#all of that is light-hearted so don't worry

[whambambatfam]

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 3

It's scrunkly time.

I hope you guys like it, I wasn't so sure about this one. T∆T

Reader ages 12 - 15

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

Not long after Grayson's departure from the manor... He came along, Jason Todd.

Coming in, rough around the edges, and bringing joy to the hollow halls. Ones you've roamed like a ghost on your own for years. He's got more adolescent defiance than your whole clique put together. The type of energy that shook up the old bones of this old house and awakened hope in your heart once again.

This was the kid's first time having a solid roof over his head, warm bed to sleep in, decent food to eat and people to worry about him, a real home. Unlike Bruce, who couldn't come to terms with your relations or Dick, who felt threatened by it. Jason was loud and clear in his intentions, he wanted to make the most of his new family. Including you.

A boy with black hair, blue eyes, and a stocky build for a twelve year old stands besides Alfred. “Master Jason will be living with us in the manor. He'll be a brother of sorts to you, just as Master Dick.” but you didn't want this to be like your and Dick's unstable relationship.

Alfred smiled at the determination set on your face as you gave him your name, “It's nice to meet you.” your hand quickly outstretched to the boy, “Uh, I hope.. we can be.. friends?”

Jason's face lights up your offer, taking your hand in his, “Yeah, friends. ‘Never had a sibling before.” Tugging you closer, his hand in yours pulls you along, “Come on, show me around.”

From then on, your days spent with only Alfred for company had a new, refreshing addition. 

Alfred has allowed the two of you to start cooking your own breakfast unsupervised. Given that you don't burn the kitchen down. “How many times have you done this?” Jason huffs as he picks egg shells from the bowl he's whisking. They slip through the tongs of the fork as he scrapes them along the side.

Pouring your egg mixture into the frying pan, you smile teasingly at him. “Only a few.” You take the bowl from his frustrated hands, “Try this, it might be more your speed.”

He accepts the wrapped loaf of bread with a scowl. Pulling out the toaster with a grumble, “I'm not an idiot, I know how to fend for myself.” 

“I never said you were. I've seen you do all kinds of stuff.” You move to the sink, wetting your fingers to pluck the last bits from the bowl. “

Jason turns away, stuffing four slices into the double toaster. “So it's just cooking that i suck at?” He drops his head on the counter, arms crossing as he grumbles.

Returning to the stove, you move your own cooking egg to the side. “No! You're the best at, like, everything you do.” Tipping the contents into the pan it sizzles to life again. “A few shells won't change that.”

There's pink clinging to his ears at your praise, “I'm not good at everything..”

“Oh my- obviously!”

“What!?” Sputtering, he whips his head around.

“It's bruning!” Yanking the plug from the toaster, the blackened squares pop up together. Three out of the four of them come out half charred. 

“Tha-that doesn't count.” The heat creeping up his neck flushes his face. “You distracted me!” 

“Uhuh, yeah.” You slide the omelet onto a plate for Jason as he replaces the burnt bread. “Your eggs are done.”

Jason is quick to deflect the old butler's inquiries on the smell of burnt bread. You'd hate to have your kitchen privileges revoked. When you offer to teach him how to crack eggs and use the toaster, he tells you to shut up with an obscured smile.

You were happy. Even when the newest boy wonder was busy training his nights away with the Bat. Talking about Bruce, spending time with him, connecting with him like you never could. Even when Dick started to hang around again. Coming to the manor, eventually joining the occasional patrol. Now Nightwing, protector of Blüd Haven. Brand new spandex, stupid big collar, and everything.

It didn't hurt to see him appear to come around slowly to his successor. Eventually accepting his replacement with relative ease. When you would always just be a thorn in his side, locked in a one-sided fight for first.

"You know how to fight, right?" The two of you were sitting outside. It was as muggy as Gotham usually is but it felt nice to be out.

He snorts, tossing a stone hard across the water. "Of course. Can't get by on the streets without." The small rock hops only twice before sinking.

Swiping a smooth stone from the shoreline, you run your finger along it, inspecting each divet and groove. "Can you.. teach me?" 

Sure, you were trained in martial arts but, being on the mat differs from being on the street. While your work in Gymnastics has helped you slip through and run when need be. You knew you might have to fight back one day. Maybe you wanted to.

There's a huff of exasperation behind you "Yeah, no, not happening." 

Dick Grayson's approach was silent until he wanted you to know he was there. Arms crossed and face already set in an unimpressed look.

“What?!" Jason jumps to his feet, making his way swiftly over, "I could totally do it!" 

"Then what?" With a raise of his brow, he scoffs, "Get grounded forever?" 

"It's not like I'm gonna take them-" Dick cuts him off with a raised hand.

"Stop, Jay. You're only going to get the both of you in trouble." The older siblings' hands make their way to his hips.

Tossing your rock across a water's surface, it skips along three times before sinking. “I'm not exactly new to it.”

You're almost surprised when Dick actually responds. "I'm sorry, kid. Bruce isn't going to be happy about it either.” 

As if he would even notice. "You wouldn't have to be so.. worried if I could be taught to defend myself.” Sighing in irritation, you turn your gaze back to the water.

“You don't need to, we can protect you just fine." Dick steps up behind you, patting your head. The contact catches your breath painfully and you have to fight the urge to swat it away. "And if you really don't want anyone to worry. Stay home. Stay safe." Stay out of the way. 

When he finally leaves, you feel like you can breathe again. Jason's abrupt grasp pulls your attention back to him, "Dickie and the old man can blow smoke." His grin was brighter than the sun, his hand clasping yours as he pulled you to your feet, "Let's go."

You can't fight the pull at your own lips, feet stumbling to catch up to his sudden pace. "Right behind you."

No, it didn't hurt. Because you won't let it, because, despite it all, he always came back to you. 

After packing your schedule with martial arts training Mondays and Wednesday before stitch work and knitting circle with Alfred. Gwen decides to join your gymnastics, her studies leaving her sitting at a desk too long. Tuesdays you drag both girls to self defense classes, you've seen enough shit go down with the birds. Also, it's Gotham, they should be better equipped to handle themselves. Your photos with Mj for the paper is due Thursday morning in time for the paper to come out on Friday. That leaves the weekend up for grabs. This one in particular was claimed by both your friends and brother.

“Whatcha readin’?” 

Jason jolts in his seat, slapping his hand over his mouth to subjugate any embarrassing noises. With a bark of your name he whips around to find you snickering over his shoulder. 

Cerulean eyes narrow as he grumbles at you. “How do you do that.. it's unnatural.” 

It was unnatural to he who trains under the Bat. You used to hate being unintentionally sneaking. Mj and Gwen can pick you out of a crowd of clones, there's no way you could sneak up on either of them. But, other people? Shrieking when they finally realized you were in the same room as them. That only made you feel even more invisible, and not in the ways you wanted.

You scoff, “That's dramatic.” Now, with Jason, you can finally get a laugh from it. Settling down on the couch beside him, you recognize the book in his hand, “Hey, that's one of mine!”

Swiping it away before you have the chance to snatch it, “Ha! Shouldn't have left it out.” he lifts the novella over his head, tongue stuck out at you.

“It was in my room, on my bed.” You huff, jumping for it as he stands, holding it over your head. 

“Yeah, it was, wasn't it?” Jason smirks, waving the book just out of reach, “Y'know, you actually have taste. Sometimes.”

“Give it back!" Grabbing his forearm you try pulling it down but do better at lifting yourself off the ground.

"I'm almost done." He chuckles into his fist at your frantic cat like swiping.

"Wow. So, this is the totally cool brother you've been talking about?” At the sound of a new voice, he snaps his attention to Mj. Arms crossed as she leaned against the archway to the living room.

“Dunno.. Sounds like a bully to me.” Gwen chimes in coming up besides her. She mirrors Mjs stance, doubling the judgemental

The book falls from Jason's hands and you catch it. Tucking it away safely under your arm.“Wha- uh, no! I am totally cool, ask them!” Jason whips around to hiss at you, face flushed with mortification, “Why didn't you tell me you were bringing your friends over?”

You roll your eyes, “I did. That's, like, the one thing we talked about before school this morning.” You can just barely hear the strained ‘Oooooh, right.’ as he mumbled something about a long night under his breath. Of course, he tries to make a ‘smooth’ recovery only to be blasted by your friends. You do, eventually, come to his defense.

It's nice to bring these two sides of yourself together like this. Jason may make an ass of himself but at least he knows how to not lose face completely. It makes you proud when, at the end of their stay, they sing his praises. Insisting on involving him again in their next visit to the manor. 

He came home, he sought you out, he wanted that connection you craved. The one thing you wanted, for one of them to look away from the stage of their busy lives and find you there. Waiting at home, creating that solace from a bustling world beyond these solid walls.

Creeping your door shut, you slide the lock closed. Having someone walk in on you was never a worry before. Now, whether it be doing homework together, exchanging books, deciding anything, general complaining and gossip, avoiding chores, especially hiding from Bruce and occasionally just to annoy you. Your brother struts in whenever the whim strikes him. The prick.. Shuffling to the bed, you land on it heavily alongside your bookbag. Books, pencils, and such escape their confines, your camera ferried out on top of the pile.

With a stretch and sigh, you get ready to nip pick. Three folders, each with a plethora of candids, articles, and notes. One in particular is becoming just a smidge overcrowded. Threatening to spill its contents every time it's jostled a bit too much.

What can you say? Your brother serves more than just justice in that cute lil Robin suit, and his action shots are the best. The guy is out there having fun and it shows. Your friends even agree when you can't help gushing over your late night photography sessions.

Well, after calling you crazy for going out at night in this city. Especially, with how close to the fighting you had obviously gotten. It may have taken a while to convince them that you weren't going to get yourself caught up in the middle of a Riddler maze or Two-face shoot out.

Deciding which should go in and which should come out is always a tedious process. The one with better exposure or with neater composition? You've already got a shot of him perched on that same gargoyle but, this one's a year old now. Maybe you could keep both, like a comparison, but you couldn't possibly.. maybe.. Then you'd go over your count and need to tosse another and you'd have to pick which and-Your cell rings. 

Lost in thought, the noise makes you jump like a cat at the loud sound. Swiping the noisy thing off the sheets, you answer with a huff.

“Heyyyy.. Sorry, I can't make it tonight..” Jason's voice came through the phone with tight regret, “I've got, uh... something came up. Tomorrow, I promise.”

It was a phrase you've heard before, more times to count. They'd use such weak excuses, only for tomorrow to never come. There was no later.

“Yeah, it's okay Jay.” The response was automatic, coming without a thought. How could you deny their call to action? There were always going to be things more important. “I get it. Just.. be safe, okay?”

“Of course, not like I'm doing anything crazy. I'll be with Bruce, we're fine.”

So, it didn't hurt that he tried keeping you in the dark like they did. You knew his concern was real, his care genuine. At least you want to know that he meant it, that he wasn't trying to push you aside. You'd just have to trust him.

“Up there! It's Batman!” A young boy yelps and tugs at his mother's arm, finger raised to the sky.

Eyes cast upwards, you watch as they jump from one building to the next. Capes billowing in the wind behind them. Following close, you run along sidewalks and duck through alleyways to keep up.

Pulling your camera up, you snap shots of Robin as he leaps off a rooftop. Capturing him mid-air, bright yellow fluttering behind him. The domino hardly masking his face of sheer joy paired with intense focus. His were always your favorite, filling his folder was easy. You wish you could show him some of the pictures you have of him. Maybe someday the two of you could go through it together. Would he find it creepy? Hopefully not...

You would never dare voice it but, you were envious of them. When they took to the soggy Gotham skies, gliding with ease above it all. Mouth hung agape, you watched the wind blowing through Jason's hair, and Dick with his flips and twirls. Even Bruce, using his cape to glide alongside them.

Well, maybe you told- “Alfred!” Your ride’s here and your mad dash through the city has been cut short.

“Crime alley is no place for an upstanding teen.” He tuts with a smile as you reach the car. Always a pinch of sugar with his scolding, “Come along, let's get home.”

Hopping in beside him, you can't keep your eyes off the stars. “I want to fly like them one day...” With a hum, He drives you two back to the manor.

Life is feeling better by the day. It's as if everythings clicked into place. The years you get with him are the most whole you feel. The only real sense of normalcy throughout your youth.

That night, he was home late despite not being on patrol. You overheard, well eavesdropped, that Jason was put off duty. Still he was out on his own, positively pissed, and came home after dark. Heading straight to his room, he brushes off Alfred, insisting on being left alone.

You can't help finding yourself standing anxiously at his door anyway. It didn't feel right, letting him fester in his anger alone. Knocking yields no results but, calling out his name softly earns you the same in return.

Opening the door slowly you peek in to see him, sitting on his bed with a box. His face is grim but he waves you in, motioning for you to sit with him. You do, placing yourself at the foot of his bed. Across from him with a box of papers and photos between you. Jason fiddles with an old looking photo, scanning it over and over. 

"I know you don't like talking about it, but," He swallows thickly before his eyes can meet yours pensively. "You, um, got a mom, right?"

It feels like the wind’s been knocked out of you. Yeah, you didn't like to talk about it, let alone think about it. "I guess, technically." You shrug it off the best you can, "I mean, ya know, everyone's gotta come from somewhere."

He rolls his eyes, dropping the picture back into the cardboard. "Yeah, no shit, that's not what I'm saying."

Really? You came to check in on him. Now you’re being snipped at over something he knows you're sensitive about. "Well, then, I don't want to know if your just-" Before you can fully lift yourself off the bed, he's gripping your wrist.

"Wait! I'm sorry, don't go!" His fingers tremble around his hold on you. He tries not to squeeze you too tightly while still keeping you close. "I-I just.." His other hand grips the box enough to crumple the cardboard under it.

"Jay..." You sigh, this unusual distress from your brother making giving in easier "I don't know. Maybe before but, I don't remember back then." Just nightmares of things you couldn't grip the memory of fully. Thinking of your mother and what she may have gone through with you? Only if it could help with whatever's eating at him, "I can't remember anything before being here. Blurry faces, locations I can't place. I didn't even know what her name was. Can't remember her face.."

When you sit back down he finally releases you. A hand runs through black curled, "I shouldn't have asked. Sorry if it's..."

"No, it's whatever. Who cares? Just..." You shrug, looking over the darkening Gotham sky, "Must not have been anything good." Fingers twist into the sheet below you in unease.

It did hurt though, every question slipping through your finger never to be answered. Flitting past your mind painfully when you linger too long on the past.

Your eyes are drawn back to Jason as he pulls a paper from the box. "I got some stuff earlier and..." He shows you old documents and photos that he was given by an old neighbor. You recognized the little Jason with, from what you're told, his father and stepmother. 

His explanation paused as you cooed at his baby face, which he does not appreciate. So, the woman who raised him, who passed, wasn't the same as his birth mother, who's alive. "I think I can find her but I don't know how long it'll take. I"

"That's," Blinking a few times at plie of evidence towards his childhood, you look back at him. "alot, but I'm sure if anyone could do it, that's you."

"You're not gonna.. try to talk me out of it?"

"Would you listen?" You raise a brow at him, his shoulders shoot up in turn, guilt evident. "Exactly." With a smirk you help him pack away everything. His face still knit pensively even after he sets the box aside, you scan the partly packed suitcase. It starts to feel too real but you know there's no helping it. So, you offer him all you can, taking his hand in yours, "Look, I don't know where you're going or what you're doing exactly but,” You squeeze his fingers and he returns it, “I trust you and I'll always be here for you."

Jason pulls your connected hand, rigging you into a tight embrace. "Thanks." His chuckle waivers against your shoulder, arms constricting around your midsection.

You repay his embrace in kind, forgiving the crushing weight of his hug as you blink away tears. "Just, please, stay safe. Okay?"

"Of course, look at who you're talking to, I'm the definition of cautious." He pulls away enough to give you a winning grin and you return it with your hardest 'You're joking, right?' face. "Alright, fine. I'll be careful. I'll be safe. Promise.”

“So, how are you getting there?" You sit crossed legs on his beds as he packs his bag. Chin resting on your palms you tilt your head as his rifles around his pocket.

“These!” He presents her a literal handful of credit cards. "I'll be flying, first class, duh” he notices your dropped jaw. "Please don't tell Alfred..." 

Teeth snapping shut, hands dropping to your lap, you blink at his little card haul, “Jason," you sighed, exasperated, “Where are you going?"

“The.. middle east?” Chuckling nervously as he stuffs them away, he watches the concern grow on your face at just how far he would be going.

“Your- Please, if you listen to anything I say. Jason.” You grab his shoulders, setting him with your sternest look “Do not die.”

“Oh my- Seriously?!" Rolling his eyes he shrugs your hands off, “I'm not gonna die!"

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

Tag list?!

@butratherbutrather @dorkatron-2000 @mys0cksrwet @nervousalpacalady @notsamaira @facelessisnthere @danir2006 @ryuushou @sirenetheblogger @l3v1us @jsprien213 @crazycaoticsimp @shadowytravelerlover @whatamoodhoney @alittlelostmoonchild @tiarea @tsxukikami @levi-09 @stardustnightfall @antov828 @awawage @kaitense1 @1abi @d3nnji @yhin-gg @ithoughtthinks @cherrydaisymanic @bat1212 @shycreatorreview @mikusamsan @strwberryglass

[dismalflo]

A knock on the head

rugby player!james potter x reader where james gets injured at training ✩ 1.1k words

cw; very mild nondescript head injury, fluff, comfort

James Potter can only be described in one way: a busybody. He's always on the go. Saturday is reserved for rugby matches, Tuesday and Thursday are for training sessions, and every other day, he's at the gym. In between, he makes time to see his friends and family, he makes time for you. 

All of this means you spend many of your evenings at home, curled up on the sofa, waiting for your boyfriend to walk through the door. You don’t know how he manages it all—you're exhausted just watching him. 

Tonight, however, he’s later than usual. You’d be worried if training didn’t run over so often. He’s always trying to squeeze in one more drill. Sat in the warm glow of the living room, the remnants of dinner abandoned on the coffee table, you’re on the verge of drifting off to sleep.

Until your phone lights up and starts to ring, it's James. 

"Hello?" you answer groggily, barely able to keep your eyes open. In the background, you hear the low hum of indistinct chatter.

“Hi angel, how are you?” 

You blink, confused. "I'm alright. Are you okay?" It’s rare for him to call during training.. 

"Listen, I don’t want you to worry…" His pause makes your heart skip a beat. Immediately, your mind races through all the worst-case scenarios. Oh god, he's broken something.

"What’s happened?" you ask, your voice tight with concern

"Do you think you could come and pick me up? I had a knock on the head, and the physio says I shouldn’t drive." His voice is sheepish, almost apologetic.

It takes you a second to catch up, “yeah–yes of course I can, are you sure you're alright?”, you're darting over to the shoe rack, desperate to get to the poor boy as quickly as possible.

“"I’ll be fine, don't rush, sweetheart," he murmurs, but you hear the fatigue in his tone.

“Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Love you.” You don’t try to hide the worry in your voice now. James is only this subdued when he's hurt and feeling sorry for himself.

"I love you too." His words are soft, and with that, you’re out the door and into your car.

The drive to the rugby field feels like it takes ages. The streets blur past in a haze as your thoughts race. You can barely focus on anything other than James—his voice, soft and apologetic, still ringing in your ears. The thought of him hurting makes your chest tighten.

When you finally arrive, you spot him almost immediately, standing near the locker room, looking a little unsteady on his feet. Your heart sinks seeing him like this, his usual energy dimmed by whatever had happened.

His tousled hair is messy, and there’s a slight pallor to his face that you don’t like. When he hears your footsteps, he turns, giving you a weak smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

"Hey, angel," he greets softly, his usual charm absent.

You stop in front of him, taking a deep breath. "James," you murmur, gently cupping his face with both hands, looking him over. "Are you sure you're okay?" You reach up, brushing his hair back from his forehead, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Physio says it's just a little knock, nothing serious," he reassures you, and if it weren’t for that paleness you’d probably believe nothing was wrong with him at all. 

You wrap an arm around his waist, offering him your support. "Come on, let's get you home."

The drive back to your flat is quieter than usual, James staring out the window with a faraway look, lost in his own thoughts. That's all the proof that you need to tell he’s hurting, and you'll strong arm him, if you have to, into letting you look after him.

Once you're back at the flat, you help James inside. His steps are slow, almost reluctant, and it tugs at your heart to see him so unlike his usual energetic self.

The moment the door closes behind you, you begin to guide him to the bathroom. You’re already thinking of the things you can do to make him feel better—some comfort food, maybe a cozy blanket, and a cup of tea, but that will have to wait.

“Okay,” you say, your voice soft but firm, “You’re going to get into the bath, and I’m going to get you anything you want or need.”

James raises his brow at that, a suggestive smirk taking over his features, and you catch what he’s thinking straight away.

“Not like that,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “you perv.” shaking your head, you turn to start running the bath. James barks a laugh at your indignance, that you're sure he regrets as a wince covers his features in quick succession afterwards.

“Alright, alright,” he says, his tone still a little weak but the playful glint never quite leaving his eyes. “But a bath’s a good idea, I guess. You’re always right, aren’t you?”

“I’d say you should be used to that by now, Jamie” You smile impishly back at him.

His eyes soften, still teasing, when he meets your gaze. “You know, I think I might be in love with you.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile betrays your amusement. “Of course you are. Now get in the bath, before I really start bossing you around.”

He chuckles, but there’s a weariness in his laugh as he finally undresses and carefully eases himself into the warm water. You kneel by the edge of the tub, brushing his hair back from his forehead, inspecting him once more. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m serious—if you feel worse…”

“Angel,” he interrupts, his voice soft but firm, “I’m fine. I just need to rest for a bit. That’s all.”

You search his eyes, trying to find any sign that he's just putting on a brave face, but there's nothing but sincerity there. You nod slowly, letting out a small sigh, trying to ease the tightness in your chest..

“I’ll make you something to eat,” you say quietly, starting to rise.

James grabs your arm to stop you, “Can you just sit with me for a bit?” and how could you ever say no to your darling boyfriend. 

You sit back down beside the tub, your fingers gently brushing the water’s surface as you watch him. His eyes close for a moment, and his shoulders seem to relax just a little more with each passing second. You’re glad you’re here, even if this moment is a quiet one.

After a while, you glance at him, studying his face. “You’re gonna need something to eat when you get out. What do you fancy? Soup?” 

James opens one eye, giving you a skeptical look. “Can I have a cheese toastie with it?” 

“Yeah, you big baby,” you tease.

He chuckles, closing his eyes again. "Deal. You just... don’t go anywhere, alright?"

You give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I’m not going anywhere.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! I appreciate all feedback <3

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

[local-lover-boy]

Lovesick and Blind

You look at Neuvillette, with more emotions in your eyes than you ever thought you could feel, and he is completely unaware. He is completely unaware of the dreadful, selfish thoughts you've had of him. Thoughts of having a future with him, of slow dancing in the moon light with him, of cooking dinner together, of caring for each other when the other is sick, of wedding bands, of how you'll name your children, of laughing and crying together, of getting to admire the most beautiful and wondrous man for the rest of your life, and maybe just maybe him feeling the same about you. But that will never happened, he is far too great for you, much too amazing to settle for you.

What you don't see is how Neuvillette looks at you. Oh, he looks at you like you're everything he's been looking for, for so long. And you are. He didn't even realize he was searching at all. Wriothesley and the Mealusines laugh and tease him whenever you're near and he begins to panic. He fears you wouldn't be interested in someone as strange as him. He worries that someone as beautiful as you must already have your heart set on someone far more lively than him. His feelings for you are overwhelming. When you interact with him he doesn't know what to do with his hands, what tone he should have, where to look. In every pretty thing he sees you. Flowers, a still pond, the sunrise, a crystalline creek, the sunset, the tides rolling in, and oh when sees lovers out and about laughing, holding hands, looking at each other with such familiarity. It reminds him of you. He can only think of you. Like a piece of himself is missing and he's sick without it.

[astarioffsimpmain]

Hello my dearest!

Please can I have a public love confession from Gale? 🥰

Hi my love!! You absolutely can!

Post-battle adrenaline emotions, my beloved.

Warning: Canon-conforming violence

"You're not allowed to die!"

You heard Gale's voice as you went down with a cry. The shadow-cursed ghoul had managed to cross the threshold of your Spirit Guardians spell and slashed its claws through your torso. Your breaths came in strangled sounding gurgles as you lay on the ground beneath it, awaiting its final blow. But just as you closed your eyes and sent a prayer to Ilmater, the creature was engulfed in flames and succumbed.

You hoped to see a familiar purple robe next; if Gale's face was the last thing you ever saw on this plane, you could embrace the afterlife with peace. But it was not the wizard who reached you first. It was Shadowheart, kneeling over you, uncorked bottle in hand. "Drink, fast!" she said, and you had no mind to argue. The liquid was sour on your tongue - peach and lemon, battling for dominance; a potion of greater healing. So the cleric had kept one stashed away somewhere. You smiled, even as your nose scrunched up at the flavor.

'Th-tha-" You tried to whisper a thanks, but all that came out were gargles, and Shadowheart stopped you.

"Don't speak. Let the potion take effect properly or you won't make it through this." You nodded and fell silent, feeling your muscles twitch and ache as they stitched back together. The feeling was wildly uncomfortable, but welcome all the same. Moments later, you felt head against your cheek, and your eyes snapped open, locking with golden-brown ones - laced with concern. You attempted a small smile, wanting to show him you'd be alright, but his expression didn't change. He looked to Shadow.

"Did you reach her in time?"

Shadowheart nodded, and the wizard's shoulders slumped in relief. He looked back at you, a glimmer of something new in his eyes. This time, when you smiled at him, he returned it - if with more than a bit of worry still laced in it, and before you could process what was happening, he was leaning down close to you. You thought he wanted to say something to you alone, but when his soft lips met your own, your heart stopped in your chest. "I couldn't bear to lose you," he whispered against your mouth and you melted into him, a shaky hand rising to meet the back of his neck to hold him in place.

"Can you two save the heartfelt confessions until we're back at camp? And possibly alone?" Shadowheart interjected, and you stole a glance at her. She wore a soft smile on her face, and when she caught you looking, she chuckled. "It's about time," she added gently, helping you sit up properly. You felt your face flush and shared a flustered look with Gale, whose own cheeks were now dusted a light pink.

"We'll speak more about it tonight, yes?" he said quietly, and you nodded.

"Speaking may not be all we do," you replied cheekily and his face turned redder.

"Rhyester's eyes, you'll be the death of me," he muttered, running a hand over his face.

~

fin

Tagging, Darlings: @knightofmight01 @fanon-and-canon @just-a-refrigerator @micropoe10 @worfs-glorious-hair @serenaoffaerun @nerissa-dekarios @optimisticgrey

[ripinejschu]

Chained Cheater, Chastised - KY10

pairing: kenan yildiz x reader

synopsis: the day before the Turkiye's quarterfinal match in the Euros, Kenan gets involved in a cheating scandal he swears never happened, but reader doesn't want to hear him out and causes Kenan to lose focus. But is he really telling the truth? Pictures don't lie...

wc: 4.2k

cw: tears, cheating allegations, silent treatment

an: first fic on this account!! it feels like it's been forever since I last posted on here; this was written in july btw!! i love writing for kenan

Kenan’s hands shake as he sees the horrifying images on his phone. Weston had sent him a few posts and links about an alleged cheating scandal regarding Kenan, but he had firmly denied it.

Until Weston sent the doctored photos of him all cozied up with some blonde chick, face smirking at the prize he’d gotten for that night. The ones he looks at now, damning and all too natural looking.

Shit, shit, shit–shit runs through his mind.

Who could have done this? Some jealous bitch of course, bitter over his relationship with his beloved girlfriend, who would no doubt see this and feel her heart break.

Somehow, the German media had found out and already written a couple of articles, with the pictures and gossip accounts credited. Not very viable, but once this spreads no one would care beyond what seems so obvious. The photos are right there, picture perfect, but Kenan’s words will never make the public believe the truth, not with these.

He feels trapped. Should he call Weston, plead his case? It would be practice for others, but he knows it’s a futile attempt. Should he call his girlfriend, let her know the rumours and photos aren’t true? By now, they are circulating even on TikTok as he looks at the links, afraid to open them up and see the comment sections.

He’s already going through enough because of everyone’s harsh criticisms of his performances in the Euros lately; he doesn’t need to see what else people are saying.

Career-ruining. That’s what this is. Kenan is already aware of the Italian influence of cheaters, especially with the rumours whispered in the Juventus locker rooms about the Italian beauty Calafiori being a serial cheater  –which Fede had wanted no part of– and now…now it gave the Turkish critics new material to hate on his foreign influence. Already too German, accent thick in his broken Turkish, and now living a lifestyle like the Italians? He doesn’t want to think about it.

Except, the alternative is even worse. What would you say? Sweet and fierce, you’d stood by him when he struggled in games, when he cried in your arms because he never seemed Turkish enough, constantly stumbling over his words and syllables.

But now…shit. He needs to call you immediately and try to clear the air with you before you can see any part of this brewing storm of lies. His hands shake as he finds your contact in his Favourites folder, hesitating before he presses down on your name. Your smiling face lights up his screen, a photo of you hugging Ramos, whose tongue lolled happily.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings, before it goes to voicemail. No worries, right? Maybe you’re in the bathroom or you have your phone on silent. He waits a minute, staring at the screen before trying again.

It immediately goes to voicemail. Oh no.

Kenan knows you know, but you need to hear his defense straight from him. He texts you, mumbling a prayer that the text will go through and you’ll answer before you decide to block him.

He types, and erases the words. Types again, and erases the words again. Nothing seems good enough; it all sounds like a pathetic plea of a man caught red-handed, but you need to hear it.

He settles on the following: “Y/N listen to me please. There are a couple of photos on the internet of me and a blonde girl cuddling, but I promise wallahi it’s not real. I’ve never looked at any other girl with desire during our whole relationship I swear. This is fake, please believe me. Call me when you can, so we can figure this out together. Please.”

It’s not the best but still, it will do. His hands begin to shake again as he presses send, waiting, waiting…

Delivered. You hadn’t blocked him. You’re not even on Do Not Disturb, so you did get the notification. Kenan puts his phone on Personal to block every notification but yours and waits for you to respond, but as the minutes tick by and he begins to pace, phone silent in his pocket, he doesn't hear the sound of a text come through.

Until now. He whips out his phone only to see a barrage of texts in Personal, with Arda’s pushed through, hence the text sound. Dusan, Weston, Timothy. But not you.

He reads through the messages, confusion and anger mixing together. Arda is asking what is going on, Dusan is demanding if it’s true and why he would do such a thing, his texts growing angrier at Kenan’s stupidity, Timothy’s calling him a “fucking idiot” and Weston is wondering why Kenan isn’t responding to his texts and can he please let him know what’s going on.

Hakan’s text comes in at the top: “Call me IMMEDIATELY” is written on the notification, and Kenan gulps. Part of him wants to ignore him, partially in case you call him, but with his career on the line at such a young age, he knows he needs to talk to his captain, especially with tomorrow’s quarterfinal match looming over him.

He again goes to the phone app, looking longingly at yours that still has no response, and calls Hakan.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Kenan, what the fuck is going on? Please tell you you’re not so stupid as to get involved in a  scandal? And now, with our reputation on the line, yours especially?” Kenan winces, but Hakan continues. “You know there’s a game tomorrow, right? We have to focus on the wondrous Holland, not this relationship drama, a whole scandal, Kenan. What were you thinking?”

Kenan gulps again as he feels tears begin to sting his eyes. He needs Hakan to believe him, but he struggles to get his words out.

“Hakan, I promise it’s not what you think. They’re n-not real, I would n-never do that. P-please, you have to believe me!”

Kenan doesn’t realize he’s crying until Hakan’s tone softens, comforting the young man. “Kenanım, it’s okay, we’ll get through this. You’re a young man, we can easily work this out. Don’t cry. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

Kenan lets out a loud sob, unable to keep quiet anymore. He should feel humiliated, crying on the phone with his mature, older captain, but he can’t keep it in anymore.

You ignoring his calls and messages, the anger from his teammates, his career threatening to fall apart, it’s too much for the teen. He collapses on the floor of his hotel room sobbing, phone falling from his hand as he cries his eyes out.

At some point, he feels two warm bodies encapsulate him from both sides, arms wrapping around his crumpled form, and he cries into someone’s chest with their heart beating steadily.

“Sh-she’s not answering me. I t-tried telling her i-it’s not real b-but she won’t a-answer m-me,” he cries between sobs, unsure of what language he’s speaking because either way, it comes out broken.

He feels an arm rubbing his back, a voice soothingly shushing him, and an embrace holding him as his tears finally subside enough not to blind him. He cautiously lifts his head to look up into Hakan’s eyes.

His captain rocks him slightly as he looks down at the boy’s tear-stricken face before tucking a stray lock of hair behind Kenan’s ear. He lets out another sob, remembering how you would do the same, amusement sparking up your eyes as he would giggle like a princess.

“I’ve got you, Kenan. I told you it’ll be okay and we’ll work this out, I mean it.” Kenan takes a moment to catch his breath, before trying to sit up a little more, back against the wall.

He startles when he sees Kerem sitting on the floor in front of him and Bariş sitting on the bed, and when he turns his head he sees Arda hugging him from behind.

He carefully reaches up and holds his hand, and Arda squeezes it in response. Kenan takes a deep breath, looking back at Hakan. “Weston told me a-about this. He sent those photos of me and that girl but it’s not real I swear. I don't even go to clubs or drink or anything, I’m Muslim for god sake!”

He feels Arda rest his head on his upper back and continues. “I tried telling y/n they aren’t real, th-that someone must’ve faked them but she isn’t answering me. I tried c-calling her but she didn't pick up my calls. I don't know what else to do.”

Arda glances at the men across the room before looking pointedly at Kerem’s phone, who nods in acknowledgement. “We’ll try to help, okay Kenan? Try to focus on tomorrow’s match in training tonight, we need you and you’ll also feel better.”

Arda wishes Kenan’s best friend Can Uzun is here to comfort Kenan and figure out what to do,  but he decides to try and take action as Kenan’s elder. They all know this is going to mess with Kenan’s head so bad it could cost them the match tomorrow, where he would be looking for you in the stands instead of at the ball.

Hakan takes Kenan early to training to let himself get more comfortable without so many eyes on him at once. Kenan is grateful for this as he doesn’t want to face everyone who must think he’s some disgusting playboy or some saboteur against the team.

He keeps his head down when the others join in, immersing himself in field drills and partnerwork with Arda, who he’s incredibly grateful for. The older boy doesn’t judge, and his quietness is a slight comfort in the raging mess of his head.

Arda and a few other teammates had tried reaching out to you on Kenan’s behalf, but their efforts were in vain. Kenan tries to be grateful for this, but it only breaks his heart more despite the small sense of family in the team he still struggles to fit in to.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You look at the dozen or so texts from Kenan’s teammates, trying to persuade you to just call Kenan and sort everything out. It takes everything in you not to hurl your phone at the wall and scream curses upon Kenan’s name.

How dare he do this to you, go out to some dirty club and get cozy with some homewrecking blonde bitch? The look on her face, oh, she knew what she was doing with this taken man, and the taken man, Kenan, oh!

Oh, the things you wanted to scream at him, to hurl at his stupid face with that infuriating smirk he always wore, including the damned photos.

Lord, may he be damned forever. Curse his hands and more importantly, his feet.

The second you had seen those photos, sent by your friend in the form of a post on one of those football gossip accounts, your phone had fallen out of your hand, too shocked to react. Thankfully, the hotel carpet had saved it from cracking, which might have been the final nail in this terrible day.

You had not known what to do for a few minutes, only staring down at the photo looking up at you before your emotions kicked in and you screamed, sinking onto the floor as tears streamed down your face.

Kenan, who is supposed to be your Kenan, isn’t truly in love with you. Sure, he whispers promises and kisses and everything to make you fall for him so blisteringly, but it seemed like all those kisses had now left painful blisters everywhere, and you needed to escape your own skin.

You weren’t sure how long you’d stayed there until then your phone rang, snapping you out of your bubble of tears. You’d seen Kenan’s bright smile flashing across the screen, and had let it ring to voicemail. His name had flashed again and this time you’d immediately declined the call.

It felt like you couldn’t breathe as finally, a text came through, pleading his innocence and begging for you to call him. You’d ignored it.

Instead, you had called your friend who was also staying in Germany for the Euros, albeit to support Spain, and prayed she would pick up. She did, immediately asking you what was going on, and later she’d told you you’d simply screamed into the phone before breaking down in sobs, and she’d understood immediately.

She had picked you up from your hotel, knocking incessantly at your door trying to prove it wasn’t Kenan until you’d opened it, and she had immediately got to work. She’d dried your tears, helped you wash your face before applying some moisturizer and light eyeliner to look somewhat put-together, and brewed you some tea, not Turkish of course.

Then she’d taken you out to a cafe nearby, making you leave your phone behind at the hotel to give yourself some space between you and the vicious Internet. She’d bought matcha lattes and pastries for the two of you, telling you not to worry about paying her back.

After a walk in the warm, fresh air of the late afternoon, sipping on matcha and her trash-talking Kenan, you’d both returned to the hotel, spirits lifted just a little, now sitting on the bed looking at the several missed calls and texts from Kenan’s teammates.

They’re full of pleading, telling you the photos aren't real and someone incredibly jealous of your relationship must have photoshopped them and spread them around, and that Kenan needs you. Kerem, however, made the mistake of saying that Kenan’s distractions would be a liability in tomorrow’s vital game, but you cannot have cared less.

Arda’s texts, however, are very sweet, and honestly almost convince you to reach out to Kenan. Arda knows how much you and Kenan mean to each other, and that you two should try talking to each other, even it nothing good comes out fo it because how much worse can it get? A change made would mean reconciling…or breaking up with him.

Your friend scoffs, however. “It’s their job to defend their teammate, do you really think they’re being genuine? I’m all for talking it out with Kenan but hello, pictures don’t lie.”

She’s right, you’d scrutinized every part of the photo and it looked so, so real. There were no weird edges or miscolouration, and the expressions…

You grab the remote and turn on the TV, flicking through channels. Most are in German, except for some boat show in Italian.

You settle on a German version of HGTV, watching the people struggle to find a home within their budget, and take a cold slice of pizza.

A few episodes in, you turn to your friend. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to the game tomorrow. I don’t care how much it ‘affects Kenan’s mind’”–you put this in air quotes–“but he should’ve thought about affecting my own mind before he did that.”

The snarl surprised the both of you, but you don't regret the viciousness of your implication.

You don’t care if Kenan will have a bad game or if that meant Türkiye would lose tomorrow, he should’ve cared about you as much as you cared about him.

Your friend bites her lip, looking a little cautious. “I…I think you should talk to him and see what he has to say. Clearly, that text didn’t say everything. There’s a reason you love him–”

“Loved him,” you interrupt. “Stop it, I already told you I’m not interested. If he wants to be a playboy, fine, I’m not going to stop him.”

Your friend nods quietly, turning back to the TV and finishing the pizza before you both call it a night and she heads out.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You wake up early for the hotel breakfast, not wanting to miss out on a free meal due to your depression.

After a quick German breakfast of fresh fruits, a salmon and cream cheese bagel, bread rolls and a boiled egg, you head back to your room to figure out what to do for the day.

Of course, your initial plan was to attend the Türkiye football match, but that was not happening anymore.

After deciding on an enticing art museum, you get ready, picking out a cute outfit and applying your makeup with some matching eyeshadow.

Then you realize, you didn’t check your notifications after being on DND all night. You open it up to see dozens more texts and missed calls from Kenan, his teammates, your friends and even your own parents, all asking where you are and what is going on and can you please just talk to Kenan? His texts are the worst, growing even more desperate and begging for just one chance at a conversation.

You ignore everyone, assuming they’ll understand why you’re blowing them off. You focus back at the main task at hand, preparing for the day.

You pick up your purse, not having used it for the past couple of days and rummage through it to find a certain lip oil.

That is, until the sound of metal clinks loudly, louder than it should. You think it’s the bag chain but it shouldn’t have been that loud, so you dump your purse onto your bed and–

–what is that…another chain? You pick up the silver chain and realize whose it is. You had practically torn it off Kenan in a heated make-out session a few days ago and had forgotten to return it to him afterwards.

The sweet memory and physical item fills you with a sudden rage and you almost hurl it at the window until–wait a second.

Wait. A. Second.

You're hit with a strange sensation as if there’s something important you need to figure out. The chain…Kenan didn’t bring another chain to Berlin, just the one he usually wears. You were there when he’d packed his things, and he’d wanted to keep it minimal so he wouldn’t lose things, not when his mind was completely elsewhere.

But the chain…you have his only chain. And something about it doesn’t make sense.

Pushing your fear aside, you quickly find the damned photos. It’s like the picture is playing a game with you. You zoom in to Kenan’s chest–any other time you’d blush and hope he wasn’t in the room watching you blush– when you see it. A little sparkle of light reflected off a silver chain.

Just enough of the chain is exposed through his unbuttoned shirt to compare it. You hold the one in your hand up to the phone, really looking and…yes! They are the same!

There is one more thing, however, the timeline. Could this photo have been taken before you ripped Kenan’s chain off?

It isn’t hard to establish it. The girl’s phone screen was lit up to 12:13 am, and above it, you could barely make the words out: Thursday, July 4.

This was “taken” after your make-out session. Unless Kenan magically grew an identical chain, the Kenan in the photo could not have been him.

The relief hits you like a crowd surging towards the fields after a Juventus win, almost drowning you of air and senses and yet you stay on your feet, breathing hard.

Oh god. Kenan really was trying to tell you the truth, that he hadn’t cheated on you at all. You look at the clock on the bedside table; you have enough time.

You change into your Türkiye jersey, making sure the “YILDIZ” is visible on the back, before changing your eyeshadow and heading out.

With the chain of course.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

An utter horror. You still hadn’t uttered a word of response to Kenan, who is freaking out still. He’d slept horrifically, only catching a few hours when Hakan came at Arda’s insistence to force-feed him some melatonin pills, and the lack of sleep is now quite visible on Kenan’s face.

Eyebags dark, cheekbones bare, Kenan looks like a complete mess. Hakan had tried calming him down, along with Arda and a few others, but nothing was getting through to Kenan.

Even now, Arda tries to get his attention on the field in the pre-match training by throwing a football at Kenan’s head, but it just bounces off him with no reaction.

Shit.

Before long, kickoff is about to start and everyone’s heart beat nervously. Would they be able to hold off the Netherlands?

Would Kenan be able to focus?

Kenan keeps glancing at the stands, trying to find you in the crowds, but he can’t.

The little hope he had left fizzles out, and suddenly he feels so very dead inside. Too much to focus on the ball, which flies past him when he should’ve intercepted it.

The game begins great for Türkiye, with the leading goal giving them hope, but Kenan’s performance sticks out like a sore thumb. He winces when they go inside and gets a few glares from his teammates, but Arda sticks with him as he tries to make himself look small in the corner as Montella gives them an update on their game plan.

When he heads back out, embracing a few teammates, something catches his eye. It’s a flash of pink, standing out from the crowd of red.

There is no way.

You’re in the stands, a few rows from the front, wearing his jersey over a pink blouse. He stops in his tracks in shock as he sees you after such a long bout of silence.

Kenan thought you hated him, yet here you are in full support of him and his country. Arda comes up next to him in confusion until he catches the bright pink sticking out.

“I don’t think she’s here for anyone else. You want to make it up to her by playing well?” Kenan looks at him in amusement, a sparkle returning to his eyes.

Kenan’s performance improves almost immediately. He’s more active on the ball, creating better chances, intercepting passes, and overall impacting the Turkish side for the better.

It isn’t enough though, when his shot is easily saved by the Dutch goalkeeper and the game ends in a 1-2 loss.

Tired, sweaty, and heartbroken, the Turkish dream of success comes crashing down around them. The Red Sea of fans watch in silent disappointment, as the players droop down, disappointed in their performance, knowing they could’ve done better.

Yet, the pride of going this far, behind their fans a shared sense of culture and joy prevails, which will soon be evident after the immediate post-match depression.

And for Kenan, well, he turns towards the shining source of hope he’d been praying would show up.

You look at him as he gazes up at you from the bench area, exhausted, disappointed and yet, relieved. Relieved that you came to his match, despite the silent treatment.

And you’re there for him when he comes out of the locker rooms and immediately wraps his arms around you. He hesitates at the very last moment but you surge forward, squeezing him tight and he squeezes even harder, afraid to let you go.

After what seems like forever, you tilt your head up to make eye contact with Kenan. “I wasn’t going to come, you know. I was so mad at you. I thought after all this time, you’d decided to just throw it all away.”

Kenan looks at you with worry, but you continue. “But there’s a reason I came. I decided to go out today and obviously, I wanted to dress up. You know I love putting on my lip oils.”

You reach into your purse and pull out Kenan’s chain, and he startles. “I found this in my purse. That’s when I kind of realized something, but I had to double-check. Kenan, you were wearing this in those photos. But that’s impossible because I have it. Baby, I know they’re fake and I know it’s not your fault.”

Kenan doesn’t mean to cry. He stares at you first, trying to comprehend your words, until he feels you wipe away the tears that started falling. He pulls you close and buries his face in the crook of your neck as he sobs, and you hold him, rubbing his back steadily.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to happen, you d-didn’t deserve this,” he manages between sobs, and you shush him quietly. “I know baby, I know. I believe you, I should’ve talked to you sooner. I should’ve believed you. I can still trust you, right?” You feel him nod, “Yeah, please.”

You two stand there a little longer before Kenan lifts his head and smiles, relief flooding every crevice of his face at having you and your trust back. You return it before he takes your hand and leads you out into the setting sun, the rays of daylight washing over you like a golden love.

dividers by: @cafekitsune

[jazzy96scorpio]

Forty-Seven Minutes in Heaven

Stuck With My Professor

Description: A student and her professor get stuck in an elevator. Awkward, right? Not for long. Turns out, they've both got a bit of a crush on each other. Throw in some dark elevator anxiety, a little hand-holding, and a whole lot of flirting, and suddenly that elevator's feeling pretty cozy.....you know how it goes. 😉

Pairing: You / Reed Richards

Warnings ⚠️: Adult content, Minors do not interact, Romantic/suggestive content, student/professor relationship, anxiety attack (small space), kissing/touching.

Word count: 1,3 k

I wrote this for 47 minutes in Heaven challenge. By @toomanystoriessolittletime

His name was Reed Richards. Brown eyes, a tumble of brown curls, and a kindness that seemed to radiate from him – he was undeniably handsome. You'd noticed it from the back row of his quantum physics class, the way his gaze lingered, the soft curve of his smile when you offered an insightful answer. It was flattering, yes, but it also sent a flutter of nervous energy through you.

One day after class, he asked you to stay. "Just a moment," he said, his voice a low, resonant hum. "About your essay."

Your heart did a little dance. He praised your work, his eyes sparkling. "Excellent," he said, "truly remarkable insights."

"Thank you, Professor Richards," you replied.

"Reed," he corrected, his smile widening. "Please, call me Reed."

As your conversation ended, you found yourselves walking toward the elevator together.

"Going down?" he asked, and opened the door for you.

"Yes, thank you," you said, stepping inside.

The doors slid shut, and a comfortable silence settled between you. Then, a sudden lurch, and the elevator stopped. The lights flickered, dimmed, and died, plunging you into near darkness.

"Oh," you gasped, your hand instinctively reaching for the wall.

"Don't worry," Reed said, his voice calm and reassuring. "Probably just a temporary power outage."

He pressed the emergency button, but nothing happened. A faint hum of the emergency lights flickered on, casting long, distorted shadows.

"Looks like we're stuck for a bit," he said and looked at you.

Your heart pounded. "This is…unexpected," you managed, your voice a little shaky.

"Indeed," Reed said, his voice low. "But it gives us a chance to continue our conversation."

"About my essay?" you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

"It's not just your essay," he said, his voice softer. "I've been really impressed with you all semester. You understand things so well, and you're very mature for your age."

You smiled at him, "Thank you, Reed," you managed, the compliment making you both thrilled and even more nervous. "That's very kind of you to say."

"It's simply the truth," he said, his voice sincere. "You have a unique perspective, and a passion for learning that's truly inspiring."

He paused, and in the dim light you could see his eyes fixed on your face. "I find it…refreshing."

You swallowed, your heart pounding against your ribs. The air in the elevator felt thick with unspoken tension. "I…I enjoy your class," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "You make even the most difficult concepts understandable."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, his voice softer now. "Because I enjoy having you in my class. You're a bright light."

He took a step closer, and you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "Actually, I'm glad we got stuck. I've been wanting to tell you this."

Just as you were about to respond, the emergency lights flickered violently, then died completely, leaving you in absolute darkness.

A wave of panic washed over you, cold and sharp. You gasped, your breath catching in your throat.

"Hey, it's alright," Reed's voice, a low, reassuring rumble, cut through the darkness. "I'm right here."

You felt his hand find yours, his touch warm and grounding. "I... I hate the dark," you stammered, your voice trembling. "And small spaces."

"I know," he said, his voice gentle. "Just breathe with me, okay? In...and out..."

He guided your breathing, his voice a soothing rhythm against the frantic pounding of your heart. You tried to focus on his words, on the warmth of his hand in yours, but the darkness was disorienting, amplifying your fear.

"I can't..." you whispered, your voice thick with panic.

"Yes, you can," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Just trust me. I won't let anything happen to you."

Suddenly, his other arm wrapped around you, pulling you close. His embrace was firm, comforting. His warmth seeped into you, chasing away some of the chill that had gripped your body. You could feel his heart beating against your own.

"It's okay," he murmured, his voice close to your ear. "Just breathe. I'm here."

He held you tightly, his hand gently stroking your back. His scent, a blend of sandalwood and something uniquely about him, filled your senses. His touch was gentle, his hands so warm you could feel you will melt if he keeps holding you like that.

"Try to think of something else," he whispered. "Something happy. A memory, a place... anything."

You closed your eyes, trying to imagine peaceful image. The warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, began to calm the frantic beating of your own heart.

He continued to whisper soft words of comfort.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. "You're doing great. Just breathe. I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere."

The emergency lights flickered back to life, casting a soft, yellow glow across the elevator. Reed was still holding you, his arms tightly around you. You looked up at him, and he smiled, a warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"See?" he said softly. "You're alright. You did great."

He held you for a moment longer, then slowly pulled back, his hands lingering on your arms. "You were very brave," he said, "It's perfectly normal to be afraid, especially in a situation like this."

A few minutes passed, the silence was between you, then as if to break the tension, he said, "Well, since it seems we might be here for a while, perhaps we should make ourselves comfortable."

He gestured to the floor, and you both sat down, leaning against the cool metal walls.

He started a casual conversation, asking about your studies, your interests, your dreams. He listened intently, his eyes fixed on you. He seemed genuinely interested in everything you had to say.

His kindness was palpable, his presence calming. You felt your nervousness fading, replaced by a sense of ease.

"So," he said, "are you…single?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "Yes," you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

A slow, warm smile spread across his face. "Good," he said softly. "Because I was thinking…maybe we should get some coffee after this. If we ever get out of here, that is."

"I'd like that," you said, your own smile mirroring his.

You could notice he blushed a little, "Really?" he asked, his voice a little breathless.

"Yes," you said, your courage growing. "I like you, Reed."

His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise and something undeniably like joy, in their depths. "You do?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Yes," you confirmed, your gaze locking with his.

"I do," you repeated, your voice a little stronger this time, meeting his gaze. "I've…I've admired you for a while now."

A soft laugh escaped his lips, a sound that was both surprised and delighted. "Admired me?" he asked, his eyes sparkling. "I thought I was the only one doing the admiring."

"You were admiring me?" you asked.

"From the moment you walked into my class," he confessed, his voice low. "Your intelligence, your passion... it's captivating." He paused, his gaze softening. "And, well, you're quite beautiful, too."

Your smiled and you met his gaze, a sense of daring emboldening you. "I've noticed you looking at me," you said, your voice a whisper. "And the way you smile…it always made me feel…seen."

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "I wanted you to feel seen," he said, his voice husky. "I wanted you to know that I saw you, really saw you."

The air crackled with unspoken emotions. The close confines of the elevator, the shared vulnerability of the past few minutes, had created an intimacy that felt both fragile and powerful.

"So, we are going on a little date?" he asked, his voice a little breathless. "After this…adventure?"

"Definitely," you replied, your smile widening. "As long as we promise to take the stairs next time."

He chuckled, a warm, genuine sound. "Deal," he said. "Though, I must admit, I'm rather enjoying this unexpected detour."

"Me too," you admitted, your heart fluttering. "Though, I'm also ready to get out of here."

"Of course," he said, "But I'm glad we had this time. To talk, to…connect."

"Me too," you whispered, your eyes locking with his.

A comfortable silence settled between you, but weariness crept in. Half hour already passed and you were really tired. You leaned your head against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment. The hum of the emergency lights was a low, soothing drone.

"You seem tired," he said, his voice soft, breaking the quiet.

"I am," you admitted, your voice a little raspy. "I haven't slept properly in nights."

"That's no good," he said, "What's been keeping you up?"

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to be honest. "Just…a lot of studying," you said, "and…things."

He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Well," he said, "maybe this unexpected break will give you a chance to rest a little."

He shifted slightly, and you felt his gaze on you, warm and comforting. "You know," he said, his voice low, "you don't have to push yourself so hard. You're already doing incredibly well."

You meet his gaze. "Thank you," you said, a soft smile playing on your lips. "That means a lot."

"You look uncomfortable like that," he said, his voice soft with concern. "Come here."

He shifted closer, and with a gentle motion, he patted his shoulder. "Put your head here," he said. "Rest if you're tired."

You smiled and you leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder. His enveloped you again, making your senses swim. The warmth of his body was a comforting.

Suddenly, you felt his hand reach for yours, his touch light and gentle. He turned your hand over, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your palm. "I like your nails," he murmured, his voice low.

You looked down at your hands, then back up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Thank you," you whispered.

He leaned closer, his eyes fixed on yours. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

Instead of answering, you leaned in and kissed him first. It was a soft, tentative kiss, a question asked and answered in the space between your lips.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin.

The kiss deepened, becoming more insistent, yet still gentle. You could feel his breath warm against your skin, his own breathing quickening. A low groan escaped his lips.

"I want you," he whispered against your mouth, his voice husky. "So bad."

"I want you too," you breathed, your own desire mirroring his.

His hands gripped you tighter, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss intensified, becoming a hungry exploration, a silent expression of the longing that had been building between you.

He slowly guided you to your feet, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you against the cool metal of the elevator wall. The hard press of his body against yours sent a shiver down your spine, the unmistakable bulge in his pants a tangible reminder of his desire.

He trailed kisses down your jawline, his lips lingering on the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Your skin is so soft…I can't resist." he whispered to your ear.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his teeth grazed your skin. "And your touch…it's driving me wild, Professor."

His hands explored your body, his touch sending waves of heat through you. "I want to feel every inch of you." he murmured.

"Show me, Professor...show me how much bad you want me." you say pulling him closer.

His hands slid beneath your skirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "I crave your skin against mine...darling."

You let a low moan your heart pounding like crazy, "Don't stop. I need this...I need you."

He gently caressed your skin, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your waist. "I've imagined this for so long." he murmured.

"Me too." you say kissing him one more time.

Then, his touch moved lower, his hand lightly brushing against your tights, lingering on the damp fabric of your panties. He teased, gently rubbing, sending waves of heat through you.

Just as the tension reached its peak, a sudden noise echoed through the elevator shaft. The doors slid open, revealing a startled maintenance worker.

"Oh, my apologies," he stammered, his eyes widening slightly. "There was a brief electricity shutdown. Everything should be back to normal now."

You quickly straightened your clothes, your heart still pounding.

You gathered your belongings, trying to regain your composure.

"Looks like we're free," Reed said, a hint of amusement in his voice, though his eyes held a smoldering intensity.

As you stepped out of the elevator, he took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "So," he said, his voice low, "are we still on for that coffee?"

You smiled, a mix of nervousness and excitement swirling within you. "Of course," you replied. "Maybe…at your place?"

A slow, warm smile spread across his face. "I'd like that," he said, his voice husky. He squeezed your hand gently. "I'd like that very much."

Thanks for the reading 💜

I hope so you liked it, please like, reblog and comment. 💙

Send me your requests and reviews.

[savannagonemad]

when the world feels heavy

~~~💚💚💚~~~💚💚💚~~~💚💚💚~~~

angst 💔

warnings: panic attack mention/description

se-mi x fem!reader

wordcount: 1.6k

author's note: i love this?? i started drafting this to finish later and suddenly i had written the whole thing. thank you lovelies so much for the positive reception on my sae-byeok fic!! as a reminder, my requests are open, so if there's something you want written, send it my way! ✨✨

~~~💚💚💚~~~💚💚💚~~~💚💚💚~~~

se-mi wasn't answering any of your messages, nor was she returning your calls. this worried you - she'd normally text you back almost immediately, or at least look at the messages. not tonight. they all stayed on "delivered."

you knew something was wrong almost immediately. you knew your girlfriend better than she knew herself sometimes, and this was definitely unusual. after half an hour of not getting anything in response, you dismissed yourself from where you were out doing volunteer work for the community and began to drive home. you were definitely breaking several traffic laws as you nervously made your way back to your shared house.

all the while, you were hoping that your phone would go off, that you would hear something from se-mi. no such thing happened, which only caused your worries to grow.

you pulled into the driveway and basically ran to the front door, not bothering to lock the car. you had bigger priorities right now.

as you stepped inside, you looked around, hoping to see se-mi, hoping that maybe her phone just died and she was fine. you felt your heart race a little faster as she was nowhere to be found.

you immediately made your way down the hallway, looking for any sign of your girlfriend. your haste almost made you miss that the door to her room was closed, causing you to double take. there was no light coming from underneath the door, something that gave you more anxiety than it should have.

you lightly knocked on the door, calling out.

"se-mi? i'm home." you tried your best to suppress the nerves in your voice, but despite your best efforts, your voice faltered.

there was no response.

from the other side of the door, you heard a very concerning noise that made your heart drop - the sound of se-mi sobbing softly.

"se-mi," you called out again, your voice a bit more frantic. "are you okay? can i come in?" you kept your voice as gentle as possible, not wanting to make whatever situation this was worse.

"n-no, y/n, i'm-" se-mi's voice came through the door, or whatever was left of her voice as she choked her words out between sobs. "go away. please."

your heart began to race faster. this was definitely not the se-mi you knew, and there was no way you were leaving her in whatever state she was in. she sounded seriously hurt.

"se-mi, i'm coming in, okay?" you gently called out, not wanting to scare her. going away like she asked was definitely not an option. you turned the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open, emotionally bracing yourself for whatever you were about to see.

it was worse than you hoped. se-mi was curled into a ball on the floor at the foot of her bed, her hands covering her face like she was holding back screams. she was wearing one of her old hoodies, and there were dark tear stains running across both sleeves. once you came in, it only seemed to get worse. much worse.

"i- se-mi, baby, oh my gosh.." you flew over to her side and crouched down next to her, gently taking her wrists and pulling her hands off her face. her eyes were red from crying so much and tears fell down her cheeks. se-mi only shook her head at you, not looking at you - not really looking at anything.

"please, y/n," she choked out. "please go. i don't want-" her words were interrupted by a gasp for air- "i don't want you to see me like this."

you pulled your girlfriend into a gentle hug, rubbing her back. she didn't hug you back, her arms fastened securely around her legs. "no way," you said, your voice gentle but firm, masking your fear as best as you could for her. "i'm not going anywhere."

this didn't seem to help. she stared straight ahead, not moving, her chest rising and falling rapidly. you could feel her heartbeat as you rubbed her back, and it was going fast. "please go," se-mi whimpered, tears falling from her cheeks onto her lap.

"hey, look at me." you gently pulled away from the hug and securely held her by her shoulders. se-mi turned to look at you, though she was more looking through you. "i'm here, okay? i love you. i want you to copy my breathing, alright? don't think about anything else."

you took an exaggerated slow, deep breath in, making it easy for se-mi to match you. it took a few breaths, but she got her hyperventilating under control and began trying to match your breath, still looking through you. you could tell just by the look in her eyes that she was terrified. you took another breath for her, gently reaching down and taking one of her hands and holding it in yours. se-mi flinched at the sudden contact, but just as quickly found herself desperately holding your hand like you were her only lifeline.

for right now, you were.

tears continued to spill down se-mi's face as she copied your breaths, the sight of which broke your heart, though they were coming slower now. you held her hand tightly, knowing that each little step like this was huge for her.

se-mi was starting to calm down. slowly, she was able to finally look at you instead of at nothing. her chest rose and fell in time with yours, and a few stray tears still fell from her eyes. you could still see the fear in her eyes, though she slowly was able to uncurl herself from the ball she had made herself into. she squeezed your hand tightly, seeking comfort, something you knew how to provide.

you leaned forward and softly pulled her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. se-mi quickly latched onto you as well, her arms tight around your back like you would float away if she let go. you could still feel and hear her occasional sobs and cries as you held her.

"shh... it's okay love, i've got you," you whispered to her, doing your best to comfort her. she nodded against your shoulder, fighting to regain her composure.

"y/n.." she started, pulling you against her tighter.

"i'm here, you're okay," you murmured to her, feeling her rest her head against your shoulder.

se-mi didn't finish her sentence, opting to just hold onto you for comfort as she tried to regain her composure. slowly, the feeling of tightness in her chest began to loosen and her eyes began to dry. you held your girlfriend for several more minutes, knowing your presence was helping.

eventually, se-mi took one last deep breath. "thank you.." she breathed out. her hands were still trembling and she was embarrassed, but otherwise she was alright now.

you held her for a moment longer before lightly pulling back, looking into her eyes which had started to regain their light.

"se-mi, what happened?" you asked softly, one of your hands moving up to run through her hair which you knew she liked.

"i don't know exactly..." she said, her voice a bit shaky. "i just started thinking and stressing, and i started to think about losing you, and then you texted and i couldn't make myself look at it which just made me feel worse because i knew you'd be worried and-" she suddenly gushed out, only stopping when you grounded her again by squeezing her hand.

"love.." you looked at your girlfriend sadly, hating that she had to go through that. "you'll never lose me. i promise. i love you."

"i... i love you too.." se-mi replied, burying her face in your neck. "i'm so sorry. i worried you. you had to see me like that.." she murmured.

you stop her before she can cause herself to spiral again. "i don't care about any of that. i'm just glad you're okay."

se-mi closed her eyes and sighed. this wasn't her proudest moment, but something about you made her feel safer than she's felt in a long time.

you held each other for several minutes, you running your fingers through her hair to calm her, when her phone alarm went off. she flinched and you instinctively pulled her closer to you protectively.

"shit..." she hissed, taking her phone out of her pocket and looking down at the screen. "i gotta go to work.."

you frowned, pulling away slightly and looking at her. her eyes were still red, tear streaks covered her face, her hair was a mess, and her clothes were covered in her tears. she was in no state to go to work.

"absolutely not." you pulled your girlfriend back into you, holding her close.

"but-" se-mi started, but you cut her off.

"you aren't going anywhere right now," you told her. "not until i know you're okay."

you both closed your eyes for a moment while you held her, and you felt her getting a bit heavy against you. you pulled away softly, drawing a complaint from her. you stood up and held your hand out to her.

"come on, up." you told her.

she took your hand and you helped her up, wrapping your arm around her shoulder. you immediately guided her to her bed and laid her down in it, you joining her soon after.

"you're staying right here with me," you told her. she was in no state to argue. she just let out a soft whine and cuddled up into you, nuzzling into your neck. in turn, you held her close against you, as if making sure she wouldn't spontaneously disappear.

"thank you, y/n," she mumbled against you. "i love you."

"i love you too, se-mi," you told her. "i'm just grateful you're okay."

se-mi had no more words left to say, she was exhausted. the next several hours were spent with her cuddling you while you played with her hair and whispered comforting words to her, calming her down as much as you could.

se-mi had never trusted anyone more.

~~~💚💚💚~~~💚💚💚~~~💚💚💚~~~

[yara0546]

Racing Hearts | Lee Jeno

Anonymous asked : Hello! I'd love a scenario featuring  only Jeno. He's dating the sister of an F1 driver – either Max Verstappen or Charles Leclerc would work. Could it focus on him spending time with her brother, perhaps including them going to watch an F1 race? He's a known F1 fan, so that would fit perfectly. Don't worry if you don't know much about F1 or the drivers, also it's ok if you don't wanna do it… thanks <3<3<3

I'm sorry if you don't like it 🥲...

୨୧ Pairing : lee jeno x reader (Charles Leclerc)

୨୧ Genre : Romance, Comedy, Sports (F1), Fluff

୨୧ Word Count : 2,000 - 2,500 words.

୨୧ Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction from our imagination. It is not intended that the plot, theme, original characters, idols, etc. portray any real-life events/people. Plagiarism is NOT tolerated on this blog. If you believe we have copied an existing authors’ work, please message us privately. thank you and enjoy :)

Masterlist

Jeno had been a Formula 1 fan for as long as he could remember, but he never imagined that one day, he'd be sitting in the Ferrari garage, watching the Monaco Grand Prix with his girlfriend’s brother Charles Leclerc.

Dating you was a dream in itself, but the added bonus of getting to spend time around F1 made his heart race almost as fast as the cars on track. However, today wasn't just about watching a race. It was about proving to Charles that he was worthy of dating his little sister.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” you teased, adjusting Jeno’s Ferrari cap.

“I’ve faced screaming fans, strict choreographers, and weekly workouts. I think I can handle one protective big brother,” he said confidently.

You laughed, but before you could respond, Charles strolled up, already dressed in his race suit.

"Jeno," Charles greeted, offering a firm handshake. "Ready to see what a real sport looks like?"

Jeno chuckled, used to the friendly banter. "Of course. But don't get too jealous if I decide to switch careers."

Charles smirked. "Let’s see if you survive the pit wall first."

You shook your head at them, sensing the silent challenge between them. "Play nice, boys."

Jeno was practically buzzing as he followed Charles through the paddock. The energy was electric—mechanics rushing around, engines roaring, the smell of burning rubber in the air.

“You okay?” Charles asked, glancing at Jeno, who looked like a kid in a candy store.

Jeno nodded quickly. "I think I just fell in love all over again. But don’t worry, you’re not my type."

Charles laughed, finally relaxing a little. “Good. Otherwise, I’d have to fight you.”

They reached the Ferrari garage, where team engineers were making last-minute adjustments to Charles’s car.

“You can stay here during the race,” Charles said. “Best seat in the house.”

Jeno grinned. “I feel like I just unlocked VIP mode in real life.”

A few minutes later, Charles was called to the grid. Before leaving, he turned to Jeno. “Take care of my sister while I’m out there.”

Jeno didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

Jeno sat on the edge of his seat, his hands clenched as the lights went out.

"Come on, Charles," he muttered under his breath.

Watching an F1 race on TV was one thing, but seeing it live, feeling the vibrations, hearing the engines scream past—this was next level.

Halfway through the race, Charles was in a tight battle for first. Jeno couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. Even when a Ferrari engineer handed him a headset so he could hear the team radio, he barely registered it.

“Box, box,” Charles’s engineer said through the radio.

Jeno turned to you. “Why does that sound serious?”

You bit your lip. “It means he’s pitting. But the stop has to be perfect.”

Seconds later, Charles’s car screeched into the pit lane. Jeno held his breath. Within 2.4 seconds, the tires were changed, and Charles was back on track.

Jeno exhaled. “That was insane.”

You squeezed his hand. “Welcome to my world.”

Charles finished second on the podium, and while he didn’t win, he was in good spirits. Back in the paddock, he found Jeno and patted him on the back.

“You didn’t jinx me. Maybe you’re good luck.”

Jeno grinned. “I’ll take the credit.”

Charles hesitated before adding, “You know, I was skeptical at first. But I can see how much you care about my sister.”

Jeno’s smile softened. “She means everything to me.”

Charles studied him for a moment before nodding. “Then you’re okay in my book.”

You wrapped your arms around Jeno from behind, grinning. “Told you they’d get along.”

Jeno turned to kiss your forehead. “Best day ever.”

Charles smirked. “Don’t get too comfortable. Next time, we’re putting you in a simulator.”

Jeno gulped. “Uh-oh.”

You laughed. “Guess we’ll see if my boyfriend can really handle F1.”

Jeno still couldn’t believe he had spent the day inside the Ferrari garage, experiencing the race from the best seat in the house. But now, the real test was about to begin—spending the evening with Charles outside of F1, where the driver could shift his focus entirely on him.

You had planned a small celebration for Charles’s podium finish, inviting a few friends and team members to a private villa overlooking the Monaco coastline. The golden hues of sunset painted the sky as music played softly in the background.

Jeno adjusted his shirt nervously, watching Charles pour himself a drink at the bar. You nudged him with a teasing smile.

"Why do you look like you're about to meet my dad for the first time?"

Jeno sighed. "Because your brother is basically F1 royalty, and I just know he's going to grill me about something."

You laughed. "Relax. He wouldn’t have let you sit with the team if he didn’t already like you a little."

Jeno still wasn’t convinced, but before he could respond, Charles called out to him.

"Jeno, come here!"

He shot you a look that clearly said help me, but you just gave him a playful push.

Charles leaned against the counter, a knowing smirk on his face. He handed Jeno a glass—non-alcoholic, since he knew Jeno wasn’t much of a drinker during promotions and performances.

"So," Charles started, "you survived your first F1 weekend in the garage."

"Barely," Jeno chuckled, taking a sip. "I think my heart stopped a few times when you were overtaking."

Charles grinned. "That’s how it feels to watch someone you care about in their element, right?"

Jeno nodded. "Yeah. I get that feeling when I see her in the audience at my concerts."

Charles’s smirk faltered slightly, and Jeno could tell he was about to get serious.

"Look, I’ll be honest," Charles said, setting his glass down. "When my sister told me she was dating an idol, I wasn’t sure what to think. Your schedule is crazy, your life is always in the spotlight… and she deserves someone who will be there for her."

Jeno swallowed. "I know. And I won’t lie, it’s not always easy. But I love her, Charles. And no matter where I am in the world, she’s always my priority."

Charles studied him for a moment before nodding. "I can see that. She’s happier with you."

Jeno exhaled, not realizing he had been holding his breath.

"But," Charles continued, "if you ever hurt her accidentally, intentionally, emotionally, or otherwise I will personally make sure you feel what it’s like to be at the back of the grid."

Jeno laughed, but the warning in Charles’s eyes was real. "Got it. No DNF for me in this relationship."

Charles cracked a smile. "Good answer."

You walked over, slipping your hand into Jeno’s. "So, how’s it going? Are we planning a family race or something?"

Jeno smiled, squeezing your hand. "Not yet, but I think I just passed his test."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Barely."

You shook your head. "You’re both impossible."

Jeno turned to Charles. "You know, I meant it when I said I might want to try the simulator one day."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "You think you can handle it?"

Jeno grinned. "If I can handle being on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans, I think I can handle a race car simulation."

Charles smirked. "Alright then. Tomorrow morning, 10 AM. My place. Let’s see if you’re more than just a fanboy."

Jeno blinked. "Wait, I was kind of joking... "

You laughed. "Too late, babe. You’re in now."

Charles clapped Jeno on the back. "Welcome to the fast lane, Jeno."

Jeno groaned, but he couldn’t help smiling.

Maybe this whole ‘brother in law bonding’ thing wasn’t so bad after all.

[spiderlilywritings]

Ronin Beaufort Boyfriend Headcanons

Trigger Warnings: mentions of blood, murder, gore

Well. You're in for a wild ride with Ronin Beaufort as your lover. He's not a green flag by any means, but he cares and genuinely loves you, even if he shows it in twisted ways sometimes. (Hearts drawn in blood, maybe giving you an aorta, sending pictures of his gruesome murders in #killer_shit with the caption "this for You, baby" and oh would you look at that, it's the guy that's been harassing you yesterday—)

Never runs out of nicknames for you. Will probably come up with the cheesiest/sappiest nickname just to see your reaction. It cracks him up. ("Baby. Sweetheart. Darling. Pookie. Sweet apple crumble pop with strawberries—")

If you own a vehicle like a car or a motorcycle, he's your go-to mechanic. He'll take your money and maybe a little bit extra later. ("Aww, don't give me that look, darlin'. I just wanted a kiss 's all. Hahaha!") Shows off a little bit of that muscle if you hang around while he's working. His sweetheart's there, gotta impress them right? (And if you're the type to get embarassed easily, it's more fun for him.)

Speaking of vehicles, I'm not sure if Ronin owns one, but if you do, why not take your little Devil for a late night drive? I think he'll enjoy them. Just you and him, enjoying the night air, letting the scenery pass by.

We've already seen it in the games; he's perceptive and if there's something troubling you, he'll know. He's all ears if you wanna talk about it. Or if you don't, he might think of a way to get you to open up. It's not healthy to bottle everything up after all. He's had to deal with his own issues and being stuck in your own head can be... a lot.

Sometimes, you may have impromptu late night talks with Ronin. Trading secrets and all that. Sorting out some feelings and traumas of the past. Those talks can get heavy but things always feel a bit lighter at the end. That's good, isn't it?

He's supportive. He lets you do your own thing, lets you enjoy yourself and indulge in what you love. As long as you take care of yourself too. He might even join you. ("Aren't you a cutie with that smile on your face. Come onnnnnn, show me more, baby.")

I think he'd like those silly couple shirts. The ones with lines like one shirt has "If lost, return to the bastard" and the other is "The bastard" Or just matching things in general. Maybe you want matching plushies, or jewelry, etc. He's down for it.

Learning first aid is recommended if you haven't already. At least, you'd know what to do when Ronin comes to you injured. Victims don't just lay down and wait for their fate. Of course they want to live and some will literally fight for their lives. Ronin keeps himself in shape, but some injuries are just unavoidable. He doesn't like seeing your worried face, so he's quick to ease your worries with his usual bravado.

Horror movie nights are a given. And if you're the type to scare easily (ironic since you're with a serial killer), prepare for some light teasing. Here's a not-so-secret though: Ronin loves it when you cling to him. He likes being able to feel you. Whether it's small instances like your hands brushing against his to you outright hanging onto him like a koala bear. Make him feel your warmth, that you're there. That you'll always be there. (Not. Not like— well, technically they're still— but not there. Not here. Not anymore. Just a memory now that will always haunt him. They left his heart bleeding. And then, an  "Angel" patched it up. He still bleeds a little. But it's bearable. And now. Now, you—)

Tick... tick... tick...

The sheets rustle. The clock continues to tick. Ronin hears your sleepy little murmurs as you frolicked in dreamland.

He chuckles, one of his hands moving to play with a lock of your hair. The sight of you curled up on his bed, in his damn shirt, "Darlin', if this is your way of killin' me slowly, it's working. Juuust a little."

In response, you unconsciously snuggle into his chest. Really now.

Sleeping so peacefully with a serial killer? Maybe he got rid of your sense of self preservation; maybe got some screws loose in that pretty little head of yours.

Ronin pulls you closer.

This was nice. Makes him remember those times when it was easier. As easy as it can get back in Angelwood anyway.

He left that place behind, danced in hell's flames like the Devil he is, letting rot and decay follow him. He didn't mind. Let 'em haunt him till the day he croaks.

When he closes his own eyes, he sees Ther; a reminder of what he had. Of what he lost. Feels like they'll always haunt him too. There, but not there. A spirit? An illusion? No. Maybe just that lingering love he's always going to feel for his childhood best friend.

Ther's gone.

After Ther, came Maria. Maria. Sweet, sweet Saint Maria helped him heal and move on.

And now he's got another angel in his arms. Ronin thinks that's hysterical. The Devil attracts angels it seems like. Wings and all. Letting them decay till those feathers fall and the wings are nothing but bone. It's like giving the middle finger to the good ol' god those old fashioned folks at Angelwood worshipped.

How's that for blasphemy?

[cece693]

ANOTEHR PART OF HR LOKIS BROTHER X BUCKY OLEALLSPE I LAV U 😭😭😣😣☺️

He's Cute Pt. 3

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader tags: ongoing series because people like this, which is weird cause I never thought this would go off, but I don't hate it, loki makes an appearance, bucky is protective over reader, having the 'talk', even bad guys have people they love

Bucky’s hands still shook with lingering excitement whenever he recalled your last date. The two of you had been going out for a while now—casual walks through the city, late-night movie marathons in the Avengers Compound, even that weekend trip to a cozy little café upstate—and with every new memory you made, Bucky found himself falling deeper in love.

He’d never expected life to feel this…comforting. Even the nightmares that sometimes plagued him at night dulled around you. You had a knack for gently coaxing him out of his shell, whether through quiet conversation or a playful nudge toward some new, exciting Midgardian treat you wanted him to try.

Yet, despite this whirlwind of affection, Bucky still couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud. I love you. They stuck in his throat every time he tried, leaving him feeling both frustrated and a little guilty. It seemed too soon, too fast, too much. What if you weren’t ready? What if it scared you off?

So he kept that admission locked away, consoling himself with the fact that you hadn’t pressed him for big declarations yet—though you often looked at him with such tender warmth that he thought, maybe you already know.

The following morning, you greeted Bucky with your usual bright smile, eyes shining like you’d never seen a single hardship in your life. He knew that wasn’t true—you’d told him your share of Asgardian struggles and complicated family drama—but somehow, you still managed to see the world with a hopeful gaze.

“Good morning, Bucky!” you chirped, bounding into the common area. “Did you sleep well?”

He offered a small, affectionate smile. “Yeah,” he fibbed—well, half-fibbed, because seeing you now made every lost hour of rest worth it. “Ready for training?”

“Absolutely.” You picked up a spare towel. “But how about we grab coffee after? There’s this new flavor—mint mocha, I think? Wanda says it’s oddly refreshing.”

Bucky’s heart did that little flip it always did around you. “Sure,” he said softly. “I’d like that.”

You never made it to the gym—or to the coffee shop. Halfway to the training room, the shrill wail of the Compound’s alarm cut through the corridors. Overhead lights flickered ominously, and Tony’s voice crackled through the intercom: “All hands on deck—Loki’s back, and he’s making a huge mess downtown. We need everyone. Now.”

Your face fell, a complicated mix of worry and anger. The last time Loki caused chaos, it ended poorly for Earth and for your family. “I’m sorry,” you murmured to Bucky, already moving to join the others. “I know you’ve had enough of these battles…”

He shook his head, grabbing his gear. “Not your fault.”

Together, you raced to the Quinjet, where Thor and the rest of the team were quickly assembling. Thor’s jaw was set, eyes stormy with concern. He muttered something about Loki “never learning,” while Tony, Sam, and Natasha readied themselves for battle. Bucky checked his weapon, heart thudding. He threw you a sidelong glance—he hated seeing the anxious tension in your posture. I’ll keep you safe, he vowed silently, one way or another.

New York’s skyline was tinged green in patches—every illusion Loki summoned seemed designed to confuse both civilians and the team. Tony soared overhead, blasting illusions and trying to pinpoint the real Loki, while Bruce (in Hulk form) tore through illusions that tried to tangle him. Thor, you, and Wanda worked together to dispel the biggest illusions, your combined powers punching holes in Loki’s illusions wherever you could.

Bucky fired round after round at illusory beasts, his sharpened instincts helping him sense the flicker of what was real and what wasn’t. He kept an eye on you, too—whenever you paused to catch your breath, or pressed a hand to your temple from overusing your Asgardian abilities, he felt the urge to run to your side.

He didn’t see the sudden swirl of green magic until it was too late. A shimmering barrier snapped into place around him, cutting him off from the rest of the fight. Bucky spun around, rifle at the ready, but the illusions outside the barrier went oddly silent. The world beyond turned hazy, muffled, leaving him alone in a translucent dome of Loki’s making.

“Sergeant Barnes,” came a sardonic voice behind him. Bucky spun, rifle raised, to find Loki standing there, tall and regal in his horned headpiece, green robes swaying. His gaze was cold, but there was a particular glint in those eyes—like a predator toying with its prey.

“Loki,” Bucky growled, finger hovering over the trigger.

“Oh, please,” Loki drawled, waving a dismissive hand. “Drop your useless weapon. If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done so long ago.”

Bucky hesitated, jaw set tight. He didn’t lower his rifle, but he didn’t fire either. Around them, the city echoed with chaos—screams, blasts of magic, and the roar of rampaging illusions. Yet here they stood in a strange, still corner, as if Loki’s mere presence had carved out a pocket of calm in the madness.

“What do you want?” Bucky demanded, striving to keep the tremor from his voice. He’d been in fights far worse than this—yet something about Loki’s eerie composure sparked a sense of dread.

“What I want…” Loki repeated, tipping his head in mock consideration. “Hardly matters. I’m only here because it has come to my attention that you’ve taken an interest in my dear brother.”

Bucky blinked, confusion warring with anger. “Thor? I’m not—”

Loki let out a theatrical sigh. “Not that lughead, no.” He narrowed his eyes, smirk twisting. “I speak of my younger brother. The gentler one—(Y/N). The one you’ve been courting.”

At those words, Bucky’s grip on his rifle loosened involuntarily, surprise flickering across his features. “That’s between me and him. Stay out of it.”

Loki’s predatory grin only widened. “Oh, how adorable. A mortal telling me where I can and cannot interfere.” Magic crackled around his fingertips, illuminating the sinister shape of his horns. “Let’s make something clear, Sergeant Barnes: I may indulge in chaos, but I do not tolerate anyone trifling with my brother’s heart.”

Bucky felt a surge of protectiveness over you, matching Loki’s venom in a different way. “I’d never hurt him. Don’t act like you know me.”

“But I do know you,” Loki countered, taking a step forward, voice dropping to a chilling hush. “You’re a man of ghosts, of nightmares. You wear your sins on that metal arm for the world to see. Don’t assume I haven’t researched your past. The Winter Soldier…” He let the words linger. “You have a trail of blood behind you, mortal.”

Bucky’s pulse pounded in his ears. He refused to look away. “That’s over. He sees me for who I am now, and I’d do anything to protect him.”

A pause, and Loki’s lips curled in something close to a sneer—though a flicker of surprise glinted in his eyes. “Oh, I believe you think that,” he said. “But let me be perfectly clear: I might make sport of realms; I might sow chaos when it amuses me. However, if you ever harm my brother—if you break his heart or drag him into your darkness—I will ensure your suffering is something legends are written about.”

A chill coursed down Bucky’s spine, but he refused to flinch. “I—care about him,” he said softly, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’d never do anything to hurt him.”

“Good,” Loki whispered, eyes glinting dangerously. “Then we understand each other.” He paused, scanning Bucky’s features as though searching for lies. “He has always been different. Too kind for Asgard. My father often overlooked him, but I—” Loki’s lips curled in faint distaste, “I won’t.”

Bucky shifted, uneasy at this glimpse of Loki’s protective side. “If you really care,” he said carefully, “then let this go. Stop this chaos you’re creating.”

Loki rolled his eyes, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m not here to debate my plans with you, mortal. I’m here to warn you. Do right by him, or face consequences far worse than any Hydra program.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around his weapon. He hated being cornered like this, but a flicker of understanding—of pity, even—touched him. Loki’s brand of protectiveness was twisted, but it was rooted in genuine concern for his younger brother. “Message received,” Bucky said, voice gruff. Loki’s eyes narrowed one last time, as if to emphasize his threat. Then, with a theatrical swirl of his cape, he vanished in a burst of green light. Instantly, the barrier separating Bucky from the rest of the fight melted away, sound and motion crashing back in.

He stumbled slightly, adrenaline hammering in his veins. Looking up, he saw you rushing toward him over the rubble-strewn street, worry etched in your features. Behind you, illusions flickered and dissipated as Thor and Wanda worked together to dismantle Loki’s hold on the city. “Bucky!” you shouted, reaching him in a few quick strides. “Are you okay? Loki’s illusions—what happened?”

Bucky exhaled a shaky breath, lowering his rifle all the way. “He just wanted to talk. Threatened me if I ever—” He hesitated, mind flicking to the exact words Loki used. “If I ever hurt you.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “He trapped you in the middle of a battle to warn you about me?”

Bucky nodded, swallowing a knot in his throat. He forced a small, wry smile. “Yeah. Guess big brothers come in all shapes and sizes.”

“Gods,” you muttered, pressing a hand to your temple. “I’m sorry he did that to you.”

“Don’t be,” Bucky said quietly. He reached out, resting a tentative hand on your shoulder. “I told him I wouldn’t hurt you. And I meant it.”

Something in your gaze softened. Around you, the remaining illusions fell away with shattering bursts of green energy. The Avengers closed in, readying for Loki’s next move—but for a moment, it was just you and Bucky standing there amid the debris, an unspoken promise shining between you. “Come on,” you said softly, covering his hand with yours. “We should help the others.”

Bucky squeezed your shoulder, nodding. “Right behind you.” And as the two of you headed off to rejoin the fray, Bucky felt a fierce protectiveness surge within him—one that matched Loki’s, if not in cruelty, then in devotion. Because no trickster god, no illusions, and no ghosts of his past would stop him from doing right by you.

[4stor]

Chocolate Special Overload~

A little something that was never written and drawn last valentines~

You deserve it, Misaki fans<3

Ugh I wanna sleep and not write this ever again.

The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows along the walls of your dimly lit study. You sat hunched over your desk, quill in hand, the sharp scent of ink clinging to the air. The pages before you were a chaotic mess of scribbled-out sentences, half-formed thoughts, and failed attempts at something lighthearted.

A book about the horrors of vampirism should not be this difficult to write—especially when you had spent countless nights weaving blood-soaked tragedies. But tonight? Tonight, you struggled.

You sighed, rubbing your temples as the clock struck 2 AM. The moon hung high in the sky, its silvery glow peeking through the clouds, illuminating your room through the windowpane. A shiver ran down your spine, though whether from exhaustion or frustration, you weren't sure.

And then it hit you.

You hadn't written to Misaki in over a week.

God, I miss them…

Your heart clenched at the thought. Surely, she must have been worried. You could already imagine their dramatic sighs, the teasing remarks they would throw your way when they finally got a hold of you.

You pushed back from your desk, intending to find some parchment and remedy your absence, when A glimmer of orange light caught the corner of your vision.

Two glowing eyes.

Outside your window.

Your blood ran cold.

"HOLY SHIT—"

Before you could even react, the figure leaned in, the curtains billowing wildly in the breeze as the moonlight framed her all too familiar grin.

"Hi, sugar honey dumpling!!"

Misaki beamed at you from the windowsill, her fangs peeking through their lips as they held a small wicker basket in one hand while using the other to balance themselves precariously on the ledge.

You clutched at your chest, trying to steady your heartbeat. "Jesus Christ, Misaki... You scared the crap out of me."

She giggled, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't die on me just yet, babe! I wouldn't wanna have to bite you just to make you immortal."

With a swift, effortless movement, they hopped through the window and landed gracefully inside.

You glanced at the basket they carried. "Why are you even here? And what's with all the chocolates and hearts?"

Misaki scoffed, placing a hand on her hip. "Chocolates? Puh-lease. This—" they held up the basket with exaggerated pride, "—is one of the finest delicacies in town. And you need to try it." Then, their expression softened into something more petulant, their lower lip jutting out. "Also, because you haven't sent me a letter. A week, babe. A whole week. Do you know how much I suffered?"

You laughed, guilt tugging at you. "I'm sorry—"

"Who cares!" Misaki interrupted, waving their hand dismissively before grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward the bed. "I'm here now! So let's get comfy and eat before I actually start whining."

You let her pull you into the soft blankets, following their gaze as they looked out the window, completely mesmerized by the sight.

"Man, you're so lucky to have this view," she sighed dreamily, leaning against you. "The moon is so bright tonight, and even with the clouds, the stars are still twinkling! Just look at them!"

They pointed, their voice filled with genuine wonder, their previous mischief momentarily replaced by pure adoration.

"I love stars. You have no idea," she continued, their fingers tracing constellations in the air. "I've always wanted to stargaze with you."

You smiled, reaching into the basket and unwrapping one of the chocolates—one of the town's renowned specialties, a flavor you hadn't actually tried since moving here. You held it up to Misaki's lips. They froze.

Her glowing eyes darted from the chocolate to your face, their cheeks quickly tinting red.

"H-Hey! Who told you to open that—much less—look cute while doing it?" They stammered, flustered beyond belief.

You chuckled. "Come on, just one bite~ or must I do the choo choo train sound?"

Misaki's mortified expression cracked into laughter. "Hey! I'm not a kid!"

“Choo choo~ Here comes the chocolate!~” You chuckle as you wave the chocolate piece towards them, making them even redder in embarrassment

“STOP!” She huffed, their cheeks even redder—than Ronin’s cloak and gore— before finally leaning in, taking a small bite. Their brows lifted, delight spreading across their face as they chewed.

"Is it good?" you asked to which Misaki responds, "No, my heart freakin exploded because SOMEONE decided to do the choo choo train, how did ya expect me to taste anything after that?"

You laughed as you took a piece for yourself, and the moment it melted on your tongue, you hummed in approval. The matcha flavor was rich, perfectly balanced with a smooth, creamy texture.

"It's good, right?!" Misaki beamed, immediately snuggling against you with a satisfied sigh.

You let her settle against you, the warmth of their presence melting away the exhaustion you had felt earlier. 

Maybe, just maybe, a little break wasn't so bad.

You both indulged in the sweet chocolates and the even sweeter warmth of each other's company. The topics flowed effortlessly, though, in reality, it was mostly Misaki rambling about their week—animatedly recounting stories with exaggerated expressions, their hands gesturing wildly as they spoke. You listened with fond amusement, the tension in your shoulders easing with every word.

The weight that had pressed against your chest for days slowly melted away, replaced by a sense of peace you hadn't realized you'd been missing.

"Maybe next time, I should just have you over whenever I'm stressing," you joked, tilting your head with a teasing smile.

"Hah! I know! I'm amazing!“ Misaki grinned, radiating pure smugness as they puffed out their chest, their confidence practically shimmering in the dim candlelight.

You let out a giggle before leaning in to kiss their nose, the quick peck filled with affection.

Misaki froze, their entire body stiffening for a split second. Their glowing eyes blinked rapidly before their face flushed a deep red, realization hitting them like a ton of bricks.

"Hey—no fair!" they huffed, their voice cracking just slightly as they tried to recover from their embarrassment. Without wasting a second, they leaned in to kiss you back—soft but determined, as if making up for the surprise attack.

Their lips lingered for a moment, warm and tender, before they pulled away just enough to whisper against your skin, "I always win, honey."

You laughed softly, tucking a strand of their hair behind their ear. "Mmm, sure you do."

Misaki huffed, pouting at your lack of surrender, but instead of arguing, they simply tackled you onto the bed, wrapping their arms around you as they snuggled in close.

"You're stuck with me now," they mumbled sleepily, their face buried against your shoulder.

And honestly? You wouldn't have it any other way.

And here we reach the end of this lovely night… Just you and them~

[taichissu]

lmao what????

[smile-files]

a blackhole of happiness, greedy for the light it cannot give back

[nexus-nebulae]

"why are you so worried abt random accidents, stuff like that rarely ever happens" well you see I'm too disabled to ever evacuate a situation on my own, so I'd rather be a safety advocate now than become a statistic later

[rexcaliburechoes]

the lyrics to detect my love sound oddly ominous, not gonna lie...

[umtoto]

Hey, I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry if that was my doing. I really didn't mean to upset you at all if it was.

oh no no, it wasn't at all!! don't worry friend