#there is a light at the end of every tunnel

[mapofsouthdakota]

Maps headcanons -

🧡 Caleb left you another letter II

Caleb’s smutty letter

Details: 550ish words of Caleb’s smutty letter to you. Yandere stuff, possessive stuff. Name kink, plus hints at a few others I think he has. He makes me feral. 18+ y’all very explicit notinoti stuff. (Kinda want to write another name kink hc for him now lol) Enjoy lol.

You wake alone.

The sheets are still warm where he slept—the dent of his body still curled toward yours, the way he always ends up even when he swears he won’t “cling like a koala.” Morning light seeps in around the edges of the curtain, but the space beside you is empty.

Except for a letter.

It’s folded once, carefully. Placed right where your shoulder had been, like he timed it to kiss your skin just after he left.

The paper smells like him—like sandalwood and mouthwash and something only you ever get this close to. Your name is scrawled on the front in that familiar, curling script.

——————————————————————————

Hey, beautiful

If you’re reading this, you’ve probably just woken up. I hope you stretched out into my spot, stole all the pillows and kicked the blanket off your legs like you always do. I hope you’re still sore.

God, I hope you’re sore.

I’ve been trying to focus on The Tunnel, trying to think about logistics, flight paths, literally anything else… but my brain keeps sliding back to you. To last night.

The way you sounded. The way you moved. The way you felt.

When you were wrapped around me like the space between us had never been meant to exist at all… Every breath, every shift of your hips, every broken sound you didn’t mean to make.

Do you even know how hard it is not to come the second I hear that little gasp you make?

I keep replaying the way your fingers dug into my back, the way your thighs shook when I told you not to stop. The way your mouth looked when you didn’t listen. You looked at me like you wanted to ruin me… and I think you did. Because now all I can think about is coming back and doing it again. Slower. Rougher. Deeper.

And… the way you scream my name.

I want to hear it again. And again. I want it raw and breathless… I want to pull it out of you until it’s the only word you remember. There’s nothing sweeter. Nothing more mine.

So don’t hold back. Not when you scream my name. Not when your nails dig in. If you want to make me bleed, make me bleed. I don’t care if you leave scars down my spine—I’ll wear them like proof that I belong to you. Every sound, every scratch, every mark. Yours.

Because I want it. All of it. I want you clawing at me like you need me to stay inside you forever. Your thighs shaking around my hips while you beg. Your nails in my back, your teeth on my shoulder. I want you soaked, wrecked, owning me without even trying.

I want to come with your name in my mouth and your nails in my skin—want to be drained, so deep inside you I forget where I end. I want to fall apart between your legs and still stay hard just from the sound of your voice.

Fuck.

You make it so hard to leave, you know that?

Are you touching yourself right now? (If you are, don’t stop. Pretend it’s me. I’ll pretend it’s you every second until I’m back. Fair trade, yeah?)

Say my name, and I’ll say yours. Whisper it like I’m there, and I swear I’ll breathe yours like a prayer out here in the dark. Over and over. Until I can come back and say it against your skin.

Try not to miss me too much.

Yours—thinking about the way your mouth shapes around my name,

Caleb

——————————————————————————

Say my name again

Fold secrets in the sweat

——————————————————————————

[wbbobsesserr]

ᯓ sweet spot — chapter two

pairing: paige bueckers & azzi fudd

my masterlist

wc: 2.5k

it had been three weeks.

three weeks of pretending azzi fudd didn’t occupy 99% of paige bueckers’ waking thoughts. three weeks of trying not to stare during film, of forcing herself not to “accidentally” sit next to her at every team meal. three weeks of scrolling through azzi’s social media accounts like they held the secrets of the universe. three weeks of watching every reposted workout clip like it was a sacred ritual. three weeks of dying. slowly. softly. lovingly.

it was hell.

because azzi was still azzi.

sweet. soft-spoken. warm to everyone. she high-fived her teammates. she brought extra protein bars to practice in case anyone needed one. she complimented everyone, everyday. and paige? paige was losing her mind. she’d never felt like this before. not about anyone. there had been hookups, of course. flings. a very short-lived situationship with a girl from back home who smoked too much weed and ghosted her after two weeks. but azzi?

azzi made her feel like a middle schooler with a crush. like she was trying to act normal during a fire drill while her entire body was combusting.

and the worst part was that azzi didn’t even know.

or maybe she did, and she was just too nice to say anything.

practice had ended an hour ago, but paige was still in the gym, sitting on the bleachers with a bag of ice balanced on her knee and her phone glowing in her lap. she wasn’t texting anyone. she was just looking at azzi’s most recent post: a photo from the locker room after the team’s first practice. azzi smiling, flushed, holding up a peace sign. caption: “i love it here already.”

she’d liked it within 0.3 seconds of it going up.

now she just sat there, staring at it like it might change.

“hey.”

paige nearly threw her phone across the gym. she looked up. it was azzi, hair pulled into a high bun, hoodie slung over one shoulder, and a water bottle tucked under her arm. she looked like a nike ad. or her own personal dream.

“you good?” azzi asked, stepping closer. “didn’t see you leave with everyone.”

paige sat up straighter, hiding her phone screen. “yeah— just icing. knee’s a little sore.”

azzi nodded, then sat next to her. right next to her. their knees almost touched. paige stopped breathing.

“you looked good today,” azzi said, like it was just a fact. “sharp on that last drill.”

paige shrugged, trying to act chill. “you always look good.”

silence.

paige’s eyes widened. “i mean— you played good. you looked good playing. like— your shot. your form. it was— good.”

azzi laughed quietly. “thanks.”

paige wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

they sat in silence for a few moments, the quiet hum of the lights buzzing overhead. azzi leaned back on her palms, gazing out at the empty court.

“you like being here?” paige asked finally, voice low.

azzi turned her head, smiled. “yeah. i do. it’s… different. but good-different. i feel like i’m supposed to be here.”

paige nodded, then swallowed. “you are.”

azzi’s smile lingered. “what about you? you still like it?”

paige glanced down at her hands. “i used to think it was just about winning. getting a national championship. now… i don’t know. it feels like it matters more when you have the right people around.”

azzi looked at her, something soft in her eyes.

before paige could completely combust, someone called from down the tunnel— lou, probably. something about team dinner.

azzi stood, brushing imaginary dust off her pants. “you coming?”

paige blinked, then nodded. “yeah. just need a sec.”

azzi lingered for a moment. “you sure?”

“positive.”

azzi gave her one last look, then jogged off.

paige watched her go, heart a tangled mess of hope and helplessness. she grabbed her phone again and looked at the photo. zoomed in just a little. yeah. she was so, so screwed.

the team dinner was supposed to be casual. nothing fancy— just some bonding, a little pasta, maybe a couple of dumb games nika liked to spring on them out of nowhere. coach had even given them the evening off to “build chemistry,” which everyone knew really meant “don’t get in trouble and try not to burn the dorm down.”

paige almost didn’t go.

because azzi.

and because paige had barely survived three practices without turning into a puddle every time azzi looked in her direction. but nika wouldn’t let her skip, practically dragged her by the collar out of her room with the promise of free garlic knots and good lighting for selfies.

the restaurant was small and loud, with big booths and sticky menus. half the team was already there, squeezed into one corner and tossing crumpled straw wrappers at each other. azzi sat near the end, her curls pulled up and her smile lighting up the table like a lantern. paige picked the seat next to her before she could think twice.

“hey,” azzi said, voice soft over the buzz of conversation. “glad you came.”

paige nodded too fast. “yeah. me too. i like… food.”

azzi blinked.

nika snorted soda out of her nose.

lou choked on her breadstick.

“smooth,” aubrey muttered, bumping paige’s knee under the table.

but azzi just laughed— a quiet, melodic sound— and passed paige the basket of garlic knots like she hadn’t just committed a social crime. “i meant to tell you— you’ve got a really quick first step. it’s hard to guard. you kinda burned me yesterday.”

paige blinked. her soul left her body. “i— uh. i didn’t mean to? i mean, i did, but not like— burn— like basketball, not like… fire.”

nika buried her face in her hoodie.

azzi smiled. “i got what you meant.”

it was fine. everything was fine. except her hands were sweating and her fork was now mysteriously on the floor. paige reached down to get it and hit her head on the table.

azzi leaned over, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “are you okay?”

“never better.” paige’s voice cracked. she never wanted to die more.

later that night, paige laid in bed, phone screen glowing inches from her face. she should’ve been asleep— they had weights in the morning. but instead, she was twenty minutes into another accidental deep dive of azzi fudd’s instagram.

it started innocent. a few scrolls. a couple likes.

and then she found him.

noah.

the boyfriend. azzi’s boyfriend. smiling next to azzi on some beach in california, both of them mid-laugh. another post from valentine’s day— azzi in his hoodie, captioned “my favorite human.”

her stomach twisted.

azzi didn’t post often. but when she did, the captions about noah were always so full. like she really meant them. paige lingered on one in particular— a photo of the two of them in front of the usc gym. the caption read: “through every win, every loss, every late night practice— you’ve been my home. i love you so much.”

paige closed the app.

then opened it again five seconds later. she wasn’t proud of herself.

she was about to close the app for good when nika barged into her room with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape.

“you’re so gone for her.”

paige flinched so hard she dropped her phone.

“excuse me?”

“don’t even try to deny it,” nika said, plopping onto the bed like she owned it. “you short-circuit every time she so much as looks at you. i’ve never seen someone so flustered.”

“i don’t—”

“you do.” nika pulled paige’s pillow out from under her and whacked her with it. “you’ve got the biggest gay panic i’ve ever seen. and i roomed with lou.”

paige groaned, burying her face in her hands. “she has a boyfriend.”

“yeah, and you have zero chill,” nika leaned back. “i’ve never seen you like this before. nervous, shy. it’s weird.”

paige didn’t answer. she couldn’t.

because now, every little moment replayed like a loop— azzi’s compliment. the softness in her voice. her dimply smile that lingered too long.

well, fuck.

practice had ended twenty minutes ago, but paige was still out there, lazily flipping a ball between her hands as the last few teammates trickled out. her shirt clung to her back, sweat drying slowly in the gym's faint breeze. she could’ve left. should’ve. but something told her to stay.

and then azzi appeared.

“hey,” she called softly, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she approached. “you staying to shoot?”

paige’s heart dropped to her knees, then tried to crawl back up her throat. “uh— yeah. just a little.”

azzi smiled, grabbing a ball from the rack. “mind if i join you?”

“join? no. i mean yes. i mean— of course.”

they started with simple catch-and-shoot drills. easy rhythm. azzi’s release was still perfect, every shot as clean as glass. paige couldn’t stop glancing sideways, watching the way azzi’s eyes followed the arc of each shot, the way she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet after every make.

paige hit her stride eventually, sinking threes from the corner, then fading toward the wing. they passed back and forth, no words, just the soft echo of the ball and their sneakers squeaking on the court.

azzi shot like she was born doing it. No wasted movement. every jumper was soft, clean, perfect rotation. paige tried to stay focused— tried to match her rhythm— but she kept getting caught in the way azzi would laugh lightly when she missed, like even failure didn’t rattle her.

“your arc’s so pretty,” paige said before she could stop herself.

azzi looked at her. “mine?”

paige nodded, suddenly shy. “yeah. it’s, like… the perfect rainbow.”

azzi smiled. “thanks. yours is faster, though. quick release. super smooth.”

paige’s stomach did an actual flip.

“thanks. i, uh— yeah. i work on that,” she said, for what felt like the tenth time this week. why was she always saying the same thing around her? like she had five phrases and two working brain cells?

they continued shooting.

after a few more rounds, azzi passed her the ball and stretched her arms over her head. “you know, you’ve got such a calm confidence about you. like, on the court. even when you mess up, you never look rattled.”

paige literally missed the rim.

not the net. not the backboard.

she missed the rim.

azzi’s eyes widened, a little startled. “you okay?”

“i— yeah. i’m just— tired,” paige mumbled, retrieving the ball like it wasn’t the most humiliating moment of her life.

azzi laughed, light and genuine. “that was kinda cute.”

paige stopped breathing.

she didn’t even know what to say. her mouth opened, but no words came out— just a small, embarrassed sound like a kicked puppy.

azzi tilted her head. “sorry, was that weird?”

paige shook her head fast. “yes. i mean, no. i mean— not weird. totally fine.”

azzi walked over and gently bumped her shoulder. “you’re funny.”

you’re funny.

paige wanted to throw herself into the sun.

just then, nika popped her head into the gym.

“ohhhh,” she called, loud and dramatic. “what’s this? a little after-hours hoop date?”

paige glared. “we’re just shooting.”

azzi, ever the sweetheart, smiled and waved. “hey, nika!”

nika waved back and winked directly at paige. “don’t stay too late, lovebirds.”

she disappeared before paige could cuss her out.

azzi giggled. “she’s funny.”

paige swallowed hard. “yeah. real funny.”

they kept shooting a little longer. paige never fully recovered from the embarrassment she put herself through.

when they finally called it a night, azzi walked beside her toward the locker room. “i’m really glad i transferred,” she said quietly.

paige looked over. “yeah?”

azzi nodded. “everyone’s been really welcoming. especially you.”

paige could barely breathe.

“oh. uh.” she blinked, thinking of the words. “well, you’re easy to welcome.”

azzi’s smile curled into something almost shy. “that’s really sweet.”

paige scratched the back of her neck. “i mean it. you’re… like. good. at everything. and nice. and— you know. people notice that.”

“people like you?” azzi teased, gently.

paige almost dropped her water bottle. “i mean, yeah. maybe.”

azzi smiled so softly, paige thought she might cry.

paige was halfway through tying her shoes when she spots azzi just a few feet away, standing by the gatorade cooler, laughing at something aubrey just said. it should be normal. it is normal. but paige’s brain short-circuits the same way it always does lately when azzi’s in the room.

and then it happened. a moment. a mortifying, soul-leaving-your-body moment.

“yo, paige!” nika yelled across the gym. “you left your phone in the locker room. again.”

she tossed it with a perfect spiral. paige reacted late and fumbled the catch. the phone hits the floor with a dramatic thud, screen up, very much alive, and very much still open to instagram.

specifically, azzi fudd’s instagram page.

a beat of silence. then a few beats.

someone snorted. probably aubrey.

paige dove for the phone, her face already bright red.

“i’m fucking killing myself,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut.

out of the corner of her eye, azzi’s gaze landed on her. she never said anything. but she smiled.

oh, jesus.

during a quick water break, azzi was sitting beside paige on the bleachers, who was untying and retying her sneaker for no real reason. nika and caroline are arguing about music again. nobody was really listening.

“god,” azzi groaned softly, scrolling through her phone. “i forgot how cursed my finsta is.”

paige, stretching her calves, froze like someone hit pause. “you have a finsta?”

azzi laughed. “unfortunately— i don’t call it that, though. more like my friends-only account,” she paused. “my friends at usc made me make one. it’s mainly me complaining about homework or pictures of my boyfriend.”

she didn’t mention the username. but paige tucked the information away in the back of her mind.

“sounds cool,” paige said casually, but her mind was already in overdrive. she knew what she’d be doing later, that’s for sure.

paige was supposed to be writing a paper. she had three tabs open for it. but none of them matter. what mattered was the list of usc mutuals she’s stalking, scanning every tagged photo of azzi from the past two years.

it took time. it took way too much time.

but eventually, she found it.

@fuddleazzi. azzi’s not-so-secret account.

private. 63 followers. the profile picture was azzi in a pair of massive ski goggles, wearing a bright smile with her dimples on display. no bio, no nothing.

paige stared at the screen for a full five minutes, thumb hovering over the follow button.

she doesn’t press it.

instead, she swiped up, into the messages app and texted nika:

paige: i found azzi’s secret account and i think i deserve a metal

nika: SEND ME THE @ U MANIAC

paige: it’s private. should i request or would that expose me as terminally obsessed

nika: baby u already dropped u phone OPEN TO HER IG. embrace ur downfall

paige groaned into her pillow.

she didn’t request.

but she did screenshot it.

and maybe saved the profile pic too.

just in case.

© wbbobsesserr

[stellaspectral]

I have two requests, both with the Bayverse turtles. This is the first:

Leonardo x Female Reader.

Angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort.

She is a vigilante like the turtles and they met while they were saving New York from yet another enemy, after this meeting they all became friends. Some time later all of them undertook another mission together where the Reader was seriously injured and Leonardo blames himself for it + Some introspection from Leo on the dangers of their job and how actually easy it is to lose the person you love forever. You can decide if they are already a couple or if they haven't confessed their feelings yet ;). Thank you so much in advance if you decide to write it!

A/N: Hey, anon! I ended up going with Leo and the reader having not yet confessed their feelings. I think I subconsciously wrote it that way as an excuse to inject more angst 😂 (Also, I hope this is a happy enough ending for you 😅)

Enjoy! 💖

Cost of the Fight (angst)

💙 Bayverse Leonardo/Female Reader 💙

CWs: Description of injuries, blood mention, near-death experience themes, anxiety/guilt, angst, hurt/comfort. All characters are aged-up.

Pain is the first thing you register.

It’s a vicious, grinding ache deep in your left side, stealing your breath with every attempt to draw it in. It radiates outwards, a hot, throbbing map of injury beneath layers of gauze you can feel pressing against your skin. Cold sweat has plastered strands of hair to your temples.

The second thing you register is the smell—a sharp antiseptic clashing with the familiar, damp scent of the sewers. You force your eyelids open. They feel heavy, gritty like sandpaper. The low, ambient light of the lair takes a moment to resolve into familiar shapes.

You’re lying on a cot, tucked beneath a thick, worn blanket that feels surprisingly soft against your clammy skin. And as you take in your surroundings, your gaze snags on the figure sitting beside you.

Leo.

Though he’s not sitting so much as slumped, his frame coiled tight with tension. His hands are clenched into fists on his knees. Dirt smudges his skin, and a fresh scratch runs along his jawline. His gaze is fixed around your heavily bandaged torso, his brow ridge drawn together in a knot of worry … and something else.

Guilt.

Memories of the mission surface in jagged pieces. Rain, cold and stinging, slicked the rooftops like black ice. Chaotic clashes against remnants of the Foot Clan. You were covering Leo, trying to keep the smaller, more agile combatants from swarming him while he dealt with a heavier brute. Then, a blur of movement from your blind spot—and you shoved Leo out of the way, taking the brunt of the attack yourself, which sent you flying and hitting something hard.

The world exploded in agony as Leo reached you first. You remember his panicked voice, distorted by the rain and your fading consciousness, calling your name. You recall being lifted and him shielding you with his own body as he yelled orders, coordinating a retreat under fire.

Then darkness.

Now, in the relative quiet of the lair, his silence is deafening. You try to shift, a wince escaping your lips as pain flares. Instantly, Leo’s head snaps up, his eyes finally meeting yours. The shadows under them are stark, evidence that he hasn’t been sleeping properly—and you wonder how long you’ve been out.

“Hey,” you rasp, your throat scratchy. You try for a weak smile. “Didn’t think sewer tunnels came with room service.”

A small, humorless sound escapes him. “Don’t,” he says, his voice low, gravelly, tight with suppressed emotion. “Please, don’t make light of this.” As he leans closer, you see the maelstrom of emotions in his gaze: relief, fear, and a layer of guilt so thick it feels like a physical weight in the air between you. “How … how do you feel?”

“Like I argued with a freight train and lost,” you admit, wincing again. “But I’ll live. Donnie patched me up, right?”

“He did,” he confirms, but his gaze drops back to your bandages. “It … was bad. Cracked ribs, internal bruising, minor concussion … You also lost a lot of blood.” He swallows hard. “It was too close.” He reaches out, his hand hovering hesitantly over your uninjured arm before gently settling on your shoulder. His touch is warm, grounding, but you can feel a slight tremor in his fingers.

You see the self-blame etched onto his features, the way his jaw tightens. Know him well enough by now, after months of fighting alongside him and his brothers, sharing late-night pizza, and stealing quiet moments on rooftops just talking. You know how heavily the burden of leadership weighs on him, how personally he takes every setback, every injury.

You’ve seen him shoulder blame before, but never like this.

“It wasn’t your fault, Leo,” you insist, trying to project conviction through the pain. “You know it wasn’t. That attack surprised us all. My choice to move, my risk.”

“I should have seen it,” he counters, his voice tight with frustration as he lowers his gaze to your torso. “I’m the leader. I’m supposed to anticipate threats, protect the team. Protect you. I couldn’t react fast enough.” He balls his fists again before looking you straight in the eye; the vulnerability there makes your heart clench. “I watched you go down. I thought …”

You see the storm raging within him. The fear, the regret, the frightening realization of what could have happened. This life you all lead, with the constant danger, the line between success and catastrophe—it’s thin. You see him grappling with the stark reality of that one wrong move that could mean losing someone permanently.

Losing you.

The unspoken feelings that simmer between you—the charged glances, the lingering touches, the way your orbits seem to naturally pull towards each other—make this unspoken fear even more potent. He almost lost you before he ever had the chance to tell you … well, whatever it is he feels. Whatever it is you feel.

“You thought what, Leo?” you press gently. You need him to say it, to voice the fear clawing at him, because only then can you start to dismantle it.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispers, the admission ripped from him, raw and frayed. “Watching you fall, seeing you just lie there, so still … the blood …” He breaks off, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge the image burned into his memory. “I thought you were gone. Because of me. Because I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t good enough to keep you safe.”

The weight of his words settles heavily in the quiet lair. This goes beyond leadership guilt. This is personal, deeply felt. He’s not just mourning a tactical failure; he’s mourning the potential loss of you.

You reach out, your fingers brushing against the back of his hand where it now rests on the cot beside your hip. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand turns, a silent invitation. You lace your fingers through his, the contact sending a small jolt through both of you.

“Listen to me. What we do comes with risks. We all know that. Every time we go topside, we know things can go wrong. It wasn’t a failure of leadership. It was the enemy getting a lucky shot.” You squeeze his hand. “You got me out, got everyone out. Under fire. That’s leadership, Leo. Protecting your team even when things go sideways. You brought me home.”

He looks down at your joined hands, his thumb tracing a slow circle over your knuckles. “Had I not been there to cover you, what would have happened? What if that hit had been just a few inches higher? What if Donnie hadn’t been able to stabilize you?” He looks back at you, his eyes pools of fear. “We face death all the time. I’ve seen my brothers hurt. I’ve been hurt countless times. But you …”

He takes a shaky breath as you remain silent, letting him continue.

“It’s different. Because the thought of losing you—it’s not just losing a teammate. It’s … more.” The fragile admission hangs in the air. He hasn’t said the words, not explicitly, but the meaning resonates between you, clear as a bell.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, blurring his image slightly. It’s partly the pain, partly the medication Donnie likely gave you. But mostly it’s the raw vulnerability in his voice, the confession wrapped in fear. “It’s more for me too,” you whisper, the words catching in your throat. “The thought of not coming back here—to you, your brothers—it scares me, too.”

His gaze drops to your injury again, but you tug gently on his hand, drawing his attention fully back to your face. “This wasn’t your fault. It was mine, if anyone’s. My choice. My move. Remember?” You try another small smile, this one a little less forced. “And apparently, I have a hard head. And maybe some cracked ribs to show for it.”

He brings his other hand up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers lingering for a moment against your temple. “You scared me,” he says softly, the simple statement carrying the weight of everything unsaid. “More than I’ve ever been scared before.”

“I know,” you reply, leaning into his touch. “And I’m so sorry, Leo … So sorry I scared you.”

His grip tightens reflexively on your hand at your apology. “Don’t,” he says, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite place—frustration, pain, maybe both. “Don’t apologize for getting hurt. That’s not … that’s not what I meant.”

“But I am sorry you’re hurting because of it,” you clarify, holding his gaze, trying to anchor him. “I hate seeing you like this. Carrying the weight of the world, plus this.”

He shakes his head again. “I should have expected their pincer movement. I let the flank get exposed while I focused on the brute. If I had just positioned us differently, if I’d reacted a second sooner—”

“Leo, stop,” you say, cutting off his spiral. “You could ‘what if’ this until the sewers freeze over. What if I had hesitated before pushing you? What if that Foot soldier had tripped over his own stupid feet?” You sigh. “We analyze, we plan. But sometimes, unpredictability wins a round. So we adapt, we fight, we survive. And sometimes, we get hit. It just happened to be me this time.”

You watch him closely, seeing the subtle shift in his posture as your words land. He doesn’t immediately refute you this time. Instead, his gaze drifts away from yours, settling somewhere near the edge of the cot. The rigid lines of his shoulders seem to soften, just a fraction. The tension hasn’t vanished, but it’s as if someone has allowed a tightly wound spring a bit of slack.

“It shouldn’t have been you,” he finally murmurs, his voice quieter now, less defensive, more weary. He looks back at your joined hands, his thumb resuming its slow, comforting circles over your knuckles. “That’s all. It just … shouldn’t have been you.”

Again, the implication hangs heavy. Not just anyone getting hurt, but you. It makes a warmth spread through your chest.

“Maybe not,” you concede gently. “But it was. And I’m here now. Sore, probably going to complain a lot about sponge baths, but here.” You squeeze his hand again, trying to inject some lightness. “And you’re here. Not pacing yourself into a trench in the floor, which is good.”

A flicker of a smile, genuine this time, touches his lips. It’s fleeting, but it’s there. “Donnie threatened sedation if I didn’t sit down. Yours or mine, he didn’t specify.”

You chuckle, though it sends a jolt of pain through your ribs, making you hiss softly. Leo’s brief smile vanishes, replaced instantly by concern.

“Easy,” he cautions, his hand tightening on yours. “Don’t make yourself laugh.”

“Noted,” you breathe out, waiting for the throb to subside. “How long … how long was I out?”

“About eighteen hours,” he answers, his expression serious again. “Felt like eighteen years.” He shifts, leaning closer. “Donnie says the cracked ribs will take time to heal. A few weeks of taking it extremely easy. No training, no patrols, definitely no arguing with freight trains.” His gaze holds yours. “He means it. We all mean it.”

You nod slowly. The thought of being sidelined is frustrating, but the alternative … You glance down at the bandages covering your torso. You understand. “Okay. Easy it is. Couch duty?”

“Supreme couch duty,” he confirms. “Mikey’s already planning a movie marathon and stockpiling snacks. Raph’s, well. Raph’s mostly been punching the training dummy extra hard, but he keeps asking Donnie for updates every five minutes.”

It’s comforting to hear, a reminder of the strange, fierce family you’ve found down here. They care.

Leo cares.

You watch as the tight knot between his brow finally smooths out, and you meet his gaze again. The fear hasn’t vanished entirely; you suspect it will linger for a while, a ghost haunting the edges of his thoughts. But the tide of self-blame seems to have receded somewhat. You find him looking at you—really looking at you. His eyes tracing the lines of your face as if memorizing them.

“So,” you begin, “what’s first on Mikey’s marathon list? Please tell me it’s not one of those convoluted franchise superhero movies again.”

Another small smile flickers across Leo’s face. “Knowing Mikey? Probably. Unless Raph hid the remote again. But maybe we can find something else. Something … quieter?”

It seems he’s not planning on leaving your side while you recover. The thought sends another wave of warmth through you. “Quieter sounds good,” you agree, your eyelids feeling heavy again. The adrenaline, the pain, the emotional weight of the conversation—it’s all caught up to you.

Leo notices immediately. “You need to rest,” he says, his tone shifting from worried leader to caretaker. He carefully disentangles his fingers from yours, though his hand lingers protectively on your arm for a moment longer. “Donnie said sleep is crucial right now.”

You want to protest, to keep him close, to hold on to the connection solidified in the last hour. But the exhaustion is a physical weight, pulling you down. You manage a small nod.

He hesitates, then reaches out again, his knuckles brushing softly against your cheek. It’s a feather-light touch, tentative yet full of unspoken tenderness. “I’ll be right here,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate in the quiet. “If you need anything. Anything at all.”

You lean into the brief contact, soaking up the reassurance. “Okay,” you whisper, your eyes drifting closed despite your efforts. The pain in your side is still excruciating. But somehow, knowing he’s there, watching over you, makes it feel a little less consuming.

You hear the faint rustle of his gear as he settles back into his vigil beside the cot. The last thing you remember before sleep claims you again is the feeling of his gaze resting on you, watchful and infinitely gentle.

As you fall asleep, Leo watches the tension finally ease from your face, replaced by the slackness of deep exhaustion. He lets out a breath, a long slow release that loosens the knot still coiled tight in his own chest. The rigid posture he’d held for hours eased, muscles protesting the release. Seeing you finally succumb to sleep, the lines of pain around your eyes softening slightly, was like a physical weight lifting from his carapace.

‘It wasn’t your fault.’

He turns your words over in his mind. Part of him—the ingrained leader, the strategist—still rebelled. A dozen tactical errors, a dozen moments where another choice might have avoided this, readily come to mind for him. He should have seen the flank attack. He should have positioned you differently. The ‘should haves’ were a familiar, suffocating chorus in his head.

‘You brought me home.’

He looks down at his hand, the one you had held. He could still feel the faint impression of your fingers interlaced with his. That small act of connection, of grounding him when he was spiraling, had cut through the noise of his own failure narrative.

He flexes his fingers, remembering the fragile strength in your grip, the way you pulled him back from the edge of self-recrimination. He had been drowning for so long in the potential horror of what could have happened, lost in the grim playback loop of the mission gone wrong.

The lingering antiseptic smell is a reminder of the med bay, Donnie working frantically, and the coppery scent of your blood staining the sheets. He shivers involuntarily, pulling his arms tighter around himself. The image of your pale, still form on the rooftop has burned itself into his mind. The terror that gripped him in that moment was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

Not even facing Shredder had evoked such a visceral, paralyzing fear.

Losing a brother would be devastating. But the thought of losing you—it carved a hollow, aching void inside him that felt terrifyingly vast. Because it wouldn’t be just losing a skilled fighter. A trusted ally. It’d be the silencing of your easy laughter in the lair, the absence of your sharp insights during planning, the loss of the quiet understanding that often passed between the two of you without words.

It’d be the extinguishing of a light that has, almost without him realizing it, become essential to his world.

He watches the rise and fall of your chest beneath the blanket. Donnie had assured him the worst was over. That recovery, while slow, was expected. He resists the urge to reach out again, to brush the hair from your face or simply rest his hand near yours. You need undisturbed rest.

Instead, he lets his gaze linger on your face, taking in the details he rarely allows himself to study so openly—the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes rest against your skin, the faint scar above your eyebrow from a training mishap weeks ago. Each detail feels precious, sharpened by the horrifying proximity of almost losing it all.

The guilt hasn’t vanished; he knows it won’t for a long time. It settles deeper now, a dull ache beneath the sharp relief. But your words, your unwavering insistence that it wasn’t his fault, chipped away at the worst of it.

‘It’s more for me, too.’

He hasn’t dared to hope, hasn’t even fully articulated to himself the nature of the feelings simmering beneath the surface of your camaraderie. Duty, friendship, respect … those are clear. Definable. But the terror that seizes him, the absolute, gut-wrenching certainty that losing you will break something fundamental within him—that goes beyond.

And hearing you echo that sentiment cracks open something vulnerable inside him.

A faint shuffling sound makes him turn. Donnie stands near the entrance to the makeshift med bay, holding a scanner. He approaches quietly, giving Leo a brief, assessing look before turning his attention to the small monitor beside your cot, checking readings.

“Vitals are holding steady,” Donnie murmurs, his voice low. “The pain medication seems effective for now. Sleep is the best thing for her.” He glances back at Leo, his expression softening with fraternal concern. “And for you.”

Leo just nods, his gaze returning to your sleeping face. He isn’t going anywhere.

Donnie hesitates, then places a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She’s strong. And you did good bringing her back.” He squeezes Leo’s shoulder once, then retreats as silently as he came.

He looks at the bandages covering your side. The injury is still severe, the recovery will be long. There will be weeks of worry. Weeks of keeping you safe, ensuring you heal. Weeks of sitting beside you, watching over you.

This time, fear won’t paralyze him. Guilt will not consume him. He will learn from this. He will be better. Not just as a leader, but for you. Because the thought of a future without you in it, without your sharp wit, your warmth, your unwavering presence beside him …

It’s unthinkable.

He carefully shifts his weight, trying to find a position that is more sustainable for the long hours ahead. He won’t sleep, not yet. For now, he will watch. He will guard you in your sleep. His gaze stays fixed on you, a silent promise hanging in the air.

I’m here. I’m not leaving.

[ghouljams]

Ex-Cai user here looking to help the other user.

One thing I struggled with when I stopped using it was thinking up an idea and going “that would be perfect for this bot”

What helped me kick the usage was throwing all those thoughts in my notes app and revisiting them later, writing on them a little more, even in the context of the backstory of that bot.

Pretty soon, my idea weren’t “for the bot” they were “cool new Drabble idea.

I have well over 50k words written (that will never see the light of day) and haven’t been on that god forsaken website in months.

Now, I post my things on a new tumblr account. It’s rewarding in a way AI is not. I’m making friends and giving back to fandom in a way that writing to an AI bot will never accomplish.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. It does get easier. Good luck. <3

Amazing!

Yeah just putting your thoughts on paper even if it's not a complete fic, is a great practice!

You know back in the day a drabble was exclusively any fic 100 words or less. Consider every short thought a complete thought because even a decade ago it could have been(and still is). I post my silly little thoughts on here all the time, just riffing about whatever crossed my mind. It's a blast!

[djarindroid]

Part 11- Lost

Pairing: Thanos (Choi Su-Bong) x Reader

Summary: A face from the past sends you spiraling, scaring Su-Bong. Can he bring you back to him?

Word Count: 3,679

Warnings:  Angst! PTSD, depression, dissociation

Comments: Sorry it's taken so long to get this out - it's a tad heavy hitting but don't worry there's fluff included as well. I promise I am gonna finish this story, I've mapped out the end and I think I'll be posting two more parts.

<- Part 10

Su-Bong had practically moved in after you’d suggested he leave some stuff at your place. He hadn’t just returned with stuff for that night, he’d showed back up with an armful of clothes and a full bag thrown over his shoulder. His clothes had found a space in your drawers, his toothbrush was nestled next to yours, he’d even bought his gaming console round so the two of you could game together.

Even though he’d unofficially moved in, your schedules had fallen out of sync. With Su-Bong spending long days on the other side of the city at the studio he didn’t have much time to walk you to and from work. On the days he did he tried to make up for his absence with a bright bouquet of flowers and his signature grin that never failed to make you melt.

On the evenings when he came back late, tired and hungry, you were there waiting for him. He usually found you curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, food waiting and a quiet show playing on the TV. Some nights when he got back he couldn’t keep his hands off you, murmuring sweet nothings, calling you his muse. 

There were mornings where you had to leave earlier than him, tiptoeing around the apartment whilst he mumbled sleepy nonsense into the pillow. On those days he had to drop your key to you on his way to the studio. It wasn’t a huge hassle but it wasn’t ideal either. So, one afternoon when you left work with a bit of time to spare, you decided to get a key cut for him. It just made sense, another natural step forward for the two of you.

As you waited for it to be cut you thought about how Su-Bong would react. He’d probably make a joke about being promoted to a live-in boyfriend. But you knew that he’d understand what you were saying by doing this; that you meant every word you’d said to him, that you were there for him and not going anywhere.

The key was done in less than five minutes, you slipped the little envelope containing it into your bag and made your way out of the store. You couldn’t contain your smile as you walked towards the subway, opting to take the quicker route home as you were eager to surprise him.

The ride passed by quickly, you were thankful that you’d managed to miss the rush hour. When the train finally pulled into your station you stepped off and began making your way towards the exit, but the sound of the train pulling out caused you to turn your head. 

And that's when you saw him.

Across the platform, under the harsh fluorescent lights, stood a man in a fitted suit. He was playing ddakji, just like you remembered him. You watched as the man standing opposite him failed to flip the red tile on the ground, unsurprisingly to you the suited man didn’t fail his turn. He straightened up and slapped the man’s face with practiced ease, the sound echoed around you sharp and clean.

You breath caught.

You couldn’t move.

The world around you blurred, your vision tunneled in on him, the man that was the beginning of the worst thing you’d been through. You’d been living in such a bubble of bliss that you could’ve almost convinced yourself the games had been some distant nightmare. Su-Bong had filled your life so completely that you’d blocked out how you’d met.

Then, as if he felt your gaze, his head turned. He smiled, like he knew exactly who you were.

You stumbled back, ringing filled your ears. People passed you by without a second look, as if the ground hadn’t just crumbled beneath you.

You weren’t in the station anymore. You were there.

You had to get out. You didn’t think, fueled by fear you managed to push your way out of the station. The sunlight and fresh air hit you the second you rose from the station steps, but it didn’t ground you. The noise of the city surrounded you but it was distant, you felt as though you were moving through a thick fog.

You staggered, legs folding beneath you as you slid down a nearby wall. The concrete dug into your hands as you tried to brace yourself, but you couldn’t stop from shaking.

It was all real.

It hadn’t been a nightmare. You remembered everything, the recruiter’s voice, the sting on your cheek, the games, the screaming, the blood.

Your chest squeezed tight, your breath was coming out in ragged gasps, as though you were suffocating.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you didn’t reach for it. The noise was so small compared to the roaring in your head. But it kept buzzing, again and again. The vibration felt miles away. 

Your head was spinning, you dug your nails into your thighs as if the pain could anchor you back to reality.

But it didn’t. You were still there. In the place you thought you’d almost convinced yourself wasn’t real. 

The buzzing continued. You somehow managed to pull your phone out and stared at it. Of course it was Su-Bong, you should be home by now. Tears streaked your face, hot and endless, as you stared down at his name on the screen. 

How could you answer like this? You couldn’t even think straight, would you even be able to talk?

The ringing stopped, followed moments later by a text lighting up the screen.

💜Su-Bong🤍 (18:36) - Senorita!! ❤️ answer the phone, I’m outside! x

Another call followed instantly. 

Your throat tightened, you hated that he was waiting for you. Hated that you couldn’t pull it together. You had to let him know where you were. Moving on instinct you answered and pressed the phone to your ear, taking a shaky breath as you did. 

You couldn’t even manage a hello, luckily he didn’t seem to notice. His voice filtered through the phone, light and teasing.

‘You keeping me waiting senorita?’

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. Terror still clawed at your throat, preventing you from talking. You pressed the phone tighter to your ear, trying to tether yourself to Su-Bong.

‘Yo?’ He called down the phone, tone still playful. ‘Can you hear me? I’m outside!’

You needed to tell him where you were. Let him know what had happened. You opened your mouth again, and all that came out was a broken sob.

His tone shifted instantly. ‘Senorita?’ His voice was panicked, full of concern. ‘Hey, hey. Talk to me. Are you okay?’

You squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to say something, anything. You forced some words out, hoarse and quiet. 

‘At the s-station.’

‘Ok, I’m on the way.’ You could already hear the rustling sound of movement through the receiver. There was an urgency in his breath as he spoke again, ‘stay where you are, I’m coming.’

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. You were sure he was still talking but the sound was distant once more. You wished more than anything that he was with you, but terror cradled you in its grasp and your phone slipped from your hand and fell into your la

You didn’t move, you stayed pressed against the wall outside the station. People passed by, some glanced at you, but you didn’t care. Everything inside of you had curled in on itself, hardening against the world.

You didn’t notice how much time passed by before Su-Bong reached you. You barely even registered when he crouched down in front of you. His hand hesitantly reached out to you, but the moment his fingers brushed your arm you flinched away violently. 

‘Shit, okay.’ He held both his hands up, his eyes wide with alarm. ‘It’s just me senorita.’ 

Your gaze was glassy, unfocused, you stared straight through him. You weren’t there, not fully, Su-Bong could see it in the way you trembled but your eyes stayed vacant. Something had broken in you, and he didn’t know what to do.

‘Let's go home, yeah?’ He kept his voice quiet, attempting to keep it steady even though he was terrified. 

You didn’t answer, just a blink. But you didn’t flinch away when he reached for your hand, he took that as a good sign. He slowly rose to his feet, guiding you up with him. His grip stayed firm around your hand, his thumb brushed over your knuckles.

‘Okay c’mon,’ he said softly. He kept his movements slow, not taking his eyes off of you, like you were something fragile. You swayed as you tried to take a step, his arm instinctively wrapped around your waist. He didn’t say anything else, just kept you close as he walked you home.

Su-Bong almost broke your door in his rush to get you into your apartment, like the comfort would fix you. Everything around you was a muffled haze, you didn’t even really realise you were home. You’d shut down, not letting your mind travel back to that place. He helped you out of your coat and guided you towards the couch. 

‘C’mon sit down,’ he kept his voice quiet, worried that he might startle you if he spoke any louder.

You didn’t resist. You just dropped onto the cushions, slumping like your body had given up.

Su-Bong crouched in front of you, taking your hands in his own, searching your face for an answer.

‘You gonna talk to me?’ he asked gently.

Nothing.

His jaw clenched and he tried again. ‘Did something happen? You scared the shit outta me on the phone.’

Still, you didn’t talk. Tears trickled silently down your cheeks but your eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

‘C’mon senorita, you gotta tell me what happened,’ the crease between his eyebrows deepened as your silence dragged on. ‘Fuck, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,’ his patience slipped momentarily and he squeezed your hands just a little tighter, but it faded just as quickly. ‘Shit, I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to do if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.’

You didn’t even blink, it was like you were underwater, his words washing over you like waves. 

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath to try and steady himself. ‘Shit okay,’ he murmured, more to himself. He moved next to you on the couch, putting an arm around you as he spoke, ‘alright, we can just sit here.’ He had no idea what to do, no idea how to help you but he figured staying by your side was a start. 

Through the rest of the evening he tried everything he could think of. Putting on your favourite tv show, ordering your favourite takeout, talking about his day at the studio but nothing would pull you out of the hole you’d found yourself in. You couldn’t look at the TV, couldn’t eat anything, couldn’t take in the story he told you.

One thing remained the same, he stayed by your side the whole evening. His leg bounced anxiously the whole time, and his hair stood in every direction from how many times he’d run his hands through it but he didn’t push, even if he was scared shitless about what was going on.

In the end, when it was clear that whatever you were going through wasn’t gonna end that night, he pulled you to your feet and led you to the bedroom. You followed sluggishly, your body felt like it had been run over. 

He helped you change into something comfier, one of his tshirts and some shorts, before he pulled back the covers.You let him guide you, blindly going through the motions, before curling up in the bed. He waited for you to settle before sliding in next to you, careful not to crowd you. 

He tried to stay awake after your body finally gave into sleep, listening to the quiet stutter of your breath. But eventually the weight of the evening caught up to him too and he drifted to sleep beside you.

But the peace didn’t last long.

Sometime past midnight, your body jerked violently in your sleep. A nightmare took over your mind, you were back in the games, a timer counting down as you had desperately tried to complete the task before you. Your legs kicked in the bed as the timer neared 0, a guard had begun to make his way towards you, gun pointed.

Su-Bong had startled awake, his heart hammering as he turned to you. You were thrashing, fighting against something in your sleep.

‘Hey, hey,’ he called your name as he reached for you. He tried to wake you, but your hands shoved at him, you were too caught in the nightmare you were having. He gripped your wrists before you could shove him again. ‘It’s me, it’s just me.’

Your eyes snapped open, wide and frantic. It took you a long second to recognise where you were, to recognise who was holding you.

Your entire body crumpled, all you could do was collapse against him as the sobs took over. You gripped onto him, terrified to slip back into what you’d just seen. Big heaving gasps shook your body as Su-Bong’s arms wrapped around you.

‘Shh, I got you,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve got you.’ 

His throat was tight, he didn’t know what else to say. You were there in his arms, but he felt like you were far away, like he couldn’t really reach you. He wished he could read your mind, find out what was going on so he could try to help. Instead he just stayed. Rubbing circles into your back, pressing his lips to the top of your head as he repeated himself. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got you.’

You didn’t say a word, just wept in his arms until your shudders subsided and your body gave out. You’d absolutely exhausted yourself to the point of passing out in his arms.

The next day was no easier, the morning light crept through the blinds, golden and warm, but it did nothing to melt the chill that settled behind your ribs. You’d woken up curled up against Su-Bong’s chest, his arms holding you tightly as if he hasn’t moved all night. Maybe he hadn’t. He looked so tired, eyes red and jaw set in a quiet worry.

‘Hey,’ he whispered, careful not to startle you.

You still felt numb, still couldn’t speak but you managed to keep your eyes steadily on him. And when he raised a hand to tuck a stray hair behind your ear you didn’t flinch away.

‘Wanna shower?’ His voice was still quiet. ‘Might help a little.’

He was right, but you felt so safe lying in his arms. It was the first time since the subway station that you hadn't felt panic pressing down on you. Still, you managed a small nod. He perked up at your movement, a flicker of relief appeared on his tired face. You were coming back to him, slowly but it was enough. 

You shifted beneath the covers, limbs heavy and uncertain. He moved with you, he didn’t smother you, just placed a hand near your back as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. 

You took a deep breath, gripping the mattress to support yourself before standing. Su-Bong’s hand settled on your back, steady and firm, his silent support urging you on.

Once inside the shower you let the hot water pour over you. The recruiter’s face swam around your mind, the glint in his eyes as they landed on you. You wanted to cry again, but your tears had run dry hours ago. Instead, you stood there motionless beneath the stream, arms wrapped around yourself. 

When you emerged from the bathroom, you found clothes laid out for you on the bed. Su-Bong had even laid out one of his hoodies, his favourite one that he usually complained about you stealing. A small pang resonated in your chest at the gesture, but still nothing came. The silence from last night had bled through into the day.

Su-Bong didn’t leave for the studio. He stayed, restless, pacing, fidgeting with his rings as he watched you. You were there but not there and he had no idea how to help you. 

Shame began to gnaw at you. Shame that you’d shut down. Shame that you weren’t able to speak. Shame that Su-Bong had stayed with you and you’d given him nothing. Fear still overshadowed everything, it had wrapped around you so tightly you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to break its hold.

It wasn’t until the late afternoon that something shifted. Su-Bong stood from his spot beside you. ‘Okay senorita,’ he offered you his hands, ‘let’s try something.’ 

You blinked slowly but placed your hands in his, letting him guide you towards the door. He took his time helping you put shoes on before he led you outside. His hand remained firmly wrapped around yours the entire way, you weren’t sure where you were going but you trusted him and that was enough for you to carry on putting one step in front of the other.

When you arrived at the destination Su-Bong guided you inside a building, a few greetings were exchanged as you both entered. You wished you’d had the thought to check where you were. 

You followed him through hallways until he led you into a small room. A recording studio? It was dimly lit, intimate almost. He pulled out a chair for you and sat down next to you, loading up something on the sound system. Without a word he pressed a few buttons and suddenly music filled the small space.

You felt his eyes on you as his voice suddenly kicked in, low and stripped back. It was raw, unpolished, different from the rest of his music.

He was singing about a girl. A girl who he’d found in a dark place, who he’d felt drawn to. He sang about the moment he realised he was falling for her, how he found himself wanting to be a better man. How he couldn’t wish for a better person to be by his side, and how he hoped every day that he was enough. There were scattered lines about how her laughter sounded or about how she hums when she cooks. It made you ache, it was so gentle, so full of yearning. 

As the last notes faded out he turned to you. ‘Look, I don’t always know how to say the right things,’ his voice was soft but cracking with something deeper. ‘So I wrote this for you.’

Tears brimmed in your eyes, spilling over before you could stop them. It was beautiful, he’d made this for you.

He hesitated then, barely above a whisper, ‘Fuck, I love you and I need you to come back to me senorita. You’re really scaring me.’ 

Something shattered open inside of you. In one quick movement you fell into him, like gravity had drawn you in. You wrapped your arms around him tight, curling your fingers into the fabric of his clothes like you were anchoring yourself to him. You buried your face against his shoulder, sobs coming out in shaking waves.

He loved you. It wrapped around you like a blanket, warm and safe, shielding you against the horrors. You’d put him through so much over the past day, showing him the lowest part of yourself and he hadn’t looked away. He hadn’t left. He stayed by you and he still loved you.

‘I’m sorry,’ your throat scratched as you finally spoke. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to shut you out. I’m sorry.’ The apologies came thick and fast. 

He pulled back enough to look into your eyes. He cupped your cheeks with shaky hands, wiping away the tears that fell. ‘Don’t apologise.’

As you looked into his eyes you couldn’t think of anyone else that you’d trust more, anyone else that you’d rather have by your side. And the words came out easily, hoarse but sure, ‘I love you too.’

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for hours. He pressed his forehead against yours, keeping his arms tightly around your waist. The two of you held onto each other in that quiet sacred space, where you finally loosened your hold on the weight you carried, knowing that he would be by you to help carry it.

You looked around the room, the place where he spilled his heart into melodies and lyrics. And now, it had become the place you’d found your way back to him. Back to yourself.

You watched as his lips curved into a crooked smile. ‘So, did you like the song?’

That pulled a genuine laugh from you, it was quiet but real. And Su-Bong lit up like it was the best sound he’d ever heard. 

‘I loved it so much,’ you answered truthfully. ‘Sounded like a number one hit to me,’ you added, finally feeling like you could be playful with him again.

He grinned, shaking his head affectionately. ‘Nah,’ his nose brushed against yours. ‘That one was just for you, senorita.’ 

A smile slowly took over your features, unshakeable, a complete change to when you’d first arrived. You felt so loved and you wanted to stay in this moment for as long as possible.

You kept your eyes on him as you asked, ‘can you play it again?’ 

His brows lifted slightly, surprised in the sweetest way before his expression melted into something more tender. He nodded, ‘yeah, as many times as you want.’

And just like that the space between you closed completely. The fear that once clung to you slipped into the background, it was still there and probably always would be, but it was much quieter.

Because in that moment you knew the only thing that mattered was the life you had with Su-Bong.

-> Part 12 Coming soon Series Masterlist

Taglist: @andersonslove @fallout-girl219 @hotdxdragon @nicklet94 @learninglinesintherainn @lotsa-juicy-shit @the-iridescent-phoenix @red22wolf @1950schick @maxinehufflepuffprincess @flymetothexmoon 

[fairydrowning]

in order to live a happy life, you must romanticize everything (and see a good therapist).

[clairedsfield]

sdl ep. 301

[echo-starflower]

I FINISHED THE GUY!!!!!!

(Pattern by @ghost-cinnamon)

He’s perfect and I love him

But Echo! some of you might ask, isn’t the body supposed to be red like his bones? To that I say! 1: I’m impressed you saw it under the layers of clothes! /silly and 2!

BAH BAM

Embroidery!!!!! (I’m so proud of this hehe it turned out way better than I expected. Also faceless doll jumpscare>:3)

And of course, credit must be given to my amazing little sibling whose immediate reaction to seeing my doll was “ooo he’s spooky! He needs a top hat!!!!”

(She proceeded to make not one but two top hats hehe)

[whitehartlane]

#bruh

[sunfloweraro]

LUtober day 8: Feast

It’s a special week in Wild’s time, and to start the week of celebrations off, they have a whole-town feast in Hateno. Legend begins to understand the meaning behind community.

Celebration week:

Day 1 (You are here)

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

Day 7

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

“What did you say this week was called again? And why are we doing this?”

“It’s Hallowed Week!” Wild repeated for the umpteenth time. “Or, Harvest Week. We celebrate it every year here in Hateno with a special tradition for each day; today’s Feasting Day.”

“Right,” Legend said, disbelief lining his voice.

“Have you never been part of a community before?” Wild raised a brow.

Legend suddenly turned bashful, looking away. “Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m never really home, with all these quests. Ravio is usually the one participating.”

Wild set their hands over their hips. “We’re changing that today, then. Grab that bowl of potatoes for me, they’re about to start!” Legend rushed to do as he was told, snatching the bowl of creamy potato salad while Wild held their own plate laden with a steaming roast lamb’s leg. Wild marched them out of their house, leading Legend down the trail to the village. As they neared its centre, the euphony of chatter and laughter and childish squeals met Legend’s ears, a far cry from the lonely nights he was met with on his quests, or the quiet days spent only with Ravio or his own company at home.

They rounded a corner, and Legend’s eyes widened. The townsfolk had worked hard to prepare for their special week: strings of lanterns joined every house along the main strip of the town, casting a golden glow onto the crowd below. Pumpkins had been carved with intricate patterns, nestled by the doors of each house. In the centre of it all, an oak table sat weighted down by dozens of platters of steaming food, from which the townsfolk partook, chattering amongst each other about who brought what.

“It’s…”

“Fun, right?” Wild beamed. “Come on, the others are waiting for us!”

Legend paused a moment to take it all in, letting his shoulders drop as contentment washed over him. He returned Wild’s smile, soft and genuine, as an eagerness to participate welled up within him. “Let’s go.”

[qicktrick]

I fear I need more 2277 in my life so carnally

[yooboobies]

Hello💜 Here is today’s feel good💜 #205

I have a few thoughts about today’s one, I will write them in the tags💜

morganharpernichols

[greetings-inferiors]

Nothing compares to the glory of doing a ten minute mechanics question with surds and trig galor, only to result in a vector with coefficients with only 1 decimal place and you know it must be the right answer because it’s so unlikely that such a nice number comes up as a mistake and then when you mark your work you got it right

[meezer]

day 23 no oomf

[marklikely]

seeing a 25 year old post about how they escaped being under 24 and just silently shooting a panicked look into the camera

[ilovedthestars]

For the Asks: 🦋🧩🌻

Please and Thank you!

Hello very polite anonymous friend!! Thank you for the asks!

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately

I have been feeling really insecure about my art for....a while now. Months, at least. I think the transition to art school was a big part of that. You know that thing where people who were used to being the smartest/most academically successful student in their class/school go to college and are suddenly surrounded by people who were all the smartest kid at their school, and have a crisis about not being exceptional anymore? Turns out that same thing can happen with artists. It's hard not to compare yourself. And I've been feeling like it's been so long since I got to make the kind of art i want to be making, and made it well.

Fortunately, this semester I've gotten some assignments that give me a little more freedom, and also some opportunities to do some illustration work, and I'm working on several things I'm really excited about right now! I'm starting to feel like maybe I'm dragging myself out of the self-pity hole. (unfortunately all of these projects are on tight deadlines and I'm also fighting off burnout with a shovel rn)

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

Hmmmm...most stuff I don't like I manage to filter out based on tags and summaries. I think a fic that's trying to be funny, but doing it in a way that feels out of character or just isn't my brand of humor, is a pretty immediate nope for me. Likewise if it dips into intense social awkwardness. I have a painfully strong sense of secondhand embarrassment and I'm not putting myself through that XD

🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis

@ineedlelittlespace and @cephaliarch , i think I met both of you through exchanging long gushy comments on each others' fics!! I've talked in DMs with both of you a little bit, but it's been a while. I still think of both of you fondly! feel free to say hi anytime :)