they’ve never done before. But this? It seems like all your secrets will surely be unmasked, and that terrifies you. Sharing your past—what happened to you—isn’t going to be easy. Not one bit. 

   “I can see you’re scared, but you don’t have to be. This is a safe space. You can talk to me about anything. It’s all confidential. Nothing you say goes out that door.” 

   Your eyes flit to the closed oak door, and you nod in acknowledgment. “Right… Okay.”

   She scoots back and crosses one leg over her knee, leaving the open papers splayed on her desk. All attention is on you now. “How about we start from the beginning. Before… before you were taken. Maybe start with your childhood?”

   “Oh… I… Well, that’s a lot to tell,” you gulp out nervously. Your childhood trauma is a whole other monster you still haven’t tackled. 

   She smiles. “We’ve got an entire hour today. And if you come back, we’ll have many more sessions to unravel your past.”

   You bite your bottom lip and nod, your nerves getting the best of you, but you push through. “Okay…” You take a deep breath and dive in head first. “Here goes nothing.”

   Four o’clock flashes like an alarm on the oven clock, telling him he’s been gone for hours, but really, it feels like it’s been days. He reaches for the open whiskey bottle and pours the amber liquid over the square ice cubes in the glass. Every drop looks like the trickles of fresh blood that’s stained his flannel permanently. He should’ve fucking known tonight was not the night to wear nice flannels. 

   He scuffs his leather boots against the hardwood floor, dragging his tired legs from the kitchen to the living room, till he’s collapsed in a heap on the leather couch—one hand curled around the cold glass, the other raking down his face excruciatingly slow. 

   He failed. He was too late. Just minutes from being on time. Maybe he could’ve saved her. Saved that innocent little girl from her executioners. But he couldn’t…

   As he closes his eyes, he sees the flash of red covering the dark walls, serenading the lace of her pink dress. Eleven-years-old, just shy of turning twelve, a daughter that’ll never be able to return home to a worried mother and father. 

   He curses under his breath, feels the tears pour like droplets of water down his cheek. She didn’t deserve to die, didn’t deserve to be scared and all alone. He was supposed to save her, was supposed to get her out. That was his mission, and he fucking failed. 

   Three minutes. He was just three fucking minutes shy of saving her life, but he was too late. He misjudged the distance, didn’t realize the captors were early to their destination. He got there right after they smothered her—silencing her terrified screams forever. He can still hear them like shrill sirens blasting through the base of that rundown building. This isn’t the first time he’s been too late, but God. This one hurts like hell because it reminds him of someone he lost along the way. Someone he loved just as much as Sarah.

   And so, he did what he did best. He took them out—all the men that had hurt her. Thankfully, he took backup, including Tommy. He smothered their screams, pushed daggers into their throats, shot them dead in a frenzy of rage while his teeth were clenched and eyes were fogged with held-in tears. When he looked at that poor, lost girl—it nearly took him to his knees. Those eyes. Those same lifeless hazel eyes that still haunt his dreams to this day. They were the same shade as hers… The little girl that forever changed his life. The one that he wishes was still here…

   Ellie… That little girl tonight looked just like his lost daughter—the one he saved all those years ago. But he never fully saved her. Not after… not when he let her go…

   A wave of emotions floods through his chest as he takes another stiff drink of alcohol, letting the whiskey burn through him while visions of hazel eyes and crimson fill his foggy mind. 

   He was too late. He fucked up. He misjudged the minute hand from the second hand. Time slipped away from him. And before he knew it, everything he planned for was lost to the eerie night. Instead, it ended in bloodshed and turmoil. He hates it. Hates when things have to get extremely violet, but what choice did he have? He had to take them out because they stole an innocent life—a life he was supposed to keep safe. 

   He’s so lost in the crimson-stained memories in his mind that he almost misses that small, meek voice of yours. “Joel?” 

   When he opens his eyes, a part of his soul shatters. There you are, a plush blanket wrapped around your shoulders, heartbreaking eyes shining over to him from the staircase. You take in his half-drank glass of whiskey and the dried tears that stain his cheeks. But also, you see the faint crimson that tarnishes his flannel shirt. 

   Blood. There was so much blood… like a liquid pool of death.

   He adjusts his back against the leather cushion and sits up a little straighter, just so he looks less worn down and broken than he already is. You see right through him though. You always do. “Sweetheart, it’s late. Why don’t you…” 

   “Are you… okay?” Your voice whispers across the room, silences the crackling embers in the fireplace. Your voice… it sounds broken too.

   “I, uhh. Jus’ please, go back to sleep.” He tries to push you away, tries to get you to return to your room so he can sulk in peace. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. Doesn’t want you to see just how physically and mentally defeated he actually is. He’s not as strong as you think he is. He’s fragile, grainy sand that gets blown away by the wind. He’s not rock-solid; he’s quicksand.

   You slide into the seat next to him, close enough where your knee could brush against his. “I’m not leaving you.” There’s finality in your tone, still soft but firm on your decision. And there’s those eyes. Those fucking beautiful eyes that could silence all the built-up pain he has piled on his heart.

   You’re so fucking beautiful.

   “Are you hurt?” You ghost your hand across the leather, reaching out just enough where he feels the heat of your skin. It soothes him over just a tad, but nothing can quite wipe away the excruciating weight of agony he’s carrying now.

   “No. I’m jus’… I’m so tired.” He pinches his eyes closed and takes a deep breath, his hand clutching the cool glass of whiskey like it’s his lifeline. “This job weighs on me like solid concrete. Some nights are so fuckin’ hard. Some nights jus’…” He pauses, takes a deep breath in and blows another out. He can’t finish. He’s too tired, too strained from the past few hours, months, years.

   He’s so fucking tired; he just needs some rest, some peace, some symbolism that he knows he’ll get to the finish line. But he’s been so struck down ever since he met that certain hazel-eyed little girl. Ellie. His little girl…

   “What happened tonight?” Your voice comes off as a whisper. Maybe you’re just as scared to hear what he has to say. 

   He taps the edge of his thumb against the solid glass and takes a deep breath. “We uhh… I lost her. Her name… her name was Abigail. Just a little eleven-year-old, and I was supposed to save her, to get her back to her parents. But I… I was too late. I was too fuckin’ late.” There it is. The pen drops, another tear splashes down his stained flannel, and he’s lost to grief again. 

   You pause a beat, but you gasp loud enough for him to hear the horror in your voice. He’s a failure. You must think he’s such a failure. “Joel… I’m so… God. I’m so sorry.” There’s only sorrow in your lilty voice, no anger or resentment that he failed yet another soul. You’re just as sad as him, he thinks.

   “I failed her… I failed everyone…” He shakes his head, sets his mind a little straighter just so he can grit the words out. “Sometimes I feel like none of this is worth it, like I don’t make a difference. Because when this happens, it makes me feel like I’m already six feet underground.”

   “Oh, Joel. No.” He feels it—the couch creak beneath him, the weight of your body sliding over, your hand inching closer to his. “You save so many lives. You make every bit of difference. You change lives.” There’s so much assurance in your voice; you’re trying to soothe him over.

   He snaps his eyes shut and shakes his head, anything to stop the burning sensation in his watery eyes. Maybe if he doesn’t blink then he won’t feel the pain of this gut-wrenching moment. “But I… I couldn’t save her… I couldn’t save…” 

   Ellie…

   With his eyes still shut tight, he feels warmth wrap around his hand, feels the soft caress of your skin. And when he opens his eyes wide, he sees the most beautiful shades of softness gleaming from your pretty eyes. 

   “You saved me. And that… that means everything to me. You saved me. You saved your daughter. You saved so many lives. You are a hero, and don’t you dare think otherwise. Not for one second.” There’s tears licking your lash line, the most sincere look over your pretty face. A desperate plea to get through to him. And in that moment, he believes you for a second. Believes that he is a hero, even when he doesn’t believe it himself.

   His bottom lip trembles as tears gather in his watery eyes. Something hits him deep in the gut. Longing, the fear of losing you, and an all-consuming wave of tender emotions. He sees you. He really sees you. Such a beautiful soul. Such a lovely, amazing woman. To think he almost didn’t go to that auction, almost wasn’t able to save you. What would he do if he never found you? It stings to even think about. Because you… Well, you’re everything all at once. And he’s so fucking soft for you.

   Carefully, softly, he laces his fingers through yours, holds on for dear life, praying you never let go.  

   Don’t let go. Never let go. 

   Your hand is a perfect fit for his. Every line, edge, dip carved specially for his hand to fit in. The weave of your fingers against his, the light brush of your skin, the heat that spirals into complete warmness when your skin slips against his—you were fucking made for him, just as he was for you, he thinks. Because when your bright eyes and soft smile are in his presence, he sees pure sunlight, sees the pure angelic essence you’re bathed in. 

   He was made to find you. This much he knows. And whether you choose to stay or go—he’ll have this moment to hold on to. Because he got you once. Your hand in his. This right here is everything he’s ever needed. It may just be your hand brushing against his, your fingers intertwined together, but it feels like home. You feel like home. 

   So, he lets the soft rain pelt outside against the living room windows, lets the dying fire crackle and pop in the fireplace, and savors the feel of your honey-like soft skin sliding against his. And he stays there for several minutes, maybe an hour, and there’s only silence shrouding the room. But your touch? It screams volumes, makes him feel human again. 

   For a breath of a moment, you’re his. 

   Texas rain was a rare phenomenon. Misty showers only a once in a while type thing. But you? You made it pour, made the flood waters wash clear through Austin. He didn’t see it coming, didn’t expect anything like you. But it sure as hell knocked him clear off his feet when you bathed him in your electric thunderstorms. 

Tag List: @clawdee @jellybeanxc @lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra

@whxtedreams @sawymredfox @sanarsi @mountainsandmayhem @bitchytimetravelqueen

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@papipascaaaal @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @bambisweethearts @puddles221b

@valkyreally @northennlights

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

“jay—” 

the sentence you somehow thought you could form dies in your throat as your breath shudders in your lungs. 

“yes, my love?” your roommate, jason todd, looks up from where he’s happily situated: between your thighs. his attention now divided, you’re mercifully granted a break. you gulp for air, your hands over your face. 

“i just need—” 

“what? what do you need?” he cuts you off, impatient that you’re pulling him away from what he’s been so dutifully working on for probably an hour..if not more. “you want me to stop?” jason teases, rubbing a warm, calloused hand over the meat of your thigh. “does it feel too good?”

“w-what?” confused, you shake your head. “i don’t—”

“i think you need someone to worry about you for once, huh?” he raises an eyebrow at you, causing your cheeks to heat as your hands fly back up to your face. “what, you don’t agree?” 

you open your mouth to argue, then close it. then open it again, thinking. 

“mm. that’s what i thought.” your roommate smirks at you, turning his gaze back onto the part of you that’s still pulsing with heat from his ministrations. his chin’s slick from how much time he’s spent tongue deep in your pussy. 

but he wants more. 

wants to feel your hands in his hair again, gripping as he draws orgasm after orgasm out of you. wants to feel your thighs tight around his head, your self-control wavering as your back arches off the mattress, again and again. 

wants nothing but to breathe you in as he presses feathery light kisses to your puffy clit, watching you squirm from the barely-there pressure of his lips. 

wants you, all of you, the happy, sad, messy, angry, loving, caring, beautiful you,

—but jason: dead and revived, beaten and bruised, silent and steadfast, your jason, can’t always put that into words, can he?

so he wants you to feel it, really feel it:

in the way he pats your thigh lovingly as he runs his tongue through your folds, over and over. 

in the way he carries you to bed when you fall asleep on him in the living room. kisses your forehead as he tucks you in.

in the way he brushes your hair out of your face before he grabs you by the cheeks and your lips meet. 

in the way he knows your favorite, well, everything. 

in the way he’s always holding your hand when the two of you walk anywhere.

in the way his pupils always widen, huge and blown out, when he looks at you, making your heart pound in time with his as he holds your gaze. 

in the way he washes your hair in the shower, 

makes your coffee in the mornings, 

buys and arranges flowers for you,

wears that cologne you like,

knows the sidewalk rule, 

kisses your forehead,

laughs with you,

smirks at you,

loves you.

and yet you two are.. 

you two, and you both worry. 

of course, you both worry. 

he worries he’s not enough for you—

his lifestyle, his history..how could he ever be what you need? how could he give you the life you deserve?

—and you worry you’re a little too much sometimes. 

a man like that? with his past, his present? and yet he takes care of you like it’s the easiest thing in the world. like he could do it in his sleep. 

all you know is that he doesn’t have to worry, shouldn’t have to, because whatever, or however much he thinks he wants something, you want it just as much..if not more. 

and what you want next? to make it official? to really, truly, make him your jason?

well. 

how could he refuse you?

[ohsugar-honey-iced-tea]

can i make an angsty request where wanda brings reader to one of stark’s parties as her date & reader excuses themself to go to the bathroom only to come back and catch wanda and vision sharing a kiss? maybe reader starts to leave when wanda catches her out of the corner of her eye and tries to explain.

idk if this is any good but this would be cool to do bc i kinda want to cry a bit haha

If Only

Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

A/n: This is my very first time writing an angst so please be kind 🥲

Warnings: angst, harrasment

Summary: where hope and dreams turn into sadness as you see your biggest fear come true

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

You were absolutely over the moon.

After months and months of pining, longing, stolen glances and shared smiles, you finally found the courage to ask out Wanda Maximoff.

Wanda was everything you were looking for. Kind, smart, funny and witty. Beautiful with a smile that could light up the whole room and emerald green eyes that sparkled when she talked about something she was passionate about.

See, the thing is, you have been having a crush on Wanda as soon as she joined the Avengers. Long months were spent dreaming of her and hoping she would one day give you the honor of dating her.

You still weren't sure why she said yes when you asked her to go as your date to one of Starks parties. But you were so glad she did.

As you were getting ready, putting on your best dress, Wanda send you a text.

'Be ready in ten, detka. x W'

You smiled. Detka. That one word already had your cheeks hurting from how big your smile was.

As you were putting on the finishing touches on your makeup, you heard a soft knock on your door. You opened the door to your room and there she was.

A stunning red dress with black high heels to match with them. A golden necklace with two gold bracelets to finish the set. Red hair put up, revealing small diamond earrings and makeup done to perfection.

So goddesses do exist. And one was standing right in front of you.

Wanda must have thought something was wrong because she looked at you worriedly.

"Y/n, is everything alright?"

"You... you look perfect."

Wanda blushed, clearly flustered by your compliment.

"Well you don't look so bad yourself, ma'am"

You giggled, quickly getting the last of your things so you could head to the main floor where the party was held.

As you two walked down the stairs, hand in hand, you couldn't help but think that this felt right. You and Wanda, holding each others hand and being next to each other.

You didn't want to get too ahead of yourself, but you couldn't contain your smile.

"What's so funny over there?"

You gave her a cocky smile and a sly wink in return.

"With a little luck you will find out later"

As the two of you stepped in the big crowded room, you started feeling a little overwhelmed. Big parties and busy crowds were never really your thing, but Wanda was worth it. She would always be worth it. You turned to Wanda.

"You stay right here, and I'll get us some drinks, okay?

Wanda gave you a little kiss on your cheek, making you blush furiously.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, detka"

You smiled and you made your way over to the bar as you ordered your drinks. A strawberry daiquiri for Wanda. Pretty and sweet, just like her.

As you were waiting for your drink your mind began to wonder to your plans for later tonight.

Wanda didn't know, but you went up to the balcony earlier today to hang up some fairylights and a little blanket for you to sit on, so you would have your own little starry midnight sky.

You were hoping tonight would finally be the night where you would feel Wanda's lips on yours. You were so sure that would be what true happiness would feel like.

As you took the drinks and made your way over to Wanda, your heart dropped.

There he was. Wanda's ex, Vision. He was with Wanda and they were making out against the wall.

You felt your heart shatter into pieces. Surely you were insecure, but you were so sure Wanda felt the same about you than you did for her.

Perhaps you shouldn't have allowed yourself to have hope. After all, hope is only seconds away of crushing reality kicking in.

Your legs were starting to feel weak and your hands let go of the drink, clattering to the floor as you let out a poorly concealed sob. Wanda suddently jumped off of the wall she was pressed against.

"Y/n, this isn't what it looks like!"

But it was too late. All sound got quiet, and you felt a panic attack rising. You needed to get out of there, now.

"Come on baby, this is what we both want"

As Wanda saw you running she tried as hard as she could to get out of Vision's arms, who has started to rub his hands all over her body. Eventually she got out and followed you, running as fast as she ever did.

See, the thing is, Vision cornered Wanda. He had pinned her arms down and had forced his lips onto Wanda's. She tried with all might to do something, scream, hit, anything. But she couldn't. Until she heard you.

Vision even had the audacity to look at you and smirk.

With all her might Wanda tried to catch up to you, but as she walked outside all she could see was your car speeding off.

Was the one thing that could truly make Wanda happy ruined before it even had a chance to start?

As you drove off, your eyes began to swim with tears. How dare you be so stupid to believe you actually had a chance?

As you turned left, you put the volume of the radio to the max. You needed to hear something, anything, other then your thoughts.

Maybe your parents were right. Maybe you weren't deserving of love. After all, they were the ones who never went out of their way to show that to you, starting at an early age.

Was any of it Wanda showed you real? Were the little inside jokes only meaningful to you? The small hints that Wanda wanted this as much as you did?

If only you weren't so naive. Maybe then you wouldn't be feeling how you are feeling now.

If only you didn't believe in love and happiness. Maybe then you could have been at peace with yourself, making a happy little life with just yourself.

If only you would have seen the car on your right running the red light.

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

Let me know if you want to be added to the Wanda taglist! If you have any requests, send them! Reblogs are much appreciated :)

Taglist: @wandanats-goodgirl

[wolvietxt]

𝓬harade.

pairing : bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings : jealousy, friends to lovers, fake dating, fluff, kiss, light angst, mentions of bucky’s past (like once), possessiveness  summary : you ask bucky to come with you to a charity gala, just to get tony off of your back. it’s beneficial to him too (he doesn’t have to be alone) but will the lines between fake and real blur? wc : 3.4k

bucky wasn’t sure when it started - this... thing between the two of you. he wasn’t even sure he could call it a thing, but something about you had a way of wrapping around him, unbalancing the careful walls he’d constructed to keep himself steady.

maybe it was the way you’d walked into the avengers tower three years ago, all bright smiles and teasing remarks, treating him like he was more than just a shadow from the past. or maybe it was how you never gave him space to brood for too long, always pulling him into group movie nights or challenging him to spar in the gym when you sensed he needed a distraction. whatever it was, bucky found himself gravitating toward you more than he liked to admit.

and now, sitting on one of the plush couches in the tower’s common area, staring at the team calendar where “charity gala” was written in bold, mocking letters, bucky was painfully aware of you.

“you’re glaring at that thing like it owes you money,” you teased, dropping onto the couch next to him. your knee brushed against his, and he hoped you didn’t notice the way his shoulders tensed at the contact.

he grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. “it’s so stupid.”

“you say that about every event,” you replied, leaning back like you belonged there, like you belonged anywhere. “maybe this one will be fun.”

bucky gave you a look. “fancy clothes, fake smiles, and rich people talking about how generous they are? yeah… sounds like a blast.”

you giggled, and he felt the sound settle somewhere deep in his chest. “maybe you just need the right date,” you said, half-joking. “you know, someone to make it bearable.”

he snorted. “and who’s that supposed to be? steve? sam?”

“i was thinking me, actually,” you said, a glimmer of mischief in your eyes.

bucky’s brain short-circuited for a moment. he stared at you, waiting for the punchline, but it never came.

“hear me out,” you said, panicking a little at the blank expression on his face. leaning forward now, your expression more serious. “i’ve been trying to dodge tony’s matchmaking attempts for weeks, and you hate going to these things alone. right? we can fake it - just for the night. pretend we’re together. that way, we both get through it in one piece.”

his first instinct was to say no. it wasn’t a good idea. it wasn’t smart to pretend, to blur the lines that were already starting to feel too thin. but then he thought about the alternative: going alone, standing on the edges of conversations, enduring pitying glances. and there you were, offering him an easy out. offering to stand beside him, even if it was just pretend.

“fine,” he said finally. “but don’t blame me if this blows up in your face.”

“oh please,” you said, grinning now. “if anything blows up, it’ll be because you can’t act to save your life.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

by the time the night of the gala rolled around, bucky was questioning every decision that had led him to this moment. he’d been uncomfortable in suits before, but this tux felt particularly suffocating. the mirror in his room didn’t help, either; no matter how many times he adjusted his tie, he still felt like a kid playing dress-up.

“hey,” your voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, and he turned to see you standing in the doorway.

for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. your dress was sleek and elegant, the color complementing your skin in a way that made you look effortlessly radiant. but it wasn’t just the dress - it was the way you carried yourself, the way your eyes lit up when you saw him.

“wow,” you said, stepping closer. “you clean up real nice.”

he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “you don’t look so bad yourself.”

you smirked. “aww, don’t get too sappy on me now, barnes.”

he huffed a laugh, but the nervous energy in his chest didn’t dissipate. he hoped you couldn’t tell, but out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw your smile falter.

when you arrived at the gala, the room was already bustling with people. chandeliers cast a warm glow over the space, and the soft hum of classical music filled the air.

you slipped your arm through his, leaning in closer than necessary. “smile, bucky. we’re supposed to look like we’re having fun.”

he shot you a look but forced his lips into a semblance of his grin. “if you say so.”

you both made your way through the crowd, greeting familiar faces and dodging small talk whenever possible. bucky was doing fine - or at least pretending he was - until someone approached you.

“y/n,” the man said, his smile wide and just a little too polished. “been a while.”

bucky’s eyes narrowed as you returned the greeting, your tone polite but distant. the guy’s attention lingered on you, his gaze sweeping over you in a way that made bucky’s jaw tighten.

“so, who’s your friend?” the man asked, finally acknowledging bucky.

“this is bucky,” you said, squeezing his arm slightly. “he’s my date.”

the man raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“it’s recent,” you said smoothly, glancing at bucky. “but it’s going well.”

bucky didn’t miss the way the guy’s smile faltered, and for the first time that night, he felt a flicker of satisfaction. he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer.

“yep,” he said, his tone even. “real well.”

after a few more pleasantries, the man finally walked away, leaving the two of you alone again.

“he didn’t seem happy to see me with someone,” bucky muttered.

“jealousy isn't a good look on him,” you said, but there was a hint of something in your voice - something he couldn’t quite place.

you glanced up at him, your expression softening. “thanks for stepping in back there. i know this whole thing isn’t exactly your scene.”

he shrugged, but his grip on your waist didn’t loosen. “it’s not so bad.”

as the night went on, the lines between what was real and what was pretend started to blur. the way you laughed at his dry remarks, the way your hand lingered on his arm - it all felt too natural, too easy.

and maybe that’s what scared him most of all.

bucky wasn’t sure when the room started to feel smaller, the air heavier. maybe it was the way you kept pulling him into conversations with people whose names he’d already forgotten, your laughter bright and unguarded as you charmed the crowd. or maybe it was the lingering gazes from a few too many admirers who clearly didn’t get the memo about you being taken - even if it was fake.

“you okay?” your voice broke through his thoughts, quiet and meant only for him. you’d leaned in close, your hand brushing his arm. the warmth of your touch grounded him, even as the irritation simmering beneath his skin refused to fade.

“fine,” he muttered, forcing a tight smile. “just... crowds.”

you frowned, your brow furrowing in concern. “we can leave anytime, you know. i don’t mind.”

“we’re not leaving just because i’m uncomfortable,” he replied, his tone sharper than he intended.

your eyes softened, the corner of your mouth twitching like you wanted to argue but decided against it. “okay. but let me know if you change your mind.”

he nodded, looking away before the guilt could settle too deeply. you didn’t deserve his moodiness, not when you were trying so damn hard to make this night bearable for him.

the tipping point came about an hour later.

you’d drifted away to grab drinks while bucky stayed near the edge of the room, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he scanned the crowd. he wasn’t keeping tabs on you - at least, that’s what he told himself - but when he spotted you talking to someone near the bar, his chest tightened.

the guy was tall, with an easy smile and a smug air about him that bucky instantly disliked. he leaned a little too close to you, his hand brushing your arm as he said something that made you laugh - a laugh bucky didn’t like hearing from someone else.

bucky’s jaw clenched. he didn’t have a claim to you, not really, but the sight still ignited something possessive and raw. before he realized what he was doing, he was striding across the room.

“everything okay here?” his voice came out rougher than he intended as he positioned himself at your side, his broad frame cutting off the guy’s view of you.

your eyes widened slightly in surprise, but you recovered quickly, flashing him a smile. “bucky. we were just talking about the gala.”

“right,” bucky said flatly, his gaze locked on the guy, who had the audacity to look amused.

“well,” the man said, taking a step back, “i’ll leave you two to it. nice meeting you, y/n.”

bucky didn’t relax until the guy disappeared into the crowd.

“jealous much?” you teased, though your tone was light.

“he was flirting with you,” bucky muttered, his arms crossing over his chest.

“so? it’s not like I’m actually your - ” you stopped yourself, your cheeks flushing slightly as the words hung between you.

“not my what?” he pressed, his voice quieter now, edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

you glanced away, fiddling with the stem of your glass. “nothing. forget it.”

but he couldn’t. the way your voice had faltered, the way your teasing confidence had momentarily slipped - it stuck with him, unsettling in a way he wasn’t ready to unpack.

later, the two of you found a quieter corner of the venue, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. you’d kicked off your heels, perching on the edge of a low bench with your legs tucked beneath you. bucky sat beside you, his tie loosened and his jacket draped over the back of his chair.

“sorry if i made things weird earlier,” he said after a long stretch of silence.

you glanced at him, your expression unreadable. “you didn’t.”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i just... i don’t like seeing people treat you like that.”

“like what?”

“like you’re something they can just... have,” he said, his voice rough. “you deserve better than that.”

your gaze softened, a small smile tugging at your lips. “you’re sweet, you know that?”

“don’t tell anyone,” he muttered, earning a quiet laugh from you.

for a moment, the weight between you seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter. but then your laughter faded, and your smile turned wistful.

“sometimes i wonder if this is all i’m good for,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “being the girl people want to flirt with at parties. the fun one, the easygoing one. it’s like... no one really takes me seriously,” your voice getting quieter and quieter as you spoke.

bucky’s chest ached at your words, the vulnerability in your tone cutting deeper than he expected. without thinking, he reached for your hand, his calloused fingers brushing against yours.

“you’re more than that,” he said firmly. “you’re smart, and strong, and... you make people feel like they matter. you make me feel like i matter.”

your eyes met his, wide and searching, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“bucky...” you started, your voice unsteady.

“look, i know this was supposed to be fake,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “but i don’t think i’m pretending anymore.”

you stared at him, your expression unreadable, and for a terrifying second, he thought he’d ruined everything. but then you leaned closer, your free hand resting lightly on his cheek.

“finally,” you smiled, your voice barely above a whisper.

and then, before he could overthink it, you closed the distance, your lips brushing softly against his. it wasn’t a grand, sweeping kiss - just a gentle meeting of mouths, tentative and full of unspoken promises.

when you pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, but there was a smile in your eyes.

“guess we’re both bad at pretending,” you said softly.

“damn right,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small, lopsided grin.

and for the first time that night, the air between you felt light again, the tension replaced by something warm and new. 

the drive back to your place was quieter than usual. not tense, exactly - more like the air was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to shatter the silence. you fiddled with the strap of your clutch, glancing at bucky out of the corner of your eye. his hands were steady on the wheel, his jaw tight, but his gaze flicked toward you every few seconds like he was making sure you were still there.

you finally broke the silence. “you don’t have to walk me up, you know.”

“didn’t ask if i had to,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

you couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. even now, with your head spinning from the events of the evening, he had a way of grounding you, steady and unshakable. 

when he parked outside your building, he killed the engine and rounded the car before you even had a chance to unbuckle. ever the gentleman - or at least, his gruff version of one. 

the elevator ride up to your apartment was quiet, the tension from earlier creeping back in. when the doors slid open, you led the way, fumbling with your keys as you tried to ignore the warmth of his presence behind you. 

“you sure you’re okay?” he asked as you pushed the door open.

“yeah,” you said quickly, stepping inside. “just... long night.”

he hesitated in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space like he wasn’t quite ready to leave. you turned to face him, your lips parting to say something - what, you weren’t sure - but the words stuck in your throat. 

his eyes were darker in the soft light of your apartment, the usual cool blues tinged with something deeper, something unreadable. 

“you want me to go?” he asked, his voice quieter now, rougher around the edges. 

you shook your head before you could stop yourself. “no. i mean... stay. if you want.”

you weren’t sure when it happened - when the air between you shifted again, from awkward and unspoken to charged with something electric. maybe it was the way he hovered near the kitchen while you made tea, his shoulders tense like he didn’t know where to put himself. or maybe it was the quiet gratitude in his voice when you handed him a cup, your fingers brushing for half a second too long.

“you don’t have to stay,” you said again, softer this time. “i know this whole thing has been... a lot.”

he snorted, taking a sip of his tea. “you think i can’t handle a few idiots and bad wine?”

“i think you can handle anything,” you replied, the words slipping out before you could overthink them.

he looked at you then, really looked at you, and the weight of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. 

“you shouldn’t say stuff like that,” he said quietly, his tone unreadable.

“why not?”

“because,” he said, setting his cup down on the counter, “i’m trying real hard not to cross a line here.”

your heart skipped a beat. “what line?”

he let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair. “the one where i stop pretending this is fake and start wanting things i’m not supposed to want.”

“bucky...” his name came out softer than you intended, barely more than a whisper. 

he took a step closer, his boots heavy against the hardwood floor. “tell me to go,” he said, his voice low and rough. “because if you don’t, i’m not sure i can keep pretending.”

but you didn’t tell him to go. instead, you closed the space between you, your hand finding his like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“i don’t want to pretend either,” you admitted, your voice shaking with the weight of the words. 

he stared at you for a long moment, like he was searching for something in your expression. then, without another word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you again.

the kiss was nothing like the one at the gala - nothing tentative or unsure about it. this was heat and certainty, his lips moving against yours like he’d been holding back for far too long. his hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. the world narrowed to just the two of you, the quiet hum of the city outside your window fading into nothingness. 

when he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“you sure about this?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

you nodded, your hands sliding up to rest on his chest. “are you?”

he let out a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating beneath your palms. “fuck yeah.”

you giggled, leaning up to press another kiss to his lips, softer this time, like you had all the time in the world. and for once, it felt like maybe you did.

later, you found yourselves tangled on the couch, your legs draped across his lap as his arm rested along the back of the cushions. the tea you’d made had gone cold on the coffee table, forgotten in the haze of everything that had happened.

“so,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. “what happens now?”

he glanced at you, one brow quirking in that way that always made your heart do stupid little flips. “what do you mean?”

“i mean... this,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “us.”

he shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “guess we figure it out.”

“that’s it? no grand plan?”

“plans don’t usually work out for me,” he said simply, his tone light but laced with something heavier.

you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “then we’ll take it one step at a time.”

he squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “sounds good to me.”

the night stretched on, the city quieting outside as the minutes slipped by. you weren’t sure when you drifted off, your head resting against his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. but when you woke up to the first rays of morning light filtering through the window, he was still there, his breathing slow and steady beneath you.

for the first time in a long time, everything felt exactly as it should.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus, @uncertified-doc

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[radiantmists]

Haven't finished my day one fic but here's my entry for @charles-rowland-week Day 2: Chorb!

I see a lot of cute orb-ghost content and love it, but for some reason when I sat down to write my brain went: that experience must be terrifying on both ends. Especially if it happens when they're pushed to the brink, a circumstance that otherwise leads to ghosts just... dissolving. Especially the first time.

So here's the first time!

***

Charles can't remember how he got here; he hasn't really got any idea where here is, except that the ground he's lying on is too hard and the light is so bright it burns his eyes whenever he opens them.

Though that might actually be something wrong with his eyes, judging by how much the rest of him hurts. He must have pissed someone off real bad, to be in this much pain, but he can't remember who or why. He hopes it was worth it.

"Charles," says a voice, a voice he knows. Edwin's here, and he sounds upset, and like he's trying to hide it. Charles manages to pry his eyes open for half a moment before the searing pain forces them shut again, but in that brief second he gets a glimpse of Edwin-- just his neck and the bottom of his face, the harsh press of his mouth.

Charles has seen that expression before, knows it comes along with wide eyes that give away what might look like frustration otherwise; this is the face Edwin makes when he's terrified.

Edwin shouldn't be terrified. Charles tries to reach for where he thinks he was, to comfort him, but just the idea of moving his arm reminds him of how much his shoulders hurt, and he half-screams before he can swallow the sound.

"Charles, just-- just lie still a moment," Edwin says beyond the roaring of his ears, and it shouldn't be a hard request with how much moving hurts, but Charles doesn't think he can bear to lie here like this much longer, the ground digging into him and the pain burning through his bones.

There's something wrong about that. Charles shouldn't be able to feel the ground, however hard it is; he doesn't actually have bones to burn.

He's dead, but he's still hurting, somehow, and that doesn't seem fair, does it? He'd sort of thought he'd escaped it, for a while. Maybe a little pain was the cost of being alive, but now-- unable to feel any good thing-- it just feels cruel.

He's so tired of hurting.

"Charles," Edwin's voice breaks through again, only this time the tone is different, somewhere beyond fear. "Charles, please, don't-- please just stay--"

His voice breaks on the plea. Because he is pleading, which is all kinds of wrong. Edwin doesn't beg when he's terrified; he goes silent and still like a hunted rabbit, which Charles hates with all his being but he hates this too. Edwin shouldn't beg. He shouldn't have to, not with Charles, who has embarked on the afterlife-long project of making him as happy as possible.

Not going anywhere, he tries to say, but his mouth doesn't want to obey him and instead he just sort of groans. He can't move his fingers-- he's not sure he has fingers, right now. They don't hurt anymore, but he can't really feel them either.

He remembers that: losing his fingers first, then his toes, then more and more. Edwin had been there then, too, strange and funny and unbelievably kind, and Charles hadn't had the chance to worry about his toes. Edwin had given him that gift, the gift of not being scared, and then he'd tried to run off like it was nothing, like after all that he'd thought Charles would just leave Edwin to the lingering terror in his eyes when he spoke of Hell.

That terror has never left completely, despite Charles' best efforts. He's started to think it never will, and the thought hurts, but at least he'd thought it was getting better; except now Edwin is terrified, and he's the one begging Charles to stay. He's still talking, somewhere beyond the pain, and though Charles can't make out the words, that heartbreaking tone is still there.

Charles isn't leaving him. He refuses. But he can't bear this either, the pain making it so hard to think, to remember. Edwin's voice is a lifeline, but it's getting more and more difficult to hear it, and he's not sure it's just the ringing anymore.

He's a ghost. He doesn't have ears to ring, not really, or bones to ache or eyes to burn when he opens them. Piece by piece, half on purpose and half unable to hold on, he lets it all slip away, until all that's left is the conviction: whatever happens, he wants to stay.

It feels a little like changing his hair, the way Edwin had taught him, just holding on to what he wants until that's what he is.

Mostly, though, it feels like dying.

***

He knows less and more, like this. He doesn't know where he is, and there's no feeling to help him guess, no pain or light or voice in the ears he doesn't have anymore. He doesn't know how he got here, doesn't know how long he's been here, doesn't even know who he is, really.

But he's not confused, because what he knows is this: he's dead, and it's not fucking fair, because he had so much left to do. He knows he was going to do better, that he was going to fix things, and now he'll never have the chance. Part of him seethes at that, and part of him just wants to take the hint and stop trying.

Except he also knows, somehow, that he does have another chance. That he's still here, even if he can't feel or taste or smell-- or even see or hear. That he can move things, somehow, change them, sometimes even fix them. He can solve crimes and save lives and on very good days he can make Edwin laugh.

He remembers that, the last time he'd made Edwin laugh-- just a little chuckle, really, but helplessly sincere, and the smile had stayed on his lips when he'd said, really, Charles--

The world unfolds around that voice speaking his name, first just memory into sound and then the awareness of ears to hear it, of a head to turn toward it and arms to push himself up, of something soft and forgiving under his palms, and of eyes he can open to see Edwin's face, remarkably close and blinking with surprise that, as Charles watches, collapses into relief.

"You came back," Edwin breathes. From this close, Charles can see the tears well in his eyes. Edwin, who he's seen burn half his hand off without even noticing, is crying over Charles.

It's not really a choice, to reach out with hands that still look a little misty and pull Edwin close. Edwin clutches him back, curling his hands in the back of Charles' shirt and tucking his chin over Charles's shoulder like if he just holds Charles close enough, he can hold him together.

Maybe he can. Charles curls his own fingers into Edwin's coat, breathes deep just to feel his ribs expand into Edwin's grip, ghost-cool but firm and real, real, real.

"I was afraid you were gone," Edwin says.

I was too, Charles doesn't say.

"Told you," he murmurs instead, "you're stuck with me."

[ranchstoryblog]

Fandom Memories: HMFarm

Hmmm. So, nearly a quarter of you whippersnappers wanna hear about the good ol' days, huh? Well, back in the day, you wouldn't just hang out on one or two big websites to try to find people who shared your niche interests among a million random users. Everything had its own dedicated site, with its own special pack of weirdos that you probably wouldn't find anywhere else. Home grown fandom, sprouting from the cement sidewalks of the freshly paved internet like so many weeds with pretty little flowers on top. So, let's take a little stroll down memory lane and visit one of the oldest fan sites with Archive.org's "Wayback Machine."

Ahh, just like I remember it. This here is "Harvest Moon Farm." 'course, we just called it HMFarm, like the URL did. This used to be the place to be. The prime progenitor of all farmin' fansites in the English speaking community. Maybe not the literal first, but up until around 2005, this was where you would go if you wanted to know anythin' about digital farmin'. It truly was a magical place to visit.

This screenshot isn't the oldest design, but it's the one I fondly remember. The majority of my time using the site was during the lead-up to A Wonderful Life, which was probably also when it was the most active as an information source. Seeing the screenshots, checking the forums, speculatin', wonderin', dreamin'... It's a warm feeling. I can't really describe how it felt to look at these shots for the first time. Granted, they were mostly sourced from various places like IGN or Newtechnix, but who wanted to go to THOSE messy sites when all the info I wanted was right here? IGN wasn't telling me how to revive the Vineyard in Harvest Moon 64 while I was waiting for AWL news either.

Our first look at the character we would come to know as Muffy, the sheer novelty of being able to go into the townsfolk's glorious, 3D-rendered rooms, the apparent misidentification of flowering tomatoes... The webmaster, Gamergirl87, would caption each one as well. Some of the captions of those screenshots ended up not being exactly true, but it was the closest thing to on-going coverage we really had. Who else was there to trust?

It's a little off topic, but I think at one point after learning about the GBA connectivity, I must have dreamed about this very gallery and seeing a screenshot of a Gamecube-ized Popuri with the caption that Mineral Town villagers would visit after connecting the GC and GBA together. At least, I'm pretty sure it was a dream. I've met some people who claim they saw the same thing, but none of us have been able to find that screenshot or comment again.

The one that would most catch my attention was the one on the left here. I didn't have a PlayStation 2, so I was coming fresh off of the GameBoy and Nintendo 64 when going into A Wonderful Life. The pond, the mysterious glowing plants, the mood and ambiance of their lighting, the little tree on the door... Naturally, I mirrored it on my first day the remake was available.

It's a real shame that the message boards are poorly preserved, since it doesn't look like there was a news post about the pre-order plush cow. I was hoping to find the name of whoever it was that convinced me to commit my first ever preorder. I still have the receipt, but without the forum post it's really only tangentially related to HM Farm.

'course, just learning about existing games and upcoming games wasn't the only good thing HM Farm was for. As I alluded to, there was a whole community here! While it's a shame that the message boards aren't well preserved by the Wayback Machine, you know what is?

The "ideas" list! This incredible time capsule was one of the first "interactive" parts of the site, starting in the year 2000. It's kind of fun to see how many of these ideas actually happened. Obviously, new characters and personalities were probably expected, but Animal Parade would eventually feature a honeymoon, several games have clothing and other customization, a mall, city, and pig would be added as soon as GBC 3, a goat would be in A Wonderful Life... It's actually amazing how prescient a lot of the suggestions are.

I'd share the whole thing, but the amount of e-mail addresses involved gives me pause. Still, there's a couple I wanna highlight:

Considering how often I still hear about people wanting to marry the moms and people attributing it to just "the fans getting older," it's funny to see Laserion lay out that, no, we've always been like this. Right down to using Manna's unhappy marriage and Lillia's husband never returning as valid reasons they should be available.

Tuan145, on the other hand, I just find extremely amusing because of the specific "2002 Escalade" part. Yes, this is clearly the ideal vehicle for all farmers in the Story of Seasons universe. This is now accepted headcanon. The boat was added in GBC 3 too, so obviously a 2002 Escalade is going to be added any day now.

Another thing that's amazingly well preserved is the site's fan art section. There's a few missing images here and there, but for the most part the entire thing is open to explore. People of basically all ages and skill levels happily submitted their creations, including original characters, digital art, traditional art, crossovers with popular series like Sailor Moon, a liiittle bit of drug use... Y'know, all the kinds of things you'd expect to see in a fan art gallery of the day.

Even better, some of the artists are still doing art today! Looking around, I quickly discovered one of my favorites, Rina Cat, is now on Blue Sky. I made sure to ask for permission to repost their art before including it here. Reaching out to everyone would be a bit much though, so I'll just encourage you to just browse the gallery using the Wayback Machine yourself. There's poetry and fanfics too!

There's a lot more to the site, including useful bits of history like keeping track of release dates for games, pre-release screenshots, and information that was only available on Japanese websites at the time, but I'll leave it at that for now.

Unfortunately, though the site continued to be updated until 2010 and stayed online until 2021, it's no longer available on the regular internet and the URL doesn't seem safe to access anymore. I wanted to include an interview with the former webmaster as well, but all their readily available contact information was tied to the website and I haven't had any luck so far in finding other means of contact. If I have any success, I'll be sure to make a follow-up! If you have any memories of HMFarm, or other fan sites, I'd be happy to hear about it.

[elryuse]

EVERGARDEN FAMILIA FINALE

YANDERE MAFIA GAHYEON X MALE READER

TAGS : YANDERE MAFIA GAHYEON, SUBMISSION, THE END OF A STORY, ENDINGS, NEW HOPE? WORDS : 2.561 WORDS

The Last Part Of This Amazing Journey of a Commisson for My Friend @starconstruction Hoped You Like this Ending Mate. Can't Wait to create more amazing Stories with Ya.

Y/n’s eyes fluttered open, the faint light filtering through heavy curtains doing little to illuminate the unfamiliar room. His head throbbed slightly, a dull ache that matched the confusion swirling in his mind. Where am I? He tried to sit up, but a sharp tug at his wrists stopped him cold. The metallic clink of chains filled the air as he yanked against them, panic rising in his chest.

His arms were bound to the bedposts with thick, unyielding cuffs, the kind that left no room for escape. His legs, too, were restrained, though not as tightly. The sheets beneath him were soft, luxurious even, but they offered no comfort. This isn’t my room. This isn’t anywhere I’ve been before. His heart hammered as he struggled against the restraints, the reality of his situation crashing down on him.

The door creaked open, cutting through his frantic thoughts. A silhouette appeared in the doorway, backlit by the brighter light of whatever lay beyond. Her. Gahyeon stepped inside, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. She was dressed in a sleek black-and-white suit, the tailored lines hugging her frame perfectly. Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and her lips curved into a playful smile as she took in the sight of him.

“Good morning, love,” she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. She closed the door behind her with deliberate slowness, the latch clicking shut like a final punctuation mark. “Did you sleep well?”

Y/n strained against the chains again, his breath coming faster. “What the hell is this, Gahyeon? Let me go!”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence as she approached the bed. “Let you go? But we’re just getting started, darling.” She ran a finger along the edge of the mattress, her gaze never leaving his. “I thought it was time for us to… deepen our connection.”

He bared his teeth, his anger momentarily overshadowing his fear. “This isn’t a connection—this is kidnapping! You can’t just—”

“Oh, I can,” she interrupted, her voice hardening. “And I did.” She reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek. He flinched, trying to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. Her touch was gentle, almost tender, but it sent a chill racing down his spine. “You belong to me now, Y/n. And I intend to make sure you never forget that.”

Her hand trailed down his jawline, her nails scraping lightly against his skin. “Do you remember last night?” she murmured, leaning closer. “How good it felt to let go? To stop fighting and just�� surrender?” Her breath was warm against his ear, sending an involuntary shiver through him. “You don’t have to fight anymore. Just let me take care of you.”

“Gahyeon—” he started, but she cut him off with a kiss, her lips pressing against his with a possessiveness that left him breathless. It wasn’t cruel or rough—it was soft, almost chaste, but it carried a weight he couldn’t ignore. When she pulled back, her eyes gleamed with something dark and unrelenting.

“Shh,” she whispered, placing a finger against his lips. “No more talking. No more thinking. Just feel.”

She climbed onto the bed, straddling him with practiced ease. Her hands moved to the buttons of her blazer, unhurried and deliberate. Each button undone revealed more of her pale skin, the creamy expanse of her chest framed by the delicate lace of her bra. Y/n tried to avert his gaze, but she caught his chin, forcing him to look at her.

“See what you do to me?” she said, her voice low and husky. “How much I want you?” She shrugged the blazer off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Then came the blouse, pooling around her waist as she discarded it with a careless toss.

“Gahyeon, stop,” he said, his voice cracking. “Please. This isn’t—”

“Isn’t what?” she interrupted, her tone sharp. “Right? Fair? Moral?” She leaned down, her face inches from his. “Love isn’t about fairness, Y/n. It’s about passion. About obsession.” Her lips brushed against his again, this time lingering longer. “And I am obsessed with you.”

Her hands slid down his chest, trembling slightly as if she could barely contain herself. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. How many nights I’ve lain awake, imagining what it would be like to have you completely at my mercy.” She tugged at the hem of his shirt, lifting it slowly until it bunched under his arms. Her fingertips danced across his bare skin, tracing the lines of his muscles with feather-light touches.

“You’re so beautiful,” she breathed, her voice filled with reverence. “Every part of you. From the way your body responds to me…” Her hand drifted lower, grazing the waistband of his pants. “To the way your breath hitches when I touch you like this.”

Y/n’s hips jerked involuntarily, a traitorous reaction that made his stomach churn. Gahyeon noticed, of course, and her smile widened. “See? Even now, your body knows the truth. It knows who it belongs to.”

She unfastened his pants with excruciating slowness, each movement calculated to draw out the tension. When she finally freed him, her breath caught. “Perfect,” she murmured, her fingers wrapping around him with a firmness that made him gasp. “Absolutely perfect.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, humiliation warring with the undeniable arousal coursing through him. “Gahyeon, please…”

“Please what?” she teased, stroking him with agonizing precision. “Please stop? Or please keep going?” She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. “Tell me what you want, Y/n. Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

He didn’t answer—he couldn’t. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to fight, to push her away, but his body betrayed him, arching into her touch. She chuckled softly, a sound that was equal parts affectionate and predatory.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, releasing him long enough to shed the rest of her clothes. She knelt over him, her thighs bracketing his hips, and guided him inside her with a slow, deliberate motion

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the private island. The waves lapped gently against the shore, their rhythm like a lullaby to Y/n’s weary mind. He sat on the edge of the bed in the luxurious villa Gahyeon had prepared for him, staring out at the vast expanse of the ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was pristine, every detail meticulously curated—soft linens, muted colors, and an overwhelming sense of isolation. It was beautiful, yes, but it was also a gilded cage.

“Do you like it?” Gahyeon’s voice broke the silence, soft yet commanding as always. She stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the fading light. Her presence was magnetic, pulling his attention away from the view and back to her. She wore a flowing white dress that clung to her curves, the fabric whispering against her skin as she stepped closer.

Y/n didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before returning to the window. “It’s… quiet,” he said finally, his voice low, almost resigned.

She tilted her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. Too quiet for you? she seemed to ask without words. She crossed the room with deliberate grace, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. When she reached him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch both comforting and possessive.

“You’ll get used to it,” she murmured, her fingers trailing down his arm. “This is where we can be together without anyone interfering. No Evergarden, no mafia, no one to pull us apart.”

He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. There was no anger in his eyes now, no defiance—just a hollow emptiness that made her heart ache in the most peculiar way. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering against his skin.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear.

“I’m thinking…” he paused, swallowing hard. “I’m thinking that there’s no escape.”

Her smile widened, though there was something sorrowful in it. “There never was, my love. But that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you everything you could ever want.”

He looked away again, his jaw tightening. “And if what I want is freedom?”

Gahyeon laughed softly, the sound melodic but tinged with something darker. “Oh, Y/n. You think you want freedom, but what you truly crave is control. Even now, even here, you’re fighting yourself. But it doesn’t have to be like that. Let go. Let me take the burden from you.”

Her hand cupped his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her eyes were intense, filled with a fervor that bordered on madness. “You belong to me,” she said, her voice firm but tender. “And I belong to you. Isn’t that enough?”

He didn’t respond, but his body betrayed him. His shoulders slumped, the tension draining from him as he leaned into her touch. She recognized the shift immediately, her smile softening. “There,” she whispered, brushing her thumb against his lower lip. “That’s better.”

She sank onto the bed beside him, her weight causing the mattress to dip slightly. Her fingers intertwined with his, squeezing gently. “Let me show you how good this can be,” she murmured, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t resist as she guided him to lie back, his head resting against the pillows. She straddled his hips, her dress pooling around them like a cloud. Her hands roamed over his chest, mapping the contours of his body with reverence. “You’re so perfect,” she whispered, her voice thick with adoration. “Every part of you… I’ve dreamed of this for so long.”

Her lips found his neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. He shivered beneath her, his breath hitching as she moved lower, her teeth grazing his collarbone. “Gahyeon…” he breathed, his voice trembling.

“Shh,” she soothed, her fingers threading through his hair. “Just feel. Don’t think.”

Her hands slid under his shirt, pushing the fabric up until it pooled around his shoulders. She traced the lines of his abdomen, her touch feather-light but electric. When she reached the waistband of his pants, she paused, her eyes locking with his. “Tell me you want this,” she said, her voice a whisper.

He hesitated, his chest rising and falling rapidly. For a moment, it seemed he might refuse, might push her away. But then his resolve crumbled, and he gave her the smallest nod.

A triumphant smile spread across her face as she leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. Her tongue slipped past his lips, exploring his mouth with a hunger that left him breathless. When she pulled back, she pressed her forehead to his, her breath mingling with his. “Good boy,” she purred, her tone dripping with affection.

She made quick work of the rest of his clothes, her movements fluid and unhurried. Her own dress soon joined the pile on the floor, leaving her bare before him. The sight of her made his pulse race, his body responding despite the turmoil in his mind.

She settled over him once more, her thighs bracketing his hips. Her hand trailed down his chest, fingertips dancing over his skin until they reached his length. She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly, teasingly. His hips bucked involuntarily, a low groan escaping his lips.

“You’re so sensitive,” she teased, her thumb swiping over the head of his cock. “So eager.”

“Gahyeon…” he pleaded, his voice breaking.

She smiled, releasing him only to position herself above him. With agonizing slowness, she lowered herself onto him, her body stretching to accommodate his size. A gasp escaped her lips as she took him inch by inch, her nails digging into his chest. Once he was fully sheathed inside her, she paused, letting them both adjust to the sensation.

“Look at me,” she commanded, her voice husky.

His eyes met hers, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then she began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her hands braced against his chest as she rode him, her breasts bouncing with each motion. The sounds of their bodies joining echoed in the room, mingling with their ragged breaths.

“This is where you belong,” she moaned, her nails scraping lightly against his skin. “Inside me. With me. Forever.”

Her pace quickened, her movements becoming more urgent. She leaned down, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. “Come for me, Y/n. Let go. Give yourself to me completely.”

Her words broke the last of his resistance. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her down harder against him as he thrust upward. The sensations overwhelmed him, his vision blurring as pleasure coiled deep within him. Gahyeon cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as she reached her own climax.

When it was over, she collapsed against him, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, placing a soft kiss against his pulse point. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He closed his eyes, exhaustion and relief washing over him. In that moment, he felt something he hadn’t in a long time—peace.

As they lay tangled together, Gahyeon traced patterns on his chest, her touch soothing. “You’ll see,” she murmured, her voice drowsy but content. “This is how it’s meant to be. You and me, together forever.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he turned his head to look at her, his eyes searching hers. “Promise?” he asked quietly.

Her smile was radiant, filled with a warmth that melted away his doubts. “Always,” she replied, sealing her vow with a kiss

Small Epilogue ;

Years passed. The city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of memories as Y/n drove, Gahyeon asleep beside him. He glanced at her, a soft smile gracing his lips. Her hair, streaked with silver now, framed her face, peaceful in slumber. He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand behind her ear.

They had built a life together, a life filled with laughter, whispered secrets, and the comforting weight of shared dreams. Their home, once a haven from the storm, was now overflowing with warmth and the echoes of children's laughter.

He remembered the day he had first looked into her eyes, the fear and the hesitant hope. Now, looking at her sleeping face, he knew that fear had long since vanished, replaced by a profound love that anchored his soul.

Gahyeon stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "Where are we going?" she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

"To the beach," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "Remember how we always dreamed of a little cottage by the sea?"

A slow smile spread across her face. "I remember," she whispered, reaching for his hand. "And now, look at us."

He squeezed her hand, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, casting a golden glow on the road ahead. As they drove on, hand in hand, Y/n knew that their journey, filled with love, laughter, and the occasional storm, had just begun.

The End

[kiame-sama]

Oi! Can you stop posting things that get stuck in my brain so often? Joking, but I mean a lot of things you bring up a lot of fun ideas in your AU that just stick in my brain. Hope I’m not bugging you too much with messages. However, you have introduced my lil emo catholic boy Rollo so I must ask: how would Rollo and Malleus (and anyone else tied to fire) deal with a fire bug?

Like not necessarily someone who starts fires, but someone who LOVES fire. Like I could stare at fires for hours. They are just so pretty and the flickering and swaying look just look amazing. Imagine all the different colors of fires! Especially when I poke it or have something like a match.

Ima go before I start ranting about fire again. Hope you’re keeping warm and have a great day! Can’t wait to see that fish prince get hit shins kicked!

Warnings: Grim and Ortho are platonic only, yanderes, yandere behavior, yandere temper, different levels of yandere, use of magic to amuse the Human, Rollo wrestling with self-loathing, Malleus is malleus,

- Grim is thrilled his Hooman loves his little ear flames and will intentionally make them flare brighter when he wants more attention. Mostly he just uses his ear flames to make them smile.

- Ortho will laugh and be excited to tell the Human about the hair flame many Shinigami have, giving details while he consciously makes his hair slowly change color flame. It takes some effort, but he cycles through the visible light spectrum before he needs to take a break, his hair snap returning to the usual blue. He's happy to tell them all about it, so long as the Human will listen.

- Idia is going magenta and doesn't even know it, warm hearts forming in his long flame hair as he internally fanboys over the Human looking at him with such an interested gaze. The way they stare at the flickering light and flames as he just burns brighter. He loves it and will burn that sight into his memory.

- Papa Hades quickly picks up on the Human's interest in fire and flames, happily using his magic to create flames for them. Different shapes, colors, creatures, he is making a show of fire to marvel at and enjoy. It has been too long since he has last had an audience so enraptured and it soothes his heart.

- Rollo is struggling with himself over this. He dislikes his flame and the fire that fules his very core. Get a bit too out of hand and *poof* gone. That's how he sees it, at least. It is tragically sweet to him for the Human to adore the things he hates most about himself. Leave it to a divine Human to see the good in the wretched and sinful. He will slowly begin allowing his fire to flourish, if only for the Human's sake. He does adore them quite a bit and will willingly do what the Human wishes of him.

- Malleus loves that the Human enjoys his flames. He will show off his mastery over summoned flames and explain how they differ from Dragon-fire which he can only ever create when angry. Any time the Human wants to see his magic displayed, he will create a bright green flame for them. Eventually he will gift them a crystal containing one of his green flames, around it will spin a group of green fireflies. So they can take his flame anywhere they go and always marvel at his fire.

[zoeythegoodgirl]

Snowed In

“The snow’s coming down pretty heavy out there, isn’t it?” You look over to see your wife peering out of the window, a mug of hot tea in her hand. A winter storm has blanketed the area in a thick layer of snow. There’s no way you’re going anywhere for the next several days. “Yeah,” you reply, “it’s finally beginning to seem like winter. It’s good to get some snow, but it sucks that it’s coming all at once like this.”

Your wife nods in agreement before letting the curtain fall back into place and walking back over to you on the couch. She sets her tea down on the table in front of you before snuggling up next to you. The only light is from the fireplace in front of you. The power isn’t out, but your wife wanted a more rustic atmosphere.

“This feels so quaint,” your wife says, snuggling up tighter next to you. “And intimate,” she adds as you wrap an arm around her waist. You glance over when you feel her nuzzling against your shoulder. You notice that her top has opened, exposing one of her breasts. Your hand jerks slightly toward it, as if going to squeeze of its own volition. Your wife looks up at you, a wry smile on her face. You gulp as a realization hits you – this was deliberate.

“Aww, sweetie,” your wife giggles, “is something wrong?” You shake your head in response, eliciting another giggle from her. You feel her arm wrap around you, and her hand comes to rest on your inner thigh, oh so very close to where your cock is now throbbing with anticipation. “I said this felt intimate, right? Well, what’s an intimate situation without a little intimacy, don’t you think?”

With that, she unfurls her arm from around you, moving lithely to straddle you on the couch. She cups your cheeks with her hands as she kisses you. Her hands are warm, her lips soft, and her breath tastes sweet like the honey she uses in her tea. You find yourself sinking into her embrace, her warmth, her love. Your cock throbs harder, and you feel the resistance of her pelvis as it presses up against her. You can tell she felt it. Her hips begin to rock, pressing and sliding along your length.

Your wife pulls away from the kiss, her moans heavy and breathless. Her hips continue their relentless, seemingly involuntary rocking. Your mouth moves to her still exposed breast, and you take her nipple into your mouth. Her fingers tangle themselves in your hair, grasping tightly in her lust. After just a few moments, she shoves you back and pulls her top up and over her head, tossing it unceremoniously on the floor. You kiss her stomach desperately, almost rough with how much your desire is beginning to overtake you. She leans back to expose more of herself to your lust but loses her balance and begins to fall backwards.

“Shit,” she gasps, trying to pull herself back upright. She finally regains her balance, and the both of you giggle at the hiccup that just happened. She climbs off you and slides down, kneeling on the floor between your legs. Clearly this wasn’t enough to shake her desire, as she tugs roughly on the waistband of the pj bottoms you’re wearing. They slide down quickly, exposing your still throbbing cock. She takes it into her mouth, slowly bobbing as the pressure builds. Your moans escape without restraint, and your hands find their way into your wife’s hair. This continues for only a short time before she moves to suck on your balls. She strokes the length of your shaft, slow and soft. She knows this isn’t enough to push you over the edge, but it almost causes you to black out in ecstasy.

After a short time, wherein your moans have degenerated into ever increasingly pathetic whimpers of need, your wife pulls away, sliding out of her own pj bottoms. Her own lust has clearly driven her past what she can take, and, in barely more than a whisper, she moans out a single word. The desperate “please” that escapes her is enough to make you lose all control you might have had over your own body. You kick away your pj bottoms and climb on top of your wife. Even though you’re still in front of the fireplace, and the only thing between the two of you and the floor is a rug, the pair of you are completely overwhelmed by lust.

You find yourself sliding easily inside your wife. The silky dew between her legs is warm and inviting. You rock your hips, slowly at first, pushing yourself deeply into her, desperately trying to hold back. She feels so wonderful, so soft, so resplendent, that you want the pleasure to continue as long as possible. You can only hold back for so long, and you begin to rock your hips more desperately and quickly. You press your body into your wife’s, needing to be as close to her as possible. She intertwines her fingers into your hair, pulling your face into her neck.

You can smell her desire, hear her ecstasy, and taste her lust. Your senses are completely overwhelmed with her, and soon the pressure between your legs is more than you can handle. As if sensing your impending orgasm, your wife locks her legs around your hips. “Please babe,” she whines, “I want it. Please please please!” Her whimpered command is all it takes to drive you over the edge, and your muscles tighten as your orgasm takes you. You feel her legs lock even tighter around your hips, ensuring you couldn’t have pulled out even if you’d wanted to. Simultaneously, you feel her clench down hard on you, harder than you’ve ever felt her do before, as if her entire body was overwhelmed with the need to pull you as deep as possible. For a fleeting moment, you worry she’ll leave a bruise, but the intensity of your orgasm pushes that thought away as quickly as it comes.

Your body feels light, but also heavy, your muscles spent from the night’s activities. You fall limply to the floor next to your wife, and she snuggles up next to you. She hums contentedly and places her hand on your chest, directly over your heart. You look over and see her eyes are closed, as if she were asleep. Her humming soon stops, replaced by soft, steady breathing. She actually has fallen asleep, and you feel you’ll soon join her. You give her a soft kiss on the forehead before closing your eyes. A single thought goes through your mind before sleep overtakes you.

You wish it snowed like this every year.

[mothlau]

Hi ! For the kink game, for lestappen/leztappen please : 24 and 28 thank you and have a good day 👋

soooo sorry for the wait beloveds, works been killing me dead. anyway, here's leztappen being in love and shit. pushing my any prns for max and girl penis agenda one pwp at a time!!!! (kink meme here)

1427 words

The cat ears feel heavy atop Charles’ curls, in spite of how light the material is meant to be. They’re cheap things, something she bought from a Halloween store in London as a joke, something that was meant to be worn once, and then thrown away and forgotten. Except, here she is, with the stupid cat ears on, stupider fucking tail plug buried in her ass, and the ugliest blue collar wrapped tight around her neck.

All because of a stupid fucking bet.

A bet Charles should have known better than to take part in, especially when Max had that knowing light in her eyes, a look that should have made it obvious that Charles was bound to lose. But still, she played, like the stupid goddamn fucking idiot that she was.

She bet that she would not burn their dinner, that for once in her life she could cook, not get distracted and, subsequently, turn their chicken into charcoal. But then, stupid Max Verstappen had to go and change into her stupid skin-tight shirt as soon as she got home from her workout session. And Charles was just… supposed to act normal about it? As if that’s possible when her gorgeous lover is walking around dressed like she’d just walked straight out of one of Charles’ fantasies.

So she burned the chicken. Turned it into something beyond human comprehension, so black and charred that they had to throw the pan away.

Which is why she’s here now, dressed like a cat.

A fucking cat! Her! When she obviously is a puppy, she said so countless interviews too! And Max knows it, she knows that Charles prefers to act like a dog when… when– She’s not a cat, no matter how much Max tries to convince her otherwise.

Charles huffs, fixing Max with a glare as the woman simply grins at her, perched on top of their bed, legs slightly parted so that her hard-on is obvious in her ugly gray shorts. Charles is feeling lightheaded.

“You’ll pay for this,” she settles on saying as she climbs next to her lover, taking her rightful seat in her lover’s lap. His thighs are hot and thick under Charles’ ass, underneath her soaking pussy. It’s not her fault that Max spent ages with her face between Charles’ legs, eating her cunt and ass to get her ready for their cock and the fucking plug.

She’s desperate for it.

Max simply continues to smile, as if they don’t believe a single word that Charles is saying. And they don’t, because Charles knows her lover like the back of her hand and she is well aware of how far her threats can go. Spoiler: they don’t go anywhere; absolutely useless.

“Come here, kitty,” Max urges her, hand held out, like a peace offering. If Charles could, she’d bite it off. But she doesn’t want to be punished today, the kitten play is punishment enough. “C’mon, kitten. Don’t be a bad girl now.”

Charles will bite her. Preferably starting off with her cock; maybe even her tits. She’s not picky about what part of Max she gets to chew on.

Instead, she huffs and takes the offered hand, letting her lover guide her so that she is properly seated atop her lap, the head of her cock just barely pressing against Charles. She could sit on it now, slide right down until Max is buried to the hilt in her warm, tight pussy, but she knows she can do better than that.

She can be good for her daddy, even when her daddy is being a bully and forcing her to wear the ugly cat ears.

Because she may not be a cat, but she is a good girl.

With a deep breath, Charles leans forward, placing her hands over Max's shoulders and digging her fingernails into the flesh of her neck. It's a warning. Don't push your luck, Charles thinks as she brings her lips to Max's, kissing her. Her tongue slides against the seam of Max's lips, the other woman opening her mouth with a soft moan, letting Charles take the lead.

"Kitten," Max whispers, bringing her hand up to the back of Charles' neck, pulling her in closer, deepening the kiss. "Kitten, you're so pretty, so fucking beautiful."

"Yeah?" Charles asks, grinding her pussy against the base of Max's cock, biting her lip as the movement causes the plug inside of her to move. It's uncomfortable and weird, and Charles isn't sure if she likes it. But the look on Max's face when they first slid the tail in was more than worth it.

Max nods, hands moving down to grab onto Charles' ass, squeezing it, pulling her open. "Yeah, so pretty for daddy. You're so good, kitten, such a good girl."

Charles whines, leaning her forehead against Max's, panting softly. "Please, daddy. Please, please, I need you to fuck me. Please?"

Max kisses her again, swallowing Charles' whines as she lifts her off her cock and sets her on her back. She moves in between her thighs, pushing them wide open, fingers ghosting against her soaked pussy, tracing her wetness. Charles is embarrassed to find that her tail is soaked, that she's dripping.

"Daddy," she whimpers, trying to pull her tail out, wanting the pressure of Max's cock to take its place. "Please, fuck me."

"Okay, okay, baby," Max soothes her, hand rubbing her thigh. "I'm gonna make sure it catches this time, alright?"

Charles nods, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She's been on the verge of crying ever since Max had first slid the stupid fucking plug into her ass. "Okay," she breathes, watching as her lover lines the head of his cock with her entrance, teasing her by rubbing his cock against her clit, pushing just the tip into her entrance.

It's the worst form of torture.

Max pushes her cock inside of her in one smooth thrust, making her gasp, her nails clawing at Max's arm. "Oh my god," Charles moans, trying to wrap her legs around their waist, trying to get them deeper, to feel every inch of them inside. "Max."

"Good girl, kitten," Max says, bending over her, pressing kisses along her jaw. "My perfect little kitten. Fuck, I'm gonna–"

Charles cuts her off with a kiss, licking into her mouth. "Move, please."

Max does, she pulls out of her before snapping her hips forward, her cock sinking back inside. It makes Charles dizzy. She feels like she's going to float away.Her lover keeps her pace slow, her thrusts short, making sure to brush her cock against the sweet spot inside of her. "Fuck," Max grunts, "kitten, you're so good, you're always so good for daddy. I love you."

"Love you," Charles breathes, reaching her hands up to grab onto Max's shoulders. She digs her fingernails into her skin, making her hiss and fuck into her harder. "Max, please, more."

Max, because he obviously hates his lover and wants Charles to hate them just as much, smirks at her. “Are you gonna meow for me, kitty?”

Charles doesn't even think before she leans upwards, sinking her teeth into the side of Max’s neck.

"I'm gonna come, kitten," Max tells her, her thrusts getting harder, deeper, hitting Charles just right, sending her into a frenzy.

"Yeah," Charles nods, feeling her own orgasm building in the pit of her stomach. "Yeah, come, daddy, fill me up. I want it, please."

Max moans, dropping her head onto Charles' shoulder, panting.

Charles cries out as she comes, her body tensing as her orgasm takes over her, leaving her feeling dizzy and blurry around the edges. She's gasping, her chest heaving, as Max continues to fuck her through her own orgasm, clearly uncaring that Charles’ body is shaking with each thrust.

"Stop, stop, Max, I can't," she says, slapping Max's arm. "Can't take anymore."

Max laughs, collapsing on top of her, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. "That was really good."

Charles hums, closing her eyes. She's exhausted. "Mmhm."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Charles murmurs, her head lolling to the side as she presses a kiss to Max's temple. "Yeah, just tired."

"Wanna shower, kitten?"

Charles shakes her head. "Nah. I wanna stay here. With you. Like this."

"Okay, kitten," Max smiles, wrapping her arms around her and holding her close. "I love you."

"Love you more.”

They stay like that, wrapped around each other, until Charles speaks again: “And I'm burning the ears.”

Max laughs, but she doesn't argue against it.

[eldritch-spouse]

I’m hanging out in the sloth ring, on the phone quietly with a friend or something, nobody is paying me much attention so I don’t mind having a bit of a scandalous conversation in public:

“- look I adore somnophilia, I really do, but in practicality it doesn’t work. I wake up far too easily,”

Conversation moves on to other kinks or related topics, me not paying to much attention to who just overheard me.

[I don't exactly know if you were aiming at anyone here, so I rolled the dice.]

Sloth is a quiet Ring.

The lights are dimmed, sounds are muted, movement comes in bursts then settles, even the sky in this part of Hell appears darker to keep its residents sedated. And, sure enough, even a human like you feels tired, for no apparent reason, in the grounds of the slothful.

Precisely because of how quiet and still everything is, foreigners assume that they're safe, that no one is giving them an ounce of scrutiny and there's hardly a need to watch themselves.

Any good prey knows that the absence of sound is trouble.

Closed eyes and softly rising chests don't mean anything. The streets are lively, you just can't tell.

Absorbed in conversation, you've been walking gradually slower, until you all but halted in the middle of the sidewalk. Sloth expects people to want to lay down just about anywhere, so you had a seat waiting for you.

Little did you know, you were right in front of a demoness' hair salon.

Lucidia takes her time to work, she'll admit it, but the benefit of such is that she can put her professional perfectionism in front of everything, the knowledge of her success helping her through the sludge that is cleaning up after a client. She'd been sweeping snipped hair off the floor when she noticed you out front.

You talk loudly. Foreigners always do. Shamelessly too. The woman subtly evaluates you from top to bottom.

It's impossible to tell, but Luci assumes you're here to visit someone, everything about you screams 'excited to be here'. You're decently dressed, and when you turn your head around a bit, she finds beautiful features on a human complexion. It's a shame that, having such natural beauty, you walk around with such lackluster hair.

The demoness blinks when the topic of your conversation becomes increasingly obscene. She's sure the neighboring businesses are hearing this too.

Somnophilia...? Someone's going to approach you sooner or later. You're dumb.

Did you come here for the experience? Because your surfacer bedfriends can't do it properly? You certainly sound frustrated about it. Lucidia murmurs to herself that this could be a trap, that you're intentionally baiting slothfolk to come onto you because you know they can keep you under, they can make your fantasy a reality.

But even then, you're so ignorant.

What makes you think they'd stop at touching you in your sleep? What makes you think they'd have any reason to let go of you when you're at your most vulnerable? You could never wake up again, if they wanted to feed off you for as long as possible. The number of horrid things that could happen to someone as airheaded as you if you were to fall into opportunistic hands is endless.

Your conversation seems to die out when another demon exits a store from across the street, staring at you knowingly.

Luci doesn't realize she's moving until she's nearly fogging the hair salon window, glowering wordlessly behind you, at the other stranger. Adrenaline irritates her, she likes to avoid it, but the woman definitely feels her heart hammer in her chest at the thought of someone coming over and trying to mess with you.

They seem to get the message, looking between you and her, then hurrying down the street.

Lucidia sighs almost gutturally, and decides you can't be outside for much longer.

The demoness may be tall, yet her footsteps are near soundless. She settles beside you casually on the sidewalk, getting to stare you over again for several moments until you take note of the shadow suddenly cast onto you.

" Hello... " She greets softly and quietly when you appear to startle. " Do you want to sit... Inside? "

While you hesitate to answer, Luci can almost see the sweat starting to form on your forehead.

" ... It'll get dark soon. Things'll... Pick up. "

You don't respond again, some lost 'hum's and 'ha's escaping.

" Your conversation... I heard it. " She doesn't bother to hide a small smile when you pale a couple shades. " So did the whole street... If I had to guess. "

" Oh God- " You murmur under your breath.

" ... Let me style your hair. " She daringly suggests, threading a long-fingered hand through locks of it. " I won't let anyone bother you... "

Anyone but herself, naturally.

If you just so happened to doze off while Lucidia carefully shapes your hair, then who is she not to give you just a little taste of what you so shamelessly crave?

There's no hiding the rumbles of satisfaction when you nod quickly and let her lead you into the hair salon, the chime of a little bell signaling Luci's victory.

[thecourtjester-e]

Do You Have to Let it Linger? Part 4

A/N: y’all wanted a twist? (Short chapter the end is near)

CW: substance abuse, angst, yearning, depression, anger issues

SCHLATT POV

“GOD, you can be so STUPID.”

As soon as he said it he froze. He tossed the phone onto the table and put his head in his hands. As he heard the phone hangup from the table he felt like he couldn’t move. His face started to burn as anger rose up in his chest. He looked for the nearest victim to aim this mindless rage at. He picked up a controller and chucked it as hard as he could across the room. He could feel the tightness in his chest rise and tears threaten their way into his eyes. God, he hated that he let himself do that. Why the FUCK did he do that???? Schlatt’s frustration from the week all culminated into this moment. The confusion of why y/n had ignored him for a whole week, racking his brain to remember every little thing he did and said to you at the wedding for some explanation. And all to find out it was because you like him and you think he doesn’t like you back. It made him mad. You couldn’t be further off.

In the beginning of your friendship the flirting had been for fun. He did think you were stunning, but it was all in jest, at first. It slowly grew into a real blooming friendship beyond the clicks and views he genuinely grew fond of you. Your personality, your quirks, and little traits. He would watch to boost numbers, but then he found himself tuning into your streams on his second account to just watch. He found your voice entrancing and the way you moved and danced hypnotizing.

He couldn’t believe that you thought he didn’t feel the same. The fact that you had a “big fat crush” on him was enough to make his heart jump, do a backflip, and fall out of his ass. He was so dumbfounded that you couldn’t see how crazy he is about you.

At first he grappled with his own fear and uncertainty, could he let someone in in this way? Was it worth it? You guys lived so far apart. Not to mention how public it could all get and the bombardment from the fans. He was terrified. As the days turned to a week his fear turned into intense longing and pain. Pain knowing how he had hurt you. He missed your constant communication that he had grown to rely on in a way. He just missed hearing you and seeing you. How your smile lights up rooms and your raw charisma enchants all who watch. He couldn't stop seeing you up there singing at the wedding. And how you smiled at him while laughing and dancing. The memories practically uncorked the bottle themselves. Minimal resistance was found when lifting it to his mouth. Each sip felt easier and easier.

Ted called sometime during the second week while the bottle was half drunk. Interrupting his quiet stalking of your stream.

“Schlatt.”

“What.”

“You gotta tell her man,” Ted pleads. He had been bothering Schlatt to spill his heart since the wedding. Then, even more so after this whole ordeal. It tired and aggravated him.

“No dude.”

“Jared Schlathew,” Schlatt scowled at the nickname as Ted continued, “I know we’ve known each other a while, but I’ve known Y/N longer. I’m going to have to tell her soon man I can’t keep listening to her heart break like this.”

“Ted, I sweartgod, if you tell her you won’t hear from me again. Ever,” he slurred and sipped.

“I don’t understand the big deal!”

Schlatt cuts him off, “I can’t, Ted, I fucking can’t! I already hurt her man, who’s to say I won’t just hurt her further or… I don’t know! I’m no good for her. She deserves someone better. She deserves to get over me…”

Ted sighs, “Schlatt, genuinely, you are one of the most kind hearted individuals I've had the pleasure of meeting-” Schlatt scoffs, “You have a rough exterior, yes, but I’ve seen how she melts your icy shell. I wouldn’t allow you anywhere near Y/N if I didn't think you deserved her, man. But I truly do think you are one of the greatest people I get to call a friend. So please, skip the angst, and get on a plane.”

As he hung up he turned your stream back on. Your presence was much duller than your normal effervescent self. He studied at the screen while you absentmindedly answered the chat.

“Ok, well I have another cover I’ve been working on so,” you sit up with your guitar a little better and begin to play “High and Dry” by Radiohead. Through his drunken haze, Schlatt sat and listened to you sing as if you were speaking directly to him.

“Fuck it.” Schlatt opened his phone and booked a flight.

———

[xxundeadfanboixx]

Not canon, but I had a health episode (sugar drop or whatever it is idk but it's icky and I hate it) and I am gonna make myself feel better by writing up some Dust Mite and Ghost comfort. Don't expect excellent writing, I'm still in recovery so my brain isn't all there and thinking is just giving me a migraine.

Ghost finds Dust Mite in an air vent. The air vents had been the first places he looked when he had begun his search, and it had only taken him so long to find them due to just how many air vents there were in the large military base. He'd lost count of how many he peeked into. Only stopping his search when he finally found what he was searching for.

His flashlight shines through the grates, and lines of light stretch across the curled up form of the janitor. As curled up as they could be within such a small space. Their head faced downwards, craned at an angle that couldn't be comfortable to hold, so that their forehead was resting against the cool metal plate beneath them. The cold did little to soothe them of their ailment.

"Pest?" It is only due to the fact that both are subconsciously aware that Dust Mite is in no state to notice, that softness finds its way into Ghost's tone.

The janitor tilts their head towards the entrance to the vent. Wanting to cry when the smallest movement brought a freshness to the vertigo that they were feeling. Their brain felt as if it was being rolled around in their skull, and they felt something heavy at the back of their throat.

"Dust Mite." Ghost tries again. Gently rapping his knuckles against the grate, and immediately stopping at the weak groan of pain that ripped itself from Dust Mite's throat.

"Ghost?"

"Aye, it's me, pest." Ghost fiddles with the screws to the grate, twisting them loose with clumsy too big fingers.

"Don't...I don't feel good." Dust Mite whimpers out. Blinking back tears that only worsen the migraine that is scratching at the back of their eyes.

"...I know, pet."

The grate comes free, and Ghost is quick to pull Dust Mite out from their hiding place. Being uncharacteristically careful as he pulls the janitor free, quietly apologizing and shushing them when they whimper. Ghost cradles them in his arms, moving their arms to wrap around his neck when they made no move to do it themselves. It must be worse than he thought.

"My room or yours?" Ghost asks even though he already knows the answer. He wasn't gonna let Dust Mite be anywhere but under his watch and care. But he can't help the comfort he feels when he hears the quiet "Yours." in response.

~•~

"Your hands still feel tingly?" Ghost asks as he holds an open jello fruit cup in one hand and a cold water bottle in the other. Staring down at the person curled up and nestled under his scratchy military issued blanket. He wished he had something better to offer.

Dust Mite makes a small noise of 'yes' at the back of their throat. Not moving from where they have laid for the past hour. Ghost grunts, and sits down on the edge of the bed.

"I'll feed ya then. I've got you some water too." This wasn't their first time doing this. And it probably won't be their last. "But I need ya to sit up." Ghost says more softly, already knowing what he is asking of the other. And as expected, the janitor whines and curls into themself a bit more. The thought of having to do anything except sleep far too unappealing to the sickly janitor.

Ghost sighs, carefully setting the snack and water bottle down on his lap so that neither would spill, before reaching over and situating Dust Mite himself. It felt like sitting up a doll.

Ghost picks up the jello cup first, picking up the shitty plastic spork, and angles his body to face them. "Open." Dust Mite's mouth falls open and Ghost carefully spoons some jello into their mouth. "Hoping the sugar will help." Ghost explains to the uncharacteristically wordless janitor.

He hated these moments. Hated how helpless he felt, how he was unable to do anything to help besides for the little that he does. Ghost wishes he could just make the janitor feel better, that he could just hold them in his arms and make it all better. But he can't. So instead he'll continue to moderate and care for Dust Mite until they're feeling better. And he'll be there to do it all over again when this eventually happens again.

[energievie]

WEEKLY TAG WEDNESDAY

Thank you, my darlings 🤗❤️ @mybrainismelted @suzy-queued @deedala @iandarling

Name: Evie

Age: 36

What were you doing last night at 12AM? Playing Candy Crush in bed 😅

What word do you still have trouble remembering how to spell? I always wonder whether "across" has two C's or not and so I always hesitate 🤣

You accidentally ate some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they gave you the super-power of your choice! What is that power? Fully agree with Kat here - teleportation is the best! Just imagine being able to just "travel" anywhere at any given moment...

First thing you would buy if you won the lottery? I'd travel, most likely. And buy an apartment in Lisbon 😝

Who is your favourite author? Salinger

What’s the tenth photo in your photo album on your phone? Can you explain?

The National History Museum has an exhibition dedicated to toys from the Communist era. I was born in 88 and the regime fell in 89, but you can imagine that the shift towards a true democracy took a couple of years and so most of us still had toys from that era. In this case, it's the dog with the big eyes and even bigger forehead. Mine was called Dinu. God, that exhibition felt like a punch to the gut, I swear.

What was your favourite breakfast cereal growing up? How about today? Never really liked cereal. I prefer a heartier breakfast - the English one is quite up my alley 😅

What outfit did you wear growing up that you’d be mortified to be seen in today? Mm.. good question 🤔 Honestly, I've reached the age where I'm self-assured enough to not care what people think about how I dress, so chances are I wouldn't be mortified by anything.

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Tagging @sgtmickeyslaughter @look-i-love-u @michellemisfit @deathclassic @jrooc @guinguin1984 @sickness-health-all-that-shit @lupeloto @doshiart @iansw0rld @ian-galagher @sleepyfacetoughguy @atthedugouts @creepkinginc @catgrassplantdad @crossmydna @spacerockwriting @lingy910y @firendeavor @heymrspatel @thepupperino @blue-disco-lights @francesrose3 @ms-moonlight-inn @transmurderbug @darlingian @vintagelacerosette @palepinkgoat @stocious @spookygingerr @burninface @gallapiech and ANYONE else who'd like to play 😎

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

Against the Kitchen Floor (Will Wood)

And I swear! I will die trying!/I'm still in the process, but I'm making progress; I promise I honestly wanna prove improvement's possible, I swear!/I'm so fucking sorry! I'm not a good person, I'm barely a person at all, But someday I'll be perfect, and I'll make up for it all!

Less rare than scarce, less diamond then rough/Unlikely to be more than just the coal you failed to crush

I'm catatonic in your arms, crying, "How did I cause so much harm?"/I'm down pounding my head against the kitchen floor/Apologizing for my life and ever entering yours

The vertex of my redemption arc/I’m searching on that virgin heart

"The raw emotion! And I strongly relate to desperately wanting to improve for someone you love. I belt out this song when I feel really hopeless"

"my one OC. also me. also it's just a really good song. one of will's best imo. screaminbg"

"Literally hits almost all of my self-esteem issues. Feeling like people only care about you for your body? Check. Not understanding why anyone would want you? Check. Thinking that all you do is hurt people? Check. I don't cry very often but this song DEFINITELY made me teary"

"one of those if u aren’t paying attention to the lyrics ur like this is nice but once u hear them its an OW holy OW and guilt and I’m sorry feelings"

"Just. Loving someone but not feeling like you’re good enough and trying to improve."

"Not only does this song have lyrics that are deeply relatable to me, but this song also feels very deeply personal to the artist and I feel that anyone who listens to it for the first time has that same feeling of getting punched in the gut. Just the lyrics and the melody and Will Wood’s vocals make this song an absolute masterpiece and I cry every time I hear it."

"One reason I'm attached to this song is because my friend sent it to me and said "I'm kin assigning you this song" and ruined my life (/j) It messed me up because I've always had a hard time in my life figuring myself out and dealing with my emotions, and for what feels like the first time, this song has been able to near perfectly describe how I feel about myself and my impact on other people, and it always just meant so much to me that my friend who sent it to me knows me better than I know myself and shared the song with me and I love them dearly."

Fast Car (Tracy Chapman)

You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere/Maybe we make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere/Any place is better, starting from zero got nothing to lose/Maybe we'll make something, me myself I got nothing to prove

So I remember when we were driving, driving in your car/Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk/City lights lay out before us/ And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder/And I-I, had a feeling that I belonged

You got a fast car/Is it fast enough so we can fly away?/We gotta make a decision/Leave tonight or live and die this way

"I know it's an obvious one but YOU try playing it without crying I dare you"

"I cant explain the yearning but this makes me howl"

"OH GOD the longing!! The yearning in the recurring central image of the narrator and her lover on the highway, feeling this sense of limitless possibility and incredible hope!!! And then the verses take us with brutal efficiency through the collapse of their marriage, the way that the cycle of poverty stomps down on their hopes, and how with nothing left, the narrator does what her mom did and leaves!! Leaving the kids to experience the same thing she did growing up!! But it’s all punctuated and bookended by these callbacks to that central iconic memory of hope!!!!! But by the end we realize that the last line “leave tonight or live and die this way” offers only the illusion of a choice: when the narrator first runs away and later when she leaves her husband and kids, she’s still fulfilling her role in this cyclical generational story. God!!"

Against the Kitchen Floor submitted by @pixopolis + others

Fast Car submitted by @smallboyonherbike + @uchihasasukeofficial + @all-our-exploring