#with a happy ending

[metalhoops]

The Five Times Eddie Wondered Who His Soulmate Was  and the One Time He Didn’t Have To

1. 

The worst thing about knowing your soulmate was in trouble was understanding there was nothing you could do about it. 

As a whole, Eddie thought the concept of soulmates was bullshit. He thought all that fate and destiny crap was a scam to sell the idea of monogamy or co-dependence. If people were too busy fretting over when they’d meet ‘their person’, they’d forget that actual shit was going on in the world. Who had the time to care about systemic oppression when they were busy trying to work out if the cute girl across the corridor was their one true love? 

That being said, sometimes Eddie got curious about who they were. Not many people found their soulmates. It wasn’t as obvious as you’d think. When they were in pain, you would feel it. Two people could live across the world from one another, feeling each scraped knee and broken wrist but never meet. Hell, you could live across the street from someone and unless you were there to watch them get hurt and feel the same old pang of shared pain, you’d never know. 

It wasn’t like Eddie had never felt his soulmate before that day. They’d twisted an ankle when Eddie was twelve and sprained a wrist when he was fourteen, but he’d felt no pain from them so strong as when he was sitting in detention during his junior year. 

He was counting down the minutes left until he could get out of the high school, hell hole when a sharp and sudden pain flooded his jaw. He gritted his teeth and cradled it with his palm, feeling as though the wind was knocked out of his body. Eddie knew what being punched in the face felt like, and that was it. Just when the ache started to fade, another thud of pain to his cheek made his vision swim. From there, Eddie held his breath, waiting for the pain to end. He rested his head on his desk and felt his heart in his throat as the blows kept coming. 

He missed Mrs Click telling him to go home, too busy gripping the desk for dear life, his fingernails digging into the poorly carved desk graffiti, slicing a line through ‘RB 4 TT.’ He was elated when the pain finally stopped. 

Eddie kept his head down the whole walk home, trying to tell himself soulmates were bullshit, and that he didn’t care about his, but his thoughts kept returning to visions of them. He hoped they were okay. 

Eddie never wanted to know who his soulmate was until that moment. They’d had a hell of a day and Eddie wanted to be there with them, tell them he knew what it was like. He wanted to hold their head in his lap and tell them everything was going to be okay, that if it were up to him, no one would hurt them like that again, but he couldn’t. For all he knew, they could be a hundred miles away. 

2.

The next time it happened, Eddie was at home alone in the trailer. Uncle Wayne was working a night shift, and he was watching a horror movie marathon on the T.V. It was shaping up to be a good night, with him curled up on the couch watching a schlocky creature feature when he felt all the air knocked out of his lungs. 

For a moment, he was worried something horrible was happening to him. When Jeff had appendicitis, he’d reported the same kind of pain. Eddie rolled up the hem of his shirt, watching a black-blue bruise bloom and fade in the span of a second. Sometimes, if the pain was great enough, you’d get what they called an ‘echo’ of the injury. It only lasted a moment, invisible ink fading on pale paper. 

The pain had been so strong that Eddie hadn’t been able to tell if it was theirs or his. From there, it got worse. He felt a sharp pang crash over his head, then another series of blows to the face. It was always the goddamn face.

When it was over, Eddie was left feeling lightheaded. The sensation faded quickly, but he knew his other half would be stuck with the ache for the rest of the night, if not longer. 

There was a lot of conjecture when it came to soulmates. It was hard to conduct scientific studies on something based entirely on sensation, and any research that had been done was less than ethical. All the same, for the rest of the night, Eddie curled his arms around himself, holding his body in the hopes his person could feel it, that he could give them some comfort. 

“I hope you’re okay,” he whispered, burrowing his face into the crook of his elbow. 

Back at school, Eddie floated through the halls feeling less than himself as thoughts of his person swirled. The school was abuzz with rumours of a fight between Billy Hargrove and the former king of Hawkins High, Steve Harrington. Eddie couldn’t care less about some pissing contest for the highest rung on the social ladder, as he still felt the echoed ache of his soulmate’s pain throughout the day. 

He ditched gym, opting to hide beneath the bleachers and smoke. To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one with the idea. When he arrived, he found the overthrown king sitting cross-legged, cradling his still-bruised jaw. Eddie wasn’t a fan of the jocks, but they were the biggest contributor to his wallet, so he tried to play civil with them. Plus, Eddie wasn’t one to kick someone when they were down, and boy was Steve down. He sat beside the man, examined his face, and thought for a fleeting second. Maybe he was the one, but that was crazy talk. The Freak and the King. In what world? 

“You look like you’ve had better days,” Eddie noted. 

“I’ve had worse,” Steve replied. Eddie had a pit in his stomach. 

The two lapsed into silence, hiding out until the bell sounded for the end of gym. Eddie gave the boy a half-hearted salute as he stood.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie spoke before he left.

“You okay?”

Steve gave Eddie the ghost of a smile, all charm drowned out by Steve’s two black eyes. 

“I will be.” 

3.

Eddie had been worried about his soulmate before, but he’d never thought he’d lose them until the summer vacation after his failed attempt at senior year. He and the rest of Corroded Coffin had just finished their set at The Hideout. Eddie and the boys were carrying their instruments back to the van when the feeling hit. 

He fell to the asphalt. The whole scene sounded all the more dramatic as the hi-hat he’d been holding fell with him. He really wished his soulmate would learn to keep their head down and stay out of trouble because this was getting ridiculous. He got ready to hunker down and wait it out, having gotten morbidly used to their annual beatings. Only this time the pain didn’t stop. 

He was hit with wave after wave of agony. This time, it wasn’t just the face. He felt blows to his jaw, his stomach, and his side. He also felt a sharp spike of pain in his hand, as though someone was trying to peel his nails from his skin.

He could hear his friends around him, desperately trying to get something coherent out of Eddie, trying to work out if it was soulmate bullshit or if the guy was having an aneurysm. By the way he was acting, either seemed possible. When the pain subsided, Eddie felt foggy, like he was going through the worst goddamn high of his life. The neon signs of The Hideout and the street lamps danced before his eyes. Hundreds of little halos clouded his vision. He couldn’t think straight. 

He managed to prop himself up against the wheel of the van and pulled his knees to his chest. He knotted his hands in his long hair and tugged, trying to remind himself what his own pain felt like, though stopped when he realised he’d also be hurting them. That was the last thing they needed. 

“You okay?” He heard Gareth ask when the world came swimming back into focus. Eddie shook his head. Far from it.  

“Are they okay? Are they... alive?” Eddie hadn’t let himself entertain that idea until it was brought up. 

He felt the last flush of colour drain from his face. He could still feel them, but there was something wrong with the connection. Maybe he was dying. Eddie couldn’t help but think of his soulmate as ‘he’. He just knew. 

Eddie kept trying to tell himself he didn’t care about them, but the fact that he could die without Eddie ever having met him made his heart ache. People thought the reason you felt your person’s pain was to protect them, to know when something was wrong. Eddie had done a bang-up job at that. 

“For now, but it’s weird. I don’t... I don’t know how much longer-,” Eddie didn’t let himself finish. 

The rest of the band suddenly took on a sombre mood. Jeff and Grant finished packing up the van while Gareth offered to drive. The boys stayed at Eddie’s trailer for the rest of the night, holding their breaths and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Eventually, Eddie dropped off to sleep and when he awoke hours later, he was relieved to realise he hurt all over. He was still alive, still waiting for Eddie to find him and god did Eddie want to. 

His uncle came home at the crack of dawn and let out an elongated sigh of relief at seeing Eddie and his band of merry men curled up together on the living room carpet. Wayne greeted Eddie with a tight hug that still hurt like hell.

“I was worried something happened to you,” His uncle stated in his gravelled tone.

“Why would something have happened to me?” Eddie asked, perplexed. 

“The mall burnt down last night. I was worried you were close by.” 

Eddie shook his head and let his uncle hold him as his mind ticked away. He wondered if it was possible his soulmate was in Hawkins. Eddie wasn’t sure he believed in coincidence.   

4.

Eddie started seeing spots during his lunchtime speech. By the end of his rant, the room had started to tilt. He felt unsure on his feet as he clambered from the top of the jock table to scamper back to the hellfire group. He must look worse for wear because he noticed one of his new recruits watching him.

“Eddie, you good?” Dustin questioned, sounding further away than he should. The lights in the cafeteria were too bright and his head was killing him. 

He felt close to throwing up and wondered where the pain had come from before realising the familiar distance from the sensation. It wasn’t his pain. Eddie didn’t want Henderson to butt into his love life any more than he already did, so he gave the kid a tight-lipped smile that more closely resembled a grimace. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt this sensation from his soulmate, but they were growing more frequent.  

Again, sweetheart? Eddie thought, knowing it was the second migraine that week. 

“Migraine,” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth. He could feel his band members' eyes on him. They knew exactly who the ache belonged to. 

To Eddie’s surprise, Dustin passed him a cool glass of water and barked orders at Mike, getting the kid to remove the ugly Hawaiian over shirt, before throwing it over Eddie’s head, blocking out the light. It wasn’t Eddie’s pain, so it didn’t help but he could appreciate the sentiment. 

“Did they teach you first aid at science camp, Henderson?” Eddie guessed offhandedly. 

“Nah. Steve gets migraines all the time. Helps to know how to deal with them.”

Eddie would never understand how a kid like Dustin came to know Steve Harrington, let alone worship the ground the guy walked on. Usually, Dustin had such good taste.  

“Eddie’s soulmate gets them too,” Gareth spoke unhelpfully. 

Even without looking, Eddie knew he was shooting him a shit-eating grin, knowing the rest of the afternoon Henderson would ask him about his soulmate. Just because the kid found Suzie, he thought the whole world deserved to find their one true love. Instead, Dustin came out with the most bullshit statement Eddie had ever heard. 

“Maybe Steve’s your soulmate.” 

Yeah, right. On what planet would that happen? 

5.

With everything that had happened to Eddie in the past few days, he hadn’t had time to think about his soulmate. He’d watched Chrissy die before his eyes, learnt the existence of another dimension and was walking through said dimension after witnessing Steve Harrington take a bite out of a demon bat’s tail. It’d been a weird ass day.  

He wished he’d been like Robin and Nancy, able to jump in and rescue Steve on a whim, but as Steve disappeared beneath the black water of Lover’s Lake, he’d felt his throat close and his lungs ache for air. It wasn’t a good time for a panic attack. Nevertheless, he’d managed to get his ass in gear and follow the rest of the group down into Watergate. 

He’d dropped back to walk with Steve and found himself complimenting the man. Steve was nothing like he imagined. He was not only kind, but as Dustin had put it, a total badass. 

Once the adrenaline faded, Eddie found himself lifting the hem of his shirt, examining his side. He felt a dull throb of pain. It’d be his luck to bleed out without noticing, but he found there was nothing there. 

“You good?” Steve asked.

Eddie couldn’t help but let his gaze settle on Steve’s bleeding side. He held his breath. He thought about pushing his hand against Steve’s wound, hurting him more just to check, but Eddie couldn’t hurt Steve. Not now. Especially if he was who Eddie thought he might be. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. You okay?” Eddie asked, gesturing to Steve’s side. The boy nodded.

“I’m fine, just a scratch. Can hardly feel a thing.” 

If Steve was his soulmate, he was full of shit. If Steve was his soulmate when everything blew over, they had a few things to talk about.

+1

Something was very wrong. Vecna was going down in a blaze of flame when Steve’s body started to ache. He felt the familiar sting of interdimensional bat fangs digging into dermis flesh. Robin and Nancy were cheering, wrapping their arms around Steve, whooping, hollering and panting while Steve was busy feeling like he was being torn apart. 

He was pulling away from the girls and turning on his heels before he had the chance to explain, running from the Creel House to the trailer park as fast as his feet could carry him. There was only one person this pain could belong to. 

Steve had spent his whole life searching for his soulmate, desperate to know who they were, and he’d been under his nose the whole time. The fact that Steve’s soulmate was a boy hadn’t surprised him as much as it should. That’d been a crisis bubbling away in the background of his brain since he’d gone to his first swim meet. He’d seen a boy in tight swim trunks, with tan skin and felt the familiar heart-pounding, crush he’d experienced on pretty girls he’d passed in the school hallways. 

By the time he got to Eddie, he’d hardly been able to fight through the pain surging through their connection. Dustin was wailing, holding Eddie in the wake of a bat graveyard. He looked up in alarm at Steve’s figure, noticing his pale skin and sweat-slicked brow. 

“Harrington?” Eddie’s weak voice came from Dustin’s lap. 

Steve was busy removing his clothes, trying to stop the bleeding. Dustin didn’t need to show him where the man was hurt, he could feel it. 

“I really must have got some brownie points in the end,” Eddie murmured. 

Both boys hissed as Steve shoved his shirt into a wound at Eddie’s side. That was when Dustin appeared to catch on, his eyes swelling wide as they darted between the two boys. 

“What’re you talking about, Munson?” Steve asked, trying to keep the guy talking. 

“Must’ve got into heaven after all,” He hummed, his deep brown eyes gazing beyond Steve at the distant red sky. 

“Hey. No. None of that. You aren’t in heaven because you’re not dying,” Steve hissed, using what little strength he had left to lift Eddie’s body. 

“Gotta be in heaven, if you’re here,” Eddie spoke, giving Steve a lopsided grin. Steve felt Eddie’s pain beginning to fade and panicked, not ready to let things end before they’d even had the chance to begin. 

He hoisted Eddie up through the portal and waited to do the same with Dustin. It wasn’t long before the distant sound of sirens once more surrounded the Munson trailer and Steve found himself passing out from the pain as red-blue lights swallowed the world whole. 

Eddie woke in pain, his whole body humming with a familiar dull ache that was unarguably his. It took time for him to make sense of the scene. He was in the hospital. Steve was slumped over at the far edge of the room, sleeping in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his head thrown back and his mouth agape. Eddie’s eyes trailed to his bedside, where he met Dustin’s. 

“Holy shit, you’re awake,” the boy gasped, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. 

Eddie cringed as he felt a rush of pain swarm through his body. He must have gasped, because Steve sprung to life, waking with a start as his eyes trailed from Dustin to Eddie. Steve’s eyes were a storm of quiet conflict, punctuated by deep purple bruises. 

“Eddie,” Steve breathed, standing to hover beside the bed, unsure of what to do next. 

He was surprised Steve was there at all. He wouldn’t say the two were close. Though Steve had probably found some way of twisting Eddie getting hurt into some fault of his, ever the damn hero. 

“Thought I was a goner for a second there,” Eddie admitted, trying to shake some of the strange tension from the room.

“If Steve hadn’t gotten there in time, you would’ve been,” Dustin spoke. Eddie watched as the boy’s hands trembled. He leaned over, fighting through the pain to ruffle the kid’s hair. Steve’s shoulders hunched over, doubling into himself. 

“I’ll get the nurse. Your uncle left for his nightshift, but he should be back in a few,” Dustin muttered as he made a beeline for the exit. It seemed strange the boy was extracting himself from the scene.

Henderson called over his shoulder. “I told you so.” 

And just like that, Eddie knew. 

He looked up at Steve with wide-eyed alarm, only to find his look mirrored.

“How’d you know we were in trouble?” Eddie asked, though thought he knew the answer. 

“After we killed Vecna, I felt... I could feel you. I knew you were hurt,” Steve explained. 

“How’d you know it was me?” Eddie pushed.

“Thought it was too much of a coincidence that it felt like my soulmate was getting eaten alive by giant bats. I’d call it an educated guess.” 

Eddie gritted his teeth and nodded. Surely, as far as soulmates went, he hadn’t been what Steve imagined. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, surprising Eddie. 

“For what?”

“Not being the person you wanted me to be, I guess,” Steve spoke so candidly, it made pain and panic swell in his throat. How could Steve think Eddie was disappointed that he was his soulmate?

“I’m not disappointed, Stevie. Why would I be disappointed?” 

“You had to have known,” Steve reasoned. 

Eddie didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but it sounded like Steve had been overthinking every second of it. 

“You give me more credit than I deserve. I didn’t know it was you, sweetheart. Cross my heart,” Eddie admitted, surprised at how quickly the term of endearment he’d used for his soulmate slipped off his tongue when talking to Steve. 

He hadn’t worked out shit. He’d had hunches, as though his heart knew, but the logical part of his brain kept overriding it. In what world were he and Steve perfect for each other?

Eddie threw caution to the wind as he saw the genuine look of affection and excitement painting its way across Steve’s face. He looked hopeful. Eddie cringed, sitting up and trying to lean closer to Steve.

“Come here before I hurt the both of us,” Eddie grumbled.

Steve shuffled closer to Eddie’s bed, crouching down, so the two were at eye level. Eddie wanted to kiss the boy so damn bad, and Steve was sending him all the signs that he should, but there was something he had to do first. He took Steve’s face between his hands, running a thumb over the purple bruises beneath his eyes.

“No more playing hero, okay?” 

Steve nudged his face into the palm of Eddie’s hand and nodded, letting out a weak chuckle. 

“I think I can agree to that.” 

Eddie crushed their lips together and despite the pain, it felt like everything was right in the world. 

[emphistic]

𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

𝐀/𝐍: thank you all for more than 505 followers (see what i did there with the song?) have this as a token of my gratitude (this is superr long overdue, mb you guys)

𝐖/𝐂: around 2500

“Why? Why, Sukuna? Why the hell did you not pull away?” You failed to keep your voice down.

“Baby, please. Trust me, she flung herself on me. I–”

“So you didn't push her off?”

Sukuna raked his fingers through his hair, clearly exasperated and struggling to find the words to answer you. “Look — the last time I did that I almost got arrested for assault. And guess what? You yelled at me for that, too. You said, ‘Why would you do that? You couldn't have just told her to get off?’ So really, what did you want me to do this time?”

You covered your mouth to stifle your sobs, at this point, your mascara was completely ruined, running down your cheeks. “Okay, okay, I get it. I'm wrong, you're right.”

But I crumble completely when you cry

Sukuna turned away from you, scratching his neck. Your mascara was smudged along your cheeks, your tears dampening your eyelashes. He couldn't bear seeing you like this, not when he was the cause. Was it cruel of him to say, to believe, to think, that you were most beautiful this way?

“That wasn't my point, and you know that. You know that damn well, sweetheart.” Sukuna said — after a moment of silence — and turned back to face you, albeit he hesitated before meeting your glossy eyes.

“Then what was it? What was it, Sukuna? Tell me. Enlighten me.” You frantically wiped away your tears as they fell, and though desperate as you were, you were still too slow.

“. . .” Sukuna stared down at you with a stoic expression painted on his face. His gaze remained unwavering, though yours flickered throughout the room, seemingly unable to face him properly. If he knew better, he would realize it was only because you would start bawling immediately after meeting his crimson eyes.

It seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye

“Fine!” You threw your arms up, utterly defeated. You had no time for Sukuna's games. “Be that way; go have fun with all your other girls!” You stomped away, but decided — in the moment — to turn around for a second just to flip the pink-haired man off. “Burn in Hell, Sukuna, for all I care. I don't want to see your stupid, stupid face ever again.”

Sukuna sighed, his eyes burned holes into the back of your dress as you left him standing there. Standing there with nothing but his thoughts, dreams, and regrets. Standing there in the club alleyway. The same club alleyway that you pulled him away to so you could yell at him.

But it didn't feel like the same club alleyway, because Something was missing. Something very dear to him — but he was no better than a man.

I'm always just about to go and spoil the surprise

He was no better than a man. He didn't have the courage. He didn't have the brains. He didn't have the wit. He didn't have the assets. He didn't have anything that he had had with you. Not anymore, at least.

Take my hands off of your eyes too soon

He didn't have anything, because you were his everything. You were his light. His match. His flame. He didn't know what his point was. He didn't know. He didn't know. Because alas, he was no better than just a man. A man helplessly in love — with you.

So what would a man — helplessly in love with you — do? Perhaps he would visit your favorite jewelry brand and buy you an exquisite necklace. Maybe he would stop by a florist's shop and get you flowers. Or he could get you a baked good from the local bakery you like so much. And so, Sukuna — possibly being the most indecisive man alive — did all three of those things.

He purchased you a glimmering diamond necklace, a bouquet made up of your favorite flowers, and a cake of your favorite flavor.

Now, Sukuna was never a nervous nor self-doubting man, that was until he met you. He gets butterflies at the thought of you, though he'd never admit that. What could he say? He loved your laugh, the way your eyes crinkle as you do, your smile, your habit of tucking your hair behind your ear, your meticulousness when choosing earrings to match your outfit, your eyes — especially when they appeared to almost be glittering, he loved everything about you. But most importantly. . . He loved you. And that is why he sits in the driver's seat of his car, with his head in his hands and his back hunched over in thought.

He messed up. He messed up bad. And now he had to clean up the mess.

Fifteen minutes prior, his younger twin brother — Yuuji — had given him a pep talk, hyping him up. Yuuji knew how much you had helped Sukuna. He remembered the way Sukuna appeared happier, as if 100 pounds had been lifted off his shoulders — not that he would have any trouble carrying that weight — when Sukuna came home from your first date together. Yuuji saw the difference in Sukuna from that day on. Yuuji saw, Yuuji heard, and Yuuji felt the difference.

Albeit the younger twin could be a bit . . . dull, at times, Yuuji knew that you were what Sukuna needed most. If you had affected Sukuna so greatly when you came into his life, just think about the effects that would take place if you two separated. Yuuji got chills just thinking of that, which was why he was so desperate for his older brother to just rip off the bandaid, set his ego aside, and make amends.

I'm going back to 505

Sukuna was going back. He was going back to you . . . even if it was the last thing he would do. He finally raised his head from his hands and started the car. He was going to see you, apologize and explain how stupid he was being, and he was going to give you all the gifts he purchased. If his words couldn't satisfy you, he was going to spend the rest of his life proving himself to you with his credit card.

If it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive

The drive to your apartment from his penthouse was only 3/4s of an hour, though it felt much longer as his dread grew and grew. It didn't matter how long, how far, how dangerous, the journey — he would always go back to his girl.

His girl.

That's what you were. That's what you are. That's what you will be — for as long as Sukuna lives. He would make sure of that.

The knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark

But it didn't feel that way, certainly not when you opened the door with a frown on your face that only deepened as you immediately moved to close the door upon seeing the pink spikes of Sukuna’s hair. But he was already two steps ahead of you. He — already expecting that reaction — had quickly blocked you from closing the door by sticking his foot out between the door.

Frightened by the bite, though it's no harsher than the bark

“Sukuna. Didn't I tell you to never—!”

“Baby, please. Hear me out — for just a second.” Sukuna's lips were dry, his throat parched.

“Fine.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, he would've missed it if he was not as desperate as he was now.

Three days. It had been three days since you two had last spoken, in that damned alleyway. Three days of plain torture. Three days of sleepless nights. Three days without you. Three days of Hell.

God, he was so glad to hear your voice again; it was like music to his ears.

The middle of adventure, such a perfect place to start

You slowly pulled the door back and took a step backward, silently giving Sukuna your consent for him to enter. However, he didn't feel deserving of it, so he stayed in his position.

“Look, this is probably a waste of your time—”

“It is.”

He shoved the gifts into your hands.

“Oh? What's this?” You raised a brow, digging your hand through the bags to investigate, but Sukuna cleared his throat and you met his eyes.

“I want to apologize, for what I said and for how I acted. I'm really, really sorry. You know I'm not the best with these kinds of things, but, I really am. Believe me. And . . . I wasn't in the right state of mind, I was already a few drinks in — y’know that — and I know that's not an excuse but, I just. . . I'm sorry, okay? I haven't slept a wink since you left. And I was a fucking coward: I should've done this earlier but I didn't. So—please, forgive me.”

You didn't say anything, averting your gaze to the ground at your feet, and still processing his words. You mulled over what he had said in your head.

“Say something. Anything. Please.” Sukuna was so close to getting on his hands and knees that it was almost embarrassing.

“Sukuna, I don't know what to tell you. I believe you're sorry but I. . . I'm not ready to forgive you, not yet. It's just a lot, y’know? I mean, if you were in my shoes right now, you would feel the same way—”

“That's why I'm apologizing.” Sukuna cut you off, his desperation quickly turning into agitation.

“Yes, I get that, but . . . I'm just not ready to forgive you yet. I'm not ready to just push this aside and move on. I'm not . . . ready — for any of that.” Your eyes softened, as did your tone.

Despite his desperate pleads, you couldn't bring yourself to just forget the whole ordeal and why he was apologizing in the first place. But Sukuna was no better than a man. He had no clue why you felt this way. The only thing he's known in life was to move on. That's what he does and will do. That's why he is the way he is. That's why.

“Do you even want this relationship to last? Can't you see I'm trying to fix this problem?”

“I do, Sukuna. I really do. Couples fight and have arguments. It's normal. It's what we're doing right now. But just because it's normal doesn't mean I'm going to brush it aside as if it didn't happen.”

“Are you out of your—!? Do you have any idea how many girls would like to be in your spot right now? Do you have ANY idea?” By now, Sukuna had completely lost it. He was frustrated, so frustrated. He didn't understand what more you wanted from him.

“I—Sukuna, what?”

“Have you any idea? Any idea at all?”

You would be lying if you said you weren't scared, utterly afraid of the man standing before you right now. For you could see nothing past his eyes, no love, no care, nothing. Only the deep, rich crimson color that you once loved and held so dear to your heart.

“You know what? Good for you. Good for you that you have so many other better options but you chose me. Good. For. You. I guess you don't need me anymore. Goodbye, Sukuna.”

You slammed the door [shut] in Sukuna's face, falling with your back against it seconds later and bringing your knees to your chest. The waterworks started soon after and Sukuna could hear your quiet sobs from beyond the door.

He was dumbfounded, absolutely appalled. Did he really just say that to you? Sukuna knew he was not the brightest, but, damn, he's really done it this time.

Sukuna ran his fingers through his hair, now sitting in his car. He definitely did not mean to say what he said. In fact, he didn't even know how it slipped out. One second he was basically on his knees for you and the next, he . . . wasn't. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? He thought. He continued to sit there, reflecting on his actions and words. But he still couldn't believe it. What the fuck just happened?

He came to your apartment hoping to salvage the remnants of your guys' relationship, but he ended up ruining it — forever. Sukuna was 100% sure this was the worst fuckup in the history of mankind.

But he couldn't just leave it like this. He could still fix this, right? Alas, Sukuna had lost all hope; he lost his mind; and he lost the love of his life.

“Shit,” Sukuna muttered. He had really lost it, he thought, as he walked back to your apartment door. He had really lost it, he thought, when he spared a glance at your apartment number.

I'm going back to 505

That was the whole point of this, right? He was going back — no matter what, right?

When you look at me like that, my darlin', what did you expect?

He had really lost it, he thought, when he saw your glossy — yet still absolutely mesmerizing eyes after reluctantly answering the door, waiting for Sukuna to say something, anything. Anything at all. But he didn't. He didn't say anything at all. He had really lost it, he thought, when he pulled you in for the most zealous kiss he had ever experienced that left you gasping for air. His lips slotted against yours, moving fervently simultaneously. Albeit, he pulled away rather quickly — afraid of what he had just done.

I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

Mere seconds after Sukuna pulled back, you moved your hand so quickly — that Sukuna didn't even notice at first — and slapped him. Hard. You slapped him hard as fuck. But then you did something that surprised the pink-haired man even more. You embraced him in a hug, and a tight one at that.

“Hug me back, dumbass.” You quipped.

Or I did last time I checked

“You just slapped me.” He hugged you back, nevertheless, wrapping his arms around your figure. Because, he had to admit, it was kinda hot [getting slapped].

“Duh. ‘Cause you're such a loser.”

A pause of silence occured, before Sukuna spoke up.

“I didn't mean what I said,” Sukuna murmured against your hair. He had longed for this moment. God, you made him so soft sometimes.

“I know.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I know.”

“I missed you.”

“You never stop talking, do you.”

“To you? Never.”

I'm going back to 505

If it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive

In my imagination, you're waitin' lyin' on your side

With your hands between your thighs and a smile

Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore @deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin @fivehoneyharg @desihopelessromantic @lich1 @hannas16 @acroso @msvalsius

[thestarlithideout]

Perfectly Imperfect

Requested: No Requests are: Open!

Summary: You realize the Doctor like you at the worst possible time

Warnings: Fluff, danger, sleep deprivation, mutual pining

A/n: Moved from my wattpad of the same user

PRESENT DAY, TARDIS, FLOATING AROUND SPACE

"Y/n!" 

You roll over, turning away from the noise you had yet to register as The Doctor calling your name. You were having a wonderful dream, one you couldn't quite recall now. You try to fall back into the euphoric dream atmosphere your subconscious had created, one where the only detail you seemed familiar was The Doctor's lips on yours, but that's a nightly occurrence. It's an unusual situation — a human, in love with a Time Lord who was likely to send you away at any time. And to have dreams where you kiss him! It's quite embarrassing, and you've sworn to never say a word to anyone. 

"Y/n!" 

You blink a few times, eyes adjusting to the dark of your bedroom. Now you can make out the familiar shapes of the simple room. You realize it was The Doctor yelling for you from across TARDIS, now bounding up the stairs, you hear. He knocks loudly on your bedroom door, rattling it just slightly. 

"You can come in," you yell just loud enough for him to hear. You sit up, leaning back on your hands. He bursts' into your room, door hitting the wall behind it, he looked crazy — hair mussed up, clothes crooked, a huge grin plastered on his face. "Wait," you tell him, holding up a hand. "Don't tell me, Earth needs saving, doesn't it?" He nods frantically, throwing your blankets off of you, grabbing your hand in both of his and ushering you out of bed. 

"Daleks, probably." Is all he says as he drags you to your bathroom. "Go on, get ready." You smile as he opens the door for you, placing a hand on your lower back to push you into the bathroom. 

You flip on the light, turning to the sink. You brace your hands on the counter, letting out a huff of a laugh when you look at your flushed cheeks in the mirror, shaking your head. Incredible, he is incredible. 

When you return from the bathroom a few minutes later, with a washed face and clean teeth, The Doctor is waiting for you, laying sprawled out on your bed. The things I could do with him laying there like that. Hmm. 

You blink hard, ridding yourself of those thoughts. God, that was utterly appalling, and he's The Doctor, he's your best friend. Stop it. You take a deep breath, clearing your throat. "Is there something you need?" You ask with a chuckle, sitting at the edge of your bed next to his stomach, and you have the urge to run your fingers through his hair. He's just so pretty, I can't help it. 

"Yes," he says, sounding oddly excited. "I need you to hurry, breakfast is nearly done and you need to eat before we go to Earth." He sits up, leaning back on his hands. You lick your lips, smiling. 

"What'd you make?" 

"Well, for my little American friend, otherwise known as Y/n, I made your pancakes. And for the Ponds I made regular pancakes." He smiled at you, proud he remembered how you liked yours. He attempted once to make you pancakes, but they were more like crepes than the fluffy pancakes you're used to. You ate them, they were good, but when he asked what you thought you revealed that you were used to more cake like pancakes. 

"Aw, that's sweet you remembered." You gave him a quick hug. You shouldn't have, because, God, you didn't want to let go. He's so warm, and he wraps his arms around your shoulders and it's like he's saying he's going to protect you from any dangers, anywhere. 

He smiled at you as you pulled back, "Of course, I want you to be happy here. I want you to stay." He makes you want to melt. Just become a puddle at his feet, he's such a sweetheart. 

You're the newest addition to The Doctor's little family, joining his adventures just six months ago. He still feels like he needs to make you happy, so he keeps doing these nice things for you, that's the only reason he keeps doing these things for you — well, pretty sure. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Eleven." 

∆∆∆

SIX MONTHS AGO, TARDIS

"So, this is your eleventh body?" You ask, leaning against the kitchen counter, holding your coffee between your hands. 

"Pretty much, my eleventh regeneration." He nods, he's standing opposite of you, barely a foot from you. 

"That's cool. Can I call you Eleven? It's just kind of weird to call you Doctor." You realize as soon as the words come out of your mouth that that sounded extremely rude. "Oh jeez, I didn't mean- I just meant, I'm sorry. Your name is great, it'll just take some getting used to. I'm sorry." You scramble to get out, and he watches with an amused expression. 

"It's okay, I promise you, it isn't the first time." 

"Oh no, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. Dammit." You set your coffee down, dropping your face into your hands. "I'm sorry." 

"It's alright. You can call me Eleven, that sounds nice." You look up. Maybe it's just your imagination, but it looks like his cheeks are tinted red. You give him a small, apologetic smile. 

"Wait," you start to ask, smirk barely restrained on your face, "How old does that make you?" 

"Older than I care to remember." He said, trying to tease back. But you could hear the sadness in his voice, the weight of the loss of everyone he's had to let go of. Your smirk immediately dropped, and you walked up to him sliding your arms under his to give him a great big hug, squeezing him tightly as you rest your cheek against his chest.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, feeling him finally hug you back, resting his head on top of yours as you rub your thumb over his little tweed jacket. 

∆∆∆

"But you are going, unless you plan on me going down for breakfast in this." You gesture to yourself, too big t-shirt and short shorts on, you're so lucky that your shirt isn't see through — you don't have a bra on. He looks at your outfit quickly, perhaps lingering on your legs for a second too long, but that was just your imagination, surely. But what isn't your imagination is the way he licks his lips, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth when he looks back up at your face. 

"No, I suppose not." He nodded, letting out a deep breath. You get off the bed, and he follows, smiling at you as he shuts the door. 

You get dressed quickly, throwing on jeans and a bra underneath your shirt. It's fine, you think before grabbing a jacket. 

You take the stairs as quick as possible, smelling the sweet pancakes in the air before you ever reached the kitchen of the TARDIS. You make an excited face as you bound into the rather large kitchen, "Smells so good." You raise your eyebrows at Amy when you catch her eye, gesturing at The Doctor who was currently wearing a "Kiss the Cook" apron. She just let out a short laugh, shrugging. You smile as you slowly walk over to him, leaning on your elbow on the counter next to him. 

"Interesting wardrobe change, Eleven." You tug at the apron when he turns to face you, he was working on one of your pancakes, waiting for it to finish cooking. 

He smiles, "Yes, well. . . Don't really have an explanation for that, I guess." He shrugs his shoulders, raising his eyebrows as he does which makes you scrunch your nose, light laugh falling from your lips. He goes back to focusing on your pancake, pressing the middle of it before transferring it to a plate with another pancake on it. 

"I made you two, is that okay?" 

"Perfect," you say with a smile. He nods, happy that you like the pancakes. 

"Well," he says with a clap, rubbing his hands together before taking off the apron, "We best get going. We've got to save past Earth from what seems to be a less developed breed of Daleks. Eat, Y/n, we have some time, it might take us a quick minute to get to 1207 AD Earth." He smiled. 

"Dear God, I'm not wearing a ridiculous dress." He snickered at your blatant hatred for the style. 

"Well, it would be quite hard to fight in." He squeezed your shoulder before walking out to the main controls. 

You grab your pancakes, spreading a bit of peanut butter and drizzling syrup over them before sitting down at the table with Amy and Rory. "Alright," you say matter-of-factly, "When does he stop feeling like he needs to make me feel welcome? I love it, he's such a sweetheart, but I don't want to be surprised when he gets comfortable with me and stops doing nice things. When did he stop doing it with you two?" 

They shared a look, before Amy answered you. "Y/n, darling, what are you going on about? He never did anything like this for us. Just this morning he was ranting on about he was going to make you your pancakes, and me and Rory were like 'Yum, can't wait.' And The Doctor just looked at us before realizing that he should probably make us some as well. 'You were wanting some too?' He said." She finished with a laugh, but noticed your confused expression as you chewed. 

"Y/n, you're not stupid," Rory groaned. "He only lets you call him Eleven-" Rory starts, and Amy intersects. 

"The one time we tried, he got very defensive, 'Only Y/n calls me that, what are you doing?'" She puts on a voice for him, imitating his accent.

"Yeah, he never made food before you got here," Rory continues, "He would be up shouting at all hours of the night. Hell, he never comes to our bedrooms to wake us up, never knocks, never brings us nothing, he fuckin' carried you to TARDIS once." Rory was talking about last week, you hadn't slept at all for nearly three days, almost collapsing. 

∆∆∆ 

DISTANT FUTURE, ONE WEEK AGO, PLANET OF SIRIATH

You fought to keep your eyes open as you stumbled, attempting to run, back to the TARDIS. But every step you took hurt you, every inch you ran made you want to collapse and let the Cybermen take you. You ran through the fields, corn stalks towered high above you, hitting you as you run. You can hear the Cybermen behind you, metal clanging as they trample the corn, searching for you and your friends. The Doctor runs beside you, Amy and Rory already on TARDIS. 

You hit your foot against a fallen corn stock, your toe slams against your shoe, and you fall, arms shooting out in front of you, bracing for the stings of leaves smacking you. But you just fall into something solid, yet soft. You collapse into it, realizing it's The Doctor, and pass out nearly immediately. You're barely half awake as he picks you up and runs the last hundred feet to the TARDIS, where Amy and Rory hang half out, yelling for him to run faster. 

"'Leven," you mumble, hiding your face in his chest, but trying to push him away at the same time, "'Leven put me down so I can run. Have to get away from the Cybermen, 'Leven." He shushed you and absolutely floors it the rest of the way. 

As soon as he enters the TARDIS, he takes you to your room, demanding Amy and Rory hit a thingamajig, and pull a spinny whatchamacallit and get them the hell outa dodge. You couldn't decipher the words, you just heard it running all together. 

"What's happened? Why- Are you okay?" He sets you down on your bed, kneeling beside you.

"Sleepy, Eleven, so fucking sleepy." You curl up, hands under your head, on your side. 

"When's the last time you slept?" You couldn't find the energy to shrug, so you were quiet. 

It wasn't until the next morning Amy and Rory told you he stayed in your room, in a chair by the door the entire 27 hours you slept. When he found out you hadn't slept in three days prior to that because of him and the Cybermen, he didn't let you get up for anything for two days, bringing your food and coffee to you to make up for it. 

∆∆∆ 

"He didn't. . . Well then why. . ?" You tried to work out in your head why in the he'll he would do that for you, but the only answer that kept banging around in your head was flashing red and screaming out with a blaring alarm, "HE LIKES YOU!" But he doesn't, he's a damn time lord, Christ Sake. It'll never happen. 

Amy rolls her eyes with a playful smile, "By the look on your face, I think you're pretty damn close to figuring it out." She jokes, getting up to leave.

Rory follows, patting your shoulder. "'Don't really have an explanation for that,' please, Y/n. Just kiss him already, I had to help him pick the damn thing out. 'Y'think Y/n will like it?'" You scoff, looking down at your mostly empty plate, reluctantly smiling at the possibility. You're sure at least Rory knows about your little crush, and Amy definitely knows.

---

1207 AD, SCOTLAND, EARTH

You reach Earth, year 1207, in a mere seven minutes. Thinking back on it, any past (or present, including Amy and Rory) companions you've had the pleasure of meeting have never mentioned how damn long it takes to travel. Once, you had to jump from a small, sandy planet from a galaxy far, far away, with two suns, billions of years in the future, to a huge ice planet in a galaxy halfway across the universe, in the present day. It damn near took twenty minutes of crashing and tumbling around the TARDIS console to get there.

You stumble out of the TARDIS and onto the green fields of a small village in Scotland, calming from absolutely cackling at something Amy said. But you go immediately quiet and stand straight up when you realize somewhere that should have been filled with music and celebration for their leaders, was dead silent. Not an animal sounded, no one person trying to sneak up on you. Only the near silent sound of your friends filing out behind you, realizing the exact same thing. 

"Doctor," you whisper, fear present in your voice, "Why is it so quiet?" He hadn't stopped walking until he was just slightly in front of you, arm overlapping yours. His fingertips would brush yours if he tries to reach behind him, and he does. But he grabs yours, squeezing them. Amy and Rory are on the other side of you, and you glance over at them to see if they noticed, yep. Amy is nudging Rory, pointing at you and The Doctor, and when she catches your eyes she raises her eyebrow at you, silently saying I told you, didn't I?

"Unevolved, with no armor — Daleks." He says, seemingly reading his Sonic Screwdriver. He takes a deep breath, "We need to locate them. Their goal will be to find the source of power and take over, AKA find the leaders and use them as vessels." He quickly explains, turning around to face your group, but not letting go of your fingers, instead sliding his hand up to cup your wrist. "After that they'll probably try to take over. . ." 

---

You look around in panic, trying to calm down. You're hiding in a dead woman's hut, trying desperately not to breath through your nose, but at the same time hoping the smell masks you. You run your hands up and down your thighs, trying not to cry from the pure panic of being separated from your friends while killer aliens are on the loose and could literally take over a body and pretend they would help before killing you for "getting in the way." 

That's exactly what they did to the villagers — took over their leaders minds and  slaughtered everyone who tried to revolt. You choke back a sob as you find the bedrooms, that's right, bedrooms. Plural. There's a child's bedroom, evident by the small wood carvings — bears, ducks, and a little heart. You don't want to look in the room, but something tells you that you must, a voice inside your head, something urging you on. You admire the carvings that litter the room, you turn around, trying to find more about the people who lived he- you let out a scream, stumbling back. You knock your head against a shelf, eyes stinging. 

There lay a small girl's decomposing, delicate body. She couldn't have been more than six. You stifle your sobs by holding your hand over your mouth, dropping to your knees. "Oh, God." You quietly sob, wiping your eyes. 

CRASH!

The sound of splintered wood fills the hut, and you panic. Your stomach fills with dread — you're trapped. "Eleven, TARDIS, please. Someone — Amy, Rory. Help," You whimper, face falling into your hands. 

You hear a shout, and doors knock down, falling with a quiet thump. 

More shouts, this time coming from outside the hut. You hear the familiar warbling of the Doctor's screwdriver. You gather yourself, bottom lip still slightly shaking as you rake your hands through your hair. The make-shift door to the child's room falls, and in comes a woman (a child, really) with a large, black squid-looking thing on her back. You back away, pressing your back against the wall. You breath deeply, holding your hands up. 

"Please, listen to reason. You don't want to kill me." 

"Give me a reason, human." It spat, speaking through the woman. You know she's long gone, her eyes are dead and dull. No life whatsoever.

You sputter, trying to come up with a reason when you see the Doctor silently creep behind the Dalek. 

"Because she's my human, and I think your kind may remember what happened the last time you messed with a companion of mine. And they weren't as important as she, so I do suggest you leave her be." 

Your eyes go wide, watching as he rants to the Dalek. It shakes the head of the woman, huffing a garbled laugh.

"Fine, I won't kill your precious human." It speaks, turning around to face the Doctor. "I'll kill you, once and for all!" It lunges at the Doctor, and you let out a scared cry. They struggle, falling to the floor. You search for something to help, and your eyes fall on the wood carving next to the bed. You hadn't noticed it before — a wooden knife, sharp despite being wood. You grab it by the hilt, waiting for an opportunity to help the Doctor. They wrestle around, Eleven tries not to hurt the woman, but she was dead before they started fighting. The Dalek grabs hold of the Doctor's hair, ripping him backwards, banging his head against the floor. It leans in and talks in a low voice. "And then after I kill you, I'll kill her too." It laughs, and the Dalek on the woman's back is face up.

You lunge towards it, stabbing at the Dalek. It spurts black, but it didn't make much of an impact. It just stands up, forcing the woman's face into a scowl. "Stupid human. Your Doctor tried to protect you, and you do this. Now you both shall die." The woman's face comforts into an evil grin, advancing. It rips the wooden knife from your hand, forcing you against the wall once more.

The Doctor scrambles up, reacting late, and fumbling with something in his jacket. He pulls something small and round out, still trying to get it to start. You're not sure what it is, but all you can focus on right now is the Dalek, who's getting closer and closer to you. The woman's nose touches your cheek, and you feel no breath hitting your cheek, making you want to sob once again. The woman is a walking zombie, dead, but body being used. The Dalek rakes her fingers down your face, and you feel the partially blunt carving pressing into your right side.

The Doctor runs at the Dalek, screaming something unintelligible to you. You double over, throbbing pain focused in your stomach, something ripping out. Then everything goes fuzzy. Your vision is impaired, only seeing a blur of the Doctor's tweed jacket coming off, and him leaning over you, mumbling something. You blink, trying to keep your eyes open. He grabs your hand, pressing hard on your stomach, and you start coughing, something warm and wet hitting your lips. It's metallic tasting. You keep your hand on your stomach despite the throbbing. You can't hear anything but his voice. It's too loud, even though you can't quite make out what he's saying. Two more people, a blur of red hair and a blur of brown hair. Amy and Rory.

Your hair, wet from sweat, is brushed from your face. You groan, and it burns your throat. This is taking hours, you've been laying here in pain for what feels like forever. You wince as someone's hands slide under you, picking you up quickly. It's Eleven.

"I'm getting blood on your jacket." You whimper, feeling too weak to do anything else. He's running, and you see the blurs of green from trees, and red from fire, and black from smoke all swirling together.

"It's alright, Darling. It's okay." It sounds like he's speaking underwater, voice muffled and barely decipherable.

He's still running, glancing down at you. You hear a boom as you enter a temperature regulated room — TARDIS, you're grateful for her.

---

You wake up in a daze with a pounding headache. The dim light coming from the lamp in the corner of the room — not yours — hurts your eyes. You sit up, hissing in pain when a sharp feeling runs up and down the right side of your body. Tears prick your eyes and you blink them back, taking shallow breaths. Then you realize that you aren't in the same clothes you were in when you arrived in Scotland, in 1207 AD. That they aren't even yours. It's a plain, a too big t-shirt that fell to your mid thighs. You squint your eyes to look at the bedside table — a carved heart. You inhale sharply, it all comes rushing back to you.

The Daleks. Eleven saving you. Stabbing the Dalek. Getting stabbed. Eleven saving you again. Waking up here.

My human.

Because she's my human.

You squeeze your eyes shut, calling out to TARDIS. "TARDIS, honey, where's Eleven?" Your voice is raspy.

She whirs in response, you're sure the Doctor understood it and is coming running. You can't help but wonder whose room this is. You've never seen it, and it doesn't look very lived in, but it sure is cozy. It's comforting, familiar for some reason.

The door bursts' open, hitting the wall. You wince, turning away from the light that shines through it. "Ow," you groan, drawing out the word.

"Y/n," the Doctor shuts the door quietly. He takes a deep breath before turning back around. He's been crying, you think, his eyes are puffy, and red. It's a reasonable assumption.

"Eleven," you groan as you stand up. You're wearing shorts now and you hope that it was Amy that got you dressed, it would kill you if it had been Rory or the Doctor.

"Eleven what's wrong?" You wrap your arms around his middle, laying your head against his chest. He rests his head against yours, hand coming up to cup the back of your head, the other hovering over your back.

"You- you almost died. Y/n, you can't do that." He sounds angry, but he's so calm and it's kind of freaking you out.

"But I'm alive. I didn't die, and I was helping you. So it doesn't matter." You shake your head slightly, shrugging, but grimace when it pulls at your side.

"Are you hurting? Lie down, God, what's wrong with you humans? Always risking your life. Bunch of martyrs, you lot." He mumbles to himself after telling you to lie down. He leads you to the bed, pulling back the blankets for you. You comply, but scoot over. You pat the bed next to you, and look at him with pleading eyes. He huffs, but smiles nonetheless as he sits next to you, back against the headboard.

"Whose bedroom is this?" You wonder aloud, scooting over to lay your head on his shoulder.

"Mine." Your eyes go wide, and you hope he can't feel your face heat up.

"Oh."

"You just," he stumbles over his words, looking at you. "You shouldn't have done that. Why would you do that? You could have gotten yourself killed! Then what would I have done?? I would have lost the only woman I- I would have lost my best friend. You're my best friend. Why would you endanger yourself like that? Y/n, you've been in a comatose state for nearly two weeks." He rants, angry again. He moves away from you to face you now. His eyes well up with tears, and he can't help but run his fingers lightly over your cheek, trailing down to the collar of your shirt. "You look beautiful in my shirt." Your face burns as his fingers brush over your collarbone.

"I'm absolutely furious at you, still." He laughs, but it turns into a choked sob. He's just relieved that you're okay. "God," he closes his eyes, and lets his forehead fall into the crook of your neck. "Y/n, why would you do that?"

Because I love you. Because I couldn't let a Dalek, of all things, kill you. Because I love you. Because I couldn't live with myself if I ran. Because I love you.

"You're my best friend." The Doctor huffed a hurt laugh, blinking against your neck.

"You forget I have the ability to look in your mind — to know what it is you're thinking." He says sadly, pulling you to him. You're knees are interlocking, one between his legs and the other on the outside.

Fuck off. Don't fucking mock me.

He shook his head, "You were reckless." He changes the subject with a sad look to the side. His hands drop from your face, and he stands up, clearing his throat. "You- You won't do that again. Next time we go anywhere like that you- you will- Uhm, you'll stay with TARDIS." He nodded, fixing his bow tie, shoving his hands in his pockets. He leaves the room, leaving you a distraught, hurting mess.

You run your hand over your face, sobbing silently. "God," you sigh, "What the hell just happened?" You wipe the tears from your cheeks, taking a deep breath.

Just, please, if you hear me. Please listen. Come back, please come back. Please, please, please. Jesus, I need you to come back, Eleven. Please, Doctor, come back.

I love you. I love you so much, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being stubborn, I'm sorry for risking my life. Please come back, Eleven. Would you please come back?

You silently beg for him to come back, to come back so you can make things right. You talk to him, in your head, until your head hurts. Until you've cried so much —begging him to come back, to talk to you, to kiss you — that your eyes hurt, until they've got bags under them that will last for days, until the corners of your eyes are rubbed raw from wiping them. Your heart aches for him, all you want to do is apologize, apologize for being reckless, for being so harsh on him, apologize for not telling him earlier.

Please, Doctor. Come back to me.

You roll over, facing the table. The throbbing pain on your right side had now slowed to a dull ache, the pain in your heart too much of a distraction. Your eyes fall to focus on the carved, wooden heart on the bedside table. You reach out and grab it, it doesn't look like the one from the hut. It's smoother, sanded down. You run your fingers over it, and find notches in the back. You turn it over in your hands, eyes widening when you read what it says. It's in his scraggly, loopy, endearingly him handwriting.

For my best friend, Y/n. Don't ever endanger yourself like that again. It would simply be too much for me to bear if I were to lose you.

♡ Eleven

Your heart stops. It weighs down on your chest like a rock, it's become a lead weight in your chest. Eleven what just happened? What does the heart mean? Why would you sign it like that?

You clutch the heart in your hands, laying down to finally sleep. You snuggle into his blankets, pressing you nose into his pillows. You know why it was familiar. It's him. It smells like him. Doctor, I love you so much.

---

You wake up to the door creaking open. Odd. Normally the Doctor comes bounding into your room, yelling for you. Or he carries you out to the consol, still half asleep, dropping you on one of the empty spots until you insist on brushing your teeth and changing out of shorts.

You squint, rolling over to see Any standing in the doorway, but the Doctor is already here — sleeping, curled up, in the arm chair across from the bed. You still have the heart in your hand, half of the words imprinted on your palm, along with the heart, and his name next to it. You look up at Amy, and she ushers you of the room. You walk as quick ad possible put of the room, and Amy shuts the door behind you.

"What the hell happened between the two of you? He's been shut up in his library since he left, and TARDIS wouldn't let us in." She questions, a concerned look in her eyes.

"I just-" you sigh, "It's a long story." You drop your head, looking at your bare toes, as if they're the most interesting things in the world — half painted, you remember when you showed the Doctor, and he just about lost it.

∆∆∆

TWO WEEKS AGO, TARDIS

You half-skip out into the main control, careful not to smudge the rich, dark green paint of your toes. "Doctor!" He turns around, hands still on the controls.

You stick your foot out, wiggling your toes. "Isn't it a pretty color?" You smile, you just bought the color two days ago, on a trip to Greece. You'd been wanting to go there, and the Doctor finally complied.

"Dear God! What is that on your foot?" He scrambled for his screwdriver while you stood there, an amused look on your face. It sounded a flat noise, and the Doctor hit it against his palm a few times.

"It's just nail polish, it's not an alien. I thought you were, like, thousands of years old." You say with a laugh, a slight smirk evident on your face.

"At this point, I've completely lost track." He physically relaxes, inspecting the color further. "I think it suits you wonderfully, though I do believe that's true for any color. Which, by the way, I can see twelve more of." He reminds you smugly, a posh smile on his face. You've had this conversation (about him seeing exactly twelve more colors than you) many, many times.

You just snort, rolling your eyes playfully with a smile on your face.

∆∆∆

PRESENT DAY, TARDIS

"Well we've got all the time in the world, now don't we?" She questions, eyebrows raised. A crash comes from inside the room, and you both look at the door, where a disheveled Doctor stands, hair sticking out in all directions.

"I woke up and you were gone." He has his hand on his chest, relieved. "I thought you left." His eyes are wide and slightly bloodshot, like after crying, or when you don't sleep for nearly a week, though of course that's different for him.

"Why would I leave?" You ask bluntly, not letting him hone in on what you're truly feeling — sadness and regret. Regret for not telling him earlier, for pushing him away.

"I-" He stutters wordless noise out, and Amy looks between the two of you.

"I'm going to leave you to whatever it is you're doing." She backs up before rounding a corner, after that you hear her feet pounding against the floor as she sprints off, yelling for Rory.

"I didn't know if you still wanted to be here or not." He admits, looking sheepishly at the floor.

"Again, why wouldn't I want to be here?" It's a stiff interaction, awkwardness clings to the tension between you and your Doctor.

He doesn't say anything, but you understand almost immediately. His companions have left of their own free will before, they got bored. They didn't want the excitement. They wanted a family.

"Doctor, I wouldn't leave you just because of an argument. Not even if you forbade me from leaving TARDIS," you raised your eyebrows, letting little emotion seep into your voice. You know that if you were to, then you would end up crying again. And you're already dehydrated and emotionally exhausted.

"Promise?" He avoids looking at you, instead opting for anything in your immediate vicinity.

"Of course." You should know I would never leave you, and you know why. You think sadly, for once wanting him to read your thoughts, and you look at the floor.

"Okay, right," he says, nodding. He goes to leave, but hesitates, turning back to you. He opens his mouth as if to say something, hand half reaching out to you. "I- Y/n, can I please talk to you?"

"Is that not what you're doing?" Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision, face warm and now wet with tears that keep coming.

"Y/n that's not what I meant, please?" He opens his door, hand outstretched and reaching for you. 

You don't take his hand, but you do walk into his room, arms wrapped around you as you look at the ground. He walks in behind you, shutting the door. You didn't notice, you were too busy looking a the ground, but his face dropped when you rejected his hand, and it terrified him even more. But you don't notice any of that, you're focused on avoiding him for as long as possible.

"Y/n, please, look at me." He walks over to you quickly, cupping your cheek in his hand, thumb running over your jaw. He tilts your head up to look at him. "Listen-"

"Don't let me down easy, alright? Tell me you don't feel that way about me and I'll leave. Just don't act like you pity me. Send me away, please. Just don't act like you pity me. Like you don't want to hurt me, because if you do hurt me it'll be that much easier to make myself leave." You don't look at him, but his hand still cups your jaw even as you turn your head.

"What are you talking about? I love you," he says in a quiet voice, and your lips part in shock.

What?

"I love you, Y/n." His hands hold the back of your neck, using his thumbs to make you look at him. "I love you." He stares at you with this intense adoration, like you're the only thing that matters in the universe. In any universe.

"You love me?" You ask in disbelief. You know it isn't logical, but what if he's only saying that as a friendly type of love? What if he's lying, just to get you to stay? God, you love this Doctor so much, but he could be twisted sometimes. He truly just does not want to be left all alone.

"I've always loved you, with both of my hearts." You roll your eyes, fighting back the tears that well up and threaten to spill over.

"I love you too, Eleven." Your hands wind up in his adorable, drive-you-crazy tweed coat, and you pull him down to you, capturing his lips with yours. He smiles into the kiss, hands moving up to tangle in your hair. You stand on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck as his lips move hastily against yours. It isn't one like in the movies — perfect and timed and coordinated. This is one of need, of love, of desperation. It's perfectly imperfect as you pull him closer to you, breaking the kiss.

He's holding you to him, squeezing you as close as possible, hands still in your hair and eyes still closed.

Your forehead is pressed against his, breathing heavy as you hold him tight. You don't want to let go, but you're both hot and emotional.

It's perfect in the most imperfect of ways. 

masterlist

[somethingvicked]

When Love and Hate Collide

Eddie Munson song-fic.

Song lyrics belong to the band Def Leppard!

warnings: female reader, cruel Eddie, angst!

Eddie walked out of his trailer, seeing you sitting on your own porch in the opposite lot with your boombox beside you, listening to your music. Usually your music taste was similar to his, but when you were in a low mood you always went for power ballads. He used to teased you about that but right now he felt like someone had punched him when he saw you refusing to look in his direction, writing in your notebook, silently lip-syncing to the song.

You could have a change of heart If you would only change your mind Instead of slamming down the phone, girl For the hundredth time

He had tried calling you, reasoning with you, begging your forgiveness but it was plain to see that this time you've had enough.

I got your number on my wall But I ain't gonna make that call When divided we stand, baby United we fall

You two had been best friends forever. Your parents had rented the trailer in the lot opposite his and Wayne's when you were barely four years old and you had hit it off immediately.

He couldn't say when those feelings had developed into love. Maybe when your parents had sent you to camp the whole summer and you hadn't seen each other for two months? Maybe it was when Gareth Heath had commented on how you had come back from summer camp with a 'rack of lamb'? Maybe it was when you said that you had a small crush on Patrick Swayze and he got furious because Swayze was a pretty boy, nothing like him and he wanted you to think of only him.

Yet, he never acted on those feelings, despite the hints you dropped. He was scared that if it didn't work out he would lose you forever. That was his worst nightmare. He'd rather stay just friends then.

Got the time, got a chance, gonna make it Got my hands on your heart, gonna take it All I know I can't fight this flame

It was plain to see that it hurt you. Especially when he got drunk and flirted with other girls - maybe just to see how jealous you got, to ensure him you still loved him and only him - or when he sold weed to cheerleaders and they flirted with him, wearing their short skirts and scratching his arm with their painted nails to get a reduced price.

You never did anything of the sort. You were in love with Eddie and wanted no one else. Good thing you didn't because he might have punched the guy you showed the slighest bit of interest in.

It was only because Patrick Swayze was a hundred miles away in Hollywood - and too old for you - that Eddie hadn't killed him.

Not really, but still.

You could have a change of heart If you would only change your mind 'Cause I'm crazy 'bout you, baby Time after time

But last night at the Hideout when some skank (your words, not his) had all but draped herself over him and he had done nothing to prevent it, despite talking to you merely seconds before, you had slammed down your glass on the bar counter top and walked out.

He had pushed the girl off of him and raced after you wondering what was wrong and you had turned around, looking at him with such hatred in your eyes that he had to take a step back. Your voice was colder than ice when you said: "I'm done. Done, Munson (not Eddie. Munson.). You've been hurting me for years. Friends don't do that. And since you claim that's the only thing we are, then I say it's a shitty friendship and I'm better off without it. We're done. Don't call me. Don't visit. Don't talk to me. Never again."

Without you, one night alone Is like a year without you baby Do you have a heart of stone? Without you Can't stop the hurt inside When love and hate collide

He had been struck by surprise, then paralyzing fear before he shook himself out of it. You couldn't mean it... right? No, you were just angry. You would get over it and understand he didn't mean anything by it. You always did.

He had cursed himself a million times over for not going after you when you walked off. He had gone back inside, thinking a little distance would make you cool down.

It was merely hours later that he realized what a mistake he had made.

When he got home he had tried calling you, but you didn't answer. When your parents answered the phone they didn't even bother lying to him - they said you didn't want to talk to him and that was that.

He went over to your place the next day but you didn't come to the door. He knew you were home because once again your mom refused to lie to him, she simply said that you didn't want to see him and that he had to respect your choice.

When Monday rolled around you took the bus to school from the trailer park. You hadn't done that in years, always riding with him in his van. In school you avoided him like the plague, sitting with Robin instead of the Hellfire table. When the guys heard what had happened they all looked at him as if he had killed someone. Or rather, killed you.

I don't wanna fight no more I don't know what we're fighting for When we treat each other, baby Like an act of war

Now he didn't know what to do. It was like someone had reached into his chest and cut his heart out. He had tried saying sorry, even put letters underneath your door, saying he would do better. You still didn't talk to him.

Deep inside he hoped you would again, that you would realize that you missed him, just like he missed you. But for every day that passed he slowly realized that whatever feelings you had for him, he had fucked up one time too many and the pan of the scale had tipped over.

I could tell a million lies And it would come as no surprise When the truth is like a stranger Hits you right between the eyes

"You got to make this right," Wayne said when Eddie all but cried for help. "You obviously don't see her as a friend. Not to mention you hurt her so many times - trying to have your cake and eat it too! That's such a cruel thing to do, Eddie! I've not raised you to act like that! So tell her how you feel. For real. And you better spend the rest of your time making it up to her!"

There's a time and a place and a reason And I know I got a love to believe in All I know Got to win this time

So that same night he showed up on your porch with his acoustic guitar, strumming out the tones to the song you had played just the other day. Not caring whether your parents heard him or even called the cops on him.

Without you, one night alone Is like a year without you, baby Do you have a heart of stone? Without you Can't stop the hurt inside When love and hate collide

You could have a change of heart If you would only change your mind 'Cause I'm crazy 'bout you, baby Crazy, crazy

You opened the door, meeting his gaze for the first time in days.

"I... I love you, sweetheart," Eddie whispered. "I'm so sorry. So sorry for how I behaved. Please... please give me a chance to make this right. I can't live without you."

You shook your head. "I'm so goddamn angry at you, Eddie Munson. But... I love you too I thought it would be easier, living without you. It's not! I miss you so much!"

Eddie smiled and ran up to her, wrapping his arms around her tightly, both of them crying.

"But I'm telling you now - I'll castrate you if you ever hurt me again!" Y/N whispered and Eddie chuckled.

"I'll hand you the knife, baby."

"Don't bother - I'll use a spoon."

Without you, one night alone Is like a year without you, baby Do you have a heart of stone? Without you, one night alone Is like a year without you, baby If you have a heart at all Without you I can't stop the hurt inside When love and hate collide

(please, like, comment and reblog!

Your likes are wonderful, but reblogs expand my reading circle!)

[tashacee]

hero's aspect wild still has mipha's grace, right?

i'm rereading the whole fic and i got to the bit where hyrule is sure he would've killed wild if he'd been there when they first saw him. and i thought-

well ok. what if he did. like they kill wild before sky can tell them what's really happening and everyone is horrified and then he. comes back to life. all's well that ends well! except the trauma i guess

OH MAN

Oh no!

(Oh Yes)

Aspects of a Terrible Mistake

They had messed up. They had messed up beyond messing up. ‘Messed up’ wasn’t even an appropriate word for how badly things had gone wrong.

Legend stared silently as Hyrule, sobbing, tried to pour his Life spell into a corpse. Beside him, Sky was paler than ash, his eyes wide and his lower lip trembling. Only a moment ago he had burst through the brush, panting, and shouted for them to stop, that this wasn’t a monster, it was a hero like them.

It was too late. Hyrule had shot true, his arrow going into one of the hero’s eyes and killing him instantly.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. It was a dream, a terrible nightmare, it-

Legend felt like the world was spinning without him. He couldn’t focus. He heard himself saying that he was going to get Time, knew distantly that he was moving through the forest towards their camp, but he was in a daze.

They’d killed a hero.

He didn’t know what he said to Time. He didn’t know what the old man said, just that his eye flew wide and he looked sick. The rest of the heroes - the heroes that hadn’t been part of the group that killed an innocent man - followed him to the river where the corpse was still lying prone and Hyrule was sobbing into his chest.

They eventually decided to give him a decent burial. It was the very least they could do. The new hero, whoever he was, was a big guy but Time could just about carry him back to camp.

They laid him out on a bedroll, as if he was only sleeping. It would take a while to dig a grave and they were determined to do this right, to clean the blood from his face and comb his hair before they buried him. They would take some of his jewellery, maybe his sword and that strange device on his hip so that they could give it to his own people if they ever went to his era.

Hyrule was still trembling as he removed the arrow from his eye and washed his face. Legend had no idea how the traveller, the sweet kind traveller, would ever forgive himself for shooting the killing shot. Legend had just been a part of the group that killed him and he felt wretched.

There was nothing he could think of to say.

Legend turned to see how the grave was getting on, and -

A gasp. The sound of someone stumbling backwards, and a whine.

Legend span around and screamed.

The dead man was no longer dead, and now was looking up at him with two wide, very frightened eyes.

What the f-

-

Link awoke with a gasp, his body aching and his head pounding. He had been dead a moment ago. He had been dead, he had been murdered and -

Oh Hylia, the boy who shot him was right beside him. Wild whined and tried to struggle away, but his limbs were heavy and numb after their temporary death. A few feet away someone screamed, a guy with pink hair who looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Which, yeah kinda.

But what the hell was going on?! He’d died in the river, but now he was in a glade, under a blanket. Were-

Were they planning to bury him? The killing boy looked like he’d been crying, what the hell was going on?!

Voices began to ring out as a group of more boys and men began to crowd around him, all looking shellshocked and disbelieving. Some, he recognised from the hunting party, others he did not. The largest of the group, a tattooed man with one eye, pushed his way through the crowd and knelt at link’s side.

“Everyone, give us some space. Sky, stay with me, help me explain.”

Link whined again, looking up at the tattooed man. Despite his intimidating figure he was looking down at him kindly. Link knew that he probably shouldn’t trust him, but he did.

-

Okay so this was all batshit crazy. According to one-eye - Time, his name was Time - they were all heroes from across time, all called link, and all drawn here by mysterious portals. Sounded like a lot of woo-woo bullshit to Link, but then Time’s friend, Sky, had let him hold his sword. The Master Sword.

Hylia, it was all true.

Call him crazy, but Link - Wild, he was now - didn’t hold a grudge. He’d died before, including by accident or at the hands of people who hadn’t realised it was him and not a monster. It was fine.

Well, it wasn’t fine, but Wild was forgiving and wanted to move on. Wanted to get to know his brothers.

It took a while. Weeks, really. He couldn’t communicate properly, couldn’t explain himself to them. Little by little, though, he broke down barriers between himself and the chain. The ones who hadn’t been in the hunt first, then one by one, the others.

Four. Warriors. Legend. Sky.

And then Hyrule. Much as Wild wanted to move on, it was hard to build a bridge with Hyrule.

He knew why the traveller had done what he did, probably would have done the same in his situation. Honestly, he was even pretty impressed by his shot!

But his subconscious was another matter. He got nervous around the traveller without any real reason, and Hyrule’s guilt was clearly affecting him too.

Then, one day on a hike the traveller had pulled out a bow as he turned to listen for monsters and Wild had jerked away on instinct. The look of shock and guilt and grief he then got from the traveller after that was horrible, and that night he found Hyrule’s bow snapped in half in a ditch.

In the end it was food that united them. Wild had seen Hyrule by the campfire and steeled himself, walking over and plopping down beside him.

Hyrule immediately made to move, to give wild space, but wild stopped him, putting a hand on his wrist. He rumbled softly, and offered his slate.

It took a while to get his meaning across, but eventually Hyrule understood that he was asking for food suggestions. The traveller would never be a great chef, but he could follow instructions and was genuinely excited to help.

It was the first time they had ever actually done something together and… it felt nice. Right. When they were done they had a damn good meal for the chain, and Wild ruffled Hyrule’s hair fondly. The traveller smiled shyly back up at him.

By the time they first made it to Wild’s world, the time Wild had be killed by Hyrule felt like a bad dream.

[raccoonfallsharder]

✩˚₊‧♡ Blackmail Material ♡‧₊˚✩

masterlist [COMPLETE] | main masterlist

18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | complete | word count: 30,591.

a classic tale of "that fuckin raccoon found your sex toy." post-endgame friends-to-lovers smut with feelings.

i am not writing off the possibility of an epilogue someday (a "one year later" scenario won't fully let go of my brain) but for now i feel like this story has been told and we can leave these two to enjoy their smutty little lives together. back to main masterlist

Collects 3 of 3 Parts. ♡‧₊˚✩

♡‧₊˚✩ Part One: Blackmail Material [8/7] you've been hiding one - or maybe two - things from your best friend on the Bowie. unfortunately for you, now he knows. smut with feelings + fluff. sex toys, voyeurism/exhibitionism, impact play.

♡‧₊˚✩ Part Two: Self-Sufficience [8/28] rocket deals with the emotional aftermath of your night together, engages in some kinda-sad masturbation, and learns that deep down, his most-secret kink is having sex with someone who loves him. fuck. smut with feelings + fluff. angst, sexual fantasy, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), spanking.

♡‧₊˚✩ Part Three: Bioluminescent [10/23] rocket finally decides what he wants. you're glowingly happy to oblige. smut with lotsa feelings + fluff, dirty talk, begging, light dom/sub elements, little bit of oral, references to impact play.

if you’d like to be added to my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask!

[rainbowninjas]

Text: Through my life, I’ve received many names…

Genius, friend-killer kakashi, prodigy, cold-blood killer Kakashi, commander, captain,

the son of a disgraced man…

But the loudest one comes when everything else is quiet….

alone.

It’s fine. They are all right, after all…

I am all of those things, and I have no one to blame but me…

RIVAL! I CHALLENGE YOU!

Or perhaps I’m not…

[blitheringmcgonagall]

P.S. I Still Wait for You

Chapter 3/4

Read Part 1 here

Read part 2 here

Uncanny Valley, that was what muggles called it. Like being in France except everything felt different, and he couldn’t quite catch what everyone was saying – different phrasing, idioms, completely different accent. Québécois felt so similar and yet so foreign. He loved it. Of course, one couldn’t just apparate to Canada, so coming here had been far too time-consuming for his liking. But once in Montreal, finding her hadn’t taken him long at all. She had always said if she continued living as a muggle, she would never have had the money to go to university, but she would have liked to study nursing. Student  nurses got paid, badly. Evans was impressive. What was the best hospital in Montreal, he asked? Jewish General Hospital, he was told. A taxi ride, sweet-talking the right people, and Bob’s your uncle*.

“Afternoon, Evans,” he says, walking up the steps.

She’s fiddling with the key in the lock, auburn waves blowing into her face, shopping bag clutched under her other arm. She nearly drops it when she hears him, whirls round to face him – leaning on the porch, black leather jacket, tight jeans, all cool, calm and collected. Distinctly cool, perhaps cold, it is worth noting.

“Sirius,” she says.

It annoys him that she still remembers not to call him Black.

“I need a word.”

She stares at him, as though weighing up whether she could get rid of him some way. But she knows she can’t, not with his wand pointed at her and the stubborn look on his face. She’s not stupid.

She steps aside and motions for him to enter, emerald eyes guarded and wary. He stands in the kitchen as she busies herself putting the food in the fridge, the cupboards, avoids looking at him or talking to him. Patience was never his forte.

“Evans,” he says.

She looks up, frazzled.

“I just started working on the general medical ward. I’ve been nursing someone in the isolation room with meningitis. If you want to speak to me, you’ll have to wait. I need to have a shower first.”

He can’t figure out if she’s telling the truth or avoiding him for a bit longer. He wants to ask her why she went shopping or put everything away, if she’s so concerned about contamination, but she’s already gone.

“Merlin, fuck,” he says to himself.

He finds a bottle of Irish whiskey, pours himself a generous tumbler, and sits himself down on the couch, takes in his surroundings. He’s surprised to see a photo of her friends – Lily with Dorcas, Marlene, Mary, Alice. He gets up and wanders around the tiny sitting room, picks up another photo from Hogwarts, this time Lily with the marauders. James has his arm around her in this one, has eyes only for her. He pulls her in closer, plants a sweet kiss on her temple. She looks up at him, enthralled.

Funny. Weird as fuck.

To hell with it. He opens the cabinets in the sitting room, pulls out a few old records, her Gryffindor scarf, her old potions books. A blanket he recalls her mother made her. Her graduation scrolls. An old cardboard box. Letters.

Interesting.

He’s not usually like this, but all’s fair in love and war (and this situation might tick both those boxes from his pov). He skims over them, speed reads them. The letters are sweet – loving nostalgic ones from Mr. & Mrs. Evans; snooty, irritating ones from Petunia (she cared about Lily though, you can read it in the way she rudely checks to see is the war still ongoing, pretending not to be bothered), a couple of adorable ones from Remus that make him feel all mushy, like the embarrassingly lovestruck fool that he is. Hilarious ones from Mary. He finds a pile from James, tied up in string. He has the decency not to read them. Why she keeps them is a mystery. At the bottom he finds a torn, crumpled letter. He removes the ridiculously basic disillusionment charm on it (it would work on muggles and clearly that’s all she’s worried about here).

Dearest James, Mo stoirín,

Nothing compares to the misery of leaving you this way, of knowing how devastated you were, of knowing I broke your heart, and not being able to explain myself. Sometimes when I can’t bear it any longer, I cast a muffliato here inside these four walls, and scream the reason out loud, until my voice is hoarse. I have never felt more lonely, more angry, more defeated, more powerless.

Sometimes I swear to myself I will leave this place and get back home, tell you everything. I see your reaction in my mind. Sometimes you forgive me, you understand why I did it. Sometimes you’re angry, can’t understand how you didn’t find a way to work around that magic. Sometimes I dream I tell you and you stop breathing, turn purple and fall breathless at my feet. You die, and I am powerless to help you. I wake up distraught. I promise you, I tried. I spent hours, days, years consumed with trying to think of ways to break it. I am not allowed to tell you, to tell your friends, anyone at all. I have come up with nothing. I hate myself for being so useless.

Some day, I want you to know. I want to die before you. People say that muggleborns and half-bloods don’t live as long as purebloods. I hope that’s true. I have syphoned off a memory. I could not show you now, but when I’m gone, I want you to take it to the old pensieve in Laurelmere, Monty’s family heirloom. I will leave it for you in my will. That, and your letters and our photographs. Then I’ll be able to rest in peace.

I have found some meaning in my life. I love my job. But this is not what I wanted, what I hoped for.

Yours till the very end,

Lily

He stares at this clue, vital. He has no idea what language no stoirin is in, but he could bet his fortune it means my love. Then he folds the letter carefully and places it in his pocket. He finds a fine crystal vial, enwrought with silver vine, filled with a cloudy suspension. He slips it inside his leather jacket. A flick of his wrist and the room is tidy as before.

The door opens.

She stands there, watching him, biting her lip. He notices the tension in her jaw, her shoulders, the gauntness of her cheeks. He walks over to her slowly, takes her hand in his.

“Come to our wedding,” he asks, quietly, squeezing her hand carefully between his own.

“You proposed?” she gasps, the first signs of gladness he has seen.

“He did,” he admits, sheepishly, feeling a warmth across his own cheeks.

She squeezes his hand back.

“Remus says if you aren’t there he will never be able to enjoy it,” he adds.

“How did you find me?”

“Detective work, Evans,” he smiles enigmatically.

She frowns.

“How?”

“Come and I’ll explain,” he says. “You don’t need to speak to Prongs, we’ll understand. Just one evening, for old time’s sake. You owe me this much.”

“You owe me too,” she replies, raised eyebrow.

“You saved me thrice. I saved you four times. Then the war ended and you didn’t get to pay me back. You owe me.”

She sighs. He hugs her then, a firm, warm hug, full of promise.

“Please,” he whispers into her hair. “You were one of my best friends too. And Moony’s. Don’t think we ever stopped thinking of you.”

He can feel her shoulders heave, a quiet, swallowed sob. When she lifts her head up, her eyes are red.

“I’ll be there,” she says.

TBC…

Bob’s your uncle * expression used immediately after a set of simple instructions and roughly means the same as 'and it's as simple as that!' In 1887, British Prime Minister Robert Gascoyne-Cecil appointed his nephew Arthur James Balfour as Minister for Ireland. The phrase 'Bob's your uncle' was coined when Arthur referred to the Prime Minister as 'Uncle Bob'. Apparently, it's very simple to become a minister when Bob's your uncle! Conservative PMs still at it today, except have moved on to handing more than £1 billion of contracts to companies run by Conservative “friends and donors” since the start of the coronavirus pandemic; and shorting the economy and whatnot… Bob is still very much your sugar daddy…

[whitakerrr]

SUMMARY:

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness.

Words: 302,014

What if Harry and Draco secretly became reluctant friends during the Triwizard Tournament? Or perhaps, something MORE??Featuring Cedric as their affectionate liaison and all-around bestie??? HAHA that would be so crazy…unless….

Buckle up, boys. This slow burn is beautiful but deadly. Best consumed with a plate of cookies, a roaring fireplace, and maybe a wall to punch holes in (don’t actually do that bro ur moms gonna be so mad and she already doesn’t like me)

[frosthexe]

Feed Me Diamonds - Chapter 1 - TroubleIWant - Teen Wolf (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

“So, you’re the host,” the kid says, glancing at Derek under long lashes. He angles his body closer, more than appropriate for casual conversation.

“I don’t remember inviting you,” Derek says, leaning in too, pretending it’s so he doesn’t have to shout to be heard over the pulsing beat of the music. “And I would remember.” Derek lets his fingers skim over the small of the other man’s back, just to see if he can.

“Oh, you need an invite to get into these shindigs?” Stiles asks with a teasing grin that seems to draw them into some kind of confidence. “I hear just about anything goes at Derek Hale’s parties.”

Derek curves his mouth into a flirtatious smile, because it's something a spoiled rich boy thinking with his dick would do. “True, but I do like to know who’s doing the ‘anything’.”

-

Derek is Batman, Stiles is Cat...dude? Uh, he's the Cat Thief, let's go with that. They bone, okay? But first they angst about it.

[10ths-writing-corner]

Another litol (not so little) MDZS fic

The idea kept bouncing in my head, I had to write it out sodndjdfn

-Canon divergent

-Lan Zhan stepping up from the start

-What if Wei Wuxian let all his feelings and frustrations out?

-JC and Wwx reconciliation

[sapphirehearteyes]

In honor of the latest chapter of Prize by litathesissy, the *stunning* Lucemond fic!

The amazing Lucemond photo manip in upper left corner is by the incredible @lucynea-1 (I made this quite a while ago and for some reason the name didn’t tag properly but go check out their work- it’s stellar!!!)

Read if you haven’t, it’s exquisite!!! One more chapter and it’s done!!!!!

Obsessive/toxic love with a happy ending ❤️

[powertaco]

How things should be... WR 1 shot request

You have a small packet of letters. Things you’ve never really shown anyone. Not Yang, not Blake, not even Weiss. 

You actually got the idea from Uncle Qrow of all people. He said it was easier to talk to people that way even when they weren’t there anymore. 

You’re actually starting to understand your uncle a lot more than you ever thought you might. 

Despite everything, despite the situation, and even how long ago you wrote them you can recall every word effortlessly with the sort of focus normally reserved for weapons, and Grimm hunting. 

The first one was not all that long after Weiss had brought you coffee in bed. You’d seen how stressed she was about some test and had wanted to return the favor.

‘Dear Weiss,’ the letter began…

A big old thanks to @xx-whiterose for the request!

[crimsonlovebartylus]

i'ma always be so proud of this fic 🥹 my little 30k

[homerforsure]

18 + 23 pleaseeeeeeeeee xoxo princessfbi

I don't know how this happened, but I got a little bit of smut in your sweet prompt. Sorry not sorry.

18. Cuddling in bed for longer than usual because it’s obvious that they need it.

23. Brushing a stray strand of hair out of their eyes.

Rated: M

2800 words

Read on AO3

Buck had plans for the day. Nothing especially earth-shattering. Nothing to bother writing on the calendar. It was the kind of day built up of a dozen or so little errands that he’d been putting off for just long enough that a few of them had become urgent. Buying coffee filters for one (the Hildy did NOT appreciate it when they tried to fashion one out of a paper towel); getting his oil changed for another. Buck was thinking about surprising Maddie at work if he had time between dropping off some overdue library books and getting to the gym for the ring time he’d booked. Sneaking her out to lunch at one of the food trucks that lined that street was more Chimney’s thing, but Buck had been dying to try the Korean BBQ truck that was making a special appearance that week. 

Anyway, he’d had plans. 

But when he’d popped inside for just a second to change his shirt after he and Eddie came home from the previous night’s shift, Eddie followed after him into the bedroom. Gentle kisses to his bare shoulders turned more insistent as Buck turned around to face him and it wasn’t long before the rest of their clothes joined Buck’s shirt on the floor. 

“Thought you were going to take a nap,” he teased, gasping as Eddie finally released him to take a breath. 

They hadn’t had any late calls, but the house fire that came in just after sunset took hours to battle and Buck knew that Eddie hadn’t gone to the bunks after. He was on the couch when Buck went up to sleep and was still there when Buck got up that morning, the circles under his eyes purple and worrying on his too pale skin. Insomnia still dogged Eddie now and again, but he had promised to be honest with Buck if it ever got bad and so far he’d kept that promise. So that morning Buck accepted his sleepy smile and didn’t let himself worry, curling up beside Eddie with his coffee until the official end of their shift an hour later. 

In the bedroom, Eddie didn’t reply to Buck’s question, kissing him instead as he steered them both toward the edge of the bed. His mouth and his hands scalded Buck with their intensity as they roamed over all of the familiar places that Eddie knew made Buck tremble and gasp. It was effective, melting Buck expertly and immediately, but the foreplay was fast and focused in a way that Eddie hardly ever was. Even when they barely had fifteen minutes to themselves, he still preferred to take his time, teasing and savoring, the smug look that he got after wrenching an unexpected cry from Buck’s lips hotter than it had any right to be. 

Holding Buck’s hands to keep him from responding with any tender touches of his own, Eddie laved his tongue over Buck’s throat, biting and sucking at his collarbone until a bruise bloomed, kissing over the mark afterward with the softest brush of his lips. He added another and another, the frenzy in his mouth lodging a little pinprick of concern behind Buck’s ribs even as he moaned like always under the feeling of being marked and claimed by Eddie. That pinprick grew to a cold knife edge as Eddie leaned across him to reach the bedside drawer and Buck saw what he’d been trying to conceal. 

“What the hell?” he demanded, fighting against Eddie’s weight on his legs to try and sit up. “What happened to you?”

The bruising was angry, dark red and purple, and covered Eddie’s lower back from hip to hip. It was the worst at his tailbone, a stain bigger than Buck’s hand, and Buck fought to pull himself up so he could get a better look. When had it happened? He and Eddie had been separated during the last call, but Buck hadn’t heard anything over the radio. No one said anything afterward, but it had to have happened during the fire. There was no other time it could have. 

Once Eddie found the bottle he’d been looking for and sat back over Buck’s thighs, Buck finally pushed himself upright, his fingers skimming the damaged skin at Eddie’s hips. “Eddie,” he said.

They were chest to chest like this and Eddie couldn’t hide. He didn’t try. The plea in his dark brown eyes was open for Buck to see, desperate and wounded and needing. “Buck,” he whispered, guiding Buck’s hand off his hip and further back toward the cleft of his ass. Buck curled his fingers back instinctively, but Eddie kept a grip on his wrist and said, “Please. I’m okay. I’m alright. I just need- I need to feel you. Please.”

He leaned in to kiss Buck, dropping butterfly kisses across his jaw and down his throat to his chest as he brought himself closer to Buck’s warmth. Soft breaths puffed across Buck’s skin that might have been another please but Buck couldn’t hear it. Eddie pressed himself forward, canting his hips and Buck groaned at the friction of the two of them rubbing together. When Eddie gasped too, the first uncontrolled sound he’d allowed himself, Buck replied, “Okay. Okay, I’ve got you.”

With obvious relief, Eddie took Buck’s hand again and Buck let him slick up his fingers and guide them back where he wanted them. He all but pressed Buck’s fingers into his entrance himself, huffing and shifting with urgency, begging Buck to reach him where he couldn’t on his own. 

“Hey, hey,” Buck said. “Gentle. Let me do it, okay?”

Making a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, Eddie nevertheless withdrew his hand and reached for Buck instead, grabbing a firm hold of his hair and kissing him long and deep. Eddie’s tongue swirled around Buck’s before sucking gently as his fingertips dug into Buck’s ribs and tugged at his curls, the spark of sensation traveling straight down Buck’s spine. 

As Eddie arched, pressing back against Buck’s hand, reminding him of what he really wanted, Buck finally obliged, gently and carefully working a finger inside until Eddie sighed in his mouth. Eddie didn’t let them slow down again after that. He demanded deeper and more and please, rocking back against Buck’s fingers to try and take what Buck wasn’t giving him fast enough. 

Declaring himself ready well before Buck would have, Eddie pushed Buck back down against the mattress and then warmed more lube in his palms before coating Buck’s cock with a few artful, gorgeous twists of his hand. Desperate as he was, Eddie would still never just be perfunctory with Buck. He touched him with care and devotion and wicked skill before positioning himself to take him in. Gripping as hard as he dared on Eddie’s hips, Buck forced him to seat himself slowly and the glorious feeling of wet heat stretching around him nearly ruined Buck before their bodies were even flush together. 

His eyes slipping closed, Eddie tipped his face up to the ceiling, something like beatification in his expression as he held himself still until he got comfortable. Held himself still for Buck who wouldn’t forgive himself if Eddie was hurt. 

When he opened his eyes again, they were almost glassy with feeling and Buck reached up a hand to cup his cheek. “Gently,” he said. 

Eddie bit his lip, but nodded and when he finally moved, Buck couldn’t stop the sound that came out of his mouth. He kept his hands on Eddie, holding them flat against his chest so they rose and fell as Eddie did, curling his fingers so his nails stroked Eddie’s skin, leaving faint red lines and making Eddie groan each time they brushed a nipple. Buck didn’t know what to say–of the two of them, Eddie was the talker, covering Buck with the praise he craved until he thought he might come from the words alone–but he tried to guess what Eddie needed, whispering urgings and affirmations and expletive-laden appreciation. 

“So good, Eds. I’m here. We’re right here. Come on.” 

Leaning forward, Eddie searched for the angle that he wanted, wincing as he grasped tight to the headboard and working himself harder and faster on Buck’s cock. Buck couldn’t help it, he thrusted upward, matching Eddie’s rhythm even as it grew more frantic, trying to give him what he asked for. 

Too soon, he felt himself growing close and Buck fought against the building pleasure. He didn’t want to come until Eddie got everything he was looking for. But, fuck, the suddenness of the encounter and the determined way that Eddie was pressing every single button that Buck had, one after the other, had him teetering right on the edge. Buck wrapped a hand around Eddie to at least try and bring them to the finish together, but Eddie knocked his hand away. Lacing their fingers together and pressing their joined hands firmly into the mattress, Eddie bent down to try and kiss Buck again, their panting breath making it less of a kiss than an open-mouthed brush of their lips.

From there, Eddie ground into Buck’s lap, as though there was any way to take him deeper, to meld them completely. Buck gathered all of the leverage he could and drove himself upward over and over, each thrust of his hips resulting in an unbidden grunt in his ear. The weight of Eddie and the sound and the tightness of him all over finally had Buck igniting in a firework of an orgasm, fast and blinding and loud. As the trailing sparks of it floated up his legs and through the tensed muscles of his abdomen, he tried to reach for Eddie again, whining and bucking his hips when Eddie wouldn’t let go of his hands. 

“Let me, Eddie,” he begged. “Please. Come with me.” 

Eddie raised his head to meet Buck’s eyes. Beneath the dark hunger and the haze of pleasure was still a lost kind of yearning that hadn’t been quenched. Buck squeezed his hands as Eddie continued to rock against him, trying to make the friction of their bodies pressed together over his achingly hard and leaking cock be enough sensation to get him off. It wasn’t. Buck could see that it wasn’t and he was ready to tear himself free of Eddie’s grasp just so he could give him the release he needed. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand, shifting his legs to try and nudge Eddie closer, to give him just a little more. “I’m right here.”

Finally, finally, Eddie moved one of his hands, giving himself over to Buck, hissing as Buck finally got a hand around him. It was sticky and rough and not good enough, but Buck pumped his fist with the same urgency that Eddie had when he’d ridden him, whispering nonsense all the while, and soon Eddie was coming with a shuddering exhale, painting both of their chests as he did. 

“There you go,” Buck said, once that last of Eddie’s orgasm shimmered out of him and he’d started to flinch away from Buck’s touch. Kissing his temple, Buck brought his arm behind Eddie’s back instead, mindful of those terrible bruises, but holding him tight anyway. “I’ve got you.” 

Shifting so he could return the embrace, Eddie tucked his head under Buck’s chin and breathed out slowly. “I know,” he said. 

Twenty minutes, a shower, and a change of sheets later, they were back in almost the same position. Buck lay on his back with Eddie splayed across his chest, one leg hooked over Buck’s, warm and soft and still. His hair was still damp from the towel dry he’d given it and Buck gently brushed an errant lock away from where it had fallen across Eddie’s forehead. Once he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop, tilting his face to press a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head and then continuing the slow, hypnotizing trail of his fingers through Eddie’s hair. 

In the silence of their bedroom, Buck could hear Eddie lick his lips and then open his mouth, taking a little steadying breath before saying, “I got stuck.” 

Buck waited and then repeated, “You got stuck.” 

Eddie nodded, his stubbled cheek scratching Buck’s chest as he did. He said, “Just for a minute. The house had all those stupid exposed beams and one of them fell. Pinned me.” Swallowing, Eddie started speaking a little faster as though getting the words out would exorcize the memory and he could really be as nonchalant about it as he was pretending to be. “Ravi was right behind me. It couldn’t have been more than a minute, but I- It was too heavy. I couldn’t get out from under it.”

Buck knew full well what it felt like to be helpless with growing and groaning flames on every side. He could taste the smoke in his mouth as Eddie spoke and as his body shivered, Buck kissed Eddie’s head again.

“I panicked. Or I started to panic. Ravi was right there but I was- All I could think was that people die like this. I could die like this. I was clawing at the floor like a lunatic when he came around the corner and hauled the beam off me.”

“You didn’t die,” Buck said. Eddie hummed in something like agreement. “Ravi was there and if he hadn’t been I would have come to get you. And if I couldn’t, then you would have gotten out yourself. You would have fought to come home to us.” 

It’s not a lie when Buck says it even though they both know that there are never any guarantees when they go out into the world. A world without Eddie is impossible so he refuses to acknowledge any other possibility. Buck knows Eddie does the same. 

“It didn’t feel like it,” Eddie admitted, not bothering to hide his disgust at his own emotions as he rolled away from Buck to lay beside him. “It didn’t feel like it when I was in there and it didn’t feel like it in the truck on the way home and I kept waiting for it to be over but it- it never was.”

He sounded like he was presenting himself for disciplinary action. I was wrong, I was weak, I’ll accept whatever punishment I get. Eddie knows how to offer himself more grace now, but Buck also knows what it’s like when fear seizes your heart and drags you back to someone you used to be. The way that fear can linger until nowhere and no one feels safe, leaving you scrambling for solid ground. But Eddie came to him. He comes to Buck when it gets like this and Buck is so so honored that he does. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice,” he said, rolling after Eddie and propping himself up on his elbow. Resting a hand on Eddie’s stomach, Buck asked, “How are you feeling now?”

Sighing, Eddie replied, “Better. Still kind of… buzzy?” Then he corrected himself and laughed, “Actually. Like shit. But this helps.”

“Sleep might help too. Do you think you can sleep?” Buck asked. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie answered, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I don’t think so. Not yet.” 

“Okay.”

Buck shimmied closer so they were touching again, nestling against Eddie as Eddie welcomed him with an arm over his shoulders. Buck felt his entire body sigh in the warm contentment of just being with Eddie and he hoped he wasn’t imagining the matching release of tension from Eddie’s muscles. He said, “What if we just stay here like this for a while so you can rest? It’ll be better than nothing.”

“Way better than nothing,” Eddie said and when Buck tilted his head to look at him, Eddie smiled softly, still tired, still worn, but a little more present, a little less trapped. Buck couldn’t help but surge up to kiss him. Their mouths didn’t quite align, bumping together at an awkward angle, but it was perfect anyway.

Settling back against Eddie’s side, Buck rested a hand on his chest, tracing idle patterns across his skin. He could feel a pulse in his fingertips as he did and he wasn’t sure if it was Eddie’s heartbeat or his own, but Buck concentrated on slowing it down anyway. The gentle motion was mesmerizing and he found his own breathing evening out, his own eyes drifting closed and when he dared to sneak a peek, Buck found Eddie on the verge of sleep too. Smiling to himself, he gave in and relaxed completely, draping his arm over Eddie’s waist and breathing in the sweet familiar scent of his skin.

Buck had plans for today. 

They can wait. 

Taking (non death) prompts from this list for Buddie that I'll be working on here and there throughout the summer. Feel free to send one if you like!

[goldilocksginger]

I hadn't thought about it up to now but I realized that in chapters 128 and 132 in which Akito and Shigure confront each other about their feelings and their relationship, Akito doesn't try to make him stay. She's angry, sad and she lashes out at him, but she doesn't try to coerce him or to terrorize or even beg him to stay, as she had done with other members of the zodiac in the past.

And I don't know if this was intentional, i assume it was cause it's Takaya we're talking about, but I really like this subtle hint of character development,even when the tantrum and the violence is still there: Akito expresses, with difficulty and somewhat clumsily, her most vulnerable feelings, her frustration and how scared she always was of losing Shigure, and how sad she feels at the prospect of him leaving. As well as that,if he did choose to walk away, she would actually let him. And I think that, amidst all the chaos between them, it's sweet. It also parallels Shigure's decision to allow her to leave him if that's what she actually wanted. Progress indeed.

And I read somewhere someone saying that her actually hitting him is proof of her actually letting him see her exactly as flawed as she is, while up till then she was usually very careful around him.

PS: artistically speaking, I love, loooooove the expression Takaya gives Akito here! The vulnerability, the sadness and fear and desperation, anger even, is all so amazingly fitted!