#<-just musing About making them but still

[shouyuus]

sfw; human!jinu au

right but human!au jinu who's kind of a bastard when you first meet him because he was abandoned as a kid or something and is viciously insecure so he tries to keep his distance just to make sure he can never get hurt like that again, because so long as he keeps people at arm's length then they won't have the power to hurt him. uses his looks to fool around a bit in college, is pretty good at sports, so probably on the basketball team, builds up this reputation for being kind of a fuckboy jock, but you could've sworn you've seen him sitting by himself in the library, tucked into the corner table, humming to himself, so quietly that he probably doesn't think anyone can hear.

who meets your eyes sometimes in the dining commons and you can see the facade flicker, just for a moment.

"the library's closing soon."

he jolts awake, jerking up, wincing as his cheek unsticks itself from a page in his music theory textbook. he blinks up at you for a solid three seconds before he gathers himself enough for words --

"-- shit, sorry uh --" he grabs at his papers and books, trying to shove them into his bag even as you drop into the seat next to him, cocking your head as you watch.

"that was a joke," you say, completely straight-faced, "you know that the library doesn't actually close, right?"

jinu freezes; the tips of his ears are a vivid, burning red.

a tiny grin twitches at the corner of your lips.

he turns back to face you, a frown dug deep between his brows.

"and who're you again?"

you reach into your bag and tug out a stack of papers and a red pen. he eyes it with mild curiosity.

"i'm the ta for that music theory class you've been 'auditing' for nearly an entire semester," you answer, jerking your chin towards the textbook still peaking out of his bag.

the heat works it's way into his cheeks till he's red down to the roots of his hair. he clears his throat, grasps for something to say but he comes up empty. so he settles for frowning a bit harder and crossing his arms, staring as you start to mark up the papers.

"you've got a good voice y'know." you don't look up.

jinu jumps so hard his knee bangs into the table. he hisses with pain, curling into the chair as you glance up.

"ow -- fuck!"

you blink at him as he sighs, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

"you should just take the class if you want to that badly."

"whatever."

"i mean, i could kick you out," you muse, dropping your eyes back to the papers, "technically, you're not allowed to 'audit' a class for more than the first month but since i'm the one who takes attendance..." you trail off.

jinu scoffs, "right. cool. so what is it? what'dya want? front row seats to the big game next week? abby's number? a date with me?" he smirks.

you cock an eyebrow, "i... think i'll pass... on all the above, thanks. why're you so cagey about taking a music theory class, anyway?"

jinu stares at you for a moment before shrugging, "'s just not... on brand for... someone like me, y'know?"

your eyebrows ascend the planes of your forehead as you deadpan at him. he withers slightly, scratching at the back of his head, tugging on the strings of his hoodie, his eyes flickering across the table like a frantic dragonfly, uncertain of the waters below.

"on... brand?" you prompt.

at this, jinu sighs, slumping back in his seat and casting his eyes towards the ceiling.

"it's just -- the team'd probably -- i dunno -- make fun of me or something if they found out --"

you frown, "who cares about that?"

jinu flicks his eyes at you, "i do -- they're kinda my friends."

"doesn't really sound like friends if you can't even take a music class without them judging you."

jinu rolls his eyes, "yeah well... they're the only friends i've got so."

you resume your grading, "not the only friends."

jinu huffs out a breath, "really? and who else --" but he cuts off as soon as you glance up to meet his eyes.

you watch as his cheeks mottle with color and he chews on his bottom lip. after another churning, thickening silence, he asks --

"why're you doing this?"

you sigh, putting down your pen.

"like i said, you've got a nice voice. and you seem to really like the class. i just think that you'd do well in it, that's all."

"that's... really all?"

you nod. a soft, disbelieving smile ghosts across his lips. it looks strange on him, like his muscles don't quite remember what it's like to do such a thing without an ulterior motive.

his eyes flicker from the papers to your face. the little smile tugs into a much more practiced grin, his eyebrows quirking into his signature smolder.

"so. you gonna gimme the pop quiz questions for class tomorrow morning?"

you rap him on the forehead with your red pen.

"don't push it."

jinu laughs, the sound deep and charming.

"c'mooooon. i thought we were friends, hm?" his smile is devious and wide and altogether way too roguish.

you bite down the heat slowly working it's way up your neck and recompose yourself as you go back to your grading.

"but i could be convinced into helping you study for it. because that's what friends are supposed to do."

jinu's smile flickers for a second before it settles into something a bit softer, a bit sadder, and he nods.

"yeah... yeah, i think i can live with that."

[manoemane]

ChatGPT can be a useful tool when you know how to use it. I've used it to write a 50 pages assigment to validate a diploma, once and I still use it ocasionnally at work.

As OP said, you can't use it to think for you. It cant' research because it doesn't know how to sort the valid and serious sources and informations from the trash.

It can however break the blank page syndrome for you. I struggle a lot with it even when I know exactly what I want to say.

So, once I did all my researches and drew my own conclusions for it, I wrote everything as a list (anonymizing and changing key informations so to not diffuses any private informations).

For each chapter, I asked chatGPT to write paragraphs with all the informations in the list. I then went back and corrected everything, deleted repetitions and weird sentences.

It's just a tool to work more efficiently. At work I often have legal documents or small articles to write and I don't have time to muse about the tone and the wording. So I ask chatGPT to write me a template with the informations in want to say, and I correct after.

Again, it can't think for me, it can't research and it certainly can't be critical. It's not an AI like we imagine it. It doesn't have opinions besides the ones it compiled, it can't be critical about what it's saying. It's just extremely fast at searching templates ans similar works and mash them together.

In the same way an artist can buy premade paints instead of each ingredients and painstakingly make their own paint one by one, an Ai can cut the "preparation" time of your writing. But it can't take your imagination and translating on a canva for you.

it's so fucking frustrating to be in college and know everyone uses chatgpt and to be tempted by it constantly while also knowing intellectually that it doesn't work and it's a bad idea. like, i hang out in the library a lot, and i see people using chatgpt on assignments almost every day. and i know it isn't a good way to learn, because it's not really "artificial intelligence" so much as it is an auto text generator. and it gives you wrong information or badly worded sentences all the time. but every week i stare down assignments i don't want to do and i think man. if only i could type this prompt into a text generator and have it done in 10 minutes flat. and i know it wouldn't work. it wouldn't synthesize information from the text the way professors want, it wouldn't know how to answer questions, it just spits out vaguely related words for a couple paragraphs. but knowing my classmates get their work done in 10 minutes flat with it while i fight every ounce of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder in my body is infuriating.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

His Soul Living On | Yandere HUNTR/X

She felt the droplets before she bothered to see their source. 

It was the dead of night. Another successful performance and she was happy to be back home. Happy to curl into the undone sheets she left behind, a silent invitation to return to the only reprieve from…all of it. 

While the city glowed with a menagerie of individual lights the golden barrier of the Honmoon glowed above it all. Instilling a peacefulness that Rumi felt was so long sought after. Rubbing her arms, tracing the marks along them with a newfound appreciation. Still, it felt….incomplete without him here. At night she was plagued with visions of the demon. Haunting as they were mesmerizing, always lulling her into those meetings where she was free with him. Before dropping her into the warm but harsh concrete of reality. 

Jin was gone but she was free. Accepted by herself and her friends, soaring higher in the idol space, and having fewer demons appearing than ever before she should be happy. She should be full. 

But like the night that bird with a hat appeared on her balcony. It’s what’s least expected that opens the door to the part of her heart she keeps sealed away. 

“You knew him, yes?”

It was the dead of night. The sun is long gone. The other parts of Hunter/x are all fast asleep by now. Her sheets are lightly damp with sweat and the wetness on her cheeks isn’t solely because of her. 

Floating above, in the space between the ceiling and her bed is you. Half of your body lightly curled from the blue ring of a familiar portal. Defying all laws of gravity as none of your clothes or hair sag. The marks on your skin are like hers glowing golden and your eyes amber as any demons are filled with tears. 

It’s second nature for her to reach up. To hold a face filled with tears for the one she hasn’t stopped grieving. It didn’t matter that Mira and Zoey bought tubs of ice cream or played break-up songs on her off days. 

It hurt. 

And the hardest thing about mourning is when you’re doing it by yourself. Only then when you escape the neat platitudes that come with loss are you forced to confront it—accept it. For Rumi, it’s the hardest thing to do and while it’s no comfort that someone’s in pain like her, she’s happy to not be the only one. 

Without thinking she pulls the rest of you out of the portal, holding you tight as she settles back into her bed. Barely detaching herself to pull at the duvet engulfing the both of you in the warmth of puffy cotton. 

Stay here. 

The words are unspoken as she hugs you tight and you return it. Both of you giving into the pull of peaceful slumber. 

Nightmares spare you both for the night.

______________________________________________________________

The coming morning is awkward. It’s natural that she wakes bright and early to abide by her skin routine, forgoing the makeup for the day off. Turning to her bed to make it neat only to remember why a demon with tussled hair is staring back at her. 

“Who are you?!”

“How’d you get in here?”

“Where’d you get those earrings?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

The questions come fast and so do their faces. Barely allowing you a hair of difference as they inspect you like the mystery you seem to be. Rumi lets them, curious herself and allowing herself to rule out every situation that this could be. 

A hole in the Honmoon?!

Another iteration of Gwi-Ma?!

A new demon risen to power strong enough to tear a hole throught the HONMOON!?

“Uh Rumi your making that face again,” Mira mused picking at the plate of uneaten food in front of you.”

“W-what there’s no face!”

“Uh yeah, it’s the face where you like totally overanalyze something and you don’t want to share.”

Zoey ended with a pout as if reminding Rumi of her all too recent past of omitting her feelings. Their lead sighs before sitting down next to you, grabbing at the hands that were gingerly holding chopsticks before.

“Okay, can you please just tell us who you are and why you’ve come.”

For a moment you just stare at her, making her think for a moment you don’t speak the same language but then you lean back. 

Taking an audible intake of air you speak.

“I used to know Jin he was my friend…he protected me from Gwi Ma for a long time.”

They all look at you with their jaws dropped. You shrink into yourself.

“Wow, you like have a really pretty sounding voice even though you’re super quiet.” 

“Yeah you almost sound like an angel!”

You shrivel at the compliments. Rumi squeezes your hand bringing your attention back to her. 

“So he protected you, is that why you’re here because he’s…” She doesn’t finish her sentence with you she knew she didn’t need to.

“No. More like I’m finally doing what he told me to.”

“And what was that?”

“To learn who I really am,” you trailed off looking skeptically at the idols hanging off your every word,” with…him?” 

They all share a loud “WHAAATTT?” Before reeling it back. Mira was the first to question turning your chair in her direction.

“Wait so Jinu told you to go learn who you are with him?”

You nodded. 

Zoey scooted closer, “So this had to be pretty far in the past. Maybe an old promise he made! Like a hundred years ago or something, right?”

“He made it before he died.”

The team was in a craze. Openly theory-crafting about what this meant. Perhaps Jinu thought he’d be free to do as he pleased once Gwi Ma won so that’s why? But that didn’t make sense considering Rumi felt he’d always planned to help. It was a mess.

“I GOT IT!”

You jumped at Rumi’s declaration while her teammates leaned in both of them tapping their fingers for an imaginary drumroll.  “Jinu said that because he was planning to use his soul to help Huntr/x beat Gwi Ma so he means us! So we’re supposed to carry on the mission of helping them find themselves!” 

“Hm, that does sound like the actions of the heartthrob you fell in love with.” “ZOEY!”

“But how do we know that we wouldn’t kill them on the spot we are hunters after all

“I don’t know…I guess he just knew”

From that day forward, Huntr/x takes you under their wing. Showing you the casual comforts of everyday life you seem so unfamiliar with. Talking with you more they discovered you were similar to Rumi in in that you weren’t fully a demon. Able to live among humans and not crave their souls.

It was easy to appoint you as Bobby’s assistant, learning from him the ins and outs of the business while discovering how vast the world is. Stuck in the demon realm for most of your life, you’d never seen much of the world. 

It was on their world tour that Rumi watched your eyes light up at the sight of the Honmoon. Just as elated as they are to see a world filled with fans’ joy protecting the world from the demons that threaten it. It’s here, bathing in the afterglow of a successful performance that she feels as though she’s reached it. The high she had with Jinu, continued well into the night as you joined them on their relaxed nightly patrol. Laughing as you try to outrun Zoey across the rooftops of Japan. She feels as though this is what he gave his soul to her for.

To witness the blossom he’s protected bloom under the caring hands of Huntr/x. This is her perfection, her fulfillment and she won’t ever stop accepting that this life is all hers. 

__________________________________________________________

“I’m going to America!” 

You had shouted over victory ramyeun. Incurring the turning heads of everyone in Hunter/x and the steady slurping coming to a stop. Unbothered you finish slurping yours before going for the rest of the minute-ready broth. The ramyeun cup slowly turns up blocking your view of the shocked faces looking at each other across from you. 

By the time your broth was gone and you were looking at them all again, they had wide insincere smiles on their faces. None the wiser, thanks to your lack of social-awareness you smile back taking their response as pride in you.

“One of the managers from that collaboration gave me a call, and said I could maybe join the team and learn the ropes from them.”

Mira was struggling, “So how do you plan to…live out there? You don’t exactly have any money.”

“Oh she said she’d take care of it, said she’d also help me make a bank account too.”

“Wow,” Zoey’s eye is twitching and so is her smile,” how…generous.”

Rumi takes the initiative scooting closer on the couch to you as if proximity would make you reconsider the offer.

“You know we don’t feel burdened by you at all!”

She gestured to the group, “We’ve all really enjoyed having you with us, and if you want you can keep staying with us!”

The team was smiling for real, their sincerity shown in the joy in their eyes. Because like Rumi, they accept her, they accept you for all that you are. All that Jinu meant to protect.

“Thanks but I think I’m going to take the job. Bobby thinks I should too, said he’s worried about me taking his job one day.”

You continue raving about the manager you met, the group she manages, and all the things you heard of from another place you’d never explored. Accepting their too-wide smiles, their twitching eyes, and the violent crushing of empty Ramyeun cups. 

Completely unaware of the upset you’d created. 

Rumi didn’t mind.

She could fix this. 

Just like with Jinu.

She has a plan.

_____________________________________________________

“Welcome to the Blue Table: Live with Laura Singh! Today we have all of Hunter/x tonight to talk about the latest album: Living On! Good evening to you all!”

��Hey everyone.”

“Hiiii!”

“‘Sup!”

“....Hi.”

“Now let’s get into all the hot new buzz about Hunter/x’s biggest update. An all-new member to the infamously adored trio! So what’s it like to join this legendary group?”

The new member looks surprised, turning to the live audience eagerly waiting and to the members of their team on each side of them.

“It’s really…awesome!”

The audience erupts with cheers and applause. The host smiles widely and waits for the audience’s praise to die down before she asks her next question. 

“So tell me (Y/n) what made you join this group? Some might say that this trio didn’t need anyone else, what do you say to that?”

The audience leans in like the host, all of them eagerly awaiting the response to such a long-anticipated question. Socials were blowing up with more and more people streaming biting at their nails to hear what the response.

The new member stutters, frantic eyes looking at their members. Rumi dutifully steps in,”(Y/n) is a little nervous but we’ve all accepted them as a part of our family and we hope you do too!”

The audience coos.

“Yeah,” Mira smiles at the camera,” this family sticks together and we couldn’t have made the latest album without them.”

The crowds swoon.

Zoe strikes a pose,”(Y/n) was destined to be a part of us Hunters and I think we can all agree there’s no better role for them than right here.”

She pulls everyone in for a hug, with you right in the middle.

The fans watching frantically clip the moment, reposting immediately to their socials and into their editing software. 

“Uh, I guess to answer the question myself the role kind of…snuck up on me?”

Zoey casually flicks the back of your neck, which makes you straighten your posture. Sending a smirk your way, Singh watches with amazement. 

“Our gwiyeoun hubae is still learning! So give them some time to learn the ropes.”

Mira hums, “ Yeah because this baby has a lot to learn.”

As casually as ever the choreographer kisses your cheek leaving a maroon stain that makes the new idol’s cheeks burn.

Singh faints and there’s a cut to the commercial. TV ratings skyrocket. The internet is blowing up. The Network makes an exception to cut commercials early to get a final winning snapshot of the Huntr/x group all gathering around their new member.

“Please accept our hubae! We’ve decided they’ll be living on in our souls and by our sides and in our songs forever.”

[4barbatos]

✦ disorders of 5wirl

what it’s like dating them through dysfunction, delusion, and decay.

cw: mental illness, emotional manipulation, self-harm, suicidal ideation, alcohol abuse, grief, trauma, gaslighting, toxic relationships, codependency, modern au, hurt no comfort.

a/n: i’m not a professional, and i don’t claim to perfectly represent any of the mental illnesses in this fic. i did my best to research each one, but a lot of it is also based on my own behavior, thoughts, and experiences — which makes this deeply personal to me TT i’m sorry in advance if it hurts to read. it hurt to write, too </3

venti – alcohol dependency + persistent depressive disorder (dysthymia)

he’s drunk when you pick him up from work.

again.

his manager texts you with something polite — “venti had a rough day again, would you mind…” — and you already know what that means. you don’t ask for details anymore. you just grab your keys and go.

he’s outside the building when you get there, sprawled across the front steps, a bottle in a brown paper bag clutched to his chest like a comfort blanket. he sees you and lights up like a child.

“my ride has arrived,” he slurs, pushing himself to his feet and swaying like a dandelion in the wind.

he leans into you, all dead weight and dizzy warmth, humming something tuneless, something about heartbreak and sky-colored dreams. he reeks of rum and bad decisions. you steady him without a word.

“i’m fine,” he says on the ride home, head on your shoulder. “just a little drink. i’m just… poetic when i’m tipsy, you know?”

you’ve heard that one before.

you’ve watched him drink through an entire bottle of wine before noon. you’ve had to carry him to the shower while he laughed and mumbled lyrics into your collarbone. you’ve held his hand in the emergency room after he fell down the stairs, pupils blown wide, breath soaked in tequila.

you don’t believe him anymore. but you still nod. because the alternative is asking him to stop, and watching him fall apart even faster.

he calls it his “muse.” you call it his slow death.

you’ve seen him sober, but it’s rare. brief. like a comet in the sky — bright, brilliant, and gone before you can hold onto it. he’s gentler when he’s clear-headed. softer. quieter. sadder.

sometimes he sings in his sleep. sometimes he cries. sometimes he stares at the ceiling for hours, eyes dry, lips moving like he’s praying — to who, you don’t know. he hasn’t believed in gods for a long time.

his apartment is littered with empty bottles and notebooks.

the bottles get recycled. the notebooks don’t.

he leaves them open, like he wants you to read them. and you do, even when it hurts.

his handwriting gets shakier the more he drinks — sometimes whole lines slant sideways across the page. sometimes the ink is smudged with tears. sometimes you can’t tell the difference.

one morning, you find one sitting on the kitchen counter, still warm with the shape of his hand. the last line reads:

“i’m sorry you had to love a corpse with a heartbeat.”

you tear the page out. quietly. you fold it and tuck it into your pocket, hands shaking.

he never asks where it went. and you never bring it up.

instead, you kiss his forehead when he stumbles in at 3am, breath sour with gin, cheeks flushed. you hold him as he collapses into your arms like a child. he sighs against your neck and says,

“you’re the only thing that makes the world feel less loud.”

but it’s not love. it’s dependency. inertia. decay.

and you don’t know if he’s killing himself on purpose anymore — or if he’s just given up trying not to.

xiao – depression + complex ptsd

he doesn’t speak unless spoken to. he doesn’t touch you unless you touch him first. even then — it’s hesitant. fragile. like he’s afraid he might break you just by existing.

being with xiao feels like trying to hold fog in your hands. he’s there. and then he’s not. you reach for him, and he lets you — but only barely. only long enough for your heart to start hoping before the silence settles in again like dust.

he never says i love you unless you say it first. he never texts first. never asks if you’re okay. never initiates anything beyond presence.

he just exists. on the edge of your bed, in the corner of a room, near you — but never really with you.

you ask him, sometimes, why he disappears.

he shrugs. looks down. fingers clench in his sleeves like he’s trying to fold himself smaller.

“i didn’t want to be a burden.”

he says it like it’s a fact. like that’s just what he is.

he vanishes for days at a time. no calls. no warning. sometimes he turns his phone off completely. sometimes he leaves it behind. you panic. you spiral. you sit by the door with your heart in your throat, waiting for a knock that doesn’t come.

and when he returns — it’s quiet. like it never happened.

sometimes he looks like he’s been in a fight. bruises on his knuckles. cuts on his cheek. dried blood under his nails. he never explains.

you ask, “where were you?” he answers, “walking.”

you ask, “are you okay?” he answers, “i’m here, aren’t i?”

you start to wonder if he’s trying to die.

you don’t say it out loud. but it clings to the silence like smoke.

he never cries. never yells. never breaks. he just carries this still, heavy sadness everywhere he goes — like it’s welded to his spine.

he stands in the doorway after each vanishing act, face pale, hair damp from rain or sweat or grief, and says,

“sorry. i didn’t mean to make you worry.”

like it’s not the tenth time this month.

like you didn’t think you’d have to identify him in a morgue. like you didn’t sit on the bathroom floor at 2am, shaking, wondering if loving him is the same as bleeding out slowly with your hands tied behind your back.

he tells you you’re too good to him. he tells you he doesn’t deserve this. he tells you not to wait for him if it gets too hard.

but then he clings to you in the middle of the night — softly. like it’s accidental. like it hurts him to need you.

you feel it when he breathes: the guilt, the numbness, the way his ribs tremble when your fingers brush over his scars.

he never says thank you. he never says stay.

but he looks at you like you’re the last light left in a world that’s long since burned.

and you stay. because you don’t know how to walk away from someone who already believes they’re gone.

heizou – persistent complex bereavement disorder + obsessive traits

he loves you like he’s afraid you’ll die.

not just leave — die. vanish. disappear. go cold like the last person he loved. like the boy with bright eyes and a sharper mind who bled out because heizou was twenty minutes too late.

he doesn’t say his name anymore. he doesn’t have to. you see him in the way he checks your location ten times a day. you hear him in the silence after every argument. you feel him in the way he panics if your phone rings twice without an answer.

he doesn’t call it trauma. he calls it “being prepared.” calls it “rational.” calls it “not making the same mistake twice.”

he keeps track of everything. every password. every safe word. every route you take to work. he memorizes your calendar and reminds you to eat at 2:15pm exactly. he checks the locks twice before bed, then again after you fall asleep.

you say, “this isn’t healthy.” he says, “you think being dead is healthier?”

his voice never rises. he’s never cruel. but there’s a steeliness in him — something inflexible. obsessive. something that says: “i already lost one person. i won’t lose another.”

and the truth is, he doesn’t trust the world. doesn’t trust you. not to survive. not to stay safe. not to stay.

you try to love him gently. he doesn’t know what to do with gentle.

you reach for him in the morning — he flinches. not because he’s afraid of you, but because he’s afraid of comfort. because it feels wrong to be held when someone else is six feet under because of him.

he won’t let you touch the box in the back of his closet. you do, once. it’s full of old newspaper clippings and case notes and a photo printed so many times it’s starting to fade.

you confront him.

he doesn’t get angry. he just goes quiet. quieter than usual.

“he was my friend,” he says. and then, softer: “i think he would’ve been yours, too.”

you ask if he’s ever let himself grieve.

he laughs. just once. hollow.

“this is me grieving.”

he doesn’t believe he deserves happiness. he tells you that sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep.

“you should be with someone normal.” “you’d be safer without me.” “i think i’m just keeping you here to punish myself.”

you reach for him. he lets you. but his shoulders stay tense. his hands stay cold.

loving heizou feels like wrapping your arms around barbed wire and pretending it doesn’t cut you.

you tell him, “you’re not broken.”

he whispers, “then why do i bleed on everything i touch?”

and you don’t have an answer. so you just hold him tighter. and pray he doesn’t vanish into his grief before you do.

kazuha – self-harm (cutting) + dysthymia + avoidant personality disorder

you stopped asking about the bandages months ago.

they show up in the laundry sometimes — clean gauze, stained edges. rolled too neatly for accidents. they’re always on his forearms. left wrist more than right. layered under his sweaters, always hidden, but never that well.

he never flinches when you look. he just smiles. soft. tired. unreadable.

“don’t worry,” he says, like that’s ever worked. “they’re old.”

but you touch his arm one night, gently — just a brush of fingertips — and he inhales too sharply to be casual. you pull back like you’ve touched fire. he laughs it off and kisses your forehead.

you don’t sleep.

his poetry never helps either. it’s beautiful. it’s haunting. it’s the only time he ever tells the truth. you read the drafts left on the kitchen counter, in the notes app, in the corners of receipts and torn envelopes. they always end the same:

“i want to vanish like the last light of dusk.” “some things weren’t made to stay.” “even the wind knows when to let go.”

you memorize them. just in case.

you don’t find out how bad it really is until you catch him by accident. bathroom door unlocked. early morning. you weren’t supposed to be awake.

he doesn’t hear you at first — he’s too focused. sleeves rolled up, blade against his skin, methodical and quiet like he’s brushing dust from a shelf. no panic. no mess. just another routine.

when you whisper his name, he looks up.

he doesn’t hide it. he doesn’t apologize. he just says, “i thought you were asleep.”

his voice is so calm it terrifies you.

you don’t yell. you just kneel beside him, hands trembling, trying to take the razor away without breaking the fragile stillness between you. he lets you. not because he wants to, but because you look like you’re about to fall apart.

“i don’t do it because i want to die.”

you ask him what he does want. he doesn’t answer.

you beg him to let you help. he says, “i don’t want to be a burden.” you say he’s not. he doesn’t believe you.

after that, he disappears more often.

not for long — a day, two, sometimes three. no goodbye. no explanation. just silence.

you learn the patterns. when you cry, when you raise your voice, when you say you’re scared — that’s when he leaves. not out of cruelty. out of fear.

he doesn’t know how to be needed. he doesn’t know how to exist without apologizing for it.

he always comes back. quiet, sheepish, empty-eyed.

sometimes with flowers. sometimes with food. sometimes with a poem folded in half and slipped into your hand like a confession.

“i’m sorry. it won’t happen again.”

you both know it will.

but he smiles like he means it. and you smile back, because loving kazuha feels like holding your breath underwater — peaceful. delicate. just painful enough to ignore.

you start doing everything more gently.

you knock before entering rooms. you lower your voice even when you’re upset. you stop crying where he can see you.

you shrink yourself so he doesn’t run.

and still — he runs.

you stay. because he needs you. because he’s beautiful when he’s hurting. because you don’t know where your sadness ends and his begins anymore.

and somewhere deep down, you think: maybe if you’re soft enough, small enough, safe enough — he’ll stop trying to disappear.

but he never does.

and you keep pretending that’s not killing you.

scaramouche – borderline personality disorder + emotional dysregulation

your phone rings at 2:37am.

you don’t even look. you already know who it is. it’s always him. always at this hour. always when you’ve just drifted into sleep deep enough to feel safe.

five calls in a row. then a voicemail. then a text: “please don’t leave me. please. please. please.”

you’re up before you can think. shoes on. jacket over your pajamas. keys shaking in your hand. there’s no logic anymore — just instinct, panic, guilt that blooms fast and poisonous in your gut.

because what if this is the time he means it? what if he’s hurt? what if you don’t answer and he —

you don’t let yourself finish the thought.

his apartment door is unlocked. you rush in, breathless, heart in your throat. and there he is. on the couch. dry-eyed. perfectly calm. laughing at some trashy late-night reality show, wrapped in a blanket he stole from your place weeks ago.

he looks up like nothing happened. like he didn’t just drag you out of bed with a near-suicidal panic attack. like he didn’t just twist the knife in your chest for fun.

“you made it,” he says, grinning. “knew you would.”

you don’t speak. you just stand there, soaking wet from the rain, mascara smudged under your eyes, your breath caught somewhere between a scream and a sob.

he pats the couch. “c’mere.”

you do. because of course you do.

being with scaramouche is like weathering a storm that never ends. no warning. no pattern. just destruction. you used to try and read him — map the triggers, trace the moods. now you just flinch when the wind changes.

sometimes he loves you so hard you can’t breathe.

he cups your face and says you’re the only good thing in the world. he kisses you like he’s starving. he texts you twenty-five times in an hour to ask if you’re still thinking about him. if you still love him. if you’re sure.

and sometimes —

sometimes he looks at you like you disgust him. like you’re a joke. like you’re a traitor just for needing five minutes of space.

“you’re obsessed with making everything about yourself.” “stop acting like i’m abusing you.” “you think you’re better than me? then leave. go ahead. just like everyone else did.”

you used to argue. now, you just sit there. you’ve learned the hard way that defending yourself is blood in the water.

he accuses. he spirals. he weeps.

you get good at patching him together. you stop patching yourself.

he’s already reaching for you now, wrapping himself around you, arms clutching too tightly like if he lets go you’ll vanish. his voice breaks into your shoulder.

“don’t let me ruin this too. please. i’m trying. i swear i’m trying.”

he is. and he isn’t. he wants to get better. but only if it doesn’t hurt. only if it doesn’t mean giving up the parts of you he feeds on.

he cries and you wipe his tears. he rages and you take it. he threatens to die and you believe him every single time.

and when it’s quiet again, when he’s breathing soft against your neck and the chaos has burned itself out, he says:

“you’re still here. i knew you would be.”

like that’s proof you love him. like your survival instinct isn’t dead.

and it is. because deep down, you already know:

he’s going to do this again. tomorrow. next week. the next time he feels hollow and furious and terrified and too full of love to hold it right.

he doesn't mean to hurt you. but he doesn't know how not to. and you don't know how to stop letting him.

you keep calling it love. maybe it is. maybe it's just what love looks like when neither of you knows how to survive it.

[silentcaps]

Before you they never…

tags: hurt/comfort, soft, relationship

cast: albedo, venti, noelle, rosaria, xinyan, tartaglia x reader

side b: baizhu, beidou, bennett, diluc, kazuha, mona

ALBEDO

Before your relationship, he never asked anyone to pose for him. Albedo used to paint landscapes, standing on snowy mountain slopes, leaving rough sketches in his notebook next to his lab notes.

But he wants to draw you all the time now. Against a sunset or a night lake, busy or resting on the bed, dressed or not. Albedo admires you like an artist does a muse he's been searching for.

And it’s not about appearance. He catches how you bite your lip when you’re thinking. How you fidget with the hem of your shirt when you’re nervous. How you fix your hair out of habit, even when it’s not in your eyes. He sketches those little things too. In a separate album, carefully, like he’s documenting them.

And sometimes he asks, “I need to draw you again.” But you can see it in his eyes — he doesn’t need to. He just wants to create with you.

VENTI

Before your relationship, he never wanted to stay. And now Venti catches himself thinking that freedom doesn’t feel as easy to breathe in as it used to. Without you, he can’t breathe at all.

He starts staying the night — falling asleep on the hard couch and saying it’s comfortable. Tries to make breakfast. Picks wildflowers and brings them to you. Settles in with you.

At first, it scares him, and Venti disappears into bars. Alcohol always used to help, but now it tastes bitter. He could’ve thought you cast a spell on him, but this wanderer trusts you more than he trusts himself.

Venti doesn’t know if this will work out — he knows his own nature. But for the first time, he’s not afraid to try. And he doesn’t run.

NOELLE

Before your relationship, Noelle only knew love from books. In them, people confessed right away, fights vanished within a chapter, and the characters understood each other without a word.

Real life turned out differently. You argued — sometimes even shouted. Learned to listen, to give in, to forgive. In those moments, Noelle looked away, and it seemed like she wanted to give up. To go back to the fairy tale where love didn’t hurt.

But she still kept your gifts in a neat little box. She even saved small things: a dried flower from the first bouquet, a theater ticket, notes scribbled on scraps of paper.

And in her journal, she wrote:

“I don’t know how it’s supposed to be. In books, it’s different. But if we’re together — I’ll manage.”

ROSARIA

Before your relationship, Rosaria had never prayed for someone else out of her own free will. Her faith had always been hollow — nothing more than a habit drilled into her by elders.

Now, when you set off on a journey, she kneels in the cold temple. In a whisper, almost angrily, she begs Barbatos to keep you safe.

“Let them come back. I won’t ask for anything else.”

She hates how her clenched fists tremble. Hates that there’s someone she’s afraid to lose.

But if she stops praying — there’ll be nothing left but panic.

XINYAN

Before your relationship, Xinyan had never dedicated a song to anyone.

Not because she didn’t write — quite the opposite. She had dozens of drafts and lines scribbled on scraps of paper. But every time, at the last minute, she threw them out. No one was supposed to know who’d made a home in her heart.

But now — she stayed up all night, finishing the chords, wrote the guitar riff herself, poured every feeling into the lyrics. She’d worked on it so hard.

And now she’s looking at you from the stage — finds you instantly in the crowd, just by your eyes and silhouette, could never mistake you for anyone else — and sings, no smile on her face, with raw honesty in her voice:

“Baby, what are you doing? You know you can always come to me.”

TARTAGLIA

Before your relationship, he’d never introduced anyone to his family. Sure, Tartaglia had had girlfriends, but it never got that far. So your arrival in their home is a real event.

His mother sets the table, his father puts on his best clothes, the younger ones calm down. They’re more nervous than you are, and Tartaglia — he’s just happy.

He introduces everyone by name. Wraps an arm around your shoulders, serves you food himself, pointing out the juiciest piece on the plate. Gives a full tour of the childhood bedroom. Offers you a toy he carved from wood.

Then his family pulls you into conversation, and to your surprise, you learn that before your relationship, there were many things Tartaglia “never did.”

He never let anyone talk while fishing. Never wrapped someone in his scarf during a snowstorm. Never taught anyone how to shoot or fence. And never shared so much of himself with anyone.

[breakmeoff]

A Whole New World

featuring: seo changbin x fem!reader warnings: swearing, SMUT: fingering (f. receiving), unprotected p in v, exhibitionism. MDNI, 18+ only* word count: 1.7k synopsis: taking a much needed break from tour, changbin takes his girlfriend to epcot to attempt at drinking around the world. however, when binnie stands right behind you on an escalator and gets a close-up view under your short dress, his brain short circuits and he decides to take you on a trip to the true happiest place on earth. note: please forgive my geographically incorrect description of Epcot and its walkways/paths/"hidden" areas - I have been there but this is a fic and my make-believe world lol. this is part of the Larie's Libations 200 Followers Celebration. this was a request by my lovely anon reader 🫧, whose selection is listed below. thank you for reading! LARIE'S LIBATIONS - The Thrillseeker [Gin] — Seo Changbin [Sours] — Dealer's Choice (Epcot World Pavillion) [Citrus Rind] — Kink (Exhibitionism) Masterlist

“Woman, are you trying to kill me?”  Changbin asked frantically, moving up a step on the escalator to stand up closer behind you.  

Once he had heard that the SKZ tour was going to take them to Orlando, he immediately started planning one of his days off to go to DisneyWorld.  The idea of Drinking Around the World seemed like a great time, though when he told you about it, you insisted on going with him.  Someone needed to keep an eye on your easily-excited boyfriend and not let him get too carried away in all 12 of the different countries.

“What are you talking about?”  You asked, peering over your shoulder to see him right up against your back.

“Your dress is so short!”  His fingers went to the hem of your skater-style dress, and tugged on it, feebly attempting to pull it down longer to cover more of your ass.

“Binnie!”  You laughed, swatting at his hand just before you stepped off the top of the escalator, now on the flat upper floor with him beside you.  “Stoppit, it’s fine!”

Still protectively standing beside you, he dropped his hand to block your backside though unnecessarily  “Then tell me why I saw your bare cheeks!”  Leaning closer to you, he whispered against your ear.  “Nice pink thong by the way.”

Hearing his accurate assessment of your undergarments, you gasped lightly and dropped your cozy sweater off your shoulders to hang off the crook of your arms, effectively making it longer than the bottom of your dress.  “Oh shit, you could see that?”  

Changbin chuckled at your honest shock and began lightly rubbing your lower back as you began walking through the crowd of people meandering alongside you as you left the borders of the French Pavillion and entered Morocco.

“Yeah, the little bow on the top was a nice touch,” he mused, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at you.  “I’d prefer you save that just for my eyes only next time though.”

Having started your trek in Canada and choosing to traverse counter-clockwise around the World Showcase Lagoon, Changbin had already consumed his first four drinks of the day, which you attempted to help him with - though the glass of Champagne he’d purchased in France was absconded and polished off by you, barely having given him a sip of his own beverage.

With a small giggle, you hip-checked him and followed him as he led you over towards the next drink kiosk, both of you eyeing one of the Frozen Mint Teas to help cool you down from the early summer Florida humidity.

After he’d purchased you each one of the cocktails, you began meandering the blue-tiled facades and Moorish style archways, providing much needed shade and a quiet area to take a short break in.  Finding an open spot on a nearby bench, you both sat down and began sipping at your teas.  

Shifting to get more comfortable, you slung your long legs over Changbin’s lap and leaned sideways against the back of the bench behind you.  With the straw between his lips and having previously been looking aimlessly around the courtyard, he took a slow sip of his drink once he felt the pressure of your legs drape across his lap.  Arching a single eyebrow at you all comfortable against and on top of him.  “Can I help you?”

“My legs hurt, Binnie.” You said, wiggling them a little bit on top of his lap.  Sitting up straighter, he shifted in his position and readjusted the front of his shorts.  “Shoot, be careful like that… you almost got me.”  He mumbled, pushing your legs just an inch further down his thighs and further from the center of his body.

You snickered a little, watching him get a tiny bit flustered.  “What’s the problem… I thought you liked it when I cuddled with you?” you teased, shifting your leg closest to his torso to hover over his crotch more intentionally, and draping your arm on the back of the bench around his shoulder loosely.  

“If you aren’t careful you’re gonna get a rise out of me and we’re in public…” he muttered through clenched teeth.  His hand nearest you fell to the top of one of your plush thighs, and inched his fingertips just under the hem of your dress.  

Dropping your eyes to his hand now creeping up your leg, then back up to his face, you smirked.  “I thought we were in public, Bin…” 

Feeling a little more bold, his hand kept sliding up further, nudging his way discretely between your thighs.  Reaching the apex of your legs, he lightly caressed the tip of his middle finger against the damped fabric of your thong right above your core, a low groan rumbling through his chest.  “Yeah but… it seems you don’t mind?  Showing off your butt to everyone and their mother and getting wet over it?”

Glancing around out of the corner of your eye, making sure no one was close enough to hear your inappropriate conversation, you smirked, spreading your legs just a tiny bit further apart.  “Can’t help it, just wanted to look cute for my boyfriend.”

Subtly, looking around the pavilion casually, his finger shifted your panties to one side and teased the tip of his index finger against the silken folds of your now exposed pussy, eliciting a soft moan from you.  Changbin readjusted himself again with his free hand, starting to feel his shorts tent a little bit.  

“Shit…” he mumbled, his eyes closing momentarily as he felt your slick coat the pad of his fingertip.  Testing the waters a little bit more, you scooted towards him just slightly, and his finger slipped just past your velvety inner walls, a soft sigh coming from you.  “Woman, if you aren’t careful I’m going to throw you over my shoulder and find a dark corner to fuck you in.”

Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek just below his ear, whispering against his skin.  “You’re the one with your finger in my pussy…”

With a deep inhale, almost as if he was annoyed, he grunted and pulled his hand from between your thighs.  Taking one long last sip of his tea, he finished it and tossed it into a nearby trashcan.  Pushing your legs off of his lap, he stood, trying to adjust the front of his shorts as he grabbed your hand to pull you up.

“What are you doing, Bin…?”  You asked, quirking an eyebrow as you stood and smoothed the fabric of your dress down, trying to give the illusion that you hadn’t just been getting diddled in public.

Silently, he looked around both directions, trying to make a mental decision before he started walking off to the right at a quickened pace.  Pulling you behind him, you were forced to jog a little bit to keep up with him, giggling at his new, unspoken determination.

Finally after wandering under a multitude of archways, in and out of decorative courtyards and away from storefronts, Changbin finally found a dark, hidden corner, shrouded behind a column and a giant palm tree.  Pulling you into the tight, disguised space, he pushed your back up against the wall and crashed his lips into yours.

“Binnie, wha–” you tried to mumble, the air being knocked out of you as your back hit the stucco wall and he came at you, kissing you fiercely with a deep groan.  Closing your eyes instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders tightly and he placed both of his hands flat against the wall behind you, caging you in.  

“This is your fault…” he whispered against your mouth, grabbing one of your hands to place it flat against his erection, curling his fingers around yours to start rubbing on the outside of his shorts.  His lips then started a trail of open mouthed kisses down your jawline, his warm breath causing a small shiver to run down your spine.  “Teasing me, so wet for me… you know I’m weak for you.”

With a soft moan, your hand gripped his clothed cock more firmly and you murmured “Fuck me Binnie…”

Grunting low in his throat, he nodded once before both of his hands went to your hips and he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall and his body.  With the leverage of your legs now around his waist, he moved a hand between your bodies to pull the waistband of his shorts and boxers down just low enough to expose his weeping cock.  Lining himself up against your wet pussy, he pulled the fabric of your thong to the side just enough to push the tip of his cock into your warmth.

Both of you exhaled a sigh as he moved his hand back to your hip, digging fingertips in to give him the leverage to adjust his stance and sink himself fully inside of you.  “Fuuuck… your pussy feels so good,” he mumbled, starting at a slow rate, rolling his hips, thrusting himself in and out of you.

Scrambling, your arms went around his shoulders tighter, trying to hold onto something sturdy as he manhandled you and began fucking into you at a dangerous pace.  Your lips parted in a moan, your eyes shifting down between your bodies to watch the area that you were connected.  The undeniable sound of skin slapping skin started to echo in the otherwise quiet area.  “Shit, Binnie… “

“Shhh Baby… quiet.  Don't wanna get caught now do we?”  He whispered, looking up to your face before he doubled down his efforts and started slamming his hips more feverishly against yours, tilting his pelvis just right to hit that super sensitive spot deep inside you.  The tips of his fingers dug even further into your supple skin, his biceps tensing as he moved you effortlessly up and down on his cock.  

Having both of you lost yourselves to the building pleasure and the thrill of being caught, neither of you heard the side maintenance door open across the hallway from where you were.  At first, the Cast Member didn’t notice you.  It wasn’t until he heard the distinct sound of skin slapping skin and a quiet moan that he paused, and took a few cautious steps forward, looking in the direction of the sound.

“HEY!”  He shouted, causing Bin to freeze his motions and you to whip your head over in the direction of the new voice.

“Fuck!”  Changbin said, dropping you to your feet and quickly tucking himself back into his shorts with a laugh.  “Oh my God,” you said, giggling, freezing where you stood until he grabbed your hand and started tugging you behind him as he took off in the other direction.  “Run!!!”

It took a moment for the maintenance worker to register what had happened and then starting jogging after you, but luckily for the two of you, his tubby figure slowed him down enough that you were able to run back under some of the covered archways and into a throng of people, disguising yourselves in the masses.

Slowing back down once you were hidden amongst the crowd of people, walking hand in hand towards Japan’s Pavilion, Bin looked over to you with a smirk on his face.  “Always said I’d show you a whole new world.”

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[brokenbough]

Absolutely incredible job on the first thing you posted on here! That sounds like I think I’m qualified to appraise the quality of writing and I’m not, sorry if it came off weird. I just loved it, I guess is more accurate to say.

Grumpy Simon is the very best, and you nailed him. He wants her to cuddle into him so bad he’s such an idiot. This concept was so wonderful and again you executed it beautifully :)

Not a request, just a musing, but I think this would be the PERFECT situation for jealousy playing a role in forcing Simon to admit his blossoming feelings for reader. He thinks he hates it when she lays on him, even though he’s starting to realize he craves it, he still resents her for it because he hates feeling feelings and she’s making him do that he just doesn’t realize that’s his problem with the situation.

But imagine how incredibly bothered and angry and jealous he’d be if reader curled into Johnny or Gaz or god forbid his CAPTAIN or even Graves or Los Vaqueros oh god instead of him. I think regardless or whether it happens on accident (maybe she settles with the rest of the group because Simon is on watch and when she gets sleepy she slumps onto whichever comfy shoulder is nearest) or on purpose (maybe he was being an asshole or had pushed her away so she tried her best to find a new pillow that wouldn’t upset her Lieutenant) I think he’d be so jealous and his feelings would come to the forefront and he’d have to confront them.

I also think it could be a cute idea for Simon to like prohibit her from sleeping on his shoulder and so on the mission she literally can’t sleep at all. She struggles and tries, just lays quietly while they sleep so as not to bother them, but she can’t get comfortable, needs the warmth and something softer than the ground to curl up into and lay her head on. This unexpected consequence takes a toll on Simon, as he sees how exhausted and frustrated she is - he’s pissed off that he cares about this beyond the possible impact on the mission. He’s also impressed but also saddened by how she’s trying to push through the mission even though she’s so much less experienced and is getting less rest than any of them.

Maybe these could be combined and that’s why she ended up falling asleep on someone else? Like she’s so tired her body draws her to the nearest willing shoulder.

Anyway just some fun ideas! I hope you’re well 🩷

One, so sad you don't write yourself. You 100% should, I love your brain. I hope you're well too

Two, I hope this is up to yalls standards. Sorry its so long. I watched two movies making this, i got distracted 😋😋 :>>>

Not proofread 🤕

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

After two years of being with the team, it almost became ritual for presents for either you or Ghost to be a collection of the two of you together, one sleep or both.

You thought it was a cute tradition. It was something you almost looked forward to, more than clothes or jewelry or trinkets. It was your favorite gift and you wouldn't trade not one photo for anything else.

But cute was not something Ghost was akin to. It was kind of the... opposite of Ghost. He was a hardened, seasoned soldier, not some fluffy pillow you could kick back on.

Yes, maybe he let you lay on his lap sometimes, and maybe you've gone to him for comfort on more than one occasion, hugging him tightly, blubbering sorrys and other apologies.

He never cooed at you, reassured you, or even hugged you back... but he let you mush your tiny face into his chest whenever life got too much for you.

Maybe it was after a mission, maybe days after and the memories came back. He'd been through it himself, he knew the feeling. Only he didn't have anyone to lean on, so maybe you leaning on him gave him some sort of closure. He doesn't know, he doesn't really think about it. He can't, not with his life on the line almost everyday and yours. It was a distraction, wasted time he simply didn't have.

So, like any sane person with having good literally put in front of them, he pushed you away. He kept his distance, kept you off his shoulder, because whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was growing... fond of you. Not attached. Merely... tolerant of you-- your behavior-- and that in of itself was dangerous. Fondness, trust, softness, got you killed in the field.

You didn't even notice at first, too caught up with each grueling mission. You were sputtering, running on the last fumes of your gas. Sleep didn't come easy when you were being shot at, yelled at, and pulled onto yet another plane.

But here... it's cold. And cold makes you unnaturally sleepy. It was something you've known about yourself since childhood. When it got cold, you got sleepy. That's just how it's always been. And now, in the Candian cold, in the less than warm safe house, you were getting tired.

You had last watch with Johnny, Kyle and Price first, Ghost and Price after.

Lounging on the cushy couch the safe house provided, curled up in one of the few blankets, you leaned to the side, Ghost's shoulder the comfortable pillow you remember. You yawn, nuzzling a little closer before your eyes open again.

His finger on the side of your head, pushed you away, moving you closer to Johnny before removing himself from the couch entirely.

He didn't even bother looking at you.

You frowned, watching him walk further and further away. He walked until he was completely out of your eyesight, making your frown droop even more.

You were pulled out of the sad fog by Soap. He shook you slightly, wrapping his arm around your smaller body.

"'S okay bonnie. He's usually a prick." Johnny assures with a small smile, pulling you closer as you surrendered to the fate that was Soap's shoulder.

It was warm, soft, nice. But not Ghost warm, soft, nice. Simon wasn't just warm, he was a fucking furnace, constantly burning, a crackling fire that lulled you to sleep. And he wasn't soft, he was fluff you melt into, like that one pillow you got and can only find cheap replacements for because others are too firm. And godforbid someone call his shoulder just nice. His presence, scent, the way his breath was its own type of calming was just... perfect. Soap was just... just mediocre. But it would have to do because it didn't seem like Ghost was gonna return anytime soon and you needed sleep.

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

When Ghost had left he wasn't prepared for the anger, the fury that bubbled in his chest seeing you asleep on someone else, let alone cuddled up to fucking Johnny on the small couch. Laying on top of him like he was the softest bed you've made contact with.

He squinted his eyes at the sight, his balled up fists itching for a throwing knife. He couldn't see your bunched up face, contorted in agony because Soap, as big as he was, just wasn't thick enough to sink into. It was more uncomfortable than you would've liked to admit. Bless Soap's poor, sad face if he ever found out he wasn't comfortable enough for his favorite lass.

Ghost stormed out again, standing in the cold silently as his entire body heated up with annoyance, and anger, and every other synonym of the two.

He was on watch now, even though his mind was clouded with images of you and someone else.

You, you, you.

You and someone else.

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

A soft shake jolted you awake, a knife in your hand before you registered the soft, amused smile and eyes of your captain.

"Easy there." He said, helping you up, watching as you stretched and groaned, cracking your neck, Johnny still out cold.

"Sorry. Force of habit." You say with a sheepish smile, looking around the ever quiet room. You caught Ghost's eyes before quickly looking away, the look in his eyes nothing short of barely controlled rage.

You didn't know how you'd made him mad, but he looked angry. Angrier than when he chewed you out for sleeping on him your very first mission.

"No need to apologize." He continues before shaking Johnny awake too.

When Johnny finally sat up-- having to be promptly smacked awake-- Price informed the two of you that you were now on watch.

You went to the window, looking out at the quiet snow that fell in unique snowflakes, catching up with its brothers and sisters, quietly laying next to its family before watching another fall.

The house was quiet, aside from Price's unbridled snores and Gaz soft muses in his sleep. You don't know where Ghost went off too, probably the very back room to lie down.

You couldn't take the silence anymore as you finally looked at Soap, beckoning him over to talk.

Your whispers surely too quiet to wake anyone else in the house. It was only the drop of something heavy that finally pulled your head up from snickering with Soap, shattering the bubble of silence that seemed to envelope the house.

You turned, watching Ghost angrily arrange fire in the small hearth. He didn't look at you again, glaring at an oblivious Soap as the both of you made your way over, watching the lieutenant work.

"What're ya doin' Lt.?" Soap asks, looking into the fireplace.

You looked too, focusing more on the hands that worked than the actual work.

"Fuck does it look like Johnny?" Ghost said, snappier than usual.

"Why're you fillin' up the fireplace?" You ask, looking to an offended Soap and back to the pile of neatly arranged logs.

"Can't have you fallin' asleep on watch." He answers gruffly, throwing a match into the fire. His 'you' sounding like sin. Reprimand.

Soap was too enamored with the fire to question Ghost's words. Not cryptic, but unusual.

"I wouldn't fall asleep on watch-" you say in an offended tone before he cuts in.

"But you fall asleep in the cold." He says, clipped and clearly aggravated. Accusatory, like he shouldn't know that.

You stare up a him blankly, watching his eyes. Watching him watch you with the same blank look.

"How-" you start to question before he checks your shoulder, knocking you into Johnny, pulling the Scottish man back to reality. Soap pulls a rattled you back to the window, looking out at the soft, untouched snow, mindlessly continuing the conversation from before.

But him-- his words rattled around in your brain as the other man talked, his words going in one ear and out the other as Ghost's words floated around the empty space between your ears. Just him, his words, the fire that crackled behind him.

Him, him, him.

Him and his words.

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

You were finally relieved from duty as the sun started to come up, making the snow sparkle. The sun itself tinting the sky pink and orange and red, painting the sky picturesque.

You looked away from its beauty solemnly as everyone else started to wake. You turned away, stretching again before watching the others work, looking like little ants. The thought made you smile, giggling to yourself and putting you in good spirits, something unusual from the usual bite you had in the mornings. They weren't your thing.

The rest of the task force looks at you before you just wave them off, helping with breakfast.

Price talks as the rest eat.

"Evac comes at noon, be packed up and ready by then. We have new leads to follow, so wake up." He says, a pointed look at the ever groggy Johnny. You'd say he slept as much as you, if not more on leave.

You snicker, elbowing softly. The deathly glare he gives you makes you laugh more.

Gaz starts to laugh too, seemingly more amused by how tickled you looked with Johnny than Johnny himself.

Ghost is quiet, not bothering to join in with the happy that seemed to surround you indefinitely. The sunlight crept in through the windows, shining on you softly as you literally glowed in his eyes. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes sit before opening them again. But there you sat, smile on your mouth, cheeks tinted red from laughing, your eyes crinkled in amusement, and you-- glowing.

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

The ride back was boisterous. Well, for four out of the six people aboard it. Price and Gaz laughing, Soap-- in a better mood-- making even the pilot laugh.

But you sat alone on the other side, right in front of Ghost. You tried to sit next to him, catch up on some sleep before being deployed again, but he had sat his pack in the chair next to him, not even sparing you a glance. His jaw was clenched shut, eyes burning a hole in the side of plane.

You said nothing, walking past him and past the rest before settling on the other side. Right in front of Ghost. The silence around you deafening, the tension in between tense enough to be cut with your nails.

No one said anything, no one even looked at you two, too caught up in their own jokes and theatrics.

Luckily for you, it was a short ride back to Washington.

You'd been up on more missions than usual, which meant you'd been up for longer than usual. The sleep you got with Soap had been the most you'd gotten over a week. You'd only slept 4 hours.

The promise of a proper bed and food that wasn't MREs was the only thing fueling your near empty tank. Probably everyone else's too.

When you finally landed at base, debriefed, and ate, you were finally permitted to sleep. You couldn't even make it to your room before you crashed on the couch in the secluded area that was reserved for the 141. Soap and Gaz were already there, playing a card game.

A head peaked over one of the couches. Ghost. You took the seat next to Price, watching him read a little before scooting closer and laying on his shoulder.

You settle next to him, getting a small smile in return.

"Tired?" Price asks, looking you over before turning the page.

"Mhm." You mumble, noncommittal.

You look around for a moment, taking in the happy that enveloped the two men before switching over to Ghost who looked at you. Finally, you think.

You aren't sure why you wanted him to look at you, but he had been avoiding you since.. well yesterday. You were too tired to notice it, but now that you think about it, he hasn't talked to you in mayb a week, besides barking orders and that time by the fire.

You huff softly, shifting closer to the captain. He leaned back, wrapping an arm around you. He smelled like cigar smoke and... well, warm. Maybe Old Spice.

You drifted off to sleep, the last thing you saw being Ghost's skull balaclava. It was seared into the back of your eyelids as you closed them, trying to find solace in your dreams.

It never came.

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

You awoke by yourself, passed out on the couch. You rubbed your eyes, lifting up and rubbing at the crick in your neck.

You found a mass of black in front of you. You were startled to say the least, pinching yourself to make sure it wasn't a dream.

It wasn't.

You looked up, catching Ghost again.

Looking away, you yawned, fighting the tiredness again. You couldn't get proper sleep anywhere.

A voice cut through your thoughts. Gruff, demanding, definite.

"Enjoying yourself?" It asked.

You looked back to Ghost, watching his mask move slightly.

"What?" You say, still a bit dazed from the short nap. You took a glance around the room. Cards discarded on a table some way off, Price's book discarded on the table in-between the two sofas.

"Sleeping around, I mean." He says, voice deeper than usual. He was ticked off.

Why?

"Sleeping-- what?" You ask again, offended, angry, annoyed. What the fuck was this man's game? Why was he bothering playing games with you in the fist place?

"First Soap, then Price. Who's next? Gaz?" He asks, glaring at you.

"What are you talking about?" You demand now, sitting up properly.

"I'm talking about you sleeping with everyone."

Your brain takes a moment to catch up before glaring at him.

"You mean on them? Because I'm tired? Because I've been up for 84 fucking hours, I think I deserve sleep." You spit out.

"On them, with them, same difference." He comments nonchalantly.

"Uhm, no. Not the same thing." You argue, eyeing him like he's grown a third head.

"They are to me."

".... Are- Ghost, are you jealous?" You ask, not expecting an answer.

He scoffs like it's the most ridiculous thing in the world, but his eyes tell-- scream a different story to you.

"You are." You laugh.

"I'm not. You're.. you're ridiculous." He says, scoffing again.

"No. I'm right. You are jealous."

"Uhm, no. I'm not." He reiterates.

"Yeah, you are." You say, full on smiling now.

He doesn't answer you a third time, opting to just look at you blankly, hoping his jealousy couldn't be seen through his mask.

It wasn't, but it was easily spotted through his eyes.

He huffed again, leaning back into the couch, crossing his arms.

"Fine. I'll only... sleep with you, if you apologize." You finally say after a moment of too long silence.

"Apologize?" He says, clearly annoyed at the prospect. "For what?"

"Do you really want me to go down the list?"

F"Go on." He taunts.

"One, for ignoring me for no reason. Two, for being jealous for no reason and making me lose out on sleep. Three, making me lose out on sleep when I could've used it. Four--"

"Okay. I get it. Jesus." He huffs again, his arms crossing tighter.

"Apologize." You say again.

He gives you a look, eyeing you like you've just spoken blasphemy.

You give him a look like you're not playing.

"...." He tsks audibly, opening his legs slightly for comfortability.

You raise an eyebrow, narrowing your eyes at him.

He clears his throat, his leg bouncing for a second. "And.. me..." He clears his throat again. "You only sleep with me. Okay?" He says, his authoritive voice back on.

"Mhm. I'll only sleep with you. Simon." You taunt.

"Me, and my shoulder." He continues, eyeing you seriously.

"Mhm."

"Good." He huffs out one last time before leaving.

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

"He said that? Him and his shoulder?"

"Mhm. Cause he knows what's good for him." You nod, eating a bit more.

"Okay girl. Okay." Gaz concedes, picking off your plate before recoiling when you smack his hand.

"What're you two on?" Ghost asks, eyeing Gaz.

"She's all yours man." Gaz says, raising his hands in surrender.

Ghost's eyes narrow, eyeing you after.

You only shrug, leaning on his shoulder. Pre-deployment nap after eating? Hell yeah.

[kikiwritesfanfiction]

rafayel x desi!reader

Rafayel, who first met you when you secretly snooped into his studio as the only Indian hunter you are. He landed on top of you and swore you were the most beautiful woman to exist.

Rafayel, who later on becomes so interested in you not in the stalkerish way and I mean it that he starts flirting with you. My guy is absolutely smitten, he has a crush on you btw.

Rafayel, who gets to learn more about your Indian roots, not to mention he went to India once for an art exhibition in Jaipur.

"India is a pretty exquisite place. I wanna go there again, but this time with you."

Rafayel, who later confesses and becomes your boyfriend. You say yes because you also have a crush on him.

Rafayel, whose wish is to paint a portrait of you in a lehenga, adorned with jewellery and flowers my guy was inspired by the artworks of Raja Ravi Verma.

Rafayel, who can't stop staring at you, the way your hands were decorated with henna, which he did it btw (very artistic right?) , the way your jhumka and bangles held sweet whispers to his ear, the way your hair was adorned with flowers and hair ornaments. He just can't stop staring at you :'(

Rafayel, who makes you his muse, who imagines that you're the most beautiful goddess carved out straight from an Indian renaissance painting.

Rafayel, who still can't stop staring at you while he paints a portrait of you.

Rafayel, who likes seeing you wearing the saree. He's in awe.

Rafayel, who decorates your lustrous hair with flowers.

Rafayel, who'd love to waltz to a soft Hindi song with you.

Rafayel, whose attempts at learning your native language (Hindi, Tamil, Assamese, etc.) goes way out of the league. At first, he's curious to learn about your language all thanks to you who's talking to a relative, and the second day he learns it so that he understands what you're talking about to your relatives.

Your relatives already know about you and him. Most of them are quite skeptical since they're a part of Asian parents and when you know that Asian parents don't consider art as anything but once they find out more about your boyfriend, like how he's richy-rich, they've been quite less worried about you, especially your parents. They've been pestering you with questions about your marriage, which you told them that there'll be a right time. Also, be careful when you speak with your parents when Rafayel is around as he somehow grasps the translation of your language. Sucks!

Rafayel, who has met you parents through video calls, even at one time when you actually went to India for your vacations with him. Your parents were easily warming up with him and the next day, you were surprised that they were so eager to go to a museum or an art exhibition with him.

Rafayel, who easily warms up with the neighborhood kids, even your cousins, nephews and nieces. He'd make a pretty good dad, just watch out from your cousins who'll annoy the shit out of you by asking you questions like, "when are you guys getting married?" or "when are you guys having babies?" the last question makes you blush more.

Rafayel, who back on Linkon city, holds your hand while waking on the shores of Whitesand Bay. He has a surprise for you.

Rafayel, who gets on one knee and pulls out a red-velvet box. He opens it and reveals a shiny ring, its bands made of polished silver and a turquoise bead as the centerpiece. The ring's delicate features brings a light to the proposal and as Rafayel places the ring on your ring finger, you sob onto his chest. 3 years after dating him.

Rafayel, who announces your parents and his aunt about the proposal first. Your parents were so happy for you now even happier since they're planning for your suhaagraat, good luck.

Rafayel, who is soooo happy to be on your side, forever. His girl, his bride and his wife.

[rasqberrypetalpostcards]

001.

monologue culture: why we overshare to no one in particular an essay on the quiet poetry of talking too much to no one at all

there’s a peculiar intimacy to monologuing into the ether. a sort of emotional exhale into digital spaces—voice notes no one asked for, captions that feel like confessionals, 3am tumblr posts typed like love letters and left unsigned. this isn’t attention-seeking, not really. it’s something more tender. more tired. more complex.

we’re not always speaking to be heard. sometimes, we speak because the silence is heavier than the vulnerability.

this is monologue culture.

it’s the way we sit with our feelings—out loud. it's the way we narrate heartbreak to an instagram caption or cry-write three paragraphs into a notes app. it’s when someone asks, “how are you?” and we respond with a novel, even if no one’s reading it. it’s the paradox of speaking into the void and hoping someone sees it, but not really minding if they don’t.

we do this not because we’re unwell (though sometimes, yes), but because it’s a way of survival. we monologue as a soft rebellion against isolation. a kind of makeshift companionship. an archive of our own emotional literacy. a way to know ourselves—out loud.

a little history: the diary, digitized

before there were late-night rants on twitter or poetic overshares on tumblr, there were diaries—pages upon pages of musings, monologues, maybes. people have always needed a place to speak privately but not silently. the digital age didn’t invent oversharing; it just made it observable.

now, we narrate our lives publicly, semi-publicly, or in “close friends” stories meant only for a curated few. but even when we share to no one, when we lock a post or leave it untagged, there’s still a performance to it. a soft kind. not to be admired, but to be witnessed. like cracking open a window and hoping someone hears the piano playing.

the emotional logic of oversharing

so why do we do it?

why pour our hearts into spaces not designed to hold them?

well—for one, there’s structure in monologuing. there’s clarity in forming thoughts into paragraphs. there’s relief in naming what we’re feeling, even if we’re doing it while crying into our pillow with one arm extended for typing.

oversharing, especially when it feels one-sided, is often less about the listener and more about the speaker. it’s the emotional equivalent of picking at a knot until it loosens. you talk it through not because you want advice, but because the weight feels lighter when spoken. and when written—oh, when written—it feels like a spell cast to trap the ache between lines.

fun fact: “oversharing” is often gendered

did you know that the very idea of oversharing is loaded with bias? in communication studies and digital discourse, the label is disproportionately applied to femmes and feminine-coded speech. women and girls are told they “talk too much,” “go too deep,” or “make things awkward” with emotional openness.

but in reality? sharing openly, and with nuance, is a form of emotional fluency. it’s not oversharing. it’s storytelling. and storytelling is power. it’s a legacy passed down through letters, journals, whispered poems in the dark.

so the next time you call yourself cringey for oversharing on your blog or sending a five-minute voice note to your best friend about the way a bird looked at you—maybe pause. maybe remember that talking too much about what hurts is a kind of care. maybe even a kind of art.

the performance of silence vs. the performance of speech

we romanticize the quiet types—the mysterious ones who “don’t post much” or “keep to themselves.” but we rarely ask why someone shares out loud. we rarely notice how brave it is to monologue without a promise of being understood.

silence can be powerful. but so can loud vulnerability. and those who monologue—those who overshare, whisper their spirals, dramatize their heartbreaks with all the flair of a tragic heroine—deserve grace.

there’s performance in all kinds of expression. but monologuing is a unique one. it’s a performance of being present in your own unraveling. it’s what happens when you refuse to disappear just because you're hurting.

monologues as placeholders for connection

when we talk to “no one in particular,” we’re often talking to the someone we wish existed. the best friend who’s still awake. the stranger who might get it. the future version of ourselves who’ll reread our rants and finally understand.

it’s not loneliness that drives monologue culture—it’s hope. a strange, soft hope that somewhere, someone might nod along, or smile a little, or whisper “same” into the dark.

we write long captions, post rambling blogs, tweet drafts meant for no audience because it feels like company. it feels like we’re building a trail of breadcrumbs back to ourselves.

being known vs. being heard

there’s a distinct ache in wanting to be known rather than just heard. and monologues? they bridge that gap. they reveal who we are in ways casual conversations rarely do.

a tumblr post about how your heart feels like a cracked teacup says more than “i’m sad.” a ramble about a stranger who reminded you of someone you lost says more than “i miss you.”

these moments, these monologues—they stitch together the poetry of living. they say: i’m trying. i’m feeling. i’m reaching.

and yes, maybe no one will reply. maybe no one will read the entire thing. but it lives. it exists. and that matters.

in defense of talking too much

maybe this is your sign to keep narrating. to keep voice-noting. to keep typing things out like they matter—because they do. maybe you are not too much. maybe you are just alive in a world that often asks us to mute our inner symphonies.

so write the three-paragraph instagram caption. post the crying selfie if it helps. rant to your drafts. record your thoughts in the middle of the night. speak, even if you’re not sure anyone’s listening.

because sometimes, the person who needs to hear you most—is you.

scribbled down by, R.

[dreamykiku]

kaiser saw you watching a sports reel of a player who isn’t him, & that just won’t do! cw: overstimulation, dacryphilia, dubcon maybe, established relationship, jealous kaiser, 18+!!!

your thighs shake uncontrollably, slick and numb, and still kaiser’s fingers don’t stop.

“you should see how pathetic you look right now,” he cooes, his sickly sweet tone a sharp contrast to the way he buries his knuckles in your cunt, wrist flexing cruelly. “gonna cum again, liebling?”

you try your best to answer, you really do, but your mind has been reduced to mush, soaked and straddling kaiser’s lap. your head lolls against his chest, lips parting in a choked gasp. another rough thrust has you shuddering, your eyes fluttering shut as he curls his fingers.

“so easy to break,” he hums. “and still so desperate f’me, for more.”

you whine, breathy and broken. “n-no—not true—!”

“liar.” his nails dig into the bare plush of your hips, just hard enough to break skin as he forces you to rock, back and forth, riding his fingers. it was humiliating, being on full display for him to do as he pleased; meanwhile, he remained completely clothed. “you asked for this, liebling. to be full. to be used.”

his thumb presses rough circles against your clit, and you can’t help the nasally whine that escapes you, hot tears pricking your eyes. the sight enthralls him, encouraging him to quicken his thrusts.

“that’s it,” he laughs, wild and breathy. “cum for me. cry for me. show me just how needy you are f’me.”

his wrist snaps, fast and cruel and unrelenting, his palm slapping against you with every pump. his fingers glisten with your slick, making an obscene noise as he presses against that spongy spot inside of you, over and over and over again.

you can’t speak, panting, sobbing, every nerve in your body on fire. your vision goes white-hot, your head swimming as the tension finally snaps—your body seizes, clenching hard around his fingers, your juices soaking his pant leg.

“atta girl,” kaiser praises, licking the tears off your cheeks as you fall apart on his lap.

his fingers finally, finally withdraw, your pussy clenching pathetically around nothing, your body wrecked. you heave a broken sigh, trying to catch your breath.

any relief you had was short-lived.

kaiser has you flipped on your back in an instant. you whimper as he shoves your legs open, his head dipping between them. your hips twitch as you try to squirm away, keening pitifully. kaiser only laughs at your feeble attempt, snaking his arms around your thighs, splaying his hands on your abdomen to anchor you in place.

“saw you watching the highlight reel of tonight’s soccer game,” he muses, breath hot and feathery against your skin.

it takes your shattered brain a moment to catch up. highlight reel. soccer game. tonight. tonight…oh.

kaiser didn’t play tonight.

“i-i’m sorry, m-mic—“

his mouth was on you, hot and wet and relentless. the apology dies on your lips, falling into a shattered moan, your tingling spine arching off the mattress. your fingers fly to his golden locks, trying desperately to pry him away from your sensitive cunt, but kaiser wrenches your wrists away.

“take what you deserve,” he hisses, low and guttural, lips glistening. you shiver.

he latches onto you like a man starving, licking deep and flat, his tongue flicking with torturous precision as he writes his name against your swollen clit, over and over and over again. he sucks the bundle of nerves, hard, reveling in the twitch of your thighs, the curl of your toes.

“you belong to me,” he declares between ministrations, the vibration of his words sending another jolt of electricity straight to your core. “know your fucking place.”

your eyes were meant to be on him. your attention, your tears, your moans, your cum—all of your sensations—of it was his. his to demand, his to control, his to take.

“micha!”

another orgasm crashes over you, violent and painful. you hiccup, babbling as you tremble and thrash about. tears streak your cheeks as he groans against you, sucking harder, unrelenting, forcing you to ride it out.

“please!” you beg. “i can’t—! can’t take it, m-micha—!”

“don’t give a shit,” he growls, muffled but merciless. “cum again.”

[thetrasha]

no one mentions how good you write Buggy and Doflamingo, I would love to see more of them 🫶🏻

Thanks, anon (●ˇ∀ˇ●) This request got me excited, I rarely get to write about the less popular cast members, especially the antagonists!! So I hope you enjoy this one in particular, I think it came out great LOL

<3

Tell Me You Love Me

feat. DOFLAMINGO, BUGGY

DOFLAMINGO

MOOD: possessive

Doflamingo couldn’t wait to hear to hear you say that you love him. You weren’t the type to utter things in passing – everything you ever said, you meant it. It was like a promise to yourself. You hid things pretty well by omission, but if you decided to talk, it had always been true. Exactly what he wanted and needed. Now that you’re with him, he appreciates the depth of your words even more. Your words were gospel, almost… sacred. And he’s just dying to hear those words that would bind you to him. It would give him the security he needed to dive deeper into this relationship and devote himself fully to you.

You rendered him completely powerless – you were absolutely perfect in every aspect. Loyal, discreet, intelligent, funny and… despite your cunning, you never lost a certain kindness that you’d buried deep. Doflamingo saw it in the way you treated others. Although you knew that you were better than most people you didn’t dare to look down on them. You held your head high and kept your heart under lock and key, but you were quite vulnerable in day-to-day life; you had excellent manners, but your partner would never thank one of his servants for doing their job. It is expected of them… but you did go to those lengths. He couldn’t quite say that he way jealous; he knew that he was the best and only choice for you, but it did make him feel a bit conflicted.

You didn’t wear your heart on your sleeve around Doflamingo.

He knew why. Of course he did. He saw you for who you are. Someone who’s been treated so unfairly and has been dealt the worst cards but still chose their own ambition over misery – you struck harder than steel but were worth all treasure in the world, even if you wanted none of it. Actually, he kind of saw himself in you, now that he’s been thinking about.

He, too, has lost it all at some point, but rose from those ashes like a phoenix. Befitting of someone of his calibre; nobody else could come even close. Others would have decided to succumb to the pain and live a life that they knew they didn’t deserve, but Doflamingo has always prided himself on his ability to detect talent, refine it and use it for his own gain – he just had to become the best possible version of himself before that all happened. He had to become a reliable man with a terrifying repertoire of abilities and connection.

You reminded him of… him, yes, you just weren’t as ruthless. You complemented him well.

You really were the one.

Maybe that’s why it soured his mood so much to watch you wear a mask around him. You were so afraid of falling for a man like him – a man who was so much like you.

You just knew that he was going to consume you whole, just like you did to him. He would occupy your every thought, just like how you’d infested his own mind. You’d have to let yourself fall into his arms and trust that he wouldn’t betray nor break you, but that promise had already seared itself into his soul.

Doflamingo was great many things, but he was no traitor.

He’d accepted your place in this family, so it was about time for you to accept yours as well.

One day, you’d both crack.

“It seems you get uncomfortable around me.”, he mused with a grin, but the way his voice darkened towards the end couldn’t be ignored by either of you.

It startled you seeing as you were currently in his arms, cuddled up into his side while he was watching a visual transponder snail project footage from a Navy meeting he’d tapped. Someone in there was wearing a wire, but you’d both concluded that the discussion was too charitable and bureaucratic to go anywhere. Still, Doflamingo liked to keep an eye on these things, especially if he wasn’t invited.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doffy.”

Your partner grinned. You’d started calling him by his nickname and he could just preen every time those two syllables left your lips. The fact that you wanted to divert attention away from the issue at hand was annoying though.

“You know exactly what I man, my sweet. Keeping your guard up around me. Thought I was a fantastic husband.”

“We’re not married. And we’re not the type to marry.”, you retorted with a dramatic roll of the eyes, playfully hitting his arm.

“Ah, tomato, tomato.”

Silence befell you two, neither of you chose to speak during that moment, but he could very much feel you snuggle into his side. You’d thrown a blanket across your legs due to the chilly air of the night biting at your skin, which made you look extra cosy. Doflamingo, who’d previously only seen your professional side before you started… whatever this was, was delighted that you felt at home inside of his palace.

You slowly got used to him, warmed up to him, you were so in tune with him now… you knew that you loved him.

“It seems that you’re playing with me, sweetheart.”, he commented. He just knew that you’d understand him as soon as he’d uttered these words, and judging from the way you were fidgeting… well, he was right.

“You haven’t said it either, Doffy.”

He let out a sinister laugh – you got him there. You were too clever for your own good and you didn’t bow to anyone. That’s what made you who you are. People had to earn your trust and respect, just like you had to earn theirs.

And both of you kept playing this game of cat and mouse – one he was certain he’d win.

“Acute observation, darling.” He grinned, ruffling through your hair and messing it up. You glared at him, but then rested your head on his shoulder with a playfully annoyed groan.

“We can just say it together.”, you pouted.

Doflamingo shot up. Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!

“3…”, he began, trying to bait you. Victory was oh so sweet.

“…2”, you continued-

“1…”

Both of you drew in a deep breath, preparing yourselves for a heartfelt moment…

“…”

“…”

…that never came, because you stayed silent.

Owlishly, you blinked at each other. It’d started to click what just happened.

Doflamingo’s forehead vein popped all of the sudden as he let out an angry pant through his nose. How could a mouse like you outfox the cat? He began clenching and unclenching his long fingers, trying to keep his blood pressure down. Also, he didn’t want to tear this room apart on such a beautiful night.

You just giggled at him, not an ounce of fear in your expression… because you trusted him; it was as clear as day. The blanket bunched up at your feet as you propped yourself up to sit on your knees.

Your arms wrapped themselves around his neck while he has huffing and puffing in silent rage, feeling cheated out of an experience…

But his eyebrows shot up in surprise as soon as you initiated an intimate kiss. You leaned in and licked his lips – and who could ever deny you access? He opened his mouth, loving the way you fell into him, letting him feel the entirety of your weight against his body and his large hands slowly travelled up your lovely physique, leaving possessive touches here and there –

– until you leaned back, watching him with an easy smile dancing on your lips.

“I love you.”, you’d whispered, leaning back in just to feel his wide smirk against your mouth.

Doflamingo was so right. You were, in a way, just like him.

Of course you'd prove him right.

You were... everything.

BUGGY

MOOD: sentimental

Buggy tried to never let it show that he was jealous… of mostly anyone that interacted with you. Yes, it wasn’t exactly a great mindset and he never doubted you once, but he cannot help but compare himself to every other person you come across and spiral in silence, watching like a kicked puppy as you got along well with someone else. And then he would snap at anyone who’d dare to interrupt his self-deprecating behaviour at that moment, promptly yelling at them in his shrill voice to scrub the deck or else, but… at the same time, he eyed you with a worrisome wistfulness. You had so much charisma – you immediately clicked with other people. Well, depending on who they were. But you didn’t have to fail upwards to get what you want… Why you chose to follow a fool like him was still an utter mystery to the Star Clown, but he wouldn’t complain. He’s got you right where he wanted you… You’d confessed your love to each other – amazing, show’s over.

…Except it wasn’t. Now Buggy has to come to terms with the fact that he might be… more interested in you than he originally believed himself. He tried burying it, tried to play it off in a cool way, but he was well-aware that you could read him like a book. You knew that he was just a tiny bit pathetic, and you preferred it that way. In fact, you teased him these days. You were constantly playing it up just for him, making a show out of your love… just to get to see him blush and stammer through a half-assed expression of gratitude before his body parts would separate themselves from one another and fly around like chaos incarnate.

Still, that way, he had your whole attention on him and he loved it.

You were the star of the show – figuratively, not literally. He was still the masterful ringleader, the clown prince of piracy… or whatever they write in the papers these days. Buggy was an acclaimed criminal who’s been perfecting a rare craft: Showmanship!

Right now, he felt like he barely had a say in the play, though.

Nobody could deny that judgemental gazes followed you around when you would hang off of your captain’s strong arms, looking at him like he was worth a million Beri. Fifteen million actually, by the way. Thanks for the flowers, sweetheart, you’re the best.

But he tried to deny it all anyway.

He was Buggy the Genius Jester! The one and only! People were literally dying to get a seat at his circus sometimes. They had a lion who could jump through rings of fire!… If Richie was feeling up to it.

Anyways, he tried to counter all that gossip said in a whisper behind his back with brazen displays of confidence and terror.

Nobody could hurt you… or him if Buggy took the wind outta their sails right away! Haha! Take that, you good-for-nothing buffoons and watch as the next King of the Pirates reveals his master plan to take control of the Grandline…

But in private, after all those words eventually got to him, Buggy lies in your arms.

He would have taken a bath that drained all of his energy because he ate that godforsaken Devil Fruit because of that bastard Shanks, all of the makeup had been washed off in the steamy bubble bath, leaving the naked visage of the usually prettily adorned Star Clown behind… and you’d be able to stare at the bright red nose in all its glory. Sometimes – especially in the beginning of your relationship – he maliciously assumed that you were actually just blind. Maybe that’s why your pupils couldn’t focus on the thing that gave him so many insecurities… but your innocent kisses were always at it with perfect precision, so that was clearly out of the picture.

Still, in every possible metric, you were so out of his league.

You were gorgeous. If Buggy didn’t know better, he would have assumed you’d run from Mary Geoise and were pursuing a freer life away from the Red Line. Shanks and him, when they were mere chore boys on the Oro Jackson, used to bicker about who’d marry a princess like you first. Of course Buggy wouldn’t have ever thought that he’d best Shanks there, but here he was.

Of course, you were no royal. Well, not yet. Just you wait until he finds the One Piece!

You were also smart and reliable, responsible and sensible, sweet and caring, strong and ruthless – fuck, you had it all. You were all he’s ever dreamt of.

And Buggy was just… Buggy.

Yeah, he’d achieved some things, but girls like you usually went for Shanks. Someone who, you know, wasn’t a complete fraud… who had something to offer.

But here you were…

“I love you, Buggy.”, you’d whisper as you brushed through his blue tresses – a ritual you’ve grown accustomed to.

“You’re so pretty…”, you sang as if he was an actual star, “I love your hair.”

…and you adored him so much.

Like Buggy was anyone but himself.

You loved him like he was worth it, like he was… your soulmate.

And because of moments like these did he know that you would always come back to him. In your eyes, he was no failure, he was the greatest man alive.

He might just believe that he could become the King of the Pirates… and a man who’d make you happy, forever and ever. He’d throw it all away for you.

He leaned back with a dopey smile, blushing at your gentle touch.

He would cling to you forever.

[seeminglyunconcious]

My Muse (your smile, our time)

Pangi falls away from the world as Youtube and Streaming work don't come together. Statistics fall in sync with his expectation and emotions. Luckily, with a quick call from his sister, someone comes to do an impromptu wellness check!

tw: depressive symptoms Also, if you want listen to "My Muse - Owl City" on the part where it describes a cascade of tears. The song ambushed me whilst I was writing the end... still haven't recovered.

Once again, inspired by Skam and peoples request for more fluffy times for these two.

Read below or online!

It hurt Pangi for Lukey to see him like this; broken, weak, disgusting… incompetent.

—

He’d been in a rut for a while now, imposter syndrome, but then it got worse and worse as the videos he put out didn’t hit expectations or completely fell through. The symptoms started off with late meals and missing the walks; usually opting for his sister to take Binky for a walk instead of him. Before long it all started adding up: he sent Tertel a termination letter, constant headaches, and the once vibrant calendar fell empty to endless hours stuck in bed.

His sister called their mom over out of worry, but he played it off well as a quick fever from overworking. With empty promises to eat properly and getting more rest she left to Pangi’s relief, which then turned into daily acts of pretend with his sister as he swallowed food, but regurgitated it in shaking fits after. He felt empty. A fraud.

Multiple times he left messages from friends on read and calls unanswered, feigning sleep and illness to pacify their overt worries. The lies kept adding up as the days went on and eventually tangled up to a point with a surprise visit from probably the only person he least wanted to see him like this. Lukey.

—

Pangi’s room had pretty much been shut off from the rest of the world. The doors always remained closed, windows slightly open, and the curtains drawn only enough to let a sliver of light through. Up until the door was opened and the familiar scent of apples invaded his senses.

“Hey…” It was a careful greeting, quiet and to the point, yet Pangi could tell it held the heavy weight of concern. “I’m not gonna lie, I almost didn’t believe your sister when she said you’d locked yourself up here. But- well nevermind, it’s nice seeing you again Pangi.”

Lukey stood by his door, slightly hovering between entering and leaving. He wore an all-white sweater and sported a fond smile. It would be a lie if he admitted that the scene didn’t give him butterflies.

Pangi closed his eyes nonetheless, exhaustion washing over him followed by guilt which killed any other rising emotion.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse and rapped from disuse.

There wasn’t a response, only the silent padding of footsteps and the sinking feeling of the bed’s edge before a slightly-cold palm lightly touched his forehead.

“Well, good to know you aren’t sick with fever.” His tone was shaky.

Leave me alone…

“At least everyone can chill out, ya know they were all worried right? I had to hold them all back with the promise I’d visit and take care of you.” Lukey narrated his trip slowly, a hand finding its way to Pangi’s shoulder- his thumb gently petting him: from the people worrying about his health, Tertel’s concern, a call from his sister, and then booking an overnight flight over— it almost seemed like some shitty movie plot.

Why do you care? Why do they care?

Pangi covered his head with the abundant blankets around him. He wanted Lukey to leave and forget everything he saw. He wanted to apologize for being a burden on everyone. He wanted so desperately to be the Pangi they all knew and loved, but he couldn't. He just wanted– wanted…

To die?

“I’m fine, you should go. Don’t you have a movie you’re working on or something?” The words came out faster than he’d thought, sharper than he’d intended.

Please don’t…

Lukey sighed and chuckled lightly, “It’s not your call to make, mister. You’re stuck with me, this is what you get for ignoring me for 17 times in a row.” 

That’s not true–! I wouldn’t ignore… I would. You did.

Although Pangi couldn’t see what was going on from under the covers, the shift in weight and temp suggested that the other boy had chosen to stay true to his word and laid down beside him. No sooner, he felt an arm lay over his waist and reached around until Lukey found his hand that wasn’t hidden under the blanket cocoon and held it.

“I’ve got you.” It was a muffled whisper just for him to hear.

Pangi grasped the hand and pulled it closer to his chest as tears silently spilled down his cheeks.

Thank you…

They spent the rest of the day like that undisturbed.

—

To Pangi’s surprise, Lukey was serious about sticking to him. It’s been three days since he’d arrived from out of the blue and for most of it, he was the one next to him: silently taking care of him and chatting about the nonsensical things he’d missed.

To which was usually met with silence. The nagging voices in his head had slowly quieted down a lot since then though.

The older gentleman never pushed him to do anything, only ever offering suggestions and riling him up in some sort of rage baiting fashion to get him to eat small amounts of food that he’d otherwise disparage.

At one point, they got into a super heated argument which resulted in warm soup spilling over Lukey’s sweatpants he’d chosen to wear that day. Pangi was then met with one of the most terrible moments of his life, Lukey’s disappointed glare. He quietly finished a bowl of soup without complaint that evening.

This continued on for about a week, all the while Pangi only ever offered small grunts  of approval or silent objection to most forms of interaction. Yet, the ever present Lukey was patient throughout it all. It warmed his heart that a friend would do so much for him, but the guilt also became overbearing as time passed between them…

One-sided conversations became the breeding ground for those dark thoughts that never left.

“Ya know Tertel and Aimey are the most worried about you? They actually call me every now and then when you’re asleep and ask how you’re doing.” Lukey was folding some of his laundry, another hard fought battle of wills to which Pangi listlessly gave up on. Turtle is probably better off with someone more successful to work for….

Lukey was absently scrolling through videos on his phone one day and attempted to show him a fancam of them two with a light laugh. “Everyone misses you Pangi. You have no idea the amount of messages I get asking if you’re okay. Seriously, how did they even know I’m with you?” They probably don’t care. They only care if they get their stupid gay yaoi. It’s not like that anything was real….

“Look, I bought a new shirt! Your sister was nice enough to suggest some new colors for me.” Lukey came into his room wearing an off-white button up shirt, on the chest where a pocket should’ve been was a stitched in pattern of a cornflower. Why… Why do you torment me with glimpses of what could never be..?!

It was the evening of whatever day- Pangi had lost count- Lukey had convinced him to watch the sunset from his window with him with the promise that they wouldn’t have to go out to the dining room for dinner. 

“Kinda romantic if you think about it,” the older boy said between bites of lasagna. “We’re here in your room, alone, watching the sunset and eating the same food we had for our first dinner date on the realm, remember?”

Pangi watched him in silence as he almost choked mid-laugh to the memory. His own plate had long been empty, Lukey was kind enough to never give him portions that would be too daunting.

Romantic?

Do you even think Lukey would ever have those sort of feelings to someone so pathetic? 

He has models and movie stars as friends, you’re nothing!

Lukey couldn’t ever lo—

“Pangi!” Warm hands had cupped his face and a gaze filled with concern watched him. “Ar- Are you okay?” It was barely a whisper yet it shook the regretful feelings crowding his chest, agitating them even more. He tried to turn his head away, but he didn’t realize how strong the young producer was.

LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

“You zoned out and weren’t responding to anything. I didn’t mean to yell...” Lukey apologized in a soft voice and pulled him into a hug, nothing tight, but he could feel Lukey’s quickened heartbeat.

Please… I don’t want you to see me like this… please……..

They sat there, letting the silence speak in their stead, just finding the comfort in being so close.

“I-” Pangi’s voice faltered and his shoulders started to shake, “I feel like a failure…”

And before he knew it he couldn’t stop.

“The cha- channel wasn’t doing well. I had to drop Tertel as an editor… everything feels like it’s falling apart and I just couldn't—” His voice broke as the words escaped him.

“I didn’t want to be a disappointment- I didn’t want to drag him down with me- nothing was going right- everything was just— and you, I feel like y-you…”

“Shhhhhh…” Lukey interrupted him, guiding him to his shoulder, “It’s okay…”

A cascade of liquified fear, worry, and guilt came bursting forth in waves, followed by shuddering shoulders and deep gasps for air. Pangi was drowning, yet he was also in the safest place in the world.

Pangi wept, he wanted to stop, he really did. Yet everything kept pouring out onto the shoulders of his best friend; it was quiet, torturous, and everything hurt. He didn’t notice when the arms around him shed the blanket that held him together, when they rubbed slow concentric circles on his back, or when they pulled him close enough to hear the whispers of someone who’s heart was breaking to see him like this.

“We can take it slow, ya know? Small steps.” Lukey’s voice cracked, “I’ll be there with you every step of the way. Just- don’t ever think of yourself that way again. Please…”

—

It was midnight when Pangi awoke all crusty-eyed from the dried tears that overwhelmed him before. He found himself wearing a new shirt, pajama bottoms, and— a familiar blue flannel… it smelled nice, comforting, safe.

Beside him was the boy who’d stayed with him at his worst, wearing a standard white tee and black pajama bottoms. Typical. One arm strayed across the small gap between them to his hip, the other tucked beneath the pillow which his messy head lay. A little bit of drool quietly pooled out the corner of his mouth.

Pangi held back a laugh. He wished he had his phone with him, it was rare to see Lukey so open like this and so close. But he couldn't even recall what had happened the day before, yet he felt… free.

He settled back in the blankets that covered them, opting to close the distance that had split them before. To his surprise, Lukey’s arms pulled him in a secure hug.

“Don’t ever leave me…” A groggy mumble broke the quiet.

Pangi felt a warmth drift through his stomach, climbing higher. “Why would I do that?”

“Mmmmm good,” the arm around him grew a little tighter and he felt the warm breath against the nape of his neck. “I promised you and you said yes.”

“What did I promise?” He really couldn’t remember, his own fingers played with Lukey’s. He opened his hand and threaded theirs together, putting it against his chest.

“We’ll deal with everything together. One step at a time.” Lukey seemed to be waking up now, the slurred speech from before had become more coherent. Pangi could feel the change in his heartbeat.

“That if it was too much, we’d take it day by day. And if that is too much, hour by hour. Minute by minute. Second by second, and so on until we get through it together.”

I would. I want to. I will.

“Really? I promised all of that… that doesn’t sound like me man.”

He was met with a low, extended groan. “Pangi, pleeeease…” There was a pause, “you also promised that you’d eat downstairs tomorrow and eat anything I give you.”

Pfffft. Liar! 

He held a laugh back, smiling into their intertwined hands as he shook his head. “Minute by minute, I like that.”

I love you.

“Mmmmmm… I love you too.”

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Sauvage, Part Five (FINALE)

Summary: Jensen finally meets Y/N, the woman Jared and Gen say is perfect for him. Just as they think they have their happily ever after, opportunity knocks taking Jensen halfway across the world. He’s determined to make their relationship work from an ocean apart, but it’s a lot harder than either of them bargained for.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Female Reader

Rating: General

Bingo Square: Reunion for @jacklesversebingo

Triggers / Warnings / Tags: fluff, reunion, heart-to-heart, kissing, happily ever after

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Please consider leaving feedback, a comment or a keyboard smash. Interaction really fuels a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or don’t want people to know you read fanfic and don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

Jensen made sure to arrive twenty minutes early. The last thing he wanted to do was be late—or worse, for Y/N to arrive before him. It also meant he could partake in a little Dutch courage to try and settle his nerves a bit. Not until he arrived at the bar did he realise just how much this meeting meant to him. She said it herself; they lived in the same city again and they couldn’t keep avoiding each other every time the Padalecki’s had a party. It wasn’t fair on either of them, or on Jared, Gen, and the kids.

“Scotch, neat, and can you make it a double?” he requested from the bartender as he sat in a barstool facing the entrance so he could see Y/N come in without looking like a meerkat at every flash of movement that caught his eye. “Thanks,” he nodded, handing twenty dollars over when the crystal tumbler was placed in front of him.

“Do you need change?” he asked.

“No,” Jensen shook his head. “It’s all good, thanks.”

He sipped his whisky slowly trying to practice their conversation in his head, but it didn’t do any good. Everything he thought to say sounded too forced, too desperate, or too nosy.

As he finished his whisky, Y/N walked through the door, and his mind went completely blank, forgetting every topic of conversation and every question he’d thought to ask. She looked stunning in the most understated way. A white V-neck shirt tucked into dark wash jeans, a smart black blazer, and a pair of heels. Her make-up was done in the way he’d always preferred on women: natural and minimal, to the extent she looked like she wasn’t wearing any at all.

She was perfect, and not for the first time, he cursed himself for ever letting her go. For not fighting harder. For breaking her heart and letting her down.

Y/N’s eyes casually scanned the bar and when they reached him, he raised his hand in a wave so she would see him. The way her shoulders relaxed when she saw him made him smile, and he wondered if she’d been just as nervous as he was about being stood up.

As she walked towards him, Jensen stood from the barstool to greet her. It took everything he had not to kiss her cheek when she stopped in front of him, but instead, he settled on a warm smile.

“I’m glad you came,” he chuckled softly.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” Y/N smirked, watching as he nervously ran his hand through his hair.

“Kinda!” he chuckled. “I put you on the spot earlier when I asked you how you’d been. I don’t have the right to ask, and I don’t have the right to know. I’d have understood if you stood me up.”

Y/N frowned at Jensen’s choice of words. This wasn’t a date, no matter how much she wanted it to be, so she tried not to dwell on it or any hidden meaning that might have been behind them. 

“So,” she cleared her throat, “are we getting a table or do you want to sit at the bar?”

“I’d like to get a table, but if you’d be more comfortable at the bar, I’m fine with that,” Jensen answered.

“A table would be great,” she replied, smiling that he was still as chivalrous as she remembered.

“Okay, great!”

Jensen held his arm out for her to take and she quickly linked hers with it. He led them to a quiet, intimate table for two at the back of the bar where they wouldn’t be disturbed by patrons queuing for drinks or people coming and going from the restrooms.

He pulled her chair out for her and once again, she found herself enamoured by his gentlemanly manners. “Thank you, Jensen.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” Jensen’s smile was wide and contagious, and the sparkle in his green eyes was brighter than she ever remembered seeing it. She couldn’t help wondering if it was the low, atmospheric lighting, or if their spark was reigniting.

As they settled into their seats, the silence and tension between them grew to an unbearable level. Y/N was about to bite the bullet and tell him that this was a bad idea when a waiter approached to take their drinks order.

Jensen ordered a beer with an ease that instantly diffused some of the tension she was feeling, making her wonder if it was only her that felt the awkward air surrounding and suffocating her.

“Merlot,” she blurted when the waiter asked her what drink she wanted for the second time. “A really large glass of Merlot, please.”

“Of course,” the waiter nodded and left them to their awkwardness once again.

“What?” Y/N frowned at hearing Jensen’s chuckle.

“Nervous?” he smirked and she narrowed her eyes.

“You’re not?”

“I am. But you look like you’re plotting a prison break!” Y/N laughed, breaking the remaining tension between her and Jensen. “There she is!” he chuckled. “You had me worried for a second!”

“I’m sorry. This is…” Y/N gestured wildly with her hands trying to find a word that wouldn’t offend him.

“Awkward?” Jensen offered. “Yeah, it is.” he agreed and took a swig of his beer, watching as she took a long swallow of her wine.

“But it doesn’t have to be,” he added, putting his bottle back on the table and making himself comfortable on the faux leather armchair. “So, since I asked you here, it’s only fair that my interrogation is first.”

“Interrogation?” she chuckled. “Why so serious!” Jensen threw his head back in laughter and she grinned. She’d missed his laugh.

“Maybe that was a little strong!” he smirked.

“You think? I’m about ready to get a cab home!” she laughed.

“Okay, how about reacquainting? Is that better?”

“Much,” Y/N grinned. “So, tell me about Paris.”

Jensen spent over an hour talking about himself, his time in Paris that led to him getting a dream position in a very successful New York restaurant, and his latest venture into owning his own place.

“Sauvage. I like it. It suits you,” Y/N grinned as he finished his story. “I’m so happy everything worked out for you, Jensen. Truly.”

“Thank you. It came at the sacrifice of any kind of personal life, but I’m hoping it pays off,” he chuckled.

“I have no doubt it will. Everything you’ve worked so hard towards will be worth it when you see your restaurant full of happy diners.” Y/N swallowed the last mouthful of her wine and gestured to the waiter for another round of drinks.

“So, I guess it’s your turn,” Jensen said.

“I guess so,” she cleared her throat and thanked the waiter for her second glass of wine. “What do you want to know?”

“How’s work?” Jensen started with the perfect icebreaker. She loved her job when they were dating, and he was pretty sure she’d still love it now.

“Great!” Y/N’s smile lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle. “I have my own family practice and see patients part time. The rest of the time is paperwork and the day-to-day running of things. I have an amazing office manager though, who helps with a lot of the admin.”

“Wow! Your own practice? Looks like I’m not the only one living their dream!” Jensen smiled.

“Yeah, well, you worked hard for yours. Mine kinda just fell into my lap!” she chuckled, and he tilted his head in a silent question.

“I’d been out for drinks with a group of friends and I ran into Eddie Simpson. We both specialised in family medicine at Harvard and shared classes together there. He was working in a practice and told me they were looking for a new pediatrician.

“Long story short, I got the job, and when the original owner, Dr Reynolds retired, Eddie and I bought him out, and I’ve been there ever since,” Y/N explained.

“Is Eddie still your business partner?” Jensen asked.

“Ah, now that brings us to the personal part of my life!” she chuckled sadly.

“I’m listening,” he said softly, and she smiled wearily.

“Not long after I started working at the practice, Eddie and I started dating. He’s a really great guy and he treated me well. We got married,” she sighed and paused, her memories making her smile slightly, making Jensen curious as to why things didn’t work between them.

“But we shouldn’t have,” she continued. “I had my doubts that accepting his proposal was the right thing to do, but I wanted what everyone else had. I wanted a partner and a best friend. Someone who’d always have my back.” Y/N paused again to take a long sip of wine.

“I got all of it from him, but I didn’t love him. I mean, I loved him… I still love him. I’m just not in love with him. I’m not sure that I ever was.

“He met someone else,” she smiled softly at Jensen’s scathing expression. “He never cheated on me. But when he met Laura, he realised the way he felt about her should have been the way he felt about me.”

It hadn’t been as heartbreaking as she imagined the news would’ve been had she been in love with Eddie. In fact, it’d been a relief. It meant they could part ways amicably and without anyone getting hurt. They loved each other, they just weren’t in love, and they’d managed to get through their separation and subsequent divorce and still be friends.

“When we separated, Eddie decided to move to Houston. It’s where Laura is from originally. When we sold our house, I offered to buy Eddie out of the practice and become its sole owner. He agreed and… here we are,” Y/N picked up her wine glass with a shrug, and took another healthy swallow from it.

“What about you?” She cleared her throat and placed her glass back on the table. There was no need to elaborate because they both knew she was referring to his love life.

“Do you want the truth or the polite answer?” Jensen chuckled.

“The polite answer, obviously,” she grinned.

“Alright, but remember you asked for it!” he laughed and took a long drag of his beer.

“I tried to date after… but no one ever came close to you. So, I threw myself into work and dated casually. Even that wasn’t… it didn’t feel right. It always felt like I was cheating.

“I know we weren’t together very long,” Jensen drained the rest of his beer. “But what we had was intense and all consuming. It was the real deal. I have no doubt whatsoever about that.” 

Y/N may have managed to move on and get married, but he never could. It had only ever been her. It still was and it always would be. He knew that now just as much as he’d known it back then. 

But back then, he couldn’t see the wood for the trees, and he thought it’d be easier for both of them — no, him — and his feelings to end it. Part of him held onto the hope that she’d wait for him. That she’d still be there when he came back from Paris, but she wasn’t. And it was only then that he realised just how big of a mistake he’d made because he knew her. And he knew that if they’d separated before he went to Paris, she would have waited for him. But he fucked up in so many ways, the first being his insistence that they stay together.

“I’m so sorry,” Jensen sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I just wish I’d tried harder—fought harder for you.”

“No, you don’t, Jensen. You wouldn’t be where you are now if we’d stayed together.” He knew she was right, but the shame and the guilt of what he’d put them both through was still as raw as it was then.

“I don’t care. None of it makes up for the future I could’ve had with you,” he fumed. “One where both of us would’ve been happy.”

“Maybe not. But neither of us would be who we are or where we are now, and everything happens for a reason. If I didn’t believe that, I’d never have survived us breaking up.”

“I still love you,” Jensen bravely admitted. If he didn’t do it now, he knew he’d let her walk out of here without telling her. “I never stopped.”

“Me either,” she replied.

“Can I kiss you?” He didn’t know where it came from, but it was out now and he couldn’t take it back.

“You better!” Y/N giggled, leaning forward to meet Jensen’s plump, perfect lips with hers.

The kiss was everything and more. Y/N felt the butterflies swarming the second their lips touched. Her heart skipped a beat before hammering twofold when Jensen’s tongue traced across her bottom lip.

She opened her mouth, whimpering as their tongues grazed. It was warm and passionate, familiar and comforting all at the same time. It was perfect. He was perfect. And Y/N finally felt like she was home.

“Can we, uhm,” Y/N murmured against his lips having had to pull away for some much needed oxygen. “Can we get out of here?”

Jensen smirked at Y/N’s red and swollen lips, proud that he’d been the one to make them that way.

“Together?” he asked, hoping it was but not wanting to assume.

“Yes,” she answered, her voice raspy with arousal.

“Your place or mine?”

The End

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[stevielovesmatt]

MYSTERIOUS

in which... writer!matt starts showing up more

warnings: none

burning hot

The clock strikes 2am, and you're still sitting in your studio. Adding the finishing touches to your painting, you hear a crash. Then, a muffled "Fuck!" through the wall.

10 seconds later, there's light knocking on your door. You open it, seeing Matt drenched in coffee.

"Please tell me you've got paper towels in here." He mutters.

You stifle a giggle, nodding as you lead him in, grabbing a handful of them. "Why are you here this late?"

Matt pats down his cream-colored sweater with the paper towels, visibly getting more annoyed as it's not coming off. "It's only like 2," He looks up at you, shrugging, "Not that late."

"Will this ever come off?" He continues. You shake your head.

"Probably not. Matches your hair though, looks nice." You swear you see him blush, but he looks away before you can confirm it. You offer him more towels as he starts to head out.

"Why are you here?" He repeats your question back to you, grabbing the towels from you.

"Finishing up some stuff. Usually I'm asleep by now." You say, opening the door for him.

He nods, walking back into Logan's room. "Thanks for the paper towels."

The door shut, leaving you stood in the doorway of your studio. You walk back in, "Didn't even answer my question." You mumble to yourself, going back to the paintings.

sculpted feelings

"Anything fun today?" Logan asks you, hands on his hips, looking around. Matt sat on your couch, nose-deep into his journal, writing.

You smile. "Clay stuff," you pause, an idea forming, "Wanna be my muse?" You notice Matt looking up out of your peripheral view when you say that, then going back to writing.

"Huh? How?" Logan asks, puzzled. You giggle at his lack of art knowledge.

You pull out a stool, placing it next to your desk. "You sit here, I sculpt your face." You say shrugging.

Logan's jaw drops. "Oh yes. Sculpt this sexy face." He promptly sits down in the stool.

"Perfect." You say, giggling. You walk around the room, grabbing the materials you need.

5 minutes later, you're sat at your desk, clay in hand. Something, Somehow, Someday by ROLE MODEL plays through your phone speaker. You glance across the room, seeing Matt move his head to the beat, clearly enjoying the song unconsciously.

10 minutes later, you're laser-focused. Sculpting out the eye sockets, you look over at Logan to make sure you did it right.

"Are you done yet?" He asks, deadpanning.

You shake your head. "No." You mumble, all your attention on the clay in front of you. That is, until you feel a pair of eyes on you. You look up for a second, but Matt's already staring. He has the end of his pen in his mouth, thinking. As soon as you make eye contact for 2 seconds, he immediately looks back down in his journal and starts writing, a soft smile playing on his face.

Weird.

creative juices

*MATT'S POV*

I sit on my bed, staring at my journal, a blank page to be exact. I just spent the past hour writing non-stop, and now I have nothing. I knew what I wanted to write about, but the words won't come to my head.

Logan had given me Y/N's number a few days ago, after I told him a needed it for 'creative purposes'.

'how would u describe a tree in like a cool way. smth spiritual idk.' I text her.

Her notification pops up almost immediately. 'Who is this?'

'oh shit. this is matt sorry'

'Oh okay.'

I sigh, awaiting her response as the three bubbles appear again.

'Something grounding. Like even through all crazy things in life, a tree still stands strong? And they give good hugs I guess.'

I laugh at the last part, sending her a quick thank you before going back to writing, smiling at myself.

a/n: something to hold u over until the next part :)

main: @slvt4subchratt @chrepsi @hannaloveschris @courta13 @sunflower-vol3 @mattspillowprincess @ilovedanielcaesar @kenah-sturniolo

artist!reader x writer!matt: @oopsiedaisydeer @lyingonchris

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[lambbb]

Jacob Alden x reader - 🔞

Kink list + tw list- begging/edging,Daddy issues, pictures being taken, light bondage, stalking, maybe even a little bit of a breeding kink sprinkled in there,

{I don't know why this is going to be my first pic at a smut but why not....}

......................................📸............................................

Ever since that morning when he first started his little act of lying to you, claiming the postman had mixed up the mail just so he could talk, you’d started forming a bit of a crush on your next-door neighbor.

You had recently moved back in with your parents after college, probably around 18 to 20. He seemed older, maybe in his late 20s or early 30s, and every time you spoke with him

really talked with him

something about the conversation scratched at the right parts of your brain. He reminded you of everything you didn’t have with your dad. He was warm with you, kind.

After a few arguments with your parents, the thought of moving in with him started tempting you more than you’d like to admit. It had been months since you two first met, and by now you were hanging out at least a couple of times a week. You chatted online, picked up on each other’s habits like it was second nature. Like it wasn’t a good thing

But obviously he had planned this out ever since you became his "Muse" you didn't know that and even if you could see the red flags you didn't want to see it....

{time jump to one afternoon}

You were just hanging out at his house while he was gone at work. He didn’t mind you being there,especially since he could keep the cameras on without you even noticing. At least, until today.

You didn’t say anything about the cameras, but you definitely noticed. It made you wonder why a man would have cameras inside his own home, not just outside. And honestly, your curiosity got the better of you.

You started snooping.

You knew he’d hate you for it. Not really hate you but he’d be mad. You looked through a few drawers, finding normal things at first. But then you got to his office.

Of course that’s where he kept all his camera equipment. His computer sat on the desk, humming quietly. But what made you freeze were the pictures. Dozens of them. Photos of you, plastered all over the wall like a shrine.

He was obsessed. Dedicated, in the most terrifying way.

Despite the sinking feeling in your gut, you moved toward the computer. You wanted to see what else he had,what other pictures he might be keeping. But then, you heard the front door unlock.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

You stopped immediately, rushing to put everything back where it belonged. You moved to leave, hoping you could make it to the living room before he noticed anything was off.

But you hadn’t anticipated how fast he’d be.

And when he didn’t see you on the couch, something must have clicked for him,like a gut instinct. As you tried to slip out of the office, you didn’t notice him standing right in the doorway.

You bumped into him, chest to chest. You felt the solid weight of his frame pressing against yours.

You wanted to say something, but all you could do was look up at him. There was a flicker of guilt in your chest,guilt for snooping through his things, guilt for getting caught,but tangled up in that was something else. You were intrigued, maybe even a little disgusted. The pictures he had of you were all different kinds. Some were sweet and candid, others were taken from angles that suggested you hadn’t known you were being watched. Still, another part of you, embarrassingly enough, was flattered. The wholesome ones, at least, were beautiful. He had captured you in ways no one else ever had, like he truly saw you.

He just stood there, staring down at you in silence, his face unreadable. Anger was there, tight in his jaw and set in the lines of his body. You’d broken his trust, and he hadn’t expected that from you. But there was more beneath the surface. His eyes searched yours with a strange urgency, like he was bracing himself for something painful. There was surprise in his expression, maybe even a hint of fear,..fear of what you might say. But underneath it all, there was something else too. Relief. It was like part of him had been waiting for you to find out.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to speak, your voice soft and unsure.

“Look… this is a bit of a strange situation I’ve gotten myself into. I might have some questions later, but… I’m not going anywhere. I still enjoy you. Your presence. And I’m going to be honest with you. Maybe I am a little scared. But I trust you.”

Jacob was still not moving for a second just trying to process everything before letting out that in deep chuckle he would do when he couldn't believe something, but you couldn't tell if you thought you were unbelievably stupid or if he just couldn't tell if you were saying the truth or not. He eventually spoke moving closer but you didn't back up.

"your saying you trust me?... You really are a stupid thing what just because I give you everything your family can just because I'm here for you-"

His words stung you immediately cut him off not even thinking

"NO, I do trust you and you have been there and you don't get to act like you mean nothing to me look okay maybe it's a little creepy that you're doing all of this but I don't want you to leave no matter how messed up it is..."

Honestly after you said that he couldn't take it anymore he just came towards you hugging you like you always did but this time it was something harder like you would never get away now and there was a certain part of you that didn't care....

{probably an hour or so later}

He had you upstairs in his room, tied up with rope,not too tight, of course. He was always careful like that. Gentle in his own strange way. You were uneasy at first, but you'd said yes. You had agreed to this. He never would’ve touched you otherwise.

Now, you were stripped down to just a tank top and panties, everything else scattered across the floor. The room was dim, a little messy, and all you could hear was him,his footsteps, his breath, and the quiet click of the camera shutter. It was set up on a tripod now, aimed at you like he was documenting something sacred. He couldn’t stop taking pictures. Frame after frame, like you were something priceless, or like he was trying to make the moment last forever.

And maybe it was all that attention,or maybe it was just the way he looked at you,but your body reacted. You started to press your thighs together, chasing a little friction, something to cling to. Because the truth was… you wanted him. You wanted to feel him. To hear him. To taste him.

The thoughts made you shudder, not just from need but from guilt. Your whole life, you'd been told these urges were wrong. Sinful. Dirty. And yet here you were.half-naked, tied up, being photographed by someone who felt like chaos and obsession and something you couldn't bring yourself to walk away from.

He could see it,how close you were to breaking. Your body was practically trembling with need, breath hitching every time the camera clicked. The photos didn’t lie. They captured everything,how wet you were getting, how badly you wanted him, how desperation clung to you like sweat. He didn’t need to touch you to know, but he did anyway. Slowly, he walked over, hands settling on your hips with a firm, possessive grip, massaging the skin like he could calm the ache he’d so carefully built up inside you. Maybe he wanted to keep you like this a little longer,on edge, hungry, squirming under his gaze. But your body had other plans. Your hips bucked forward on their own, chasing friction, a silent plea he could feel down to the bone. He laughed, low and unbothered, like he was enjoying watching you unravel more than anything else. “Oh, don’t worry, honey,” he said, voice thick with amusement and promise. “You’ll be finished before you even realize it…” He leaned in, breath hot against your skin, his words curling around your spine like smoke. “I’m gonna take good care of you. Real good care. Mhm… Daddy’s gonna ruin you sweet thing.”

He put her through a few more poses, slow and deliberate, each one pushing her further toward the edge until, finally, he moved the camera aside, satisfied for now. Minutes passed like a storm barely contained, and when he knelt beside her to untie the restraints, she didn’t hesitate. The second her wrists were free, she was on him,kissing him with a hunger that burned through hesitation, just like he’d hoped. No, just like he’d planned. Her hands were clumsy but determined, tugging down his boxers while her hips rolled against the thick shape of him through the fabric of hers, soaked through. The soft, broken sounds he made only pushed her further, and she moved with growing desperation, grinding against him again and again like she couldn’t get close enough. Curiosity or maybe something darker got the better of him, and he slid a hand between her thighs, beneath the fabric. His fingers met heat and wet that startled even him. His breath caught, eyes widening as he realized just how badly she needed this. A quiet curse slipped past his lips before he caught her mouth in another kiss, this one deeper, messier, full of the fire he’d helped ignite.

She whimpered into his mouth as his fingers moved against her, slow at first, almost taunting. He tasted the sound, devoured it, deepening the kiss as his hand stayed exactly where she needed it most. Her body arched into him, every nerve lit up like a live wire, and still, he took his time mapping out her reactions, learning the way she twitched when he pressed just right. She was so responsive, so completely unraveled under his touch, it made something possessive crawl beneath his skin. He broke the kiss, staring down at her with a hunger that went far beyond lust.

"You’re trembling," he murmured, voice low, half a growl. "Is that from needing me... or from how much you hate that you do?"

The words hit like a slap and a caress all at once. He could see the answer in her eyes the conflict, the shame, the want. It thrilled him. Made him want to ruin her just a little more. His hand left her only long enough to tear the last bit of fabric from her hips, exposing everything he’d been working her toward. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to.

When he pushed into her, it was slow but unforgiving no warning, no hesitation. Her breath hitched, body going tense before melting beneath him, taking him in like she’d been waiting for this moment since the second he tied her up. He watched every expression cross her face, memorizing it, holding onto it like it belonged to him now....

Part two?

[dragolord19delta]

A Meet and Greet at Sonic Fankid Showdown!

@sonic-fankid-showdown

Sonic Fankid Arena

Cafeteria

"Welcome to the Sonic Fankid Meet and Greet!"

Starlis took a sip of the cup of punch she had snagged as she watched the host for this year, a red quokka named Barry, address the crowd. "This will be a day where you all introduce yourselves in the hopes of maybe making a new friend or three." As she continued watching and listening to him speak about the meet and greet, Starlis ran a hand through her dark-blue spiny quills nervously. 'Deep breath, girl. This isn't that bad!' Starlis mentally reprimanded herself.

As Barry continued his announcements, the small bits of conversation could be heard amongst the murmurs of the other 63 Fankids present. All of this did little to ease the nerves of the 17-year-old Hybrid Hedgehog. Starlis adjusted her sunglasses before running a paw over her head quills. 'Okay, no need to overthink things, girl. Let's just do this. Gaia, Zia's the talker, not me! Still, she'll be so disappointed in me if I just hang back this whole time…'

Taking a few more steps into the room, she kept an eye out for other attendees.

They have a LOT of food…

"Here I go!"

Taking one last calming breath, she started towards the food table. 'The one cool thing about this is seeing all the… what-ifs? I guess?' Starlis mused. She eyed the people around her as she made her way towards the food table. There were even some Echidnas! Thinking of Uncle Knucks having kids was… weird. For so long, it had just been her, Zia, and Robin thinking that the rest of the family having kids was… strange.

Might as well make a good impression. At the very least, Starlis wanted not to get too nervous or flustered…

Meanwhile, Nightshade was just casually on the outside looking in as she watched everyone from a safe distance away. She didn't feel like socializing too much but came anyway to check the other fankids out, and there were a lot of them. She decided to check out the refreshment table since there were a couple of people there already. She saw a small dark blue hedgehog with red streaks in her quills that looked a lot like her dad's quills. She kinda dug the look, actually, more metal than emo, but she wasn't about judging someone else's style. Though she didn't recognize who this person was, she thought Why the hell not. She smiled at her as she went closer to the table. "Hi," Shade said with a wave.

"I-oh!" Starlis had been so lost in her own thoughts while browsing the refreshments on hand that she wasn't quite sure what startled her from her reverie: The sight of someone nearly two feet taller than her, the subtle smell of lavender and something… musky, dog-like scent wafting by her olfactory senses, or the deep yet clearly female voice behind her.

All she knew was that she jumped hard.

"WAAAUGH-!" The result of her jump was a startled yelp, and she barely held back the instinctive impulse to use Hyperspeed to boost her spin. But Hyperspeed wasn't on her feet… and her hands were full of a plate of chicken kabobs!

Despite her best attempt, the entire serving of those delectable poultry morsels… slid off her plate and onto the ground, and lay there in all of its splattered chicken glory. A moment of silence was in the air.

'…aaaaawwww, stinky weasel-babies', was all Starlis could think. "… uhm… Hello?" she said at length, her quills slumping with the same speed as her tail had. 'Great. I'm already screwing up…' And of course she had a smudge of hot sauce on her cheek too! Despite the shades she wore, Starlis had a very distinctive blush on her cheeks.

Shade felt a little bad when she watched the shorter metalhead (She had what looked like a standard metal font band shirt on) practically drop her meal just because Shade scared her. She was glad the chicken hadn't gotten onto their clothes, but the girl looked so disappointed. "Shoot, sorry didn't mean to startle you like that," Shade said embarrassed that she could have made her jump that badly.

"T-that's ok, just… nervous is all…" Starlis replied quietly as she bent down to pick up her plate and the kabobs that had fallen off of it. "… not big on socializing…"

Shade looked at the poor girl who was looking at her food. Shade thought about something for a moment, then came up with an idea. "You want me to help you get another serving while I get mine? Then maybe we can hang out for a little bit?" she asked.

Starlis couldn't help but be surprised by the offer. It wasn't what she had expected in response to… well, THAT disaster. She looked up at Shade, taking a moment to process the height difference between them. She had never met a Mobian this tall!

"… uhm, sure!" She finally said after a few more moments of thought, nodding before extending her free hand. "I'm Starlis, nice to meet you!"

Shade took Starlis's hand and gave it a firm shake, "Nice ta meet ya too Starlis," she said with a grin. "I'm Nightshade or Shade if ya want"

Starlis looked at Shade carefully, eyes flicking over her face. The third eye was… different. Mobius had no shortage of odd species and even odder hybrid traits, but a third eye? The only person she knew was… "Um, is one of your parents Shadow the Hedgehog?"

Shade nodded as she started gathering food onto her plate. "Yeah, Shadow and Sonic are my fathers, actually." She said with a smile.

Starlis perked up at that, beaming brightly. "No way! They're my dads too! That's wild…" Her expression then became thoughtful as she grabbed another plate for herself… though this time making sure to not put quite so much on her own plate.

"…I gotta admit, this is wild too, seeing all the different Fankids and all. I guess I just never really considered what, if any of my dads' friends had kids?" Her tail twitched as she pondered the idea.

"What about you, Starlis? Got any siblings?" Shade asked before taking a bite out of some chicken.

"Nope!" Starlis replied, shaking her head as she chewed on one of the kabobs. "It's just me. You?"

"Yep, I have four younger brothers and sisters, two boys, two girls." She said with a slight giggle in her tone, "The younger two are twins and can be quite a handful, but they're still adorable."

Starlis couldn't help but smile at the thought of that, thinking back on some of the antics she and Zia had gotten into when they were kids… "Well, I have two kinda cousins/friends? There's Zia De Sol, who's Auntie Blaze and Amy's kid." She mused, thinking about how much her own girlfriend had changed over the years.

"Then there's Robin, Auntie Rouge and Wave's adopted daughter," Starlis explained, grabbing a soda from a nearby cooler with her tail before flicking it up and behind her so she could catch it. Popping the tab, she took a long sip while Shade gaped at her for a brief moment.

"That was cool as fuck." Shade said, her third eye just blinking along with her normal ones.

"Heh, thanks. It took ages to figure it all out." Starlis said with a grin. "I don't get to use it much, but it comes in handy sometimes…" Her gaze moved over towards the crowd, eyes moving over each of them carefully before she turned back to face Shade. "Anyways, what about you?"

"I got some cousins and uncles and aunties too," Shade said, thinking fondly of them all, "Some I see often, others not so much.”

Starlis nodded and thought for a moment. What could she do to continue this conversation? This was actually going well! She hadn't messed up beyond dropping her plate, and even then, she'd met someone new!

"…So what do you do, you know, outside of all this?" Starlis asked curiously as she adjusted her glasses. They were starting to slip down her muzzle a tad, and she didn't want them falling off.

"Well… I'm still in high school…" Shade started, but Starlis interrupted her, "High school?!?! I thought… Oh… well, I figured with your height…" Shade shrugged her shoulders with an understanding smile. It wasn't like she wasn't used to the whole age thing. She's gotten it a lot of times before. "It's fine. It's not the first time I've gotten that question. Also, I do music in my spare time."

"Oh, cool!" Starlis replied with a nod as she glanced around. She noticed a few other dark-furred fankids drifting towards a darkened corner of the cafeteria and sighed. "Welp… I guess we can't escape the fellow edgy goth kids, even here…"

Shade laughed as her third eye moved to watch them. "No one ever is" she said as she grabbed some more food off the table.

For the next hour, Shade and Starlis were still talking and getting along rather nicely. The two quickly joined the 'Shadow Collective' as someone dubbed it in the corner. Starlis made a note to tell her Baba that his DNA apparently had an unusually strong tendency to produce 'edge'.

It was actually kinda fun! The conversations were animated, and she'd already gotten a few new numbers out of it… including Shade's. She couldn't help but feel relaxed around these people- they felt familiar in many ways. Not like her friends or the family, but just familiar in ways that seemed almost instinctual…

"So then Roxie goes-" Shade was regaling Starlis with a tale of her girlfriend after a platypus girl who had joined the corner, had gotten grumpy when Starlis didn't recognize the name of 'Doctor Starline', which had evolved from that to someone named 'Surge the Tenrec' (After Starlis heard what this Starline had done to her, Starlis swore to shoot him somewhere painful if they ever met in her world. Elsewhere a certain platypus crossed his legs instinctively.) to gushing about their girlfriends. Shade had just been getting to the good part when a loud voice broke across the cafeteria.

"Well, folks, I'm glad everyone's enjoying themselves here so far! But now it's time for some announcements." The host quokka called out from his position at the podium, getting everyone's attention.

"Oh? Hm, well, might as well pay attention…" Starlis mumbled quietly, looking at Barry. "Wonder what the deal is?"

"Okay, okay, so we're going to start with our first vote bracket!" Barry announced as a holographic projection appeared behind him. It was… a bracket. A bracket that looked almost like those March Madness brackets she and Zia had seen back on TV. Only this was different: This one was titled 'SONIC FANKID SHOWDOWN'.

"We will now start drawing names!" the red Quokka sing-songed cheerfully, "I hope you guys are all ready to show off your talents!" The crowd started muttering in an anticipatory tone. Starlis could only think of one thing.

Oh shit.

"So, how does the big battle royale work anyway?" Starlis asked as she eyed the stage nervously. She had never really been around crowds this large before… not without Zia nearby.

She glanced at Shade out of her peripheral vision, who shrugged, "Never been to one. Got the email, and I figured, why not? It sounds interesting at least."

"Fair enough," Starlis replied quietly, taking a deep breath. She was gonna need to calm down a bit. After all, it's not like this would be too stressful- just some quick introductions, and maybe a little showing-off…

"Hey, look on the bright side, it'll make a cool story for your friends back home," Shade said.

"Oh, I don't know how, but Zia snuck backstage this afternoon. She said something about 'giving moral support', and I can't say no to her…" Starlis replied with an awkward smile. "Ah, girlfriends, am I right?" Shade laughed. Starlis was still surprised that she was a year younger than her, but she seemed much more put together than her.

Shade nodded, then looked back up at the stage where the Quokka was drawing balls and dropping them in a lottery ball machine, which began to tumble them, "Well, all the balls are in the air and… here. we. GO!" Starlis watched as the formerly tumbling balls fell to the bottom before being sucked into little tubes, separating the balls into pairs "The first bracket will be… Stake VS Harlo Robotnik!"

Shade tuned out a bit after a few people were picked. She knew she was probably gonna be one of them soon, but until then, there really wasn't much she could do other than talk with some others. Her third eye looked over at the refreshment table again, looking over all the food still there. 'Hmmm, should get some more of those cheesy puffs or whatever they are. They were sooooo good!' Shade thought happily. An elbow to her knee snapped her out of her thoughts about the food, "-e the Hedgehog vs. Starlis Maria Hedgehog!"

Shade's ears shot up as well as Starlis's own as they both looked at the stage where their photos and names had appeared. "Ohhhhhh fudge…" Shade heard Starlis mutter under her breath.

Starlis gulped nervously, looking at her new friend turned opponent. Shade looked… calm? Yeah, that was it, she looked calm. The taller hybrid couldn't help but smile at Starlis, though, as if to reassure the shorter hedgehog girl. Shade gave her a friendly nod of acknowledgement. "Hey, let's give these guys a show, alright? No hard feelings?" she said with a warm tone.

Starlis could only give her friend an uneasy smile back at the reassuring words, but when Shade extended her hand, she took it in her own with a firm grip. She didn't want to disappoint Zia, or anyone else for that matter… But this? This sucked. It felt like all her confidence left her body in one fell swoop. 'Ughhhhh…. why me?' Starlis thought with a grimace as they walked onstage together. Starlis still wasn't sure how exactly she would handle this situation… What was there really to do? Her eyes scanned over the large sign hanging above them, displaying pictures of everyone participating today alongside each pairing number and name combination listed below them on a screen mounted next to it.

"Well, I hope everyone is excited to see this Showdown, Everyone! Don't forget, the competition starts in 2 days, so the training rooms are open 8 am to 8 pm. See you guys soon!" Barry announced cheerfully from his position near the center stage before he stepped away from his microphone stand, disappearing backstage.

Author's note: While I'm not an artist like most of you folks (looks at everyone's awesome art) I like to think I'm an ok writer! So if anyone wants some written stuff done, I'm your dragon! Characters mentioned: Starlis M. Hedgehog (@dragolord19delta) (Night)Shade the Hedgehog by @sonnewolfie009) Who I wrote this for! Stake (by @thefantasylife8) Harlo Robotnik (by @xinnamonbun and @halastar05) Esme Starline (by @mischeva)