#he’s stuck in my head and I can’t get him out of it if I could do it all again I know I’d go back to him

[solxamber]

For the event, could I request Leona, romantic, with "Waiting on the Sun" by Citizen Soldier? First time listening to this after discovering Twisted had me wailing in the car haha

i was crying at the club when i heard it... it suits leona so well oh my god

Waiting on the Sun || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Waiting on the Sun by Citizen Soldier

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1010

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Realization of feelings

Leona has never been one for dreams.

Dreams are a fool’s game, a glimmer of hope strung out in front of desperate people, forcing them to chase something they’ll never catch. He learned early on that hope was nothing but a pretty lie wrapped in a silver ribbon, and in the end, the ribbon always frayed.

The world never made space for second sons, and the sun never rose for men like him.

He should have stopped waiting for it years ago.

But somehow, you're still here—sitting beside him in the shade of a tree, legs stretched out, your presence quiet yet steady. You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t need you to. That’s what he likes about you. You don’t fill the silence with empty words or meaningless comfort. You don’t try to fix him, like so many others before you.

You just exist beside him and that’s enough.

Leona doesn’t remember when you became his safe place.

At some point, your presence became a constant, as natural as the way he stretches out on the grass for an afternoon nap or the way the sun burns through the endless sky. You were just there—like an inevitable force of nature.

And damn if he doesn’t resent how much he needs it.

Because he does need it. He needs you in ways he’ll never admit aloud, in ways that make his stomach twist and his throat tighten. You make it so easy to believe, even when he’s spent a lifetime telling himself not to.

Somewhere along the way, you learned him too well. You can tell when his bitterness sharpens, when his patience wears thin, when he’s barely holding onto the threads of his temper. You don’t try to drag him into the light, but you don’t let him drown in the dark, either.

Instead, you just sit with him.

Like now.

Leona exhales, tipping his head back against the rough bark of the tree. The weight of the past few days lingers in his bones, making him feel heavier than usual. The exhaustion never fully leaves—it clings to him like a second skin.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Your voice is soft, cutting through the stillness.

Leona cracks an eye open. “Doubt it.”

You huff, barely phased by his dry remark. “You think nothing’s ever going to change. That you’re stuck in a cycle you can’t break. That waiting for things to get better is pointless.”

He stiffens, the words settling deep in his chest like stones. “You got all that just from lookin’ at me?”

“I got all that from knowing you.”

That shouldn’t make his heart stutter the way it does.

He doesn’t say anything, just turns his gaze back to the horizon. It stretches on endlessly, a vast expanse of golden plains and open sky. The view should be freeing. Instead, it feels like a cage with invisible walls.

A future that will never belong to him.

A throne that will never be his.

A world that will never see him as anything more than the spare.

The sun has never risen for men like him.

“I know what you’re going to say next,” he mutters. “That I should ‘keep trying.’ That things’ll ‘work out’ eventually. That if I just—”

“I’m not going to say that.”

He stops.

You tilt your head, a gentle smile pulling at your lips. “I’m not here to tell you to change. I’m not here to tell you things will magically get better. I just…” Your fingers brush over the back of his hand, tentative and warm. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to shoulder it alone.”

His breath catches.

No one has ever said that to him before.

No one has ever meant it before.

Leona has spent his whole life carrying the weight of his own bitterness, his own resentment, his own failures. No one ever told him he could set it down. No one ever offered to help him hold it.

No one but you.

His fingers twitch under yours.

Leona has never been one for dreams.

But when he looks at you, he wonders if maybe, he’s been waiting on the wrong thing all this time.

He doesn’t realize he’s in love with you until much later.

Maybe it’s the way you laugh, soft and easy, like the world has never once hurt you. Maybe it’s the way you look at him—like he’s not a disappointment, not a failure, not a second son who never mattered. Maybe it’s the way you never push him to be anything other than who he is.

Maybe it’s everything.

But when he finally does realize, it hits him like a landslide.

And suddenly, he’s terrified.

Because what if he loses this?

What if he loses you?

Leona doesn’t pray, but he does now.

He prays that you never leave. That you never wake up one day and decide that he’s too much trouble, that he’s too broken, that he’ll never be what you deserve.

He prays that this feeling—the quiet warmth that seeps into his bones whenever you’re around—never fades.

And yet, he still can’t bring himself to say it.

Not yet.

The words finally escape him on a night like this—under a sky filled with stars, your hand resting lightly in his, your head against his shoulder.

“Stay.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

You shift slightly, peering up at him with wide eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales sharply, his grip tightening around yours. “No, I mean—” His throat works, the words catching like sandpaper. “Stay with me.”

Understanding dawns in your eyes, and for a moment, he thinks you might say no. That you might turn away.

But then you smile—soft, warm, home.

“Okay.”

Leona doesn’t believe in miracles.

But when you press your lips to his, slow and tender and real, he thinks that maybe the sun has been shining on him all along.

He just hadn’t noticed.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[rosiecosy]

tied to you˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

(dino x reader)

“we’re here!”

the door to the bridal suite slams open, and seventeen bursts in like an overenthusiastic stampede, their suits barely containing their energy.

“are you ready?” soonyoung practically vibrates. “are you nervous? do you wanna run? say the word, and i’ll cause a distraction.”

jeonghan rolls his eyes. “you just want an excuse to cause chaos.”

“yeah.”

seungkwan sighs dramatically, already dabbing at his eyes. “i just can’t believe chan is getting married before mingyu.”

“hey,” mingyu frowns. “what does that mean?”

you giggle, adjusting the lace on your dress. “it means chan’s just ahead of the game.”

seokmin gasps, clutching his chest. “oh my god, you’re defending him now. you really do love him.”

“that’s kinda the point,” joshua chuckles.

“no, no,” jun shakes his head. “the point is, she’s officially one of us now.”

minghao crosses his arms. “which means we can roast her, too.”

wonwoo nods. “we should prepare initiation.”

you snort. “you guys act like i haven’t been dealing with you for years.”

seungcheol steps forward, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. his voice softens. “but really—are you okay?”

you take a breath, heart swelling at the sight of them all, at the warmth in their eyes.

“i’m more than okay,” you say. “i’m ready.”

they collectively sigh in relief.

“good,” woozi says. “because chan’s been pacing for the past twenty minutes, and if we don’t start soon, i think he might combust.”

—

chan is, in fact, about to combust.

his tie feels too tight. his palms are sweating. he’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, ignoring mingyu’s amused snickers.

then—

the doors open.

his breath leaves his body.

it doesn’t make sense, how someone he sees every day—someone he already knows is the love of his life—can still stun him. but here you are, walking toward him, and he swears his heart might actually give out.

“breathe,” seungcheol mutters.

chan barely hears him.

you reach him, slipping your hand into his. his grip is warm, grounding, desperate.

“hi,” you whisper.

chan exhales, squeezing your hand like he can’t believe you’re real. “hi.”

the officiant starts talking, but chan only hears the way you giggle softly when he fumbles with the ring, the way your fingers linger against his when you slide his on.

then—

“you may now kiss the bride.”

seventeen erupts.

“DO IT PROPERLY!” soonyoung yells.

“USE TONGUE!” dk adds, earning a smack from seungkwan.

chan groans, covering his face. “oh my god, can you not?”

you laugh, grabbing his hands and tugging them down. “ignore them, husband.”

his breath stutters at the word.

husband.

chan doesn’t hesitate. he cups your face, lips pressing against yours, and the second he does, the cheers double—mingyu actually whistles.

but chan doesn’t care.

he just pulls you closer, arms tight around you, lips curling into a smile against yours.

when he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, voice full of wonder.

“we did it.”

you grin. “you’re stuck with me now.”

chan laughs, lifting you off your feet just because he can. “good. because i’m never letting you go.”

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 10 - vulnerability

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, fluff central

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

you and rafe had spent the whole afternoon together and it had been everything and more. just like he had promised the other week, he was showing you around LA and never leaving your side.

the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange as you walked along venice beach, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that made your heart race.

"you know," rafe said with a smile, glancing over at you, "i’m glad we’re doing this. not just the tour thing, but... you and me, this."

his words hit differently now, sitting down on the beach to watch the gentle waves and the sky change colours.

you looked over at him, "me too," you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

he grinned back, his playful energy still present, but a hint of seriousness took over him. "i've never done this before." he admitted.

"done what?" you asked him.

"caught feelings like this." he spoke softly, almost scared to say the words out loud.

you reached out to touch his cheek, "me neither rafe." you held his gaze, "there's still so much we have to learn about each other."

"i know, and that's what i'm scared of."

"why?" you questioned.

"i'm scared you won't like the version of me you uncover. i'm not good with my words but, i didn't used to be a good person. i was addicted to drugs, i bought girls home every night to fill a void, i was so unhappy and treated people so badly. but this," he stuck his hands out and pointed between the two of you, "i've never experienced this."

his truth taking you by surprise, but making your heart swell that he was opening up to you this way. "i'm not scared rafe. the rafe i know now is a good guy. i've never met someone like you and i want to know all parts of you even those that you think i won't like."

rafe let out a soft, almost shaky breath at your words. it was as if you had taken a weight off his shoulders without even realising it. his eyes softened, and the air between you two stilled for a moment.

his eyes didn't leave yours, no response was needed, but he pulled you in for a soft kiss full of emotion.

he pulled away to stare at you for a moment, searching your face for any sign of doubt, but there was none.

"i’ve been thinking about you a lot," he admitted, almost too quietly. "more than i thought i would. i know we’re still figuring things out, but i can’t help but want to be around you. want to be better because of you."

your heart fluttered at the honesty in his words, the vulnerability making you weak, all laid out in front you.

"rafe, you’re already better. you’ve made it this far and the fact that you're here with me, saying this stuff, shows me just how far you've come. you don’t have to prove anything."

his lips parted as if he was going to say something, but instead, he just smiled. without another word, he reached out, carefully taking your hand into his, the touch gentle, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

after many hours had passed of gentle touches and soft conversation, you headed back to the hotel in time to join the others and pack before your flight back home tomorrow.

your chest was full of happiness, feeling ready for what was to come.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: why am i crying writing this they are so cute i hate them

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1 @amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld @blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @vcnillafairy @bambii1i @sammyrenae68

i will be taking people off taglist if that don't interact! just as more people want to be added and need to make it fair<3

[paranoiddreams]

tw. reader has implied daddy issues lol I can’t help myself, Nobara Yuji and megs are in grade school tgth, not proofread bc I’m too lazy right now lol. I had fun writing this.

Megumi stares into the glass bowl of the gumball machine in the window of the corner store as he waits for his dad to finish picking out the parts for his broken down car. His eyes are trained on a blue gumball stuck beneath the turning blades at the bottom of the machine. But when he reaches into his pocket for a quarter, he only finds the wrapper of the lollipop he ate earlier.

The sound of footsteps catch Megumi’s attention, and he looks to the side to see a woman standing in front of the gumball machine next to him.

She looks inside of it for a moment before reaching into her pocket as he just did. Only she actually pulls out a shiny quarter and pops it into the machine’s slot.

“Aren’t you too old for that?” Megumi asks in a small voice.

The woman turns her head and looks down at him. “Are you the gumball police?” She asks with sincerity Megumi is only used to hearing from teachers at school.

He shakes his head, strands of inky black hair falling over his face softly. The woman’s sincere face cracks with a soft smile before she reaches into her pocket again. She pulls out another shiny quarter and holds it out in front of Megumi as an offering.

“Go ahead, I’m not gonna bite,” she says, sensing the little boy’s hesitation.

Nobara told Megumi about this during recess while they sat on the swing set with Yuji: “don’t take candy from strangers,” she said, waggling her finger to get her point across.

Megumi takes the quarter from the woman’s fingers swiftly before putting it into the slot of the machine in front of him. He’s not getting the candy from her, he thinks, only the vehicle to get the candy.

When he twists the metal knob of the machine the blue gumball trapped in the bottom falls down with a clink. He reaches in and grabs it with his tiny fingers.

“Where’s your mom, kid?” The woman asks, now leaning against the window of the store.

Megumi chews his gumball and looks up at her with an oddly stoic face. “Dead,” he mutters, words slightly muffed.

The woman’s eyes widen slightly for a moment before she clears her throat awkwardly. “Dad?” She asks hesitantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He’s getting a new tire for Betty,” the little boy says, slowly blinking his green eyes like a cat.

“Betty?” The woman echoes.

“Daddy named the car that. He says it’s a long story from before I was born.”

She nods softly, blowing a big red bubble with her gum. “Dads are weird like that,” she says.

“How do you know?” Megumi asks, cocking his head to the side like a befuddled puppy.

“Because I had one…for a while,” the woman shrugs. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes trained on the cars passing by outside.

“A while?”

She looks down at him, huffing with amusement softly. “You’re nosy, huh?” She says. “Yeah, I had my dad for a while.”

“Did he die?”

The woman looks at him silently for a moment. “No.”

“Did you lose him?”

Megumi stares up at the strange woman, his jaw slightly sore from the rubbery gum.

“Something like that,” she finally says.

The little boy opens his mouth to say something, but a gruff voice interrupts him. “Brat,” the voice bellows, “time to go.”

The woman looks up from Megumi’s small face, only to be greeted with a larger, more scared, version. A man with short stubble and muscles that look too toned to be real, stands behind him.

“You bothering this woman?” The man asks his son, eyes raking over the woman in front of them.

“No,” Megumi says, looking over his shoulder, “she gave me a quarter.”

The dad smirks. “Bribing my kid?” He asks the woman.

“Yeah,” she snorts, “bribing a little kid with a quarter is my go to.”

Both of them look at each other silently for a moment, but Megumi can clearly sense the unsaid words between them. He’s seen people stare at each other like they are in the Disney movies Nobara makes Yuji and him watch.

“Toji,” the man says, his scared lip quirking up.

“Y/n,” the woman says back. “I was just making sure the kid wasn’t alone.”

Megumi looks up at his dad, gauging his reaction. He’s never seen his dad look at someone like this.

“Say thanks to the pretty woman, Megumi,” Toji says, still looking at y/n.

“Thank you,” Megumi mutters. He still wants to ask the question his dad stopped him from asking, but with the way he’s looking at her, he feels like this won’t be the last time he sees you.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

i meant to finish this some time ago 😭 but anyway, back on my bodyguard rotting! special tag for @crushmeeren because i think i put this in ur inbox a while ago and never got around to it lol, anyway here it is. nsfw under divider, f! reader for that part 🤍🫧

bodyguard! eijiro, who has a smile just like sunshine. who has a dopey grin and the personality of a golden retriever. who, on paper, doesn’t sound like he’d be capable of even hurting a fly- until you see his rock hard muscles peaking through his shirt, or the jagged edges of his skin after activating his quirk. who, 90% of the time, is so sweet its tooth rotting. the other 10% of the time, he’s a nightmare to whoever threatens you.

bodyguard! eijiro, who genuinely loves his job. he’s level-headed and rational, able to solve most disputes with some talking or light physical action. who can’t complain, because after all, most of his day is being around a funny, beautiful person- so who cares if he has to rough up a guy for cutting you off or being too touchy? he’s happy to do it.

bodyguard! eijiro, who takes ‘doing anything to protect you’ and makes it ‘doing anything for you.’ don’t feel like driving? he’s got it. have a very specific craving at 2 in the morning? no questions asked. he’s also attentive, noting your mannerisms or idiosyncrasies that make you, you. he may not say it, but he knows those subtle signs of burn out, or anxiety, or exhaustion. as much as his job is to protect you from external threats, he cares just as much- if not more- about protecting your happiness.

bodyguard! eijiro, who is the best person to bring to bars or clubs. the first reason being that you’d trust him if you were hanging off a ledge, but the second being that he’s just may be the funniest, most charming guy you’ve ever met. who doesn’t even realize how attractive it is, the way he can make you lose your breath with laughter while maintaining an iron grip on your drink, placing his hand on your waist and protectively eyeing anyone who’s eyes seem a little too stuck on you for his liking.

bodyguard! eijiro, who asks if its okay if he take the two of you back to his place because its closer, and because he secretly doesn’t want the night to end. who sees your shoes by the door, coat laying on his couch, and you unwinding in his washroom and feels a little pang in his heart. who knows his feelings well and knows damn well by now he has a crush, but keeps it professional. until you can’t hold it in any longer and tell him how bad you have it for him. by then, he’s throwing you over his shoulder and towards his bedroom.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

bodyguard! ejiro, who is just as sweet as he is rough. who will tug off your clothes (shredding them if he has to) and apologetically kiss the bare skin underneath. who has sharp teeth, and won’t hesitate to sink them in even if you tear up a little. who manhandles you, tossing you around on the bed like its nothing, whispering: “you like this position, baby?” “let me know what feels good.” meanwhile, he’s folding you like origami.

bodyguard! eijiro, who loves your tits. who can’t resist grabbing himself a handful once he gets your bra off, captivated by the way the jiggle and spring free. who can be a little mean, pinching and twisting your nipples before taking one in his mouth. who makes sure you feel his razor sharp teeth graze the sensitive bud, alternating between the two, giving each the same amount of love and attention. who releases them with a slight pop! deciding he wants to taste more of you.

bodyguard! eijiro, makes sure your comfortable before going down on you like he’s starving. on any other day, he’d ease into it- slowly kissing, soft licks and light sucking- but who has waited so long to do this he hopes you’ll forgive his impatience. who makes sure your thighs wrap around his head, eating your pussy out like its his last meal. who literally will not move from between your legs until you make him, telling him that you’re already dizzy with pleasure.

bodyguard! eijiro, who smirks a little when he pulls his boxers down, letting his cock spring free, seeing your eyes widen and your cheeks blush. who, quite frankly, knows he’s big, but also knows how to use it. who takes your thighs and folds you in half, giving him a better view. who’ll run the tip of his cock through your folds, hearing your whines and feeling it go straight to his dick. who meets no resistance finally pushing himself inside you, moaning in unison when he feels your pretty walls taking him in.

bodyguard! eijiro, who has god-like stamina. who makes that skin slapping noise he knows drives you insane, grunting and moaning when he feels himself reach mind-meltingly deep inside you. who wrecks your pussy and praises you while he’s doing it: “taking me so good, ah.” “making me feel so good, princess? shit, i’m not stopping anytime soon.” who makes a mental note to himself that he’ll probably run out the next morning to grab you plan b.

speaking of which… bodyguard! eijiro, who slows down just a little, asking you where you want him to finish. who could cum right then and there when you tell him you don’t want him pulling out, to which he’s more than happy to oblige. who feels his orgasm coming, but draws out yours as much as possible- massaging your tits, kissing you deep, rubbing little circles on your clit. who makes sure he’s buried deep when he feels you cum, groaning as he feels your walls clamp down on his cock. who pumps in and out a few more times before collapsing down beside you. who, 2 seconds later, gets up to grab you water or ice, but who can’t resist when you pull him back into bed, vowing to deal with the soreness as long as he’s next to you.

bodyguard! eijiro, who is more than happy to carry you around everywhere the next morning, returning back to his jovial green like he didn’t just rearrange your organs the night before. <3

[heartsforjh]

reader having big crowd anxiety and qhughes picking up on it leading her through the crowd? 🥲

here you go nonnie! i hope you like! :)

main masterlist | 100 follower celly masterlist

As your boyfriend opens the door for you, a wave of loud talking and laughter hits you immediately. It always amazes you how many people come to these events for Quinn’s work. It’s easy to forget the amount of effort that goes into those fun little games on ice.

You step inside, glancing around as the herd of people closest to the door turns toward you. Naturally, their gaze lingers on Quinn—and then shift to you, standing right beside him. Quinn waves to a few people as the two of you move deeper into the room.

“We’ve gotta find the guys. They’re around here somewhere,” Quinn says, scanning the room.

You nod quickly. Surely being around familiar faces will help ease the nerves that are already starting to build up from all of the attention.

You squeeze his hand, trying to focus on the warmth and pressure of his grip as he holds yours. “Yeah, let’s find them.”

He leads you through the bustling crowd until he eventually spots Elias Pettersson and Conor Garland.

“Hey, you two,” Conor greets, pulling both you and Quinn in for hugs, with Petey following suit.

Quinn’s hand finds its place on your waist as he settles into conversation with his friends. You chime in here and there when something catches your interest, the comfort of their company gradually putting you at ease.

For a while, you feel better, laughing and chatting with the small group. But that changes the second your purse slips from your hand and falls to the ground with a thud. Instinctively, you look around to see if anyone notices, expecting a few fleeting glances.

Your stomach drops when you’re reminded just how many people are around, and they’re all staring. Not just glancing, but staring. Why are they staring? Their eyes linger, waiting—maybe for you to pick it up. The pit in your stomach grows as you start wondering what they might be thinking.

Your chest immediately tightens. The room feels louder and everyone seems closer. When did they get so close? Your chest moves up and down rapidly, desperately trying to get a full breath, but the air gets stuck in your throat.

“Babe, you okay?” Quinn’s voice cuts through the haze, grounding you.

You blink, and suddenly the world is back in focus. He’s holding your purse, having picked it up amidst your small panic.

“I’m- I’m fine,” you stammer, unconvincingly.

Quinn’s eyes search yours, concern etched across his face. “You’re shaking, sweetheart.” His tone is gentle, careful not to draw any more unwanted attention to you.

“I told you—I’m okay,” you insist, but your body betrays you with a slight sway.

Quinn sighs softly, placing his hands on your hips to steady you. “Well, this isn’t okay with me. Come on, let’s go talk.”

Taking your hand, he quietly leads you out of the crowded party room and into the hallway.

Once outside, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to calm your racing heart. “Quinn, we don’t have to do this. We should go back in—this is for your job.”

“Y/n, baby, we can go if that’s what you need. It’s just a New Year’s party. We’ll do our own New Years at home,” he assures you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You sigh, guilt creeping in. “I just feel selfish. You’re the face of the Canucks—people are going to stare. You shouldn’t have to miss this just because I’m… freaking out.”

Quinn shakes his head, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he cups your face in his hands. “You don’t have to get used to anything. You’re dealing with something, and that’s okay. You’re not doing anything wrong. Besides, I can’t enjoy this if I know my girl’s struggling, can I?”

His words melt some of your worries, and a small smile breaks through. “No, I guess not.”

“Also,” he adds with a small grin, “between you and me, I didn’t want to come to this thing anyway.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Wow, so you’re just using me as an excuse to ditch?!”

“What? No! That’s not what I was trying to say! I meant—” his eyes widen, and he fumbles over his words, making you giggle.

“You know what I meant!” he huffs, shaking his head. “You’re a jerk.”

“It was just a joke!” you tease, still laughing as you walk towards the exit with him, hand-in-hand.

Quinn gives a small, dramatic pout. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“I’m not mean to you! I was kidding!” you repeat while laughing even more at his reaction.

Secretly, he’s overjoyed to hear you laughing, even if it is at his expense. He’d gladly let himself be the punchline to your jokes as long as he gets to hear that favorite sound of his.

tags: @beenucks @lukey-pookie-hughes43 @sweetestdesire @azure-dawn81 @emsdevs @puckmedude @joesnumerouno @alex-wotton @r0wdymaize86 @ccomandercody @macklin-celebrini-71 @randomcuboidshape @when-im-with-you @quillycrow @rainyvalentines @alwaysclassyeagle

join the taglist here! :)

[cayleeuhithinknott]

matt’s so grateful you’ve agreed to his deal, because he loves to show his girl off—no matter how shy you may be.

pairing: sweetheart!matt & shy!reader

matt’s waiting for you by the bedroom door, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back and forth on his heels. he’s already dressed—black jeans, a sweater that hugs his broad shoulders just right, hair all tousled like he just ran his fingers through it a few too many times. he looks effortlessly good, like he always does. like he didn’t even have to try.

you, on the other hand, feel like you’re about to throw up.

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, the dress you picked out earlier feeling like it’s suddenly working against you. when you bought it, you thought it was perfect—something a little different from what you usually wear, something pretty, something that made you feel…somewhat confident.

but now, standing in it, nerves curl tight in your stomach.

it’s too much. too fitted, too noticeable.

what if people stare? what if you look ridiculous? what if matt doesn’t like it?

your fingers twitch toward the hem, pulling at the fabric slightly. maybe you should just change. you could throw on a sweater and jeans and be comfortable, be invisible.

you take a step toward your closet, ready to pull the dress over your head and shove it into the back of the drawer where you won’t have to think about it again. but before you can grab anything else, there’s a soft knock at the door.

“baby?”

his voice is gentle, like it always is when he talks to you. patient. careful.

you squeeze your eyes shut for a second.

“we okay in there?”

you swallow, shifting on your feet. “yeah… just, um… i don’t—i don’t know if i should wear this.”

there’s a pause. you can hear him breathing on the other side of the door, like he’s thinking.

“can i see?”

you hesitate, staring at yourself again, debating if you should just lie and say you’re changing. but before you can decide, the door creaks open slightly, just enough for matt to peek in.

he sees you, and his brows lift slightly before his face softens like he can’t believe what he’s looking at.

“oh.” his voice is quiet, almost breathless. “oh, love, you look beautiful.”

you shift under his gaze, your fingers twisting together. “i don’t know…”

matt steps fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. he closes the space between you in an instant, tilting your chin up with the lightest touch so you’re looking at him.

“hey,” he murmurs. “why are you so unsure, sweetheart?”

you bite the inside of your cheek. “it just…feels like a lot. i don’t usually wear stuff like this. i feel weird.”

matt’s hands slip to your waist, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric, holding you there like he doesn’t want you to run.

“you feel weird?” he repeats, his lips quirking up a little. “why?”

“because…” you trail off, feeling ridiculous.

because people might stare. because you don’t know how to take compliments. because you’re scared you don’t look as good as you hoped.

but matt is looking at you like you hung the stars, and it makes all those worries jumble together and get stuck in your throat.

“what if i look stupid?” you blurt out instead, and your face burns immediately.

matt blinks once, then shakes his head, exhaling a soft laugh before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“maple,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips curving. “sweetheart. there is no universe where you could ever look stupid.”

you scrunch your nose at him, unconvinced. “you have to say that. you’re my boyfriend.”

“wrong,” he says easily. “i don’t have to say anything. but i am saying it, because it’s true.”

you peek up at him through your lashes, still a little uncertain, and he sighs playfully, shaking his head like he can’t believe he has to prove this to you.

he steps back slightly, just enough to take a slow, exaggerated look at you from head to toe. he tilts his head, squints, crosses his arms like he’s analyzing something very, very serious.

“hm,” he hums, tapping his chin. “yeah, no. you don’t look stupid. you look…” he trails off dramatically before breaking into a soft grin. “gorgeous. absolutely beautiful.”

you groan, hiding your face in your hands, and he just laughs, pulling you closer again.

“i’m serious,” he insists. “you don’t have to wear it if you really don’t want to. but if you’re just nervous, i promise you, there’s no reason to be. you look incredible. i mean it.”

his voice is steady, like he’s not just saying it to make you feel better, like he actually believes it.

“you really think so?” you whisper.

matt smiles, leaning down just enough to brush his nose against yours. “sweetheart, i know so.”

you don’t respond, still chewing on your lip, and matt sighs, his hands tightening slightly on your waist.

“okay, how about this,” he offers. “we take a test run. we plan to go to dinner and then on a walk downtown, yes?” he asks, and you nod. “you wear it for the first half of our date, and if at any point you feel uncomfortable, i’ll take you home and you can change into something comfy, and we’ll just have a movie night, no questions asked. deal?”

you hesitate, then nod slowly. “deal.”

“good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “because i really, really want to show you off tonight.”

you flush, but his words settle something in you.

and as he takes your hand, leading you out the door, you decide—maybe just for tonight—you can believe him.

a/n: short and sweet 💖 i love this au sm. he’s so cute

tags: @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @slctsblogana @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses

[darkbluekies]

I can’t stop thinking of Edmund falling in love with a dancer or performer while watching a play from his royal box in a theatre, keep thinking about how he would seek them out and see almost all their performances before wishing them away. So random lol but it’s stuck in my head.

I have kept this in my inbox with the intention of writing a oneshot but I never got a good enough idea so I'm answering with my thoughts instead

Off topic but this reminds me SO much of Dorian Gray. The entirety of Edmund is a walking version of Dorian Gray, but especially this scene reminds me of Sybil Vane.

Because I sincerely think he would do this. Edmund loves entertainment, thinks that he's entitled to it ... and finding a darling that works with entertaining would be everything to him. It's a break from all the tideous, formal work he does. Just a few hours every night where he can get immersed in darling's voice, dance and features. Edmund is an aestethich person, loving the arts and everything beatiful.

It'd come to a point where he would seek her out after a performance. Poor darling would be mortified to why the king would want to see her, but would meet him backstage. Edmund would fanboy inside, but would try to keep his composure. He'd give her flowers and thank her for a wonderful performance. Darling, like everyone else, would of course know about their violent king (he has quite the reputation) and would most likely be a bit afraid of him.

If darling rejected his marriage proposal, maybe because of fear for Edmund, he would kidnap her and have her perform in his castle, all for himself<3

[daengtokki]

I'm not the last anon! But if you have some time, i'd like to request a ksm tooth aching fluff with the pregnant reader (in the deity universe) like how he deals with the momma at the hardest time of the pregnancy, but like a lil more detailed than the ones in the deity chapters, if u don't mind?

serial killer!Kim Seungmin x afab reader

wc: 1.3k

rating: fluff (contains: pregnancy, vomiting, mentions of murder/blood, psychosis)

comments: thank you anon! sorry this took so long to answer, but I’ve been a bit stuck lately. this little oneshot includes some fun things not yet mentioned in the story! I wrote two of these, so I may post the other as well!

[ ML— DEITY MASTERLIST AND TAGLIST]

TAGS: @kkamismom12/ @r0tt1n/ @heluvschibi / @feckinbecky / @missystay / @seungluvr / @babrieeee / @curiouscocoabean / @feelikecinderella / @carpioassists / @soulsbbg / @san-axa0 / @vixensss / @keiizzx / @xyliskz / @reignessance / @velvetmoonlght / @ghostedgameplays / @pochaccochacco / @lashaemorow / @eastjonowhere / @fackeraccount / @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna / @maddycline

Seungmin turns over and feels for you next to him. His eyes open slowly, and he sees the faintest sign of morning coming in through the space in the curtains. The sun reflects off the new glass vase, and specks of it shimmer against the wall. The light makes it look warm, but it’s still cold for April, and before he starts wondering where you’ve gone, he pulls the blanket up around his neck as a shiver runs down his arms. Sleep almost finds him again, but he hears something. Seungmin checks the time on his phone—6:20. You can’t possibly be up for the day, he thinks, even if you did fall asleep at nine last night.

He reluctantly throws off the blanket and sits up, but he gives himself a moment before moving again. The quality of his sleep is coming through in his swimming head, and his puffy eyes. It’s not your fault that you tend to wake every few hours, though. Your level of discomfort and his are on two completely different levels, and Seungmin wishes he could take some of yours for himself. He closes the gap in the curtain on his way out, because he fully intends to go right back to bed, and he knows you’ll be doing the same. First, he has to find you.

“Are you out here, love?”

The kitchen and living room are both empty and dark, but the bathroom light spills through the crack in the door. He hears the noise again—a stifled cough, this time followed by a louder one, and then what Seungmin thinks is a cry. He quickly fills a glass with water and heads toward the bathroom, knocking softly so he doesn’t startle you.

“Hey, you okay?” The look on your tear-streaked face says no, but you sniffle and nod anyway. “Sip some water.” He kneels down next to you and rubs your back.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I know I’ve been keeping you up…”

“You’re allowed to keep me up. And wake me up if you need me. Does your stomach still hurt?”

You nod as you carefully sip the water, but you have a feeling it’s going to want to come right back up. The morning sickness (and afternoon and evening sickness) should be almost gone by now, but it’s hanging on. “Can I have your sweatshirt?”

He pulls it over his head and helps you into it, and you seem to relax as soon as you fold your covered arms around yourself. It’s still perfectly warm from his sleep, and it sinks right into you.

“Do you wanna try lying down…uhm, and I can get something for by the bed if you feel sick again?” Before you even answer, he tucks an arm around your legs and pulls you close. “I’ll find you some ginger candies, that should help a little. Maybe something fizzy.''

“Yeah…okay. I can stand.”

Seungmin holds tight to you anyway, and as soon as you’re on your feet, you have to close your eyes and find your balance. The room starts to spin, and clutching onto his arm just makes him worry even more. “Put your arms around my neck.” You do as he says this time, and he lifts you easily. “See? Much better.”

“It is”

“Once you’re back under the covers, you’ll feel better”

“And what if I puke all over you?”

He laughs, because he’s not prepared for that question or mental image. “I’ve had worse things splattered all over me.”

How could you forget how gruesome he can get? Probably because he looks at you the way he’s looking at you right now. You’ve witnessed his kills, both clean and messy, but all you really know about the in between is what he’s told you. And you were curious enough to ask not long after the last Uljin trip…

***

“Is it strange for me to ask what your messiest kill was?”

“Strange? Yes, but that is kind of our normal, right?”

Yes, strange is your baseline and part of the foundation of your relationship. If your life had been different, and if you weren’t already enamored with him and the attention he gave, you might have run from him without a second thought. Now you can’t imagine being without him. “It is.”

“Probably my first time. Surprising. First after my stepfather, at least. I was seventeen, and had no idea what I was getting myself into.”

You brace yourself for what has to be a very awkward, clumsy teenage Seungmin. But he smiles as he reflects on it.

“It was some college kid I picked up at a sports bar. I hadn’t figured out what quieted the noise in my head until after him, and it was amazing to discover that. But it took me hours to clean up my aunts basement. Luckily they both liked their sleeping pills and didn’t hear a thing. My knife skills have greatly improved since then.”

“So how did you learn how to dispose of them?”

“That came later. I got lucky with this one. There was an actual serial killer going after college-aged guys around the same time, and it got pinned on him when he was caught.”

“An actual serial killer?”

Seungmin laughs, “I was so stupid. I should have been caught a long time ago.”

“No. I needed to find you."

***

Seungmin sets you gently on the bed, and you watch as he searches the room…then he leaves and comes back, trash can in one hand, and a fistful of your ginger candies in the other.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, you can ask me anything.” He unwraps one of them and sets it against your lips until you open for him.

“I don’t know why I’m thinking about it right now, but when you say that killing quiets your mind…what do you mean? What exactly do you silence?”

It’s far from what he expected, so he has to think about it. He busies himself fluffing his pillow and getting comfortable under the blanket again. His legs find yours as he moves closer.

“Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow.”

“It’s a voice, sort of. Two voices sometimes, at the same time. But it’s hard to make out what they say. Sometimes it’s a hum, or a vibration that won’t stop…like ringing in your ears, but worse. And sometimes it’s a scratching sound, or an itch.” He grabs your hand and sets your palm flat against his ear. “The longer I wait, the louder it gets.”

“Do you hear it right now?”

“No. All quiet. Just us.”

“Will you tell me when it happens again?”

“When it starts?” He asks, closing the rest of the space between you.

“Yes, the minute it starts. So we can stop it.” Your body feels like it’s on autopilot as it sits up and turns away from him, but all you do over the edge of the bed is dry heave. His hands grab and steady you, and when you relax, they pull until you’re tucked against his chest.

“Don’t worry about me.” He whispers against your ear, kisses your neck. Your skin feels cold against his lips.

“Of course I will. You’re mine to worry about. I get to take care of you, too.”

Seungmin is quiet as he thinks. He is yours, and he’s a handful. “I’ll tell you.” He’s a lot to worry about.

“Good. And since you’re already back there…”

“Yeah?”

“Can you rub my back?”

[mikeyisbrooklyn]

Huh, this is gonna be my first chapter of Why We Can’t Have Nice Things that I didn’t already post on Tumblr before I started uploading onto AO3.

Well that just won’t do… hmm it won’t be as organized as the other three but I may as well spoil the Tumblr peeps before I officially post it.

(Warning: this is the final rough draft before the actual final draft that gets posted on AO3 in a few hours.)

Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (4)

Price regretted vocalizing how much he missed paperwork. He knew he would be behind upon his return, but as he limped into his office, he had two stacks of papers so high it swayed in response to any nearby movement. And this was apparently the leftovers after Simon tried to keep it from building up in his absence.

“Glad to ‘ave you back.” Simon grunted, as he held Price’s office door open for him. The warmth in Simon’s voice would be imperceptible to anyone else, but Price caught it. “Don’t croak anytime soon, I don’t want to even think about all this red tape you work with again, let alone handle it.”

“Not so easy being Captain, is it?” Price joked back as he went to sit in his chair slowly.

“That’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

Price let out a single rueful chuckle, knowing how untrue that was—at least, compared with all the shit he had to clean up. Speaking of, he had work to do…

He managed to be both the last to arrive and the first to exit the small party celebrating his return from leave. No one, except McTavish, was thick enough to try to keep him longer—but even the Scot let him slide away after seeing the look of pure exhaustion in Price’s eyes. He didn’t even get half of what he wanted to get done and Price knew that with each day back the more would pile on. That was the nature of the job, even if he couldn’t hit the field, the fight never ends. Price half-heartedly shambled to his room for the first time since getting back to base—not even having entered the room upon arriving with Gaz offering to take his things there for him—and laid down in his bed without even disrobing in a paltry attempt to sleep.

Though being fully clothed didn’t help, the real ailment that kept his eyes was the nagging voice in the back of his head. The one telling him how far behind he already was and would continue to be if he didn’t shape up. It didn’t matter that it was only his first day back, it didn’t matter that if it were any of the 141 or anyone else he would call them mad for thinking they could fill a two month gap in a day, it didn’t matter that he was specifically put on desk duty to not exert himself. All Price could hear in his head was how everyone’s tone with him since his injury had skated on caution, and all he could see were the carefully formed faces of professional soldiers that he could still clock as worried when they didn’t think he was looking.

*Liability*

Price shot up in bed so fast he thought he might get nauseous. Again. That’s been happening too much. He shook his head and ignored the brief pain of getting up on his leg too fast. Price knew he ought to get some rest, but he also hated being behind more than he hated being tired; despite his better judgment, Price slunk back to his office as the dusk turned to twilight.

The rising sun tried and failed to shine a light into Price’s office, as it was blocked from window entry by his drawn curtains. Price sprung up from his desk with a shout at the knock from his door; and if the top sheet from a stack of paperwork was stuck to his face as he did, then that was between him and his maker.

“John?” Nik’s smooth baritone seeped through the door and its vivacity made its way into Price’s very being even with the distance. Or, it tried to anyway, as when the warmth started coursing through him, it was as quickly flushed out by…guilt? Embarrassment? “Mishka, I know you’re in there. Are you alright?”

Damn it all to Hell, there was that cursed worry in Nik’s voice. Price hadn’t even done anything. Had he? He mumbled a half-hearted affirmation that he was coming.

The moment the door was open wide enough, Nik’s arms were around Price. Price stiffened and quickly forced himself to relax, but Nik noticed all the same.

“Mishka?” Deep brown eyes analyzed him, and then, “you did not sleep last night.”

It wasn’t a question. He just knew, Nik always knew when Price wasn’t taking good care of himself. And he was always there to rectify that. When the captain skipped a meal in favor of picking apart intel, Nik conveniently brought servings for two when he came around. Many a night would Price be found with a blanket and neck pillow whilst he slept on his desk if not for the Russian guard dog waiting patiently nearby. The crick in Price’s neck right this instant tells him he would’ve appreciated that act more than ever last night, but Nik was on a mission. In fact…

“Nik. What happened to Amsterdam?” Price deflected. There was no point in lying to Nik, but that didn’t mean Price had to acknowledge his dissecting gaze.

“Nothing. This is simply pit stop.” Nik retorted. “I wanted to see you. I’ve done this many times.” There was a tension in his voice. Not quite arguing, but very much so challenging Price to misstep. Price knew that, yet again, Nik was right. The pilot had made it a habit to visit the base mid-mission and Price never complained about the company. He wasn’t now either, but even he caught the edge in his own voice; as if he was trying to rush Nik off or…or didn’t want Nik there.

Fuck. That’s—that’s not true. Right?

“John?”

Fuck. Price was spiraling again. “Ah, yea, ‘m sorry.” He grabbed the back of his neck and futilely started on the crick in his neck. He stood still for a second—two, three—too long before moving aside. “Come in.”

Nik hesitated and eyed him. Then he eased his stance, something that almost looked casual���if Price couldn’t see just how clinical and forced it was. “Hm, I was hoping to share breakfast, while I have time away from mission. Off the base, of course. I’m sure you have not fed yourself, da?”

Price frowned and crossed his arms. So was this what they were doing? Relaxed stance or not, Price knew this was a standoff—not even mentioning the subtle dig at his ability to take care of himself. He’d had dinner, and a quick glance to the clock showed that it was hardly past 0800, so it wasn’t absurd that he hadn’t had breakfast yet. He wasn’t a lia—*urk*, he fought what felt like rising bile at the bottom of his throat and internally shook it off. The point was, he could feed his damn self. But if he said as much, it’d definitely come across as petulant whining. No, no he would not play into Nik’s hand so easily. Instead,

“Nah, ‘aven’t but it’s cause I was gonna eat with the boys. Planned to make an appearance at the caf, ya know, keep morale up.” He lied through his teeth. Price would stay in his office for days on end if no one came to grab his arse. And Nik knew that too, showing as much with his singular raised eyebrow.

“Oh? Then I can join you.”

“Sure you wanna spend however little time ya got eating the slop they call food ‘ere?”

“You forget who you speak to, rodnoy. I have lived off of nothing but the grubs from the earth, I handle ‘slop’ just fine.” With that, Nik looped his arm around Price’s waist and suddenly and swiftly pulled the man out of the office doorway and against Nik’s side.

Though a small part of Price enjoyed being manhandled just a little, he could tell it was also a way to end the conversation. He was familiar with Nik’s tricks after so long—the way the Russian would use his strength and suavity to poke at each of Price’s weak points with the precision of a sniper. Normally, Price took the usage of those tricks as a sign he needed to relax—trusting Nik’s judgment above all else, but right this instant something ugly flared inside him and caused him to pull away from Nik. The moment he did it felt like something not only in his core but something in the center of the earth ***broke***. As if the very balance of the universe was thrown off. It crushed more than that damned rubble.

In response, Nik froze and several dozen emotions ran across his features. A twitch downward from where his lips meet his right cheek, a scrunching of the space between his eyebrows, and his eyes—God, it was *always* his eyes wasn’t it—taking on a fire deep in their brown like embers in a forest moments from going ablaze. “Wh—“

Price forcefully aborts whatever Nik is about to say by grabbing his hand and moving back into the pilot’s space—though not as close as before. “Sorry, sorry, still waking up. Los’ my balance.” It was some of his worst work to date, but it felt impossible to lie to Nik. It’s why he couldn’t meet his eyes when the fib left his mouth, instead busying himself with closing his office door behind him. “Lessgo.” He grunted, pulling Nik along the hallway without another word. Thankfully, Nik didn’t give him a taste of his medicine and pull back; the holes being drilled in the back of Price’s head could be ignored for now.

To Nik’s credit, his eyes never left Price, even through the attempted conversation—if you could count Nik not-so-subtly probing Price for what was wrong under the guise of causal interest and Price’s increasingly brusque, noncommittal grunts in response as *conversation*. Those eyes were so sharp and scrutinizing that Price was starting to feel like he was about to get sick, ruining his appetite, but something else—something that felt just like that flare from moments ago—started festering, too. Was it indignation? Enmity? Rancor? No, no it couldn’t be, he’d never feel that way at or about Nik. He just wished those damn eyes would stop studying him. Stop waiting for him to—to what? Prove him right, was that it? Price wasn’t stupid, he knew Nik didn’t want him to be in such a hurry to get off leave. He knew Nik had all but begged Price to take it as an opportunity to take a “much needed break”. He remembered the arguments that ended in soft cuddling and quiet assurances, and it’s in his memory he recalls that this *feeling* at the pit of his stomach stuck with him even after the heated debates died. ‘Cause this wasn’t a fluke, this was a developing pattern. Price would try to maintain or regain some sense of normalcy and Nik would swoop in and take the reins. It was never malicious, more like a father keeping his son from touching a hot stove, but Price wasn’t a damn child. He wasn’t a damn liab—

Price thanked a god he didn’t pray to that a few sergeants came over to bother him as he felt bile slowly rising to the middle of his throat. In fact, he used them as an excuse to cut breakfast short, much to Nik’s chagrin.

“But you are not finished!” The Russian stood up as Price was already walking his tray to a nearby trash can.

“Sorry, the boys need me. I’ll make it up to you later. Good luck on the rest of yer mission.” And Price didn’t even give Nik a chance to respond as he left him standing there without so much as a look back, which caused him to miss the slightest quiver in Nik’s bottom lip.

The following weeks were more or less uneventful, at least, relatively. On desk duty, Price didn’t get to live out the eventful days, he only got to read about them in the paperwork he was about ready to go mental over. Every pile he managed to get done, another two would appear. Luckily, he was able to at least lead trainings and spars, even if he couldn’t participate.

There was also the constant, nagging, sick feeling at the pit of his stomach, getting worse with each time he blew Nik off. Truly, if whatever the hell this feeling was didn’t kill Price, the increasing guilt might. Nik certainly didn’t spend his every waking moment on base with the 141, typically only there for a safe and familiar place to do repairs or the occasional invite or visit, but it seemed like lately every chance the pilot had away from Chimera or any other dealings saw him present. And more importantly, looking to spend time with Price.

Surprise gym sessions. Nice romantic dinners. Invites out to private, scenic walks or long drives. Even a planned helo trip as a “spontaneous adventure that doubled as a relaxing holiday”. All of which Price found excuse after excuse to turn down or bail out of part way through. At first, he made an attempt to seem deeply conflicted but as time went on his excuses got limper and his defenses more meek.

The truth was, Price *was* conflicted just not in a way he could genuinely express. It was as if every waking moment Nik and those piercing eyes, analyzing his every step, made him anxious and frayed his nerves. And John Price doesn’t ***do*** anxious. Watching Nik watch him like a hawk was worse than being pinned down with heavy fire and nothing but your bare hands—at least then Price knows no matter he does he’s got to fight his way out or die trying. But this? Nik threw Price off his rhythm, he made Price a kind of vulnerable and open he had made extra sure to never be. And at the onset of the relationship—their *romantic* relationship, Price knew it meant opening up more and Nik was a patient man. More so than Price deserved, he knew that much. Slowly and surely, Nik was able to peel back the layers and break down the walls and Price was actually relieved to have something with someone where he didn’t feel this incessant need to *be* anything. Or to perform or have it all together. It was just him and Nik and it was simple and now…now it’s not.

Because Nik thinks Price fragile—knows he’s breakable, because Nik can tell Price is slowing down and getting himself hurt in stupid ways he should be better than. That’s why Price knows Nik is really always around now to keep a close eye on him, covering it with a saccharine veneer of romance and chivalry—not that Nik didn’t do those thoughtful things all the time but…but this is different. Price knows it is, it’s what the feeling in the pit of his stomach tells him. It’s what the bile slowly climbing to the top of his throat assures him. It’s not Nik’s fault, he’s just trying to protect Price’s dumbass from getting himself hurt again. Nik’s just trying to be the fixer he always has been, the fixer Price could always rely on, the fixer Price now needed. But Price knows that he’s the one thing Nik can’t fix, because he’s not a problem that’s solvable; Price is a liability, plain and simple.

And telling himself that over and over doesn’t make it any easier to get off his knees in front the toilet one night while the moon reaches its peak, nor does launching what little food he’s eaten recently into it ease the bile that’s burning his esophagus.

Price is pretending he didn’t spend far too many hours sobbing, clutched to a shitter like a teen who just reached the worst part of his first binge, the next morning while watching gaggles of rookies do laps when his luck—if one could call it that—runs out.

“Jonathan.” Normally, when the Russian man said his name, it was with mirth or some degree of panic considering the circumstances of their employment. But right now, Nik’s voice carried a gruffness only matched by Price himself, sounding all the more imposing thanks to his size.

Price turned to see Nik walking towards him with a determined glare and steady swagger. A spike of cold rushed down Price’s spine as he not-so-subtly looked for a way out. It was too late to pretend he hadn’t heard his approaching partner, he had already turned in his direction. He couldn’t conjure up some “incredibly important” captain’s business as he had just admitted to the now preoccupied rookies that he was free if needed; he had the feeling Nik heard that. And if he outright ran away, he wasn’t actually sure Nik wouldn’t just chase him down.

That final thought had heat pooling in his gut. Dammit, now isn’t the time for his dick to make his internal conflict worse.

In all of Price’s catastrophzing, Nik had gotten closer and closer, until finally being a breath away from him. Somehow, in this open field, he felt more trapped than when he was under that rubble.

“What is wrong?” Nik sounded like a man trying to keep the worry out of his voice, far too clinical to be believably neutral. “Are you hurt and do not want me to see? Is there something I have done? Something I have not?”

“Not sure what the hell you’re talking about.” Price, unfortunately, also did a terrible job at acting indifferent. There couldn’t be a clearer sign that they ought to simply speak plainly, but John Price never did simple when it came to matters of the heart.

“Jonathan.” Nik all but growled, more desperate than angry.

“Stop saying my name like you’re my bloody father.”

Nik frowned in confusion and exasperation. “Why will you not answer the question? I know something is wrong.”

Price dragged a hand down his face and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he turned towards the dying grass. “Nik, just drop it.”

“Nyet. You have been…” Nik seemed to weigh the words in his mouth before continuing, “off for weeks now, Jonathan. I have waited for you to tell me what ails you in your own time, but the more time goes by, the more… the more you pull away.”

Price did all he could not to freeze as if caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He would not admit how he failed at this. “Nik…Nik, I—no, I’m just still playing catch up. And even then, I’m always busy.” He hardly finished speaking before Nik cursed in Russian, something Price vaguely recognized as an exclamation of disbelief. Bullshit.

“Are you so busy, Captain,” Nik continued, something like venom at the back of his throat upon using Price’s title. “That you cannot spare a glance at meals, or even attend them—or anything I plan to do with you—at all? That you have not spoke more than a single sentence to me beyond niceties?”

Price knew he was wrong, hell, he knew in Nik’s shoes he might even have been twice as vindictive about it. But still, that feeling in the pit of his gut turned into some awful beast inside him—the bile reaching the top of his throat and coming out in form of words he didn’t mean. “Are you daft? Go ask any of my men, if it’s not training or op prep or bullshit paperwork, it’s damn near impossible to get a second in with me. Think you’re meant to be special?” Price regretted those cruel words as soon as they left his mouth. It only got worse when he watched Nik’s face shift; gone was the frustrated but desperate look of a man reaching out—throwing a Hail Mary, now what sat on the larger man’s face was pure detachment.

“Yes, that is what most men think when they share a bed. My apologies, Captain,” The words left Nik’s mouth colder than a tundra. “ I will leave you to your busy schedule.” With that, Nik turned and left. Catching up to him wouldn’t be hard. Screaming his name, or even an apology would be easier.

But Price instead stood there, speechless, hating himself more than he had ever before. He promised himself he would do better, that he wouldn’t *ruin Nik*. That’s what he was doing, right? So why…why did it feel like he couldn’t have gotten it more wrong?

[brain4stew]

Y’know what, let me try and make a headcanon, or something out of this myself. Note to self though, that I cannot write for sh-

…. ANYWAY!

Headcanon/something under the cut! ;

• So, let’s start off by saying that, for you to be Eunoia’s bodyguard, we’ll say there’s a special skin for Guest 1337. “Yourself” skin, to be precise. (Like John Doe’s skin.)

• You and Mafioso do not know each other that well, but you both tolerate each other, due to you both working under Eunoia.

• Whenever there is an Elliot with Eunoia skin on your team, they will be highlighted for about 10-15 seconds, at the start of the round, so you can go to them, and protect them.

• (I highly suggest you immediately go find a medkit first however, as apparently… Some of your teammates are greedy for the medkits… Get one for Eunoia.)

• Let’s say that you have gotten a medkit for Eunoia, and you’re about to go back to find her, and give her the medkit. But, all of a sudden, you are being chased, by none other than… Mafioso.

• Of course, you block, punch, charge and do whatever you can, to stall the time for the others, and Eunoia. Eventually, Mafioso goes away from you, presumably to go for another survivor.

• Now’s your chance to run and find Eunoia. You’re at 57%, but you’ll be fine. Eunoia can heal you, you hope…

• Mafioso killed her… You, of course, being devastated and angry at him, you heal yourself up with the medkit you were gonna give to Eunoia.

• When you do finish healing up however, you are the last one remaining of your team, which… Of course you get reasonably annoyed, frustrated and angry about.

• You walk around and try and avoid Mafioso as much as you can, and the potential “pizza delivery”, (other members working under both Eunoia, and him).

• But, of course, he finds you. What do you do? You stall the time, yet again, and try to survive. You do get cornered time from time, but, nothing a little block and punch can handle, right?

• So wrong. He somehow manages to grab your hand, before turning you around, and pulling your arm behind your back.

• This is an unfortunate situation for you, as you know he’s most likely stronger than you. However, you wait for an opportunity to be able to break free, and escape.

• But that doesn’t happen, what does happen however, is that, he, sits down, pulling your arm behind with him. Practically setting you on his lap, as his other arm snakes around your stomach to hold you in place.

• …Seems like you’re stuck, aren’t you, little bodyguard? You wonder, why hasn’t he killed you, when he killed Eunoia. Upon remembering Eunoia dead however, you twist and turn yourself around, and practically pounce and pin Mafioso down.

• He, of course, is in shock. He didn’t expect it, nor did he think you had enough strength to do that. But, he isn’t complaining about the sudden turn of events. He strangely… Likes it. Seeing Eunoia’s bodyguard, the one he tolerated due to their boss’s decision, having HIM pinned down under them…

• But, that’s basically all that happens, for the timer runs out, and you’re both sent back to your lobbies. You, in the survivor lobby, he in the killer lobby.

• You of course, IMMEDIATELY go to find Eunoia, to help her wounds after being sent to the lobby. Who are you to ignore your boss’s wounds, and not tend to them?

• Mafioso however, he does feel guilty about killing Eunoia. But, he can’t seem to get the image of him, under you, out of his head.

• Perhaps he’ll go friendly next time it’s his turn to be killer again… He strangely misses you. And Eunoia, even though, he killed her… Yeah, he’ll go friendly next time it’s his turn again…

((NEVER. LET ME WRITE AGAIN. I DONT THINK IM MEANT FOR THIS 😞😞…))

((But anyway, hope you all like it? 😭 Uhm, any tips for writing would be appreciated, as I want to get ALL of my ideas out of my head. I think I can take requests too, however, I’ll prioritize my current list that I have written before today.))

[bitchinbarzal]

Stay With Me | B Faber

Summary: You and Brock have been together since high school, your love unwavering through the years. But now, with his career taking off, you feel like you’re being left behind. When you start to pull away, Brock notices—and he won’t let you go without a fight.

-

You don’t realize how much you’ve pulled away until you catch Brock staring at you across the living room, his brown eyes dark with frustration. His duffel bag is still slung over his shoulder, fresh from practice, but he hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even bothered to take off his shoes. He’s just watching you.

“Are you even going to say hi to me?” His voice is low, tinged with something sharp. It makes your stomach twist because you didn’t mean for things to get like this.

“Hi,” you murmur, barely looking up from your spot on the couch. It’s pathetic, and you know it. You should at least pretend things are normal, even if they haven’t been for a while.

Brock exhales harshly, dropping his bag to the floor. The sound makes you flinch, and he notices. His jaw clenches. “Okay, seriously. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s bullshit.” His voice rises slightly, frustration finally breaking through. “You barely talk to me anymore. You barely even look at me.”

You swallow hard, staring at your hands in your lap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You don’t have the words for this. You don’t know how to explain that watching him succeed—watching him live this life that’s getting bigger and bigger while you feel like you’re standing still—hurts more than you ever expected.

You’re so, so proud of him. You’ve been there since the beginning, when he was just a kid playing hockey in Maple Grove, dreaming of something bigger. You went to Minnesota with him, stood by his side through every high and low. But now, with him in the NHL, it feels like he’s soaring while you’re stuck on the ground.

And maybe that’s where you belong.

“You should go,” you whisper, the words tasting like poison on your tongue.

Brock stiffens. “What?”

“You should go.” You finally look up at him, eyes burning. “You don’t need me holding you back.”

His brows furrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

You shake your head, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I can’t keep up with you, Brock. Your life is—” You gesture vaguely, trying to find the words. “It’s everything you always dreamed of. And I’m just… me. I don’t belong in it.”

His face twists, something breaking in his expression. “That’s not fair,” he says, voice rough. “That’s not fucking fair, and you know it.”

You press your lips together, looking away. If you don’t say it now, you never will. “I think you’d be better off without me.”

Silence.

Then, a harsh laugh. But there’s no humor in it—just disbelief, just hurt.

“Are you serious right now?” Brock takes a step closer, but you don’t move. You can’t. “Do you think any of this—any of what I have—means anything without you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Brock—”

“No.” His voice cracks, and when you finally meet his gaze, your heart shatters. He looks devastated. “You think I want this without you? That I’d rather come home to an empty apartment? That I’d rather not have you waiting for me, telling me how bad I played, or how I need to eat something other than takeout?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want you to resent me.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus, babe. I could never resent you.” His voice softens, raw and real. “You’re my home. You always have been.”

Your throat tightens.

He steps forward, so close now that you can feel the warmth of him. “I don’t care how big my life gets, okay? It’s only worth it if you’re in it.” He swallows, voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t do this.”

You break.

Tears spill over, and before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for him. He catches you instantly, wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. You clutch at his hoodie, burying your face in his chest, breathing him in.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice cracking.

He presses a kiss to your hair, his grip tightening. “Just stay with me,” he murmurs. “That’s all I need.”

And in that moment, you realize—maybe you don’t have to let him go to love him. Maybe, just maybe, you can still belong.

[sheithfictioncatalogue]

Not sure if you're still active but do you happen to know any fic featuring an older time traveling Keith and a younger Shiro? I have a hankering :3

Yes, there's a bunch!

Equalize - stardropdream

11k. Teen.

Shiro watches as Keith (Keith, different, with long hair in a braid, broader shoulders, and older face) looks around the room wildly, trying to place where he is. Then he closes his eyes and laughs, a soft, disbelieving chuckle. Shiro watches the tension ease from Keith’s shoulders. “Right,” Keith whispers. “I remember this now.” Or: Keith from the future ends up in the present. Shiro copes the only way he knows how-- by squashing all his feelings back down again.

you can always find me here (the coming home remix) - perfectlyrose

7k. General.

Keith continues to watch himself fade and flicker. He’s staring straight at Pidge’s terrified face watching her form words that he can’t hear when he blinks out of existence. There’s a long moment of darkness, endless and complete, before he fades back into physical existence. He blinks into the dim light and recognizes the dull metal walls and purple glow in an instant, stomach sinking to his feet. Just his luck that the failed wormhole transported him straight into a cell on a Galra cruiser. A quintessence experiment gone wrong sends Keith skipping backwards through time, back to a Shiro he hasn't seen in years, and one he's never seen. Keith just wants to get back to his Shiro and his time.

Up and Down Memory Lane - SaltiSnacks

8k. Mature. Contains: Shiro/Curtis, Keith/OMC

A time-traveling Keith is on board the Atlas. Shiro overhears a conversation. The house of cards crumbles.

Yesterday, We Begin - arcadenemesis

13k. Explicit.

"Where did you come from?" Keith huffs a laugh. "A long, long way from here," he says, plucking the cherry from his glass. Shiro's eyes follow it all the way to his lips, and Keith watches his throat bob when he bites down and plucks the stem. It's an evasive answer, but if Shiro had any follow-up questions, Keith thinks they're long gone. "Do you want that?" he asks when the silence drags, gesturing at Shiro's cherry. It seems to snap him out of his trance. "N-no! You can take it," Shiro stammers, pushing the glass toward him. "Please."

A mission takes Keith back in time, and leads him straight to Shiro.

Stars Fading - zjofierose

2k. Teen.

Keith knows where to go because Shiro had told him, knows the little house by sight from the many pictures Shiro would scroll through when he was feeling melancholy or nostalgic. He’s been waiting for this chance his whole life, wondering when the moment would come - the second his ship breaks orbit above Earth while simultaneously displaying a date in the past, Keith knows: it’s time.

twenty-thousand leagues above the ocean - ErinNovelist

8k. Teen.

“Please,” he begs, glancing up at Keith again, heart throbbing against his ribs. Bare bones are the only thing stopping him from throwing himself at the man he’s known forever. “Just tell me who you are.” Keith looks up at the silver sky, at the worn jacket Shiro clenches close, at the shaky hands shoved into deep pockets to keep warm. “My name is Keith, and I know that doesn’t mean anything to you right now, but someday you’re going to be someone very important to me.” He sighs and tightens his grip on Shiro’s shoulder, leather soft beneath his fingertips. “You already are, and you’re the only reason I’m not lost right now.” “I don’t understand,” Shiro tells him because he doesn’t know what else to say. Keith only cocks his head and smiles. “I’m lost in time, Shiro. And… well, you’ve always been my guiding light, I guess.”

Life We Chose - stardropdream

3k. General.

Not too far out from the Kerberos launch, Shiro finds an unexpected guest waiting outside his quarters, both familiar and unfamiliar.

Stuck in Gravity - stardropdream

11k. Explicit. Contains: Keith/Keith/Shiro

Keith thinks that everyone should be a little more concerned about this supposed "future" him. He's just not buying that any version of himself could be so confident, so happy... so clearly loved. (Or: the "I had to go back in time to teach my younger self that he's worthy of love" time-travel threesome.)

Only an Echo - stardropdream

10k. Explicit. Contains: Shiro/Shiro/Keith/Keith

Shiro should have guessed that things were about to get weird when a wormhole opens up in his bedroom and out step the future versions of Shiro and Keith. “Right,” the older Keith says, smiling a little. “Well. There’s no easy way to explain it.” “We’re—” the other Shiro begins. “— here to fuck you,” the other Keith cuts off. “Not quite how I’d phrase it, baby.”

Or: Recently married Shiro and Keith decide that the best wedding present they can give each other is "let's go back in time and fuck our past selves." So they do.

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

my mind is stuck on thicker Bucky after the war, he’s been home, Gale’s been feeding him well, taking care of him. he’s got pudge on his tummy, his tits have a bit of bounce to them, his arms are a little thicker, he’s got a bubble butt that fills out his slacks more, but he does yard work constantly.

just something to keep him busy because if he’s not busy then he’s going stir crazy. so cue Gale watching from their back porch as John just tosses wood around, digging up plots for their garden, wood working old benches he’s found.

but his tummy keeps flashing from his shirt, his biceps are bulging, he’s got sweat trickling down his throat making his white shirt a little see through. and Gale is just foaming at the mouth the entire time.

which is how John finds himself being pinned down before he can go shower. sweat tracks being licked off his throat, hands groping at his chest, and he is not a man that is gonna complain.

when Gale gets his arms pushed up, shirt tangling and pinning him down slightly. just to bury his nose in John’s armpit, licking across the hair there before he’s moving his mouth over to bite a mark right by John’s nipple.

that mark is glaring up at Gale which then prompts him to suck more, leading down to John’s tummy. where he sucks an almost belt of them in, and before he can even get John’s pants off. his lovable golden retriever man who has been moaning, panting, and begging so nicely the entire time, cums in his pants.

Gale just has to roll him over and open him up, so he can push in because John is begging him for it. he’s telling him to, he isn’t too sensitive, he’ll be alright, just wants to make his boy feel good too.

and if it’s watching John’s little bubble butt bouncing back at him as he thrusts in that gets Gale to cum so hard he almost blacks out. well…that’s for them to know, and John to flaunt about later on.

-🦕

xx

I am always here for thick Bucky 👏

I know Callum said he was a little bit chunky in MOTA and I argue he wasn’t chunky enough 😈 Jkjk it’s his body, but seriously… that was not chunky lol Enter at your own risk we’ve got thoughts on size, sweat, armpits, and more ❤️

But give me a Gale that watches every bite John takes with a little flutter of excitement and pride because he made it himself and he’s nourishing his partner who’s still trying to recover from the stalag a year out. Then one day, John’s innocently working on the yard and takes his singlet off while Gale’s sipping lemonade on the porch like a pretty housewife and suddenly finds himself pinned in the grass with a half feral Gale on top of him.

All he can do is sit there and take it as Gale laps up the sweat between his pecs before burying his face between them with a groan, fingers digging into the new give of John’s waist. He doesn’t linger there long though, he gets his hands running up the soft underside of John’s biceps, nails scraping along and leaving marks in their wake, forcing his hands above his head as he nuzzles into John’s armpit, moaning and licking for all he’s worth and John swears he’s gonna come in his pants.

Before he can even do anything about it, like try and buck up against Gale where he’s cradled between John’s legs, Gale is moving again, biting and sucking a path down John’s chest, paying special attention to the little roll his pants are digging into to. Gale practically worships the spot, groaning as he works at it, fingers digging in mercilessly into John’s thick thighs.

He wants to say something, because he’s a little embarrassed about how much he’s let himself go but Gale’s cooking has just gotten so good and it honestly seems like Gale’s having a religious experience. John can’t be blamed for coming in his pants.

When Gale finally pulls away, face flushed and eyes half crazed, John goes willing when he tells him to roll over. He might whine about it a little bit but he can’t help but to shut up when Gale calls him a good boy.

As his reward, John gets Gale diving in and eating him out despite how sweaty and gross he is, putting his oral fixation to good use before getting railed so hard and rough he’s almost a little worried he won’t be able to sit. Gale fucked into him like a man possessed, one hand on his ass the whole time, smacking or kneading into the give of it while his other hand explored John’s body restlessly.

It takes them so long to recover, lying there in the grass, side by side, that the sun ends up directly overhead. John can only wheeze and wave Gale off when he springs up and declares he’s making fried chicken, biscuits, and mashed potatoes for dinner. John knows he’s gonna eat every single bite and not think twice about how it’ll settle on his body.

He wonders if it was a one off, brought on by him getting sweaty from yard work. Except, he wakes up the next morning to Gale riding him like he’s a galloping horse, fingers squeezing at his John’s pecs like they’re tits. John can deal with some tight clothes and a little extra jiggle if it means getting to see Gale like this. John’s belly is never free of hickies moving forward.

[the-reader-insert-gazette]

By Accident, By Choice (Valentines Special) - F!Reader x Childe/Tartaglia

Featured Column - Genshin Impact

A moment of quick thinking left Childe and Reader stuck in an accidental relationship. But as Valentine’s Day approaches, the line between pretend and real faded away.

✒️ Word Count: 2192

[Name] hated tight deadlines.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle them—if anything, she worked best under pressure, but there was a specific kind of hell reserved for when things spiraled completely out of her control.

Like now.

She braced herself against the counter of the tea shop, exhaling slowly as the woman across from her tapped her long, lacquered nails against a porcelain cup.

“I don’t see why there’s an issue,” Madam Ru, one of Liyue’s more particular socialites, said smoothly. “I was very clear about my order.”

“Yes, but—” [Name] swallowed back the rising frustration. “You changed the engraving at the last minute, and it takes time to rework that.”

The order in question? A jade-inlaid pendant, meant to be gifted at a banquet tonight. [Name] had worked on it for a week straight, only for Madam Ru to suddenly decide that the inscription needed to be inlaid with gold instead of silver.

“Surely a skilled artisan like yourself can manage something so small,” Madam Ru said, taking a slow sip of her tea.

[Name] gritted her teeth. “I can have it ready by tomorrow.”

“That won’t do,” Madam Ru sighed. “I’ll have to take my business elsewhere if you can’t fulfill such a simple request.”

It wasn’t just the loss of business—it was the stain on her reputation.

[Name] knew how quickly word spread. If Madam Ru walked away unsatisfied, it could cost her future commissions.

She was trying to think of a way to salvage the situation when a voice cut in.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart.”

[Name] startled as an arm draped over her shoulders, pulling her into an easy, casual lean. The scent of fresh water and something metallic hit her before she looked up and saw him.

Childe.

[Name] had met him weeks ago when he’d stumbled into her shop, looking to commission something for his little brother. At first, she’d assumed he was just another wandering merchant, but it didn’t take long to realize he had ties to the Fatui—dangerous ones.

That said, he’d always been good to her. Honest, in a way most customers weren’t.

Now, though, he was smiling down at her with the kind of lazy charm that sent alarms ringing in her head. She had no idea what he was doing, but she wasn’t about to call his bluff in front of Madam Ru.

Childe turned his attention to the noblewoman with easy confidence. “Apologies, Madam. I know my girl’s a perfectionist, but I did tell her to stop taking last-minute changes. You know, work-life balance and all.”

[Name] barely contained her shock.

My girl?

Madam Ru blinked, thrown off for just a moment. “You—?”

“I’d hate for you to be unhappy with her work, though,” Childe continued smoothly. “Tell you what. I know another artisan in Fontaine who could get you a similar piece next week. I can put in a good word.”

Madam Ru hesitated. The implication was clear—wait longer or settle for [Name]'s timeline.

She pursed her lips. “Tomorrow, then.”

[Name] exhaled as the noblewoman huffed and left. Only then did she shove Childe’s arm off her shoulders.

“What the hell was that?” she hissed.

Childe laughed, unbothered. “Helping you out.”

“You pretended to be my partner.”

He shrugged. “Seemed like it worked.”

[Name] wanted to be mad. Should be mad. But the truth was, he had pulled her out of a tight spot.

“…I owe you one,” she muttered.

Childe grinned. “Dinner. Tonight.”

[Name] blinked. “What?”

“You owe me, right?” He leaned in slightly, smirk widening. “Dinner.”

It wasn’t a bad deal. She would have had to eat at some point, and it was better than paying him in mora.

“…Fine,” she said. “But I pick the place.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

She should have known it wouldn’t stop at just one dinner.

It became a thing.

Whenever [Name] found herself cornered by difficult clients or pushy merchants, Childe somehow managed to swoop in, slinging an arm around her shoulders, flashing that sharp grin, and making it very clear that she wasn’t alone.

She knew she should have shut it down.

But it was just easier to let it happen.

And maybe, if she was being honest, she didn’t hate it.

Which was probably why she froze when Zhongli, ever perceptive, looked up from his tea and said, “You seem well-adjusted to one another.”

[Name] frowned, setting down her cup. “What?”

Zhongli regarded her with quiet amusement. “You and Childe. It is rare to see you apart these days.”

“We’re not—”

“Finally figured it out?”

[Name] turned and glared as Childe slid into the seat next to her, looking far too smug.

Zhongli tilted his head. “Ah. I see.”

[Name] scowled. “There’s nothing to ‘see.’”

Childe sighed dramatically. “I keep telling her, but she refuses to listen.”

“Because we’re not dating,” [Name] snapped.

Childe just raised an eyebrow. “Then what have we been doing all this time?”

[Name] opened her mouth—then closed it.

Because… what had they been doing?

The dinners. The teasing. The touches.

Zhongli sipped his tea, clearly entertained. “I believe this is what one might call ‘a realization in real-time.’”

[Name] swallowed.

“Oh,” she muttered.

Childe was still watching her, patient but expectant, waiting for something she wasn’t sure she could give.

[Name] exhaled slowly.

“You didn’t ask,” she muttered.

“Would you have said no?”

[Name] hesitated.

Childe just smiled, like he already knew the answer.

“Well,” he said, reaching over and stealing a dumpling from her plate, far too comfortable for someone who had just upended her entire reality, “it’s a little late for take-backs, sweetheart.”

[Name] groaned, shoving his hand away before he could grab another dumpling. “Unbelievable.”

Childe only grinned, chewing like he hadn’t just declared them a couple without so much as a warning. Zhongli, still perfectly composed, sipped his tea with the kind of measured patience that suggested he had no intention of intervening.

“If it makes you feel better,” Childe said, “I’ve been a great partner. Top-tier, really.”

[Name] shot him a flat look. “You’re not my partner.”

Childe shrugged. “Tell that to the rest of Liyue.”

[Name] felt something cold settle in her gut. “What do you mean?”

“Just that everyone already thinks we’re together,” he said breezily. “Figured you knew, what with how often we’re seen around town.”

[Name] opened her mouth, then shut it. Because, now that he mentioned it...

Vendors had started giving her knowing smiles whenever Childe showed up at her shop. Madame Ping had offhandedly mentioned how “sweet young love” was when they passed her in the marketplace. Even her usual jeweler’s suppliers had made comments about how nice it was to see her settling down.

And she’d been so busy, so caught up in orders and commissions, that she hadn’t thought twice about it.

[Name] rubbed a hand down her face.

“So what you’re telling me,” she said slowly, “is that I’ve been accidentally dating you this entire time.”

Childe snorted. “Yeah, kinda.”

Zhongli chuckled. “You do make quite the pair.”

[Name] glared at him. “You’re not helping.”

“I do not believe you require assistance.” Zhongli set his teacup down, his amber eyes glinting with quiet amusement. “Merely time to process your feelings.”

Feelings.

[Name] bristled. “I don’t have feelings.”

Childe smirked. “That’s what someone with feelings would say.”

[Name] kicked him under the table.

After that conversation, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Every interaction—every casual touch, every laugh shared over hot meals, every time he leaned in just a little too close—felt different. Like the illusion had cracked, revealing something she wasn’t sure how to handle.

And then, to make things worse, Valentine’s Day was looming just around the corner.

Liyue Harbor was already filling with decorations—silk banners in soft reds and pinks, heart-shaped lanterns lining the streets, couples walking hand-in-hand through the marketplace. It was impossible to ignore.

And it didn’t help that every single person [Name] spoke to assumed she and Childe had plans.

“So what do you have in mind?” Yanfei asked one afternoon, while [Name] was setting up a new jewelry display.

[Name] frowned. “For what?”

Yanfei blinked. “For Valentine’s Day. You are doing something with Childe, right?”

[Name] nearly knocked over a tray of silver chains. “Why would you think that?”

Yanfei laughed. “Because I have eyes? I mean, if you’re not together, then he’s doing a pretty bad job of hiding how much he likes you.”

[Name] groaned. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Yanfei smirked. “Just admit you like him back.”

“I—”

[Name] couldn’t finish the sentence.

Because the truth was, she wasn’t sure how to answer.

It had been so easy, so natural to let things play out. But now that she was being forced to acknowledge it, everything felt too real.

Yanfei was watching her, waiting.

[Name] exhaled. “I’ll think about it.”

Yanfei grinned. “That’s lawyer-speak for ‘I already know the answer but I’m stalling.’”

[Name] threw a polishing cloth at her face.

By the time Valentine’s Day rolled around, [Name] had made zero plans.

Which was why she nearly jumped out of her skin when someone knocked on her shop’s door just as she was closing up.

She turned, fully prepared to tell whatever lovesick fool that no, she did not sell last-minute romantic gifts, only to freeze when she saw Childe.

He stood there, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, looking more uncertain than she had ever seen him.

“Hey,” he said.

[Name] folded her arms. “Hey.”

She watched him carefully. Childe had always been a smooth talker—reckless, brash, and too damn confident for his own good. But tonight, he stood in her doorway like he was nervous.

That alone concerned her.

“…What’s with the face?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Childe huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “What face?”

“The one that makes it look like you’re about to say something really dumb.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Well, if I say it, does that make me dumb, or just brave?”

“Depends on what it is.”

For the first time since she’d met him, Childe hesitated. Not out of strategy, not because he was waiting for the right moment to strike, but because whatever he was about to say actually mattered to him.

He exhaled sharply, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “Alright. Here goes.”

He looked at her then—really looked at her.

“I know I’ve been screwing with you for weeks now about the whole dating thing,” he started. “And, I mean, I stand by it. It does kinda feel like we’ve been dating this whole time.”

[Name] rolled her eyes. “You’re not wrong—”

“But,” he cut in, eyes steady, “I want it to be real.”

[Name] blinked.

“…What?”

Childe let out a breathless chuckle, like he couldn’t believe he was saying this out loud. “I want to actually take you out. Properly. No pretending, no accidents, no running interference for each other at fancy events. Just… you and me.”

[Name] stared at him. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he said, rocking on his heels. “And, uh—” He cleared his throat. “Since it is Valentine’s Day, I figured I’d start with the obvious.”

He pulled something from his pocket—a small, neatly wrapped box, tied with a thin red ribbon.

[Name] eyed it warily. “If this explodes, I’m killing you.”

Childe snorted. “It’s a gift, [Name]. Not a trap.”

She took the box carefully, undoing the ribbon and lifting the lid.

Inside sat a small, delicate bracelet—thin links with a single charm attached. But the charm wasn’t some gaudy, over-the-top declaration of romance.

It was a tiny carved flower, the same kind she often decorated her shop with whenever they're available.

[Name] inhaled sharply.

Childe rubbed the back of his neck. “Figured you wouldn’t want anything too flashy.”

[Name]'s fingers brushed over the charm, feeling the smooth edges.

“You had this made?”

Childe shrugged. “I might’ve put in an order a while ago. Just in case.”

[Name] stared at him, something warm curling in her chest.

She should’ve seen this coming. Childe wasn’t the kind of guy to half-ass things. If he was going to make a move, he was going to do it right the first time.

Damn him, this was actually kind of sweet.

[Name] turned the bracelet over in her hands, running her thumb over the charm again.

Then she looked up at him.

“So,” Childe said, giving her a lopsided grin. “What do you say? Be my Valentine?”

[Name] exhaled through her nose.

She could make him work for it. She should make him work for it. But the truth was, she’d already made her decision.

[Name] smirked, stepping closer. “Alright.”

Childe’s grin faltered slightly. “Wait, 'alright'?”

“Alright,” she repeated, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be your Valentine.”

For a moment, Childe just stood there, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

Then his grin broke out, soft around the edges, filled with a relief he hadn’t even been trying to hide.

“Well, damn,” he murmured, squeezing her hand back. “Guess I lucked out, huh?”

[Name] chuckled. “You have no idea.”

Editor's Note: A dear reader asked me to include word counts, consider your wish granted! Note, I'm still working on the formatting I want to continue with. Should there be more recommendations, feel free to let me know.

[kawoala]

sorry, wrong number! — tanaka ryuunosuke. chapter seven; chrome tf up.

contents word count; 2,353. UNSAFE DRIVING PRACTICES; i do not endorse having more people than seats in a car while driving, please be safe. piercings. profanity. weird laugh nishinoya supremacy. making fun of kuroo’s age… again. oh also, kagehina implied.

< previous ; masterlist ; next >

“Well, that was bad.”

You can barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Yeah, no shit. I can’t believe I talked all that shit just for us to lose. Horribly.”

Nekoma lost. Somehow, they managed to lose 25-12 in both sets. They didn’t need to play a third because of their loss in the first two. The whole team had walked to the locker room dejected, but Karasuno had practically skipped into theirs with delight.

Tetsuro leans against the wall, and you mirror his actions, crossing your arms over your chest. Just down the hall, you can faintly hear the song Sticky playing on a speaker, paired with a few voices screaming along to the lyrics. It makes you want to roll your eyes even more. Cocky sons of—

“It wasn’t that bad,” Tetsuro tries to argue, shrugging his shoulders. “Kenma had a few good sets. ‘Tora  looked like he was working overtime. I bet he’ll feel that shit tomorrow.”

You don’t answer. Your eyes are trained on a poster in front of you, of the volleyball team. You take a few steps closer and scan the paper—not looking for Tanaka. But, your eyes do happen to land on him, and you don’t look away.

If you’re going to be honest, he looks stupid. His grin is too wide and his eyes are squinted shut and his chin is pointed up and his biceps aren’t even that big so you don’t know why he’s flexing and—

“Ramen? Again? Brother, you gotta get some real food in you, or you’re going to keel over and die. Seriously. I bet Saeko will make us some food tonight.”

It doesn’t sound familiar, but you know who it is. It doesn’t sound like how you pictured it to sound, but you know it’s Tanaka’s raspy voice bouncing off the walls. 

And when you try to look in his direction, you can’t.

It’s like your feet are cemented to the ground, head stuck in one place. You’re not even staring at the poster anymore, just spacing off into the wall. You don’t know why you’re suddenly so nervous, but you hate it.

“Kuroo? Holy shit, no wa—” The voice cuts out and somehow you know his eyes are on you. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

The cringe that shoots through your body is enough to shake you from your nervous state. Your face scrunches up and you turn around to finally look at him. “What are you, an anime character?”

He opens his mouth, probably for some stupid retort, but his words die on his tongue. For a long, stretched out moment, he just stares at you.

Awkwardly, you clear your throat. “What? Do I have something on my face?” He shakes his head and you look away, nodding once. “Okay, cool.”

“Dude, you’re being lame as shit right now.” A whisper, a different voice. Tanaka makes a sound of pain and from your peripheral vision, you can see Nishinoya elbow him in the stomach. “Chrome the fuck up.”

Tanaka scoffs, but it kind of turns into a snicker. “So, uh,” he clears his throat, shifting his backpack on his shoulders, “what are we waiting for? Aren’t you guys coming to my house? For Saeko, or whatever?”

“Kenma,” you and Tetsuro say at the same time. You share a glance, then shake your head. “We’re waiting for Kenma,” you say. “He takes forever in the locker room.”

Tanaka nods, rocking on his heels awkwardly.

The situation almost makes you laugh. Tanaka was so brave over text, and now? He’s acting like a middle schooler. You have to look down at the ground so they don’t see the smile on your face.

Finally—finally—Kenma comes out of the locker room, bag slung over his shoulder, eyes glued to his phone. What an iPad kid.

“You’re such an iPad kid,” Tetsuro says, rolling his eyes. “We’ve been waiting for, like, fifteen minutes. How difficult is it to change clothes?”

“I’m a minor, please stop talking to me.” Kenma doesn’t even look up from his phone. You snicker slightly and bump his shoulder as he walks past. At that, he looks up. “Are we leaving, or what?”

“If by leaving you mean going to Tanaka’s, then yes.” You nod, then look over at Tanaka and smile. “Well? Lead the way.”

You don’t know how or why, but somehow you pick up two more kids on your way out: Hinata, Kenma’s orange-haired friend, and Kageyama, Hinata’s freakishly quiet friend. Though, you use the term friend loosely, because you don’t think they can really be friends when Kageyama looks at him like that.

And then, somehow, Tanaka convinces everyone to pile up into one car. Seven people in a five-seater car. Tanaka is driving, you’re sitting in the passenger seat, and Nishinoya and Hinata are sitting on the ground in the backseat, while the other three sit in the actual seats. It’s not safe, by any means, but it is fun when a good song starts playing and everyone starts belting the lyrics. They’re all yelling over each other, Tanaka can barely keep his eyes on the road, the two on the floor are complaining about their backs, Tetsuro keeps saying that they’re going to get pulled over, and you haven’t stopped laughing since you got in the car.

You keep glancing over at Tanaka, though not on purpose. It’s like there’s a string that keeps pulling you towards him, a feeling you’ve never felt before. He’s so . . . in his element. He’s making people laugh, surrounded by friends—this is what being truly confident in yourself looks like. And he has that right, to be 100% confident. Admittedly, you watched him on the court more than you watched your own team. There’s something so enticing about him. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

Eventually, you make it to his house. It’s a small house, but it’s nice. The inside isn’t decorated too much, but there are quite a few pictures hanging on the walls and sitting on various end tables and cabinets. Tanaka and his sister when they were younger, them and their dad at theme parks, school pictures—you can’t help but notice the lack of a mother in the pictures. You press your lips together and stop looking at them.

All of the boys pile into the house and it suddenly hits you that you’re hanging out with a bunch of teenage boys. You scrunch your nose up and quietly sigh. Where’s Saeko when you need her?

“Saeko! Your client is here!” Tanaka’s voice is much too loud for how close everyone is to him, but he doesn’t seem to care. When no one calls back to him, he takes a deep breath and shouts louder. “Saeko!”

The sound of a door crashing open echoes throughout the house, then stomps coming from further inside the house. You’re all still standing by the front door, talking about different things. 

“What do you want, you little twerp?” A voice rings out. Saeko. You smile at the name calling. “I try to have a little peace and quiet while you’re gone and—“ she stops talking when she comes into view. “Oh.” She blinks a few times, taking in the teenagers in front of her. “Yeah, thanks for telling me we had guests, Ryuu.” She smiles sarcastically and you snicker. You love her already.

“Hi,” you say, bowing slightly. “I’m Y/n, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for, uh, agreeing to pierce me? It was very nice of you—especially since it was such short notice.”

“Oh, I like you.” She smiles and hums. “Also, please don’t bow. I’m older than you, but I’m not old. Just treat me like a friend. Actually, we’re friends now. You can call me Sae. Come on, let’s get this shit set up.”

She turns on her heel and begins to walk the way she came from. You glance back at Tetsuro and raise your brows. He shakes his head and sighs dramatically. “Mom is so going to kill us,” he mumbles.

And then your eyes unconsciously flit to Tanaka. You’re half-surprised to see that he’s already looking at you, a small, crooked smile on his face. You can feel your face heat up and you look away. It’s so pathetic how he makes you feel. You follow Saeko’s footsteps, to where you think she went.

You find her in the bathroom, where a few piercing tools are laid out on the sink. You swallow hard upon seeing them.

“It’ll be fine,” Saeko reassures as she pulls on a pair of black medical gloves. She pops a bubble with the gum you didn’t know she was chewing. “You look like a tough cookie.”

There’s a stampede of footsteps down the hallway that stops right before the door. You turn around to find all the boys staring into the bathroom, eyes wide.

“Hey! Don’t you guys know what privacy is? Jesus, get outta here!” Saeko flails her arm in their direction and a few of them flinch.

“No, no. It’s okay!” You reassure, laughing a little. “They can stay, I don’t mind. But if they make fun of me for crying like a baby, will you kick their asses for me?”

She snickers, and nods. “Hell yeah.”

One of them audibly swallows and a wave of laughter rolls over the boys. You laugh too, glancing at Tanaka to see him smile. Jesus, you are so screwed.

“Okay.” Saeko claps her hands together and sighs quickly. “Can you sit on the counter for me? I have to sanitize your nose.”

You nod, not hesitating to hop up on the sink. She wipes your nose down with an alcohol wipe. It kind of burns, but you don’t say anything. She tells you that the instruments she’s using are sanitized, which is why they’re in a bag.

And then she puts a dot on your nostril, where she’s going to pierce. You look in the mirror, check the placement, and accidentally catch Tanaka’s eyes. He gives you a small, encouraging smile and it really does calm you down. 

“Looks perfect,” you say to Saeko, smiling nervously. “In your professional opinion, how much will this hurt?”

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. That doesn’t really help much, though, because she has about thirteen visible piercings and you’re sure her pain tolerance is much higher than yours. She puts the clamp in place and raises her brows. “Ready?”

You glance to the doorway, where all the boys have worried looks on their face, and take a deep breath, letting your eyes fall shut. You keep them like that and say, “as I’ll ever be.”

The next few seconds seem to pass in slow motion. You can’t see anything, but you can sense her hand coming closer to your face. The needle touches your skin and you almost flinch, but resist. There’s a sharp pain and then—

“I’m gonna put in the jewelry now, ‘kay?”

There’s some more jostling of the clamp and then something else slides into place. The clamp leaves your nose and then you can no longer feel her hands by your face.

Slowly, you peel your eyes open. Saeko is smiling at you, wide and almost unhinged. “All done,” she says. “Take a look.”

You turn around and look in the mirror once again, the blue dot now replaced by a stud. There’s redness, but no blood. You turn your head a little, looking at it from the side and from the front. It looks good—you look good.

A small giggle escapes your mouth and you smile, wider than ever. “Oh my god,” you mumble. You turn back to Saeko and laugh. “My mom is going to kill me.”

“You look so cute, though,” she shakes her head, pressing her lips together. “Maybe if you wear a Kakashi-style mask, she won’t notice.”

“A sheisty, if you will.” It’s the first time Tanaka has spoken in a while, but his comment gets a giggle out of you and makes him smile. God, that stupid, stupid smile. 

“If you will,” Nishinoya repeats, doubling over in laughter. Was it really that funny? His laugh is weird and loud and so ridiculous that everyone else starts laughing. When you laugh with them, you feel like you’re where you belong.

“Okay, who’s hungry?” Saeko asks, halting the laughter of everyone. Simultaneously, everyone’s hands shoot up in the air. “Right. I’m cooking for a small army, got it.”

The food Saeko makes is ridiculously good. The boys practically eat the Tanaka’s out of house and home with how much they consume. The table is completely full, more laughter filling the house.

You belatedly realize that Tanaka is really funny. You also realize that, yeah, you like him. And it’s not some huge moment, where time slows down and a romantic song plays in the background. 

You realize it as he looks at you, smiling, and you snort out a laugh when you spot some food stuck in his braces.

“What? What’s so funny? I didn’t even say anything.”

“You have—” you can’t even finish your sentence. You gesture to your mouth, hoping he gets the hint, but he just tilts his head. “There’s— oh my god.”

He laughs too, but it sounds more confused than yours. “You’re starting to freak me out, Y/n. What are you laughing at?”

“There’s food in your braces!” You finally manage to say. You have to set down your bowl so you don’t spill anything—that’s how hard you’re laughing.

His face turns bright red and he moves so fast that he spills his bowl of food all over his lap. He stands up quickly, hissing at how hot it is. And, of course, that only makes you laugh harder. 

And then it hits you. You like this kid. You like his stupid jokes and his stupid smile and his stupid braces and the stupid way he moves on the court and the stupid way he’s able to make you laugh so easily.

You are so astronomically fucked.

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