#I am feel all sorts of stuck which is why I feel like I’m taking the ts aw breakup a little too personally too like ouchie am I looking

[placeinthisworld]

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[earthtooz]

OMG IM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH FOR FAKE PT.2 I LOVED PT 1 SM I LOVE YOU SM EHEHEH

𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ─ when the reader receives hate ! pt 1

includes: reo mikage, michael kaiser, isagi yoichi

warnings: gn!reader, they/them prns in kaiser + isagi, 2k+ wc for reo, 1.6k for kaiser and 1k for isagi, ooc!characters, borderline panic attack in reo's, hate and negative comments, happy endings for all, let me know if i'm missing any warnings, bad wriitng LOL

a/n: ask and u shall receive ! bro why is the cover image so low quality i can't be assed to fix it - ANYWAYS ENJOY ANON !!!

MIKAGE REO:

if there’s one thing reo is used to, it’s the amount of eyes constantly surveying his every move. there is not one aspect of his life that hasn’t been intruded by the amount of aristocratic families wondering how he’s doing. reo’s quite fed up with it himself. 

but of course, if there’s one thing dating reo mikage entails, it’s having those same eyes scrutinising your every move even harder- a fact you accepted before he asked you to be his. a fact you were starting to get used to.

despite all the glamourised smiles and ambiguous compliments of your relationship, there will always be some who aren’t afraid to voice their opinions.

which, is how you got stuck talking to some ceo’s daughter at a gala you were attending as reo’s plus one. 

“i’m not trying to be mean or anything, just honest,” she says with a particular slice of her hands, flaunting her expensive nails and jewellery. “but i don’t think you’re right for reo, and i know i am not the only one who thinks that! don’t you think it’s time you stop hogging him and y’know, return him to those who really deserve him?”

something disgusting churns within you at the way she talks of your boyfriend, as if he were some goal; a fish in a sea of hungry fishermen. the statement makes you feel violated, you can’t imagine how reo would feel being talked about like this for his entire life.

“and who might that be?” you counter, trying your best to remain calm and not give in to the storm within you.

she flares her nostrils, narrowing her perfectly painted eyes. “look around. take a good glance at the competition.”

“i won’t do that because there is no competition. reo chose me, whether you like it or not,” you firmly place your drink down on the table beside you before pointedly showing her the beautiful promise ring, encrusted with diamonds that reo himself placed on your finger. “besides, if there even was a competition in the first place, i’m afraid you’re all much too late.”

with a final sneer, she turns around with a pointed flick of her healthy, smooth hair before walking away, classy and expensive as ever.

just like everyone around you.

you, on the other hand, find it hard to breathe, and the luxurious fabric of your even more luxurious outfit is clinging to your body. before you even know it, you’re making a run for the exit, slipping past crowds of people and ignoring their looks of curiosity. 

no one would bother to look too long anyways.

you should be proud of how you managed to remain level-headed during that interaction, but you can’t help but give in to her manipulative tactics. you did take a good look of the competition and they all looked like millions upon millions of dollars. they have had their life plan sorted from the very moment of their birth, their destiny handed to them of a silver platter, and although you know to look beyond the materialism and gold, it’s hard to ignore it when you’re surrounded by marble walls and crystal chandeliers.

suddenly feeling like an imposter, you just want to hop in a cab and go home.

bolting through expansive halls with decorative arches and doors to match, you’re almost at the parking lot where the chauffeurs awaited, just a flight of stairs await your descent.

it’s not until a hand catches your wrist that you stop. 

turning around, you find no comfort in the familiarity of reo’s face which was laced with concern and worry. he’s panting, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin, and his hair was all over his face. was he chasing after you?

“y/n! where are you going?” the purple-haired asks, eyebrows furrowing even more as he notices the distressed state you’re in. he grabs both your hands, manoeuvring you to look him square in the eyes. except, it’s so difficult, you’re looking everywhere but at him. “i was calling your name the entire time, did you not hear me?” 

“reo, please, leave me alone,” you request with a shaky voice, trying to get out of his grip with no success.

“i can’t, not when you’re like this,” he protests, “deep breaths, y/n, come back to me.”

a few moments of silence pass by, allowing you to return to your senses as reo holds your hands against his heart, stroking your skin with his thumb. no longer overwhelmed and suffocated by your thoughts, it’s hard to look your boyfriend in the eye, cowering away from his gaze.

“what’s the matter?” he asks gently, pressing a hand against your cheek delicately. it’s warm. you want to melt into him.

“it’s- i, i had a really- you know what, nevermind,” you murmur, shaking your head, turning your back against reo as you pull your hands away from his. 

you miss the expression of heartbreak that appears on his pretty face. 

your cold actions don’t deter him. instead, it makes him more determined to stay by your side, chasing after you even as you descend down the stairs. since your shoes were a lot more complicated than his, the soccer player catches up to you quickly to guide you by the small of your back as he mirrors your pace.

“i want to go home,” you mutter to him once you’re on the ground, trying your best not to collapse under the gaze of so many, surrounded by butlers and chauffeurs.  

he nods with a gentle gaze. “let’s go home then.”

his kindness is not enough to shield you from the scrutiny that bears into you. “no, reo, you should stay, i’ll just catch a taxi home or something.”

he looks at you in pure astonishment, slightly taken back by your weird attitude. 

“but i don’t want to. why would i want to stay if you’re not?” asks the purple-haired. 

opting to remain silent rather than answer, you try to walk towards the main road of the highway, only to be cut off by reo shoving himself in front of you.

“and why would i let you take a cab home?” your purple-haired lover questions, placing both of his hands on his cheeks so you can finally look him in the eye. “y/n, what’s going on? something happened, didn’t it?”

taking both of his hands away from your face, you take a step away; once again missing the look of astonishment and heartbreak that appears on reo’s face. “nothing happened,” you say stubbornly, rubbing your hands against your arms.

“i don’t want to go home if you’re like this, can we please just talk for a little?” he remains behind you, getting the hint that you don’t want to be provoked or touched in any way, even if it’s killing him. the soccer player’s fingers itch with the need to embrace and trace every part of you that you’ll allow, but, for the sake of your fragile state, he doesn’t.

with a small exhale, you agree. it would be unfair for you to leave reo in the dark, continually brushing off his genuine kindness due to some chick that got in your head.

he leads you towards the gardens nearby which were dimly lit, yet still very beautiful. spring was in full season, so you could only catch glimpses of the beautiful flora that aligned the path, but there was no denying that it was still breathtaking. reo walks beside you, synchronising his footsteps with yours.

eventually, you arrive at a fountain in the middle of the garden. where you take a seat on its marble ledge, reo whispers ‘one second’ to you before running off to the bushes where the red roses were. he returns quickly, jogging back to you with a singular flower in his hands. 

“for you, my love,” he declares with a small smile, bowing with an extended hand, expecting you to take his gift.

you readily do, heart warming at his silliness whilst twirling the rose in your fingers. “thank you,” you reply, pressing a kiss to his cheek when he places his hand next to you so he can lean against the fountain for support. 

the promise ring you wear on your finger feels heavier than usual, especially when he smiles fondly at you, a lovesick expression on his face that is no doubt mirrored by you. 

but looking at him, you can’t help but recall the stinging reality that he lived in a world of glamour, decadence, and allure; only doubled by the fame that came with his life as a pro-soccer player. you love reo with your whole being, really, sometimes you fear that your feelings might be a little too much, but loving him with a materialistic barrier in between is difficult. 

the idea of letting him go than stealing him away from the world of mystique feels suddenly a lot kinder.

“reo,” you begin after a few minutes of simply being in each other’s presence. he looks at you with widened eyes and raised eyebrows, directing 100% of his attention towards you. with a deep inhale, you continue.

“do you ever think that… we’re not, meant to be?”

the silence is deafening.

“what do you mean?” he asks with a small stutter of disbelief, “of course we’re meant to be! you’re the one for me- you’re my soulmate!”

usually, when reo says that, it makes your insides gush and flutter, but now it riddles you with guilt and scepticism. “how can you be so sure?”

“y/n,” he sounds so very desperate. reo’s eyes have always been the window to his soul and seeing the way they shine with tears, your chest clenches with an unpleasant feeling. “why are you doubting my love for you?”

his hand goes to your ring finger, playing with the jewellery that you suddenly feel like you don’t deserve.

“you agreed, remember? you agreed to letting me love you forever and loving me in return. i put this ring on you because it’s always going to be you, no matter what circumstance, i’ll always choose you.” 

“but is choosing me the right decision?”

“yes, a thousand times yes, there will never be. anyone. but. you.” reo increases the amount of emphasis he puts into each word, now changing his position so that he stood in front of you, caging you with his build. “can you tell me what happened, beautiful? because something clearly did and soured my gorgeous y/n’s mood.”

the sudden onslaught of compliments, mixed with how close reo was, broke down your resolve easily, crumbling at his feet as you gave in to his gentle demands. 

“i met an unpleasant someone who told me i should give you up for people who deserve you more,” you whisper, throwing your arms around his neck, a gesture of equal affection and possessiveness. 

he hums, seemingly calm but you know better. the furrow of his eyebrows was one of scrutiny and distaste. you’re glad he’s trying to remain subtle, you’ve had enough of emotional responses for one night.

“and who might this unpleasant someone be?”

“i have no idea. she gave me a name but it went in one ear then out the other.”

pressing his face into the junction where your neck and shoulder meet, the soccer player revels at this chance to be close to you. 

“it was probably important though,” you reiterate, “and, well, might be able to benefit you a lot better than i ever can.” 

he scoffs into your skin, causing you to shiver. “no one’s name is as important as mine, my love, and no one can boost it more than what it’s already worth. if anything, those who have me gets the boost, i’m already the best.” 

his (rightfully deserved) cockiness makes you smile ever so slightly as you punch his shoulder. “are you implying i’m a gold digger?”

“well, you didn’t choose me, did you?” asks reo with a raise of his eyebrow. “i begged you to go on a date with me and you only agreed the fourth time i asked.”

the recollection makes a giggle slip past your lips- a sound reo dearly missed as he admires your beauty in the dim lighting of the gardens. he places a fleeting kiss on your neck before looking up at you. 

“of course, everyone else won’t know that and assume,” you point out before leaning in towards his lips, unable to resist him much longer.

“who cares?” he mutters against you before melting against you in a gentle kiss filled with love, reassurance, and promises. “they’re all irrelevant anyways, just a bunch of talkers with nothing to back up their words.”

“then what am i?”

“you’re my future. you’re the one that actually cares about me, more than my money or my soccer skills. remember the first day we met and you told me to get out of the way? back in college?”

“well you were blocking my path. i was running late to my class as well.”

reo chuckles, pulling away from you so there was a little distance between your faces. “never thought i’d want someone so bad just because they didn’t know who i was.”

“then show me,” you say with a little challenge in your tone. “screw the gala, take me home, reo.”

“thought you’d never ask.”

MICHAEL KAISER:

“kaiser gets it in! a miracle shot, just what you’d expect from bastard münchen’s genius striker!” the announcer exclaims as the crowd shoots up in excitement, roaring and buzzing with excitement as the members of germany’s football team all swarm around the blond, cheering and celebrating. 

kaiser participates in the hype, fist bumping his teammates before running back to position, but not without sparing a look at the screen that was displaying the match. no one misses the kiss he blows in the direction of the camera and although the stadium is filled with squeals (from boys, girls, grown ups and children alike), you know something they don’t.

right before the match, kaiser made you promise that each goal of his equated to ten kisses, a deal that you readily accepted and bumped up to twenty as a way of motivating him to take the game home.

that kiss he blew was just a way of solidifying that he was thinking of you and the wink he sent straight after was just making sure you’d keep your promise.

you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world with him. 

as the match progresses, you can tell it’s going to be an easy victory, with all favours towards your lover’s team - kaiser earning another two himself. 

it’s almost scary just how effortlessly he dominates, settling the score at 3-1 for bastard münchen, once again making feats you thought were difficult look effortless. as the whistle blew announcing the end of the game, roars fill the stadium once again and you too, jump up with the crowd to cheer as loudly as you can.

repping his jersey with his name on the back, it just feels too good, especially when you bask in the afterglow of a well deserved victory.

you don’t miss the amount of glances kaiser sends your way, antsy to be able to reach you and spend some time with you because he’d rather have you congratulate him than a bunch of old, white men that just want to sponsor him. they can get in line because you’re his top priority.

you hope he sees you and the heart you make with your arms over your head just for him. 

dawdling out of the stadium always takes forever because of the amount of people that always come to see his game so when over half the people have cleared out, you make your way down to the front row, where your soccer genius boyfriend was waiting for you.

“you were incredible, my love,” you say as a greeting, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, one that he readily returns. you don’t really care that he was sweaty, too overwhelmed by how proud of him you were.

not that your opinions really mattered in the grand scheme of things, but kaiser considered it a great lucky charm, one he holds highly.

“as always,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against your cheek. you giggle at the sensation, smiling widely as he continues. “tell me more about how amazing i was.”

rolling your eyes at his arrogance, you decide to indulge him, just a little. “the best out there, greatest soccer player of all time, and you looked so handsome too, my main character,” you pinch his cheek. “done?”

“not at all,” keens kaiser, smiling at you like a cat.

“get your stuff first and then when we’re home, i’m all yours.”

“i’m holding you to your promise, pretty, that’s sixty kisses from you.”

with a final kiss on the forehead as farewell, you bid him goodbye and watch as he runs off to get changed, joining ness who was waiting for him by the exit. the magenta-haired soccer player waves at you from halfway across the field, a gesture you readily return before turning around to go outside.

passing by the security guards who give you a little nod of acknowledgement, you’re relieved to see that the audience that gathered tonight had gone off into their cars, ready to go home for the night. 

you’re about to go around to where the players exit so kaiser wouldn’t swarmed by a flurry of fans and reporters, until you’re stopped by a hand on the shoulder. the grip wasn’t strong, but demanding enough for you to turn around and greet whoever wanted to talk to you.

it was a pair of teenage girls. they were well-dressed and pampered, but the look they were giving you was less than friendly. somehow, you already knew where this conversation was going.

“can i help you?” you ask, flashing them a smile.

one of them eyes you up and down, judgement very clear in her eyes. you cringe a little. “are you kaiser’s partner?” she asks. 

you nod in affirmation. you hate the sleazy feeling developing in your gut, expanding due to the scrutiny of their gazes. one of the girls nudge the other one in an ‘i told you so’ manner, which is returned with a smirk that is mischievous in kind.

“do you need something from me?” you question, finally letting your astoundment show on your face. really, you just wanted to walk away from this conversation and find kaiser so you could go home.

“yeah, we’re just wondering why, y’know, that he’d choose you.” 

“excuse me?”

“like don’t get us wrong, you’re pretty and all, but we just think that you’re kinda bland for him,” one of them states as the other hums in agreement. 

the audacity. you furrow your eyebrows and stand your ground.

“okay, cool. what do you suggest i do then since you seem to be experts in my relationship.”

“break up with him, duh?”

“and let one of you date him instead?” you scoff. “fat chance.” 

“just give him up, okay? we could love kaiser more than you probably ever could, clout chaser.”

“gold digger!”

now amused more than frustrated, you bite back the laugh that bubbles in your chest. it was entertaining seeing some sixteen year old girls try to tell you that you and your boyfriend (of two years) shouldn’t be together. 

being kaiser’s partner had its downsides sometimes, and it was mostly just the hate you receive for ‘stealing’ him off the market, especially since he was so young, some fans didn’t appreciate that he wasn’t an eligible bachelor. but, you’re used to it. so long as you get to watch him in the spotlight, you don’t really mind the darkness. 

you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “right… are we done here? because this ‘gold digger’ wants to see their partner and congratulate him.”

“what part aren’t you understanding?” one of them asks before the other one completes the sentence. “you and kaiser just don’t look good together!”

before you could answer, a heavy arm drapes itself over your shoulders. “aww, why not?” a familiar voice asks. the two girls in front of you freeze, panic evident on their faces. “what disturbances held you up from seeing me?”

then you see and hear an overload of flashes and camera clicks. kaiser must’ve caught the paparazzi on his way out and you suddenly remember that you left him waiting, feeling slightly guilty when you turn your head to meet his gaze. you wrap your arms around his torso, happier than ever to feel his warmth against your own. 

“what happened here?” kaiser asks, a question directed at you and you only. 

“they were just telling me that they didn’t like that i was a main role in your theatre,” you say, earning an eyebrow raise from your genius boyfriend. “how should we fix that?”

he hums for a moment, meeting the widened eyes of his fans.

“kick them out,” he simply declares before turning around with you still in his arms. you two pass by paparazzi, paying them little mind except from the small smiles you send their way. 

once you’re in a clearer, quieter area, your boyfriend turns to you and embraces you properly, a gesture you return eagerly as he breathes you in.

“what a way to sour such a good victory,” murmurs kaiser, voice muffled by his jersey that you were wearing. “can’t believe i had to play your knight in shining armour instead of the king that i am.”

you pinch his neck which causes him to flinch with a little shriek. always leave it to you to dumb down his narcissism.

“i was handling it myself pretty well, y’know,” you sigh, “being the michael kaiser’s partner, i’ve grown immune to the hate i receive.”

kaiser frowns, “i didn’t think it happened often,” he whispers. “i’m sorry. how many times have you had to defend yourself without me knowing?”

“it hardly matters-”

“-but it does. i don’t like when people slander you, less when it’s for no reason other than because you’re with me. you should be marvelled at and admired, just like the masterpiece you are.”

his words cause butterflies to erupt in your stomach, a feeling you mask with a playful eye roll. 

“yes but,” you counter, reaching to cup his cheek, “being with you makes up for it.” 

he smirks, contrasting the downhearted expression he wore moments earlier. kaiser’s skill of immediately recovering from whatever kicks him down truly is something to behold and at times, envy. “of course it does,” he boasts, dramatically flipping one of his bangs. 

“besides, i’m willing to fight back if it means i get to be with you.”

before he can argue back, you grab his arm and pull him towards the entrance.

“now come on, let’s talk about it another day. i believe i owe you sixty kisses.”

“make it one hundred now for leaving me waiting for so long.”

“if you get too greedy i’ll leave you on the sidewalk.”

“you’d do that to your king? how dare you!”

ISAGI YOICHI:

“what does your mum like?” you ask a clueless isagi who simply stares at the range of perfumes that the department store had displayed.

“i have no idea,” he mutters. “i never really paid attention to what smells she used.”

“fragrances, yoichi, not smells.”

“oh. right,” the star soccer player rubs his neck awkwardly, smiling sheepishly at you after correcting his small mistake. 

he was so adorable, you wanted to pinch his cheeks.

this was the first time that isagi was buying a gift for his mother with his own money, and the first person he turned to for help was his partner: you, explaining that this had to be the best gift she’s ever received. for how much she’s done for him, and how much she’s supported his soccer career, isagi doesn’t know if he can repay it through money, but gifts are hard to deny regardless.

readily agreeing to help, you have memories of isagi’s mother welcoming you into the family with warm arms. she would tell you how beautiful you are, how excited she was to meet you, and that her son better treat you well otherwise you could always turn to her for help; a statement that made the star striker gulp.

“i mean, you could never go wrong with a few classics like carolina herrera, dior, or chanel?” you suggest, walking over to the section filled with perfumes contained in shelves, their respective brands displayed on top. isagi follows you like a lost puppy, clinging close to your side by holding your hand, squeezing it ever so often.

everything you’re saying is going in one ear and through the other, and isagi lets it show on his face. 

“don’t worry yoichi, any perfume you pick tends to be a good gift regardless, besides, we have the whole day to figure out what your mum likes,” you reason logically, just in case it might provide him with some relief in the midst of expensive, designer fragrances. 

“right,” he huffs, reaching out to read the labels of some bottles.

after a long hunt of going through the shelves, he eventually settles on a fragrance from maison francis (with a pricetag that made you gawk yet isagi was very calm about, agreeing without even thinking about it), but since the packaged version was locked in a glass cabinet, you opted to call a store attendant.

“that’s a great idea, babe, need me to go with you?” he asks, readjusting the strap of his beat-up bag, the one he’s had since high school. funny how some things don’t change for isagi, you love that about him.

you shake your head in response, telling him to ‘wait here’ before strolling off.

however, during this brief time of being without you, isagi was approached by a trio who looked like they were a family, the eldest holding a phone between his hand.

“isagi yoichi?” he asks timidly, fiddling with the phone.

the soccer player flashes a friendly smile, hoping to reduce any of the anxiety they might feel from approaching him. he was just an average, friendly guy after all. “that’s me, need anything?”

“can we take a picture?” the middle daughter asks, pressing her hands together in a pleading motion.

“of course! come on.”

the set of siblings smile eagerly before ambling to isagi’s side, who squats down so he could fit in frame. after a ‘3, 2, 1’ countdown, the photo is taken and just as the dark-haired athlete was about to stand up, a store attendant approaches.

“would you like me to take the picture?” they ask politely, gesturing to the phone.

simultaneously, everyone agrees and soon enough, the photo is taken and done, allowing isagi to high-five them before waving them off, the three of them thanking him profusely for his time.

the store attendant lingers, turning to face him with wide eyes of admiration. “wow, i didn’t think i’d ever get to meet you!” they exclaim. “i watched your match against the under-20 team like so long ago! you were amazing!”

“oh, yeah,” isagi chuckles, flustered at all this recognition, even though he’s been getting more and more of it lately, “thank you for your support.”

although he inwardly cringes at the line that he’s reused over and over again, the store helper thinks nothing of it, beaming back at him. “you’re super cute too, do you think i could get your number?”

isagi lets his shock show on his face before blurting out: “no, i have a partner already.”

the attendant’s face drops into a look of disappointment and the striker wants to run off to find you. you never should have left him alone.

“what a shame. the person that you were just with right?” isagi nods. “don’t know what you think is so special about them, i personally think you’re too good for them and should find someone better, but, it’s not up to me.”

isagi feels his vision zero in, growing red with each word. him? too good for you? what irony.

“excuse me?” he vocalised lowly- practically a growl as he eyes the employee down. “i’m giving you three seconds to get out of my sight before i-.”

he’s too preoccupied with the fury he feels to notice the way the attendant squeaks, eyes laced with fear, before scurrying off mid-sentence, fully intimidated by the striker. isagi sighs, slumping his shoulders. he’s never used that tone to anyone outside of soccer in an attempt of pre-game slander and now he just misses you.

where did you run off to?

right on queue, you materialise beside him, huffing with a pout on your face. “i couldn’t find any store attendants, that’s so weird! where’d they go?”

deciding against telling you that he just scared one away for trashing you, he simply leans his body weight on you, sighing when you embrace him tightly so he wouldn’t knock the both of you over.

“whoa, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” you ask, unable to hide the smile on your face from his sudden acts of affection. “everything okay, love?” 

“i want to go home,” he whispers against your shoulder. “spend some time with you.”

“what about the gift?”

“i’ll order it online. it can arrive in time.”

relenting, you pluck him off you with great effort. “if you’re sure then, okay, let’s go home.”

“we can get takeout from your favourite on the way home.”

“what’s the occasion?”

“thought i needed to show you how much i appreciate you.”

[taeminsung]

♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── exist..

pairing || bang chan x reader

summary || all he wanted to do was protect you, if only for a moment.

genre/s || fluff. hurt. comfort.

mina’s notes || been feeling some sort of way and just needed some channie comfort lately. please enjoy ♡ 

Quietly Chan crept through the front door of his dorm. The last time he looked at a clock, the time read our 3:42 am, which meant everyone in the dorm was, or should be, asleep with the day they had. As he moved as silently as he could, a bright sticky note on the wall before the hall to the bedrooms caused him to pause and read it over. ‘You did great today’, the note read in your handwriting. Without realizing it, a smile crept across his face. Of course, you’d leave a note here for the other members to see too. It was one of the many reasons he knew that the members loved you and you loved them. You found ways to take care of them without them ever asking you to. A small laugh escaped his lips as he remembered when Felix said that while Chan is officially dating you, it felt like they all got a partner too. Notes like this popped up from time to time, always making him wonder who was in on it with you. Continuing his journey to his much-needed bed, his thoughts drifted to how he could repay the favor this time.

Entering his room, he didn’t expect to see a silhouette sitting in the middle of his dark room. Love? He called out softly, trying not to scare you with the way he was sneaking around his own home. The silent response was enough to tell him something was off, well that, and the fact you were sitting up in his bed well after what had to be 4 am now. Had he missed an important date? Was he supposed to be somewhere today and accidentally stood you up? Is everything ok with yours and his families? A million questions came crashing into his mind before he visibly shook it off and walked towards where you were sitting, eyes taking in the way his sweatshirt extended into sweater paws over your hands, and the way the hood was just low enough to cover your face. In an instant he panicked on the inside, trying to run down all the possible reasons for this. Did you have a nightmare and wake up to an empty room?

Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed, gaging your reaction, before scouting further into it and in front of you when you didn’t protest his initial action. As if he was trying not to break the most expensive glass piece he had ever interacted with, he reached out to take one of your paws into him, noting how wet the ends felt. His chest began to ache as he gingerly pulled you into him tucking your face into the crook of his neck, fingers gently moving up and down your back. Words formed in his mind before disappearing before he could open his mouth. Time felt like it was passing too quickly, and he couldn’t get a single word out to comfort you, all he could do was hold you close to him. Trying to back track on all your conversations lately to try to get a clue as to what may have happened, he breath hitched when you finally spoke. I feel like... silence filled the pause, Chan just wanting to urge you to continue. I feel like, a little bit like I’ve failed, you whispered after the long minutes of him holding you close. Part of him wanted to ask why but he knew that if he spoke at this moment, you’d never want to finish the thoughts that were clearly begging to be let you. I’m watching everyone around me succeed at their dreams, your breath fanned against his neck as your spoke, and I feel like I’m stuck.

In that moment, he felt like the dark had come alive and was trying to take you away from him. Pressing his lips together, his eyes shifted to the ceiling, eyes catching the last few glow-in-the-dark stars you had put on his ceiling one night when all he wanted to do was go stargazing with you. I… I don’t know what to do anymore. I just feel like I’m existing and not living, you finished with fresh tears wetting the collar of his shirt. All too well did he know this pain that you were feeling. The feeling of simply existing, rather than feeling like you were in control and living your life. Yet he knew that there wasn’t much that he could do in the form of words for you, so he settled for letting your words echo around in his mind. As your arms wrapped around his waist, he pulled his attention off the ceiling and instead to the side of your head. When your fingers dug into his shirt and face burrowed deeper into his neck with a body shaking sob, he understands that while he had a million things to tell you, mostly the reasons why he was so proud of you, he let his hands put pressure on your back, pulling you somehow even closer to him. You needed to feel grounded in this life. Slowly, he started to adjust the both of you so that instead of sitting in the bed, you were laying on your side, face still protected in the space you had called home so many times before.

All he wanted to do was dive into your brain and chase the demons, monsters, and darkness that haunted you on days like this out. His chest felt constricted as his fingers danced across your back, knowing that you didn’t want to break any further. How long had you been in this room like this? Hours? The day? Desperately he wanted to tell you that you weren’t a failure and were on your own journey in this life, one that deceiving looks like someone else’s but had its own twist and turns for you. The dreams you were longing for were going to come to you eventually, but you just needed to wait a little longer. Something he had experienced firsthand. Yet, he knows that those words would do nothing for you tonight and instead settled for being the tether that kept you grounded. Soon he felt your breaths start to even out, encaged in his arms, a small piece of his chest swelled knowing he was at least able to get you to sleep off a little bit of this. Perhaps in the morning, some of the darkness will have been lightened. Pressing a long kiss into your hair, he made a mental note to make tomorrow filled with things that made you happy, that caused his favorite smile to grace your face. He would shower you with all the love he could possibly give.

from mina with love ♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── thank you for reading! ♡ requests are open.

[starlightkun]

➠ word count: 4.6k ➠ warnings: cursing, vomiting, depictions of illness, hospital settings, etc. (but he gets better! i prommy!) ➠ genre: fluff, a touch of hurt/comfort, suggestive? (i mean they’re mentioned to shower together but it’s in a very tender caretaking sort of way, it's a ‘you cannot perform this task of hygiene and i love you and will assist you in performing this vital task’ sort of thing), established relationship, former hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), shortfic in the buzzer beater series (after 27JSC, before garbage goal) ➠ extra info: the title is directly lifted from the title of this academic article on pubmed that came up in some googling i was doing for this fic the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines, experiences as a chronically ill person, and thoughts about being chronically ill are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines/chronic illnesses, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds! ➠ author’s note: i did NOT expect this to turn into a literal series but these two have rlly captured my lil heart tbh. i’m obsessed with them. they’re in love. i’m not sorry and i will not pretend to be in order to be cute on the internet. anyway enjoy 🫶 ➠ series masterlist

The utter relief that you felt having Sungchan home again was a feeling unparalleled. Having him home, in his own clothes, in your bed, holding you and laughing at something stupid he’d just said but thought was the funniest thing ever—that was the most you’d ever loved someone, you decided.

Stirring slightly in the middle of the night, you were aware of being uncomfortable, hot, and sweaty under all your sheets, blankets, and boyfriend.

“Mmh,” you groaned, pushing at Sungchan, who was of course passed out on top of you like you were the mattress. “Channie, off. ‘m too hot.”

He readjusted slightly, but just grabbed you to pull you to his front like the cuddle monster he was. You were now acutely aware of your clothes sticking to your back and chest.

“No, let go.” You grabbed at his arms. “Come on, Channie, aren’t you hot too?”

He suddenly vaulted himself out of bed, throwing the sheets and blankets off of him in a mad dash towards the bathroom. You sat up in bed, blearily watching him in confusion until he kneeled down at the toilet and you finally put the pieces together, hurrying in after him and turning on the light on your way in.

He didn’t have any hair to hold back from his face as he emptied his stomach, so you mainly rubbed his back through his damp t-shirt. With the bathroom lights on, you were able to see that the front and back of his white shirt were entirely soaked with sweat, his face pink and sweat-sheened, and his hair stuck to his forehead. His whole body radiated with an unnatural heat as you sat beside him, coaching and comforting him through it as he gripped the toilet bowl with white knuckles.

When it seemed like he had gotten to a pause in his retching, you coaxed his head up away from the opening, then flushed it. Grabbing some toilet paper from the roll hanging next to you, you bundled up enough to wipe around his mouth and nose, then tossed that into the bowl as well as the water was still draining.

“We…” He stopped to cough, then spit into the toilet. “We ate the same stuff last night… Why aren’t you…”

“Baby, I don’t think this is food poisoning,” you replied, moving his hair off his forehead to press the back of your hand there. “I think you’re sick.”

“But my immune system is so good! I haven’t even gotten a cold in like five years! I got my flu shot two weeks ago!”

“I know, I was there holding your hand.”

His whining was cut off by more puking, and you continued to soothe him through it.

“Channie, you can’t send this.” You shook your head, reading over his email to his research head again.

“But I have to… to tell him why I can’t come in,” Sungchan reached for his phone from your hands.

“Baby, this is gibberish.” You held the phone away from his grabby hands so you could delete the nonsense email and exit out of the app before setting it on his nightstand. “You go back to sleep, I’ll call the lab for you, okay?”

He sighed, laying back down in bed and closing his eyes. “Okay… don’t take too long… miss you…”

“And he’s out,” you commented to yourself fondly.

It was quick work to look up the office line on the university’s website, and you took the call in the living room as he napped in your room. Hearing the click of it being picked up first, it was answered by an older-sounding, stern man.

“Yoon Taekyung.”

“Hi, Dr. Yoon, this is Y/L/N Y/N, I’m—”

“Jung Sungchan’s girlfriend.”

“Oh, yes, Jung Sungchan’s girlfriend.” You laughed nervously, caught off-guard. You’d never met Sungchan’s research head before.

“Jung talks about you a lot. I don’t stalk my PhD candidates online, in case you were wondering.”

“No, I wasn’t, but thank you for clarifying,” you chuckled. “Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you, but unfortunately Sungchan has a stomach bug and is not going to be able to come in for a few days. He had typed up his own email to you but when I proofread it… you could tell the fever was boiling his brain.”

“I would have appreciated the laugh,” Dr. Yoon said dryly. “We certainly don’t want Jung bringing any outside germs into the microbiology lab. Keep him home.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Dr. Yoon.”

Having already finished your master’s degree, you didn’t have any professors to email about missing class today. It was a Friday, and you weren’t scheduled to work all weekend, so you were free to stay home and take care of Sungchan.

Walking back into your bedroom, you stopped next to Sungchan’s side of the bed, pressing your hand to his forehead. He really was burning up.

His eyes fluttered open, and he mumbled something that sounded like your name.

“Yeah, baby, I’m here,” you reassured him, stroking his head. “Go back to sleep, I’m going to make you something to eat, okay?”

His eyes closed again, and you gave his head one last gentle pat.

Poking your head back into the bedroom some time later, you were pleasantly surprised to see Sungchan awake again, scrolling on his phone.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” You walked over, grabbing the thermometer off his nightstand.

“Mm… great,” he groaned, setting his phone down.

“Liar.” You held the thermometer out. “Open.”

He pouted up at you with the thermometer sticking out of his mouth as the two of you waited. It beeped, and you took it back, frowning as you read the display.

“I don’t like that…” You sighed, taking a picture of it with your phone. “I’m going to text your mom. How’s your tummy?”

“Fine…”

“You think you can eat? I made some food.”

“Sure, sure, yeah.”

“Okay, be right back, Channie.” You kissed his hair.

In the kitchen, you hurriedly opened your text conversation with Sungchan’s mom. She was a family medicine doctor, and you’d been updating her on how her son was doing throughout the day.

[you: attached image]

[you: his fever keeps going up, even after the meds he took this morning. no more puking so far]

As you spooned out small portions of dishes, loaded them up on a tray, and reheated a mug of some tea you’d prepared earlier, you continued texting back and forth with Dr. Jung.

[dr. jung: Give him another dose of the acetaminophen. If it keeps going up take him to urgent care]

[you: will do, thank you. he’s about to try to eat some lunch. wish us luck!]

[dr. jung: Good luck sweetheart]

Tucking your phone away, you grabbed the tray of food to take back in to Sungchan. He had pushed himself up against the headboard, letting you set the tray down on his lap. Putting the now steaming mug on the nightstand, you started pointing to everything.

“Ginger tea, and easy tummy foods. Some rice, soup, crackers, and for dessert—” You pulled out a small package from the pocket of your hoodie.

He gasped softly. “Chocolate biscuits…”

“Chocolate biscuits,” you confirmed, setting them on the tray table then stroked his hair gently. “I’m going to go clean up the kitchen then I’ll come sit with you. Holler if you need me before then, okay?”

He grabbed your hand before you could get too far, his skin burning hot against yours. “Hey. Thank you.”

“Anything for my Sungchannie,” you smiled, gently swinging your linked hands where they hung in the air. “Small bites, and don’t force anything down, okay? You’ll only throw it back up if you do that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And how are you on water?” You picked up the water bottle on his nightstand with your free hand, shaking it. “Eh, half. I’ll refill it for you, too. Be back in a sec.”

After putting the leftovers away and refilling his water, you shook out a couple more tablets of acetaminophen and brought both of them back with you.

“Here.” You placed them on the table next to him. “Your mom says to take another dose, and if your fever keeps going up then we’ll have to take you to urgent care.”

He nodded, thankfully opting not to talk with food in his mouth. You scooted back into bed next to him, resting your head on his shoulder as he slowly picked at his food.

“Good food, baby, thank you,” he sniffled, taking a sip of his tea. “I mean, my nose is so stuffed up I can’t taste most of it, but it’s still good.”

You chuckled, patting his chest. “Thanks, Channie.”

“Are you sure you should be sitting so close to me? I don’t want to get you sick too.”

“We live together, I’m either going to get sick or I won’t. It’s not like I’m asking you to spit in my mouth or anything,” you scoffed.

“Yeah, right now.”

Before you could even make a retort, he suddenly careened forward in a fit of violent coughs, and you surged to first steady the tray table so he didn’t knock the liquids everywhere. After moving it off his legs and onto an unoccupied area of the mattress, you rested a hand on his back as he continued coughing, wincing sympathetically at how painful they sounded. Finally, he stopped coughing, and paused to catch his breath.

“Mm… I think you should keep your loogies to yourself for now, Channie,” you tutted. “Drink some water.”

Setting his water bottle back down, he blinked slowly. “Ugh… that hurt.”

“Do you want the food back? Or are you done?”

He shook his head. “I’m done. Don’t want anything coming back up.”

“I’ll put it in the fridge in case you get hungry later.”

You had just closed the fridge when you heard retching sounds from your bathroom.

It was almost two hours later before the two of you left the cold tile floor of your bathroom. There were impressions of the grout in your knees and your joints ached from the unforgiving, hard flooring. And it was only to get Sungchan to sit on the equally hard, cold, tile floor of the shower under a lukewarm stream of water—you were afraid of making it too hot with how high his fever already was, and he whimpered like the water was hurting him if it was too cold. With how much fever-sweating he’d been doing since the wee hours of the morning, you could only imagine how uncomfortable it was for him (you yourself still hadn’t had the chance to sneak in a quick shower since being awoken in sweat that morning either). Not even to mention just all the puke that the both of you had been around.

You knelt behind him to very gently work some shampoo through his hair, then tilted his chin up with your hand to direct his head back into the spray and rinse out the suds. You used your other hand to block his eyes from any stray shampoo that may accidentally run down into them. With his hair off his forehead, you could catch a glimpse of a light scar, from taking a puck directly to the face your senior year of college, soon after you started dating. You’d taken care of him then, warned him to be careful when washing his hair, and he’d joked about having you do it for him. You couldn’t help but run a finger over it lightly.

After finishing up washing his hair, you reached behind you to blindly fumble for the handle and turn the spray off. It was a bit dicey getting the two of you to stand up in the confined space with Sungchan’s less-than-optimal coordination at the moment, and you toweled the both of you off in the bathroom quickly.

Back in new clothes, you let him fall into bed as you appraised the nightstand. “Did you take the meds before you threw up? I don’t— Oh, there they are.”

You grabbed them from behind the water bottle, nudging Sungchan’s shoulder. “Baby, you can take a nap after you take these, okay? They’re going to help your fever.”

“Uh?” He squinted one eye open, then dropped his mouth open. You placed the tablets on his tongue, then held the straw up to his lips. He swallowed with minimal difficulty, then dropped his head back down to the pillow.

You crawled into bed too, curling up behind him and throwing an arm over his middle. Sungchan groaned and shifted in place.

“Are you warm?” You asked quietly. “I’ll scooch if you’re too warm.”

“No,” he whined, grabbing at the blankets and pulling them up higher. “Cold… ‘n everything hurts, baby. My head hurts, my throat hurts, my stomach hurts, my muscles hurt from throwing up so much. Everything hurts.”

“My Sungchannie.” You scooted in closer to him, burying your face in his neck. “I’m sorry… I wish it didn’t hurt, baby. I’m so sorry. I wish I could make it stop for you.”

“I’m going to take a nap, I think…” He sniffed.

“I think that’s a good idea.” You kissed his shoulder. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, baby boy.”

“That’s it, we’re going to the urgent care,” you declared with a shake of your head, looking at the most recent temperature readout on the thermometer. Up again.

Despite all of Sungchan’s grumbling about not being that sick, you still managed to get him into the car and to the doctor, keeping a wary eye on him as you took all of your turns very carefully and accelerated and braked as smoothly as possible so that he hopefully wouldn’t vomit all over your car interior as well. After staying in the waiting room for an agonizing amount of time, you two finally went back.

The doctor took one look at Sungchan’s vitals, and you explained just how many times he’d thrown up in less than twelve hours, before deciding to admit him.

You had been asked to step out of his room for the moment, and walked up and down the long hallway, continuing to update his mom.

[you: he just got admitted. doctor says he probably just needs fluids and something stronger to bring the fever down but wants to keep him overnight for observation]

[dr. jung: Who’s his attending?]

[you: dr. chen]

[dr. jung: Oh good. He’s good, our Sungchan’s in good hands. I’ll be by after clinic closes.]

[you: thanks, i’ll let him know you’re coming]

A nurse left Sungchan’s room then, and you perked up as the older man seemed to be walking towards you.

“I’m so sorry, miss, this is going to sound weird,” he began with a sheepish smile. “But has your husband been on TV?”

“Oh, uh, boyfriend…” You corrected him distractedly, way more focused on said boyfriend. “And uhm, not exactly. Why?”

“He just looks very familiar.”

You thought for a second, then suggested, “Do you like hockey?”

“Yes, my wife and I have season passes for the local university’s team’s home games.”

“Sungchan played for the Raptors a couple years ago.”

“Oh! I was wondering why the name was so familiar too…”

“Sorry, did you need something from me?”

“Yes, I need to put his IV in, uhm, but he’s asking for you…”

You nodded. “Yeah, he has a fear of needles. Shouldn’t that be in his chart or whatever somewhere?”

“We just have the records from the urgent care doctor who sent him up here, sorry,” the nurse admitted. “But I’ll make a note of it.”

Following the nurse in, you saw that Sungchan was all by himself, and had to bite your lip at the image of him already hooked up by wires to a bunch of other machines. He still smiled when he saw you, though.

“Hey, baby…” he held his hand out towards you, and you took it, giving it a squeeze.

“Hi. Heard you were asking for me.”

“Thought you might feel left out if I got a needlestick and you weren’t here.”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite hobby, watching you get pricked over and over,” you replied sarcastically.

“Which arm?” The nurse asked.

“The right. He’s a lefty,” you answered immediately.

He looked between you and Sungchan for a moment.

“What she said,” Sungchan confirmed.

As the nurse prepared his arm for the IV, you distracted him on his other side.

“So, I was texting your mom in the hallway,” you told him. “She said she’s going to come by after the clinic closes. She also knows your attending, says you’re in good hands, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, that’s good.” He suddenly squeezed your hand tight.

You rushed to find another topic and keep talking, “Also, I have to tell you about this new book I was reading. Really, it was a collection of short stories, but you know how I am with those. God, it’s incredible. It’s like surrealism, and sort of psychological horror, and some of them toe in body horror, but also magical realism, but all of them sort of explore like womanhood and societal expectations of women and that kind of thing. They’re so fantastic. There’s one about a teenage girl who just starts eating birds one day. Like, live birds, the kind of birds you’d keep as a pet. Feathers and all. She’s not actually the POV character, though, you get to follow her dad as he tries to take in this change and adjust and acclimate to it as his otherwise normal teen daughter has to consume live birds while his estranged wife tries to convince him to just accept it and that it’s really not that bad. And obviously that can be a metaphor for how fathers—”

“Done.” The nurse announced. “Dinner’s in an hour, Mr. Jung. Buzz if you need anything before then.”

“I think you freaked him out with your ‘eating live birds and scaring your dad is a metaphor for being a teen girl’ story, baby,” Sungchan chuckled.

“But it is!” You defended yourself. “And it’s so good, really!”

“I’m sure it is.” He scooted over in the tiny bed to make a little bit of room, then patted the empty space he’d just created. “Want my girl to tell me all about it.”

You clambered up next to him, still with one foot hanging off the bed to let both of you fit, but just all too happy to be with him again.

Just a little while later, and the nurse was poking his head back into Sungchan’s room. Dr. Jung paused the funny story she had just been telling from her seat on the small recliner next to the bed, and all three of you looked over at the newcomer.

The nurse focused his apologetic eyes on you, “Miss, I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over.”

“Oh.” You looked around awkwardly, starting to get up from the bed. “Sorry, I thought he was allowed to have one person stay overnight.”

“Spouses and immediate family only, I’m sorry.”

“That’s fi—”

“No, we’re married,” Sungchan insisted, grabbing your hand. “It’s fine, she can stay.”

“Sir…” He trailed off, clearly debating about whether or not he wanted to just outright call Sungchan a liar.

“Channie, I told him earlier we were dating,” you informed your boyfriend quietly. “It’s fine, I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Baby…” He sighed.

“It’ll be okay, Channie, I’ll be back tomorrow,” you promised him, grabbing your go bag off the floor and hoisting it onto your shoulder. “You just worry about resting and getting better for me, okay?”

“I’ll walk you out, sweetheart,” his mom offered kindly, standing up as well.

“Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Channie,” you leaned down to drop a peck on his forehead. “I love you.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He continued to keep a deathly tight grasp on your hand. “I love you too.”

You gave his hand one final pat before regretfully, gently shaking him off and walking out of the room. Dr. Jung slowly meandered down the hall with you.

“I’ll be there, in case they have to inject him, or draw blood, or anything else,” she reassured you.

“Right, thank you,” you nodded, looking down at your feet. “Has he always been afraid of needles? He never really talks about it with me, it’s just one of those things. I go with him for his shots, blood draws, all that.”

“Since he was a kid. He used to run from the room crying. We at least wanted him to be able to handle it on his own by the time he was an adult, even if it wasn’t comfortable.”

“He gives me my monthly injection now, the one I take for my migraines. Did you know that?”

“Really?” She did sound surprised at this tidbit of information.

“Pretty much since we started dating, yeah. Still wants me to go with him for his shots but…”

“It’s different when you’re the one being stuck.”

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You pressed the down button on the elevator. “Usually I’m the one that has something wrong with me and he’s taking care of me. It’s so… it doesn’t feel right, seeing him like that.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” She rubbed your arm. “But he’s strong, he’s healthy. I’m sure they’ll discharge him tomorrow to go back home with you.”

“Of course.”

“Now you go home and take care of that migraine that’s been coming on for the last fifteen minutes.”

You looked up at her with one eye open, shrugging. “Well, I don’t know if it’s a full migraine…”

“You’re squinting at the lights, sweetheart. Go home so you can take your meds, okay?”

The elevator dinged just then, the doors opening on your floor.

“Okay, thank you.” You gave her a tired, but genuinely grateful smile as you stepped onto the elevator. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You spent that night going through your first migraine alone in almost two years, curled up on Sungchan’s side of the bed in one of his huge hoodies, feeling like your head was exploding. But that wasn’t even the reason that you were crying.

In the morning, you were awake before visiting hours opened back up, and despite your instinct to drive to the hospital and wait in the parking lot, you pulled yourself into the shower instead. You didn’t have a lot of time nor mobility for your own shower routine yesterday, and were in desperate need of a good thorough clean and refresh now. After eating some of the leftovers you made the day before, you packed up a small to-go meal for Dr. Jung as well, unsure of how good the cafeteria food was there. She had given you an update during the night that his fever had finally broken, then another once she woke up that he slept through the rest of the night fine, and was still resting as of her text.

By the time you got to the hospital, it was open for daytime visitors, and you were let in with no issues. You’d let Dr. Jung know when you were on your on way, and she was standing outside the door to his room when you arrived.

“Morning, sweetheart,” she smiled, giving you a hug. “How’s your head?”

“Fine,” you waved off her concerns, reaching into your bag to grab the container of food you’d packed. “Brought you breakfast. Wasn’t sure what they were serving downstairs…”

She accepted it gratefully. “Thank you. Now: How’s your head?”

“Last night kind of sucked,” you admitted. “And I’ve got a rebound headache, but I’ll be fine. We don’t need to tell Channie right now, though. He’ll just worry too much and he won’t get better. How’d you sleep? That recliner looked pretty comfy.”

“Would’ve slept better, except he snores like a freight train,” she scoffed. “How you get any sleep is beyond me.”

You let out a round of genuine laughter at that. “He doesn’t usually. Must be the congestion.”

“Must be.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’m going to take my breakfast downstairs. He’s awake, been asking when you’d be here.”

“Thank you.” You gave her one last fleeting hug before hurrying in.

Sungchan already looked better than yesterday, still tired, but not as deathly pale as before, with no sheen of fever-sweat over his skin. He really just looked… tired.

“Good morning, Channie,” you said breathlessly, setting your bag down. “Heard your fever broke last night. How are you feeling?”

“Morning, baby.” He reached out for your hand. “I’m feeling a lot better. I wish I could’ve made my girl breakfast this morning…”

“You can make me double breakfast after you come home.”

“And what’s double breakfast?”

“Guess you’ll have to figure that out.”

“Breakfast and breakfast for dinner.”

“Sounds pretty good to me.”

He looked up at you with a thoughtful frown on his face, reaching out to gently touch his fingertips to your cheek. “Are you okay, baby? You’re not feeling sick now too, are you?”

“I’m fine, baby. Just a bit tired. I’ll sleep like a baby once I have my Sungchannie back home with me.” You mustered as big of a smile as you could, squeezing his hand.

“I’ve got to get better quick then, can’t have—” he was cut off by loud, violent coughs, throwing his arm up to cover his mouth with his elbow. You rubbed his back as he continued coughing, and he reached for the bedside table. Handing him a couple of tissues from the box sat there, he spat out some of the mucus that had come up, and you used a few more fresh tissues to grab it and throw it away without complaint.

Returning to his side, you continued rubbing his back as he caught his breath. When he started slowly easing back into his bed, you took your hand away and grabbed his cup of water to give him.

“Here.”

He took a few sips before handing it back, and you took his hand again.

“As I was saying,” he cleared his throat. “Before I was so rudely interrupted by my own phlegm: I can’t have my girl all alone in a cold bed at night…”

You laughed, feeling the smitten smile on your face as you looked down at him. “There is some horndog switch in you that gets flipped when you’re unwell, I swear. Scientists need to study you.”

“I’m a scientist, remember?”

“You study a disease in one kind of fish,” you pointed out. “I mean like… sexologists or something. If those exist.”

“They do.”

“Well they’re missing out on… something here.” You gestured to him.

He half-laughed and half-coughed, which devolved into another full coughing fit. After recovering, he said, “Anyway, once my doctor rounds again and checks me out, he’ll be able to say if I can be discharged today or if he wants to keep me another night.”

“Fingers crossed.”

The utter relief that you felt having Sungchan home again was a feeling unparalleled. Having him home, in his own clothes, in your bed, holding you and laughing at something stupid he’d just said but thought was the funniest thing ever—that was the most you’d ever loved someone, you decided.

You suddenly rolled over to lay on top of him, pressing your face to his chest, wrapping your arms around him, and throwing your leg over him. He let out a slightly punched-out noise at the unexpected force of your affections, but nevertheless readjusted to wrap his arms around you.

“Hey, baby… Everything okay?” His throat was still hoarse, and he let out a half-cough half-throat clearing noise between his sentences. He added jokingly, “I’m not going to float away, you know?”

“I never want you to leave again,” you mumbled into his clothes. “Never. Never ever.”

“Okay, yeah,” his voice softened, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and stroking your hair. “I’ll never leave, ever again.”

➠ next | series masterlist | blog masterlist

[cjrights]

Ight then here we go. And dw I promise I’m not feral like aloras anons. (Btw I made this while eating Mac n cheese at like 10:30 at night).

This could be really bad so read at your own risk (I’ve never written x reader)

Paige Bueckers x Softball! Player reader! (Hcs)

Content: mentions of an injury/description of one happening, Overall just fluffy stuff.

This is my first time ever writing something like this (pls don’t make fun of me 😭 I’ll cry and probably never log back in)

Starting off with a little about yourself:

-You’ve played softball for quite a while (obviously your good if you’ve gotten to UConn) around 14 years

-You’re a catcher- and a damned good one at that. You catch for just about anyone if needed and play quite a bit.

-One thing your most renowned for are your speed and base running abilities. Very few times is someone better or faster than you on base.

-however you are on the smaller side, barely 5’4 (you give yourself an extra inch though). Many players thought your height would impede your abilities and that you were too small to be a catcher.

-but your basically the ballsiest player in the league and hate losing so you don’t go down without a fight.

Ok now that we know about you let’s get into Paige.

1. Prior to the season she likes helping you clean your bag and gear out.

“Babeeee look what I have.”

You look up briefly confused, only to burst into giggles at the sight of Paige in your catchers gear. It obviously didn’t fit- not surprising with you at 5’5 and her at 6’. The white shinguards barely reached 3/4s down her legs and the chest guard left half of her exposed.

“Paige, why are you trying on my gear?” You ask over your shoulder, turning back into your bag to grab your batting gloves and helmet out.

“I gotta make sure my girls safe!” She protested, desperately trying to put on the to small helmet. “Can’t have you getting hurt! And why’s this helmet so small?!”

“Probably cause you’ve got a big head.”

“Who wouldn’t have a big head dating someone as sexy and skilled as you,” she smirks, lightly kissing your neck as your crouched over the bat bag.

“Well I suppose I am quite skilled and sexy…” you agree lifting your head so she can kiss more easily.

“And all mine.”

“And all yours.” You agree happily. “And yours alone. Now back to work bucko!” You state lightly patting her on the chest and nudging her off kisses. “No time for that now.”

Paige resumes trying to put on the helmet, still struggling immensely, as you go through the pockets of your bag. You snicker at her troubles with the helmet, before grabbing it and sticking it on your own head. “I’ll be fine.”

“But what if-“ fine then Paige, you thought. Guess I’ve got no other choice…

She’s abruptly cut off by you smacking your helmeted head into a wall lightly then staring at her, entirely unmoved by the feel of it. The noise of it had been stronger than whatever pain it had caused. She stands there shocked for a moment, staring at you gobsmacked before reluculantly starting to take off the gear.

“Ok fine. You’re safe in this I suppose.”

You turned away from the blonde and resumed your sorting, now satisfied.

“Erm babe? could you help me out? I think I’m stuck.”

2. Her trying to carry your bag and failing miserably.

“Why the hell do you have a body bag?!” Had been her first reaction to it, which admittedly may have been justified.

But you couldn’t help it! All catchers needed a bag this big…even if it was almost your size. But with cleats, bats, gloves, your gear and everything else you needed a bag like this was a must. Even if it was probably twice your body weight.

You just shrugged and said catchers always had big bags, then started dragging it off to the UConn fields.

Now you were getting ready to board the bus for an away game in Ohio and you’d just unpacked the car. Azzi had came along to see you off alongside of Paige. You went to grab your bag, only to have Paige abruptly get in the way.

“Allow me m’lady,” she mimics, grabbing the bag handle before you can stop her.

“Baby, I love you, but you know damn well you’ll drop that.” It was true, she’d tried multiple times, and crushed multiple toes.

“No! I’m big and strong and perfectly capable of lifting my girlfriend’s bag!” She huffs and chuffs determinedly, as she drags it towards the bus, carefully lifting it up into the open back door.

Your teammates give her half weirded out-half amused look, not quite sure if they should intervene or let her learn the hard way.

Even Azzi rolls her eyes and sighs, “should we stop her before she tears another ACL?”

You sigh, Paige was one stubborn motherfucker, as much as you loved her. “Maybe that’s how she’ll finally learn not to lift a catchers bag without help.”

After a long time, filled with much painful wheezing and a red faced girlfriend she manages to get it on the bus. “See…” she wheezes, “I can so lift your bag!”

You laugh and walk over to her, stretching up on your tiptoes to kiss her lips, which she eagerly accepts gently cradling the back of your head.

“My hero,” you tease, resting your forehead against hers, relishing in the warmth of her ice blue gaze.

3. She sees you get trucked defending the plate for the first time and almost has a heart attack.

It started off as a simple play and should’ve remained simple. Then you blew it and missed the block on a wild pitch. The runner on third saw her opportunity and took it.

Thankfully you’d been quicker on your feet than the pitcher and grabbed the ball guarding the plate from the incoming runner. Normally a base runner would get tagged out on a run, or try to veer away at the last moment.

But not the Alabama girl. Nope, she’d already known you were on the smaller side- and that you never backed down. So she did the only sensible thing.

She lowered her shoulder and smashed into you at a full sprint. To your credit you got the tag and kept on your feet, just staggering slightly from the impact. What you weren’t expecting for the lights to go out a few seconds after she collided.

You didn’t remember what happened after that, next thing you knew, three coaches, the athletic trainer, and about nine concerned teammates had formed a protective barrier around you, as if they were animals guarding a hurt cub.

According to your pitcher, the Bama girls helmet had smacked with yours and with the combined effort from the rest of her body, knocked you out. Thankfully it was only for a half minute or so, and nothing was that badly hurt.

you were fine apart from having the wind knocked out of you and a thorough bit of bruising on your shoulders, chest, hips, and neck. The whole incident hadn’t even phased you that badly and after a quick test run, you were cleared to resume catching and hit a double the next inning, directly over the Bama players head, as though to say it would take more then that to bring you down.

Turns out the one more affected was your blonde girlfriend who was sitting in the bleachers

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“What the fuck was that!” The blonde all but screamed at the top of her lungs, unaware of the looks fans from both sides were giving her.

A dad who was sitting next to her gave her a look before chuckling. “That’s called trucking the catcher. Don’t worry though, she’s a tough little thing, she’ll get back up fine in a few seconds.

Paige shot him a look before glaring at the back of the Bama girls helmet, about ready to go out and beat her up herself.

“It’s called downright bad sportsmanship and dangerous! I mean she could’ve been hurt!” Her anxiety fueled the anger she was feeling, especially after seeing you wobble before your body passed out. Had it not been so crowded she would’ve been on the field herself.

The dad glanced over at her. “Seems like you care quite a bit about this catcher.”

“M’course I do. She’s my girlfriend, my baby, and it’s my job to protect her.”

He nods in understanding, glad the blonde was a bit calmer. “Don’t worry about it, she’s tough as nails. Look she’s already up again.”

She looked down and true to his word you were standing on slightly wobbly legs and doing an experimental squat to see how badly the girl had damaged you.

A breathe she didn’t know she’d been holding escaped, “thank god…” she whispered, not taking her eyes off you.

Now with you alright and her new softball dad friend she could watch the game (albeit she still growled under her breathe when the Bama girl came out). She was ready to spoil you rotten by the end of the game.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Baby, I appreciate the gesture but you don’t need to worry this much…that happens quite a lot.”

“Nope! My baby deserves all the spoiling tonight.” She stated walking in with a freshly microwaved heating pad, full bottle of water, ibuprofen, and some chocolate. “Now come on movie time.”

You couldn’t resist smiling as she climbed into bed beside you, gently draping you over her lap.

“I’m getting thrown out for starting a fist fight the next time you play Bama.” Paige mutteres suddenly.

“Paige Madison! You will not!”

“Yes I will, that stupid shortstop deserves it!”

You roll your eyes, your girlfriend was sweet, but overprotective like a damned pitbull.

“No Paigey, no fighting.”

“Fine….”

You end up dozing off before her, but not before feeling her planting gentle “feel better kisses” over every one of your bruises. And that’s why you fall asleep smiling.

Enjoy! (Also I have many more of these if wanted)

-🦦

hi this is SO cute???? i love????

you did this so well im gagged asf

more more more

[formereldestdaughter]

ok wait i need to hear more of your thoughts on peeta owning a bakery....

This is one of those rare times where I’m pretty sure this anon isn’t someone I know personally bc I’ve subjected anyone who will listen to my rant about the Peeta Bakery Headcanon. Anyway, you’re gonna regret asking this anon bc there are fucking Layers here.

I know this is probably a controversial take based on the number of fics where I’ve seen it, but I simply do not think that Peeta would open a commercial bakery after Mockingjay!! Like on a metatextual level, I don’t think it really fits with the point of the ending of the series. It actually sort of fascinates me that it’s just such a common headcanon because the ending of Mockingjay is exceedingly vague. I think that vagueness invites us, as readers, to imagine a better world post-revolution. A world where Katniss would feel confident that her children would be safe from injustice, where she’d feel confident that her children would never know want the way she did as a child. A just world. A kinder world. Can a capitalist society ever be just? Is a capitalist society where a disabled teenager has no other means to subsist himself (or feels like there’s no other way he can be a contributing member of his community) really the post-revolution world we dream of? Is that really the best we can imagine?

(This got so insanely long I’m adding a read more lmao)

I get that showing a better world is not always the point of post-mockingjay headcanons/fics. Like there are plenty of really great post-mockingjay fics I’ve seen where, yeah, part of the fic is that society like ISN’T all that different or all that much better. I’ve seen that really well done! Hell, I’ve written them myself! It’s easy to imagine how a lot of aspects of society would not get an overhaul, a lot of the same structural inequalities would continue to exist. One headcanon that really stuck with me (I can’t remember which fic it was from) was that Peeta sells basically mail order baked goods to people on the Capitol, sending them iced cakes and pastries by train, because there are still people who were “fans” of theirs during the Games. And idk this doesn’t actually have much to do with my point lol but I liked it because it’s kind of fucked up and like! Yeah! It makes sense! If he needed money that would be a good way to make it! War often makes people rich, often for horrible reasons, and often it’s people who already have capital in the first place.

Anyway, more about the hypothetical bakery because alright. I bring up the fact that “yeah society not being all that different post-revolution and still being an unjust capitalist hellscape” could be a reason why Peeta re-opens a bakery because that’s actually never the types of fics where I see the bakery headcanon. Fics where Peeta opens a bakery are usually trying to make the exact opposite point. Like. Things are getting better, now he can open a bakery! Look at how much better the world is now, plus he’s got a bakery! Peeta is healing, that’s why he can open a bakery now! And I am so, so sorry to inform everyone who’s never had the grave misfortune of owning a family business, but there is truly nothing further from the truth lmao. Like just putting aside the immense amount of emotional baggage that Peeta has about his family, running a small business is an insane amount of work in any context and being a baker especially is physically grueling and involves early hours (and long hours) that aren’t really the best fit with the multiple ways that Peeta is disabled now. (I could go into this more because I have a lot of thoughts. But I will spare you.). I also think it’s seen throughout the books that Peeta is someone who needs time to pursue creative outlets to process his feelings and someone who values leisure and values quality time with his loved ones. And having grown up in his family’s bakery, I think he’d understand the reality that running a bakery wouldn’t leave much space of those pursuits and wouldn’t leave much space for him to have the things that keep him healthy and stable. I think he’d know that the way he is now— after two Games and the war and unspeakable torture at the hands of a dictator—isn’t compatible with the lifestyle necessary for running a commercial bakery.

And tbh with that in mind, I don’t think he’d push himself to re-open a business (one that would be a constant reminder of his dead family and his complicated relationships with them that got no closure) that would require him to sacrifice his physical and emotional well-being. Like I think he might look into the possibility, I think he might even start trying to open a bakery out of a sense of obligation/duty, maybe harboring some idea that this is who he was supposed to be, who he would've been without the Games, or that it’s this last piece of his family that can live on, or that it’s this last connection to his family so he can’t let it die too. But ultimately, I think any attempt to open a bakery wouldn’t get very far. Maybe he'd start wading into the logistical nightmare that is small business ownership and realize it's not for him (because it's probably also true that as much as him and his brothers were involved in the business, there's almost certainly parts they weren't involved with and didn't see, i.e., filing taxes). Or maybe looking into opening a bakery— how triggering it is, the stress of it— causes a downward spiral. Maybe he hates how much he's worrying everyone by unraveling. Maybe having a breakdown from the stress of just trying to open a bakery makes him realize, yeah, maybe in another life he would have ran his family’s bakery but the way he is now just doesn’t work with running a bakery, not without great sacrifices he's not willing to make. I just can’t see a bakery coming to fruition.

I know a lot of fics include Peeta deciding to reopen a bakery as a big step in his healing or include him rebuilding a bakery as part of his healing process but honestly, I think the opposite would be more true: I think Peeta either trying/failing to open a bakery or ultimately deciding not to open a bakery would be hugely healing for him. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way he is now as a person, his new limitations but also his strengths. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way his life his now and accepting that he likes his life the way it is, that he’s satisfied with his life without needing to own a bakery. I think it would be an important part of him coming to terms with the loss of his family. I think he knows he can never have things back as they were and I don’t think he would try to recreate them, especially because his family’s legacy isn’t a business. I think he’s emotionally intelligent enough and self reflective enough to realize that what mattered to him about the bakery— taking care of others by feeding them, being integrated into his community and being actively involved in it, brightening people’s days with delightful things whether that’s beautiful cakes or hearty food or delicious treats— and the things he learned from his family through the bakery, are things that he can carry on in other meaningful ways.

(Do you regret sending this ask yet, anon? Because if not, you will soon. I’m not done yet. There’s more.)

I wasn’t really sure where to put this next part in what is rapidly becoming an essay because it sort of combines the points about like “what do we imagine a post-mockingjay society to look like” with the practical difficulties of starting this bakery but here’s another thing: do people really think that the Mellarks owned the land the bakery was on?? Like, sure, the merchants are the petit bourgeois of Twelve but I still don’t imagine they really own anything. In a society where houses are assigned to people upon marriage, where property ownership and capital are so closely interconnected with citizenship (as shown by the Plinths who, by having immense capital, are able to leave their District and become citizens of the Capitol) do people really think the Mellarks would be allowed to own the land their bakery is on?? I always imagined it sort of like a tenant farming situation: the Capitol gives them the raw materials for the bakery and in return the bakery give them some absurdly high portion of their profits, or the Capitol sells them a year’s supply of raw materials at a premium on credit and at the end of the year the Mellarks have to use the money they made with those materials to pay it back, except it’s never enough to turn a profit so they always have to buy next year’s materials on credit and the cycle continues.

We (understandably) get a really skewed view of the merchant class through Katniss’s perspective so I can see why people come to the conclusion that his family owned the property and, as the last surviving member, he would’ve inherited it. I’ve seen the inheritance thing in fics a lot or a hand wavey “well Twelve was decimated to no one owns anything anymore so it can be his” or even like an almost sort of reparations type situation where he’s entitled to the land as a surviving refugee of Twelve. But I don’t know. I guess I don’t think it fits with everything else we know about Panem that the Mellarks would’ve owned that land and I think the question of whether the government would’ve let him take ownership of the land post-revolution brings up a lot of issues about the structure of society post-Mockingjay that I find more interesting to explore in other ways, especially when, from an emotional perspective, 1) I find the idea of Peeta not opening a bakery more compelling and 2) I don’t think it really fits his character arc by the end of Mockingjay to reopen a bakery, as I went on about at length above lol.

On the flip side: literally who cares!! Do whatever you want!! Headcanon whatever you want!! I get why people go for the bakery!! It’s fun, it’s wholesome, it’s a built in bakery AU that isn’t even an AU. It doesn’t matter if it’s practical or realistic!! It doesn’t need to be practical or realistic!! It’s fanfic of a dystopian YA series!! My unfortunate affliction is that I grew up in a family that owned a restaurant and that I have multiple degrees in the social sciences so I can’t see the bakery without being like “What about the overheard? What about the start up costs? Who’s spending long nights balancing the books? Is Peeta covering shifts when an employee calls in sick? Is Peeta the sole person working there until the bakery is open long enough (often a year or more) to start turning a profit? How does that sleep schedule work with his nightmares? How does that work with Katniss’s nightmares? What happens when he has an episode and suddenly needs to take the day off before he has any employees? Does the bakery just remain closed for the day? Can the profit margins withstand regular unexpected closures? Can the supplies withstand regular unexpected closures?” And if the answer is “Elliott none of those things matter he’s not doing the bakery because he needs the money but because he wants to”, then my question is why does he want to? Does he not get the same sort of satisfaction out of feeding his loved ones? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would rather give away baked goods than sell them?? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would prefer to make cakes for people’s special occasions upon and then when they insist on paying him for it, he only lets them “pay for the ingredients” which actually cost significantly more than he says they did??

So yeah my point is that it’s a matter of personal taste! It doesn’t fit the way I see the series but that doesn’t mean it’s like wrong, I’m not an authority on Peeta lmao.

It’s also a matter of personal taste in the sense that I find the themes that most resonate with me at the end of Mockingjay (and the end of Peeta’s arc specifically) more interesting to explore in other ways. Grief, living with loss, relearning yourself, finding hope, figuring out your place in a dramatically different world when you don’t even know who you are anymore, healing, building a new life after such complete and total destruction of your old life— those are all things I find compelling about the end of Mockingjay but for me the bakery isn’t the most compelling way to explore them.

Not to say I find the concept of the bakery totally uninteresting. I have this fic about Johanna that I’ll probably never finish where the point sort of is that, yeah, her life really isn’t all that much better after the war. It’s been years at this point and she’s still miserable and she doesn’t know how to be a person but by the end she’s trying to figure it out. And towards the end, Peeta tells her that he’s spent years sort of passively, half-heartedly trying to figure out how to inherit the land his family’s bakery was on, only to find out it was never theirs in the first place. They’d been renting it the whole time and he’d never even known as a kid. So he sort of passively, half-heartedly went on another wild goose chase to find the owner and now, finally, after years of writing to various government agencies and being sent in circles and things being barely functional, he’s managed to track down the owner. Now it’s owned by the daughter of the man who owned it when he was a kid because the original owner (who was likely up to some sketchy war crime shit) died during the war and she inherited it (the irony…). He got in contact with her and asked how much it would take for her to sell it and she told him she’s not interested in selling but in light of the situation, in light of the fact that he’d have to build a new building in order to operate a bakery, that she’d cut him a deal— she’d only require 50% of the bakery’s profits as rent instead of the 80% his family used to pay. And of course Johanna is outraged, that’s not right, the owner shouldn’t be allowed to do that, they should do something about it, they should fight back. And Peeta is like. Not interested. He was actually sort of relieved that opening wasn’t very feasible. Getting the answer was a lightbulb moment where he saw that over the years of trying to look into this, he’s built a life that he likes— one where he’s stable, where his loved ones are stable, where he’s cared for and can care for others— and he doesn’t really want to change it drastically by opening a bakery anyway. He just needed an answer, one way or another, before he could get some closure and move on. (And the point of the conversation is Johanna is having her own lightbulb moment that it’s okay to move on, it’s okay to change, it’s not a betrayal of the people and things she’s lost but that’s not my point here!!).

But anyway. That’s obviously not about running the bakery— it’s about the choice to not run one.

Anyway!! Anyway… are you satisfied anon? Is this what you wanted?

Lastly, here is my most important qualm with the bakery headcanon: must Peeta be gainfully employed? Is it not enough for him to be Katniss’s boytoy? Can’t he just paint and garden and bake and hang out with his girlfriend all day? Is that really too much to ask?

[tarothouselattier]

What’s arising for you this Venus retrograde in Leo pick a card

Your expirience + advice from your Barbie as a spirit guide.

Pile 1: Barbie as Rapunzel

your experience this Venus rx

I think you are focusing on some sort of plan you have. You've turned your big dreams into practical plans that you dreamed to nurture and to bring into life and you were so excited. It was so shiny and new and you really put the venture on a pedestal in your mind so much so that it has now become a burden to you. These dreams don’t keep you warm at night, they keep you up instead and you're tired. You put so much pressure onto yourself to achieve this. The fact that maybe it's not coming into fruition is tied like a rope around your neck. You are in over your head with the things that you want to create so much that the thought is now controlling you, and you are now afraid of what you used to love.

I also see that this kind of thinking keeps you stuck in a loop and you're frustrated. You’re tired, you are paralysed with fear and you feel like you can’t do what you love because it’s kind of turned against you and you are sitting here sulking, looking at what other people have. Because at this moment your thing isn't working out you're saying "oh, I can’t have this, I can’t have that", so you find yourself in your tower away from the world. You're saying with what you have, but you don’t like what you have, and you are sitting there looking at other people's experiences, feeling left out in the cold and like you can’t have what you want.

The only one who is keeping your bag away, weather that bag is monetary or your bag of dreams and desires that you want to bring into life is YOU! You’re in over your head. And now you feel like you can’t have it because you're not participating in your own life to the fullest extent. By watching other people you kind of part your power with them (and I can't say that you're sharing power (like a person who thinks there is only one way to use words and you can't brake the mold whenever you please), because you are not doing it willingly). Don't watch other people, wishing it was you. And what is even graver is living vicariously throught other people. If you think watching videos of people living your dreams, watching them do/make things you want to make without taking action yourself will miraculously satisfy your desire to do this thing, honey, YOU'VE GOT A BIG STORM COMING.

It’s like you’re protecting something no person has taken away from you.

What you need to realise is that you are the only one who can just shift your perspective. And to tell you how SERIOUS I am about you shifting your perspective, listen to this.This is my pile as well, and that means your pile gets THE MOST from me. Why? Because I've done this reading 3 days before coming back to edit this text, and this whole lot of time helped me gain perspective. I literally channeled this much information and needed days to fully realise what this reading is about. I've literally come back to the cards and with my new-found expirience of 3 days and because of that I now see another message I can give you. I understand you better and your message, because I understand myself better. You just need to shit your perspective on evrything going on around you. You can still do all these things, they’re not going anywhere. It’s not about the things it’s about your attitude.

let’s take a really basic every day thing as an example. You do the dishes. They’re still gonna be the dishes, they’re still gonna be dirty. They aren’t going anywhere, they’re sitting there and they are needing to be done regardless of what you feel, right? So you can either be happy in yourself and have a positive attitude and wash the dishes with that happy attitude and do those dishes in a breeze. You enjoy it not because you're washing dishes but because you are enjoying life and you have joy inside of you. And on the other hand, you can be all sulky, bitter, angry and frustrated because nothing you what you want to do seems to be getting you anything you hoped it would. Now you're angry at the dishes while you're doing the dishes. But they are still the same dishes that would not be bothering you if you would jsut calm down and realise that what you need and what you lack is not physical accomplishments and money, but love.

You’re in over your head.

Advice from your Barbie guide: Rapunzel

Her archetype also came through in the cards, look:

The truth always comes out.

Just felt enclined to say that. Now that I have watched the movie, I remember that the truth plays a big part in the point of Rapunzel's story.

You may think that you are fighting an internal battle and you’re losing and like you’re spinning on a spinning wheel of life and nothing seems to be going in your favour. Maybe you’re just so used to external forces being against you. You’re so used to fighting with everybody, and even if there’s no one to fight you’re still doing it. Don't you get tired my love? isn’t like the whole point of fighting people is that you don’t wanna fight? You just want to happily live your life without interference from stupid people. zyou probably had to fend for yourself a lot when you were younger. Fight for your place and prove to people that you deserve to be as happy and well-off in live as you are. That you deserve to live your dreams easily and have fun just like that. People are jelous because they believe nothing in life comes easy and of course they're never satisfied. And when they see you just enjoy life and have fun, recieve anything you ask for and more within a blink of an eye they start to have you. They want to have it in life like you do, but they don't undestand your ease. They believe that it's impossible to live life from a state of hope, trust and ease. They believe everything is hard.

You don’t want anyone to tell you what to do, how to be. you don’t want anyone to be the story-teller of your own life. You are clinging to the idea that you’re lost, but the real thing is that you’re actually living in the big picture, okay?

Realise that you’re living in literal Cosmos and life is so much more generous than what it is you think in your head, it is so much more expancive and kind. The wheel of life is always turning. You never know what happens tomorrow, but you do know that you have your passion and your drive and you need to move. Forget everybody who may say something shit about you. You have your passion, you have your drive, the truth always comes out. You're good to go right at this moment.

Complain with me, let it out. It’s foggy up in the head but we gotta blaze our own way out with fire and magic like the Knight of wands that is coming through for us🔥🫡

Your Barbie‘s quote of advice from my self-made “Pinterest quotes” deck:

“STOP LETTING YOUR POTENTIAL GO TO WASTE BECAUSE YOU DON'T FEEL READY ENOUGH”

Literally pulled this card for myself TWICE before doing your reading.

If you chose pile 3 in my previous pick a card “What you need to say YES to instead of the usual NO” and you’re seeing this now, it just proves we’re in the same boat. It just proves that your dream is your kifeline and you're not delusional, I promise you. I feel like I’m checking up on my friends and this is how your things are going after the last time we talked.

PILE 2. Barbie and the Enchanted Garden(it’s a book) Barbie Lily

You are my magical, light, fairy-tail creatures!

Castles crumbled, you were left dissapointed. You're picking up the pieces now willingly and like it's fine, you're on your own. You're making up with someone but you're in this process on your own. Not making up with the physical person, but with their..spirit..more like the mental image of them in your head. It's like "it didn't work out, that's fine. I'm just picking myself up, forgiving and moving forward" But I feel like you're really snarky while doing so lol.

"Go and tell your friends that I'm crazy and obsessive, that's fine!"

It's like "ókay, I've got one less problem without you.(I'm really breaking into song here. Do you do that?) oh, you're leaving? Wheh, 'kay, I was tired because of you you anyway" I'm crying you're so sassy. I thought you were all love'n'light at first.

There was a person involved. I feel it stronglyyy. But there is literally no direct indication of that in the cards. "Out of sight out of mind bitch" lmao.

I feel like it's really time for you to revaluate the self. Really pick YOURSELF up.

Pile 2, I’m on a roll with you.

I am tuning into your energy literally the next day and you have already changed your perspective and see this situation and person clearly.

You’ve taken a loss and you have done so gracefully.  I am sensing this is definitely because a person let you down. This could either be your ex romantic partner, your business partner, or they are one in the same. Either way, fuck them .

I heard “I’m taking the dog, you bastard!!😠” and I kid you not, seconds later this card came out WITH THE DOG.

I thought it was more of a figurative situation to represent your power in the fight with this man. I can’t even say person. I would give you my left arm(left-handed) because I bet this is a man. If you are battling with this person and they literally have your dog, go get your dog mama!!!!!

You don’t need no coins from this person, you don’t need their money. You just get your “dog” back, get your power back!!! Kick him out of your life. You are on your own business, on your hot girl shit, on your plans, you’re assessing your own life situation. You’re so much better off without them. You see them clearly now. Gone are the chains that bound you to this person, you’re setting yourself free. Fuck shit up!!! I feel like cursing in this reading, I feel you are passionately mad. You have been disrespected by this bitch-ass man. But you see right through their schemes and their bullshit. You are withdrawing your energy, you’re having none of it!!! God I love reading tarot. AND I LOVE THIS FOR YOU. YES. BE FURIOUS. Channel your devine rage into building the life of your dreams. Fill yourself with meaning. You are no mother, no bride, you are KING. Your power is yours, and ain’t nobody taking it from you.

It’s the feeling of when someone gaslights you all the time, and there comes a point when you’ve had enough of their bullshit(you can feel the’re bullshitting you), realise your own power, step away and then see how much of a PATHETIC WORM that person is.

ADVICE FROM YOUR BARBIE GUIDE: LILY(Barbie and the Enchanted Garden)

Disappear off the face of the Earth.

I think what she means by this is become completely unavailable to that person and ANYONE who is not serving your highest good for that matter. Trust me, this is the best thing you can possibly do for yourself. 

Redefine yourself entirely and do it FOR yourself. You can do that by answering your inner call.

“You guys, your real strength comes from being the best you you can be, so who are you? What are you good at? What do you love? What makes you YOU!?” - Po in Panda King Fu 3. Kung * I decided to leave the autocorrect part because KING is very fitting for you. Maybe watch that training clip if you want. It’s when Po is training the Pandas to defend the village. You don’t have to be someone else in order to achieve your goals. You are not part of that person you left behind. You are not intertwined or attached at the hip, you never have been. Discover and nurture your inner power. You’re on your own now. You’re actually stronger on your own! Because you don’t have to split yourself apart for others and live with your cup half-full all the time.

“She’s beautiful 🥹” you’re going off on your own now, something you have been afraid off. This is the death of life as you once new it and your big entrance into the life you always dreamed of and deep down always knew you were meant for. You are meant for MORE in this life!!!! Just like you’ve always felt. There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing wrong with believing in yourself. You cut the cords with that person and in doing so you cut the cord to your old life, that you once believed would be all that you could have. I feel spirit, your guides being just so incredibly proud of you. The energy of “that’s my beautiful girl🥹🥰👍🔥 YOU GO HONEY!!!!!!! ayyyyy”

“And if I fall - they got me” - the song I can’t live without (haven’t heard it in a long-ass time😂) CAN’T HOLD US - Macklemore & Ryan Lewis.

I’m so fucking hype right now, this song is PERFECT FOR YOU!!!!! And me. I’m going through the same shit, high-five Queen ✋😂

Please feel free to text me, send a message in my ask box or a dm, ‘cause I feel this hype energy so strongly right now, I want to know what is happening for you at this moment sister!!!

You are NOT a care-giver to everyone around you! They are responsible for their own shit, and if they are an irresponsible crybaby who never takes accountability then that’s their own.fucking.problem. You take that responsibility and accountability like a KING. And that’s all you need to know.😌 Don’t waste your emotions and energy and your love on someone who gives you NOTHING!!!! Stop overflowing that cup. What have they ever done for you, huh??? They didn’t ever pour into you and never held space for all that beautiful love that you spilled for them willingly. It’s like this: YOU BOUGHT THE TABLE, YOU BROUGHT THE CUP, YOU PUT YOUR WHOLE SELF INTO IT AND THEY JUST SAT THERE AND STARED AT IT. AND THEN HAD THE AUDACITY TO MESS UP THE TABLECLOTH SO IT ALL SPILLED OVER AND THEY MADE A MESS OF YOUR BEAUTIFUL LOVE.

NAH-AH BITCH. KICK THEM OUT THE TABLE!!! YOU DID THAT!?!???? GOOD. EXACTLY AS YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE!!!🥰🥰🥰🥰 Spirit is really so proud of you and they applaud you for your strength and resilience and your love and power. NOW GO GET YOUR LIFE BECAUSE SPIRIT WANTS TO POUR WATERFALLS AND OCEANS OF LOVE AND ABUNDANCE ONTO YOU ASAP QUEEN🥰🥰🥰😂😂😂

PILE 3. Barbie & the magic of Pegasus

“I won’t rest till I’m in hell”. You have a personal “vendetta” against rest.

“Low-born” heard this multiple times while shuffling for your pile.

Let me give you a song.

“Angel” - Halle.

“Witch blood”

Paint it. Red.

Cut ties. But you won’t let this go.

These messages and energy are intense to a fault.

“Remember me for centuries” - Fall out boy.

God I love my job - me to myself while doing this reading.

Is there like a family situation? Greed? Expectations. Having to hold up family traditions that are EXTREMELY intimidating and harmful.

You just want to live a happy life on your own terms, but your hell of a family won’t let you. They corner you and your love wherever you go. Just when you think you escaped out of their clutches - boom, clap. You’re in their clasp. You don’t see a way out. Don’t exchange money for love or love for money. Those things aren’t in the same lane.

You have to choose love in your life. Cut trough this hell like a sword. “Wounds will heal, time will not.” - I think what this is referring to is that if you cut ties now you WILL hurt. BUT it WILL heal. What won’t heal is the time you’d be wasting by not cutting off those merciless gnomes(?): your family, friends, whoever or whatever it is. I don’t care. You MUST.

You won’t find what you’re looking for in greed and piles of money. What are you good at? Use it.

There is no expansion or generosity in greed. You will lose your family. You will lose everything. EVERYTHING YOU DON’T NEED. Everything that is not your soul’s to carry. This is divinely guided. You KNOW what you must do!

Once you were a hope for a dynasty. You will feel this immense loss of expectation buried in your chest.

There is nothing wrong with being who you are.

If you don’t cut your family off, or end and slash through whatever it is you must end, you will just become a frozen statue, a stone figure in the merciless house of your choosing.

Yes, YOUR choosing. If your choice will be not to walk away.

Wow. I am channeling like CRAZY today.

Go through with it. Or you will be just like the rest of those.

“Time will heal, but this won’t.” - time will pass, and so you might think that becoming complacent and conforming will save you. But make no mistake: you will spend THE REST of your life with this wound in your chest.

“You can make it different. You can make it right. You can make it better. You don’t have to fight”

A lot of generational trauma and karmic density is what I’m getting with your pile.

GOD NO WONDER PRINCESS ANIKA IS YOUR GUIDE BRO I CAN’T MAKE THIS SHIT UP. WATCH THE FUCKING MOVIE ISTG. THIS IS INSAAANE.

Break the chains- reap the benefits. Take! the last stand!

There is always hope to shine the light on the darkest of winters.

“Now I reap the benefits with no congregation.” - Doja Cat in “Attention”.

ADVICE FROM PRINCESS ANIKA

DON’T LET THEM RULE YOUR WORLD.

CUT THROUGH THE NIGHT.

You ARE the Empress of your own world.

You are more than this world could ever imagine. You’re running out of time. Don’t let it pass you. Your time is NOW.

SHINE NOW.

UUUUUUHHGHHHHRRGHHHH.

You sit in the debris and wonder if it’s time.

- YES, it is TIME. What you’re reaching for is also reaching for you. The nine of pentacles. It is your birthright. seize your power.



“Woke up this morning - I feel so f*cking important. I looked in the mirror - I’m different. I finally made a decision.

All the rejected that lost a lack of respect in

Themselves 'cause people get hectic

They hurt you and make you feel helpless

They're not brave like you

They're too scared to do

Anything that's different

Anything that new

I don't need lessons

I do what I want, it's refreshing

As soon as you taste independence

You start living life in the present”

YONAKA - “SEIZE THE POWER”

BOMB SONG. Recommend. Will BLOW yow mtf mind. Idk why, but I felt such a need not to swear in this reading, but now I feel the need to say mtfucking. Feels so important. Like breaking free😁

You look down and see all that your family has done to you. stop looking down and cut your own head off if that’s what you must do to live.(with loving intention). Do you have everything you need? YES.

You have YOU. You, separately. you as in you personally. You own yourself. You alone get to define yourself you own your power. You are power, they are nothing. YOU want to Break free. Once you do, you realise you are everything you need. Once you claim your power and wield it like the Knight, Queen and Empress that you ARE, you realise they NEVER had ANY power over you. You just refused to wield your own power for fear of judgement. Of hurting them. They are the ones who hurt ppl. Not you. Them.

Their forces COMBINED don’t stand a singular chance against the sheer power that you alone yield.

Nothing. Period.

Wow, pile 3. I am speechless. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TEXT ME. Send an ask, a dm. I want to talk to the divine royalty that you are.

May the Gods bless you🙏

Now may you go in peace and fight with what is yours to wield. I’ll be waiting.

THE MOST POWERFUL MESSAGE I’VE DONE IN MY WHOLE LIFE HOLY SHIT GUYS.

I hope you enjoy.

I feel this pile deep within my bones.

We are royalty, pile 3. I know in my heart this pile is meant for me, but I’m so afraid to admit it. But I’m doing it anyway. I’m facing this fear that I stand up to and say: NO MORE! I feel like this is what we do. Say no to this with me.

Shine bright like the Star in the night. You are. You are. We are STARS. And stars are made to shine. That is their nature. No more hiding our true nature, my dear soulfamily.

GOD PILE 3 ALWAYS ROCKS MY FUCKING WORLD.

Goodnight.

[blayresmuses]

entertainment purposes only

summary: daemon thinks training you will be fun until you start telling him things he doesn’t want to hear.

warnings: mutual pining? kind of

He found you truly precious.

Sweat soaked hair stuck to your blushed cheeks and Daemon could swear he heard you growl as you pulled yourself up, such fire dancing in your eyes that he couldn’t help but grin in pure amusement. That was all he was doing this for, not to please you but to entertain himself, he made sure to remind himself of that as you straightened up and scowled at him, the look sending some strange sort of delight through him.

“You said you’d take it easy on me,” you gritted out as you tried to ignore the aches and pains you’d incurred during the short training exercise. You could feel the sweat dripping from you, could only imagine how filthy you must look but Daemon looked pristine, not one lock of his hair out of place. This miserable fact had your blunted sword aiming for his legs, which he easily sidestepped around and countered with a hard stroke of his own.

‘Lazy’ Daemon sighed in disapproval, although his lips were upturned at the corners, his amusement clear from his tone. ‘And what would the use in that be? They would hardly take it easy on you in a real fight Y/N.” As if to punctuate his point he swung his sword faster, harder until blocking was all you could do.

‘I doubt I’d ever be in a real fight’ you countered as you hastily took a few steps backwards out of his firing line. He stalked after you and the predatory look in Daemons eyes sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine. ‘You’re always there aren’t you, following me around like a lost puppy, I’m sure you’d have enough honour to save a maiden in distress wouldn’t you Daemon?”

Your change in tactics did stop him momentarily, the words sinking in until a vexed, angry snarl slid forth from his mouth and before you knew it your arm was ringing from blocking another of his rough attempts to beat you. Quickly before you lost your advantage you twirled around, coming to face his back with your sword outstretched in defence.

The comment was irritating, designed purely to get under his skin he knew. He held no grand affection for you he reassured himself as he turned to face you, of course not. Although he could never explain to himself why he desired your presence so much, why he simply couldn’t stay away.

‘Did that hit a nerve?’ you wondered aloud, hoping the soothing note you put into your voice lulled him into a false sense of security. You took a small step forward to which he reacted with another shot but it was halfhearted, lazy. ‘Why is that Daemon? Am I your only friend?’

He smirked but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Daemons heart raced as you stood in front of him, brazen as if it were you who belonged to the royal family and not him. There was mud smeared just below your lip and he resisted wiping it off and could only try to shake off the ideas it gave him of what your lips would feel like. The squires clothing you’d stolen hung off you, you were dirty and out of breath and you still managed to make him lost for words, it frustrated him to no end.

So he reacted the only way he knew how, before you could take another breath his sword struck yours once, twice. Blindly you stepped back but he went high distracting you before bringing the metal down to tangle between your ankles. You fell backwards, the ladylike grace that had been instilled in you for so long nowhere to be seen. The air was knocked from your lungs as you fell onto your back, Daemon leaned over you, arrogance dripping from the look of distaste he threw at you. You couldn’t tell if you loved it or hated it, if you loathed or wanted to bask in the attention. “I don’t have friends Y/N.’

He left you there in the mud and you could only listen to the sound of his footsteps as he walked away. Although you were the one on the ground, the feeling of victory swept over you knowing you’d managed to get under his skin.

[mousy-nona]

I didn't send the initial prompt so I hope this is allowed, but could I request a followup to the story where Lucifer gets addicted to Alastor's blood? One where he finally gets that taste he's been so desperately craving, whether through charm or persistence or a trade of some sort?

Part 1 here.

Lucifer tried everything. He tried meditation. He tried stuffing his face with so much cake his waistband grew three sizes (he later transfigured it away, so no one would ask him Concerned Questions). He even went on vacation to the Lust Ring for a while, but there were only so many sex jokes a person could take before they started seeing penises and boobs everywhere.

The whole time he was there, he kept thinking about the forbidden fruit coursing through Alastor’s veins. And when he was done lusting after Alastor’s blood, he would think about Alastor in general. Alastor would hate this, he thought, bored out of his mind while a cow devil was milked dry in front of him. Alastor would hate that, he thought, as Ozzie and his partner treated him to a very graphic display of affection that left his face redder than a tomato. When Ozzie started rolling out the really premium shows, Lucifer decided it was high time for him to go.

By that time, the obsession had grown to the point where he was nearly deafened by it, the constant refrain of AlastorthisAlastorthatAlastorAlastorAlastor –

Then he stepped out of his golden portal, and a tall figure sitting in an armchair by the fire turned around and the voice went silent.

Alastor barely looked up, too busy petting KeeKee and looking like the world’s best Bond villain to give him the time of day. 

“Ah, you’re back.”

When had that radio static started sounding like home? “Did y’all miss me?” He glanced around, deflating a little at the empty sitting room. “Where is everyone?”

“Busy with any number of far more important matters, I’m sure,” Alastor drawled. 

“It’s good to see you too, asshole,” Lucifer grumbled. The brief moment of homecoming faded, replaced by that permanent feeling of annoyance that he always felt around Alastor. He had started stomping upstairs when the shadows by the top of the stairs shifted, crinkled. Then Alastor was there, blocking his way. 

“I see your Majesty has his tiny knickers in a twist,” he commented, as if that wasn’t a totally inappropriate to say to the biblical source of all evil. 

Lucifer’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Excuse me?” 

“I wouldn’t bother trying to deny it if I were you,” Alastor mentioned. “That would be quite an insult to my intelligence. You’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. The whole hotel has noticed it. You’ve been dragging that silly cane all over the place, something you only do when you're upset.” A flash of green lit up Alastor’s wide smile. He looked positively ghoulish, but Lucifer was still stuck on his comment about his cane. I drag it when I’m sad? Since when? And why did he notice? “If it’s bothering you so much, why not share the load?”

“You want me to…tell you my problems? What is this, storytime?” Lucifer scoffed. 

“Perhaps I could lend you my assistance,” he purred. “For a price, of course.” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Now you’re insulting my intelligence.” With a flick of his hand, another portal appeared on the stairs, blocking Alastor from view. The demon was oddly perceptive. He didn’t want him to see just how close he was to falling to his knees and blubbering yes please just a sip, just one more taste. 

(Lillith had always called him a drama queen. Maybe she’d had a point.)

The portal didn’t block the sound of Alastor’s voice, more’s the pity. “Is this about the little scratch you gave me a few weeks ago?” 

Lucifer stilled. The portal wavered, guttered, and went out, leaving the two of them staring at each other.

“How–?” He stammered. 

Alastor’s grin was triumphant. “How many times must I say it? Never underestimate my intelligence. So am I correct?”

Lucifer didn’t respond, which was answer enough. Alastor sniffed. 

“In that case, I believe I have an answer to your problems.” 

What? Was he offering what Lucifer thought he was offering? “And what could that possibly be?”

“Quid pro quo, my dear. You get some of my blood, and I get some of yours.” 

“Fine,” Lucifer gestured him over impatiently. “Come here and bite me –” 

“Not like that.” 

Alastor raised a small glass vial. His smile would have made a crocodile jealous. “I told you, just a little bit of blood. I never said to drink.” 

Alastor eyes flashed into dials and the darkness was split by a lazer of green, then red – a literal red flag. The biggest STOP HERE, DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200 Lucifer had ever seen. 

But his mouth was so dry. He could barely think past how large his tongue had grown. Besides, he was the king of hell. The original sin. What harm could it do to let Alastor have a little bit of his blood? 

A lot, the rational part of his brain whispered. This is Alastor we’re talking about. But the rational part of his brain had grown rather quiet around the Crusades, and he’d lost a good chunk of it by World War II. 

Charlie said he was reckless. She didn’t know the half of it. 

“Fine,” Lucifer said. “But you only get to take my blood once. And I can drink from you when I want.”

Alastor thought for a moment, then his lips moved. 

Deal.

The word disappeared in the cra-a-ack of green lightning that struck around them like fireworks. He started to roll up his sleeves, but Lucifer was too quick for him. He flew up the steps and smashed into Alastor with such force he sent them spiraling into the wall. Alastor gasped, but before he could protest, Lucifer had torn the fabric of his shirt and slashed a deep groove into the cool skin of his neck. 

Finally, that sweet blood flowed onto his tongue. He moaned, his lids fluttering as he drank greedily. Big mouthfuls at a time. 

Sin. Death. Apples. Smoke and sugar. The taste was indescribable, and in that moment, Lucifer thought he could have promised Alastor his whole kingdom, and it would have been a fair trade. 

Alastor, for his part, stayed dutifully still, even when Lucifer licked off the blood that had splattered onto Alastor’s collarbone and the tip of his chin, unwilling to let even a drop of it go to waste.

It took a while, but Lucifer finally leaned back with a groan, his lips smeared with blood like it was cherry chapstick. 

“Satisfied?” Alastor muttered. Lucifer made an incoherent sound of joy. 

“Good. I am as well.” Alastor raised a completely full vial of golden blood. When had he taken it? “I believe it was a satisfactory deal for both parties.”

Then he smiled in a way that made Lucifer's skin prickle. 

Heavenly Father, what have I done? 

[armins-main-hoe]

HI HELLO!!! I would like 2 request some haikyuu! Manager fluffy headcanons please??? Some of the fem! reader being chubby and popular, it can be either platonic or romantic! I also love your writing ✍️ have a good day/night 💗💗

Hello! That is honestly such a cute request and I have a few ideas for it hehehe

I’m going to do this for Karasuno and Nekoma, if you would like other teams, send in a request again saying which ones you want.

(For those who have sent in requests, don't worry, I'm getting round to writing them all up)

“Nah, I think she’s perfect the way she is”

Karasuno

In all honesty, you were really into music and you wanted to sign up for a music club, so when you found yourself standing in the gym, you couldn’t have felt any more out of place.

It seems there was a bit of a mix up with the sign up sheets and you ended up becoming the manager for the boy’s volleyball team.

You don’t know shit about volleyball.

You talked with the teachers and they said it may take some time for them to go through the sign up sheets and find an empty spot in the music club for you to switch into.

So for now, it seems like you're stuck being the boy's volleyball manager.

On your first day, you were very confused about what exactly you should be doing. I mean the team already has a coach and an qualified teacher with them, what can a student manager do?

So you just sat around, watching the boys practice while the coach yells at them. You weren't going to lie, you got a little bored...

Next few days, you would do the same thing, you even used the time to get homework done, since you thought you'd rather do something than do nothing.

You won't lie to yourself, you weren't popular, or that's what you thought, just known by everyone because of how you looked. You knew you weighed more than the other girls in your class, it didn't bother you all that much and you did always try to see the better side of things.

But that doesn't mean that everyone else thought the same.

You were eating lunch with your friends in the school courtyard when a student walking by with his friends yelled out names at you like "piggy", "diabeto" and "fat cow". You didn't really take words like that to heart, they never were all that creative with the name calling.

However, before you or your friends could say anything, a boy from the volleyball team (you pick who) came and stood up for you.

You watched as he stood in front of you and started yelling back at the boy who was name calling you. "I think she's perfect the way she is!"

As you watched him, you couldn't help but wonder "had he always been this good looking? I hadn't noticed before...."

Funny how now you suddenly feel motivated to actually look into volleyball.

So next time there was a practice, you came prepared. You did your research, you learned the basic rules of volleyball and asked other sport manager's what they do.

The boys were surprised to see you suddenly interested since you usually sat in a corner dong homework.

"The teachers are taking forever with sorting the mess up, I didn't think I'd actually be here for here for this long. But since I am, I might as well help out." You shrugged when they questioned it. It wasn't a lie completely but it wasn't the only reason.

You glanced over to the boy who stood up for you the other day before quickly looking away again, he was smiling at you.

As the weeks passed, you began to pick up more and more about volleyball. It wasn't long before you memorized the positions and each player's weakness and strength.

The other boys were quick to notice your little crush and thought that it was probably why you decided to stick around, but later they began to feel like you genuinely enjoying being manager as well. You weren't a bad manager either, you helped everyone equally and the team as a whole.

Nishinoya was little shit though, you were kind and nice to everyone but with him, you're patience wore down thin.

You did get an offer to change clubs and go do the music club you wanted, you thought of going to both volleyball and music but the timings clashed often so you had no choice but to pick.

Volleyball or music?

Oh well, you can practice music at home and the weekends, it's not like you can see your crush at home or the weekends, right?

You kinda knew making decisions based off of a boy wasn't really good for you but even if you wouldn't admit it, you kinda liked playing manager.

You actually found it fun.

When you told the boys that you were staying as their manager, you were taken back by their cheer.

"We were worried that you'd leave us when you get the chance to join the music cub" Hinata said.

"Sure, we didn't get off too well in the beginning but we like having you around now" Suga smiled at you.

The others nodded their head and in that moment, you felt immense happiness wash over you, your face felt a little hot from the praise and you felt a little embarrassed.

"Thanks guys, I promise to get better at being a manager too. I still have a lot to learn."

At the end of practice, you were helping clean up along with your not so secret crush.

"You know Y/N, I hope you don't mind what the others say about you."

You look at him. "Say what?"

"About your looks. It doesn't matter what a person looks like as long as they are happy and healthy." He says, looking at you with a sincere expression.

"Oh that, don't worry, I'm basically immune to those childish name callings, but thank you anyway for looking out for me" You smiled at him.

As you both continued to talk, you didn't see the rest of the boys spying on you both through the windows, silently cheering you and your crush on. They all are VERY supportive of you both, even though they all suck ass at being cupid.

Nekoma

No one and I mean no one has ever thought of bad mouthing you.

You quite literally were the sweetest girl in the whole school, always having pure intentions. No one could ever hate you, you got along with everyone.

You heard the volleyball club was looking for a manager for a while now with no luck so you decided to give it a go.

"hello I'm-"

"Y/N!" A few of them called out, running over to you. You recognised nearly all of the members, you had spoken to them at some point during your time as school, even the ones that were not in your year. You knew the basics of volleyball since the school sometimes made you do that in your Physical Education class.

Yamamoto was all over the place, he could basically explode with how much joy he felt. His team finally got a manager. He was so going to boast about it to his friends outside of school.

What amazed you was how seriously the boys took the sport, you weren't all that much into sports or anything really, you struggled to find something to actually be that passionate about that could lead into a future career.

So you weren't able to understand but respected their dedication and efforts nonetheless.

You were really good and hyping the boys up and giving them motivation when they needed it, some of them became very fond of you.

Kenma would sometimes try to hide behind you whenever Kuroo would be scolding him, you would give kuroo a sweet smile and lie to his face saying "I haven't seen Kenma all day!"

Whenever lev would to the same, it wouldn't work out the same but you found it enduring still. You would let out a laugh before acting like insanely tall guy was actually able to hide perfectly behind you.

Yaku would often tut at you for playing along, saying that lev needs to learn but you keep taking the seriousness out of it.

"But he has gotten better though, hasn't he?" you would say back.

"Not enough!" yaku would reply back before huffing away.

Though despite you being all smiles and sunshines most of the time, you did have moments where you would get a bit serious.

During tournaments specifically, the boys were good, really good even but so were other teams.

When you get nervous you would become quite and have a serious frown on your face.

Kinda scared the boys a bit ngl-

lev would laugh tho.

Maybe kuroo too.

They find it cute more than scary okay?

You would give them a pep talk before their very first game, promising to buy them all ice cream if they come first place.

Though no one at your school has ever badmouthed you, that doesn't mean people from other schools wouldn't.

Since you were on the chubby side, you were prone to some bullying when you were younger, though in middle school it died down a lot. The boys never saw you differently because of your weight though, you were sweet and a really good manager to them so why wouldn't they adore you?

So when they would overhear people from other schools making fun of you just because of something as little as your weight, they didn't take it that lightly.

They would only stop yelling threats and curse words when their next match is about to start or the "bad mouther" runs away. Kuroo once nearly got a bit physical too.

You would then tell them to ignore that when it happens since there is not use wasting breath over people like that, it's not like you take what they say to heart anyway... well most of the time anyway.

But like always. the team refused to ever ignore anyone making fun of you.

It's almost like you have a bunch of protective brothers, they sometimes tease you but no one else can.

I do hope you like it! Let me know if you want more :)

[kittycatboyhalo]

I LOVE the concept of Bbh being some sort of older brother/guidance to young Cellbit in the war

With Cellbit’s cannibal class I can imagine that translating as really hard times, resulting in people having to eat their dead. Maybe it’s winter time and they can’t grow anything and anything that they could hunt is hibernating so they have to turn to that. It confuses bbh at first, he just assumes that maybe humans just eat other humans now, until he realizes the horrors in which why they have to do that and it dawns on him how awful this is so he takes Cellbit under his wing

at first bbh tries not to get too attached, their ranks are dropping like flies, but he just can’t help it. Cellbit also might be the youngest there, so bad feels an extra responsibility to keep him safe

why either of the are fighting in the first place, I’m not sure but I imagine that maybe Bad was traveling when war struck and he got stuck in the middle of it, wings or magic too damaged to be able to get himself out so he has to fight out. Or maybe he just thinks it’s for a good cause? Cellbit on the other hand, maybe he’s just collateral, his hometown destroyed so he has no choice.

In the end, bbh and cellbit are seemingly the only survivors, maybe because Bad’s abilities finally come back, just in time for him to protect himself and his new friend. Somehow they get separated, maybe in the chaos or at a navy port, but they lose touch until they reunite in the qsmp.

Cellbit grows up kind of assuming that he’s crazy, there’s no way that he had a benevolent demon battle buddy as a teenager. He goes on to think that maybe he was starving or just coping, making imaginary friends to feel safe and cared for. But then they meet again and he realizes that it all happened and it’s just so relieving and happy because that’s his friend and also, he wasn’t aggressively hallucinating for the mass of the war.

I really hope that more people are just as into this as I am 😭 I really hope I see fanfics about this, I like writing but it’s so hard

[worldofheroes]

Playing Games

bbc!sherlock x fem!reader summary: you and sherlock are stuck in the flat, bored out of your minds. what comes next is surprising to both of you (mostly you). warnings: 18+, smut, p in v sex, language wc: 1.2k a/n: based on a request by @fierytteokbokki! I took a creative liberty or two - not necessarily angry sex, but I hope you still like it :)

It’s been a long four hours.

You’re sitting on the couch of 221B Baker Street, trying to get some work done, but Sherlock is in front of you, pacing and muttering to himself.

“Can you stop that?” you ask him, getting slightly irritated. “I’m trying to work here.”

“I don’t know why John insists you stay here, to watch me like I’m some sort of child!” Sherlock exclaims, turning around to face you.

He’s not wrong. Your cousin, John, took you under his wing until you settled back in after living away, but now he uses you to leave Sherlock and get some alone time. You don’t blame him.

“I don’t know either, but to make this more tolerable for both of us, please, sit down or just do anything else but pace like a wild animal.”

“I just need a case! Something, anything will do!"

“I can’t control that, so don’t take it out on me. I don’t want to be here either.”

“No?”

“You really think a 30-something wants to stay in on a Friday night?”

“I don’t know!”

“Just… quit pacing, and maybe John will be back home so we both can do what we want.”

You focus your eyes back on your screen, but you sense Sherlock is staring at you.

“What do you want?” you slam your laptop closed.

“What?”

“You’re staring?”

“No, I’m not."

“Sherlock, please stop acting like a child! What do you want with me?”

“I am not acting like a child!”

You roll your eyes and sigh, going back to your work, hoping you can ignore Sherlock that way, hoping John comes back soon.

Sherlock pushes your laptop closed.

“Dammit Sherlock!” You look up at him, and he seems pleased with himself. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“I’m not being that annoying, am I?”

“Oh god,” you say, rubbing your face. “I am not in the mood to do this, Sherlock. Just, leave me alone, okay?”

“Leave you alone? You’re free to leave at any time, y/n.”

“I’m pretty sure John would kill me. He says you need to be supervised, especially when you don’t have a case.”

Sherlock frowns.

“Seriously, what do you want?”

“Bored.”

“Not my problem, Sherlock.”

“You’re the only one here, won’t you please entertain me?”

“You’re an adult, entertain yourself.” You set your laptop aside, standing up in front of Sherlock.

“What do you do all day on your laptop? I’ve never seen you without it.”

“I work remotely.”

“That’s all?”

“You don’t need to know."

“Hmm,” he hums, stepping closer to you.

“I really don’t like you,” you say, moving to walk past Sherlock. As you do, Sherlock grabs your arm. “What?”

“I’m sick of this too.”

“Great, now let me go,” you say, trying to wiggle out of Sherlock’s grip.

“This is fascinating,” Sherlock whispers.

“What now?”

“You’re trying to hide your true feelings.”

“What are you talking about?”

Sherlock smirks, which makes you roll your eyes.

“Admit it.”

“I’ve had enough of you, Sherlock,” you tell him, staring him down.

“We don’t have to play games, y/n. We’re adults.”

“Seriously, just let me go and I’ll leave. I know that’s what you want.”

“That’s not what I want,” Sherlock mutters.

Sherlock is inches from your face, eyes locked with each other. He leans in and kisses you.

You’re taken aback, but the hesitation goes away as he places a hand on either side of your face. You've pushed down these feelings for Sherlock, as he works with your cousin - it didn't seem right.

Sherlock’s kisses get messier, hungrier, and you find yourself touching him in any way you can.

You eventually find the buttons on his shirt, and start to fiddle with them.

“Tell me what you want,” Sherlock mutters into your ear.

“I just want you,” you tell him, colliding your lips with his again.

He pushes his body against yours, and you can feel his hardness under his clothes.

You undo his buttoned up shirt and slide it off. Your hands move up and down his chest, learning his body.

He tugs at your shirt, and you happily comply. It gets tossed somewhere on the floor, but you’re not paying attention.

Sherlock’s hands move down your sides and to your jeans. “May I?” he whispers, his hands on the zipper.

You nod, unable to speak.

Once your jeans and panties are off, he gently pushes you onto the couch, stradling you. He again presses his crotch against you, making both of you moan.

“Just fuck me already, Sherlock,” you whisper, running your hands through his dark curls.

“With pleasure,” he growls, taking his own pants off, tossing them aside. When he removes his boxers, you’re surprised by the size of his cock.

“Sherlock,” you squeak.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says as his tip comes into contact with your center.

You buck at the sensation.

“Good,” he whispers, gathering spit on his hand to lube the both of you up.

His tip gently enters you, and you can’t help the moan that escapes from your lips.

“Oh, I’m not even in yet,” Sherlock says, leaning down to kiss your neck and pushing deeper into you.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” you moan, unable to say anything else.

Sherlock gently rocks his hips, helping open you up.

“You feel so good,” he growls.

You moan in reply, your brain short-circuiting.

His pace quickens, and soon the flat is filled with moans and the ungodly noise of bodies coming into contact repeatedly.

Neither one of you hears the door open.

“Jesus Christ!” you hear John shout.

“John!” you exclaim, trying to cover up but there’s nothing in your reach to help you. In your startle, Sherlock’s dick pulls out from you.

“With Sherlock?” John shouts, covering his face.

“John, I can explain,” you say.

“No, you don’t need to explain,” John says, turning around and walking towards the door. “I will never be able to get this out of my head,” he exclaims as he exits the flat, closing the door behind him.

Sherlock grins at you.

“What?” you ask him, slightly annoyed by his grin.

“I love how we were caught by your cousin,” he tells you as he leans in for a kiss.

You turn your face away from him. “Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood any more.”

“Oh, you’re not?” Sherlock cocks an eyebrow.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m going to finish fucking you, and that’s not a request,” Sherlock says, pushing back into you.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“That’s what I thought,” Sherlock sends you a sly smile.

“Do your worst,” you say with a mischievous smile.

“With pleasure,” he retorts, starting up his thrusting again.

Only moans come out of you as you have some of the best sex you’ve ever had, and soon you feel your orgasm coming.

“Sherlock,” you mumble between breaths. “I’m close.”

“Keep it in for me, baby,” he tells you.

“I don’t know if I can,” you gasp.

“One more second.”

“Sherlock, I can’t!”

“Go ahead, baby girl,” he mutters against your neck.

You release and almost scream at how good it feels. A few more thrusts more and Sherlock comes in you, gasping.

He collapses on top of you.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” you say, running your hands through his hair.

“You seemed to enjoy that,” he smiles against your chest.

“Fuck,” you say again.

“Do you want to admit those feelings now?” Sherlock teases.

“I’ll think about it,” you smile.

Sherlock smiles and kisses you as you wrap your arms around him and hold him close.

[lemotmo]

Ooof that finale was…..not it. Like my first issue was they for some reason let Kristen write it. I honestly thought we were free of her with the move to abc but alas apparently not. And she very much made her presence known with how off the finale felt in terms of pacing and just how ooc some of them felt at times. Not to mention the continuing saga of her former reign in making Buck an over sexualized character by turning his dad trauma into a way for Tommy to make jr into a daddy kink joke which was just…. No thanks. Otherwise it just was such a….lackluster finale? And I found myself bored at moments.

And then the season over all I’m left wondering what was the point of half of it ? Like Bathena didn’t get to enjoy their honeymoon. They have no house now. The Amir plot which while I loved the character, ultimately led to nothing? The cartel storyline didn’t need to happen and bringing them back was boring. Bobby being dead for 14 minutes and coming into the station at the end perfectly fine was such a wtf moment even for tv standards.

Henren didn’t get to adopt their baby. They got a foster daughter instead only to then….lose her ? And have her be given to Madney instead for them to visit like truly this was just drama for drama sake and ultimately pointless pain for them.

Madneys wedding got rushed and ultimately turned into a 2 minute hospital room scene. We didn’t even get to see ant build up to the wedding.

Buck: He came out as bi which yesssss 🎉🎉🎉 only to then immediately be forced back into his hamster wheel, stuck in yet another relationship with someone who doesn’t seem to even like him, and is rude to him. And then turned into essentially a background character the rest of the season. I truly feel bad for Oliver because he was so so so excited for bi buck, and so happy and hopeful they would do it right and with respect and not over sexualize it and this is what he gets. A boring rude generic LI making daddy kink jokes and no real development into this part of himself. It’s truly no surprise he did nothing to promote that relationship or this finale.

Eddie and Chris. We hardly saw Chris. And then the way they rushed him leaving at the very end was so… not it. Not to mention so out of sorts for him? Like we have seen when he’s mad at Eddie he always goes to Buck. But this time he calls his grandparents at 2 am and asks them to come rake him to Texas indefinitely? Then the Buck Chris talk. I love their scenes together but even it felt off? And then they systematically undid any progress with Eddie’s parents with Helena often coming off filled with glee over it, and Ramon taking his own guilt in Eddie to make him accept it. Then we have Eddie himself. What was the point of Marisol? There doesn’t seem to be one. And why we had to suffer Edy all season remains a mystery since Tim said she came back because he didn’t want two off screen breakups. Only to then do two off screen breakups. What was the point of Kim? I had hopes they would actually use her to move Eddie along and then they just…didn’t? Even Ryan said he thinks all she did was make it worse.

I will give the show credit because they did stick to the try for buddie scene in every episode. And they had some good scenes. Ryan and Oliver knocked their scenes out in the finale especially but once again we are at the finale and it’s left in a…. Now what ? No real movement forward. Once again all of us going oh next season for sure! And no real clear path toward it. and based on Ryan’s interviews tonight, where it once again sounds like they have no idea what to do with Eddie next season due to the vast amount of directions they seem to want to take him, including apparently Ryan saying in one of them that Tim seems to want to lean more into the Bobby Eddie similarities next season and have Eddie focus a lot more on religion, but Ryan does say he doesn’t think Eddie will become a priest. But still it’s just like… what are we doing. It’s given more we don’t wanna say yes to Buddie and follow the clear narrative direction butttttttt we want the views sooooo let’s make it open ended enough to draw them in. Again.

They said at the start they were going to give, or try to give the fans what they wanted this season and truly, I’m utterly baffled how anyone thought any of this is what we wanted. Like we wanted Henren to get their baby. Madney to have the best wedding. Bathena to thrive and get their honeymoon and have some adventures. Buddie to become buddie and enjoy the Buckley Diaz family in an official capacity. And instead we got circles upon circles with lazy choices taken where they could and next to no real character growth or movement. I’m so sorry for how long this got 😅😅😅

Oh Nonny, how I agree with everything you said here. You get me.

I just posted my episode review and most of the things I talked about are the same things you highlighted.

It was written by Kristen? Ah, that explains a lot actually.

I didn't mind the Diaz parents though. I really do think they were trying to help out in their own way. But all the rest of this post? YEEEES!!!!

I can still see the Buddie of it. I'm still hanging in there. There were too many strange choices made in season 7 to make me believe that Buddie isn't going to happen in season 8. Not to mention the amazing chemistry between Buddie compared to whatever it is they are trying to show us with BT. However, they are on thin ice here. I agree. Things need to start moving along. If not... after season 8 I will retreat to my little nook of Tumblr living off good Buddie fan fiction.

I didn't read any of the Ryan interviews yet. Him leaning into religion and the parallel with Bobby I did see coming. The prayer book was too obvious. I wonder why they had 6 interviews lined up with Ryan over this episode? I get that his storyline is important, but it doesn't warrant 6 interviews, not even the religious aspect of it. I'm going to read some of them today to try and get a clearer image.

I just feel like all of my beloved 911 characters don't have any clear direction at this point. I was surely hoping for some more insight, but all we got was superficial storytelling and no real breakthroughs for anyone.

I don't understand what all those journalists that screened this episode were talking about when they said they saw clear directions for season 8. For me it is the opposite at this point. Where are they taking all of this???

[bestworstcase]

Hi, just joined Tumblr earlier today as part of an unrelated thing, thought I'd check your page out on a friend's rec, and... wow. Just, wow. This is practically the nine-dimensional chess of media literacy. I would have so many question, but everything you discuss is promptly explained in such great detail that I can't even say that. One question remains, though: *how?* Where do you get the absurd amount information and brainpower required to connect the show's many, many dots at this high of a level? It's something I struggle with myself (though that may be due to there being over a year between watching V1-V8 and seriously starting to reflect on the show beyond "well, that was a fun sequence of events"—thank you, newish fanfic writing brain—but that's besides the point), and I was wondering if you had any tips for expanding one's thinking in this direction, as the show still means a *lot* to me—there's a reason, however unexplainable, that I stuck with it so long before the reflections started—and I'd love it if the deepest parts of my brain could reflect it as such.

...Unless that's too much to ask, in which case, whoops! Either way, thank you.

really fundamentally the most effective thing you can do to practice is make a deliberate effort to cultivate a sense of curiosity toward the text. and what i mean by that is, get in the habit of asking yourself questions as if you’re in a high school english lit class: what happened in this scene? why did this character say or do that? does this conversation remind you of anything that happened in an earlier scene, and if so, what’s similar? what’s different? what did you learn about the characters from this scene? what did you learn about the world they live in? why do you think this scene was important enough to be in the story? what changed in this scene (something will always have changed)?

it may feel a bit patronizing at first BUT over time if you’re consistent about it, doing this will train you to approach reading or watching as an active participant. analytical interpretation is a skill and like any skill it takes sustained effort and practice.

after that it’s sort of just pattern recognition. this is true of all stories but it’s especially true of theme-driven stories like rwby because they tend to be very deliberate about repeating and refracting their ideas and often develop rich symbolic vocabularies. so you identify a pattern and then examine the text until you can develop a compelling argument for what it means.

one thing to keep in mind if you’re generally familiar with fandom is that fandom encourages a lot of practices that are cool and fun in fannish contexts but will poison analysis because they are (by nature of being transformative) untethered from the text. headcanon, for example, is things held to be true irrespective of the text—one could have as a headcanon that ruby is allergic to bee stings or that qrow is her father or whatever and it doesn’t matter that there’s no textual evidence or that the text says otherwise because the text is not relevant—but analytically, you must be able to back every part of your argument with textual evidence. so it is useful to practice compartmentalizing to keep headcanon strictly separated from the text in your mind.

(that’s also a practice i recommend in general because being able to say “i like this idea and i have it in mind when i create fanworks, but it isn’t canonical” is healthy)

a good habit to get into is arguing against yourself and holding yourself to a high standard of proof. the reason my argumentation tends to be so thorough is that i try to be as skeptical of my own theories as i am of other people’s. if i have an idea that seems right but doesn’t withstand textual scrutiny, i discard it. (or i might toss it into the headcanon/au idea pile, if i’m very fond of it.) i will often develop more than one argument about a given subject and then lay them all against the text before i commit to one. being skeptical will push you to pay closer attention.

cultivate curiosity about your own emotional reactions, too. what did this scene make you feel? why? how do you feel about this or that character? what draws you to your favorite characters? what distances you from the characters you don’t like? what ideas come to mind when you think about the story and what it means to you? if you have a strong reaction to something—good or bad—try to trace that feeling to its root. what sparked it and why?

once you start digging into that you’ll find that your intuitive reactions to the story are non-arbitrary—you’re subconsciously picking up on certain patterns or themes that resonate with you. so paying attention to what the story makes you feel and asking how and why it incites those feelings will guide you to conscious discovery of things you’ve already noticed without noticing.

and another good point of entry is to look for recurring symbols / imagery—for example, silver-eyes get associated with death and reincarnation through a combination of harvest/reaper imagery (scythe, sickle, ‘the grimm reaper’) and butterflies (ruby’s first glare resembles wings, butterflies everywhere when she and maria discuss her eyes, butterflies symbolizing ascension in the ever after). adding this pattern together with the white light in the liminal void between realms (the threshold of life and death!), the implication that silver-eyes came from ozma (who dies and reincarnates cyclically), the stated purpose of the glare (to preserve and protect life), ruby hearing pyrrha’s final words in her dreams (which she didn’t hear in reality), and the glare having destroyed the hand cinder used to kill pyrrha, is how i got to “silver-eyes are psychopomps,” because both the symbolism and the narrative facts about the power line up in that direction.

the one thing to be careful with in relation to symbolism is not to treat it like a secret code! symbolic meaning isn’t universal so you should always consider symbolism in context with the narrative. the first question should always be “what idea does this image appear in connection to, when it appears?” i.e. the burning rose in rwby symbolizes mourning. think of symbols as more like trail markers that the narrative has placed to help you understand the story by connecting dots. we see the burning rose on summer’s grave and then we see it on ruby; she carries her mother’s absence with her. she gives the brooch away in the ever after right after the blacksmith shows her a glimpse of summer, and then in the storm her reflection is summer but ruby doesn’t look, doesn’t see: she’s avoiding her grief, trying to pretend it isn’t there. and then the brooch returns to her once she faces what the blacksmith wanted to show her about her mom: now it’s a symbol for acceptance of loss.

and with a story like rwby that uses allusion to develop its thematic narrative it’s really helpful to read the texts it alludes to! the core narrative allusions are the marvelous land of oz, maiden in tower fairytales (petrosinella, persinette, rapunzel), cinderella, and the little prince, plus alice’s adventures in wonderland & through the looking glass for the ever after. and then every major character has a specific character allusion. both kinds of allusion are symbolic/thematic (you can’t use allusions to predict specific plot events but they help tie together emotional arcs and character relationships cohesively, and the narrative allusions are pretty good weather vanes for very broad-strokes things like ozma’s symbolic blindness being ‘healed’ in the end).

rewatching the show a couple of times will also help, especially if you take notes. i’m not sure how many times i’ve rewatched v1-8 but it’s a lot and i’ve watched v9 in full twice, plus rewatching a lot of specific episodes or scenes for reference. rewatching will help you spot patterns that you missed before and increase your familiarity with the text in general, both of which help tremendously.

[scoops-aboy86]

♠️♥️Famous Rockstar Eddie leaving the spotlight mysteriously and going off the radar for the next 10 years. Unbeknownst to the world, it was because he broke up with his then secret boyfriend Steve Harrington. Steve wanted to settle down, Eddie wanted to play for the world. The love never left but they both had dreams they wanted to pursue. Then very randomly he's spotted by paparazzi with a cute hubby, a wedding band on his finger, and 100lbs more than he had 10 years ago, enjoying brunch like he wasn't quote unquote "missing" to the public. 😂

Aww. I’m picturing a mostly amiable breakup… They’re both bummed to do it, but Eddie wants to leave and Steve wants to stay. It’s the 80’s, so no cell phones, no email… Much harder to keep up a long distance relationship. Both of them feel like they’re setting the other free. 

~

Cut to ten years later. Corroded Coffin made it big, and they’re coming up on the end of a tour that they’ve already said will be their last public appearance in a while. Gareth has a fiancé he wants to settle down with, Jeff is already married with a kid on the way, and Freak is thinking about going back to school for… something, he hasn’t decided what yet. 

Eddie is toying with the idea of doing a solo album or something, nothing big, but music is his life. It’s basically what he replaced Steve with after the breakup. He’s maybe leaned into food a little, especially during tours, but mostly burns it off with his on-stage antics. Over the years, he’s stuck pretty exclusively to hookups and situationships, nothing serious. As long as he has his music, everything’s fine. 

Which is why he’s dreading the end of the tour. After the second to last concert, right after they get to the next city, he does something he doesn’t usually do: he goes out and gets fucked up. (He saw what drugs and alcohol did to his parents when he was little and things were starting to fall apart, and No Thank You, but. It’s not bad if he only does it once, right? It’s fine.) 

The city happens to be Chicago. Eddie goes out, accepting just about anything anyone hands him like a moron… and wakes up having blacked out on everything except the vague impression of pop music blasted too loud for even his concert-hardened ears. The bed he’s in is comfortable in a very not-hotel-room sort of way and smells like the essence of a warm hug. He burrows into the blankets and pillows on the principle that maybe if he snuggles in deep enough he can hide from the raging hangover. 

It doesn’t work, of course, and a few minutes later he drags himself across the room on all fours to hurl his guts out into a waste basket. Which turns out not to have a liner. Oops. 

That’s when the door opens, and a mildly exasperated voice says, “Eds, seriously? I left you a bucket on your side of the bed.”

Blearily, Eddie turns and sees, of all people, Steve Harrington. Standing there in a yellow sweater and both hands on his hips like a blast from the goddamn past. He’s still handsome, still has the amazing hair, and the glasses he’s wearing lend a new kind of adult-ness to his face that hadn’t been there when he was twenty. He looks good. 

Eddie, meanwhile, feels like a stepped-on cockroach. It’s not fair. 

“Woke up facing this way,” Eddie rasps, but his heart leaps at the way Steve says your side. Like it’s still his. And it’s true, he does still prefer the left side of the bed, despite usually sleeping alone. “How are you… here? Where am I?”

Steve brings him a glass of water. “This is my apartment, I’ve been here for about three years now. I brought you here last night after you propositioned me because, and I quote, ‘You look just like the love of my fucking life that I walked away from like the dumbest idiot alive, wanna fuck and maybe marry me if my dick’s good enough? I’m kind of rich and famous, I could write so many songs about your eyes.’”

“Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie takes a sip of water, feeling like he might throw up again from embarrassment. “Did we…?”

“Nah, you passed out practically before finishing that second sentence. I carried you here to sleep it off, and answered your cell when Jeff called to check on you.” Steve, helping Eddie stand up at this point and guiding him back to the bed, raises an eyebrow. “He was extremely thorough in explaining that you don’t usually do things like this.”

Eddie groans. “Fuck… Is he sending a car or something? We’ve got a concert in… in… soon.”

“Two days,” Steve fills in easily. “Don’t worry, you have time to recover. I’ve made breakfast, if you think you can stomach it.”

Groaning again, Eddie face-plants into the pillows and realizes that wonderful scent is Steve and that’s why it was so nice when he first woke up. That smell still means home to him, even after a decade apart. “No, can’t do cereal and pop tarts right now.”

Steve snorts. “Excuse you, but one of us has learned to cook over the years and Jeff assured me it wasn’t you. There’s bacon, eggs, pancakes, and fresh strawberries. Vanilla ice cream in the freezer, too, if that still helps settle your stomach.”

“…It might,” Eddie mutters into the pillow. 

“Okay. Well, whenever you’re ready, there’s clothes at the end of the bed, and Advil and more water on the desk. I’m just going to, uh, take this basket out to the dumpster.”

Sorry, Eddie bites on his tongue to avoid saying. He’s just now realizing that he’s stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, which, like. Doesn’t even show off the coolest of his new tattoos. Not that that’s important, fuck, but it’s the first thing his hungover brain spits out about the whole situation other than, you know. 

The fact that he randomly ran into The Ex of All Time while so loaded he doesn’t even remember it happening. And Steve is acting like this is just normal even though they haven’t even been in contact for years. 

Eddie falls asleep while freaking out about this, and feels marginally more human by the time he wakes up. The clothes Steve left him are… Christ, it’s one of his old Metallica shirts, and the sweatpants that were technically Steve’s that Eddie had always stolen to sleep in, back when they were together. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. Stumbles his way out of the room to a bathroom, noticing along the way that the couch has a pile of folded blankets at one end. Because Steve probably slept there instead of his own bed. 

“Coffee?” Steve asks when Eddie finally puts in an appearance in the kitchen, passing him a mug that’s already doctored exactly the way he likes it. Eddie takes it and sips cautiously, but his stomach seems to have settled now and nothing bad happens, so he takes a longer, grateful gulp. 

The food is still waiting for him, kept warm in the oven with tin foil over the plates and heat set to low. Eddie sits down and feels something well up in his chest, in his eyes, at the first bite of scrambled eggs; it’s like eating clouds, they’re so damn fluffy. 

“‘S good,” he mumbles through a full mouth, then swallows and turns his tired eyes towards Steve. “I… I didn’t even know you’d moved to Chicago.”

Steve gives him an amused smile. “It wasn’t exactly news worthy of Rolling Stone, dude. Don’t worry about it.”

“Kinda have to,” Eddie mumbles, and jams bacon in his mouth. “I mean, I—Holy fuck, Steve, this is good. Are you a chef or something?”

The smile turns sheepish. “Sort of. It’s a long story, but I kinda teach cooking classes now? It’s a program for teens and preteens who’ve had trouble at home or with the law and need, like, better outlets that are also practical life skills. Robin’s girlfriend hooked me up, she teaches yoga and self-defense stuff at the same place.”

“Wow.” Eddie stares blankly at him for a second, before physically shaking off the surprise and looking back down at his plate. Steve had spent the past decade learning new skills and helping kids, whereas Eddie has written songs about sex, drugs, rock and roll, and… Steve’s eyes. “That’s great, Steve. You sound really happy.”

Because he does. And Eddie feels really, really bad about barreling accidentally back into Steve’s life, probably throwing a huge monkey wrench into it since there’s no way a guy this handsome and this good and this fantastic in the kitchen isn’t seeing anyone. He’d be snatched up in a second by any discerning man or woman with, like, eyes and a heart and taste buds. Which is what Steve deserves, really. He deserves someone who won’t run off at the first whiff of potential fame and fortune somewhere he can’t follow. 

“I do alright,” Steve replies modestly. 

“I’ll replace your waste basket,” Eddie blurts out. Because Steve deserves someone who doesn’t ever get fucked up enough to puke in and ruin his stuff, even if it’s not something he does regularly. “And, this is great, really, thank you for breakfast, but I should get out of your hair. I’m… sorry for ambushing you last night, or whatever it was I did, I can’t even remember—”

His hand is clenched around his fork so tight that his knuckles have gone pale, and he almost jolts out of his chair when Steve puts a hand over it, massaging his grip into loosening slightly. “First of all, I got that thing at Costco,” Steve informs him. “It’s not a big deal. Second, you didn’t ambush me. I mean, I was surprised, for sure, but… it was nice to hear that I’m still the love of your life.” Steve gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “Really nice, Eds. And third, you didn’t exactly walk away. You asked me to come with you, I was the one who wasn’t ready to leave Hawkins then. We agreed, remember?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He feels like careening back into Steve’s orbit now must count as some sort of violation of that agreement, or something… and yet Steve is still holding his hand. 

“I actually…” Steve hesitates, looking unexpectedly shy for someone who Eddie must be bothering. Then, instead of finishing the sentence, he lets go of Eddie’s hand to pull something from his back pocket and lay it on the table.

It’s a ticket. A VIP meet and greet pass for the Corroded Coffin concert in two days. 

“Everybody pitched in and got this for my birthday,” he says sheepishly. “They went on presale on the exact day, Dustin kept saying it was a sign.”

Eddie, who’s never paid much attention to ticket sales in general, much less the dates they become available, can only stare at it. His throat feels tight knowing that he would’ve seen Steve anyway, that it could’ve happened while he was riding the adrenaline high of performing instead of feeling like roadkill freshly scraped off the asphalt. 

“Which, if it was a sign, I’m guessing it wasn’t on purpose, since you didn’t even know I live out here now,” Steve continues. “But, well, they got it, and… I told Robin I wasn’t sure if I’d go, but I knew from the second I opened the envelope it was a done deal.”

“What about… A-aren’t you seeing anyone?” Eddie asks. He remembers, in wistful, rosy detail, Steve being in his element as a boyfriend. Knows that he loves having someone to share everything with, to learn through and through, to kiss and murmur I missed you even if it’s only been an hour, even when it wasn’t safe for two guys to do that openly in small town Indiana and he’d had to limit himself to a fleeting touch and saying it with his eyes. 

“No.” Steve shrugs. “I tried putting myself out there on and off, but there was never enough of a spark to make it past three or four dates. I always knew you were it for me, Eddie, even if we never got another chance. And this…” He taps the concert ticket. “I was going to ask if you wanted one, because god knows I’d give it to you. You don’t have to answer now, because going by how you look you must feel like crap—”

“Oh fuck you, dude.” Never one to sit stoically through Steve’s teasing, Eddie groans and hides a grudging you’ve got me there smile behind a handful of his own hair. 

Steve grins. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding or looking sorry at all. 

Which is where they leave it, for now. Eddie finishes his breakfast, clearing his plate and dishing up seconds because once he starts eating in earnest his stomach settles and he’s starving, and it’s all so good. And it’s not like they’re magically back together—Steve had slept on the couch instead of in the bed with him, they haven’t been close enough to share so much as a meal and conversation like this for ten years, but it’s a start. A chance to get to know each other again, see if they still fit. 

~

Fast forward another ten years. Eddie’s solo career is doing well but he doesn’t do public appearances, got all of his recording done at home in his private studio. He’s pretty much a homebody, which surprised some of the people who know him but not the ones that know him well. 

Steve still has the same job, not because he needs to work but because he loves it. He’s also Eddie’s de facto private chef, and he loves that too. 

But he’s not cooking today, because it’s their anniversary and Eddie is dead set on painting the town red. “Of course I still want to,” Eddie assures him again, nuzzling sleepily up against his unofficial husband (they’re holding out until it becomes legal in either Illinois or Indiana, whichever comes first) when Steve wakes him and asks if he’s still sure about their brunch reservations. “I want to take you out and show you off. Remember how I promised you how rich and famous I am and how cool that would be?”

Steve huffs in amusement, leaning into the nuzzling. “First of all, it was more of a statement than a promise. The actual promise was to write so many songs about my eyes. Second of all, you don’t remember that.”

“Kept the promise either way, didn’t I?” Eddie nips at his collarbone, bare because Steve never was one for sleeping with a shirt on, even when the weather turns cold. “I’ve written songs about your eyes, your smile, this ass…” He grabs at it with a little growl, leaning more of his weight onto Steve to reach and enjoying the way his sweetheart happily squirms. 

“Mmm, yeah,” Steve sighs. “But we could still stay in… have breakfast in bed…” His own hands find Eddie’s love handles and settle there. “Not have to get dressed.”

“Nope.” Eddie props himself up on one thick arm and kisses him on the nose. Then yawns hugely. “It’s about time I get some fresh air, and I’m taking you out, baby.”

So Steve crawls out of bed, fetching Eddie the clothes he asks for and gamely taking suggestions for his own outfit—though he anticipates every article with a smirk, starting to grab each hanger before the words are fully past Eddie’s lips. Jeans that are just a little on the tight side and highlight the ass that Eddie so loves to grab (and sing about grabbing, the horny lovesick goblin man), a t-shirt that shows off his muscles and broad shoulders (because he may be turning forty next month but he takes damn fine care of his body), and the leather jacket from Eddie’s Corroded Coffin days that no longer fit their original owner. 

Because Eddie, who loves Steve’s food, has put on at least a hundred pounds in the past decade,maybe more. Most of it has gone to his belly, but he’s pretty round and soft all over—except his ass, for some reason, which is his excuse for how much attention he regularly bestows on Steve’s. 

That’s not why he’s stayed out of the public eye for so long though. It’s more because he got his fill of being a rock star, being recognized everywhere he goes, being photographed all the time and known for his wild antics. He’d wanted that when he was younger, so badly, needed the accolades and acknowledgement as someone who hadn’t gotten a lot of that as a child. But that rock star life took him away from Steve for so long, which he both regrets and doesn’t because it all worked out in the end. He’d been in it just as much for being able to make and share his music, too, which he can still do, so he’s happy. Happy and so, so in love. 

Their day is back to back reservations at various restaurants, all selected by Eddie because of dishes he knows that Steve will want to try and recreate at home. “Inspiration for your craft,” Eddie tells him with a wink, his own cheeks pink and grin lazy with the pleasure of overindulgence. 

Pictures are taken, more by cell phones than paparazzi because it’s the 2000’s now (not long before the Supreme Court of California issues a finding that allows that state to start issuing same-sex marriage licenses out on the West Coast, and Steve and Eddie fly out for Robin’s backyard wedding). They circulate the internet, with thousands of people weighing in on whether that really is Eddie Munson, the “missing” front man from Corroded Coffin. There are comparisons between old photos and these new ones, in depth analyses that range from “he wouldn’t get that fat” to “wow he really let himself go” to “looks like he’s living his best life.”

Eddie and his sweetheart—who is a total unknown except to some of the kids at the program who see the pictures and flip out because since when is Mr. Harrington so close with a famous metal guitarist omg, he’s so lame with all his sweater vests and dad jokes—remain unaware and unbothered as Steve helps Eddie tuck his already full belly back into his pants, get him all zipped up again, and leave brunch for their next stop. 

And they have a very lovely day.

Permanent tag list (ask to be added): @hotluncheddie @tangerinesteve @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax

[multifandom-26]

Maybe an angry sprit isn’t so bad S.W

Sam Winchester x female reader s1/s2 era Sam. No warnings I don’t think besides normal supernatural stuff and kissing. Let me know if it’s bad lol. Archeology reader AU.

Sam, Dean, y/n

7:48 A.M 📍the impala

Are we almost there at least? Sure are Sammy welcome to UWL he says looking ahead at the college campus. So dad sent us to this location because?. Because jerk it’s some sort of artifact that apparently caused a spirit to be stuck and pissed off. So what were just walk around campus asking hey who’s got any ancient artifacts lying around? Sam laughs. Dean sighs no, and I thought you were the smart one, but they have one of the best archeological programs in the U.S so maybe we find an archeology major who’s been on a trip recently. Sam nods, yeah I guess but how do we know who’s even apart of the program. don’t worry I’ll handle that just wait here. As Dean goes inside Sam sits in the car looking around, he gets a sad feeling and reminisces on his college time. He won’t admit it but he does wish he could’ve just done both or not hunted at all. Soon enough Dean comes back out with a list of names and addresses. They go from one dorm to another to an apartment complex and then to another one when they see from the street in front of it that the lights are going on and off. Sam looks up this must be our one. Dean laughs yeah or the electrician did a terrible wiring job. They head inside and get to the room number on the paper they knock then hear a few things slam around inside before a girl opens it. The boys look down at the girl and go are you Y/N Y/L/N she nods and responds with and you are? Dean clears his throat um we’re museum curators, and we heard you’ve got a very interesting piece of pottery. The girl nods still confused they can tell. Sam takes the lead now, as Dean is thinking. “May we come in” Y/N looks up at them, tell me why your really here first and maybe, you know stranger danger and all that but lying to? They laugh Dean smiles, you wouldn’t believe us if we told you even. Y/N smirks try me, I’m an archeology major I’ve heard of every urban legend, detailed myths, and cruses you could think of. They exchange looks, Dean just shakes his head and goes fine but we can’t just exactly say this shit in a hallway. She sighs and invites them in. Whatever was in here calmed down a bit at least.

8:23 am 📍y/n apartment

So you’re an archeology major what’s that like Dean asks. Sam rolls his eyes at his brother , y/n laughs um it’s pretty cool I get to go on digs in the summer last place I went was Serbia then Guam. Really Sam asks now more interested, yeah she smiles it’s amazing, you get to travel, research, and learn about the past which is all I’ve ever wanted to do. Dean smiles we uh kind of do that too, well not to your level but same idea. Sam clear his throat, you said you know about urban legends, myths etc.. what do you think this is? Y/N laughs slow down first who are you guys really, and why are you so interested in whatever is going on with the cursed pottery. Sam looks over to Dean and they just nod, well I’m sam and this my older brother Dean we uh.. we hunt the supernatural. Y/N laughs covering her mouth, uh sorry I didn’t mean to laugh but I knew you weren’t museum curators. Dean looks at her, you’re not freaked out? Not really she smiles it’s interesting besides it’s not my first run in with an angry spirit and awakening something. The boys both now are staring at her, in sync they go this happened before. Y/N shrugs I mean yeah kind of apart of the job. Now I have some books about the pottery piece where and whose it’s associated with so maybe that will help. But we cannot destroy it.

10:36 AM 📍 on the way to diner.

I’m so exhausted, and hungry, I feel like I haven’t eaten in days. . You literally ate this morning and We’re on our way to a literal diner right now if you didn’t remember Sam reminds him. Y/N sits in the back seat quietly and looks out the window and says to turn here and there when they need. They arrive and sit in a booth, what made you want to bring that thing back with you anyways and how did you get it through airport security? Y/N laughs, well it was cool and I was doing a report on it and I am supposed to bring it back to New York for the head researches to do whatever with it but I hit a writing and research block, and for the airport security I have an archeological pass for certain items to be brought through. You do need to get a shit ton of stuff signed through saying all of the info and they’re allowing you to take it out of the country. Dean smiles makes sense, Sam clears his throat so uh, a writing block he says. The girl sighs, yeah I mean it’s been days and I just can’t seem to say what I wanna say and my researching has not been the best. Do you think it’s because of the object Sam asks. She sighs I mean maybe but, I’m also just under a lot of stress right now too with finals and everything and I have one more semester before I graduate so it’s a bit nerve wracking. The boys both shoot her a look of sympathy at her words. Throughout the rest of their meal and chat Dean notices Sam staring at the girl, smiling, and being more bubbly than usual. They leave and head back to y/n’s apartment.

1:07PM 📍y/n’s place

The three sit and stare at the vase, y/n explains the history on it and then tells them she thinks it’s associated with the spirit, As there sitting and reading and writing on post it’s, the piece falls to the floor out of nowhere but dosent break. They sit still almost waiting for another thing to happen just make it sure it wasn’t a weird mishap. Then the lights flicker, and piece goes flying across the room and she appears. A woman, and at that an angry looking one. The boys start grabbing their stuff they make a salt ring around the woman as she just stands there staring at y/n. It then speaks the word return. Y/n is directly behind Sam and at hearing the woman’s words she grabs onto his arm out of fear. Sam feels it and his face heats up, but he smiles, don’t worry we’re not gonna let her get you. Or us. Dean yells do not forget we’re also here and apart of this now Sammy.. obviously sam rolls his eyes. The woman tries to move closer to them but is stopped by the salt ring. Return she says again. Y/N steps out, you return the woman yells again. Y/n picks up the pottery holding it, was this yours? The woman nods. Y/n smiles it’s beautiful, really amazing work. What’s your name? Sofia the woman replies, well Sofia you must have worked hard on this. The woman nods, as y/n is distracting her Sam and Dean start chanting and the woman groans than shrieks a black cloud coming out of her mouth and then she is gone. They all stand staring at where she was, nice work guys y/n smiles. Kinda our thing Dean laughs.

5PM 📍 the apartment

So I wanted to thank you guys for everything today, so… I made steak. Steak! Dean asks excitedly. Yes Y/n smiles. Thank you really, for all of this for helping, the food, and talking to her. Sam smiles. Y/N looks down blushing a bit oh it was nothing. They sit down and eat mindlessly chatting away. Telling Y/N about where they’ll be going next probably and she tells them she can’t wait till next week when finals are done and the summers hers. She is sad though she’s gonna miss them especially Sam, the one she couldn’t keep her eyes off, ever since he appeared in her doorway, the one who thought about her safety, laughed at her jokes, thanked her for the help. Sam… she was going to miss him for sure. Dean noticed her eyeing him as well at points, like now she seemed lost in thought and staring at him. You guys done with your plates, Dean asks getting up. Yeah you and Sam reply hanging them to him. Y/N speaks first, so you guys leave tomorrow morning? Sam sighs yeah, you know always moving. She nods. Y/n laughs I wish I could come, it sounds kinda fun what you guys do, heroic. Sam smiles, yeah me to it would be a refreshing break from having just Dean around. Speaking of him you laugh, where did he go? I thought to put the plates in the kitchen he would’ve been back by now my apartment isn’t big. He could’ve snuck out and went to the bar. Oh okay well it’s just me and you I guess than, do you want anything to dri- y/n gets cut off when Sam kisses her, shocked at first she then kisses back, deepening the kiss she puts her hands around his neck and scoots even closer to him. He wraps his arms around her waist, they break apart after a bit. Sorry he smiles I just I’ve been wanting to do that the whole day but I was nervous that you didn’t like me and I actually still don’t know but- hey she smiles I like you I’ve liked you since you walked through that door this morning. He smiles well in that case, he leans in and kisses her again.

9pm📍the couch

Sitting on Sam’s lap leaning against him, you’re both watching tv you are slowly drifting to sleep. The door opens with the key Dean swiped, Dean steps in and smiles silently pumping his fist, he pulls out his phone and snaps a photo.

7am the next morning:

Come with us when you’re finished we’ll drive back and pick you up even Sam states. The girl smiles, I mean you know it’s my summer, and I’m gonna do this she smiles. Sam hugs her, I can’t wait to see you again. Me to she sighs, I’ll miss you. The pair kiss before he gets in the car and the boys head off. Maybe having an angry spirit in your house isn’t so bad after all.