#expect angst and fluff.

[vulpixsworld]

WEEK UPDATE!

Love Over Matter- ch. 15

Enchanted-ch. 14

Love Over Matter- ch. 16

Enchanted-ch. 15

Love Over Matter-ch. 17 (ending)

Enchanted-ch. 16 (ending)

Somebody Like You- ch. 5

Reach (Winter hellcheer)-ch. 3

You guys seem to be loving Love Over Matter a-lot and I am writing the next chapter as we speak because I can’t wait next month. Lol.

[technically-human]

St. Hilarion's ghost story

[starmocha]

Oh oh oh since we're sharing pregnant mc hcs, how about one where they got a bit carried away, they did it, she got pregnant, he "died", by some miracle she didn't lose the baby, she's an excellent, doting, badass mom. then when he comes back he finds the love of his life with a little 1 year old baby girl that could be considered mc's perfect clone except for the eyes. the eyes are his. IMAGINE THE ANGST THE HURT THE TEARS THE LOVEEEEE!!!!!

🫵 are you guys using my Caleb-addled brain to sneak around my “I don’t take requests” condition. /lh 😔 this is who I am now, I guess. I see Caleb, I cave… 🥺

Endless Summer

It was an ambush, another attempt on his life.

It was the thirteenth time in three months, as a matter of fact. Caleb had thwarted all of the previous attempts with ease, always on guard, untrusting of those who claimed to have vowed their loyalty to him as their colonel.

As you learned, you couldn’t trust anyone in Skyhaven, much less the Farspace Fleet. Dark secrets surrounded this seemingly elite entity and though it appeared like the place ran like a machine with perfect precision and efficiency, there was still an insidious side that Caleb refused to let you see.

It wasn’t just his life they were after. They were after yours as well, using you as the ultimate pawn to get to him. Little do they suspect, while you may be his greatest weakness, you were also his strength, his sole reason to persevere.

This was to be a fatal lesson for many to learn.

It was supposed to be a celebratory banquet, thrown in honor of the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel’s latest achievements. There were no deceptions by the hosts, but a traitorous group seized this opportunity to trap the young colonel and all doors within the banquet halls locked, keeping many of the guests hostages in the process.

Within the center of the room, Caleb calmly eyed all of the familiar faces that loomed overhead on the second floor as all around, innocent guests rushed to the exits, banging and screaming for help. He tried to push you away, get you to safety.

They were after him, after all. You didn’t need to be in the crossfires.

You didn’t have time to react, hearing that first gunshot that led the way for the onslaught of bullets.

Something in Caleb snapped that night. The barrage of bullets that came at him and you from all directions would have taken down anyone, but they all froze midair only because of his Evol freezing them in their track and keeping them suspended as if time had frozen at this very moment. He soon, however, learned it was merely a distraction.

Ca…leb…

The moment he saw the crimson blood seeping from your side, that knife pulled out quickly, and you were falling, eyes closing, as he ran toward you yelling your name. His Evol flared out of control, the gravity in the room suddenly immensely heavy, as dozens of men were pulled to their knees in futile struggles.

Open your eyes, he pleaded, his uniform soaked with your blood. His face twisted in pain, a million thoughts rushing through his mind, all of the memories of the past resurfaced in quick successions. All of those years of smiles and laughter that transitioned to pain and distrust only to slowly return to some semblances of the past were now coming to an end before his very eyes. He couldn’t lose you like this, not when he had promised that he would make things right again, to be the man that you deserved. Please…please…

You struggled to breathe, the pain unlike anything you had experienced in your life. As he watched you teetered closer to death, he was filled with wrath, an anger that could not be calmed by any forces in this world.

Caleb held his hand out, and a gun laying on the floor levitated before it rushed into his grip from across the room, and without a thought or any remorse or even hesitancy, he fired bullet after bullet into each man’s head, a clean shot straight through the center, not flinching even as the surrounding guests screamed and huddled to the floor, covering their ears from that violent, horrid sound.

When the last traitor fell, Caleb dropped the gun with a clatter, and his arms wrapped entirely around you, pulling you closer to his body for warmth. Your breathing had weakened even more, but he could still save you. He hadn’t failed you. Not yet, not ever. You were going to live. He would make sure of it.

Even if he now realized you were safer away from him.

Colonel Caleb, you had only slept for four hours last night, the robotic voice of an OTTO said with some semblance of concern in its artificial vocal. It levitated after its owner as the young colonel adjusted his uniform. The robot continued, explaining, An adult man of your age requires ei—

“I’ve slept enough,” he interrupted firmly, ignoring the robot, whose monitor quickly displayed a digitalized look of concern. Caleb had thought often of shutting down the robot and dismantling it, but he could never carry through, remembering that he had purchased this robot for you.

In this cold, monotonous so-called-home of his in Skyhaven, Caleb had few things that reminded him of you. A few plushies you two had won together sat on his living room couch, some snapshots you two had taken together at a photobooth, and perhaps a few furniture pieces you had ordered to be sent directly to his home. You had been in the process of bringing warmth and life into this place when everything came to an abrupt stop.

If he hadn’t taken you to that banquet that night nearly two years ago, Caleb wondered how things would have played out. You wouldn’t have gotten injured that night, but he feared perhaps it would just delay that same outcome. That night, he found himself at a fork in the road, forced to make a decision that would change the course of both of your lives.

Keep you by his side, where he had foolishly believed you would always be safe under his protection, or, let you go, let you believe that whatever had happened that night, he was the one who had died, finally taken away by Death himself. It was better to let you believe he had actually died this time, to keep you from searching for him, to keep you far away from Skyhaven—to keep you from him.

Since that night almost two years ago, Caleb’s nightmares had worsened. He relived the dreadful night, but he had also had other terrifying dreams so horrendous, he would wake up screaming in cold sweats, completely disoriented, unsure if he was trapped within another layer of the nightmare, or if he was truly awake.

“She’s safe, she’s safe,” he would often mutter to himself, an attempt to convince himself that he had made the right choice, that setting you free was the only way he could keep you safe. As long as you lived, he would bear the weight of his sacrifice, even if it meant never seeing you ever again.

It was sunny in Linkon, not a cloud in the sky, and the weather warm and inviting, but to Caleb, it was a place he had forbidden himself from ever stepping foot in again, out of fear that your paths would cross. In all of those times since he had distanced himself from you, allowed you to believe he was dead, he had managed to avoid any reason to step foot in the place that was once his home.

When his adjutant, Liam, had informed Caleb that his schedule required him to attend a conference meeting in Linkon, the young colonel stiffened, the atmosphere in the room stifling almost as if he was using his Evol. He suppressed his initial instinct to yell, knowing Liam was well aware of Caleb’s situation and had in the past made the necessary arrangements to prevent him from having any reason to step foot in that city.

It seemed he couldn’t stay away from Linkon forever, so he resigned to this situation, still remaining vigilant in his stance. Linkon was a big city, and there was no reason for your paths to cross. He would make do with this troublesome situation for the time being.

Now, Caleb had intended to return to Skyhaven the moment the meeting ended, and yet, against his better judgment, he found himself wandering down familiar streets, lost in memories of happier times. As he walked, before his eyes, he saw the silhouettes of him and you as children running down the street after school to your favorite little vintage grocery store.

Caleb, you dummy, you can’t use your Evol!

Don’t blame my Evol because you can’t run fast on those short legs, pipsqueak!

Caleb chuckled. He couldn’t help it. The memories of those years seemed so much more carefree. He often wished to go back to that time when the only things that weighed on yours and his shoulders were school or silly childish arguments.

As he approached the old grocery store, closed just a few years prior, he was surprised to learn that it was now under new ownership. The familiar place of his childhood was now a small trendy café, popular with college students and young couples.

To his astonishment—and, perhaps, also relief—the vibrant hydrangea garden in the back remained. Bushes of the white, blue, and pink flowers bloomed in the garden, showing that its new owner took well care of the plants. They looked like the hydrangeas of his childhood, of those long summer afternoons that never seemed to end as he and you made this place just another secret hideout only you two would ever know. As he walked down a beaten path, distracted, he was stirred out of his nostalgic thoughts when he felt something bumped into his leg. He peered down, surprised to see a little girl in a light orange dress, the same color as the sunset he used to see in his airplane when he was a pilot, was clinging to his leg. He looked around, not seeing any adult in sight to indicate they were the child’s guardian.

He furrowed his brows, a little in annoyance, as he was not prepared to suddenly be grappled with the responsibility of a lost child. He knelt down lower, and immediately, he startled as he took in the little girl’s appearance, a near perfect carbon copy of you, but the eyes—he stared into sweet little violet eyes that mirrored his own, seeing his shocked face reflected in these orbs. The girl looked up at him with curiosity, the wind swaying her short bob while a little yellow chunky cartoon airplane hairclip held her side bangs in place.

Suddenly, she started tearing up, breaking Caleb out of his trance and for the first time in a while, he felt panicked, unsure of what to do. The girl started to cry and Caleb immediately lifted her up, her head resting onto his shoulder as he rubbed her back and soothed her.

He shushed her gently, his caregiver instinct reignited after years of dormancy. “Why are you crying, sweetheart?” he asked her gently, his soothing voice a complete opposite to the tone he used as colonel.

The girl sobbed. She looked so young, Caleb realized, surmising that she probably had barely started learning to speak.

“Are you lost?” he asked in that same tender tone despite knowing the child would be unable to answer him. He continued, “You miss your mommy, don’t you?”

He rubbed her back again, wondering with trepidation if this child’s mother was who he thought it would be. For just a second, his heart stopped when he felt the little girl gripping the fabric of his uniform with her small hands. Quickly, he recomposed himself.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, his hand smoothed the back of her hair. “Let’s go look for your Mommy, alright?”

“Ma...ma…” the girl struggled to say. She rubbed her face against Caleb’s shoulder, and he smiled gently, unbothered that his once pristine uniform was now covered in a child’s snot.

“Okay, mama,” he repeated, “I’ll help you find your mama, sweetheart.”

When he was just about to turn around to head back to the café, he froze again, hearing a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in years. He could feel his heart beating against his chest, actually feeling every heavy thump as the seconds passed and the voice grew closer, a name cried out—the little girl’s.

The child in his arms wriggled, and cried louder, seeing her mother over Caleb’s shoulder. “Mama! Mama!”

Stiffly, Caleb knelt lower and gently set the girl down to her feet, barely registering as the child toddled passed him to her mother.

A completely different feminine voice called out, angry. “Were you trying to kidnap a child in broad dayli—”

Caleb stood up and turned around, his face pale.

“Cale…Caleb?” You stared in shock, feeling like you were seeing his ghost again. Again.

“Mama…Mama…!” Your daughter nuzzled her face against your chest as you held her. You broke out of your trance and instantly redirected your attention to your child. You quickly soothed her, well aware that Caleb’s eyes were locked on you, his face just as shocked as yours but for entirely different reasons. Once the little girl calmed down you passed her off to your companion, saying, “Tara, take her back to the café.”

Tara looked at you worriedly, her eyes darting to Caleb with suspicion. One look into Caleb’s eyes, seeing that same, perfect shade of purple, and the young woman quickly understood the situation. She nodded quietly and took the girl from you. “Come on, sweetie, auntie Tara is going to buy you a cupcake, okay?”

You waited until Tara and your daughter were out of sight. You couldn’t look at him. You wanted to look at him, to make sure your eyes were not deceiving you, to make sure that this was not an illusion, not a cruel, mocking figment of your imagination. But you couldn’t. You felt cowardly in that instance, being afraid of the truth. Afraid of his reaction. Of everything.

“You were…you were pregnant?” he questioned, feeling a wave of guilt washed over him.

Just hearing those words made you realized this was him. This was Caleb, the man you thought was taken away from you. Again.

Suddenly, you broke down crying and you looked up at him with tears running down your cheeks.

“Caleb, you dummy,” you sobbed, “You fucking dummy!”

He gasped, unprepared when you rushed at him and started beating his chest half-heartedly with your small fists as you continued to sob and curse him over and over again. He let you carry out your anger, let you punished him as you saw fit in this moment, but when the punches weakened, he gently grabbed your wrists, lowering them to your sides before his arms wrapped around you in comfort, his apologies immediate.

“Yeah,” he agreed in that ever familiar soft and gentle tone reserved only for you, “I am a fucking dummy.”

You sniffled against his chest, gripping tightly the lapel of his coat.

The afternoon passed slowly, initially tensed and awkward, but eventually all of the missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and you both struggled to come to terms with the picture of the missing years. You peered at the man to your side, seeing Caleb hunched over, his cap in his lap, looking much like a sinner struggling to come to terms with his wrongs.

“You didn’t know,” you whispered after a while, wanting to break this stifling silence. You reached for his arm, but he tensed before his shoulders slumped again.

“That’s no excuse,” he said, looking up at you. He started to reach for your cheek, hesitating at the last second, as if he was afraid that you would recoil from his touch. He started to pull back but you grabbed at his hand, guiding it to your cheek. He stared in shock as you nuzzled your face against his palm, and you gazed at him with glistened eyes.

“You’re not allowed to die again,” you scolded him. “Promise me that.”

He nodded numbly, his voice clear and steady. “I promise,” he said, repeating in a more hushed, firm tone, “I promise.”

He leaned forward, guiding your lips to his, his words still repeating in between breath. You let him drown you in his kisses, let yourself dizzied and relent to his feverish promises. When your lips parted, just a few centimeters, his warm breath grazed over your trembling lips before he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I... will you…”

You looked up, seeing the struggles in his violet eyes. He appeared to hesitate again, unsure of what right he had to seek your forgiveness, wondering if he was overstepping the boundary between the two of you.

You gently coaxed him, seeing relief washed over his guilty features. “Will I what?”

“Will you…let me make things right?” he asked, “Let me…earn your forgiveness. I…please…”

He almost wanted to say, I can’t lose you again but the words died at his lips. He, of all people, had no rights to utter such words in your presence. He looked so defeated, beaten down to the point he no longer recognized himself anymore.

You took his hand, just like you always seemed to do, and you pulled him to his feet, to his surprise. He gazed at you questionably, his heart stopping at your words.

“Caleb,” you said his name so sweetly, “I want you to meet…our daughter.”

The summer air was warm even as the sky darkened, and stars after stars appeared above to illuminate the world below. The gentle breeze ruffled Caleb’s hair as he stared down at the sleeping girl in his arms. Maybe it was because she was still so young and impressionable, or perhaps she could already sense who he was to her, but the girl clung to him immediately, already feeling safe and protected in his presence.

His heart felt heavy, overwhelmed by guilt, a feeling of failure, and also of self-loathing, but as he gazed down at his daughter, another feeling stirred, just as intense but much more forgiving. He didn’t think he could feel such love as he did now as he peered down at the sleeping girl, nuzzled against him on his lap, peacefully slumbering away.

He wondered what she was dreaming of as he admired how much she resembled her mother. Hesitantly, he let his finger caressed her cheek, in complete, silent awe at how soft and delicate her skin was. He was almost afraid of hurting her, feeling a need to protect her just as he protected her mother. He looked up at you, his cheeks and ears reddening when he realized you had been laughing at his expense.

“It’s alright,” you told him amid your giggles.

“You’re laughing at me.”

“You deserve it, you big dummy.”

He let out a huff, in mock annoyance, but he agreed with you. “Alright,” he conceded, “I deserve it.”

“Do you want to begin your path to seeking forgiveness from us?” you asked him, a playful, teasing lilt in your voice, unmissed by Caleb as he raised a brow in curiosity.

“Just like that?” he questioned, confused by your leniency with him.

You nodded. “You still love me, right?”

“I’ve never stopped,” he said, his solemn words had you blushing against your better judgment, your heart quickening when he looked at you so lovelorn. You quickly composed yourself, returning to your mischievousness from seconds ago.

“You love her, right?” you asked, your eyes shifting to your sleeping daughter in his arms.

He sighed, mesmerized. “So much already,” he whispered, and again, you found yourself softening, touched by his sincerity.

“Okay, we’ll forgive you,” you answered, catching Caleb’s attention as he looked at you almost bemused by your easygoing attitude. “First step.”

“Which is?”

“You have to make us your specialty,” you said, laughing at Caleb’s look of complete bewilderment unfit for a colonel of his status. Clearly, you had blindsided him completely with this first condition. You clarified with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, “You have to make your braised chicken wings.”

He stared at you as if not comprehending your words. You laughed and leaned closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I ate a lot of braised chicken wings while pregnant,” you said, reminiscing to that lonely period in your life without his presence. You reached over and brushed your daughter’s flyaway hair out of her face, continuing softly, “But they weren’t as good as yours.”

Caleb let out a huff of breath, a soft, resigned laugh as he readjusted his arm, letting it wrapped around you as he pulled you closer into his embrace. He leaned over and kissed the top of your head. “Okay,” he answered, “I take it she also likes braised chicken wings then?”

You leaned into him, nodding once. “She’ll love yours more,” you said, and then looked up, your heart quickening again as you gazed into his beautiful violet eyes, grateful that your daughter had chosen to inherit this sole feature from her father. Breathlessly, you uttered softly, your words for his ears only, “She’ll love you.”

“And you?” he whispered back, that same hesitancy still prominent in his tone. He looked at you expectantly as he asked, “Do you still love me?”

“I’ve never stopped,” you echoed his words back to him, continuing in that same hushed tone, “I’ll always love my dummy Caleb.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice resigned, holding you just a bit tighter, as if he was afraid this was a cruel, taunting dream he would wake up from.

As Caleb watched your eyes closed, he looked down, eyes darting from you to his daughter, and he wondered if he deserved any of this. In the warm summer night, surrounded by the blossoming blue and pink and white hydrangeas, he silently apologized for his mistakes, promising that for the remainder of his life, he would become a better man, deserving of both of you.

Just like the little boy from long ago, once he had made a promise to you, he would never break it.

He swore it on his life.

[kruegerspillow]

thinking about simon who's absolutely gobsmacked after you'd risked your own life for his. he was stuck between awe and anger as he watched your hit figure.

[ALTERNATIVE ENDING HERE!]

MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE BENEATH THE CUT ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

Simon's heart stopped as soon as he heard the sudden gunshot. You'd gotten yourself in his way in order to prevent the bullet from going through your lieutenant. The corner of his eyes twitched before the screaming of soldiers snapped him out of his thoughts. Your blood splattered on Simon's uniform.

"Bloody 'ell, price! There are dozens of 'em. Call fo' fuckin' backup!" Gaz grunted out in the radio, annoyance dripping down his voice. Simon shouts out orders to his other teammates, his voice unwavering.

You groaned, shifting on the ground before you felt a pair of shaky arms wrapped around your figure, lifting you up with ease as your throat tightens. Simon's eyes pierced through yours, his mask hiding  the expression beneath them. He made his way to an isolated corner, while the sound of bullets wheezing past the both of you echoed.

"Ya wanna play hero now, huh?" His voice was filled with wrath, though lacked actual bite.

He placed you down, kneeling in front of you as you let out a pained grunt. His hand hovered over your body, feeling nearly unsure for the first time. Your eyes squeezed shut, and Simon felt his heart ache at the sight.

His shaky hand made its way to your cheeks, lifting your head so you could look up at him as he murmured words of encouragement that you couldn't seem to pick up. His other hand helped you exert pressure on the bleeding wound.

"Don't close your fuckin' eyes, ya hear me? Look at me. Look at me. Hey, that's an order." He whispered, his voice cracking as the world spun around you.

The hands that were once on your cheek made their way to the tourniquet in his vest. Fuck, Simon thought in his head.

The battlefield has no place for love. War won't stop just to let you see your loved ones once again. Simon knew that by keeping his 'no bullshit' facade. Yet, moments like this are the ones that the Ghost could not prevent. He hated how you made him soft, he hated the way his gaze lingered around your figure, he hated how your words had its way with him. But, now? This may or may not be the last time he'd be able to touch you, to feel your skin against his, to show you just how much he loves you, even though you would never understand the amount of love he has for you.

The screaming of soldiers died down as the hostiles retreated from the area. Simon wrapped the tourniquet around your leg, pausing for a moment.

"Breathe, yeah? This... this may sting a bit." Simon spoke up, and you nodded.

He tightened the tourniquet, causing you to nearly jerk. He softly shushed you, his eyes darting from your wound to your facial expression. Once he finished tightening it around your leg, his hands went to the radio.

"Bravo 0-7 to Bravo 0-6, we need evac immediately. Fuckin' hell this place has turned into a bloody massacre." Simon murmured.

"Got your coordinates, we'll be there in ten."

The atmosphere went quiet. Gaz and the other soldiers checked around the area for any hostels while Simon stayed by your side, his chest rising up and down in exhaustion. He quietly gathered his composure.

"Ghost..." Your weakened voice caught his attention.

His eyes softened as he watched you quietly, his hands falling to the side as he stayed kneeling on the ground. The stench of blood and gunpowder lingered around the both of you. Your breathing regulated, he noticed.

"Feelin' better, hero?"

"...Never felt better."

A small, muffled scoff left his lips. His eyes hovered around you, as if he was admiring you. The color of your eyes, the way your chest rose up and down. You met his gaze, noticing the familiar look in them. A swirl of emotions took over his mind.

He longs for the feeling of your touch— the feeling of your lips against his. He wished he could just pull you into a deep, passionate kiss that he had always hoped for; just to show you how much he loves you. Just to let you know that he'd only loved you from the start, just to prove to you that he is a human being capable of love—

But he can't.

You'll never realize just how much he needed you. You'll never notice the way his gaze lingers at you for far too long. You'll never notice the way his eyes soften at the sight of you. And, perhaps, you never will.

The sound of the helicopter filled the area, snapping him out of his trance. As Simon cleared his throat, he carefully lifted you up. Gaz's footsteps echoed through the building before his eyes shifted to Simon. He gestured for the both of you to get into the helicopter.

Simon stood up, carefully making his way out of the building with precise steps.

"Ghost?"

"... Yeah?"

" I, ahem..." you paused for a moment, "Thank you... for helpin' me back there."

Fuck, he felt his heart shattering into a million pieces.

kruegerspillow © 2024 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work. Reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[actual-changeling]

a continuation of this post

-

Demons do not need to sleep, and yet he does, mostly because time spent unconscious is not time spent crying, which demons also do not do, and yet.

A deep, crushing pain resides in the middle of his chest—a heartbreak not entirely unfamiliar; he never forgot the smell of burning books and the lack of his angel's presence anywhere on earth. He never forgot what it felt like to lose Aziraphale, and the reminder he received was entirely unnecessary.

If anyone were to ask, he'd deny the crying, arguing that technically not a single tear has left his eyes in the last three months, sixteen days, and seven hours—not that he is keeping count—although there is no one left to care. Except Muriel, who adjusted surprisingly quickly to living on earth and having a demonic snake curled up by the window.

Crowley sleeps and endures a never-ending series of nightmares for about two months, and while he wakes and slithers out of his chair, he decides to remain in his serpent form.

The most surprising development is perhaps how easily he bonds with Muriel. They offer up a steady arm, having switched the uniform for a sunshine-yellow pastel jumper and a simple black skirt, and to hell with it all, the warmth, the touch, the soft breaths, and the regular heartbeat pulsating next to him do not heal the wound, but they stop the bleeding; for a while, anyway.

So they go about their days, Crowley coiled around their shoulders while they read or do inventory, reorganise books, and then organise them differently as soon as they're done, never selling a single copy. They sing, too, having apparently discovered a lot of earthly pleasures during his nap, low and quiet, soothing in a way he did not expect.

Once upon a time, not too long ago, the Serpent of Eden wrapped around an angel's shoulders was a familiar sight. The serpent remains unchanged, although if you were to ask anyone regularly passing by the shop, they'd tell you it seems sadder now, somehow.

The angel has changed, however.

As time passes, Crowley waits not in a garden but in a bookshop, longing for a thunderstorm and a white wing above his head. He watches the sky, he watches the door, and he waits and waits and waits.

[imactuallyreallycool]

What a lovely dream

But that what it’ll always be. A dream.

Close ups and stuff lmao

[uolarieclosed]

yang jungwon ☆ ! only about love

━━━ in which mr player decides to settle down with his one and only …

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who is the biggest player on the team, finding joy in messing with other people’s feelings for his own pleasure.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who became a player after you—the team’s manager rejected him.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who flirts with girls in front of you and gives them his number to see your reaction; but sulks when you don’t say anything.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who pretends to injure himself so you can be concerned for him.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who writes your name on his hockey stick before taping it up, knowing you’re on the ice with him every game.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who gets jealous when a player from another team tried asking for your number.

“don’t ever speak to my girlfriend again.” jungwon spits through his mask, allowing himself to be dragged away by the refs.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who waits with you while you fill out forms for the uniforms, equipment, next games etc so he can walk you home.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who sits with you on the bus to an away game. he brings snacks and earbuds to share on the ride.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who chooses a jersey number after your favorite number.

“why’d you choose 77?” you ask while giving him a new jersey, knowing his old number was 04. “i overheard you telling coach that your favorite number is 77.” he shrugs, grabbing his jersey.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who goes all out for his next confession, telling himself that this will be the last one if you reject him again.

“i know it may not seem like i’m serious about you but i am.” jungwon suddenly blurts out as you’re locking up the ice rink. he wanted to wait until he dropped you off at home, but it was eating him inside—and it was eating you up inside that you couldn’t hide your feelings anymore.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who blows you a kiss before every game, his smile evident even behind his mask.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who teaches you how to play hockey—his hands are around your waist as he steadies you. it was just you and him in the quiet ice rink spending time together.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who is upset about losing his game and finds solace in you. especially when you encourage him for his next.

“it was just one game, you’ll do better next time, hm?” you rub jungwon’s back, knowing he was pouting the whole time. jungwon nuzzles further into the crook of your neck, muttering a small ‘okay’.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who feigns an emergency in the locker room. in reality he just wants to see you before he has to play.

“you’re not slick jungwon,” you glare at him, crossing your arms. he’s currently shirtless, asking you to massage his shoulders because he’s tense. “if you don’t do it now i won’t play.” he pulls you into him, smirking.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who hates arguments, especially when they’re about his past relationships/flings.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who refuses to play when you’re mad at him. he won’t even change into his uniform, he remains seated next to you pleading for you to talk to him.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who locks you both in the storage room until you forgive him, which you last a lot longer than he thought you would—even his puppy dog eyes don’t work.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who comes to the terms that you’re not forgiving him, so he leaves you alone (which are the worst days of his life).

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who is in the worst mood ever everyday that he comes to practice.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who is extracted from the game because he took his anger out on the opposing team, giving him multiple penalties.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who completely breaks down in front of his friends, annoyed at your stubbornness and afraid that you’ll leave him.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who comes into your room late at night with tears staining his cheeks and with the effort of mending things.

“you’re the only one for me, you know that baby.” he gets on his knees practically begging you. “i never intended to hurt you,” his hands are gripping your thighs, eager to have you back.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who wasn’t much of a player in the first place, he just wanted the girl he already had (you were playing hard to get).

© 2024 uolarie

[seokminfilm]

borderline 🎸 yoon jeonghan

🎸 pairing, yoon jeonghan x reader

🎸 warnings, non-idol au, short, angst (hint of fluff at the end), high school au, senior student tennis player jeonghan, lovers to strangers to ???, tennis player reader, heavily descriptive

🎸 summary, the subject of tennis and yoon jeonghan were something you think you would never understand.

🎸 author's note, this has been simmering in my head this morning ever since i saw this picture on pinterest....i needed to do this okay i wouldn't rest until it was done LOL thank you all so much for 397 followers now AND all the love on 'calvin klein boyfriend'!! i appreciate it lots 🥹 anyways, enjoy borderline!!

🎸 now playing, yes i'm changing (tame impala)

🎸 word count, 818 | for @kstrucknet

the ball pecks the ground harmlessly, flying into the net as you give up trying, racket hitting the ground as you bite your lip.

tears are flowing from your eyes before you can even try form a thought as to why you're crying, and you don't know if it's because you're frustrated, hurt, or a mixture of both.

it was your senior year, but your ex-boyfriend was nowhere to be found. he had promised you on this same court, promised to never let you go─even after you two graduated, he swore up and down he would take you with him, wherever he decided to go. obviously, he didn't hold up his end of the bargain. yoon jeonghan was nowhere to be found.

you don't even know why you were practicing at this point. you and all of your friends knew that you were playing tennis because of jeonghan, even if you tried to deny it over and over. he had made you fall in love with it, just as he made you fall in love with him.

taking another tennis ball in your sweaty hand, you let it hit the racket, giving it your best swing as he violently swishes into the net once again. face falling at the failure, you turn away from the court and look into the park, watching children play lightheartedly without a care in the world.

you remember when you were like that, free and whole─jeonghan was there with you, encouraging you to act like a fool, even when you probably shouldn't have been. jeonghan had brought out the best in you, it seemed, and now─he wasn't even there to do that. the call to tennis was too strong for him to deny, you supposed.

"it's no wonder you can't hit the ball straight. you have the posture of a steamed shrimp." the voice had a familiar tone to it as if the speaker of that sentence was trying to hold back a laugh of some sort.

turning around, your eyes land on yoon jeonghan himself─the freshman-turned-tennis prodigy who left your life two years ago.

he was taller now, hair longer and smoother as it bristled in the wind tousling through the air. his eyes still had that charming look to them, but his lips were a dark pink, tantalizing and lithe as he smirked at you.

"did you miss me?" the question is playful as jeonghan strips himself of his backpack and whips out a tennis racket. wiping the tears from your eyes, you clear your throat, eyes threatening to tear up again at jeonghan's smile.

"i didn't really have time to do that." you lie straight through your teeth, and jeonghan knows you did, going along with it as he smirks. "uh-huh."

the two of you fell silent, unspoken conversations lingering between you. there was so much you and him left unsaid, and now, you waited for him to clear up the confusion and hurt in your heart.

if you were being a hundred percent honest, you wanted jeonghan to kiss you and make everything all feel better.

"let's practice some swings, shall we? it'll be just like good old times." jeonghan flips his racket in hand, hair tucked and strands whipping violently behind his ears. his dark brown eyes study yours with one of fondness as if you two had never stopped being together.

both of you knew that wasn't true, but it was nice to pretend, right?

"how can it be the same, jeonghan? it's so different now. it's been so different without you, jeonghan," you whisper, and sadly enough, jeonghan hears you. his face falls slightly, and he can't put on a fake smile, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair.

"we can always try, can't we?" jeonghan was just inches away from you now, walking farther and farther up to you during the conversation. his cologne washes over you in waves, and his eyes are filled with pain and longing─it makes you want to cry, almost. seeing how pitiful he is for you. it's makes you feel wanted.

"sure. we can try," you say in a rare moment of vulnerability, and jeonghan pauses to look at you, face illuminated by the sun as he smiles.

"we can try, yeah. let's start out with tennis, though?" you crack a smile at the unusual familiarity of jeonghan's warm voice directed to you again, and in that moment, suddenly everything isn't so bad.

suddenly, you're willing to try to hit the ball over the net again. the life in your eyes has returned back, and you nod quietly, looking down as both of you think of what your tennis coach had said to you two your first doubles game.

second chances come and go. it's just up to you to take them.

you guessed the quote came in handy for romantic relationships, not just tennis matches.

[rookanisstuff]

The rookanis fan fic flavour of the evening? Domestic fluff

[tom-whore-dleston]

the three of them

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f. reader, Joaquin Torres x f. reader, Sam Wilson x f. reader

This fic contains: angst, multiple situationships, implied poly!reader, long distance, implied infidelity, poetry format

Notes: This is my submission for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial theme: Great Expectations. The dating life is currently all over the place and I just wanted to dump all my feelings towards the relationships I have in a poetic way.

“What do you want?” They ask.

Isn’t it obvious?

You want Bucky.

But you also want Joaquin. 

And then there’s also Sam.

In a perfect world, you would have all three of them. 

Maybe even more if you wanted to.

Your heart is big enough to love them all the same.

Bucky feels a strong connection with you, yet he has Natasha.

It’s so confusing to both you and Bucky.

But Bucky makes you feel oh so good.

More than any other man has in your life.

Joaquin also wants you, but the distance between you both is greater than the yearning you have for one another.

Joaquin admires your artistic abilities and your passions.

He sees himself in you, hence why he loves you the way he does.

Someone said they see why you and Joaquin click.

Because you and Joaquin don’t take life so seriously.

You both know how to have fun and be silly.

You met Sam amongst the storm that is Bucky and Joaquin.

He is a safe haven for you. 

But this safe haven will be shipped off to the other side of the world before you know it. 

You have all this love in your heart that you’re ready to give.

But is now the right time?

Perhaps, there is another man, maybe woman, that is Bucky, Joaquin, and Sam combined.

They could be out there in this world.

It’s up to you if you want to explore that possibility.

But you’re not ready to let go of Bucky, Joaquin or Sam yet. 

You suppose that’s okay.

Until those dreams manifest into nightmares.

What do you want?

Who will you choose?

In the end, you must choose yourself, no matter what or who you want.

Navigation | Fanfic Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Joaquin Torres Masterlist | Sam Wilson Masterlist

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 9: you'll hate me

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | m.list

chapter synopsis:

“You’ll hate me once you see what happened.”

“No, Megumi, I won’t,” you reassure him, “And anyway, things are different now, too.”

---

You could never hate him. After years of waiting to see Tsumiki again, you can finally do so now. Yet still, there's a sombreness in the air, and Megumi won't let you place a finger on it just yet.

word count: ~3k; tws: none for now ^-^

short a/n: hi everyone! I'm so sorry this took so so long, I really missed you all a lot. basically, school and life got a bit busy, but I'm happy to say I'm back now :). I've written an update here where I just talked about some matters regarding the series and my writing. you can read it if you'd like, because personally I think it's quite important for you to do so if you read this fic :)

28-6-2018 

“Morning. Did you sleep well?” 

Megumi moves the blanket away from him, blinking sleep out of his eyes still. You hoist yourself up until your back is against the headboard. 

“The blanket wasn’t here before I fell asleep, I think,” he voices out, nearly inaudible, drenched in the aftermath of a deep slumber, “Did you—” 

You nod your head.  

“...thanks.” 

At this moment, it’s as if nothing exists. Just you and him and the sky at blue hour, on his bed doing something that people who are just friends shouldn’t do. The urge to trace over his face— over his shut eyelids and sharp nose and thin lips— clings to you like a second nature, one which you never thought you had. There’s hair on his head like a nest you’re itching to touch, spiky and jet black like blades of grass. 

You’ve seen this kind of movie before, felt these feelings with your best friend, no less— and now they’ll eat you up from the inside like bacteria on a rotting fruit. Because feeling like this means feeling everything else assault you all at once: you don’t know if you'd like to bury your face into something and scream, or cry from the fact that it may be unrequited, or jump around in joy for everything good Megumi has done for you. 

But forget the sorcerers, forget the healing, forget the cursed techniques and the need to be useful and needed for one second, forget your parents, forget Tsumiki, even— and you can’t believe you thought that. What can they offer which you can’t find next to him, right now, on a warm twilight with cold blankets and pillows? 

There are so many things you have wanted. But right now, just this is enough. 

“Sometimes I regret talking about how I feel, being emotional and things like that— to the point that if I feel things strongly, these days I try not to show them. It’s… the vulnerability, I guess. Letting your walls down. I know it sounds super cliche, and I know that about 80% of the time I probably fail at this, and that it’s not always good being like that—” stirring him further into consciousness, “—but I think you’re the same, just in a different way. You don’t like talking about your feelings. Still, I have to say, I really enjoy this, these things we do.” 

His gaze stays locked on yours, and silence fills the air again; nothing but steady breathing. You wonder, if there’s anything he thinks about when he’s alone on mornings like these, whether he thinks about you. 

“So do I.” 

The girls’ and boys’ bathrooms are right next to each other. So at 4 in the morning, when everyone else is still asleep and the sun is yet to rise, you bump into Megumi after brushing your teeth. 

“Not going to shower?” he asks. 

“The sound will travel and it may wake the others up. What about you?” 

“I don’t shower in the mornings, only at night.” 

“Oh, right.” 

He pauses for a while, makes a little sound to fill in the gaps of his hesitation. You wait for him patiently. “Tsumiki… I can let you know about what happened to her. The truth is, she—” 

“Take your time,” you interrupt him. You aren’t stupid; something bad must have happened to her for him to be like this. Any slither of hope you have left that she’s all fine and good was used to play dumb and deny yourself the truth. 

“...let me take you there. To where she is.” 

For more than half your life, Tsumiki’s been a constant. As you moved around and floated between friend groups, you felt lonely in every waking moment; only wishing for the days when you had Tsumiki and Megumi again. That was the impact they had on you. So after such a long wait, your heart leapt with joy at the thought of seeing her again. 

“Okay.” 

“Actually, do they not have a curfew? It’s only 5 am,” you say as the two of you are on the sidewalk, next to each other; not with either of you in front of the other. You pull the strap of your bag up every time it slips down. 

“They do, but it’s only until 4 in the morning. It’s not as if it’ll be easy for sorcerers to obey a curfew anyway, so the teachers don’t really check if everyone is observing everything,” he explains, “Hey, I can hold your bag for you, you know—” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“It looks heavy. It’ll hurt, and I don’t mind carrying it for you for a while. How many things are in there, actually—?” 

“... I do try to pack minimalistically. I don’t have many things in it. I don’t know why it does this.” 

“Let me hold it.” 

“...okay. Thank you. But next time, you don’t have to.” 

“I really don’t mind. It’s uh… like what you said. We take care of each other.” 

“I’m surprised you still remember that,” you note, chuckling, “In that case I should try to take care of you more.” 

“...you’re already doing more than enough.” 

“Hope I’m not being too much, then,” you joke, and your voice sounds a little too fond as you hear it exit your mouth, “I’ll start doubling down from now on.” 

A small part of you wants to indulge yourself; to imagine him doing this for you always. To feel the extent of the things he can do for you, and to want to do the same. 

You hand him the bag. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

You have a problem here. You’re in deep, aren’t you? 

The two of you had decided not to phone up anyone who could drive you there, nor were you able to take public transport from the school’s campus to your destination. In truth, you had no idea why it seemed that he and you were being secretive about it, but since you weren’t sure if whatever happened to Tsumiki was something Megumi wanted others to know yet, you obliged him. 

“Where are we headed to, actually?” 

“...the hospital.” 

“...what?” 

“...you’ll see. I’ll be able to explain once we get there.” 

It’s as if the expression on his face is written in a language you can’t understand. 

It only spurs your worry— what happened to Tsumiki? You’d wanted so badly to see her again and speak to her ever since she stopped all contact with you. The whole time you’d thought she was just busy, or that she would speak to you again soon, as if she were some constant who you couldn’t imagine being absent from your life due to sickness or injury. It hadn’t even occurred to you, that after you checked in on her and hadn’t even seen that she’d read those messages. To you she was a constant, and she’d always come back. You couldn’t imagine a life without her doing so. 

First your mother, and now Tsumiki. 

“The whole time I thought she just decided to… stop talking to me for a while.” 

“If anything was done to her, she would have told you, provided that she could. You weren’t an afterthought to her. She loved you. I… it was my fault, that after everything happened, I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I’m sorry.” 

She loved you?

“I still don’t know what happened. I mean, don’t blame yourself—” 

A car passes by and the two of you cross the road. His hand hovers near your back at the end of it, when the pedestrian traffic light goes red and the cars move rapidly behind you. You pretend his actions aren’t blowing up fireworks inside you. 

“No, you called me, right? You even tried to reach me, and… after all I did and how I acted… it wasn’t the right thing to do. But I chose not to call you.” 

You remember when you did, remember how it stung. 

He’s not the only one keeping secrets. You’ve got the letter and the years of yearning you want to let him know about. Yet it would feel like betrayal to yourself, even with the guilt you have from always keeping them. You’re not sure if that guilt is for him or you. 

“But you apologised for all of that, and, well— I think I’m mostly fine with it now. It was just… circumstance, I guess. Especially because it was Tsumiki. Not sure what happened to her, but I mean… if it was just what was happening at that time, even if it may frustrate me, I just have to accept it,”  you explain yourself, speaking from your chest. 

“You’ll hate me once you see what happened.” 

“No, Megumi, I won’t,” you reassure him, “And anyway,  things are different now, too.” You’ve got more control over your technique, fine-tuned it with practice and determination. You may still be weak at times: you may struggle to heal severe injuries or may get a nosebleed when you’ve pushed yourself too far and tried to heal bruises on four hours of sleep, but you’ve improved.

“No— I’ve hidden it for so long, I don’t know—” 

“I mean, look, we all have our secrets. Sometimes we have them even if we don’t want or have to. You don’t have to be privy to all of myself, especially what I try to keep hidden, but if both of us ever want to… we can always take one step at a time, and I think we’re doing that quite well, in my opinion. Besides, you’re here now. And now that we’re both on campus it’s going to be even harder to get away from me.” 

He stops in his tracks all of a sudden. You do, too. The words come floundering out of his mouth. “[Name]... I don’t know the… ‘right’ way to say this, but I don’t want to get away from you.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, I never did.” 

“Huh.” 

He hums.

“…me neither,” you coax out of yourself. 

“...there’s a floral shop nearby. I usually get her some flowers.”  

It’s time to get your mother some flowers, too. 

The florist there greets the two of you with a wistful smile, and says that she hasn’t seen Megumi in a while. Megumi introduces you as a childhood friend. 

“What do you usually get?” you ask. 

“Lilies, usually. Carnations and daisies, sometimes, too.” 

You’ve only bought flowers to pay respects to the deceased, at least when it was you buying them and not Yuuji. You’d never met your grandfather, but back when your parents still called you their little girl, your father would bring you to the temple where his ashes were kept every year. You’d see that photo of his face, smiling in black and white, next to your grandmother on their wedding day, and you’d notice how your father prayed before it. He’d replace the flowers— carnations, lilies, daisies, and tell you all the anecdotes he had with his father growing up. You’d gaze at the chrysanthemums and carnations with their honey-hued petals, at the lilies and daisies in their clear glass vases, and you’d think of how pretty they were. You think your grandfather would have liked them, his smile a spitting image of your father’s and a spitting image of yours. 

“Those are her favourite, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“They suit her. It’s a perfect match, because— well, to me, I always thought of parts of her as different things. Her kindness and the joy she shared with other people were cherries. Her hair was brown, so I’d think of chestnuts and that reminded me of Christmas with her, or mont blanc desserts. And her smile was like a flower to me, a bouquet of lilies. At first I only thought that it was because she was pretty and one of the sweetest people I knew, but now it’s more than that— wait, sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, no— it’s okay,” he replies, almost immediately. 

“I’m just excited, is all.” 

He sighs, though you don’t know why. “Then you’ll want to scream at me,” he begins, “…I’m sorry. You’re excited and I just… I’m sorry. You’ll understand when we’re there.” 

You want to hold him. Tell him that it’s okay. Tell him that no matter what, you could never hate him. That you’d never had the power to, ever since you met him on that spring day. 

He chooses one bouquet on display, then heads over to the cashier. You don’t think you’ll be able to hold him at all, today. Or he won’t let you, his walls barring you from him, even when you thought many of them were already gone. You’d been so stupid, thinking the two of you were getting closer, but there was still so much more you had to learn about him now. There was still so much more you had to wait for, until he was willing to take them down. 

“Have you known her for a long time?” you ask, exiting the shop. He bought two— one from him and one from you. 

“Ever since Tsumiki got admitted.” 

“I can pay you back for the bouquets, by the way,” you suggest. 

“It’s fine.” 

“Gojo’s money?” 

“Gojo’s money.” 

You snicker. 

To be honest,  it’s a little difficult walking with him now. The two of you are devoid of any communication whatsoever, a silence calm in the night and early morning yet thickly unbearable once the sun has risen. Before this, you’d been timidly tiptoeing between small talk and deep conversations. Yet now, with the mood of Tsumiki’s incident looming over the air like a ghostly whisper, there’s nothing to talk about, really, as much as you’d like for there to be. 

You’d once heard that people who fell in love were able to talk each others’ ears off for hours on end. You could do that with Yuuji. But Megumi has always been different— in your life, at least. He’s not as boisterous, and not as agreeable with most people despite his politeness, but it’s always been a pleasure being silent with him. Sitting in silence. Lying on the bed together. There’s no spark before you, just the tranquility of an ocean at midnight. In the darkness, with shadows. 

He’s special. Now you can see that, now more clearly than ever before. 

And even now— even when things are awkward and jittery, you find you don’t mind this that much at all.  You don’t think you mind anything if you’re doing it with him. 

So there are no words between you, and you glance at his face, at the frown that contorts his face so softly and gently. 

If you held hands now, it would be pleasant. 

If you held hands now, your hands would inch closer to his as shyly as the first hints of spring arrive after winter. Your wrist would reach his, fingers aching for others to interlock with. Then they would slowly graze his palm like a lost man navigating through the wilderness, until you slid your fingers up his arm again. You would keep them on his wrist, at the outline of his veins, and perhaps if you pressed on it hard enough and used the same mental imaging you do for your cursed technique, you would be able to watch as blood flowed through his arteries and veins. You’ve held his wrist before anyway, grabbed it and pulled him along while his hand would slacken a little. At that time you did it almost abrasively. 

Maybe he would flinch. And maybe you would pull your hand back. 

But then before you realise it he would be tugging on your fingers again, palm against yours, finger to finger. You can even feel it as you think of it now— you would nearly melt in the grooves of his palm, the texture of his skin, and your hand would dance around his a bit until both of your hands wrapped around each other, a snug fit.

“[Name].” 

Your breath seems to fall short as you’re pulled from your fantasies. “What?” you ask, your face hot like a pan sizzling with melted butter. 

“Are you okay? It’s time to cross the road.” 

“Yeah. Just… it’s just… Tsumiki.” 

His hand is on your wrist. 

“Okay.” 

And if your hand slides down to his palm, and you squeeze his hand before he squeezes yours back despite not looking at you at that moment, well— 

You’ve done this before, and several times. But yo know why it’s different now. 

The sun has risen. There’s a certain pallor on Tsumiki’s face that you’ve never seen before. Under the early morning light it’s as if sunlight is seeping through her like light refracted in water. Her face is torn between peace and a grimace, as if she’s suspended precariously between a dream and a nightmare. A glaring red mark burns into her forehead like carved wood in patterns completely alien to you. There’s no lively ponytail bursting from her head, only the sordid scene of strands of chestnut hair gone flattened and lifeless, her once bright pink lips turned desiccated and pale; the sight of her grinning face from before only slipping through your fingers like powdery heaps of dust. She’s drawn out on the mattress resembling a fawn carcass in a documentary: too young and innocent to be like this, shallowly breathing in the torpid air. Comatose. The sight juts through your heart. 

This is different from grief. It feels like suffocation, like heaviness in the air. Your breaths are shallow as you take the clear glass vase, fill it with water and replace the previous lilies with new ones. There is no grief because nothing has been lost, only suspended. Locked in a standstill, for a little while. 

“We think it was a curse,” Megumi chokes. 

“How can you cure her?” 

“There’s no known cure since it was made from cursed energy. All we can do is wait for her to wake up.” 

“How long…?” 

“Since junior high. A while after you left.” Megumi confesses, “I’m sorry if you’re angry that I should’ve told you sooner,” his voice is strained and soft, a little bit from cutting himself off, “I’m sorry.” 

How many times had you thought of seeing her? How many times had you wondered why he’d never call and let you know how she was? Would she survive this, or would you have to wait a hundred times more just to see her again?

He knew all of this. He could have told you. 

Don’t be unreasonable, you think. Just focus on what you can do next. 

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh, “It’s just that after everything…” 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“I just wish I could’ve known. Then this whole time that I spent waiting—” 

“I know,” he goes, begging you to be angry. To hate him, as if anything he’s done to you could be the cause of something so great. 

You can cure people. You were placed on this world, born with powers to make or break life’s structures and processes, to cure people. With powers like that you’ve been hunted, sought after, protected— and yet now, when you need to heal this wound of hers, there’s nothing you can do. 

It makes you feel so useless it shakes you to the core. 

“I don’t know if I can do anything,” you start, half-resolute and half-doubtful. But despite your doubt you know that this is what it’s all about; what you’ve pledged yourself to do— to try your best and be useful. Like walking on a tightrope: you’ll have to march forward in the face of all of this and just force yourself not to look down, because this is all it’s ever been. Maybe, you think for a second, everything in your life has led to this moment. “But can I try?” 

“…of course. If anyone could do it, it would be you,” he remarks, voice softening with each syllable. 

“…thanks.” 

He’s very… tender today. Vulnerable. You suppose it’s because of Tsumiki and refrain from commenting on it.

You focus all your energy into her forehead and her brain, trying your best to somehow work against an obscure charm with an even more abstruse molecular structure. 

You can feel it— the strain on your consciousness, how it hurts to even think at some point, but ignore it all and try your best to help her. 

Be useful. If you don’t make it work now, her health is going to be up in the air for longer. If you don’t make it work now, you won’t know if you’ll be able to speak to her again, to thank her for everything— for teaching you to be kind and loving, for caring for you and appreciating parts of you when you’d never felt it before, for her cherry hair tie and her bright smile and her endless wisdom and— 

[Name]? 

If you don’t make it work now, how many more months will she have to spend without smiling through life and sharing her love with others? 

You want to scream at Megumi sometimes, actually. 

[Name]!

If you don’t make it work now, how much time of her life would be wasted in the end, when she had so much potential to change the world and shine her light on others? 

…he could have just told you from the start! 

You have to focus. If he told you this at the start, would that have changed anything? 

Be useful. 

[Name]! 

You have to make it work. You have to bring Tsumiki back. 

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

[vulpixsworld]

Motivation Monday

When 11:45 rings in around, Luara gives one last check-up on her. “Alright, we will be leaving.” She announces.

“Okay,” Chrissy mumbles.

“We will return around 5 pm. If you need to reach us, contact the father. He knows we will be stopping by.” She leans between the door and the hallway. Observing her behavior.

Chrissy continues to play sick. She barely keeps her eyes open. Okay, mommy. Be sure to wish Ben my luck. I know he will be great.”

Laura hums at her reply. “Well, get some rest. I would hate for you to be sick through the rest of Spring Break.” She closes the door one last time.

*GREAT NEWS!!!! I just finished typing Chapter 6 of Love Over Matter. I'm going to take a break and maybe work on my novel. Tomorrow, expect something exciting!!!!!

[lulublack90]

Prompt 2 - Rubbish

Wolfstar, January 2, word count 514

Previous part First part

Remus rushed home, praying that his ancient carrier bag would last until he got through the door. He’d noticed the tear beginning to make its way down the bag. It had done well really. Remus had had the bag for going on five years. He didn’t normally put this much shopping in it, which was probably why the poor thing had disintegrated in his hands, but his front door was in sight, just a few more feet.

The bag spilt open in his arms, its contents toppling to the ground. Thankfully, nothing fell out of its wrappers and the eggs were mostly okay. He stooped, picked up each item and hurried to his door.

He dumped everything on the counter and let out a sigh. He was exhausted from work and the thought of cooking anything made him feel even tireder, but he wanted to do this for Sirius, if he even turned up. At least he’d picked an easy dish. He threw the ruined carrier bag in the bin and got to work. By the time the buzzer for the front door went, everything was in the oven cooking. He rushed downstairs and pulled the door open excitedly. His face fell when he saw his father standing there.

“Dad!” He gasped, staring at the man who he looked so much like.

“Are you just going to leave me standing here or are you going to invite me in?” Lyall asked, his voice had a gruffness to it that Remus's never would. He took more after his mum in that. Her voice had been a soft lilting melody to Lyall’s cave troll.

“Yes, sorry,” Remus stammered, moving aside as Lyall walked through the door and up the stairs before Remus could even close the door.

“You’re still living like this?” Lyall asked, his nose scrunched up in disgust.

“Yes, Dad,” Remus said, his voice quiet. Lyall had a way of making Remus feel small and inadequate. Lyall sniffed the air.

“Are you cooking?” He asked, his brow furrowing as he looked towards the kitchen area. Remus felt his ears and the back of his neck heating as his father stared at him.

“Er, yeah, I’m expecting someone. A friend,” He added quickly, unsure why he felt the need to say that to his father. The buzzer went again before Lyall could say any more.

Remus hurried over and pressed the intercom, not wanting to go down if it was just a salesmen, but on second thought that would get him away from his father for a minute or five. “Hello?” He said hesitantly into the rectangular speaker.

“Hello, bed buddy, it’s me,” Sirius’s voice came loud and clear through the otherwise crackly speaker. Remus let his head drop against the wall. Of all the ways Sirius could have greeted him, he chose that.

“Hi Sirius, I’ll be right down,” He let go of the intercom button and raced out of the door, not wanting to see the expression on Lyall’s face as he was sure it would be a mix of disappointment and revulsion.

Next part

[my-little-random-world]

Marta: I’ve spent the whole morning missing you. Fina: I suppose we’re both very busy. Marta: I have a surprise for you. Fina: Besides the new one you brought into our room? Marta: Don’t be like that. I think she’s a really nice girl. Fina: Yes, very tidy, if I’m being honest. Marta: Well then, let me make it up to you by taking you to a great restaurant in Madrid tonight, one you’re going to love. And afterward, we can go to a little hotel, the one in front of the Retiro. Tomorrow we’d have to wake up early to be back here at the crack of dawn, but it’s worth the early start, hm? Fina: But I can’t today. I have plans. Marta: What plans?

Fina: I’m meeting the girls for drinks. Marta: Well, you could make up an excuse, hm? Fina: No, no, I can’t ditch them at the last minute. Besides, we’ve invited Miriam to catch her up on how the project is going. Marta: And me? Can you ditch me? Fina: I already had plans with the girls. You just made yours up now. Marta: Eh, Fina, I moved heaven and earth to find time. You can’t tell me no just because you’re going to grab drinks with the girls. Fina: Oh, and I have to drop everything every time you move heaven and earth and manage to find a little moment for me? Marta: Are you joking? What’s wrong with you? Fina: What’s wrong with me, Marta? What’s wrong is that I have a life too. You know that. And I can’t sit around all day waiting to see if you can squeeze me into your schedule. Marta: That’s so unfair! You know that with my new position, it’s really hard for me to find time for us. Fina: And just because of that, you assume I’m supposed to wait around like I have nothing else going on? Marta: I don’t assume that. Fina: Well, it sure seems like it. And I don’t want to live like this. I have to think about myself. Marta: And what about us? Don’t you think about us? Fina: You know what, Marta? Maybe I cancel on the girls, and then some last-minute thing comes up with a client of yours, and you leave me hanging again. And so it goes, on and on, because your time is always more important, never mine. Marta: So you’re punishing me? You really prefer giving up the little time we have together, just to pay me back? Is your hurt pride stronger than your desire to be with me? Fina: It’s not pride, Marta! It’s not pride! It’s trying to protect myself. Marta: Protect yourself from what? What, now I’m a threat? Fina: Marta, it’s always me! I’m always the one adapting to you and your schedule! And I need you too! You know who’s always there, who never lets me down? Carmen and Claudia. So no, I’m not going to ditch them just because you ask me to. Marta: There’s nothing I can say to make you change your mind, is there? Fina: No.

[rhonissancee]

๑Superficial Love. Goldenratio (Ratio x Aventurine). WC: 1.2k [to note: not proofread !]

Aventurine wasn't one to actively express what he was feeling. Think of it like a kaleidoscope, converting sunrays into different shapes and colors to distract you and bring your focus away from the source. In his case it was always much easier to showcase various different emotions and wear them like a mask. When he needs people to pity him he'll craft a perfectly pathetic face one to easily deceive. When he needs to get on someone's nerves a small quirk of his lips into a smug smirk is all it really took. So he didn't see the need for expressing himself when he can easily shift into something that'll cater to the other party, like a masked man raising the stakes of the game every time just for the player to realize that he had nothing but a bad hand. A master of deception who knows how and when to use it. It took years of practice to get him where he is now, years of observing people from the shadows, analyzing facial expressions when he'd play poker, and mimicking them perfectly to suit the facade he was trying to build. So imagine his surprise when all of it comes crumbling down the moment he becomes tangled with the esteemed Dr. Veritas Ratio. When face to face with another masked fool it was easy to tell, like a predator realizing that it's one of their own, alike to the point where the mask becomes undone for a split second; a moment of vulnerability. But a split second will stay a second. It was a barely there crack in one's facade, one that can't be seen by the naked eye unless up close.

"you're deflecting." Bored. Casual. But there was something, a small pinprick of emotion—that barely there crack and Aventurine was ready to hammer it down.

"responding to that serves quite difficult Veritas." He could see the small pinch in the others fine brow, an indication of annoyance, he always hated when Aventurine called him that. A small tell being the way the others jaw would tighten only for it to be forced into a relaxed state.

"with a mind like yours. It shouldn't be." Treat it as a yes or no question and you'll find yourself more likely to pick none. Except the question proposed was far more complex, sticky with emotions that Aventurine has spent years trying to bury deep in the alcoves of his soul, never to be felt again.

"you said I love you." Aventurine repeats as if saying it again makes it more digestible, more fathomable, more like a test instead of a declaration. It did no such thing, If anything saying those three words made his tongue numb and his head ache. He maintained his calm exterior, mirroring Ratio's own one.

"I did" his words mechanical, Aventurine almost found it comical. From gathered information one could easily tell this was probably the shittiest confession ever, in movies confessions are usually done over the pouring rain preferably with tears spilling from their eyes and voices screamed raw. There was no screaming, there were no tears, even the weather outside his apartment seemed cheerful.

"well thank you" that was dumb even Aventurine had to admit it. What's even worse than a shitty confession was an equally shitty answer. You say thank you when a gentleman opens the door for you, or when you receive a glass of water from the waiter, not when the supposed love of your life (Aventurine is still debating if that's the right term for Ratio) is confessing their unyielding feelings for you with a stone cold face.

"thank you?" The quirk in Ratio's brow was the only indication of his amusement. Aventurine could feel the steam of heat rush to his cheeks. That mask he so cleverly designed now getting dismantled with ease. This wasn't fair. Ratio was doing this on purpose .

"thank you for your confession. It must've taken a lot of courage to say that." Aventurine can't save himself now but he could at least try to play it out. In the game of feelings (at least with Ratio) the only loser is the one that folds.

"quite. I had an entire speech planned." Aventurine choked on his spit, he imagined it: Ratio hunched over his work desk trying to find the perfect synonyms for beautiful.

"the effort is admirable" only for the speech to be reduced to three simple words. Yet those words tangled deep within his heart strings, tugging and knotting itself orchestrating the loud thump thump thump in his chest. Honestly he'd prefer the grandeur speech instead, he'd rather Ratio go on and on about how his hair looked sun spun and how his eyes reassembled those irritatingly bright graffiti stencils on brick walls.

Ratio didn't even try to speak. His eyes said it all: 'deflecting' and a small hidden part of them seemed to say 'say it back, I'm begging you'

Aventurine laughs his tone a bit pitched—panic. "Such a thoughtful confession deserves time and thought put into it" he needs time. He needs time. He needs time. He needs time.

He can't do this right now and so he allowed himself a calculated slip up, a moment of vulnerability all for the sake of buying himself more time.

A slow blink was Ratios reply as if it just occurred to him that not everything is warranted an immediate answer, an immediate solution. Aventurine could see a small crack, ruining his flawless porcelain facade—shame perhaps?

A speck of guilt. He knew the agony of waiting for an answer to something the type of feeling that roots itself inside of your brain to fester doubt and insecurity. But if he knew Ratio (and he did) he wouldn't allow things as feeble as that cloud his focus, he'd snip every single one in a heartbeat. If anything he would warrant Aventurine as much time as he needed because Ratio was a sensible (albeit emotionally constipated at times), meticulous man. He wouldn't want a rushed answer let alone a forced one.

Aventurines assumption was confirmed when he felt gentle hands envelope his own ones. He couldn't help the small flinch he let out at the contact, something he wasn't used to despite hanging around the scholar almost everyday. His gaze met Ratios and he was surprised to find them warm and sincere, eyes like honeycomb encased in amber. He didn't like the look of sincerity in the others face.

He watched as Ratio slowly brought his two hands to his lips, kissing his knuckles with the devotion that would bring preachers to shame. He didn't expect to spark such a reaction, he didn't know what mask to put on. A miffed look crossed Aventurines face.

"take all the time you need. I won't go anywhere." Ratio mutters softly, it was out of character, it was unusual, it was making Aventurines heart malfunction and his mind muddled.

"you-"

"I'm sorry" what why

"I don't want you to answer for my sake." Ratio explained, another kiss to his hands. Aventurine remains silent, shocked. This was Ratio. The person behind the porcelain mask. Raw and vulnerable and so utterly smitten.

For me? Aventurine swallows thickly but he could feel that small panic from earlier thawing. An indiscernible feeling replacing it.

"Aventurine, anaticula. I love you." Ratio says and this time it wasn't to demand an answer, it was to inform, it was to declare, it was the type to be whispered under shared sheets in the dead of night.

Honestly Aventurine wouldn't mind that thought.

The blonde sighs softly with a small smile drawn on his lips "what am I going to do with you Veritas" he mutters, moving so that his forehead could rest against Ratios, his brows scrunch a bit as the words repeated in his head.

I love you

I love you

I love you

AN: gonna separate my writings actually. Fanfics for my OTPS will be here, x readers on the other account + Anyways take this ratiorine drabble that I wrote on a whim (so sorry if it's messy) because I'm so high on both of them + Fun fact: anaticula translates to 'little duckling' AND IK ITS LIKE KINDA CRINGE AND SHIT BUT IDC LALALALALA + They're both emotionally intelligent but constipated when it comes to each other me thinks. I honestly love this ship so much (it hurts) and I'd definitely write for them more.

[allforreading-fandomthings]

I can't stop thinking about icemav