#freight exchange

[jackawful]

hopping trains is so cool and good like...a little bit of patience and respect, a little willingness to break the rules & good sense enough to do so safely and be quiet when it counts, and you can just fuckin GO anywhere for free? it's like a really long mostly-flat rollercoaster. it's like being a flea on the back of a dragon. you ride a great loud mechanical beast that has been a tool of genocide and capitalist cruelty since its invention and you parasitize it for your own ends and in doing so you join a lineage of poor people taking agency over their lives dating back over a century. the brake dust I saw sparkling in the air has seeped into my pores and made me a new person.

[clarii]

Operation ‘Fix Eddie’s Screw-Up’

Summary: A year ago, Eddie Munson made a mistake he’s regretted ever since. When you walk into the video store where he works with Robin and Steve, old wounds resurface, and Eddie’s left grappling with the past. It doesn’t take long for Steve, Robin, and the kids to notice—and they decide to take matters into their own hands to fix things.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff

Author’s note: Good morning guys, I felt like Tumblr was lacking on some good old angst and fluff stories of him without any smut. This one is kinda long.

Eddie Munson’s job at Family Video wasn’t glamorous, but it was steady. After everything with the Upside Down, normalcy was a welcome relief. The place was rarely busy, which left plenty of time for him, Steve, and Robin to mess around behind the counter and argue over who was more tolerable to customers.

“Come on, Stevie,” Eddie said one slow Thursday afternoon, lazily spinning a VHS tape between his fingers. “Don’t act like you don’t love when middle-aged moms ask you to recommend a rom-com.”

“Better than you scaring them off with your metalhead charm,” Steve shot back.

Robin snorted from the counter. “Please, you’re both terrible. I’m the only one holding this place together.”

The three of them fell into easy banter, their laughter echoing through the empty store. Eddie had just started recounting a ridiculous D&D campaign he’d run when the bell above the door jingled.

“Welcome to Family Video!” Robin chirped without looking up from her inventory list.

Eddie, however, froze. His voice caught in his throat, his grip tightening on the tape in his hands. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was you. He’d recognize your presence anywhere.

A year. It had been a whole year since the last time he’d seen you—since the night he’d screwed everything up.

You didn’t even glance his way as you walked toward the shelves, your focus entirely on the rows of tapes. Your hair, your stance, the way you moved—it all hit him like a freight train, dragging memories to the surface that he’d tried so hard to bury.

“Uh, Eddie?” Steve nudged him, eyebrows raised. “You good, man?”

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbled, though his voice was tight. He forced himself to turn away, but he couldn’t stop glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

When you finally approached the counter with your rental, you placed it down without a word.

Robin, picking up on the tension, stepped forward to help. “Oh, this one’s good! Classic rom-com—”

“Just the tape, please,” you said curtly, cutting her off. Your voice wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t warm, either.

Eddie didn’t dare speak. He kept his hands busy with the register, avoiding eye contact. When you paid and took your receipt, you turned on your heel and left without so much as a glance back.

The bell jingled again as the door closed behind you.

Eddie’s eyes, however, stayed fixed on the door long after you were gone.

It didn’t take long for Steve and Robin to notice.

“Okay, spill,” Robin said, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. “What was that?”

“Yeah, dude,” Steve added. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

Eddie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel their eyes boring into him, and he knew there was no getting out of this.

“That was her,” he said finally, his voice low.

“Her who?” Robin asked.

“The girl,” Eddie clarified. “The one I told you about. The one I…” He trailed off, the words catching in his throat.

“The one you majorly screwed over last year?” Robin guessed, her eyebrows shooting up.

Eddie winced. “Yeah, that one.”

Steve and Robin exchanged a look, and Eddie groaned.

“Don’t start, okay? I already know I’m an idiot. I’ve known for a year.”

Robin leaned forward, her expression curious. “Okay, but what exactly happened? You’ve never given us the full story.”

Eddie hesitated. It wasn’t something he liked to talk about, but he knew they weren’t going to let it go.

“She and I were… close,” he admitted. “Really close. She came to Hellfire sometimes, we’d hang out after school—she even helped me set up a few campaigns. But then, right before graduation, I panicked.”

“Panicked about what?” Steve asked, genuinely curious.

“About her,” Eddie said, his voice bitter. “She was everything I wasn’t. Smart, grounded, going places. And me? I was just the town freak. I thought if I pushed her away, it’d be easier for both of us. So I said some… things.”

Robin frowned. “Like what?”

“Like how I didn’t care about her the way she thought I did,” Eddie said quietly. “That she deserved better than some loser like me. It wasn’t true, but… I said it anyway.”

“Dude,” Steve muttered, shaking his head.

Eddie shrugged helplessly. “I thought I was doing the right thing, okay? But I messed everything up. She hasn’t spoken to me since, and I don’t blame her.”

Robin and Steve shared a look that could only be described as scheming.

“You know,” Robin said slowly, “this feels like the kind of thing we could fix.”

“Definitely,” Steve agreed. “I mean, it’s basically a rom-com setup. Guy screws up, realizes he’s an idiot, wins girl back with grand gesture.”

Eddie groaned. “No, no, no. Absolutely not. I don’t need you two meddling in my love life.”

“Too late,” Robin said with a grin. “Operation ‘Fix Eddie’s Screw-Up’ is officially a go.”

It didn’t take long for the rest of the gang to get involved.

When Dustin heard the story, he was immediately on board. “Eddie, you idiot,” he said, smacking him on the shoulder. “You’ve been pining over her for a year and didn’t tell me? I could’ve fixed this ages ago!”

“I don’t need fixing,” Eddie muttered.

“Clearly, you do,” Max said, rolling her eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

Even Lucas, Mike, and Will had ideas, though most of them were wildly impractical. (“Write her a song,” Mike suggested. “Girls love that stuff.” “She’ll just think it’s cheesy,” Lucas argued.)

Through it all, Eddie tried to protest, but deep down, a part of him hoped they could pull it off.

The plan came together piece by piece, each member of the group contributing ideas that were somehow both chaotic and oddly brilliant.

“What about a mixtape?” Dustin suggested as he sprawled across Steve’s couch.

“A mixtape screams ‘80s romance,” Robin said, nodding. “But it needs to be personal. Like, songs that mean something to you and her.”

Eddie groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You guys don’t get it. She doesn’t even want to look at me, let alone listen to some cheesy mixtape.”

“Then don’t make it just about the tape,” Max said from her spot on the floor. “Make it part of something bigger.”

“And where’s this ‘bigger’ happening?” Steve asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

The group fell silent, all eyes turning to Eddie. He frowned, tapping his fingers against his knee. Then it hit him—an idea so crazy it might actually work.

“The Hawkins Carnival,” he said.

“What about it?” Dustin asked.

“They’re setting it up this weekend, right? She used to love going to that thing. We’d sneak off after school and blow all our money on funnel cakes and rides.” His voice softened as the memories flooded back. “Maybe… maybe I could meet her there.”

“Okay, but what’s the actual plan?” Robin pressed. “You can’t just show up and expect her to swoon over you.”

“Yeah,” Steve added. “You need a moment. Something big. Something unforgettable.”

Eddie thought for a moment, then smirked. “I’ve got just the thing.”

The days leading up to the carnival were a whirlwind of preparation. Dustin helped Eddie pick out songs for the mixtape, while Robin and Steve coached him on what to say.

“Apologize first,” Steve advised. “Don’t try to justify what you did—just own up to it.”

“And be sincere,” Robin added. “No sarcasm, no jokes. This isn’t the time for your usual deflection.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but took their advice to heart.

Meanwhile, the kids worked on the logistics of his grand gesture. Lucas and Max snuck into the carnival grounds to scope out the perfect location, while Will and Mike brainstormed backup plans in case things went south.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Eddie was a bundle of nerves. The mixtape was finished, his speech was rehearsed, and the stage was set. All that was left was for you to show up.

The Hawkins Carnival was alive with lights and laughter, the scent of fried food wafting through the air. Eddie stood near the Ferris wheel, his heart pounding as he scanned the crowd.

“You’ve got this,” Dustin said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just stick to the plan.”

Eddie nodded, though his palms were sweating.

Then he saw you.

You were standing by the carousel, looking effortlessly beautiful in the glow of the carnival lights. The sight of you took his breath away, and for a moment, he almost lost his nerve. But then he remembered why he was here—why he’d spent the past year kicking himself for letting you go.

He squared his shoulders and approached you, his heart racing.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the noise of the carnival.

You turned, your eyes widening in surprise. “Eddie?”

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice pleading.

You hesitated, your expression guarded. But after a moment, you nodded. “Fine.”

Eddie led you to a quieter spot near the edge of the carnival, away from the crowds. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the mixtape, holding it out to you.

“What’s this?” you asked, eyeing it warily.

“It’s… an apology,” he said. “And a thank-you. And a promise to do better if you’ll let me.”

You stared at him, your fingers brushing the edge of the tape but not taking it. “Why now, Eddie? Why after all this time?”

“Because I’ve been an idiot,” he admitted. “I thought I was doing you a favor by pushing you away. I told myself you deserved better, but the truth is, I was scared. Scared of how much I cared about you. Scared of screwing it up.”

He took a deep breath, his hands trembling. “But I did screw it up. And I hate myself for that. I just… I needed you to know that I’m sorry. And that I never stopped…”

“Never stopped what?” you prompted, your voice soft.

“Never stopped loving you,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You really hurt me, Eddie.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You stared at him for what felt like an eternity, and Eddie braced himself for the worst. But then, slowly, you reached for the tape, your fingers curling around it.

“I’ll listen to it,” you said softly.

Eddie’s heart soared. “That’s all I’m asking.”

But the night wasn’t over yet.

As you turned to leave, the Ferris wheel lit up behind you, the carnival music swelling in the background. Eddie hesitated, then called out.

“Wait!”

You turned back, your brow furrowed.

“Will you ride the Ferris wheel with me?” he asked, his voice trembling. “One last time?”

Your lips curved into a small smile, and for the first time in a year, Eddie felt hope.

“Okay,” you said.

As the two of you climbed into the Ferris wheel carriage, the world below seemed to fade away. The lights, the noise, the crowds—it all disappeared, leaving just the two of you suspended in the night sky.

And as the Ferris wheel reached its peak, Eddie turned to you, his eyes searching yours.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered. “I love you. I never stopped.”

This time, you didn’t hesitate. You leaned in, closing the distance between you, and kissed him.

The world tilted, the stars spinning above, but Eddie didn’t care. For the first time in a year, everything felt right.

The Ferris wheel creaked softly as it came to a stop, grounding you and Eddie back in the bustle of the carnival. But neither of you moved to get out of the carriage right away. Instead, you stayed seated, your hands still intertwined, your heads leaning close together.

“You know,” you said, breaking the silence, “if you mess this up again, I’m never speaking to you.”

Eddie let out a breathless laugh, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand. “Fair enough. But I won’t. You’ve got my word.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. His dark eyes, once filled with nervous energy, now held something softer. Something earnest. You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I’ll hold you to that, Munson.”

The Ferris wheel operator coughed awkwardly from below, snapping you both out of the moment. “Uh, you getting out or planning to rent the thing for the night?”

Eddie grinned and hopped out, offering you his hand to help you down. The two of you wandered back into the glowing chaos of the carnival, your shoulders brushing with every step.

The next morning, the story of your reunion had spread faster than Eddie anticipated.

When he walked into Family Video for his shift, Steve was already smirking behind the counter, Robin perched on top of it with a knowing grin. Dustin, Mike, and Lucas had apparently stopped by, too, judging by the excited chatter echoing through the store.

“Look who’s finally not single!” Robin announced loudly as Eddie stepped inside.

Steve threw an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, ruffling his hair. “How does it feel, Romeo?”

“Like I should’ve kept my mouth shut about all this,” Eddie muttered, though he couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

“C’mon, man, don’t be shy,” Dustin said, grinning ear to ear. “We did help, after all. You should be thanking us.”

“Oh, thank you, wise sages of Hawkins,” Eddie said, bowing dramatically. “I couldn’t have done it without your meddling.”

Robin snorted. “Damn right.”

Later that week, you stopped by Family Video, much to the delight of the gang.

“Look who it is!” Robin sang as you walked in, nudging Eddie.

You shot her a mock glare before turning your attention to Eddie, who had abandoned all pretense of professionalism to lean against the counter with a wide grin.

“Hi,” you said, a little shyly.

“Hi,” he replied, his tone soft and warm.

Robin and Steve exchanged a glance, then bolted for the back room, dragging Dustin and the others with them.

“Hey, we weren’t done!” Dustin protested, but Robin slammed the door shut behind them, leaving you and Eddie alone.

Eddie leaned closer. “They mean well, but they’re the absolute worst, I swear.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “They’re not so bad. I think I owe them, actually.”

“For what?”

“For convincing me to give you another chance.”

Eddie’s smile faltered slightly. “Do I… deserve another chance?”

You reached across the counter, taking his hand. “You’re earning it. And so far, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

The weight that had been pressing on Eddie’s chest for a year seemed to lift entirely. He grinned, his fingers curling around yours.

“Well, then,” he said, his voice playful but sincere. “I guess I’d better keep it up, huh?”

You smirked. “You’d better.”

As you left the store, mixtape in hand, Eddie watched you go with a goofy grin on his face. Steve emerged from the back room just in time to catch him staring.

“Still gazing after her like a lovesick puppy?” Steve teased.

“Absolutely,” Eddie said without shame.

Robin grinned as she joined them. “Well, looks like Operation ‘Fix Eddie’s Screw-Up’ was a success.”

“Don’t ever call it that again,” Eddie groaned, though his smile didn’t waver.

And as the group broke into laughter, Eddie realized something: he wasn’t just grateful to have you back in his life. He was grateful for all of it—the chaos, the meddling, the friends who refused to let him give up on love.

Because this? This was a second chance he wasn’t going to waste.

The End.

[stylesonfilms]

the days are long, the days are hard [h.s]

word count: 4.5k

after a long, excruciating week at work packed with bad news, all you want is your husband, harry.

(inspired by one of my moots that has had a rough few days, hope this brings some comfort!)

warnings: none, just fluff!

Your week started off rough—rougher than most, in fact. The kind of week that clings to your chest like damp fabric, making it hard to breathe and even harder to find the energy to push through.

Monday was everything you’d expect a Monday to be: sluggish, jarring, and unforgiving. Getting back into the groove of things at the office after a much-needed holiday break felt like trying to climb uphill in heels on black ice. Your inbox was flooded, your calendar double-booked, and your brain resistant to the demands of corporate life. The fluorescent lighting overhead seemed brighter than usual, glaring down at you as though it wanted to mock your every misstep.

By Tuesday, the headache that had been brewing since the start of the week blossomed into a full-on throbbing migraine. You powered through with your phone glued to your ear, making calls and leaving voicemails to important individuals who somehow never seemed available. The phone grew slick in your clammy hands, and you found yourself gripping it tighter as though that would keep it from slipping away along with your patience.

Wednesday hit like a freight train. You walked into the office, already dreading the growing to-do list, only to be blindsided by the news that you’d be giving not one, but two speeches at back-to-back meetings. Meetings that you didn’t even know existed until that very moment. You had smiled through clenched teeth and nodded at your boss, silently berating yourself for not anticipating this kind of curveball. The weight of your own expectations pressed heavily on your shoulders, making the simple act of breathing feel like a chore.

Meanwhile, Harry was a ghost in the rhythm of your week. He left before the sun rose, his coffee cup rinsed and drying in the sink by the time you wandered into the kitchen each morning. By the time he returned home, long after the sky had surrendered to darkness, you’d already have dinner waiting—his plate warm, yours half-empty. Conversations were quick and superficial, exchanges of how-was-your-day glossed over in favor of tired smiles and heavy eyelids.

Friday arrived, and with it, the chaos of the city seemed to mirror the storm inside you. Your phone buzzed incessantly in your purse, vibrating against the side of your hip as you weaved through the swarm of New Yorkers hustling to get wherever they needed to be. The cold January air stung your cheeks, and the weight of your tote bag dug into your shoulder as you dodged elbows and briefcases. You muttered an apology to someone who bumped into you, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look up from the sidewalk until you reached the revolving doors of your building.

Once inside, you let out a sharp exhale, your breath fogging up the glass as you took a moment to compose yourself. Tugging at your blazer, you smoothed it over your pencil skirt before running your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the frizz that had been building from the morning’s commute. Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the elevator, the sound echoing faintly in the open lobby.

“Hi, Martha!” you chirped at the receptionist, flashing her a smile that felt paper-thin.

“Morning! Good luck today!” she called back cheerfully, though her voice felt like it was coming from underwater.

You loved her, truly. She was one of the few people in the office whose presence didn’t add to your stress, but today, you could barely muster the energy to respond with more than a quick wave. Your nerves had been stretched to the breaking point, and your usual confidence felt like it had been replaced by quicksand.

If it had been any other day, Harry would’ve held you the night before, grounding you in the warmth of his arms as he peppered light kisses across your face. He would’ve whispered words of reassurance into your temple, his voice low and steady as he reminded you of just how capable you were. His hands would have found the curve of your back, his thumb tracing soothing circles into your skin until your worries melted into the sheets.

But last night, you hadn’t let him in. Despite his gentle prodding and his furrowed brows that silently begged you to confide in him, you had brushed him off with excuses of being overtired. You’d told him about your unreasonable bosses, blaming your frustration on the endless pile of work. He didn’t believe you—Harry never did when it came to half-truths. He knew you too well.

He’d pressed his lips into a thin line, his silence carrying the weight of his concern, but he had let it go, probably sensing you didn’t have the energy to delve into your worries. And maybe you should have let him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to add to the weight he was already carrying. With two employees down at his job, he’d been shouldering triple the workload, yet he still came home each night with that same lopsided smile.

You thought about the time, three years ago, when you asked him how he managed to leave the stress of work at the door. His answer had been so simple, yet it had stayed with you ever since.

“Because,” he’d said, pulling you into his arms, “at the end of the day, no matter how bad it gets, I get to come home to you. And that makes everything else feel small.”

The memory brought a faint smile to your lips, even as you stepped into the elevator and prepared yourself for another long day.

You sighed as the elevator dinged softly, floor by floor, the sound seeming to echo in the confined space. It was a rhythmic, monotonous chime, yet it only heightened your sense of dread. Fishing your phone out of your purse, you let the leather strap slide from your shoulder and settle in the crook of your arm. The screen lit up immediately, bathing your face in a cold glow, and a notification blinked persistently at the top. A voicemail.

Your stomach tightened when you saw the name attached: Martin Mayer-Harvey. The name alone carried weight—a man whose influence stretched across six major publishing branches, a figure both revered and feared in the industry. His voice had been a beacon of hope during your one-on-one interview, one you had approached with equal parts trepidation and determination.

Harry had been ecstatic when you first told him about the opportunity. He’d grinned so wide his dimples had cut deep into his cheeks, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he pulled you into a celebratory hug. “This is it,” he’d said, his hands cradling your face. “This is the door opening for you, babe. And you’re going to crush it.” He’d even gone the extra mile to send recommendations on your behalf, his faith in you unwavering.

But now, standing alone in the elevator, the air felt thick with foreboding. With a swipe of your thumb, you tapped the notification, bringing the phone to your ear as you turned the volume up. Another ding. Another floor.

The voicemail played, Martin’s voice smooth and clinical, like velvet stretched too thin.

“Mrs. Y/N, thank you for your time and the professionalism you demonstrated during your interview. I regret to inform you that you have not been selected as an employee for this upcoming year. Nothing personal, it just comes down to the finer things—successes and ethics, and all. Thanks again. Your time was appreciated.”

The words hit you like a gut punch. Your stomach churned, a nauseating wave rolling over you as your breath caught in your throat. Not selected. You repeated the phrase in your mind, the syllables heavy and jagged, cutting deeper with every repetition. Successes and ethics? What did that even mean? Was he saying you weren’t accomplished enough? That you lacked whatever intangible quality he deemed essential?

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat refused to go away. When you’d shaken his hand after the interview, his words had brimmed with promise, his smile so genuine you’d dared to believe the position was yours. Yet now, the sterile tone of his voicemail made you feel like just another name crossed off a list.

The elevator dinged again, jolting you out of your spiraling thoughts as the doors slid open with an indifferent hum. The bright fluorescent lights of the seventh floor spilled in, harsh and unforgiving, making you squint as you stepped out into the long hallway. Blinking rapidly, you shoved your phone back into your purse, gripping the strap tightly as if it could somehow anchor you.

Your heels clicked against the polished tiles, the sound sharp and deliberate as you forced yourself to move forward. The walls, painted a dull beige, seemed to close in on you with every step, the air growing heavier as you approached your office.

When you finally stepped inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee and printer ink greeted you, a small comfort in an otherwise dismal moment. Dropping your purse onto the desk with a dull thud, you leaned against the wooden frame, your fingers curling around its edge as if it could keep you upright. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as you closed your eyes, willing yourself to regain control.

The weight of disappointment pressed down on you, a suffocating heaviness that made your fingers tremble as they tightened around the wood. You hated this job. Loathed it, really. What had once been a golden opportunity now felt like a gilded cage. Five years of grunt work had left you disillusioned, the spark of ambition dimmed by endless busywork and little recognition. You had learned, yes, but at what cost?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the door swinging open, followed by a brisk knock. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Let’s go,” your boss grunted, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth. A briefcase dangled from his hand as he nodded toward the hallway. “You’ve got work to do.”

The meetings were as grueling as you’d anticipated. Standing in front of the room, under the scrutinizing gaze of your colleagues, felt like being trapped under a spotlight. The projector whirred faintly as you fumbled with the remote, your palms damp as you flipped through slide after slide. Words stumbled out of your mouth, tangling together as your nerves got the better of you. Every time you glanced at the room, the blank faces staring back only made your stomach twist further.

You kept replaying Martin’s voicemail in your head, the words looping like a broken record, distracting you at every turn. The disappointment, the humiliation—it all burned, settling low in your gut like a stone.

By the time the meetings ended, you could barely muster the energy to exchange handshakes, your smiles forced and brittle as you bid everyone a good day.

You checked the dainty watch on your wrist—a delicate silver piece Harry had gifted you on your one-year anniversary. It read 5:30. You sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you snapped your case closed on the meeting table.

“What happened out there?” your boss asked, his tone sharp and unimpressed. His gaze swept over you, narrowing slightly as though he could see every crack in your armor. “I thought you were prepared.”

You gave me just under two damn days, you thought bitterly, though the words never left your lips.

Instead, you offered a tight-lipped apology. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I let myself get distracted.”

Your boss lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning your face before letting out a quiet “hm.” He turned on his heel and left without another word.

The breath you’d been holding escaped in a shuddering sigh. The weight of the day bore down on you, your muscles aching under the strain. All you wanted was to go home. To take a long, scalding shower and let the steam wash away the tension clinging to your skin. To crawl into bed, pull the covers over your head, and pretend for a moment that the world wasn’t so heavy.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The hot water cascaded over your skin in steady rivulets, steaming against the cool tiles and filling the bathroom with a dense, comforting warmth. Each droplet hit your shoulders and back with a soothing rhythm, dissolving the tension knotted in your muscles from the week’s troubles. You leaned forward slightly, pressing your palms against the wet shower wall, letting the stream ripple through the strands of your hair and drip down to your toes. The scent of pomegranate and shea butter from the body scrub filled the air, sweet and creamy, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

You had gotten home just over half an hour ago. The house had been quiet, the kind of stillness that usually greeted you on Fridays. Harry’s car was absent from the driveway, as expected—he always stayed late at the end of the week, wrapping up whatever loose ends needed his attention. The emptiness of the house had been neither comforting nor unsettling; it simply was. You’d set your bag on the kitchen counter, slipped off your heels, and headed straight for the shower, bypassing the bedroom entirely.

Your clothes lay in a careless heap on the tiled floor, a small pile of the day’s exhaustion. You’d scrubbed at your scalp with your fingernails, washing your hair thoroughly not once, but twice, as if doing so could cleanse not just the grime of the day, but also the weight pressing on your mind. You busied yourself with every task you could—shaving over every inch of skin, exfoliating with the grainy scrub until your arms and legs felt soft and raw, then lathering up with the matching body wash, its silky foam sliding over your skin before being washed away in swirling streams.

When the water finally stopped, you stood for a moment in the silence, the air heavy with steam and the faint aroma of your products. You wrung out your hair with practiced motions, droplets splattering onto the shower floor as you reached for the towel. With a flick of your wrist, you flipped your hair forward and wrapped it into the plush fabric, the soft pink standing out against the misty haze. Another towel—this one a little coarser—was pulled from the rack, and you pressed it to your damp skin, blotting and drying before wrapping it securely around your body.

The bathroom was your sanctuary for the next hour. You took your time moving through your routine, dabbing on lotions and serums, brushing out your hair, and slipping into a pair of soft, oversized pajamas. The familiar scents of lavender and coconut oil mingled with the lingering steam, grounding you as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your heart still carried the same heaviness it had since hearing the voicemail, a quiet ache nestled in your chest. But now, it felt distant—muted, like background noise to the slow hum of your movements.

By the time you left the bathroom, the house felt cooler, the air outside the warmth of the shower almost brisk against your skin. You padded down the hallway barefoot, the soft patter of your steps swallowed by the carpet. The living room was dimly lit, the glow from the TV casting flickering shadows against the walls. You curled up on the couch under the throw blanket, its weight comforting as it settled over you. Your comfort show played softly in the background, the familiar voices blending seamlessly into the quiet. A well-loved book rested by your side, its pages slightly worn, ready to pull you in if you felt like retreating further into your own world.

Around seven PM, the sound of the front door opening broke the silence. The subtle click of the latch, followed by the rhythmic clack of Harry’s work shoes against the hardwood floor, was a melody you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for. His keys jingled briefly before landing with a soft clink in the bowl by the door, and the heavier thud of his briefcase settling onto the dining table made your heart lighten just a little.

Relief bubbled in your chest, warm and effervescent, as you shifted under the blanket. Your arm hooked around the back of the couch, your head tilting to look over your shoulder as Harry rounded the corner. The sight of him brought an instant smile to your face.

He was still in his work suit, the sharp lines of his dark grey blazer and slacks softened by the slight dishevelment that came with a long day. The plain black button-up underneath was unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves were cuffed up just enough to reveal his wrists. His hair was slightly mussed, a few strands falling across his forehead.

His lips curved into a familiar, easy smile when he saw you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he lifted a bag of takeout into the air. “I brought takeout,” he said, his voice warm and teasing as he walked over to you. “Figured tonight was one of those nights.”

Your chest swelled with gratitude— he knew you so well. He always had.

You murmured a quiet thank you, your voice soft and a little worn, and let out a contented sigh as he sank onto the couch beside you. His arms wrapped snugly around you, pulling you close as the weight of the day melted away. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest as his familiar scent— something clean, woodsy, and uniquely him— enveloped you. His nose brushed against your damp hair, and the warmth of his presence grounded you in a way nothing else could.

For the first time all day, you felt like you could finally exhale.

“You smell good, baby.” Harry’s voice was a soft murmur, his accent thick and lingering in the air like honey, each word wrapped in warmth. His large hands splayed across your back, their weight grounding you as they roamed gently over the sleek fabric of your pajama set. His touch was tender, deliberate, as though he was trying to smooth away the burdens of your day. You melted into him, your arms winding around his torso, clinging to him like he was your lifeline. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, blending seamlessly with the faint aroma of soap lingering on your own skin.

Your face nestled into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his body radiating into yours as you fluttered your eyes shut. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a gentle, soothing rhythm that seemed to lull your own into sync. Being here, in his arms, felt like finally exhaling after holding your breath all day.

Harry’s lips pressed into a small frown, the pinch of his brows betraying his concern. His hands, broad and steady, paused on your back, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before he pulled back slightly to study you. One hand slid beneath your chin, his touch feather-light but firm, guiding your gaze up to meet his.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked softly, his green eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like he was looking straight into your soul. His voice was gentle, but the concern etched into his expression made your chest tighten. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone in a slow, comforting stroke, its warmth grounding you even as you struggled to hold his gaze.

You let out a small, weary sigh. “Meetings,” you mumbled, though even to your own ears, the excuse sounded thin. Still, you nuzzled into his touch, seeking comfort as your words trailed off.

Harry’s hand cradled your jaw now, his thumb continuing its soothing path along your skin. His other hand found its way to your bare thigh, his palm warm and steady as it swept up and down, brushing lightly under the hem of your sleep shorts. His touch was instinctive, effortless, but it carried with it a deep well of care that threatened to unravel you.

“You don’t get this worn and torn over meetings, love,” he said quietly, his voice like a low hum of thunder, steady and grounding. “Is there something else?” His green eyes held yours, steady and unyielding, like a comforting fire that wouldn’t burn but would warm you to your core.

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. You sighed again, this time deeper, your shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. His hands never wavered— one cupping your face, the other continuing its soothing rhythm against your thigh.

Finally, you spoke, your voice trembling with a mix of sadness and resignation. “That job at Mayer-Harvey completely fell through,” you admitted, your breath hitching as the words spilled out. “He said... he said I wasn’t qualified enough, not accomplished enough, just… not enough.” The words felt heavier the more you said them, the ache in your chest twisting a little tighter.

Harry’s frown deepened, the lines on his face etched with quiet frustration— not at you, but at the world that had made you feel this way. His thumb stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle sweep across your cheek. When your gaze dropped to your hands, which were busy fiddling with the edge of his blazer, he tipped your chin back up with tender insistence.

“Baby, you know that’s not true, right?” His voice was firm but still soft, his words laced with conviction. “None of it. He doesn’t know an ounce of what he’s talking about.”

You shook your head slightly, your brows furrowing. “H, he owns six different branches. I would say he—.”

“No.” Harry’s voice interrupted gently but firmly, his head shaking in disagreement. “Just because he owns them doesn’t mean he knows how to work them. I can guarantee you, in two months, he’ll realize just how badly he messed up by letting you go. He’ll regret it, love, because no one brings what you do to the table.”

Your lips wavered into a faint pout, sadness glazing over your eyes as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “I just… I have to keep looking, I guess. Maybe I wasn’t meant to work there anyway.”

“But you damn sure wanted it,” Harry said, his voice softening, though the conviction in his tone remained. His hand on your thigh paused to squeeze lightly before resuming its gentle strokes. “And you deserved it. Y/N, I’ve seen your work. I’ve seen how dedicated you are, how much effort you put in, even when it’s for a company that doesn’t deserve you. And I know,” he paused, leaning a little closer, his eyes locking onto yours, “I know you’d pack a bigger punch for a company that’s actually worth it.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, slowly loosening the knot of doubt and hurt in your chest. Maybe he was right.

You nodded slowly, your fingers tracing the lapel of his blazer as you whispered, “I really wanted it, H.”

“I know, baby.” His voice was soft, his lips brushing against your forehead in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was an act of comfort. He kissed the bridge of your nose next, lingering there for a moment. “But don’t worry, darling. We’ll find you something better— something that deserves you. And listen, if you want to leave that job now, I’d be more than happy to support us. All I want is to take care of my girl. That’s it.”

Harry’s hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking softly against your cheeks as he looked at you with an intensity that made you feel seen in a way no one else could make you feel. Then, slowly, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss so gentle, so tender, that it made your heart swell and your worries ebb away.

With Harry by your side, it didn’t matter what the world threw at you. His unwavering support, his patience, his love— it was all you needed.

“Now c’mon,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to press another kiss to your forehead. “Let’s have dinner, yeah?”

You spent that night cooped up under his arm, the fabric of his suit soft but slightly wrinkled from your cuddling. Neither of you cared. All that mattered was the comfort of being close, the way his steady heartbeat became your lullaby as the hours ticked by. The movie played quietly in the background, but neither of you was paying much attention. Harry’s fingers absentmindedly traced little patterns along your arm, while you nestled deeper into his side, letting his warmth soak into your skin.

When dinner was done and the plates had been set aside, Harry stood, stretching dramatically before grinning down at you. “Don’t move a muscle,” he teased, his green eyes crinkling with affection as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

He took care of the cleanup, tossing the trash and rinsing the dishes with that same effortless grace he did everything else. You watched him from the couch, your heart swelling as he moved around the room, sleeves rolled up, that signature Harry charm shining through even in the simplest of acts. He looked over his shoulder to catch you staring, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips. “What’re you looking at, huh?”

“You,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that made his smile widen.

“Good answer,” he chuckled, before walking over and scooping you up effortlessly. You let out a small squeal, laughing as he carried you bridal style toward the bedroom. “C’mon, love. Time for a proper cuddle.”

Once in bed, Harry wrapped you up in his arms as if he never wanted to let go. The suit jacket had long been tossed to the side, but his tie still hung loosely around his neck, a detail that made you smile. His hand found its way to your hair, fingers combing through the strands with a tenderness that melted away the last of your worries.

“By the way,” he murmured, his voice soft and low, “I took the next few days off.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him in surprise. “You did?”

“Mmhm,” he confirmed, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Figured my girl needed me more than work did. And honestly, I needed this too. Just you and me for the weekend. Sound good?”

You nodded, your smile spreading as you snuggled closer, your hand resting against his chest. “Sounds perfect.”

Harry’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as you drifted off to sleep in his embrace, the weight of the world seemed to disappear, replaced by the quiet, unshakable love that only he could give.

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

Was replaying the devastating masterpiece that is Beyond Cloudfall and this hit me like a freight train again

MC taught Sylus that a forehead kiss is a gesture of human love. He doesn't seem to grasp the meaning of it, which MC notes — "He doesn't understand it. He will never understand it".

But then, in his last moments, as he lays dying, this is Sylus' final act...

He does understand. And he is declaring his love for her in the most meaningful and powerful way he can think of.

He went from being pretty condescending about human love

to embracing it... fuck. It's so beautiful and so painful and aaaaaahh 💔

I am not quite done just yet... because there is another layer and meaning to the forehead kiss...

This exchange happens if you pick the "I want your soul" option rather than the"I want your love" one and it's just as poignant.

Not only is Sylus conveying his love for her when he kisses MC's forehead in the datura field, but with this gesture he is also entrusting his very soul to her. That is his final act before the light dims in his ruby like eyes, and his body turns to dust, leaving only half his soul and his unspoken confession of love behind.

I am never recovering from this.

I am sending Paperfold my therapy bills.

They can't keep getting away with breaking my heart like this!!! (actually yes they can and I encourage them to keep it up. Never have I seen a couple as heartbreakingly, compellingly, beautifully written as SylusMC)

To end on an uplifting note, Sylus carries what MC taught him about love into his next life... although he has yet to drop the L bomb with words he has already professed the sentiment to her right here (unbeknownst to her ofc and to us, at the time)

I love SylusMC to death, man... The more you dig into their story, the more rewarding and gut wrenching it gets. Can't wait for further revalations and critical damage to my feelings down the line 🥲👍🏻❤️

[aajjks]

Broke Boy, Fake Girlfriend (m)

synopsis. Your annoying roommate, Jungkook’s shameless fake dating act goes hilariously wrong when he thinks he can charm you into paying for his café splurge, but you turn the tables with some dangerously sweet flirtation.

pairings: jungkook x fem!reader.

genre: 18+, crack, roommate au.

warnings: 18+, fâkë dätïng tròpë, châôtïc flïrtïng, brókë bøy Jûngkook, tëâsïng, ëmbârrássïng mômënts, önë-sïdëd crùsh, pûblïc hümïlïâtïön, pówër shïft, hëâvy tënsïön, tëâsïng bântër, spïcy flïrtâtïön, crïngë mômënts, slöw bûrn.

note. I can’t thank you guys enough for so much love on the both parts so I thought maybe I should give you another one. Also, I found this GIF on Pinterest so credits to owner And Let’s just hope you guys would like this as well and tell me what do you think of the chaos and y’all can talk to him whenever you want. ENJOY.

“My girlfriend will pay for this.”

How do you always end up in this situation?

You blink.

You’re standing in line at a café, hands casually tucked in your pockets, minding your own business when those words hit you like a freight train.

Jungkook’s standing at the counter, a devilish grin plastered across his face, watching you with those damn puppy dog eyes. His tattooed hand casually gestures to you, like this whole scenario is as normal as breathing.

The barista, the one who’s been shamelessly flirting with him this entire time, looks back and forth between you two, her cheeks flushed pink.

“Oh—;” she giggles, voice breathy. “That’s so sweet of you.”

Sweet.

Sweet would be not dragging you into his latest ridiculous plan just because he’s broke again after spending all his money on gaming skins and who knows what else.

You narrow your eyes at him. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Yeah, my baby’s got me,” Jungkook hums, stretching lazily against the counter, his hoodie pulling up just enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of toned abs. Intentional. “She takes such good care of me.”

You swear you could hear the little pitter-patter of his fan club forming in the background.

‘My baby?’

You grit your teeth, gripping your wallet like it might suddenly escape your clutches. “You—;” you inhale, trying to remain calm. “I’m paying?”

“Obviously.” Jungkook doesn’t even hesitate.

God, he’s insufferable.

“Since when are we dating?”

Jungkook gasps.

Gasped.

He puts his hand on his heart, pretending to be hurt and makes a dramatic expression that makes you almost cringe.

“Babe. What do you mean?” His voice cracks with that exaggerated hurt, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

The barista giggles again, and you can see the sparkles in her eyes as she watches this whole ridiculous exchange.

Jungkook still has that pleading look, trying to play it off like you’re the one at fault for not realizing you were in the middle of his latest fake-dating fantasy.

You both know he’s out of cash and desperate.

He can’t possibly pay for this.

You should say no. You should do the right thing.

You should humiliate him right here in front of the cute barista and walk away, satisfied in your moral high ground.

But then—

“I’d get her anything off the menu,” Jungkook sighs, voice dropping an octave, his gaze lingering on your lips like he’s about to pull the most dramatic move of the century.

“She’s my princess. My world.”

Oh no.

Oh, he thinks you won’t play along.

And that—that little shit—that’s when you realize.

Jungkook’s not just doing the broke, flirting for sympathy… act. No, he’s flipping the script. He’s going full-on fake boyfriend mode.

He’s giving you those eyes, the ones that usually make girls melt on the spot.

His voice is suddenly, smooth and heavy, like he actually wants this to be real.

And then? The barista is still watching.

Oh, you know exactly what he’s doing.

You step closer, fingers lightly brushing against his chest as you lean in, your lips barely a whisper from his ear.

He freezes, clearly not prepared for the full-on flirtation storm that’s coming his way.

“Kookieee,” you say, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Of course, I’m paying for my baby.”

Jungkook’s eyes go wide, and he makes this little sound—like he’s actually short-circuiting. He’s malfunctioning, visibly thrown off by how casually you’re playing along.

The barista is living for this. She’s practically sparkling now, too, and you know she’s ready to ship this fake couple straight to the moon.

But Jungkook? Jungkook’s dying.

He’s still standing there, mouth hanging slightly open, blinking rapidly like he needs to reset his brain, but you’re not done yet.

You lean in just a little bit more, hand still firmly placed against his chest, pressing your body close enough to feel the heat radiating from him.

His breathing gets heavier, a little shaky. And then you make your move.

You brush your fingers down his shirt, just enough to tease him, watching the way his whole body locks up, like he’s trying not to make a scene.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word. He just stands there like the world’s hottest, most embarrassed mess.

“Oh, you’re so cute when you’re all flustered,” you murmur, leaning back slightly to get a good look at him, your fingers brushing his jaw.

His skin is so warm, so soft, and it’s making your whole body heat up.

Fuck, he’s cute.

Jungkook doesn’t even try to respond— he’s too busy replaying every single moment you’ve touched him in the last few seconds, and he’s mentally begging for you to finish the job.

He’s literally so embarrassing, but for the first time in your life, you had fun embarrassing him.

You take a step back, giving him just a little space. He’s still staring at you like you’ve just turned his life upside down.

Good. You’ve won.

“Let’s play, babe,” you say with a smirk, voice lighter now. He’s completely melting.

You swipe your card, taking your drinks.

You turn toward the door, but before you leave, you lean in one last time, brushing past him just close enough for your lips to graze his ear.

Oh, this is fun.

“You owe me, babe,” you whisper.

And with that, you leave him there, dazed, red-faced, and completely undone, just standing there like a mess in front of the barista, who is looking at him like she’s just witnessed an angel descend from heaven.

You walk out of the café like you’ve just done your civic duty in the most chaotic, teasing way possible. The power is all yours.

Victory. And Jungkook? Well, he’s got a lot to think about.

And a raging boner to take care of.

[0omillo0]

Your fics are so good literally I check this place every day. I would mainline skz angst fics if I could. Angst/hurt/comfort PLEASE. Hyunjin one where reader was in an abusive relationship in the past and they get into an argument that was really miscommunication and Hyunjin like, doesn’t raise his fists but like turns around fast or something and spooks reader and they run off, no phone no keys no nothing. Pure flight mode.

Hyunjin x reader ; angst -> comfort

warnings: abusive ex, mention of fighting

a/n: I’ve FINALLY finished school I’m so tired, but I’m happy I can write all your requests now! (thank you xoxo). also thank you for requesting this! It’s the same problem I have so it was comforting writing this

•

It wasn’t Hyunjin’s fault.

You kept telling yourself that, repeating it silently, like a mantra, as the tension between you both began to rise. The words in your head sounded steady, but your body didn’t believe them. The weight pressing on your chest grew heavier with each exchanged word, with every flicker of frustration in his voice.

Hyunjin was nothing like him.

But no matter how hard you tried, the past didn’t stay buried.

Your ex had turned arguments into weapons. He had wielded raised voices like shackles, holding you captive. Apologies had come like clockwork after the damage was done, hollow promises that nothing would change. It had taken years to leave—years to find your way out of the cycle. And when you met Hyunjin, with his kind heart and gentle soul, you’d believed healing was possible.

You wanted so desperately to believe it.

The argument started over something small, something so inconsequential you barely remembered how it had begun. You’d mentioned the groceries—how there were none left at home—and he had bristled.

“I can’t do everything, Y/N,” he said sharply, barely glancing up from where he stood at the counter, his voice carrying an edge that made you pause.

It took a moment for you to respond. “I didn’t say you had to. I was just—”

“You were just what?” He turned then, meeting your gaze with frustration flickering in his dark eyes. “Pointing out another thing I forgot? Adding it to the list?”

The words hit you like a wave, unsteadying your footing. Your heart sank as you studied his expression.

“That’s not fair,” you said quietly, your tone cautious now. “I wasn’t trying to blame you for anything.”

“Well, it sure sounded like it.” He ran a hand through his hair, his voice lower now but no less biting.

You took a step forward, something twisting painfully inside you. “Why are you acting like this?” you asked, your voice rising slightly. You hated the tremor that betrayed you, hated that you already felt like you were losing control.

“I’m not acting like anything!” he shot back, his voice louder now, filling the space between you. “Why do you always have to push? Why can’t you just let things go?”

“Because I care about you, Hyunjin! I care when you’re upset, and I don’t know why you won’t just tell me what’s wrong!”

A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he turned his head, shaking it in disbelief. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it. Did you think of that?”

The words cut deeper than you expected, the sharpness in his tone stealing the air from your lungs.

“I’m just trying to help—”

“Well, maybe I don’t need your help!” he interrupted, his voice breaking into a shout.

You flinched at the sound, the echo of it slamming into you like a freight train. Your heart was pounding now, your breath coming shorter. Your feet shuffled backward, almost on instinct, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“God, you act like you need to fix everything,” he continued, his frustration spilling out unchecked. “Like you need to fix me.”

Your breath hitched, and the room around you seemed to shift. For a moment, Hyunjin’s voice wasn’t his—it was someone else’s. Someone whose words were weapons. Someone who’d told you time and time again that you were the problem.

“I don’t want to fix you,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to steady yourself. “I just want to understand.”

“Well, maybe I don’t need you to understand!” His voice broke again, louder this time, frustration and exhaustion tangled together in every syllable.

And then it happened.

Hyunjin turned sharply, his hand flying up to rake through his hair in agitation. The movement was sudden, unintentional, but your body didn’t care. Your mind didn’t stop to think.

You ran.

You didn’t even remember the door slamming behind you, your bare feet hitting the pavement as you fled into the cold night air.

The streets blurred as you moved, the echo of his voice—louder, sharper than you’d ever heard it—ringing in your ears. Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, your breaths coming in short, frantic gasps. You didn’t stop to grab your keys or your phone. You didn’t stop to think about where you were going.

The only thought in your mind was to escape.

The cold pavement stung your feet, but you barely felt it. The thin fabric of your shirt did nothing to shield you from the biting wind, but you didn’t care. The fear clawing at your chest was louder than anything else.

You didn’t stop until your legs gave out beneath you, your body collapsing onto a park bench in the middle of nowhere. The silence around you was deafening, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths.

You curled into yourself, pulling your knees to your chest as tears spilled down your face. The trembling in your hands wouldn’t stop, no matter how tightly you clutched at your arms.

“I’m so stupid,” you whispered to yourself, your voice breaking between sobs. “He’s not like that. He’d never—”

But the fear wouldn’t let go.

When Hyunjin realized you were gone, it was like the air had been sucked out of the room. The door was ajar, swaying slightly in the wind. The apartment felt empty without you there.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice laced with panic as he grabbed his coat and bolted into the night.

He searched everywhere he could think of: the café you loved, the little bookstore down the street, the convenience store on the corner.

But you weren’t there.

He called your name again and again, his voice growing hoarse as the minutes dragged on.

And then he saw you.

You were curled up on a bench beneath a flickering streetlight, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Y/N!” he shouted, relief and guilt flooding his chest as he ran toward you.

Your head snapped up, your tear-streaked face locking onto his. For a moment, you tensed, your body shrinking back as if to protect itself.

“It’s me,” he said softly, raising his hands in surrender. “It’s just me.”

He approached slowly, his heart breaking at the sight of you. “Can I come closer?”

You nodded after a moment, your breaths shaky.

He knelt in front of you, his hands hovering uncertainly before he reached out to place his coat over your trembling shoulders. “You’re freezing,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “God, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s not your fault,” you cut in, your voice barely audible. “I panicked. It’s—it’s my past. I just…” You couldn’t finish, fresh tears spilling over.

Hyunjin reached for your hands, his own trembling as he held them gently. “I don’t care how long it takes, or what it takes—I’ll do whatever I need to so you feel safe again. Please, just let me take you home.”

The apartment felt warmer when you returned, but you still shivered beneath the blanket Hyunjin had wrapped around you. He made tea in silence, his movements slow and careful, as if afraid to startle you.

When he finally sat beside you, he looked at you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“I want to know,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I want to understand what you’ve been through. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But when you saw the worry in his eyes, the love that hadn’t wavered despite everything, you told him.

You told him everything.

Hyunjin listened without interrupting, his hands gripping yours tightly.

“I’ll never raise my voice like that again,” he said when you finished, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll never make you feel unsafe. I swear.”

You nodded, leaning into him as his arms wrapped around you. You let yourself believe him.

tags: @intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @sseawavee @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

imagine: You’re going through all the emotions of being on your period with your brothers Sam and Dean, but realize you need a little help from Castiel

You were curled up in the weirdest position, trying to find some relief from the waves of pain coursing through your body. The cramps had hit you like a freight train, and no matter how much you tried to shift, nothing made it go away. The moment you woke up, you could tell it was going to be a long day.

As you lay there, gritting your teeth and doing your best not to cry out, you heard the familiar sound of footsteps. Dean’s voice broke through the haze of pain. “You good?” he asked in slight confusion, but for the most part amused. His tone was playful, like he was trying to make light of the position he found you in.

You let out a low groan before snapping at him. “Dean, I swear to God, if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face, I’ll slap it off of you,” you hissed through clenched teeth, practically vibrating from the pain.

Dean stopped in his tracks, his mouth still curled into that damn grin for a second longer. But when he noticed the agony on your face, the smirk dropped, and his expression turned serious. “Damn, what’s up with you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing a hand to your abdomen, trying to ride out the cramps. “I feel like I’m gonna fucking die,” you muttered bitterly, voice thick with frustration and pain.

Dean hesitated for a moment, but then, you felt his hand gently press against your back. His voice was softer. “What’s going on, kiddo?” he asked.

“Cramps,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips. You hated admitting weakness, but there was nothing you could do to hide it.

Dean didn't hesitate. He sat down beside you, gently shifting the pillow from beneath your head and making room for himself to lie next to you. He stayed quiet for a few seconds before speaking again.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and comforting, “I’m sorry you’re hurting, kid. I know I can’t exactly fix this for you, but I can at least stay with you while you get through it. If you need anything, I’m here.”

You let out a shaky breath, your body still aching, but his presence was like a balm to your frayed nerves. His voice, calm and steady, made the storm of pain inside your body seem a little less overwhelming.

“Thanks, Dean,” you murmured, feeling a surprising comfort from his words.

“If you need anything, I’ll be your errand boy. You just say the word.”

Sam wandered into the room at that point, catching the tail end of your exchange. He looked from you to Dean, immediately sensing something was off. “What’s going on?” Sam asked at the same time Dean mouthed period cramps to him behind your back. Dean’s eyes widened immediately, knowing that would set you off.

Before Dean could answer, you snapped, voice sharper now. “I swear, I’m gonna lose it if I have to keep dealing with this.”

Sam frowned, his eyes softening with concern. “You’re in pain, I get it. But take it easy, okay?”

You shook your head, barely holding it together now. “Easy? Easy? This? I can barely even move without feeling like I’m being stabbed repeatedly!” Your frustration bubbled over, and you didn’t even care that you were sounding irrational. The pain made you irrational.

And then, as if all the emotions that had been building up for days exploded, the tears came. They were hot, and they burned as they ran down your cheeks. The pain was too much, and you were just so tired of it.

Dean looked at you, his eyes softening, clearly unsure how to handle you in this state. His usual playful charm had disappeared, and now, he just seemed... concerned. “Hey, hey, come on, don’t cry. We’ll figure this out.”

But all you could think about was the fact that this cycle—this suffering—was something you couldn’t escape. The tears kept coming, and before you even knew it, you found yourself speaking without thinking.

“When we find God, remind me to ask him why the hell he thought it was a good idea to make women suffer like this.” You sniffled between your words, wiping at your eyes. “And if I ever find Eve, I swear, it’s on sight. I don’t care.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance before Dean raised an eyebrow. He chuckled softly, though it was a little strained. “You know, kid, I’ve got your back on that. Eve? Totally on sight.”

Sam, though, looked a bit more concerned.

“Y/N,” he started and you could already tell he was going to get all touchy feely and you weren’t exactly in the mood for it. You were actually in the mood to fight someone and thinking about Eve made you seethe.

“Okay, that’s it. I can’t do this anymore,” you cut Sam off muttering through gritted teeth. “I’m calling Cas.”

Both of your brothers’ eyes went wide, clearly startled by your sudden outburst. “Wait, wait—Cas? What are you doing?” Sam asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Dean, ever the protective older brother, had a look of horror. “Uh, you sure that’s a good idea? Cas is... I mean, I get it, but he’s not exactly... helpful when it comes to, you know, cramps and whatever else you’re dealing with. He’s gonna make everything way more complicated than it needs to be.”

“Dean, you have no idea,” you said, sitting up with effort. “You don’t get it. Cas knows stuff. He can probably tell me why the hell we’re cursed with this biological nonsense.”

You were already pulling your phone out of your pocket and texting Castiel without hesitation. Cas, get your grace in here now. I need answers.

Within minutes, the familiar sound of his arrival in the bunker echoed through the hall, and the next thing you knew, he was standing in front of you, his expression confused as ever.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, a little louder than necessary. “Cas! You’re just the angel I need.”

Sam’s face dropped in disbelief. “What are you doing?” he asked again, his voice almost pleading.

Dean sighed and rubbed his temples, but you could tell he was more than amused. “You’re killing me kid.”

You weren’t paying attention to them anymore, already sitting up slightly and glaring at Castiel with an intensity that only a woman going through hell on Earth could possess. “Cas! Maybe you can help me with something. Why did your father want to make me suffer?”

Castiel blinked, as lost as ever. “My father? I don’t—”

You were getting impatient. “God, Cas. I’m talking about periods and the suffering that comes with being a woman. Why did he do that to me?”

Castiel’s brows furrowed, clearly trying to make sense of your words. “I... I’m not entirely sure I understand...”

Sam had his face buried in his hands at this point in utter disbelief. “You really called Cas for this?”

You ignored him, still laser-focused on the angel. “Was it because Eve bit the apple? Because if that’s it, I swear to God, I’m going straight to her. I don’t care. I’m taking it up with her myself.”

You could practically hear Dean choking on his laughter in the background.

Castiel tilted his head, as if he were pondering your words like they were some grand cosmic mystery.

“Eve? The first woman?” he asked cautiously. “Well, yes, technically. Eve’s actions with the apple did cause certain... consequences.”

Your jaw dropped. “So, you’re telling me that because of Eve, I have to suffer through this every month?” You waved a hand at your cramping body in frustration. “Every month, Cas. You have no idea how bad this hurts.”

Castiel blinked again, processing. “Well, yes... it is an unfortunate result of the... fall from grace, so to speak. But, the suffering you feel... it is not a punishment. It is... well, a part of being human.”

You narrowed your eyes, not having the patience for his usual philosophical nonsense. “No, Cas. I don’t want some deep answer about ‘the human condition.’ I want to know where Eve is because I need to have words with her.”

Castiel looked at you like you had asked him to solve the mysteries of the universe. “Uh...”

You leaned in a little closer, determined to get some kind of answer. “Wait—were you even there when Eve was around?”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and Castiel’s eyes flickered like he wasn’t sure how to answer. Finally, he spoke up. “Yes, I... I was there. But, I... I don’t believe I ever interacted with her much.”

You stared at him incredulously. “Okay so you didn’t even try to stop her either? So I can technically add you onto the list of people I need to have a word with?”

“Well,” he began, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I wasn’t exactly... allowed to interact with her.”

Sam was standing in the doorway by now, rubbing his eyes. “This is getting out of hand,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with frustration. “Why do I have to suffer? Why does every woman on this planet have to go through this? I didn’t ask for this, you know?”

Castiel hesitated for a moment, the weight of your frustration clearly sinking in. “I... I will go and find answers for you,” he said, his usual confidence returning in a determined tone. “I will seek out more information on Eve, on why these consequences were set in motion.”

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden promise. “You will? Really?”

Castiel nodded solemnly. “Yes. I will leave now and return with the answers you seek.”

“Okay wait Cas! See if you can reverse it-” But before you could even finish, he disappeared with the familiar flutter of wings.

Sam turned to you with an exasperated sigh. “So... you really just called him and told him to find Eve?”

You nodded, arms crossed over your chest. “Hey, I figure if anyone knows where she’s hiding, it’s Cas. And if he’s going to keep dropping cryptic answers, maybe he can at least help fix this.”

Dean flopped back down next to you on the bed, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Just don’t be mad at me when Cas brings back some ancient scroll saying it was Eve’s fault.”

“I’ll be mad at everyone,” you said with a small laugh. “But mostly Eve.”

Dean gave you a soft smile, the lightheartedness back in his tone, though it was now tinged with a genuine concern. “Well, kid, if I had a magic wand, I’d wave it. But since I don’t, just know I’m here. If you need anything—anything—you know I got you, okay?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Thanks. I guess... I guess I’ll survive this, somehow.”

Dean grinned, sitting back down on the bed. “That’s the spirit. And hey, if you need a punching bag, Sam’s your man.”

Sam shot him a glare but then softened. “Don’t listen to him.”

You chuckled weakly, your mind desperate for a distraction from the pain. “You know what would make this day a little better?”

Dean raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“Legally Blonde,” you said with a sigh of relief, the thought of a lighthearted movie soothing your mind even if just a little.

Dean’s face lit up. “Sammy’s favorite.” He winked.

“Oh, I know. That’s why I picked it.” You said sending Dean an over exaggerated wink right back.

Sam groaned from the doorway, clearly not impressed. “Seriously, guys? Come on.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Come on, Sammy, I just know your bag was going to be full of pink sparkly pens at law school.”

Dean shot you a playful grin. “He was gonna walk into the courtroom and say, ‘Objection, Your Honor—this is unacceptable!’ and flip his hair dramatically.”

Sam glared at Dean, but it was obvious he was trying not to smile. He shook his head, muttering, “I can't even believe you two are making fun of me for wanting to be a lawyer. But fine, fine, let’s watch Legally Blonde.”

You settled back into the pillows with a satisfied sigh. “Great choice, Sammy. I knew you were cool under all that lawyer talk.”

Sam let out a reluctant laugh. “Alright, alright. But you guys better be ready for The Trial of the Century. Because Elle Woods? She’s gonna win this thing.”

And for the first time in hours, you felt a flicker of joy. It wasn’t about the cramps—it was about the three of you, trying to make light of the situation, and you realized, you’d survive this, one laugh at a time. Oh and hopefully with some answers from Cas!

[dixons-sunshine]

Tears Stream Down Your Face | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

(GIF isn’t mine)

Summary: A fateful doctor’s visit years before the outbreak shattered your dreams of starting a family with the man you loved. After a long time of trying to push the sadness you felt away, it all hit you like a freight train after one afternoon of babysitting little Judith.

Genre: Angst.

Era: Alexandria, pre Saviours.

Warnings: Talks of infertility, probably a lil’ ooc Daryl.

Word count: 1k.

A/N: Requested by an anon. This was sad to write but I hope you all like this!

You could remember that one fateful day like it happened yesterday. The day you found out that you would never be able to conceive, that you would never be able to have kids of your own. You could remember the sadness, the disappointment, the anger you felt. And more than anything, you could remember the look on your husband’s face when the doctor broke the news to the two of you.

Heartbreak.

You sighed to yourself as you observed Daryl entertaining baby Judith, her giggles and babbling filling the air. She was so happy to be in her uncle Daryl’s arms, and the man in question was thrilled to be holding her. He had a soft, tender smile on his face as he handed her over to Rick, exchanging a few words with his found brother, but you paid it no mind. All you could think about is how you’d never be able to give him that experience with a child of his own.

Despite what the man said, he was a natural with little kids. He would have made the best father. You knew he would have been great at it, but you would never be able to give him that. You’d never even been given a fair chance to try, and that pissed you off. What made you so undeserving of something you wanted so dearly? What did you do in your life to have that opportunity stripped from you?

“You’re thinkin’ awfully hard over there.”

The sound of Daryl’s voice reached your ears, effectively snapping you from your thoughts. Blinking a few times, you looked at your husband, realizing that he no longer stood by the door, but instead, he was in front of you, gently taking the bottle of water you had been death gripping from your grasp.

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” Daryl inquired, his tone and his face soft, something only you got to see on the regular.

You wanted to lie. That’s what you had intended to do. Daryl had such a good day taking care of Judith, all smiles and laughter, so the last thing you wanted to do was ruin the remainder of his day. You didn’t want to be a dark cloud over him.

However, what you said next came out like word vomit.

“You could have left me.”

Daryl’s eyes widened in surprise, before furrowing his eyebrows together. “What? What do ya mean?”

You suddenly felt silly. You wanted to tell him that it was nothing, that you were fine and to drop the subject, but you knew he wouldn’t. Daryl Dixon could be persistent if the situation called for it, and you knew he wouldn’t let you off the hook after a comment like that.

“All those years ago,” you began, vaguely motioning around with one of your hands, “when I found out that…” You swallowed. “...that I couldn’t have kids…”

Realization dawned on Daryl. “Oh…”

“You could have left me,” you reiterated, looking down at your shoes. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I love ya.”

Daryl said it so easily, with so much certainty, that you felt like you wanted to cry. “But back then, when we talked about having kids—”

“Back then,” Daryl emphasized, stepping towards you and gently grasping your face in his rough, yet somehow soft hands. “This s’now, and now, with the world a goddamn shit storm, there ain’t nobody I want by my side more than you.” Daryl inhaled sharply, before continuing, “I ain’t gon’ lie, hearin’ the news back then hurt like a bitch, but m’serious when I say that there ain’t nobody I wanna be with except you. S’me and you, yeah?”

You were crying by now. Daryl was a man of few words, especially regarding feelings, but now? Hearing him say those words with such certainty? It made you happier than you could ever express with words.

“C’mere,” Daryl whispered softly, pulling you into his arms. He held you to him tightly, slowly rocking you from side to side as he whispered sweet, reassuring words into your ear.

“It’s just not fair,” you whispered brokenly, the topic shifting slightly. “Why can’t I be a mom? What did I do wrong?”

Daryl’s heart shattered at your broken admission. He was mentally kicking himself for not realizing that this ran far deeper than you were letting on. He knew how badly you wanted a family, and that got ripped from you. You were so happy for all of your friends who were having kids of their own, even already offering to babysit for Glenn and Maggie when their baby arrives in a few months, but there was that underlying sadness that you fought to push away. A sadness that Daryl should have realized hadn’t just disappeared.

“I know. It ain’t fair at all,” Daryl whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But it ain’t your fault. It ain’t your fault at all.”

You were a sobbing mess at this point. You tried to talk, to say anything. To say thank you to him for soothing you, to voice all the feelings you had been trying to push back for the sake of not wanting to come across as bitter about other people having kids—because you weren’t. You were so unbelievably happy for all of them—but you couldn’t. All you could manage was to cry. To let all the pain out that way.

Daryl closed his eyes as he continued to hold you. He didn’t say anything, just allowed you to cry, not caring at all that his shirt was getting stained with your tears. He rubbed his hand across your back in soothing circles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He would hold you for as long as you needed him to.

And if that was forever, then so be it. Daryl loved you. He couldn’t imagine a life without you in it, and now he knew that he had to make that clear. But first, he would be a shoulder to cry on. The rest could come later.

[libingan]

i love having big strong men groveling at my feet. this was supposed to be about price getting pegged by his partner for the first time, but i literally stopped halfway thru writing just to start this bc it came into my mind

the base was alive with laughter and chatter as the evening settled in. soldiers were in high spirits, drinks flowing freely, and the camaraderie was palpable. you sat beside könig, feeling the warmth of the room and the comforting presence of his massive frame next to you.

“jesus, könig, i don’t know how you fit through doors, let alone fit in bed with someone,” one of the soldiers joked, nudging you with a grin. “you must be ruining him, huh?”

another soldier laughed, clapping könig on the back. “yeah, mate. must be like a goddamn freight train.”

you and könig exchanged a knowing glance, both of you chuckling at the insinuation. könig’s cheeks reddened slightly, but he played along, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“oh, you have no idea,” you replied with a smirk, causing the others to burst into laughter. könig’s hand found yours under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. the night continued with more jokes and stories, everyone enjoying the break from the usual tension of their missions.

as the evening wound down and the others began to disperse, you and könig made your way back to his quarters. the moment the door closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted. könig looked at you with a mix of anticipation and nervousness, his massive frame suddenly seeming almost vulnerable.

“they have no idea what really happens, do they?” you teased, stepping closer to him.

“nein,” he replied softly, his voice tinged with that familiar mix of excitement and apprehension. “they don’t know how weak i get for you.”

you smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. “big, strong könig, brought to his knees by someone so much smaller,” you murmured, your hand trailing down his chest. “let’s show them how things really are, shall we?”

könig shivered at your touch, his breath hitching. “please,” he whispered, his eyes wide with desire.

you guided him to the bed, his towering frame dwarfing the furniture. with a firm push, you had him on all fours, his massive body trembling with anticipation. you took your time, preparing yourself and him, ensuring everything was just right.

“look at you,” you said, your voice dripping with teasing affection. “so big, yet so weak for me.”

könig whimpered, his head hanging low. “yes,” he gasped. “only for you.”

you retrieved a bottle of lube from the bedside table, applying a generous amount to your fingers. gently, you pressed a slick finger against his entrance, circling slowly before easing in. könig let out a low moan, his muscles tensing before relaxing under your touch.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” you groaned, adding a second finger and scissoring them to stretch him. könig’s moans grew louder, his body trembling with need. “so perfect.”

you continued to work him open, adding a third finger and moving in a steady rhythm. könig’s responses were a symphony of whimpers and moans, his body moving in rhythm with yours. you started slow, but it wasn’t long before you increased your pace, preparing him with a firm yet gentle touch.

“so big, but so fucking weak,” you teased, your hands roaming over his back, his shoulders. “look at you, könig. whimpering like a needy little thing.”

“please,” he begged, his voice breaking with the intensity of his need. “don’t stop.”

you didn’t. you continued to prep him until he was a quivering mess, then pulled your fingers out and slicked yourself up. positioning yourself behind him, you guided your cock to his entrance, pushing in slowly. könig’s breath hitched, and he let out a loud, needy moan as you filled him.

“fuck, könig,” you groaned, feeling his tight heat envelop you. “so fucking perfect.”

könig’s responses were a symphony of whimpers and moans, his body moving in rhythm with yours. you started slow, letting him adjust to the stretch, but it wasn’t long before you increased your pace, fucking into him with reckless abandon. each thrust elicited a new sound from him, his voice growing louder and more desperate.

“so big, but so fucking weak,” you teased, your hands gripping his hips firmly. “look at you, könig. whimpering like a needy little thing.”

“please,” he begged, his voice breaking with the intensity of his need. “don’t stop.”

“louder,” you demanded, thrusting harder. “i want everyone to know who’s really in charge here. let them hear who’s ruining who.”

könig’s moans grew even louder, his cries echoing through the room. “fuck, yes! please, more!” he wailed, his voice raw with need.

“that’s it,” you growled, pounding into him with unrelenting force. “let them know how much you need this.”

könig’s whines and cries filled the room, his body shaking with pleasure. you could feel him getting closer, his muscles tightening, his breathing erratic.

just as he seemed on the brink of release, you pulled out halfway, earning a desperate whimper from him. “w-what…?” he gasped, looking back at you with wide, pleading eyes.

“i’m not done with you yet,” you said with a smirk, grabbing his hips and flipping him onto his back. könig landed with a soft thud, his legs instinctively spreading as you positioned yourself between them. “let’s see how you handle this.”

you lifted his legs, pushing them up to his chest, exposing his entrance once more. könig’s breath hitched, his eyes full of anticipation and need. with a firm grip on his thighs, you lined yourself up and pushed back into him, earning a loud, guttural moan from the giant beneath you.

“fuck, könig,” you groaned, feeling his tightness envelop you again. “you’re so fucking hot like this.”

könig’s hands gripped the sheets, his knuckles white with tension. “please,” he begged, his voice high and desperate. “please, i need it.”

“need what?” you taunted, thrusting into him with a slow, deliberate motion. “tell me what you need, könig.”

“i need you,” he whined, his body arching towards you. “fuck me, please. harder.”

you complied, increasing your pace and pounding into him with renewed vigor. könig’s cries grew louder, his body trembling with each thrust. “so fucking big,” you growled, “but so fucking weak for me. look at you, könig. taking it like a good boy.”

“yes,” könig moaned, his voice breaking. “only for you. only you.”

you continued to thrust into him, your movements relentless and precise. könig’s whines and cries filled the room, a symphony of pure need and pleasure. you could feel him getting closer again, his body tensing, his breathing erratic.

“come for me, könig,” you ordered, your voice firm. “show me how much you need this.”

with a final, desperate cry, könig did just that, his release hitting him with the force of a tidal wave. his entire body convulsed, his moans loud and unrestrained. you continued to move, drawing out his pleasure until he was utterly spent, collapsing onto the bed in a trembling heap.

you leaned over him, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “such a good boy,” you whispered, your voice soft with affection. “always so good for me.”

könig turned his head to look at you, his eyes filled with a mix of exhaustion and adoration. “only for you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

you smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man before you. “only for me,” you agreed, wrapping your arms around him, holding him close as the intensity of the moment began to fade. together, you lay there, basking in the afterglow, the bond between you stronger than ever.

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 10

Pairings: Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Angst, stupidity, annoyingness lol

A/N: This is the shortest chapter i have lol i also lowkey might add flashbacks into each chapter to add more depth and show more of the before.

The door slams behind you, leaving the apartment in silence, and for a moment, Bucky just stands there, his fists clenched, heart pounding as he processes what just happened. His chest is tight, and he feels the rage and regret building up until it erupts.

With a frustrated yell, he grabs the nearest lamp and hurls it across the room. The shattering glass echoes, cutting through the silence like a knife. Pieces scatter across the floor, a reflection of the chaos inside him.

“Goddammit!” he shouts, his voice cracking as he rakes his hands through his hair, pacing in circles like a caged animal. His breaths come fast and shallow, his mind racing through the night, every word exchanged like a dagger twisting deeper into his chest.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, staring at the broken lamp, his hands trembling. But the stillness is unbearable. He bolts for the door, flinging it open and stepping out into the hallway, shouting your name, his voice raw and desperate. He runs outside looking up and down the sidewalk “ Come on, don’t do this—please!”

But his voice is swallowed by the noise of a New York City Saturday night—distant laughter, honking horns, the steady hum of life moving on without him. He looks up and down the street, hoping, praying for even a glimpse of you, but you’re gone.

His pulse quickens, panic clawing its way into his chest. He rushes back inside, snatching his phone off the coffee table. His fingers fumble over the screen as he types out a frantic message.

Where are you? Please come back.

He hits send, but the empty silence that follows feels like a punch to the gut. He types again, his hands shaking as his heart pounds against his ribs.

I’m sorry. Just tell me you’re okay.

The seconds stretch into eternity as he stares at the screen, waiting for something—anything. When nothing comes, he dials your number, his thumb trembling as he presses the call button. He presses the phone to his ear, the ringing tone like a ticking clock in his mind.

Then he hears it: a faint buzzing, too close. His stomach drops as he turns toward the ceramic bowl by the door—the one he’d made for you last year on your birthday. A bowl meant for keys, little mementos… or your phone. He steps toward it slowly, as if delaying the inevitable, and peers inside. His chest tightens when he sees your phone lying there, abandoned.

“Dammit,” he whispers, his voice cracking. His hand hovers over it for a moment before he picks it up, his knuckles white around the edges. You’d left it behind. The weight of it all—the fight, his words, the reality of you walking out like that—hits him like a freight train.

He sinks down onto the floor, clutching your phone in his lap, his head falling into his hands. His breaths come in uneven gasps, and for the first time in years, tears spill freely down his face. He sees it all replaying in his mind: the way your face crumpled as you turned away, the sound of the door slamming behind you, the silence that followed.

Go. I don’t want you here.

The words ring in his ears, echoing with all the venom and finality he hadn’t meant but couldn’t take back. They were born out of fear and frustration, but now they feel like the truth—like he’s pushed you away for good.

After a moment, he wipes at his face, sniffs, and forces himself to his feet. This isn’t over. It can’t be.

He throws on his coat and rushes out the door, his mind racing as he retraces all the places you might have gone. First, the bar down the street—the one you’ve spent countless nights in, laughing over drinks, sharing secrets you wouldn’t tell anyone else. But it’s packed, unfamiliar faces filling the space where you should be.

Next, the café where you always get your Sunday morning coffee. The lights are dimmed, chairs stacked on tables. Closed. His heart sinks, but he presses on.

The bookstore is next. The one with late hours, where you could spend hours flipping through old paperbacks and laughing at obscure poetry collections. But it’s empty too, the familiar warmth of the shop now a cold reminder of how lost you are.

Finally, he heads to the park. The park where you’d spent so many nights sitting on the old wooden benches, talking under the stars. It’s quiet here, the hum of the city fading into the background. He sits down on one of those benches, his head falling into his hands as his shoulders shake.

He’s failed you. He’s failed himself. The weight of everything he’s been holding back—the fear, the love, the guilt—crashes down all at once. Silent tears stream down his face as he tilts his head up toward the sky, the stars blurring through his tears.

Then his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He scrambles for it, hope surging in his chest, but when he sees the name, his heart twists painfully.

Steve.

His thumb hovers over the screen before he opens the message.

She’s here. She walked from the apartment without her phone or coat. You let her walk out like that? What the hell were you thinking?

Bucky’s throat tightens, and his fingers curl around the phone. His vision blurs as he reads the words over and over, Steve’s anger matching his own self-loathing. He types out a response, but his fingers falter, and he deletes it. What could he say? There was no excuse for what he’d done.

Instead, he slips the phone back into his pocket and leans forward, burying his face in his hands. The ache in his chest deepens, and for the first time, he lets himself feel the full weight of what he’s lost.

He stares up at the sky again, the stars offering no comfort, only the cold realization that he might have pushed you away for good.

And he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get you back. But he never really had you in the first place.

As you step out of the shower, the quiet hum of voices drifts down the hall. Curiosity—and a bit of anxiety—tugs at you as you wrap yourself in a towel and press your ear to the bathroom door. Relief washes over you when you recognize Natasha and Wanda’s voices mixed with Sam and Steve’s, and you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. They’re here; you’re not alone.

Gathering yourself, you open the door and step into the living room, where Natasha is pacing, visibly agitated, while Wanda sits on the couch, her face full of concern. Sam and Steve stand nearby, leaning against the counter, both looking serious. When they see you, the conversation pauses, and Natasha stops mid-rant.

“Hey, there you are,” Wanda says softly, standing up to meet you. “Are you feeling any better?”

You offer a small smile. “Yeah, thanks. Just… processing, I guess.”

Wanda nods, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”

Natasha, however, looks ready to explode. She crosses her arms, her eyes flashing with anger. “It is not okay,” she says firmly. “You don’t just let your so-called best friend walk out alone at night, without so much as a phone or coat.”

You shrug, avoiding everyone’s eyes as you tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe… maybe we were never really friends. Maybe it was just the convenience of it all, you know?”

Wanda’s eyes widen slightly as she squeezes your shoulder, her voice soft. “You don’t mean that.”

You don’t answer because you know thats just bullshit, but thinking that hurts less, you sigh running a hand through your wet hair, glancing down as the hurt lingers in your chest. The silence stretches for a moment before Natasha breaks it, her tone gentler now.

“So… how was your date with Dean?” she asks, a note of curiosity softening her expression.

A sad smile tugs at your lips. “It was… everything a girl could dream of. He was respectful, charming… and he actually listened to me.” You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “It was perfect.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking hopeful. “So… are you going to go on another one with him?”

You hesitate, glancing in Steve’s direction for a brief second before looking back at Natasha. “Yeah… I think so.”

Sam shifts, clearing his throat, a hesitant look on his face. “So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but… you and Bucky still live together. What’s the plan?”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you, and for a moment, the weight of it all settles heavily. You swallow, looking down, and shrug. “I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t just… keep going back to the way things were. But I don’t know what comes next either. He’s Bucky yknow?”

Steve watches you, his face soft and understanding, and he offers a reassuring nod. You take a deep breath and settle onto the couch, feeling the weight of everyone’s concerned gazes. After a pause, you look around, your voice soft but firm. “Look, you guys can’t just be here for me. You’ve gotta be there for Bucky, too.”

Natasha scoffs, crossing her arms and shooting you a look. “As if! He’s the one who let you walk out in the middle of the night!....In New York!!! You’re too good of a friend if you’re even thinking about him right now.”

You give her a sad smile, shrugging slightly. “It’s… not about that, even if it was i wouldn’t of let him stop me, i made the decision to leave, i-i could have went to my room and --”

Natasha throws her arms up “Really? Are you kidding me? I love you babe but you’ve been defending him your whole life, he needs to take fault!”

You shake your head, your voice slight rasing “Its not that simple Nat and you know it” You hear her grumble before continuing “He’s going through something too. We’re all friends for a reason, right? We don’t get to just pick sides.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, groaning. “You’re way too good of a friend. Honestly, you’re killing me here.”

You manage a weak chuckle, but before you can respond, you hear Sam moving toward the door. He grabs his keys and his phone, his expression resolute.

Steve raises an eyebrow, looking over at him. “Where are you going?”

Sam glances back, determination in his gaze. “You heard the woman,” he says, nodding toward you. “I’m gonna go be a friend to one of my best friends.”

A surge of gratitude rises in you, and you give him a small, sincere smile. “Thank you, Sammy.”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks at you, and his voice holds a quiet warmth. “What are friends for?”

1 month ago

The air was crisp, filled with the mingling scents of freshly baked bread, blooming flowers, and sizzling street food. The bustling energy of the farmer’s market buzzed around you as you strolled through the vibrant stalls. Your arm was linked with Bucky’s, the two of you laughing as you navigated through the crowd, the warm Sunday morning sun casting a golden glow over everything.

Natasha and Wanda were a few stalls back, rifling through retro furniture pieces and vinyl records for their new apartment. Sam was predictably at a food truck, enthusiastically sampling every free bite they offered.

“You know where we’re headed,” you said with a grin, gently tugging Bucky toward the familiar book stall at the far end of the market.

He chuckled, squeezing your arm lightly. “Obviously. Can’t leave without finding something we don’t have space for on our shelves.”

You both were English majors, and literature had always been your shared sanctuary. The book stall was a small haven of dog-eared novels, rare editions, and hidden gems that called to you like an old friend.

But as you approached, Bucky suddenly stopped in his tracks. His grip on your arm loosened, and his head turned sharply, his expression shifting. “Kate?” he said, more to himself than to you.

Before you could even process it, his arm slipped out of yours, and he was weaving through the crowd, heading toward a figure you hadn’t noticed until now. A brunette. He didn’t say another word, leaving you standing there, your heart sinking as his back disappeared into the sea of people.

You blinked, dumbfounded. “Okay… what just happened?”

“Hey,” a familiar voice said behind you. You turned to see Steve approaching, a paper bag of pastries in hand. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced around. “Where’d Bucky go?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice light. “He saw someone he knew. An old friend, I guess.”

Steve nodded slowly, his concern softening into curiosity. “Did you two make it to the books yet?”

You forced a small smile. “No, not yet. We were about to.”

Steve tilted his head, offering his arm with a warm smile. “Well, do you want to look somewhere else while we wait for him to come back?”

Your heart ached a little, but his kindness made it easier. “Sure,” you said, linking your arm with his. Steve always had a way of making things feel okay, even when they weren’t.

He led you toward the next section of the market, where stalls displayed vintage jewellery, scarves, and other unique trinkets. As you browsed, your eyes caught on something that made you gasp softly—a locket, its delicate gold surface glinting in the sunlight. It looked almost identical to the one you’d lost at some stupid college party that led to a panic attack, it had been so precious to you because it was a family heirloom passed down multiple generations that you of all people lost. It hit you hard.

You picked it up carefully, running your thumb over its intricate design. It was beautiful, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pang of nostalgia, of longing. But when you flipped it over, searching for a price tag, you found none. You sighed quietly, already knowing what that meant. You’d only set aside money for books today—not for a locket, no matter how much it tugged at your heart.

Reluctantly, you set it back down, giving it one last wistful glance before turning back to Steve. He’d been watching you, his expression soft, but before he could say anything, Bucky reappeared, his usual grin plastered on his face.

“Sorry about that,” Bucky said, running a hand through his hair. “I saw someone from college.”

You raised an eyebrow, forcing your smile to stay in place. “Oh?”

“Yeah, remember that girl I had the project with in our last year? Kate. That was her,” he said, nodding toward where she’d vanished into the crowd. “Haven’t seen her since graduation. Got her number, though!”

“Cool,” you said, your voice light but not quite steady. Your chest ached, but you buried it quickly. Even the farmer’s market wasn’t safe from heartbreak, it seemed.

Bucky held out his arm again, his smile as warm as ever. “Shall we?”

You nodded, linking your arm with his once more. “Sure,” you said, glancing over at Steve. “You coming with?”

Steve shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’m gonna check out one more stand. Meet you guys at the benches for lunch?”

“Sounds good,” Bucky said, steering you back into the crowd. “Don’t take too long, Rogers. Sam’s probably already ordered for everyone.”

Steve waved you off, waiting until you and Bucky were out of sight. Then, he turned back to the vendor, his gaze settling on the locket you’d been admiring.

“I’ll take that locket, please,” Steve said quietly, pulling out his wallet.

[margeoww]

Toto Wolff is in a bad mood and bumps into a girl who spills coffee over him and he goes ballistic on her, only to find her waiting in his office later that day and realising that she is his new assistant. And he apologises and accidentally reveals that he thinks she’s pretty.

Spilled Coffee

back to my main masterlist

toto wolff masterlist

pairing: toto wolff x assistant!reader

summary: Toto Wolff, in a foul mood, bumps into a woman who spills coffee on him. After a heated exchange, he discovers that she’s his new assistant. Unapologetically bold and confident, she challenges Toto in ways he didn’t expect, forcing him to rethink his first impression.

warnings: tense initial interactions, light humor.

Toto Wolff’s day was, in a word, terrible. Meetings had dragged on endlessly, strategy discussions had gone nowhere, and the pressure of an underperforming car was taking its toll. By the time he left the conference room, his patience was running on fumes.

All he wanted was a cup of coffee to pull himself together before tackling the mountain of paperwork waiting in his office. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

As he rounded the corner of the hallway, he collided with someone moving at an equally brisk pace.

A gasp escaped from the other party, and before Toto could react, a wave of hot coffee splashed across his tailored suit.

—What the hell! —Toto barked, taking a step back, glaring down at the mess. His dark suit was stained, the sticky liquid seeping into the fabric.

—Oh, fantastic. —a voice responded sharply. —This is just what I needed.

Toto’s head snapped up at the tone. He was met with a pair of defiant eyes glaring right back at him. The woman standing before him wasn’t apologizing; in fact, she seemed just as annoyed as he was.

—Excuse me? —Toto said, his tone sharp and cutting. —You just ruined a suit worth more than your monthly salary.

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. —Maybe if you watched where you were going, this wouldn’t have happened. But sure, blame the person holding the coffee instead of the one charging through the hallway like a freight train.

Toto blinked, momentarily stunned by her boldness. Most people would have been tripping over themselves to apologize, but not her.

—Do you even know who I am? —he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Her lips twitched into a dry smile. —Oh, I know exactly who you are. Toto Wolff, the team principal of Mercedes-AMG Petronas, right? Well, congratulations. Today, you’re also the guy who doesn’t look where he’s going.

Toto’s jaw clenched, his irritation boiling over. —You-

—You’re welcome for the coffee, by the way —she cut him off, brushing past him with a pointed look. —Consider it a wake-up call..

Toto stood there, speechless, as she walked away.

Later That Day

Toto couldn’t shake the incident. As much as he hated to admit it, her sharp wit and unapologetic attitude had left an impression. Most people didn’t dare speak to him that way, and it gnawed at him.

When he finally returned to his office, he hoped to bury himself in work and forget the whole thing. But as he stepped inside, he stopped short.

Sitting at his desk, flipping through a folder, was the same woman from earlier.

She glanced up as the door opened, her expression neutral. —Oh, you’re back.

—What are you doing here? —Toto demanded, his voice laced with irritation.

She closed the folder and stood, offering a polite but firm smile. —I’m your new assistant.

Toto stared at her, his mind racing to catch up. —You’re—what?

—Your assistant —she repeated. —Surprise.

For the first time in a long while, Toto was at a loss for words. —No one informed me of this.

—Well, I was informed —she said, leaning against the desk casually. —And here I am.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to suppress the wave of embarrassment washing over him. —Look, about earlier—

She held up a hand, cutting him off. —Don’t bother. I’m not fragile, Mr. Wolff. You were rude, I was rude back. Let’s call it even.

Her bluntness caught him off guard again. Most people tiptoed around him, afraid to upset the boss. But she wasn’t afraid, and it was… refreshing.

—I owe you an apology —Toto said after a pause, his tone more measured. —I was out of line.

She studied him for a moment before nodding. —Accepted. Now, are we done with the awkward apologies, or do you have more to add?

Toto almost smiled. Almost. —You’re… direct.

—Is that a problem?

—No. —he said quickly. —It’s… effective.

As she turned back to his desk, her movements fluid and confident, Toto muttered, almost to himself, —You’re quite pretty when you’re not yelling at me.

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

She froze, glancing back at him with a sharp look. —Excuse me?

Toto’s eyes widened slightly, realizing what he’d said. His ears turned red, a rare show of embarrassment for the usually composed team principal. —I- what I meant was—

She tilted her head, arms crossed. —Are you complimenting me, Mr. Wolff?

Toto cleared his throat, struggling to regain his composure. —It was just an observation. A poor choice of words, perhaps.

Her lips twitched into a smirk, her confidence unwavering. —Noted. For the record, you’re a bit easier to deal with when you’re flustered.

Toto blinked, caught off guard again. She was a force to be reckoned with, and he wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or impressed.

—I’ll keep that in mind. —he said, his voice softer this time.

She turned back to her work, a quiet laugh escaping her. Toto watched her for a moment longer, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe this wasn’t the worst first day after all.

[eddiazx]

heat of the moment - eddie diaz x reader

You’re not even sure what the argument was about. 

You had both exchanged words that were hurtful and harsh, intended to rile up the other. The two of you were so caught up in your own respective stubbornness that being nice or communicative weren’t even options.

Regret hits you like a freight train in the middle of the night, when you’re staring at the ceiling in bed alone, tracks of tears drying up on your face. Eddie had taken to the couch, and you could already imagine the position he was in, flat on his back, arms crossed, his tall frame almost spilling out of the blue couch. You make a decision quickly, throw the blankets off of you, and go in search of your boyfriend. 

You find Eddie in the exact position that you imagined. He clearly hadn’t slept either, if his red-rimmed eyes staring at the ceiling were anything to go by. 

He sits up slowly when he sees you enter the living room. He starts to say something, presumably an apology, but you straddle him and kiss him gently, swallowing his words. The two of you can taste each other’s tears as your mouths move in tandem. 

When you break apart for a second to catch your breaths, Eddie rests his forehead against yours, and breathes a gentle, “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean any of that.” 

“I’m sorry, too.” 

Your lips meet again, but this time there is an urgency, an intensity behind the kiss. You tug on Eddie’s shirt to pull it off, and he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants. When there’s no fabric separating the two of you, you sink down onto Eddie’s cock. You interlace your fingers with his as you ride him slowly, murmuring apologies to each other the whole time. 

The two of you come together and finally fall sound asleep with Eddie still inside you, bodies and souls intertwined. 

[starsenha]

[4] TEACHER'S PET - this is awkward

synopsis: before your junior year of uni started, you and your friends decided to go to the club. who would've thought that the guy you hooked up with ended up being your new business management professor. wc: 1,3k

You walked into the large lecture hall, flanked by Suyeon and Hanni, the three of you juggling oversized iced coffees and barely-contained excitement. It was the second day of your senior year of college, and while you were far from morning people, the prospect of gossip—and caffeine—had perked you up.

“I heard the new professor for this class is hot,” Hanni said, taking a long sip from her iced latte. “Like, model who accidentally became an academic hot.”

You smirked. “Where do you even hear this stuff?”

“Twitter,” Hanni said confidently. “There’s a Decelis University thread where people post gossip about professors. Professor Park is apparently fresh meat.”

Suyeon raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smile. “Fresh meat? Hanni, we’re supposed to be professional businesswomen in training.”

Hanni rolled her eyes. “Professional businesswomen deserve eye candy too. Let me have this.”

You laughed as you climbed the stairs of the lecture hall, picking seats near the middle. The room was already buzzing with students, and everyone was murmuring about the new professor no one had seen yet. You set your coffees down and pulled out your laptops.

“Honestly,” Suyeon said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “if he’s even half as hot as twitter says, this might actually make business management bearable.”

You snorted. “Hot professor or not, this class is going to be brutal. It’s, like, one of the most important courses for our major.”

Hanni waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. But if we’re suffering, at least we’ll have something nice to look at.”

Before you could respond, the sound of the door closing silenced the room. Everyone turned to the front, and you froze the moment you saw him.

Walking confidently to the podium was none other than Jay. Jay, the same guy you had slept with at the club. He was dressed in a sharp blazer and crisp shirt, his hair perfectly styled, and his expression professional—until his eyes flickered to you.

Your jaw dropped, your heart racing as realization hit you like a freight train. Oh my God.

Next to you, Hanni and Suyeon exchanged wide-eyed glances, both recognizing him immediately.

“Isn’t that—?” Hanni whispered, her voice barely audible.

Suyeon leaned closer to you. “That’s the guy from the club. The one you—”

“I know,” you muttered, your voice a strangled whisper. “Shut up.”

At the front of the room, Jay’s eyes locked on you for a brief moment, his expression shifting from professional calm to brief, unmistakable shock. He quickly cleared his throat and looked away, his jaw tightening as he adjusted his papers on the podium.

“Good morning, everyone,” Jay began, his voice steady but slightly strained. “Welcome to Business Management. My name is Professor Park, and I’ll be your instructor for this course.”

You slouched in her chair, trying to make yourself invisible. “This is so awkward,” you hissed to Hanni and Suyeon, who were barely holding back their laughter.

“You think?” Hanni whispered, biting her lip to keep from giggling. “This is hilarious.”

“He looks like he wants to evaporate,” Suyeon added, her voice low. “And honestly? Same.”

Jay continued his introduction, his voice gradually regaining confidence, but he kept stealing glances at you as if he couldn’t believe you, of all people, were sitting there, the girl he hadn't stopped thinking about since that night at the club. You caught one of those glances and quickly looked away, your cheeks burning.

“This course is designed to challenge you,” Jay said, pacing slightly. “It’s not going to be easy, but I promise, if you put in the effort, you’ll come out of it with valuable skills.”

“Like how to avoid sleeping with your students?” Hanni whispered under her breath, earning a sharp elbow from you.

“Stop,” you hissed, glaring at your friend, though your lips twitched in reluctant amusement.

Jay’s eyes flickered to them again, and you swore you saw a hint of color rising in his cheeks before he looked back at his notes.

As he continued outlining the syllabus, you leaned toward Hanni and Suyeon, your voice low. “What are the odds this semester kills me from sheer embarrassment?”

Hanni smirked. “High. Very high.”

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

The class was finally finished. Thank god. You packed your things quickly, hoping to slip out of the lecture hall unnoticed. The entire class had been a masterclass in awkwardness—Jay stealing glances, your friends giggling like maniacs.

You were almost at the door, just steps away from freedom, when you heard his voice.

“Yn.”

Your entire body froze, and you winced as if physically struck. You turned slowly, your face carefully neutral, though your heart raced.

“Yes, Professor Park?” you asked, your tone polite but strained.

Jay stood at the podium, his hands resting on its edges. His expression was composed, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. He gestured for you to approach, and you sighed, motioning to Hanni and Suyeon.

“Wait for me outside,” you murmured to them.

Hanni grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Good luck,” she whispered before grabbing Suyeon and heading out. You shot her a glare before walking back down toward Jay.

You stopped a few feet from him, crossing your arms defensively. “What’s up?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual.

Jay waited until the last student had exited the room, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving you alone with him. He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair before speaking.

“This is… awkward,” he admitted, his voice low.

You let out a dry laugh. “You think?”

Jay gave you a sharp look, though his lips quirked slightly. “Look, let’s just address the elephant in the room. What happened between us…” He paused, his voice steady but strained. “It can’t happen again.”

You nodded, leaning casually against one of the desks. “Agreed. I’m not exactly looking to add ‘scandal’ to my college transcript.”

Jay relaxed slightly, though the tension between you still lingered. “Good. So, moving forward, we’ll keep this strictly professional. A professor-student relationship. Nothing more.”

“Strictly professional,” You echoed, nodding. But your lips curved into a teasing smirk as your eyes flicked over him. “Got it.”

Jay caught the look immediately, and his jaw tightened. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” You asked innocently, tilting your head.

“Like I’m…” He hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Like I’m something you want to devour.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk growing. “Can’t help it if the truth slips out, Professor.”

Jay groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if physically restraining himself. “Yn, I’m serious.”

You shrugged, your posture deliberately casual, though your gaze was anything but. “I’m just saying. You don’t make it easy to stay professional.”

“Neither do you,” Jay shot back, his eyes flickering—despite himself—to the sliver of exposed skin between your cropped top and high-waisted jeans. Your toned stomach caught his attention for a moment too long, and he forced himself to look away, clearing his throat.

“You can’t show up to class dressed like this,” he muttered, his voice tight.

You laughed softly, stepping closer, your confidence radiating. “Last I checked, dress codes don't apply to college students.”

Jay’s eyes darted back to yours, his frustration warring with something far more primal. “You’re not making this easy.”

“I thought we agreed to keep it professional,” you teased, leaning in slightly. “You’re the one breaking your own rules.”

Jay groaned again, his voice low and blunt. “Yn, if you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m going to lose it.”

Your eyes sparkled with mischief, but you straightened, taking a step back. “Alright, Professor Park,” you said, your voice light and teasing. “Consider me warned.”

Jay exhaled sharply, his gaze softening as he tried to regain his composure. “Just… go. And please, for both our sakes, keep this professional.”

You gave him one last smile, your tone playful as you walked toward the door. “See you next class, Professor.”

As the door closed behind you, Jay let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. This semester is going to kill me.

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TAGLIST: @jakef3ver @bxcndd @03sunoos @insommni4 @jjhmk @haevvv @hyinneehoon @wildtigerlili @eyesonlybutterflies @right-person-wrong-time @tkooooop @jooniesbears-blog @baedreamverse @kyshhhhhh @sunhyeswife @sumzysworld

[tinydefector]

Okay. You've got me invested on the newest installation of Human Effects.

Now I can't stop imagine both Humans and Mechs alike having some sort of Google Form where they click on the Human/Mech they want to fuck and see which is the most desired amongst their respective species.

Now that I think about it, I think there'll be a lot of fighting. And chaos.

But then again, we live for the drama.

Human Effects Lost Records

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings: talk of sex, human/alien, pornhunting

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Lab logs

Did I take this as an opportunity to merge Human effects and laboratory logs together into a series yes I did. I'll be working on the human Effects timeline where human Effects 2 is spin-off pieces from the mainline.

_____________________

The Holo, cyber and inter webs had a strange beauty to them. It has given many the ability to communicate with different planets, species, to share culture, laughter, debates, videos And all sorts thanks to the many different satellites floating out in space. Everyone also enjoyed it for the use of downtime the most. Some had taken to enjoying Earth's entertainment platforms such as YouTube, Netflix and many other sights, others fell into more depraved sights such as Reddit, Twitter,Tumblr, Pornhub, interlink, Processed and other sights. 

Commlink: post Humans Aboard BLO freight.

BigBotNoStop: Alright mechs, I come bearing an inquiry. As you may have heard from some of my last posts, the newest additions to our crew are a thriving colony of soft, squishy humans. Word in the taproom is some have taken quite an interest in... extending cultural exchanges, if you catch my drift. Not really my field of experience and was hoping some of Xeno's here might have some input. 

Posted to Sublink: Human and cybertronian relationships?

But I'm curious, are interspecies acts even possible without harm? Their frames seem so fragile. One wrong motion and SPLAT! No more humans. quite a few members of our crew have shown interest in flirting... Thoughts? Suggestions for how to proceed with care- help a mech out!

Blazemech: Yo! You got fleshies on your ship! Fragging jealousy!. Your ship is looking for any dock workers?

TailOrTrails: Oh Primus, are we really having this discussion?? Look, I get the appeal of those soft little flesh bags. Really, I do - different wiring can be so freakin' hot. But there's no way a romp with one of those puny things ends well for them! Even accidentally bumping into a table puts them in the medbay. Think of the mess, One wrong thrust and you've got squish all over your plating.

ISOCLEAN: Just download some holofacing and use your imagination if you're that jonesing for an organic interface. Trust me, it's not worth the risk - or hassle of cleaning up after. sure you can find something from the Human sites on Mechanophilia, slutty Show and shine or Car Washes. Stay shiny and keep those servos to yourself, mechs! Some curiosities are better left to fantasies.

Flyboi69: Don't leave a mech hanging, I want deets!, has anybot here actually gotten friendly with a fleshie before? I'm talking about hands-on experience. We've all gotten curious watching, but has the real thing lived up to the fantasy? 

Pimptheride: Any tips for coaxing one into the berth, or does their tiny size mean you've got to take it slow and gentle? And most importantly... any videos out there of the deed? A mech's gotta do some, ah, research before taking the plunge. Hook a brother up if you've found any good amateur organic-on-mech action out there in the 'net. Gotta see it to believe it. 

ScienceSorcerer: For reasons. Does anyone know if humans have both Spikes and Valves? Or if they have any human anatomy holos or books and such from Earth they are willing to sell for some decent Shanix.  

T-Wrexz: Primus, you mechs are hungrier than fragging scraplets. As far as I know, relations between our kinds are still uncharted territory. Could be amazing, could end badly - who's to say until we try? Personally I'm keeping an optic out, just curious to see what new experiences those squishy aliens can offer us tough metal mechs. 

Bar-rizzla: Oho, look who's swapping tall tales. I've been keeping a close optic on our ships squishy company since they came aboard. And between you and me... I may have an in with their ambassador that could lead to some juicy first-hand intel. Just trying to track down the bot we think they are berthing with. Crews got bets out. Turns out they get just as curious about us big metal hunks as we are them!. The other night, their chat got particularly saucy after a few drinks. Lots of gossip and speculation about which lucky bot one of them might take for a private ride. 

WPHAS-Violation: I may have a certain special "human entertainment" vid I could share. Let's just say the organic in question got quite... friendly with an eager mini-con. You know where to find me if you're brave enough to watch! 

Tapemix54: Oho, mechs - think you've got it bad now? You should've seen some of the real deviants back before the war. When I was still stationed on Petrex, I knew this one smuggler - went by the name Rattler. Sneaky little scraplet, but Primus if he didn't have the wildest stories. Rattler used to run goods across time and space, dodging security at every turn. He'd pop up out of nowhere selling the rarest exotic "pets" to rich senators and other high caste mechs looking for a thrill. I'm talking aliens so bizarre even our data banks had never heard of their kind. But the highest bidder always walked away with a new "plaything" to break in, if you catch my drift. Word was Rattler even had a collection of sentient organics that he'd let special clients "test drive" between runs. Humans were apparently a favourite - their smaller frames could take all sorts of creative handling. Rattler had vids, too, of course, to entice buyers. I saw one once, let's just say "versatile" doesn't begin to cover it. Naturally the vids have all been scrubbed by now. But I bet if you knew where to dig in the deep web or some easily swayable Archivist, you might find traces of Rattler's stash still floating around out there.

 T-Wrexz: Whoa, whoa, slow your intake there tapemix! As much as I love a good far-fetched tale, I gotta call scrap on this one. Humans weren't even around back then, much less roaming the streets of Rodion as black market pets, I'm all for imagining exotic interface scenarios, but let's keep the stories at least somewhat rooted in known history, yeah?. Last I checked it was probably fabricated by Caminus cartels to make their actual goods seem tame. 

A few other mechs agree with T-Wrexz before a few kliks later a new post is put up. 

Post: 

"Old Iacon records saved of the Senator and his human Conjunx”

It's a file collection of holotapes and pictures: "Enjoy these are pre war photos of Senator Shockwave and his Human holding their sparkling" 

There are many holos and videos of the long gone senator smiling with his human perched on his shoulder, in the crystal garden with a young sparkling held in the human's arms. Videos of the sparkling playing with the two but the last The last holo looks like a family portrait with Shockwave’s frame in a lime green blue white paint with gold accessories,  his human lover is dressed in elegant robes and the small blue praxian sparkling held in their arms. Each holo is dated with the Iacon records seal of authentication. 

FlyBoi69: NO FREAKIN' WAY. Is this real?! *downloads files faster than Blurr* FRAG ME SIDEWAYS, I think I just popped a gasket! How in the PIT did you manage to dig up the holos of senator Shockwave, most of his speeches, debates and lectures were wiped. Where did you find this! 

Jackin0: of all mechs, with an actual human back in the Golden Age?!. I'm calling scrap on this being real. It's gotta be a flawless deepfake. By PRIMUS if true - to think ol' Shockers was living it up with a squishy. Maybe there's more to those Senatorial types than meets the optic...

T-Wrexz: Okay, I'll bite... but someone better explain to me RIGHT NOW how any of this computes! Last I checked, time travel and inter-species relationships were the stuff of erotic imagination, not legitimate pre-war archives. Tapemix, you better start talking. Where in the PIT did you source these files? How do we know they're authentic and not just an incredibly convincing parlour trick? Because if I'm gonna let these images ruin me, I wanna be ruined by the real deal! Spill it, mech. 

Iacon-Records: Tapemix54 could i please request where you discovered these as i work with Iacon records and this here is history that needs to be preserved. I'm willing to talk with you through a contractor if you would be willing for us to add these back into the new hall of records. Cybertron has lost so much and to find something like this I ask that we find a way to preserve it.  

BigBotNoStop: Pit take me now... I think I may have to reassess everything I thought I knew about interface and partnerships. That human is holding a sparkling curled around them - frag if it isn't the most beautiful thing I've ever seen! If anything could make me believe in miracles, it's this! Tapemix, you glorious glitch - how can I ever repay such an enlightening gift?

Tapemix54: These were filed only cycles after Shockwaves Emputra; they were added to the Iacon records by some Archivist under the title. 'I will Remember you for who you were'. This was right when the senate fell apart on the brink of the war. From my knowledge of information on Rattler he apparently had an outlier who he got to take them to different times since he was a shuttle made it easier to transport. That's from the  records that still exist at least. I'll take you up on that offer Iacon-records. 

________

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_____________

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Found this in my drafts! Enjoy!

From The GoalKeeper Universe

You were never one to stay down, maybe even times you probably should have, but this time when you don't get back up... it's the dreaded ACL. But Aitana is by your side every step of the way.

Word Count: Only short 1.8k

You feel it snap.

It’s like a cruel, invisible thread inside your knee gives way mid-air, just as you dive for the ball—pure instinct, clean technique, everything perfect until it isn't. You feel the sting, then the burn, and then nothing but the thundering silence in your own head as you lie face-down on the turf at Ciutat Esportiva.

You don’t remember exactly how it happened—just the blur of movement, the instinctive dive. You’re not someone who stays down. Everyone knows that. You’ve built your reputation on getting up—every time. But not today. Not this time.

The ball had already ricocheted off your outstretched glove—another one for the highlight reel, people would say later—but the pain hit like a freight train a second too late. You collapsed onto the turf, clutching your leg, the world around you folding inward as your teammates rushed toward you, their faces folding into that uneasy blend of worry and disbelief.

You’re the wall. The unbreakable. The best goalkeeper in the world, they’ve been saying for the past two seasons. The one who doesn’t go down unless it’s to make the save of the century. But here you are, on the pitch, clutching your knee like it’s trying to escape your body.

You already know it’s bad.

You hear the training come to a stop around you, the footsteps pounding the pitch as your teammates rush over, voices blurring together in a wave of panic.

“Don’t move. Stay down.”

“Shit—call the physio. Now.”

And then, cutting through the noise, her voice—low and tight, but steady.

“Mi amor. Look at me. Look at me.”

You open your eyes, and Aitana’s kneeling beside you, her hand trembling against your cheek. There’s panic behind her eyes, but she’s holding it in for you, for now. You don’t have the strength to say anything, so you just grip her wrist, as tight as you can.

You don’t need to say it. She already knows.

The physios do their tests—rotation, pressure, reflex—and your stomach sinks further with every nod exchanged above your head. They don’t say it aloud yet, but you hear the words anyway. Ligament. Tear. Surgery. Months.

The season is at its most delicate stage. Champions League semifinals ahead. The title race in Liga F is tighter than it’s been in years. You were supposed to be the one keeping the fortress sealed, pushing the team to the finish line. Instead, you're in the back of a van on the way to the hospital, replaying the moment on loop.

Later that night, Aitana doesn’t knock when she enters your apartment. She never does. She's wearing her Barça hoodie, hair tied back, eyes set. You’re lying on the couch, leg propped up in a brace, TV on but volume muted. She doesn’t say anything right away—just drops her keys on the counter and walks over.

She kneels by you, hands gently resting on your thigh. You can’t meet her eyes. You're not ready for comfort yet, not from her. Not when everything feels like it's slipping.

“I’m done for the season,” you say flatly, voice low, like it might hurt less that way.

She exhales, slow and steady, and rests her forehead on your knee, careful not to jostle it.

“We don’t know that yet,” she whispers.

But you do. You know your body, and you know this kind of pain. You’ve seen it happen to others. You’ve comforted teammates through it. And now it’s your turn to be the one left behind.

“It’s not just the games, Aitana,” you say, finally looking down at her. “It’s everything. This was supposed to be our year. We were building something.”

She shifts, climbs up beside you, curling into your good side. Her hand finds yours.

“It still is our year,” she says. “Just not the way you planned.”

You want to believe her. You want to believe that you’ll come back stronger, sharper, and that the team will hold together without you in goal. But it feels like a lie to even imagine it right now. And yet… her voice, calm and certain, anchors you in place.

The days blur after that.

Scans confirm what you already knew—ACL tear, some MCL damage, minimum six months out. You hear the doctor say it, and you nod, stone-faced. You don't cry in front of them. Not here. You wait. The club puts out a statement. Fans flood your socials with love. Teammates check in. 

Back home, you finally break. You sit on the sofa in your living room, knee wrapped in ice, painkillers barely dulling the ache, and your chest tight with helplessness. You don't even hear her come in.

She kneels in front of you slowly, hands gentle as if you might shatter with a single touch.

“Say something,” she whispers.

You swallow the lump in your throat, shaking your head. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not okay, Ait.”

“I know,” she says softly, brushing her fingers through your hair. “You don’t have to be.”

“I was supposed to be there. For the Champions League. For the league. I was supposed to be the wall.”

“You are,” she says firmly. “You still are.”

You laugh bitterly, blinking hard. “Not from the stands.”

Her face twists at that. She leans forward and rests her forehead against yours.

“Do you know how many times I’ve looked over my shoulder and felt calm just knowing you were behind me? That doesn’t go away because your knee gave out. You didn’t stop being who you are.”

You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat. All you can manage is, “I’m scared.”

And that breaks her.

She wraps her arms around you and holds you tight, burying her face into your neck. “Me too,” she whispers. “But we’ll get through it. I promise you that.”

Your apartment becomes a constant carousel of fruit baskets, well wishes, and visits.

Aitana is always there, though. Through the physio appointments, the surgery prep, the quiet nights when the pain meds wear off and everything aches. She learns how to tape your leg better than the medical staff. She brings you match footage and sits with you through every minute, pausing to explain tactics, tweaking things with you like you’ll be back on the pitch next week.

You catch her crying once, in the kitchen, when she thinks you’re asleep. She's scared, too. Not just for the team, but for you. For the mental storm you’re walking through. But she doesn’t crumble when she’s beside you. She holds it together so you don’t have to.

Time becomes something strange—measured in rehab milestones instead of goals and clean sheets. You learn to celebrate the small wins. Flexing your knee five degrees more than the day before. Standing without crutches. Taking your first step.

But the hardest part isn’t the injury—it’s watching from the sidelines. Watching Cata take your place between the posts, watching the team grind out results, sometimes shaky, sometimes brilliant. Watching Aitana lead the team onto the field while you sit in the box, heart pounding, legs restless, soul aching. Watching Aitana shine brighter than ever, pulling strings from midfield like the magician she is.

You’re proud of her. Of course you are. But there’s a sharpness in your chest every time the anthem plays and you’re not there, every time she looks for you in the stands instead of on the pitch. 

One night, you’re icing your knee after a brutal session. She walks in wearing your hoodie, fresh from the game, still glowing from the win. You try to fake a smile for her, but she sees right through it.

She drops her bag and walks over, brushing a kiss to your forehead.

“You didn’t watch the second half, did you?”

You look away. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it just… hurts. Sitting there and knowing I should’ve been out there. Knowing I could’ve helped. And now I’m just... nothing.”

She sits beside you in silence for a long beat. Then, quietly: “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you ever say you’re nothing.”

You flinch. She’s never raised her voice at you before—not like this. But there’s something in her eyes, raw and burning.

“You’re the heartbeat of this team,” she says. “You think it’s just about saves and clean sheets? It’s how you talk to us. How you lead. The way you fight. Even broken, you make us believe. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. But it’s not because you’re the best in the world. It’s because you never stop giving, even when you’ve got nothing left.”

Tears blur your vision before you even realise they’re falling. She cups your face gently and kisses you—slow and soft and grounding.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers against your lips. “I’ve got you. We’ve got each other.”

You celebrate small wins: flexion, walking without crutches, stairs. One morning, you take your first jog—slow and uneven, but it’s yours—and when you get home, Aitana has tears in her eyes.

“Wait right here,” she says, disappearing into the bedroom.

She comes back holding something behind her back, sheepish smile playing on her lips.

“You weren’t supposed to get this until your first game back,” she says. “But… I couldn’t wait.”

She pulls out a framed photo—one you didn’t even know she had. It’s from a match last season. You, covered in mud, arms spread wide after a last-minute save. She’s running toward you, grinning like the world is ending, and in the background the crowd is on their feet.

You stare at it, throat tight.

“It’s not just a picture,” she says. “It’s a reminder. Of who you are. Who you’ve always been.”

You blink back tears and reach for her. She steps into your arms without hesitation.

“I love you,” you say into her hair.

She squeezes you tighter. “I know,” she murmurs. “And I’ll be right here. Every step. Every session. Every second. Until you’re back where you belong.”

Weeks pass. Then months.

One night, deep into recovery, she finds you sitting on the balcony with your brace off, moonlight painting your skin silver. You’re silent, eyes on the city, leg throbbing after another brutal physio session.

She steps behind you, wraps her arms around your shoulders, and rests her chin on your head.

“You’ll be back,” she says softly.

You don’t answer. But you cover her hands with yours, grounding yourself in her presence. And for the first time in weeks, somehow in that moment, you let yourself believe it. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not this season. But someday. This isn’t the end of the story. It’s just the start of a new chapter.

You’ll be back. And when you are, she’ll be there waiting. Just like she always has.

When you’re ready to stand on the pitch again—gloves on, heart pounding—she’ll be there, looking over her shoulder, trusting you to catch her if she falls.

Just like always.

And you’ll pick up where you left off—two warriors in blaugrana, building something unstoppable. Together.

[writers-potion]

I'm writing a sci-fi story about a space freight hauler with a heavy focus on the economy. Any tips for writing a complex fictional economy and all of it's intricacies and inner-workings?

Constructing a Fictional Economy

The economy is all about: How is the limited financial/natural/human resources distributed between various parties?

So, the most important question you should be able to answer are:

Who are the "have"s and "have-not"s?

What's "expensive" and what's "commonplace"?

What are the rules(laws, taxes, trade) of this game?

Building Blocks of the Economic System

Type of economic system. Even if your fictional economy is made up, it will need to be based on the existing systems: capitalism, socialism, mixed economies, feudalism, barter, etc.

Currency and monetary systems: the currency can be in various forms like gols, silver, digital, fiat, other commodity, etc. Estalish a central bank (or equivalent) responsible for monetary policy

Exchange rates

Inflation

Domestic and International trade: Trade policies and treaties. Transportation, communication infrastructure

Labour and employment: labor force trends, employment opportunities, workers rights. Consider the role of education, training and skill development in the labour market

The government's role: Fiscal policy(tax rate?), market regulation, social welfare, pension plans, etc.

Impact of Technology: Examine the role of tech in productivity, automation and job displacement. How does the digital economy and e-commerce shape the world?

Economic history: what are some historical events (like The Great Depresion and the 2008 Housing Crisis) that left lasting impacts on the psychologial workings of your economy?

For a comprehensive economic system, you'll need to consider ideally all of the above. However, depending on the characteristics of your country, you will need to concentrate on some more than others. i.e. a country heavily dependent on exports will care a lot more about the exchange rate and how to keep it stable.

For Fantasy Economies:

Social status: The haves and have-nots in fantasy world will be much more clear-cut, often with little room for movement up and down the socioeconoic ladder.

Scaricity. What is a resource that is hard to come by?

Geographical Characteristics: The setting will play a huge role in deciding what your country has and doesn't. Mountains and seas will determine time and cost of trade. Climatic conditions will determine shelf life of food items.

Impact of Magic: Magic can determine the cost of obtaining certain commodities. How does teleportation magic impact trade?

For Sci-Fi Economies Related to Space Exploration

Thankfully, space exploitation is slowly becoming a reality, we can now identify the factors we'll need to consider:

Economics of space waste: How large is the space waste problem? Is it recycled or resold? Any regulations about disposing of space wste?

New Energy: Is there any new clean energy? Is energy scarce?

Investors: Who/which country are the giants of space travel?

Ownership: Who "owns" space? How do you draw the borders between territories in space?

New class of workers: How are people working in space treated? Skilled or unskilled?

Relationship between space and Earth: Are resources mined in space and brought back to Earth, or is there a plan to live in space permanently?

What are some new professional niches?

What's the military implication of space exploitation? What new weapons, networks and spying techniques?

Also, consider:

Impact of space travel on food security, gender equality, racial equality

Impact of space travel on education.

Impact of space travel on the entertainment industry. Perhaps shooting monters in space isn't just a virtual thing anymore?

What are some indsutries that decline due to space travel?

I suggest reading up the Economic Impact Report from NASA, and futuristic reports from business consultants like McKinsey.

If space exploitation is a relatiely new technology that not everyone has access to, the workings of the economy will be skewed to benefit large investors and tech giants. As more regulations appear and prices go down, it will be further be integrated into the various industries, eventually becoming a new style of living.