#i don't know what prompted me to write this

[runnning-outof-time]

Up Until You | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: In which Tommy Shelby realizes that he might just have someone he wants to live for.

Warnings: smoking, slight season 2 spoilers

Word Count: 3698

A/N: boy does it feel good to post a story again! I hope there won’t be as big a gap between this and my next one … I promise I’m getting these requests written! Anon, I hope this is as angsty as you were hoping….the prompt you sent is bolded. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: I almost forgot! I wanted to give a shoutout to the lovely Mars @toms-cherry-trees for helping me so much in the planning process of this fic…I don’t think it would have gotten finished if it weren’t for you!

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! — COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message Me if you’d like to be tagged!

(Y/N) sent Ada Shelby a look that asked 'where is he?' the second the latter opened the door. Ada answered with a head nod to the left, which conveyed the answer of 'he's in there'. A glance over the Shelby woman's shoulder confirmed it - Tommy was sitting at the table in the front room. His back was to the door, so he hadn't noticed that she arrived...yet.

She sent Ada an appreciative smile before she quietly walked into the room, hoping that Tommy wouldn't hear her footsteps. He seemed to be too engrossed in his writing for that to happen though. She stood there for a few moments, carefully peering over his shoulder as he finished the sentence he was writing.

He paused then, and it gave (Y/N) the ability to read the sentence he'd just written:

In the event of my own death, I want the following facts to be known...

Reading those words made her mind go blank. "You're actually going through with it?" she asked without thinking.

The sudden sound of someone's voice made Tommy quickly turn in his chair. He was already on edge with the day's events taking up his mind, so this unexpected visitor had caught him completely off guard. It took a few moments for it to register that (Y/N) was standing in front of him. When it did, he cursed under his breath before letting out a huff.

"When'd you get here, eh?" he asked, his eyebrows raised as he placed his hands on his thighs.

"Just now. I couldn't find you at home. The guys hadn't left for the derby though, so I figured you'd be here," she explained her reasoning. "You don't have to go through with this, Tommy," she then circled back, not letting him switch topics.

"I have to," his response cut right to the point. He didn't have time to get into a discussion about it.

"What about the other options you've shared with me? The options that don't include you having to come face to face with this man in order to get the job done," she reminded him of the talks they've had in the past, hoping that doing so would get him to change his mind.

"There's no time for those other options, (Y/N). The derby's today. The plan's been laid out," he wasn't biting.

Silence hung in the air as they stared at each other. (Y/N) was hoping that he'd change his mind. She waited on bated breath, waiting for him to announce that to her. But he stayed silent.

She couldn't wait any longer. "So that's it then?" she asked, incredulousness present in her voice. The fact that he wasn't even trying to entertain a conversation about this was breaking her heart. "You're just going to write your note and practically seal your death with it? And what'll that mean for me?" she was unable to stop herself from getting choked up as she uttered her final question. She didn't want to think about her life without him, but it was staring her dead in the face at the moment.

"The note's just precautionary, love," he attempted to assure her. Her expression didn't change, her brow was now furrowed and it was noticeable that she was biting on her bottom lip; most likely to stop her tears. Tommy finally stood then, coming face to face with her in hopes that his proximity would wash some of her worry away. "I'll be fine," he added in a low voice, blindly searching for her hands so that he could hold them.

"You can't promise that," she responded, her voice coming out as a shaky whisper. It was taking everything she had not to burst out into tears in this moment. She'd always associated his closeness with safety...whenever Tommy was close, (Y/N) knew she could never get hurt. But now his closeness was making her hurt even more.

"It'll be fine," he repeated, squeezing her hands.

"It's really been decided?" she still couldn't accept it.

"It has," he nodded.

(Y/N) sighed at his confirmation. Her gaze dropped to the floor as she pulled her hands from his grasp. She then wrapped her arms tightly around her frame as she turned and took a few steps towards the windows.

"(Y/N)." Her name left Tommy's lips as a breath. He knew he was fighting a losing battle here. "Come on, love. Look at me," he gently coaxed her. She stood still. "It'll be fine," he tried once more to assure her.

That set her off. She whipped around within a second of hearing his statement. There was now a fire burning in her watery eyes. "Do not say those three words again," she snapped at him, "do not continue to try and reassure me with things that you cannot guarantee will happen. You know how dangerous this plan is, Thomas. Please don't try and act like It isn't. You wouldn't be sat here writing a note for someone to find in the event of your death if you didn't think that there was a possibility of it happening," she spoke her mind, letting her emotions go free as all of the pent up worry flowed out.

"(Y/N)," he spoke her name again, in a different tone this time. He didn't need this lecture. Not right now. "This is what needs to be done," he continued in a low voice, staying stoic in hopes that it would alleviate the situation quicker.

But (Y/N) no longer cared about what he did or didn't need at that moment, and if anything, his statement just made her even more upset.

"It doesn't need to be done like this," she insisted, "you don't need to sign your life away for a contract...for a man who doesn't give a single care about the stakes that have been raised here so long as he isn't the one carrying out the deed. Any other person would be trying to find a way to take themselves out of the equation but you've decided to put yourself in the driver's seat."

(Y/N) felt like she was talking in circles. Hell, she probably was, but she was doing so in hopes that something would be set off inside of him. She wanted him to realize that there was still time to think up another plan; one that didn't include him being placed in harm's way.

"What is it that you want from all of this?" he asked her, his brows furrowed together.

"You, Tommy!" she exclaimed, her frustration shining clear through her words. "I want you to fight! I want you to realize that things don't need to play out this way; that you can still put another plan into play!" she paused, taking a deep breath as she swiped at the tears that had escaped her eyes. "I want you to come home when all of this is finished," her voice was level again as she spoke the final sentence. Her eyes were locked onto his, hoping that he'd realize how much this was affecting her.

Their eyes stayed locked and a few moments passed before Tommy looked down at the ground. He exhaled a sigh as he brought his hand up to the back of his neck. "It's already done," he said, his voice void of any tone.

"Then I guess I'm done," the words left (Y/N)'s mouth before she could stop them. She didn't take them back though. She was tired of fighting in a one-sided fight. It was so obvious that Tommy had his mind made up. Nothing was going to change it at this point. But yet she still held onto that sliver of hope. She hoped that her showing up today and speaking her piece would get him to change his mind.

"(Y/N)..." Tommy looked up again as her name fell from his lips, shock now present in his expression.

"I can't be here a moment longer. I can't stand in front of a man who is acting as if he's already dead. I need to leave."

Her words were spoken softly, but Tommy heard them loud and clear. He said nothing as she moved to the archway, expecting her to leave without another word. To his surprise, she turned around just before she was about to exit the room.

"I didn't believe that love existed until you came along, Tommy. But you showed me how wrong I was for thinking that way; for thinking that I'd never experience something like that. And now you've just decided not only your future, but mine as well. I can't stay here and watch it play out. I'm not sure if I'll be home when you return. I just..." (Y/N) stopped speaking as the words got caught in her throat. She let out a shaky breath, tears welling up in her eyes once more.

All words escaped her at that moment, and she shook her head instead, deciding that finishing her declaration would be a lost cause anyway. She couldn't even bear to look at him again, too afraid that she'd actually break down. So instead she turned and made her way to the door of the home, opening it and leaving without looking back.

The sun was now shining down on her. It was an absolutely lovely day in London, but yet she was having one of the worst in her life. She decided to go for a walk, revisiting the streets that still felt like home even though she'd made the move to Birmingham several months ago.

(Y/N) knew Ada Shelby before she knew Tommy. She'd met her when Ada had moved into the next door apartment with her adorable son, Karl. The two women quickly became friends, spending a lot of time together right up until the day Ada had been found and hurt for being a Shelby.

Contact stopped briefly as Ada had moved out of the apartment, but things continued like nothing had even happened when Ada sent (Y/N) a letter that contained her new address. The two frequently spent time together in the front room of the lovely new home, sipping tea and talking about the day's events in front of the fire.

Ada's house was where (Y/N) first met Tommy. Surprise riddled their first encounter. Ada had stepped away to tend to Karl when Tommy came knocking on the door. (Y/N), being the friend that she was, didn't hesitate in opening it. The sight she was greeted with took her breath away. Thankfully Ada had returned from Karl's room, or who knows how long the two would have been standing in the doorway, staring at each other. She even joked about the fact that they couldn't seem to keep their eyes off of each other. Of course it didn't help that Tommy had forgotten what it was he was even there for for the first few minutes of his visit.

That wasn't the last time (Y/N) saw Tommy. The two became very close very quickly. It was like they had known each other forever; like there was this pull present between them that neither could ignore. Things also got serious pretty quickly. So serious that (Y/N) was packing up her things and leaving her London apartment for Small Heath after only six months of knowing Tommy.

Some might think it was crazy; that things were moving much too fast. But (Y/N) had never felt so sure of doing something in her life.

Which made what was happening now hurt so much more. But she needed to keep walking. She'd done the right thing.

Tommy placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a match before taking a deep drag from it and exhaling slowly. The sealed letter sat on the table in front of him. He stared at it for a few moments before pressing the thumb and index fingers of his free hand against his eyelids, hoping it would alleviate some of the pressure he'd been feeling.

"I made you up some tea," Ada's voice broke through the silence, and the sound of glass being set on the table he was working at made Tommy lift his head again.

He nodded as a thank you before bringing the cigarette back up to his lips again. He then stamped it out in the ashtray while exhaling the smoke slowly.

"I heard everything that was said, you know," she said then, moving over to one of the chairs so that she could sit. "What were you thinking, Tommy?" she asked with raised eyebrows, her eyes zeroed in on her brother.

Tommy sighed, rolling his eyes as he looked off to the far wall. He didn't need anymore of this right now.

"She was my friend first. She was the only person who cared about me when I moved here. She helped me through a lot. I'm not going to let you ruin her for your stupid ambitions," Ada had no problem speaking her mind and letting him know how wrong he was for responding to (Y/N) the way he did.

Tommy pulled the timepiece from his pocket and checked it before letting out a sigh and returning it back to its place. "I need to leave," he told Ada before lifting the cup and downing the beverage in one go. In hindsight he was thankful that it wasn’t scorching hot. "Thanks for the tea," he said to her as he set the empty cup back down.

Nothing more was said as Tommy stood from the chair he was sitting on. He looked to Ada as he pulled the jacket he'd been wearing back on over his shoulders. She was glaring at him, hoping that he'd have something - anything - more to add to the conversation.

It became apparent that he didn't when he started for the archway. So Ada left him with one last statement: "please don't let her go, Tommy. We all need her." There was a quiet desperation now present in her eyes, one Tommy wasn't sure what to say in response to.

So he nodded and turned to exit the home, heading right to the car he parked a few streets down.

Truthfully what he wanted to do right now was head back to Birmingham and stop (Y/N) from leaving, to tell her that she was more important than any plan he could ever put into place. He knew she was justified in saying everything that she had.

But it was too late to do that now. Tommy knew that there'd be men searching for him by the end of the day if he stepped away from the plan this late into it. At least now he had some sort of control over the outcome of his life. And he was going to try like hell to stay alive...because now he had someone to stay alive for.

The house on Watery Lane was quiet when Tommy stepped into it later that evening. The fire in the main room was still lit, but he couldn't quite remember if they'd put enough wood on to keep it going prior to leaving that morning. So judging (Y/N)'s presence based on that could have surely given false hope.

He took his overcoat off and hung it on one of the hooks by the door. The suit jacket followed after, and he draped that over one of the chairs in the sitting room as he walked through it.

No one was downstairs, but he hadn't expected anyone to be at this time of night.

He quietly walked up the steps and down the hall to the bedroom that he and (Y/N) shared. He paused at the closed door, taking a moment both to steady himself; to regroup from the day's events, and to prepare himself for the possibility that he may be opening the door to an empty room.

After inhaling and exhaling deeply, he turned the knob and opened the door. The first thing he noticed was the lit candle on the bedside table. Seeing it made all of his worries dissipate. (Y/N) had a habit of lighting them and then falling asleep.

Looking slightly to the right, he found the woman that hadn't left his mind since she left him in Ada's sitting room. She was laying on her side, facing the wall, telling him that she was sleeping.

Slowly, quietly he began ridding himself of his outer layers. It wasn't until he moved over to the dresser that he noticed the bags sitting on the floor. They were packed. It was easy to see that, even in the candlelight. He looked back to (Y/N) then, putting the pieces together in his mind. She was going to leave...but something made her stay.

Now only wearing his undergarments, he made his way over to the bed. Hesitation overcame him again. Should he lay with her? Should he go back downstairs? She was in her spot, tucked up against the wall so that enough room was present for him on the small bed they shared.

A few moments passed before he made his decision, lifting the covers and slowly slipping underneath them. He laid on his back for a short time before turning onto his side so that he was facing her sleeping frame. Another bout of hesitation filled him, but he didn't let it stick for too long as he gently draped his arm over her midsection.

That was when (Y/N) let out the shaky breath she'd been holding in from the moment she heard the door open. She was awake the entire time.

"Are you still awake, love?" Tommy asked in a whisper.

"Yes," she breathed out, her voice wavering.

"You've been crying," he pointed out, able to read her like an open book.

"I didn't know if I'd see you again," she answered him, choking up as she spoke.

"I'm here," he assured her, his arm wrapping tighter around her body.

(Y/N) didn't say anything in response. Instead tears fell from her eyes as she held her breath, trying not to make it noticeable that she was crying. But Tommy was able to feel how her body was shaking.

"Turn and look at me," he said quietly, a soft demand that took her a few moments to comply with. Her tear-stained face became visible in the candlelight when she did, and seeing it broke Tommy's heart. "C'mere," he breathed, allowing her to move even closer to him so that he could engulf her in his embrace.

"No one knew where you were, Tommy," she whispered once she was finally able to get words out again. "I thought..." she paused, not even wanting to say what she was thinking, "I thought the worst."

"I'm sorry you had to think that way, darlin'," he murmured, stroking the back of her head slowly. He held her close until her body stopped shaking, giving her the time she needed. He didn't speak until she lifted her head from the crook of his neck. "Better?" he asked in a whisper, peering down to see that her eyes were still closed.

"Slightly," she breathed out a response. "I'm relieved that you're home. Is..." she paused, seeming like she was looking for the words to say next, "is it finished?"

"It's finished," he answered in a definitive tone, nodding his head as best he could.

(Y/N) let out a shaky breath upon hearing his response, feeling as if the rest of the weight had lifted from her chest. She slowly opened her eyes and looked right into his. "I was going to leave," she started, watching Tommy's brows furrow together in the candlelight, "but I realized that this is part of the life I chose with you. That this is the type of work you carry out, and that I can either fight you on it or support you the best that I could. I also realized that my desire to be with you is so much greater than the worry that your work creates." Her eyes didn't stray from his as she spoke. Watching his hardened blue irises soften as he took in her words was enough to fill her heart to the brim with love.

Tommy took a moment to soak in her words. He moved his hand from behind her head so that he could gently trace the line of her jaw with his thumb. Taking in a deep breath, he knew what he had to do. Searching her eyes for a few seconds longer, he thought of the words he wanted to say.

"I thought I could lose everything and be totally fine with it," he began, clearing his throat in hopes that she wouldn't notice the fact that his voice was breaking. She noticed. "But then you came along...and now I see how wrong I was."

"Tommy," she breathed, taken back by his admission.

"I had nothing to live for up until you, (Y/N)," he admitted, not holding anything back now, "and I promise you now that things will change... that there’ll be no more of these plans. I don't want to have the possibility of an outcome that doesn't include you in it."

(Y/N)'s mind was swirling. It had been a rollercoaster of a day, she still couldn't quite believe the change of events that had happened. But she was so very thankful that things had ended up with Tommy by her side again.

"I love you, Tommy," she whispered, a smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards.

"I love you, (Y/N)," he repeated the phrase, his expression mirroring hers as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss.

Now that he had her again, he knew that he could never let her go. What he'd told Michael earlier in the evening would soon be true: he was going to ask (Y/N) to marry him.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @notyour-valentine @theshelbyslimited

@peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss

@alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl

@emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife

@anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08

@insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter

@cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable

@thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby fic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #fanfiction #fanfic

[unboundprompts]

If it's not a bother, would you maybe consider doing some best/friends to lovers road trip prompts? Thanks!!

Friends to Lovers Road Trip Prompts

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

"I don't know why I let you navigate," he said, hands gripping the steering wheel, "because we are way off course." She just chuckled from her spot in the passenger seat. "I took it upon myself to take us somewhere much more fun." He shot her a side-eyed glance, lip smirking upward. She pointed ahead of them. "Take this next turn."

"Let's sleep in the car," she suggested. "It'll save us money on a hotel. We can both fit in the back seat if we cuddle."

"Take a nap," they told him. "I'll drive until you feel rested enough to take back over."

All the sights that they've seen on this trip, but somehow he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of them. They were the prettiest sight he had even seen.

"My favorite part of this trip was that I got to go on it with you."

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[syoddeye]

the lift

gaz x f!reader | 1.4k words cw: alcohol a/n: received a powerlifter x kyle prompt from an anon. i don't normally take requests, but i've been itching to write something sweet for him. influenced by a recent thing i wrote up about gaz flubbing a flirt. i'm a normie/casual weightlifter. apologies to actual powerlifters. 🏋️

“Fuck me running.”

“Sounds difficult.”

“Get a load of her.”

“Pick your jaw off the floor, and stop staring, lech.”

“You’d be no better if you just looked.”

Gaz rolls his eyes at Soap’s stupefied expression, watching him miss his mouth with his pint glass. Foam spills over onto his shirt, causing the Scot to jerk in his seat and stare at his own appendage in offense.

View must be good for Soap to make himself more of a fool than usual. Kyle adjusts his cap, turns his head to the side in a feigned stretch, and immediately clocks the distraction in question.

A woman in a backless top sits alone at the bar with something fruity in hand. No bra band in sight, no tan lines either. That’s not what glues his eyes to her, though. It’s the rippling muscle the cut of fabric shows off, defined and apparent as she lifts her glass to drink. It continues south, too, her thick thighs spilling over the narrow stool. She looks like she’d give Ghost a run for his money. Like she’d rip him in half like a phone book.

He needs to talk to her.

Kyle turns back to Soap, dabbing at himself with a fistful of napkins. He downs the rest of his beer and then stands.

“I’ll get us fresh drinks.”

Before the lout can breathe a word, he beelines to the bar. Only. When he gets there, it occurs to him he doesn’t know what to say. Any other pretty face, he’d toss out one of his corny but winning lines. Send over a drink. With her, her muscles more impressive up close and wholly focused on a women’s football match, he’s tongue-tied. And that doesn’t happen often. Must be the moon’s position or something.

He bides his time, staring through the screen like he’s watching, thinking of what to say. Avoids the bartender’s curious gaze.

Then, an elbow knocks his arm very gently.

“Fishlock’s a beast, right?”

Kyle’s head swivels, eyebrows to his hairline. The target of his ill-planned op glances between him and the television.

“Yeah,” he sputters out a second too late. “She’s…feisty.” He could break his glass over his head. Feisty? What was he, eighty years old?

To his delight, she laughs, and a rush of heat flares in his stomach at the sound.

“Understatement of the century.”

He chuckles in disbelief at his luck. She gives him another smile. Fuck, he is done for. 

“You want to join me? Had a friend cancel, and I hate watching alone.”

“I’d love to,” he says, dropping into the empty stool probably too quickly. Their knees touch, but she doesn’t pull away. He fixes his eyes on the screen after placing an order. He watches the Welsh battle the Ukrainians, absorbing as many names and numbers as possible. His phone burns a hole in his pocket, and he can’t help but wonder how soon he can excuse himself to the toilet to read ten articles on women’s football for a refresher.

When she chimes in with a comment or a jeer, he does his best to reciprocate. Using talents he’s cultivated for infiltration and interrogation to string along a conversation in which he has no business participating.

It goes swimmingly until—

“There y’are, thought I’d have to find a bloodhound.”

Soap.

Kyle shifts in his seat, leveling a stare he hopes both contain whatever bullshit Soap’s preparing to spew—heaps, judging by his awful smirk—and communicates an unsubtle do not fuck this up for me. 

“Who’s this?”

Kyle opens his mouth, apparently in preparation to insert his own foot. He hasn’t gotten around to the name bit yet. Too busy learning about women’s football in real time. He looks sidelong at his would-be companion, another soft smile coming to his rescue.

She introduces herself, and he tries not to tack on a silent Garrick at the end of it, just to feel how it sounds. Christ, beyond done for.

“Pleasure to meet you.” She says.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, I’m sure. Name’s John, and this is–”

“Kyle. Like he said. Pleasure’s mine.” He offers a hand without hesitation, grinning when she takes it. Nearly groans at the calluses on her palms and fingers. Didn’t know he was into that. He smirks inwardly. Hm. Learning several new things today, Gaz.

“Are you…also here to watch the match?” She asks, gaze flitting between them.

He stares hard at Soap again and witnesses the devil himself whispering into the Scot’s ear. It’s truly an act of divine intervention when the other man shakes his head.

“‘Fraid not. I’ve got to run along, but Garrick’s all yours tonight.” He winks unctuously, waggling a brow to really sell it. “If you don’t mind watchin’ him.”

She smirks and pats his knee. “I’m sure I can handle him.”

Soap looks downright rakish. “Oh, I bet you can. See you in the morn, Kyle.”

He’s torn in two: she’s touched his leg and Soap’s cheek about tomorrow. The idiot lives a door down. They’re both on for PT at 0500. Dickhead.

“He’s friendly.” She muses as they return to the match.

“Too friendly. Like a failed police dog.” He mutters.

“Hmm. Does that make him a bad soldier?”

It takes effort not to choke. Their career, generally speaking, isn’t a secret, only their activities. Still. “Smart guess.”

“Despite his creative haircut, you’re both decently cut and we’re, what, twenty minutes from a base? Plus,” she shrugs. “His tattoo. Giveaway. I would’ve said ‘reenactor wannabe’, but your reaction confirms it.”

Kyle’s tongue swipes behind his teeth. She gets better by the minute. “Yeah? And, uh, what do you do for work?” Something physical, he bets silently. Something that necessitates her kind of build or creates it. 

“I’m a tailor.”

Or…not at all.

He can’t stop himself from blurting out. “So the muscles are—“ He abruptly stops, fingers gripping his drink tightly. Sweet Freddie Mercury. Forget smashing a glass over his scalp, he’ll vault through the front door headfirst.

“Powerlifting,” she proudly shares, setting her cocktail down to flex. Her muscles jump beneath her skin, straining into a mesmerizing landscape of strength and power. “My main hobby. If I could make money off it, believe me, I would,” she swings her frame forward and twists, showing off her traps. “But I learned how to sew and alter clothes when I, uh, outgrew conventional sizes.” Disdain paints the word. “Everything I’m wearing I customized to fit me, and me specifically.”

“Genius.” he says simply, mind half-blank when she turns forward again, flexing her biceps and forearms toward her lap. So she’s good with her hands.

A fist uncurls, and a finger crooks up. His face lifts to a smug smile.

“Impressed?”

“Thoroughly.” He swallows.

Her eyes drag over him, slowly and methodically. Picking him apart like a piece of meat. He suppresses a shudder. Yet another thing he didn’t know he liked. 

“How much do you weigh?”

A simple enough question. One he’s asked every so often, especially in medical, in between formal physicals. Coming from her, however, it’s an invitation.

And it is.

Straight into her arms.

Half the pub’s watching when she hoists him parallel to the ground, overhead, and squats. For a brief moment, arms crossed over his chest and back rigid, he swears he hears The Time of My Life. When she returns him to solid ground, to the cheers and toasts from the small crowd, he might as well still be in the air. Heavenbound. Preparing to meet Peter.

Eventually, the atmosphere calms, and he finds himself thigh-to-thigh with his strongwoman. They watch the remainder of the match, chatting—mostly about sports and work, but a bit about the little things—he’s not too thick when she offhandedly mentions knowing the neighborhood well. That her place is a few streets over.

He needs to be back on base before sunrise. He tells her as much outside the bar after the Welsh suffer defeat in penalties. He can relate to the feeling, knowing Soap’s gonna give him hell and Price will ream him out if he’s hungover. 

“Kyle, you’re cute, but we’re not at the sleepover stage yet,” she teases, picking invisible dust off his shirt. “I can give you a lift when you’re ready to leave.”

Strong. Witty. Confident. Can absolutely rip him in half. There is nothing he doesn’t like about her. So, so fucked. 

He grins stupidly when she beckons with a finger, beginning to walk toward her place.

“Premium?” He jokes, following. “I don’t settle for anything less than top-tier car service.”

“Not that kind of lift,” She answers, looking over a sculpted shoulder. “Fireman or princess?”

Kyle almost stumbles.

“Yes.”

#gaz x reader #gaz x f!reader #kyle gaz garrick x f!reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz feeling flustered over a muscular and strong woman is Very Important to me #may or may not have channeled my *own* feelings about meeting women that could shot put me to the moon

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.  

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first. 

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind. 

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first. 

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you. 

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say. 

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways. 

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume. 

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be. 

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say. 

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said. 

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter. 

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky. 

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding. 

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by. 

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say. 

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says. 

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.” 

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently. 

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up. 

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality. 

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you. 

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized. 

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

#kaiser x reader #kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you #michael kaiser #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #fake dating #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

[aquagirl1978]

As most of you who follow me probably know by now, it was announced yesterday that this guy's sequel will be releasing on the 3rd of July. I thought it would be fun to celebrate him with a Route Release Campaign (I've never hosted one of these things for a route release so I'm stealing the name from @yanderepuck)

This will be a one week long event starting on June 25 and ending July 1. This event is open to writers, artists, and everyone in between. Prompts may be posted in any order throughout the event. Feel free to create for as many or as little days as you like.

When posting, simply tag me and state that this work is for this event. If anyone would like to use a banner, I have made one that you are free to use at the bottom of this post.

Now I know not a ton of people write and create for Chevalier (yes, I know he is difficult), so I'm going to add a slight twist to this event to entice more to participate- any works posted during this event do not need to be strictly Chevalier x Reader/Emma. As long as Chevalier is included in some way, these works can be just about anything - family interactions, a day with the foreign affairs faction, a love triangle, Clavis and Cyran digging traps and Chevalier scolds them. This week is about Chevalier - but I know there is more to him than just his relationship with Emma.

This event is SFW only and open to all - you'll notice most of the prompts do not lend themselves to NSFW works.

Works including OCs are allowed and I encourage you to share those creations as well.

Thank you to @chandeliermichel who helped me come up with this prompt list - I've included below some explanations/ideas for each prompt.

Day 1 - Love : Who/what does Chevalier love? what does love mean to him?

Day 2 - Family : This can include past, present, and future interactions with family members. Chevalier as a child, Chevalier as a parent.

Day 3 - Royalty : What does Chevalier's life look like as King? You may include interactions with foreign princes in this prompt (sorry, I don't have a "friend" prompt for that other guy).

Day 4 - Roses : Rhodolite is the Kingdom of Roses. A bit of a free space here.

Day 5 - Library : There's not many things Chevalier loves more than his books. This can include him reading, being gifted a new book, spending time in his library.

Day 6 - Dance : For a guy who doesn't like social interactions, he dances quite a bit in his route. This can include attending a ball.

Day 7 - Simpleton : This is the one day that is only for x Reader/Emma creations - I think this prompt is self-explanatory.

I have created a banner - it is free for anyone to use during this event.

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #otome #otome games #ikemen fanfic #ikepri fanfic

[phoebe-delia]

Friend!! For the writing prompts… let’s see. How about……. good luck babe by chappell roan. Or if you don’t want a song prompt, how about: pool day / cookout / bank holiday weekend etc

✨💛✨💛✨💛✨💛✨ to you dear friend!

Oh, oh Elaine, @oknowkiss you know the way to my little writer's heart!! Thank you for the prompt options, my lovely friend. What a great selection! I do love a good angsty song prompt, especially one with these themes. This is Drarry gold; I'm not sure why I didn't think of it sooner, to be honest.

Based on "Good Luck Babe" by Chappell Roan. Big big thank you to my darling @basicallyahedgehog for looking this over. cw: angst, unhappy ending, implied infidelity (not really between Harry and Draco)

"I don't think this is working."

Draco's fingers freeze in their task of buttoning up his shirt. He blinks at himself in the mirror once. Twice. "I'm sorry?"

His eyes shift to Harry in the reflection. Draco feels a bit disgusted with himself at the immediate rush of affection for him; for this man with his cotton shirt and boxers, now nervously running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

"I've had a great time with you these past few months," Harry says. "But I don't think this will work out. I'm sorry if that's not what you want to hear, but you deserve the truth."

Draco’s speechless for a long moment before he asks, “And what is the truth, Harry?”

Harry looks away, and Draco nearly snaps at him to at least have the decency to make eye contact while breaking his heart—but he doesn’t.

“The truth is that I don’t think this will work out,” Harry says carefully. “There are certain…responsibilities and considerations I have to make—”

Draco scoffs. “Bullshit. It’s because of her, isn’t it? You’re leaving for her.”

Harry flinches. “N-no. I just…”

“You’re a lot of things, Potter,” Draco says coldly, fingers moving quickly to finish buttoning his shirt, “but a coward hasn’t been one of them. Until now.”

“Draco, please—”

"Fuck off." Draco grabs his wand and strides out of the bedroom.

He heads for the door, but Harry beats him to it, blocking his exit. “Just wait—”

“Get out of my way.”

“No, Draco, not until we talk about this.”

“What's there to talk about? You already said this isn't working. Why try to fix what you purposefully broke?” Draco spits the last word like poison, relishing the way Potter winces.

"I just want to explain."

“No! You said I deserve the truth, but the truth is, I pity Ginevra," Draco sneers. "She’ll get your name and your ring. But she’s got no idea she’ll be marrying a man who closes his eyes and fucks her while thinking of men,” Draco's sneer twists into a cruel smirk. “Of me.”

“But....I love her,” Harry whispers.

“You love her like a sister, Potter.” Draco reaches forward, using a finger to lift Harry’s chin until their eyes meet. “But she could never make you feel the way I do. No one can.”

Draco surges forward, capturing Harry’s lips in a heated kiss. Harry gives in immediately, and he barely seems to notice when Draco flips them around and presses himself against the door.

He pulls away, panting against Harry’s lips, and reaches one hand behind himself to grasp the door handle. “Have a good life, Potter. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

With that, Draco opens the door behind himself and steps backward. He slams it shut, but the last thing he sees as the door closes is Harry, staying silent, but with one hand outstretched, reaching for him.

Send me a prompt! See the guidelines here.

#getting prompts from your talented friends is a surefire way to help get your writing confidence back lemme tell ya #probably inspired in part by me watching the Ashley Madison documentary lol #phoebe tries to write again challenge #cw: unhappy ending #cw: angst #cw: implied infidelity #drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco and harry #harry and draco #draco x harry #harry x draco #draco/harry #harry/draco #draco malfoy and harry potter #harry potter and draco malfoy #draco malfoy x harry potter #harry potter x draco malfoy #hpdm #drarry squad #drarry fic recs #drarry fanfic recs #drarry fanfiction recs #hp fic #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction

[st-dorothy-minority]

For the Day 6 RadioApple week prompt of "Dance," that could give me a good excuse to try and write an idea I had awhile ago.

Charlie holds another show & tell bonding exercise while Lucifer is visiting. She asks Alastor if he has anything to share, hoping he'll participate for once, and he explains that he'd love to show off his talent of dancing, but alas, there is no one present who would be up to par to help him demonstrate a waltz. Thinking he's off the hook, he's surprised (and pissed) when Lucifer calls his bluff and offers to be his partner (and Lucifer says it with a shit-eating grin because he knows Alastor's pride won't let him back out).

Charlie is ecstatic to see her dad volunteering to participate AND that Alastor is getting involved!

Alastor does try to skirt around the offer by claiming Lucifer won't know what to do, and they don't have the right music....(just getting out the excuse generator).

Lucifer shuts down every single one of them, which just thrills him more and more and irritates Alastor more and more.

Alastor gives in (to which Lucifer is over the moon about because he "won"), and they argue a little over who's going to lead. Alastor wins that since it's his talent.

And so they dance a very elegant waltz. And by the end of it, they're both craving to scurry off to Alastor's room and hatefuck each other.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fic #radioapple #appleradio #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #alastor/lucifer #alastor x lucifer #my ideas #alastor

[seiya-starsniper]

Dreamling Week Day 5 & 6 (Soulmates/Monochromatic)

This one is more of an idea for now, versus a full on fic, but when I saw the prompts for Days 5 and 6, my brain ran away with this concept. I honestly don't know if I'll ever get around to writing it myself, so if someone else wants to give a go, be my guest 😄

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

Soulmate AU where Hob sees color for the first time when he meets Dream in 1389. 

In this AU, due to their initially short lifespans, nearly all humans believe that you can only have One Soulmate. When you meet your soulmate, you'll immediately know, because that is when your vision goes from black and white to seeing in color.

Immortal beings however, such as the Endless, along with gods, the fae, etc., know that a "soulmate" is just a person with whom you can form a deep and life changing bond with. Most beings have multiple soul bonds, sometimes simultaneously, though only the first one grants you the power to see color, while any subsequent soul bond grants its own gift, depending on the nature of the relationship.

Because humans have such short lifespans at first, most humans don’t even meet someone with whom they can form a soul bond with before they die. There is also religious rhetoric that claims soulmates must be romantic in nature, or at least married.

When Death takes Dream to the White Horse, Dream senses his potential connection with Hob immediately. He is disinterested in forming a bond at first (his last human soul bond was Nada, and that left a poor taste in his mouth for obvious reasons), but then he hears Hob brag about never dying, and suddenly Dream is interested in his new potential soul bond.

Hob, at this point in time, has been told his entire life that his soulmate would be his future wife, so imagine his utter SHOCK when Dream appears. At first, he thinks he's going to Hell for having a man as a soulmate, but then he stops caring as they talk more, and then he's hopelessly charmed. They agree to meet in 100 years as normal, but then Dream leaves without giving Hob his name, and Hob's too drunk to notice he just let his soulmate get away.

Hob spends the next few years looking for Dream, mourning that he was too drunk to really have a properly conversation with his soulmate, but then 100 years go by, and now Hob thinks he's soulmates with the Devil so 1489 goes something like this:

“Why can I see color? Am I really soulmates with the devil?” “I am no devil.” “Then what are you? And why aren't I long dead?” “You said you wanted to live forever. So you shall. And I am interested.” “In me?” “In your experience.” “My…experience?” *lightbulb moment* “You want to know what it's like.”

Their meetings go much the same way, with Hob thinking for a bit that in order for him to continue being immortal, he has to prove himself "worthy" of his soul bond with Dream, whose name he still doesn't know. He meets his other soul bonds (Peggy, Eleanor, etc) over those centuries, and he loves each and every one of them, but Dream, the one who gave him colors, will always be the one that means the most to him. He realizes that maybe he no longer needs to prove himself to his first soul bond, maybe they can have something more than just a conversation one every 100 years.

Dream naturally, gets upset at the very notion (he's still reeling from how poorly everything with Nada ended) and so he storms out in 1889 as usual. When he gets capture by Burgess in 1916, Dream is not only cut off from The Dreaming, but from Hob as well, and so Hob loses the ability to see color. Hob, not knowing what's happened to Dream, thinks that somehow, Dream has died, even though soulmate gifts don't leave upon death. His fears are confirmed in 1989 when Dream doesn't show up for their meeting. Hob mourns, but he can't forget Dream, so when the White Horse is shuttered, he buys out The New Inn anyways, so that there's always some sort of memorial for Dream near the place where they first met.

Then 2022 rolls around and Dream walks into The New Inn and BOOM, Hob can see colors again. Cue a very romantic reunion 💖

#dreamling #hob x morpheus #dream x hob #dreamling week #dreamling week 2024 #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling #truly have no idea if I'll ever get around to this but I do love the idea of it

[keirawantstocry]

Prompt ... . ..qtubbo getting super drunk and he does the emotional/affectionate drunk thing and he messages fit trying to apologize for ruining his and pacs date and trying to drive them apart. And he's completely incoherent and fit thinks something must have gone horribly wrong for tubbo to be saying all this

was feeling bad ab how short these were turning out but then i started this one, was possessed and frantically writing and wrote like triple the word count of the last one. godbles

Fit was about to go to sleep when his com buzzed with a new message. He groaned, tossing over in bed to grab it, squinting at the bright light in the dark room. After a few moments of blinking to adjust his eyes to the light, he was able to read the message. 

im so sprry for fucking with u and pacs date man. i want uou guys to be all happy and i like seeing yku happy. which si so fucking cringe. i fucking love u man 

Fit sat straight up, eyes flying open. Tubbo? he messaged back. Is everything okay? 

i jsuts miss you i miss mirnring crew i love ryou 

Fit threw the covers off in a hurry, pulling on the first pair of pants he could find and not wasting time in grabbing a shirt. He whipped out his warpstone and faded into purple sparks. 

“Tubbo?” he called out as soon as Fobo was starting to appear in his vision. 

Instead he was greeted with Foolish looking confused at him. “Hey, Fit. Whatcha doing here?” 

Fir gestured vaguely down. “Tubbo…” 

Foolish's eyebrows shot up. “Okay booty call, I respect it.” 

“No! No, no,” Fit spluttered. “That's not what this is. He was just messaging me and I was concerned, I swear. He was just messaging and-” he cut himself off. “Can you just tell me where Tubbo is?” 

Foolish nodded, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “Yeah, he's in his bedroom.” 

“Thank you,” Fit said quickly, rushing past him. 

“Be careful with him,” Foolish called as Fit ran out of ear sight. 

“IT'S NOT A BOOTY CALL!” Fit protested again but he was closer now. Standing at Tubbo's door and he was throwing it open and finally there was Tubbo. He was splayed out on his bed, hair a mess with a dark flush high on his cheeks. 

“Fit,” he whined as soon as he spotted him. 

Fit let out a sigh, relaxing ever so slightly. Tubbo was okay, he was alive. “You're drunk,” he said, holding back a laugh. 

Tubbo chuckled. “Whatttt. No the fuck I'm not. I'm not drunk. Also you're hot do you know that?” He groaned as if saying that embarrassed him and turned over to bury his face in the pile of pillows at the top of his bed. 

Gently Fit shut the door before walking over to settle on the corner of the bed. “Do you have any water in here?” 

“I don't need water,” Tubbo said, incredibly muffled. 

“Oh yeah? What do you need then?” Fit teased. His heart was finally beginning to settle into a calm consistent beat. 

Tubbo pushed himself up, propping himself on his elbows to stare at Fit. “I need to be kissed.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Tubbo sighed, pulling himself the whole way up, trying to get as close to Fit as possible. “I need to be kissed. Actually. Fucking scratch that.” He reached out to trail his hand over Fit's shoulder. “I need you to kiss me.” 

“Me?” Fir repeated, embarrassed at the squeak his voice made. 

“Yes, you fucking buffoon!” 

And Tubbo was grabbing his face in both hands. 

“Please,” he begged. 

He smelled of alcohol. But not soaked in it. He was certainly tipsy or he wouldn't be this openly emotional but he was far from wasted. 

“You really want it?” Fit asked, searching his eyes. They looked like the line where the sky and sea met, turbulous and lovely. 

“Yes.”  

“One kiss,” Fit said softly. “Then you promise to drink water for me, yeah?” 

Tubbo nodded earnestly before his eyelids drooped shut and he leaned in. The kiss was meant to be feather light but Tubbo leaned into it hard. He tasted of cheap beer but in that moment it was the most wonderful flavor in the world. Fit felt his head begin to spin, his heart begin to race. He had never felt more alive. 

Tubbo pulled back with a smack of his lips. He looked dazed and Fit was sure he looked quite the same. “Fuck you.” 

“What the hell,” Fit said in a disbelieving laugh. “That was what you wanted wasn't it?”

“Not the right result,” Tubbo huffed, falling back into the pillow pile. 

“What result were you hoping on?” Fit asked curiously.  

“End of it,” Tubbo muttered, shutting his eyes and draping his arm over them. “Thought maybe if I kissed you I'd stop wanting it so bad.” 

“And it hasn't stopped?” Fit asked, hearing the breathlessness in his own voice. 

“Want you more than ever,” Tubbo muttered with a half groan. 

Fit felt as if his head was spinning as the explanation to a million unanswered questions narrowed down into one clear answer. “Me too.” 

Tubbo froze before yanking his arm over his face. “Are you serious?” 

Fit just nodded, not trusting his own voice. 

Tubbo stared at him a long moment before tugging on his arm. “Lay with me. It's too late to be discussing this. Tell me you want me again when I'm sober.” 

Fit laid down with no complaint and although he was sleeping in pants with a tipsy man who stunk of alcohol, he couldn't remember the last time he slept so peacefully. 

#qsmp #my writing #fanfiction #poly morning crew #q!tubbo #q!fit #fitbo #happy ptide month everypony #fitbo kisses for the soul

[dayseternal-blog]

Hello DAYS8!

If you didn't know this will be the 4th question/rec I will have for you!

I only noticed this on NightOwl's story but I do wonder if you ever made a Naruhina recs centering around stories where it's narrated on Naruto's Perspective?

Now, now don't look at me like that okay? I do love when the story is in Hinata's perspective most of the time but reading fics where Naruto's the one feeling it and seeing the story unfold is a one of a kind thing and I know there's only a few stories or fics you will think of about this one. But I do hope you can find some fics though, I'm kind of craving for such fics these days.

I'm rooting for you to find a LOT hehe! Thank you DAYS8 and....

Please pray for me to finish my naruhina one shot! TT~~~TT Lol!

I hope you finished your one shot! Especially since it's been over a year since you sent this 😅

I don't know what face you're expecting from me? I love writing Naruto's perspective. A lot of other people do, too...

I think you're referring to

"Weird Hinata" by @nightowl27-writer - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. Naruto thought Team 8 was out on a mission, so why is Hinata here in the middle of the night? And what is up with her new mission gear? How did she get a key to his place? Is she getting naked!?!? Who is this weird Hinata!?

I love that one! If you haven't read these yet, I think you'll love them, too, because they have that "Naruto feeling it" aspect you mentioned:

"Casual Touches" by @lunawrayth - Rated M, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. It's the casual touches that do it.

“Misfired Attempts of an Uzumaki” by Transient Joy - Rated T, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. Happy Birthday Hinata! In an attempt to celebrate Hinata’s birthday, Naruto causes havoc along the way. At age 5 he pushes her down a hill, at age 9 he almost poisons Hinata and gifts her weeds, and age 13 was a failure. Can Naruto make it right this time? Or will everything crash and burn in it’s wake?

Chapter 32 from “Between the Trees” by @utsus - Rated T, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. NaruHina Prompt: (because it was hot as heck here today) how about NaruHina and bathing suits.<3

“Call Her Mine” by @peppercornpress - Rated G, Canon-Divergent, One-shot. Post-war NaruHina one-shot. Naruto is NOT oblivious in this.

“The Red Scarf” by peppercornpress - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Just two people who realize how they feel for each other. That’s it.

and not to be conceited, but I think you'd like the ones I wrote if you haven't read them yet:

“Nightdreams” - Rated E, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto and Hinata find comfort in each other after the war.

“Tell Me of Forevers” - Rated T, High School AU, Two-shot. Delinquent Naruto is trying to change himself for the better.

Mostly/Only Naruto's POV

“Heart-Shaped Sticky Notes” by the point - Rated T, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. Naruto’s life had always been spontaneous, always going and doing something. It’s good, then, that Hinata’s able to give him some stability in the little notes she leaves for him. But one day, there is no note. Suddenly, Naruto’s life doesn’t make sense.

Untitled for NHMonth 2015 Day 5  by @flowerslut - Rated G, Canon-Compliant (?), Short one-shot. Prompt: Laughter.

Untitled for one-wayward-girl by flowerslut - Rated G, Canon-Compliant, Short one-shot. Prompt: Naruto seeks out Hinata after the fight with Pein.

“Flipped” by @cajuncherrybee - Rated G, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. In which Naruto is the blushing mess and Hinata is the oblivious one.

“Common Side Effects” by katarinahime - Rated E for a lot of things, Crime/Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto and Hinata, in a struggling relationship, must confront the pain inside before they can love each other.

“Music” from “Naruhina Week 2017” by @hinatamyqueen - Rated T for language, Modern AU, One-shot. It’s Sakura’s birthday, so as per tradition, she gets to force Naruto and Sasuke to do whatever she wants to do.

Untitled by @jadeandonyx - Rated T, Modern AU, One-shot. Prompt: 4. teacher/single parent au + 5. one night stand and falling pregnant au

“The Forever Girl: Naruto’s Story” by @cherryjutsu​ - Rated G, Soulmate AU, Two-shot. The feeling of watching everyone around you grow old and die, while you stay young, is something that can never be forgotten, that is, until love finds you.

“The Ramen Booth” by @chloelapomme - Rated E, College AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Years have passed since her unanswered confession in intermediate school, since his humiliating hazing incident in high school, since blossoming popularity drew their attentions away from each other. Yet time has only sharpened friendship into painful longing, even as their time runs out with the approach of the university fundraiser. Can 7 Minutes in Heaven at a crazy flat party be enough time to clear the air between old best friends?

"In-laws" from "Some Type of Love" by chloelapomme - Rated E, Modern AU, One-shot. "Boy, I'm tryna meet your mama on a Sunday Then make a lotta love on a Monday"

"Thunderstorm" from "With You in the Future" by chloelapomme - Rated E, Canon-Compliant, One-shot. Naruto fought against the odds for most of his life. However, today, he goes where the wind decided to lead him; Hinata’s arms. and "Dirty Little Secret" and "Promises" from WYITF

"August - Cultures/Around the World" from "Still Falling For You" by chloelapomme - Rated T, Modern AU, One-shot. "Diversity is not about how we differ. It is about embracing one another's uniqueness" - Ola Joseph

“Powerless” by bunny-hoodlum - Rated E for a lot of things, like depictions of violence and character death. Multi-chapter, Incomplete. His family’s past can’t be taken at face-value, and it comes clawing back to hurt him in ways that are out of his control.  DELETED FIC.

A good deal of "Postscripts" by WaterRolls is in Naruto's POV - Rated T, Canon-Divergent / Various AU, Series of unrelated one-shots. Mostly humor but will have occasional drama. Slice of life, romantic fluff, family bonding, what-ifs, AUs, angst.

"Permission to Engage" by WaterRolls - Rated T, Canon-Compliant, One-shot. Our romantic leading man tries to propose, but things just don't go the way he plans.

"Resolution" by WaterRolls - Rated T, Canon-Compliant, One-shot. On a mission with Sai and Rock Lee, Naruto reflects upon his relationship with Hinata, then a brush with death and an encounter with a stranger leads him to make a decision.

WaterRolls writes a lot in limited 3rd Naruto's POV, so go through her profile.

"Lessons" by utsus - Rated T, College AU, One-shot. Prompt: Class president Hinata and delinquent Naruto.

“Chapter 5″ from “Between the Trees” by utsus - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, One-shot. Prompt: Can u do an angst prompt where hinata gets rlly hurt and naruto gets rlly mad and ends up crying in front of the kids? maybe an old enemy please?

“Chapter 6″ from “Between the Trees” by utsus - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, One-shot. Prompt: Can you do one where they are in battle can be sometime before they have kids or after but hinata is close to dying (still survives) and naruto freaks out and tries to help her u know what I mean??

Several one-shots of Between the Trees by Utsu is in Naruto's perspective.

“Day 22: Technology” from “A Love Story Like Never Before” by @journalsofagoddess - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, One-shot. It was the same feeling he always got when she left on missions. He felt useless that he wouldn’t be able to be by her side to protect her from everything and anything. But he was here now and he wouldn’t let anything hurt her. He promised.

"Drunk in Love" by @wickermayne - Rated E, Canon-Compliant, One-shot. Naruto and Hinata's wedding night.

"Fill" by wickermayne - Rated E, Canon-Compliant, One-shot. “I was thinking, Naruto-kun, now that I’m fully settled in, living with you…I was thinking that we should try.”

VulgarAssassin/Wickermayne writes a lot with mostly Naruto's pov, so if you don't already read his stuff, you should! Mostly smut.

“Tainted and Possessed” by cafrye017 - Rated E, Demons/Angels AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto, enslaved by the Sanctified for his Forsaken blood all his life, learns that he holds a power great enough to one day change the system, but he’s not on this journey alone.

“101 Ways to Make Hinata Hyuuga Faint” by Keidra369 - Rated T, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto finds out early on in the academy that he has an amazing talent. He can make Hinata faint! Now he is determined to find all the ways to make her faint. Starts in academy years and ends sometime in their married life.

“Picture Frames” by Forever_in_Your_Heart - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, One-shot. They say it’s healthier to give up, but he is Uzumaki Naruto and he never gives up. (Can’t. He can’t, not this time)

Untitled by @jadeandonyx - Rated T, Modern AU, One-shot. Prompt: 4. teacher/single parent au + 5. one night stand and falling pregnant au

“If You Said You Loved Me” by destiny’s sweet melody - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, One-shot.  Naruto begins to realize he took her feelings for granted and now he’s too late.

“Ravenous” from “NaruHina Month December 2022” by @sessakag - Rated E, Modern AU, One-shot. “Hinataaaa,” Naruto pouted, leaning inside the open bathroom door, “you ready yet? I’m starving!” and "Can You Read My Pain?" and "Turning Point" and "A Drunk Mind Speaks a Sober Heart" and a bunch of others in NHM2022.

Sessakag also writes a lot in Naruto's pov. If I go through linking every one-shot, I'd be here all night.

“Down the Rabbit Hole” by @vegebulsoup - Rated E, Modern AU, One-shot. Despite his protests, Jiraiya takes Naruto out to a hostess club for his birthday and it’s not quite what he expected.

That's a lot and there's way more, but I'm kind of tired now 😅 in any case, if you've read the people who are active here on Tumblr, including my own stuff, you'd find a lot of NaruHina fanfics with limited 3rd Naruto's perspective.

Happy reading!

#anon #naruhina fanfic recs

[cozyknights]

Hello friends! I am introducing commissions so I can make my car payment and buy groceries,

Hi everyone! I'm a queer/trans/latine writer and artist looking for freelance work so that I can make my car payment on June 8th. I have a bachelor's in creative writing so I can write pretty much anything for you. I also spent 2 undergrad years studying Studio Art and have been a self-taught digital and traditional artist for my entire life.

Commission me to draw you/your pet(s)/your blorbos!! These can be digital or traditional portraits/illustrations. Sliding scale, starting as low as $20. Examples:

Or

Commission me to write you a poem, song, fic, article, essay, etc. this is my ao3. Sliding scale depending on what you'd like, starting as low as $25. If you've been imagining your blorbos in scenarios™️, I can make that a reality for you!!

I am also open to making podfics/voice overs, playlists, or amvs, so if you're interested please send me an ask for more info! I'm a really creative person and I have so many passions so, chances are I could make that specific thing you've been wanting (:

Still want to support, but can't/don't want to commission me for any reason? Here is my ko-fi if you'd like to leave me a tip instead! This is the pay-what-you-can option since I know times are hard right now for a lot of people. Anyone generous enough to tip me can send me a simple prompt for their favorite character and I'll draw you a quick doodle as thanks!!

Anything helps, even spreading this post!! Thank you for sticking 'til the end, and have a wonderful day!!

PLEASE FILL OUT THIS COMMISSION FORM TO ORDER A COMMISSION FROM ME

#artists on tumblr #commission info #artwork #im not sure what else to tag this with! #destiel #bbc merlin #merthur #star trek #spirk #oc art #oc

[beevean]

Honestly, while Michiru Yamane seems to be physically uncapable of composing a track that is less than great, I think I understood the reason why CoD has my favorite OST, even more than the highly popular (and also slappin’) SoTN

The tracks aren’t just well composed, and they don’t just have excellent instrumentation: I can picture perfectly Hector’s state of mind during the events.

Abandoned Castle isn’t just an “entrance” theme: usually entrance/first level themes are supposed to say “here’s your new badass protagonist, have fun!”, but this one sounds much more serious, the cold guitars and synth conveying Hector’s grief and determination to embark on his quest for revenge. The only other “character” themes that IMO convey the same level of emotions are An Empty Tome and Lament of Innocence.

Garibaldi Courtyard isn’t just a “cathedral” theme: the whole piece conveys awe at the place, but I also hear an unbearable sadness that I can’t even put into words. I can’t even connect it to the game, but it makes my heart swell and I am in love.

Forest of Jigramunt isn’t just a “forest” theme: the instruments paint a beautiful picture, of light shining through the foliage, but the intensity of the melody implies that Hector pays it no mind as he’s deadset on his vengeful mission, his anger tainting everything.

Cave of Jigramunt isn’t just a “cave” theme: while rather upbeat, the discordant chimes, deep choirs and strings manage to convey a “cursed” mood of a place you shouldn’t dwell in for too long. When you remember that this place hides a statue of the Evil God that gave Dracula his powers, it makes perfect sense.

Cordova Town isn’t just a “town” theme: the slow rhythm, the sound of the guitars, the thumping bass and the harshness of the synth (the same that plays in Abandoned Castle) don’t just fit the decrept look of the place, but also they make me imagine an exhausted Hector dragging his sword to the ground, only pushing forward because he has spotted Isaac in the distance.

Eneomaos Machine Tower isn’t just a “clock tower” theme: the piece starts with an elegant piano, but it gradually builds up to something more tense, until by the end of the loop the pressure of the journey is on Hector’s shoulders, who is literally forced to fight time. It’s also perhaps the only clock tower theme to feature a prominent clock sound, which helps the immersion. (special shout-out to the official rearrangement Narcisisstic Reflection; a better translation of the name could be “Recollection of Aestheticism”, and it fits how utterly beautiful and poignant it is)

Dracula’s Castle isn’t just a “final level” theme: after the harp intro, I keep picturing Hector throwing himself up the stairs, slashing all monsters without a second thought, heart racing because it’s all his fault, Dracula is back and it’s all his fault, Isaac played him like a fiddle, he can’t afford to make a single mistake now! (the fact that he sounds more guilt-ridden in the Japanese script makes me feel vindicated lol)

Insane Aristocracy isn’t just the theme of the fight against Isaac: it encapsulates his fury, violence and all-compassing madness, and the solo, that echoes the melody heard in the intro, barely gives more breathing room, to convey the tragedy of his situation. You could also choose to see it from Hector’s perspective, as he’s also enraged to fight his old friend, only to then realize “this is not him. This is not the Isaac that I knew. Something’s wrong. But I still must kill him”.

Legendary Belmont isn’t just the theme of the fight against Trevor: it’s the theme of Hector being petrified with fear as he realizes he’s locked in a room with the monster of a vampire hunter that slayed Lord Dracula, and wants him dead too. You can just feel the sheer panic and difference in power, thanks to the strings and the heavily distorted guitar.

Sarabande of Healing isn’t just a “shop” theme: it starts off as cozy and serene, because the place becomes like a little sanctuary for Hector, but then the celesta gives place to cellos, that you can choose to still see as cozy (I can see Hector resting in the chair as they play) or sorrowful, to paint Julia’s pain that she goes to great lengths to hide.

A Toccata in Blood Soaked Darkness isn’t just Dracula’s theme: it’s a seamless combination of Dracula’s imposing power and anger (the organs) and Hector’s determination to face him like a man this time (the drums), and the major chord midway through is a beacon of hope that Hector is now strong enough to defeat his old master. (side note, its older sibling Dark Night Toccata seems to go for the opposite approach: the organs fit Leon’s grief while the strings and drums fit Walter’s pompous, sadistic nature, and the piece is overall less hopeful. It’s interesting to compare the two, and LoI has a magnificent OST as well)

tl;dr i owe michiru yamane my whole life

#castlevania #curse of darkness #i don't know what prompted me to write this #i just. like music i guess

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

#yeehaw #1k #5k #10k #posts that got cursed. blasted. im making these tag updates after... 19 hours? #also i have been told it should say speech loss bc nonverbal specifically refers to the permanent state. did not know that! #unfortunately i fear it is so far past containment that even if i edited it now it would do very little. but noted for future reference #edit 2: nvm enough ppl have come to rb it from me directly that i changed the wording a bit. hopefully this makes sense #also. in case anyone is curious. though i doubt anyone who is commenting these things will check the original tags #1) my friend did not do this on purpose in any way. it was not intended to distract me or to hit on me. im a lesbian hes a gay man. cmon now #he felt very bad about it afterwards. i thought it was hilarious but it was very embarrassed and apologetic #2) “why didn't he use 🫵🏼?” didn't exist yet. “why didn't he use 🆗?” dunno! we'd been using a lot of hand emojis. 👌🏼 is an ok sign #like it makes sense. it was just a silly mixup. also No i did not invent 👉🏼👌🏼 as a gesture meaning sex. do you live under a rock #3) nonspeaking episodes are a recurring thing in my life and have been since i was born. this is not a quirky one-time thing #it is a pervasive issue that is very frustrating to both myself and the people i am trying to communicate with. in which trying to speak is #extremely distressing and causes very genuine anguish. this post is not me making light of it it's just a funny thing that happened once #it's no different than if i post about a funny thing that happened in conjunction w a physical disability. it's just me talking abt my life #i don't mind character tags tho. those can be entertaining. i don't know what any of you are talking about #Except the ppl who have said this is pego/ryu or wang/xian. those people i understand and respect #if you use it as a writing prompt that's fine but send it to me. i want to see it #aaaand i think that's it. everyday im tempted to turn off rbs on it. it hasn't even been a week

[party-at-jacurutu]

the sudden urge to scream and cry out for a tangibility that will never be again, brought on by a fleeting vague smokey taste of a brushfire or the burning of yard waste in the crepuscular hours of a hot august moment. it taunts me with its will-never-be's, a flavor clinging to the back of my throat that no swallow clears. i am forced to remember its pleasure and forced to remember it will never be again all in every gulp.

#these sound like mars volta lyrics #i don't know what prompted me to write this #saudade #i guess

[euthymiaaa]

— responses to "are you happier?" ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

making this prompt while listening to joji hit bro LOL, enjoy!

➳ "no, not without you"

➳ "what about you? you tell me first"

➳ "please, don't make me answer that"

➳ "how could i be when there was a possibility of us being happy together?"

➳ "we both know the response to that"

➳ "i think you should ask that to yourself"

➳ "do you genuinely want to know?"

➳ "if i say yes, would you try to take it away from me?"

➳ "you could have kept that question to yourself"

➳ "how dare you ask after knowing the damage you have committed to both of us?"

➳ "are you trying to rub the salt in the wound?"

➳ "yes, i'm glad things eventually turned out this way"

➳ "happier than i can ever be"

#imagine your otp #otp prompts #dialogue prompt #otp ideas #writing scenarios #angst dialogue #romance prompts #angst prompts #light angst #i don't know what overcame me i just knew i had to write more angst help

[spielzeugkaiser]

[First Part] - [second]

Baby (who still has no name) is warming up to Geralt, who also starts to connect some dots. (Like, I think he suspects that he's Jaskiers son, adopted or otherwise, but he won't even humor the idea that he could be the dad.) That being said - the kid is an angry teenager sometimes. Jaskier tried all he could as a single parent and they have a very loving relationship, but I also think they do argue quite a bit, and there is some tension.

And the more he gets to learn how Geralt truly is the weirder is gets, cause. He's a good guy? And either Jaskier is petty and was too dramatic and kept him from meeting his dad for nothing, or Geralt isn't a good guy AT ALL and has hurt Jaskier really bad, and he doesn't think Geralt has it in him, but some people (and especially alphas) get really weird and archaic around omegas? And he had to witness again and again, with how little respect his unbonded, single father of a bastard child was treated - is Geralt like that too? But Jaskier still only ever talked somewhat kindly about him. And from all he saw... he trusts Geralt. He's a quiet, but witty and honorable man. But is it fair to doubt the parent that was there for him, that raised him, that sacrificed so much for him? The poor kid is so conflicted.

#please tell me your headcanons and prompts about this 'verse it's just vibes so far and like 10% plot #geraskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher #ciri #omegaverse #geraskier lovechild #jaskier #i don't know where this came from #but I imagined the kid as quite sickly (which is ironic) - Geralt does not really remember that he was sick as a child all the time too #also I do think Jaskier can play the lute but it's no fun for his fingers and he switched to other stuff over the years #I'm quite sure that Jaskier kept a low profile after the Rience incident because he was TERRIFIED by the thought what could have happened #also I really wanted to look at this with a kind of more realistic lense when it comes to parentage #and Jaskier did all the things right where it counts #He's loving he's emotional open he communicates - but would Jaskier always be a reliable parent? a structured one? an easily available one? #I don't think so #professor Jaskier can work for hours on end and forget to get you on time from your play date so you have to awkwardly wait and #he forgets to cook and to wash and it's always messy and once he writes he writes and gets annoyed when interrupted #but he also tells bedtime stories and stays at your bedside when you're ill and plays with you when you moved AGAIN and have no friends yet #he's easily pulled into arguments but also knows how to apologise #but he lies again and again #and he tells heroic and brave and honourable stories about your dad but still has a chest with your unsend letters and looks so so sad #when you put another one in his hands #and he never tells you to stop but doesn't send them and you know your Papa would be too kind to ask you to stop #ALSO #I think the kid is old enough to understand some of the inherent consent issues that are rampant in omegaverse #and while I imagined that 'verse here a bit tuned down #I think that the kid has seen and heard some shit! and what if Jaskier in only talking kindly of Geralt to soften the blow for him and- #kid is 100% ready to break Geralts nose if it turned out that he forced himself on his pa #(which he did not ofc but nobody communicates here)