#But if there is one thing that can really make or break something for me it's character design

[sparrowwithaquill]

Pls do Saja Boys x Popstar!Reader. The popstar could be a Sabrina Carpenter type! Thank you!

You got it my friend 😘 I’ve been simping HARD for the Saja boys ever since the trailers and movie came out.

Saja Boys x F!Reader; otherwise called reader is nervous at all the attention from a group of hot guys.

I tried to make it as ambiguous as possible as to what the reader looks like, the only thing that’s set is that the reader has at least hair on their head 😅

Summary: Coming back from your world tour, you expect to rest for a bit before going back to performing. What you didn't expect was gaining the attention of five super attractive men that just can't seem to leave you alone.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I might make a continuation of this with some nsfw bits for each member, let me know if that’s something y’all would be interested in

Tags: @floredaqueen

Getting back to your home from your tours has always been a highlight that you treasure, especially from how exhausting performing is. Still, there is nothing that you would change about your life. Currently, you just got home and cleaned yourself up and decided that going for a walk would be nice. The city is beautiful and getting some fresh air would do you some good.

That's how you now find yourself roaming the street in the market section of the city as you people watch. Occasionally, watching some of the birds as they're flying. One bird grabs your attention from the others though in the way it seems to be watching with... purpose, eventually landing on a sign that is nearby where you were standing.

Normally it wouldn't really be something that you pay attention to, despite you liking birds, but something about this particular bird just gets your attention.

The bird must have thought the same as it stays on the sign despite you getting closer.

"Well, you have some interesting patterns, don't you little guy?" You say to yourself as the bird just watched you, something flickers in your peripheral, but before you can turn to see it, the bird lets out a chirp bringing your attention back to it.

“Hm? Guess you don’t like being ignored, understandable, you’re a very handsome bird,” you smile at the bird before turning to leave, slightly waving to it as you continue to walk around, oblivious to the eyes that follow your form as you leave.

Some time passes before you decide to go back to your home, using the time to listen to some of the songs on your next album to feel out if they're up to your standards.

Days pass with you enjoying your short break and taking the time to slowly get back into your routine of dancing and singing practice. You had just finished your latest practice session when you decide to go back to town to get some groceries, maybe try out that new recipe you've been meaning to indulge in. You’re walking in the direction of the store you most frequent when you see the same bird, a smile coming across your face as you slightly wave to it again.

“Hello my little friend! Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” you smile until a cough sounds from behind you.

You quickly turn face going red at being caught talking to a bird of all things, before it lands on an incredibly handsome stranger who has a small smile on his face. One that also shows he definitely saw you talking to a bird.

“You always talk to birds, or did I just get lucky to see it?” He says with a small smirk on his face.

“I- uh, no not,” you clear your throat trying to will the heat from your face to die down, “I try not to make it a habit,” you stammer out eventually calming down enough to meet his gaze.

His very handsome gaze that is, the heat slowly returns to your face while your eyes dart around.

You eventually get your bearings, clearing out your throat as you look at him eyes quickly flicking across him, really getting a look at him before finally retorting.

“Do you always watch girls when you’re out or did I just get lucky?” A small smile unintentionally making its way to your face before you quickly choke it down with an eyebrow raise, seeing a near drop dead gorgeous man definitely isn’t something you’ll complain about, but still a man is a man no matter how hot.

The stranger just lets out a low chuckle before stepping a little closer to you, eyeing the bird before it flies off to seemingly nowhere.

“Not really, only the pretty ones,” he says, hands in his pockets of his jeans while he looks you up and down. Before you get the chance to stammer out a reply, four other equally just as gorgeous men come around to him before one of them, the one with a shirt that is clearly hanging on for dear life, claps him on the shoulder.

“Yo, Jinu, we’re waiting for you man- woah,” the man who you would definitely say could call you any time looks at you with a look of recognition, one that you try to shake your head as fast as you can without looking insane.

“So you have a name! Love that for you, sorry for being weird- you guys have fun with whatever you were doing!” You quickly make your way out of there with a hand covering your face to shield it from their eyes as you could practically feel steam coming off it.

The one who recognized you still has wide eyes as he realizes that yeah you are that one definitely famous singer and oh my gosh he can't believe that you ran into them. He quickly clues in the other men who are just confused at both of your reactions, the news making Jinu smile as he starts to think maybe he was right to send his little bird to watch you.

“Oh my gosh I looked like an idiot, a complete moron in front of five hot guys. Ugh girl you need to get your shit together,” you mutter to yourself as you continue walking towards a clearing where some people are talking about a boy group performing there.

You pull your sunglasses on and pull up your jacket a bit to avoid being recognized as you stand in front of a gathering crowd as some music starts. To your shock and horror, the same men that you’d bumped into are performing and singing.

“Oh my gosh I’m so dead, I have to die of embarrassment now, no I need to leave the country,” your muttering is interrupted as you make eye contact with who you now know as Jinu as he winks at you, your face erupting into heat as you pull the strings of your jacket to cover your face. Meanwhile the women and men behind you scream as they think it’s for them.

The action causes the Saja Boys to smile wider as they notice you hiding your face. They continue with their song, you still listening and your shoulders unintentionally bouncing up and down to the music. They notice with glee, their song ending as they send out finger hearts to the crowd watching your reaction as you try to look anywhere but their faces.

They finish their song, officially making their debut as they seemingly disappear into thin air. This gives you the chance to finally go to the store and get all the things you need for your dinner. You're heading back to your home when you hear someone call out to you, you are turning with fear that it's a crazy fan. Instead, you hesitantly turn around to see that it is instead the five hot guys with handsome smiles on their faces. Maybe the fan would have been better, you think as your grip tightens on the groceries in your hands.

The one with long pink hair in the shape of a heart is the first one to greet you as he waves with a large grin on his face.

"You saw our show, right? Did you enjoy it? My name is Romance,” He smiles at you, the action has you lowering your shoulders a bit at his smile. He's pretty friendly, still devastatingly attractive though.

"Uh, yeah I did! It was really good, you were really good!"

You smile back a bit shy, eyes darting between the five men as their eyes zero in on you. The action causing you to get a bit bashful at the cropped shirt that leaves your stomach and cleavage slightly exposed. The men barely try their best to avoid being obvious at their shameless staring, but let their eyes wander a bit.

Jinu is the next one to speak, offering a hand as he speaks.

"Did you now? You need any help with those groceries; we'd be more than happy to help you~" He purrs out, a wolfish grin taking over his face as your face heats up at the look he gives you. Curse you for your dry spell, just looking at these guys is enough to bring some heat to you.

"No! No I'm- I'm fine really and I don't want to stop you guys from whatever you're up to," you let out as the one with mint hair has no shame in smirking at your bashfulness as you make eye contact with him. Who you later learn is Mystery, silently makes his way around you as you slightly back away from the hungry looks they give you. Your back hits his chest as you look up, you making a surprised sound to see him. He has a slight smile on his face at the look of shock on your own.

"We're not too busy, especially not when we could help a gorgeous woman out~" The one with the ill-fitting shirt says tilting himself down a bit to stare directly into your eyes, as he smirks at your nervous expression.

"No really! I wouldn't want to impose," you let out with a small laugh making your way into the direction of your house. They let you back away looking at you with a gaze that screams they would eat you up if given the chance.

A week passes by from the interaction you had, the memory playing in your head like a broken record. The memory is still playing during your practice in your dance studio as you hear voices passing by. You're in the middle of a break as your backup dancers are casually speaking to each other while you leave the room to grab more water and a sports drink. You're at the vending machine when you can physically feel eyes on you, you turn your head a bit to see the most muscular member of their group behind you.

He looks you up and down before letting a coy smile make its way to his face as he leans against the wall across the vending machine. You whip your head around, face getting heated up as you can feel it creeping to your ears.

"So, how's practice going for you?" You hear his deep voice close to you as you turn around a bit and see him now down to your ear, you let out a sound that could be comparable to unholy as you realize just how close he was. Immediately, you start stammering as you try to put some distance between you.

"It's- um, you're so close, it's going," you clear your throat as he just smirks at you, "It's um good; it's going good we were just going on our break for the next hour, rest a bit y'know? Hehe how's uh how's your practice going? What's your name by the way, never uh never got it..."

God, you have been out of the game for so long, can you speak to even one person normally?

He raises his eyebrows, not really expecting you to give a response, but gives a small smile, "names Abby, guess we never really introduced ourselves, huh?"

Your shoulders lower themselves at his response, a small smile gracing your features as you finally make eye contact.

"No, you really didn't, so new group, right? Your performance was really good, really catchy too!"

You smile at him before reaching to grab your drink from the machine, having forgotten about it, but Abby beats you to it, reaching down and grabbing the drink before holding it out to you. You grab it, but he holds it a bit tighter before letting go, his hand brushing yours.

"Well, if you get bored during your break feel free to come watch us practice in room four, I'm sure the guys would love to see you," Abby waves at you as he leaves.

You're left at the vending machine, heart thundering at the brief contact as you watch his back leave before he turns the corner to go back to their dance studio. You are so about to make a mistake going to see them, is all that you think as you're returning to your own room.

After getting back to your room, your dancers and you disperse to do your own thing for the next hour. With some thinking, you decide fuck it and head down to where Abby said they were practicing. You can hear music playing as you look through the door and see them taking a break and make eye contact with Abby who smiles before going to the door to let you in.

"So, you decided to join us?” Abby leans on the door covering your body form view as the other guys in the room wonder who he’s talking to.

“Yeah, figured why not not everyday you can watch a hot new group in their element,” you chirp out before realizing what you said.

“Sorry not hot! I mean you are hot, but I didn’t mean that hot I meant hot as in really popular!” You wince at Abby holding in his laugh as he leads you into the room.

As you enter the room, all their eyes fall on you and your hit with the feeling that you’ve walked into the lions den.

“Welcome princess, didn’t realize we’d have a guest or else I’d have cleaned up,” Jinu says as he looks your form up and down. He’s wearing a loose shirt and grey sweatpants that does nothing to hide his physique.

The other guys in the room all have looks of hunger at your outfit, still breathing heavily from their practice. The one with lilac hair covering his eyes is the second to approach you as he offers you some water.

“Figure you’d want water, I’m Mystery,” he quietly says before going to sit on the floor one leg propped out as he continues to catch his breath.

You’re holding the water to your chest when Abby leads you to where the speaker is, now turned off since they’re taking a momentary break. They sneak glances at you while you sit a little awkwardly just listening to them chat.

Eventually, Jinu calls them back to practice. They start with Soda Pop, as they dance your shoulders bop along to the music while they pour their attention to you making your face flush from the looks they give you.

"Cause I need you to need me," Jinu points at you and smirks, you look away before turning your attention back.

"I'm empty, you feed me," Romance licks him lips while looking you up and down.

"So refreshing," Abby winks at you while pulling his shirt a bit to expose his chest.

"My little Soda Pop," Baby turns towards you and gives you a sultry look before continuing with the dance.

They dance through the chorus while their attention remains on your form, you feel slightly exposed and flush a bit at all their gazes. They finish their dance, and you clap for them, "nice! You guys are good!"

Abby is the first one to approach you, leaning down breathing heavily as he cages you between his arms.

"Any notes you could give us, any suggestions," He asks lowly, voice slightly raspy. You swallow the spit in your mouth as you hold eye contact with him, stammering a bit.

Romance is the next to approach you going to your right side and leaning down a bit to your ear.

"Any pointers you could give us? Any moves you could show us?" He breathes in your ear, his hair tickling the side of your face. You start to breathe a bit heavier at the attention they give you, you lick your lips as they feel impossibly dry.

The action only grabs Abby's attention. He leans in closer so close he was only a hair away from your mouth and lets out a breath as he smirks.

"You nervous?"

You silently nod, leaning back the slightest bit as your back hits the mirrored wall of the studio leaving you trapped between the two men.

"Use your words, princess," Romance chides you from your right as your eyes dart to him. Breath leaving you at his words and your face heats before you stutter out a yes.

Abby takes some mercy on you and eases up on the barely there space and backs away leaving you to Romance as he gets a drink.

These boys are going to kill you.

Romance soon leaves the teasing as he goes off to get his own drink and talk with the other guys, you finally are able to grab a full breath, and your face finally calms down.

You bid goodbye to the boys as you go back to your own studio, mind reeling at the attention and proximity of the boys. These men are much too attractive to be doing this to you.

God help you, your heart can hardly take this.

[satoblue]

you know those safety precautions women take just to feel a little less vulnerable in their own homes? house alarms or extra locks — even a pair of men’s shoes by the front door?

well, yours are sneakers. slightly scuffed and huge — just enough to pass as believable. like there is a man of the house. and honestly, you’ve never thought twice about it.

that is — until satoru visits your home for the first time.

like always, he’s halfway through teasing you. this time, it is about your adorable entryway rug. the sorcerer is passing through the doorframe, ducking his head slightly due to his towering height when he suddenly halts in his tracks.

the words stutter to a stop on his tongue. the very tip of his right dress shoe hovers in the air above the floor where he stands frozen — paralyzed.

you can sense the shift in the air. it is not hard to miss. after all, satoru never goes quiet just like that. not unless something shakes the man.

and consider him shaken by the sight in front of him.

he spots a pair of men’s sneakers in the corner of his eye. nothing flashy yet glaring. one is upright, the other on its side. as if they had been haphazardly kicked off just recently.

there’s an eerie silence. a pause. a throbbing in his chest.

to be honest, you didn’t think he’d notice. but that’s the thing about him — you always underestimate what he notices. what he sees.

because in a millisecond, those six eyes are scanning for a thousand possibilities — racing with infinite thoughts you can’t read. but you can feel it — the way his whole body has gone absolutely still on reflex.

“what are those?” he questions lowly.

there is no humor. no teasing grin. just a raw, shaky edge in his voice. and for once, he doesn’t even bother with the usual sarcasm to hide the hurt that’s bubbling up in his chest.

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you — it’s that he wasn’t ready to feel this much about the idea of you letting someone else in. of having another man in your life. the very notion makes him sick to his stomach.

you blink, a bit caught off guard by his bothered demeanor and you hurry to explain.

“satoru, it’s not what you think— those aren’t anyone’s. they’re mine… for safety. you know, to make it look like a man lives here.”

soon enough, you watch your words land. you see the way his shoulders shift, the tension breaking only slightly with relief. but then — something darker shifts in his expression. angrier.

but not at you.

at the world.

at the fact that you even have to think that way. that pretending to belong to a man is the easiest shield society gives you.

satoru doesn’t say much after that. he just looks at you for a long, long moment before pretending as though it never even happened.

but the next time he comes over, he comes with a bag. and when you glance by your front door — the old pair is gone.

now, they’re replaced with a pair of his own — some obviously beat up sneakers from his school days. the kind he only kept around for nostalgia.

you lean against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed as you watch him shuffle through your pantry.

“so…” you start carefully, “are you gonna tell me what happened to my shoes, or should i guess?”

“it’s more convincing if they’re worn,” he huffs back quickly like he rehearsed in the mirror, trying to act nonchalant. but you see the way his eyes dart to the shoes in the front — his shoes now. as if making sure they don’t walk off on their own.

“they weren’t even really yours anyway…” satoru grumbles, acting like an unbothered cat marking its territory as he searches for his favorite chips you always keep stocked up for him.

“seriously didn’t expect to walk in and see another guy’s shoes by the door — off brand by the way.” he notes, continuing to mumble to himself before taking a little peek at you. “kind of a jarring welcome, don’t you think?”

you roll your eyes at his behavior. it’s clear as day — he was jealous. not that he’d admit it. not yet anyway. he’s too proud to admit he had gotten jealous over nothing.

when he finally finds his snack of choice, he shuts the cabinet and closes the distance between you in two lazy steps, arms slipping around your waist like it’s second nature and pulling you in close. your heart skips a beat.

“besides,” he adds, mouth close to your ear, voice dropping low. “you could’ve just told me you needed protection.”

and with that, satoru releases you before plopping onto your couch, big sock clad feet propping up on the coffee table like he owns the place — like he’s the man of the house now.

“my savior…” you mumble sarcastically, watching him open the loud bag of chips before popping one in his mouth and flashing you a charming grin as he chews happily.

but you know him. you know that there is something fierce beneath the casual tone — an unspoken promise.

he’s offering — no — he is telling you that he’ll be your home security system. unlimited plan. premium package. comes with a hot boyfriend as a plus.

because there is no world where he’d ever let anything happen to you. as if anyone could even dare to try.

[enhani-ki]

my biggest opp - reader x ni-ki part ii

warnings: smut, power play, cursing, etc.

read part one

you assumed that after having sex with ni-ki, your biggest opp, it would be awkward and uncomfortable…

but never this empty.

you arrive at your office monday morning to find your inbox startlingly free of his scathing one-liners. there's no "nice dress. shame about the brain." no "can you actually type without making typos?"

his favorite mockery is gone, somehow leaving you strangely bereft.

you tapped your pen against the wooden surface of your desk, scanning for any hint of his sabotages. the folder you thought you'd need for the managerial position, his file on your "possible fraudulent activities" are also nowhere to be found.

because according to him, you fucked him so good that he destroyed every single thing he had that could ruin you.

relief flares that he stopped, of course. but unlike him, you still do your best to make his life miserable, leaving yourself doused in guilt — feeling like an asshole.

an entire weekend passed. you swore you weren't dying for his banter, and yet whenever your phone buzzes, you leap out of your skin.

nishimura riki: stop messing with my report. are you fucking insane?

minutes passed.

nishimura riki: you must be missing me.

your lips twitched into a smirk. hell if you know how to respond.

i didn't do it, dumbass.

really? that's the reply? he'd know you were lying (or worse, honest). the cursor kept blinking in your reply box, taunting you. you typed, erase, typed again, erase — you racked your brain, thinking of a good comeback.

you: you're so stupid. also, my life has been so peaceful without you. please stay right where you are.

nishimura riki: i can come by your house and make your life hell again. if you want.

of course you want it. you'd kill him… or you'd kill for him to come over right now but shit, even the line between those urges were already starting to blur.

you spent your lunchtime writing a status report. your fingers snapping across the keys but your mind drifts to that shameless first night with him.

the night where you wrestled with him for that fraud file of yours. the heat of his breath when you kissed him, when it finally landed on your skin…

you remember all of it. every time you lean over to pull a document from the printer, you imagine the wide arc of ni-ki's arms behind you, the precise angle of his jaw, his thick lips devouring you while telling you how much he hated you for existing…

it's all fucking there.

and as if reading your thoughts, your phone lit up again.

nishimura riki: i want to see what i'm missing.

you: fuck you. you literally work five feet from me.

nishimura riki: and new skirt? goddamn

your stomach clenched. so he… noticed? he noticed your above the knee with the slit at the side that shows just enough thigh to be questionable but still professional according to the office dress code new skirt?

you: your point?

nishimura riki: you look good and i want to see it up close.

a shiver runs down your spine. ni-ki's words became so direct, so suggestive, you can't help but to swallow hard and bite your lip. you sighed, immediately closing the report window before anyone could see you blush.

you check your company messenger during break. you noticed nishimura riki's presence: his avatar pops into view with the status "ready to crush it."

how fucking pretentious.

you just hoped ni-ki would do something back so you could stop feeling guilty whenever you sabotage him, then it would all go back to hell. the hell you not-so-secretly love. the hell he seemed to have loved before — and now forgotten.

@you @ni-ki i expect great results from the two of you. focus on the work, not drama.

you sat on your couch, sipping a cup of lukewarm green tea when your phone buzzes.

nishimura riki: we're stuck together for the next couple days.

you smirked when you realized how he can't stop texting you. you plop your head back against the cushion, totally interested.

you: yeah. happy?

nishimura riki: ecstatic.

ni-ki signs off with a kiss emoji, making you scowl in disgust and throw your phone onto the cushion. he'll see how you haven't responded and he'll definitely laugh about it tomorrow.

you came into the office projecting confidence the next morning. ni-ki is already there, beating you in punctuality. he's leaning back in his chair, scrolling through his phone but smiled immediately when your eyes met.

"you're late," he drawls.

"shut up," you fired back, tossing your bag under the table. you saw another folder you've been dreading. ni-ki's opened it already— hands off, though.

"fuck... i couldn't sleep," he said, casually looking at your eyes.

who asked? is what you would've said but instead, it's: "why's that?" you leaned in, "last i heard, sleeping without protection was your specialty."

he nodded slowly. his urge of choking you to death using his necktie suddenly crossed his mind, like it always does whenever you talk back.

he never followed through, of course. because every time he pictures it, the ending is him fucking you instead. he saw you submitting not because of trust, but because you can't help it.

ni-ki sighed and quickly pulls your chair close to him, making your pulse quicken. "hmm, what do you mean 'heard'? we both know you know that for a fact," he teased, his hand trailing up to squeeze your thigh. "also, did i ever told you how bad you needed practice?"

heat blooms across your cheeks. didn't he say you fucked him good? this fucking guy keeps challenging you — mentally and sexually.

you scoffed and opened your mouth to retort but your boss already knocked on the door, barging in to start the meeting.

the day isn't even done, yet you and ni-ki have exchanged more messages than you have with anyone else all week:

nishimura riki: did you catch the way that idiot glanced at your legs during the meeting? that mf is gonna keel over later once you unplug your laptop.

that 'idiot' is notoriously stiff when it comes to 'office decorum.' the thought of him being flustered at your skirt is thrilling, but:

you: you know i'd rather see how you react when i ask you to take off my skirt.

nishimura riki: come to my office then, i'll show you.

you stood up as soon as everyone's too busy to notice your absence. you opened ni-ki's door without so much as a knock. the tall guy is leaning against the edge of his desk, shirt already untucked, tie loose — completely losing his patience.

you walk towards him. he traces a finger along your jaw, tilting your face up, brushing his thumb over your sexy lips.

"show me," you whispered, sliding both hands flat against his chest.

ni-ki leaned in. "hmm, watch me," he replied, turning you gently by the hips, pulling your ass against his crotch — where you can feel the rigid outline of his cock through his trousers. you pressed yourself back, grinding on him as his hand tightens on your hip.

"we have a meeting at six, right?" he murmurs in your ear. "let's get you naked under this skirt."

"i already am…"

unbelievable.

"you really are a fucking tease, huh?"

your breath hitched when you feel his tip nudging against your folds. ni-ki slowly slid inside your welcoming heat — his cock was so big and hard, making your knees buckle as you can practically feel him rearranging your guts without even moving.

ni-ki moaned, "oh, y/n—" biting his lower lip before pressing one more searing kiss to your neck. "i could stay like this all day," he said.

you let out a shaky gasp, head dropping forward with a whimper. your fingers reached back, grabbing his hands — his big, warm hands that are locked around your hips. "ni-ki…"

"let's not sin so much today," he groaned softly, hips giving one teasing rock that makes your whole body jolt before he pulls his cock out. he stepped back and adjusted your skirt like a gentleman — making you feel full and hollow in the same instant.

that same afternoon, you decided to head to the break room for water. you stop short when you saw ni-ki with the boss' niece, who came to visit the office.

she's laughing, batting her eyelashes at him while grinning so hard. you didn't mean to eavesdrop, but she mentioned something about wanting him to show her around — and that guy just casually folds his arm around her shoulders.

"look at you, you social climber," you interrupted, clapping your hands slowly, it echoed like a gunshot.

ni-ki glances at you lazily over the girl's shoulder. the niece looks startled, she gave you both a sheepish laugh before excusing herself.

"how long have you two been planning world domination?"

"are you jealous?" he asked, chuckling as he drags out a chair for himself. "'cause i'm telling you that's pathetic."

"wha—?"

"don't worry, y/n. it's just been few days, i'll make sure to find some time for my favorite brat."

you scoffed, grabbing your water a little too aggressive. "wow... you sound so proud of being passed around like a party favor."

"passed around?" he repeated, raising a brow. "jealousy already doesn't suit you and now you're possessive too?"

you shot him a sharp glare but he just leans back in his chair, spreading his legs like he's offering you a seat.

ni-ki sighed, "fine, i'll come over tonight," he declared so casually, it made your jaw drop.

"excuse me?"

"you heard me." he stretched and yawned. "you don't have to agree. i've already made up my mind."

"you're crazy."

he stands up, brushing past you as he grabs a protein bar "leave the door unlocked for me, okay?" he whispered, leaning in to give your cheek a quick kiss.

the sound of your skins slapping were obscene. ni-ki's breaths were heavy, his muscles tensed doing his best holding back from losing control. his necklace kept bouncing against his chest every time he slid in and out of your wet cunt. he hit it deep and slow, making your toes curl.

you looked down and watched at where your bodies met.

"oh, my–" he groaned when he felt your walls flutter around his cock. "this feels so fucking insane right now."

your arms tightened around his shoulders. "you haven't fucked me in days," you breathed out, looking up at him, admitting, "i was so stressed out."

"yeah, i know," he replied, "and look how mean you've gotten."

"kiss me..." you asked shyly — too quiet for ni-ki who was busy thrusting, far gone in the rhythm he was chasing to even hear it.

frustrated, you reached up and grabbed his hair — hard. your fingers got tangled so deep in the roots of his bleached strands, yanking him down without warning so you could force his mouth closer.

"ah—f-fuck—!" ni-ki hissed, jolting from the sharp tug. his hips slowed down for a second.

his palm slapped your arm away, the sound echoed a little loud in the room. it wasn't as harsh as what you did, but it was firm because he was hurt. a very clear response to pain.

your eyes slightly widened when he snatched your wrist, flipping you like you're a dead weight. one second you were just looking up at him — now, your face was pressed into the pillow, ass up. ni-ki's hand stayed flat on your lower back, keeping you in place.

his fingers dove straight into your hair, fisting it tight, pulling your head up until your back arched and your spine hit his chest. it forced a cry out of your throat, you quickly hold on to the headboard for your own control.

"it hurts, right?" he muttered, brows furrowed. his voice sounded pissed. "you dumbass."

your mouth parted to argue but you were too breathless and stunned at how fast he turned the tables on you.

ni-ki let go of your hair roughly. your cheek sank back into the pillow. his hands slid down to your hips, spreading you wider. it was careless and he moved confident as he positioned you just how he wanted.

your moans started crumbling into soft sobs — not from pain but from realizing how you weren't too used to getting caught off guard, let alone losing control.

your thighs started shaking, your breath had gone shallow, and ni-ki noticed it right away.

"shit—" he cursed under his breath, the movement of his hips started faltering before slowly pulling out from your pussy. he leaned down to kiss the back of your neck gently. "can you sit up?"

you nodded weakly. he helped you, pulling you gently onto his lap, seating you over one of his thighs while holding you carefully. "did i scare you?" he asked, worried and cautious.

"no...not at all." you replied, shaking your head in assurance.

ni-ki sighed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. he place a long kiss your temple, "i'm sorry, y/n." he continued, "do you want to stop?"

you sniffled and pulled back to look him in the eye like you're a little offended, "hell no."

a small grin broke across his face. he's amused, relieved, but mostly turned on all over again. ni-ki buried his face into your neck, laughing softly. "good," he murmured, lips dragging across your skin.

"ride me."

each movement felt better than the last. his cock dragged against the deepest part of you, his blunt tip kept hitting your cervix, making you gasp in pleasure.

ni-ki sat back against your headboard, his thighs spread wide, letting you straddle him fully. his hands never stopped moving – gripping your waist or holding your nape, the other catching the bounce of your breast. his thumb grazes over your nipple, and sometimes, he'd lean in to suck it, groaning at the way your pussy clenched in response.

his hair was messy. he was so loud – groaning through his gritted teeth – that goddamn chrome necklace catching the low light as he tip back his head to moan.

you can't stop staring. you can't stop running your fingers through his hair, brushing the strands back, or cupping his jaw just to see his face better.

"ni-ki..." you whispered.

his eyes blinked open, resting his forehead against yours.

you were moving fast and steady, sinking down on his dick over and over again while your bodies stayed too close — noses brushing, stealing each other's air.

"you– you're so handsome," you breathed out, barely even realizing you said it.

"me?"

"yes," you whispered. "you."

he grinned and leaned forward after hearing that double down. ni-ki gave you a messy, open-mouthed kiss, your fingers threading through his hair again as your hips rocked in desperate circles.

you pulled back to suck on his jaw next, under his ear, then down to his neck — biting softly, marking him. you wanted to leave something there. something that would remind him how much you wanted to do this over and over again.

now, you're sitting in the center of your mattress, blinking stupidly slow as you try to process just how many times he made you cum. "g– god," you mumbled, "i think my spine broke."

ni-ki huffs a soft laugh, still catching his breath too, resting his head on his arm while his other hand would caress your stomach or squeeze your boobs. "you're fine... it's hurting because you are still talking too much."

"o– ow..."

ni-ki sat up and hugged you. placing soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, and then to your temple. "fine, let's have it checked later. just lay down with me for now."

you nodded, laying down, pressing your back against his chest. you felt his smile against your skin, smug and fond. ni-ki palmed your breasts again... he can't stop touching you even if he wanted to.

"mm, you're such a baby," he murmurs against your hair, "what happened to the terrifying monster who's always mean and yells at me in meetings?"

"dead," you replied quietly, leaning against him. "she died."

ni-ki chuckled again after seeing you blush. he grinned before peppering kisses on your cheek again and he doesn't say it but he adores this messy, clingy, soft version of you.

the one only he ironically gets to see.

you sniffled, pressing your face to his neck. "ni-ki..."

"what?"

"i wanna see bisco."

"oh..."

"i– i wanna see your dog," you sniffled again, voice sleepy and soft. "even if he hates me…"

ni-ki smiled and whispered, "okay, baby." brushing your hair off your sweaty forehead, "i'll take you to see bisco as soon as he gets home."

later after a doctor's consultation, the dog-sitter also dropped off bisco. you're already in his apartment, in his shirt he basically forced you into wearing.

"wait–!" ni-ki reached out to get bisco but it ran towards to where you were. "bisco!" you gasped, eyes lighting up as you rushed toward the tiny white ball of fur that sprinted right away from you.

"bisco, come on! we brought you snacks!" you tried coaxing, crawling on your knees to look under the couch, but the little thing lunged out and bit your wrist – not hard but more of a warning chomp – "fuck– ow!"

ni-ki leaned against the wall, arms crossed and smiling like a proud dad watching the chaos unfold. "i told you he's dramatic."

you didn't care. you kept following bisco around the room, letting him bite, bark while you giggled and chased him with unearned affection... which ni-ki found strange because before, you probably would've fought with that small dog, until it fears you for rejecting you.

finally, bisco ran out of energy and jogged towards his bed, completely ignoring you like a diva.

you pouted and walked back to ni-ki, dragging your feet like you'd just been dumped. "why is it sweet to everyone but me, huh?" you mumbled, melting into his waiting arms.

ni-ki laughed and tugged you in, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead. "i don't think he hates you, y/n," he murmured, voice soft as his hand roamed slowly down your ass. "give it some time."

"or he knows you've been giving someone else all your attention." you added, rolling your eyes. "right? i knew it, he's jealous."

his lips found yours. "no," kiss. "he's not," kiss. "jealous," kiss. the kisses are so different from before. no clashing of teeth, no busting a lip open, or bruising... it feels like forgiving each other.

and usually, this groping and kissing would spiral into sex, but today, you both weren't even thinking about it. there's just the need to be close, not just to get off.

ni-ki was so distracted by you that he doesn't even know when did he stopped trying to win in everything.

he had plans too, you know? he thought about getting his lick back but whenever you come around, the noises in his head disappears, the urge to get even fades, and suddenly, there's nothing even left to fight for.

he pulls back just enough to see your face. you blinked up at him, tired and sleepy, your lips were still swollen from all the nonstop kissing.

but still, you're so goddamn kissable.

you gave ni-ki a kiss again when you saw him staring – once, twice – "i gotta go," you whispered eventually.

"this early?"

"yeah, i'm getting hungry."

"we can cook–"

"stop–"

"–y/n..." he interrupted, cutting you off. ni-ki opened his mouth then closed it before clearing his throat. "no. nothing. just…" he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. his eyes kept darting down to the floor like he couldn't believe he was about to say it. "just take care, okay?"

you tilted your head, "t–thanks…"

what the hell?

you're still mean and you still drive him insane, ni-ki took a deep breath – he swore he hates being this kind of guy but fuck it.

now or never.

"do you wanna have dinner with me?" he asked. he said it a little too fast, it's obvious that he was shy. "outside."

"huh?" you blinked. "you mean like–"

"yeah," he said, pressing his lips together, swallowing thickly. "like a–"

"...like a date."

ni-ki braces himself for the teasing and for your usual sharp reply. he knows you'll probably laugh in a few seconds but right now, you're just staring at him, eyes wide in surprise and that alone slightly gave him a little hope.

and he thinks, if this is how he loses, then fine.

let's let it be you.

a/n: my biggest opp 3k notes special! thank you so much for all the love and good comments. the first part came out on march 1 so it's been three months... there's so much (an understatement lmao) drafts for this and lots of scenes did not make it. as you can see, it's not so much focused on the smut and i honestly don't know if anyone will see this or if this part two this is good enough.

i teared up writing this T_T burning blue - mariah the scientist

tagging: @asaheyow @n4mh0pe @sunghoonsarmpit

[lymtw]

hi!! i love your fics theyre highkey my fav rereads🤭idk if youre taking requests but if you were, could you possibly do a hurt/comfort fic with toji and shy reader where shes mad/upset with him? hope youre having a great day btw!

A/N: Five years later... 🫩👍 I'm sorry this took so long. I really, really appreciate your support 🫶 I hope this turned out at least okay, it's been a minute since i've finished any writing 🥲 Anyway, I hope you're having an amazing day :))

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

It's been a week since you and Toji have spoken, not for lack of effort or opportunities, but because the one sided attempts are not corresponded. It's hard to think about him, it's hard to read his words through your screen and see his name flash briefly, before your phone does its job of sending him to voicemail.

'Maybe we shouldn't be together, Toji. If me simply trying to talk to you is such a burden... I don't know if I should keep trying.'

You said this to him a week ago. You clicked the door shut and he sped off in his car, bleary-eyed, brimming with rage and regret the whole way home. He couldn't get the sound of your voice out of his head—the cracks, the occasional sharp inhales that came with your suppressed emotions. Even in the moment, he knew it was so, so wrong for you to be looking the way you did.

The instant he got home, all hell broke loose. His fists were clenched as he treaded towards his bedroom, and as if possessed by the force of a natural disaster, he tore apart his room—demolished it—throwing things blindly, uncaring if they broke beyond repair. The picture he keeps on his nightstand of the two of you was not safe. The encased memory was thrown with all the strength he has, at the wall, the frame instantly falling apart and the glass shattering to pieces.

He couldn't stop, it all hurt so much. His chest burned, his head was pounding, he felt like he couldn't breathe, and once there was nothing left to throw, nothing left to break, he finally broke down—wholly. Harsh, uncontrollable sobs racked his entire body as he sat there in the debris—the aftermath of losing his mind over you. Barely any sound came of it, his voice was shot, courtesy of the tormented screams that accompanied his meltdown.

This all happened a week ago. You won't talk to him and these days have been hell without your company. You won't respond to his good morning messages, and if he asks to meet up, you always have something to do. He calls you whenever he can, but you don't pick up. You're avoiding him like it's your job.

Everything feels pointless without you around, his little sunshine, the reason he wakes up motivated every morning, the light of his life. His routine has been altered in the worst way. It's work, home, work, home, and he absolutely detests it because if it weren't for that damned day, he would be with you, smothering you with the borderline overwhelming love he holds for you, making you laugh and watching you get flustered over the words he whispers in your ear. He wants it back—all of it. He can't let you go, it would break him entirely.

You don't want to let go of this love you have for Toji, either. You miss being in the warmth of his embrace, and you miss the sound of his voice, and the way he calls you 'sweetheart' when you're not focusing on him. You see every single one of the messages he sends you and the phone calls.

Good morning, baby.

Morning, sweetheart. Make sure to eat breakfast and lunch. One meal isn't enough.

Saw those fields of flowers you point at all the time on my way home. I miss you.

Baby, will you talk to me, please?

[Missed Call]

And you cry, because all you want to do is respond to every one of those messages and hear his voice again, but something always stops you. The memory of when he snapped at you. The sound of his voice—cutting and utterly spirit crushing. The furrow of his eyebrows that made you feel like everything you did was wrong. It hurts to think about the whole situation, and all these notifications only serve as reminders. Reminders of the way you immediately wilted when the door shut, chest heaving as you cried your way to bed and then to sleep, wondering what you did to deserve being lashed out at.

You're lying in bed, scrolling through your phone when he calls again. The instant you see his contact picture, your heart plummets to your stomach, but an irrepressible giggle escapes you. The picture on your screen... it's kind of blurry because he was chasing you and you were laughing so hard that you couldn't hold the phone steady, but you love it. You love the man in the picture, you love that he can make you smile through memories, even during tough times.

"Baby?" You hear through the speakers of your phone. A lump immediately forms in your throat and you painfully swallow. "Baby, can you hear me?" He tries again.

"Yeah, I'm here," you respond, quietly.

"Holy fuck, doll. Can I... Are you busy? Are you doing anything right now?"

"No, i'm home," you mumble.

"Can I come see you?"

"Toji..." you start, your tone conveying what you haven't even said yet. Your uncertainty.

"Baby, we have to talk. It's been a week and-- This can't be it. Please, just... just five minutes. Five minutes and i'll go."

You know it won't be five minutes. You can't force a solution out in five minutes—not a sincere one at least. Some part of you is soothed by the sound of his voice, regardless of how frantic and desperate he sounds. That's your love right there, and no matter how much hurt lingers from this whole dilemma, there's nothing you can do about your heart's response to him. So you open a door for him.

"Okay, Toji. I'll be here waiting for you."

"Thank you, pretty girl. I'll be there in a few. Love you."

There's a heavy, tense pause. Neither of you has hung up the phone, because something hasn't been done yet and he knows you know what he wants to hear. It would be enough for him to believe that you haven't forfeited. It would make him feel even the slightest bit of relief if you said those words he's been aching for.

"I love you, too, Toji," you utter, hanging up a couple seconds after.

Toji would be bouncing off the walls if he wasn't in such a hurry to get to you. He's been deprived of any form of love from you for a week and he was starting to go crazy, but hearing you say those words was all he needed for now.

Twenty something minutes later, you get a text from him, letting you know that he's outside. Your heart is in your throat, your stomach keeps flipping, and yet you use all the strength you have to get out of bed to meet him. Though you decide to take your time to get to your front door, you find that you're still there too soon, no time left to mentally prepare yourself for what is about to happen. With a final deep breath, you turn the lock, twist the doorknob, and open the door.

There Toji stands, hand suspended in the air with your spare key pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He steps back instinctively when you step aside from behind the door.

"I uh... I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with me using it, but you were taking a bit, so I thought maybe you'd want me to come in and we can talk inside or... I don't know."

He's rambling, there's a light stubble on his face, he's smiling at you like he always does—like you're his everything. Him being there doesn't actually process in your mind until he speaks up again.

"Hi, baby," he says, softly, observing you like you're some majestic painting hung up in a museum. Your eyes well up and it feels like there's a red-hot metal sphere lodged in your throat. "You're a saint for letting me come here and see you, you know that?"

Out of habit, you nod and mumble out a small, "yeah."

"I'm sorry, doll," he says, reaching for your hands to hold them. He barely manages to grab them, get a feel for your soft skin after so long, before you're pulling them away from him. "No, come on," he pleads, grasping your hands again. "Please? Please, look at me."

"You can't talk to me like that, Toji," you utter, voice unsteady because you're not used to having to stand up for yourself against the one who loves you like it's his life source.

"I know. I know that, baby, and I'm so fucking sorry," he says, nearly tripping over his words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of the shit I said. I was having a bad day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I don't know what the hell got into me, but please..." he mumbles, bringing your hands up to his lips, pressing weightless kisses on your fingers and knuckles. "Please, I love you, you have to believe me."

"You said..." you inhale sharply, doing all you can to get through this without choking on your emotions. "...you said you didn't have time to listen to me talk about nonsense, and that you wanted peace and quiet for once. Isn't... Isn't that all you get from me?"

"No tears," he says, warm palms moving up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the crystals that glide down them. "No tears," he repeats, softer this time. "This is gonna get worked out, my sweet girl. I swear."

"I don't know how you want me to be," you admit, your voice wavering. "And I don't have the ability to read minds. You acted like everything was fine when you texted me, and then when you got here..." You let out a shaky breath, your hold on your emotions slipping. "I don't want to be upset with you, anymore, but i-i'm trying... It's not right."

It's as if someone is jabbing at his chest over and over again, relentlessly, even when his skin starts to bruise and little pinpricks of blood begin to appear. He hates seeing you this way, especially when he knows he's the reason for why you're hurt this bad. He wants it to stop and for this enormous raincloud above both of you to just dissipate.

"Come here," he says, low, almost inaudible. His hands lower, arms making contact with your sides. It's been too long since he's held you, yet, pulling you in feels as natural as breathing.

Your hands come up to rest on his abdomen, keeping him at a distance. It feels unnatural, because you're so used to letting him handle you like you're a stuffed animal, pulling you around when you're adventuring together and picking you up just because he feels like it. Your mind immediately clouds with guilt at your denial of his embrace, you can't even meet his eyes, opting to look down at where your hands are.

"Please don't," he says, his voice so soft that it makes your chest feel tight again. He grabs ahold of your wrists, just to have some sort of contact with you. His grip is almost entirely loose and you're in control, he won't move until you pull your hands away. "I'm not gonna hurt you like that again."

You love him and you know he needs this—holding you in his arms, your confirmation that it's all going to be okay. You've said it before and the words have become one of his greatest comforts. What could be so bad when you tell him that it'll all turn out just fine?

"We've been apart for too long. A week shouldn't have gone by like this... and, fuck, I know it's my fault. I don't blame you for not wanting to see me, but... please, baby." His thumbs brush the insides of your wrists, eyes never leaving the sadness of your face, regardless of whether you look at him or not. He'll take this over not getting to see you at all, any day.

"Sweetheart."

You sniff, unmoving for a few more seconds. Your heartbeat is thrumming wildly in your ears, almost suffocating you with its relentlessness. It's all you hear, words lost in a spiral of ongoing silence. You still don't look at him when you finally pull your hands away, but you can feel his heavy, unwavering attention on you.

You're glad he doesn't wait for you to give him the green light to pull you in, because you have nothing to say at the moment, and it would be another test of patience. Instead, the second your hands are balled up at your sides, he moves at the speed of a lightning strike, your body colliding with his in an almost aggressive manner—there's an audible thump. His body heat mingles with the cologne on his shirt, the smell coiling around you and rushing through your nose with every breath you take. The feeling is familiar—love, safety, comfort—a second home, all wrapped up in your favorite person.

His hands scrunch up the back of your shirt like he's afraid you'll push him away again. "Baby," he mumbles, his voice almost inaudible. "Don't disappear like that again." A soft breath is expelled from his chest, riddled with the genuine fear he felt that he would never get to see you again.

"I know it's unfair of me to say this. I was an asshole and you were hurt, but, doll... I thought you were leaving me." There's a pause. Toji stares at the ground behind you, his hands deepening the creases he made on your shirt due to his unfaltering grip. "I don't want that."

"I'm not," you respond, heart shaking. "That day... it felt like you didn't even want to see me and you only came over because I asked not because you wanted to." The familiar ache in your chest stirs slightly, but you give it your all to get everything out in a steady and clear manner. "You can tell me you're tired, Toji. That you want to rest in the comfort of your own home, and I'll understand. I don't want to be another cause of stress for you."

It pains him to hear that because you're the one who keeps him sane, the one he thinks about when he settles into bed but can't get to sleep, the first person to know that he's still alive in morning, the one who has made him feel so safe, that he feels no shame when he occasionally calls to confirm that he's still loved by you.

"You're not," he simply murmurs. "It's not true."

"You don't have to worry about protecting my feelings."

His arms loosen around you, the back of your shirt wrinkled but freed from his clutches. Your heart is beating too fast, attempting to leave your chest. Now you're standing up straight, doing your best to not avert your gaze from the man before you.

"You're not a burden to me. Okay?" He says, and you want to believe him because of the way he's looking at you, like he's searching your eyes for even the smallest bit of confidence from you about the fact. "Say it."

The words are stuck, it's visible. Your lips twitch, but your voice doesn't progress. You just look at him, feeling the sadness seep into every part of you.

"You're not a burden to me. I need you to get that through your pretty head, right now," he says, only to feel his own heart skip a beat at your reaction.

"Sorry," you mumble, unable to instantly straighten out the curl of your lips.

In this moment, Toji knows that everything is going to be okay. He hasn't heard you laugh in a week, and though it was only a small, congested giggle, he savors it along with your inability to regain your bearing, like it's his last sip of water while he's stranded in the desert.

"Gets you every time, huh?" He says, his own faint smile emerging.

'Right now', a habitual phrase of his that is meant to comfort you. You've told him before that not everything can be fixed or healed in an instant—things don't work that way—but he never backs down. You've translated it into something akin to a bandage—the words are meant to cover you while you take the time to fully and properly heal. The joy you find in hearing them is a small beginning.

"It's funny," you respond, taking in his amused little grin. God, you missed his handsome face and the way he looks at you like everything about you makes perfect sense to him.

"My impatience is funny to you?" He teases, loving the way you press your lips together before proceeding to nod. He can't even be playfully offended, too entranced by the way you're actually smiling at him. He sighs through his nose and just watches you—admires you for a couple seconds, and when you start nervously shifting on your feet, he pulls you closer to him, his hands on your lower back as your body presses against his once more.

"Can you just say it, please? For me?" He murmurs, recognizing every one of the stars in your eyes. Though he thinks it's a tragedy to have gone a week without this view, he'll make up for lost time by creating new constellations.

"I don't know," you say, softly—filler words, your brain short circuits whenever he looks at you like that.

"For me, baby," he pleads once more. "Just wanna hear you say it."

You hum, unsure of whether you can say something you don't entirely believe. You want to make him happy, you want things to be better, you want to believe what he said—what he wants you to repeat to him, but it's hard. Damage is easy to inflict and hard to heal. It won't go away immediately, no matter how much you love the person who is trying to fix their mistake.

"I don't know-"

"Please?" he blurts.

"Toji, I don't-"

"Pretty please?" he cuts again, seeing the way your seriousness falters like before. Your laugh finds his ears once more, a sound he just wants to keep hearing. The sound embraces him. "With a cherry on top?" he adds, a sly little grin on his lips.

It's getting harder and harder to turn him down. He's precious, he's trying, and you cherish his effort. It's not going to kill you to just say it.

You sigh, "I'm not a burden."

"To who?" He questions, seeking elaboration from you.

"To you."

"Damn right," he says, proud. "We'll get you there. I'm not gonna leave you like this, alright?"

"Okay," you confirm, nodding slightly.

"Can I get a kiss?"

Again, you nod, expecting a quick peck—maybe a few quick pecks, but no, he goes on to kiss you like its been months since he last saw you, not a week. He's desperately chasing after your lips, seeking more and more of what he's been deprived of for too long. In his mind, he says 'never again, never again, never again', because he can't imagine going so long without your sweetness again. Without the softness of your lips against his, without those pretty smiles and laughs being thrown at him. It sounds like hell 2.0. when he thinks about losing it all over again.

"Fuck, I missed this," he murmurs, still just a breath away from your lips.

"Yeah," you respond, eyeing the short little pins of hair that sprinkle over his jaw and upper lip area. It makes you smile, you don't always get to see his face when it's not clean shaven.

"I was in a rush," he explains, unnecessarily, following the way your eyes trace his face.

"Mm," you hum, smiling. "Can I shave your face?"

"You wanna clean me up?" he asks, almost as if he's surprised.

"Only if you want me to. It was just an idea," you say, smiling sheepishly.

To that, he chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach flip and your cheeks feel warmer.

"Oh, I want you to," he says, leaning forward to peck your lips, luring quiet giggles from you when he doesn't want to pull away.

-

Now, you sit on the counter of your bathroom sink, with Toji standing between your legs. There's a slight tremble in your hand, spurred on by his hands resting on your hips and the way he watches you with so much focus, trusting you enough to let you do this without a word from him. You drag the razor carefully along his cheek, making sure not to move too fast or use too much pressure.

Toji waits until you're cleaning off the blade to make his move of leaning in to press kisses to your face. Small peaks of foam are left behind on your skin, wiped away by gentle strokes of his thumb.

"I'm about to start again," you say through a laugh, leaning away to avoid ridding his face of all the protective spume on it. The razor remains beside you until he finally behaves himself. He huffs like you've been rejecting his affection the whole time, but nonetheless stands up straight and as still as a statue.

After some time, longer than it would have taken him alone—longer than it would have taken you if he didn't smother you every time you paused to clean the razor—you got it done. You brought back the smoothness of his skin.

"Am I pretty again?" he jests, drying his face with one of your towels.

"Stunning," you quip in response, shifting on the counter to signal that you're going to hop off.

"You're stunning," he says, low, unmoving from where he stands between your legs. "My gorgeous, gorgeous girl," he adds, seeking more of that feeling the flustered smile on your face gives him. "Missed you lots, you know that?" You just laugh and shake your head, like you're silently calling him crazy. "What? I'm serious," he says in response, a soft grin on his face. "Did you miss me? Even a little bit?"

A single second passes by. You can't lie to him and say you didn't. You missed him every single day, through the hurt. Your chest ached and your heart dropped every time you remembered the incident, but your love for him never wavered. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and with how often he tried to reach you, it was nearly impossible not to have him on your mind.

"Of course I did. I took the time I needed, but that doesn't mean I wanted it."

"I know, baby. And I would never hold it against you. I'm just... glad I can see you again, is all."

You smile. The gleam and sincerity in his eyes is a wonder to witness and well worth the butterflies that overly crowd your stomach.

"I really did miss you," you mumble.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "'Lots.'"

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, then he leans in close for nth time, peppering kisses across your cheek until he reaches your lips. He can feel you smiling into the kisses, a sensation he yearned for with every fiber of his being for the past week. One of his hands rests on your thigh, caressing the inner part of it, while the other slides up your shirt and settles on your waist. The lip-lock steals your breath away, but even then, you challenge your lungs for your lover's sake, only pulling away when you're a panting mess and Toji's breathing is more audible.

The tension is palpable, the silence loud as you look at one another like you're still taking in the fact that you can be loving towards each other again, in a manner that doesn't derive from guilt for the time that you didn't get to demonstrate how much you truly love each other. Enough to not be able to leave a fresh wound alone, enough to forgive while outwardly expressing that you have not healed but are patient enough to work towards regaining that strength.

"I don't wanna go home," he murmurs, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips before focusing on solely your eyes.

"You don't have to," you respond. "Stay as long as you'd like."

"And if I said I wanted to spend a week here with you? Would you hate it?"

You shake your head. "No, but I think you'd get tired of seeing me all the time."

"You're wrong, pretty girl. Is this your subtle way of saying you're tired of looking at my mug, already?" He asks, lips curling with amusement at your giggle.

"No, I want you to stay," you say, honest.

"Promise?"

You nod, followed by an affirmative hum.

"Say it again," he requests, heart thudding just a little faster when you smile.

"I want you to stay, Toji," you repeat, his name on your tongue causing your cheeks to warm up.

"Again." His hands mold around your hips—squeezing, loving.

"Stay," you say, softer.

He sighs, heavy, an enamored look in his eyes that you have never been able to comprehend. Those dark, viridescent eyes, have a brilliance to them as he looks at you like you're the last good thing he'll ever be able to call his. You're good for him, you're good to him, and there is nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you because you gave him your heart.

"Yeah... you're stuck with me here for a week and you're come with me to pick some stuff up from my place, tomorrow. Okay? Okay."

"Okay," you respond, with a laugh.

"Now, we get you off this counter," he says, lifting you like you're a teddy bear that he carries around for protection. He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the suddenness. "Hold me tight, baby," he says, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before moving anywhere. A kiss is planted on your shoulder as he turns around to exit the bathroom.

"And now you let me show you some love," he says, low, carrying you to your bedroom.

[straykidsnerd255]

yeasgesdgyy

I love you so much !!!!!♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

So...~ can you do a headcannon for saja boys ( like all of them ) x solo flirt idol s/o Who really likes pop mart ( separately ) ... please

Awwwww! You are so freakin sweet! I love you too!!<3 Thank you so much for requesting, and I hope you enjoy these head-cannons! I definitely didn’t have Your Idol on repeat blasting in my headphones while writing this<3

Jinu:

We know how dorky this man is, so when he first met Y/n during a concert of hers trying to secure the honmoon, he noticed the way her voice filled his mind, drowning out the voices he so desperately wanted to disappear. 

What he wasn’t expecting was to lock eyes with her. Watching her lips pull into a smile as she moved closer to him.

Or the way her hand seemed to reach out towards him, drawing him closer. The moment he touched her hand, her fingers moved up his arm and towards his chin.

She held his face in her palm as she sang, her eyes going from that cute doe look to the look of a siren. 

His face went bright red when she backed away and winked at him. He had to run away or he would have steam coming out of his ears from how much he was blushing. 

When Jinu saw her again, she was standing in front of a pop mart, dressed in black sweats, and a grey hoodie. 

Walking over to her, making sure he would combust from being hopelessly in love with her, he gently tapped her on the shoulder. 

“Want to go in with me?” He asked, staring into the store. 

“Are you sure you are ok being spotted in a store like this?” She asked. 

Jinu shrugged and finally looked at her. His eyes widened at how even without makeup and all the lights, she was still beautiful.

After the time spent in the pop mart, Jinu and Y/n spent the rest of the day together.

When the day ended and Jinu walked her home, she turned around and took his hands in hers, leaned forward, and pressed a simple kiss to his lips. His eyes widened before he leaned into the kiss, a smile on his face.

Jinu totally asked her out after the concert. He’s too cute.

Abby Saja:

Abs and you have been dating since the moment he and the others of Saja Boys became a group. 

Yes he knew you were a human but something about your ability to love him even as a demon made his “heart” swell. 

He ignored every order from that point on. His arms were always wrapped around your waist when you were visiting his group, showing you off at concerts and signings. 

What he didn’t expect was for you to be a solo idol. The first time he heard your voice signing, he was hypnotized. 

He went to a concert of yours, (forced the rest of Saja Boys to go along too) of course he was in his human form but when you knelt in front of him, your eyes hooding to give off a siren look, he knew he was done for. 

Your flirty smirk appeared on your lips as your fingers brushed under his chin (One of his favorite things you do) and his body felt light. 

You get extremely flirty when on stage he notes when you start dancing in a way that he has never seen you dance before. 

On a rather hot summer day, you were practically tugging his arm and begging him to go to a pop mart with you, for what reason, he didn’t know. 

When he gets to the mart after breaking his resolve (He can never say no to you) he is immediately blinking confused. 

“What is this place?” He would ask, turning to you for an explanation but you are already staring at a little doll with stars in your eyes and the brightest smile on your lips.

You and Abs left the mart with at least 5 bags each.

Mystery Saja:

You are the only person that is allowed to see his face with his hair up. That’s how special you are to this man. 

In return, you told him everything about yourself, your fears, insecurities, your pain. If he could, he would erase everything that hurt you. 

The day the rest of Saja Boys were out scouting the different groups to see how they could destroy them, Mystery felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach when he saw you on the stage.

No one else around you, but your eyes held the power of three people to complete the golden honmoon. You looked absolutely stunning in his eyes. 

The moment you began singing, everything around him vanished. The voices in his head, the chatter of fans, the rest of Saja Boys. It was just you and him. 

Your personality on stage was a 180 flip from what he gets in everyday life. Your flirty on stage, your doe eyes shifting to a hypnotizing siren as you sing with the power of gods. 

He slowly makes his way towards the stage, his body moving on its own. Jinu and the others watch with wide eyes as you dip your hand towards him, holding his face with such care.

Days after that concert, Mystery is watching your every move. Your morning routine, the way you talk around him and the rest of Saja Boys. He wants to see if that personality from your concert slips out but it never does. 

“Why can’t you act all flirty like you did at the concert?” he suddenly asked everyone in the room. 

You turned to him and your doe eyes morph to the siren he saw that night. He swallowed as you moved towards him. 

Standing in front of him, you cup his jaw, a smirk appears just as fast as it disappears and your doe eyes are back. 

He never asked for your flirty nature again, he almost passed out from how long he held his breath.

When you took him to a pop mart, he understood why you hid that flirty siren-like personality when off stage. 

You and Mystery spent the day in the mart for hours before Saja Boys had to come and drag the two of you out of the store.

Romance Saja:

Romance was always labeled the “PlayBoy” that he didn’t take love seriously. Granted, it would have been true considering that he was a demon but when he started dating you, everything changed. 

The voices that lined his head disappeared. He felt like his life was finally his thanks to you. 

Jinu had said that they were going to a concert in a few days for a soloist that just popped up after Huntr/x took a hiatus for a bit and wanted to check it out. 

Thinking nothing of it, Romance shot you a text saying he was going to a concert and that he would be back late. 

The day of the concert, Romance and the others got there extremely early so they could be in the front row to see who the singer was. 

Their jaws dropped to the floor when they saw you, your once soft doe-like eyes narrowed like a siren, your voice booming around them. 

You danced like you had been trained by a dance god. Romance could only stare at the way your hips swayed, the way your voice sounded so good in his ears as you sang. 

Your eyes drifted them, your eyes becoming more of a siren as you walked towards the edge of the stage, your hand dropping towards Romance, your finger mentioning for him to come close. 

He did, not sure what came over him. He felt your hand press against his chest, your fingers dance over his throat before you gently but firmly grabbed his face pulling him even closer. 

He was surprised he didn’t actually faint right then and there. In his mind, that was the hottest thing you could have done to him. 

When you and Romance were walking around town a few days after the concert, he took you to a pop mart and watched your face light up. He smiled softly and followed you around like a puppy and got you whatever you wanted, with the promise that you will do the same thing you did at the concert to him more.

You were a mess when he asked for you to do that again, but you did, randomly, when he least expected it and as a result, you had to call the rest of Saja Boys to your house to help you get your passed out boyfriend on his bed so he didn’t wake up in pain.

You vowed to never do that again when he least expects it.

Baby Saja:

He was the least likely to get in a relationship but when he pushes open the door to Saja Boy’s dorm and introduces you as his girlfriend, everything goes into chaos. 

Your favorite spot to lay your head is on his chest. Baby doesn’t mind it in the least, in fact, he will just place his hand on your head and pull you towards his chest when he wants to feel your weight on his chest. 

Sneaking into a concert wasn’t ideal for them but they needed to figure out who this new solo artist was and why she was so strong when it came to getting the honmoon up without two other people.

Baby’s jaw dropped when he saw you on that stage, your doe eyes he fell in love with, narrowed to that of a siren ready to steal a soul. He noticed the theme of your song happened to deal with larger canines and that made him smile. 

You smiled, showing off the custom-made fangs and his heart thudded against his ribcage. 

Noticing him in the crowd, you smiled dangerously and motioned for him and the rest of his group forward. 

She pointed to 5 empty seats and returned to her performance, the honmoon glowing the brightest gold they have ever seen. 

Baby was entranced. He watched as your body swayed and moved to the beat of the music. How you seemed to be in your element as you danced. Your eyes holding such a flirty but gorgeous look in them when you looked at him. 

The ended with everyone, including Saja Boys screaming your name, tears falling down baby’s face as he watched you blow him a kiss before disappearing off stage. 

A few days after that concert, Baby always begged to see your siren eyes. Saying that he loved everything about them because they were a part of you. 

You agreed as long as he went with you to a pop mart. You both got what you wanted. 

He took you to the pop mart and bought you whatever you wanted, whether it was big or something small. 

You showed off your siren eyes more and watched as Baby would go absolutely bright red if you directed those siren eyes towards him when angry with him.

You both would sit and listen to each other's songs, don’t even get me started. When his group is on hiatus for a bit, he has your songs blasting through his speakers in his room. 

He would sing along to them or start rapping the parts that you rap.

He loves that you rap, just like he does. 

You caught him one time dancing to a song that was tamer than the others and couldn’t help but take a picture of him. It's your lock and home screen now.

Baby has you smiling with a butterfly that landing on your nose while lying in the grass as his home screen and lock screen. He loves you so much it's not even funny.

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Don’t Blame Me

Evan Buckley x fem!reader

The coffee pot hisses lowly in the background, but you don’t move to pour a cup.

Buck’s standing near the kitchen counter in his uniform pants and undershirt, tugging on his boots like he’s trying to outrun the tension hanging in the air. He hasn’t looked at you once since he walked out of the bedroom. Not while brushing his teeth. Not while grabbing his keys. Not even when you greeted him with a hesitant, quiet, “Morning.”

You’re still in your pajamas, arms crossed tight over your chest, holding your breath like it’ll stop you from saying something you’ll regret.

But he’s the one who speaks first.

“I’m gonna be late,” he mutters.

That’s it. That’s all you get.

Not good morning. Not I’m sorry for last night. Just that distant, flat tone you hate. The one he uses when he’s already halfway out the door, emotionally and physically.

“Then be late,” you bite out before you can stop yourself. “Be late and talk to me.”

Buck freezes with his boot half-laced, finally—finally—lifting his eyes to you.

You expect softness. Regret. Anything.

But his gaze is cold. Exhausted.

“I don’t want to fight with you again.”

“Then stop running away from me every time I try to fix this!” you snap.

The words crack like a whip across the quiet morning, and for a second, he doesn’t move. Just stares.

“You said I make everything harder,” he says finally, his voice quieter, but sharper. “Do you remember that? Last night? When you were mad—you said loving me is exhausting.”

Your mouth opens—closes—opens again. The memory rushes back, half-blurred by tears and frustration. You did say that. Not because you meant it, but because you were hurt. Because you were trying to get him to hurt too.

“Buck…” your voice falters. “I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t.”

“You didn’t even try to take it back.”

“I—I was upset. You kept shutting me out—”

“I shut down when I’m overwhelmed!” he explodes, and now the room isn’t quiet anymore.

“I know that!” you yell back. “But you shut me out even when I’m just trying to love you! What do you want from me? You want me to give you space? I do. You want me to show up and be patient? I do that too. But you’re never really here, Buck. You’re never fully with me.”

He turns away like he can’t stand to look at you. And somehow, that hurts more than anything he’s said.

“I have a job,” he mutters.

“And I have a heart!” you fire back. “And you’ve been breaking it piece by piece, every time you act like I’m the enemy just because I want more from you than silence!”

He exhales hard, grabs his shirt, and starts pulling it on. “I can’t do this right now. I’m going to work.”

“So that’s it?” you ask, voice cracking. “You’re gonna walk out like everything’s fine?”

“I didn’t say it was fine,” he says over his shoulder. “I just said I have a shift to cover.”

“Right,” you whisper. “Because running into burning buildings is easier than facing me.”

That one makes him stop.

His jaw flexes. His hands curl into fists at his sides. He turns just enough to look at you—but not close enough to bridge the canyon between you.

“I’ll be back tonight.”

And before you can say anything—before you can tell him you’re sorry, or that you didn’t mean it like that, or please don’t leave like this—the door shuts behind him.

Hard.

And just like that, the morning falls silent again.

But now, it’s worse.

Because that’s the last thing you said to him.

And by tonight… you won’t even know if he’s coming home.

———

The first thing you reach for is the cast iron skillet.

Not because it’s convenient—but because it’s his favorite. You haven’t used it in weeks, and the weight of it in your hands feels heavier than it should. Like it knows this meal has more to carry than just calories.

It’s a little after 7:00 when you start the prep, soft music playing low in the background—some jazz playlist Buck said once reminded him of his mom’s kitchen when he was little. You’re not trying to win him over. You’re trying to reach him. To say with this meal what your mouth failed to this morning.

You’re making chicken marsala, his comfort food. The real kind—not the 20-minute kind with shortcuts and cornstarch and cheap wine. You’re talking browned mushrooms and shallots in butter, reduced marsala with stock, pan-seared chicken cutlets finished in the oven. It takes time. Effort. Intention.

Everything you wish you’d put into the conversation you had with him before he left this morning.

⸻

The chicken is sliced and floured by 7:18.

You take your time with the mushrooms, caramelizing them until they’re deep golden and nutty. You remember the first time you made this for him—he said it tasted better than any restaurant. You laughed, thinking he was exaggerating. Then he kissed your cheek and asked for seconds.

Your eyes sting now as you stir.

You glance at the clock. 7:47.

He has two more hours on shift. He said he’d come home after. You want to believe him.

So you keep cooking like he will.

⸻

By 8:10, the sauce is reducing and the house smells rich and warm. You even took the time to roast baby potatoes with garlic and rosemary and steam green beans the way he likes—still slightly crisp. You set the table for two. His side has the glass of cabernet you know he won’t drink more than two sips of.

You’re wearing one of his old firehouse tees. The one that got too small in the shoulders but he refused to throw out.

And while the chicken rests on a warm plate in the oven, you finally sit down at the counter and let yourself think.

How do I bring it up?

You know he hates conflict. You know he gets overwhelmed fast. You’re not perfect either—you push, you poke, you say things to test if he’ll stay. You don’t want to do that this time.

Maybe I’ll start with: I miss you.

Simple. Honest. Less threatening.

Or maybe: I didn’t mean what I said yesterday.

Because you didn’t. You never meant it. He exhausts you sometimes, yes—but you never meant him. You meant the space between you. The way he shuts down. You just… don’t know how to reach through the wall when it goes up.

The smell of dinner still fills the apartment. Everything’s still warm.

8:57.

You fluff the potatoes with a fork and smile. Almost time.

⸻

9:23.

You open your texts. Nothing. You refresh. Nothing.

You click on his location and see the familiar dot at the station. Still there. Maybe paperwork ran late. Maybe someone needed a minute to talk. You know how it goes.

You pour a glass of wine. Just half.

⸻

9:51.

You go ahead and put his plate in the microwave to keep it warm. Not reheat—just enough so it’s not cold when he walks in. You picture his tired face lighting up when he smells the marsala sauce. You imagine him slipping his arms around your waist from behind, whispering “You made this for me?”

You’ll say yes, and then you’ll apologize first. You’ll say it was a bad morning, and you love him, and you don’t want to keep hurting each other every time things get hard. You’ll say “We’re better than this, right?”

He’ll nod. Kiss your forehead.

It’ll be okay.

⸻

10:37.

You’re pacing now. Your stomach’s tight with something halfway between worry and dread. You check your phone again. Still nothing. You almost call, thumb hovering over his contact—but you stop yourself. You don’t want to seem clingy. He said he was coming home.

He promised.

⸻

11:02.

You call.

Voicemail.

You wait five minutes. Then call again.

Still voicemail.

You open Eddie’s contact. Then Chim’s. You don’t press call, but your thumb hovers. Maybe they’d know. Maybe something’s wrong. Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

It’s not him.

It’s a  text from one of his coworkers:

“Hey Y/N, thank you for being ok with Buck canceling your dinner date tonight, my baby is sick and we’re taking her to the hospital. I really appreciate both of you.”

Your breath leaves your body like a punch to the ribs.

Third shift.

Third.

That means 9pm to 7am.

And he didn’t tell you.

Not a single word.

⸻

The anger doesn’t hit all at once. It builds—slow and hot, like the marsala sauce did earlier, except now you’re burning from the inside out.

He looked you in the eye and told you he’d come home tonight.

He let you wait. Let you hope. Let you believe that maybe he wanted to fix this too. And the whole time, he knew. He knew he wasn’t coming.

You grab the to-go container from the top shelf of the cabinet—the one he uses when he packs leftovers for shift. You fill it with the marsala. The potatoes. Everything.

You don’t care that it’s after 11.

You don’t care that you’re not wearing shoes yet.

You’re going to the firehouse.

You’re going to look him in the eye and ask him why.

——

The firehouse is alive with the usual noise — radios buzzing, boots clacking, men focused on their shift.

You burst through the door, the cold container of chicken marsala digging into your palm. The food’s cold, just like your patience.

Buck’s sitting at the table with Eddie and Chim, playing cards like it’s some damn party and not a damn job.

You don’t hesitate. You throw the container on the table with a slap loud enough to stop the whole room.

“Are you serious right now?” Your voice is sharp, venom dripping from every word.

They all look up, startled. Buck’s face goes tight — but you don’t care.

“You said you were coming home,” you spit, stepping closer, rage burning in your chest. “You looked me in the eye and said, ‘I’ll be home after shift.’ And then you pick up another goddamn shift and don’t even have the decency to tell me?”

His mouth opens, but you cut him off.

“I waited. Two fucking hours—waiting for you to walk through that door. Waiting for you to show up so I could finally fix this damn fight. And all I get is silence.”

You’re shaking now. The fire’s burning so hot it’s almost painful.

“Do you know what it feels like to cook your favorite meal for an hour and a half, spend every second thinking about how to not start another fight—and then find out you didn’t even come home?”

Buck’s jaw clenches. You see the guilt trying to crawl out, but you don’t give a damn.

Before things can get worse, Bobby steps in between you two.

“Y/N, enough,” he says, calm but firm.

You laugh, bitter and loud. “No, Bobby. I’m done. Done pretending I’m not fucking furious. Done waiting on someone who can’t even text me.”

You turn sharply and walk out, leaving the cold food and the broken silence behind.

The street is nearly empty—just you, the hum of the engine, and the boiling silence inside your chest.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white. Your pulse is still racing from the firehouse. From him. From the way he sat there laughing, like you hadn’t been home, pacing in the kitchen for hours with a full plate of his favorite food going cold on the counter.

A sob claws its way up your throat but dies before it reaches your mouth.

You’re so caught in your spiraling thoughts, you almost miss the headlights screaming toward you from the side.

Almost.

Too fast.

Your head whips to the left—brakes screeching—but it’s too late.

The other car slams into your passenger side at full speed, a T-bone hit with the force of a missile.

Metal screams. Your body jolts violently as the impact rips through you like lightning. The car spins uncontrollably, tires screeching, glass exploding like gunfire.

Time slows down.

Your head whips forward, then back, as the car spins once—

Twice—

Then slams sideways into a tree with bone-crushing force. The passenger side caves inward, the entire right half of the car crushed like paper.

Your head hits the driver-side window with a crack, blood immediately pooling from your temple. The airbag deploys a second too late to save your ribs from the force. Pain sears through your abdomen—blunt trauma, maybe internal bleeding. You can’t tell.

The door won’t open. Your hands won’t move.

You taste copper.

You can’t scream.

The cold rushes in through shattered glass. Somewhere outside, someone’s shouting.

A pair of headlights flicker in the distance. A car screeches to a halt. Someone runs toward you.

“Oh my God! Call 911! Call 911 now!”

Another voice: “She’s still breathing—barely!”

You’re fading fast.

“Miss? Stay with me! Stay awake—hey, look at me. Look at me!”

A stranger presses on your side. It hurts so badly you nearly black out. The pain is unbearable. But you’re too weak to fight it.

Blood coats your seat. Drips down your wrist. Puddles on the floorboard.

Your car is unrecognizable.

And you? You might be dying.

Somewhere close—only three blocks away—sirens are screaming louder and louder.

The 118 is coming.

So is he.

But you don’t know if you’ll still be awake when he gets there.

——

(Station 118)

“Motor vehicle accident—two vehicles involved. One critical. Location—”

Buck hears the dispatcher say the street name and his body freezes.

He knows that road.

He knows who drives that road home from the firehouse.

“Buck,” Bobby says quickly, already picking up on it, “Don’t jump to—”

But Buck is already running. Helmet in hand. Vest half on. Sprinting to the rig like his life depends on it. Because it does.

The rig tears through the streets. It’s barely been three blocks. That’s how close she was. That’s how stupidly close—

Chim is driving. Eddie’s beside him. Hen’s checking gear.

And Buck is staring out the windshield, praying, pleading, bargaining.

Please don’t let it be her car.

Please don’t let it be her.

Please. Please. Please.

They turn the corner—

And he sees it.

Her car. Or what’s left of it.

A mangled, twisted wreck of metal, glass, and blood. The entire passenger side crushed like a soda can against a tree. Her car is barely recognizable—but Buck knows it. He knows the shape, the color, the dent on the rear left bumper from that time she backed into a post.

He jumps out of the rig before it’s even in park.

“Buck!” Bobby yells. “Wait!”

But he’s already running.

And then—he sees her.

Slumped sideways. Blood all over her. Her face pale. Her eyes half-lidded.

“No—NO—”

He drops to his knees by the driver’s side as Chim and Hen rush in.

“I’ve got no access here!” Hen shouts. “We need to cut her out!”

“Vitals are crashing!” Chim yells.

Buck’s voice shreds open as he pounds on the glass.

“Y/N—HEY—HEY, STAY AWAKE, BABY, STAY AWAKE—”

She flinches faintly. A moan. Barely.

He’s never felt fear like this. Not during the ladder collapse. Not during the tsunami. Not during lightning strikes or bomb threats.

This is worse.

This is her.

Bobby grabs him, yanking him back as they start cutting open the door.

“Let them work, Buck!”

“She’s bleeding out—she’s bleeding—”

“She’s alive,” Eddie says hoarsely, eyes locked on her. “But she won’t be for long if you don’t let them do their job.”

The door peels open.

It takes every ounce of strength Buck has not to fall apart when he sees the blood soaked into her seat, the way she gasps when they touch her abdomen, the deep gash on her temple.

She looks at him—just for a second. Eyes glassy. Barely there.

He reaches for her hand.

“Hey… hey, baby, I’m here. I’m right here, okay?”

Her lips move. He leans in. She’s trying to say his name.

Then her eyes roll back.

The monitors scream.

“She’s coding!” Hen yells.

“Go, go, go!” Chim shouts.

They hoist her out on the board, blood dripping to the pavement, and Buck runs after them—bloody hands shaking, lungs heaving, heart breaking wide open.

As the ambulance doors slam shut, Buck is left on the street, on his knees, shaking and sobbing—

Whispering over and over into the dark,

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The hospital lights are too bright. Too white. Too sterile.

Too clean for how bloody his hands still are.

Buck hasn’t sat down.

Not once.

He’s pacing—back and forth, back and forth—the soles of his boots leaving faint red smudges on the white floor, reminders of how he held her, how her blood soaked into his skin, his sleeves, his soul.

It’s been twenty-two minutes.

Twenty-two minutes since the double doors swung shut behind the gurney.

Twenty-two minutes since she coded in the back of the rig and Hen fought like hell to bring her back.

“She’s got a pulse!” Hen had shouted.

“Go, go, go!” Chim had banged on the ambulance wall.

They’d barely made it.

Now, she’s in the OR.

“Any update?” he asks the nurse at the desk—again.

She looks up. Same look of sympathy. Same rehearsed, practiced tone.

“She’s still in surgery, Mr. Buckley. The doctor will come out as soon as they can.”

He nods, but it’s barely a movement. His jaw clenches. His hands ball into fists at his sides.

He can still see her face.

How pale she was.

The blood in her hair.

The way she looked at him like she was already slipping away.

And all he can think is: I was supposed to come home. I was supposed to eat dinner with her. I was supposed to say sorry.

Not scream at her.

Not make her feel unwanted.

Not send her home in tears.

His stomach twists as the weight of it crashes down on him. He shoves his hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out the to-go container.

Her handwriting on top.

“Your favorite. Still warm. I love you.”

He breaks.

Eddie finds him in a chair, head in his hands, the note clutched to his chest. His shoulders shake with every quiet sob.

“She was trying to make things right,” Buck chokes out. “And I—God, I didn’t even give her the chance.”

“Buck,” Eddie says, crouching beside him, voice steady but wrecked, “She’s strong. She’s in there fighting. But you’ve gotta hold it together until she wakes up.”

“If she wakes up.”

Silence.

Then:

“She will.”

Buck sits there, numb and bloodied and broken, staring at the doors like he can will them open.

“Ten more minutes,” he whispers. “I’ll ask again in ten.”

And he will.

Every ten minutes.

Until someone tells him the only thing he wants to hear:

That she made it.

Buck sits hunched over, forearms resting on his knees, fingers twitching against one another like if he stops moving, he’ll come undone.

Eddie sits in the chair next to him, silent, steady, like he always is. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t prod. He just waits.

And eventually, Buck cracks.

“It started over something stupid,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t even remember what. Something about the way I didn’t respond when she asked if I was okay.”

Eddie glances at him, quiet.

“She asked, and I brushed her off. Said I was tired. Said I had a long shift ahead.” Buck lets out a bitter laugh. “She tried to get me to talk about it, and I shut down. Again.”

Eddie’s silence isn’t empty. It’s full of understanding. Full of memories.

“She said it felt like I only let her in halfway. That sometimes I didn’t even try.”

Buck swallows hard. His voice softens.

“And she wasn’t wrong. She never is when it comes to me.”

He wipes his palm across his mouth, shaking his head.

“I snapped at her, man. She was just trying to talk, to understand, and I told her I didn’t want to do this before work. I told her, ‘we’ll talk tonight.’ Like that was enough.”

“She believed you.” Eddie’s voice is low, even.

Buck nods. His eyes are glassy again.

“She asked me if I was still in this with her. If I was still trying. And I just stood there. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t answer her, Eddie.”

Eddie looks over, eyes dark.

“And then I walked out. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like she didn’t mean anything.”

The words sting coming out. Buck flinches at the truth in his own mouth.

“I was already halfway to the firehouse when I felt it. That regret. That voice in my head screaming at me to turn around. But I didn’t.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, gently.

Buck’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Because it was easier to go to work than it was to tell her I was scared.”

He swallows hard.

“Scared that I don’t know how to be loved like that. That I don’t know how to hold something so good without breaking it.”

Eddie leans back, sighs through his nose.

“You think picking up another shift was gonna keep her from seeing that?”

“I think it made it worse,” Buck whispers. “I think she cooked my favorite meal as an apology. I think she wanted to make it right and I didn’t even give her the chance.”

“You didn’t know she’d show up.”

Buck finally looks over.

“I shouldn’t have had to. She always shows up.”

His jaw tightens, grief crawling up his throat.

“And I didn’t.”

Eddie looks away. Doesn’t speak. Because he was there—when she walked into the station, shaking, eyes red-rimmed, voice raised with fury and heartbreak. He saw the way Buck froze, silent and stunned.

He watched her drop the container on the table, the note taped to the lid.

He heard her voice crack when she said, “I waited for you.”

Buck squeezes his eyes shut now.

“She left like I’d torn her in half. And I let her go. I just let her walk away.”

The waiting room door buzzes open in the distance, but no one comes out. Just a nurse crossing through.

Buck leans forward again, elbows on his knees, hands laced together.

“If she dies…” His voice catches. He swallows thickly. “If she doesn’t wake up, that’s the last thing I ever said to her. That silence. That nothing.”

Eddie’s voice is quiet but certain.

“She’s fighting. You have to believe that.”

“I do.” Buck wipes at his face. “But I also know… if she doesn’t make it, it’s not gonna be the accident that kills me.”

Eddie puts a hand on his shoulder, firm. Steady.

“You’ll get to tell her all of this, Buck. You’ll get to say everything you didn’t. Just hold on.”

Buck nods, jaw clenched.

Another ten minutes pass.

He stands again. Walks to the nurse’s desk.

“Any update?” he asks, voice breaking.

This time, the nurse looks back at him, expression softening—

“The doctor’s coming out now.”

The waiting room had never been quieter. Not even when Bobby had been under the knife. Not even when Chim had coded. Not even when Buck had nearly died himself.

Because this time, it wasn’t him on the table.

It was her.

And he couldn’t do a damn thing.

His palms were still sticky with dried blood.

Her blood.

He’d been pacing when the door opened. The air shifted. He felt it before he heard it.

The soft click of shoes on tile. The rustle of a white coat.

Buck turned.

A doctor. Older. Stern, unreadable face. The kind of look that didn’t tell you anything until it told you everything.

“Evan Buckley?”

Buck took one step forward so fast Eddie reached out, as if ready to catch him.

“Yes,” Buck said, voice hoarse. “That’s me. I’m—She’s my—”

He swallowed.

“I’m with her.”

The doctor nodded. “Let’s sit.”

Buck didn’t want to sit.

He wanted answers.

He stood stiff and cold and trembling like a thread pulled too tight.

The doctor didn’t force it. Just exhaled slowly.

“She was brought in with severe abdominal trauma, a major concussion, and internal bleeding. Her spleen was ruptured. There were signs of blunt force trauma to the ribs, a laceration on the liver, and she had lost significant blood volume on the scene.”

Buck could hear himself breathing. Could feel Eddie standing behind him, but he couldn’t look away.

“The impact was… catastrophic. The passenger side of the vehicle wrapped around the tree. She was partially crushed between the door and the seat.”

Buck closed his eyes. His fault. She shouldn’t have been in that car.

“But,” the doctor said, voice softening just a hair, “she’s alive.”

Buck’s eyes snapped open.

“She’s in critical condition. We were able to stabilize her for now. She’s intubated and on a ventilator. Her vitals are holding, but it’s going to be touch and go for the next 24 hours.”

“Is she awake?” Buck rasped.

“No. We placed her in a medically induced coma to let the brain swelling reduce and give her body time to fight.”

Buck swayed where he stood. Eddie’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades.

“You said she’s stable?” Buck asked, and his voice cracked like a boy’s.

“For now,” the doctor repeated carefully. “There’s no guarantee. Her body is in shock. But she’s young. And she’s strong.”

Buck nodded like his neck was made of splintered glass. “Can I see her?”

The doctor hesitated, then nodded. “Only for a few minutes. Let the nurses get her settled in ICU. Then we’ll bring you back.”

Buck breathed out like he hadn’t in hours.

The doctor started to turn away. Buck stopped him.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “For saving her.”

The doctor paused, gave him a look he’d remember for the rest of his life.

“She’s the one who saved herself,” he said. “She held on longer than most could have. Might be something worth holding on for.”

Then he walked away.

Buck stood there. Frozen.

“She’s alive,” he whispered. Like maybe if he said it out loud, it would stay true.

“She’s alive,” he said again, and this time he turned to Eddie, who had tears in his eyes too.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, gripping Buck’s arm. “She’s alive.”

But Buck didn’t feel relief. Not yet.

Because she hadn’t opened her eyes.

Because she hadn’t heard him say sorry.

Because she’d still left thinking he didn’t love her.

And that might be the part that killed him first.

The ICU was too quiet.

No sirens. No radios. No alarms.

Just the slow, soft beep… beep… beep of the heart monitor keeping her alive.

Buck stepped into the room and felt the rest of the world drop away.

She looked so small in the bed. Tubes and wires tangled in her arms, tape at her mouth, bruises blooming purple and red across her temple and shoulder. Her skin was pale, almost waxy. The kind of stillness that didn’t belong to someone like her—someone who laughed with her whole chest, someone who kissed him with all her soul.

The nurse gave him a nod, quietly closed the door behind him.

He took one step, then another. His boots felt too loud against the floor.

“I—” Buck started, then stopped.

His throat was too tight.

“I didn’t think it was real,” he said softly, sinking into the chair by her bedside. “I saw the car, and I—I thought you were gone. I thought I lost you.”

His hand hovered near hers for a second before he finally took it. It was cool, limp, fingers slack.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “God, I’m so sorry.”

His other hand came up, dragging across his face like he could rub the shame out of his skin.

“You were trying to talk to me, and I shut you down. You made dinner—you made my favorite, and I just… I stayed at the station because I didn’t want to face you. Because I was afraid I’d say something that made you walk away.”

He let out a weak, bitter laugh. “And I said nothing. And you still walked out the door.”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles.

“I never wanted you to think I didn’t love you. That you weren’t enough.” His voice trembled. “You’re everything.”

The machines kept beeping. She didn’t stir.

He leaned closer.

“Please wake up. Just… please. I’ll do anything. I’ll say everything I never said. I’ll tell you every day for the rest of your life how sorry I am, how much I love you, how—how I don’t know how to breathe without you.”

His forehead dropped to the edge of the bed, hand still wrapped around hers.

“I didn’t come home, and now you might never come back to me.”

There was silence for a long moment.

Then—

A sound.

Soft. Barely there.

The ventilator hissed. A monitor blipped.

And then—a twitch.

Her fingers.

They moved.

Buck’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Hey. Hey—are you—?”

But before he could call for the nurse, the heart monitor spiked.

And then,

flatlined.

[colossrat]

Captain Marvel can't be a member of the Justice League because he has a LOT of shit to deal with in his first years as the champion of magic after so many centuries without one.

So when Superman asks this new hero, who only appears in Fawcett or in world-ending situations, if he wants to join him, he's met with a big, polite "Oh, no thanks."

But Captain Marvel and the League keep bumping into each other.

Zatanna does a spell that the League requested, and Marvel just "POFF" appears and says something like "Guys, I can't let you do this. It's a scale 12 spell, it could cause a rupture in the fabric of this universe. Here, let me redo this for you, sorry, I just need to make sure, okay?"

And someone says "YOU CAN'T DO THAT" and the magic users explain that, yes, yes he can. he is the new champion of magic and he is in fact responsible for keeping magic in its rightful place, making sure it doesn't go ruining the interdimensional worlds or universes, and that this IS his role in magical society and no one in that room can really take away his authority in matters related to magic. They can try, but the chances of success are very low.

So Captain Marvel takes care of it.

Like, are they on a mission to retrieve a magical artifact? Marvel will show up, grab it, and leave because he needs to put it in the rock so it doesn't cause more trouble.

Are they dealing with a cult that's probably going to summon a demon or something? Marvel will probably be there to banish the demon, close the portal, and reprimand Constantine, because why not?

The magical villain that Marvel saw the League having trouble with? Well, just a little finger shock should do the trick to help them take the villain away.

Got a problem with a God? Marvel is there.

Are the portals opening? Captain is in charge.

Have goblins invaded Gotham? Are fairies loose in Metropolis? Are there talking snowmen in Central City? No problem, Captain Marvel is ur guy.

After a while, JL is dying to have him on their team. Or at least let him keep a communicator in case they need to call for help. Because, well, this guy IS super powerful, a HUGE nerd about magical things, and it's MUCH better to have him on their side than not.

But he always refuses, because taking care of all the problems related to magic and Fawcett's stuff is already too much, hes just like 8-9 years old, give him a break.

Yeah but of course one day, after a long day, Superman goes back to Fawcett to ask about it for the thousandth time, and he's so tired of this subject that he just waves his hand and says: "Okay, okay, give me a year to make magical society at least more stable so they can keep going without me present all the time, then I'll go with you, okay?"

And Superman is beaming with happiness, he agrees, leaves, and Billy goes to sleep that night dead of exhaustion on his little couch on the rock of eternity, wondering HOW he's going to make magical society stable after CENTURIES of instability. in. one. year.

That's future billy problem tho, not billy of the present. that being said, time for the champion's nap

[dissolved-g1rl]

leon and his insomniac s/o ⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

One thousand and one. One thousand and two. One thousand and three. One thousand and four. This really isn’t working anymore. Counting sheep, taking melatonin gummies, wearing socks to sleep, not wearing socks to sleep. Many forums have been browsed, insomnia books purchased, the only thing that seems to get you to sleep is Leon’s voice. There lies your problem, he works so hard everyday, just because you can’t sleep doesn’t mean Leon should have to wake up and read to you till you fall asleep.

You glance to the side, you can see how his chest rises and falls with every breath. Leon had been holding you, trying to soothe you to sleep with head rubs, at some point he dozed off, rolling over onto his back. Leons hair splays out backwards, exposing his forehead, honey blonde looking like a darkish brown. His pouty lips are slightly parted, you can hear him snore after each exhale.

The room is dark, but you’ve been staring off for so long that you’ve just…adjusted to it. You sigh quietly, sitting up in bed. The plan is to escape Leon, drink some warm milk, do some jumping jacks, anything to try and tire yourself out. You almost make it to the door, had to crawl over his limbs to do it, but you hear the sheets rustle, “Where’re you going….” You hear, and turn around like a startled animal.

“Just getting a drink.”

“Liar.”

He pats the still warm space next to him and you begrudgingly return. Leon is sleepy, barely keeping his eyes awake as he tugs you close to him, so close that the two of your are sharing a pillow. Leons nose rubs against your cheek. He takes a moment to try and wake up, his voice is groggy, and his limbs are heavy with sleep. “How long have you been up.” He murmurs, “A few hours.” is your response that makes him sigh. “You could’ve woken me up.” He rubs your arm all the way down to your hand, lacing your fingers together. “I know…but…” He makes a noise at your sheepish rebuttal. “You want me to read the last chapter of Pride and Prejudice?” Leon asks, it’s been a good read, he never thought he’d like a romance novel, and it put you to sleep like a charm and kept him interested. “No…Go back to sleep Leon, I’ll be fine.” Leon smacks his lips disapprovingly “You’re gonna try ‘n leave me again.” He says through a yawn. “You have work in the morning.” You try to be reasonable, “Then I’ll take a nap on my lunch break, ‘s fine.” He’s too sweet, too understanding, too considerate. “You want the chapter?” He suggests again, he won’t take no for an answer, stubborn is another one of his traits, its as loving as it is infuriating. You shake your head again and he sighs.

He tries a few different things. Soft kisses, ones that have a little too much spit, and that are a little off center. Leon even leaves the bed to turn the ac down, he comes back to cuddle you under the sheets, he gets chilly, the way you put your hands under his biceps and feet all over his calves makes it seem like you do to. “Y’know, our receptionist just came back from maternity leave.” Leon rubs your back, “What does that have to do with anything?” You ask incredulously, Leon shushes you “Anyways, she had a colic baby, never slept for more than like…two hours or something, till they got a little white noise machine, worked like a charm.”

“White noise, seriously?”

“Yes seriously, just give it a try, please?” He’s such a polite boy when he says please, you make an indignant noise, yet agree. He hums approvingly, blindly groping for his phone, he finds a long video of repeated white noise, playing it loud enough to hear yet to not be jarring. You let the noise of static gum up in your brain, “It sounds like when you snore.” You mumble, your eyes feel a little heavy, “I don’t snore.” Leon denies, he thinks you’re pulling his leg. “Mhm…” You nuzzle his chest, his hand still is rubbing your back, albeit slowly as he too starts to get sleepy.

Unfortunately, it works like a charm, it takes thirty minutes, but that’s nothing compared to four hours of counting sheep. Leon calls you his colic baby for the rest of the week, people assume he had a baby young, no he’s just talking about his insomniac lover.

dividers by @uzmacchiato

a/n: This story was a request, i accidentally posted it instead of saving to my drafts so i had to delete re do it all lol, hope u enjoy ^_^ I am so sorry I don’t remember your @!!!!

[kiyuhai]

summary: You overheard his friends encourage him to confess to his crush (you). feat. Iwaizumi, Akaashi, Osamu Miya

I. IWAIZUMI HAJIME

“Bathroom break! I’ll be right back.” You tell Iwaizumi, chair screeching as you get up. He just nods, and returns his attention to the video playing on his phone, one that you searched up in hopes of roping him into the fandom of Alien Stage. 

You take about five minutes, before heading back down to your classroom, but there are new voices inside. Oikawa, Hanamaki and Mastukawa. You peek through the windows, but shrug, deciding that whatever they came to the classroom to bother Iwaizumi for is none of your business. 

The door slides open, quietly, then you freeze. 

“C’mon Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines. Loudly. “When are you going to confess? It’s been ages!”

Hanamaki nods along, “Make a move at least, man.” 

Confess? You swallow. Hajime likes someone? 

They still don’t notice your presence, and you can see Hajime’s face contort into one of annoyance, but his ears are red. You bite your lip, not wanting to bring attention to yourself. “It’s none of your business.” He grumbles. 

“Really? I mean, I’m pretty sure [Name]-san likes you too.” Matsukawa shrugs. 

You choke. Me?! 

“[Name]-san does tend to favor Iwaizumi more than us when we go out…” Hanamaki mumbles. “That and you always favor [Name] over us. What are you even watching??"

“Yeah! Just shoot your shot, Iwa-chan. What’s the worst that could ha…” Oikawa’s eyes flit over to the door, and he pauses. “...ppen.” 

You raise a hesitant hand and wave. “...Hi? Am I… interrupting something?” 

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, and he stares, before glaring at the other three. “Out.” 

“Yes sir!” Hanamaki and Matsukawa are quick to get on their feet and leave, glancing between you, and Iwaizumi, dragging a frozen Oikawa out of the classroom, but not before shouting “Sorry Iwaizumi!” and a “Goodluck!”

You’re still frozen by the door, and Iwaizumi is covering his eyes with his hand. “I’m sorry about them.” He manages to say, moving his hand downwards to cover his mouth, before sighing loudly, hand dropping to the desk. “...how long were you standing there?”

You smile, shy and unsure, and take your seat next to him. “Uhm, since Oikawa-san said confess–”

Iwaizumi groans. “Of course. That idiot.”

You laugh, “Hey! Don’t beat him up. I- so, Uhm.” You pause, before glancing at the paused video on his screen to his definitely embarrassed face. “... You like me?” 

He blinks, and you see his face redden, but he nods, hand covering the lower half of his face as he avoids your eyes. “Yeah. Uhm. For a while… now.” Then he mumbles, “I didn’t want you finding out like this… stupid Oikawa.” 

You flush, and let out a sheepish chuckle. “Really?”

He nods, and you smile. “That's… great. Cuz, uhm– I like you too.” You cough, feeling extremely awkward, but when you see his face light up as he looks at you, you feel like this is a moment you would look back on fondly in a few years. 

“Yeah? You do?”

“Uhuh.” You smile turning shy. You can see his grin widen, and he inches his seat closer to yours. 

“Then I guess I don’t have to beat up Shittykawa later.”

You let out a laugh.

II. OSAMU MIYA

You were just passing by the gym to drop off your cousins’ things before you left. You really didn’t mean to eavesdrop on Atsumu and Osamu’s talk near the vending machine. 

“I dunno, ‘Tsumu.” The moment you heard Osamu’s voice right by the corner, you pause. In your hands are Shin's things that he asked you to drop by the gym, but you look terrible right now, and your friend and also simultaneous crush, Osamu Miya is right by the corner. 

“Really, Samu?” Tsumu sounds serious. “Ya really gonna pass up the chance to admit your feelings ‘ta [Name]?”

You freeze. What?

Samu sighs, the sound of a drink clinking as it hits the metal of the vending machine. You hear the sizzle of soda, and silence for a minute before Samu speaks. “I don’t wanna ruin our friendship, that’s all.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re kind of an idiot, ‘Samu.”

There’s silence, before Astumu lets out a loud “Ow!” and Samu grumbles, “The hell you mean by that, dumbass?”

“Ow– you don’t have to hit me, man!” 

“Yeah, well yer deserved it.”

“For calling you an idiot?!” 

You can tell that Atsumu was going to start another fight, and that Samu has a grin on his face, but Tsumu seems to have reigned in his urge to punch his twin, instead continuing his sentence. “Look, ‘Samu. It’s clear to everyone that [Name] likes yer back, so shoot your shot.”

You blink. WHAT?! You were going to stay still for a few more minutes, but let out the loudest shriek of your life when you feel a hand on your shoulder from behind. 

Turning, wide eyed, hands clutching your chest, you glare. “SHIN!”

Your cousin just blinks at you, and you can tell he’s judging you slightly from the way his lips turn downwards, eyes sharp as he looks at your panicked state and just states, “What’s taking you so long?”

You stammer, “Oh, uhm, well, you see–”

The shriek you let out earlier unfortunately told the Miya  twins that you were there, and had turned the corner, both faces turned in both worry and confusion. “[Name]?” 

You curse, turn to them and smile. “Hi.” Then you turn back to Shin and shove his things to him, before taking off, yelling out a “Okay, See you, Bye!” Face burning red as you think back to the fact that Osamu Miya has a crush on you, too.

You leave a confused Shinsuke Kita behind, and twins that stare at your retreating back, before exchanging glances. 

“She heard us, didn’t she?” Samu says. His twin nods, and lets out another loud “OW!” when Samu fully punches his side.  “What the hell, Samu?!” 

He does confess to you another day, but that was after a good week of you barely meeting his eyes.

III. AKAASHI KEJI

Bokuto is LOUD. 

Because you didn’t need to be close to the gym to hear the snowy haired’s booming voice, “WHAT?!”

You pause, hands midway to reaching for the gym doors. Brows furrowed, you slowly open the door, but Bokuto is loud, excited, basically vibrating in joy, as he talks to Akaashi Keiji.

You were looking for Akaashi to ask a few things regarding your shared project before you left, but what you didn’t expect is to hear Bokuto’s next words.

“You're finally partnered with [Name]?! That’s great bro! Maybe you’ll get to confess while you work on that project!!” You blank out. 

What. 

Akaashi’s back is to you, but Bokuto hasn’t even noticed you yet, continuing to ramble despite Akaashi’s embarrassed, “Bokuto-san.” 

“Say, Akaashi– you should take this chance to confess, yknow? I have a hunch [Name] likes you…” He trails off, Bokuto finally realizing you are there, standing frozen as your face reddens. 

You clear your throat, and you swear you never saw Akaashi’s head snap towards you that fast. You meet his wide eyed gaze with a small smile. “Uhm, Hi, Bokuto-san, Akaashi-san.” 

Akaashi’s composure is still stiff with what you can tell is embarrassment at the fact you heard everything Bokuto said, and his ears are red. “... [Name]-san.” 

“.... I’m so sorry, Akaashi.” Bokuto says, frozen in place as his eyes flicker from you to Akaashi. You just smile, awkward, but you continue, “Uhm, Akaashi-san, can I talk to you for a sec? It’s about.. Uhm, our project.”

“Ah. Yes, of course.” He nods his head, and you head out of the gym. 

The air is awkward, and you’re silent for a while, before Akaashi clears his throat. “What are your questions, [Name]-san?”

“Ah. Right.” You converse normally, but you can tell that there’s an awkward air the moment you have eye contact only for both of your heads to aggressively turn the opposite direction. 

“... That’s about it, Akaashi-san.” You smile, and he nods, offering you a smile of his own, and you think wow pretty. You internally kick yourself. “Ah- I’m sorry if I took away a part of your practice time.” You realize how long it took to discuss your project, already hearing the squeak of shoes from inside the gym, and quickly apologize.

“Ah, no, I’ts okay [name]-san.” He smiles again, reassuringly, and you hesitantly nod. “Okay.” 

It’s silent again, and you quickly excuse yourself, before Akaashi stops you with a quiet, “[Name]-san?” 

“Hm?” You look at him, and you can tell that he’s a bit nervous.

“About what Bokuto-san said… I hope you aren’t burdened by my feelings.” He flushes, and you blink. His hand nervously rubs the back of his nape, “You don’t have to return them. I just hope it won’t be more awkward with this project we have to finish….” 

You nod, slowly, “Uhm, Ah.. Okay.” You pause for a moment, then you quietly say, “I don’t think you have to worry about me not returning those feelings, anyways.”

His head snaps up to meet your gaze, but you smile. “I’ll chat with you later about the project again, Akaashi-san. Have fun at practice! See you!” 

And you run off, leaving Akaashi with wide eyes. He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, but he says to your retreating back, “... See you.” 

[rainrot4me]

praying for how proxies react to a girlfriend with nipple piercings. casually flashing Jeff because he's trying to start shit

✦ . jeff the killer

You’re both arguing—bickering, really. Something stupid that won’t matter in an hour. Jeff’s sprawled on the couch, flipping a knife between his fingers like it’s the only thing in the world worth his attention. Then—just as he’s about to get another snide comment in—you tug up your shirt and flash him those pretty barbells.

The knife slips. Clatters to the floor.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” His voice drops, low and sharp, eyes locked on the metal gleam. “How is this even fair?”

You roll your eyes, tugging you shirt back down. “Finally, you’ve shut up.”

Jeff is up in a second, crossing the room like he’s hunting something down. His hand is gripped tight around your jaw, dragging your attention solely on him as he pushes your shirt back up.

“You think flashing those pretty little things is gonna save you?” He grins, wicked and baring his teeth. “Don’t start crying here in a minute. This is your fault.”

✦ . ticci toby

Toby’s tinkering with his gear, muttering to himself, hoodie sleeves pushed up and goggles on. He’s left you alone all afternoon, too busy making sure his goggles are screwed in tightly. This will get his attention. You step into the room, casually peel your top up, and wait.

His stimming fingers pause. He blinks once, twice.

“O-Oh—What the hell, babe?” He sputters, heat creeping up his neck. “Je-Jesus Christ.” His eyes can’t focus on one, gaze flipping from jewel to jewel.

You shrug, biting your lip. “Thought you liked shiny things.”

He makes a garbled sound in his throat, like his brain just bluescreened. He drops the tools he had in his hands, the objects clattering into the desk and he stumbles from his seat. You start giggling, turning to the door to start running down the hall.

“Ah-ah. Come ba-back, sweet thing. You don’t get to just do that and leave.”

✦ . eyeless jack

You’re perched on the counter while Jack organizes surgical tools—always meticulous, always taking forever. You keep grumbling about being bored, and Jack keeps telling you he’s almost finished. He’s said it five times now. You say nothing back, just lift your shirt slowly and let the light catch the steel.

He stops mid-motion. Silent.

He schools his expression, gaze lingering only for a second, but the subtle shift in his stance says everything.

“…You enjoy tempting me, don’t you?” His voice is deep, almost hoarse.

You smirk. “Guess I wanted to see if the doctor could keep his hands to himself.”

He steps forward, gloved fingers brushing your waist as he lowers your shirt back down. Smirking in response when you gawk.

“I told you I was almost done, didn’t I? Sit still, pet, you’ll get yours eventually.”

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Tim’s stressed. You can feel it in the way he paces, muttering under his breath, tension thick in the air. He’s prepping for a mission tomorrow, but he’s supposed to be spending time with you. So, naturally, you break the mood by pulling your hoodie up with a nonchalant yawn.

He freezes, steps faltering until he plants his feet and glares at you.

“What the fuck—are you serious?”

He stares like you just slapped him. Then he drags a hand down his face, groaning.

“You got any idea how hard you’re making this for me right now?”

You smile sweetly. “Oh, I’ve got ideas. Especially ones about making you hard.”

“Get over here. Now.”

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Brian’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, silent as always. You just had an argument, something stupid about not throwing yourself in front of a bullet, it didn’t matter. You approach him slowly, then, with a smirk, lift your shirt just enough to let him see the piercings before dropping it again.

Nothing. No change in posture. No reaction. You roll your eyes, then turn to leave.

Until he steps behind you, lips brushing your ear.

“You don’t get to tease and walk away, sweetheart.”

The quiet threat in his voice makes your skin burn. He takes your hand and guides it to his lips.

“You just volunteered to spend the rest of the night making up for that.”

✦ . kate the chaser

You’re training in the woods, sweat slicking your skin. She’s being so uptight, barking at you to get your steps right and plant your heels when she’s moving toward you. You just can’t seem to catch up, and when you’re sure she’s looking—you tug your shirt up and flash her with a wink.

She stops mid-step. Blinks.

“Seriously? You trying to get your ass kicked or kissed right now?”

You smirk. “Whichever comes first.”

She tackles you to the ground with a grin.

“You’ll get both. Don’t beg me to stop later.”

✦ . ben drowned

He’s halfway through a game, headset on, trash-talking some poor teenager. You know Ben loves to sit and do nothing for hours, but this is getting a little ridiculous. He barely notices you come into his room when you sneak into frame, lift your shirt, and smile.

His jaw drops. The controller falls.

“YO—what the hell! Babe, I’m streaming!”

You snicker. “And now your viewers know how good you’ve got it.”

He rips off the headset, face red and wild.

“You better run. No one’s gonna save you now.”

✦ . clockwork

You’re chatting in the kitchen, all innocent smiles and soft steps, and then bam—shirt goes up. Piercings out. Nat can barely finish another bite of her sandwich before it’s falling onto the plate.

Natalie goes dead silent.

“…You little brat.”

She’s on you in a second, pushing you back against the fridge, her smile feral.

“You know exactly what that does to me. You want attention that bad? Say please.”

✦ . laughing jack

You flash him mid-sentence—he’s rambling about a new prank idea, barely paying attention to you when you had already asked him to spend time together. You were beginning to feel a little invisible. His eyes go wide, mouth dropping open comically.

“WELL. Aren’t you full of surprises!”

He grabs your hand, spinning you in a little circle like he’s on stage.

“If this is your way of flirting, please never stop. I adore it.”

Then he dips you, dramatic as always.

“Encore, darling. Encore!”

✦ . slenderman

You wait until he’s in his study—quiet, composed, perfectly poised—and simply step in, lift your shirt, and stand there without a word. He knows you’re there, he’s just not giving you the satisfaction of acknowledgment until he’s done filing some news articles.

He doesn’t move. He just finally looks up.

But the air shifts. Thickens. Warps.

“That is not wise,” his voice says, low and heavy in your skull.

You smile. “Isn’t it?”

A tendril wanes from his back, reaching across the room, brushes your cheek. Another traces your spine. Then they’re wrapping around you and pulling you toward him.

“Then allow me to show you the consequences of such… audacity.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[bethanydelleman]

I always try to help as kindly as I can when someone asks for context about a novel or TV show that is set in another time or culture, but sometimes I also just want to scream "Context clues!", especially when they get angry at a character, because even things written in a different time or place for that time or place will usually have enough in it for you to figure it out.

For example, people will often say, "Why doesn't Edward just break his engagement to Lucy! He's so weak!" about Sense & Sensibility and then be angry at him about it. Yes, there are historical conventions that explain the reasoning which might not be understood, but it's also right in the novel. Multiple alignment good characters, including Elinor herself, praise Edward for not abandoning Lucy and for keeping his word. Even if one doesn't fully grasp the reason, it's clear that he is doing The Right ThingTM.

It seems like the way some people approach anything is to apply only their own values and norms to it. When I pick up a book written 250 years ago or watch a TV show that wasn't made in my country, I'm starting with the assumption that morals and norms may be a bit different than my own. If a character does something I find odd, I pay attention to other character's reactions to see if it's normal or not. If everyone makes a big deal out of something I don't get, I register it in my brain as A Thing that I should probably look up later. If a value seems really important, I think to myself, "They probably put this moral rule above others" (we share most moral rules across cultures, we just order them differently). This doesn't seem like rocket science to me. Do people not do this?

[holdinsteddie]

prompt: lollipop

(originally posted on my bluesky here)

au where Steve and Robin had their bathroom floor conversation/platonic soulmate initiation ceremony way back in 1983, like two weeks after Jonathan rocked Steve’s shit and by the time everyone gets back from winter break they’ve become SteveandRobin.

Steve knows all about Robin’s crush on Tammy Thompson and Robin knows all about the fact that Steve thinks one Eddie Munson is really pretty, actually, when he’s not being a grubby little gremlin.

In this au, Steve and Nancy mutually broke it off after the whole monster-fighting thing and so for the next few months after break, SteveandRobin try to wingman each other but also the ‘you rule/you suck’ board makes an appearance, this time in an unused corner of the band room.

So far Steve hasn’t gotten a single tally in the ‘you rule’ column. He is deeply offended by this and is trying to figure out why he seems to have lost his mojo. He needs to prove to Robin that he is very suave, actually, and no, his reputation is not a fluke. Jesus.

Which leads us to a Thursday evening in late May where band practice is getting out at the same time as Hellfire club. Steve suddenly finds himself being possessed by the ghost of Casanova himself or something because the next thing he knows, he’s abandoning Robin with a quick “be right back” and swaggering up to Eddie, who eyes Steve warily before leaning up against the side of the school building with a smirk paired with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve starts, keeping it causal.

Eddie pulls the lollipop he’d been sucking on out of his mouth with a wet pop and Steve fervently doesn’t have any feelings about that whatsoever.

“Steve Harrington,” he purrs. “What can this lowly peasant do for such esteemed royalty as yourself, hmm?”

Steve raises a single eyebrow. “Well, first of all, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly Hawkins High royalty anymore. Apparently jocks and band geeks can’t be friends,” Steve adds with a roll of his eyes.

“Second of all…” Steve glances left and right, making sure there’s no one in earshot before giving Eddie a once-over and taking a deliberate step forward so the toes of their shoes are almost touching. “I think we both know you’re too pretty and too smart to be stuck as a peasant.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide for a moment before narrowing, his dimpled grin somehow managing to be sharp as a knife. “Careful, big boy. You don’t wanna play this game.”

“Who says this is a game?”

Eddie scoffs, putting his lollipop back in his mouth and straightening like he’s going to move past Steve, but Steve stops him with a hand to the wall behind Eddie’s head.

He makes sure to leave enough room for Eddie to be able to walk away if he really wants to, doesn’t want him to feel trapped or pressured in any way. But he also wants Eddie to know he’s being serious.

“Look, you can tell me to fuck off if you really want, and I will, swear to god.”

Eddie stares at him with wide eyes and slowly nods his head.

“But I really hope you don’t,” Steve continues, leaning forward until their noses are just inches from touching, “because it turns out I really have a thing for curly-headed nerds.”

Steve relishes in the way Eddie’s jaw drops open and a blush works its way over his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. It’s really fucking cute.

“I know I can’t exactly wine-and-dine you like if you were a girl, but maybe I could get us some pizza and beers and you could come over to my place one of these days?”

Steve raises his eyebrows, trying to only let a little bit of his excitement at the idea through — he doesn’t want to scare Eddie off.

Eddie stares for a moment, two. Eventually, he blurts, “Is— Is this— Are you being serious right now?” He hadn’t bothered to take out the lollipop before speaking, seems like he’s completely frozen, actually, making the question slightly garbled.

“As a heart attack.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“So?” Steve asks, biting his lower lip. He watches Eddie track the movement and gives himself a mental high-five.

“I’m— fuck, okay.” Eddie looks at Steve’s lips again before looking into his eyes incredulously. “I’m pretty sure this is a dream, but whatever, fuck it, I’ll go on a date with Steve goddamn Harrington, I guess.”

“Not dreaming,” Steve grins, finally leaning back a little bit. “And I’m gonna hold you to that,” he promises. On a whim, he reaches out and plucks Eddie’s lollipop from between his lips before placing it in his own mouth, making sure to maintain eye contact the entire time. Eddie’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he visibly swallows.

“Uh.”

“I’ll find you at lunch tomorrow, figure out what day works,” Steve says casually, leaning back and starting to walk backwards towards the parking lot. He points the lollipop at Eddie and commands, “Better not stand me up, Munson,” before putting it back in his mouth, shoving his hands in his pockets, and turning to walk back to where Robin is waiting by his car.

He doesn’t look back, even though he really really wants to, because he still wants to make sure he looks cool and aloof.

“Steven Marie,” Robin whisper yells once he’s close enough to hear her. “What the fuck was that? What did you do to Munson?”

Steve ignores her questions. “What’s he doing, Bobbie?”

Robin, bless her, answers him. “He’s just… standing there. And now he’s pulling his hair over his face and squatting. Did you break him?”

Steve grins, pleased. “Not yet.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Wait, where did you get the lollipop? You didn’t have one a few minutes ago.”

“I might’ve stolen it from Munson, right after I got him to agree to go on a date with me.”

Robin freezes, staring at him like she’s buffering as her entire worldview gets rearranged. “Steve, Stevie, I need you to know I’m so happy for you and proud of you. But also I am going to actually strangle you to death in your sleep what the actual fuck.”

“Love you too, Robs.”

+ Bonus:

Steve, 5 min later after he’s started driving to drop Robin off at home: ohmygod. Robin.

Robin: What.

Steve: Eddie and I basically kissed.

Robin: What?????

Steve: His spit is in my mouth as we speak.

Robin: wHAT??!!!?!!!

Steve: Robin stop screaming I’m having a crisis

{send me a 📝 and a one-word prompt and i will try and write a lil steddie microfic for you! (it will almost certainly be much shorter than this one but who knows, i might get Inspired™️)}

[emilys-bangs]

courage, dear heart | e.p

Tags: established relationship (although reader isn't really in the fic), mom!emily, college graduate eloise, momily comfort, healthy dash of angst, lots of tears and lots of reassurances, no use of yn

Summary: Eloise comes back from college—adrift, spiraling, and slinking back into the safety of Emily's shadow. Emily helps her get things straight. Inspired by this ask.

Word count: 1.8k

Emily is not quite asleep when the door handle creaks. She expects the intruding figure to be Oliver, probably looking for a phone charger or a snack, but is surprised to see Eloise’s shorter silhouette against the hallway light. Emily perks up, her body half rising off the mattress on instinct.

“Sorry.” Eloise says, cringing as she shuts the door behind her. “Were you asleep? You got in not too long ago, I thought—”

“I was awake.” Her head meets the pillow again, her eyes tracking Eloise as she rounds the other side of the bed, void of your usual presence, and lifts the duvet up. “What’s up? You couldn’t sleep?”

Emily knows the restlessness that comes with moving house. Even if “moving house” is just going back from a college dorm room to the home you grew up in. Something changes, even though—in nearly every sense—nothing has. The puzzle pieces just don’t quite fit anymore; there’s a distinct discomfort lingering even when you come back to your childhood bedroom, squirming in your bed like maybe you’d outgrown it in an inch or two while you were gone. For Emily, there was never comfort at home, even before she left. Coming back after college only confirmed her need to break free, to leave the shackles of the embassy behind and go somewhere, anywhere, else. She knows that now, Eloise feels the same, a new version of her forced back into a house that’s gone virtually untouched by time.

Emily can only hope that, unlike for her, the feeling fades.

Even in the half light, Eloise’s smile is tight. “Didn’t try.” She says, sliding in and making the bed dip, her dark head nestling on your pillow. Emily waits as she situates herself, scooting closer and closer to her own pillow until the brown of Eloise’s eyes shines bitterly in the small lampshade light on her nightstand. 

It’s a color she’s not quite used to. There’s blue shadows pooling in her irises, deepening the brown to a murky black that reflects light all too easily. 

Emily hadn’t noticed it right away; it had taken time, over the course of the few days Eloise has been back, to notice the dullness that blunts her usually sharp edges. Her smile, the corners of her eyes, her wilting posture. It’s all been sanded down.

Emily is reaching for the messy hairs strewn across her face when Eloise slots her head under her jaw, arm wrapping around her, hand curling around her side.

Oh.

Eloise gets comfortable against her, lifting the duvet up to her shoulders, shifting her legs this way and that, movement rustling the bedsheets. Emily lets her wriggle. She’d never grown out of her restlessness, even while stagnant; she barely lets herself settle into a comfortable position before shifting again, curling and unfurling her limbs, turning from one side to the other. 

Finally she stills, a warm weight at Emily’s side. Emily’s lips curl as her own arm loops over to her daughter’s side, her hand smoothing down her back.

“Hey, bug.” 

Eloise huffs softly, a warm breath at Emily’s collarbone. “You used to call me that all the time,” she says, her voice small.

Emily hums, her heart glowing. “’Cause you were my cuddle bug.” She murmurs fondly, kissing Eloise’s forehead. “My cuddly girl. You hardly left me alone. Remember that?”

When she still had baby fat clinging to her limbs, when her cheeks were rounded and full and always turned to her mother’s lips for a kiss. Eloise’s home had, for a too-short while, always been in Emily’s shadow, in her arms. 

Now, back in them again, she’s quiet. Emily frowns. She’s idly playing with her daughter’s hair when she feels something hot slide across her skin. Then Eloise gasps, a choked sound, and Emily realizes they’re tears.

“Eloise,” she says, alarmed. “Honey, what—”

“I wanna go back.” Eloise cries. She fists Emily’s shirt, her sniffles muffled in the crook of her mother’s neck, “I wanna go back, Mom.”

“What, to when you’d followed me around? You can still do that, sweet girl.” It immediately feels like the wrong answer, the first one that presses itself onto her tongue. Twenty one years of parenting, and she still fumbles it sometimes. “I promise you can. Ollie does, and he’s fifteen. He wouldn’t know personal space if it was an inch from his face.” She rambles mindlessly, the words pressing up against her teeth.

Eloise doesn’t reply. Her chest heaves against Emily’s, shaking with barely suppressed sobs that echo in the quiet room, the weight of her gasps heavy in her throat. Emily automatically shushes her, dry-mouthed as she rubs between her shoulder blades.

She wants to go back. 

Go back where? College? The Europe trip she just came back from? Away from home?

Emily swallows thickly. “El, baby, talk to me. Please. What is it? Where do you want to go back to?” She coaxes her up and away from her neck, heart aching as she wipes the hot tears on her cheeks.

Eloise’s face crumples. She leans into Emily’s palm, more tears dripping off her chin before they can be dried away. “To when I didn’t have to know what to do.” Her voice cracks, splintering off in the silence. “I don’t know what to do, Mom. I don’t know what I want or what I should do with my life. I thought I knew,” she sniffles, roughly wiping at her nose, “but I don’t. I don’t know anything. I thought—I thought I’d have it figured out by now, why don’t I?”

The corner of her mouth pinches like yours does when you’re trying to stop it from trembling. Emily’s heart twists—at your absence, at your daughter’s helplessness. She knows firsthand what that helplessness tastes like, how it feels to be tethered in place, cold shackles around her wrists dragging her down.

Her hand dampens as she gently swipes it along Eloise’s cheek, drying her tears. “Baby, you just graduated.” She says quietly. “You’re not supposed to know anything.”

Eloise shakes her head. Her nose is cherry red, lashes glinting with hot salt. “Everyone else does.” She whispers. “A-All of my friends, the people in my classes. Everyone knows except me.” Her voice pitches higher again, trailing into a half sob.

“So what if they do?” Emily persists. “That’s good for them. You’re not in any rush, Eloise.”

She shakes her head again, staunchly. “Why do they know?” The question is so fragile it nearly breaks her. Her eyes are saucer-wide and suddenly she’s five years old again, wondering why it is her mom couldn’t make it to her preschool graduation. “I loved studying and going to class. My professors said”—a sad huff parts her lips and Emily already knows, her professors said she had potential—“they said I was good, Mom. Promising.” 

The word shatters, and so does she. Eloise leans back, letting Emily’s hand fall, her own fists digging into her eyes. She curls in on herself, her normally pushed back shoulders collapsing into her chest. 

“Why don’t I know and everyone else does?” She rasps, the whisper compacting into a bullet that strikes Emily’s heart front and center. It starts to bleed, dark red streams pouring outward, dripping onto her ribcage.

Eloise’s dark hair shields her face. With her head bowed, knuckles poking sharply through her skin, Emily is looking into a mirror. A mirror, thirty something years ago, cracked in all the same places.

“Because you’re like me.” She finally says. “I didn’t know, either.”

Eloise lifts her head. She blinks her bloodshot eyes, pinning some of her hair behind her ear. “Really?” She whispers.

Emily nods, a sad smile tugging at her mouth. 

“But you know everything.”

She laughs softly. “El, honey, I was a kid too, once.” And a major fuckup for that matter. “I was clueless for longer than your grandma would’ve liked. I was good at the studying, and I loved college life. My major was fun.” She shrugs one shoulder. “But the moment I got my degree in hand it’s kind of like…everything stopped. I didn’t know what then.”

Eloise swipes under her eyes. Emily hands her a tissue. “What did you do?” She asks, shuffling back to her side. Her head returns to Emily’s shoulder; the breath somewhat returns to Emily’s lungs.

“I gave myself the time I knew I needed. You can imagine that wasn’t easy.” Eloise laughs wetly. Emily’s lips twitch; she shares her impatience. “But when I did, I realized I wanted to get my masters. I know you’re looking for a straight answer here, but there just isn’t one. It’s different for everyone, and you’re in no rush to figure it out. I know,” she murmurs, leaning back to look at her, “you’re restless, like me. You don’t like to sit still. But you’re gonna have to. You have to sit still and think and try new things and open yourself up to all kinds of different opportunities. But you don’t have to figure it all out by tomorrow.” Emily cups her cheek, her thumb sweeping across tacky skin. “You have so much time, baby.”

Eloise’s lashes flutter. The glaze returns to her eyes, but it stays contained this time; the tears don’t spill out. Emily lets out a breath and brings her into her chest for a lopsided, awkward hug, surrounded by pillows and limbs and foamy mattress. She squeezes and Eloise squeezes right back, exhaling shallowly into her collarbone.

“You’re twenty one.” Emily kisses her daughter’s forehead. “You have your whole life ahead of you.”

Eloise loosens all of a sudden, tension uncoiling like a spring. Her eyes meet Emily’s, once again childlike.

“You’re not…disappointed?”

“That you don’t have your life figured out fresh out of college?” Emily strokes her hair. “No, Eloise, I’m not disappointed. Quite the opposite—I’m so proud of you.” Emotion clogs her throat, a heavy lump settling there and numbing her tongue. Emily kisses her forehead again, again, still not quite able to believe that this is the same little girl who used to never leave her side. 

“You’re just like me, El, but you’re so much better. You’re everything I did right.”

Eloise shakes her head firmly, her mouth pressed in an all too familiar line. “I’m not better than you, Mom. Don’t say that.”

Warmth swells in her chest. She’s made of salt and heat and pride, her mouth twitching equally against both tears and a smile.

“Shh.” Emily stamps a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t argue with me. Mother knows best.”

It clicks after a second and they both laugh, a little damp, a lot shaky. Eloise sniffles after their laughter dies out, her arms tight again around Emily’s back.

“I love you, Mommy.” She whispers, the words breaking cleanly in the middle.

Emily knows her voice will bear the same crack before she even responds. 

“I love you too, bug.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco @jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked @heartoreadallthequeerthingz @rustnroll @slutforabbyanderson @maximoffcarter @cns-mari @daddy-heather-dunbar @lcvessapphic @wlwoceaneyes@yoyo-w @upsidedowndanvers

[jubri-writes]

Morning mess 🥣

Simon Ghost Riley x reader, established relationship, breakfast fluff

Cw: none really, reactions to childhood abuse and trauma mentioned

{author‘s note - slight spoilers, maybe read this later: This was inspired by several TikToks I‘ve come across where people drop and break and spill things on purpose to show that it‘s actually not a big deal and nobody needs to scream at you because of it. Ngl, I had a visceral reaction the first time I saw one of those, but I also appreciate them so much for bringing awareness to this seemingly small thing. Have a good week everyone!}

Simon Riley may have had a loving mother, but his father more than made up for that in trauma. And despite him adamantly denying it („Bollocks. If anything, the food in the mess hall is what fucked me up the most.“), sometimes, it shows.

Like today. He‘s come to your place for the weekend; exhausted after not being able to sleep properly due to a cracked rib. Every time he breathes in too deep, it hurts. Every time he bends the wrong way, it hurts. Every time he moves in his sleep, the pain wakes him up. And thanks to that, his reflexes aren’t what they usually would be when he accidentally bumps against a bowl of cereal as he‘s trying to reach for the orange juice. All he can do today is watch the chaos unfold in slow motion.

The bowl falls off the table. Hits the tiled kitchen floor. Clatters loudly, momentarily drowning out the radio you‘d turned on. The impact breaks it into pieces, ceramic shards go flying. Milk and cereal are everywhere. On the floor. On the cabinets. On the oven. On Simon. And worst of all, on you.

It takes Simon about half a second to go into full survival mode. To him, the stress of a war zone is nothing compared to this. Memories resurface, and his body does what it‘s been conditioned to do. Adrenaline pumps through his veins. He braces for impact. His breath hitches in his throat, his hands start to sweat, and he freezes in his chair. Then his gaze, eyes wide and weary, slowly travels from the mess on the floor over to you.

He‘s learned that any time something like this happens, there’s always one of three outcomes.

Option a) The other person gets angry and starts screaming, then makes him clean everything up. Physical violence is optional with this one.

Option b) The other person gets angry and calls him a useless bastard (or some other equally lovely name), then cleans up themselves, every movement oozing with contempt.

Option c) The other person gets scared and starts to panic because a third person will very soon choose between a) and b).

He stares. He waits. But nothing happens. You don’t scream. You don’t even roll your eyes. You blink at the chaos on the floor, the milk and cereal on your pyjamas, and then you laugh. Not in a threatening way; you seem genuinely amused.

„Whoopsie“, you say like he didn’t just provoke a physical altercation with his clumsiness. „Don’t worry, I‘ll get a broom or something. Best don’t move, don’t want you hurting your feet.“

At this point, his mouth goes slack. His brain has trouble computing. You flick a cheerio off your pyjamas, then move to get cleaning supplies. Calm. Unhurried. Suspicious. You pick up the ceramic pieces, scoop the cereal into a dustpan, then get the Swiffer and wipe the floor. Still, no screaming. It takes him a solid few minutes to regain his composure and find his voice.

„I‘m sorry“, he says as you — practical as always — use the mop to wipe down the oven and cabinets too. He doesn’t trust the calm. He‘s still waiting for retribution.

„Oh, don’t worry“, you tell him, smiling. „At least now I have an excuse to buy a new bowl. Had my eye on a strawberry one for a while.“

Silence.

„You‘re not mad?“, Simon asks finally, confused.

„Why would I be mad about a bowl of cereal?“, you ask back and shrug. Then you press a kiss on his temple in passing as you return the cleaning supplies to their place in the hallway.

„I- uh-“, he stammers. For once in his life, he‘s speechless. The adrenaline fades. You‘ll forget about this moment soon enough; it was no big deal after all. Simon, however, has it burned into his cerebral cortex forever, as the day he truly started to let his guard down around you.

Later that weekend, when you’re browsing through shops in the city, he insists you get a whole new set of strawberry bowls. His treat.

[cakewritez]

PLEASE can you write Zoey with a demon gf? hurt/comfort if you can!! THERES NO ZOEY X READER ANYWHERE IM STARVING😭

I DONT THINK YOUR READY FOR THE TAKEDOWN. ✧

Cw: OH BOY MAD ANGST LAWDDDD hurt / comfort, Zoey being insecure, panic attacks, just angst :( good ending though! Kinda short because this is hurting me 💔

She's in shock, denial. No no, anyone but you. First Rumi and now you? But, your not full of hate at all. You're beautiful and strong, not to mention everything she's not. How could you, be a demon? Everything she stands to hate, to distain, how could she love a demon like you?

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

You weren't supposed to get in the crossfire, you werent supposed to be in the line of fire at all. It was an honest mistake, you undid your jacket you always wore and laid in on their couch. You'd thought they would be gone for at least a week, considering the text your new girlfriend had sent you. God, you loved her.

You had met over a shared taste of food, and attending art museums you kept bumping into her. Your connection deepened from that, along with the little texts she sends you with cute selfies attached. You'd reply with your own before giggling to yourself and going on with your day.

The voices got louder, Gwi-Ma got louder. It hurt to hear him whisper the same thing over and over again, "Break up Huntrix and you'll be free from my control.. Break Zoey." you couldn't do that to her. You drowned them out as best as you could, music, podcasts, whatever that was loud and in your ears.

She told you about her job as a Hunter soon after, people always told her she was eager to please and a little too trusting, she'd made that mistake too many times.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

"Whhaaat? So your saying like, demons are real? And, you hunt them?" You tried your best to make a shocked expression, It melted your heart to hear her ramble about her secret life to someone other than Rumi and Mira. Although, you'd have to pretend like you weren't one yourself.

"Yess! I have like, these knives and stuff I throw at them! It's so fun, especially with the tricker ones." Zoey practically beamed at you with excitment. She explained the Honmoon and the things Rumi and Mira did with her. "You have a pretty good imagination, especially for a pretty girl." You flicked her gently on the forehead, as she calmed down a bit.

"Y—Yeah, it's our concept! Forrr ourr... next album!" Zoey fidgeted with her hands, you could tell she was feeling dejected and that tore you up inside, she couldn't know though. She would never know.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

At least, that's what you thought. They came home early. The marks on your arms had only gotten worse, the pattern spreading from your collarbone to your finger tips now. You silently cursed to yourself as you heard the door open from behind you.

"I'm back!! I just forgot something like always and—" She stopped, dead in her tracks. She took in the sight of you, perfectly gorgeous and perfectly.. horrible.

"No, no no.. this has to be a joke right? Your pranking me right? I told you, and you- you thought it would be funny to replicate the marks, but I never told you how they looked like—" Zoey's breathing quickened as she started to panic, the room started to spin and she was shaking. You automatically reached out for her but she flinched, you looked at her scared face and your patterns on your hands. You really are a monster.

In Zoey's mind, the worst thing possible could've happened. Back to back in fact, they find Rumi was a demon and now you? Gwi-Ma must be taunting them, trying to take away everything they loved. The voices she'd pushed down long ago were starting to bubble up again, the insecurities.

"No one could love you, except for a demon."

You decided to take the risk and step closer, you pulled her into a hug before she could draw her weapon and squeezed tightly. You felt her body stiffen up for a minute, before relaxing. Trembling arms came up and held you back, and you let out a sigh of relief you didn't know you were holding.

"I'm, I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you for so long." Tears started to well in your eyes and you held her, like something precious that would break and shatter. Zoey inhaled deeply before speaking.

"Do you even love me?" She choked out as she held you tighter, afraid and anxious you might leave her. You pet the top of her hair and nodded.

"Of course I do, since the day you spilled soda all over my shirt." That earned a soft laugh from her, which you gladly took. "Gwi-Ma gets in my head sometimes, but he can't force me to do anything. He can't drag me down there or summon me, I just wanted to live my life as a normal person." You stood in the hallway in silence for a moment, before pulling away and gently wiping her tears. "It's okay, I'll leave you alone if that's what you really want."

Unexpectedly, she pulled you in for another hug. The remnants of her tears you wiped staining your shirt. "Stay. Please. I'll deal with them, just.. be my partner. I don't want you to leave." And of course, who are you to deny your girlfriend?

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

She was still dealing with inner turmoil about the whole situation, but she found ways to cheer the both of you up. She painted her nails the color of your marks, and made sure to hide song lyrics about you in Huntrix's singles.

Yeah, you two would be okay.

[memephi]

Capture my heart and frame it, won't you?

Context: I had to reinstall the LADS app because I got the glitch that wouldn't let me log in. I completely borked the app trying to do file repairs and getting impatient about it. I lost most of my in-game photos. I'm not too bummed out about it but i am just really sad that it had to happen on the one year Sylus anniversary 😔

ANYWAY SO I WROTE MY OWN COMFORT FIC SO THANK YOU AND HAVE A NICE DAY AAKSJSJDKKSL

To Sylus, the only thing worse than you being upset, was not knowing why you were upset in the first place.

It started a few days ago. You showed up at his base, tired and battle-worn after a shift of non-stop Wanderer encounters. He’d tried calling you at some point, to which you showed him exactly why you couldn’t answer back.

Your phone, chopped clean in half, by a Wanderer that managed to catch your side unguarded.

He had a routine for cheering you up. After assessing you for injuries, he’d carry you to the bath and pamper you with gently scented soaps in hopes of easing both your mind and body. On most days, it worked, and he’d carry you off to bed soon after.

You'd be smiling up at him with warmth and appreciation; leaving him wondering how to make it so that that look never had to leave your precious lips.

No matter, he’d thought to himself. Getting you a new phone was as easy as breathing. He’d already placed an order for a new one, and it arrived the next morning as soon as you woke up.

Burying your face into his chest and holding onto him like were you trying to disappear from the world was not a welcome break from that routine.

“Thank you, Sy.”

You thank him and go on with your day, but Sylus was not a fool. He could see the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way you’d have this longing expression as you used your new phone, with a sadness he couldn’t ignore.

“Can you get the data back?”

His first thought was that the phone itself held sentimental value. He’d tell you that he’d take the remnants of it and see if he could repair it. He was confident that he could, at the very least, use what remained of the parts to restore it to working order.

“Everything that was uploaded into cloud storage will be restored, no issues.”

“...what about the stuff that wasn’t?”

You tell him not to bother, that you appreciate the offer but that you were happy with the new phone he’d given you.

He didn’t have a good answer.

He’d bite his tongue, fighting against the urge to disagree; to say that you weren’t happy at all.

The last straw was when he stepped into his base and found you in his office, staring misty eyed at the photo he had on his desk. It was a picture of the two of you in the valley of flowers, smiling up at each other with the phone on the ground; long forgotten but capturing what would’ve been your favorite photo from that day. The photo on Sylus’s desk was a gift from you, of which the only other copy would’ve been–

You finally tell him that you had an album full of photos of the two of you together. You had grown paranoid due to recent online data breaches. The album wasn’t uploaded to cloud storage because you were worried about anyone finding the photos and using them to hurt Sylus; whether it was his reputation or weaponizing your relationship against him.

Ah. There it is.

You had been meaning to create a back up, you’d tell him, but it had slipped your mind repeatedly the last few weeks. Now, you’re succumbing to the regret, thinking about the months and months memories, the special moments you’d shared with Sylus now just completely erased from existence.

You didn’t cry. You’d tell him that, even if it hurt to think about all the photos you’d lost, dealing with it became easier when they were together. That, no matter how many photos you’d lost, the person who shared those memories with was still right there beside you.

He didn’t promise to get the photos back. He would never promise you something he couldn’t actually retrieve for you. He didn’t ask you to recreate the photos with him. He felt it would hurt you more to have to revisit those precious memories one by one, only to be left with a cheap imitation of the love you shared that day.

And Sylus? His heart ached– burned, charred and painful.

No. Instead, he’d hold you close. Whether you’d eventually crack and weep in his arm or not, it was irrelevant to the fact that he was with you now.

And then, hours or days later, you would find a new album in your phone gallery. In it, there was a single photo you’d never seen before.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t have a favorite photo, in all honestly, but any photo that captures your unrestrained, unapologetic happiness? Every single one is, and will always be precious to me.”

You and Sylus, as he held you like a princess on one of his newly maintained motorcycles. You remember giggling and blushing up a storm as Sylus held you in place, peppering you with kisses all over your cheeks. The angle left no doubt in your heart that this photo was taken from Mephisto’s retinal video feed. When you ask Sylus about it later, he’d smile that cheeky, smug and oh so affectionate smile for you and you alone.

AGAIN, I'm not too upset or hurting about the photos. My wall of photos on the in-game desk are still there and I have local saved files of all of my absolute favorites (especially the Sylus ones) so i am gucci : D