#you'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

[hrrtshape]

for a lot of people, this idea of being grateful when they're looking at the environment and they don't see it, its hard for them to believe. what can they do to put themselves into gratitude so they can bring that manifestation in? 　　 　　a conversation with a former self.

answer , you stop looking at the world as if it's evidence. you stop treating the environment as a diagnostic tool. your reality isn't a thermometer, it's a mirror. and the mirror reflects what you assume to be true. if you want to see something different, you have to be different first. not reactively. not as a response to the world. but as a premise. gratitude isn't a reward for progress. it's the foundation of it.　

q : but what if that feels fake? what if i can't convince myself?

answer , then you're still worshipping the wrong god. you're still asking reality to go first. you want proof before you believe. but that's not how this works. this isn't a courtroom. this is creation. and creation isn't fair. it's arrogant. it demands that you believe in something before you have any reason to. that's what faith is, not piety. not virtue. just delusion weaponised. and gratitude is its most strategic form.　

q : so i have to lie to myself?

answer , no. you have to choose what kind of liar you want to be. because you're lying either way. when you say 'i'll never get there', you're lying. when you say 'nothing's changing', you're lying. when you say 'i have to wait', you're lying. you just believe those lies because they're easier to prove. but ease isn't truth. evidence isn't truth. if you're going to be delusional, at least be deliberate about it. believe in something that serves you.　

q : okay. but what does that look like in practice?

answer , it looks like thanking the train before it arrives. it looks like saying 'i love my life' with a debt collector on the phone. it looks like sitting in a mouldy flat and whispering 'this is the best it's ever been'. not because you're ignoring the pain. not because you're pretending you're happy. but because you understand that every moment is a seed. and what you water becomes. gratitude is how you choose your future. you don't have to like the present. but you do have to invest in it.　

q : what if it just feels . . . impossible.

answer , then start smaller. thank your lungs. thank your tea. thank your nailbeds. thank the fact that you know what you want. thank the aching gap between you and it. not because pain is romantic. not because suffering is noble. but because that tension is proof you still believe in more. if you were really hopeless, you wouldn't be hurting. you'd be numb. numbness is death. pain is proof you still want.　

q : how does this tie to shifting or loa?

answer , because shifting isn't a portal. it's a premise. it's a refusal. you don't shift because the world gives you permission. you shift because you've revoked its authority. and law of assumption isn't a theory. it's a verdict. it says: what i decide is final. it doesn't say: what i see. it says: what i say. gratitude is your evidence. it's how you close the case. when you say "i'm so glad it's already mine," you're not visualising, you're declaring. legislating.　

q : but why is gratitude so powerful?

answer , because it assumes completion. it skips the middle. it says: i already have it. and the universe responds to assumption, not ambition. desire makes noise. gratitude closes the loop. it doesn't beg. it doesn't chase. it confirms. and what you confirm, conforms. your reality has no choice but to rearrange itself around what you believe is done.　

q : what if i fall out of it? what if i lose the feeling?

answer , then start again. this isn't about consistency. it's about conviction. you can doubt all morning and still decide by noon. you can spiral at 3pm and still affirm at 3:05. you're not being graded. there is no tally. there is only now. and now. and now again. gratitude is not a mood. it's not a vibe. it's not about being high frequency, it's a decision, and you make it as often as you need to.　

q : so what's the actual takeaway?

answer , you go first. always. not the bank account. not the mirror. not the text. you. reality is not a parent. it's not in charge of your feelings. you are. if you want a different scene, you have to be a different actor. gratitude is how you change the genre. the world won't thank you until you thank it. not because it's cruel, but because it's listening.　

q : final question. what do you say to the part of me that still doesn't buy it?

answer , i say she's welcome to stay. she can sit in the corner. she can cross her arms. she can sulk. but she doesn't get to drive. she doesn't get to hold the mic. doubt is not a problem. doubt is not a disqualifier. doubt just means you're smart. but courage is smarter. gratitude is smarter. and they know how to lead.　

[h66nki]

give me one ⋆. 𐙚 ̊ nishimura riki

a visit to your aunt's house implants a thought in ni-ki: you would be a good mother. warnings; dirty talk, suggestive.

ni-ki feels it inside him. it comes like a fleeting thought in his head: you'd make a good mom. the feeling only grows when he sees you with children and this helps confirm his theory.

he watches you play with your younger cousin. the little girl is very energetic and has you running around, chasing her, making you sit on the floor to put together puzzles, playing hide-and-seek.

he's lost count of how many games you've played to keep her entertained, and even though he also played along with you, there came a time when the girl's effusiveness tired him out. you didn't tire, though.

you seemed to love the girl so much that it was impossible for you to say no, agreeing to each and every one of her suggestions.

at one point during the busy afternoon, the little girl slipped and almost hit herself, causing her mother to scold her and make her burst into tears.

you quickly took her in your arms, picking her up and cradling her against your chest. the toddler cried, inconsolable, throwing a tantrum. you could handle it and quickly manage to calm her down with sweet whispers and sweet promises in her ear. ni-ki watched the scene with love and curiosity... maybe something more.

it seems to be so natural for you to deal with a child and his antics: it makes him think.

ni-ki doesn't waste the opportunity to have your full attention on him again, so when your cousin is calmer and more cheerful you return her to your aunt so they can spend time together while you go to the bathroom.

ni-ki disappears into the hallway like a shadow, not giving you enough time to close the door. he gets into the room with you and closes the door himself.

"love?" you ask, confused.

the boy pins you between his body and the sink, pressing himself against you. "there isn't a drop of sanity left in my body, and it's your fault," he complains.

you laugh at his dramatics, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. his hands grip your waist, holding you in place.

"what did i do now?"

"you look so beautiful playing with the baby... i can't stop thinking about what a great mother you'd make." your heart pounds inside your chest at the compliment. "give me one, please."

your eyes widen in disbelief. for a moment, you think you haven't heard correctly... that you've misinterpreted him.

"give you what?"

ni-ki hides his face in your neck, placing small kisses on your skin.

"a baby," he says. "let's have a baby."

your body trembles between his, his tongue tickling you. a baby? no way... you're both too young for such a responsibility.

"i... i don't think it's ideal right now," you try to refute, caressing the back of his neck as you let him kiss you.

"please..." he begs. "i never ask for anything, just give me a baby, please." and he's right. ni-ki never asks you for anything, but can you give him this? "let me fuck you a baby deep inside you."

"ni-ki..."

you feel him breathe shakily in your ear. his large hand moves to your lower abdomen, resting it there. "imagine a baby here... a child of ours."

you bite your lower lip, trying not to make a sound. he's hard against you, you can feel it.

"you would look so beautiful with your swollen stomach... everyone would know that you love me so much that you let me fill you with my cum... that you let me breed you to bear the fruit of our love."

"don't say those things..." you try to stop him, but his words have an effect on you that you can't deny, not even if you really wanted to.

his eyes look at you, filled with hope.

"we would be the best parents in the world... just you, me... and a beautiful little girl... healthy, precious, and intelligent like her mommy."

"a girl...?" you repeat with hope. you feel persuaded; you don't know if it's because of the conversation or his kisses... maybe because of everything. ni-ki looks so cute begging that it would be inhuman not to have a little doubt about your initial thought.

"a baby girl," he affirms. ni-ki hides his face in the hollow of your shoulder again. he breathes shakily, excitedly. "please, let me fill you now... give me a little princess."

[enhaeil]

all this dad jay content needs to b a series or sumn cuz its so good 😫can u write a fic abt the reader having postpartum depression?

NOBODY IN THE WORLD! ☆ 박종성

"you and I... ain't nobody in the world you keep wonderin' if you're the one I'm wantin' but you don't even have to try.."

you and i (nobody in the world) - john legend

c/w: postpartum depression, body issues, + insecurities pls skip if that is a trigger <3

you look at the glow of the clock on your dresser, 9 pm. the baby's sleeping, you're freshly showered, shaved, and for the first time since your baby was born, you try.

you put on a little gloss, and a comfortable yet sexy pajama set you never got to wear. you stare at your reflection in the mirror, not failing to miss the stretch marks and scars having a baby left you with. you're still unsure of yourself, feeling disconnected from your own body.

before you can finish your thoughts, your husband makes his presence known, eyes roaming over your figure. he approaches you to wrap his arms around you like he always does, but you can't help but flinch away. not dramatically, but enough to raise concern.

"did i do something wrong?" jay says, concern written all over his face.

your chest tightens, feeling guilty for worrying him. "it's not you, i promise i just ... i don't feel ... touchable. like someone you'd want to touch anymore. i feel icky." you say covering your insecurities with a nervous giggle, but jay isn't laughing.

"baby, of course I want to touch you. I want you. desperately. why wouldn't i?"

you look at your feet, contemplating on whether you should give him an honest answer or not.

"well ... i don't look like i used to." you mumble.

jay lets out a sigh of disblief, stepping closer to you, running his fingers over your stretch marks, hands carresing the softness of your belly.

"you made me the happiest man on earth and brought our baby into this world. it doesn't take anything for me to think you're beautiful, y/n."

your fingers fidget with the edge of your shirt, processing his words. "i guess i keep thinking that if i don't look like the person you fell in love with, maybe you'll stop loving me. i know it's stupid i just— can't help myself sometimes."

jay exhales sharply, as if it hurts him just to think about what you said. he takes your face into his hands, making you look at him.

"i didn't fall in love with your waist, or your thighs. i fell in love with the way you laugh. the way your face scrunches up when you're concentrated. the way you fought through everything just to give our baby life." he begins to say as his hands roam over you.

"this body? i worship this body. because of what it endured. because it holds everything i love most in the world."

you don't say anything, but your breath slows, eyes becoming glossy.

jay's hand reaches for the hem of your shirt, not to undress you yet, but to feel you.

"I was worried you didn't want me like this," you say between light sniffles.

"are you kidding? look at you." he says, spinning you around, causing you to let out a genuine laugh, one you haven't had in weeks. "now, are you gonna let me remind you how beautiful you are?"

you give a shy nod, and jay doesn't hesitate to kiss you, gentle, but deep. full of yearning and desperation.

he guides you to the bed, his hands rubbing over the curves you've hidden from him, the places you've apologized for, but he doesn't let you apologize this time.

"there is nothing about you that i don't want."

when you finally submit, allowing yourself to be touched, loved and desired again, you know it's not just lust.

it's healing, something you're feeling for the first time in months. as he worships you that night, you start to believe, even if for a split second, you are still worthy of being wanted.

a/n: i think i got carried away oh well

[itsnesss]

𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 | charles leclerc × fem!reader

summary | you dropped all the signs, hoping he’d notice your pain but he didn’t. so you walked away. and only then did he realize the signs were always there... and he might’ve just lost you for good

warnings | relationship conflict, emotional conflict and light angst

word count | 1.8 k

🖇 sctw album 🖇 more cl16

The clock reads 2:13 a.m., and you're still awake. Your fingers play with the soft fabric of the blanket, but it doesn't warm you. Not when he's on the other side of the bed, his back to you, lost in a peaceful sleep.

You can almost hear him breathing, as if nothing is wrong. As if everything is fine.

But it's not.

It hasn't been for weeks.

You notice. The silences. The looks that never meet. The unanswered messages that are hidden behind vague excuses and broken promises. You've tried everything. You've spoken, you've stayed silent, you've waited. You've left clues, signals... signs.

And still, nothing.

Charles still doesn't see them. Or worse: he sees them and ignores them.

You breathe deeply, turning toward his back. You watch him, feeling a mix of love and anger twist inside your chest. You love how he looks when he's asleep, relaxed, as if the world isn't weighing on him. But you hate how he seems so distant, even when he's just inches away.

He mumbles something in French, unconscious. And you think about the last time he kissed you without you asking for it. The last time he noticed that you'd been crying. The last time he stopped to read you like he used to.

That night, you don't wake him. Even though you want to. Even though you'd like to shout at him that you can't keep being a ghost in his life. That you're tired of making yourself small, of pretending it doesn't hurt.

Instead, you close your eyes. But not to sleep. To escape.

Morning comes with the same cold routine as always. Charles wakes up, stretches, takes a shower. And you... you pretend you're not watching him as he crosses the room with a towel around his waist. You pretend to be interested in your phone when, in reality, you're hoping he'll look at you. That he'll notice something.

But all he says is:

"I have a meeting with the team today. Then simulator, and dinner with Carlos. Will you be there?"

You just nod. You don't even respond with words. He doesn't notice. He doesn't ask. He doesn't say anything else.

You just smile faintly. Another sign he won't read.

That night, you go out alone. Not because you want to, but because you need to breathe. You sit at a terrace in Monaco, with a coffee that cools quickly and a heart even colder. You watch couples around you. They laugh, hold hands, look at each other. Look at each other.

And you only think about how Charles used to do it. As if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Your phone vibrates.

"Where are you?"

It's him.

You reply with a simple:

"Outside. Getting some air."

There's nothing more.

Not because you don't have anything to say, but because you've said too much. Too much without words.

Charles should know you better.

He should see you.

Feel you.

He should know that you're falling apart.

Hours later, you return. He's sitting on the couch, with a half-finished glass of wine and a look of annoyance on his face. He doesn't say "hello." He just asks:

"Why didn't you say you were going out?"

The laugh you let out has no joy.

"Are you really asking that?"

He frowns, confused.

"What does that mean?"

And that's when you say it.

"It means that if you looked at me... if you really looked at me... you'd know everything I'm going through without me having to scream it. But you can't even read the most obvious signs."

Silence.

He looks at you for the first time tonight. But you're already too tired to keep explaining the obvious.

"And what signs are those?"

He says it as if he truly doesn't understand.

And you just think: there's the problem.

Not a word. Not an apology. Just that empty, confused look, as if he doesn't know why you're so upset. As if you're the dramatic one. The difficult one. The emotional one.

And that stings. More than it should.

"You know what's the worst part?" you whisper. "That I broke myself into little pieces so I wouldn't inconvenience you. I swallowed words, hid tears, faked smiles. I left signs everywhere, Charles. But you... you just looked the other way."

Charles stands still, his jaw tense. He's not used to this. To you confronting him with all this accumulated pain. You've always been soft. You've always been understanding. You've always been... easy to ignore.

"I didn't know you felt this way," he says at last, his voice barely a whisper.

You look at him, a mixture of disbelief and sadness in your eyes.

"Of course you didn't. Because you never ask. You never listen unless it's about you."

He frowns, hurt.

"That's not fair."

"Not fair?" you repeat. "You know what's not fair? That I spend whole nights wondering if something in me stopped being attractive to you. That it hurts when you touch your phone more times a day than you touch me. That I live with the constant doubt of whether you still love me... and you don't even notice my emotional absence, because to you, I'm still there. Always there."

Charles stands up, takes a few steps, then stops, as if the words are too heavy to be thrown out without breaking something.

"I'm doing the best I can. This... the F1, Ferrari... it's a lot. I'm exhausted."

"And I'm not?" you ask, on the verge of breaking down. "Do you think it doesn't tire me to live with the feeling that I'm invisible to the person I love the most?"

There it is. The word you didn't want to say. Love.

But you can't hold it back anymore. You've been too careful for too long. And you're tired. Exhausted from holding together the shattered pieces of a relationship he's still stepping on without noticing.

Charles looks at you. And for a moment, it seems like he's going to say something. Something important. Something that might save everything.

But he doesn't.

He just looks down.

"I didn't know you were this bad," he admits, as if that were enough.

You nod slowly, eyes watery.

"I know. Because you never looked properly."

A heavy silence falls between you both.

You take a step back. Then another. And another. Not towards the door, but towards the reality that this... can't go on like this. And if he doesn't wake up now, he's going to lose you.

"I'm going to stay at Inès' tonight," you say, picking up your keys with trembling hands.

Charles looks up, as if he's just processing it.

"What?"

"I need air. Really. From this place. From you."

"Are you saying that... you're leaving?"

"I'm saying that if you don't start seeing the signs, Charles, one of these days, I won't come back."

And with that, you walk out the door.

You don't slam it. You don't shout. You don't cry.

You just leave.

And for the first time in a long time... he's left alone with the echo of everything he ignored.

The silence hits him as soon as the door closes.

It's not just the silence of the room. It's the silence of your absence. The one that feels different. The one that breaks him from the inside.

Charles stands still for a long time, not moving, not thinking. Not knowing what to do with the words you left embedded in his chest.

"If you don't start seeing the signs, one day I won't come back."

For the first time in weeks, he stops.

He really stops.

Not in the middle of a turn. Not in a straightaway. Not in a meeting.

But in his life.

In you.

He sits on the couch and mentally reviews each of your last days together. Your short answers. Your lost looks. Your attempts to get closer. The times you touched his arm and he didn’t turn around. The times you faked a smile.

And damn it…

The signs were all there.

He saw them. Of course he saw them. But he didn’t want to read them.

He didn’t think they were that serious.

He thought love was automatic. Secure. That you would always be there.

Now he’s starting to understand.

The clock keeps ticking, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t eat dinner. He doesn’t shower. He doesn’t check his phone. He just stays there, with his hands intertwined, elbows resting on his knees, and his head down.

At 2:13 a.m., the bed is cold.

Like that night when you didn’t sleep.

And for the first time in a long time… he can’t sleep either.

Two days later

He hasn’t texted you.

Not because he doesn’t want to. But because he doesn’t know how to start. How to fix something that’s been broken for so long.

He can’t pretend he didn’t hear your words. He can’t act like it doesn’t hurt. Because it hurts. A lot more than he expected.

Lewis notices it during practice. He’s distracted. Quiet.

The team notices too. They send him to rest early.

But he doesn’t go home.

He comes to you.

He stands in front of Inès' building, hands in his pockets and his mouth dry.

He doesn’t have flowers. Or rehearsed speeches.

He only has the truth.

And guilt.

Inès opens the door.

"She's upstairs," she says before he even asks. "But if you’re here to tell her you didn’t know, don’t even come in."

He nods, embarrassed.

And he goes up.

When you knock on the door, you think it’s your friend.

You don’t expect to find him there, disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes, staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time in months.

"Charles?"

"Don’t let me talk too much," he says suddenly. "Because if I think about it, I’ll give up. And I don’t want to give up on you."

You don’t say anything.

But you don’t close the door.

"You were right," he continues. "I wasn’t looking at you. I wasn’t listening. I got lost in everything else, and I didn’t see how you were losing yourself."

He takes a deep breath. It’s hard for him.

"I got so used to having you near… that I didn’t know how to take care of you. And now I’m here, wishing I’m still on time."

Your heart beats loudly. Part of you wants to hug him. Part of you wants to keep protecting yourself.

But there’s something in his voice. In his expression.

This time, he’s looking at you. Really.

"I don’t need you to say everything perfectly," you reply softly. "I just need you to start seeing."

He takes a step. Then another.

He doesn’t touch you. He waits for your permission.

"I want to see you. Hear you. Learn to read every sign. Not out of fear of losing you, but because I care about you. Because you matter to me more than anything."

Your heart breaks. But not out of pain.

Out of relief.

You let him in.

Not just into the apartment.

But into you. Again.

[written-in-knife]

Hi! Could I please request something with Jade. Maybe angst/comfort and a bit suggestive. Imagine that the reader/yuu has found a way back home and starts kind of avoiding Jade due to not wanting to leave him but also not really feeling like fitting in in Twisted Wonderland. How would this play out, and how would Jade take action? Or if you've got your own plot or genre, that's fine too!

Thanks! Really liked your recent fic about Rook :)

Easy to Read

Jade Leech x gn!reader, established relationship

they/them pronouns, Jade calls the reader darling, angst/comfort, open ended

Word Count: 1882

The merform pulls are going SO GOOD Y'ALL. IM JUST SO PLEASED. IM NOT AT ALL UPSET OR TAKING IT OUT ON JADE IN THIS FIC. HA HA. HA HAHA. Anyways. I love getting a plot prompt, it's really hard to come up with ideas sometimes, so thank you! It's a little shorter than my other ones, but I do really like how it turned out, I hope y'all do too!

After so long, Crowley finally approached you with the news you'd been waiting for. He could send you home, as soon as you wanted. You heard the undertones in his voice that indicated he would prefer sooner rather than later, but with how many messes you'd cleaned up for him and the outrage it would inevitably spark from the many friends you'd made, he had no room to demand you leave that night.

You were pleased. You were supposed to be pleased. This is what you had wanted all along, right? To go home? This world was a place of magic so far removed from where you were born. You had no place in it, you didn't belong here.

These thoughts kept spiraling in your head from the second Crowley told you the news while you debated how you were supposed to tell your friends that you likely weren't ever going to see them again. How you were supposed to tell Jade... How were you supposed to tell Jade? He'd always been able to see straight through you, always able to tell when something was off and almost always able to fix it before you even said it out loud. How were you supposed to tell the one person who understood you so perfectly-- sometimes better than you knew yourself-- that you were leaving and probably never coming back? You weren't ready to face it yet. Despite the undertones, Crowley had given you time, and you were going to take as much of it as you could.

For the first few days, you tried to just play it cool and act normal, but Jade could tell something was off. He always could. You may as well have been an open book to him, all your problems laid out on the pages bolded and underlined. He knew there was something wrong, but for once, he couldn't figure out what it was. You could tell by the way he looked at you, the question behind his eyes as tried to look for the answers in yours. But you weren't ready yet. He watched as you started to shy away from him. It was the little things at first; avoiding eye contact when you were alone which lead to too much eye contact when you realized what you were doing, the way your fingers twitched when he reached for your hand, as if you wanted to pull it away before he could grab hold, the way you held onto him a little tighter and a little longer whenever he had his arms around you. He could see all the signs, plain as day, but the answer still eluded him. He could garner nothing from your friends, there were no hints at Ramshackle. He hated not knowing, but assumed you would tell him when you were ready. But after the first few days, you started to pull away more. You stopped going to the Mostro Lounge to see him during his shifts, you were going out of your way to avoid him after classes let out by following Ace and Deuce to Heartslabyul instead, you'd even called to cancel a date the two of you had set up a month prior. You were so easy to read, so why couldn't he figure this out?

As easy as it was for Jade to read you, it was even easier for Floyd to read Jade. Perks of being with someone since birth. He knew something was up between the two of you from the first stray eye twitch. So he watched. He watched Jade's reactions as you started to pull further and further away, watched his brother slowly unraveling with worry. Not enough for most people to notice, but Floyd saw. He saw the weird, lost look in his eyes before he could slap on that usual neutral smile and the disappointment on his face after another shift that you didn't show up in the middle of. Floyd wanted to believe you two would work it out on your own, but it was really getting on his nerves. So when Jade actually zoned out during a meeting about the lounge, Floyd finally lost it.

"Just go talk to Shrimpy already!" Floyd groaned loudly, draping himself dramatically over the couch. "You're killing the mood!"

"I apologize, I wasn't aware that my relationship troubles were interfering with your good time." Jade shot back with a sarcastic smile on his face. "I assure you, I will endeavor to think quieter thoughts as to not ruin your day."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Floyd is right." Azul sighed from his desk, Floyd giving him a shit eating grin that was promptly ignored. "You've been off your game for well over a week now, I think it's high time to cut the dramatics and go confront the problem."

Jade's tense smile thinned as his eye started twitching again. "And how do you propose I confront a problem that I have no knowledge of and haven't been informed about?"

"What, they haven't told you what's wrong?" Azul asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"They haven't told me that there is anything wrong."

"So then why are you just moping about it?" Floyd grumbled. "Go ask! I dunno if Shrimpy bites, but they ain't gonna bite harder than I am if you don't get your shit together!"

Jade scoffed, but bit his tongue. He knew he was being silly about it, just wishing that you would come forward with your worries on your own when it was becoming more and more clear that you had no intention of doing so. Not without a nudge. There was also a small part of him that worried that you'd disagreed with something he'd done and were afraid to talk to him about it. Afraid of him. He usually delighted in people having a healthy fear of him, but you? The idea that you could be afraid of him hurt more than he cared to admit. Floyd was right, he had to go talk to you. He didn't want to corner you, but there seemed to be no other way to be alone with you anymore.

He waited another day to put his plan into action. It was hardly a plan, to be perfectly honest. Jade had watched you follow Ace and Deuce to Heartslabyul after class again, and went to Ramshackle to wait for you to come back. He didn't know what else to do. Hours ticked by, a pot of tea long cold and he could swear he had dug grooves into the floor from all the pacing he'd done by the time you returned home. He stopped in front of the fireplace as he heard the door open, followed by a loud and long sigh before you headed towards the lounge. You froze when you turned the corner and saw him standing there, his ever present smile still on his face but it looked forced. You shuffled in place for a moment before entering the lounge to drop your bag on the couch, not looking at him.

"Hey Jade." You said, clearing your throat to try to get rid of the strain behind your voice. "What's going on?"

"I could ask you the same." He'd been debating how to approach the topic while he was waiting for you, not sure if it was better to be blunt or to ease into it. The heat of the moment ultimately made the decision for him.

"What do you mean...?"

"We don't need to play this game, darling, I've barely seen you in a week."

"I've been busy..." It was a weak argument on your part, and you knew it. You couldn't look up at him, eyes glued to the floorboards as you lied through your teeth. You weren't ready yet.

"You've been busy before, this is not that." He took a couple tentative steps towards you, like he was trying not to scare you off. "Please, talk to me. I only wish to help."

You weren't ready yet. "I don't think you can..."

"I'd like to try."

The abnormally soft tone to his voice is what finally pushed you over the edge. Tears blurred your vision before you could stop them, a massive lump in your throat cutting off any defense you could try to form in a pitiful whimper as you did your best to just not start sobbing. Jade was in front of you in two steps, gathering you up tenderly in his arms as you desperately tried to wipe away the tears before your face could become overrun. You weren't ready yet, but you were out of time. Crowley had pulled you aside a few times already asking for your decision, getting more and more impatient with each visit.

"Crowley found a way for me to go h-home." You managed to choke out around the sobs in your throat. You felt Jade tense up for a moment before some invisible tension was lifted off of him, making him relax against you with a light chuckle.

"Oh, darling, is that all?"

You paused for a second at the audacity of the question, as if all your worries meant nothing. "What do you mean, is that all?!" You bit out, smacking his chest and taking a step back. "I'm going home! I'll never... I'll never get to see you again..."

He frowned, blinking in confusion for a second before reaching out and wiping a stream of tears off your face. "You've... already decided then?"

"What?"

"You said Crowley found you a way home, not that he was forcing you to take it," he explained, "meaning you have a choice to stay or go."

"I..." You hesitated with a sniffle. He was right, you did have a choice, but... "I don't belong here, Jade. I was never supposed to be here."

"But you are." He cut in quickly before you could go on, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "You are here, whether you were "supposed" to be or not." He pulled you back in against his chest, one hand carding through your hair and the other tight against your back. "I often feel I don't belong on land, but I am here. I have found purpose on land, I've found hobbies and interests and love on land, even feeling that I don't belong." The determination in his voice made you cry a little harder. "Just because I am out of place does not mean I don't want to be here... Do you want to be here?"

You nodded into his chest, snaking your arms around his waist. "I just don't know if I should be." You admitted, no louder than a whisper.

"That is something only you can decide." He muttered into your hair before pressing his lips to the top of your head. "Whatever you decide, I will respect it... but if I may be a bit selfish?" You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes as he gave you a sad but hopeful smile, pressing one hand to your cheek again. "I would prefer it if you stayed."

You didn't have to say it out loud, he could see the answer behind your eyes. You were always so easy to read.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

[bytemee]

۶ৎ LUCKY FOR ME — kim minjeong.

“you’ll be here so lucky for me.”

⌗ in which— minjeong falls in love.

pairings. college!student!winter x college!student!fem!reader

warning(s). fluff, kissing, mutual pining, and let me know if theres more!

word count. 2.2k

authors note. laufey i love you. im also writing chat. its hard to write nowdays...if u guys have short prompts u can send them i need some practice

minjeong had never really been in love before.

she always thought love was supposed to be something you eased into, like a hot bath. something that made sense because when it's with the right person, it shouldn't be a puzzle, something to decipher. but then there was you. loud where she was quiet, messy where she was meticulous, late where she was always on time. a walking contradiction to everything she was, but like they say, opposites attract.

for example, positive and negative, up and down, winter and summer.

the first time she met you was in the library. not in some romantic, serendipitous way, but because she was the unlucky library assistant assigned to track you down for not returning your books. you had disappeared from the library after freshman year, only showing your face again when you absolutely had to. she, on the other hand, had practically lived there.

“you’re a hard person to find,” she had said, arms crossed as she blocked your escape.

“yeah, well,” you had shrugged, giving her a sheepish smile, “i didn’t think anyone would actually come looking.”

she had rolled her eyes, but a little bit of her irritation melted away. you had apologized profusely, even offering to buy her lunch to make up for the trouble you caused. she had told you it wasn't necessary, that it was part of her job, but you were insistent, and she made it her mission to avoid you so you wouldn’t be able to catch her off-guard again.

and then, at the end of sophomore year, there you were again. this time, she was at the coffee shop on campus, sitting with a study group. you had been in line behind her, and the barista had called her name wrong, and you had corrected him. and that was it. the moment that changed her life.

because when she turned around, her nose and cheeks still red from the cold, her dark brown hair falling out of the scarf that covered her head, the sight of you stopped her in her tracks.

you had smiled at her and said, "hey. you're minjeong, right?"

you had known her name.

after that, you kept showing up. in the library, at the coffee shop, even in the dining hall where she usually ate alone. you made excuses to talk to her, slipping into her world so effortlessly that she didn't realize how much she had started to expect your presence until the days felt emptier without you.

you had this way of filling up her quiet world, making everything brighter and more vibrant than she had ever seen before. you didn't just change her life. you changed her.

the way you'd hum softly under your breath when she studied, the way you'd tap her notebook absentmindedly while waiting for her to acknowledge you. you annoyed her in a way she never minded, always finding a way to disrupt her routine just enough to make life more interesting.

she caught herself looking for you before she even realized she wanted to see you. she'd look over her shoulder as she walked across campus, and when you weren't there, it almost disappointed her. sometimes, you'd surprise her, and her heart would skip a beat, but then you'd smile at her and tell her you missed her, and it would start beating again.

sometimes, she didn't understand why you liked her.

but you did.

it had started slowly, but now, the realization that she loved you hit her like a tsunami, and it scared her. it felt like she couldn't breathe, like she had a rock sitting on her chest. because she had never done this before, and even though it was the scariest thing in the world, it was also the best feeling in the world.

minjeong sighed as she put down the pen and picked up her phone. her finger hovered over your contact name, but instead of calling you, she texted:

do you want to join me for a study session tomorrow?

it only took a few seconds for the three dots to appear, followed by

sure! where and when?

tomorrow, 2pm. library.

sounds perfect. can't wait!

minjeong smiled to herself and put her phone back down on the table. she turned back to her book, her face bright red.

the next day, she arrived at the library early. too early. the clock on the wall barely hit 1:30, and she was already flipping through the pages of a textbook she had no intention of reading. every few minutes, she glanced up at the door, waiting for you to walk in.

and when you did—hair a little messy, wrapped up in a scarf that barely matched your jacket, your backpack hanging off one shoulder—minjeong nearly forgot how to breathe.

“hey!” you grinned, sliding into the seat across from her. “you’re early.”

“you’re late,” she teased, though she knew you weren’t.

you laughed, shrugging off your backpack and coat. you pulled out your own stack of textbooks, notebooks, and pencils, setting them down on the table with a loud thud. she couldn't help but smile, watching as you got settled and flipped open your notebook.

minjeong was lost in her own thoughts, so when you spoke, it startled her.

"so, did you invite me here just to stare at me, or…"

her cheeks burned, and she turned away. "sorry. i didn't mean to…"

"oh, no, don't be sorry!" you chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "i was kidding… if it makes you feel better, i was staring too."

"you were?"

"well, yeah." you blushed, ducking your head slightly. "i like looking at you."

minjeong fell in love with you. again.

and again, and again, and again. she can almost rewind time, remembering every moment where you'd shown her a new reason to fall in love with you. it's impossible not to notice when everything about you is perfect. when you make mistakes, it doesn't make her want to run away. instead, it makes her want to get closer. to see all of you, flaws and all.

the first time was when it rained in the middle of spring and neither of you had an umbrella. she offered to share hers, but the wind had other plans, flipping it inside out and soaking you both within minutes. you had laughed, really laughed, and winter had just stared at you, like she had never heard anything like it before.

there was the second time on a summer night when you stayed out too late, sitting on the roof of your dorm, looking at the stars, and talking about the future. she had fallen asleep with her head on your shoulder, waking up the next morning wrapped in your arms and covered in blankets. you had kissed her forehead gently, telling her to go back to sleep.

and the third time was during the fall evening when she found you waiting outside the library, arms crossed, blowing warm air into your hands. "you're late, you know," you had teased, and she had rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. that night, after studying together for hours, she invited you back to her room for the first time.

and here she was again. falling even harder.

the driver grumbled about the frost on the windshield, muttering something about how shitty the visibility was. you let out a slow sigh, sneaking a glance at minjeong’s side profile, then at the driver, then back at her.

“minjeong,” you murmured, your voice so soft and low she almost thought she imagined it.

she turned her head just a little. “hmm?”

and that’s when you leaned in, closing the space between you, your lips pressing against hers.

for a second, she didn’t move—too surprised to react, frozen in place, unsure of what to do. she felt like she was in a dream, like any minute, she was going to wake up. she felt a rush of emotion—an overwhelming, terrifying mix of excitement, joy, and fear, all at once. and then, like an ocean wave, it swept her off her feet.

and finally, after what felt like an eternity, she kissed you back.

your lips were soft and gentle, and she felt like she was melting. like she had been cold all her life, and finally, after years of being numb, she was warm. when you pulled away, her lips still tingling, you rested your forehead against hers, smiling at her softly.

the taxi came to a stop outside the dorm, the engine giving a final sputter as it powered down.

"we're here," the driver announced, sounding impatient.

minjeong’s head was still spinning from the kiss, and you could barely catch your breath. the snow continued to fall softly, each flake twinkling as it landed on the ground. she didn't say anything as she followed behind you, exiting the taxi and walking to the front door of the dorm.

and that’s when you realized—you didn’t have your keys.

you checked your pockets. nothing. a glance at minjeong’s face told you she’d caught on too, and you cursed under your breath.

"i'm so stupid," you muttered, running a hand through your hair.

minjeong reached out and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "you're not stupid."

you sat on the steps of the building, leaning back against the stone railing, and buried your face in your hands. "i can't believe this," you mumbled. "we're gonna freeze to death out here." minjeong sat down beside you, close enough that your knees touched. she put an arm around you, pulling you close, and rested her head on top of yours.

"it's not so bad," she whispered.

you lifted your head, looking at her in surprise. "it's not?"

"no," she said. she smiled, and it made you feel safe. "it's actually kind of nice."

you hummed in agreement before muttering, "roommate’s probably out, though. i’ll just have to call her to come back and open the door." you fished your phone out of your pocket, but before you could call, minjeong grabbed your wrist gently.

"don't," she said, shaking her head. "let’s just… sit here for a while."

you hesitated, then put your phone back in your pocket, leaning into her side. "okay," you whispered.

and that's how the two of you stayed, sitting in the snow, your breaths creating small clouds of smoke that vanished into the winter air. and when you felt her lips press against the top of your head, her warmth surrounding you, her fingers laced through yours, you didn't care how cold it was anymore.

minjeong had never really been in love.

so please forgive her for the helpless haze she's in when you're near.

[emmylksblog]

LOVE TATTOO // FERRAN TORRES

summary: it's your anniversary and ferran surprises you with a fresh tattoo that carries your name.

genre: fluff, married au

based on this request

warnings: mention of sex

a/n: writing this i found out i would kinda like a guy whose personality is similar to ferran’s 😔

You had barely unbuckled your seatbelt when Ferran rushed to open your door, grinning like an idiot. He leaned down slightly, arms already out, as if about to scoop you up like a princess.

"Should I carry you like I did on our wedding day?" he teased, but there was something in his voice that told you he would, injury and all.

You laughed softly, eyes twinkling under the dim garage light. “I’d love that, but you’re injured, love. Plus, you've already been wonderful tonight,” you said, pointing back at the mountain of shopping bags stacked in the backseat. You’d told him not to go overboard. He didn’t listen. Of course.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and sweet, like a reward he’d definitely earned. Ferran accepted it like the absolute champion he was, one arm sliding around your waist, lifting you just slightly off the ground like he couldn’t help himself.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your cheek. The way he looked at you then, like he was memorizing your entire face, made your heart ache in the best way. You were his world, and he didn’t hide it.

"I’ve got one more surprise for you," he whispered, the hint of mischief unmistakable in his voice. "But you’ll have to wait until we’re in bed to see it."

Your cheeks burned instantly. “Ferran!” You swatted his chest. “I knew it! You lasted way too long without mentioning sex.”

He gasped in mock offense, clutching the spot where you hit him. “I hate to break it to you, cariño, but this time you’re the one with the dirty mind,” he said with a grin, nudging you toward the house. “Come on, inside.”

He gave your butt a playful tap to encourage your pace, which only made you roll your eyes and laugh as you walked through the garage door into the warmth of your shared home.

Later, you'd already finished your nighttime routine and were slipping into your favorite soft pajamas. Ferran was still in the shower, and you were half-expecting to see him walk out in just a towel, like he always did. Especially on nights like this. But instead, he came out fully dressed in a fresh white t-shirt and sweatpants, towel draped over his shoulders.

You raised a brow, trying not to sound too curious. “What, you cold tonight or something?”

Ferran saw right through the nonchalant act, smirking as he walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, warm and lingering. “Relax, love. The surprise has something to do with this. Don’t be mad.”

That made your curiosity skyrocket.

“Stop scaring me and just tell me. If it’s a new scar, I swear I’ll kill you.” You turned to face him with narrowed eyes.

As a footballer, his body was a roadmap of bruises and minor injuries. Sometimes he’d tease you at night, saying he had a new scar to show you, usually when you were too tired to scold him properly. It never worked. You always gave him the lecture the next day anyway.

He chuckled. “Okay, okay, sit here.”

He gently guided you to sit in the center of the bed, sheets cool under your legs as you settled cross-legged. He knelt in front of you, his hands on your thighs. “Can you give me a shoulder massage, love? I feel a bit tight.”

You tilted your head, softening. “Are you sore? We probably shouldn’t have stayed out so long. I know how intense your week’s been.”

“I’m okay,” he said quickly, “just need your magical touch.” He lifted your left hand, the one with your wedding ring, and kissed it sweetly, brushing his thumb over your fingers.

“Well, who am I to ignore the pleas of my poor loving husband on our anniversary?” you murmured, brushing a kiss over his hair before turning to the nightstand for the massage oil you always used for him.

He watched you move, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smug little smile. Everything was going to plan.

By the time you returned, Ferran was sitting up straight, his back toward you, anticipation radiating off him. You climbed back onto the bed behind him, hands resting on his shoulders.

"Okay, champ. Arms up."

You grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward, the fabric slipping over his head with practiced ease. You tossed it aside, not expecting anything unusual… until you saw it.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes widened.

There, inked on the left side of his upper back, right over his shoulder blade, was a tattoo. Your name. And just below it, in elegant script, the date of your wedding.

You blinked, overwhelmed, your hands automatically finding his waist for support. Then came a quiet, high-pitched gasp.

“Ferri! No freaking way.”

You dropped back from your knees, now sitting with your legs tucked under you, one hand covering your mouth in disbelief. Your eyes glossed over as you stared, the tattoo still slightly red around the edges, clearly fresh.

You reached out with trembling fingers, gently tracing the lines of it, like you couldn’t believe it was real.

Ferran turned around, finally unable to wait. “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice laced with nervous excitement. “Say something, amor…”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just threw your arms around him and buried your face in his neck. "Hey… baby, I’d do anything for you," he whispered, stroking your back, kissing the top of your head like it was instinct.

You pulled back just far enough to look at him and whispered, “I love it.” Then your lips met his in a kiss that felt different, so full of everything. You cupped his jaw, and he responded with soft desperation, the kind that said he was already yours and had always been.

“When did you even get it?” you asked between kisses, pressing one to the tip of his nose.

He grinned sheepishly. “When I said I was going grocery shopping this morning. And that I had to swing by Pedri’s place. Yeah… that was a lie.”

Your jaw dropped. “The first time one of your plans actually works and it involved lying to me? I don’t like this at all.”

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. Ferran laughed, clearly proud of himself.

He shut you up with another kiss, this one more impulsive, messy and full of laughter between your lips. You kissed him back harder, still smiling, arms wrapped around his neck as the warmth of his skin seeped into yours. He was your home. He always would be.

After a while, when the room had settled into that quiet, sleepy intimacy you only get when you're with the love of your life, Ferran pulled you closer under the covers and kissed your forehead gently.

“Seriously though,” you murmured, touching the ink again, “it means so much to me that you did this.”

“I love you,” you replied, your voice barely audible as you traced the tattoo on his back again with a single finger.

“I love you too, mi vida,” he whispered in your hair.

The silence that followed was warm, filled with nothing but your breath and the sound of fabric shifting as you tangled your legs with his. His hand ran up and down your spine lazily, tracing circles.

Then Ferran broke the silence.

“So… the family tree expansion project… still happening?”

You groaned, your fist flying toward his bicep, only for him to catch it mid-air, laughing.

“You seriously have no filter,” you muttered, shaking your head as a smile tugged at your lips. “If you didn’t ruin every romantic moment, you wouldn’t be Ferran.”

He kissed your cheek in response, looking far too pleased with himself. And honestly? You wouldn’t change him for anything in the world.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

What Condition My Condition Was In

Prompt: Riches to Rags | Word Count: 2790 | Rating: T | CW: Traumatic Brain Injury, Alcoholism, Housing Insecurity | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Pre-Steddie, Background Ronance | Tags: Struggling After The Events of S4, Future Fic, Middle Aged, Finding Each Other, Hurt/Comfort

The fall happens faster than you'd ever imagine. Once the slide has started, it's nearly impossible to stop it. It just snowballs, and no matter how hard Eddie dug in his heels, down, down, down he went. 

Record deal, gone. 

Label, gone. 

Band, gone.

He eventually landed on his feet, but just barely. All that money they made, and he has nothing left to show for it. Not a goddamn dime. Forty-five years old, with jackshit to his name. Working two jobs just to make ends meet is the only thing preventing him from crawling back to Hawkins, tail between his legs. 

He picks up a little session work, his talent only heard as an anonymous guitar on albums that will go on to sell millions of copies. His name, nowhere attached. It's humbling, but at least he gets to play the guitar from time to time, and is even paid for it.

That's better than flipping burgers, or washing dishes. He's done both, hopping all around town, trying to earn enough money to cover rent and some rot gut whiskey.

Tonight, he steps out of the liquor store, bottle tucked under his arm, and drops his change into the box of the guy that often sleeps in the little alcove, tucked back and hidden.

Eddie has it bad, but others still have it worse. He's never not had a place to go every night. Not yet.

"Thanks," the guy says, and Eddie nods towards him. He's seen him dozens of times, but he's never really seen him, he realizes. Never really looked. Nor has he ever spoken.

Lots of nights he's asleep, or has his head tucked between his knees, hooded sweatshirt pulled over his head, tight. Hands over his ears. Like he's trying to block out the world. Eddie gets that desire, fully.

Tonight, he sees him. Hears him. 

And feels like he's in the vicinity of a ghost.

"Steve?" Eddie questions, even if he's sure he's not right. Certain that this isn't Steve Harrington. Just someone with a similar voice. His mind playing tricks on him. But the brown eyes that look up from under his hood to meet his are familiar, way too familiar. Eddie tilts his chin down, more sure this time, "Steve."

"Maybe," Steve says, and at that, Eddie crouches down in front of him. Sitting his brown paper bagged bottle down, taking Steve's face in his hands. He has a fading black eye, and quite the beard that scratches against Eddie's palms.

Steve looks away.

"It's me. It's Eddie, from home," Eddie says. "We had, uh, a spring break together."

That's a bit of an understatement. 

"Yeah, I'm not an idiot," Steve says, looking back at him, and Eddie laughs, delighted that maybe there's nothing irreparably broken in him. Maybe he's just down on his luck. Eddie knows how that goes, all too well.

They're all a little damaged after what they went through. How could they not be?

"Why are you in Chicago?" Eddie asks. Winter is fast approaching, and camping near the entrance to Joe's Liquor ain't gonna cut it. 

Steve just shakes his head. Eddie's immediately mad. Where's Robin? Where's Henderson? Why is he out here, all by himself?

"C'mon," Eddie says, making a decision that is no decision at all. Standing up, and offering Steve his hands, "Up we go."

If a deranged Steve Harrington decides to kill him while he sleeps tonight, so be it. Steve saved him once, so as far as Eddie sees it, his life is Steve's to do with what he wants, anyway. 

Steve lets himself get pulled to his feet, and then Eddie helps him gather up what little he has. It's not much. Steve pauses, "Where are we going?"

"My place," Eddie answers, "that okay?"

And he's relieved when Steve nods.

Eddie leads him into the bathroom, gives him a spare set of towels. They aren't fancy, but they're clean. He shows him the trick to get the right temperature of hot water, an elaborate song and dance, but Eddie's had to learn to perfect it to not get frozen or scalded.

He puts a new disposable razor on the sink, in case he wants it.

When he hears the shower curtain close, Eddie starts making a mental list of everybody's ass he's gonna chew out. Steve Harrington should have people, lots of people, and that he seemingly doesn't is infuriating. 

Eddie never fell through the cracks. Wayne wouldn't let him. Or Gareth. Jeff. Goodie. They didn't stay together as a band, but he could always crash on any of their couches if he needed to. He'd have a safe place to go, where he's loved.

Why isn't Steve on Robin's couch somewhere?

Steve's hands are shaking when he gets out of the shower, and Eddie slides the bottle across the coffee table. Apparently they both have dealt with the shit they've seen in similar ways. Steve just seems to have it worse right now. Eddie's functioning, but it doesn't seem like Steve is if he wound up like this. All alone. 

He looks better, all cleaned up, fresh from the shower. Clean shaven. Hair still wet, and too long. In Eddie's clothes. Fading yellow bruise under his right eye.

Eddie has a thousand questions, but he's too scared he'll run to ask them. So he stays quiet. And they drink the cheap whiskey together, passing the bottle back and forth, in silence.

Eddie makes up the couch for him, but isn't at all surprised when Steve slides in bed with Eddie in the middle of the night. 

There's no reason to comment on it, he remembers exactly how to do this from that first summer, after. They were close then, and Steve stayed planted in his bed for months while they both recovered. Listening to music, reading magazines. Talking about girls, cars and weed. Boy stuff. Surface level stuff. Nothing that was close to uncorking the bottles they'd shoved the goddamn horrors they experienced in the Upside Down into just to survive.

Tonight, Eddie holds out his arm, and Steve curls in close. 

"I'm fucked up," Steve says, and well, Eddie thinks, who ain't? 

"Well, me too. I ain't gonna judge."

Steve nods against Eddie's neck, and then falls asleep, and stays asleep for twelve hours. Eddie just lays there, even if his whole body hurts. He gets stiff. His hips, mainly. Too much damage from the bats.

But he's unwilling to wake him.

Mainly because he's scared he'll disappear as soon as he does. 

Steve stays, and Eddie takes him to work with him the next Monday. He's not sure Steve knows anything about tire repair, but Gus lets Eddie settle him into his own workstation and show him the ropes.

Eddie quickly notices that Steve flinches every time the air compressor fires up to power the impact wrench, his ear coming down towards his shoulder. Digging in the drawers of his assigned tool chest, Eddie finally comes up with a pair of soundproof earmuffs. They're big, and bulky, but Steve nods when Eddie holds them up, making the offer.

Eddie puts them over his ears, and Steve smiles as he adjusts them, then gives Eddie the thumbs up.

Turns out, Steve can change a tire, and fast. He's not as good with the patching jobs, so Eddie takes all those, and just gives Steve the straight swaps. It works well, and they sit a few feet apart, working during the days.

At night, still in their coveralls, they swing by Joe's and get two bottles and go back to Eddie's apartment, where they drink them on the couch. Watching mindless television. Steve enjoys ballgames, and it doesn't bother Eddie. The background noise of them. It reminds him of home, and Wayne.

Eddie still wants to ask: Where's Robin? Where's Nancy? Where's fucking Henderson?

He doesn't.

They drink, and they go to bed, and Eddie lays awake staring at the ceiling, not understanding how this happened. 

It doesn't take long for Eddie to realize that Steve gets migraines. So, Eddie finds a pair of blackout curtains at the thrift store down the block that are actually pretty fucking amazing. There's one little hole, but it's nothing a little duct tape can't fix. He hangs them up, and his whole room is cast in darkness, even as the sun shines brightly outside. 

Eddie gives him earplugs, a glass of water, and leaves him to rest.

Gus understands the days that Steve can't get out of bed and into work. Gus reminds Eddie of Wayne. No nonsense. But fair. And having your head splitting in two isn't nonsense, and therefore is excused without any commentary whatsoever.

It's a little lonelier without Steve in the garage, but Eddie works like he always does. Patching, changing, then rolling the next one in line inside.

After two days, Steve's back, and his workload and mood lightens.

Overall, Steve seems fine. He has more good days than bad, and that's always been Eddie's own personal benchmark for fine. He's funny, and just Steve. The same Steve that Eddie remembers from that spring break, and that summer that followed. Just older, and with a little more baggage. A little more damage.

But at the core of him, he's Steve Harrington.

And Steve Harrington shouldn't be crashing in Eddie Munson's dingy apartment.

In the end, Eddie can't let it go. He's running down to the corner pizza place, because they decided they needed to actually eat something tonight. They can't drink all their calories all the time. And a pizza sounded good, and cheap. Eddie likes cheap.

But, before he makes it to the pizza place, he makes a pit stop into the outdated phone booth. He hopes it still works. It did the last time he used it, but that's been a while.

Nancy Wheeler is the only one he could find a number for, and it has been burning a hole in his pocket. He presses the receiver to his ear, feeds it quarters, dials the number he hopes is good, and listens to it ring. 

"Wheeler," he says when she picks up, and he can hear her wheels turning, trying to figure out who the fuck this is on the other end. He puts her out of his misery, "It's Eddie Munson."

"Eddie!" she says, and she sounds delighted, honestly. She laughs in his ear, and he likes the sound, but also kind of hates her. She let Steve end up on the streets. Alone. All of them are on his fucking shit list right now.

"Hey. I'm trying to get a hold of Buckley, do you have a good number?" he asks.

The line goes quiet, too quiet. Fuck. Is she dead? Is that what's happened? That would make sense, would explain this—

"Have you found him? Jesus, Eddie. Please tell me you've found him," she pleads. 

Eddie didn't even know they were supposed to be looking for him. 

He scrubs his hand across his eyes, brushing away the tears that are suddenly there. They're looking. They're desperate. He knows they are, he can hear it in her voice, and he nods, pressing his face into the glass of the phone booth. There aren't many of them left, and this one has definitely seen better days.

"Eddie," she says again, dragging him out of his stupor.

"What happened?" he asks.

"Eddie," she says, this time a demand.

"I've got him," he admits, and he hears the second her resolve shatters. 

"You've got him," she whispers. Then she's screaming in his ear, a deafening sound, "Robin! Eddie's got him!"

"Where are you? We're coming!" Robin shouts in the distance, but clear as a bell.

Eddie takes a deep breath. They're not. Not if Steve doesn't want that. 

"Uh, let me ask him first. Okay?" Eddie says, and kind of regrets that he didn't do that first. He was just too curious, too mad. Too scared he'd flee.

Nancy's quiet on the other end, and he hears the scuffle, the quiet argument over who's gonna keep the phone, ending with Nancy saying it's okay, he's okay, Eddie's got him.

Eddie's got him.

"He just stopped checking in one day," Nancy says, as if that explains it all. "We couldn't find him after that. We've looked, Eddie, we've all looked everywhere."

He knows they have. Believes that, and can't believe he ever thought they weren't. He feels guilty.

"He has a job, and a place to stay," Eddie says, "He's okay. Don't worry."

Eddie is sure all they've done is worry. 

"Eddie, please," Robin says, muffled by the background noise, and Eddie hates to tell her no. He does. But he's not betraying Steve. He'll ease into it, feel him out. 

"I gotta go," he says, and hangs the phone up before they can argue. 

Eddie puts the pizza down on the coffee table, and Steve flips open the top of the box. He seems good, has seemed good for a while. As good as they can be, in the condition their conditions are in. He smiles to himself, he hasn't thought of that song in a long time. It makes him think of Wayne and his record collection. He needs to call home soon. Or visit, maybe. Depends on how this whole Steve thing goes.

He's scared Steve's gonna run, disappear. As a runner himself, Eddie's scared Steve will be one, too. He'll give chase, they all will. But he doesn't want to spook Steve. 

"Can I ask about Robin?" Eddie asks gently, pulling the band-aid off, and Steve turns and looks at him. Smiling wide. He hasn't looked that happy about anything since he turned up. It catches Eddie by surprise.

"She's good. She's with Nance. Did you know that?" Steve asks, and takes another big bite from his slice of pizza. Like he's unbothered. Does he not know he's missing?

"Uh, no. Good for them. That's real good. And Henderson?" he questions.

"Also good. Married. Two kids. Doing science-y things," Steve says. "Still a smart little shithead."

And now Eddie's confused.

"That's good. Do they know where you are?" Eddie asks, and Steve pauses, like he's thinking about it.

"Probably not. I haven't checked in with them in a while. I should probably do that."

Eddie wants to scream, 'You think?!'

But he doesn't.

"Jesus Christ, Steve," Eddie says instead, laughing as he tosses his slice back into the box. "I thought you ran away from them."

"What? No, I just — they're all settled. Happy. And I'm, well, this," he says, motioning towards himself. "Brain damaged, and a drunk."

No. He's perfect. He's always been perfect. Flawed, and human, but perfect, and so fucking loved by all of them. Does he not know that?

Eddie startles him, he knows he does, when he cups both of Steve's cheeks in his hands. Just like he did crouched on that sidewalk outside of Joe's. Just like Steve did to him, hovering over his bleeding, bat shredded body in the Upside Down. Promising that everything would be okay.

He was right. Everything will be okay.

Eddie looks in Steve's eyes, telling him the truth, "They're worried to death about you. I didn't know what kind of situation was happening here, but I called them. I called Nancy. They're so worried."

"Oh. Shit," Steve says. "Maybe I've been out of contact longer than I've realized."

Eddie is baffled. But mainly he's relieved. Steve's okay. He found him. What if he didn't find him?

What if he wanders off again?

He can't think about that. 

"C'mon," Eddie says, standing up, and shoving his feet into his shoes without untying the laces. Sweeping a handful of loose change into his palm from the table next to the front door. "Let's go call them."

He knows there's a long road ahead for him, for both of them, but this part is an easy fix. If Steve will stay with him, and fuck, Eddie hopes he'll stay, then maybe they can deal with some of their messed up shit together.

They walk down to the payphone, and Eddie really needs to figure out that whole cell phone thing. He will. For both of them. Get them back on the grid.

Eddie hands the receiver to Steve, feeds the slot quarters, and dials the number, then steps back. 

It must connect, because he can hear Steve say into the receiver, "Hey. It's me. I'm sorry. I guess I got a little sidetracked."

Eddie grips the edge of the phone booth door that's still ajar. Holding his breath. Waiting.

Then, Steve laughs.

And Eddie lets out a ragged breath. Smiling.

Everything will be okay.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

Notes: Title from Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In) by The First Edition.

[rafesbimbo]

idk if you'd like it but could you do like a pastors daughter!reader with mean or sexist!rafe and she's just so dumb and clueless abt the world and he loves it and how 'pure' she is ?

going thru major catholic guild rn and feel like you'd eat this tf upp ! 🙏

-౨ৎ

warnings: fingering, dirty talk, praise, slight power imbalance, public/semi-public setting (implied), consensual sexual touching, dom!rafe

a/n: as a fellow preachers daughter, this is one of my best requests!!

“you don’t even know what you’re doing to me, do you?”

rafe’s voice was low as he leaned against the truck, watching you squirm under his gaze. your dress was too sweet, too white, your lip caught between your teeth like you were nervous just standing near him.

you shook your head, voice soft. “i didn’t mean to do anything."

he smirked, tilting his head. “that’s the thing, angel. you don’t have to mean it. you just show up in your sunday best with those big eyes, actin’ like the world’s some storybook.”

you shifted, unsure whether to be offended or… flattered. something about the way he looked at you made your skin feel too tight. like he knew things you didn’t.

like he wanted to show you.

he stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “bet no one’s ever even kissed you huh?”

you blinked up at him, throat dry. “i—no. not really.”

his smile turned sharp. “course not. they wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

his hand grazed your cheek, knuckles warm and rough. not innocent. not sweet. but you didn’t pull away.

“you want me to show you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t answer. but you didn’t stop him either.

rafe’s fingers slid down your jaw, slow and possessive, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

“thought so,” he murmured, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “you don’t know how pretty you look beggin’ without sayin’ a word.”

you swallowed, heart thudding so loud it drowned out everything else. he was too close. too calm. like he knew exactly what you were going to do before you did it.

“tell me to stop,” he said, but it didn’t sound like a suggestion. it sounded like a test.

you looked up at him, lips parted, breath shaking. but the words didn’t come. you couldn’t lie—not when his touch felt like gravity, like something you’d fall into no matter how hard you tried not to.

his hand slipped around the back of your neck, pulling you just close enough for your noses to brush. “didn’t think so,” he said with a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth.

then he kissed you.

it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t slow. it was claiming—like he’d been waiting, like he’d known this moment would come and now that it had, he wasn’t about to waste it. your hands gripped the edge of his shirt, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

you didn’t push.

when he finally pulled back, you were breathless, lips tingling, dizzy from the heat of it all.

rafe’s voice was rough when he spoke again. "didn't think you'd like it that much."

you barely had time to breathe before rafe’s mouth was on yours again, rougher this time—more certain.

his hands found your waist, gripping tight, dragging you closer like he was done pretending he could play this slow.

“you’re killin’ me, wearin’ this little thing,” he muttered against your lips, tugging at the hem of your dress. “lookin’ all doll-like”

your head tilted back as his mouth trailed along your jaw, down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you whimper. your hands clutched his shoulders, your legs brushing his, heat blooming between your thighs like fire catching dry grass.

“rafe…” his name came out like a gasp, like a prayer.

he chuckled darkly, fingers sliding under the edge of your dress. “there she is,” he murmured. “all breathless for me. you this soft for everyone, or just me?”

you didn’t answer—you couldn’t. not with his fingers brushing the inside of your thigh, slow and deliberate, teasing.

“spread your legs, angel,” he whispered, voice low and wicked.

your cheeks burned, heart pounding as you obeyed, trembling under his touch. he slid his fingers higher, finding the thin fabric of your panties soaked through.

“fuck,” he hissed. “you’re drenched. all that from a couple kisses?”

you nodded, helpless. his hand slipped beneath the fabric, middle finger running through your slick folds, and you nearly buckled against him.

“rafe—”

“shh,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours as he circled your clit with slow, practiced strokes. “just take it. let me show you how good it gets.”

you moaned, soft and broken, hips rocking into his hand as pleasure built hot and fast. he watched you the whole time—eyes dark, mouth parted, like he was memorizing every sound you made.

“good girl,” he murmured. “just like that. makin’ a mess all over my fingers.”

and when you finally came, shaking in his arms, he didn’t stop—just held you through it, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “i’m not done with you yet.”

[mocchiixxx]

Words in Ruin Series # | 12 : Chwe Hansol (Vernon) 🐢

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Healing, Miscommunication

Warnings: Shouting, emotional breakdown, crying, comfort and reconciliation

Summary: Vernon is usually the laid-back, composed type, preferring quiet moments over the chaos of fame. But the constant pressure and never-ending schedule have begun to break him down. One evening, after a particularly exhausting day, he takes out his frustrations on you, and the harsh words cut deeper than he intended. Regret comes quickly, but it’s hard to undo the hurt.

You stared at the clock for what must've been the tenth time. It was almost midnight, and Vernon still wasn’t home.

The food on the table had long since gone cold. You sighed, setting down your phone after reading the same message you'd sent him two hours ago:

“Are you okay? I’m worried.” No reply.

Then finally, the door creaked open.

You sat up immediately. “Hansol?”

Vernon walked in with heavy steps. He looked exhausted. His shoulders slumped like the weight of the world was dragging him down. He didn’t even glance at you as he took off his shoes and dropped his bag by the door.

“You’re late,” you said quietly, trying to keep your tone light. “I made dinner.”

“I already ate,” he muttered.

You paused. “Oh. Okay…”

You stood there awkwardly for a second, unsure of what to do. His voice had been cold, not like Vernon at all. He moved past you and walked straight to the bedroom.

You followed after him, your steps tentative.

“Did something happen?” you asked gently. “You didn’t text back. I was worried.”

He let out a sigh as he threw his hoodie onto a chair. “Why does everything have to be a problem?”

Your brows furrowed. “It’s not a problem, I’m just worried about you…”

“Well, don’t be. I’m fine.” He finally looked at you, but his eyes were hard, tired. “Can you just, I don't know, stop treating me like I’m going to break all the time?”

The sting in his words made you take a step back. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“I know,” he said sharply, then ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I know. I just… I just want silence. For one night.”

“But bottling everything up doesn’t help you either,” you replied softly. “You don’t talk to me anymore, Hansol. I miss you, even when you're right in front of me.”

He scoffed. “Right, because I’m the problem again.”

You blinked, your throat tightening. “That’s not what I said…”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice rose. “I get it. You want me to be this perfect version of myself all the time. I’m tired, okay? Tired of everything, tired of the constant pressure, the noise, the expectations. And now I come home, and it feels like I can’t even breathe here either!”

You flinched. He never yelled. Not like this.

“Is that what I am to you now? Noise?” you whispered.

He immediately looked away, guilt flashing in his eyes. “That’s not what I meant…”

“But that’s what you said.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” he snapped. “I’m sorry I’m not who you want me to be right now.”

You shook your head, your voice cracking. “I don’t want you to be anyone else, Hansol. I want you. But you won’t let me in anymore. You come home, shut me down, and you act like I’m part of the chaos you’re trying to escape from.”

“I don’t mean to,” he whispered. “It’s just... e-everything’s too much.”

“Then why not talk to me about it?” you asked, pleading now. “Why push me away?”

“Because if I start talking, I’m scared I won’t stop,” he confessed, voice shaking. “I’m scared I’ll break down and you’ll see how weak I really am.”

You stared at him, tears building. “Do you really think I’d walk away if you cried? Do you think I’m only here for the version of you that’s calm and composed?”

He didn’t answer.

You took a step closer, voice softer now. “Let me carry some of this with you. Let me be the one safe space you don’t have to pretend in.”

He finally looked at you again, and his expression broke your heart. His walls were crumbling. Slowly, painfully.

“I had a panic attack in the bathroom today,” he admitted. “During a break between takes. No one noticed. I just… I washed my face and kept going like nothing happened.”

“Oh, Hansol…” You reached out, but he stepped back.

“And it’s not the first time,” he said bitterly. “Every day feels like I’m suffocating. Every smile I force feels like a lie. I come home and I want to collapse, but then I see you waiting for me and I feel like I’m failing you, too.”

“You’re not failing me,” you said immediately. “You’re hurting. That’s not failure.”

He finally broke down, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to be okay anymore.”

You pulled him into your arms, and this time, he didn’t resist. He held onto you like he was drowning.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, rubbing his back. “You don’t have to be okay right now. You just have to let yourself feel.”

He clung to you tightly. “I’m scared.”

“I know. But I’m not going anywhere.”

His shoulders trembled as the tears finally spilled, quiet, broken sobs that had been buried for too long. You held him through it, letting him release every emotion he’d bottled up.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I know,” you said gently. “It hurt, but I know you didn’t mean it. I forgive you.”

He pulled back just slightly, brushing his fingers along your face, now wet with your own tears. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do,” you said, smiling through the tears. “And you always will.”

He let out a shaky laugh, his forehead leaning against yours. “What would I do without you?”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you whispered.

You guided him to the couch, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. He leaned into your side, head resting on your chest, hand gripping yours tightly.

And for the first time in a long while, Vernon allowed himself to rest, not as an idol, not as a perfect image, but as a person. A broken, healing, loved person.

Taglist: @babycaratdeul @viacb97 @christinewithluv

[midnightkennedy]

𝗜'𝗟𝗟 𝗕𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 || 𝗟𝗘𝗢𝗡 𝗦. 𝗞𝗘𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗗𝗬

author's note: wow I have not written for this man in a hot minute, I need to practice how to write him again. so here I have, fluff.

warnings: slight angst, fluff.

note: divider by @enchanthings-a

the rain hadn't stopped all afternoon.

the drops lightly tapped against the windows at a rhythmic pace, filling the atmosphere with a strange sense of calm, a kind of softness that echoed throughout.

except, he didn't seem soft today, leon, your boyfriend. you'd been dating for a couple of months now, and no matter how many times he reminded you that he had kept his traumatic past aside like a school project, deep under you knew that he still couldn't keep his guard down, even when he was with you.

it was understandable,no one should ever have to face what he did all those years, but it will be a grave understatement if you said it didn't bother you one bit.

Leon sat across the room, on his work table, typing away what seemed to be the longest work email in the history of work emails. his shoulders were rigid, and he sat balanced on his chair, typing as if the world would stop if he didn't.

you watched him from the couch, two cups of coffee kept on the table, yours, half empty. his, untouched. even the steam from his had almost faded.

"Leon?". you called out softly.

he didn't look up, just tilted his head to the side and replied, "Yeah?".

"Your coffee is getting cold, hun".

he still didn't look up, and replied in that same deadpan voice, "Just- give me a moment darlin'. there's this report I need to send, and if I don't-". he cut himself off mid sentence and went back to his monotonous typing.

you held back your sigh, "you said that an hour ago".

he sighed, "just. just give me a second".

you stood up, not out of anger, just frustration, you walked over to him and stood behind his back, wrapping your hands around his shoulders, you leaned down and gave him a little peck on his cheek.

"Please? stop working for just a moment? For me?".

Leon sighed again, and with a faint smile on his face which betrayed his small reluctant groan he said, "alright, alright. you win".

feeling triumphant, you held his hand and guided him over to the couch, where you both then sat down.

you tugged leon's arm gently, he looked over at you, with an expecting glance.

"will you...lie down for a bit?..head on my lap?".

he looked as if you'd asked him to hand over a weapon, his eyes went slightly wide and he asked, "What?".

you persisted, "c'mon... babe just do it, I'm not going to hurt you now, am i?".

Leon stared at you for a long second, like he was waiting for a punchline, like he was expecting you to tell him it was just a joke.

But then, he moved. slow, unsure, like he was stepping into an unknown territory. he rested his head on your lap, his body was stiff at first, like a coiled spring.

"Why are we doing this?". he asked, his eyes flickering over to yours.

"Because I want to, because you need it". you replied. "Even if you don't want to admit it".

Leon sighed yet again, he spoke in a low voice, "you think I'm pushing you away, I'm not, it's just- you cut him off before he could finish.

"Shh, quiet. you don't have to explain anything. I just need you to let go of everything, just for a moment. Just breathe".

At first he stayed rigid, shoulders stiff as if he was bracing for impact, you didn't push, nor used any force. You gently moved your fingertips across his soft, blonde hair. pushing away all the strands from his face, massaging his scalp and forehead ever so lightly, like a pleasant breeze stroking his face.

And then little by little, he began to melt right into your touch.

His eyes closed, his breathing deepened, it was almost as if he didn't know how to react, and how would he? He wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to anything like this at all. It was like his resistance was breaking off into something new, layer by layer. His brows knitted and he parted his lips slightly to breathe away that heavy feeling that resided in his chest.

"I...I don't know how to do this, y/n". he finally spoke, voice so low you could've almost missed it.

"I've... spent so long trying not to feel anything, this... this just feels so wrong..... I hate it... I hate that i need it".

he said your name, but nothing came out after.

you felt his chest rise sharply, you knew he was holding it back. he was holding back everything.

"I... I don't know how to need someone.." he continued in a strained whisper.

you leaned down and kissed his mouth, "You don't have to be anything here, not with me. you just have to be". you said.

He turned his face into your lap, he was trying to hide it. but you could feel his shoulders shaking, silent tears soaking the fabric of your clothes.

you held him tighter, slightly cradled him, but didn't say a word, you knew just holding him right now was the only thing he needed.

after a while, he sat up slowly, eyes still glassy but he wasn't trying to hide it. he stared at you, like you were the only thing in his life that had ever made sense.

like he didn't know how he got so lucky.

"I'm sorry". he murmured under his breath.

"Don't be". you cupped his face and wiped away a tear with your thumb "You're human, and that's what I ever need you to be".

He leaned forward and kissed you, like he meant it, like if he didn't do this the world was gonna fall apart, like there was finally something in his chest that was lifted off.

and then, without a word, he reached for his coffee cup, and took a sip.

"It's cold"., he said softly.

You smiled, "want me to heat it up?".

"No, don't go anywhere, just stay with me, you've made it, it's still perfect".

You smile once again, "I'm not going anywhere, I'll be right here".

[drabbles-mc]

Invisible Silver Linings (3/7)

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x F!Reader

Series Warnings: 18+, Thunderbolts* spoilers, language, angst, mentions of scars, mentions of self-harm/suicidal ideations

Summary: You signed on to become part of a study when you realized that you didn't have anything left to lose. What harm could it really do? How much worse could it really get? ... You didn't expect to get answers to those questions. You also didn't expect to meet Bob. You'd end up thankful for at least one of those things.

Chapter Index

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: sometimes sketchy labs are an ideal setting. not for the characters but for the writers and readers lmao. hope you enjoy!

The lights weren’t even cranked all the way back up yet when you were woken up next. Instead of Bob grabbing you by the arm, it was some strange guy in a white lab coat instead. His arm hooked underneath yours, leveraging to start picking you up off the ground without bothering to try and properly wake you up first. You thrashed, tried to jerk away while you were still in your sleepy haze and not quite aware of what was happening.

You were already dragged halfway to your feet when everything came into focus and your brain caught up with what was going on. When all the pieces clicked into place, you stopped fighting quite so hard, but you still weren't happy about how they were handling it. The place hadn't ever been hospitality central, but still.

There was a snarky comment on the tip of your tongue right up until you saw that they were hauling Bob to his feet too. Fear was layered on top of the exhaustion on his face as he flailed around not unlike how you had been just a few moments before. Someone else in a matching lab coat had a hold on one of his arms, but as he continued to twist and pull against them, a third person started approaching to restrain him further.

“Bob, hey,” you said in a loud whisper, trying to get his attention but not add to the scene that was unraveling during precious sleeping hours. “Hey!”

He stopped fighting, stopped moving completely. Turning to look in the direction of your voice, some of the tension in his body went away when he found you standing there staring at him. It wasn't the type of situation where a smile was necessarily appropriate, but you tried to have a reassuring look on your face as the two of you continued to stare at each other. It worked—they didn't try to restrain him from both sides.

“We're up,” you said quietly, nodding with more certainty than you had any right to. It wasn't as though you truly had idea about what was coming next, but whatever it was surely must beat sitting in the world’s most liminal waiting room.

“We're up?” he parroted back. There was no chance of him hiding whatever he was feeling, not with eyes like that. His confusion was visible, palpable.

Nodding, you said, “Yeah. And you didn’t even have to wait that long. So, you know, you're welcome.”

It got a small, weak smile out of him. “Thanks.”

You saw that he was about to say something else, but before he could, the two of you were being shoved through the room towards the exit doors. Bob was in front of you, and every few steps, when he wasn't looking down at his feet trying to make sure he wasn't going to step on anyone, he was trying to look back over his shoulder at you. One day, when the two of you got out and were done with this mess, you'd have to get around to asking him how he ended up in a place like this.

If. If the two of you got out.

You hadn't given too much thought to what the other side of the doors was going to look like, but it was a little bit of a letdown anyway. With all the secrecy and strangeness happening, you had been hoping for more than just a blank, concrete hallway. Still no windows. Peering around Bob, you could see that at the end of the hallway, it teed off in two directions. There was no signage, and you supposed that was on purpose. Need to know basis and you apparently weren't the ones that needed to know.

As you approached the end of the hall, the man holding onto your arm pulled you off to the side, and it was then that you realized that you and Bob were being split up. At least for now, but if you were being realistic it was probably for good. As far as final interactions went, you supposed you could've had a far worse send-off than meeting him. One of the last faces you saw being a kind one was something to be thankful for.

Bob didn't seem like the type who needed assistance in thinking scary thoughts, so you kept your feelings of finality to yourself. As they were getting ready to push you in your opposite directions, you called out to him, “See you on the other side!”

He looked sad and hopeful all at once. “See you on the other side.”

At first you were just being poked and prodded. Blood samples taken. Hair samples taken. They threw you on a scale and then sent you through machines that scanned you for things that you couldn’t even try to take a guess at. It was the first time anyone had asked you any real questions about yourself, your medical history and things like that. The types of questions you thought they should've asked you before whisking you away off the street and setting you up here, but you weren’t a scientist nor were you a doctor, so who were you to judge?

They tossed you on a treadmill for a little while. Then they had you do some other fitness and strength-related tests that had you feeling like you were back in high school all over again. Only instead of classmates watching you and mocking you, they were just a bunch of men and women in white coats with glasses and clipboards taking notes on you. None of their expressions gave anything away. They didn’t seem pleased, but they also didn’t seem disappointed. You were just pissed that they were having you work up a sweat in the one pair of standard issue scrubs/pajamas/uniform that they gave everybody.

One test after another. You had no idea how long any of it was really taking you. As you were ushered from one station to the next, you wanted to ask the people working there if the lack of windows and clocks ever fucked with their heads the way that it seemed to be doing with yours. Maybe it was on purpose. They were probably allowed to have watches or phones so they didn’t completely lose touch with reality.

You also found it strange that you didn’t seem to come across anyone else. They'd separated you and Bob, so you hadn't been expecting to see him. But they had taken so many other people even just in the short time that you had been there. The fact that you saw no trace of any of them was getting more and more worrisome the more that time went on.

At one point they brought you into a room that was completely empty with the exception of a large medical chair in the middle, with a small desk and rolling chair tucked off the to the side that had a computer on top of it. Hanging off the headrest of the chair was a mesh helmet that had too many cords coming off of it for you to count. It took no time at all to figure out where you would be sitting, and where the scientist who walked in with you would be sitting.

She gestured to the chair. “Have a seat.”

You chuckled. “Like I’ve got a choice, right?”

“You're welcome to leave the trial at any time,” she said, her voice neutral in a way that you knew was rehearsed. They all probably had scripts that they had to follow.

“Yeah? I tell you I want out, you'll just guide me back through the rat maze and pop me back out onto the street?”

She tilted her head, hugging her clipboard closer to her chest. “Do you want out?”

A nice way of answering your question that didn’t do anything to answer your question. “No.”

She nodded. “Have a seat.”

There was nothing else to do but exactly what you'd been told. She got the mesh helmet on your head and reclined the seat until you were laying almost completely flat. You watched as the woman went over to the computer and started clacking away on the keyboard. It was too far away for you to see what she was doing, but you could feel the light pulsating sensation from the mesh wrapped around your head.

She spun around in her rolling chair so that she was facing you. Clipboard resting in her lap, she said, “I'm going to have you close your eyes while I ask you a few questions.”

“About?”

“We're tracking levels of brain activity in regards to different topics and scenarios.”

“Morality test,” you said knowingly. A bit presumptuous on your part, maybe, but it was the only thing that really made sense. They'd tested your physical wellness, now they were going to test your psyche.

She shook her head. “We're learning a baseline for each test subject at the start. We'll revisit as time goes on to document any shifts.”

You had already established that you weren't going to leave, so you settled back into the chair and did as you were told. Closing your eyes, you folded your hands over your stomach and waited for the first question. It was hard to think about anything but the electric thrumming that was encapsulating your skull, but once you had something else to think about, you were sure it was going to become more manageable.

The next thing you knew you were waking up on a cot in a small room by yourself.

The thrumming that you last remembered had been replaced by a throbbing sensation that managed to radiate into every nook and cranny of your brain. Shutting your eyes again, you pressed your fingertips against your temples and tried to massage the pain away. The sensation went too deep for it to  be effective, so instead you opened up your eyes and tried to get a better look at the room you were in.

Comparing it to a jail cell would've been dramatic. But it wasn't quite as nice as a hospital room. At least there was a real bathroom, not just a toilet tossed into a random corner. You were still completely walled off from everyone and everything else, though. The door was made of the same steel-like material that the other walls of your room were. Just like the waiting area, there wasn't much in your room other than your bed. There was a small shelf that had a couple books on it, but that was all.

Aside from the headache that was worse than any hangover you could remember, you felt physically fine. A little tired, a little sore from all the physical tests they'd had you do. But you didn’t feel any sort of way that would have you thinking they shot you up with something after you passed out. You wondered if that was on purpose. Or maybe you'd failed part of the test that you didn’t remember taking and now they put you here because they weren't going to release you.

All that and you still had no fucking clue what time it was. How long had you been unconscious? How many days had gone by throughout this whole mess?

No good was going to come from sitting and staring at the thin, scratchy blanket that was covering your legs. Forcing yourself to stand up, you started to pace around your room. You just wanted to know what time it was, what day it was. It was funny, really, because it wasn't as though you had anything pressing to return to. It was the principle of it, though. You wondered what other tests were going to come next. When were they going to start giving you whatever drugs they promised would make life seem more worth living?

Marvel Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added!): @garbinge @late-to-the-party-81 @blackhawkfanatic @mommymilkers0526 @villainfan

@i-heart-marvel @katt58 @foreverchangingmind @ioonatv @wildtigerlili

@darkwhisperswolf @awesomenessfeet @qardasngan

[rex-rambles]

HEY BADDIE!! Asking for a friend if you’ll maybe potentially ever write a Lando soulmate au as well?? 🥹🥹 I’m loving the soulmate universe 🥀🥀

Hello!! It has taken me so long to figure out what I want to do for Lando's soulmate trait (same with Charles) but I have something in the works...no promises of when I'm getting this one out, but here's a sneak peek!

When you turned eighteen, nothing obvious had changed. Your family had stayed up to see the clock strike midnight, to see what soulmate trait you'd get, carrying on the tradition of colour-blindness, or maybe a timer, like your cousin had gotten.

Instead, you saw no change, no secret mark appearing on your skin.

You just felt disappointed, and somewhere in the universe, in yourself, the feeling of disappointment returned to you.

It was always hard to explain that you could feel the same emotion as your soulmate, but from that day forward, you were incredibly attuned to whatever your soulmate was feeling. Alongside your own, everyday experiences was a different soul tucked into your heart, at the back of your consciousness, morphing and changing to a life you'd never seen.

Joy was the most obvious feeling, the most easily translatable to others. It was a smile that bubbled up out of nowhere, so pure and so soft that it wrapped around you and never wanted to leave. Anger was short bursts of frustration or deep, blinding things, a rage that lasted a week before it began to simmer.

If someone were to ask, now, what your soulmate was experiencing, you think it might be frustration, some kind of annoyance directed out into the world, and through you. And, while you couldn't help but be annoyed alongside them, it didn't stop the joy that emanated from you, because you had a soulmate, and you knew exactly how to make them feel better.

-

“No soulmate trait?” Oscar asks, and Lando hums over a ridiculously large bowl of salad.

“It makes no sense!” He answers, stabbing at the lettuce in front of him with a vengeance. “Like not a mark, no colour changing shit, just…nothing. I think it’s one of those things where you have to touch people to know.” 

“So that’s why you’re so clingy,” Oscar answers sympathetically, and Lando takes a crouton and throws it at him.

Then, just as soon as Lando begins to feel genuinely resentful, a soft wave of calm comes over him. He had joked, once, that his heart and his brain were capable of feeling two different emotions at once. Sometimes, he was furious, but in his heart, he knew he would be fine. Othertimes, his heart was just so happy for no reason. No one really understood what he was talking about, but Lando didn't mind. He was rather proud of his emotional intelligence, being able to decipher what he was really feeling under the surface. He was maturing into a proper adult who could rationalize their thoughts and feelings, but then again, proper adults don't throw croutons in dining halls. “Does your heart ever get happy when your brain is angry?"

“What?” 

“Like I was pissed about the soulmate thing, and now I feel all calm. Like my heart knew I was being stupid.” It was like someone reminding him to breathe, to think of the better alternatives, like the fact that his soulmate was probably out there, just with a rare trait that would make it all the more worthwhile.

Oscar, unfazed by both the strange question and the crouton, thinks for a moment before speaking. “I think you’re just old enough to know not to be mad about things. Or you have other things to focus on.” 

“Maybe.” Years later, Lando would look back at this moment and bang his head into a table, but in the present, he continues to eat his salad and ponder why no one's investigated the psychology of the heart.

a/n: I really wanted a meet-cute style soulmate trait for Lando, so I'm going to have him being clueless and emotional paired with the reader being super attuned to people's emotions, because let's face it, that boy is clueless and also needs a hug

[scrubbinn]

In Stars and Systems (ISAT AU)

Isabeau 41 days since the King’s defeat

Odile stares at you, waiting for an answer. Her gaze makes you squeamish..

“Well, Isabeau?”

You sigh. Please, Change, anything but this conversation right now.

“Look, I get it, Sif has been acting kind of weird.”

“KIND OF?!”

Woah! You didn't expect Odile to raise her tone like that.

“M'dame! You're gonna wake the whole inn!”

…It's been over a month since Mirabelle froze the king with his own attack. Over a month since you found out your bestest bud in the whole world was stuck in a time loop for a year. Over a month since you… confessed… to him. It makes you feel warm everytime you think about it.

The nurse from Dormont’s house had only recently given the ok for the party to travel. It took a whole month for Sif to finish recovering from the worst craft exhaustion that anyone had ever seen. The first stop on your new journey was traveling to Bambouche to deliver Bonbon back to their sister. Before that, everyone was stuck keeping Sif company while he healed.

NOT THAT YOU HATED IT!! But it was rough, seeing them in that state. Unable to tell you anything that happened and answer any of the questions you had about the time loop or that star person.

You wished you could've been by his side more. He was in rough shape after everything that happened. Not to mention, when he went to give the party's thanks to Loop, you found him passed out in front of the favor tree. No Loop in sight.

That first week was bad, they could barely form sentences. It was a gamble that any food they ate would stay inside him long enough to digest it.

Things started getting strange after that. During the end of the second week, they woke up, panicked, and tried to run away from the house. They only got to the hallway outside their bed before they broke down. You don’t know exactly what happened, so you did your best to reassure him. When they finally calmed down, they looked at you with such sad eyes. It was probably just a nightmare, but something in their face made you worried. It was like they thought you were a ghost or a zombie or something.

The weird stuff kept happening. Some days Sif would be like how you remembered, but other times they'd be distant. Either not saying a single word, or way too bright and cheery. But no matter the mood, they always avoided you…

Then there was tonight's incident. It was the first snowfall of winter. You had to push everyone to walk those extra kilometers to reach the next town, Voiralters. You were all exhausted, and so you thought you'd all go straight to bed as soon as you checked in at the inn's front desk. M’dame Odile, wanted to catch up on some reading in the lobby, instead. That's when she noticed Sif slinking out of the building. She found him lying in the snow, resting. And when she tried to check up on him, reach for him…

She woke you and Mira up soon after. The cut wasn't too serious. Mira healed it perfectly as always, but the fact that Sif was the one responsible, it made it look ten times worse. The party decided on Mira to go out and look for Sif. You wanted to go out and find them but…

“Look! Sif is just under a lot of stress!”

“Isabeau!”

She sighed and regained her composure. “We've all been through a lot. But it's clear Siffrin is hiding something again and not telling us. The way they're acting has made that clear.”

“But… maybe they're just trying to deal with what happened? In their own way? He still hasn't been able to talk much about what happened with the loops. Maybe he just needs more time.”

“Look, even when Siffrin was having a breakdown, and nearly destroyed the whole world… he never attacked us. Even at his lowest point.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“We learned a lot that day. Time craft, Wish craft, time loops and star people. Is it so weird to think there might be a craft to take over someone's mind? Is Siffrin still Siffrin?”

HUH?! “UM, YES? Who would they be otherwise?”

“I don't know Isabeau! That Loop character? This universe god? The King? Does it matter? Something is wrong. They're not acting right! Maybe it’s more subtle than that day, when Siffrin confronted each of us… hurt us… Something has clearly changed. Whatever is wrong, we need to fix it.”

Your body is shaking, you don't know what to say. To convince her. To convince yourself.

Thank change, the sound of the entrance bell ends the conversation. But you see Mira walk inside about to cry.

“Mira! Are you ok? Did you find Sif?”

She shakes her head, dejected.

“I-I'm Sorry Isabeau. I couldn't… I couldn't find them anywhere.”

You felt your throat tighten. Why didn’t you go out with Mira to search………… 

You're not dumb, you've caught on the same things as M'dame Odile. Something is wrong with Siffrin. They weren't acting like themselves. But you didn't want to think about it because… what if was true. What if the one you loved was gone, or they still didn't trust you. After everything, they still couldn't bring themselves to trust you! You are a coward. What was the reason you quit being a defender? Because you wanted to help! Even when everyone else was too scared… You're sure showing them, huh.

Does it matter if it's Siffrin or not? There's someone out in the freezing cold and probably scared out of their mind. You swallow down your fear. Your body moves on its own and the door swings open once more.

Odile looks at you in surprise. “You know it'd be better to wait right. Siffrin isn't so foolish as to spend an entire night out-” 

concern washed over her face. After the few stories Sif did share, none of you really know what they'd do. 

“Perhaps we should wake some of the townsfolk for help?”

“Well…” Mira starts running a bunch of ideas through her head. “I'm sure there'd be a lot of people willing to help. But there'd also be a lot of people who'd get upset.”

Odile smirks, “I think they'll be fine if it's a request from the saviors of Vaugarde.” 

Mira didn't like using the title of savior for anything but it has been useful lately. It’s not like you all had the money to stay at a cozy inn like this.

“You and Isabeau can ask for help, I'll watch over Boniface. I don't exactly do well in the cold.”

“Ok! We'll do our best to find Siffrin! And then I’m going to kick his crabbing butt until he starts talking to us!”

M'dame smirks “Good peptalk.”

You can tell Mira is trying to pump herself up. It's so cool she can push herself like that. Hopefully, it'll be enough inspiration for you too.

You and Mira step out into the night. The cold wind hits you all at once How can Sif handle cold nights like this? Mira looks so comfy in her fluffy overcoat. You really should have bought one yourself, but it was expensive, and you were hoping for an excuse to cuddle up with Sif. You hope you find him soon. 

It's not long before you notice a shade In the darkless snow. It must be blood from when Sif… you push that thought into the back of your mind and continue. The snowfall already hid any footprints they might have made. With their cloak on, it's no wonder Mira couldn't find them. It was only a small town but there were still so many alleys and crevices for someone to hide in.

It's freezing out. The air bites through your clothes. The new snow layer brightens up the night, but it’s still hard to spot any details not illuminated by the street lamps. You've been knocking on any door you can. Some wake, listen to your story, do what they can to help. That good ol’ Vaugarde support is coming in real handy right now. It’s not long before twenty other people are helping you search, with some going to wake up even more. Poor Mira is feeling awful right now involving so many people, she’s doing her best to keep up a brave face. You're only starting to feel confident because of her. Voiralters is only thrice as big as Dormont. This shouldn’t take much longer. You keep telling yourself that, but it doesn’t make it more believable.

Gotta stay positive! Sure, you haven’t seen a single sign of them in an alleyway. No one has found them hiding out in a shed or under a bridge. Just stay positive, at some point a friendly face is going to shout out that they found him. Sure, a lot of the people are looking a little tired. You’re getting tired too. You should have gone to sleep hours ago. No, you can’t think like that! You’ll find Sif! No matter what!

The cold is starting to get to you. You’re feeling dizzy, ears and fingertips hurting. You want to see him again. Your throat is starting to hurt from calling out. The townsfolk all say the same thing, No sign of the savior in darkless clothes. Mira is thinking you should wait until morning before continuing. You curse under your breath each chance you're alone. Cursing at the crabbing cold, the crabbing situation, at anything to keep your mind running.

Think. Think! Where would Sif go to hide? Would they hide next to a house? No, if they wanted to be alone they would avoid any chance of someone hearing them outside. An alleyway? You’ve triple checked all of them… The nearby woods? Where would you even begin to search? But, it is the only place you haven’t searched yet. And Sif should know how dangerous it is. But it's the only place left. You slap your cheeks. This is no time to doubt yourself! You’re Isabeau! If there’s a change Sif is there, you are going to take it! No more hesitation! Sif wouldn’t ever give up, so you can’t either! You won’t leave him behind again!

You're not the biggest fan of forests. Well, the favor trees are neat and all, but you were never the type to go running into the woods when you were a kid. The ground is so uneven. You end up tripping on a branch, and slam your head into a stump. It hurts, but you can't give up. Blood runs down your forehead, not important, gotta find Sif. Thoughts are starting to tell you that it's hopeless, that you should regroup to the others. The back of your mind only has so much space. Do you even know the way back home? You feel all turned around now. It's hard to make out your foot prints. Wait… footprints! They're way too small to be yours. The canopy was doing its best to slow the descending blanket of snow. With that, you see the footprints leading further in… He's there.

You wouldn't have recognized him without the shaking. From your distance and light, he would have looked like a lump of snow and some moss. But they were shivering. No? Getting closer, you see he's, hyperventilating.

Before you can get closer, he snaps his attention towards you and jumps back. they're getting ready to run. Your mind is, confused. Trying to process so many things at once. Thoughts are fighting each other to swim to the surface, and, the one that comes to mind first is… that you're tired. Your body gives out on its own and you sit down on the snowy floor. Things are a lot clearer now that you're not running everywhere. Sif’s eye is so wide. He looks like a scared prey animal ready to dart away or attack.

“Oh I get it. You were scared when M'dame Odile was checking up on you. Jeez Sif, way to scare everyone like that.”

Sif looked confused. Poor thing. This is just like those times you've needed to coax a cat out of a tree or ditch.

“Oh! How about we try doing a breathing exercise! That usually helps right? Here follow my lead. Breath in…”

Sif seems to relax a bit as they follow your lead. How long were you supposed to hold your breath again? Now is a good a time as any.

“And out!”

They've calmed down a bit, you think. They're looking at you with caution but curiosity as well.

Be reeeal nice if you had some of Bonbon's snacks right now.

“...Sif, we're all worried about you right now. I mean what you did tonight, and how you've been acting the past month. It's clear there's something you're hiding from us.”

Sif raises their guard again. Moonlight bounces off their dagger.

“But, we won't force you to tell us.”

That eases their stance, and also seems to confuse them. You're starting to get a bit uncomfortable by how one sided this has been.

“I mean, unless it starts ending the world again and then you'll have to talk, but like, take your time bud!”

….

“...”

What would Sif do?

“Ok, let's try easing the tension. Tell me if you've heard this one before. What's the best pace to carve something?”

“..?”

“Whittle by whittle!”

“...pfft”

You can't help but smile as Sif tries to stifle his laughter. Yes! Yes!

you're not sure how long you spend, telling puns out in the freezing cold. The others are probably worrying about you by now, and you should definitely get this head injury checked. But… It's nice.  With enough patience, Siffrin begins to creep closer before collapsing near you. Finally feeling safe again.

You let out the sigh of tension you've been holding all night. It's nearly daybreak. It won't be hard to find your way back. You look down at your sleeping companion and get ready to carry them back. You have to accept it now.

This isn't Sif.

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

Hi! to everyone who follows us. I hope you won't mind us working on this project. ISAT has meant a lot to us over these past couple of years and we wanted to contribute our own story to it's beautiful community. So we hope you'll stick around to enjoy it.

And to everyone who's new and found us through a search or tags. Thank you for reading. Just the fact you read our story means the world to us. We hope you'll stick around to read more.

[written-in-knife]

Hi could I request headcanons for leona, malleus, ruggie,jamil and trey with a fem reader that's actually from their world (not yuu) and some years prior she was given a sort of blessing from someone that gives her like rapid regeneration so if she's hurt bad she heals almost same day BUT the catch being she's never told the boys this fact so maybe like one day they go somewhere or are in town and perhaps an animal or little kid is nearly hit by a car but she rushed out and grabbed them but ends up being run over instead. She's unconscious and injured for a moment but then slowly gets back up mostly fine and dandy

(This is so extra and specific sorry but thanks if you do write this🫶)

Blessed

Trey, Ruggie, Leona, Jamil, Malleus

Written with the idea of fem!reader, can be read as any gender, literal hurt/comfort, swearing, still pretty fluffy though

tw: graphic descriptions of injuries, getting hit by cars, and hit and runs

average 500 words per character

pt.1 :: pt.2

Don't be sorry, I love extra and specific! And, as we're already aware, I also love getting carried away with prompts lmaoo Side note, do y'all get notified when I post under your ask or should I start tagging the people who make requests?

Trey Clover

The two of you had gone to town to try out something, anything from that famous patisserie. You'd been trying to get something from there the last few months, always just missing it by two or three people in line. The last time the two of you had tried, Trey was actually the one they told that they were sold out. You agreed that you just had to go a little earlier, then there was no way you'd miss out. So, hand in hand, you and Trey left the campus at four in the morning, still not fully awake but determined to succeed this time. It wasn't a short walk to get to town, let alone the patisserie, but with it being so early in the morning you at least didn't have to worry about other people hindering your progress.

You were a few blocks out from finally getting to taste that greatness again, the sun barely kissing the horizon, when a cat darted out from an alley just ahead of you. Trey chuckled as it startled you, still too tired to expect the unexpected. You stopped to watch the cat for a second as it trotted into the road. If you hadn't been watching the cat, you wouldn't have seen the truck, headlights off and speeding down the street. You only thought about it for half a second before you let go of Trey's hand and sprinted towards the cat, not stopping when he shouted your name in panic. You scooped up the cat, protecting it with your body as the car impacted your back, and Trey watched as you disappeared underneath for a moment. The truck sped off, as if they had only hit a bump in the road, as Trey ran to you. He carefully flipped you over, the cat wiggling free of your arms and running off unharmed. His hands were shaking as he started a healing spell, trying to ignore how much blood there already was on the road, he had to try, you couldn't just... He had to try. He was surprised by how fast the healing spell was working, his own terror leading him to believe that he was just doing a really good job before your eyes shot open again. He stopped his spell, but your wounds kept closing, bones kept setting. You sat up with a groan, spitting out a few pebbles as you went.

"Is the cat okay...?" You asked groggily.

Trey just stared for a moment before he broke into laughter, tears of relief streaming down his face as he lunged forward to hold you in his arms. "Yeah... it's okay, sweetheart."

Ruggie Bucchi

The two of you went into town fairly often for dates. Specifically, you went to get free food. You were running out of places to run the scam, but how it would work is the two of you would go into separate restaurants, and sit there for awhile pretending that you were getting stood up. A good 80% of the time, the waitstaff would feel bad and comp your meals or give you a free dessert, you would ask for to go containers, then meet up on the beach for a picnic. Sometimes the picnic would only be two little cakes, but occasionally, you had full meals to share with each other.

Ruggie was waiting in the usual spot meet up spot, away from the restaurants. He'd managed to score one of your favorite pasta dishes from his half of the endeavor, and as you approached the opposite side of the street, he could see a smaller to go box in your hands. Dessert still meant it worked. He grinned at you as you waved for him, checking for cars. You swore you looked both ways, could've sworn there was no one coming. It happened so fast. One second you were jogging towards him, the next he was watching as you bounced along down the road, tires still squealing. You'd barely skidded to a stop when he made a break for you, dropping the box in his hands as he rushed to get to you. The second he dropped to his knees next to your broken body, the car backed up, then sped around the two of you to leave.

"HEY!" Ruggie shouted after it to no avail, whoever it was had no intention of sticking around, and he couldn't afford to go chasing after it. "Motherfucker...!"

He turned his focus back to you, hands hovering over the obviously broken bones and serious road rash and cuts that were oozing blood with every heartbeat, not wanting to hurt you. He had caught himself in a loop of thinking about picking you up off the road and not wanting to move you just in case, wanting to start a healing spell and thinking he should wait for professionals. He'd just dug his phone out when he heard a popping sound, then a groan, looking down to see your twisted limbs pulling themselves back together. He stared in awe, and a little horror, as your wounds began to close. Little rocks spitting themselves out of your road rash as you sat up, rubbing your back and looking like you were just uncomfortable and mildly inconvenienced. Then your head shot around, back to where you were initially hit, whining when you saw your to go box, partially ran over and spilled open on the pavement.

"Dammit," you grumbled as you yanked on your arm to guide your shoulder back into its socket, "they gave me that good cheesecake too!"

Ruggie just stared for a moment in disbelief before shouting, "YOU WERE JUST HIT BY A CAR AND THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE CONCERNED ABOUT?!"

"Yeah! It was the good caramel one from over by the docks!"

He sighed heavily, reaching forward to pull you into his arms. "We gotta talk about your priorities..."

Leona Kingscholar

It wasn't often that you were able to drag Leona off school grounds, you were lucky he couldn't say no to your professional pathetic puppy dog eyes. You were going to see a showing in the theater of a movie you'd adored as a kid, insisting to him that it was different to see it in the theater when he offered to just pick up a copy of it for you. He'd grumbled about it at first, but he actually stayed awake through the whole thing, even seeming to enjoy it by the end. You teased him about it a little as the two of you walked out of the theater, reveling in the way he smirked and pushed your face away from him to hide it.

Leona had his arm wrapped around your shoulders while you chatted about the movie, heading for the crosswalk when you heard a commotion behind you. Two kids, no older than eight, were coming out of the theater with their mom. The older of the two must've tripped, scraping his knee, and was crying on the sidewalk, the younger-- little, no older than five-- was laughing at his brother as he jumped up and down. Their mom's attention was focused on the injured boy as you heard the other yell that he would race them to the car. It was cute. You and Leona stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, when you saw movement out of the corner of your eye. You turned just in time to see the little boy darting out into the road, just far enough from you to avoid your initial grab. It didn't take much to extract yourself from Leona's hold and spring forward, Leona snapping your name as you ran after the boy and into oncoming traffic. And it was oncoming. You managed to snatch the boy by the collar just in front of a car that had already slammed on the brakes but was far too close, spinning to toss him back the way he came. The boy slammed into Leona's legs just as the car hit you, sending you flying into the intersection. He'd heard your bones snap when you were hit, he knew you weren't okay, face down in the middle of the intersection. But first...

He grabbed the boy by the collar you'd pulled to save him, pulling him to his feet and crouching down to his level, glaring daggers into his crying face. "Get back to your mother." He growled low in his chest. "Now!"

The boy wailed as he sprinted back towards the theater, but Leona didn't give him a second glance as he ran to you. The owner of the car was already there, on the phone with the emergency services, and was unceremoniously shoved out of the way when Leona approached. He knelt next to you, running a hand lightly over your hair as he took note of everything that was broken. Too much. Anything was too much in his eyes when it came to you. He didn't like that he could see your leg bone, he didn't like that he could smell the overwhelming iron of your blood on the sun baked pavement, he didn't like how little you were moving.

"You'll be alright." He muttered, leaning down to your ear, unsure if he was reassuring himself or you.

"Yeah, give it a second." You agreed, making him snap back upright as he wasn't expecting a response, let alone one that sounded so nonchalant.

While he was reeling from his own whiplash, he could hear the creaking and popping as your bones slid back into place, and he grimaced as he watched your exposed leg bone slide back under your skin. Then your skin began to pull closed, intense injuries disappearing in mere moments until all that was left were pink scars and the damage to your clothes. You sat back up, shaking your arms out and grabbing your jaw, popping it back into place like it happened every day. Once you looked like nothing had happened, Leona reached over and swatted you upside the head.

"The fuck was that?!" He snapped as you rubbed at the spot he hit.

"What, was I supposed to let the kid get hit by the car?" You shot back with a smirk.

He growled, but said nothing, rolling his eyes as he sat back on his hands. You could see the relief in his posture, even if he didn't express it with words. Good luck trying to get him to come to town again.

Jamil Viper

Jamil needed a day off, even if he wouldn't admit it. You bribed some Scarabia members to watch after Kalim for one evening, making sure he didn't die while you stole Jamil away for a date night in town. He griped about it at first, of course, worried Kalim would do something stupid while he was gone. But it was just a few hours with his favorite person, he could put Kalim on a back burner for once. The two of you had been talking about trying a new restaurant in town that served dishes from the Scalding Sands, and you were excited to see if they could match up to Jamil.

You were laughing as you left the restaurant, Jamil holding your hand and giving you his honest critic as you headed back towards the campus. "It was fine," immediately followed by everything they did wrong in a brutally honest fashion, ending with "but it was fine." You knew he was embellishing for your sake, he liked to find ways to make you laugh. You squeezed his hand, telling him that next time you'd stick to tried and tested places. He liked the idea of next time, especially with the usual daily chaos so far away. Not wanting to head back just yet, he pulled you along a different route, explaining that he'd heard about an ice cream parlor nearby that might make up for the dinner. You knew the real reason, but just followed along with a smile.

You were crossing the street when someone blew a red light, the car barrelling towards the two of you. You didn't think, you just shoved Jamil out of the way before the impact. He didn't see it happen, having tumbled to the ground when you shoved him. When he looked back, the car was nowhere to be seen, and you were a little further up the road laying motionless. He was quick to pull himself back up, nearly tripping over his feet as he made his way over to you. You must've gone under the wheels, both legs crushed in a way that nearly made him sick. He dug his shaking fingers into the fabric of your shirt, resisting the urge to pull you up and into his lap. He knew plenty of healing spells, he had to with his lifestyle. Why couldn't he remember any of them? He bit his tongue to bleeding as he just sat there, silent tears dripping off his face. He felt like he couldn't move, not that he wanted to. Then you did. It was slow at first, if he didn't have his hands on your torso, he wouldn't have noticed the way your ribs slotted back into place. Still frozen, he watched as your legs squirmed unnaturally, listening to you groan in discomfort as the crushed areas reformed. You still had some blood on your face as you pushed yourself back up, giving him a worried look as he let go of your shirt in a daze.

"Jamil, are you okay?" You asked quickly, twisting around to face him fully, cupping his cheeks as gently as you could. "Are you hurt?"

He didn't move. For a lot longer than you maybe should have, the two of you sat in the road as you checked him over for injuries. Finding none but the light scrapes on his arms, you focused back on his face.

"Never do that again." He finally muttered, grabbing your arms and holding on like you were about to disappear. "Don't ever do that again."

Malleus Draconia

Malleus had always been able to sense some sort of blessing on you. It wasn't uncommon for members of Diasomnia to be blessed by the fae before arriving at NRC, so he never thought to ask about it. Looking back, maybe he should have.

He wasn't with you when it happened. It never would've happened in the first place if he'd been there. Lilia got a call from one of your friends saying that you'd been hit by a car in town, and that Malleus needed to get there as fast as he could. He was gone the second Lilia finished telling him where you were. He only got to see your broken body laying in the road for the briefest moment before your eyes shot open and you sat up, your friend screaming in terror. It didn't take him long to connect the dots as he approached you, watching as you maneuvered your broken arm back into the correct position for the bones to reattach, large wounds from sliding along the road already starting to stitch themselves closed before his eyes. A blessing of protection, then... He sighed heavily in relief before crouching down next to you.

"Are you alright, beloved?" He asked with a small smile as you cracked your neck with a satisfied groan.

"I've been better." You huffed, taking his offered hand and letting him help you up. "You don't seem surprised."

"It is no surprise to me that someone would want to bless you. You may want to explain it to your friend, however."

The two of you looked over to your friend, who was still standing there, mouth agape and staring at you in horror. You laughed and squeezed Malleus's hand before going over to them to explain the situation. It was comforting to know someone had blessed you in such a way that you could not be hurt for long, but he knew the sight of you broken in the middle of the road would haunt him for years to come. One more blessing couldn't hurt, right?

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

All Hail

Absolutely not canon, just wanted to write a Bucky x necromancer!reader fic so here it is

One more step. Just one more and it will be yours — the world, the power, everything. The crown that allow you to rule all lies at your feet, waiting to be picked up. Your birthright, the very seat you were raised to take, the very thing you fought so hard against, it's right in front of you. In this moment, you falter. Everything you've done, every bit of progress you've made to become something more than the tyrant you were raised to be, it all comes crumbling down in this crucial moment.

"Y/N?" A voice calls out to you. You blink, shaking away the darkness that has crept in. Turning around, you see Bucky leaning against the wall, blood coating his hair and suit. He gives you a tired smile and you smile back, but it feels hollow. There's something within you that yearns for the crown that's within your reach, a desire you thought you'd banished forever. It pulls you away from the man you love, pulls you away from the light you've so desperately tried to reach for and your heart follows in its direction despite every fiber of your body screaming in protest.

Your fingers brush against the metal of the crown, feeling the whispers in your head getting stronger with every second your skin is in contact with the crown of what was once your destiny. You swallow hard, the beating of your heart getting louder with each passing moment. It's tantalising, the thought of having the world in the palm of your hand, and the voices whisper of the power you can wield with one simple action — picking the crown up.

You need this power to protect the ones you love. You need this power to protect Bucky. The darkness hisses poison disguised as honey into your ear and you know its true nature, but the call is difficult to resist. Blood trickles down your forearm from the deep gash you sustained during the exhausting fight and you remember the helplessness that rooted you to the ground as you watched Bucky hit the wall with a loud crunch, fresh blood blooming from his head. You remember the scream that tore from your throat, the cry of a weakling who couldn't do anything to stop the one they loved from getting hurt. You remember the white hot pain that tore through your body as it was severed open, black tendrils barely holding the pieces together.

Maybe you do need this power after all.

The pitch black gem set in the crown gleams, beckoning you closer and you feel your fingers curl around the metal band. Muffled voices echo in your ears but the darkness drowns them all out. The only thing that matters is the power that is so near yet so far, the power that promises to destroy all your weaknesses.

"Y/N!" His voice cuts through the darkening haze, pulling you towards the surface. Your heart aches, an invisible force tugging you towards him but the pull of the crown is stronger. Your hand lifts the metal band up, its weight both heavy and light at the same time. The embedded black gem glows, its low hum drowning out the shouts that are increasing in volume as the crown nears your head, and then the shouts just stop. It's pure unadulterated silence, and you've never felt this serene.

The crown sits on your head snugly, as though it was always meant to be there. Black tendrils coil around your arms, sinking into your flesh like tattoos inked into your skin. Power thrums within you, begging to be released and you let it, watching as the room is enveloped in a comforting darkness.

"Y/N, you don't have to do this." Bucky's voice is filled with desperation. He reaches out a bloody hand towards you, a pleading look in his gentle blue eyes but your heart has grown as hard as rock, and your heartstrings can no longer be tugged. Power must be obtained, or you'll never be able to protect the ones you love. The fight today has shown you that much. You're weak, and the weak can do nothing in the face of the strong.

You sigh, closing your eyes before turning to face the throne before you. When you open your eyes, the throne shimmers, drawing you nearer and you take a step towards it.

"Please, Y/N. You don't need the crown, just come back home with me." Bucky staggers forward, wincing as his wounds get stretched. "I need you."

His words leave in a whisper so soft it's meant for your ears only. Pathetic, avoice hisses in your head in response. How he reeks of desperation. Leave him, you don't need weaklings like him in your kingdom.

Your lips curl and you walk towards the throne, running your fingers along the armrest. Power thrums again beneath your skin and you sit on the seat of power with a swirl of your cloak, your destiny fulfilled. You raise your hand and clench it into a fist, calling upon hoards of the dead, your powers amplified by the crown that sits atop your head. They emerge from the black liquid pooling on the floor and you feel the presence of each and every single one of them in your veins.

The others, the ones you once called friends gasp in horror, pulling into a tight circle as they watch your minions surround them. Bucky pushes the one closest to him aside, hoarsely calling out your name but you pay him no heed. He doesn't understand, he doesn't get how it feels to be weak, to be helpless, and have the opportunity to be strong fall into his lap.

This. Feels right. You feel the power surging within you thanks to the crown, your birthright claimed. They were right, you were meant to sit the throne of shadows, rule the realm of the fallen, be the necromancer that stood above even the gods themselves. This is your destiny, no matter how hard you try to run from it, for it is only by walking this path that you can gain the power you need.

He doesn't understand, he can't appreciate how you're doing all this for him, the voice hisses again. How blind can he be? Kill them all before they can strip this power from you!

"Leave." It's a command, one that echoes through the halls that now belong to you. Its previous occupant stands as one of your soldiers, completely under your control. This is what befalls the weak, the strong are bowed to and you will be the strong. Never again will you bow and scrape, watch in helpless terror as the ones you swore to protect fall before you.

"Y/N we —"

"I said leave. Do not make me repeat myself." You barely recognise the voice that leaves your lips anymore. Its cold, devoid of emotion.

Dead just like the horde you command.

"No, I'm not leaving you behind." Bucky reaches out to you. "I made a promise to you and —"

"I have no need of that promise. The past me who was weak might have needed it, but now? Now I have everything I need, I care not for that promise." With a wave of your hand the black tide swallows the group up, transporting them out of your castle in the blink of an eye. They will simply get in your way when you reunite the broken kingdom, and you can't afford to let that happen. As much as they're pathetic weaklings, you don't want to have to kill them. The best way to ensure that is to push them out of your life until you've reclaimed it all.

You shake the nagging feeling stirring in your chest away and turn your attention to the next item on your agenda. It's time to summon the lords of the land, the lords who have been playing ruler for far too long. You will leash them, bind them to your service for all eternity as is your rightful claim. Then you will set your sights on the others who dare threaten the ones you love, and you will make them submit. They will all bow to you and become one with the darkness where they can no longer harm your loved ones, that you vow.

Your neck begins to itch and you reach up to scratch it. Strange, the piece of metal that once meant so much to you now no longer has any meaning. Your fist closes around it and black tendrils coil around your clenched fist, absorbing the object. All trace of the old you is gone now, and the new you who will stand above them all takes its place.

Hail to the one who wears the crown of death.