#and I'm going to be in the void again for a little while so sorry y'all Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[silksandcravats]

Marked - Dean x Reader

Dean returns from a hunt bearing the mark of cain, instincts take over as he tries to push you away. (been hypercritical of my writing lately sorry for the wait)

Contents: short piece, comfort fic, established Dean x Reader, Mark of Cain, slight plot deviation (moc kicks in faster basically), Dean being bad a feelings,

You heard the familiar stomping of boots and tired mutters as soon as the Winchester brothers returned to the bunker.

You always did.

You slept lighter when they were gone. You couldn’t help it. The bunker was safe, but it didn't always feel that way when Dean was away.

You heard them speaking quietly in the hall. You shuffled under the covers, a little smile slipping on your face, knowing what came next.

The door would creep open, a small sliver of light penetrating the room, and your boyfriend would quietly slip into the room and into bed, doing his best not to jostle you as he did. Then you'd turn to greet him, wrapping your arms around his neck and mummering a sleepy welcome.

He'd give an obligatory apology for waking you, and you'd dismiss it immediately.

Sometimes, if it wasn't too late, you’d even indulge in sweet and sleepy reunion sex.

But more often than not all either of you had the energy for was a soft kiss, followed by you snuggling into his warm chest and open arms.

Tonight, however, he was taking longer than usual. Maybe he was caught up wrapping things up, or maybe he needed to rinse off? You fought to keep your eyes open, waiting in your half-awake state for him to enter, but soon you were drifting off.

When you opened your eyes again the clock by your bed read 8:00. It was morning, and still no Dean.

That was less typical.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you forced yourself to stand. You’d take a shower then go looking for him. He had to be around somewhere.

In the end you didn't have to go looking, when you returned to your room-still towel drying your hair-you spotted him, digging through one of the drawers that held his clothes.

And just like that your shoulders slumped, and all the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind vanished when you spotted him.

"Hey, you didn't come to bed last night," you hummed, stepping into the room and draping your towel over the desk chair. It was a statement and a question.

"It was late, didn't wanna wake you." The low familiar tone of his voice should’ve been comforting, only he didn't look up as he answered, continuing to sift through the drawer.

"I've told you I don't mind," you reminded him softly, walking towards him.

You were about to wrap your arms around him when he pulled away at the last minute. The foot or so he put between you may have been minimal, but the intention was clear.

"I'm just grabbing a few things then I'll be out of your hair," he spoke firmly, clearing his throat. He pushed the drawer shut with a hard shove, then moved towards the closet.

"Huh?" You blinked, confused as you watch him move about the room.

"I'm uh-I'm gonna sleep in another room for a while," he answered vaguely, yanking a flannel from it's hanger.

He was trying to act casual, but he was clearly in a hurry.

"What? Why? Dean-"

"I just need a little space," he cut you off, voice suddenly sharp.

You wracked your brain trying to think of an explanation for his behavior. Everything had been fine when he'd left, at least you thought.

"I don't- Did I do something?" You tried again.

"No," he answered quickly, shaking his head. "I'm just going through something that's all."

"What are you going through, what the hell is going on?" You pressed.

"I said no!" He snapped, turning to finally look at you.

Watching your expression fall he regretted it immediately. You looked hurt for a moment, before your expression morphed into something unreadable.

“Okay,” you spoke plainly, voice suddenly void of any emotion.

You then squared your shoulders, and turning on your heel, exiting the room quickly. The frustration left him as fast as it had appeared.

"Damn it, sweetheart, wait!" He called, following you into the hallway. You ignored him, marching at a faster pace, hoping to put some space between you.

"This is what I'm talking about. This is why I need to keep my distance,” he called after you.

You turned at that, crossing your arms. Dean was never good with words, but you deserved answers.

"What are you talking about?"

He sighed, hesitating for a moment before reaching for his sleeve and rolling it up to revail the mark. It took you a moment to register what you were looking at.

"Oh my God, Dean!" You sputtered.

Your feet carried you to him in two swift steps, grasping his forearm and pulling it in to get a closer look before he could stop you. You twisted his arm under the floresent light, taking in the bizarre, angry red mark on his skin.

"Mark of Cain," he answered before you asked. "It's how we're gonna get Abbadon."

"That's...good?" you replied. You traced the mark with fingerlight touch, mind still whirling. While you hated the site of him marked up, surely this was progress?

Your grasp on his arm loosened, and you allowed him to pull it away. He rolled his sleeve back down, covering it again almost shamefully.

"It's good that we'll get the job done, but there's," he paused, grappling for the right words, "side effects."

"Meaning?" you wondered aloud.

“Meaning, you aren't safe around me anymore," he answered flatly, finally meeting your gaze.

"Dean-" you sighed.

"Don't. Now is not the time for your seeing the good in me bullshit," he waved his hand. You rolled your eyes in response.

Because it wasn't bullshit.

But you could fight that fight another day. Priorities.

You took another step towards him, surveying his state. Somehow he looked alert and defeated all at once, his shoulders were tight yet there were prominent bags under his eyes, his stance was rigid yet he trudged with every step.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" You asked.

"No, this thing's got me too wired," he sighed, nodding towards the mark.

"Come on," you tipped your head towards the bedroom, turning back towards your bedroom.

"Sweetheart, I don't think-"

"Just shut upc and get in there," you forced your words to be firm.

He raised his brow, shooked by your outburst. He must've expected you to take it back but you stood your ground, holding your hand out to him, wiggling your fingers expectantly.

"Fine," he relented, lacing his fingers into yours and allowing himself to be dragged back into the room.

-

After plenty of coaxing, you finally managed to guide his head into your lap. Slowly but surely he relaxed against you.

You scratched his head softly, his eyes fell shut after awhile, but his breathing hadn't slowed, you knew he was still awake.

"You know, it's probably only gonna get worse," he spoke up after a while, breaking the silence.

"I know, I'm not worried," you responded softly. His eyes cracked open, tired green eyes peaking up at you.

"I may not be able to control it. I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you. Y're the best thing I got," he mumbled, eyes falling away from your gaze shamefully.

You shook your head knowingly. You ran the pad of your thumb along his forehead, trying to smooth the lines of concern that had formed.

"You won't,” your voice was quiet, but confident.

"I might…I'm losing myself sweetheart…It's like I don't know who I am anymore," he confessed quietly.

You hummed in understanding, returning your hand to his hair.

"Well, I do,” you insisted, voice going firm. “You are a good man Dean.”

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. He twisted in your lap, crossing his arms and closing his eyes again.

"I'm serious, Dean you've-you’ve saved the world! You've stopped the apocalypse. You’ve more than done your part and still you continue to go out every day, and put your life on the line. You take care of people. You take care of me."

In true Dean fashion, he didn't respond, the moment had gone too soft for his comfort. You didn’t expect him to.

But you knew he heard you. He pulled your hand from his hair, bringing it to his lips and kissing your knuckles softly.

"I think I need some shut eye," he spoke after a moment, "you uh-want me to move?"

"No, stay," you answered softly, stroking his cheek softly. "Nowhere I'd rather be."

[tardis--dreams]

I actually realized i hate work. Won't be putting any effort into this anymore ♡

[fceriestcrdst]

my autistic ass avoided watching the x-files because i knew it would consume me....

& now here i am fully consumed even though I've only watched the first few handful of episodes of s1 (i'm regaining spoons needed for media consumption), but let me tell you w h a t!!!!!!!!!!!!! i was so excited i started crying because it combines unbridled pining, a skeptic & her believer husband partner, true crime, weird mythology, aliens (which i already knew abt obvi), unlikely besties who are prepared to square up at all times (re; scully being cold towards the agents mocking mulder & mulder being ready to fight g o d whenever anything happens to scully).

i just love the show a lot & i expected this but goddamn!!!!!! it's wormed into my spin category & now my alien spin is returning along with my 'unexplained happenings spin!!!!! i'm being consumed i tell you!!!!

[terrestrialnoob]

Harley crawled into the apartment. It was organized, but it looked like the occupant didn't have a lot of time for cleaning. She walked softly through it, taking it in. There were photos of her target and what had to be her family, but no friends or romantic partners. Some had a pair of older adults, matching traits meant bio-parents. More of the photos were of the target and a younger boy - a little brother, the highest likelihood of becoming another target if things go bad.

Harley continued forward, following the light to where her target was. She stood in the doorway, looking in.

Dr. Jasmine Fenton, Arkham Asylum's newest psychologist, just got her degree and everything. She did what most newbies do, actually thinking she could get through to the Joker. Harley didn't want to say it was impossible, but everyone who tried ended up in a new job or dead. Harley would try and make sure it was the former and not the later.

Harley watched as the redhead read over a file as she ate from a takeout box. She didn't want to scare the girl, yet. The scaring her away from Joker came later. So, she had to wait for the perfect moment to-

"I know you're there." Jasmine didn't look up from her file, but held out the last box of Chinese food in Harley's direction. "There's plenty if you want some."

"Awe, you ruined the surprise." Harley walked out of the shadows of the hallway into the girl's home office. She snatched the offered box of food and took a few bites as she jumped to sit on the desk.

"I'm hard to sneak up on." Jasmine said, closing her file and finally looking at Harley. "So, Dr. Quinzel, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this evening?"

"Oh, call me Harley!" She laughed, she wasn't called Dr. all that often any more. She tapped her chop sticks on the file Jasmine just closed. "I thought you'd like a consult on your new patient, Dr. Fenton. I've got a lot of experience with him."

"I prefer to go by Jazz." She said with a smile, "While I appreciate the offer, I'd like to see how far I can get on my own. And, sorry, but I'm pretty sure your license was revoked."

Harley nodded as she swallowed to get the noodles out of her mouth. "I get it! You're new, fresh outta school, gotta prove yourself. But Joker ain't the guy to do that with. He eats people like us for breakfast, and in all the years he's been in Arkham, no one's been able to get anywhere with him."

Jazz sighed, "I don't like to believe people are lost causes. There's always something we can do to help."

"You can't help everyone, especially when they don't want it. And it's not just a question if whether or not he can be saved or whatever." Harley set down the now empty box, Jazz pointed to another one that still had food in it, but Harley declined. "If you keep it up, he'll think you're worth his time to torment. There's no telling what he'll do when he inevitably gets himself out again."

"I'll be fine." Jazz said, but Harley had to cut her off before she said something stupid.

"It's not just you! You've got family out there he can target, your parents. Your Brother! Anyone you date will become a target! He'll do everything in his power to make your life miserable!"

Jazz chuckled. "If he wants to target my family, his funeral. My parents are - were supervillains. They've really only become less- well, hyper-focused on eradicating an entire race of being- in the past few years. And my brother - I'm pretty sure he's conditionally immortal. So that's nothing to worry about."

"If it's conditional, Joker will find a way around it." Harley said, but she had to admit, this might have been an unnecessary trip. "You sure y'ain't got nothing to worry about? What about you? How conditional is your mortality?"

Jazz smiled. Her mouth seemed too wide and with too many teeth. "Oh, I am nowhere near immortal. But..."

She stood up and the room was suddenly a black void. Toxic green eyes and mouths filled with glowing white teeth opened around them. "I doubt anyone could get close enough to test it."

The room was suddenly back to normal, but whatever that thing was was still there. Harley could see its eyes watching her with amusement from inside Jazz's oversized cardigan.

"Well, I guess this really was a wasted trip. You've clearly got it covered."

"Not entirely." Jazz said, her hand wend up to her neck to rub nervously, "Well, you see... I don't really have a lot of friends. People tend to get - uh, creeped out, you know? Or chased off by my parents or brother or whatever..."

"You wanna be friends?" Harley laughed so hard she almost fell over.

Jazz's face turned bright red and the shadow eyes looked way less amused. "Yeah, stupid question. You've clearly got your own things going on."

"No! No, no." Harley had to take several deep breaths before she could look Jazz in the face again. "I 100% wanna hang out with you!"

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." She took another deep breath, "I mean, I really should have made a support system before trying to take on the Joker back when I worked for Arkham. This" she pointed between them "can only end well."

Jazz's face turned brighter than the sun. "Oh my gosh! This is amazing! We should - I have Thursday's and weekends off - What - what kind of things should we-"

Oh man, Jazz was like an excited kid. She must have had a really lonely childhood... they can psychoanalyze each other later. "Come over for girl's night next week. I'll tell my gf and bff to expect an extra person... Does the-" she motioned to the cardigan creature "-go everywhere you go? Does it need food?"

"Oh, don't worry about Jet, they only eat who I tell them to."

Harley barked out more laughter. "You're going to fit right in!"

---

Now featuring a Part 2

[naomi-nana]

✎ᝰ. in the name of you .

in a world where everyone forgot their own religion, it's not wrong for luka to look at your ethereal self and immediately mistake you for a divine being, no?

featuring : luka

cw : female reader, implied stalking(for just a little), luka is obsessed with reader, luka isn't obsessed with hyuna in here for the sake of the story lol🙇‍♀️

a/n : i made a till one, and now i'll make a luka one! i was trying to make it seems as if luka is obsessed with reader, but i was having a hard time showing it, and ended up making it seems like luka had become a better person after meeting reader lmfaoo😭🙏

from the moment humans were taken away forcefully by those disgusting aliens—they all had forgotten about their creators. the one who gave them life, the one who gave them the will to continue living. each day felt like a stab to the heart, it feels as if someone had taken your lungs out of your body, before putting it back inside again.

it feels empty, like a void.

while all the kids run around anakt garden happily, although not genuinely, all luka could do was lean on one of the trees, while holding his knees close to his chest. what can he do? what does people expect him to do? he is a weak child, a child born with diseases, a child unable to live without support from others, including the tree he is currently leaning on. without anything to lean on, to hold on to, what was he supposed to do, weak and dependent as he was?

nothing. he could only weep himself to sleep every day, and it changes nothing. he has heard from the other kids that there is a powerful divine being that could help you in times of distress, how it's called god, how you're supposed to believe in it for it to help you, and he did. luka believed in god for a day, but nothing had changed. his everyday life had remained the same.

like waking up early, even though he doesn't know what time it is because of all the fake painted skies the aliens put in the garden, go eat breakfast with the other kids, with no one else sitting besides—"hey, is this seat occupied?" in the midst of the suffocating silence, a cheerful, almost unreal voice had reached his ears. he had first thought that it was just his imagination, his desperate feelings of wanting to be accompanied by someone. but it wasn't, as the voice echoed in his ears once again.

"uh, hello...? did i catch you on a bad day? i'm so sorry, i'll find another seat then." after what felt like a minute, he finally looked up at the person talking to him, only to notice that they're gone. he clenched his fist in regret. he should've looked up earlier, he should've answered whoever that was, but he didn't. such a shame, he thought to himself.

after half an hour, luka finished his breakfast and was getting ready to leave, before being stopped by someone whose voice was so familiar to him, it almost feels as if he is dreaming. "hey, um... i'm really, really sorry for bothering you earlier. as an apology, i got some bread for you!" that cheerful voice had struck something inside him, his eyes grew wide slightly, and his hand trembles at the sight of you. if he were to believe in the divine, he would immediately get down on his knees and pray for you, an angel.

your soft gaze, your skin that looks almost as delicate and fragile as a glass, and your small fingers offering him the bread you got for him. it took him almost a minute to react, and all that came out of his mouth is just a small gasp, so small that even you can't hear it. "don't tell anyone about this though, but i stole it from someone's unfinished breakfast! so take it, please?" you shoved the bread to his face, which made him raise his eyebrows. but he took it anyway.

he examines the bread carefully, to which you took great offense. "i won't poison you, so there's no need to look at it so intensely!" you pout at him. if you squint your eyes really hard, you can notice the faintest hint of smile on his face, and probably the first time he has ever smile so genuinely.

his everyday routine had consisted of the same, basic thing. but, now that you talked to him, it changed his life forever. it changed his views of the world, of everyone. some kids may have believed in the divine from the moment they were born, but luka just believed in the divine the moment she graced himself with her kindness.

from then on, whenever luka woke up and entered the garden, the first thing—or person he looks for, is you. whenever he went to the cafeteria, the first person he approached is you, and when luka went to his first performance on stage, the first person he looks for in the audience is you, holding a cream-colored lightstick.

whenever luka goes anywhere, the first person he looks for, thought of, and wishes to see first... is you.

his god, his universe.

and if he happens to notice some... imbecile, or other people trying to approach you, he won't hesitate to show them that no one can approach his angel without consequences. no one other than him.

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use,(with or without permission), do not reccommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

[lymtw]

Talk To Me

"Come here," Toji says, at the sight of the involuntary pout that works wonders to express your internal, dispirited mood. His attention is divided very unevenly between you and the movie playing on the TV, you holding the greater part of his focus. He's watching you for his own peace of mind, hoping that every time you take a break from the movie, to check your phone, you'll spare him a look. You've been quieter than he knows you to be, and you're not sitting even remotely close to him. He's on one side of the couch and you're on the other side.

A few seconds pass since Toji spoke up, and he wonders if you even heard him in the first place, because you didn't respond. He passes on repeating himself when you shift your eyes from the TV to meet his gaze, and though your gloominess isn't because of him, you can't offer him any sort of indication that you're good.

"Sorry, i'm not in the mood to take my clothes off, Toji," you say, your voice a gentle, pitiful excuse for sound. If your voice could be seen, it would be similar to the tragic way that grass blades slowly try to stand up, after being stepped on. If the sound of your voice could be felt, it would be the void-like, almost nauseating feeling in your stomach, that comes with ignored hunger. You sound detached from the bright person Toji knows, and clearly, you're not okay.

"I'm not asking you to undress yourself. I want you to come to me," Toji responds. "You're sitting so far over there, away from me, like I did something to you. For being the most reasonable person I know, this isn't fair, at all." His eyes stay on you as he awaits your response, but he is only met with the sight of you looking down at your hands.

"Be fair. You didn't help me get better at communicating, just to turn the tables on me like this." His tone is sharper, out of urgency. He wants to know what he can do for you, but it's hard to do that when you're there, yet, not there. "Just... come here, ma," Toji tries again, his voice a little softer and understanding. "Please. Let's talk about anything." He pats his thigh, directing you to one of the reserved spots he holds for intimate conversations with you.

You know Toji's stubbornness will not leave you alone. It's impossible to hide anything from him once he's onto you, so you stop prolonging the inevitable and silently do as he says.

You turn off the TV, before walking over to him and settling on his lap. You sit there, with a racing heart, because Toji's attention feels like a spotlight on you. His hands interlock at the small of your back and rest there, as he waits for you to say something. Silence invades the moment while you figure out where to start.

"What's wrong?" He asks, when there is no attempt to speak made by you. Immediately, your throat begins to ache, and your eyes start to sting. It's a question known for breaking people, and you're on the brink of becoming another victim. You think you can widen your eyes to keep them dry or blink away the tears, but the outcome doesn't favor you. Toji's hands shift so that they're splayed out on your lower back. They move up and down in soothing motions, as if he's trying to coax your strong emotions out with the comforting gesture. Like a gloomy sky finally giving in to rain, you cave in to vulnerability.

"Baby?" Toji calls, watching as sadness takes over your features. He sighs as he pulls your twinkly-eyed self into his tight embrace. He hates when you cry. The sound and the sight is the equivalent of pouring acid on his heart. It's torture for him to see that his baby, his sweetheart, his love, has been reduced to streams of tears, but he knows that getting it all out is for your own good. This is the 'alcohol in the wound' part of the process. You don't want to do it, but you'll feel better, afterwards. Just like a real physical wound, Toji will make you get it done. Scream if you must, curl into him like you are trying to go through him, he's not going to abandon you.

"Just breathe, sweet girl," he instructs, when he hears the heart wrenching sound of your stuttered breaths. "Breathe. Give me a good one," he says, rubbing your upper back. You inhale, the act still heavily stuttered, before you exhale. "Good. Again." You repeat the process and get the same trembling breath as a result.

"Fuck," you choke out. Your head feels like it's pulsing, your abdomen burns, your chest feels heavy, as if you have chains tightly wrapped around your torso, and your throat aches. It's all so overwhelming, you feel like there's a disastrous storm ruining you from within.

"Sweetheart, please breathe. You're gonna turn blue any minute now." Toji can't hold you any tighter without crushing you, but he wants to, so badly. This is the lowest he's ever seen you and it's killing him. He has never made you this upset. It's hell to even imagine what you must have endured to get to this point.

"You're safe. I have you," he says, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of your head. "I'm here, baby."

Toji's shoulder is damp from your waterfalls of tears and he can feel an excessive amount of heat radiating from your trembling body. Your crying ceases and all that can be heard are sharp, short inhales and puffs of air, as you try to regulate your breathing. Toji continues running his hands over your back, soothing the tired, tense muscles of your shoulder blades.

"We are gonna have to talk about this later, doll. I know that might not sound like the most fun thing to do, but it'll make you feel better. I want you to feel better."

Toji is mindful of your silence. He knows your voice isn't in the best condition to speak after your surge of emotions, and you're probably exhausted, but this isn't a dead end for him. He'll figure out your needs, and he'll take care of you. Anything to bring your happy, smiling face, back.

Toji allows you to pull away from his shoulder, and instantly takes in the sight of your pretty, ruined face. You don't look at him, and he assumes that your appearance is to blame. Your eyes, they're red and puffy, glimmering in the light with your now contained feelings, and you're still sniffing like you need to blow your nose. It's terrible to see you this way, but he would withstand much more than this, if you needed it.

"How does a bath sound, for now? A bath and then some food? You hungry, mama?" He asks, his expression involuntarily soft, as he runs the pads of his thumbs beneath your eyes, attempting to clean you up a little.

"No," you say, quietly, with the fragility that remains of your voice.

"I'm gonna pick up some food while you relax." Toji almost laughs at the subtle roll of your eyes. "That's my bad. I shouldn't have asked in the first place. You need to eat something."

He doesn't want to put you through any more stress, but when he needs to take care of you, during times like this, he knows what you need more than you do. Your reasoning is clouded by your emotions, and you'll let go of yourself, because your thoughts rewind over and over to what's plaguing your mind. Toji knows you'll be glad he did this for you when you feel better.

"Let's get that bath ready," he says, securing your legs around his waist, before he stands up from the couch. Your face is buried in the crook of his neck, and you breathe in his scent, until you reach the bathroom.

Toji flicks the light on and sets you down on the counter. A chaste kiss is pressed to your tearstained cheek, before he lets you go so he can prepare your bath. You turn your head to look at yourself in the mirror and hate the messy sight before you—the product of your meltdown. You turn on the cold water and splash some on your face, hoping to decrease the puffiness of your eyes, even just a little bit, while Toji is busy. You dry your face afterwards and check your appearance in the mirror, again, to clean up any remaining gunk in your eyes.

When you finish, you turn back, just in time to watch Toji rise from his knelt position by the bathtub. He makes his way back to you and stands between your legs, offering you a contemplative look, and a "hm" to go along with it. No words are exchanged when his hand reaches out to gently cup your jaw, allowing him to turn your head in any way he wants. He leans forward to examine you more closely, to check if anything is "broken". He can see you pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh, as he continues to snoop around.

"Oh," he says, like he found a cable that has simply been disconnected. He turns your head a little, and keeps inspecting the problematic area, building up the suspense for you. You couldn't say it, but him finding something scared you a little, considering you had just looked at your reflection and didn't see anything.

"Don't move, doll. I'll get it." His hand rests on your shoulder, the other on your thigh, as he leans in closer and closer, until his body heat coils around you. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck. It's featherlight, almost like a gentle breeze. Another one lands on the same area, then another, and another, until he hears your little laugh, a sound that brought both of you mutual relief. Your relief came from understanding that Toji didn't actually find anything off, while Toji's came from the miracle of him being able to make you laugh, after what went down not that long ago.

"Two seconds, ma," he says, beneath your ear. He pulls away from you and goes back to the now foam covered, sweet smelling bathtub. He leans down to turn the faucet off, and returns to you, afterwards.

"It's all ready for you," he says. A smile curls on his lips when you raise your arms, signaling for him to pull your shirt off. "You wanna keep your bra and underwear on?" He asks, as he pulls the hem of your shirt up. You nod, just before the material goes over your head. He sets it aside and helps you down, off the counter, so you can take your sweatpants off. You pull your phone out of your pocket and set it on the counter. Your fingers hook into the waistband of your sweatpants and tug downwards, until they just slide down your legs and allow you to step out of them.

Toji watches you carefully step over the edge of the tub, one foot sinking through the foam and into the warm water, followed by your other foot. You crouch down, slowly, until you are able to sit down and eventually lay back. You close your eyes once you're in a comfortable position and just let the warm water and the pretty smell work its magic on you.

Toji kneels beside you, and observes you in a more serious manner than before. His gaze lingers on those tired eyes of yours, for longer than any of your other facial features. Your eyelids are still swollen and the bags beneath your eyes are prominent. The longer he stares, the more he thinks back to how you were so distressed, to the point where you forgot how to breathe for a few seconds. It scared him. He didn't get a single word about what was wrong, from you. You couldn't say anything other than that single curse, but even then, you sounded like you were being strangled by your own emotions.

Toji knows this is only a temporary fix— this calm sight of you resting in a bubble bath. Your feelings won't be swept under the rug, because he knows that if it were him going through this exact situation, you wouldn't just give him a hug and call it a day. No, when you take care of his mind and heart, you hold him in your arms and don't let go until he's the one trying to cage himself in your embrace when your arms loosen around him. You keep your voice at an intimate volume as you tell him about your day, because sometimes he isn't immediately ready to talk about what is bothering him, but he still wants to hear you. You cook for him, you give his tired body massages, you shower him with love and affection, and when he's finally ready to tell you what's going on, you listen closely to everything he has to say and you offer him your utmost support. You love and protect him to no end, and he has become shamelessly clingy towards you, because of it.

He wants you to feel as loved as he does. He wants you to know what it's like to experience the same level of care you give him. He may not be able to replicate it to a T, but he's willing to try for you.

"Hey," Toji calls, tenderly running the knuckle of his index finger back and forth, over your cheek. You hum, and blink open your eyes, giving him your attention. "I'm gonna go get us some food. Stay on the phone with me and keep me company until I get back, yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah, okay. Can you bring me my phone, please?"

Toji gets back on his feet and takes one large step towards the counter, retrieving your phone, before taking that same step back to leave it next to you, on the edge of the bathtub.

"Be right back, doll. Pick up the phone as soon as I call, okay?"

"Okay."

His hands grip the edge of the bathtub, to prevent him from falling in, as he leans in to peck your cheek once more. His weight shifts onto one arm so he can bring a hand to your face and rub the kiss into your skin with his thumb.

"Love you, ma."

"Love you, too."

With that, Toji stands up straight and heads towards the door. He takes one last look at your pretty face, before exiting the bathroom and closing the door behind him. He grabs his phone from the couch, his keys from the hook on the wall, and messily slides his shoes on, not bothering to put them on correctly, since he won't be getting out of the car, anyways. He secures the inside of the house, before heading out, and once he's outside, he finds his house key and locks the door. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and makes haste of clicking the phone icon, and then your contact, as he keeps walking to the car. His phone is now against his ear, and he listens as the line rings once... twice...

"Hi, Toji."

"Hi, baby."

[wileys-russo]

(Ik it’s not a player but I love them) Solfresa “I could just take a tiny nap?”

oc x oc from my filling the void universe and @girlgenius1111 family line series

world class II fresa putellas + solstråle engen

"sol, no mi amor you cannot sleep now." fresa returned to the bedroom and noticed the norweigan starting to drift off, shaking her ankle as she groaned and opened her eyes.

"why?" the brunette sighed deeply, rubbing her face and crossing her arms over her chest with a small scowl, fresa pausing the nature documentary her girlfriend had been falling asleep to.

"the point of the schedule is to train your sleep pattern so you are well rested at all times, so you are fit to work once you start nights. which means no naps and only sleeping at the times you are supposed to mi amor." the younger girl smiled sympathetically as the norweigan groaned louder.

it had been a long grueling process for the tattooed firefighter to become qualified as so, one that the spaniard currently shaking her awake had not always been supportive of.

solstråle had failed fitness testing twice, both her sister and girlfriend trying to talk her into what they deemed a much less dangerous career path.

but solstråle had never wavered, only spending more hours in the gym and less time talking to those who she didn't think were helping her along the way.

so with a wall of silence in response to the pushback, and the lack of belief only driving solstråle harder into her training and to start developing some unhealthier habits, fresa and ingrid changed tune.

both had come around to helping solstråle instead of wasting time trying to change her mind, but the help wasn't without constant reminders that she needed to be at her most prepared as to avoid any sort of injury while on the job.

so now with fitness testing complete and all of her training finally starting to feel as if it was paying off, the girl was set to swap over from shadow shifts to a real roster, which included staying two nights a week at the station on call.

"fres, baby i could just take a tiny nap? then i will still sleep early on time tonight!" solstråle tried to bargain, pinching her thumb and pointer finger together to make a minuscule gap as fresa firmly shook her head. "not part of the plan amor." fresa smiled in amusement at the girls persistence, gesturing for her to sit up.

"you are no fun today putellas. first you have to study and i have to sit here alone to watch my show because i 'distract you'. now you come back and i am tired but you will not let me sleep?" solstråle huffed with a deepened scowl as the younger girl shook your head.

"you might not think i am fun engen, but is it fun cleaning the big trucks all day because your sister or your chief hears you are too tired to be cleared for the real work?" fresa warned lightly quirking an eyebrow and crossing her arms, solstråle's eyes widening a little in response.

"you wouldn't!" the norweigan sat up properly now with a scoff. "i would, if it meant you did not get hurt bebé." fresa promised softly, her girlfriend sighing and running a hand through her hair.

"snitches get stitches." solstråle mumbled grumpily, laying back down as her eyes began to once again feel heavy. "well you are great company today. go to sleep then, i do not care!" fresa rolled her eyes, knowing just how stubborn her girlfriend could be but not having the patience for it today, turning to leave as a hand quickly grabbed the back of her top.

"sorry! i'm just tired, and i missed you. i hate when you have exams and you have to ignore me." solstråle huffed, pulling fresa down onto the bed with her and trapping the shorter girl in between her arms and legs in a tight bear hug.

"i do not ignore you solstråle, i answered all your texts today amor, and there was a lot of them!" fresa laughed at the sudden switch in attitude from the girl, twisting her neck to sweetly peck her lips which were grumbling some sort of moody comment in norweigan.

"will you play fifa with me? i thought i was good but they have a tournament going at the station, and i haven't won a single game!" the brunette huffed, forever hotheaded and fiercely competitive as much as she could also be the softest sappy pile of mush at times too.

"do we have to? i do not have a clue how to play. in fact you and alexia told me no more playing because it was...what did you say? eh 'too hard to watch' remember?" fresa narrowed her eyes as a guilty smile curled into her girlfriends features.

one of the rare times her eldest sister actually spent any time with sol was playing fifa after a family dinner, granted that was silent bonding as alexia still refused to say more than a few words in response to solstråle's chatter.

"fresa that was ancient history, i am a much more patient woman now." solstråle grinned as the spaniard in her arms let out a loud sarcastic bark of laughter and tapped at her forearms to be let up.

"it was last week engen." fresa sat up and hovered over her girlfriend with a shake of her head, suddenly pulling back as sol tried to sit up and connect their mouths. "hey! give me a kiss." the norweigan demanded impatiently, tapping her puckered lips expectantly.

"no." fresa smiled sweetly, standing and heading out of the bedroom to make some food, not at all surprised at the sound of footsteps hurrying after her, her mami on an evening shift at work meaning the pair of them had the house to themselves for a couple more hours at least.

"solstråle!" the younger girl squealed as a body barrelled into her, almost taking her down to the floor before the well built norweigan grabbed her girlfriends hand, spinning and dipping fresa, holding her up just from falling to the floor as her heart raced.

"don't do that! its not funny." fresa hit at her girlfriends hoodie covered chest with a loud smack as she only laughed and the youngest putellas merely scowled.

trying to move past her before fresa could take another step a mouth was pressed against hers, feeling the firefighter to be smile into the kiss when fresa made no move to push her away

"you are a child sometimes. tonta!" fresa finally broke away and bonked her girlfriend on the head with a magazine that was handy within reach on the counter, only causing solstråle to smile wider, clearly proud of herself.

"food can wait, one game? it will help keep me awake." the norwegian tugged fresa gently away from the pantry with her best puppy dog eyes as fresa sighed.

"if you are turning down food, it must be serious." "please?" "fine. one game engen!"

~

"joder! how do you defend? i forget the controls!" fresa cursed in annoyance, only having had possession for about two seconds this entire half as her girlfriend knocked in goal after goal.

"solstråle!" she protested as the norweigan made her player do a backflip after another goal and cheered loudly in fresa's ear, kissing her cheek apologetically from where fresa lay between her legs, elbows resting on her knees and her back pressed to solstråles front.

"you said this would be easy." fresa complained as the game stopped for half time. "no, babe i said i would put the match settings on easy." her girlfriend corrected as fresa pinched her thigh unimpressed with the answer.

"amor you are winning 8-0 you can give me five fucking minutes to show the controls again?" fresa demanded before sol could click to resume play. "i like when you swear in english." her girlfriend mumbled, a lazy kiss pressed to her jaw as sol dropped her remote and her hands settled over fresa's.

"when you attack you click this to pass, this one to sprint. you click this one for a head pass or a short ball, and this to shoot." solstråle explained slowly, pointing out the different buttons as fresa nodded, eyebrows furrowed with concentration.

"when you defend it is this one to chase, this one to tackle, this one to slide tackle, this one to clear. then when it goes to your goalkeeper, just click this or this." the taller girl explained as again fresa nodded, doing her best to follow along but she'd already forgotten half of what was said, making a mental note to just button mash and hope.

"so does this mean you will let me have a pity goal mi vida?" fresa asked hopefully as the girl pressed behind her grabbed her own control and chuckled.

"not a chance elskling." sol stole a kiss and clicked play again before fresa could bite back with a remark, eyes widening as she hurried to rapidly click at any buttons she could reach on the controller much to her girlfriends amusement.

the second half fresa played a little better, but still failed to score and conceded another five goals making it so solstråle won with a whopping 13-0, the final whistle blowing meaning she let out a war cry of victory.

"eso fue humillante!" fresa scowled tossing the remote to the side onto the lounge and rolling her eyes, arms crossed and shoulders slumped.

"that is life no? you win some, you lose some. i feel a lot better about my games at the station now! thank you baby." the norweigans large hands settled either side of fresas face and tilted her head back so she could press kisses across the flushed skin.

"you are welcome." fresa rolled your eyes, gently tugging her hands away and sitting up, glancing to the screen only for a moment as her head snapped back to it and she frowned.

"world class? you said you put it on beginner sol!" fresa turned to glare at her girlfriend who shrugged, quickly turning off the tv and sitting up on her knees.

"did i? guess i must have clicked the wrong one babe, sorry." the norweigan grinned, pushing the shorter girl to lay down again as her smug face hovered over her girlfriends, not an ounce of remorse in her eyes.

"mentirosa! i cannot believe i like you." fresa grumbled with a scowl, solstråle pressing her face into her neck, lips scattering kisses across the warm skin.

"only like?" the norweigan whispered teasingly, tugging on fresa's earlobe with her teeth as her fingers danced across bare skin where her shirt had rode up.

"barely tolerate." fresa mumbled but all of the fire had dissapeared from her tone making solstråle smile against her neck.

"oh now what happened to love?" "maybe if you were not a dirty tramposa, you might get some engen."

[castielthinkr]

BE MY BABY

bob reynolds x fem!reader cw thunderbolts* new avengers spoilers, inspired by prompt 7 of this post, bob is an anxious mess, reader implied to be on the younger side of the team

bob reynolds has been avoiding you.

at first you thought he might have just been having some sort of anxious episode, avoiding the whole team, but you catch him sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with yelena, and know it's just you.

it hurts, in a way. the two of you had been close since the whole void incident, and not having him by your side is beginning to get to you. your heart hurts every time you see him - or, rather, don't see him.

things come to a head when you get cornered by bucky of all people. he’s noticed that things are tense, that you’re withdrawing into yourself.

“talk to me,” he says, sitting next to you out of nowhere. “talk to you?” “something’s wrong. talk to me.” you sigh. no matter how much you try to deflect, you know he won’t give up. you’ve seen the same thing happen with yelena (and john, of all people).

“bob’s avoiding me,” you mutter. “i know,” bucky says. you furrow your brows. “you know?” “it’s not exactly hard to see.” you sigh. again. “i don’t know what to do.” "i can't really help you, kiddo," he says, his voice a little quieter. almost guilty. you bristle at the nickname but don't try to correct him. he never lets up. "i know. s'okay."

except, it's not okay. now that bucky knows, yelena somehow knows, and john knows, and ava, and alexei, and pretty soon it's gotten back to bob that you're well aware that he's avoiding you and that you're upset about it and you're both freaking out.

he comes to you, one day, practically vibrating with anxious energy. you don't even realise he's there at first, having become accustomed to his evasion tactics. he notices.

he clears his throat, and you look up from where you're reading in a corner. in one of his usual spots, he realises. "i'm, uh... i'm sorry." you blink. sorry? "what?" "i'm sorry," he repeats. "yeah, no, i heard you. just... what?" bob sighs a little, fidgeting with his hands. "i'm sorry for avoiding you. it was immature."

you stay quiet for a moment, your brain needing to catch up. weeks of silence, and now this?

"okay... why did you do it?" you ask, not sure whether you actually want the answer. "it's stupid. you don't— you probably don't want to know—“ "bob." "yes?" "just tell me," you say, your voice a little softer now.

he sighs, squeezing his hands together and rubbing them against each other every which way. he murmurs something, and you don't quite catch it. he knows. he clears his throat again and speaks up.

"i have... feelings for you," he says quickly, almost quick enough that you don't catch it. "you... what?" you ask, not sure whether you heard him right. "i have feelings for you. like, romantic feelings. and i thought that avoiding you would make them go away but it hasn't--" "why did you want to make them go away?"

his head snaps up, nervous eyes meeting yours. "what?" "why did you want to make them go away?" you repeat, gentler this time. "'cause, i mean... i just thought..." "you thought i wouldn't feel the same?" you ask. he nods.

"okay, just... stop, for a second. stop everything," you instruct. he does. "i find it so insanely stupid that you think for one second that i'm not completely and utterly head over heels for your oblivious ass."

that makes him pause. "you... what? head over heels?" "yes!" you say, a little exasperated. "i have been since you appeared out of nowhere in that incinerator." "oh," he says quietly, "wow."

he sits next to you, rather ungracefully hitting the floor with a small oof. the two of you sit in silence for a while, revelling in your new discoveries.

"so," he says after a long moment of quiet, "completely and utterly head over heels, huh?" you swat his arm. "shut up. but yes." he leans his head on your shoulder, and your cheek comes to rest on the top of his head. "what does this mean?" he asks quietly, that nervous energy back in his voice again. "whatever you want it to mean. but i want something with you."

he lifts his head. "i want to do this right. take you out, and stuff. i know it might be hard with this... life we lead... but i want to try." "okay," you smile, "yeah. that sounds... that sounds really nice."

it only takes him three days to take you on a date. it's awkward, but it's so quintessentially bob that you don't mind.

bucky gets a full rundown from the two of you - separately - and groans, but internally, he's happy for you both, happy that someone in your little ragtag team is finding some enjoyment in life. finally.

[writeriguess]

Hi author! I hope your day is going/has gone well. I was hoping you could write an angst Dabi x fem!reader. The reader is a civilian who’s got a secret thing going on with Dabi. He usually comes twice a week but the reader hasn’t heard from him for almost a month. One day, he finally shows up and tells her about the war they’re planning and that he may not come back. Then, he disappears and two weeks later you see him on tv, on the brink of death.

This seems like a lot to ask this is my first time but thank you for your time!

author's note: I'm so sorry for breaking everyone's heart. I had to stop writing this like five times because was sobbing so hard every time while writing this and I hope to transfer that feeling to all of you <3

Ashes in the Wind

It had been twenty-six days.

Not that you were counting.

Except you were.

Dabi never made promises. He never said when he’d come, only that he would. Twice a week, like clockwork. Until he didn’t.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. Maybe something had come up. Maybe he was lying low. Maybe he was just being an ass and making you sweat. He’d done it before—gone a little longer than usual just to see how you’d react.

But never this long.

The first week, you told yourself to stop being paranoid. The second week, you barely slept. By the third, you were sick with worry, stomach twisting into knots every time you glanced at your phone, knowing full well he never texted. And now, at twenty-six days, you weren’t sure if you were more afraid that he was dead—or that he had simply left you behind.

You left the window unlocked, just in case.

You sat up late into the night, staring at the door, at the shadows shifting under the streetlight outside. The city was never quiet, but the absence of him made it feel like a void had opened up inside your chest.

Every sound made you flinch.

A creak in the hallway. Not him.

The wind rattling the window. Not him.

The distant scent of smoke from someone’s cigarette outside. Not him.

The first time he hadn’t shown up, you tried to tell yourself it was fine. But the days stretched, the silence became suffocating, and you stopped pretending.

Something was wrong.

You tried to be rational. He wasn’t normal. He wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t even really yours. He didn’t owe you anything. But that didn’t stop the sick feeling in your gut, the fear curling inside you every time you imagined the worst.

You imagined a fight gone bad.

A trap he didn’t see coming.

His body somewhere in an alley, cold and alone, with no one to mourn him because he had never let anyone close enough to care.

Except you.

And you didn’t even know if you had the right to.

Because he had never said it. Never said what you were to him, never said why he kept coming back. But he had. Again and again, until you had let yourself believe that meant something.

You pressed your forehead against the cool windowpane, staring down at the empty street below.

He wasn’t coming back.

You whispered his name under your breath like a prayer, but there was no answer. Only silence.

And twenty-six days of nothing.

You had given up.

After twenty-six days of waiting, of aching, of staring at the unlocked window and hoping, you had finally let yourself believe the truth—he wasn’t coming back.

You forced yourself to move on, or at least pretend to. Forced yourself to sleep, even if your body jolted awake at every imagined footstep. Forced yourself to eat, even when the worry curled in your gut like a sickness. Forced yourself to stop looking for his face in the crowd, in the smudges of ash on the pavement, in the distant sound of sirens.

And then, on the twenty-seventh night, he was there.

You didn’t hear him come in. You only noticed the change in the air—the scent of smoke, of something burnt and bitter and so achingly familiar that for a second, you thought you had finally gone mad.

Then a voice, low and rough, broke the silence.

“You look like hell.”

Your breath caught. Slowly, disbelievingly, you turned.

He was standing by the window, just like always. But he wasn’t the same.

He looked wrecked.

His coat was torn, his staples dark with dried blood. His hands were shaking, just slightly, but not from pain. His eyes—burning blue, too bright in the dim light—were unreadable.

He was real.

You barely had time to think before you were on him, fists balling into the front of his jacket, gripping tight like he’d disappear if you let go.

“Where the hell have you been?” Your voice cracked. “I thought—you were gone. I thought you were dead—”

His hands came up, hesitating before settling on your waist. Not pulling you close, not pushing you away. Just holding you there, like he didn’t know if he had the right.

“Almost was,” he muttered. “Would’ve been easier.”

The words sent ice through your veins. You pulled back just enough to see his face, searching his expression for something—anything—that would make this hurt less.

“What happened?” you whispered.

He exhaled, slow and sharp. His gaze flickered to the floor, like he was trying to decide how much to tell you. Then, finally, he spoke.

“There’s a war coming.”

The words felt heavy. Final.

Your stomach twisted. “What—?”

“It’s time.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “We’re making our move. Shigaraki, the League. Me.”

He paused, then, quieter, “I finally get to finish this.”

You didn’t have to ask what “this” was. You already knew.

Endeavor.

His father.

His revenge.

You had always known he carried it like a wound that never healed. That everything he did, every reckless fight, every burned bridge, was leading to this.

But knowing didn’t make it easier to hear.

“Dabi—”

“This is what I’ve been waiting for.” His voice was calm, steady. Too steady. Like he had already made peace with it. “I finally get to make him pay. And if it kills me? Fine. Worth it.”

No hesitation. No doubt.

He had always walked the edge of destruction, but this—this wasn’t just flirting with death. This was throwing himself into the fire and refusing to crawl out.

Your grip on him tightened. “You don’t have to do this.”

A ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips. “Yeah, I do.”

You shook your head, eyes burning. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

For the first time, something in his expression wavered. He swallowed, jaw clenching, before he muttered, “Wanted to see you.”

Your breath hitched.

You came back.

“You’re telling me you might die, and I’m just supposed to—what? Say goodbye?” You bit your lip, trying to keep your voice steady. “Like this doesn’t matter?”

His fingers twitched against your skin, like he wanted to pull you in but didn’t know how.

“It does,” he admitted. Barely a whisper. “That’s the problem.”

Your heart cracked.

You had never asked for anything from him. Never asked him to stay, never asked him to put a name to whatever this was between you. But you had never thought it would end like this, with him standing in front of you, telling you he might not come back.

“I don’t want you to go.”

He exhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered. “Don’t make this harder.”

Your throat tightened.

You wanted to beg. You wanted to scream. You wanted to shake him and tell him that his life wasn’t something he could just throw away for the sake of revenge.

But you knew him.

And you knew that nothing you said would stop him.

So instead, you reached up, pressing a shaking hand against his scarred cheek. His eyes fluttered open, something breaking in them as he leaned into your touch.

“You don’t have to say it,” you whispered.

His breath shuddered out. “I know.”

And then, just for a moment, he let himself have this.

He kissed you.

Desperate. Rough. Like he was trying to carve the memory of you into his bones, something to take with him when he walked into the fire.

And then, just as quickly, he was pulling away.

A step back.

Then another.

And just like that, he was gone.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t run after him.

You just stood there, hands clenched at your sides, listening to the sound of the city outside.

And you waited.

Twenty-seven days.

Twenty-eight.

Twenty-nine.

He didn’t come back.

You hadn’t moved from the couch in hours.

The flickering light from the television cast long, ghostly shadows against the walls. The air in the room felt heavy, thick, like you couldn’t breathe properly. But maybe that was just the weight pressing down on your chest.

The news anchor’s voice was a dull hum in your ears, words blending together in a blur of static. The only thing that mattered was the screen.

The footage.

The image of him.

Dabi—no, Todoroki Touya—collapsed on the battlefield, his body barely holding itself together, surrounded by frost and blood and the shattered remnants of his own destruction.

The first time you saw him again, it didn’t feel real.

You had been in the middle of something mundane—washing dishes, trying to force yourself through the routine of existing—when the emergency broadcast cut in. The words “HEROES AND VILLAINS COLLIDE” flashed across the screen, and then suddenly, he was there.

Or what was left of him.

He looked like hell. Worse than you had ever seen him. Worse than you had imagined in all your sleepless nights spent worrying about where he had gone. His body was charred, his skin barely holding together, and his breathing—if he was even still breathing—was shallow, barely visible under the weight of ice pinning him down.

Shoto had stopped him.

You hadn’t known much about his brother before. Just bits and pieces, the rare scraps he let slip when he talked about his family. When he talked about the man he hated enough to destroy himself over.

And now, on national television, the whole world was seeing the culmination of his hatred.

The news replayed the footage again. And again.

Him screaming.

Him trying to drag himself forward, even when his body had nothing left to give.

Him standing in the middle of the flames, ready to end it all, before Shoto’s ice swallowed him whole.

You felt sick.

You had known this would happen.

Had he known?

Had he realized, when he stood in your apartment that night, that he wouldn’t survive this? That this was always the end he was heading toward?

He had warned you.

“If it kills me? Fine. Worth it.”

Liar.

If it had really been worth it, then why did he look so lost in those final moments?

Why had he looked like a boy reaching for something he could never have?

A lump formed in your throat, hot and suffocating.

You had spent thirty days waiting for him to come back.

And now, the whole world was watching as he bled out on a battlefield, barely clinging to life.

Your fingers dug into your arms, nails pressing deep, desperate to ground yourself in anything but the crushing weight of helplessness.

He had told you not to make it harder.

But this—watching him like this, knowing you couldn’t reach him, couldn’t do anything—was unbearable.

Somewhere, in some hospital or government facility, he was lying unconscious, maybe even dying, surrounded by people who saw him as nothing more than a villain, a monster, a cautionary tale.

But he wasn’t just that.

Not to you.

And if he died now, if this was really the end, then he would never know—

Never know that you had loved him.

***

The room was suffocatingly silent except for the rhythmic hum of the machines. You sat in the stiff plastic chair beside him, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes hollow from lack of sleep.

Dabi was awake. Barely.

His eyelids drooped, too heavy to lift, but he could hear you. The way your breath hitched every now and then, the soft rustling of fabric as you shifted in your seat. You were still here.

He should have told you to leave.

He wanted to tell you to leave.

But his throat was raw, and even if it weren’t, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to say the words. Not anymore.

His body was a wreck—less than human, more of a ruin. The burns had carved him down to nothing, and the restraints bound him like a corpse waiting for burial. Was this all he was now? A barely-living ghost?

“Dabi.”

Your voice pulled him from the abyss.

He forced his eyes open. It took too much effort. Everything took too much effort.

But when he managed it, the first thing he saw was you.

You looked worse than yesterday. Dark circles hung under your eyes, your lips were dry, and your hands were clenched so tightly your knuckles were bloodless.

“Still here?” His voice was sandpaper, scraping, worn.

Your lips twitched. “Still here.”

“Idiot.”

“You’re one to talk.”

A slow, excruciating smirk tugged at his lips. Even now, you could still fight him. He liked that about you.

The silence returned, stretching between you both, but it wasn’t empty. It was thick, heavy—choking you both with unspoken words neither of you had the strength to say.

Then, suddenly, you moved.

You shifted forward in your chair, closer than before, hands trembling as they hovered over the thick glass casing that separated you from him.

Your fingertips brushed against it, ghosting over the transparent divide.

“I want to touch you,” you whispered.

Dabi’s throat tightened.

You couldn’t. You both knew that.

There was nothing left of him to touch—only charred, ruined flesh barely clinging to life. He wasn’t the man you used to hold anymore.

But still, your fingers pressed lightly against the glass, as if that alone could bridge the space between you.

Dabi swallowed. “I’d burn you.”

Your shoulders stiffened.

“Doesn’t matter.”

His breath hitched.

Didn’t it?

You should be disgusted. You should look at him like everyone else did now—a walking corpse, something to be discarded, pitied, feared.

But you didn’t.

Your eyes were wet, desperate, filled with something that burned worse than any flame he had ever conjured.

Dabi forced himself to look away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered.

You inhaled sharply.

“I know.”

And yet—you stayed.

Dabi’s jaw clenched. He hated this. Hated that you had to see him like this.

“I don’t—” He stopped, breath faltering.

I don’t want you to see me like this.

I don’t want you to wait for me.

I don’t want you to grieve over something that was already lost.

But none of those words made it past his lips.

You leaned forward, voice trembling.

“Why did you come back?”

Dabi inhaled slowly.

“…Dunno.”

A lie.

He knew exactly why.

He could have died on that battlefield. He should have. That was the plan, wasn’t it? He’d burn bright, let himself be consumed, and end it all in the way he always intended.

But at the last second, when his body was breaking apart, when the flames were eating him alive—

He thought of you.

He thought of the way your hands used to brush against his scars, unafraid. The way your lips curled when you called him an idiot. The way you waited, even when you shouldn’t have.

And suddenly—dying didn’t seem so easy anymore.

“…I wanted to see you.”

Your breath caught.

Dabi exhaled slowly, shutting his eyes. He hated saying things like that. It made his throat burn worse than the fire ever had.

But it was the truth.

And right now, he didn’t have the time to lie.

You were quiet for a long time. Then—

“You’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”

Dabi let out a weak, breathy chuckle. “Yeah.”

Your head dropped, and for a moment, it looked like you might cry again.

But when you finally looked up, determination burned in your eyes.

“You’re going to make it,” you said, voice shaking but firm. “I don’t care what they say—I don’t care if they think you won’t survive. You will.”

Dabi stared at you.

God.

You were still so stupidly stubborn.

He smirked. “You always were a bad liar.”

Your lips wobbled.

And then, softly, eyes wet with unshed tears—

“…Then I guess I’ll just have to make you prove me right.”

Dabi’s breath stilled.

Your fingers pressed against the glass again, holding on to whatever of him was left.

And for the first time in a long time—

He wanted to hold on, too.

***

The air in the room was the same as always—sterile, cold, empty.

But when Dabi cracked his eyes open, you were still there.

You had fallen asleep at some point, curled up awkwardly in the chair beside his containment unit. Your arms were folded on the edge of the glass, head resting against them, body rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep.

He shouldn’t have woken up. He should be dead.

The thought wasn’t a new one, but lately, it felt heavier than before.

Dabi turned his head slightly—just enough to look at you properly. You were exhausted. It didn’t take a genius to see that.

Your skin was dull, dark circles hanging under your eyes, lips chapped from dehydration. You probably hadn’t eaten much either, not with the way your body looked thinner than he remembered.

How long had you been sitting here like this?

He should tell you to leave. He should want you to leave.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his lips parted, voice rasping through the thick silence.

“…You should go home.”

You stirred, groaning softly as you lifted your head, eyes still dazed with sleep.

“…’M not leaving,” you murmured.

Dabi huffed weakly, amused despite himself. “Stubborn.”

You blinked blearily at him, rubbing at your face before straightening up.

“So are you.”

His lips twitched.

You stretched, bones cracking as you forced yourself to wake up properly. It was obvious you weren’t getting enough rest.

Dabi watched you, something unreadable flickering behind his half-lidded gaze.

“You look like shit,” he muttered.

You exhaled through your nose, giving him a tired smile. “You’re one to talk.”

Dabi chuckled weakly—or tried to. His breath stuttered halfway through, throat too raw to handle even that small movement.

You noticed. Your brows furrowed, concern creeping into your expression.

“…Are you in pain?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Of course he was in pain. Every second of every day was pain. The flames had eaten away at everything that made him human, leaving behind nothing but a skeletal, charred ruin. He shouldn’t be alive.

And yet—

“I’ve had worse,” he finally said, voice hoarse.

You frowned, but you didn’t argue. You knew it was pointless.

Instead, you shifted in your seat, leaning forward slightly. Your fingers hovered near the glass, as close to him as you could get without actually touching.

“…Do you want me to talk?” you asked quietly. “Or do you want me to shut up?”

Dabi swallowed. His throat burned, dry and sore, but—

“…Talk.”

Your lips twitched, just barely.

“Alright.”

And so, you talked.

You told him about small, stupid things—things that shouldn’t matter, but somehow did.

You told him about how the vending machine downstairs ate your money and refused to give you your drink, how one of the nurses had nearly dropped a tray when she saw you glaring at it like you were planning murder.

You told him about the news, the reports, the things they said about him. The way they called him a monster, a villain, a cautionary tale.

But then, softer—

“They don’t know you,” you murmured.

Dabi’s breath stilled.

“They don’t know anything about you.”

His eyes flickered, something breaking behind them.

“…Maybe that’s for the best,” he muttered.

You shook your head. “It’s not.”

Silence stretched between you again, but it wasn’t as heavy as before.

You tapped your fingers against the glass absentmindedly.

“They’re treating you like you’re already dead,” you whispered. “Like you’re not even worth saving.”

Dabi exhaled slowly.

That’s because he wasn’t.

But you—you didn’t see it that way.

You never had.

Your fingers pressed a little harder against the glass.

“But I know better,” you murmured.

Dabi swallowed.

“Yeah?” His voice was quieter now, rough but… softer.

You nodded, gaze steady.

“You’re still here, aren’t you?”

His breath hitched.

Yeah.

Somehow, he still was.

And for the first time in his life—

He wasn’t sure if he regretted it.

You knew this day would come.

But knowing didn’t make it easier.

***

The room reeked of antiseptic and scorched flesh. The walls were white, pristine—too clean for someone like him, someone who had always been stained with soot and blood. A soft hum filled the air, the sound of the machines keeping him alive. But you knew they were just prolonging the inevitable.

Dabi was dying.

And they wouldn’t let you see him.

"You can’t go in," the doctor repeated, his tone flat, as if he had said it a dozen times already.

"Why not?" Your voice was hoarse, raw from arguing, from begging. "He’s dying. What harm could it possibly do?"

"It’s not about harm." The doctor sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "It’s about… making this as smooth as possible. He’s unstable, and even though he can’t use his quirk anymore, his body is still—"

"I don’t care." You took a step forward, and two nurses exchanged wary glances. You weren’t a threat, just a desperate, grieving civilian fighting for the last moments you’d ever have with him. "I need to be there. He shouldn’t be alone."

The doctor hesitated. "He’s a villain."

You swallowed back the lump in your throat. "He’s a person. And he’s the person I love."

That made him flinch.

There was another long pause, filled with unspoken words. Then, finally, with a reluctant sigh, he nodded.

"Fine."

The nurses moved quickly, unfastening the leather restraints that had been binding him down. They had been necessary before—when he still had the strength to resist, to struggle, to burn. But now, they were pointless. The pod was the only thing keeping him alive, and the moment they turned it off, he wouldn’t have the energy to so much as lift a finger.

You stepped forward as they gently adjusted him, helping him into a slightly more upright position. He sagged into their hands, barely conscious, his breath coming in slow, ragged gasps. His skin—what little wasn’t already charred—was pale and stretched too thin over his bones. He looked… fragile.

You had never seen Dabi look fragile before.

"Go ahead," the doctor murmured, stepping back to give you space.

With trembling hands, you climbed into the pod. The warmth of it wrapped around you, but it wasn’t comforting—it was suffocating, a painful contrast to how cold he felt when you finally touched him.

"Dabi," you whispered, brushing your hand on his covered cheek.

His eyelids fluttered, unfocused cerulean eyes barely finding yours. His lips were cracked, dry, the staples along his jaw pulling at his ruined skin. It took a long moment before he finally managed to speak.

"Y/N," he rasped. His voice was weak, hoarse—nothing like the cocky, self-assured drawl you had fallen for.

You swallowed past the ache in your throat. "I’m here."

His breath shuddered as he exhaled, his body sagging against you, too weak to hold himself up.

"How…?"

You knew what he was asking.

"The doctors let me in," you murmured. "I fought for it. They didn’t want me here at first."

The faintest twitch of his lips—maybe an attempt at a smirk, maybe just the last of his strength flickering out. "‘Course… you did."

Your throat tightened.

Carefully, you wrapped your arms around him, cradling him as gently as you could. His body was unnaturally light, like he had already started fading away. The thought made your heart clench.

"I want to hold you," you whispered. "How… how do you want to go?"

His fingers twitched against your arm, a weak, almost nonexistent grip. His head lolled slightly, his breath coming in uneven puffs against your skin.

"Close," he murmured. "Warm."

You swallowed hard and adjusted your position, pulling him fully against you. His head rested in the crook of your neck, and you felt the smallest sigh escape his lips. The weight of him, fragile as it was, settled into you, and you held him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

The doctors stood nearby, watching, waiting. They wouldn’t rush you, but you knew they couldn’t delay much longer. The pod was the only thing keeping him alive, and once it was turned off…

Your arms tightened around him.

"I love you," you whispered. Your lips pressed to his temple, to his burned skin, to the place where, once upon a time, he had been whole. "I love you so much."

His fingers twitched again, gripping your sleeve as tightly as he could. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say it back.

Then, in the weakest, softest voice you had ever heard from him—

"Love you… too."

A single tear slipped down your cheek.

The machines beeped softly. A hand touched your shoulder—a silent warning.

It was time.

The doctor moved to the controls, flipping a switch. The pod let out a slow hiss as the systems shut down, one by one. The warmth faded. The machines slowed.

Dabi’s body grew heavier against yours.

His breath hitched once.

Then stopped.

And the flames went out.

[jordiemeow]

bob version of current boyfriend…? blue blushing emoji

this literally felt mean to write bless him

The trend is predictable, kind of dumb, but you laugh every time. And normally, you wouldn’t bother. But today Bob’s being too smugly serene (he made a comment about the way you sighed when you sat down after bringing him tea), and you haven’t caught him off-guard in weeks. So really, you consider this justice.... or maybe just being evil. You just really want to see him pout in that cute way he always does. Like you’ve just suggested maybe the Earth isn’t round and you’re open to discussion.

He's currently wearing one of your hoodies (because apparently the man who could probably lift a skyscraper doesn’t own real loungewear), sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room while he fiddles absentmindedly with an old Rubik’s cube. There’s a half-empty mug of tea on the coffee table, a dog-eared book beside it, and The Office reruns playing perpetually at a low volume in the background.

He doesn’t notice you filming at first. He’s in a good mood. Calm. Safe. Which doesn’t always happen, so you like to make the most of these moments while you can. If you hadn’t already hit record, maybe you would have savoured it instead of terrorising him.

"Okay, so," you start, shifting to make sure you're both in frame. "I'm gonna try out this filter. Oh, and this is Bob in the background, my current boyfriend."

Maybe the glance you spare him is a bit too obvious, but he’s too caught up on the use of the word current to pick up on you eyeing him for a reaction.

The cube stills in his head, and he tilts his head.

"… Current?" He repeats, voice low and suspicious in that slow, careful tone you recognise as him trying to figure out whether you’re joking, or if his world is actually falling apart again. His eyes flick to the lens, then back to you.

You can see the exact moment he spirals. Superhuman hearing, cosmic senses, unstable mental health—you watch it all flicker behind his eyes like a slideshow of possibilities. The shift feels almost physical.

"What do you mean current?" He asks, a little more alert now. Not angry, just… uncertain.

Oops. Now you feel bad. You pause the video, setting your phone down on the sofa. "I mean it’s a trend," you say gently. "I call you current and you act like I just asked for a divorce. It’s just a joke. People do it to mess with their partners. That’s all."

His response feels a little delayed. He stares down at the half-solved Rubik’s cube in his hands (he always favours completing the red and yellow parts first), turning it over a few times in his hands. Hands that could destroy the planet currently trembling because his partner decided to try out a TikTok trend. Ironic.

You can see the thoughts racing behind his distant eyes. When you date someone with godlike powers and a mind fractured down the middle, even a joke can take on a weight you didn’t intend.

And you definitely didn’t intend for this. Hindsight is a bitch, you suppose.

"Sorry," Bob says quietly. "That word just threw me off. I guess I heard it and thought you meant, like, I wasn’t permanent. Or…" His voice cracks. "Like something was going to take me away." He forces out a laugh. "Wow, that's dramatic."

He tries to flash you a sheepish smile.

Your heart sinks. You slide down to sit beside him, thigh pressed to his. "Hey. Look at me."

He does.

"You’re not my current boyfriend. You’re my only boyfriend. The one I’ve planned a thousand lifetimes with. It was just a dumb trend. I shouldn’t have used that word, I’m sorry."

Current. It’s a sore topic for someone whose life—and everyone around him—could change at any moment. Maybe you should have convinced him to learn a dance instead.

He reaches for your hand. "I know you didn’t mean it," he says. Even now, he's trying to be the one to appease you. "But part of me always thinks, like… it’s just a matter of time. Before I scare you. Before the Void gets too close again. Before I become someone you can’t stay with."

You shake your head firmly. "Bob. You’re not temporary. And you’re not replaceable. You’re not something I try—you’re something I choose. Over and over again."

He swallows hard, and asks tentatively: "Even when I’m a mess?"

"Especially then," you confirm. He squeezes your hand, and you can practically see the tension drain out of him. It’s enough to encourage you to make an attempt at lightening the mood.

"Next video I post, I'll make the caption 'the love of my life who keeps thinking he’s just a storm.'"

He laughs. Shaky, but at least you got one out of him. "People are gonna think I’m emotionally unstable."

"You are emotionally unstable."

"But hot?" He tries.

"But so hot."

You shove his shoulder, and he laughs—really laughs—until you’re both tangled together on the rug, the Rubik’s cube forgotten.

This is the only current that matters.

[catcake24]

Universal Misunderstandings

Summary: Based on @keferon's Mech Pilot Jazz AU. Jazz is a Mech Pilot who gets lost in space.

I wrote this in like... an hour, so I'm sorry if it isn't very good. I just needed to get it out, even if it's a little clunky. (Also I don't write Jazz and Prowl often, so they might be a bit ooc)

If you had asked Jazz what was the craziest thing he ever saw, he would say the moment the giant ships entered earth’s atmosphere for the first alien invasion. Or maybe when he joined the mecha program to fight those aliens, and saw the mecha suits they would be piloting for the first time.

He wasn’t sure if meeting a race of giant robots was any crazier than that, but it was at least top three now.

Being a mecha pilot was surprisingly routine in some ways, similar to the times he was a NASCAR driver in some strange ways. How he would check his machine before every mission, how he piloted it like it was an extension of him, and how painfully aware he was of the danger all around him.

Only now, instead of being at risk of crashing into another driver or spinning off the track, he was at risk of being killed by giant aliens with five faces and so many tentacles.

No one was even sure why the aliens attacked in the first place, only that they desired some sort of potent energy source that was only discovered after they drove the aliens from one of their mines on Earth - and what was found in them revolutionized their technology forever.

They called them Lightning Crystals, based on the blue glow and the little shocks they delivered. The crystals were rare, but extremely potent in energy unparalleled by anything on earth.

Exactly what they needed. Oh, sure for solving global warming and creating efficient technology of course. But they also were the missing element in the new M.E.C.H. program – giant robots which could be controlled by a single person, able to pack as much punch as the aliens. With the Lightning Crystals, they could power these giant machines and finally drive them from their planet.

Jazz was one of the top pilots, though his Mech Suit was focused on rescuing people from peril and buying time as they evacuated a city that would be attacked. It was almost once a month, or several times if they were unlucky – the aliens would land, attempt to get a foothold on their planet, but were driven off by the Mecha. Only to appear again the next time.

And so, the routine was set. Go out, punch some aliens, retreat and recover, and start all over again later. It wasn’t glamourous, but Jazz knew he was doing his part in protecting the planet.

That changed when the Space Program was initialized.

The director of MECH realized they needed some sort of foothold in space, to fight back before they landed on the planet and destroy the ships they had just out of striking range out in the void.

Jazz was selected as one of the first, as his smaller robot would be more ideal for space travel – or so they told him, he wasn’t totally sure if that was bullshit or not anymore.

And so, Jazz found himself being launched into space to fight Aliens. He wasn’t sure when exactly his life turned into an anime, but it definitely felt like one.

During the fight though, something went wrong.

Jazz had been thrown into one of their ships, there was frantic beeping and flashing, and suddenly he felt his whole body feel every sensation at once – and when he got his bearings and noticed the ship was in motion again, he realized, with a sinking terror, that he couldn’t see earth in any direction around him.

His worst fears were only confirmed when he was thrown off the small space shuttle, and couldn’t contact ground support after he crashed onto an unknown planet.

He had to take a few hours to himself, and screamed inside his mech suit’s protective armour. Jazz didn’t know when he passed out from crying, but he felt somewhat refreshed. Not any better, but… not exhausted.

All things considered… he would be alright for a little while. He found more lightning crystals on the planet, and had some rations he could stretch out for awhile. But he wasn’t sure what to do, without any idea where he was or how to contact home.

He set up his homing beacon, and just hoped again all odds that maybe it would be picked up by someone.

-

Prowl wasn’t a very social cybertronian, everyone knew that about him. He wasn’t anti-social, but he didn’t have an easy time communicating with others.

He would be too blunt, or maybe just not react the right way, and suddenly they were upset for reasons he didn’t immediately recognize. He got better at learning what was and wasn’t acceptable in the broad terms, but he struggled with specifics sometimes.

But Prowl was also brilliant – that wasn’t ego, it was repeated often enough that even he had to accept it. The Tac-Net within his processor was faster than any standard internal strategy computer, but that was only a tool. His processor was able to churn through all the data it gave him, and utilize it to its fullest extent with his own creativity and intelligence.

It made him one of the vital assets to the Autobots, and later to the combined cybertronian armies which fought the Quintessons – a walking battle computer, able to analyze a battle field and begin a counter strategy before the opponent even realized it.

So, his communication issue was merely a minor inconvenience in comparison.

Even still, he didn’t have many friends, and he was used to his own company. Prowl didn’t think on it often, just focusing on his task.

Prowl was alone while crossing a large stretch of uninhabited space, a spiral galaxy system which consisted of planets either barren or void of sentient life, when he received the ping on his console.

Unknown Energy Signature, Distress Beacon Detected. Prowl frowned as he read across his screen, because it didn’t make sense at first. He pulled the ship around for a second look before he lost the signal, and saw it was located on a nearby planet.

His Tac Net spat back possibilities when probed, ranging from “Quintesson Trap” to “New Emerging Sentient Life”, and he deemed the risk low enough to check at least.

Prowl wasn’t a social mech, but he wasn’t as heartless as some soldiers said he was.

-

Jazz didn’t notice the ship until it was almost right above him, but he was still in his Mech Suit luckily enough. Using the larger bulk of this robotic body, he tried to wave the ship down using his long arms with a burst of frantic energy.

The Mech robot was psychically linked to himself, and so it was easy enough to arrange the machine’s body to look like a crazy person looking to hitchhike on the highway. He didn’t care though, only happy that someone, anyone, had found him.

It definitely wasn’t human, there were basically no ships of this design and even if there were none had launched yet. Another alien race didn’t seem too far off either, whoever they were. But really, they could be made of goo and Jazz would probably hug them in thanks.

He only really started to realize that this might be a bad thing when the ship landed, because that thing had some pretty big guns. Or maybe those weird energy blasters he saw before, and this was one of the aliens trying to colonize his planet.

Still though, he swallowed his fears and put on a brave face – even if no one else saw. He strutted up to the large ship like he owned it, and… waited.

The ship door opened soon enough, lowering down into a ramp, and out stepped… another robot?

Jazz blinked, suddenly very aware of his body inside of the mech suit, when he saw it… or them?

He didn’t know what to think, seeing the human-like face and odd proportions of their body. Was this another mech suit of some sort? Why did it have wheels?

Jazz had to snap out of it, because the robot started talking to him.

“Dobbqfkdp,” they said with a stoic demeanour, “xj F ql xpprjb vlr ibcq qeb afpqobpp pfdkxi? F txpk’q xtxob qebob txp olylqfz ifcb qefp cxo lrq fkql qeb dxixuv.”

Unfortunately, Jazz didn’t understand a word of it. The robot was holding the blaster on their hip, obviously ready to attack if Jazz proved hostile.

Hesitantly, he turned on his communications radio and spoke.

“Umm, sorry my guy, but I don’t know what you’re saying? I’m a bit new around here is all,” he said with a somewhat nervous laugh. He almost wished his own mech had a face, so he could express how he wasn’t hostile.

There was silence for a moment, the wind blowing by around them and picking up a barrage of maroon plantlife that looked like flowerpetals. It was serene to see, but Jazz kept his focus on the robot whose eyes were widening in surprise.

They then cleared their throat, deliberately taking their hand off the gun and offered something. Jazz stepped forwards hesitantly, seeing it was a small chip.

The robot gave a forced smile, obviously trying to not appear threatening but looking awkward instead. “Jv xmlildfbp. Bah-weep-Graaaghnah, weep ni ni bong.”

Somehow, against what was rational, the phrase they said made Jazz relax a little. It was a ridiculous nonsense in English, but somehow it made the offer seem less unknown.

Hesitantly, Jazz accepted the chip and plugged it into his mech. His eyes nearly bugged out when it started interfacing with his systems, almost pulling it out, before seeing what it was doing – it was scanning the coding and language of his mech’s sytems, pulling them out into a strange dictionary. Soon, it was done with a PING, and the chip ejected itself.

Holy shit, he thought, they have a fucking universal translator, like Star Trek!

The robot’s hand was extended again, obviously asking for the chip, and Jazz gingerly placed it back in the robot’s open palm – somehow having five fingers, which somehow was one of the first things Jazz noticed right now.

He was really overwhelmed, okay?!

The robot inserted the chip into the back of their head, and Jazz had a sinking realization.

Maybe he was jumping the gun, but the way the robot’s eyes went dim briefly as it processed the chip, made Jazz think is this an actual sentient robot?!

“Thank you, I suppose this must be very confusing for you,” the robot then said, in perfect English.

“Ugh… kind of?” He said, shrugging slightly which translated to his robot around him. It was a reflex hard to break, even if it was unnecessary for his mech to emote.

“We’ve known about aliens, but this is the first time I’m meeting one that doesn’t want to kill me,” he said, with a slight laugh at himself. “Sorry, this is really weird.”

“Well,” the mech said, giving a soft smile which looked much more genuine, “I’m sure my kind will be eager to welcome another robotic race to the galaxy.”

Jazz’s mind went blank, as he had two sudden realizations.

Holy shit, I was right, this is an actual sentient robot who is actually talking to me, quickly followed by, they think I’m also a robot.

This… might be messy.

Despite this, Jazz just gave a nod, “Well, I’m sure the feeling is mutual!” He said awkwardly.

“Now… can you help me off this planet?”

The robot gave a brisk nod. “Of course, it’s not uncommon for new space faring species to have transwarping incidents like these. Come with me, my people will help you get home.”

Without any better options, Jazz hopped onto the ship. As he went inside, he realized the whole thing was scaled to the giant robot he was with. Scaled to his mech as well, conveniently enough.

“So, could I get your name?” Jazz said, as he finally was getting ahold of his anxiety. At least he wasn’t dead, and he was going home, so suddenly this was feeling a lot less intimidating.

“Of course, I’m Prowl of Praxus. You?”

“Ummm, Jazz. Jazz Wilson,” he said.

“Very well, it’s nice to meet you Jazz Jazz Wilson,” Prowl said, and somehow that phrase, which wasn’t nearly the craziest part of this situation, got a bark of laughter from Jazz.

“Just Jazz is fine. It’s nice to meet you too Prowl.”

He got a nod of acknowledgement, as the ship flared to life and prepared for takeoff.

Jazz might need to sleep for a decade when he gets home.

(Translation for Prowl Earlier: Greetings, am I to assume you left the distress signal? I wasn’t aware there was robotic life this far out into the galaxy.)

I also won't apologize for using the transformers universal greeting :P, I love that thing. Canonically, it's a phrase so ridiculous that anyone who says it must mean no harm - which is why Jazz somewhat relaxes when he hears it despite not knowing what it means.

I hope you liked this short little story (≧∇≦)ﾉ it's more just exploring the concept than anything.

Also sorry for using the term mech or mecha wrong, I don't watch enough anime ( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`)

[mallory524]

omggg hiii I was just popping in to put in a request for a bob x spidergirl!reader fic 👀 I was thinking they have an unspoken established relationship but one day reader sees bob having an interaction with another girl and leads to a miscommunication/reader having doubts I’m just a sucker for angst with a happy ending hehe 🙂‍↔️

(IM A SUCKER FOR MISCOMMUNICATION WITH A HAPPY ENDING)

heavily implied

bob x spidergirl!reader

tags- a year after thunderbolts*, spoilers i suppose, brief mentions of gunfire, sort of established relationship, jealousy, overthinking, miscommunication with a happy ending, thunderbolts are glad to help bob with his and reader's clumsy romantic endeavors

word count- 1658

notes- if anyone thinks the reader jumps to conclusions way too quickly, i need you to understand that this is exactly how my brain works too. one time a girl told the guy i like "see you tomorrow in class!" and I completely convinced myself (with 0 proof whatsoever) that they had a secret study hangout going two times a week. found out later that he doesn't like her that way and ofc there's no secret study group. i'm just completely insane. this goes out to the overthinkers like myself. also so sorry i meant to post this last night and then i fell asleep

Saturday afternoon is your favorite part of the week. It’s when you typically meet up with Bob, the very sweet guy you've started to become close with lately who briefly put all of NYC into a shame dimension last year but he didn't mean to, it's all water under the bridge

A little while back, you'd been "patrolling" around sunset, as you usually do, and there'd been a shootout. After breaking it all up, you noticed the one civilian who'd actually gotten hit in the crossfire was stumbling into an alley by himself. You rushed to check on him, only to see the fabric around his shoulder a little tattered, but his skin completely in tact.

You talked for hours, and eventually suggested seeing each other again. Now, months later, you see each other once a week. You've gotten super close and learned a lot about each other.

You and Bob both have stuff you don't like talking about, but you feel safe confiding in one another about a good amount of it. You know about Bob's past, you know about the Void, and you certainly know about Valentina.

You don't even ask to hang out anymore, it's just implied. Every Saturday, noon, the park halfway between the Watchtower and your home. You always duck into a back alley, cram your suit into a backpack, and go to meet Bob. It's really nice.

Bob's crazy about you, too. He thinks it's so cool the way you help so many people, and how you just throw the mask on and no one knows who you are. No one but him.

He sees you swinging around town on tv or from his window, and the Thunderbolts/Avengerz joke that that's "Bob's mystery girl". He always laughs or rolls his eyes to play it off, but it is kind of funny how they haven't caught on that they're actually right.

On this particular afternoon, you're swinging closer and closer to your usual hangout spot and you land on top of one of the nearby shops to scan the area for Bob… and you find him, alright.

Bob is standing close to where you usually meet, talking to some beautiful girl you’ve never seen before. She has long dark hair, around the same age as you and Bob, and she seems neat and put together in general. She seems quite comfortable with him. This is so weird. Who is this? What's happening??

What other young women does Bob know in New York? He hasn’t lived in the city that long.

You rack your brain for answers. You know this isn't one of Bob's New Avengers friends; Yelena's blonde, and you've actually met Ava twice.

You can't recall Bob mentioning another girl before. If this was any other guy, you'd think he was being intentionally secretive… but that's not Bob. He wouldn't mislead you.

Maybe he just really likes this girl. Maybe Bob kept this from you because he felt no reason to tell you... because as nice as these past few months have been, you've never actually made things official.

The two of you go to the park a lot, and sometimes you get food or see live music, but friends can do all those things, too.

Oh my God what if I read too much into this? Maybe this whole time he's just assumed we were only friends and I’ve being misreading everything-

As per usual, neither of you had stated explicitly that you were meeting up, so you figured he wouldn't mind if you skipped just this once. You really can't see yourself cutting in and trying to interrupt their conversation. So you leave.

An hour later, your phone vibrates.

bob- hey are you coming today?

You can't believe it took him an hour to actually reach out. Maybe the two of them continued talking for an hour and he only noticed that I wasn't there just now-

you- sorry no I've been busy

bob- ok no worries!

Bob was actually very worried.

"And she didn't say anything else?" Yelena asks, sitting between Ava and Walker on the couch. They’re trying to help Bob, who has been moping on the floor since he got home.

He shakes his head. “No. Just … busy.”

"Well maybe she really was busy." Bucky suggests from the other side of the room, grabbing a snack.

"Maybe. Or maybe she's just done with this. I shouldn’t have even texted her about it, I’m just bothering her." Bob says with a shrug, trying to pretend that that possibility doesn’t break his heart.

Everyone starts loudly objecting in unison.

"No, DO NOT give up on this so easily."

"Bob, I swear if you ghost this girl-"

"You've gotta think, man," John says, leaning forward. "What happened last time you talked? Did you say something to make her mad?"

"No, everything was fine."

"And you showed up on time today?"

"Yes! I mean I ... I actually ran into Mel and we talked for a little. But I was near the spot we always meet at. She usually has no trouble finding me if I'm in the nearby area-"

"WOAH WOAH," John interrupts. "You ran into Mel?"

"Yeah, isn't that weird? I never see her-"

"Bob, does this girl know Mel?"

"Um, I don't know how she would. Why?" Bob asks.

Everyone else starts to put the pieces together.

"Ohhh, you understand what has happened?" Alexei joins in, sitting in the big chair that's usually Bob's.

"What, you think she showed up and saw us talking and thought — that I was busy?"

"Bob, buddy!" John exclaims, trying to get him to understand. "Not just busy, she saw you talking to another girl! She probably thinks you like Mel."

"What? I don’t like Mel like that. I - I barely know Mel!"

"We all know that! Do you think your friend knows that?" Ava asks him.

Bob gets what they're all trying to say now, he’s just surprised. He’s never had this problem before.

He has some experience with dating, but it’s been a while. That was back in school, and definitely more of a 'some girl asked me to homecoming and I wore an uncomfortable suit and she went home with someone else' kind of situation.

The idea that someone so badass and nice and beautiful would be this upset over him? He's not sure if he buys it. He's not even sure that you like him that way. You two haven't said that you're "seeing each other" yet. It's been heavily implied, but never stated. Bob never knows if you're going to say it, and the idea of saying it himself is too scary.

But if this is true, if you really saw him in the park today and you were hurt by it, he has to find out - and he has to fix it.

bob- can we please meet at the park tonight? maybe in 20 minutes if you aren't busy?

you- okay see you then

You get to the park, and it's sort of funny how it feels like a doover of this afternoon, except the park is dark now and you're both feeling a bit nervous about a lot things.

He waves and you jog up to him.

"So what's up? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I mean I'm fine, but you know. Today was weird" Bob says, trying to find the best way to verbalize his thoughts, "You've never cancelled before. And - and I had to ask you where you were! You didn't let me know you couldn't make it."

You're surprised at how affected by this he sounds to be, since you were the one who was upset in the first place. "Bob, I should've texted earlier, but to be fair, you didn't even notice that I wasn't there for like, an hour."

"Of course I noticed! I sat here waiting for you. I didn't know if I was wrong for always just assuming that you were coming. I wasn't sure if I should ... bother you or not." he says. He sounds kind of sad. You hate the idea that he was sitting here all alone for an hour, waiting for you.

"Bob, I'm sorry. I just - uh - I saw you talking to someone and I wasn't sure if maybe you... wanted to keep talking to her or something," you say, sort of dancing around what you're really trying to say, but he knows.

"Ugh, they were right," he mutters to himself.

You give a bit of a confused look and he starts again. "That's Mel, she works for Valentina but she doesn't seem to want to anymore, so we all sort of feel bad. She talks to Bucky a lot. She's actually uh kinda nice... but it's really not what- today when we were talking- it isn't what you thought it was." Bob hurriedly explains.

He may have fumbled a bit at the end, but that was all you needed to hear.

"I feel so silly," you say, awkwardly laughing.

“How?”

“Well I jumped to conclusions so fast, and then I didn’t even tell you what was wrong. It’s probably because we haven’t…”

You look at Bob. He’s just looking right back at you. With so much patience and care.

You realize that you can tell him what’s been on your mind.

He’s not going to laugh at you. In fact, he knows what you’re going to say. You can tell.

“Bob are we seeing each other? Like, dating?”

He smiles and looks down. “Oh um I don’t know. I mean I guess I thought we were but I wasn’t sure…”

“Yeah well I’d like to make that official. If that’s what you want, too, of course.”

He finally looks up at you, with that little smile still on his face. He knew where this was going, and he still couldn’t believe it.

“Yup. I want that, too.”

<3

(this was so much longer than i initially intended for it to be. oops)

[itsnesss]

Hi beautiful person

could i please request ollie bearman x gf reader where ollie had a really bad race and starts having a panic attack and walks out mid conversation with someone, either a reporter or mechanic, to find reader and its one of those really comforting moments when he gets to reader he says "i dont know what to do" when he feels like he can't breathe properly so she just hugs him until he feels better

quite angsty but i'm unfortunately a sucker for hurt/comfort fics

thank you, have a lovely week and drink enough water <33

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 | oliver bearman × fem!reader

summary | after a disastrous race, ollie is overwhelmed with panic. when you find him, he’s struggling to calm down

warnings | gf!reader, panic attack, anxiety, emotional distress, hurt/comfort, mild angst

word count | 0.9 k

🖇 more ob87 🖇 f1 masterlist

The crowd roared around the track, but everything felt distant to Ollie. The roar of the engines, the voices of the crowd, even the sound of the tires on the asphalt everything faded into a void where he felt trapped, not knowing how to get out.

The race had been a total disaster, and though he had tried to keep his composure, his body wasn’t responding the way he wanted. Nothing had gone the way he planned.

The car hadn’t performed well, the strategy had failed, and when he crossed the finish line, his heart was beating in a terrifying rhythm. His mind was clouded, and all he wanted to do was escape. Not from the team, not from the competition, but from that feeling that surrounded him, that invisible pressure suffocating him.

After getting out of the car, his legs were shaky, and a knot in his stomach wouldn’t go away. The reporters swarmed in, eager to capture every word, every gesture, every ounce of tension that was clearly in the air. He couldn’t hear anything beyond the pounding in his chest. He tried to force a smile, as always, but it wasn’t enough.

One of the reporters approached with a microphone, and her voice cut through the air as she asked him a question about the race. Ollie looked into her eyes, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a cold sweat began to bead on his forehead. His breathing grew erratic, heavier. He felt like something invisible was pressing against him. His hands, once steady, were now trembling.

“Ollie?” the reporter’s voice snapped him out of his trance. “What do you think about the race? And the issues with the car? We were all expecting more from you.”

Each word, each question, only added more pressure. His mind fogged up even more, and without warning, the words he had prepared in his head evaporated. Instead of answering, he took a step back, confused, and muttered, “Sorry... I need a moment.”

Panic gripped him, and without looking back, he quickly walked away, ignoring the curious stares. He just wanted to escape that pressure, that knot in his stomach, that feeling that made him feel so small and vulnerable.

His body moved automatically, without a clear destination. He just knew he needed to find her. He needed to find you. The one person who always calmed him, the one person who, somehow, could help him breathe again.

Time seems to stand still when you hug him. His tremors start to subside a little, but his breathing is still erratic, uneven, as if every breath is a battle in itself. You feel him cling to you with a silent strength, as if he’s trying to anchor himself to something, to someone, so he doesn’t lose himself in his own inner chaos.

You feel him close, much closer than you expected, as if Ollie’s vulnerability becomes tangible in every inch of his skin. The uncertainty surrounds him, but in that moment, you are his only constant. The rest of the world seems to fade away as you hold him, and while you know you can’t fix everything in one go, you cling to the hope that your presence is all he needs right now.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you repeat, gently caressing his back, feeling his shoulders slowly relax. “It’s all okay. Just breathe with me.”

You feel him try to follow your lead, to match your rhythm, but it’s not easy. Panic is still gripping him tight. His chest rises and falls frantically, and you realize he needs you to calm him down. Patience. Time. Above all, calm.

“Sorry...” he whispers, his voice cracked. “I... don’t know what’s happening to me. I can’t... breathe properly.”

When you hear his words, you flinch, but you don’t let him go. You know what he needs: calm. Patience. And, most of all, time.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize for anything,” you say softly. “You’re okay, Ollie. Just keep breathing. Slowly.”

You feel how, little by little, his breathing begins to stabilize, as if your calmness is seeping into him. A long, shaky sigh escapes his lips, and you know he’s starting to calm down. A small comfort in the midst of the chaos he just experienced.

At some point, Ollie lifts his head, his eyes still glassy, but something in his gaze has changed. It’s no longer just fear. Now, there’s a tiny spark of gratitude, as if he’s beginning to understand that he doesn’t have to face it all alone.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice still hoarse. “I swear, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your fingers brush his cheek gently, wiping away the beads of sweat still clinging to his face. “You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, whenever you need me.”

You look into his eyes directly, without needing any more words. You know there’s no need to say anything else. There are no grand gestures necessary, because in these moments of shared silence, in the simple contact, everything is already said.

You stay there, holding him, without rushing, without hurry. And although the fear never completely disappears, in his embrace, you find a mutual refuge, a truce in the middle of the storm.

[fandom-random-help]

Part 1 Part 2

Part 3 of Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Military!Reader

Simon stared at his phone in a bit of shock. He wasn't stupid, but now he was second-guessing that. He was putting pieces together in his mind while his phone buzzed over and over with calls from Price. How could his sweet little bird lie to him? Why would she even lie about this?

Things started to make sense now. The constant "business trips", you knowing how to shoot a gun (multiple in fact, but he didn't know that), and the slip of the tongue when you would respond to and/or understand military jargon. All of those things made Simon believe you were Grasshopper, and right now he needed to see you. He got dressed in his casual clothes, an army green shirt, black sweat pants, and a black surgical mask to match. He snuck out of his room and quietly walked as fast as he could to the infirmary. He couldn't believe you never told him about what you really do for work, but he also understood why you would keep it a secret. He knew it all too well. The worry, the agony of not knowing if you would come home alive at the very least, the thought of possibly putting those you love in danger. He knew those thoughts, hell he's had them ever since you two started dating. He needed to hear those words from you though.

You sat in your bed. You were glad to be in somewhat familiar territory and you didn't have to wear that stupid mask anymore. The infirmary was nice, but void of anything lively to say the least. Your recovery was going quite well. There were even discussions of you getting to go home in a couple days. With all of the good news surrounding your recovery you were drowning in the thought of having to confess to Simon about everything. You've talked yourself up, gaining confidence and finding the words you wanted to say for when you would see Simon again. Suddenly, a faint knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts. A young nurse carefully walked in and closed the door. "Sergeant (Y/L/N) there's a Lieutenant Riley here to see you. Would you like for me to send him in?" The nurse asked almost in a whisper even though you were wide awake. You nodded your head, "Let him come in."

When Simon walked in his eyes scanned your form. You looked so different in a hospital gown. So fragile that if you even attempted to get out of bed you'd break. He didn't say a word as he sat down beside your bed, his eyes still on you. After a brief moment of looking at each other in pure silence, you spoke up. "Simon, I'm sorry I never told you. I was worried about how you would take it. I wanted to have both my job and you. I didn't want you to worry about me or make me change my career because it didn't fit your perception of me." Before you could continue Simon cut you off with a chuckle. "Love, I don't want none of that. I get why you did it. I get why you kept it from me, but don't think I didn't worry. I do gotta say though, you had me fooled in the beginning." You looked at him in suprise. "Wait really? How? I felt like I had the most ridiculous mask covering my face. My jokes with the guys weren't funny. I was almost useless the entire time. I felt so out of place." You explained. Simon shook his head. "No love, you are an entirely different person at work than you are at home. You were bold, confident, you spoke your mind when need be, and let's not forget the stress ball. I didn't know you kept little things like that with you, but you did and it came in handy. You were incredible out there darlin'. So what, you took a bullet? You were lucky and quick enough on your feet that that's the only wound you suffered the entire time we were gone." You blushed at his words and then he leaned closer. "I'm lucky to call you my girlfriend. Wanna know why?" You smile and nod your head. "Because I have the most gorgeous and badass woman I've ever had the pleasure of knowing." Your heart swelled at his words. Simon was never the affectionate type, and you didn't mind. But this? This was a whole different side of him you've never really seen all too often. "You wanna know something else?" He said. You giggled, "What baby?"

"Before I knew you were my girl under the mask. I fell for Grasshopper pretty hard. I gotta say she was pretty irresistable. Hard not to think of her bossing me around if she was rightfully mad." His confession had you a laughing mess. "So what are you saying? You liked Grasshopper more than me? Your precious little doll?" You chuckled. "No love, it just means I fell in love with a new side of you. To me, it felt like falling in love all over again with you." Simon whisperd.

The rest of the night was spent with you two telling each other about your military stories. The good, the bad, and the awesome stories were all laid bare to each other in the silence of your infirmary room. Simon even cuddled with you on the hard bed for the remainder of the evening. When the sun rose, you were greeted by a firm knock at the door as the doctor stepped in. Simon quickly got out of bed and sat back in the chair beside you, listening intently on what the doctor said about your recovery. You were going to need some time to rest at home. No strenuous activities or heavy lifting. The doctor handed you the discharge papers and you signed them eagerly. Simon waited for you outside of the room while you gathered all your things.

But then he noticed Price, Johnny, and Kyle at the front desk. He could only assume they were there to see you on your way out.

"Bloody hell." Simon cursed under his breath.

Part 4

Taglist!!!!! (I almost forgot)

@camcvpidd

@thatoneghostcosplayer

Love you guys!!!!!

[endofthelinegang]

falling together

authors note: if you're new here welcome, if not you know what's going to happen, spoilers sort of for the bolts of thunder. comfort fic, and just know that if you ever need to talk to anyone about anything even if its just to nerd out and make a friend please know my messages are always open and that i see all of you and i love all of you unconditionally. anyway, proceed with the bob fic.

If you heard one more bit of bickering, you were going to snap.

Between the phone calls between Sam and Bucky arguing with each other under the table away from their legal guidance, the girls and Walker fighting over stupid little comments he just had to make for no discernable reason, and Alexei walking around screaming instead of just talking about everything, you were practically picking at your skin to get out of the general living spaces.

It wasn't even that they were at each other's head that the tension was too much, it was actually more the noise of it all. Most annoying was the way that everyone thought they could talk to you about all of their issues all day every day and of course you cared and of course you wanted to listen. But my god it was practically useless, any and all advice you gave was just thrown away in an instant. Once that gratification of having a solution was there, it was like the issue never existed to them at all.

So there you sat on your comforter, bed still perfectly made with earbuds in as loud as you could get them with the noise cancellation on and the Do Not Disturb function on—even if no one texted you, your phone would be certain to tell you your volume was absurdly loud and ruining your ears.

You would have rather had the TV on as some mindless noise and to play on the phone, but then there was a chance one of them would happen to hear you sitting there and invade your space some more. Worse, they might try to watch TV with you and then that would lead to everyone eventually being in your room and possibly bickering.

With your phone thrown to the foot of your bed, you laid your head on your pillow. It felt odd to lay there without a blanket or source of warmth, in fact the thought gave you cold chills despite the perfect temperature being in the room. Not usually choosing to lay on your back for comfort, your arms and hands were unsure of what to do. So they laid gently in your lap and all you could hear was music, and all you could feel eventually turned into basically nothing.

Peace was overwhelming, so much so that it made you succumb to one of the most simple things peace could grant you. A fucking nap.

Headphones laid silently in your ears, your phone was somewhere not bugging you, until all of a sudden your body was made aware that it existed again. Unsure quite yet, you remained in a sleepy haze, until your body connected all of the dots: you were being very gently shaken.

Ordinarily, the correct response would be to sit up and see what was needed, maybe even smile and stretch out while listening. Instead, grabbing the hand and pushing backwards was the choice made without your eyelids even opening to see who or what was going on.

"I-I'm sorry, I just... I thought."

Fuck.

You could hear the voice past the noise cancellation, though it was muffled it made you sit up and rip the earbuds out, throwing them haphazardly around the bed and look to the space nearest your bed that was now entirely void of anyone.

Making your hands into fists, you shook them as you got out of bed and rushed down the hall to catch up.

"Wait, wait, wait," you were whispering-yelling, seeing that the day had come to be dark and you knew that the older folk did in fact prefer their sleep to start around then.

Chasing him made you think: when was the last time you saw him? You had been noticing everything else and focusing on everything at once, but when was the last time you had seen Robert?

You tried to count back the days, but it blurred together. Had it been two? Three? More?

That realization hit like a gut punch. You had been so wrapped up in managing everyone else’s meltdowns that you hadn’t noticed your own world—the one person who mattered most—slipping into the background.

Your bare feet padded against the cool floor as you turned the corner. “Robert!” you hissed, still trying not to shout.

He was already at the far end of the hallway, just about to turn the corner. His shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller, like disappearing would be easier than confronting… you.

You hated that. You hated that he thought he needed to hide from you.

“Hey,” you said, softer this time, voice catching up to your feet as you got closer. “Baby. Stop.”

And he did.

He didn’t turn around right away, but he stopped, head tilted like he was deciding if facing you would make everything worse. You reached out, your hand brushing his arm gently, and only then did he finally look at you.

His eyes were red. Not glowing with power, not burning with rage. Just… tired. So very tired.

“Oh, Rob…” you whispered, stepping in closer and wrapping your arms around his waist before he could say anything else.

He stood stiffly for a second, frozen in place like a man not used to comfort—but then he melted into you, arms coming up around your shoulders like he needed you to hold him together.

You buried your face against his chest and just held him. Not as Sentry. Not as some all-powerful being barely containing a force of destruction inside him. Just Robert. Your Robert.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he mumbled into your hair. “You looked so peaceful. I just—I didn’t wanna be alone anymore.”

Your heart shattered in slow motion. You leaned back just enough to see his face, cupping it in your hands.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve felt it.”

He shook his head. “You’ve been dealing with so much. I didn’t wanna add to it.”

“You don’t add to anything, Rob,” you said fiercely. “You’re not a burden. You’re not too much. You’re mine. And I want to be here for you the way you are for me.”

The silence between you was heavy but tender, like neither of you needed to speak to be understood. You guided him gently back toward the bedroom, fingers entwined with his, thumb brushing against his knuckles with each step.

Once there, you sat him down and climbed onto the bed beside him, pulling a blanket off the top of the bed frame over both of you. Your hands never left him—one stroking up and down his arm, the other resting on his chest where you could feel the steady, if somewhat erratic, beat of his heart.

He laid his head in your lap without asking. You threaded your fingers through his hair, soothing in slow, rhythmic movements.

He didn’t say anything after that. Not for a while.

You could feel him trying to breathe slowly—trying to make it look effortless, like nothing was wrong. But you knew him. You knew the way his body carried pain. You could feel it beneath your fingertips in the tension of his shoulders, in the way he held his jaw like it might fall apart if he let it go slack.

He wasn’t okay. And he hadn’t been for a while.

You let your fingers trail gently over his scalp, his hair soft and curling around your knuckles as you combed through it again and again. That kind of touch didn’t fix things. But it reminded him—hopefully—that he was here. That someone saw him. That he mattered.

The room was dark except for the soft golden spill of a bedside lamp, and the music had long since stopped. But it was quiet now. Finally, quiet. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, you weren’t dreading the silence. It was giving him room to breathe.

You felt his voice before you heard it—a small tremble in his chest.

“I don’t know who I am sometimes,” he whispered. “I wake up and there’s this fog, and I try to remember what it felt like to be… human. But it’s like the edges are gone. I keep reaching for myself and finding nothing.”

Your hand stilled for a moment. You let his words settle before you spoke.

“I see you,” you said softly. “Even when you can’t. I see Robert. I don’t love you because you’re strong. Or because you’re the Sentry. I love you because… when you talk to plants, you whisper. Because you always wait for people to catch up, even though you could fly ahead. Because you care, so much, it hurts you. And I know that doesn’t feel like enough to you right now. But it’s still you.”

His fingers curled in your blanket, gripping tight. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admitted. “It’s not easy to hold on when you’re falling apart. But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. Even when it’s dark. Especially when it’s dark.”

He blinked up at you slowly, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. There wasn’t drama in his crying—no shaking sobs or heaving breaths. Just quiet tears that he didn’t bother to wipe away.

Maybe that was worse. He was always so quiet when he was slipping.

You reached down and brushed one away with your thumb, as gently as you could. Like you were afraid you’d break him by accident.

“I’m scared of being loved,” he confessed. “Because if you really knew how broken I am, you wouldn’t love me anymore. And then I’d lose the only thing keeping the Void from swallowing me.”

Your chest ached in that deep, marrow-level way only grief and love and helplessness can cause.

“I have seen it,” you said. “I’ve seen the cracks. I’ve seen the days you can’t talk. I’ve seen you stare at walls like they’re screaming at you. And I still love you. Not because I’m delusional. Because I chose to love all of you. Even the parts that hurt.”

He closed his eyes, and you felt the air go out of him in a slow, trembling exhale.

“Okay,” he said.

It was a small word. Quiet. Shaky.

But it meant he believed you. Maybe not all the way. Maybe not forever. But right now.

He believed you.

You hesitated for a moment, then gently tugged the sleeve of your hoodie down past your wrist. Quietly, without saying anything, you wrapped it around his hand—his left wrist, the one he always rubbed raw when he was struggling but trying not to show it. The fabric hung a little loose, warm from your skin. You placed your hand over his, like sealing a promise.

“Hold onto this,” you whispered. “If you ever forget, just look at it. Or touch it. Or... just know I gave it to you because I love you. Not the powerful part. Not the superhero. Just you.”

His breath hitched again, but this time it wasn’t panic. It was something closer to relief. He didn’t say anything. He just curled his fingers around the cuff and nodded like he’d just been handed a lifeline.

So you stayed like that. One hand in his hair, the other wrapped around him. Guarding him not from the world, but from that part of himself he kept caged and silent and hurting.

You didn’t need to save him. He wasn’t a problem to solve.

He just needed you to stay.

And you would. For as long as he needed.

[galactic-magick]

I Love You, I'm Sorry: Viktor x Reader

Based off of this reply on my last Viktor fic:

@lillycore : Duddee, imagine after the final scene between Viktor and Jayce they just disappear (I refuse to believe they both died, I’m just going believe, until it’s confirmed, that they simply teleported somewhere else), leaving reader alone without a chance to confront Viktor and believing they both died. So now, reader is left to pick up the pieces of her closest friend and love of her life gone, while believing Viktor no longer loves her (he does though, he was just a little confused with everything, but he still loves her)

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the notes and kind words on my last Viktor fic, it truly means the world to me as a writer to see so many people touched by my writing. I hope you enjoy this equally devastating part 2.

They’re gone. They’re really gone.

No family, no friends, not a single loved one of yours survived this damn war. All this world has done is take, take, take.

You’re haunted by the last time you saw your beloved Viktor—completely unrecognizable. He had turned himself into a monster, disappearing with Jayce trying to save him. You didn’t even get to say goodbye, you didn’t even get to tell him you still love him.

Or ask if he still loved you.

You don’t know what would hurt less, believing he stopped loving you, or believing he did everything he did while loving you.

-

“Why can’t she hear me?” Viktor shouts into the void. He’s been calling your name for what feels like an eternity, his voice no longer carrying to your world.

Jayce puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You don’t have vessels to speak through anymore. She probably thinks we’re dead. Well, maybe we are…”

“No, no, this can’t be the end,” Viktor shakes his head vigorously. “I have to get back to her. She...she needs to know I love her. She needs to know I’m sorry.”

He falls to his knees amongst the stars, cursing himself for everything. How could he choose the hexcore over you? Why didn’t he seek you out when he survived the explosion? How did he let himself descend so far into madness that he forgot about your importance to him?

He’s now desperate for you to hear him, pleading the forces that bind his consciousness to this astral plane for another chance. He searches this dimension he’s come to know so well, looking for a loophole or tear in the fabric, but it’s no use. Everything has been closed—his supposed eternal consequence for his abuse of power.

Jayce saved him from himself, a feat he will forever be indebted to him for, but what is the point of redemption if he cannot live it out in his own flesh?

Would there have been a body left for him anyway? Would you still have loved him as the monstrosity he became?

Why must he still be cursed with the full vision of the universe? He sees you continue your life so clearly, but he can’t touch you, can’t speak to you. Your form shines the brightest light he’s ever seem in this dimension, an achievement that is not easily matched. He wonders if you can feel him reaching out to you, some sort of spiritual pull back to him. He will do anything to find a way to talk to you again.

-

You’ve been having dreams—dreams you can’t explain. Ever since Viktor’s disappearance, he’s tormented you day and night, constantly occupying your thoughts without mercy. You can hear his voice, but it sounds so far away you can never make out the words. You just wish it would all stop. You wish you could just erase him and all of the pain from your memory.

Sometimes you still feel a presence, the feeling you used to feel when he was in the same vicinity with you, admiring you from across a room. It’s a familiar warmth that used to wash you with peace, whereas now it makes your heart ache. You suppose it’s a normal symptom of grief, subconsciously denying that he’s really gone.

You start to go through his things he left at your house, beginning with his various textbooks and notebooks he would bring over for studying. Seeing his scribbles and handwriting again brings tears to your eyes, a single drop falling onto the paper as you read.

You blink a few times, seeing a couple of letters on the page start to glow. You must be seeing things, hallucinating from sleep deprivation. You close the journal and open it again, but the glowing letters are still there.

You grab a separate piece of paper and write down each glowing letter, finding fifteen total.

“I - L-O-V-E - Y-O-U - I-M - S-O-R-R-Y”

This isn’t happening. It can’t be.

-

“It’s working! She got my message!” Viktor exclaims.

“How...how are you doing that?” Jayce asks.

“Tiny rips in space—not big enough for either of us to escape through—but certainly big enough to briefly touch that reality,” Viktor pauses, still waiting for a response from you, but it doesn’t come.

-

You close the journal and sob, praying for an end to this misery. Your mind is playing tricks on you, deceiving you to a level you never thought possible. Must you be haunted by this forever? Must you endure the aftermath of this trauma?

You open it once again, the letters still glowing, but they start to fade right in front of your eyes. A new set of letters begin to glow, so you write those down as well.

“I-T-S - M-E - D-A-R-L-I-N-G”

And then another set of letters.

“P-L-E-A-S-E - T-A-L-K - T-O - M-E”

Maybe you’re not imagining.

You’ve heard of magicians who can converse with the dead, and the possibility of other dimensional planes and universes. Viktor himself had some theories about it, although he never pursued proving them. Could it really be possible that your beloved was speaking to you?

“Viktor?” you say out loud. “Are you...are you alive?”

“I - D-O-N-T - K-N-O-W”

The pencil drops from your hand again as your head falls to the table. His consciousness is somehow alive, clearly, but there’s no way he can explain to you where he is and how to get him out one letter at a time. You’re nowhere near his level of intellect—even if he explained how to rescue him like you’re five years old—you fear you still would mess something up.

“Viktor...I can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” you sigh, daring to look at the words again. “You abandoned me, and now my life is a living hell because of the destruction you helped cause. I want nothing to do with your war and stupid glorious evolution. So if you’re not here to take me away from this life, please go away.”

The same original words start glowing again, brighter each time they sequence:

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

“Love doesn’t do what you did. Love doesn’t abandon its humanity for power.”

Please forgive me.

“I do forgive you for everything, Viktor. That’s exactly why I need to forget about you, because I will never stop loving you and hurting for it if I don’t.”

With blurry eyes, you close the journal and throw it into the fireplace, regretting it almost immediately. You grab a stick and pull it out, your tears falling onto the soot-stained cover.

“Please, just...find a way back to me.”

I will.