#crash sludge

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The girls are plottinggggg

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[listonlouis]

A whole bunch of crash characters.

[kaz3l04]

My personal opinion is that the first game is better...

What did they do to my baby 😭😭

[savageboar]

i don't know why everyone on reddit insists cleaning clogged filter media with tap is gonna INSTANTLY kill any bacteria and crash your tank cycle. if the water was THAT toxic/full of chemicals we wouldn't be able to use it.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

my brain has been so very zero-productivity mode lately and i am getting like nothing done, which is to say: if you're one of the people who has sent me an ask in the past ohgodit'salmostjuly three or so months that has not yet gotten a response, i did see it and i will respond! eventually! hopefully sooner rather than later! it's... a work in progress.

[shoechoe]

man i am glad i didn't get the tumblr layout update

[nochepsicodelica]

You and Toji are sitting at a table at a bar, talking about different things that went on throughout your days over some drinks. Toji tells you about how Shiu's been a real asshole lately, because his marriage is hanging on by a thread and he hasn't gotten laid in almost a month. He gives you a look that you interpret as him saying 'thank fuck that's not us' to which you respond with a little smirk.

When it's your turn, you tell him about how the new hire broke the copy machine, knocked over and broke the water gallon for the water dispenser, and crashed into someone, spilling hot coffee all over their shirt, all in the course of one day.

"That poor fucker's cursed," Toji says, amusement riddling his expression as he brings his glass of whiskey to his lips.

"He looked like he really needed a hug by the end of the day," you add, biting back a smile, before you take a sip of your own drink.

"Tell me you didn't," Toji says, taking in the seemingly telling look on your face. "Ma."

"I'm kidding. It's jokes, baby. I have no interest in hugging someone I haven't spoken a single word to."

Toji flicks your forehead, watching with a grin as you bring a hand up to rub the sting away. "Gotta piss, be right back, doll. Want another drink before I come back?"

"I'll wait for you to finish yours," you say, to which he nods before standing up from his seat.

"Be right back," Toji repeats, affectionately setting a heavy hand on your head, before he heads off in the direction of the restrooms.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your socials while you wait. Altogether, Toji was gone for no longer than four minutes, and yet somehow, that was enough time for a rando to pull a chair up to your little table and start a conversation with you.

"Hey," he starts. "Why are you sitting here looking all lonely?"

You turn your head to face the person with the unfamiliar voice, slightly widening your eyes as if to question if he's talking to you. He looks at you with raised eyebrows, awaiting your response. "Oh, i'm not here alone. My boyfriend is in the bathroom," you respond, with a polite smile, before returning your attention to your phone.

"Ah. What kind of man leaves a pretty thing like you by herself in a place like this?" The stranger says, in a tone that almost seems pitiful towards you.

You look at him again and attempt to keep your expression neutral. "He'll be back any second now. He's just taking a piss, i'll be fine. Unless you're here to make things troubling for me."

The man chuckles, entertained by your quick shift in tone. "With a feisty attitude like that and a pretty mouth to keep up, it seems like you want me to get you in trouble."

You furrow your eyebrows, blatantly offended by his inappropriate insinuation. It's disturbing to see how he turned your warning into something sexual.

"I already told you, I have a boyfriend. Try someone else," you respond, no longer hiding your irritation.

Toji scans the room for the table you're sitting at, locating you and who-the-fuck in three seconds. This man looks awfully cozy with you, leaning in close every time he speaks to you, so he doesn't stand around any longer and quickly makes his way back to you and this new "friend".

"You sure you don't want another drink, doll?" Toji asks, sitting down in front of you, again, his gaze darting between you and this pocket square looking man. There's a difference between your demeanor from before he left and now. You clearly aren't comfortable, anymore.

"That's it? That is your supposed boyfriend?" The man asks, attempting to minimize Toji by referring to him as if he's nothing in comparison to himself. "Oh, princess. You see this watch?" He asks, raising the cuff of his sleeve to fully reveal his golden watch. "Four thousand dollars, and that's chump change."

You look at Toji and pull his hand into your shaky one, giving him a forced smile. Toji keeps his eyes on yours as the stranger continues spewing arrogant sludge about how much money he makes a year and how even the luxury car he has parked outside didn't put the smallest dent in his wallet.

"You would have it so good with me, baby," he continues blabbering. His hand goes to your wrist, a gesture that Toji quickly puts an end to by aggressively shoving the man's hand away, your empty glass clattering on the table from the force. Toji would have snapped the man's wrist and twisted his hand off, but he didn't want to scare you with the bloodshed. He feels like he's buzzing from the anger bubbling inside, and surely it won't be long before he acts out.

"Don't fucking touch her," Toji spits, glaring at the man with an expression that would have put him six feet under, if looks could kill.

Your heartbeat is in your ears and your blood is boiling. This man is disgusting for being persistent towards someone who doesn't want him. It's masochism, at this point, with the amount of times that you've made it clear that you're not interested.

The man snorts, snobbishly. "He brought you here, of all places. Even just glancing at him, you can tell this cheap ass place is all he can afford. He'll never be able to give you everything you want, so just come with me, doll face."

You rip your hand out of Toji's grasp and stand from your chair, delivering a resounding blow to the man's already hideous face. Tables and chairs wobble as he tries to keep his balance, but when you quickly strike him again, hard enough to increase the pain you felt in your knuckles with that first hit, you manage to knock him onto the ground.

"Fuck you, you fucking asshole. You don't know shit!" You grit out, dropping down to try and land another hit to the man's bleeding face. By now, Toji is behind you, restraining your arms and pulling you back as a small crowd begins to form to observe the commotion.

"Ma, come on. Let's just go."

"Let me dent his fucking face in, Toji," you mutter, writhing in his grip.

The vile man manages to sit up, dabbing his fingertips against his busted lip. Though there is red blossoming on his face, his lips still form an amused, twisted smile. He laughs as he watches you get reeled back by Toji, seething as you are dragged away like a child having a meltdown in the middle of a store.

"Hey-- Hey, I said let's go," Toji says, his tone sharper when you continue to try to break out of his hold to fight the idiotic sociopath.

You take a deep breath and stop, willingly letting Toji take you away from this chaos you created in his defense. His hand rests on the nape of your neck, as he guides you through the stuffy bar and leads you outside to the car.

"Stop pacing," Toji says, watching as you threaten to make the asphalt beneath your feet waste away with every step you take in your heated state.

"Fucking asshole, dickhead, motherfucker." You groan, loudly, furiously, before covering your face with your hands. "It's fine, it's fine," you mumble to yourself.

"Then, stop pacing," he repeats, watching on as you walk the same steps, over and over, as if you're on autopilot. "Ma, eyes. Eyes." His hands go to your shoulders, manually forcing you to halt your movement. "Listen to me. I said eyes."

"I'm so... I can't stand still," you say, weakly.

"Stop looking around. Right here," Toji instructs, lifting one hand from your shoulder and pointing two fingers at his eyes. You release a shaky puff of air and hold his gaze as best as you can.

"Talk when you're ready," he says, following your eyes whenever they derail from his.

You aren't ready soon enough. You feel like your heart is trying to burst out of your chest and the adrenaline coursing through you isn't helping at all. Your hand hurts. Your knuckles feel bruised and they're bloody. The night might be ruined, but you felt your reaction was the only way to release the pain you felt when that nothing started talking the way he did about Toji. All you can think to do is hug Toji to prevent yourself from crying about your cause for attacking the gross man. It's all so much. You've never felt so strongly for someone, to the point where you hit a stranger for insulting them. It's scary how Toji brings that defensive, yet, offensive side out of you.

Strong, heavy arms reciprocate your embrace, keeping your tense body close. You feel warm and safe, his scent and the pressure of his hold managing to slowly calm your unsteady heartbeat. After a few seconds of quietness, you turn your head and rest the side of your face on him, finally prepared to speak.

"I didn't like how he was talking about you, Toji. He was talking shit even before you came back, and I hated it. I hated it so much, that I felt nauseous and if I hadn't done something, I would have been sick."

Toji sighs, not out of disappointment or feelings of that sort, but because you seeking out danger for his sake, was not something he ever wanted to see.

"Doll, you know how much I love you."

This sounds like a layer of sugar preceding a talking to. You're trying not to be nervous before the scolding even begins, but you feel the need to brace yourself, as well.

"I love you, too," you mumble.

Toji knows it. He's known it all along, and the events that transpired tonight were just another way of you proving your love and showing how much he matters to you.

"Want you to look at me," he says, lowering his arms on your back, allowing you to make the space necessary to give him your attention. He offers you a soft smile. "Don't get all fidgety on me after you just ripped a stranger's face open."

"I feel like you're about to yell at me," you say, lowly.

That makes him want to laugh, but he keeps his amusement to a minimum, since you're clearly anticipating something terrible.

"Nah. When have I ever raised my voice at you?"

"Never."

"Exactly. Never, and I won't start now, but I want you to get this through your pretty head... It's not your job to beat people up for me."

"I know, but-"

Toji shakes his head. "Hold on, mama. Let me finish talking, then it'll be your turn."

Your heart feels like it's in the depths of your stomach, but you nod, and allow him to continue talking.

"I'm not mad at you, i'm not gonna yell at you. Just wanna keep you safe, is all. That guy was already a fuckin' weirdo, harassing you like that and trying to get you to go with him while I was right there. I wouldn't be surprised if he was into hitting women, too, if he's so comfortable with making them uncomfortable."

It's quiet while you think of what to say. You don't want this to escalate into something that turns you against each other, when it started out as an act of love. You could argue about how you did this to defend him, but in the end, you know his own need to protect you, will stomp all over your arguments.

"I'm sorry we had to leave, but i'm not sorry for the reason behind it. I don't regret what I did."

"Ma..."

"No, Toji. He didn't even know you and yet he still said things that aren't fair." Your voice quiets down, the beginnings of stronger emotions threatening to outwardly reveal themselves. "He insulted you. He questioned your abilities as my boyfriend when he saw me alone— even after I told him you just went to the bathroom. He judged you superficially, he said you can't give me everything I want and--" you pause, interrupted by a shaky inhale and the painful lump in your throat. "Sorry," you mumble, when the first set of tears roll down your cheeks.

"No, you're alright," Toji says, in response, his warm hands coming up to cup your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your fleeing tears. There's a small pinch in his brows. Why are you crying? It's something he can't ask you, because he knows that if he makes a big spectacle out of it, you'll end up drowning in your tears and shutting down everything you have to say. He resorts to keeping your cheeks dry and encouraging you to keep talking.

"Go on, mama."

You sniff, before picking up where you left off. "I don't care about all that, Toji. I don't care where we go to spend time together, because we're together. I need you, not for you to buy me things or take me to fancy places. That's not what I'm with you for."

Your heart is beating fast, again, its rhythm no longer controlled by fear or nerves, but instead the focus that Toji has on you. He's good at holding eye contact with you, something that occasionally gets distracting if you become too aware of it. You notice that his expression is softer. Maybe it's your brief flash of tears or the way you are always subconsciously finding a way to indirectly recite some of the reasons for why you love him.

"I love you, Toji. That means I won't just sit around and let someone talk about you like you're worthless. And I know, I know you can handle things like this on your own and you don't need me, but it was hard to listen to that."

You pause, as if to give him a break from your bulldozing heart. Silence takes over the moment, both of you just looking at each other. Toji's speechlessness has you wondering if you spilled too much of your heart out to him. You know some things are better left to be figured out, such as the range of a person's love, and yet you just poured without measure. "You can call me crazy if you want to."

Toji's shit-eating grin is unexpected, but it's definitely a sight that lifts some of the heaviness you feel in your chest.

"You love me," Toji says, still smiling like a doofus. He knows your serious facade will crack if he looks at you like this for long enough. He can already see a shift in the expression of your eyes and the way your lips are pressing together just a little more. He tilts his head slightly, a gesture that pushes you even further towards that pretty smile he wants to see. When you finally crack and give into his charm, you do so with a mutter of 'you're so dumb.'

"I'm glad that's what you got out of my rambling," you say, wholeheartedly and in better spirits. Toji pulls you in, this time, his soothing warmth and familiar scent tangling around you, again. His chin rests on top of your head and his arms secure themselves around you, tightly.

"I'm not gonna call you crazy, ma. It's not what I think. Also, don't go saying things that aren't true. I do need you," Toji says, his voice level kept at an intimate volume, as if there are other people there in the parking lot with you. His words are solely meant for you to hear anyway and getting them to you in this manner ensures that you won't go home with your heart feeling heavy, after a talk that was meant to comfort you.

"You know, I don't care what other people think— and that's not to say I don't appreciate you throwing a few punches for my sake. You're a sweetheart and you care so much, but if it's a stranger saying some unimportant, dumb shit, it takes a lot for it to actually get to me. If it really bothered me, they'd be gone."

"Yeah... I know," you mumble, into his shirt, knowing you would do it again and again— countless times. You loosen your arms around Toji and he does the same, his hands dragging towards your waist after you separate.

"How's that hand?" Toji asks, picking your wrist up before you can even respond. He whistles at the sight of the slight swelling and the dry specks of crimson spotted over your knuckles.

"A little tender," you say, feeling a tinge of fear when his other hand lifts off your waist to feel the damage.

"Looks real good on your pretty hand," he says, dragging his index finger over the protruding bones of your hand.

"Does it?" You ask, your barely there smile falling when you wince at the little bit of pressure Toji applies.

"No," he responds, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the sore area. You wince again when his thumb drags over your skin with slightly more pressure than before. "It doesn't. We'll ice it when we get home, alright?" He lets up on the torturous touching, but keeps your hand in his. The words aren't meant to hurt you. He doesn't mean them and he hopes he communicates that with the way he still opts to hold your hand. Your hands will always be pretty to him, he just can't say that to you, right now. Not if it serves as the smallest bit of encouragement for you to repeat what happened earlier, in the future.

"Okay." You nod.

"Gimme a kiss and we can go home or wherever, if you wanna stay out."

You tilt your head up and wait for his lips to meet yours. It's a gentle brush of lips, but the second Toji's hands start slipping under the back of your sweater and your shirt, you know it's going to be more than a single kiss. You can feel the night's cold wind nipping at your skin, as his hands go higher up, his fingertips reaching just below the hooks of your bra. To your surprise, he unhooks the garment, causing you to quickly press your hands to your chest when the cups loosen, to prevent them from fully sliding down.

"Toji," you manage to utter out during the wave of kisses. You turn your head, receiving a kiss that was meant for your lips, on your cheek.

"Yeah... I think we should go home," he murmurs, against your skin. "Maybe we can rock the car a little bit before we go, hm?" Toji smirks when you let out that flustered giggle he's so familiar with. He presses another kiss to your cheek before you turn to face him, again.

"Okay, but let's not blow it all here. We have a nice and comfortable bed at home. Let's add another good night to it."

You don't miss the way Toji's lustfully lidded, green eyes, keep glancing down at your hands on your chest, or how he's mindlessly caressing your bare waist, under your shirt.

"Alright, ma." He pulls out his car keys and with the press of a button, the car unlocks with a beep and the brief, dull sound of flipping locks. "Get inside."

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Neighborly (Part 2)

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: near death experience, hypothermia, cuddling for medical reasons, implied medically-related stripping, implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a two-shot.

The cold burned.

Once the sun set, the weather front moved in, and the temperature plunged. Snow fell thick and fast, just short of a whiteout. Your feet sank to the ankle, then to the shin, and your aching trudge became a slow-motion nightmare. It was about that time you realized – you were in real danger.

It was a two-mile walk – uphill, through old snow and frozen sludge – from your stranded vehicle. Home was closer than town, so you put your head down, buried your mittened hands in your armpits, and threw your emergency blanket from the car over your head as a bright orange cloak. And you set out.

It really took you too long to leave the car, but it was a life and death decision, and you waffled between shit options. On a busier road, you’d stay in the car. But this kind of snowfall would keep people home for a day or two. More than enough time to freeze to death, curled up in the driver’s seat.

If you lived, you’d make a better emergency kit for your ride.

In the meantime, the path demanded all of your attention. Even under fresh snow, it was easy to follow the road. Thick forest covered this stretch, and there was nowhere to go but forward. Hopefully you wouldn’t miss your drive. Should luck bless you for the first time in a decade, you’d see your neighbors’ lights in the dark.

But you had miles to go, yet. And the footing was terrible.

Old snow, half-melted and refrozen, threatened to turn your ankle with every step. Staying upright took work. Every muscle joined the battle, from your toes to your shoulders. Your abs clenched, and your thighs soon shook from exertion. As cold as you were, sweat stuck your hair to your face. Your neck.

The wind turned the moisture to ice.

Pins and needles prickled under your clothes.

Worse, and worse, and worse.

But there was no choice, so you moved on. No one was coming, so you would go. Keep calm and carry on and all that noise.

You had tea at home. An electric heating blanket under heavy quilts. Dry clothes and fuzzy socks.

So, you walked.

One foot in front of the other. Wobbling. Trying to find safe footing.

You crashed to your knees, bracing for pain that didn’t come.

Fuck.

You were losing sensation in your extremities.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The fresh layer of snow swallowed your hands where you’d braced to catch yourself. It didn’t look right from your perspective. You hadn’t punched holes into the drift. You’d joined it. Flesh flowed into freeze, and it sucked the heat from your body. Hungry. Careless.

Physically shaking the image from your head, you rose. You pushed on. Slow and unsteady as your thoughts lost traction on the creeping ice.

It never seemed right that such an oppressive season made the world so bright. Even on a moonless night, the snow practically glowed. When you first moved to the mountain, you’d look out the window and marvel at how clearly you could see the world you couldn’t explore. The endless white always looked so inviting, but it kept you locked away, isolated.

Snow ate the color out of the world. That was why it sparkled so brightly in the sun, full of ingested prisms stolen from kinder seasons.

What colors, you wondered, would it digest out of you.

Once you were buried.

Lost to the white void falling without. Swelling within.

Everything felt damp. Warm. Your muscles went syrupy. You were your own personal swamp, and you panted, dropping your blanket. It was too heavy, too waterlogged anyway. You couldn’t carry that weight forever. It fell easily. All you had to do was let go.

Your feet turned, and you began to ascend. Uphill. That was correct, somehow.

Fuck.

You were on fire.

The snow was up to your knees and still falling. Maybe, if you just took a nap, you’d wait it out. Better to travel in the daylight, right?

No. Not quite right.

One arm hung out of your coat, and you couldn’t shake the second free. It clung to your wrist like a needy child, and you just wanted rid of it. Wanted to be free and finished and home.

Lights blazed, and it felt like dawn. Had you walked all night, or did you just look up?

The path split. Or you thought it did. The snow covered the way, but your instinct sniffed out the divide.

You wanted to be closer to the lights. Lights were good. Even though they hurt your head. They looked so pretty, flushing the snow gold. You imagined they’d paint you gold, too. A Midas-touched statue – pretty, lifeless, and cold.  

Snow always looked so soft. You’d felt cheated as a child when you discovered it was nothing like the fluffy duvet you imagined. But in a pinch, it was wonderful.

It held you, gathering you up as you sank. The flakes landing on your cheek didn’t melt anymore, and frigid works of art gathered on your eyelashes, slowly eating the lighthouse you’d followed home from the bright white dark.

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

“Fucking hell.”

Death had a British accent. Not bad. A shame you somehow disappointed him.

“Johnny! Get some towels. Clean shirt and sweats.”

You blinked up at Death, swimming through waves of unfamiliar sensations to get a glimpse of the end.

Really, you’d hoped for Death to wear a kinder shape – like in Sandman – but the grinning skull seemed appropriate. It was the rare case where the destination mattered more than the journey. Or the escort.

Being dead was exhausting. As curious as you were about Death’s face, the quiet void already had a deposit on your soul. Resting limp in the psychopomp’s arms, somehow you relaxed further. He was so much more solid. More real. Soon you’d melt between his fingers and rain into the underworld.

“She isn’t shivering.”

Dreams ate your mind. Time rose and faded like steam as strange hands prepared you for burial. Your grave was warm. The soil packed tight, wrapping around you as the first gnawing sense of dread woke with the agony in your hands. Roots squeezed around you, tightening as you writhed against the sting in your feet.

You did not rest in peace.

You’d fallen into hell. Your skin burned, your muscles seized, and a sharp scream of a moan shrieked through clenched teeth.

“Easy, easy.”

A broad palm pressed over your heart, hauling you back to a second pulse. Someone else’s words rustled over your hair. Someone else’s breath pushed someone else’s chest flush against your back. Their smell and shape surrounded you.

A someone. A living someone.

That finally reminded you of the need to wake.

To rise from death.

Every inch you climbed towards consciousness scorched you, and reality came in bursts of pain. Your fingertips felt like you’d clutched red-hot iron, and shivers wracked you like private earthquakes. Everything wanted to tear itself apart, escape the pain radiating from every other piece. If the stranger wasn’t holding you together, you’d shatter like your poor, ugly mug.

You had a body but no control.

The stranger shushed you, a second hand settling over the top of your head. Locking you in. Keeping you in your flesh. You thought he might stroke your hair like a cat’s fur, but nothing moved between you besides the heat seeping from his palm to your scalp.

If you had a choice, you’d go back to sleep, but you were too aware. Pain dared you to relax, running knives along the underside of your skin, threatening to stab you inside out with the next shudder.

And you didn’t know where you were – or who was cuddling you back to life.

Helpless as you were, you knew to be afraid.

“Johnny,” the chest behind you rumbled, “she’s coming to.”

Wrath caught on the name. It bit the hook and followed the line to the light so your eyes could flutter open. They were painfully dry, and the gathering tears offered some relief, but you recognized the mohawk over broad shoulders leaning through the doorway through the blur. Your restrained whimpers turned into a growl.

“Think she recognizes ya.”

“Aye.” Johnny approached, kneeling by the bed you found yourself in. His pretty face was all bent out of shape with apprehension. “How you feeling, hen?”

You wanted to shout at him. Or slap him. Both at once and more. Instead, your shaking tongue fumbled the words, and your arm flopped weakly under the quilt, thudding into the branch-like arm caging your chest.

Which meant –

Wait.

If Johnny was in front of you, you must be in his house. He lived alone. Except for a hulking giant in a skull mask.

Like he could read the fresh stiffness beneath your shivering, Ghost said, “Spotted you from the window. Had to get you dry and warm, but you’re safe. Body heat’s best at this stage. We’re both dressed, and if you can’t stand it, I’ll trade out for a fleet of hot water bottles.”

You struggled to pick up his words and put them in order. They bobbed through the snowmelt in your brain like so much flotsam, a murky sea you already worried would drown you. But you did it. You got it all. But it was a lot.

He was barely more than a stranger, and you found yourself in bed with him.

But a man so hesitant to show his face wouldn’t be eager to show more skin than necessary, and while it was hard to tell what fabric was clothing and what was bedding, nothing but cloth touched you. Except for the hand on your head. Which was fine, actually. It could be better than fine if you thought about it much longer.

How much did it cost such a reserved person to get so close? You were no better than a stranger to him, too.

He saw you in trouble and moved to help. Everything he said was practical. Reasonable. He’d probably saved your life.

You felt you understood Ghost. Maybe it was the confusion or the onset of a fever, but you got him. And he was so, so warm. You wanted to crack open that giant chest and burrow inside him like a tauntaun.

When you felt better, you’d make it up to him. You’d apologize for being a burden and make your imposition right. In the meantime, you didn’t want him to leave you alone with some shitty substitute.

You wriggled, trying to put your hand over his, but something was over your fingers, and you had to guesstimate. Maybe you patted his knuckles. Maybe you smacked his wrist. Hard to know. But you felt you made your point.

“S’fine.”

He shifted in response, settling in for the long-haul. “Good.”

You tried forcing yourself calm. Everything had a mind of its own, though, and you curled up tight, trying to preserve heat even when it was given freely. Ghost supported your new position, bending his knees to keep contact, spooning with purpose.

How far had your temperature dropped for you to be this miserable? Very. Dangerously. Fucking shit.

Johnny cleared his throat. “I could join? Help get you toasty?”

Though you were still in gods damned agony, you wouldn’t let Johnny Fucking MacTavish join you under the covers if he was the last thing between you and death. You’d already touched the door to Hades that evening, and he hadn’t been the one to bring you back.

You lashed out the only way you could.

“No.”

The first word you managed to say clearly. You sent it off with a scowl, daring the Scotsman to try you.

He practically jumped back from the bed, anxious expression washed clean in shock. You’d never told him no. Never drawn a boundary. Never shared your anger or hurt.

Well, you’d finally learned your lesson.

Fuck that man.

He wouldn’t be getting anything from you ever again, not even a clear conscience.

Ghost hummed, his thumb stroking over your temple. “Got you right pissed off, has he? What’s he done? He the reason you got caught in the storm?”

Nodding was easier than speaking. You’d said the most important part.

“Thought as much. You’re too well prepared. When you feel up to it, you can tell me what Johnny needs to set right, yeah? He’ll clean up his mess.”

Across the room, where he’d stumbled after your rejection, the man in question blanched. “I didn’t – I couldn’t – What did… Ah, Christ. ‘M so sorry, hen.”

“Plenty of time to talk later,” Ghost said, still fully felt and entirely invisible at your back. “Let her rest. When I’m confident she won’t choke, you can make us something warm to drink.”

Johnny accepted, nodding with big eyes. His shoulders rose to his ears as he turned on his heel and marched away, fists squeezed tight.

He’d only been out of the room for a minute when you heard something crash, and you jumped.

Ghost just hugged you tighter and sighed.

Eventually, you did sleep. It was a night for achieving the impossible, apparently. Ghost kept one hand on your chest, waking or sleeping, and as the daylight slowly burned away the icy mist in your head, you realized he was monitoring your heartbeat. Keeping his arm around your chest was better for your recovery, and you might not have reacted so calmly to a hand on your neck.

You still felt like shit.

“How bad was it?” you whispered.

Asking was a struggle, and not just because your lips cracked and burned around your voice. Staring doom in the face only scared you if you recognized it, and you were afraid to hear how close your choices had brought you to the point of no return. Words could hurt. Knowledge could hurt.

“Should’a taken you to a hospital,” Ghost murmured. “No way to get there in this weather.”

You closed your eyes, burying your face in the pillow. You did it in defiance of the windburn over your nose and cheeks. In defiance of your chapped lips. Dead people couldn’t feel pain, and it was hardly the worst you’d suffered through the night.

“Your shivering’s manageable now. Think you could drink something?”

Could and should.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go tell Johnny. Stay here.”

You didn’t answer, but you swam all the way under the heavy quilts as his solid heat left you. With only your eyes peering over the blankets, you watched him – probably cold in his thin t-shirt and worn sweats – breeze across the room, quiet as his namesake. He had a lot of tattoos, a whole sleeve. You couldn’t catch all the shapes as he moved farther and farther away, but deathly themes curled like gun smoke and curses up from his wrist, towards his heart.

Once you were alone, you examined yourself under the covers. There were socks over your hands, impromptu mittens. You’d worry about any horror beneath them later. You wore a loose tee you’d seen on Johnny when he was resting up, staying comfortable as he nursed his cold. The gym shorts they’d dressed you in were bunched up where the drawstring fought to draw them into a smaller size, and the fabric would fall to your knees if you stood. Maybe farther.

They’d dressed you in a piece of each man’s wardrobe, and the embarrassed heat creeping up your neck was almost as warm as Ghost.

But you wouldn’t read between the lines. There were no lines. They’d saved your life and carefully explained their actions. It didn’t mean anything else.

They were only being neighborly.

[noddytheornithopod]

someone start a campaign to get sludge into crash team rumble

if we can get iron checkpoint crate into nitro fueled, we can get sludge into rumble

[yeahivegotanaccount]

You know, when no matter how hard you try each good thing you try to think about brings up harsh memories.

[em1i2a3]

Would you ever consider a scenario where Bob has a nightmare about losing reader? Perhaps due to the Void overpowering her, in the dream it gets to be too much for her, etc?

Big Shot

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: Bob has been having nightmares about losing you to The Void.

Warnings: Horror Imagery, Nightmares involving The Void (nuff said I think…), Hurt/Comfort, Reader has been injured before by The Void (it is referenced, they have a scar on their arm.), Angst

Author’s Note: I love nightmare sequences so much, and I enjoy writing them for The Void especially…Look at the dude he’s a little mean boi lol. Anyways! Hope you enjoy <3, thank you for the request Anon! I hope it meets the request,

Word Count: 3,801

Bob knew it was a dream, but that never mattered to him, because all of it felt too real to him.

The air was thick and wet–soaked in static, the kind that you feel tingling in your bones before a thunderstorm, or before lightning strikes. Like ozone laced with rot. It filled Bob’s lungs with something sharp and metallic–like he was inhaling old blood.

The sky was wrong–a vast dome of colorless space that pressed down into the environment around him, there was no horizon, no sun, and no stars, it was nothingness. The world around him looked like something built from the bones of his worst memories–deformed and stitched together into something cruel. His childhood home with broken dishes scattered across the floor and old food that had long since dried into the wooden panels of the walls. The lab that he had woken up in, the thing that created who he was today. The car crash that turned him into an addict…It made him ill.

And in the center of it all…Was you. Barefoot, standing amid the rubble of his worst memories and shameful past. You were breathing heavily, shoulder rising and falling in sharp panicked jerks, like you were in pain, or something was trying to crawl out of you.

“Bob,” Your voice was paper-thin, raw, and barely audible , “I-I don’t feel right.” Your hands trembled at your sides, and your knees threatened to buckle. And all Bob could do was run towards you.

But the ground betrayed him. It pulsed–as if it was alive beneath his feet–then liquified into sludge. His feet sank, and he was dragged down by a type of force he couldn’t see. It was like moving through molasses laced with broken glass. He growled and pushed harder, even through the pain that began to erupt through his legs.

You reached out, your hands shaking.

And then it began…

It started with one drop from your nose, thick and impossibly black. It wasn’t blood, it wasn’t even close to anything that he had seen before. It hit the fractured concrete beneath your feet and hissed, releasing a wisp of smoke that curled around you. The second drop came from your tear ducts, slipping down your cheeks and painting your skin, before dripping from the corners of your mouth.

Then your spine arched, and you let out a sharp, choking sound–like you had swallowed something wrong and couldn’t breathe through it. And suddenly, the blackness was everywhere. It poured from your nose, your mouth, your eyes. Your skin began to slowly split in hairline fractures and those too wept the all too familiar vantablack that The Void wore like a suit. It bubbled beneath your flesh like it had roots.

And all Bob could do was scream your name.

You dropped to your knees, hands bracing against the ruined ground, grunting as if you were trying to fight it. But the darkness kept coming, like possession.

You opened your mouth to cry out again, but your voice had been hollowed, and what came out was not you.

”Help me–“ It wasn’t your voice…It was his. It was The Void.

The sound had twisted as it left your throat–like it passed through sheet metal, then bone, then something inhuman, extraterrestrial. Bob’s stomach lurched as your skin went glossy, black veins racing up your arms like wildfire. The ink spread across your body like paint being poured over a monument. The whites of your eyes turned black–your pupils being eaten away by a light, and the colour of your lips leached away. The shape of your face–the one that he had kissed countless times–became distorted, all of your features ceasing to exist

You weren’t just fading away in front of him. You were being rewritten. He saw the darkness crawl over your shoulder, watching it curl like smoke around your bicep.

Right over the jagged scars that looked like chemical burns if you glanced at it, but when you looked closer, they resembled claw marks…It was the one The Void had left behind.

He’d hurt you before–by not being fast enough, by not being strong enough to protect you from the horrors that lived inside him. Even with the serum that ran through his bloodstream–the one that gave him the mantle of being the world's saviour–he couldn’t even protect the one thing that mattered to him.

The blackness wrapped itself around that mark like a crown, displaying it like an award.

”STOP!” Bob shouted, voice breaking as he lunged toward you–arms outstretched, his hands inches from yours, he could’ve sworn he touched the tips of your fingers.

Then…Something took you.

A force slammed into your chest, and you were ripped backwards through the air, your body snapped with the velocity, limbs flailing, as a strangled noise escaped your throat before you were swallowed by the darkness of the horizon.

“N-NO. NO, PLEASE–BRING H-HER BACK!” Bob begged, his hands clawing at the ground beneath him, palms stained with blood, eyes wide and frantic and wet.

“You think…You can protect her from me?” The voice slithered in from every direction, burrowing into his brain like a parasite. Bob could feel his throat closing at the sinister undertone, the way The Void crept up and invaded all his senses.

“You think nine months of good behaviour makes you human? That you get to play house with Y/N, and sit beside her like you’re not a ticking time bomb.” The ground around him began to peel open like flesh, as it began to pulse beneath his palms.

”You think keeping your hands to yourself is enough to keep me caged?” Black tendrils coiled through the cracks in the cement like smoke made solid, brushing up Bob’s arms, and wrapping around his wrists like rope.

”I scrape the walls of your skull, Bob. I breathe through your lungs when you sleep. I taste the scent of her hair when she kisses your cheek…You’re a fucking vessel. A small, puny little host, with whom I despise.” Bob pulled against the restraints, but the tendrils only tightened, and squeezed until he lost all feeling in his hands.

“One day, I’ll crack you open like a fucking shell, and I’ll take her again–properly this time. I’ll wear her…And I’ll show her what you really are.” Then your scream surrounded him from every angle in his brain, and the world exploded into total darkness.

——————

Bob woke like he had been hurled from a skyscraper. His body snapped upward with the force of it, a ragged breath tearing through his lungs and escaping his throat, like he hit the ground and shattered on impact. His heart was thundering against his ribcage–wild, and sickeningly fast, like it wasn’t beating but vibrating instead–it was as if it was trying to bust out of his body. Every inch of his skin was soaked with sweat, clinging to the warm sheets like it was gluing him to the fabric. He tried to take in a deep breath, but it only sounded like a choked gasp.

He closed his eyes tightly, clenching his jaw, attempting to reorient himself to the space around him. The room was still, but it felt far away and distant. The echo of your scream vibrated through his body like an aftershock that crawled up his spine, and gripped the base of his skull with invisible fingers. The dream was clinging to him–the shadows, the heat, the visceral image of you being swallowed whole by the darkness…By his darkness.

Bob tried to breathe, pulling air through his nose, slow and shallow, before forcing it out through trembling lips, you had taught him how to breathe through the burning in his chest, he remembered your hands on his cheeks, easing him and whispering he was going to be okay, how you told him to breathe. It took a few ragged inhales to really get things under control. But once he did, he finally pried his eyes open.

The moonlight bled gently through the sheer white curtains, soft and silvery, casting faint striations of light across the oak floor and the edge of the bed frame. It shifted slightly with the movement of the fabric–swaying like water, refracted in the breeze that floated in through the cracked window. It crested over the bare skin of his chest, cooling the heat that bloomed beneath it.

Bob took a deep breath and let it fill his lungs slowly, as if the act alone might stitch the torn edges of his nerves back together. The cool air slid down his throat like smoke, thin and quiet, and he swallowed thickly as he finally leaned forward to sit upright against the headboard. The movement made his spine crack, subtle and sharp, and the room shifted faintly around him, like it too was trying to settle back into place after the dream tore through it. The wood was cool against his back, but it gave him a bit of a jolt of reality, tethering him to the waking world.

He dragged both palms down his face. They were damp with sweat, slick with the remnants of adrenaline, and they left a faint sheen across the bridge of his nose and the curve of his jaw. His fingers pressed hard against his cheekbones, as if he could scrub away the weight of what he had seen in the dream–and everything he had felt.

Only once he settled himself, and the throbbing in his throat dulled to something less intrusive, did he finally turn his head.

You were there, right where he left you, right where he had kissed you goodnight before turning over for the evening. You were curled on your side, facing him like you always did.

Even when he fell asleep with his back to you–when the weight of the day was too much–he’d always wake to find you like this, turned toward him. Sometimes you’d rest a hand on his shoulder, sometimes your forehead would just barely touch his spine. Even in the narrowest of safehouse cots or the wide expanse of his or your bed, you always had a tendency to find your way to face him. Because your body refused to rest unless it could keep him in sight.

Tonight was no different. One of your hands was tucked beneath the pillow, the other was loosely fanned across the mattress between you. You looked relaxed–your brows were unfurrowed, your lips were slightly parted, and your breaths were slow and steady like waves hitting shore. Even in sleep, you were holding him in place, like your presence was an anvil tied to reality, keeping him exactly where he needed to be.

Bob’s gaze drifted down your arm, to the scar on your bicep. The light from the moon made it glint faintly–almost like glass catching a glimmer of sun before it dulled again. In the dark it looked soft, barely there, but he knew better. He knew what it was, and he knew what it represented.The skin along your bicep was uneven, and jagged, reflecting a shape of something that didn’t belong in this world. It wasn’t from a knife or shrapnel, not chemical burns or fire. The edges curved and twisted unnaturally, like the aftermath of being touched by something sentient and cruel–like a signature carved by a god-shaped wound who should’ve bared no name. Up close, the lines were too precise to be accidental, and too deep to be merciful–like something had reached into you and pulled out what it could before leaving its mark behind.

You had told him what happened that day–but only after he asked, again and again, his voice quiet, almost ashamed, like he was afraid of what the answer might be. Even then, you never shared the worst of it. You spared him the details, which in turn spared yourself in reliving what happened, you only ever said “He hurt me. I was stupid to go to Sentry when they ran. But I couldn’t leave you.”

Still, Bob had pieced the rest together. In the quiet hours. In the long stretches of isolation where his own thoughts were louder than any team comms. The memory of that moment was a blur in his mind, but some things stuck: the discussion Sentry had with Val, the way he got in her face and held her neck, and the red that invaded his vision suddenly when he was about to snap.

You hadn’t left. You’d been in the Watch Tower when Val issued the kill switch. You had somehow slipped through the cracks and stayed behind as the rest of the team hauled themselves off and made their escape. He didn’t remember seeing you crawl to him afterward. Didn’t remember the way you dropped to your knees, still bleeding, hands shaking as you pulled his lifeless body onto your lap. Didn’t know that you’d been crying, or that you’d run your hand through his hair and whispered his name over and over like it could bring him back. But you told him later, in pieces. In echoes. Always downplayed. Always with a sad little smile, like it was just something you had to live with.

Because it was still Bob. Regardless of everything he had done to you and the team. Regardless of the serum, or the suit, or the shimmering gold that lit his body like a flare before everything spiraled into ruin. You’d seen him in there. And that was what brought you to him, even when you should have run.

But the real horror hadn’t started until after Val was gone. When you were holding him–your hand on his cheek, your voice tight with panic, begging him to wake up–that’s when it happened. That’s when the darkness crept in from every direction. When the air collapsed inward and The Void came for you.

He still felt sick about it, and he still had nights like this, where his throat was raw and his heart thundered with the weight of guilt he couldn’t carry. Because even though you forgave him–even though you loved him now, and had told him so in your own careful, honest way–he couldn’t forget. Couldn’t unsee that scar. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a brand. A warning carved into your skin because of him.

His hand trembled slightly as he reached out.

He didn’t think. He didn’t even breathe. Just let his fingers hover above your bicep, then slowly trace the edge of the scars. He didn’t put enough pressure to wake you–but it was just enough to feel it. It was warm, the skin soft, raised faintly beneath his touch. The lines still felt unnatural beneath his fingertips, like a language written in agony.

He traced one of the curves near the top, his brow knitting so tightly it made his forehead ache. He hadn’t even realized how furrowed his expression had become–how tightly his jaw had locked in place–until your eyes fluttered open.

You slowly blinked in the dark, letting your eyes adjust to the moonlit room, as your gaze settled on him immediately.

“Bob?” Your voice was laced with tiredness. He pulled his hand back like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, curling it against his chest. But not fast enough. You saw it–the guilt in his eyes, the way his lips were slightly parted, how his chest barely moved with each breath. You saw how his brows were drawn together like he was in pain. His face was still flushed, his cheeks damp from sweat, and his expression had the soft, trembling look of someone who had just woken from the edge of hell. “You okay?”

You shifted slowly, the sheets rustling in the quiet as you sat up beside him. The blanket slipped slightly before you gathered it against your chest, holding it loosely across your bare torso. The moonlight skimmed the slope of your shoulder, kissed the high points of your collarbone, painted you in soft, silvery light–like something divine beside him, real in a way his nightmares never were.

Your eyes never left his face.

“Bob?” You asked again, a little clearer now, your voice rough from sleep but laced with concern. He couldn’t look at you, he averted his gaze, glancing off to the side of the room.

“I-I had another nightmare,” He finally admitted, his voice quiet and flat. Almost lifeless. “It was…B-Bad.” You didn’t ask him to explain. You didn’t need to. Instead, you reached for him–your hand immediately finding the tense muscles between his shoulder blades. You began to rub in slow, gentle circles. Soothing him the only way you knew how. Your thumb pressed in just enough to ease the tightness from his posture, watching as he took a slow deep breath in. Then you leaned toward him, brushing a soft kiss to the curve of his shoulder, just beneath the faint shimmer of sweat that still clung to his skin.

“It was just a dream, Bob,” You whispered against him, your breath hot and sticky “It’s over.” He shook his head, his whole body shuddering with the effort of it.

”…I always think I-I’m going to hurt you again.” His voice cracked, shaking with the admission. For a moment you just looked at him–at the man you loved, coming apart in the dark, sitting rigid in your shared bed like he didn’t believe he should be in it. His shoulders were hunched, like he was trying to fold in on himself, to disappear. His hands trembled where they sat in his lap. His jaw twitched as he fought the tears welling in his eyes. You sighed softly, not from frustration–but from something heavy and aching, like your own chest couldn’t hold the grief that had just spilled out of him.

”Bob…” You breathed, reaching out towards him slowly. Your fingers curled along his jaw, as you turned his head, slowly, until he met your gaze. His eyes were glassy. Haunted.

And you didn’t miss a beat.

”I know he would never do that again,” You said quietly. “No matter what he says in your dreams, it’s just an empty threat. That’s all it’s ever been.” Bob’s eyes flickered, and a tear slipped down one cheek before he could stop it.

“I haven’t seen him since that day,” You continued, voice steady. “Not once. Not even a flicker. He hasn’t come close. Do you know what that tells me?” He sniffled, watching you lean closer to him.

“That tells me you keep him away. Every hour. Every day. And every night you hold me and fall asleep beside me and keep him buried…You’ve done all of that for me…You. Not anyone else.” Bob’s bottom lip trembled slightly. His throat worked around a soundless sob. You pressed your forehead against his, breathing him in, “I’m not afraid of him, Bob…And You shouldn’t be either.” He closed his eyes at that–tight, like it hurt to hear–and another tear tracked slowly down his face. He turned into your hand, seeking it like a lifeline, and you held him there, thumb sweeping gently across his cheek, catching the tears before they could fall any farther.

“I-I love you Y/N…” He stuttered out, and your eyes softened even further. You leaned in and kissed him. Softly. Slowly. Like sealing a promise with your mouth. Your hand never left his face as your lips met his, warm and trembling and laced with emotion. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t meant to fix anything. It was just meant to be–to exist in the aftermath of the storm still shaking through his bones. When you pulled back, your thumb brushed under his eye again, wiping the fresh tear away. Your voice was soft, tender, full of the kind of warmth that made Bob’s ribs ache.

“I love you too,” You whispered. “So so much.” You added, pushing his mane of light brown hair off his sweaty forehead. His eyes fluttered shut, like he was trying to absorb it. Like if he could just hold that moment inside him long enough, it might quiet the thunder in his chest.

You kissed his temple next, a featherlight press of your lips against damp skin. “Now lay down with me,” You murmured, gently coaxing him as you slid your hand from his cheek to his shoulder. “And let me hold you till you fall asleep again.” Bob hesitated only for a breath, then nodded, slow and silent.

He shifted down with you, easing into the mattress like he didn’t trust it to hold him–but you held him first. You let him come to you, his long arms sliding around your waist, wrapping you up as though you were the only thing in the world that could ground him. He curled into your side, burying his face gently against your chest, nose brushing just below your collarbone. You tugged the blanket back over both of you, tucking it up around his back, and he melted there like a man completely unmade.

His breath hitched once against your skin. Then again.

And you felt it–warm, quiet tears, soaking slowly into your skin as he clung to you like your body was the only safe place left in the world.

Your fingers found their rhythm against his back. Slow, comforting strokes. You traced shapes between the dips of his shoulder blades, circles and stars and invisible words he didn’t need to hear out loud to understand. Every time his breath trembled, you smoothed your hand lower, across the curve of his spine, whispering nothing, only silence and safety.

He didn’t speak again, he didn’t need to.

He just held on tighter.

And eventually, his breathing slowed and his body softened against yours. The tension in his muscles ebbed out inch by inch as sleep crept up behind his grief and cradled him the way you did–with patience, with forgiveness, and with a love that refused to be shaken by shadows.

You kept tracing lines against his back long after his tears stopped.

And even longer after his breathing evened out.

Because you knew–this was how you kept The Void at bay.

Not with strength.

But with love.

[4linos]

crash and burn.

ot8 x ninth member male reader

synopsis: you thought silence made you strong. but when you collapse mid-song, your members show you what real strength looks like, being cared for.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fainting, malnutrition, burnout.

wc: 2150

The crowd roared like a tidal wave, deafening and unrelenting, but it sounded muffled in your ears.

You stood just offstage, the thick velvet curtain brushing against your shoulder as you waited for the cue. Your heart was hammering, not from nerves, but from sheer exertion. Your limbs felt leaden, your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and a faint, persistent buzz echoed in your head. You tilted slightly to one side, catching yourself before you stumbled.

It had been like this for days now. Maybe longer.

You'd chalked it up to the usual: exhaustion, long practices, late-night recordings. It wasn’t like this was new. Every idol lived like this, surviving on little sleep and even less food, constantly chasing perfection under the blinding spotlight. You weren’t special. So, when your stomach grumbled during practice, you told yourself you'd eat later. When your knees buckled slightly in the hallway, you grabbed the wall and laughed it off. And when your vision swam during warmups this morning, you blamed it on the heat and kept going.

Because if you stopped now, just for a break, just to rest, what if they thought you couldn’t handle it?

What if you proved them right?

“Y/N,” Chan’s voice came from your left, firm but kind. “You good?”

You blinked and nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah. Just pumped.”

He held your gaze for a second longer than usual. Like he could see through the cracks. But then the opening VCR ended, and the stage lights flared to life.

And then you were running out into the crowd, smiling wide, waving, getting into position.

You weren’t good. Not even close.

-

The first song was a blur. Your body moved on muscle memory alone. The choreo was aggressive, as always, but tonight it felt like you were dragging your limbs through sludge. Every jump sent a spike of dizziness through your skull, every turn left you gasping for air.

By the second song, sweat poured down your face like rain. It stung your eyes. Your hair clung to your forehead. You bit the inside of your cheek to focus, to stay sharp, but your mind was getting foggy. Like someone was slowly turning the volume down on the world.

You glanced sideways during the bridge and caught Jisung watching you out of the corner of his eye, brows pinched. You forced a smile.

He didn’t smile back.

By the third song, your head was pounding so hard you thought your skull might crack open. The lights above seemed brighter than usual, searing into your eyes. Your ears rang. Your breath came short and fast. Your body was crying for fuel it hadn’t received in too long.

But it didn’t matter.

Because this was your part.

The music dipped into silence as the instrumental faded. The stage dimmed around you, leaving just the spotlight, blinding and white hot, on your figure.

You stepped forward, mic in hand, heart thudding wildly against your ribs.

You opened your mouth.

And nothing came out.

Your throat closed up. The words, lyrics you’d practiced a hundred times, bled over just… vanished. Your mind was blank. A second passed. Then two.

In the crowd, fans stopped waving their lightsticks. Silence rippled like static through the audience. It wasn’t long, but it was long enough, enough for Chan to glance back at you, eyes sharp with concern. Enough for Seungmin to pause mid-step. Enough for Felix to frown.

You stumbled.

Just barely.

But it was enough.

Because the moment you tried to speak again, the world tilted sideways and then everything went black.

You didn’t remember hitting the floor.

Didn’t remember the chaos, the crowd screaming, the music cutting off abruptly, the mics hissing as members rushed to you.

You didn’t remember the way Chan dropped to his knees, calling your name. The way Changbin held your head carefully to the side, checking your pulse with trembling fingers. Or how Jeongin was frozen in place, eyes wide and terrified.

All you knew was darkness.

Silence.

Weightlessness.

-

When you woke, the first thing you felt was cold, an air-conditioned chill brushing across your sweat-soaked skin.

The second was pain. A dull, heavy ache behind your eyes, like someone had cracked your skull open and poured concrete inside.

And then..

Voices.

Muffled at first. Then slowly sharpening.

“—you need to get him fluids immediately. He’s severely dehydrated.”

“Blood sugar’s way too low. Probably hasn’t eaten in. How long has it been?”

“Y/N. Come on, come back to us.”

Your lashes fluttered. You squinted against the harsh white lights overhead. Your vision was blurred, but slowly, faces began to take shape.

Chan hovered above you, his eyes rimmed red, his hands curled tightly around your wrist.

Felix sat just behind him, one hand pressed against his lips, the other curled around your ankle like it grounded him. His face was pale.

Hyunjin crouched nearby, his hands shaking slightly as he ran them over his pants. You could tell he’d been crying, even if he tried to hide it.

The rest of the members were there too, gathered in a semi-circle around the cot you’d been laid on backstage, with your manager and two medics standing nearby. Everyone looked like they’d aged ten years in twenty minutes.

“…Y/N?” Chan whispered again. “You with us?”

You nodded, barely. Your head felt too heavy to lift.

“I—I’m sorry,” you croaked. “I don’t know what happened…”

“You fainted,” Jeongin said, voice cracking. “On stage. In front of everyone.”

“It was like you shut off,” Seungmin added, not unkindly, but with a shake in his voice he couldn’t hide. “One second you were singing, the next, you just…”

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, throat tight. “I just… I thought I could push through.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Changbin snapped, more emotional than you’d ever seen him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You swallowed hard. The room felt smaller now, heavier.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” you admitted. “I kept saying I’d eat later but then I’d fall asleep after practice, and I’d forget. And then it just… kept happening.”

Chan ran a hand over his face. “God, Y/N…”

“I thought I was just being weak,” you continued, voice raw. “I didn’t want you guys to worry. You’re already under so much pressure, I—”

“Stop,” Hyunjin said suddenly, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“You’re one of us,” Felix added, scooting closer. “That means we carry the weight together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I just… I didn’t want to slow anyone down.”

Chan let out a long, shaky breath and sat back on his heels. “Y/N. We’d rather miss a hundred stages than lose you.”

“You scared the hell out of us,” Minho said from where he stood, arms crossed but face stricken. “You could’ve seriously hurt yourself.”

You turned your head slightly, feeling tears sting your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause.

Then Chan reached out and gripped your hand. “We’re not mad. Just scared. You don’t have to apologize for collapsing when your body couldn’t take it anymore. You just… need to let us help you before it gets to that point.”

“I will,” you promised, voice barely audible. “I swear.”

Felix offered a small, broken smile. “Good. Because we’re not letting you out of our sight now.”

-

You were taken to the hospital shortly after, just to be safe. The diagnosis was no surprise: dehydration, low blood sugar, over-exhaustion. A perfect storm of neglect.

The schedule was adjusted. Your next few events were cancelled, and the company released a statement citing “health precautions.” But behind the scenes, it wasn’t just protocol, it was care.

You weren’t alone for a second.

Changbin started keeping snacks in your bag. Jeongin set phone reminders for your meals. Hyunjin volunteered to split his vitamins with you. Minho started packing bento boxes after late-night practice “just in case.”

But it was Chan who hit the hardest.

It was late.

Past midnight, maybe closer to 2 a.m., when you wandered into the building alone.

The others had gone home hours ago, forced into rest by your manager’s insistence and the very real reminder that everyone was a little too close to the edge lately. But you couldn’t sleep. Not yet. Your body was still too wired, your head too full.

You thought being alone in the practice room might help. Just a few minutes of quiet.

But when you pushed open the door, you weren’t alone.

Chan was sitting on the floor, back against the mirror, hoodie pulled halfway over his face like it might shield him from the weight of the world. The dim overhead lights cast a long shadow behind him, and for a second, you almost didn’t recognize him like that, so still, so quiet.

Then you heard it.

A soft sniff. The sound of someone trying very, very hard to keep it together.

You hesitated. Your instinct told you to leave, to give him space. But another part of you, something deeper, something that knew him said to stay.

“Hyung?” you said quietly.

He jumped slightly, dragging a hand quickly across his face. “Ah, shit,” he muttered, blinking rapidly. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

You took a slow step forward. “You okay?”

Chan let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a scoff. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He wiped at his face again, gesturing vaguely to the room. “Just sweating. It’s hot in here.”

You gave him a look. “Sweating. While sitting completely still. In the dark.”

He sniffed again and chuckled weakly, the sound breaking halfway through. “Yep. That’s the story I’m going with.”

You didn’t call him out. You just walked over and sat down beside him, close enough that your arms touched. For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was familiar. Grounding.

He exhaled slowly. “You really scared me, you know.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“I saw you go down and my brain just… stopped. I don’t even remember running to you. I just remember the sound. The way everything went quiet. Like the whole world paused.”

His voice cracked at the end, but he cleared his throat quickly and looked away.

“You’re always looking out for us,” you said. “And I get it. That pressure, that responsibility. You carry all of it. And when something slips through the cracks…”

He shook his head. “It shouldn’t have. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known. You weren’t okay, and I missed it.”

“Because I hid it,” you said firmly. “I’ve had practice. Smiling when I’m falling apart. Telling everyone I’m fine so they won’t worry.”

He was quiet again.

Then he said, softer this time, “But I still should’ve seen it. That’s the part that keeps hitting me. I was so focused on keeping everything running that I didn’t even realize one of my members was running on empty.”

You leaned your head back against the mirror. “You’re not a machine, Chan.”

He let out a weak laugh. “Try telling that to my reflection.”

You turned your head toward him. “You didn’t fail me. You didn’t let me down. I pushed myself too hard because I thought it was what I was supposed to do. I thought being strong meant never asking for help.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.

“I get it now,” you said. “And I don’t want to live like that anymore. I want to let you in. Let all of you in. Because if I’d said something earlier, even once…”

“We would’ve caught you,” he finished, voice thick. “Every damn time.”

You nodded. “So no more hiding. From either of us.”

He finally looked at you then, really looked, eyes glassy, tired, but softer now. There was a hint of a smile there, fragile but real.

“You know,” he said, nudging your arm, “I was gonna pretend I came in here to revise the setlist.”

You raised a brow. “With your hoodie over your face and tear streaks on your cheeks?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Sweat streaks.”

“Uh-huh.”

He let out a proper laugh this time. It was quiet, but genuine. Then his expression sobered again.

“Promise me something?” he asked.

“Anything.”

“If it ever starts to feel like too much again, even a little, you’ll tell me. No more toughing it out. No more pretending.”

“I promise,” you said, without hesitation.

“And I’ll do the same,” he added after a beat, voice softer. “Because you’re not the only one who’s been running on empty.”

You reached out and laced your fingers with his, grounding each other in the stillness of the room.

The pressure didn’t go away. The world outside was still spinning fast. But here, in this moment, you weren’t falling behind.

You were just… still.

Together.

//

masterlist.

[for #🐰 anon, sorry this took so long.. i hope u enjoy]

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter One

also on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag to find other chapters | warnings: pre- s1 (for now), profanity, mentions of death, addiction, and prostitution

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter One:

The undercity was certainly something.

Especially at night, when shadows extended their smoky tendrils to allow those dabbling in unsavoury business to lurk, gloomy buildings hiding things you’d be safer off not knowing within. People milling about, going about their private, dangerous business.

Water splashed across the street as your foot landed in a puddle, ankle twisting the wrong way as you tore through the filthy streets, enforcers hot on your heels. All this for heckling an officer? You clutched your shawl around you as the wind almost buffered it away.

It was ridiculous.

After bumping into a large man, a mother and her child, and knocking over a crate of sludge-y creatures, shouts trailing after you, you found an alleyway to disappear into. You scrambled up some wooden beams, eventually emerging onto the flat roof of the low, squatting building. You watched the idiotic Pilties run straight ahead, missing your small detour entirely, and scoffed, stepping away from the edge.

You turned, and made your way across the rooftops of Zaun. 

You’d reached an impasse. Well, not really- nothing a simple jump couldn’t fix. You squinted down into the dusty darkness of the narrow alley below your feet. This part of the undercity was silent- but you could hear the lapping water, and knew you were close to the river.

Vaulting over a concrete bar and pushing off with your feet, you landed on the other side of the gap with a thud. The roof shook, and you yelped as a tile slid off the edge, and crashed into the darkness.

Holding your breath, you heard nothing. The water continued to rumble. You turned to leave.

Until- 

“Fuck.”

You froze in horror. 

Creeping back towards the piped edge of the roof, weight on the backs of your feet, you peered into the darkness. The glowing end of a cigarette burned orange. You gulped.

A man emerged, stepping into your view. His brow was furrowed. Your hands were shaking. “I-I’m sorry!” You called out, and he scowled. 

“You nearly hit me!” He almost-yelled back. But taking a look at your face his expression softened. Against better judgement, you slid down the pipe, feet landing on the ground with an oof.

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. Someone in the undercity coming down to personally apologise for something like that instead of laughing in one’s face and running away was rare. He looked at the apologetic look on your face, and watched as you opened your mouth to speak while also stretching out your hand.

“I’m sorry…”

He reached for your hand too, ready to dismissively accept your apology and move on with his night.

“…But can I have a cigarette?”

His expression dropped.

You lazily took the cigarette from his hands and took a long, deep drag, tendrils of smoke curling from your mouth. At his frown, you moved it from your lips to speak.

“What? You don’t have herpes, do you? I’m not going to get it, am I?”

Wordlessly, he shook his head. You studied his face. Strong features, blue-green eyes. He wasn’t half bad looking.

I wouldn’t mind getting an STD from him.

Without a single reaction to your rather graphic thought you took another drag on the cigarette, before handing it back to him. “Thanks. Not everyone here knows that sharing is caring.”

He laughs, guarded, and then stops himself, surprised such a sound even came out at your words. You smiled at him sweetly. “And sorry for almost hitting your head and bashing it in with a tile. Though it wasn’t my fault, was it?”

“I suppose it was an accident,” he said stiffly, a strand of hair falling in front of his face. He dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his heel. “Miss…”

“[name]. Janna, I really needed to calm my nerves.” You stretched, arching your back like a cat, feeling the bones pop and muscles stretch deliciously. The man wet his lips, looking out at the street through the alley.

“And why would that be?” His voice was smooth. You readjusted your shawl. 

“Some enforcers were chasing me. The usual.” You let out a slow sigh, going to leave the alley without as much as a goodbye. He didn’t say anything, just watched you leave.

You planted a foot out into the street.

“That’s her!” 

You whipped your head around, watching a gaggle enforcers charging towards you. A scream tore from your lips you rushed back into the alleyway. The man grabbed you as you almost crashed into his chest.

“Fucking run!”

Shimmying up the pipe, you were back on the roof. You didn’t spare a turn to look back as your heavy lunges rattled the roofs, leaping over bars and gaps. You turned and saw an enforcer slip through a gap in the roofs, crashing into the street below. The man from the alley was just at your shoulder. Without a sparing a second you turned and left.

Once you were certain you’d lost the enforcers you stopped, chest heaving, and slumped onto the ground- roof- beneath you. The man stayed standing, eyeing you with an unreadable expression.

“Okay,” you gasped, turning over. “Now I’m actually sorry.” Coughing while trying to catch your breath you extended a hand. “Do you have water or something? I’m sorry.”

He let out a heavy sigh, not knowing how to behave in this situation as he took out a flask, crouching down and holding it out to you as you continuously mumbled apologies. You gulped down the water inside. “It isn’t poisoned, is it?” You sighed, wiping your mouth as you handed it back. He sat down as he took it, joining you on the slanted roof. 

“You only think to ask that after you’ve downed half the thing?” His voice was filled with amusement. You ignored him.

“I’m sorry, mister…”

“Silco.”

You stared at him as he took out another cigarette, patting his pockets for a lighter. Without a word you took one out, flicking it open and pushing down to activate the flame. You held it in front of his face. “I’m sorry, Silco.”

The cigarette lit up. You studied his profile, mainly the line of his sharp nose as he inhaled deeply.

“It’s fine. Why do you keep apologizing?”

“I got you involved in a chase with enforcers after almost dropping a tile on your head and taking your cigarette.”

“You didn’t have to take the cigarette,” he muttered, miffed. You ignored him, the lighter snapping shut. “And my plans for the night have been ruined…”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. He looked at you, chuckling. “I’ll make it up to you somehow, if you want.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Such generosity is rare.”

“Not generosity. Justice.”

He laughed again, at your dramatics this time as he rolled the cigarette in between his long fingers. “Right. Justice.”

“So, one favour.”

“That’s a dangerous offer, [name].” A thought struck him, and he furrowed his brow. “Don’t tell me you’re from topside.”

You stared at him for a minute, then scoffed. “Of course I’m not. What makes you think that?”

“Your naivety.” He blew smoke from his lungs, and you watched as it curled over the rooftops. “It’s not a good idea to go around offering favours to strangers.”

“I’m as much of a trencher as you are, Silco,” you scoffed.

At this, he suddenly grabbed your wrist. You stared at him in shock as his lip curled, expression furious. You blinked, unmoving. 

“Zaunite.”

“Wh-what?”

“Use Zaunite. Not the name they gave us.” His grip on your wrist loosened before falling away completely. You nodded.

“Right.”

It fell silent.

“And I’ll never cash in that favour.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Because, it’s a stupid idea. If anything, I’m doing you a favour.” Another drag. You turned over to look at the sky.

“Thanks… I guess?”

He chuckled again, smoke curling from in between his teeth. Your face felt warm. “You’re strange.”

“So I’ve been told. What exactly were the plans for your night that I so rudely ruined?”

He didn’t say anything.

“I hope you weren’t visiting a cathouse.”

He groaned, and you laughed, snatching the cigarette off of him. He didn’t stop you. “Certainly not. Not for the cats, at least.”

“The cats?”

“The women, [name].”

“Well, what else would you go there for?”

“You’d be surprised.”

You frown. “Right… so no prostitutes.”

“Definitely not. It’s an immoral practice.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “A trencher with morals. I see.”

“Zaunite,” he said through gritted teeth.

You shrugged, sucking on the cigarette. “Well, I don’t care. They’re just making a living.”

“And what would you consider immoral?”

You blew out a cloud of smoke, and for a moment you considered saying something that he’d agree with, racking your brains for an appropriate answer. He clearly hated topside…

“What those Pilties are doing. Their prejudice against us,” you said proudly. He gave a small laugh.

“Right. Everyone thinks that. Something unique, please.”

You stayed silent. “Well… I do believe capitalising on addiction is quite immoral.”

“Ironic, considering that cigarette you’re holding.”

“There are extremes.” Your voice was low, and it was clear there was a story behind the subject. He didn’t press you, simply watching you put out the cigarette on the tin roof, your appetite for nicotine crushed.

After a quiet moment you spoke. “My sister was pregnant. Some… drug lord got her hooked onto something.” You rested your head down. “It was dangerous. They don’t make it anymore.” He hummed silently. “I lost both her and the baby. And she was all I had left, so…”

“The father?”

You scoffed, and that told him more than he needed to know.

“That… drug… business owner… whatever he was- he didn’t need money. He was filthy rich,” you spat. “A-“ your eyes slid to Silco- “A Zaunite, hoarding money, sucking life out of his own people, and not sharing a single drop. I hate that bastard.”

“What became of him?”

“Business crushed, killed by enforcers.” Your response was curt.

He hummed. “Well, in that case, I certainly won’t go down that path.”

“…I suppose I won’t work in a brothel either.”

“Or own one,” he added. You laughed.

“Or own one.”

You sighed gently, standing up. “Well, I hope whatever business you missed gets resolved. Goodbye, Silco.” You made to climb down to the street.

“Wait-“

You looked up.

“You said you don’t have anyone. If you’re ever… looking for company, go to the Last Drop. Tell the bartender you’re looking for Silco.”

Your eyes enlarged as you stowed the name in your memory. “The Last Drop,” you repeated, then nodded.

“Goodbye, [name].” 

You smiled again, and dropped down into the crowd.

When you looked back up to the sky, to the roof, he was gone.

-

[rainrot4me]

Hi! How are you? Could you do something about how the Creeps would react to seeing their biggest trauma please? (And what that trauma would be, of course.) I'm completely obsessed with the way you write <3

Hi!! I’m good, thank you for asking!! Hope you’re doing good as well! I’m mostly thinking of these scenarios as them recalling rather than seeing their biggest trauma. Like a panic attack flash of memory.

๑ Warning: Trauma reactions, emotional distress

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

The night of the bleach incident and losing his humanity.

Seeing himself in the mirror again, skin raw and bleeding, that terrible grin stretched across his face as Liu screams his name—Jeff would freeze. Not in fear, but fury.

“That’s not me. That thing isn’t me anymore.”

He might try to laugh it off, that feral, cracked giggle of his, but if you’re close to him, you’d see the shake in his hands. If you touched him then, he’d probably jerk away, but not because he doesn’t want comfort—because he doesn’t believe he deserves it.

✦ . ticci toby

The night he lost his sister and his final moment of clarity before the Operator took hold.

He’d go dead silent. His usual chatter—gone. Watching the car crash, hearing Lyra’s voice, seeing her blood—it would be like something inside him snapped.

“She was the only one who didn’t look at me like I was broken.”

He’d start scratching at his neck, pacing, hyperventilating. You’d have to speak softly, remind him he’s here, that it’s over. It wouldn’t take long for him to collapse into your arms, body still but trembling.

✦ . eyeless jack

The transformation. Being sacrificed, turned into what he is now.

He sees the cold, haunting scene of the ritual. Smells the candles and tar. Feels the burn in his spine.

“They said I was going to be better… that I’d be fixed.”

He’d stand eerily still, fists clenched, black sludge weeping from under his mask. He wouldn’t speak much—but if you reached for his hand, he might let it linger in yours just a moment too long before stepping away.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

The mental breakdown and the loss of autonomy under the Operator.

Watching his own face twist into the blank rage of Masky—seeing himself hurt people he once cared about—Tim would flinch, eyes narrowing, jaw clenched.

“I didn’t want to. I didn’t—”

He might lash out, not at you, but at the walls, the floor, his own fists. You’d have to ground him, speak his name. He might shove you away in the heat of it, then later, when it’s quiet, come sit next to you like nothing happened—letting the silence say thank you.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

The betrayal—filming Jay and Tim, losing his autonomy and sense of reality.

He sees himself watching Jay through a lens. Not intervening. Just documenting.

“I watched people die. I let it happen.”

He wouldn’t say much at first—he might just stand beside you, hands in pockets, eyes blank. But when you look at him, there’d be shame all over his face. If you touched him, it might break the wall down—he’d grab you tightly, whispering things he wouldn’t say out loud otherwise.

✦ . kate the chaser

Watching her friends die. Feeling helpless. Being “chosen” by something she couldn’t fight.

She’d relive the sound of their screams, the way her shoes slipped in blood, how her voice broke from shouting.

“I didn’t save anyone. I never do.”

She’d clench her jaw and stand tall, but her hands would shake. If you wrapped your arms around her, she’d freeze—then lean into it, just for a second. That’s all she ever allows herself.

✦ . ben drowned

Dying alone, screaming, unheard, water filling his lungs.

He’d glitch—literally. His body spasming with static, sound distorting as he replays that final moment.

“I begged. No one came.”

He’d try to laugh it off, crack a joke to dodge the horror of it. But if you saw through that, and called him out gently—he’d crumble. He’d float beside you in silence, occasionally brushing your arm like he’s afraid you’ll vanish too.

✦ . clockwork

The night she lost control and became what she is.

Seeing the blood on her hands again, the look in her parents’ eyes before everything went black—she would scream. Maybe at herself. Maybe just into the void.

“I didn’t want to become this.”

She wouldn’t let you near at first. But eventually she’d sit down next to you and whisper, “I need you to remind me I’m real.” Let her hold your hand—she’ll grip it like a lifeline.

✦ . laughing jack

His first child—the one who trusted him—killed by his own hand after being corrupted.

He’d start laughing. High-pitched. Unhinged. But his eyes would be haunted.

“He just wanted a friend… I was supposed to protect him.”

If you touched him, he might go still. Quiet. Then he’d lay his head in your lap and whisper old lullabies, fingers curled in your shirt like a child desperate not to be left behind.

✦ . slenderman

The birth of awareness—becoming something not human, not monster. Just other.

He sees a forest consumed by static. A world where he is alone, always alone.

He won’t speak. Won’t move. But you’ll feel it: the way the air grows heavier, the way the trees lean away from him.

You reach for him anyway. And he lets you. Lets you exist beside him, even when he believes he shouldn’t be touched.

꩜ .ᐟ

[evvyyypeters-fics]

Frenemies With Benefits

Luke Cooper x f!reader oneshot

Warnings! Smut, p n v, f!ngering, quickie, porn w/ plot, little angst, drama, fluff ending

Reupload of a request, think it was anon. Almost forgot abt this one lol

“Hey Y/N,” He trails cheekily as he walks up to the front of my desk, a coffee cup in hand.

“Seems the coffee monkey is back.” I say bluntly, not looking up from my papers as I continue to fill and highlight them. He chuckles fakely as he continues to loom over me.

“Speaking of coffee. You forgot yours,” He said, holding it out a bit closer, nudging me to take it. I finally flick my eyes up from the paper I was working on, my body still hunched over it, pen steadied in my hand.

“What’d you do this time? Put fart spray in it or something?” I ask sarcastically with a small amused grin of my own creeping on my face. He looks back at me with the same unserious energy.

“Now why would I do something like that?” He asks, obviously stretching his tone to make it obvious, yet there was something oddly genuine in his tone to. Not too surprising of behavior from the little prankster.

I snatch the cup from his hand and take a bold chug of the practically pure black coffee, holding back the grimace reaction on my face to the awful sludge.

“Thanks, Luke” I challenged him with a smile after swallowing some almost-soon-to-be puke. My gaze didn’t drift from him until he walked away back to his desk in the corner.

Damn, he has a fat ass. Who told him he could have that?

Oh god, what was I even thinking!? Luke Cooper?!

He was totally an off-limits kind of goofy asshole. Not to mention Micheal, my boss’s nephew.

No, no, no! Get it out of your head!

I shook myself back to focus and forced my gaze to stick intently to what I was working on, now scribbling away feverishly with my pen to ignore the strange thoughts beginning to cloud my mind.

Am I ovulating? When did I start getting the hots for Luke Cooper? I ask myself curiously. My mind drowning out the work I was doing momentarily.

Noope! Don’t think about it!

After that, it was hard to get work done. I practically had to imagine slapping myself to get back on track.

“Y/N!” Called out one of my coworkers, Phyllis. Suddenly a thud slams on my desk and shakes under my arm like a current as a stack of papers gets dropped on it.

“Can you copy these for me sweetie?” She smiles. I just flash her a giant fake smile, almost grinding my teeth in annoyance as I nodded and picked up the papers. I noticed Luke for a split moment as I got up from across the room, watching what happened. Watching me.

I then became keenly aware of his eyes piercing into my back and I shook at the thought of him possibly watching the way my ass shifted under my tight pencil skirt as I carried the weighted stack of papers to the copier.

And just my luck, as soon as I finished copying every paper, as I’m walking back down the hall—CRASH!

The papers fly up and scatter everywhere and I’m left stunned and momentarily blinded from the sheer white sheets. Luckily the stack stayed mostly in tact.

Before I go down to pick up the papers I check what I ran into, and there he is. Luke.

“You asshole!” I bark.

“How is this my fault!? You should pay more attention to where you’re going!” He sneers back, a frustrated look on his face at me for being (rightfully so) upset at the encounter.

“Can you at least help me pick them up?!”

To my surprise he got down on the floor without a word or complaint and began to help me collect the papers dropped. I was so surprised that for a moment I just stood there and watched, expecting him to throw it back in my face or something.

I got down and helped him when I realized he was really helping me pick them back up and reorganizing the stack. We both picked them up together in an awkward, tense silence. The air thick between us and unsure.

He handed me the rest of the papers with a stoic look, continuing the silence of the moment. He stands there for a moment and eyes me as if he were going to say something, but he seems to drop it and continue moving on without another word.

I shake my head again and try to forget what just happened as I returned the copied papers to Phyllis, who luckily gives me no extra trouble and accepts the papers gratefully.

Back at my desk, I now have a load of work I need to finish, meaning I’d be pulling an all-nighter at the office for the first time. I sighed, clasping my face in my hands, just wanting to scream into them.

It was dark in the office, practically midnight at this point and I just wanted to finish. I had hoped to be alone, but somehow my luck just kept getting worse because Micheal had decided to punish Luke for one of his pranks un-related to me and had him finish some extra work that left us both here together. Neither of us acknowledged the other, keeping to ourselves. Which somehow made the air in the room feeling suffocatingly dense and thick. The tension rising even more, to the point the air was so stale I took my sweater off, despite the blasting AC on all the time.

I must have been cursed today because you wouldn’t believe what happened next. I finished my work and just as I stood, so did Luke. At that moment we both stood at our desks, glancing at each other in silence as our glowing computer screens dimly illuminated our faces a bit. Both of us had unreadable expressions before eventually we made the move to start heading to the elevator.

We both stood there, waiting for it to come for what felt like forever, the time dragging on and on to the point where my palms began to sweat from how tight my fists were. The air was even more dense, yet dry, making my throat almost choke and force out a desperate cough which would have worsened the awkward feeling between us.

We had never actually fought like that before. Everything was always so unserious between us, but I guess I was so stressed I just…lashed out. I wanted to apologize, but as soon as I opened my mouth the words got stuck.

I looked up to see how far the elevator had climbed and that’s when I realized. The elevator lights were off. It wasn’t moving to any floor. It was stuck or off. I panicked, not knowing how to explain to Luke, or even knowing if he was thinking the same.

“Hey..Luke..um..” I choked out in a soft voice that felt kind of off and hoarse.

No response. I struggled to swallow as my throat became some tight.

“I—I think the elevator..isn’t coming..” I finally managed to say in a normal tone, not even bearing to look at him as I spoke.

“I think..we’re..”

“Trapped.” He finished for me in a monotone.

“Yeah..” My eyes flashed quickly to glance at him. And that’s when I noticed he had been staring at me calmly the whole time, his brow slightly furrowed like something was really bothering him. It was somber. Guilt saueezes my heart and I finally begin to turn to him, my mouth falling open as I spoke.

“Luke, look, I—I’m sorry I lashed out earlier I—“ I stuttered, my expression melting painfully.

My words were instantly cut off when he leaned down and placed a passionate kiss against my lips that probably held for longer than it should have. My brain scrambled and I became stunned again. I could feel the burn of my face getting flushed, luckily it was too dark for him to see it, despite the minimal dim lighting from the moonlight in the windows.

“I—what—“ I stuttered, the words slipping past me.

“I don’t care.” He said almost sternly. It was an intense tone that triggered the dormant butterflies in my stomach to flutter and beat against it. “I just want to know how you feel about me—really. Because…I like you, Y/N, a lot. Ever since I met you.” He said, a passionate and painful expression painted his face as he loomed over me. Searching my eyes for answers as he poured out his heart.

“I think…I like you too..” Was all I had to say in response, time seeming to slow even more even with the pounding of my fluttering heart rushing in my ears.

We just stared at each other in the eyes for a long pause, not sure of what to do next. When to make the next move. What to say. It was a new tense air, one that caused both of us to lean into each other eventually and give into our desires.

Our mouths quickly met in a deep kiss and my hands instantly found his hair as he grabbed onto my waist, pushing and pulling each other like magnets until we stuck against the wall beside the elevator and he pinned me against it. He broke the intense kiss, a web of drool attached between our now swollen lips as he pulls away to plant wet, tender kisses on my neck.

He definitely left a few marks, on purpose. Asshole.

I couldn’t stay mad for long though when he tore open the buttons of my dress shirt tucked into my skirt and revealed my lacey bra underneath, letting my breasts hang out of the cups in a auick attempt to release them as one of his large hands cups the swell of my breast, his finger pinching and rolling the rosebud nipple tenderly and sending shivers down my spine.

I let out a few breathless moans as my head leaned back against the wall. I felt his suit-pant-clad hard-on roll against my thigh, grinding against it in hopes of any relief from the aching restraint.

I couldn’t even attempt to reach for him before he began bunching up my skirt around my waist, my bag now lazily thrown to the floor as I let it slide off my shoulder. I gasped sharply when he ripped open the bottom of my tights to reached my now soaked panties eagerly.

I didn’t even have time to think when he sunk knuckles deep inside my drooling cunt, twisting and massaging them just right, making me cry out in melodic whimpers and moans that he seemed to relish in as he growled lowly, sucking on my clavicle and kissing my neck again. He sucked onto me like a leech as he used the pad of his thumb to tease my swollen clit while he fingered me breathless.

My knees trembled, threatening to give way, but his grip on my waist kept me upright. I felt the flutter of the beginning of my orgasm and let out a sweet moan.

“Ah~wait, stop! I’m goh~nha!” I whimpered, reaching out a swift hand to his wrist, trying to pull him away.

Luckily, he removed his fingers, staring into my eyes as he brought them to his lips and licked them completely clean, moaning like I was the heavenliest thing to ever taste.

“Not yet, baby..” He cooed, explaining in a deep whisper, hot against my ear.

He quickly freed himself from his pants and boxers, pulling it out through the top and letting it slap out against his stomach over the waistband. He was bigger than I expected as I stared in slight awe between us, precum leaking heavily from his angry tip, dripping down his twitching shaft.

Luke smiled proudly to himself as he noticed me staring. I expected him to say something witty, but I guessed he could hardly wait, because he just put both of his hands under my thighs and lifted my legs up to his shoulders, pressing and folding me against the wall as he lined up.

I was so wet that he easily sunk in as his tip pressed forward and he instantly groaned as he bottomed out, and I let out a pathetic whimper as his tip kissed my cervix.

“Fuck…you’re so…fucking…good..” He struggles between groans as he begins to pick up a steady pace, slowly thrusting into me faster, using his grip on my ass to slam our hips together. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders tightly, my fingernails digging into the back of his dress-shirt as I moaned shamelessly at each deep, carnivorous thrust.

“F-Fuck! O~Oh, fuck!” I whimpered loudly, my voice trembling.

He kept groaning and letting out strained erotic sounds in my ear, huffing with each thrust as he pounded into me like it would be the only time. Like he had waited so long and wasn’t ready to give it up.

My legs shook in his grip, my toes clenching in my heels. I was practically drooling as I became completely clouded by lust, my brain fogged with only the thought of his cock ramming into me and sending shockwaves through my body.

“F-fuck! Such a good girl…taking me sho good baby~” He praised as he continued rutting into me.

I practically screamed as I clenched around him, my muscles fluttering and spasming as I came hard on his cock. He quickly followed suit at the clench of my gummy walls and spilled inside me, warm and thick. He rode out both of our highs, slowing his desperate thrusts.

He carefully let me down off his shoulders after we had a minute to catch our breath and come back to reality, helping me pick up my things and fix my clothes he had basically shredded. My hair was completely disheveled as well, sticking to my face sweatily.

The elevator was still off, so we had to wait. But the air now felt clearer and fresh. I felt less awkward around him, regardless of the fact we just fucked our brains out. We spent the rest of the night sitting next to the elevator, waiting to see if it would come back on. During that time we talked for hours.

Eventually we fell asleep on each other’s shoulders and everyone came into work the next day see the display, Micheal was the only one who dared to bother us.

Taglist (you can be added or removed at any time):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @xrag-dollx

[saywhat-politics]

Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-Ga.), a close ally of President Donald Trump, invested as much as $750,000 in U.S. Treasury bonds from mid- to late March, according to transaction disclosures reviewed by Sludge. The purchases, made in three transactions between March 17 and March 25, align with her vocal support for Trump’s recently imposed tariffs—policies that have triggered a sharp decline in stock markets.