#assume connections or wrong number

[mlndless]

📨 delivered to @gntlesurvived

Anthony: SOS Anthony: I am having a fashion emergency !

[losingdcgs]

closed text starter for @amadoures / muse of your choice !

axel: i'm 6 fucking movies deep into the children of the corn franchise and can confidently say i might not even wish this shit on my worst enemy axel: pretty sure i can physically feel my brain melting axel: which is all my very roundabout way of asking if you're doing anything more interesting

[andante--andante]

ophelia: hey i made a ton of kimbap and i can't finish it. come over and grab some pls thx

[dancingdanvers]

Text :: Ford & Sloane

Sloane: Did you know identical twins don't have the same fingerprints? Sloane: Am I just really dense for assuming they would because they are IDENTICAL @ford-tamblyn

[amaranthinespirit]

Hi! Request for the husband!simon and murderer!reader, your latest post mentioned we've never killed a woman.

But what if Simon comes home to another one of your killings but this time it's a barista/or just a woman who wouldn't get the hint that Simon is happily married.

husband!simon riley discovering your latest kill is the barista from his favorite coffee shop

simon has a certain coffee shop he frequents to get his morning coffee—typically when he wants to let you sleep in because he prefers you to make his coffee to him. you just have a magic touch.

the coffee shop is the next best thing, and while it's not quite as good as how his sweet wife makes it, it'll do. sometimes, on his way home, he'll stop and grab you a sweet drink and a treat—you'll need the energy for later.

but lately, he's noticed this one barista in particular that just won't get the hint he has a ring on his finger and a perfect wife at home to match it.

sure, the barista is pretty—but not to his standards. everyone pales in comparison to you. he worships the ground you walk on and kisses your feet.

every day he goes in, and she's there, she won't miss the opportunity to tighten her apron around her waist, bat her lashes while biting her thin bottom lip, and speak with a sweet voice that makes his stomach roll. (he prefers his wife in an apron—typically because she doesn't wear anything under it when he asks her).

she leaves hearts on his to-go cups that he disposes of once he transfers it to a tumbler with a kiss print on the outside from your red lipstick. she gives him her employee discount. more money to spend on equipment to dispose of your bodies, not the tip jar.

simon ignores all of this, but he also doesn't tell you. he figures you're already stressed as is and doesn't want to add a petulant and persistent twenty-something girl to the mix.

next thing he knows, she's scribbled her number on his cup, encased in a heart. he knew they had to write personal messages to increase customer connection, but this seemed a bit of a reach.

i mean, come on. 'xxx-xxx-xxxx call me x' is a little excessive.

he scowled at it, resisting the urge to squish the cup under his palm. he turned away without another word, but he did send you a picture this time before promptly throwing it away—the coffee still inside. who knew what she had done to it.

simon didn't question when you wanted to know her name. meek curiosity, he assumed, but what an incorrect assumption it was.

arriving home was always a guessing game because you don't tell him when you've lured another man to his demise. don't wanna keep records of it, simon would tell you. just in case.

every day, he'd take a guess on if you've killed or not. so far, he hasn't been wrong. maybe he can just tell whenever you're in that type of mood, but his reward is giving you the same number of orgasms as his streak. he's currently at nine.

when he pulled into the driveway, he was thinking that he would find a large body belonging to a man, too close to your rug—which he would scold you about by edging you mercilessly.

what he wasn't expecting was the body of the barista that always flirted with him, and you wielding a knife as you stared at him like it was his turn.

boy, did that make him hard.

standing there with a bloodied hand on your hip, red dripping from the knife as you waved it slowly back and forth through the air, as if taunting him. "got something to explain, si?"

his expression contorted to one of confusion, looking between you and the body before relaxing with a chuckle. "jealous, luv?" he stepped closer, pulling the knife from your hand and letting it clatter to the floor.

his rough hands found your hips, rubbing himself against your front as he trailed kisses from your jaw and down your neck. "new perfume?" he diverted.

"si. don't distract me. are you hiding something?" you tried to keep a straight face as you scolded him, but how could you? your husband was dangerously irresistible.

he chuckles again. "only tha' she's been botherin' me for t'long." his voice is gruff. "if y'didn't handle 'er, I would'v."

"oh." a frown pulls at your face. "why didn't you tell me? I would've killed her a lot sooner—"

you yelp as simon suddenly takes you over his shoulder, followed by a giggle as you struggle for a grip against his shirt. a whine of his name only earns a slap to your rear.

"c'mon, luvie, got'a get ya cleaned up." he starts in the direction of the bathroom, where he would personally scrub the blood from your body. somewhat like he had to do the first time you killed. clueless thing. "need ta stay pretty f'me, yeah?"

he'll take care of the corpse a bit later, if it meant cleaning you up personally. and delivering...ten orgasms as his reward for keeping his streak.

[flicklikesstuff]

Have you guys ever thought too hard about Crunchy Chip’s over-the-top avoidance of sweets? Because guess what?

I SURE did-

We all know that eating sweets in the Dark Cacao Kingdom isn’t as unforgivable as Chip makes it out to be. The citadel literally has some sweets stored that Fishgatto took in his benefit before.

Caramel Arrow’s fav drink is literally brown sugar milk tea (Like meeeee :D). Not even Dark Cacao himself is strict on it since he has given Chip a pass on the treats a number of times.

As far as I know, I believe no other Dark Cacao denizen is actually that strict on that rule? (I may be wrong idk)

So then, why is Chip like this?

…….

This is going into more theorising territory, but it’s been heavily implied that Chip has spent his entire life (if not ever since his childhood) in the wild. His voice lines point to this. He lives in the mountains, can set up camp by reflex, hunts with the pack, and overall just has a love for being outside.

Also, most likely raised by wolves even? I feel like his story below was meant to be about how he first met and was saved by Dark Cacao since it parallels the bit when Wildberry shares how he first met and is taken in by Hollyberry. While it’s not stated how old he was in that time, I’m going to assume somewhat young enough near Wild’s age if we’re seeing the two stories as parallels?

(After all, this sequence is meant to show why these two cookies are the best, most loyal options to be entrusted with their monarch’s soul jam. It makes sense to me that they’re parallels of a first-meet.

AGAIN, this is my interpretation only!! This story could really be taken as something else too.)

And I’ve been thinking. Assuming IF Chip has spent his childhood in the wild, he must’ve been isolated from cookie civilisation/cookie social circles for a period of time.

Until he was ‘saved’ and then taken in to train and become a warrior and Cream Wolf Captain. With his childhood spent not growing up in a typical cookie home and instead, his heart being always in tune with the wild more, there’s bound to be some dissociation with his fellow Dark Cacaoians.

(This is also the guy who doesn’t know what a delegation is despite being a man in his mid 30s tops. Adding more into my theory that he’s somewhat detached from society.)

………..

Getting to the point, what if this isolation is the explanation? Chip has mentioned that his job has him needed at the kingdom’s borders, thus making him even more distant from other cookies.

And even then, the others even agree so that his rightful place and the place he’s most expected to be in, is in the mountains.

Not saying that this is a bad thing. Not at all! He loves his job. I’m sure Chip loves being in the mountains with his wolves. He’s mentioned how he’s missed and is fully content being there a bunch.

It’s just that…. Does he ever feel a longing to belong? After all, it’s an ingrained thing to desire connections. Not just with the wolves but also, with his very own people too. Does not growing up among other children cookies just like his other fellow warriors had, ever get to his head sometimes?

Does it ever make him feel….isolated and distant in a sense?

Unless, this could be fixed of course. He could really, really, really commit to the values every warrior should have. And Discipline is one of them! If he’s dedicated to the bit, then he could convince himself that he truly does belong and IS a Dark Cacao warrior.

He’ll prove it if he must! To the king, to the others, to himself!

He feels the need to greatly appeal and prove to Dark Cacao so much that he does have a place in this kingdom after all. Why wouldn’t he? He’s kept strict to every rule and expectation, right??

If we consider that the theory he grew up isolated in the wild as a kid could be true, this means Chip has felt like an outsider ever since he could remember.

Being a Dark Cacaoian by blood/jam. But at the same time, still not fitting in. Its tough. (Not projecting nope.)

Btw, this may or may not reminded me of someone else….

Mr. “Would rather be in the silence of the Royal Gardens than loud-ass parties and talking and I’m fully aware how weird that sounds coming from a Hollyberrian cookie.”

*coughs coughs*

Totally not spreading my Wildchip propaganda but I just thought it’d be neat if they talk about how they love their respective kingdoms and would die to serve them but also-also, it lowkey feels weird and kinda hurts to not actually fit in with your own fellow cookies. Also WHAT, you’re an orphan adopted by your Ancient too???

………….

So anyways, I probs dug too deep into what should’ve been a comedic trivial thing of a character and made it into a mini sad-fest. Whups.

Though, it could also be simply that Chip’s just really dedicated while silly about it buuuuuuuut, that’s not as fun to analyse.

TLDR: “I didn’t have normal childhood like other cookies so I sometimes feel like not truly belonging but that’s not true because I DEFINITELY am a Dark Cacao Warrior and I can prove it by overcommitting to the bit.”

Btw, Happy late Bday Crunchy Chip <3 🎉💖

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Sorry, wrong number (H.S. One Shot) Part 3 (Last Part)

General Masterlist Summary: A wrong-number text leads to an unexpected connection between a you and a stranger. What starts as a playful exchange quickly becomes the highlight of their days, leaving you curious about the man behind the messages.

Finally Y/N and Harry give in to their feelings.

A/n: I CANNOT BELIEVE HOW MUCH SUPPORT THIS SERIES GOT, I HAD SO SO SO SO MUCH FUN WRITING IT AND I CAN'T WAIT TO DO MORE STUFF. Thanks if you liked, shared, left a comment, anything! REALLY THANK YOU SO SO MUCH.

Thanks to the best of the best @eileenrry for hyping me up (It's already saturday over there so i guess it's fair i'm publishing this now) Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: A LOT OF FLUFF AND A LOT OF CHEESY DATES YOU'LL BE THROWING UP BY THE END OF IT. MAINLY CUTESY STUFF FOR YOU TO FANTASIZE ABOUT. Use of y/n, everything happens really fast, time moves QUICK.

You read his text again, your heart racing. It was playful, sure, but there was something else—something unspoken, just under the surface.

"I think it means we’re in trouble," you finally typed, keeping it vague. You didn’t want to assume anything yet.

"Trouble? 🤔" His reply came almost immediately. "Define trouble."

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. How could you define something you didn’t fully understand yourself? How could you put butterflies at full speed into words?

"I don’t know," you typed. "Maybe… when someone sneaks into your head when you’re supposed to be working, and suddenly spreadsheets don’t make sense anymore."

Brave of you. Classy, even. You hit send and stared at the screen, instantly second-guessing yourself. It was honest, sure, but had you said too much?

The three little dots appeared. Then it disappeared. Then it appeared again.

Oh, shit. Please say something.

"You know what I think it means?" he finally wrote.

"What?"

"That I’ve somehow managed to ruin spreadsheets for you, and I’m not even sorry."

You giggled out loud, the sound breaking through the quiet of your room.

"Good to know you have no regrets" you replied, a smile spreading across your face that nothing could erase.

"None at all," he shot back. "But for the record, you’ve ruined a few things for me too."

The conversation hung there for a moment, his words settling over you like a soft weight. You wanted to ask what he meant, but you were terrified of the answer.

"Fair enough. I guess we’re even," you typed back.

“Want to ruin things for each other tomorrow?”

“What does that even mean?” you chuckled, staring at your phone.

“It means I’ll think of you tomorrow, and I hope you’ll think of me too. Goodnight, Tulip 🌷.”

It felt completely surreal, like you were trapped in a dream you never wanted to wake up from. You couldn’t help but thank your past self—and your lousy fingers—for mistyping that single, life-changing number. Just one little mistake, and now here you were, heart racing and thoughts spiraling every time his name lit up your screen. It was pure magic.

The next morning, you found yourself humming while making breakfast. Humming! Like you were Aurora from Sleeping Beauty, twirling around your kitchen like the birds were about to join in. You were a walking cliché, and you didn’t even care. Doomed, yes—but in the best way possible. In love, obviously. The knock at the door jolted you out of your fairytale haze. You blinked, momentarily confused, before heading to answer it. Standing there was a delivery man holding the biggest bouquet of tulips you'd ever seen—bright, colorful, and completely over-the-top in the best way.

"I didn’t…" you started, unsure if this was a mistake.

"Delivery for Y/N," the grumpy delivery man interrupted, already turning on his heel. "Have a good day or whatever." And just like that, he was gone, leaving you in the doorway with the bouquet in your hands, completely stunned. Were these even meant for you? He hadn’t checked any ID or anything. But the moment your eyes landed on the card nestled between the tulips, your heart flipped.

For Tulip From H.

It was all you needed. That tiny, scribbled note said everything. You felt the heat rush to your face as a grin spread across it. Of course they were yours. Who else would send tulips to you?

You closed the door behind you, clutching the bouquet like it was the most precious thing in the world, unable to wipe the smile off your face.you stared at the flowers like an idiot for a hot minute and quickly grabbed your phone to text him but he beat you to it, as you were typing the message his came first. “Morning Tulip, hope you were awake.”

“I was indeed, woke up to 25 tulips in my face.”

“Oh really? I thought I said 30. Someone’s getting fired,” he replied, clearly joking.

“I really love them, they’re beautiful. 25 is more than enough. Why the flowers, though?” You played the innocent card, knowing full well the answer.

“Oh, I thought I should make sure to mess with those spreadsheets today.”

The sound that escaped your mouth wasn’t even human—it was a mix between a laugh and a scream. You quickly tried to gather your thoughts to reply.

“Then how can I make sure I mess with your day?” you typed, feeling bolder than usual.

“You already are doing it, Tulip.”

And just like that, your heart was officially ruined for the day. You stared at his last message, rereading it like it held the secrets of the universe. How did he do that? Ruin your entire day—in the best way possible—with just a few words?

“Good to know I’m effective” you replied, smirking to yourself.

“So… how do you feel about letting me ruin your evening too?”

It’s happening! Everybody calm down! it’s happening!. Your stomach flipped. You typed and deleted your reply about five times before settling on something casual. 

“Depends. What do you have in mind?”

“Dinner? Unless you’re busy with those spreadsheets.” There it was again, the perfect balance of teasing and genuine interest.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your firing spree, but… dinner sounds good.”

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

As you stared at the screen, excitement mixed with nerves. Was this real? Was he actually asking you out? Tulips were one thing, but a whole dinner? That felt… bigger. And 7. It was barely 9:30 am, and you had to wait until 7? That’s torture. What were you supposed to do for the next few hours? Sit around and obsess over every possible scenario? Yeah, you did.

You groaned and tossed your phone on the couch, pacing the room like it might somehow speed up time. Maybe you’d clean the apartment—again. Or work on those spreadsheets he seemed so intent on ruining. Or maybe… you’d just spend the day imagining what this dinner would actually be like. Would it be casual, or was he planning something elaborate? What would he wear? Oh god, what should you wear? The spiral of overthinking had officially begun, and 7 PM felt like a lifetime away.

By the time 7 PM FINALLY rolled around, you were a bundle of nerves. After hours of trying on clothes and second-guessing your choices, you’d settled on something simple but flattering. You didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard, but let’s face it—you were. A buzz on your phone snapped you out of your last-minute mirror check.

 “Outside. No pressure, but I’m hungry.”

You laughed, grabbed your bag, and took one last deep breath before stepping outside. There he was, leaning casually against his car, looking effortlessly perfect. How was it possible for someone to make standing look so good? Only Harry Styles.

“Nice ride,” you teased, trying to hide your nerves.

“Nice dress,” he shot back, smirking as he opened the passenger door for you. LOST, you are more than lost for this man.

The drive was filled with the kind of banter that felt like second nature by now. He wouldn’t tell you where you were going, just that it was “low-key, but worth it.” That’s what you expected actually, he was really recognizable, and you? could be mistaken for a waitress if some took the correct picture. Harry Styles and who is she? But then you ended up at a cozy little Italian place tucked away in a quiet corner of the city.

“Looks amazing” you asked as he held the door open for you.

“Wait till you taste it” he said, leading you inside. Wait…was that….about the restaurant? or….

The atmosphere was warm and intimate, with dim lighting and soft music playing in the background. You sat across from him at a small corner table, feeling like the rest of the world had disappeared.

“Alright, let’s get this out of the way,” he said, leaning forward with a grin. “Tell me all the embarrassing stories about yourself before the breadsticks get here.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Absolutely not. But I’ll trade one for one if you’re brave enough.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s on.”

The night unfolded with laughter, stolen glances, and stories that made both of you feel like you’d known each other forever. At some point, you realized you hadn’t checked your phone once—a miracle in itself. You were used to distract yourself whenever the guy you were out with started to talk about bitcoin or some pyramid scheme. When the check came, he waved you off before you could even reach for your wallet.

“Don’t start,” he warned, smirking. “Consider it a payment for ruining your spreadsheets.”

I don’t even think we can still say butterflies. let’s evolve to a full on zoo. As he walked you back to your door later that night, the air between you felt charged but comfortable. You paused, turning to face him.

 “Thank you. For tonight. It was…”

 “Perfect,” he finished for you, his voice soft.

You didn’t even mind that he left you with just that. No kiss, no dramatic goodbye.

But.

His gaze flicked to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again, and your breath caught.

‘Can I…’ he started, voice barely above a whisper, ‘...do one more thing to completely ruin your night?’

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You tilted your face up slightly, and he took the hint, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. It was soft at first, tentative, like he was testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, his hand came up to gently cup your jaw, deepening the kiss just enough to leave you dizzy. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment, both of you breathing slightly harder.

‘I think you just ruined my whole life,’ you said. It was pathetic, but it was a completely, utterly, undeniable truth.

‘Alright, Tulip. I’ll take full responsibility. But if I’ve ruined your life, I guess I’m going to have to stick around and fix it.’

You could feel your knees WEAK.

----

By now Gwen knew about your lovelife, who didn’t when you were dating Harry Styles, it was really difficult to hide the blushing moments, the giggles, the fancy car that picked you up every now and then, Your days were magical. MORE than magical.

May 12

Harry had sent you a song that morning with a simple text

“This one it’s just pure truth. Song link Specially 2:32”

Listening to it on repeat throughout the day, you couldn’t help but smile. It was one of those songs that felt like a confession, like it was saying all the things he hadn’t quite said yet.

"Are you trying to tell me something, Mr. Styles?" you texted.

"YOU tell me 😉"

May 14

You snapped a picture of your desk—papers, coffee cups, and a very tired-looking plant all vying for space.

"Welcome to chaos" you captioned it and sent it to him.

Seconds later, a photo of a perfectly neat studio table arrived, complete with his notebook, a few pens, and an untouched cup of tea.

"Show-off" you texted.

"Organized chaos" he corrected. “Coming to make me company later?”

“Obviously”

May 18

“🌷”

Every morning now started with a single tulip emoji from Harry. No text, no explanation—just the flower. It made you laugh every time, this simple, silent ritual he’d created just for you. There was something about it—something understated and intimate.

It didn’t matter if the rest of the world felt chaotic or overwhelming; that one tiny emoji always managed to anchor you. Some days, you’d wake up to find it already waiting for you, like a quiet reminder that someone out there was thinking of you. Other days, it would pop up mid-morning, just as you were starting to feel the weight of your to-do list. But he NEVER failed to send it.

You weren’t even sure how he’d decided to start—but you knew it was the first thing you’d look for every day. It wasn’t grand or overly sentimental, but that’s what made it so special. It was Harry in the simplest, purest form—thoughtful, playful, and somehow always knowing exactly what you needed without you ever having to say a word. Sometimes, you’d reply with nothing more than a matching tulip. Other times, you’d tease him with a string of emojis—🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷—followed by a cheeky, “Did one not feel sufficient today, love?” Yes. “Love” had made its way into the conversation. Tulip was still his favorite, but love was now in the game.

He never explained it, never justified it. But in those simple tulips, he said so much more: I’m here for you. I see you. I want you.

May 30

When you told Harry you’d finally gotten the project approved at work, his response came in the form of three celebratory emojis: 🎉🥂🌷.

"I’m so proud of you, my tulip" he wrote.

It wasn’t over-the-top or overly formal, but it hit you right where it mattered. The simplicity, the care—it was so very him.

"You were the one pushing me to keep doing it at midnight that day in your apartment. So it’s all because of you 💖"

The rest of the day passed in a blur of emails, calls, and the lingering glow of Harry’s words. By the time evening rolled around, you were ready to collapse on the couch with a mindless TV show and a celebratory glass of wine. That was the plan as Harry told you he was stuck with some family stuff, at least, until the doorbell rang. You frowned. You weren’t expecting anyone. Pulling your sweater tighter around you, you padded to the door and peered through the peephole. And there he was.

Harry. Standing on your doorstep, wearing that damn smile, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and—of course—a single tulip in the other.

You flung the door open, heart racing. "Harry, what—"

"Celebrating you, obviously," he said, stepping inside like he’d always belonged there. He handed you the tulip first, letting his fingers brush yours, then held up the champagne. "I figured we could upgrade from emojis."

You laughed, caught somewhere between disbelief and pure joy. "You didn’t have to do this."

"Didn’t I?" he countered, his tone soft but teasing. "You work so hard, Tulip. You deserve to be celebrated properly. And most importantly by your boyfriend"

It was more than 1 month since he made it completely official, and called himself your boyfriend, and you obviously didn’t argue about it, but still, it all felt like a dream. YOUR BOYFRIEND wanted to celebrate you and that’s exactly what he did. You spent the evening sitting on the living room floor, sharing stories, clinking glasses, and laughing until your cheeks hurt. At one point, he grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, and simply said, "I’m proud of you."

It wasn’t loud or flashy, but it was everything. The kind of moment that imprinted itself on your heart, quietly becoming one of your favorites.

June 8

"Busy next Friday?"

"Depends. What’s the occasion?"

"Thought you might like to see what all the fuss is about. Backstage pass included 😉. A kiss from the performer too. Maybe multiple ones."

“I ACCEPT”

Your heart raced. You weren't sure what terrified you more: being in his world or the fact that he wanted you to be. But in reality you were already in his world, of course there were many MANY articles of “Harry Styles spotted with mystery girl” but you were just too busy actually being so in love with him to even care.

July 16 It was Harry’s idea.

“I’m a decent cook,” he said, grinning as he rolled up his sleeves. “You’ll be impressed. Trust me.”

You weren’t entirely sure if you trusted him, but the idea of spending the evening in his kitchen, cooking together, sounded perfect. He handed you an apron, and you got to work. The plan was ambitious: homemade pasta and sauce, garlic bread, and a simple dessert. But things went off course almost immediately.

“Is this what dough is supposed to look like?” you asked, holding up a sticky mess that refused to cooperate.

Harry peered over your shoulder, frowning. “Uh… probably not. But it’s okay! It’s rustic.”

“Rustic,” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s your explanation for this disaster?”

“It’s charming,” he said, taking the dough from you and attempting to salvage it.

“Do you happen to have Gordon Ramsay on your contacts?” You said looking at the unfinished (a bit uneatable) dinner. “I do, but i don’t think he would want to see this”

By the time the pasta was in the pot, you were both covered in flour, and the kitchen looked like a tornado had swept through it. The sauce was a little too salty, the garlic bread had burned edges, and somehow, the dessert had completely fallen apart.But when you sat down at the tiny kitchen table, your mismatched plates in front of you, it didn’t matter.

“To our first—and possibly last—cooking adventure,” Harry said, raising his glass of wine.

“Here’s to hoping we survive the food poisoning,” you joked, clinking your glass against his.

But the truth was, the meal was delicious in its imperfection. And as you sat there, laughing and stealing bites from each other’s plates, you realized it wasn’t about the food at all. It was about this—about him.

----

It had been two days. Harry was on a quick trip to L.A., and the time zones, paired with his whirlwind schedule, made communication sporadic. You told yourself he was busy—his life was far more chaotic than yours—but the silence still felt deafening.

You’d held back from texting or calling him, trying not to seem clingy, but the doubts crept in anyway. Maybe this was too much. Maybe you were too much.

Finally, you broke. Your fingers hovered over your phone, hesitating over his contact like he wasn’t your boyfriend, like he was once again just a stranger. Before you could overthink it, you sent a simple message: “Am I ruining your days over there?👀🌷”

The minutes stretched into hours with no reply. You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping your phone until the screen dimmed, reflecting your worried expression.

Then came the knock.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, rushing to the door.

Harry stood there, out of breath, hair disheveled, his eyes searching yours like he’d been running for miles.

“You’re in L.A.,” you blurted, confused.

“Was,” he corrected, stepping closer. “I—I couldn’t do this over text.”

“Do what?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He held up his phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Your text stared back at you.

“This. You. I literally cannot think straight when I’m away from you.” His voice cracked slightly, and your heart clenched. “I don’t care if we’re moving too fast. I think about you all the time, and I’m—”

You stepped forward, cutting him off as your arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Harry, stop,” you murmured against his chest, your voice soft but sure. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands firm but gentle on your arms. “No, you don’t understand,” he said, his gaze steady. “I love you. Completely. Hopelessly. And I couldn’t let another second go by without telling you.”

The world seemed to tilt, his words hanging in the air.

“You idiot,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes as a smile broke through. “I love you too.”

The kiss that followed wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t a question or a test. It was an answer—a culmination of every tulip emoji, late-night text, and unspoken promise.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you laughing softly, Harry reached into his bag and pulled out a single tulip, slightly crumpled but no less beautiful.

“I couldn’t come empty-handed,” he said with a lopsided grin.

You took the flower, your smile uncontainable. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

That night, curled up on the couch with his arm around your shoulders and the tulip resting in a vase on the coffee table, you realized something profound.

It wasn’t the tulips, the texts, or the grand gestures that made this real. It was the quiet moments—the shared smiles, the silent understanding, the unwavering presence.

No matter what, you had each other.

Forever. --- A/n: If you made it til the end, i just want to say thanks again 🥹🫶 If you have any suggestions or comments or complaints! , please feel free to reach out! --- Taglist:

@jackiehollanderr @proudravenclawbird @hopeyoustaythenight @maryjahps @obsessiveenthusiast @liiit44 @loveheart-123 @harrystyleshotwife @harryscherries28 

@addiemb8332 @cumuluscranium @gguksfilter @alemunson42069 @sarah22194 @summertime-pills @hescrush @cosmomento @harrys-wifeyy @isinpfortvdmen

@familyshow-orisit @notsosweetcreature @cevans-winchester @camillegillians @donutsandpalmtrees @amateurduck @hermionelove @misty-heartbreak

[heretherebedork]

I really love this conversation because it is gay man to gay man actual fully acknowledged conversation about preferences and how you decide/discover them within the context of the beginnings of their relationship.

I do find it interesting that Piang's first response is to that assume that Juin is going to stop being attracted to men before making the full connection and realizing the specificity of the question.

Got it in one! Man, Sorn is doing a number on Juin, though. He's got this boy upside down and right side up all at the same time.

But I do love Piang's final response to this. He collects himself and he reassures Juin that he might be surprised but that doesn't make it wrong.

I love this gay to gay talk, it's great. Queer to queer shared connection between two people who aren't in love but can be friends.

And are gonna be. @absolutebl I love queer friendships and when they're a bit messy it works even better.

[7s3ven]

RETIRED BOXER! SIMON RILEY X BOXER! FEM! READER

( head canons / short one shot )

Notes: a little bloody, age gap (reader is younger), parental issues, cussing

- Simon expected that once he quit boxing and left his career behind him, he would never have to deal with it again. He assumed wrong. He was called back by an old friend, John Price

“I know she doesn’t look like much but trust me, she packs a punch. She’s just like you.” John slid a picture of you forward, showing Simon your bright grin. How could a girl like you be as ruthless as he had heard in the news?

Simon knew what they called you; the female version of Ghost.

- During his prime, Simon was a merciless fighter. He was known for destroying his opponents to a pulp and apparently, you borrowed his methods

- “Come back, Simon. The boxing world misses ya. Don’t you miss it too? Come back and I promise yer, I’ll you the most famous trainer this club has ever seen.” John ambitiously stated, folding his arms over his broad chest.

“Trainer?” Simon questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“You train ‘er,” John tapped your photograph, “And you’ll go down in history.”

- It didn’t take much to convince Simon to return. All he needed to see was you train and he agreed in a heartbeat

- He watched you carefully as you sparred with a teammate. It was supposed to be a mock fight but you were treating it like it was real. Beads of sweat dripped down your neck as you moved without even thinking. You were on a hunt for blood

- Simon saw your eyes light up as your fist connected with your teammate’s nose. Blood dripped down, staining their teeth. But instead of kneeling down and sobbing, they smiled

- “Only the crazy ones go up against her. We have ‘ta put out a warning that if you spar with Y/N, she’ll make ya bleed.” John states. “So, what’da ya think?”

It took Ghost a moment to reply. He slowly nodded his head. “Okay. I’ll train her.”

John whistled, beckoning you over like a damn dog. Through, in the arena, that’s all you really were.

- You were excited to be paired with Simon, aka Ghost. You had watched his fights in your late teenager years. He was an absolute legend

- Despite Simon being a little annoyed John managed to drag him back into boxing, he soon overcame it while spending time with you

- You understood his advice that no one else could. He wanted you to punch harder? You did so until your knuckles split and Simon had to patch you up. He wanted you to practice your kicks? Say no more, you spend all night practicing.

- He wanted you to perfect your signature move? No problem. He just has to be prepared to find you slumped in the corner of the training arena the next day because you refused to leave until you got it perfect

- The line between trainer and trainee blurs when Simon gives you his number in case of emergencies. You call later that night.

“We’re out of Doritos!” You yell into the phone. Simon furrows his brows in confusion, rechecking your contact name.

“Wot?” He mutters in confusion.

He hears you mumble to yourself as you check the number you had dialled. And then you’re back on the line. “Sorry, sir. Wrong number. Meant to call my roommate.”

“You still want Doritos? I got some at my place.”

You pause before speaking again. “You got any Coco Cola?” Simon loudly hums. “I’m on my way.”

- You didn’t fight fair but Simon liked that about you. You bit and scratched like a feral animal and nobody ever punished you for it because you were the crowd’s favourite. And you just so happened to have another favourite as your esteemed trainer. Simon only had to wave his hand and the charges against you for clawing at a girl’s face during a match would be dropped

- It’s not like you meant to develop a crush on your trainer. It just… happened. He was an attractive man and you were only human

- You had the stupid idea of confiding in Jonny, another trainer whom you had formed a close bond with. You expected him to keep his mouth shut but little did you know, he had a knack for blabbing

- Everything fell to shit the day you collapsed. You were a living, breathing replica of Simon but that also meant you overworked yourself. You didn’t remember much of what happened that day

- You had just gotten out of the ring, victorious and listening to the crowd cheer. You remembered how your chest ached and yet you ignored it. The match was difficult which explained the way your legs wobbled in exhaustion

- Your lips were cracked and stinging and bloody spit coated your face. You looked and felt absolutely disgusting. But you didn’t have a chance to clean your face before black dots invaded your vision and it got harder to breathe

- You remember how your head hit the concrete but everything after that was an unknown blur

- You were sitting on the rooftop after being discharged by the hospital when Simon approached you.

“Kid.”

Your jaw clenched at the wretched name. That was all he saw you as; a kid who no longer had any idea what she was fighting for. “Don’t call me that.”

“Y/N.” He corrects himself and it makes you feel a little better. “You want out of the ring? Just say the word and I’ll get yer out.”

- Simon expected you to be like him. To realize that boxing was useless without passion. But when you turned to look at him, he saw the fury in your eyes.

“I ain’t quitting, sir. I don’t quit.”

“I know you had problems with your parents. They pushed you to do things you didn’t wanna. You don’t have ‘ta do this if ya don’t want to.”

“Don’t wanna fuckin’ talk ‘bout them. You ain’t my therapist.” You were more hostile than usual thanks to the stitches in your lips.

- “Kid.” The word just slips and Simon doesn’t have enough time to take it back.

“Call me that one more fucking time!” You exclaim, “I ain’t your fucking kid! I don’t want ‘cha to be my daddy!”

- Something clicks in Simon’s head as he remembers Jonny’s drunken words during a pool match. Jonny told Simon about your crush, unintentionally outing you. No wonder you were staring at him with so much pent-up rage. You were sick of this ‘will they, won’t they’ game

- “Y/N.” He states firmly, “I know how you feel about me. Jonny ain’t exactly good at keepin’ his mouth shut.”

“If you’re gonna reject me, hurry up. I don’t got all day.” He watches as you scowl, so quick to jump to conclusions.

“Who said I was gon’ reject you?”

“The way you’re looking at me right now says it.”

“This is literally my resting face.”

- Simon isn’t good at expressing any emotion whatsoever. But the way you make him feel is different. You brought his love for boxing back

- Before your trip to the hospital, you trained daily per Simon’s request. You thought it was so he could monitor you better. In reality, he just wanted to see you more frequently. He liked the way you laughed and the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled

- “Three words, Y/N. Say ‘I like you’ and I’m yours.”

Simon knows how prideful you are. You won’t repeat after him unless you really mean it.

“I like you.” Surprisingly, you say it. You’re playing with the hem of your knitted sweater and Simon almost laughs at how ironic it is

- You’re one of the most feared boxers currently, always lusting for blood, and Simon has you like putty without even touching you

- You don’t need to speak for Simon to know what you’re indicating now. You want him to kiss you. So he does

- He leans forward, pressing his lips against yours and you swear you feel fireworks go off

- From then on, the line between trainer and trainee ceases to exist. A week later, a picture of you and Simon kissing after your latest match makes headlines

- “Was this all a hoax to get me a date?” Simon grunts before taking a small sip of his tea.

“Yup.” John shamelessly confesses, “So, how’s my matchmaking skills?”

“Fucking shit.”

“Hm. Didn’t seem too bad when I saw you and your lady kissin’ in the hallway.”

“Don’t watch us make out, yer creep.”

“Then don’t make out where I can see it. I walk that route every single day. I don’t wanna see the two of you exchanging saliva.”

[alphajocklover]

InstaJock: Going Viral

**Hey! This is my entry for @occamstfs Viral Transformation Challenge. Congrats on getting 2,000 followers, and thank you for beta reading this and helping me edit it. I hope I can get to 2,000 followers myself one day! For those who are new to my stories, this does connect to the plot established in my blog, but the concept is simple enough you should be able to follow along even if you don't usually read my stuff! I hope you all enjoy!**

When I talk about the InstaJock App Phenomenon – which I seem to do a lot. What is this, the 17th InstaJock related post? I need to diversify more – I usually talk about the transformation aspects and not the app itself. That’s partially because the transformation is the most interesting and hottest part, but it’s also because I haven’t been able to take a good look at the app. Even with all the protective spells and equipment I have, I can’t use a phone with InstaJock on it for very long without getting an urge to set up an account. 

Until now.

With some help from the devilishly handsome (and literally devilish) Nick, I’ve been able to get my hands on some better equipment and better explore the app. I was able to spend a couple hours on it before I needed to quit, and actually got some very interesting information, mainly about how the app works post-transformation. I had always assumed that once a user got transformed into a jock, they’d ignore the app from then on unless they wanted to change someone. I was very, very wrong, not just about that but about the purpose of the app itself. It’s not just for making people into jocks: it’s for finding the best ones.

The app generally works like any other social media app, with its members posting about their interests. It’s set up is a lot like Instagram, where pictures and videos are the main format used for posting, but what really makes it different from other social media apps is the content. You can probably guess what an app full of buff cocky jocks looks like, but I’ll confirm it for you: the app is a thirst trap paradise.

The entire app is stuffed with half naked –  and sometimes fully naked – photos of buff jocks, ones of all different kinds. If you can think up a jock related stereotype, they have a full hashtag dedicated to it. Just buff jocks playing sports, flexing and making out with other hot people, for as far. I know that doesn’t sound too different from normal social media apps, as most have a healthy NSFW side, but the posts have more in common then just showing jocks. Each and every post, every one that I saw, mentioned a Master. Some were talking about how they were getting pumped up at the gym for Master, some were talking about how they loved being jocks and were so glad Master had found them, and some were literally begging for Master to notice them, often wantonly describing how they’d debase themselves and be the sluttiest jock ever, all for him. Everyone on the app would post at least once a day about this mysterious Master. It doesn’t seem to matter if the jock is a dom, a sub, a top, a bottom, in a relationship, single, gay or even straight, all of them wanted this mysterious unnamed master – so much so they seemed to completely change personalities whenever he is mentioned. It seems instaJock has an additional side effect I didn’t know about till now: complete and utter devotion to their Master.

It took me a while, and some covert interviewing of a number of jocks in their DMs, but I think I figured out what's happening. The Jocks aren’t just posting for fun, they’re competing with each other. InstaJock isn’t really a social media app, it’s a sort of ranking app. Every day the jocks log on, post a picture of themselves with a caption somehow related to their Master, and leave likes on some of the other posts, usually the ones they find hot. If a jock’s post gets enough likes though, they get what every jock wants, what all of them are trying to get. They get to Go Viral.

Going Viral on IntsaJock isn’t like going viral on a regular app. It essentially means you’ve gotten enough likes, been reposted enough times, and have become popular enough on the site… that Master has noticed you. That's what the social media part of the app is really for. It’s just a way for Master’s jocks to organize themselves so only the hottest ones show up on his feed. If he really likes you, he’ll do more than just look too. Soon that Jock will disappear from his regular life, never to be seen again, whisked away to become a part of Master’s personal harem. This entire time the app has been about one thing: creating lovestruck sex slaves for the man who created InstaJock.

Like most actual social media apps, InstaJock jumps from one thing to another, and what's viral is always changing. But there are two tags that are always trending on InstaJock. The first, and most popular, is #JockMaster, which is only ever used by this mysterious Master when he makes a post. I’ve seen his account. He never shows his face on it, but from what little of his body that makes it into the photos, he’s… enchanting. As much as I hate to admit it, seeing just a bit of that creep almost made me drool. He usually only posts a couple times a week, as opposed to the jock who posts daily, but everything he posts goes viral on the app in moments. I’ll admit, there's something about his posts that is just… hypnotic. I almost set up an account after seeing one myself, and probably would have if Nick wasn’t there to stop me.

The other tag that's always trending is… more interesting, at least to me. It’s #MastersBoyfriend. It’s another tag used only by Master, and one he uses whenever he posts a picture of one particular member of his harem. 

Whenever he posts pictures… of my Uncle John.

I finally know who took my Uncle. I know who this Master is. I suspected it was him for a while, but now I’m sure. The man who made InstaJock and the man who turned my Uncle into a slutty buff himbo are one in the same. I finally have proof.

So now what?

**The identity of the person behind InstaJock AND the person behind my Uncle's transformation and kidnapping has finally been revealed! Been working up to this for a long time, and I'm glad to keep this story moving forward! Hope you liked it as much as I do! Thank you to @occamstfs once again for being absolutely awesome and inspiring!**

[mlndless]

📨 delivered to @wondheir

Anthony: When is this gathering happening? Anthony: More importantly, what do I wear?

[losingdcgs]

closed text starter for @ofresoluxe

priya: hi, sorry to bother ! priya: but have you seen a black cat around town today ? priya: i think the maintenance person let him slip out when they were at my place earlier 😓

[yuzuocha]

KITH? KITH. [PT. I]

kissing hcs for xavier and zayne, let's go. rafayel and sylus will be in pt. 2.

warnings ‣ there might be a little steam, but thats it

xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ.

— when one usually shoots a glance towards the sleepy, cryptic, book-and-meat-loving hunter, they would see him as a reticent, passive lover who doesn't show much affection – especially physical ones – towards his partner.

— well, it isn't as if they were completely wrong, per se. however, the impression they had of Xavier when it came to romantic endeavors couldn't have been more wrong – especially when it came to kissing.

— in most cases, his kisses are sweet and gentle, just like his demeanor. he loves planting them all over you. your cheek, your temple, your ear, your shoulder, your palm – you name it, he most definitely enjoys it. hell, even if it's the bridge of your foot, your thigh or the back of your neck.

— he definitely has a preference to give than to receive, though he's more than happy to be gifted with a smooch. his mouth-to-mouth, on the other hand, couldn't be more different.

— it's as if a switch turns on whenever he touches your lips with his.

— xavier didn't actually have any experience in kissing beforehand – or so he says – but his trained instincts, senses and perception swiftly kicked in and turned his clumsy kisses into (literal) breathtaking ones.

— his direct kisses never fail in threatening your knees to buckle underneath his touch, and he knows what drives you insane – nipping your bottom lip and swiping his tongue to soothe the small bite, cupping your neck into a more favorable angle with one hand while the other tipping your chin upwards to make the kiss deeper and your breaths shorter.

— and then xavier sweetly pecks your lips as if he didn't just ravish you in your entirety.

— it's also important to mention that he's hardly shy, contrary to his sloth-like nature. he is bold and open in his ways of affection and would care less for pressing lips together in public regardless if there was no audience or a stadium filled with them.

— still, he'd prefer more private spaces simply because the sight of you is something that is for his eyes only – nobody should ever see that dazed expression of yours other than him. possessive? yeah. but do i love it? yeah??

"very pretty." xavier whispered, breaking the string of saliva that connected him to you. all you could do was weakly nod back like an idiot. you couldn't tell whether the droplets on your face were sweat or tears.

or perhaps it's both.

xavier leaned down once more and gave a final kiss so gentle that your knees threatened to give out. your lips didn't have time to feel cold after xavier pulled away — he had one hand cup your jaw and cheek and had the other hand's thumb brush your swollen lips.

as the corners of his lips curled upwards,

the clumsy xavier had long been buried six feet under — and that's assuming that inexperienced side existed in the first place.

ᴢᴀʏɴᴇ.

— he's a surgeon. he has incredible dexterity and control. just in what world would you ever think he's awkward at kissing of all things? it's kinda ironic that zayne likes kissing despite knowing the amount of germs spread between the two are numbers that'd make any doctor froth at their mouth, though.

— despite his fondness for this activity, you're usually the one who gives small pecks and not the other way around. though, it isn't necessarily his fault – he's a doctor. a chief cardiac surgeon, at that.

— he doesn't sleep as much as he should to begin with, it's difficult to see you outside of check-ups and your occasional crashing at his place, and even at home he has to continue reading papers and study to not lose his edge.

— don't worry, however. he's largely upset about his quantity of kissing you. he just doesn't show it that much – so he uses those feelings to make the scarce kisses count.

— his kisses are slow but steady, allowing half-second pauses for you to breathe and his hand gently around your neck for support – indeed, a true gentleman. at the end of each kiss, it always leaves you feeling oh-so warm and soft, as if he swaddled you up in the coziest blanket in the world.

— during certain moments nightly activities ehehehehe, he still retains that loving finesse and control. he's someone who cherishes every single moment of contact, a perfectionist even in romantic endeavors.

— god bless zayne.

you could feel his hand twisting the door's lock.

clack. chief cardiac surgeon zayne really doesn't want to be interrupted at this moment.

but you couldn't afford to divert your attention to something like that; with one of zayne's hands gently combing through your hair and the other returning to your jaw, his gentle yet deep kisses only grew in intensity. the taste of sweet mint lingered, but it didn't do much in cooling you down.

he pulled away for half a second, letting you exhale and take in another breath.

"it's astounding how you dropped by just when i was missing you most."

you were about to respond, yet zayne returned to kissing – they were mellow and delicate yet meltingly profound, very much attuned to his inner nature.

it was a long moment before zayne opened his eyes and released your mouth with a soft 'pop'. he locked gazes with your dazed, nearly lovesick expression, his eyes somehow growing softer than his kisses at the sight. he trailed his hand towards yours while looping his fingers around your own.

"is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

you were too busy melting in your feelings for him to construct a response.

tysm for reading! comment down below or message me if you'd like to be a part of the taglist, and if you can, please do consider reblogging! it helps out a lot ;; w ;; and and!! my inbox is open for requests! PLEASE SEND SOME ASDJQVEJWHE I NEED THEM

taglist! | @kttriangle | @sncrly0urs | @anxiousgoddest

yuzuocha © 2024 — all rights reserved.

[lonely-moons]

♡୭something good | sam winchester x reader, pt. 2

title: something good, pt. 2 (read pt. 1 here)

pairing: stanford!sam winchester x socially anxious!reader

warnings: once again a hell of a lot of overthinking, social anxiety, reader is yet again an (i say this with affection) awkward loser, sam winchester being a sweetheart, more m&ms (when do i get sponsored)

summary: you begin to remember your plans to just go at it alone, but it seems as though sam winchester is hellbent on ruining that

wc: 2,943

masterlist

over the next two days, the weekend, where you have no excuse to run into sam, your inflated sense of joy wears down. you wake up and wonder what's gone wrong, how a couple hours with the guy had managed to chip away your self-promise that you would just make it through college without caring about the social aspect. with choosing not to form any connections, so that it didn't hurt as much when no one would want them with you anyway.

you spend an embarrassing half an hour working this through in your head before getting out of bed on saturday. you know there's nothing wrong with being civil - it's not your aim to be an unwarranted bitch, after all - but growing attached? that's a mistake you've made time and time again. you know better now.

even though you and sam had exchanged numbers, neither of you appear in the other's phone over the weekend. not that you're actively checking. you illuminate the screen for the time, for the date, for the temperature before you head out to grab some dinner. it barely even crosses your mind that your inbox is empty.

and when you get a spam call on sunday afternoon, you most certainly do not almost fall off your bed in your haste to grab it.

when monday rolls around, you're the first to arrive in class. you always are. it's a tactical move that you can never quite give up, something that lessens the anxiety that's ceaselessly churning in your gut. you want first choice of a seat so that you don't end up too close to the front or back, where the students usually get picked on. the middle is your comfort zone, where you can blend in with everyone else. you're typically good at that, after all.

when someone slides into the empty seat beside yours, you don't even look up, assuming it's someone you don't know, given that that's pretty much everyone. only when there comes a light "hey" do you flinch slightly and stop digging around in your backpack.

"8 a.m. classes are just the best, aren't they?" sam rubs slightly at his eyes, and despite the exhaustion in his tone, the words come out through a small smile. not for the classes - for you.

"what?" you ask. it's the only thought in your head right now, and it comes out as majestically as it sounds bouncing around in your brain.

"think these should be illegal." he looks at where your hand is still stuffed elbow-deep into the backpack perched on your knees. "you get lost in there?"

you blink, shaking away your surprise even though most of it manages to stay latched on. "um..." your fingers move around, finally finding what you're looking for, and you extract your arm then unceremoniously dump the bag to the ground. it lands on your foot but you act like it doesn't. thankfully there are no 600-page hardback textbooks in there right now. "just... need a pen." you smile clumsily, waving it between your fingers. "got one."

now it's sam's turn to be taken aback. you're about to wonder why he looks like he's never seen a pen before, but then you realise which one you've taken out: the one designed to look like a syringe. you had found it in a joke store one day after going out for a walk in the local town. you didn't like leaving without buying anything - and you had thought it was pretty cool.

"oh, it's - it's not real," you say, pressing the nib to your arm and clicking the top. "see?" you internally roll your eyes at yourself - no kidding.

he looks amused, the beginning of his dimples starting to peek through. you try not to look at them. "well, if it was, i think i'd have to tell you you're in the wrong class."

the sharpness of your own awkwardness manages to deflate you. you had started off on edge with sam on friday, as you do with everyone, but by the end of the evening had felt comfortable. it's only been three days, yet you seem to be back at square one. you look around, frowning slightly now, thinking that at least it can't get much worse. "i don't know, half the people here look like they'd want to be put out of their misery." you're sure you'd make the top of the list but don't mention that part.

"they'd probably prefer something more effective than a syringe."

you click it again, offering sam a brief glance. "anything can be effective if you've got the spirit."

his eyes switch between you and the pen, that amused sort of light dancing in his eyes. "i don't know if i should be inspired or terrified."

"both?"

his dimples finally tip into full-blown as he agrees, "both."

for some reason it eases your tension, and you continue talking until your professor arrives, which ends up being much sooner than you'd have liked. it's much sooner than you'd like every day, because it now seems to be some kind of unspoken routine that sam comes to sit beside you in classes. there's been nine so far. not that you're counting.

you also aren't counting that you handed in your project four classes ago, which means that there's no obligation forcing him to be here. at least not of the scholarly kind. you can't stop yourself from wondering if he feels bad for you. if he realises you have no friends, and this has turned into some sort of pity thing - god, you really hope it's not a pity thing.

but he doesn't act like it's a chore. doesn't seem to be regretting his decision as he asks you about the newest book you're reading, doesn't mind when you start a silent game of hangman during a boring class after finishing the tic-tac-toe he'd initiated. doesn't mind that you sometimes need to pause in the middle of a sentence because your words are becoming too fast, too thick for your mouth to keep up with.

you try not to read into anything too much, which unsurprisingly doesn't work. it's just like you to get annoyingly caught up in anyone being kind, your usual clinginess always threatening to rear its head.

the next day, you're sitting in class wearing a top that never usually makes it out from the bottom of your closet. it's nice, nicer than something you usually wear while not being too over-the-top for a college morning. and you tell yourself it has nothing to do with seeing sam, that you just want to get your money's worth out of buying this thing on a whim. you certainly aren't wondering if he'll notice, if he'll like it, because it wouldn't make a difference to you either way.

you don't care.

that thought repeats in your brain like a mantra, bouncing around so strong that it keeps turning your head in the direction of the door. it's beginning to get ridiculous, which the antsy tapping of your foot so kindly reminds you of. you grab your notebook from your bag and begin to add to some of your notes, just to have something to do.

when your professor arrives a few minutes later, the seat beside you is still empty. you try not to feel disappointed - sam could be late, or maybe he's sick today. or, you think, when you spot him a few rows away from the front and talking to two guys, maybe that clingy nature of yours has made its appearance after all.

you wish you could say you imagined the sinking feeling in your chest, the wheel turning in your head that reminds you of why you don't usually bother with people in the first place. why you made your promise. you know it's irrational, that sam doesn't owe you anything, and certainly doesn't have to always sit beside you.

that doesn't mean you hadn't hoped he would.

when the class is over, you leave on your own. usually you and sam would linger for a few moments outside, talking until he really does have to rush off for his next class. you usually head back to your place, enjoying the walk through the campus. even before you can plug in your earphones, the chirping of the birds keeps your mind happy as you run over your interactions with sam.

now your earphones come out tangled and a crow squawks obnoxiously loudly in your ear. you huff, then it seems the world really does hate you as you feel a small stone in your shoe. the walk home is more of an angry march, your mouth set into a hard line and jaw clenched. your top's thin fabric makes it so that the wind raises relentless goosebumps on your skin. maybe you'll just go to sleep, ditch your class later and mark today off as not having existed.

you collapse into your bed immediately, not bothering to move the blankets. about five hours are lost after you've woken up some time in the late afternoon. the rest of the day is a bust, with you just half-heartedly getting some work done but mostly watching movies that aren't holding your attention either. you know you're overreacting, but you can't seem to bring yourself to care.

the next day, you don't have a class with sam until the early afternoon. you arrive late - by your standards - to class, after having snoozed your alarm one too many times, which drags your mood down even further. you pulled on the same outfit from yesterday, still piled on the ground, and hoped your deodorant would get you through until you could take a shower tonight. now you settle unhappily into a seat at the back, desperately trying not to watch the back of sam's head. you once again leave right after the class, heading back to your room but only making it twenty minutes before your stomach loudly complains.

you head to the closest place on campus where you know you like the food. it's a relatively busy fast food place, but not many people venture up to the second floor, so you're usually able to find a quiet corner to reside in. but you're here later than you usually would be, which means it's rowdier, and as you make your way to the queue, you decide you'll just bring it back to your place where you can continue the show you had started last night.

"y/n?"

you turn in alarm towards the separated queue that's designated for anyone only ordering coffee. sam is standing there, hands in his pockets, that usual smile on his face even despite the bags under his eyes.

you blink for a moment, wondering if you're still half-asleep. you somehow hadn't noticed him, despite his height, but you had been mostly sighing under your breath and watching your shoes. it's weird, though, how you're suddenly seeing him in here, when it's not a backdrop you're used to seeing behind him. but the light streams through the high windows, hitting his eyes in a certain way that draws your attention. they look expectant, a little amused, and you nearly debate running when you realise you haven't responded yet.

"oh." you shake your head, stumbling a little as some old guy in a hurry jostles past you. "hi sam."

"hey. you getting some lunch?"

you nod, still feeling a little bleary from your lack of sleep last night. "coffee?"

"yeah..." he seems to think for a moment, thoughts whirring about behind his eyes as he pauses. "hey, are you busy?"

"busy?" you ask, like you don't understand the word. "um... no?"

he shifts on his feet. "mind if i join you for lunch? my treat."

now you're really sure you're not following the conversation. this doesn't seem like the request of someone who's trying to shake you. sam easily could've pretended to not have seen you, or at least just said a polite hello. now he's offering to buy you lunch?

"you don't have to -"

"i want to."

you think about your promise to yourself, about just making it through college without giving much thought to friends or socialising. maybe you know that deep down you're being dramatic, or maybe it's the fact that the queue moves so that now it's your turn and you have to make a split-second decision. but you nod.

"okay."

sam's shoulders loosen and he steps over from his own queue to yours as you both go up and order. a few minutes later you're sitting at a booth. on the bottom floor, which you're not too thrilled about, but you did at least manage to get a corner. sam's got a salad, but you're starving, and looking forward to digging into your pizza and fries.

"i didn't see you during class," he says. "is everything okay?"

"oh, just... um... had a paper to finish." you take a bite of the pizza, wincing at how hot it is, but you know you'll just start running your mouth if it's free.

"ah." he nods, like it was the answer he'd been looking for. "i was wondering why you looked so busy in class yesterday. i didn't wanna disturb you."

you stuff another bite of pizza into your mouth, feeling horrible. you had practically spent the last twenty-four hours thinking he was another person who would just throw you away like something discardable. you know you overthink things all the time, but recognising that only seems simple in hindsight. and then whatever negative emotion it generates only dissolves into guilt, which hits you in full-force now.

"you know me," you smile, though it feels all wrong, "just... busy." busy mind, you guess, always managing to come up with ways to destroy you.

"i've noticed." it's lighthearted, which might make you feel worse. "you get it finished?"

"yeah. all done."

"well, good, i'll need you there tomorrow. i had to actually listen today."

your mind only just manages to push that first part aside so that you don't begin making a fool of yourself.

you know he always listens anyway. somehow manages to play the silly paper games with you and still take perfect notes. but you widen your eyes. "oh, the horror. maybe you should be laying down right now."

"should i get my vitals checked? maybe i need a shot - you've got that covered, right?"

the jab at your pen isn't lost on you. "yeah, sure, where do you want it?"

his laugh is abrupt, like it snuck up on him. you like it, you think, knowing that it's genuine. that you get to hear it before he can decide which way he wants it to be heard.

the conversation sinks into that easy flow once again, and only then you feel how much you've missed it. you keep talking until your food is nearly gone, just a few meagre fries left. at one point, sam leaves under the guise of wanting to get a refill. but when he returns, he's holding two small ice creams in little cardboard tubs.

you send him an unimpressed look, which deepens into a scowl as he refuses to accept your money. he was the one who'd decided you should have one, not you, which meant he had to pay. or so he claimed.

"so, no game of thrones t-shirt today?"

you look down, realising you'd never changed out of your slightly-more-fancy top from the day before. it hadn't felt like as big of a deal as it had yesterday, but now you're painfully aware that you're wearing it. how it clings to you in ways your spider-man ones certainly don't.

"laundry day." you shrug, a little too quickly, grabbing your drink. some of it sloshes down over the side of the cup, but thankfully he doesn't seem to notice. or, at least, care.

"huh... well, you look nice. it - looks nice, you know, the, uh... colour. suits you."

you watch him, confused. he looks a little shy as he says it, sinking down in his seat slightly. is he flustered? the stammering is usually your thing; while sam isn't arrogant, he does have a particular air of confidence about him. that seems to have dissolved entirely.

as if hoping to save himself, he reaches across and steals a fry from your plate. before you can pry any deeper into this, your face automatically drops into an expression that might be suitable for someone who'd killed your firstborn child.

"hey, i bought them," he says, snickering, and it seems as though the look on your face eases something back into him.

you hadn't even wanted any more of the cold fries, having been about to move on to your ice cream. but you like the way his eyes crinkle in amusement at your reaction. you grab the ice cream now, swirling the plastic spoon around inside, trying not to outwardly react to the fact that there's m&ms added in - which he obviously knows you like by now. you narrow your eyes at him, ignoring the flip of your stomach. "this becoming a thing now? you giving me free food?"

"are you complaining?"

"depends. do i ever get to return the favour?" it's bold for you, something that slips out as a teasing remark before you can really dissect what it means. the kind of thing you probably should've thought out in advance - you have a feeling that the lost time worrying will be made up tonight as you try to sleep. you're not sure if you want to take it back.

sam doesn't react much, but you do notice the quick tick of his lips. "name a time. i'll be there."

never mind. you don't want to take it back at all.

when you get back to your room, you collapse against your bed like earlier. only this time, it's with a sigh of contentment. the thought only hits after a moment, as you're staring at some peeling paint on the ceiling, and it's so swift and striking that you feel as though you've been sucker-punched.

hold on - did you just ask sam winchester out on a date?

and did he say yes?

[lovejongseob]

How the other P1H members find out your relationship

Jongseob probably wouldn't be able to hide it for long, for a number of reasons. First of all, P1Harmony is his family. They live together, work together, have spent many years together, and so much more. Very rarely were they unaware of what everyone is up to. And, of course, you just made him so happy, it manifested in new habits the group would obviously pick up on.

Rather than staring intensely at his phone, like he's about to burn through it with his eyes, he's been smiling fondly and giggling louder. He takes pictures of just about everything and seems to be taking way more selfies than they need to post. It's like a new interest has taken over his mind, and his friends just keep noticing more.

Soul would get suspicious when he notices Jongseob playing more multiplayer games, but isn't inviting him as much. He keeps speaking to him, talking in multiple languages, including alien, but his headphones are too loud. Usually he gets a little startled at sudden noises, but maybe he was just too focused on his game ?

Intak is confused, "Jongseob, didn't you leave with a jacket ?" Thankfully, none of the others were there to keep connecting the dots, but Jongseob was definitely frozen for a second. He did leave with a hoodie, but if he explained why he didn't come back with it, he'd definitely get teased. It wasn't hard to convince Intak that he'd confused his attire with last night's, since he's been going out more often.

There's been a recent trend with one of the members, and Jiung is the first to pick up on it. In his personal time, Jongseob has been wearing less and less baggy clothes, opting for tighter shirts. He's more comfortable wearing crop tops, and skirts if he likes. He still adores his comfier and bigger clothes, but Jiung sees him putting extra effort into his appearance when it's not necessarily needed.

Jongseob knows he's on thin ice, and that it's risky to ask such things, but he really needs to know. He trusts Theo a lot, so he confides in him about personal questions and worries. He doesn't say anything about having a romantic partner, but Theo assumes at the very least he's interested in someone because hes nervously asking things like, "How do you be romantic while being so shy ?", "Did you have any relationships while you weren't an Idol ?", and, "How do you make them feel as hopeless as you ?"

So when Keeho slips into Jongseob's room to retrieve something he forgot way earlier, he isn't surprised to see his youngest friend has fallen asleep with his phone next to him, still in his hand. However, when he sees one of the prettiest people he thinks ever on the other side of a FaceTime call, his jaw doesn't even drop.

The moral of the story, is, Jongseob is never wrong. Maybe he could've avoided some of the teasing by just being upfront about it, but he's sure there still would've been a few jokes to be made. He wakes up to the P1H group chat's profile picture as both of your sleeping faces. There are 46+ messages, half of them from Theo, none of which he is responding to.

considered doing one or two paragraphs for each member, but decided to just make it multiple for jongseob. i have a lot of ideas for full group fics already so ill write those when i write those. "he'd" to "he's" cannot be right but in my head it sounds acceptable. always spell and grammar checking but what about checking the switch between present tense and past tense ? (im genuinely HORRIBLE with this) god i hate writing. i finished proof reading but i actually feel like i just fucked it up more

[r0-boat]

Whb kingley group chat and reader

Sfw and NSFW sprinkled throughout but this is mostly just crack

[Beel summoned Satan to the group chat]

[Beel summoned Mammon to the group chat]

Satan: Oh, are we actually doing this?

Beel: yur

[Beel summoned Lucifer to the group chat]

[Beel summoned Belphegor to the group chat]

[Beel summoned Asmodeus to the group chat]

Lucifer: an interesting way to improve political relations, very well My interest has peaked.

Mammon: agreed it would be useful to have all of you at my fingertips.

Satan: That sentence pisses me off and I don't know why.

Mammon: is there something wrong with having easy access to your possessions 🤨

Satan: Al'right adding 'beating your ass' to my list of things to do today

Asmodeus: kinky.

Lucifer: Asmodeus I thought you were on earth?

Asmodeus: I am, it's lovely here by the way, but the cell phone service is relatively lackluster compared to hell, so that I won't be talking here as much.

Mammon: speaking of my possessions Beelzebub You have forgotten Leviathan.

Beel: Actually no I haven't you'll see why.

[Beel summoned Leviathan to the group chat]

Satan: LEVI!!!

[Leviathan has left the group chat]

Satan: LOLOL

Mammon: I don't know why I'm surprised.

[Beel summoned Leviathan to the group chat]

[Leviathan has left the group chat]

Lucifer: if he does not wish to be in the group chat that much then don't add him.

Beel: nah cuz if he's not added then I won't hear the end of it later. That kind of shit drives him crazy.

[Beel summoned Leviathan to the group chat]

[Leviathan has left the group chat]

Satan: Wait I have an idea.

Satan: add him again.

Beel: Aight

[Beel summoned Leviathan to the group chat]

Beel: Levi is still typing quick Satan!

[Satan summoned MC to the group chat]

Mammon: lmao he stopped typing.

Beel: btw Thank you for that I was going to add them anyway.

Satan: no problem! Happy to help you annoy Levi

Leviathan: if you annoying Fucks what me to waste my time so badly then so be it!

Lucifer: That is not why you stayed...

Mc: ??? What's happening?

Satan: we planned a group chat about a decade ago and we're finally doing it. And we thought you would like to join us! :)

Mc: ooh! I hardly see all of you together like this!:3

Mammon: Master seems extremely happy and excited we will not disappoint you.🥰

Belphegor: 👋

Mc: Hi Belphie

Satan: Oh? did the king of sloth just wake up?? 😏

Belphegor: Actually i've been awake for the past 30 minutes my phone wouldn't stop going off

Mc: I'm surprised you didn't have your notifications turned off.

Belphegor: They were but i turned them on when i got your phone number

Mc: Aww! 🥰

Satan: regretting giving you a phone suddenly.

Mc: You can pry out of my cold dead hands♥️

Mammon: the current phone MC has is so outdated I could get you many more up-to-date models. Ones with advanced AI features are all the rage in tartaros

Mc: no thanks I'm not interested in anything with AI

Mammon: 😭 I understand Master

Asmodeus: I would assume that phones on Earth would have a hard time connecting in hell just as much as hell devices have a hard time connecting on earth.

Mc: OH! ASMODEUS! HELLO!!

Asmodeus: Hi sweetheart, sadly I won't be able to talk to you very often but we will soon have a more proper meeting.

Leviathan: I don't think Asmodeus and MC should be in the same room.

Satan: for once Levi, I agree with you.

Beel: they're combined horniness will be enough to take out heaven hell and earth

Lucifer: lol

Mammon: All hail King horny of the three realms

Leviathan: All hail

Lucifer: All hail

Satan: All hail

Beel: All hail

Belphegor: all hail

Mc: Y'all are such assholes

Satan: That's like 90% of my personality

Beel: you like it

Leviathan: demons are assholes and the sky is blue, What are you expecting??

Mammon: Master, I, for one, do not mind if you actually start your crusade.

Asmodeus: Don't listen to them dear They don't understand our power 😈

Lucifer: is this what an 'inside joke' is? It was actually quite funny.

Asmodeus: honestly I should be jealous of you guys, while I'm on vacation you guys are having all the fun...😔

Mc: Don't worry, will have plenty of time to make it up for the lost time.🫣

Satan: NOPE fUUUUCK THAT.

Leviathan: DIE.

Lucifer: ... I'll prepare your medical bed preemptively.

Beel: Make sure you film it.

Mammon: without me 😔 smh

Belphegor: y'all are so funny I think I might like it here.