#not to because he wants the easy out so badly. anyway i love him he was my favourite character all season no notes

[i-heart-hxh]

During the shinju scene,meleoron mentions theres something killua cant tell him, what is it that killua couldnt tell him?

from what i seen,shinjuu isnt always romantic,was it he couldnt tell meleoron he was going to die w gon because of his romantic feelings

The line

meleoron:‘if you joking,whyd u have that incredibly sad look on ur face(talking about when he was observing killua with gon)’ ‘you cant tell me,so i wont ask’ or in different translations its ‘cant you tell me?’ But in the original japanese its about being unable to tell somebody something

Hello!

So, I decided to just post (most of) these two pages because I think seeing the art and layout of the actual pages helps with understanding exactly what's going on and also analyzing it. I also went and looked at the pages in Japanese just to see if anything stood out. Aside from the famous shinjuu line, the translation seems fine.

Just to summarize and be clear before I launch into further analysis: In this scene, Killua says (with a rather dark expression) that the worst case scenario is he and Gon die together in a lovers suicide. Killua sees that Meleoron is rather vexed/taken aback/discouraged by this response and doesn't know what to say, so then Killua immediately claims he's just kidding and that they'll be okay after all, and he knows how to snap Gon out of it.

Meleoron then internally doubts that Killua is kidding about this, because he was there when Gon said the "It has nothing to do with you," (essentially) line that pushed Killua away, and he saw how heartbroken Killua looked by that. He then decides it's not worth asking because Killua clearly doesn't want to be honest about his feelings, he can't or won't express what he's going through, so he backs off.

I'm glad you brought this up because it's a piece of the whole shinjuu scene that people don't talk about as much, but this whole exchange and Togashi bothering to show Meleoron's reaction to it in the first place says a lot about the importance of the scene. If Meleoron didn't pause and connect this to Killua's earlier heartbroken moment (and notice how it takes up literally half of the page--it's important!), it would be easy to read on past it without thinking about it more deeply.

In other words, this further exchange with Meleoron is emphasis. It's there so the readers don't simply gloss over what Killua said about the shinjuu, and so the readers understand that he means it, that no matter what he says to the contrary, Killua is in fact serious about this possibility. It's there to slow things down enough so the readers can reflect on and ask their own questions about the situation.

I'm sure this is why Togashi bothered to put Meleoron in the scene with Gon pushing Killua away in the first place--there was no other reason for him to be there, other than being an observer of this moment and standing in to ask these questions.

Meleoron--an outside observer without as much context for Gon and Killua's relationship as the rest of us--wonders what's going on here, why Killua looked utterly destroyed by a few simple words. But because he saw Killua's immediate urge to lie and say it's a joke when he hesitated, he knows Killua won't open up to him about exactly what's going on, why Killua was so devastated by what Gon said to him and why Killua intends to do a teen lovers suicide with his best friend if all goes badly. Meleoron is definitely pointing out (in his view, anyway) that there are feelings behind this that Killua is unable and unwilling to talk about. Is he implying they're romantic feelings? I mean...

This happens so much in Chimera Ant arc around Killua's feelings. Togashi leaves it open-ended, doesn't spell it out blatantly, but it seems like the question is being asked over and over again--what exactly are the nature of Killua's feelings for Gon, anyway? And there keep being these moments where the concept of romantic love is conjured in some form in connection with or around this unspoken question being asked, like multiple instances in the Palm subplot I've talked about a bunch of times now. (Linking to that post in particular because it links to a lot of other Palm subplot related posts.)

Even the way Killua asks if Gon considers him a friend or a comrade, asking What are we? basically is essentially a shoujo trope--and especially how it was presented, very dramatic with a lot of focus and emphasis on Killua's internal turmoil around asking the question.

There are just so many times in this arc where emphasis gets placed on a question of, What are your feelings for Gon anyway, Killua? in an indirect way, including this moment with Meleoron. It's repeated so many times and there are so many instances where there's some subtext around or even direct mention of romantic love hovering around these questions, it's basically daring the audience to answer.

It's true that shinjuu can be non-romantic in some cases, however the word choice is meaningful. Togashi knows what the implications of it are, especially in a literary sense. He could have chosen other ways to phrase this, he could have opted not to use this word in particular. If it was presented completely in isolation from any other romantic subtext, there would be more of an argument to be had for it just being included in a platonic sense, but with how much repeated romantic subtext there is with Gon and Killua's relationship to begin with...I think the word choice is very intentional.

I hope that answers your question!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #killugon #gonkillu #gon #killua #meleoron #meta #my posts #asks #anonymous #long post

[melzula]

Okay I have an request

So like we are azula and zuko sister and we adored by both but like in the catacombs we choose gaang over azula and zuko of this and please can y/n x sokka and now zuko now wants to join gaang and yeah I am not good with words I hope u understand what I said😁

Y/n can be a firebender or non bender its ur choice anyway

a/n: okay so there’s a lot to tackle in this request which is why i chose to do it as headcanons so i hope you don’t mind !

summary: being the middle child isn’t easy, especially when your siblings are Zuko and Azula

As the only non-bender and middle child of the royal family, you never felt like you mattered

You were the Black Swan of the palace, a disgrace to your father and his image

You kept to yourself, staying in the shadows and out of his way while your siblings took the spotlight

However, just because your father looked down upon you didn’t mean your siblings shared his sentiment

In fact, they adored you

Zuko was an attentive older brother. He let you follow him everywhere, defended you against anyone who dared speak badly about you, and was your shoulder to cry on whenever your father was feeling particularly cruel

He saw you for who you were, and who you were was an intelligent, kind, talented young woman meant to do great things in her lifetime

Azula, while being particularly mean to Zuko at times, never once treated you the way she saw her brother

Despite you being a nonbender, she surprisingly never speaks down to you or makes you feel less than

It could be because she doesn’t see you as competition as she does Zuko, or maybe she truly does just feel genuine sisterly love for you

Maybe it’s because whenever she felt your mother was unfairly favoring your brother over her, you were always there to assure her that she was a wonderful bender and just as important

Maybe it’s because sometimes she wished you could be her mother instead

Whatever her reasoning, Azula sees you as a comforting presence in her life. She seeks your validation constantly almost as much as your father’s, and she’d do anything to protect you and your honor

Things became worse for you when Ursa left. She could no longer intervene when your father felt like tormenting you, and your siblings knew better than to say anything in your defense. Shortly after her banishment, Ozai deems it best to send you away to the academy since he has no other use for you

Your departure is hard for both siblings. Zuko is gutted that he can no longer be there to protect you or look after you. Though she acts as if she couldn’t care less, Azula is devastated at your leaving. Her source of comfort is being ripped away from her, and she has no one to look out for her

At the academy you learn various forms of physical combat and weaponry wielding. You’re especially fond of using tanto swords in battle and they’ve become your weapon of choice when in a fight

Zuko and Azula send you letters during your stay at school behind your father’s back updating you about your home, their lives, and their annoyance of each other. You keep every single one they send, and it eases the ache of your home sickness

It’s also at the school that you learn of the Agni Kai and Zuko’s banishment. Your heart breaks for your older brother, and you’re devastated at the fact that you never got the chance to say goodbye and you may never see him again. He still sends letter for a time, but as the years pass they become less frequent and almost nonexistent. Azula’s letters follow the same path

Years pass and your father deems it time for you to come home. Now that you’ve made a decent fighter out of yourself he finds your worthy of being his daughter again

However, your stay is short lived. Azula recruits you to be part of her little team to capture the Avatar and your brother, and you don’t really have any other choice but to agree

You downplay how skilled you are in fighting so that she doesn’t expect much from you and force you to do too much of the work. You don’t want to go against her, but you also don’t want to have to fight your brother and your uncle

You also don’t exactly feel good about destroying the world’s last hope for peace

And that’s why, when the time comes, you choose the Avatar over your siblings

You’re tired of being pulled back and forth, of always being stuck between your siblings with no real purpose, of not being able to do anything for yourself

Zuko is astonished by your choice and conflicted. Just when he finally had found his way back into the family you chose to leave it. Why were you doing this? Why were you ruining everything?

Azula is furious. Your betrayal hurts worse than mother’s. You’d always taken her side, always comforted her and supported her, you’d always been there, and now you were leaving. How dare you leave her?

“You fool!” She’d cried, angrily sending a blast of blue flames your way knowing you wouldn’t be able to stop it. If not for Iroh, surely her strike would have ended you. The fact that your own sister was willing to hurt you for the cause was enough proof to know you were making the right decision

You help the Avatar escape and join his group, vowing to help them in any way you can to win the war. Your fighting skills and knowledge of the Fire Nation makes you a big help and they appreciate your assistance

It doesn’t take long for you to win their trust and acclimate into their group. You become fast friends with everyone, growing especially close to Sokka who may or may not have a huge crush on you

He definitely becomes your shoulder to lean on when things get tough, because he knows it can’t be easy for you to just leave all you’ve ever known behind. you struggle constantly over having to choose the Avatar over your siblings, but he constantly assures you that you’ve made the right choice

Least to say your departure makes Zuko’s return home even more conflicting and turmoil filled. How can he enjoy being back home when you’re not there to enjoy it with him? How could he be happy knowing his sister was out there risking her life to help the Avatar?

Your decision definitely inspires his own to leave the Fire Nation and aid Aang and his friends

Your abandonment of your siblings also fuels Azula’s descent into madness, fueling her fire to continue her mission to capture the Avatar

It’s a rough position you’ve found yourself in, but it’s not like your whole life hasn’t been you stuck in a terrible spot

Being the middle child is hard, especially when your siblings are Zuko and Azula

#melzula writes #request #zuko #azula #sibling!reader #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #zuko x sibling!reader #azula x reader #azula x sibling!reader #atla #atla x reader #atla imagine #atla headcanons #avatar the last airbender

[gffa]

I REALLY LIKED ALL OF THIS, where Jason fucked up by killing the kid’s dad because he was an asshole who didn’t give a shit about his kid or the kid’s mom, so he and Bruce have a knock down drag out fight about it, because Jason isn’t supposed to be killing anymore, but the kid he helped bodily throws himself in between the two of them. I love this because it doesn’t forget that Batman is genuinely good with traumatized kids in moments like this, that’s the whole reason he does what he does, he genuinely cares about the pain they’re going through and knows what it feels like.  He has never forgotten that, and I love that kid responds to it--but also that it helps Bruce realize what’s going on with Jason on a deeper level here. I don’t think that Bruce’s “no killing” rule is as rigid as it’s sometimes easy to believe, but that it makes more sense to me that it can’t be about saying it was right and justified, it can’t be something you would say you would do it all over again if given the chance.  As soon as he gets that Jason regrets it and knows that he fucked up, even when Jason says the guy deserves it, it’s easy to see that Jason wishes he hadn’t done it, that it was a mistake. And Bruce sees that, too.  He instantly stops fighting Jason and offers to help get the kid into a better situation, not just throwing him into the system, but finding a better place for him, and dropping the matter of Jason killing the kid’s dad. I mean, Jason still just murdered a civilian in a moment of rage, that Bruce is willing to look past it because Jason regrets it and because Jason clearly is hurting over the kid’s situation mirroring his own so closely, but I feel like that says a lot about their relationship.  Bruce is controlling and he’ll come down hard and I don’t blame Jason for still being so angry, but it’s also true that Bruce lets up when he admits it was a mistake, and I think it’s so clear that Bruce is bending his morals for Jason because he loves his kid and so badly wants to bring him home, that seeing Jason protecting a kid, seeing Jason regret his mistakes, that’s a punch right directly to Bruce’s feelings even if they still have so many jagged edges that won’t fit back together for a long time. Anyway, I just think it’s fascinating to see what Bruce is willing to forgive, when it comes with Jason’s own regret and what that means, given Bruce’s hard stances on a lot of the morality issues they face.

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #batman #red hood #bruce wayne #jason todd #batman: urban legends

[cosmal]

Hi, could i make a request for Eddie Munson, an angst/comfort one where he cries the first time reader kisses him? Because he's never ever been loved like that, and he didn't realize how touch starved he was until the gesture overwhelmed him? 🥺❤️ Love your writing

𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 — 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

thank you!!!

summary — eddies first date with you doesn't go how he'd planned and he hadn't even expected a kiss. still, you kiss him because you want to.

warnings/tags — fem!reader, touch starved!eddie, eddie's never been on a first date before

word count — 2.3k

In Eddie’s opinion, his first date with you goes to shit.

If he could sit here and say that he’s surprised, he would. But he’s not. He’s Eddie Munson, things don’t go to plan for him like they should.

He was a nervous wreck to begin with, how he’d even scored a date with you in the first place is beyond him. Though he can’t attribute much credit to himself anyways, you had asked him out.

Sitting in Steve Harrington’s backyard after a swim, you start to tell him about this new, fancy restaurant up behind the arcade. It’s just opened and,

“Would you want to go there sometime? I heard their pasta is delicious.”

He had to get you to repeat the question, his ears were full of water and he was sure he’d heard you wrong.

He psychs himself out for the better half of his afternoon, so not only is he late to pick you up, his old, dingy, stupid van breaks down before it can even make it out your drive. You tell him it’s okay, it’s a nice night, we should walk. Eddie tells you that he shouldn’t have you walking all the way into town in those shoes.

“What’s a few blisters if it means I get to spend more time with you?”

Your kindness does nothing for his thrumming heart.

Once you’re at the restaurant he forgets to open the door for you. You don’t seem to mind, of course, you don’t, but Eddie has a checklist of gentlemanly dues he feels he must achieve to impress you. It’s stupid, really stupid, but he’d be damned if he messed up such an amazing opportunity.

You sit and chat for a while, waiting for your meals, and the entire time he thinks you want to hold his hand. Your manicured hand keeps inching closer to his over the white tablecloth, knuckles almost brushing, and he’s too nervous about making the final move to tangle his fingers through yours.

Then you say something terribly, awfully kind to him. Something about his hair, how it looks really nice tonight. How you’ve always loved his hair.

Eddie spurts his soda out over his glass and gets it all down his white shirt. Yeah, his white shirt. Something he’d begged Harrington to let him wear.

“Please, man. I don’t have anything nice to wear tonight. I can’t exactly show up in my Judas Priest shirt that’s covered in bleach.”

“You could show up in a brown paper bag and she’d still think you were the hottest thing out.”

“It’s not that easy for me. I need to impress her.”

Eddie had wiped the soda from Steve’s shirt, feeling utterly stupid and you had laughed like it was the cutest thing you’d ever seen.

You’d laughed when he’d choked on his spaghetti. Smiled kindly when he offered you to try his food and you’d reminded him for the second time that night that you were allergic to tomatoes. To top it off, you’d pretended it was no big deal that he had accidentally left his wallet in his van and that you had no problems paying for dinner.

“Really, Eddie. It’s fine. Just get me back next time.”

The thought of a next time was enough to stop his racing thoughts for just a moment. Not for long though, because watching you pretend like your feet weren’t aching on the way home had Eddie cursing himself the entire walk.

How could he fuck up so badly and how could you be so calm and kind about it?

Now, standing at your front landing, he’s apologising profusely for how horrible he’s made your night.

“Horrible?” you question, eyebrows raised and skin glowing if it's entirely possible. The setting sun casts you amber.

“I don’t know,” Eddie stammers, “It didn’t go how I wanted it to.”

“It didn’t?” you question again. Your voice is pitched up and its melody has his brain spinning, “How were you expecting it to go?”

“I’d have expected not to forget my wallet. And maybe have a van that works,” Eddie can’t help but laugh at his stupidity. Especially when you’re making the same face you have been all night. A smile that looks like it could ruin him.

“I don’t know,” You reach forward and take the hem of his shirt in your fingers, playing with the thread. “I had a really good time.”

“You- you did?” Eddie stammers. Suddenly you’re really close, if it’s because he’s been too deep inside his own head he hasn’t noticed you inching closer, he’s not sure.

“Yeah,” you nod gleefully, hair bouncing.

“Yeah,” he echoes. More to set it in stone himself.

Eddie watches where your fingers play with his shirt, the closer they inch towards his skin, the louder he thinks his heart becomes in his ears.

There’s a silence that you hate, “Hey, Eds?”

Eddie’s breath hitches. You’ve never called him that before.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. Voice quieter than he’d like to admit. Any louder and he feels as if you’d step back from him.

He looks up and catches your gaze before you speak, “Can I kiss you?”

Eddie doesn’t know how to reply. He’s never even been asked such a question before so he can’t even pretend he’s got an answer somewhere in the back of his numb mind.

His heart thrums in his throat, feels as if it might escape, “You want to kiss me?”

You nod like it’s the most obvious thing ever. To you, it is, to Eddie it’s unimaginable.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

The moment your lips press into his, he freezes. Not in a bad sense, his mouth still moves. He still shows you how much he wants to kiss you with his tentative and loving lips. But he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They flex at your side until you’re cradling his face in your own.

Your touch is warm, warmer than your lips and it almost burns. Burns so much that his eyes well with tears and he gasps into your opening mouth.

Your face suddenly feels wet and you can feel a sob making its way through Eddie's throat. You pull away, “Eddie? You okay?”

He slams his eyes shut to will away the tears, fisting at his hair when he pushes it behind his ears, “M’sorry,” he sniffles.

You reach up to cradle his face again, wiping hot tears away from his flushed cheeks, “Hey, it’s alright. I had a great night. Promise.”

He shakes his head, “No,” he swallows, “No, it’s not that. I’ve just. I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“Oh.”

Eddie feels stupid. That is until you say,

“Oh, Eddie. Hey, c’mere.”

Eddie lets himself fall too willingly into your arms. Has no problems this time when you wrap your arms around his back and pull him as close as possible. Close enough that his hair presses so hard into the skin of your neck that he expects it to be embossed.

He grasps at the back of your shirt a little too hard. Pressing his nose into the skin behind your ear, sniffling wetly.

“It’s okay,” you murmur into his head, “I had I really good night and I think,” you pause and let him rub his cheek into your shoulder, “I think I’ve wanted to kiss you for a really long time.”

He pulls back and you think he has the prettiest eyes. Despite them being glassy and the tiniest bloodshot. “Yeah?”

You lean in and peck him right above his top lip, overthe plush of his cupid's bow, "Yeah."

“You think you'll want to try it again sometime?"

You smile brightly, "I think I do. More than you think."

"Way more than I think."

#eddie munson #eddie munson headcannon #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader

[angelzai]

Chuuya nsfw alphabet please

nsfw alphabet - chuuya nakahara . . . .ᐟ

NSFW CONTENT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 2.2k

cw: gn!reader - no explicit anatomy mentioned, dom!chuuya, experienced!chuuya, nicknames (baby, doll, sweetheart), marking, unprotected sex, graphic descriptions of cum, cum swallowing, mentions of public/semi-public sex, mirror sex, praise, nipple play, finger sucking, teasing, dirty talk, references to overstim and light bondage

reid: your mind anon. this was so embarrassingly easy to write. for all intents and purposes osamu dazai is my pookie my snookums my dearest my darling my one true love but damn i do kind of want his boyfriend too. enjoy

. . . .ᐟ

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

a is for attentive, actually

chuuya’s a gentleman. it’s whatever you want. the whole nine yards.

you want cuddles? conversation? a massage? a shower? a towel? music? tv? your hair braided or played with? wipes? water? wine? a cigarette? silence? sleep? the first thing he says after he lets you ride out your final orgasm is always “what can i do for you, baby?”

if his busy schedule allows, he prefers most to settle in and be in silence with you, soak in your presence, and just breathe you in until you both fall asleep

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

probably his neck or his hips and waist, since those are where and how you pull him further into you; mark him up in these spots, please <3

he loves those parts of himself also because you can lock your thighs/calves/ankles around him so easily and wonderfully

that being said, chuuya worships your thighs. always grabbing them, squeezing them, clawing them, smacking them, kneading them, gripping them, kissing them, biting them. i am a thigh man chuuya truther

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

pretty and almost translucent spurts

lives and breathes to pump you full <3

please let him cum down your throat

will have you stick your tongue out to make sure you swallowed all of him (watching you do this will get him hard again instantly)

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

wants to fuck you in a meeting so badly

preferably one he’s heading

doesn’t want to bring it up for fear of making you uncomfortable, even if you’re okay with public sex - he doesn’t know how you’d feel about him taking you in front of people you vaguely know

but the thought of sitting you on his cock and making you try to stay quiet and still in a room full of his subordinates? unnnghhhhhsnnn

he cannot let himself think about it or he’s bricked immediately

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

i think he’s got a good bit of experience! definitely not trying to push my manwhore chuuya agenda

doesn’t really know how many people he’s fucked, doesn’t really think it’s relevant information. what’s important is that he knows what to do with it

he’s the type to have a one night stand from months ago still trying to get his number. that’s how good he fucks

even if it’s casual or even if it’s rough, he has a way of making sex feel so comfortable and passionate

literally husband dick

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

anything that optimizes how deep he can go <3 doggy, mating press, hot seat . . .

9/10 times there is a pillow beneath your hips

specifics aside, he just really loves having your legs over his shoulders

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he is not goofy.

at least, not in a deliberate, ironic way. if you’re laughing in bed, it’s a breathless giggle because everything he does is so charming or dreamy or romantic

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

a true ginger call him fire crotch when he’s already mad and watch smoke literally come out of his ears anyway

he prefers to shave everything except for a little patch that connects to his happy trail <3

he doesn’t care what you do. man is thrilled to traverse the jungle if it means he gets to taste you

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

again, even if it’s just a hookup, he has a certain charm and natural way of making sex feel so special . . . so imagine what he’s like in a committed relationship. i’m foaming at the mouth

does he fuck or does he make love? how about both every single time. he just takes such good care of you, whether that means setting the bar for your wedding night or throwing you around and destroying your insides <3

extremely attentive to your actions and reactions. will come to understand the sounds you make almost like a language of its own and he is fucking fluent

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

looks so alarmingly beautiful while he does it.

long, languid strokes while he runs his other hand through his hair

his abs flex and twitch and sometimes his tongue lolls out a little while his mouth falls open and his head tips back to let the prettiest moans leave him

doesn’t masturbate often with you around; when he does it’s usually so you can sit across from him and watch while you touch yourself, too <3

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

mirror sex

praise

nipple play

finger sucking

biting/marking

put it all together, and . . .

imagine the arc in your back while he fucks you from behind against the bathroom sink. you better not take your eyes off yourself, he tells you. and you can’t even protest to tell him he’s too gorgeous for you to only watch your own reflection because he’s got his middle and index finger pressing down on your tongue while his thumb holds your jaw firmly in place. his other hand reaches around you to alternate between your nipples - he tweaks them, flicks them, rolls them between his fingers and leaves it to you to hold yourself up while he does this, all while he sinks his teeth into your shoulder and groans all gravelly and hot into your ear about how filthy you sound, how good you’re being, how tight you feel, how perfect you are.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

his office hands down

a little bit of an exhibitionist

it goes hand in hand with letters d and q - the looming threat of maybe getting caught balls deep in you drives him crazy

big fan of your/his bedroom too - allows him a pleasure that sex in his office does not, which is your loud and uninhibited moans and mewls <3

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

seeing you in any of the expensive clothes he buys you!!!

he of course keeps your taste in mind when he shops for you, but at the end of the day he’s buying you that high-waisted pant/button up shirt/platform shoe combo because he knows your ass is gonna look delectable in it

would also love to have you wear a chain with his initial on it - whether it’s a necklace, bracelet, anklet . . . catching a glimpse of it dangling off you from the right angle has him dragging you off to fuck so he can bite it between his teeth while he’s in your guts <3

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

chuuya will scarcely let you dominate him. he’s not completely opposed to it all of the time, but it’s a little more vulnerable than what he prefers. plus he likes his control, even - no, especially when he’s letting you think you have the reins

understands and values the psychological importance of aftercare - he never doesn’t do it.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

chuuya loves seeing you on your knees for him.

loves making you suck his fingers like you would his cock before he actually lets you on him.

he doesn’t need to fuck your face - all he needs is your dedicated tongue on his tip, a hand on his balls, maybe a finger or two in or around his hole . . . ugh he busts so fast

referring to c - bonus points if you swallow every last drop of his cum <3

talks you through it deliciously

“that’s it, doll, wanna see you work for it.”

“eyes up here, baby, look at me.”

“you’re gonna swallow all this cum, ‘kay?”

he returns the favor eagerly, don’t you worry

an absolute animal when he’s going down on you. his nails in your hips, his hands gripping your thighs, his fingers playing with you when he’s not spreading you apart

eats you like he’s starving and will not stop even after you cum.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he’s all over the place.

he’s really good at slow and sensual foreplay, but when he’s actually in you or tasting you he can’t hold himself back

whewwww you both gonna be sweating.

tries to save slow, sensitive sex for special occasions . . . but he usually builds up to fast, frantic fucking anyway

passion on 100 regardless. he is going to take you to heaven

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

loves. loves loves loves loves loves.

loves sitting you on the kitchen counter and cumming in you before he leaves for work

loves sneaking away with you on his breaks to rail you in a supply closet

loves seeing how many times he can make you cum before the meeting he has to be at in twenty minutes

loves bending you over his desk like he doesn’t have a few of his subordinates on their way up to his office to drop off a report

loves bouncing you up and down on his cock in the car ten minutes before your dinner reservation

truly whenever he can. chuuya <3’s quickies

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’s down to try anything once, period.

communication is the most important thing to him - experimentation and risks just need to be discussed beforehand

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can go three or four rounds at a time, each lasting anywhere from less than 10 to up to 30 minutes; he’s usually pretty impatient to see you falling apart on him <3

it’s a different story if he’s only going down on you. he can do it for hours. you’ll lose track of time, numbers, colors, your own name and birth date etc

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

chuuya definitely owns some high quality rope and a pair of thigh-to-wrist cuffs <3

for you, of course.

he doesn’t get tied up unless you really, really beg him

will occasionally let you tie his wrists while you ride him <3

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

likes to tease you verbally more than he does physically.

he’ll try to hold off on making you finish, he really will! but most of the time he just can’t help giving you what you want.

what he’ll do is make you cum for a third or fourth time with hardly any effort and then throw it in your face - “so needy for me, huh?” “barely takes anything to have you squirtin’ all over me.” “think you can give me a couple more, doll?”

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

can’t help the fact that he whimpers.

so much pretty, breathy whining and cursing - it almost takes the bite out of his domineering sometimes . . .

(lots of “ah- ah! fuck, fuck, fuck fuck f- fuck! y- yes, ugh . . .”)

. . . but he makes up for it with how his voice drops almost an octave when he talks

big talker.

“swear you were made f’me.”

“fuckin’ take it, sweetheart. doin’ so good.”

“ngh, fuck- gonna make you cum all over this dick.”

so much of your name <3

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

sometimes he’ll cum so hard he blacks out for a few seconds. that’s all <3

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

thick.

like a fucking can of coke bitch.

6.5-almost 7 inches hard, curves upward the tiniest bit, pretty and tan with a sensitive red tip

v-line to fucking die for.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

higher than a goddamn kite

he is down to fuck you 24 hours a day 7 days a week 365 days of the year for as long as you’ll let him

just. insatiable. so greedy. takes everything you give him every single time and eats it up. cherishes it like keepsake. burns it into his mind and thinks about it at work the next day and gets himself so horny he’ll have to jerk off in the bathroom and send you a picture with the tagline “look what you do to me”

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

it just depends if he’s sleepy or not! he absolutely can stay awake, get up and moving, go back to work, whatever

but as mentioned before it is his favorite thing to do after - if he’s sleepy, you’re sleepy, and his chaotic life graces him with the time and peace, he will fall asleep with you in his arms so fast.

regardless, he’s so clearheaded after you make each other cum <3 he just adores you so much

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya smut #chuuya nakahara smut #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs smut #angelzai original.ᐟ #devilzai hours.ᐟ #mdni

[lionar0und]

Dada! - Leona fic

Leona has some conflicted feelings about his baby This is mostly my late night rambling

Warnings - Fem reader Kinda, mostly leona and cub centered, Small doses of traumatized Leona

Special thanks to @queen-shiba for all her help. Thanks Bestie!

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

Leona loves his sleep. It's a known fact that he almost loves sleep more than he loves his wife.

Almost. He certainly loves her enough for-

"Dada!"

There she is. Leona has...conflicted feelings about being a father. His wife wanted a cub, so they had a cub. He wanted to continue his legacy anyway...but Seven, he's struggling.

It was fine at first - mildly unnerving, but fine. You were struggling, and he hated it. But you wanted Melody so badly. He can't ignore the adrenaline rush he felt when he first felt his cub kicking; or the jolts of joy whenever he held you, arms around you and holding your belly.

But now that she's here?

She's beautiful. She's everything he never thought he could love that he would live for. He'd die for her to but dying is just sleep to him...and sleep is easy. It's numb and comfortable. But living? Waking from bliss to feed his tiny mewling cub as she wails, face red and tiny fists shaking is hard. Giving up some of his late nights out, facing the embarrassment of her sobbing at royal functions; all those judging eyes watching?

Yeah. That's rough.

Really rough.

Today's rough too - He only just got back from another Spelldrive practice, and now that hes a pro, his energy has to be up to play!

But duty calls.

"DADA!"

"Oi, don't shout at baba," He grumbles weakly, "It's late, nugget."

"I want hair." She huffs. For a second his heart stirs. She has your eyes.

"You have hair. See? It's right here." He tapped her head...and it started again. The instant panic because what if his nails are too sharp? What if he hurt her?

He represses the urge to throw up when remembering the feeling of his own parent's claws raking over his eye.

"No dada. Your hair. Pretty!"

"My hair? Baby, what-" He is cut off by a sharp tug on his hair.

Oh.

"You want locs?" It's more of a surprised gruff squeak than anything else. "You want your hair to look like mine?"

"Yes!" She squeals excitedly, hopping on the bed with him. "Hair like yours!"

Shit. Shit, he doesn't do his own hair! He's a prince, he has a stylist-

"Dada?"

Damn it...look at that sweet face. Funny, he didn't realize Melody had his grumpy face.

"Alright, come here grumpy cat." He quickly grabbed his phone. "Kifaji? Yeah...bring me all that hair stuff my stylist uses and my tablet stand."

===========================================

As Leona works diligently, he silently notes to raise his stylists salary.

Melody is squirmy after a while...but luckily his baby girl is just as nerdy as him. Nothing a chess tournament on TV can't fix. Besides, hes a good multitasker! He watches the how-to video on his Ipad while carefully doing his precious cub's hair and violently judging the shitty chess plays.

How many more clips does he need? This kid has a lot more hair than he thought...

"Almost done?"

"Almost baby." He grumbles, trying to pick up the clip he dropped.

Sevens, his hands are sore! Twisting Melody's hair lovingly yet firmly, he feels that familiar bubble of annoyance. Why can't the royal stylist just do this instead?

Stop it, Leona. He thinks bitterly. Be the dad you wanted. Suck up being tired! You overblotted and still played spelldrive after! This is for your cub!

But it's been over an hour. And he is so, so tired. And he has practice tomorrow.

And his baby girl wants to be just like him.

He tries to ignore the weird feeling in his throat he gets when those doubts creep in again.

Come on man. Just a bit longer.

====================================

Almost two hours later, he's done. He's oddly proud of himself. And his reward?

He gets to go deaf!

Melody is squealing in glee now, running around with her tiny mirror.

"I look just like dada!" The tired dad hears her screaming down the hall. It's making him feel oddly smug, too. He actually did it.

Finally, he can reap his rewards. Snuggled tightly into his bed and using your maternity pillow he stole , he can finally sleep.

"DADA I WANNA PLAY DOLLS!"

...but for his baby girl, maybe sleep can wait until tomorrow.

#twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #twst #twst leona #leona x reader #twst x reader #twst headcannons #twst leona x reader #leona twst #twisted wonderland leona

[kingminie]

until forever falls apart | 01.

pairing: kim taehyung, reader 

genre: angst, exes au. 

warnings: emotional cheating, infidelity, swearing, detailed smut, chain smoking as a coping mechanism.

word count: 11.8k

description: you’ve never been much of a believer in the phrase ‘first love never dies’ but it seems as if the universe badly wants to prove it to you — and you’re absolutely and royally damned the moment you find out that the phrase holds truth. 

or alternatively, you come as a stand-in photographer for your cousin’s prenup shoot and you find out that it’s your secret ex who’s about to get married, and kim taehyung really doesn’t make it any less easy for you. 

01 | ongoing.

Love has always been easy for you — both falling into or getting out of it, but more of the latter, really. 

However, there are things about this so-called ‘love’ that you don’t quite get — will probably never get — and it leaves you in a sticky position when friends come to ask advice that roots from such a concept.

It always ends in a snotty mess and a sigh of I don’t know why I came to you for this at the end anyway. It makes you feel like shit; a clueless, ignorant, wondering piece of shit because how is it that everyone seems to have been looking at love and defining it from a single different lens with a unified perspective, and you’re stuck at seeing it from the other endpoint.

It isn’t your fault you don’t assimilate hurt with loving, is it? It isn’t your fault that you don’t expect to clean up a colossal mess every time love comes to its end. And it most certainly isn’t your fault that when love ends, you let it go. It ended, and that’s that. For you, anyway. So, why exactly, do people fault you for having such a reaction at the conclusion of a relationship?

Why does it seem to be a taboo and something that’s unheard of when a month after a relationship ends, you find yourself not grieving over a love that’s lost? When and why does it seem to have become the standard to mope and pine and cry as if acceptance and moving on is an outlawed concept right after a relationship ends?

That’s because you’re a heartless, unfeeling bastard, that’s why, as your best friend, Jungkook, so likes to put it every single time. And maybe, it is the defeat and the eventual acceptance that people will never see things in your perspective that you just roll your eyes and move on with your day. 

Love, for you, is something that ends when it ends. A wound that closes, heals. It leaves a scar, sure. You remember the hurt, yes. But the initial peak of pain wouldn’t be there again if it healed, would it.

With all that, you’ve become unsure — of what to do, of what to say, of how to act — when people lament over a lost love. Which, at this very moment, is what exactly your sister is doing. 

All tears, snot, and hiccups under your blankets. 

Sobs wrack her body in an uncontrollable shake, a vibrating mess under the sheets as you’re left to wonder what the fuck to do with your hands. But you never get the answer because she wails, head lifting from the blankets, “How could he do that to me? Six years, six years! Six years he threw away for what, a year of meaningless sex with his assistant?” 

You don’t really think it’s meaningless when dear, dear respectable Hyunwoo decides to break off the engagement, but you keep your mouth shut and continue to awkwardly pat your sister’s back. 

Your hand stills just an inch away from her back when she looks at you, wet eyes and mouth set in a downward curve, and whispers, “What should I do now?” She sniffles and you flinch. Because her goddamn snot is staining your bed but fuck, okay, you can’t think about that now, “I love him.”

You hesitate, weighing the words you’re about to speak in your head and thinking about the consequences before settling for a question, “You–you’re not thinking about giving him another shot if he asks for it, are you?” 

At this, your sister remains silent and you sigh because yes, yes she will give him a chance in one heartbeat if the bastard do so much as give her a fucking petal and a printed ‘I’m sorry’ hallmark note.

“You don’t get it.” 

Ah, there it is. 

Of course, it’s always going to come down to you not getting it. 

Maybe your sister sees it, the anger bubbling in your gaze as you glare at her, because she scrambles to sit down with her legs underneath her, knees parallel each other as she kneels on the bed facing you.

And it would have been funny, seeing your older sister like this, but the searing exasperation breaks through and you let it, mouth opening, “No, you don’t get it. See, this is not just a matter of moving the fuck on. He fucked you over, Hana, so much that there’s no amount of apology or groveling he can do to fix that. He fucked his assistant when he’s due to walk down the aisle in a year with you and if that doesn’t spell out how much respect he has for you, for our family, and you still choose to remain blind despite that, then you came to the wrong person because I won’t coddle you.” 

“I care about you,” your voice softens and you see her shoulders slump, “This is not just about my once-it-ends-then-it-ends view on relationships. Hyunwoo did an unthinkable, unforgivable thing and there’s no going back from that. I’m not letting you walk back to the person who lacks respect for a relationship, much less for you. Do you get where I’m coming from?” 

Hana nods meekly, head hanging low before you hear her sniffle once more. It hurts to see her like this and you want nothing more but to pummel the son of a bitch who did this to her, “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head and you let out a breath, all air knocked out from your lungs when she slumps forward, arms snaking around your shoulders as she pulls you in for a tight hug, the phrase of ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ a litany on her tongue.  You squeak as her legs slither their way around you in a tight grip and she lets out a weak laugh that sounded much more like a wheeze before you push her off, feeling a wet blot on your shoulder. 

“I want to be you for a day. Not like you,” she mutters as she gets comfortable on the pillows, your pillows, “But be you entirely. I want this pain to vanish in a week and just forget about him.” 

She pauses, “Maybe after I key his car.” 

The pain doesn’t vanish, you think and tell her. “I just learned how to deal with it, Hana. And it isn’t overnight that I do it. And you will get over it too. Heal from it. Someday, one day.” 

The silence that follows is comforting, and you think she must’ve fallen asleep, just as most do after a good cry. But she hasn’t, you realize, when she rolls over once more and speaks in a quiet voice, “The way you are right now,” she pauses, only continuing when you give her a nod, “is it because of him?”

There are only a handful of people that could fit about who she means, you know that, but you refuse to speak of any of them and opt to ask her a question instead, “Which way that I am exactly are you referring to?” 

“The closed-off you,” Hana replies, a soft tilt to her words, “I had a theory, you know, that you moved on so fast from the relationships you had after because you were never really invested in the people after him. That he broke you, enough for you to place that, whatever you have around your heart that doesn’t allow people to hurt you. You love other people, but you never really allow them to love you as much because of it which makes detachment and parting easier when it ends.” 

You don’t really mean to, but the words Hana speaks are like a vacuum, drawing you into a place you’ve managed to tuck away in the very back of your mind. Memories rush in and you drown in it — of honey blond hair, rectangle smiles, and skin that smelled of oakmoss and jasmine. 

“Am I right?” 

You let out a laugh as you nudge a pillow towards your sister, “You and your unending theories. No, Hana. It’s not because of anyone in particular. This is just how I am, how I think. It’s just unfortunate that it's only the minority that shares the same sentiments as I do.” 

Hana looks as if she’d try to refute before deciding against it, groaning when her phone rings and you raise an eyebrow because who in hell would be calling her at midnight. She shakes her head, twisting the phone around so you can see who’s calling and you see the word Studio and you shrug before she takes the call, only hearing snippets of the conversation and it seems as if it's about work. 

Hana owns a photography studio — a hobby turned business venture with her friends. Your parents were against it initially, deeming it a ‘not suitable’ business for Hana, but your older sister is a head-strong bull and proceeded with her plans without a single support from your parents and of course, because she’s Hana Park, she can make anything succeed if she puts her mind to it. 

“—yeah, you goof, I’ll be right there, don’t worry. Why are you so stressed about this anyway, is this your secret wedding or something?” You lie closer to your sister and she mouths ‘Jimin’ before returning to picking her nails, “I get it, okay. Stop freaking out, I promise to be there tomorrow. M’kay, bye.” 

She heaves a dragged-out, exaggerated sigh just as she tosses her phone on the bed where it bounced, “You know, I’d assume it’s our dear brother’s prenuptial photoshoot tomorrow with the way he’s freaking out over the details. I’d actually think that if I didn’t know of him and his single ass and his emotional attachment to his bachelor title.” 

“It’s Sunday tomorrow, and you’re booked because of that phone call,” You list, “So I can only assume Jimin knows one of them and used his connections to book your exclusive ass into working on a Sunday.” 

Hana laughs, “You’re not wrong. Soyeon made the reservation for November, which is like, a month from now. Jimin moved it for tomorrow in such a rush last week for reasons I don’t know why.” 

“Soyeon?” You gasp, eyes going wide, “You’re not talking about Yang Soyeon, are you? Oh my god, how did I not know about this?”

Your sister snorts, ungraceful and loud, “Who would have expected for the youngest cousin in the family to be the first one to be wed, huh? Date’s set for April next year and I don’t even know who she’s marrying,” But she pauses and a frown mars her features, “I would’ve been the first one to walk the aisle and yet, here I am.” 

Wait. 

“Hana,” you start, “aren’t you meeting Hyunwoo’s parents tomorrow for brunch? To formally call off the wedding? Isn’t that what you came here for tonight, because you were having second thoughts of actually calling it off tomorrow?”

You see the realization dawn upon her, her eyes widening in recognition of the planned confrontation, her mouth dropping to a comical shape of the letter ‘o’ before she sits up so fast you actually ask if her back’s okay and you hear the frantic hits of her nails against the glass of her phone, the worry leaking thickly in her voice as she speaks to multiple people, all of which ending in a frustrated sigh and groan from your older sister. 

“Fuck!” she screams as she disconnects from a call once more, “I can’t find anyone to replace me, everyone’s either booked already or have plans for tomorrow. Fuck, shit, I’m screwed. Jimin’s going to kill me. No photographer’s available tomorrow, what am I going to do now, I—you.”

You still, nailed in place by her stare, “Fuck are you looking at me for?” 

It’s in this moment you feel the doom coming down on you from all the corners of the universe when Hana smiles, actually feeling it that you shiver. She picks up the phone, calls Jimin, asks if 10 o’clock is okay for everyone to gather tomorrow, kisses your cheek good night. 

Kiss of fucking death, you feel like. 

You’re never a morning person — nor do you have plans to become one — and you aren’t used to being awakened by a goddamn wet, slimy tongue licking your face all over. 

Hana’s laugh echoes around your room, followed by hushed good job from her and a shrill bark from her dog (you really did not know how Orion arrived here when the dog wasn’t even here last night), and you are never one to have thoughts of murder so early in the morning but your family has really been testing your limits. But then you remember that you willingly handed over to Hana the passcode to your apartment, something for emergencies and shit like that, but of course, she took it as an invitation to come and go as she pleases. 

Fortunately, she cleans up after Orion’s mess, thank god. 

Rolling over, you prepare to squint as protection against the glare of the sun since Hana had already pulled back the curtains, but you sit up at the lack of the sun’s intrusion into your eyes and see that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. The city that you can see through the glass window is quiet, still in deep sleep. As you should be just before Hana woke you up. 

“Dad’s going to have a fit when I tell him what you’re blackmailing me to do,” you groan, falling back on your pillow, “I’m running his business and here you are making me take photos of people Dad hates, well, by extension.”

Hana does nothing but flash you a grin, “You’re the only one I can trust to be on par with my skills, honey. Besides, I already have Dad booked in the freaking out area ‘cause you know, I’m a bachelorette now.”

You roll your eyes and you move off your bed, making it neat and tidy to which Hana scoffs before grabbing the mug of cold coffee right from her hands and chugging it all down. Looks like you’ll need more than a cup with what you’re going to be faced with today. 

“Is Jimin coming? My car’s in the mechanic, I’m getting it tomorrow.”

Hana nods before telling you just how far Jimin is from your apartment, “About Jimin, actually.” Your sister trails off and you feel an oncoming headache because of course, there’s more. 

“I didn't exactly tell him I can’t make it today so I’m trusting you to, um, calm him down when he freaks? He’s only weak to your charms and absolutely immune to mine.” 

Turns out a little while after that, Jimin’s absolutely immune to the both of you. Especially you.

“No, what the fuck. What—no.” 

Jimin stands frozen, fingers gripping the edges of the kitchen island. His eyes are wide, mouth open in disbelief as he listens to Hana’s explanations of why she can’t go today, her eyes flashing as if to call you for help but you only shrug because there’s really nothing you can do to help her out of this. She made her own bed, might as well let her lie in it. 

It irks you quite a bit though when Jimin starts to become unreasonable despite Hana’s crystal clear explanation as to why she’s unavailable today, and on a typical day, you know Jimin would understand, and would easily let it go because obviously, Hana’s life matters take precedence over a photoshoot that can be scheduled on a different day. Jimin today, however, is extra adamant on not having you take over the shoot and it might have very, just very slightly struck the wrong nerve in you.

“You know, Jimin, if this is a matter of your trust in my abilities, I’d gladly back out of this. I’m doing this as a favor to Hana, I’m not here to help you,” you quip, tight and low as you regard the both of them, “So, if you refuse to accept my help, then call your friend to find another photographer, better yet schedule another one with Hana.”

Hana starts to protest but Jimin shakes his head, turns to you with soft eyes and a pouting set of lips, “I’m sorry, that came off wrong. Really wrong. I swear I wasn’t trying to undermine your abilities, nor am I saying that there is anything to undermine because you’re good as shit at this, maybe even better than Hana, it’s just that—”

He cuts off his ramble mid-sentence as if to catch himself — to keep from spilling whatever his reservation about you being the stand-in for Hana, which you don’t really know what. 

Three things about Jimin are these: he rambles when he’s extremely nervous, fidgets with his thumbs when he’s scared, and refuses to make any eye contact if he believes he’s done something wrong. It’s always one of the three when it comes to him and never altogether. And yet, he stands in front of you, doing all three simultaneously and your heart plummets to the marble flooring beneath you because what is he so scared of, really, to be like this in front of you. 

“Look, if you don’t want me to do this, that’s okay,” You start to speak and Jimin turns to you and opens his mouth to speak when you shake your head. You aren’t finished speaking, “That is, if you have an alternative, if Soyeon agrees to reschedule, I’m sure Hana can fit them right in some other time—” You give a pointed look at your sister who rolls her eyes but nods, “—but if they don’t, you have no choice, Jimin. Unless you want to take the photos yourself.”

Jimin lets out a breath, agrees, and proceeds to call whoever he needs to and converses in a low tone that isn’t discernible to you, but Hana can hear and your eyebrows furrow in concern when her head turns so fast towards Jimin’s direction, panic clear-cut in her eyes as she picks up on whatever it is that Jimin is saying. She curses under her breath, turns ghostly pale before she pulls Jimin into one of the guest rooms, leaving you to your thoughts and your second cup of coffee. 

“You kept this?”

It’s a good three minutes after that Jimin’s voice pulls you out of your trance — your attention previously held by the large black ant that is now on top of an apple. You turn and your breath hitches at the rough sketch of the overly-familiar Pomeranian in his right hand. You shrug, “Jungkook must have left it there when he came over.” 

At this, Jimin raises his eyebrows. Stares at the picture a little bit too long before putting it back in place, under Jungkook’s purple-pink painting of a sunset, to the right of Jimin’s present two years before. He then looks at you, really looks at you, that you become unnerved enough to look away and pretend to busy yourself with some imaginary dust on the counter. 

You know. You know how the framed sketch is too clean, too in place, and too taken care of to be something that your best friend accidentally left behind. And you know Jimin knows this too with the way his eyes turn to you and you fear. Fear that pity would be reflected in them and so you stand abruptly, deaf to the frantic calls of Hana and you head straight to the building basement and settle comfortably on the passenger seat of Jimin’s car. 

You ran because you’re a coward — afraid to face questions you know you have no answers to.

Jimin enters not a minute later, silent and mum, but the silent looks your sibling keeps giving you is not something you miss no matter how discreet he tries to be about it. You brush it off though, citing the tense atmosphere to be the reason he’s doing so. 

But little do you know that this is the first of the many mistakes you will be making — the tiniest among all others.

The theme is simple. Glamour, editorial-esque Vogue-spread motif. Fit for the rich. Something that exudes elegance and opulence. Classy, simple, and elegant. You nod as you skim through the print-out Hana rushes to get to you through one of her employees, one hand busy writing ideas and suggestions. 

It warms your heart that despite all the things Hana has to face today, she hasn’t failed to make everything easier for you, as she always does. And everything’s in accordance, just as they should be. That is, except for one, someone. Jimin really cannot stop himself from shaking and you actually fear the poor boy is turning into a leaf, dancing in the wind, with how he physically cannot stop himself from moving. 

You’ve had enough of it — his nervous fidgeting, the frantic scan of his eyes among the crowd, the unending bounce of his knees — so you move to approach him, just in time to pluck out the cigarette he’s about to light in his hand and he jumps, “Minie, you’re making me nervous here. I’ve seen you nervous but it’s never been this bad.” 

Jimin looks at you and your chest constricts at the face he’s making. A beat, two beats before he lets out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry.”

You think of the exchange back at your apartment, the one where it came off as if he had no faith in you as Hana’s substitute and you let out a small laugh. You know Jimin would never think that. Flicking his chin, you shake your head, “It was me who took your words the wrong way, Min. You don’t need to apologize.”

He looks as if he wants to say more but a car pulls up, red and ostentatious with the way the roof is folded down, and you grin as you see your cousin, a matching upward curve to her lips. 

It isn’t new, really, when you catch sight of her hair — beautiful shades of cotton candy pink and pastel blue glinting under the sun. 

Beautiful, daring Soyeon, the darling of the Yangs. 

You nearly meet your end, though, that day if it isn’t for Jimin cursing and pulling you back when Soyeon isn’t able to stop her car at the designated yellow parking line and she too squeaks a wheeze when she steps on the brakes. The car comes to a stop, and you see her breath does too, before she throws her head back and laughs. 

“You’re fucking crazy.”

She sticks out her tongue before she jumps over the door, her flimsy taupe pants billowing after her. You only manage to let out a yelp of protest before she has you and Jimin in a bone-crushing hug and you feel your chest rasp to get some air in when she squeezes once more before finally letting go. 

“This is a two-people marriage we’re having today, right? You’re not marrying yourself here?” You ask and laugh as she rolls her eyes. It’s definitely her thing and it wouldn’t be a surprise if she did. “I didn’t even know you were in a relationship and now you’re getting married?”

She shrugs, a wide smile still on her lips, “It just happened,” Her eyebrows furrow when she looks over at Jimin who’s uncharacteristically silent and nudges him, “I still won’t forgive you. I know my groom’s your best friend but it doesn’t really give you a free-pass to have him here at six in the morning to get you coffee. Who does that?”

You don’t really hear what Jimin has to say to her because you’re bidding your goodbye to them both when one of Hana’s assistants — the one she had assigned to brief you over all the details of today’s shoot — pulls you from the conversation, apology written all over her face at the thought of interrupting you but as soon as she open her mouth to speak, you dismiss it with an its okay and you signal for her to go ahead. 

“This is the final list of the concepts Hana had brainstormed which one of the client is yet to choose from,” she hands you a thin stack of paper, a portfolio sandwiched between two clear binding covers, “The bride has already chosen the concepts she wants that are to be included for today’s shoot, so, all that's left is to hand the checklist to the groom for the shoot next week.”

Nodding, you skim through the portfolio and shit, it’s definitely good. 

You’re whisked away towards the building, directed towards the seventh floor of the rented building in which you’re told Soyeon’s groom is, handpicking his outfits for the day. 

You give the door a knock, hearing a bustle of people talking on the other side of the door, and when no one answers, you push the door open. You’re immediately greeted by a flurry of people walking back and forth, all of them either with stacks of paper in their arms or Brioni and Gucci suits in tow. 

It’s a mess, a downright mess you want to run from because you haven’t ingested enough coffee to face this. 

Which is exactly why you nearly cry when someone steps in front of you, a neat smile in place and a large cup of iced coffee in one hand, a hand extending towards you, “You look like you need this.” 

He tilts his head once, gesturing inside the room, “I’m Yoongi, Min Yoongi. Jimin texted me earlier that his other sister is standing in for Hana and I assume that’s you.” 

Something feels vaguely familiar about Min Yoongi and you list it off as a passing name Jimin had mentioned in the stories he had told you. 

“There’s a meeting room on the very far left, grumpy groom’s there,” Yoongi smiles, “Nice meeting you, um—”

“(Y/N). My name’s (Y/N), nice to meet you too, Yoongi.”

You think as you walk that there’s no point in going over next week’s concept today since Hana can already make it by the next photoshoot and she would’ve understand better the dynamics of it all if they talk then, but okay, since you’re already here, might as well help all the way. 

Through the frosted glass of the meeting room, you see a silhouette, tall and broad. You have never been a people-person and meeting new ones really isn’t your strong point so you take three deep breaths, hand tightening on the cup of coffee Yoongi handed you, before pushing the glass door open. 

“Hi, I’m sorry I ran a bit late. It’s—” 

And you stop. 

You stop because you suddenly can’t feel the cold cup slipping from your grip. You stop because you feel the liquid pool at the very bottom of your shoes, sticky and wet and messy. You stop because you can’t breathe. You stop because your heart fucking stops too at the sight of Kim Taehyung. 

Beautiful, dazzling Kim Taehyung. 

First boyfriend, first love, now ex-lover, Kim Taehyung. 

Soyeon’s groom and soon-to-be husband, Kim Taehyung.

“Everything okay here?” Yoongi. You hear his footsteps behind you before you see him and you can’t be thankful enough at the interference that’s very much needed. 

But you allow yourself to be pathetic, just as you always are around Kim Taehyung. And because you can’t help it, frankly, when your eyes meet his and all sense that is good and common jumps out the window behind him. Because he looks fucking beautiful — him and his honey hair that’s now framing his face, a little bit longer, lighter. Because the room reeks of him, jasmine, vanilla, and oakmoss and it consumes you. The part of you that, despite it all, still longs for the Kim Taehyung from four years past.

On a good day and you meet him once more, you think you would have laughed. A fake smile and a head held high would’ve done it in front of him. But all it takes is one look now. One look, at the time when all your defenses are down, for the self-imposed chain that blocks it all to break and give, a domino effect in your mind as it all comes back; the whirlwind of feelings and emotions that the calamity of him brings forth. 

You nod, feeling the light touch of Yoongi’s fingers around your arm, and you anchor yourself with it. Pull yourself from drowning in him once more. “Yeah, sorry,” You breathe, “It slipped. I’m really sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll have someone take care of it, don’t worry,” Yoongi waves you off when you bend down to start cleaning up your mess, nods toward Taehyung, “Go on, he gets grumpy if he’s left to wait.” 

Oh, you know. 

So, you do. 

You drag your legs to where Taehyung stands, feeling like you’re hauling wet logs for limbs. It’s silent, save for the sound of Yoongi’s shoes against the floor as he kicks at the fallen blocks of ice, and maybe, he takes the silence for Taehyung’s bout of pettiness because he hisses a quiet behave before he walks out. The silence becomes even more suffocating when now it’s just you and Taehyung. 

“So—”

“I—”

You shut your mouth when he speaks at the same time as you. 

You decide, though, to continue because you’re here for one thing and that one thing entails that you have something to say to him. But he doesn’t, he shouldn’t. 

“So, let’s talk about concepts. I’ve been told that Soyeon has already chosen the ones for today — for both your individual and couple shots, and you get to choose the ones for the shoot with Hana next week. Here,” you slide the portfolio across the table, taking a seat across his own without waiting for him, “Hana already made an outline for everything so, this, is basically a checklist you just have to choose from and—”

“How are you?” 

“—I’m just going to wait until you’re done filling them out so I can bring them back and start with—”

“(Y/N).” You finally look at him then and you look away the second you do because you’re trying so hard to keep yourself whole and you feel like one second more in his gaze and you’ll fall apart, “I’m sorry.” 

And you try. God, you try so hard to repress the tiny, evil voice that pushes you to throw reason out the window. But it comes out anyway, and there’s no stopping what flows out of your mouth after, “Why,” you laugh, “Sorry because you wouldn't have chosen Hana's studio if you knew I was the one to take your photos? Or sorry because you had my brother acting like a train wreck just to keep this from me? Don’t worry I won’t be here next week.” 

His face pinches, tongue rolling out to wet his lips, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then don’t apologize to me—” you grit, fists clenched and heart thundering, “—as if you assumed that seeing you has put me in a position that hurt me. Because it really doesn’t. Not anymore, Taehyung. So if you have anything to apologize for—” 

You cut yourself off because no, no he has nothing to apologize for. He doesn’t have to say sorry. One person deciding to walk out of a relationship doesn’t warrant an apology from them. An explanation, sure, but you don’t really need it from him. He made it clear enough all those years ago just before he slammed the door of your apartment shut that he just didn’t love you enough — not anymore then. 

It’s been four years. It’s been four long years and you should be over him — and you are, you’re certain that you are. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt because it does, fuck, it still hurts so much and you don’t know why. 

“—apologize to Jimin because I just know he feels like shit for lying to me because of you.” 

You commit your second mistake that same day in the middle of shooting Taehyung’s individual photos. Soyeon had gone for a nature theme this time and so you find yourself in the middle of the forest with a near-naked Taehyung in tow and thank heavens it rains because one more glimpse through the viewfinder at his well-oiled torso and you might have combust and run away from the photoshoot, Hana’s reputation be damned. 

Jimin seems to be attached to you now, becoming a human magnet not long after he had apologized so much he knelt, snuggling to your side every chance he gets that it’s suffocating you because he’s overcompensating but you don’t really have the heart to call him out. Not when he looks like a puppy whose tail got accidentally stepped on when you get around to even do so much as try. 

So, you let him become your shadow for the time being, finally letting out a huge breath of relief when lunch time comes around and everybody takes a break and you slip past him to the very back of the dilapidated cabin you stumbled upon just before the last shoot ended, not too deep into the forest that faces the river. 

Finally, you think, as you savor the peace, even though momentary. You’re glad to be away from the commotion and it makes you realize once more why you choose to be cooped up in an office. It’s because you really can’t handle this many people and it physically and emotionally drains you that you can’t think.

You pause when you reach into your pockets, the gritty warning from Hana and Jimin an alarm ricocheting in your mind how it’s an unhealthy habit and it’s going to fucking ruin you someday. But the short-lived guilt is replaced by justifications of how it’ll be a free-pass and your siblings can fuck off because they’re the reason you’re here in the first place. 

Besides, burning through one stick won’t hurt them if they don't know. 

So you let your fingers feel for the familiar leather case, pull the only stick inside and you’re so, so close to reaching your sweet release from this damned mental pressure when you realize you left your lighter at home. Letting out a curse, you clamp your mouth around the unlit cigarette, letting it hang and opting to indulge in its semi-sweet smell that goes so well with the rain. 

“Want a light?”

You still, the cigarette falling from your lips at the sudden fright. Down, down, and down until it’s washed away by the rain. What a waste, you lament. Sighing, you turn and see Taehyung who’s sporting a sheepish smile, the same familiar white in between his own mouth, lit unlike yours, “I’d accept, but there’s really nothing that needs lighting anymore.”

He has a shirt on now, you notice, flimsy and buttoned up halfway. His hair is tousled messily, now free from the rigid form it previously had, and you give him your back when you feel the urge to fix the fraction of hair that has fallen forward. You hear him take a drag and you smell before you see the tendrils of gray smoke when he releases and god, the small whiff, even in the tiniest fume, has your shoulder relaxing. 

“I’d offer one but I don’t have any spare with me,” you hear him say before you feel him move, “I’ll get the fallen one for you, if you want.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off before you see him lean against the other column, the change in position means that he’s now closer, closer than he’s ever been since the day you last saw him, years ago. And he’s close enough that the thin material of his shirt brushes against your hoodie when the wind moves. And you want to move too, only if it isn’t for the fact that one move and you’ll either fall into the river or be skewered by the worn down wood and you don’t really feel like dying today. 

Ironic, how you went for a smoke break to relieve the stress of the day, only to have it doubled. 

Now, this is where you make the second mistake. 

Because you really don’t mean to stare at Taehyung. You don’t mean to let your stare at his mouth linger a second too long that he sees.  It’s just unfortunate that the cigarette is in his mouth, and you stay fixated on the damn cigarette that you fail to see him catch your gaze and hold it. 

It’s unfortunate that you don’t take a step back when he takes one step forward. 

It’s unfortunate that you become pliant when his cold fingers softly grip your chin, coaxing your mouth to open and welcome the smoke that he blows from his own mouth, hot and intoxicating and tinged with the memories of all the nights past that he’s done this. 

It’s unfortunate that you take a long drag when he places the soft end of the cigarette from his mouth to yours, unhesitating and eager. 

“Feeling better?” He asks, gentle as he pulls the stick, planting it back to the hold of his mouth. You see a slight upward curve at the corners of it. 

This is bad. Wrong and unacceptable and absolutely inappropriate, you know. But you can’t help but accept when he offers one more drag, an offer of release. This time you pluck it out from his fingers, feel the warmth of him around the smoke, and inhale. 

It’s only when the embers die out that you feel it, the heavy feeling coming back tenfold as you realize the gravity of what you just did. Not for anyone else, but for you. The toll this will have on you when you go home and have all the time in the world to think about your stupidity. So before you get sucked into the void of self-destruction, you excuse yourself, not caring about the delicate drops of rain that fall but not before you turn back and shout your thanks. 

“Okay, you shared a smoke, so what,” you mutter to yourself as you dry yourself off. You’re two people who share a history, a history that’s now dead and gone. A flame that was once bright but has now burned out, never to be rekindled again. 

You enter the building with thoughts of rationalization that tries to justify what you’ve done as something harmless, clouding your mind enough that you don’t see Jimin barrel towards you with a smile on his face, only to be replaced with disgust when he breathes and chokes at the ghost of smoke that clings to your clothes. 

He rummages through a nearby luggage and returns with a bottle of perfume, “If you want your head still attached to your shoulders by tonight, you’d know better and douse yourself in that shit because Hana’s here to take over and you only have two minutes to shove Listerine down your throat before she finds you.” 

In the haste of trying to avert your sister’s wrath, you damn near shower the entire contents of the bottle, only to realize that night when you come home that despite the endless showers you take, you still smell like him. Because of all people, Jimin just had to take from Taehyung’s things and now you’re doused with him all over again. 

It’s later that night that you’ll fall asleep to the smell of jasmine and vanilla despite years of trying so hard to rid your apartment of any scents. 

Of any trace of Kim Taehyung.

The third and fourth mistake, you make five days later. A Friday that you’re miraculously off work early. Well, technically, you can get off whenever you want but as the faithful, loving, and overworking youngest child that you are, you’ve assimilated longer hours at your father’s company to productivity and so you’ve never really found reason to clock off early when you can do so much more if you stay a bit later than most.

Besides, the company won’t run by itself, so there’s that. 

Now, though, you wonder why you thought like that because as you walk down the street, everything looks divine. The setting sun settles on the horizon, sandwiched between two skyscrapers, bleeding purple and orange and pink and it’s breathtaking. Painfully so. For the first time, you indulge yourself in the sounds of the busy city and for a change, it’s peaceful despite the loudness. You can’t remember the last time you took a stroll like this, having been so immersed in work. The last time you walked down the street the like had been years ago, with—

The breath you take is sharp and sudden that it has you bent over on the sidewalk, coughing and wheezing your lungs out that people start to look. You flash a smile, sending a quick thanks to your sister’s ex-lover for choosing to establish the studio within a five-minute walk from the company building, and nearly combusting on the spot when you pull their glass door that clearly says push right after you nearly heave your lungs out from climbing 10 sets of stairs because the elevator isn’t working, coincidentally.  

“Hey,” you greet the people on the lounge before specifically turning to Younha — the one who had walked you through everything on the previous shoot, “Is Hana here? I have the initial photos ready if she wants to see. Played around and edited most of them.”

Younha looks sheepish as she raises her hand to her nape where she nervously scratches, “About that,” she grimaces, “Hana phoned earlier that she’s running a bit late tonight so she told me to look over the photos and pick the final ones with the client, but I don’t trust myself enough to do that just yet, so would it be okay if we go through it together?” 

You assure her it’s okay. And really, it is, because you’ve finished work anyway and it’s a Saturday tomorrow. You can afford to be late an hour or so. You watch her plug the USB on one of the computers lined up against the wall, see her gasp when she pulls up the photos. 

“Oh my god, these are beautiful. You’re telling me you shot each of these by yourself, edited them all on your own, all in less than a week,” Younha turns to you, eyes wide, “Can’t you come and work with us?”

You laugh, genuine and loud, “The raw files were already beautiful untouched. Just touched up some lighting here and there.”

“Yeah, and who took those raw shots, hm? Who coordinated every single thing that resulted in those shots looking like that? You, that’s who,” Younha seems to realize who she’s talking to and she blushes before muttering something else you can’t hear, “Also, about Hana—” 

Uh-oh. This can’t be good.

“—so she told me earlier if I can pick out the final photos with the client, right? And since you’re here,” Younha trails off and you still there is no way, no way that you’re going to sit hours dissecting each photo with Soyeon, worse if it’s Taehyung. You have your pride and you’ll cling to that even if it’s the last thing you do in this world.

No way in hell. “Hana’s on her way here, right? I think she can make it.”

Younha nods, a low hum before she answers, “She can. In two hours. Maybe. Not sure. Our client, however—” She tilts her head to the right. Towards the direction of Hana’s office. “—is here.”

It’s a sigh of defeat you let out. Walking away from here means you admit you’re a coward, walking in Hana’s office will mean you’re weak. See, it’s always a lose-lose thing for you everytime a certain Kim is involved. The very, and only, Kim who seems to be haunting every part of your daily life the past five days. Or in this current case, a future Kim but a Kim nonetheless. 

Younha smiles, the sly fox, when you place your bag back down on the table, “If I’m going to stay here for the night, might as well ask for coffee. Lots and lots of it.”

You only barely get the full sentence out but Younha is already on her heels with a mock salute.

You push the door to Hana’s office, making sure (twice) not to pull this time, and your eyes land on Kim Taehyung whose eyebrows rise in surprise upon seeing you. If he thinks you’re meaning to keep on meeting him like this, well, he’s wrong. The universe likes to spring surprises down your path of life and it just so happens that for now, Kim Taehyung might be its play thing — to torment you with, most probably. 

He sits on the couch that rests against the white wall, beside the windows that occupy the whole one side of the room that overlooks the city. Hana’s office is more like her office and a miniature studio, exclusive for her and whoever she decides to let in here, separate from the lounge and the main studio. It’s an industrial loft, made modern and more suited to her taste and it’s just so goddamn bright in here, you realize.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you mutter as the door clicks shut behind you. 

You head straight to Hana’s computer, turning it on and plugging the USB before you plop down on the office chair. “I had the photos with me and I dropped by to leave it for Hana but she apparently has things to attend to for the next two hours and you’re here already so, yeah.”

Taehyung only nods, silent and awkward when he stands. 

You sigh, “Grab a chair and come here, I guess. We have, like, a thousand photos to sift through. See if you’d like any changes done to them. The earlier we finish, the better.”

Three hours pass after that and you’re left with no Hana in sight, 325 file numbers listed down, a faint headache and tired eyes, a hungry stomach, and three accidental brushes of Taehyung’s hair on your cheek because what before is a ruler-long distance between the two of you has been reduced to mere centimeters, and Jesus Christ, you don’t know who moved between the two of you that it has come to such. You’re firm to say it isn’t you because your ass remains frozen, stiff as a board everytime Taehyung does so much as inhale. 

“Can you—” Taehyung clears his throat, pointing to the keyboard, “—move to the next one, please.”

You mutter an apology, pressing the right arrow and you see the photo move. Frankly, you aren’t paying attention. Not to anything, least of all the photos. It’ll be like knocking consciously on Hell’s door if you do pay attention. 

Because you can take being around Taehyung, you can easily detach yourself from reality when you are — and not feel anything, to look at him alone and think of him as an ex-friend, an ex-lover without the rest of the titles attached. But to look at the photos, the pictures you took, there’s no detaching from that reality. The reality that the man you had feelings for — might still have feelings for, but you push that thought back — is getting married, of all things. 

And you list this off as feeling weird, an ex marrying a cousin. You aren’t jealous, god, no. It’s just that — weird. Well, you think. 

“Okay, I can’t take this anymore,” Taehyung breathes and you still, unmoving as the statue on the corner of the room, “I’m going to order Chinese. I’m not going to last the rest of these photos if I don’t eat. Anything you want?” 

He might as well have slammed the mouse he’s holding with the way he casually lets it fall off from his hand to the table, leaning back on his chair and oh god, his head is leaning on the back of your chair. One move of your shoulder and the back of it will touch the side of his head. He has his phone over his head, elbows hanging in the air as he opens his phone with a click. He hums as he scrolls and this is so, so painfully domestic that you struggle to breathe. 

It’s been push and pull the whole night. He asks, you answer, and never the other way. 

Fifteen minutes that you’re plunged in deafening silence and you punch the air in your mind when Younha knocks, take-away bags at hand and a smile on her face. 

Taehyung hands you your food, places the utensils in neat order, pokes the straw through your bubble tea and gently places it in front of you and you stare. You stare because never in your life did you ever think you and Taehyung would ever be in this situation. Toeing around each other, walking on eggshells. 

There had been a time that silence wasn’t an option — it’s either you filled the quiet or he did; mouths off about Pokemon and stickers and dogs he met on a certain day, or silence filled with wordless communication through flesh and skin and heavy breaths. 

Never this — a fragile silence that no words could ever fill. But of course, Taehyung knows how to break that. Break you when he speaks, “I think we’ll have this one framed for the reception.”

You blink at the photo on the monitor, big and taunting. In it, Taehyung smiles, a wide rectangle stretch of his mouth as his chin rests on top of Soyeon’s head, the latter leaning her weight on Taehyung. It’s evident, palpable even, the happiness that’s shared between them. A running joke between the two of them captured on a permanent photograph only they can understand. 

“Yeah,” you nod, a smile, or an attempt at it, stretching your lips, “it’s beautiful. Definitely worthy for the reception. You can hang it in your home after.”

It’s an instinct – you’d like to believe so – when you feel Taehyung move beside you and you mindlessly mirror him, freezing the moment you take in the miniscule space that’s left as you both huddle to look at the monitor. A good couple inches you can count on one hand. And you refuse to move away because no, this is not at all affecting you. And it’s Taehyung, you justify, who’s currently invading your space. 

The third mistake is when you try to steal a glance at the corner of your eye because you think he’s engrossed with the picture. 

But then you see that he isn’t. Not when his stare locks with yours the moment your eyes move.  Had been on you all this time. 

The fourth is when he moves and you don’t. 

Not when his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth to wipe whatever it is he sees there. 

Not when he flashes you a smile – something so fond and warm and tender that renders you mute. 

Not when he succumbs to sleep an hour later, head lolling on your shoulder.

But the entire world moves when he stirs and the overhead lights hit something golden. It crumbles and caves beneath your feet when a locket falls out of the top of his loosely buttoned shirt. An identical locket to the one that now sits heavy on your chest – once heavy with the broken promises, but now empty of the love that first came with it.

You see his forehead wrinkle as he slowly wakes and you feel the start of the burn that first settles on your chest before it moves and starts from the corners of your eyes. You train your eyes on the monitor, fingers clicking away on the mouse and the keyboard faster than ever.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him say. His head stays on your shoulder as he speaks. “What time is it?” 

“Quarter before ten—”

“I missed you,” he breathes and you hear him let out a soft laugh before he whispers, “I always miss you.”

It feels as if all the air in your lungs has been knocked out and you turn to speak when you see that he’s fallen back asleep. And god, you wanted to shout at him, let out the years of pent up frustration and grudge you’ve had all these past years and ask all the unanswered whys and hows. But looking at him now, after so, so long, you realize you do too. 

A tear drops and a multitude of realizations follow. 

You missed him. You missed him. You miss him. 

And fuck, you’re still in love with him, you realize. So much and enough to make you not think of the consequences of the realization that you do.

Not when his fiancée finally comes and places a chaste kiss on his lips.

Not when a wedding invitation lands itself on the desk towards you.

And especially not when the ghost of him lingers when they’re gone and you find yourself praying for it to stay just a little bit longer.

You did not plan for your Friday night to be like this at all. 

The initial – and final – plan was this: show up to the club your sister wanted you to show up to, make it look like you’re genuinely happy to be there, flee the moment midnight hits when your sister and her friends are too drunk to realize you aren’t there anymore, and sleep away in the solace your tranquil and quiet apartment offers. 

The night and plan had been going well, much to your delight. 

Just until the fleeing part, that is. Because the moment you press the unlock button to your car half past one in the morning, you see a very drunk Kim Taehyung eagle spread on the hood of your car, with only a rumpled halfway-buttoned shirt that’s tucked into his pants, one of his shoes already on the roof of the Mercedes. 

And so instead of proceeding to the sleeping part of your plan, here you are now, struggling under the weight of Taehyung as you try to push in all his limbs in the passenger seat because he refuses to go away. Why, of all people, must you be the one to find him like this? Other people would’ve paid no mind leaving him on the pavement but of course, the universe had to make sure it just had to be you because old, cruel fate had it out for you and your demise.

Two weeks spent in isolation from the rest of the world in an attempt to justify and get over the realization you had of still being in love with an ex and the world just dumps him in the hood of your car of all cars. 

“Kim Taehyung, I am not above violence, I will fucking knock you out if I have to if you step your foot out and kick me once more, for the love of god,” you heave, “Are you with Jimin?”

At this, he grins and nods, eyes half-closed, “Jimin went home. I think. Or wait, maybe he’s passed out in Yoongi’s tub. I think. I don’t know, do you think he’s still here? Wait, do you know Jimin? How do you know Jimin?” 

You sigh, “Give me your phone. I’ll get Soyeon to pick your ass up.”

Taehyung lets out a loud gasp, proceeds to choke on air before he looks up at you, “How do you know my girlfriend?” 

You pause for a second before rolling your eyes, “Phone.”

“It’s in my left pocket, can you get it for me? I’m so tired,” he whines, wincing as his head lands on the head rest. You reach over to pull his phone out, only to retrieve a pack of cigarettes but no phone. You freeze when his hand grips your wrist that’s still in his pocket, feeling your heartbeat in your ears when he leans forward, so close that you feel his breath on your cheek, “Butt pocket, sorry.” 

You take a deep breath as he continues to look at you with a grin. You move closer, angling your head away because you would be fucking cheek-to-cheek if you don’t and you pause just before you touch his back pocket, “No, you know what, you can get it yourself. Either that or I leave you out here on the streets.” 

Taehyung pouts but he moves his arm behind him nonetheless, proceeds to feel his other pocket when he finds the first one empty.

“My phone’s gone,” he huffs, “Oh! It’s in Minnie’s car!”

You let out a loud groan, rounding the car to open the driver’s side to look for your bag so you could use your phone and you let out another sound of frustration, louder this time, when you remember the picture of a beige bag being left underneath your couch’s pillow. You look over at Taehyung, a war in your head as to what to do with him, before you finally settle on the choice that you never, ever think you would’ve made. 

“Fine,” you grit as you turn the engine on, “I’m going to drop you off your house but I’m not gonna be held accountable for the reasons you’re going to have to explain to your girlfriend if she greets your drunk ass as to why the fuck her cousin’s dropping her fiance off, alright? Now, are you still staying in the same apartment ‘cause I’m going to drop you–”

Taehyung snores, body folding in on himself as he slightly shivers. You sigh, dropping your forehead on the steering wheel, enough to hurt and make the horn whine, “This is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Hey, Taehyung,” you shake him, poking his shoulders the way you know he hates, “Wake up and tell me your address, asshole. I’m not driving to the other side of the city only to find out you changed address. Hey.” 

He makes the tiniest wave of his arm before he goes back to sleep. 

You glance at the clock that says it’s now nearing three in the morning and you run your hands over your face because fuck this. 

Now, you head to your apartment with the plan of just dumping Taehyung in the foyer and letting him sleep there until he has his mind back in the morning – you figure he’d probably run off the minute he wakes up. 

“Hey, wake up.” You nudge him when you arrive and you sigh once more as he merely stirs, opening his side of the door before attempting to move out of the car only to heave when the seatbelt he still has on pulls him back.

With a grimace, you round to his side and lug one of his arms around your shoulders and basically carry all of his weight towards the elevator. You give a tight smile to the staff at the reception as you pass by, dismissing the offer of help. You nearly drop to your knees as soon as the elevator doors close, exhaustion flooding you all of a sudden. 

As soon as the door opens to the penthouse, you remove your hold on Taehyung and he slumps against the wall. You let out a breath before pushing him to one of the guest rooms where he immediately plops down on the bed after knocking his shoes off.  A small smile plants itself on your face and you reach over to pull the covers over him. 

Kneeling down on the floor beside the bed, you brush off the loose hairs that cover his face and you whisper, “You’re making it so hard for me.”

Deciding that you’ve helped him enough, you head to your room to change and shower – a long bout of internal battle against yourself as you try to wash off all that happened. 

It is an hour later when you’re already in your bed, tossing and turning that you find yourself a long way from sleep, and so you push the covers off of you to head towards the kitchen to find something to drink. The sun is starting to rise, you see, as you stare at the large windows, uneasy at the thought that Taehyung is there. Here. 

And you know you shouldn’t care anymore. You’ve done enough and beyond to help him, you remind yourself. But that doesn’t matter, really, because here you are, pushing the guest room open to check on him, a bottle of water in hand. He remains as he was the second he got here and you sigh as you pull one of Jungkook’s shirt and sweatpants from the cabinet, a spare he leaves in the case he unintentionally sleeps over, and you walk towards Taehyung before slowly shaking him awake. 

“Hey,” you speak softly as his eyes crack open, mind still swimming in alcohol, “you should change into this. Your clothes must be uncomfortable to sleep in. Here’s some water too.” 

His eyes open a little bit wider, voice hoarse when he speaks, “(Y/N)?” 

You swallow, “Yeah, it’s me.” 

“I can’t remember most of tonight, how did I—”

You smile, “And you probably won’t remember all of this when you sleep once more. Just change and drink this, Taehyung.”

A part of why you’re doing all the things you’re doing is the fact that you know he will forget this. 

He sits up, swaying as he does so, twisting the water open. You greet him good night, and just as you turn to head back to sleep, his hand dart out to grip your wrist – as tight as the grip that has your heart beating so loud in your chest as he does, “I’m sorry.” 

Without turning around, you answer, “You don’t have to be. I would’ve done the same for anyone else.” 

“No, you wouldn’t have.” 

Pressing your tongue against your cheek, you rip your arm away from his hold, now turning around to face him. He slowly stands, eyes trained on you. You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, “I’m not saying sorry just because of tonight,” he speaks quietly, “This is an apology that’s long overdue. An apology I never had the courage to give you. An apology that I owe you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being the coward that walked away without an explanation. For not being the person I promised you I would be.”

“I told you,” you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t owe me an apology, Taehyung. It’s over and done with. Apologizing to me would mean that there’s still loose ends between us, and I’m telling you that there’s none. You may have burnt those ends the moment you walked away and I have burned mine in the years that followed. You don’t owe me anything.”

He’s closer now, so close that you feel yourself getting overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and his perfume. “Then why are you still wearing this?” 

You feel all the walls come down, then, when his fingers trace the golden chain of the locket. The once emblem of young and promised love, of an oath, of Kim Taehyung. The necklace that never was once removed from you since then. 

You chuckle, bitter and harsh, “You’re still wearing it too, Kim.”

You flinch as you feel the pad of his thumb wipe away at the trail of tears that has somehow escaped, “Leaving you was the only choice I had then. It killed me to walk right out of that fucking door but it was the only choice. For you, for me, for us. Even if it meant me becoming the asshole, it was the only choice.” 

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, you left me. And in my vocabulary and everyone else’s, leaving the person you claim to love without a single explanation is a shit move,” you nearly damn snarled, “I could’ve accepted you telling me you didn’t love me anymore but you fucking walked out without a single word. Well, I guess it worked out great for you, huh? You’re getting married now.” 

“I did l—”

“Don’t fucking dare say it,” you sob, feeling all the energy draining out of you in a second, “You’re four years too late, Taehyung.”

The chains that hold all the hurt and grievance of the past four years had been unlocked and with the thought of Taehyung not being able to remember this tomorrow, you let it all out. 

“I lied,” you whisper, lips and chest shaking as you breathe, “It hurts me seeing you now. So fucking much. Because you never wanted to get married. I remember when we were together you said that we could live without the titles, the labels, and the technicalities of it all, because you’d love me the same. So yes, it hurts. I can’t deny that it does when the things you didn’t want with me, things I wanted to have with you, you learned to want with someone else. Shit like this hurts because even if I was okay without all the titles, I thought then that spending a lifetime with you wouldn’t be so bad. But you made it seem like you never wanted marriage, not with anyone ever and so I accepted it, content even with just being with you.”

“But then you show up like this,” you say so quietly you don’t know if he can hear it, “You can’t expect it not to hurt, Tae, because it does. So, so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung lightly rests his forehead on yours, “I’m so sorry.”

“Answer me this one question,” you look up at him, “Please.” 

You feel him nod, “Anything.”

You feel it again, the suffocating claws that grips around your chest, the pain of unanswered questions and doubts, “Was my love not enough for you?”

You feel it before you hear it, when he nods against your head, hands coming up to hold your cheeks, “No, no, god, no. It was more than enough. It was so much more than enough that you became someone who didn’t deserve someone who couldn’t reciprocate the amount of love you were giving me. I’m sorry.”

“I miss you, Tae.” You whisper, and you can barely see him through the tears, “And it’s so, so wrong and I shouldn’t be doing this but fuck, I do. Four years and I still miss you and now you’re here, back in my life, and yet you’re still the farthest you’ve ever been from me.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he is – so far away from you and will never be close enough anymore – that you think maybe this is the long-awaited end. The closure you’ve once longed for but never had. Maybe there really was no reason for him leaving you beyond the fact that he didn’t love you anymore – and maybe that was enough reason. You just didn’t want to accept that fact. Maybe it’s time that you do. 

After Taehyung, you’ve become someone who believed that love is something that’s easy to let go, when in fact, all this time, it is the love you had for Taehyung you’ve never let go of. And maybe, it was never love for the people that came after him and so it became easy for you once it’s over, once it ended. Because what has started that really counted has never reached its end, for you anyway. Because it will never be the same.��

Because they weren’t Kim Taehyung. 

“Don’t cry for me. I don’t deserve it,” he smiles a small smile as he wipes a tear away. 

“Then stop making me cry, asshole,” you softly retort, hands coming up to wrap around his own to pull them away from your face. You can’t think straight when he has his hands on you, “I’m not asking for you to love me again, not anymore. Maybe we could be friends?”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, you know. And you really don’t think you can be just friends with Taehyung. But you’re weak for Kim Taehyung and you’re still so fucking in love him that you’d settle for whatever there can be between the two of you. He doesn’t need to know the specifics.

“Can we, really?” He laughs softly, a sad smile appearing, “I’m about to do something very stupid, for the very last time, so please, stop me if you don’t want to because I don’t think I can stop myself.”

He leans forward as the inches between you decrease down to a zero, his lips pressing against your cheek, your forehead, your eyelid, and to the corner of your mouth before he pulls away. “No, you had something to drink too, I’m drunk, you’re drunk. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, ” Taehyung breathes against your cheek, eyes shut tight. 

“I’m not.” 

Whether that’s an answer that refutes your state of intoxication or a statement that debunks Taehyung’s apology, you don’t know. Because the next moment finds you pulling him forward, arms snaking around his shoulders as you kiss him. Soft and unhurried and sad – a declaration of what had remained unsaid for the past years. 

The last time, you swear, and from tomorrow then on, you’re going to be friends. This night will be void – forgotten and discarded. Taehyung is going to continue with his life and you with yours. 

It’s so easy to become so lost in Taehyung that you forget the rest of the world. 

That you don’t hear the sound of the door opening. 

Or the second set of drunk footsteps that follows the first one.

“What in the fuck is going on here?”

#bts #bts fiction #kimtaehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #kth fanfic #kim taehyung angst #angst #bts angst #taehyung angst au #taehyung fic #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #taehyung #taehyung imagines #bts taehyung #taehyung angst #bts v #kingminie #until forever falls apart

[moonstruckme]

hiii! so i’ve just recently started reading ur work and i love it sm ur amazing! so i just wanted to request smth and it’s a little random but i was wondering if you could do something with remus/james where reader gets uncomfortable around drunk ppl bc that’s how i am because of some things in the past so maybe she gets uncomfortable and he gets kinda protective? sorry that was a lot but if u don’t write this rhats perfectly fine i just wanted to say i love your work!🩷

Thanks lovely <33

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 825 words

Really, you ought to know better than to walk around this part of town on a weekend night. You’d just wanted a pint of ice cream so badly, and this is the nearest store with the kind you like. You hadn’t thought it through, how these would be the peak hours for the bars that line the majority of the street, how the sidewalks would fill with too-loud patrons laughing and stumbling about. 

It’s not that you really even feel unsafe. The area is too crowded for most of the men to try anything, and James is with you to deter anything like that anyway. It’s just…a lot. The slurred shouts, and the unpredictable movements, and the stink of vomit. 

James drifts closer to you, taking your hand to help guide you through the crowd. He knows how you feel about drunk people. Even him and his friends, who you love and know would never intentionally make you uncomfortable, feel odd to be around after they’ve been drinking. 

James glances over at you. “You good?” 

“Yeah.” You do your best to appear less tense, smiling at him. “Thanks.” 

He gives your hand a light squeeze, moving the both of you this way and that to avoid groups that have stagnated or slowed on the sidewalk. You can’t help but stare as a girl a few paces ahead of you falls onto her bum on the curb, laughing deliriously as her friends try to help her back up. There’s a group of boys in front of you with their arms linked over each other’s shoulders, open drink containers in several of their hands as they mosey down the sidewalk, singing out of tune and at seemingly different parts of the same song. If you were one of them, it would probably all seem funny and lighthearted to you, too. There’s nothing nefarious about this; they’re just people enjoying a Friday night. And still, you can’t help but feel awkward and on edge around them. 

You feel the shock of cold before you know what’s happened, freezing liquid streaming down your shirt. You gasp and flinch into James on instinct, and the drunken man follows you inadvertently, his now empty beer bottle tipped over your shoulder and his weight pressing into you as he tries to hold himself up on nonfunctioning legs. 

James’ hand skims over your upper back as he moves around to your other side, taking the guy by the shoulders and lifting him off of you. The man starts to babble angrily, but James only gives him one of his easy smiles. You’d have to really know him to be able to tell he doesn’t mean it. 

“Easy, mate,” he says, delivering the man back to his group of friends behind you. His tone changes slightly when he addresses them, still friendly but with a slightly harder edge. “Keep track of your friend, yeah?”

The group of boys says various things in the affirmative, but James has already turned away. He shepherds you over to the wall of the closest building, out of the flow of foot traffic, and puts himself between you and the people passing by. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, taking off the flannel he’s wearing over his t-shirt. “He really spilled all over you. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you say, though you really are very cold now. You take James’ flannel without complaint, shrugging it on. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”  

“So fucking irresponsible,” he huffs, shaking his head as he adjusts the thick fabric to cover the wet streak down the side of your shirt. “I mean, who lets their mate get that sloppy and then walk around by themselves? I could never do that.” 

You smile at him. “I know you couldn’t, Jamie. You’re a good friend.” 

He grins back at you, taking you under his arm as you begin walking towards the store again. It looks casual, a boyfriend with his arm slung loosely over his girl’s shoulders, but you can feel the tension in his bicep as he keeps you close, maneuvering you carefully through the crowd. 

“I think those guys were just too drunk to keep track of him,” you go on. “Not everyone can have as good a friend as you.” 

James scoffs, but you don’t let him dodge the compliment. 

“I’m serious.” You bump his hip lightly. “I bet none of those guys would have given me their jacket when it was this chilly out. You’re one in a million.” 

“Great,” James says. “So now my accolades are that I don’t let my friends fall all over people when they’re drunk and I give pretty girls my jacket when they’re soaking wet in the cold.” You’re looking ahead of you, but you can hear the eye roll in his voice even as he presses a quick kiss to the side of your head. “Your bar’s frighteningly low, angel. We’re gonna have to work on that.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #protective!james potter #james potter drabble #james potter oneshot #james potter x self insert #james potter scenario #james potter imagine #sirius black #remus lupin #the marauders #marauders #marauders era #the marauders era #marauders fanfic #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #marauders x reader #hp marauders

[deathbxnny]

hello, gallagher aventurine and dr ratio with an asuka!reader?

(teen!reader who despite being a kid, acts grown up and wants to be seen as an adult)

As someone who absolutely LOVES Asuka (Although Rei is still my all-time favorite, and idk what that says about me lmao-) I absolutely adore this request, Anon!! So thank you so much for this ask, and I hope you'll like this!<33

Content: Platonic relationships, slight angst, older brother figures hsr men, teen reader, vague mentions of potential childhood trauma regarding reader, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》GALLAGHER

Gallagher found your rather bratty behavior quite amusing, which is why he simply played along at first. You often helped him out in the bar and it was kind of funny to see you trying to act like an adult, even going as far as ordering him around.

He knew that it was most likely all because of an underlying issue from your past, but he wasn't the type to confront you on it immideatly. Instead, he simply let you do your thing whilst making sure you were still having fun deep down.

He also makes sure to let you know that you can talk to him whenever you want to open up or just need some advice on things. He's patient and has all the time in the world for you. And even if you never open up to him, he'll make sure that your life is relatively easy anyway, so that you can still be a kid in peace.

》DR. RATIO

Both of you are awfully stubborn, and it shows whenever you two get into a daily argument over the most smallest things. He knows something is wrong with you deep down, but he also just doesn't have the patience needed whenever you tell him off again for daring to insinuate that you are indeed still just a child. And yet, as frustrated as he can get sometimes, he still tries his best to be the bigger person in the end. He is above arguing with a kid... but God do you make it hard sometimes to keep that up.

With that said, he tries to compromise with your need to feel like an adult by simply giving you much harder subject matters that are way above your grade level. And unsurprisingly to him ofcourse, this seemed to work and quell your angers.

You really just wanted to be respected as an equal to him, and so he let you work up to it, knowing you'd get there eventually.

》AVENTURINE

Similar to Gallagher, he finds your attitude rather amusing at first, although there was still some seriousness in him regarding your situation. You were hellbent on being seen as an adult, so much so that you'd talk back, get into fights and ignore all his orders just for a slither of recognition from him. You thought that all of this would make you into an adult, but alas, it just made you look more like the hurt child you were deep down.

After observing your behavior for a while, Aventurine eventually makes his move and calmly asks you why you want to be an adult so badly over a game of cards. He knew he'd be met with alot of attitude at first, but when he dug deeper, he finally figured out that you simply wanted to be taken seriously. He reassures you afterward that he never doubted your abilities, as he let's you win for the first time ever.

Alrighttttt!! I hope this was okay, Anon, and thank you again for your request!<33

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr x y/n #hsr gallagher x reader #hsr gallagher #gallagher x reader #gallagher x you #dr. ratio #dr. ratio x reader #dr. ratio x you #hsr dr ratio #ratio x reader #ratio x you #veritas ratio #hsr veritas #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine #aventurine x y/n #aventurine x you #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine hsr

[shanastoryteller]

Happy valentine's day! Could we have more female Naruto?

a continuation of 1 2 3

Naruto clocks Gaara the moment she sees him.

She keeps her smile wide and stance easy, putting her hands on her hips and squinting at the Sand kids. Sasuke and Sakura shift uneasily before deliberately relaxing, picking up on her attitude even if they don’t know why. “My dad told me about you guys! We should stick together, being the kids of kages and all.”

Her father had told her to be wary but hadn’t told her why. She has to believe he doesn’t know. The other option is that he somehow thought that she wouldn’t notice.

“You must be Naruto,” Temari says with a false friendliness that Naruto might not have been able to pick up on if she hadn’t spent her whole life with people loving her or hating her and having a disturbing habit of masking one as the other. “These are my brothers, Kankuro and Gaara. Are these your teammates?”

As if her father hadn’t warned her about the hosting kage’s kid. “Yeah, Sasuke Uchiha and Sakura Haruno.”

Neither of those names garner any reaction, but they wouldn’t. Sasuke’s status as Uchiha is obvious at first look and Sakura comes from a civilian family.

“Hi,” Kankuro says shortly.

Gaara says nothing at all, looking at them with those wide, empty eyes.

They’re going to be a problem. He’s going to be a problem.

~

Naruto knows better than to go to her father with anything important and if she tells her mother then she’ll try and pull her from the chunin exams, which is the last thing any of them needs.

She hates how often she ends up crawling back to her ex-fiance for help.

“Naruto-hime,” Kakashi greets, unruffled at her vaulting in through his window and landing on his counter in a perch.

This place is so depressing. She gets why her mom wants to put in some wallpaper or something so badly, but Kushina is still mad at Kakashi for weaseling out of their engagement, so she just grumbles and complains but won’t do anything about it.

“You’re proctoring the second part of the exam,” she says. The format of the exam is supposed to be secret, but it’s not like that’s ever stopped her from breaking into her father’s office. “I need you to rig the fight.”

He raises his eyebrow. Or maybe he’s raising both of them, but she can’t see under the headband. “That’s cheating.”

“Cheating’s allowed,” she counters. “I need you to make sure I face Gaara.”

He blinks slowly. Or winks. “Your father will kill me.”

“It’s supposed to be random,” she says. “How will he know?”

His silence takes on a decidedly guilty air.

“He told you to make sure I didn’t face him,” she guesses, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“He’s worried about you,” Kakashi says.

Too little too late as far as she’s concerned. As if his worry has ever done her any good. As if his worry has ever done anything but get in her way, just like it is right now. “Fine. Make sure he faces Sasuke then.”

“There are easier ways to get out of an engagement,” he says. “You don’t need to arrange to have him killed.”

Her eyes narrow and it takes everything in her not to growl. Growling is one of those things she’s not allowed to do because it’s too much of a tell. “I suppose you’re the expert on that.”

Kakashi doesn’t say anything. He’s spent her whole life not saying anything and it never gets less infuriating.

“Just do it,” she says. “What do you care anyway?”

Naruto is halfway out his window when he says, “I care,” and he can’t see her so she doesn’t bother to hold back her eyeroll.

That’s never done her any good either.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #captainprocrastinator4life #naruto

[ghouljams]

but witch having a bad day bc somethings upset her n wanting price? Like n she struggles so much bc she knows if she was scared or hurt she'd pull bc shed have to and he'd be happy to help her out but rn she just wants price, not needs him. And price would be so over the moon when he feels the most tentative tug on the tether.

Istg thats how they finally become closer, when witch starts calling him when she wants him not just needs him

God I'm so fucking feral for them, they want each other so badly but neither of them wants to say anything for fear of scaring the other away. Even Price's flirting is such a cleverly disguised misdirect of his feelings. What do you mean he's in love, no no he's just flirting because it's fun, he's just naturally charming like this. And Witch literally can't stop her care from bleeding through into her spells, everything she gives Price is such a declaration, but God forbid she say she likes him or she might burst into flame. Anyway, here's some fluff for them, lowkey inspire by this video

People always assume that magic makes everything easier, that if they had access to the power you do they'd never have another bad day. The reality of magic isn't quite so... magical. It makes life easier sure, but only if you've prepared for the bad days in advance. Even then it's balm on a wound, an extra dose of ibuprofen for a migraine, another chore to upkeep if you want it to do anything to soothe the ache.

You can chart all the sigils you want onto your skin, but it doesn't unburden the ache in your chest. Doesn't relieve the burgeoning sadness or the sticky fingers of anxiety. There's no good reason for the dark cloud over your head, your day was hectic but you've handled worse. It's your hormones making your usually warm house feel cold and cavernous, making everything feel bigger and more terrible than it actually is. They make you curl into the corner of your couch, lonely, as you tuck your knit blanket under your feet.

There was a time that being alone didn't bother you. You've spent most of your adult life alone, content with phone calls and the occasional visit from your loved ones. Now your thoughts hover around wanting someone nearby, wanting to be held and comforted with physicality instead of words. You can't ask anyone for that.

Well, you suppose you could. You know one person who would gladly give you that. The idea of calling him is more embarrassing than calling one of your friends. You can't ask Price over for something so small, so self indulgent. Besides, you'd so quickly brushed off his concern when you saw him this afternoon. You'd feel like a liar asking for him now when you could hardly spare him time between the day's appointments. That doesn't stop you from wanting him, as much as you chastise yourself for it.

Your fingers toy with the tethers the lay against your skin. They're so gentle, hardly a spider's strand to their weight, easy to ignore. It's silly feeling your heart clench just thinking of how easy it would be to call him here. He's likely busy. The world outside your front window is dark, it wouldn't be worth his effort to even knock on your door. Wanting is so pesky. Your magic feels muddled, responsive to your desires but caged by your self imposed limitations. You try to think of something that could replace the feeling of having Price around when your ears pop. You tug sharply at your tethers as you turn to see what your wards are decidedly not biting.

Price rolls his shoulders with a pleased groan, "There it is, barely felt the first one." You untangle your fingers and wipe them against your blanket, as if you could erase the evidence of your wanting. Price walks around the couch to sit on the side opposite you. He drops heavily onto the plush cushion, leaning against the back with a sigh. He looks tired. You feel worse for having called him, you weren't trying to.

"I didn't mean to call you," You tell him. Price hums, his eyes closed as he rests his head against the afghan thrown over the back cushions. Having a guest in your house makes you feel restless. "I'll put a kettle on," You unbundle yourself, and slip your feet back onto the floor.

"Sit," Price tells you, commands you, as you start to stand. Your butt hits the cushion again in record time, the after effects of foreign magic shaking your fingertips as you draw your feet up again. "What do you need?" He asks.

You sigh, try not to feel like a huge fucking burden for a man who's really been nothing but helpful and understanding to you previous requests. You prop your cheek against your hand, going for casual. You're not sure if you sell it. "Nothing," you lie.

As if he'd believe that. Not when he could feel the soft pangs of loneliness with each brush of your fingers through the tethers connecting you. Price watches you tug your knees up to your chest, feels the lingering want on his skin, the clutch of his heart at the gentle look in your eyes. You're truly a terrible liar. Even if he hadn't felt your desires, he'd know you wanted something. You hardly look at him.

What about what he wants then? Is it easier for you to blame him?

He wants to hold you, wants to comfort you in the way you seem so desperate for. Why shouldn't he? Feeling you pull for him had tipped the rest of the world off his plate, it's just you, you're all he needs. All he wants.

"C'mere sweethear'," He holds a hand out to you, feeling your gaze touch his fingers. Your hesitation betrays you. "Unless you want me comin' over there," Price warns. You jump to take his hand, letting him pull you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as his hand grips your hair, your nose presses to his shoulder as you curl your legs to lean against him.

You smell like burnt magic, bitter and smokey. His hand digs under your shirt to rub your back, his lips insistent against your shoulder, your neck, your hair. You relax against him like unspooling thread, each muscle and line going slack in his hold. He can feel the crisp edges of whatever cage you sealed yourself in, his fingers starting to scratch at the dark swirls of it. You'll feel better if he pulls you out of it.

"Don't," You hum, your voice so sweet and tired, muffled against him.

"Not meant to keep everything cooped up love," Price reminds you. You make a quiet 'mmph' sound, arms starting to unwind from your tight grip on him. A threat you'll make good on if he isn't careful.

"Safer like this," You jerk a little closer when his blunt nails dig into the charcoal ink, the shiver of his attempts at breaking your magic making you feel electric. "Just hold me, please." You try a different approach. His fingers still, before every inch of his hold tightens on you.

"Thought you'd never ask," He mumbles. It feels like he can't get close enough to you, and after some maneuvering you're laying on top of him.

This you can do. You stretch out your legs, feel him shift underneath you, making sure you get as much contact with him as he can manage. Price bends his knee, the leg on the outside of the couch boxing you in carefully as you settle against his hip, your legs falling on either side of his thick thigh. He tugs a blanket over the both of you, keeping an arm around your shoulders. You forget sometimes, the way he dresses, that he is a well muscled man. You can feel the way each of them move and flex, the soft layer over them hardly disguising the raw strength that lays underneath.

You're safer like this, you think. Safer with him, always. Safe to want things without feeling like a burden. And even if you were a burden, he seems to say with a smile, I'd gladly carry it.

#Price's side of this fic is that he was sitting in the bar after a long day #felt literally the slightest touch from Witch and immediately focused all his attention on it #cataloguing what she was feeling as she touched his tethers #and plotting whether or not she was pulling for him #eerily silent while the rest of the 141 stares at him #before he just stands and apparates to Witch lol #tw periods #cod x reader #x reader #cod x oc #x oc #price x oc #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john price x oc #john price mw2 #captain price #captain price x oc #captain price x reader #captain price cod #not to get too into it but I think the combination of blood and magic #makes periods sorta dangerous for witches #nothing better than magical blood for power hungry fae #which does mean Price gets a little feral when it's that time of the month #and like any other time of the month #Ghost and König get the same way with their darlings #fae!price #1fae1

[cheesit-notes]

Simon Riley + Hand Kisses

tags: kissing obviously, ptsd for simon basically, gn!reader, overthinking simon, simon getting violent at one point, a/n: sorry i was gone for a week! i want to say i worked on stuff but ive been busy with things and this was the only thing i did. im not all that happy with the time to result ratio of this tbh but i love the idea of Simonand hand kisses so enjoy!

Ghost who cannot stand any and all kinds of intimate touches. he doesn’t like intimate touches. no, actually, he loathes those touches. it reminds him of a time he’d really rather forget. there’s no way to really kiss him without having to slowly practice. underneath the mask, he’s nothing more than the emotionally scarred, vulnerable Simon Riley who went through far too much for any human.

the first time both of you technically kissed, you had asked if you could kiss him, he said yes because you looked like you wanted it so badly. the two of you stood awkwardly in his barracks. he’s wondering if he should’ve changed clothes earlier, he just got back and was still in his uniform, probably smelled fowl, but you didn’t say a word. ah, he thought he could handle it. he really did. but to kiss was a lot easier said than done. and he’ll never fully forgive himself for shoving you away slamming you against the wall, and he was choking you. he didn’t actually hit you, you tell him that everyday, but the fact he fully intended to hit you for the moment scared him. plagued with the thought that he truly was no different from his father; he could barely look at you for the weeks following that, much less talk to you. no, he refused to do so much as to stand near you; petrified he wouldn’t snap out of it in time, terrified he’d hurt you.

months later, he asked if it’s alright to try again. the kissing thing, you know? it was months after the previous attempt, you and Simon had already reconciled, as much as possible anyways, so the question left you a little confused. you were happy to, but only if he was really ready. and he said he was, he swore it. although.. looking at you, thinking back about the previous attempt, made him anxious. but he already said he would. so he should? he should stick to his words, right? youd probably think hes a coward. god, a man shouldnt be a coward. and he cant be a coward. and all these thoughts ran through his mind. he doesnt realize he’s zoned out and that you’re staring at him with a concerned look on your face. its not until you decide to speak does he snap back.

“are you sure you want to do this?”

he’s not even sure what to respond. what did he want?  he’s only really thought about what you wanted. it’s not like his wants really mattered in his eyes.

“you know, we don’t have to do this. we can still have a perfectly fine relationship without–”

“no! absolutely, no, we.. we have to kiss.”

he insisted, almost yelling like he’s afraid he wouldn’t be heard. and that you’d leave him because you’d think he couldn’t kiss you, because he couldn't give you of a normal relationship. and you deserved it. you deserved a normal relationship with someone who could give you what you wanted. and god, he wishes he were normal.

anyone could tell he was agitated. honestly, it isn’t easy for you. you could tell he wouldn’t handle it well if you kissed him directly. but if you didn’t then he’d isolate himself, thoughts spiralling like a roller coaster in his mind, and you couldn’t be sure when or where the ride ended. so, grab his hands, hold them in yours, and plant a gentle kiss on each. you hold his hands, looking into his eyes, and for what felt like hours, the two of you stayed put like that. until Simon told you to leave.

it caught you off guard, you’re a little taken back. but respecting his wishes, you leave the room. not even a minute after you leave, Simon slumps against the wall, he can’t stop the hot, burning tears from falling. maybe it was how soft your lips felt against his caloused hands or how careful you were with him, how you knew that he likely wouldn’t react well to either choice and yet you made the perfect one.

Simon Riley who sometimes holds your hand, silently hoping you’d kiss his hand again. he likes it when you give each knuckle a peck. if you bent down on one knee, you’d look like a knight kissing the princess’ hand, and Johnny would say this whenever he saw the chance. Simon Riley who still isn’t ready to kiss you directly, but he’s slowly working on it. Simon Riley who will probably learn to like different types of kisses, but right now, he's smitten over you and your hand kisses that make him feel oh so loved.

next time he holds your hand, give him a kiss, will you?

#cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #lieutenant ghost #cod mw ghost #hand kisses #mmmm yes #cheesy likes cod?!

[thegoldencontracts]

Hullo! If you're taking fic requests, may I politely ask for an 'x Azul' one involving Azul getting really invested in market research for something a little pointless? Maybe it's trying twenty different kinds of olive to see which makes the best garnish, maybe it's minor variations on their standard cloth napkins as sorted by softness, who knows? Just something he makes the MC test for him and he's very lucky MC loves him enough to put up with it.

Of course, something has to go wrong eventually. Maybe teaming up with the tweels to end the constant stream of tests? Shenanigans are always welcome~ hehehe.

Thank you for your time!

Of course! Azul my belovedd <3 Anyways, thank you for the request, and a little note to anyone reading that I appreciate any and all requests!

Of Much Importance

Summary: Azul is a man of business, even when that business-matter involves making his dearly beloved test out dishes for him. Except, he's making you test to see how many flakes of chili is optimal? Flakes?

Unless you do something, you're going to be here forever - or until your stomach bursts.

Notes: Fluff, and some humor, a bit of flirting

"Darling," Azul - your lovely, lovely boyfriend you who you were on the verge of murdering if it weren't for the fact that he had superstrength, and the twins were actually surprisingly protective when he was badly hurt, and you loved him too much - said, holding yet another plate of the same guacamole but with one more chili flakes. "Does this one taste better?"

You were at a seat in the currently closed Lounge, which would've meant no one would hear him scream if you punched him, but of course, the twins were sitting at the next table, being subjected to the same thing as you.

It tastes the exact same because this is literally the exact same dish with one more chili flakes. You think anyone'll notice that, Azul? You wanted to say.

Instead, you just tried to appease him. He seemed pretty stressed, and for good reason. Finals were coming up, and that meant a surge of new contracts for him, and a surge of sleepless nights, if the way his concealer had gotten heavier said anything. He was zoning in on every little detail, and you understood why. That didn't make it any less frustrating.

"I'm sure it's fine-"

"No." Azul said, sounding way too intense for someone talking about a singular chili flake. "This is sub-optimal. I must conduct further research. I apologize, but I will temporarily leave."

"Bye," you said, trying not to sound too happy.

Finally, a break for your stomach! Your poor, poor stomach. You still remembered how this all started.

"Darling, would you mind taste-testing a few new recipes for me?"

"Of course not!"

You thought it would be easy. You were so, so wrong. Because those 'few' recipes were actually over a hundred. And those recipes were the exact same guacamole with one more chili flake each time.

You hated guacamole now. The next time you saw an avocado, you'd have an aneurysm.

As you lamented, the twins entered your field of vision. Here to float, you guessed.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh at me," you said, but neither of them were laughing. Jade had his polite smile, but it was strained. His eye was twitching.

Finally, Floyd spoke up.

"I can't take this anymore!" He said. "You gotta find a way to make him stop!"

They were suffering too? You guys were companions in misery?

"Jade?" You asked.

"I'm afraid I must agree," he said. "This is becoming much too trying for me to bear. I fear my stomach may no longer be able to contain this food."

So, you really were cohorts in misery. The question was, now what? What did you do? Azul could come back any moment.

"Do you have a plan then?"

Please let them have a plan, please. You couldn't take this anymore.

Silence. You were beginning to lose hope when Floyd spoke up.

"Flirt with him," he said, sounding way too serious considering what he was suggesting.

That was his best idea? Flirting?

Wait.

Azul was great at being suave, but maybe he couldn't take what he dished out. In fact, he probably couldn't take what he dished out.

"Floyd."

"Yeah?"

"Has anyone told you you're a genius?" You asked.

"All the time," Floyd said, though he didn't seem smug. "Hate it. They keep telling me to apply myself. Usually the thing they're telling me to do's super boring."

Oh, right. Floyd was actually a savant.

"Get back to your seats. We can't look too suspicious," you said, and the twins nodded, scampering back to their seats.

Just in time, because at that moment, Azul walked back into the restaurant, carrying another plate of guacamole with him.

"Is this one better?" He said, but this time, instead of appeasing him, you stood up, leaning in close. It was time for you to use that dating-sim knowledge.

"How do you expect me to focus on the food when I've got the most gorgeous man this world has to offer staring at me?"

Azul flushed, turning away with a huff.

"Regardless of the falsehood of that statement, it is entirely irrelevant to this conversation," he said. That wouldn't do. You weren't going to let him get out of this.

"Now, now," you said, hooking an arm around his shoulder. "Don't deny it, darling."

In an attempt to maintain his composure, Azul looked away. You just hooked a finger under his chin to combat that.

"Don't deny me the privilege of watching you lose your composure like this, Azul," you said, enjoying every second of this.

"I, er-"

You leaned in, puckering your lips. Azul scrunched his eyes shut in anticipation.

But nothing happened. After a while, Azul finally opened his eyes, and you couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"You- you looked hilarious!" You said. "All red n' blushy. I should really do this more often."

Azul scowled, swatting you away.

"Leave at once," he said, though there wasn't any bite to his voice. "I shall go to my room and continue this endeavor in private."

No more guacamole? No more guacamole! Yes! Victory, at last.

"Of course." As you left, you could see Jade and Floyd give you a thumbs up.

Back in your room, but you couldn't help but smile. As irritating as this whole endeavor had been - and as bad as it was for your stomach - you couldn't deny that this new side to Azul was one you enjoyed.

You really would have to do this more often.

#azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x you #fluff #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x you #twisted wonderland #gn reader #fanfic #jade leech #floyd leech

[tiyoin]

Tiyoin the voices got to me again. I was scrolling tho tik tok and came across a video ,and it reminded me that you mentioned reader doing a sport before attending twst in the singing au. Wanna give a guess what sport I saw??

It was ✨figure skating✨. Just imagine it for a sec. Do I know anything about skating?? No. But the idea of anxiety reader being one is beautiful. Especially since skating isnt a confrontation sports like soccer and, reader doesn't have to be in contact with someone while performing their act.

I see reader starting the sport when they were young. They may have seen it as a way to put themselves out there while doing something they enjoy and find relaxing. They didn't compete in big contests with thousands of people watching (girlie would not make it). They would only get to county or district level of the contest B4 the nerves got to them. Most likely self sabotages at the end so they wouldn't have to seen and judged by so many. Reader does has a few gold medals tho. Yuu has been their personal cheerleader for a few years now. Going to as many contests as he can to just support reader and know they're not alone.

✨Now✨

What if there is a different competition (w/o a overblot hopefully) which a sport is picked randomly. Whether you want it to be a school vs school, dorm vs dorm or maybe grade vs grade you can decide. I think it could work with any of them. Like they pick a few people to represent their side and to complete. The ones that physically compete get prizes (💰) and the others get bragging rights and a 🍕 pizza party or smth like that idk.

Anyways, Yuu is like *puppy eyes* pls reader 👉👈we poor. And reader knows Yuu is only asking cuz they they really need the money and he would never make them do smth that would harm them. Yuus real motive is maybe this will help reader make friends or less be less anxious around their classmates. And he knows Reader is gonna win cuz none of the others skate.

The only ones in NRC that I can see being able to skate to a degree is Rook, Jade or Ortho maybe Epel too. He probably hated it till his grandma said only strong people could skate cuz it's hard. I think his home town is gets snow right? Can't recall rn.

Depending on which VS is picked the outfit and preforment is gonna be a easy choice or the hardest thing in the whole contest. Maybe a duet gets thrown in there. ➖👄👁️

Overall reader is ✨stressed✨ rightfully so. The creeps are recording, admirers admirering, rivals showing up left and right. Reader gonna need a nap after everything that's happened.

Another 3-5 am ask woooo. Sorry if there is any spelling errors. Why do the best ideas always come when I'm tired 😩. I can send u a tik tok I saw that inspired me if u want. Also I don't mean to mention Rook in every ask he just shows up w/o asking. Like my fav is Malleus and I haven't send a single idea with him.

Maybe it's cuz Rooks a Sagittarius and I'm a Gemini. They are sister signs. That's probably why he lives in my head rent free. I hope a good night.

MEL- I NEED TO KISS YOU BRAIN RIGHT NOW!!

especially with the death of YOI: adolescence... a sad day for anime lovers' everywhere (im on desktop so i can't do any emojis </3)

I actually had a really big skating phase. still do and would love to have prof. lessons. i wanted to do it so. badly. my parents said 'no' and that it was too late for me, so i mourn that. believe it or not, i was in soccer and almost did it in college.

but the ice feeling so freeing whenever reader steps onto it. they're not worried about sweating because of ice, and they can move how the want when they want.

reader would 100 PERCENT self sabotage themselves. filling their head with nonsense and because of all those thoughts (especially) 'dont miss this spin, dont miss this spin' only to miss it because they were focusing on whether they would 'miss the spin or not')

but in their home world, reader is phenomenal!! they're amazing! they got scouted by amazing coaches who wanted to tap into their raw potential, who were impressed by reader's hard work and drive... but reader always finds a away to miss things up for themselves.

OH MY GOD AHHH SPORTING COMPETETIONS WERE ALWAYS MY FAVORITE ARCS IN SHOWS

ITS LIKE THEIR OWN MINI OLYMPICS HAHAHA (reader: wdym you guys dont have olympics?)

ofc there's a pre sign up and auditions. reader is thinking and mulling it over. because trying out for the boys team is very different than the girl's team, is co-ed even allowed?? this is an all boys school after all!

(yuu brings crowley to their audition to convince him to give them student-ship so they can compete and WRECK those snot-nosed princes.)

maybe there's a partner skate? and you know that the admirers of reader that can skate and sign. the. fuck. up.

I WANT SKATER JADE!! I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT!! but home boy would probably not be able to skate at the level of reader just because he's og a fish and if he started skating when he turned human then he'd only have a year of experience </3

but lets just say there's a sports thing they have... not club but dedicated for this event... then i can see jade being somewhat on reader's level. but there's still a difference unfortunately

ROOK HUNT SKATED OUT OF THE WOMB!! ortho could professionally skate sine... 5 minutes ago? like c'mon guys get on his level.

though i can see rook rather being an observer. he also called it 'ice dancing' because that's what it is to him. but if rook trying out for this instead of his usual sweep of archery, all to stop some... he doesn't have a word for the level of disgust he'd have if he saw you dancing with a slimy no name.

plus he will be able to experience your growth! not just as a skater but as a person! he can also get closer to you!

vil. vil can! ice dance. he needed to learn it for a film and he's always liked the feeling of being on the ice. which makes pomefiore the contenders for being on the team / being reader's partner during partner categories.

epel would want ot learn hockey but was forced into ice skating by his grandma HAHAH she'd say that he can learn to play hockey after he's mastered the ice or something. it's something he's NOT proud of- but (if this is the point where him and reader are on good terms) then he'll happily play up him being a skating pro.

i can also see vil forcing epel into skating for the school. like wdym ice skating is for girls? get your ass on the ice NOW

SILVER AND LILIA WOULD ALSO BE ICE SKATERS AHHH. but it's a bit dangerous for silver to be on the ice but if it means helping support his friend then he's gung ho about it! just... please keep an eye on him in case he starts falling (he's usually good about that. making it to the sides before he was able to face plant on the ice. but lilia is always present in case of such emergencies (and if the designated watchers arent able to get to him in time))

lilia has dabbled in a bit of everything. so if you see him whip out a quad (with only a little bit of stumbling, as he complains about his bones again) he'll act like it's not hard (it's not- for him)

BUT IF MALLEUS WANTS TO GET INTO THAT ICE SKATING ACTION THEN HE'LL SPEND HOURS AT IT. the prince bale to do things a bit differently than everyone since he's.. ya knw, thee malleus draconia.

crowley ; you can barly even skate! why are you at the try outs!

malleus :... give me a week (and the mofo MEANS IT)

and dw i get random spouts of 'rook hunter-itis too. I DONT MIND YOU BRINGING HIM UP CAUSE I LOVE HIM- AND MALLEUS AHHHH)

#tiyoin 🔎 #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted anxiety 🌀 #mel <3

[bidisasterevankinard]

for the prompts can you do 1 and 8 I feel like they fit so good together

Nonnie, it's a little got way from me (1211 words) because I have strong Tommy feels so. here you are(I know it's not just fluff and I'm so sorry)

Sometimes there are days Tommy just doesn’t want to get up from the bed. It can be simply because he is exhausted after a long and hard shift or because it’s rainy, and cool wind, which walks all around, makes his bones and old wounds ache.  Those days are pretty easy to get through. Just take it easy, take painkillers, make sure you’re warm and watch Love, Actually in bed with cocoa. Simple and comfy.

But they're also days when he can’t get out of bed, not because of a little pain, or at least it’s not because of physical pain. There are days in his life when his head attacks him with memories of the army, or bad calls, or all the years he was looking for someone to love him, and, most importantly, for a reason to love himself. Because there were more than enough days he was rough, rude and just simply awful to himself. And all this darkness around him forever found a place in his heart and head, mainly staying low, being overpowered by his self-growth and reasons he founds to love himself anyway, by hanging outs with Eddie, sometimes with Chim and even Hen, and of course, by dates and smiles of Evan. 

Evan, this adorable dork, found the way to give him the sun to light his life enough that darkness is scared to get out. But it still is waiting for the moment when he will be too distracted and unprotected to hit again. 

Like today.

Yesterday was … a lot. He accidentally met his mother on the market where he went to get some good groceries for the meal he was planning to cook for Evan to make him feel good after the shift. The literal bumping into each other near the vegetables quickly became a screaming match, mostly from his mother’s part, because Tommy way long before stopped to try to to prove that just because he likes men, doesn't mean he's a bad person, or son, or chose the wrong way.  Eventually, he just ran away from there.

Then the dish he tried to make burned because he was too distracted crying in his bathroom. He had to order take out.

And then Evan texted him that he couldn't come tonight because they had a long and hard call, and the only thing he wanted was to fall into his bed.They changed plans from a little dinner together yesterday to spending all day together today. 

Yesterday ended as awful as it was all day. The nightmare of one of his close calls made him sleep badly after, turning half the night in his bed, trying to get the best position for sleeping, but not succeeding for more than two hours. 

So, here he is, miserable and alone in his bed, looking at the clock which shows him that Evan will be here in less than five minutes, but he is still in his bed, in his the most comfy, but really old hoodie and boxers. 

Tommy kind of wishes Evan would text him now and rain check again, not wanting to drag the man into his mess, but of course as he thinks about this, Evan opens the door.

“Hey, sleepy beauty, I brought us coffee and your favorite burgers from this cafe you like so much,” Evan’s voice, as always sunny as his face and smile, spreads throughout the small house.

The sound of the sneakers being taken off, then steps to the, as Tommy suspects kitchen, as next he hears sounds of the plates taken out. Next he hears footsteps again and then his bedroom’s door is open, to reveal his boyfriend in his dark skin jeans and burgundy hoodie, Tommy pretty sure Evan was wearing during the tour. 

“Hey,” Evan smiles at him, putting plates and coffee on his nightstand, and sits down near his face, putting his hand to stroke his hair.

Tommy will never admit he melts into the touch. But he melts and ready to purr like a kitten being pet.

“Are you having a blanket burrito day?”

“Blanket burrito day?”

“Yeah. I call the bad days, when I can’t get out of the bed because of my leg or  because of bad mood, or both,  ‘blanket burrito day’,” Evan kisses his forehead. “Are you having this today or you just want me to jump into your bed?” his boyfriend smirks and winks at him and Tommy smiles a little too.

He knows he can joke about that. Say that yes, it was his way to get Evan into his bed and maybe make out or even something more, but he doesn’t want something like that.

He needs someone to hold him. Just hold him and show him he’s not alone and it will get better.

“Can you hug me?” Tommy doesn't like how small his voice sounds and he hates how quick he folded looking at his boyfriend who with one glance knew he was having a bad day. “If-if it’s ok.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course it’s ok. I love cuddles,” Evan smiles at him, taking his jeans off and lying down behind him, putting his hands around his waist.

He makes sure Tommy can feel himself touching every part of Evan’s big body behind him and Tommy wants to cry from the feeling of being safe. Protected. Loved.

They stay like that for half an hour, not talking and Tommy breaks the silence, needing to know.

“You don’t ask questions. Why am I having a bad day? What happened?,” Tommy plays with Evan’s fingers on his waist, “Or you are not even trying to tell me to stop. You aren’t telling me to male up,” he whispers it but in silence and with how close they are he knows Evan hears him.

Hands on his waist only squeeze tighter and then he feels a careful little kiss on his neck.

“We all have bad days. Especially on our job, with everything we saw. It’s normal to have them and you deserve to let yourself be sad if you feel it without trying to move on. You deserve someone to take care of you. And the reason for your bad mood isn’t so important for me to find out, if you don’t want to talk right now. You can do it on your time. Just,” Evan turns them so he can look him in the eyes. Blue to blue. “Don’t push me away. I want to be here, with you not just on good days. I want bad days too. Because you can’t live without them. But,” Evan smiles at him and kisses him so chaste Tommy wants to cry, “you can be not alone. Especially on bad days. You can share the pain with your person, making the burden easy to bear.”

Tommy just nods and lets himself get comfortable in Evan’s hands, feeling how slumber takes over him because the warmth from Evan and his breath lull him into sleep.

“I’ll tell you after the sleep,” Tommy mumbles before falling asleep.

“Take your time, baby,” Tommy feels the kiss on his shoulder, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tommy knows it’s not the promise only about today.

read on ao3

prompts

#my fics #evan buckley #911 #evan buck buckley #911 abc #tommy kinard #tuck #bucktommy #tevan #kinkley #911 on abc #bucktommy fic #buck x tommy #buck buckley #9 1 1 #evan buck buckely #911 show

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking my parents to pay my tuition for the semester, lying about how I lost my scholarship, and then planning on lying to my dad regarding his requirements in exchange for him paying the tuition?

My (20X) college has a scholarship for offspring of faculty members, and I was lucky enough to have my application accepted by the college that my dad (53M) works at. This means that I get a full ride scholarship; if I graduate within 4 years, I won't have to pay a single penny to my college (books and supplies not included, of course).

Unfortunately, the scholarship does have two requirements; I need to have taken at least a certain amount of credits semester before (not a ridiculous number), and for that semester, I need to have gotten over a 2.0/4.3 GPA. Easy enough, right? Who can't get a GPA over 2.0?

Well. I suffered a mental health downfall the past semester and I ended up failing half my classes. I was unable to sit my finals. I know this wasn't smart of me, and I think I should've done something about my academic situation other than just wait for the semester to be over, but I had quit a semester due to my mental health decline previously and I didn't want a repeat of that. In any case, I got a GPA of about 1.6. I'm not on probation but I did receive a warning.

Fortunately, this doesn't mean I lost my scholarship for good. I just need to fulfill those requirements in the upcoming semester and I get it back.

I realized I did need to pay my tuition this semester two days before tuition fee acceptance closes and I debated telling only one of my parents. My mom wants me to finish college no matter what, and my dad has told me that he does not care anymore as long as I don't stress him out. He's also told me he no longer has any expectations for me whatsoever. I did also consider talking about it with my brother and borrowing money from him to put together the tuition fee.

I figured I'd bite the bullet and just told my dad, who I know has been stressed about my future and how badly I'm doing in college. I just casually dropped it as I was making breakfast for myself and then we had a lengthy conversation that my mother (51F) joined when she got back home.

I don't remember much of the conversation (I may have memory problems) but the AITA mentioned part is that I lied to my parents and told them I did sit all my finals and try my best. I didn't. I tried that for mid term exams but I had nothing to write, so for finals I didn't sit them at all. This happened with three of the classes I was taking. I just didn't take my finals. My dad was suspicious of my claim; he said that as a professor himself he wouldn't fail students who at least submitted homework and sat their exams to write anything at all, but I maintained that I tried.

The conclusion was that my dad would be willing to pay my tuition if I got my shit together and also deleted my social media, which he thinks is a drain on my time and energy. He's not wrong. I deleted my Twitter accounts immediately afterwards (which my parents don't know about) because I've been thinking about it, but I can't really bring myself to get rid of Discord, where so many of my friends are. People I've met while studying internationally, long-term friends who moved to other countries; Discord is the only way to contact these people.

This is the AITA part; if my dad follows up on that particular requirement to check if I deleted Discord, which he particularly dislikes (he has previously confiscated the electronics I bought with my own money that I earned, after he saw me on muted call at night with some friends), I plan on deleting the app/program on my devices but using it anyway as a website. This would be a betrayal of my dad's trust in me, but there's no love lost between us anyway. He's already told me he doesn't love me unconditionally. (Yes, I'm his biological child and he did raise me.)

I also feel like an asshole because I could've settled this with the help of my brother; I'd pick up a job during the winter break to pay him back, but it would have been done eventually. Or I could've just gone to my mom. She works her own job, and we could've figured it out together without telling my dad. I told my dad anyway, wanting him to pay the tuition, even though I knew that talking about having to spend money on his kids stresses him out deeply.

My mom also told my dad to go to therapy (in detail, so I know it wasn't just something she said as a throwaway thing) during the conversation. It did get heated. I don't disagree, but I don't know if that'd be okay; mental health is stigmatized where I am, and my dad as a grown adult man and a respected professor if seen going to therapy could have his reputation kind of effected. It wouldn't have happened if I just brought up this whole situation quietly up to my mom, or just my brother.

So I lost my scholarship, I lied to my parents about the technicalities of how that happened, and I'm asking for some amount of money from my parents but also planning on lying to them in regards to the terms they set out. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole