wait...WHAT?

30 • she/her ● German Chick Down Under

[luna-azzurra]

The most interesting question you can ask about any character is not what do they want. it's what do they believe they deserve. because those two things are almost never the same and the gap between them is where your entire story lives. a person can want love completely and believe they don't deserve it and that belief will destroy every good thing that comes toward them in ways they won't even notice they're doing. write the gap. the gap is the character.

[holmesandtheroman]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[semenriley]

Dad Simon × Wife Reader

༺♡༻

Simon Riley was a nightmare of a dad. One wrong move and he grounded his son for a whole week. No calls. No going out. No friends. Nothing but staying in and fucking studying.

You walked into your home after a soul-crushing day to find your only child, Tom, and his friends clustered in the living room, bags slung over shoulders, laughter too loud. They were heading out, again.

"Tom, baby, no" you said, setting your bag down. "It’s too late. It’s ten already."

"Ma, it’s fine" he said easily. Too easily. "I’ll be back in an hour. And if not, I’ll just crash at Ric’s -"

"No. Absolutely not. Nuh-uh."

He groaned. "Mom, I’m seventeen."

You turned slowly and looked him dead in the eye. "Exactly."

He scoffed and stood up - and Christ, he was already almost Simon’s height. Broad shoulders. Long limbs. Too big, too fast. Your chest tightened. You’d always been scared shitless of big men.

You remembered the first time you met Simon - bumping into him on your way back from partying with friends, freezing when you looked up and saw just how massive he was. Towering over you. You’d panicked and sprinted across the street like your life depended on it.

And yet years go by and he’d been the only man who ever mattered.

The only one who sat when you entered a room. The only one who shifted his stance to seem smaller at crowded dinners. The one who always knelt down to hear you better as you rambled on about your day.

You didn't even know he was in special forces when you started dating him. Yet he was the only one who bent the world around you instead of the other way around.

"Tom" you said sharply as his friends grabbed their things.

"I said no. You aren’t leaving. It’s dangerous, and have you even seen the news? That psycho killer still hasn’t been caught-"

"Ma, move" His voice dropped. Firm, just like his dad. "I’m goin."

He nudged past you.

Your hand shot out on instinct, fingers wrapping around his wrist. "I said no baby it's not safe. And you're not going."

He turned and looked down at you. God...

Your body betrayed you.

Your breath hitched. Your limbs locked. Too tall. Too close. Your heart slammed violently against your ribs.

"Ma" he muttered, irritation creeping in. "Let go."

You didn’t. Hell you couldnt even hear him. It's like your system had a shut down.

He shoved your hand away - not hard. Barely anything at all.

But it was enough.

Your foot slipped. Pain exploded up your ankle as you stumbled and went down with a sharp cry.

"F..fuck..uh.." You hit the floor, clutching your ankle.

"Oh shit - no no, mum" Tom dropped to his knees, panic flashing. "I didn’t mean, God-"

He glanced back at his friends. "Just - just go."

They didn’t hesitate. Because Simon had seen everything.

The way your body froze.

The way your breathing shattered.

The way his son, your son, had stood over you - unknowing, careless, dangerous.

The house changed. Heavy footsteps came down the hall - slow. Deliberate.

"What happened."

Not a question. A sentence.

Tom swallowed hard. "Dad, I - she just tripped."

Simon stopped in front of him.

Didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.

"No" he said quietly. "You step back. Now."

"Dad-"

"Back." One word. Final.

Tom moved instantly.

Simon knelt beside you, massive frame blocking the room, eyes flicking over your ankle, your shaking hands, your face.

"Look at me" he said. Low. Commanding. "You with me, love?"

"I’m fine, Si" you breathed. “Just give me a second- "

"No" he said.

"Arms round my shoulders" he said. "Now"

"Si, I can walk-"

"No" he cut in. "You can’t. And I’m not asking."

"Dad, I didn’t-"

You wrapped your arms around him as he lifted you effortlessly, like he always does.

"I’ll get the ice pack" Tom said, desperate.

Simon didn’t even look at him.

"No" he said. "You stay exactly where you are."

He carried you down the hall, voice calm - but lethal as he passed his son.

Later that night you see Simon pacing back and forth as Tom sat on couch terrified.

"You don’t get to grow into the kind of man who scares women" he said quietly. "Not in my house. Not with my name."

"She might be yer mum but she's my wife first."

Tom nods looking anyway but his dad.

"I'll tell you where you learnt that size from hmm? You're a big boy I get it. I was the biggest kid growing up too. But you know what, I saw how people around me hesitated to even ask for me help."

"Dad I didn't mean to scare her" Tom mumbles .

"But you did scare her. All her life she's known big men who didn't realise just how much space they took" he groans pointing at Tom.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention"...

"No. Intent doesn't change impact". You peek through the bedroom door to see Simon towering over Tom as he sat on couch.

"If you ever use your size to push past her, dismiss her, scare her - by accident or otherwise, you’ll learn real fast what restraint looks like. Because right now, the only reason you’re still sitting comfortable is because she’s hurt. And she matters more" he snaps hauling Tom up by his shirt.

"Now grab that damn ice pack and go up and apologize. Kneel if you must. You'll stay at home this week cooking, cleaning, washing dishes and what not but make sure my wife doesn't lift a single finger".

Tom nods as he feels Simon press his forehead against him.

"You'll be a better man than me son. But you'll learn how to be small..and use that size to protect, never to harm. And never ever try to scare a woman. Especially my woman. Got it?"

"Aye sir". Tom bolted upstairs grabbing the icepack. He needed to make things right.

Simon took an oath to never let anyone hurt what he loved. And he'll be damned if his wife was scared in her own house. He'll teach Tom how to be gentle even if it takes months.

✧˙*｡✧˙*｡✧˙*｡✧˙*｡✧˙*｡✧˙*｡✧˙*｡✧˙*｡✧˙*｡✧˙*｡

Masterlist 🩷🌷

[accffbusy]

"And I don't even like you that much."

"Wait... I do. Fuck."

Apple Cider ~Beabadoobee

Zanka x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: In which everybody but you and Zanka knows about his feelings. But that changes when he sees you hurt and thanks to two (?) very kind cleaners.

Fluff, denial of feelings, some crack, found family cleaners, reader is a cleaner, attempt at humor, swearing, no use of y/n, not proof read, a little angst bc of Zanka's mentality and his viewpoint of himself.

Wc : 2824

 “Geez, would it kill ya to try to be more level headed?” He points to the gash on your arm, the blood drying on your sleeve as you avoid his scrutinizing gaze. “Actually scratch that, you would die first.”

“It's just a graze.” You comment, pressing a clean handkerchief to your wound, wincing a little at the sting. “Nothing serious, really.” You try to smile at him but it's weak. “See?” 

“See what?” You cast your gaze down, staring at the dirt beneath your feet. You're not sure what you even wanted him to ‘see’ either way. “Can't believe yer my partner.” He clicks his tongue and you bite the inside of your cheek.

You weren't exactly known for being weak, but you were known for being reckless. You hate how your personality is being peeled back the same way you'd peel a scab after healing a wound. It stings and you'd much rather just keep it hidden on your skin. 

“Give me that.” He orders, kneeling as he extends an open palm to you. Before you could even process his words, he snatches the cloth from your hand and —with surprising care—cleans your wound. “There's still gonna be a long ride ‘til we get back to the clinic, just bear with this for a sec.”

He cares way to goddamn much for this to be 'just a scratch'. He pushes his thoughts back into his head, he just needs to be strong enough and make sure this doesn't happen ever again. Easier said than done.

His work is gentle, like he's scared of pushing down on your exposed skin and making you flinch. His eyes constantly flicker to your face—checking for any sign of discomfort or agitation.

You hiss slightly when he swipes the cloth over a sensitive spot, you try to mask the sound but he hears it instantly. “Sorry…” he mumbles, brows furrowed. Either from concentration or from trying to distract himself from the fact you winced from his touch. 

Your arm relaxes beneath his hold, your muscles finally loosening after the tense way you'd fought. You feel bad for Zanka, it was your fault you got hurt after going against his warning and now he's stuck with taking care of your injuries. 

“Hey.” He starts, not meeting your eyes.

He chews on his bottom lip like he's trying to taste the words on his mouth before he says it. “I know I probably should be yelling at ya right now…” 

His hands still on his lap. “But… I don't wanna make you feel like shit. It's my fault ya got hurt, alright? Don't hold it against yerself.”

He's still not looking at you, choosing to let his eyes burn holes at the dirt and to stare at nothing rather than look at you head on. “So…” trailing off, he sighs and scratches the back of his head in irritation.

“Just pay more attention next time.” You smile softly at his words but you think that he's just saying it for you. He doesn't actually mean any of his words, it's just his own way of trying to lift you up. "Got it?"

“Sorry Zanka.” You move to stand up, dusting your lap and your rear from dirt you might've gotten from sitting down on the ground. “You don't have to be nice to me like that y’know?”

You turn to his direction and hold a thumbs up directly on his face. “I'm okay with you telling me if I messed up. I don't want you to baby me like that.” 

“Ya didn't mess up."

“Yeah I did. You said it yourself that I need to be more level headed, and that to stop saying that ‘it’s nothing’ when—”

“No.” Your honesty infuriates him. It makes his blood boil the way you're so capable of talking and resolving your feelings while he has to choke on every word he tries to say with you around.

He can't help but wish he was a little like that—a little more like you.

“But—”

“I said, no. Just shut it already.” The lack of the usual warmth in his tone scares even him.

“I was just agreeing with you. Why're you being so difficult?" You roll your eyes at him. Prodding to see if he's just taking this whole ordeal too seriously.

You see the stern look on his face and it irritates you to no end. You sigh and turn your face away from him."I'll own up to my mistakes, okay? It's not your fault I was careless.” 

Except it is. You only managed to see through that heavy blow because of your own skill. The blunt end of a trash beast’s arm running straight at you in seconds, and you parried it easily. 

But what you don't expect is the sharp talons that emerged from its side to puncture you. You move fast enough to redirect the claws to your arm instead of an important organ on your side, but the damage had been done. 

It's honestly pathetic, the way he kept boasting about how Enjin wanted him specifically on that battlefield, only to watch his partner almost die in front of him.

The worst part? He’d been so cocky about it too. He assured you that he'd take down one of the front legs of the beast only for the same leg to almost punch a hole through you. 

If it weren't for your skill as a cleaner, you'd be dead or bleeding out. And if it weren't for Zanka’s incompetence, you'd be uninjured, just happily making conversation with him like you always do.

The silence eats away at his nerves, it rings in his ears and it deafens him.

“What's it to you anyway?” Your sharp voice cuts in through the tension like a gunshot. “I don't need you to protect me like you're my babysitter, you're my partner—”

“Exactly!” He yells, and you flinch at the sound. It catches you off guard and you peer to see his expression, his face is tight, pupils dilated in anger. His fists are rested on top of his knees but his knuckles are turning white. “I shouldn't have let ya got hurt, if only—” 

If only he was stronger. If only he was capable of staying composed in situations like these. Where he wouldn't let his emotions get the better of him in and out of the battlefield. 

“If only I could've done something.” His tone breaks around the edges and he bites his lip to keep himself quiet, unwilling to say anything else.

You're not sure if pushing past your injuries hurts more than just admitting that you were scared of dying in that moment. You'd rather keep those feelings bottled anyway.

“Then you should've kept your promise.” Your tone calm, like you're just discussing the weather. However, your choice of words repeat in his head like a broken mantra. Cruel and the blow reaches for the lowest part of his gut.

His chest and stomach churns at your admission. 'I'll be strong enough for the both of us so you don't have to worry.' He laughs a little at his words, trying to mask the bit of blood that he drew from biting at his skin too hard.

You walk out of the conversation from him, forcing your emotions to stay bubbled down your throat. You aren't as easily able to express yourself—no matter how much you try to make it seem like you wear your heart on your sleeve. 

His gaze immediately flickers to your shrinking back, still holding onto your bloodied arm all the way to the jeep. It's gonna be one hell of a long ride. 

You walk into the clinic by yourself, the door opening to see the nurse’s serene face before it twists the moment she sees your injury. 

“Are you okay?!” Eisha’s panicked voice comes out, her hands moving around your sides like she's scared. “Are there any signs of any effects aside from the bleeding? Poison? Hallucinations…?” 

“I'm fine Eisha. Zero side effects.” The worry etched into her furrowed brow ceases almost immediately. 

She brings a nearby stool to sit on, taking her supply kit of gauze and other medical equipment. “That's good to know.” She sighs. “Your wound is already fairly clean, but I'll still disinfect it…hold still, kay?”

She directs you to sit in the medical bed and you hold your arm up, she watches for any pain on your face as she cleans off the sides of your wound. She sees none and proceeds to apply antibiotic ointment.

You suppress the hiss on your lips to speed up the process, she then wraps a clean bandage around your arm. “There.” She tapes the end of. “All done.” 

You move to lay down on the bed, exhaustion evident on your face the moment you allow yourself a second of comfort on the soft pillows. Eisha places her hands on your chest after plugging the cord on her hat to a socket. 

The hairs on your body stand, and you feel electricity dancing on your nerves. You jolt for a millisecond, then you feel the pain in your arm leaves immediately. Your skin renewed and your hair standing a little from the static. 

She sighs from relief. “There, all good.”

You extend your hands over your head to stretch your tired body. There's no pain in you but there's still lingering exhaust. There's an uncomfortable gnawing at your heart that you can't exactly pinpoint.

“Thanks Eisha" You start and your voice is hesitant. "Can...I stay here for a while..?” She glances at you after putting her medical equipment away. “Hope I don't overstay my welcome though.”

“No, no! It's fine! You can stay here as much as you like!” She hastily adds waving her hands upon seeing your expression. You don't want to leave the comfort of a bed right now to talk to your peers about how you almost got killed in action.

“Stay here until your feel better.” She smiles sweetly at you, her brows a bit pulled up from nervousness. “Is there anything you like that I can bring for you? Food…? You must be tired.”

“No, I'm okay without.” You dismiss.

“...how about visits?” 

Your heart drops a little at the prospect of a certain someone seeing you like this. You don't want people to worry about you, but you think it'd be better if they just see that you're safe. “Sure.”

She lights up, her smile a little more cheerful. “I'm sure the other cleaners want to check up on you, I'll alert them that they can visit now—”

“—But.” You add on, catching her off guard. “Just…don't let Zanka visit me, I don't think he'll even try to see me. For a while at least.” 

“Why? What happened? Is he hurt?” She asks, unsure and a bit confused by your statement. “You two have always been close, and I think he's already waiting outside…”

“All the more reason not to.” You laugh, lips tight and the sound is bitter.

“I—” She contemplates her words. “I'm sure he's really worried about you.” She points her head down to the ground and you feel guilty for making her worry.

“It's not that Eisha, it's just…” You struggle to form words, your throat tightening as you try to reason how cruel you were towards him earlier that day. “He just has better things to do, y’know? Like…”

You trail your eyes around the room and out the window. Searching for remnants of anything that'll ease the knot in your chest.

“Training and...taking care of his staff?” You say it but even you don't sound sure of your words.

Confusion strikes her face, she tilts her head sideways like you just said something more unbelievable than pigs flying out the window.

“Why would he be training and not visit you when you're the reason he trains so hard?” 

You blink, her confusion reflecting on your face. “What…?” You laugh a little, waving a dismissive hand. “You can't be serious. He trains to get stronger, obviously.”

“Yeah, for you. He's been into you for—” She laughs a little, then her face hardens. She covers her mouth with both of her gloved hands, she stares at you in silence. Her and your mind working together in cogs.

Her words are still catching up to her and both of you realize what she just said. You could sweat you can hear a click go off at the same time as your realization.

“Forget I said that! You didn't hear from me—!”

“He's been what—?!”

Enjin laughs loudly and it bounces across the halls he and Zanka were walking through. “You can't be serious, kid!” 

He covers his ears with his palms, half an attempt to drown out his voice and the flush on his cheeks and ears. 

They continue walking all while Enjin is trying not to cry his eyes out from laughing too hard. They reach the mess hall and he slumps on the plush seat of the couch, groaning and rolling his shoulders. “No way you're moping over that.”

He sits down beside the older man, slumping forward with his head held in his hands. “It's serious for me…”

“Well I'm sure that one argument with your girl can't ruin almost a year of you liking her.”

"My girl...?" He repeats his words, chewing on the bandaid he'd lazily slapped on his bloodied lip. He hates how he doesn't want to deny how he likes the words roll off his tongue so easily.

He shakes his head, willing his thoughts to go silent. “But I don't like her —she’s strong… She doesn't back down from no one.”

He looks down at the hand that helped clean off your wound—the one you got because of him. “She's annoying, always running around and trying to cause a ruckus. A shit show even.”

He means to sound strict, like talking about the things that you do and how they make him smile are now instead doing the complete opposite.

“She doesn't know how to sit still and that's why she got hurt, and I should've done something. She's my partner. ‘Course I'd care. But that doesn't mean I like—”

He turns to look at Enjin. His face is doing all the talking. Jaw a bit agape, eyes wide, one brow raised and the other resting on his eyelid. “You're not serious.”

“I am, she's just—”

He sighs, loud and interruptive, leaving him no room to argue. “You're so into her it kinda hurts to watch.” He holds his face between his open palms, his words are muttered but Zanka can hear it clear as day.

He rolls his eyes. “I admire her, but that ain't in a ‘in love’ way.” 

He stays silent, then lifts his face from his palm in an agonizingly slow rate to gaze directly into Zanka. Pinning him with a 'are we fucking serious?' look.

"There's no way you don't realize it." He sighs even louder. "I'm not getting paid enough to mansplain you your own feelings."

"Yeah? Tell me a thin' or two about it then." He scoffs.

“If you didn't like her, why are you shitting your pants over getting her angry?”

“That's ‘cause I don't want my partner mad at me, jeez.” He sighs but his cheeks are bright red. “That stuff messes up our flow and stuff. Getting her angry pisses me off.” 

“Okay then, let's say she pisses you off. Why do you remember every detail about her to the T?” 

“I don't—” He cuts himself off, images of mundane moments you two shared in secrecy flashing in his mind.

You eating—then pouting when he points out a piece you didn't finish, you smiling while training with him and you focused on finishing a report that you put off for too long. 

More flash behind his mind and he sinks more to the couch, realization settling into his face at the same rate as his blush. Enjin flashes him a cocky smirk.

"No way you seriously didn't know about your lil' butterflies kid." His words don't register in his mind while he's running a million thoughts in a second. His cheeks and ears burning to the point Enjin swears he can see smoke come out.

He laughs even louder than the last—more boisterous and it finally snaps him out of his trance. “Told ya kid, trust your elders more." He slaps a hand on his back.

"Too bad though, you've gone and blown your chance with her by ignoring—"

Zanka slaps his arm with a couch pillow. “Shut up!”

Zanka the typa guy to jst stare at someone or something he likes and never voice out how much he wants it bc he thinks deep down he'll never be good enough nor be strong enough to protect them (he'll jst silently wallow in his desire until it consumes him from the inside)

[fidogo]

follow up to boxer!ghost and photographer!reader

i have 1 more part for this methinks

Ghost is silent behind you. It’s the least he could do after somehow worming his way into your darkroom. 

You’re working quickly but carefully, extracting the film from the cassette. There’s an eagerness that thrums under your skin, excitement to see what sort of shapes and light you managed to coax and trap onto silver halide.

You can feel the electricity of your emotions buzzing off your fingers; not even the hulking shadow behind you can kill you high.

You love your darkroom. It's your extra safe space, the beating heart in the warm body that is your apartment, that no one but you enters. And it’s now been breached, and it's your own damn fault. 

It was stupid to reach out to him. But you were just too damn anxious after hearing nothing from him. The chances of him forgetting seemed to be nonexistent based on his behavior and how cruelly he smiled when he got your number. It was better to get ahead of this.

Hi Ghost. Fyi, I’m going to develop the film, and then I can give you the negative.

You had stared at your phone, waiting, heart thumping nervously. Your phone vibrated. One word.

Why?

It had devolved into a series of explanations and back-and-forths, you need to develop the film strip, and he can have the negative in case it’s good or if he wants to burn it or something and fine as long as he can watch.

You probably should’ve backtracked at that. 

You had thought of the sweat dripping down his body, the way his muscles and fat had moved when he threw a punch, how thick his thighs were beneath his gym shorts.

You had sent him your address almost immediately.

Ghost lurches forward, hunching down to watch as you load the film into a spool. You stay focused, but can’t stop the way a warmth starts to fester in your abdomen.

“Could’ve done this in a changing bag, but I like using a dark room,” you say, not really expecting a response. 

“Changing bag?” Ghost’s voice slightly lilts up at the end, waiting for an explanation. 

“It’s a special bag that lets me load the film into the spool and the developer tank in daylight. But you gotta do it completely by touch. Pros and cons…” you trail off, placing the spool into the tank. 

You turn to grab the developer, allowing yourself to sneak a glance at Ghost. You pause, breath caught in your chest. He’s staring at you. Intensely. 

He’s wearing a black mask over the lower half of his face, but the red hues of the safelite leave the rest of his face steeped in darkness, a shadowy map of red skin and bruises.

There’s no reflection in his eyes, no spark of life, just an emptiness. A chill runs down your spine. 

You feel feverish. 

Getting the chemistry up to temperature, developing the film, and using Blix goes by pretty quickly, even with his silent frame planted right next to you. 

It’s only when the negatives have been washed and are hanging up to dry that he finally speaks again. 

“Which one is it?” 

You pluck the film strips from the line and beckon him next to your light table. A smooth, semi-translucent white panel sits quietly on the counter, its light waiting to blink on. 

“This is my favorite part,” you say, voice quiet with reverence. The strips lay flat on the board, and then you flick the switch on. 

A parallel world of ghostly dusk hues stares up at you. An inversion of sorts.

Your tongue clicks as you scan across the film. Some nice bottles on the bar, the lights of the marquee, a wide shot of the crowd, some guy who had wanted you to take a picture of him, and-

You inhale, leaning in close.

Fuck. It was a good shot. Even with how small it is and the inversion, you can tell it’s relatively in focus, just the tiniest bit of blur to imply the movement of Ghost’s arm towards the King.  His face is mostly covered, but he looks vicious. Eyes squinting fiercely, while the King is pathetically hunched in on himself. 

The ropes of the ring divide the background up nicely, and you appreciate the shallow depth of field. It’s something you miss about older sports photography. The colors, the contrast, the intentionality.

You tap lightly next to it.

“Fuck me, it’s really good. Like actually good.” 

Ghost grunts, hunching over to get a good look. You could magnify it, but you don't want to do anything until he decides what he wants to do with it. Your heart aches at the thought of him trashing it.

Ghost stands up suddenly, crossing his arms. He doesn’t look at you, just continues to squint down at the negatives. 

“One print. That I'll take.”

He doesn’t even look at you. 

“Two,” you counter. He eyes you sharply, eyebrow quirked up. “One for you, and one for me,” you say. Your chest heats up, a warmth spreading all the way to your core.

He doesn’t say anything, just turns to face you fully, his thick frame cutting a nice silhouette with the light table behind him.

“It really is a good picture,” you mumble, eyes downcast, head full of sweat, muscles, and the sound of skin colliding against skin. 

[iapislazuli]

anyone else remember being 13 on tumblr and every morning youd scroll down until you got to posts from the night before like it was the morning paper 

[writingwithminotaur]

[renskaji]

second choice, final chance

pre-established!umemiya x reader, wc: 1.7k, req? no.

It’s late at night when there’s a knock on your window. 

You know who it is before you even register your body turning to investigate. There’s only one person who comes to your window, especially so late at night. 

And usually you’re happy to see your boyfriend. 

Usually. 

But it’s one of those rare occurrences that Hajime Umemiya has made you upset, so your lips pull into a frown as you slide from your bed and make your way to the window. His bright smiling face is exactly where you expected him to be, shining through the glass plane, and it makes a pang of guilt shoot through you. 

You don’t even think Umemiya knows you’re upset with him. 

Not that you’re entirely certain you have the right to be annoyed. Because yes, he might’ve had to cancel your lunch date far too last minute, but he did it for a good reason. For the town. 

But lately, it’s all felt like you’re second place to the town.

And it’s not like you expect to be his number one all the time—that’s not healthy, not what you want. But you do wish that he would prioritize your relationship more often than he does. 

You’re just not sure how to put it into words without sounding like you're giving him an ultimatum. So instead, you’re moping in your bedroom while he climbs haphazardly through the window. He’s a little clumsy, but still careful to keep quiet so your family doesn’t hear. Your parents love him, but they probably wouldn’t adore his late-night rendezvous in your bedroom.

"Did you see my texts? I tried calling, but—" Umemiya’s cheerful voice starts rambling the moment he’s fully inside, but he catches the sour look on your face and you see in his own expression how he drops every thought he has to focus on you. Which would be nice, if he had done so earlier in the day. "What’s wrong? Did something happen?"

His concerned words almost make you let out a bitter laugh. Instead, you force yourself to look away from his ocean blue eyes, opting to sit on the edge of your bed and study the floor intently. 

"Talk to me," Umemiya almost pleads. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think you might taste blood. It’s when he goes from standing near-helplessly by the window to kneeling in front of you, hands smoothing up and down your calves reverently, that he finally finds the crack in your armor and the emotions you pent up come flowing through. It's so hard to say no to him, so you're talking before you even mean to.

"You canceled on me." It’s barely a dent in the grand scheme of the real problem. The Umemiya-chooses-Bofurin-every-time, problem. But it’s a start, and it means your tongue is finally unstuck from the roof of your mouth. 

"I know, sweetheart. And I’m sorry, really." He nods, not patronizing, but genuinely apologizing for having to bail on your plans. He's listening. And at least he had given you enough warning that you changed course and ate lunch at Pothos while Kotoha worked, but still. His absence left a bitter taste on your tongue. "There was something at the market that needed to be handled." 

You lift your gaze to his, finally, with your scowl firmly locked back in place on your lips. 

"There’s always something that needs to be handled." Your words are sharper than you mean them to be, but you do mean them. "Do you know that’s the sixth time you’ve had to cancel on me this month?"

Umemiya flinches, and even though it's the truth, you wish you could suck the words back in. It's a subtle accusation, but your boyfriend is far too smart to miss the meaning behind your words, unintentional or not.

You're letting me down. You're not showing up for me.

It's so fundamentally against Umemiya's beliefs. Everything he does is for other people, for the town. And you're not just a member of Furin or Makochi—you're his person. Someone he's supposed to dedicate himself to over all others, yet he hasn't.

And you threw that fact in his face. The guilt is already eating you alive.

"Forget I said anything," You murmur, jumping from your spot at the edge of your bed. Umemiya is still kneeling, but his rough hands scrub over his face instead of your skin. You're out of reach physically, but it still feels like the distance between the two of you is miles, not mere feet.

"No, wait." Hajime pulls himself so he's sitting on the edge of the bed. You have your back to him, but you're pretending to organize the clutter of jewelry on top of your dresser so you can watch him from the corner of your eye. He drags a hand through his hair, and you see he's just as shaky as you are. "Just wait a minute."

You know you should hear him out. Umemiya is far too good to you for you to not give him a chance, but you've been spiraling and waiting for too long already.

Forcing yourself to draw in a deep and shuddering breath, you're too much of a coward to look at Hajime, even through the mirror.

"Maybe… maybe we should take a break."

God, you're such a wuss. You can't even face him, can't bear the absolute heartache you know you're causing the two of you. You love him with every inch you have, but you're not sure how much more disappointment you can take from him.

"No." His tone is so commanding, so certain, that your shaking hands freeze from where they were clumsily attempting to untangle a necklace you haven't touched in years. "No, we're not."

"What?" You feel dumb for asking, because there's no way Hajime can be any clearer. You lift your gaze to his in the mirror, and you're not sure why you're surprised to find that his wide blue eyes are undoubtedly misty.

It might be because his voice is so even, and he's usually so sure of himself. But you're just as shaky as he is, and you know it's pure determination you read in his eyes, no matter how watery.

"No. I’ll step back at Bofurin. Let Hiragi and the other kings pick up what I can’t get to. Sakura, too." He's still unwavering. He’s the head of Furin, truly, and there’s no arguing with his declaration. "I’m not losing you because I can’t manage my time better."

"I don’t want you to pick between me and the town, Haji." You finally twist to face him, your arms wrapping around yourself. You're not yelling; you're not even sure you can yell at him. "That’s not fair to anyone."

You brush the pads of your fingers over the lower half of your face, palm pushing into your chin in an effort to choke down the sob you can steadily feel building. You don't want to break up with him, not in the slightest, but you can't keep feeling like his second choice all the time.

"Come here, please." He's still so certain of himself, with that confidence only the head of Bofurin can have. You inhale deeply and hold it, and then slowly cross your room so that you're standing between Umemiya's knees. His hands find yours, and his calluses are just as rough as they are familiar.

"I can't be that selfish," You plead, voice tight and watery. "But I can't be the second choice all the time."

"You won't be." He promises, moving one of your hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles, then set it on his shoulder. He repeats the process until his own hands are free and settling on your hips. "Not to me. Not anymore."

You frown, but you don't argue back. Not when he's never given you any reason to doubt his word, and definitely not when his hands slide down from your hips to the back of your knees. With a gentle tug, he's encouraging you to straddle his hips on the edge of your bed. It's not sexual, but the moment is charged with emotion.

"You told me the problem," He leans in close, your face inches apart. You're not sure when, but at some point your hands smoothed up from his shoulders to the sides of his face. Even when you're upset with him, there's no denying the pull he has on you. "Now let me prove to you that I can make a solution. One that works for everybody."

You sigh and close your eyes, pressing your forehead to his. Hajime doesn't try and rush you into an answer, and you can hear the genuine tone he's answered everything with. There's a quiet commitment screaming behind every word and action he's shown since the moment he saw you were upset.

"Can you promise me you'll make an effort to not cancel on me?" You sigh, eyes still closed. Hajime tenses underneath you, but his steady hands return to your waist and you know he's telling the truth.

"That is the easiest thing to promise," He swears. You can't help it any longer and give in to the urge to kiss him senseless. He returns the action without any hesitation, and you hope he knows how forgiven he is for something that he hadn't even realized he had been doing wrong. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

You huff out a laugh and wrap your arms firmly around Hajime's shoulders, leaning against his strong chest. He mimics your action, holding you close with his chin tucked into the space between your neck and shoulder.

"Yeah, I love you, too." You hum. There's a warm feeling in your chest that makes the tips of your fingers buzz, but then you remember the way you felt shortly after getting Hajime's message canceling lunch. "Just remember how much you love me when you talk to Kotoha next. She's kind of mad at you, too. I may have told her how you were postponing so much."

Hajime just laughs, sounding lighter than he had only moments earlier. You're grateful he's not upset with you at seemingly snitching on him to his sister.

"I'll make it up to her, too, then."

[pieklo]

Reblog daily for health and prosperity

[nondelphic]

how to spot a writer:

unhinged google search history

crying over fake people

owns 200 notebooks (they're all empty)

[meriwetherwrites]

probably on at least one watchlist for internet searches

unreasonable number of internet tabs open at one time

has the project they're working on and the project they SHOULD be working on

[hyperfixationstation111]

Want to make your characters more realistic? Here's some shit I've picked up over the years of reading and writing, just compiling it into a list for ease of reference

•Don't make your names thematically relevant

That's not to say don't give them time period accurate or common names, but if your character has had the same name their whole life, no changes or aliases, it's not likely their name will perfectly fit their personality or aesthetic! Parents have no way of knowing every aspect that will form a child's life, so maybe, if you have a character who wears bright red or dyes her hair bright red, don't name her Cherry, instead name her something that would be important/relevant to her parents!

•Give them a regional based flaw

Unless a character has been training their whole life for the situations you throw them in, they're unlikely to be prepared for everything. Not everyone has the opportunity to learn everything, so maybe have it so that if your character lived in a land-locked state/town/city, make it so they're a shit swimmer! Or if they grew up in the plains, maybe they can't climb a tree that well. Make them sensitive to cold if they're from a warm climate, or sensitive to heat if they're from a cold climate!

•Give them annoying traits

Have them be a kleptomaniac, even if they're the kind of person that doesn't like stealing, it's a subconscious thing and now they're walking out of someone's house with a random thing. Change it for their character! Do they bring it back and apologize? Do they just tuck it away in shame? Make them petty or spiteful, hold a grudge, etc!

•Give them realistic body functions

Make your characters snore! Or cackle when they laugh! Maybe they scrunch up awkwardly when someone pokes their ribs, maybe they're a nail biter, maybe they have dandruff!

Little details make your characters seem more personal, more like a human than words on a page, but if you don't want to, you can also just not listen to me! I have plenty of over powered, perfectly attractive characters that are purely for fun as well.

[kaity--did]

Listen to me. Listen to me. Listen to me. Listen to me.

I know there is a lot of discourse (tm) around this right now but listen to me

sometimes you do just have to lie to children.

[kaity--did]

If, when my toddler is, you know, toddling around saying “mama? Big ball?”

If I were lean down and say “unfortunately the big beach ball for some reason fills you with such an unadulterated rage that is beyond human comprehension that you scream until you pass out, so mama had to remove the beach ball from the premises until you can better regulate your emotions” she would simply stare at me like I had 3 heads full of equal betrayal.

So, for now, instead “big ball went night night!”

[kaity--did]

Please understand when I say “removed the ball from the premises” I mean I popped it in a fit of exhausted confusion. I murdered the beach ball.

See I’ve lied to you all too and it was better this way.

[inkloom]

you can’t just leave this in the tags etc.

[busket]

where is that cat with the kind and reassuring face

[charllahan]

he?

[busket]

thank you…..

[labeelart]

Geralt

[pfpanimes]

⌕ one piece • portgas d. ace.

like or reblog if you save/use. 🤍

[leodette]

When it suddenly crashes on you that it is real and not just a nightmare, and the dam of tears breaks 💔

[roguecurls]

guess I’m just gonna sit here and miss one direction for the rest of my life