#Tinker Round 3

[sidoopa]

im trying to put together proper design sheets for artfight............

[yen-sids-tournament]

Semi-Final Round: Rani v Silvermist

(Also: "Disney Fairies Series" Final)

Propaganda

Rani: *contains book spoilers*

~A water fairy in love with swimming and mermaid culture... Except a fairy cannot swim, as waterlogged wings would drown them. To say more would spoil the book, but if you haven't read it just trust me ok? She's the bestest!! ~She cut off her own wings!!! ~She's a water-talent fairy who cut off her wings so she could swim (wings weigh you down when theyre wet). She also has a dove assistant to fly her around ~Rani is a water-talent fairy from the Disney Fairies books. She is such a sweet character. She no longer has wings because she had them cut off in order to save a Mother Dove's broken egg.

[wickedjr89gaming]

[deathbxnny]

Arcane women accidentally confessing to you. | Sevika, Jinx, Caitlyn, Vi x Gn!Reader

This is very self-indulgent, so enjoy.<3

Content: pre-season 2 because I want to be happy rn, slight angst if you squint, fluff, accidental confessions, maybe ooc??, cursing, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》SEVIKA

She was resting at the last drop with you during some downtime in between missions. One hand lingered on your hip whilst her metallic one held onto her cigar, eyes focused on the pocker game she was playing with a couple of Silco's other henchmen. She always kept you close this way, a clear sign of who you belonged to despite never having said a word about it yet. It was a mutual understanding only you could have, and so she didn't think a confession was necessary.

Until today, it seemed.

You were secretly helping her cheat a little and eventually told her the winning move, which earned her a large sum of money. Letting out a smug laugh at everyone's angered and defeated glares, she gave you a lazy grin. "Thanks, sweetheart. This is why I love you." She hummed to you, smoke exhaling from her dark lips, before she froze ever so slightly. Well, it shouldn't be that much of a surprise to either of you, and yet she couldn't help but chuckle at your own stunned face.

Looking at the men around her, she threw some poker chips towards them, clearly asking for another round. She wasn't the type to get flustered or shy anyways, so her moving on like nothing happened was on brand.

The only acknowledgment you got, however, was the hand on your hip tightening.

》JINX

She has a hard time hiding her feelings for you due to her rather energetic and extremely clingy nature. But there is still a clear distance between you two that she's too scared to cross. It was a deep fear of ruining everything she had with you in case her confession went wrong. She'd rather you consider her your best friend for life if it meant for you to stay at her side. She didn't want to lose more people after all. And yet, as fate has it, she eventually lost herself in a good and happy moment with you.

You were tinkering on some projects in her hideout whilst listening to music. Her head was leaning against your shoulder as her eyes traced your focused gaze. Jinx felt so content and at peace in that moment that she couldn't stop the words that spilled out of her mouth. "I love you." It took her a second to realise what happened, and her body was quick to flinch away from you. You kept her in place, however, with a free hand placed against her head. "Hey, it's okay. I love you too. I'm not leaving." You reassured her quickly with a smile, one that made her heart skip a beat.

She may not see herself as deserving of you, but she's glad to have you at her side anyway. Hopefully forever.

》CAITLYN

Caitlyn was good at hiding her emotions from you. In fact, she had refused to tell you in fear of breaking the professionalism you two had and, most importantly, your friendship that she cherished deeply. And so, she was very careful not to reveal a single thing... until her confidence betrayed her and caused her to slip up.

You two were reviewing a new case together, and whilst she wasn't paying attention, she accidentally slid you her diary over. It unfortunately looked too similar to her work notebook, something she only realised the moment you opened it and froze in surprise. She may have scribbled your name all over it. She may have childishly drawn hearts around your name. She may have made it awfully clear that she loved you. And it made her wonder if there was a god out there that hated her deeply.

"... My apologies. Please ignore that-" "-Haha, I'm so relieved that I'm not the only one who did this!" You let out a soft laugh before pulling out your notebook and showing her similar pages to her own, just with her name written all over them. Her face was flushed from how flustered and embarrassed she was, but alas, she too couldn't help and chuckle at how silly this all was. At least you felt the same.

》VI

It's not like she didn't want to confess her feelings to you. She just didn't know how! Her confession should sweep you right off your feet in her mind, and yet nothing she came up with seemed good enough. Vi hoped that her flirting would get the point across, but she lacked the confidence to go any further than compliments. She just didn't want you to think differently of her and therefore kept her distance for the most part regarding the subject. That is if she could keep it in for lobger than she already has. She always felt so strongly about others, after all.

So, during a little hang out session in a bar somewhere in Zaun, she attempted to find the courage to tell you how she felt. Whilst she went off to go and get you a drink first, however, a drunken man showed up at your side and started flirting you in a rather uncomfortable way. You tried making it clear that you weren't interested, but as he went to grab your arm, a hand slammed in between you two onto the bar table. "Hey, I think they told you no, asshole." "Who the hell are you?" The man barked back, yet Vi didn't back down and simply blocked you from his view with her body. "I'm their girlfriend, now fuck off." She hissed, and the man just rolled his eyes before walking off grumbling.

Silence filled the space in between you two until you chuckled softly. "Girlfriend, huh? I like the sound of that." You hummed, secretly trying to ease her embarrassed mind, that quickly recovered at your words with a sly grin. "You do?" You mirrored her smile with a nod. "Very much so. I'm glad we think alike."

[comatosebunny09]

sum: sylus responds to an online ad for a roommate. you suddenly have this tall, well-spoken, handsome man living in the attic, playing classical music, tinkering with things he built, and humming off-key while he makes you pancakes in the morning before disappearing for weeks at a time. cw: modern au, roommate au, slice of life, slow burn, mild language, brief mentions of violence & torture, evols exists here, mutual pining, romantic tension, brief jealousy, alcohol, 3k wc track list: le carrousel - james quinn fig. 1 | fig. 2 | fig. 3 | fig. 4

The air reeks of mildew, dust, sweat, and disinfectant. 

A lone lightbulb winks tawny overhead, casting ominous shadows along the concrete floor and walls, highlighting the savagery taking place within.

Four men occupy the room. 

Sylus is the only one seated on a chair like a throne, legs crossed—the paradigm of poised, twirling a folding knife between his fingers while a henchman stands in good form at his back. 

The muffled screams have now dulled to wet whimpers. A grown man crying has never been a pretty sound. But Sylus has grown accustomed to it, sometimes dragging the fragmented remains of a man out himself. 

He’s a good foot from the show, watching with all the interest of someone used to brutality. Lowered lids cloak vacant eyes. He sighs for the umpteenth time, leaning back, clearly bored with this game.

Lackey number two rucks up slicked sleeves, swiping the sweat from his brow before getting back to work. 

The victim—a self-proclaimed freelancer discharged from a rival faction, boasting about having antimatter weapons to sell—snivels as Sylus’ henchman drags him across the floor. On his knees, ankles and wrists bound, breath shaky behind the bite of a makeshift gag, the man levels Sylus with a pleading look. 

It’s fruitless. The kingpin is in no mood for mercy. He waggles his fingers, signaling for his henchman to begin another round of mind-warping torture. 

Blood and viscera aren’t Sylus’ thing. 

If he can help it, he prefers more neat, conventional methods for extracting information. Which is why he doesn’t flinch when the goon’s cries rise again as if he’s being electrocuted. 

The lightbulb glints once more, and a moth beating its wings as it orbits it, casts a foreboding shadow below.

Sylus toys with the knife again, mind slowly detaching itself, when his phone lightly buzzes in his coat. 

He catches the blade’s handle in his palm, fishes his cell from his inner pocket, and scrutinizes the screen. Arching a brow, his lips twitch, threatening to curl upward. 

It’s a message from you, your name accented with a lone heart emoji. 

When he draws up the text, your voice invades his mind. He envisions you all frazzled, dramatic as ever, and his heart swells from the imagery.

(You): help me!

It reads half-cryptic. He’s sitting up now, the knife returning to its home with a sharp shlink!

When he starts to feel an inkling of concern creeping in, thumb hovering over the keyboard, prepared to key in a response, another message comes through. It’s a picture of a menu, sharp print against cardstock, the restaurant's name scrawled in cursive at the top. 

(You): don’t know how to read this. i’m hungry as hell and about to have a whole attitude.  (You): heeeeellllp 🚨🚨🚨 (You): and don’t say escargot. i will literally fight you.

This time, he does allow his lips to pull in that Cheshire Cat sort of way. It’s endearing how you need him. How you rely on him to translate what you call “rich bastard speak.” Even if it’s for something minor, he’s grateful to be of use to you. You give him purpose in a world that bleeds grey. The shine of a lighthouse amid a tumultuous storm. 

He’s been there before, the eatery you’re fretting over. They have good liquor and decent grilled scallops. He’s about to send back a personal rec, but then it strikes him—the gleam of silver in the photo’s corner, half-hidden by the menu, but glaringly obvious. 

An expensive watch wrapped around a wrist that’s inherently masculine catches his eye. Bigger than yours, veins and sinew spilling from the links down to manicured nails. 

Sylus’ jaw ticks. 

He knows you’re on your lunch break. Has your schedule down to a science, pocketing it in case he has to do something irreversible to clear his tracks. He’s aware that you primarily work with women—you sometimes vent about the things they do and don’t, using him as a confidant whenever your day is too heavy to shoulder. 

And maybe he’s done background checks on all of them, ensuring they wouldn’t pose a problem later. To you and him.

But you’ve never spoken of a man working in your small, hodgepodge department. A man too close for Sylus’ comfort. Casual familiarity that makes his eyes narrow.

He’s already chased off one deranged ex. He’d rather not come back to you missing while he’s in another city conducting business.

(Sylus): whos that sweetie? (You): ??? (Sylus): the tudor watch. (Sylus): in the corner. friend of yours?  (You): oh! intern. he’s cool peeps. i’m like 6 years older than him and he keeps reminding me. 🙄🙄🙄

Sylus certainly does not release the quietest, most relieved breath. And the rigid set of his shoulders doesn’t slacken upon discovering that you’re not secretly courting someone without his knowledge.

It’s not stalking. It’s ensuring his assets are secured. 

(You): anyway, can you help me? you know i don’t understand this fancy shit. (Sylus): avoid the rack of lamb. its a bit overseasoned. (You): lol (You): you forget who you’re talking to. i sprinkle seasonings on my food until my ancestors whisper, “enough, child.”

He chuckles something throaty, something endeared. And he doesn’t realize he’s let his guard down until his henchman shifts behind him, clearing his throat. Sylus cuts his eyes over his shoulder, daring the man to utter a word. He doesn’t, straightening his tie and returning his attention to the scene ahead.

(Sylus): it might be a bit overpowering even for you sweetie. (Sylus): go for the duck confit or the grilled halibut. those are more your tastes. (You): thank youuuuu! 🙏🙏🙏 (Sylus): pair it with a glass of pinot gris. (You): gesundheit. (Sylus): and be sure to introduce me to your new intern friend before he whisks you out on a date next time. (You): 😛😛😛 (You): jealous?

Sylus doesn’t do jealous. It’s never been a word in his repertoire. Possessive, maybe. A little overprotective, sure. But jealousy suggests uncertainty—belly-baring surrender. Weakness—and Sylus is everything but weak.

He keys in a response that he knows will have you tipping out of your chair.

(Sylus): jealousy would imply that youre not already mine sweetie.

He can virtually hear the cogs turning in your mind when you take a few beats to respond. The resulting surprised dog meme you send makes him stifle that rich man’s laugh behind his hand. 

You’re cute. Do you know that?

Leaving you with something to think about, he concludes your playful exchange.

(Sylus): have fun.

Peeling himself from the chair, he shoves his hands into his pockets, the arms of his coat dramatically fluttering behind him when he turns to exit the warehouse. 

He pays no mind to the cries of agony behind him. Just clips over his shoulder to a stationary henchman by the entrance, “Finish up quickly.”

The sooner he cuts out the middlemen, the quicker the suppliers will start sniffing around themselves.

—

It’s a little past 6 pm when the front door’s lock jiggles. 

Good. Perfect timing.

“You’re home early,” you call from the fridge when that messy thatch of white appears in the doorway. 

He stiffens, taking a little time to appraise you like he didn’t expect you to be home. You snort, kicking the fridge door shut, a handful of grapes clutched in your hand.

You pop one into your mouth, leaning on the countertop. Syus approaches after toeing off his loafers and dropping his coat on the rack. The particles in the air seemingly bend and shift to accommodate him. 

You try not to get hung up on what he said earlier—you know, when he insisted you were his.

Maybe he’d been drinking himself. You had a little Pinot at his behest to combat your flaring nerves. To knock a little sense into yourself.

“Why do you look like someone hacked Mephisto?” you jibe, trying to lighten the mood. 

Sylus’ expression morphs into something easier. Something more like him as his lips pull into that familiar smirk. Without warning, he swipes a grape from your palm, and his eyes shine with a challenge as he deposits it in his mouth. 

“Why do you look like you’re up to no good?” he returns in that deep gravel, tone threaded with a tenderness you’ve never heard expressed elsewhere.

Your jaw shifts. He’s lucky he’s cute. The pinnacle of manliness. Handsome as all hell. You’ve never known someone to make something as simple as eating look hot.

Clearing your throat, you swipe some invisible dust off the counter after finishing off the last of your grapes. “Not up to anything bad. But since you’re home, you can watch a movie with me.”

The silence hangs for a moment. You glance up to see your roomie eyeing you with an intrigued brow. He reaches over the counter to flick your forehead. You let out an unflattering yelp. He’s trying to scramble your brain matter, you just know it.

“Do I have a say in the matter, or are you just going to manipulate me with those dangerous eyes of yours?”

Your heart was already rabbiting in your chest. It works double time now, and your stomach drops to your feet. You’re stricken with something cold. Something halfway pleasant. 

Oh. Oh, he was flirting, wasn’t he?

Opting for coy, you tug at some frayed threads at the end of your sweatshirt, caught between a laugh and a scoff. 

“Unless you’ve got some mysterious phone calls to take, you’re mine for the night. You owe me for babysitting Mephie. You know he secretly wants to murder me.” And for leaving me all by my lonesome again, you inwardly add. 

If at all possible, his smirk deepens until a dimple craters his cheek. You have pins and needles in your legs. What the fuck even is breathing?

“Doubt that. He’s programmed to…appreciate pretty things.” The way his eyes slide to you as pretty things leaps off his tongue—

You typically keep the AC low for the summer. Pretty comfortable for you both. But it feels it’s reached boiling point in your quaint kitchen as your skin grows embarrassingly hot.  

After a deep breath to get your head together, you move to the pantry to fish out some popcorn. Your movements are noticeably stiff as you tear through the plastic, not daring to turn around, lest he get a look at that crooked smile on your face. 

“Batman it is,” you say, loud enough for him to hear above the beep of the microwave when you set the timer.

You feel him between your shoulder blades. Drilling down to the marrow with those brilliant, scarlet eyes before he huffs a laugh, tapping the counter. You peer over your shoulder as he pulls away, disappearing across the house, probably towards his room to change.

He comes back down while you powder the popcorn with seasonings. He’s over your shoulder, static growing between your bodies. And you get a whiff of his worn cologne, of the clean cotton laundry detergent woven into the fibers of his shirt.

You move to the fridge, rifling through it to give your hands purpose. Something to occupy them, to keep them from shaking as you sort through your wine stash.  

“What goes best with popcorn? I’ve got red, white, pink—oh, something I bought ‘cause the label looked cute.”

Propped against the counter’s edge beside you, arms crossed over that unfairly solid chest, Sylus shakes his head. “How about a glass of Michter’s 25? Bourbon pairs best with popcorn.”

“Uh, sure?”

You’re not entirely sure how the two mix. Probably something about the dolce colliding with the saltiness. Whatever. You like surprises. Your roomie’s always had pretty good taste.

He shoulders past you to reach for something at the top of the pantry. Amber gleams in an intricately designed bottle clutched in his hand. You give him a look, haughtily throwing some popcorn into your mouth.

“Has that been up there the whole time?”

You track him with your eyes as he draws two lowball whiskey glasses from the cupboard, then fetches some ice from the freezer. His expression’s amused while he pours. He plucks the glasses from the counter, signaling you to follow him to the living room. 

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to find it, seeing that you’re the height of a gopher. I’d say I found a pretty good hiding spot for it.”

He laughs that bewitching, throaty sound, effortlessly avoiding your foot aimed at his ankle to trip him up. 

—

The TV swaddles you in its sporadic lighting as each scene unfolds.

You turned down all the lights, save for the one above the stove, to add to the ambience. The sounds of scuffling and explosions fill your living room, with occasional quips from your roomie about the exaggerated action and how unrealistic the mobsters are. 

There’s familiarity in the way you sit on the couch. In how Sylus idly smooths his thumb over your ankle, propped in his lap, beneath a throw blanket. He put up with you shoving your cold feet under his thighs to pilfer his warmth until he tickled them and allowed you to use him as a footrest. 

One of his arms is draped along the backrest, clutching his half-drunk glass. He paces himself. You’re already on your third.

He turns to you with a twitch of a smile whenever he feels you staring at something other than the screen. Squeezes reassurance into your ankle before pretending like he’s consumed by the movie. 

That Michter, whatever-the-hell it was called? It’s smooth. Dangerous. It crept into your bloodstream when your guard was down, and your head’s a little fuzzy. Skin warm and tingly, inhibitions slowly sloughing off.

You’re on your sixth round of Sylus-watching when the doorbell chimes. Both your gazes snap to its source.

“I’ll get it,” says Sylus, tapping your foot for you to let him up, and setting his glass onto the coffee table with a soft clack.

You shake your head, feeling like you’re swimming through molasses, eyes all low, smile goofy. “Nah. I got it.”

It’s a feat. Almost losing a fight with the blanket, you make it to the door. Sylus snorts behind you. The delivery driver is kind as he hands you your pizza and receipt.

Somehow, you make it back to the living area. You’re a mess of giggles and sluggish limbs as you fall back onto the sofa beside Sylus after dropping the pizza box onto the coffee table. So close, you could conquer the distance with an exhale.

His thigh’s warm beside yours. Devastating. You contemplate grabbing it, letting your fingers test the rigidness of his quad under the pretense of being tipsy.

He closes the distance for you as if parsing through your nebulous thoughts.

There’s no preamble. No remarkable setup when his arm slips from the backrest to snake around your shoulders. It’s a loose hang. Not tight, giving you room to wiggle free if you’re uncomfortable. You peer up into his face, and his eyes crease with something you mistake for affection beneath the glinting light of a chase scene.

The movie’s no longer interesting. It hasn’t been for a while. You’re warm inside, unsure if it’s a consequence of the alcohol or his proximity. Regardless, you toy with his fingers near your shoulder, smooth over his knuckles, testing the waters.

He makes no move to deter you, instead sinking deeper into the couch, legs spreading a little wider, hold on you a little more confident. He tugs you into his side without really thinking, fingers burning through the layers of skin on your arm.

Your hands drop to his tapered waist to ground yourself through the slurry haze of inebriation and infatuation. His heart is steady in his chest, whereas yours bangs like a war call. You’re close enough to bury your face into the hollow of his shoulder. That warm scent he carries is enough to soften your knees, to loosen your jaw.

Moving on autopilot—or maybe you’re fully aware of what you’re up to—you pitch yourself closer. So close, you’re halfway across his lap, watching his Adam’s apple bob beneath the blue wash of light. Your eyes flit to those full lips, slightly parted, quivering. Those pretty lashes sweeping his cheeks, those scarlet eyes jumping like cinders in a hearth fire beneath.

Your head tilts up. He meets you halfway. Draws you closer at the waist, and you roost your hands on his chest as your lids droop, as his lips pan in.

But the union never comes.

He hesitates for a beat. Hovers, a breath left between your mouths. Shaky, ragged, hot. He drops his forehead to yours, his grip on your hip tight, and he forces out an anguished sigh.

“You’ve been drinking, sweetie,” he says, hoarse, barely restrained, almost like he’s reminding himself instead of you.

You giggle, trying to tamp down your nerves. The disappointment flaring like plasma ejections across the sun’s surface beneath your skin. “So have you.”

He huffs through his nose, lips pulling into a tired smile. “Yes. But I’m also better at holding my liquor.”

“Says who?”

His gaze consumes you. Like liquid spilled over smoldering coals. He gathers your cheek into his palm, so tender as he thumbs over your chin, your bottom lip. He watches it when he tugs down, how it snaps back into place, its texture, and you can sense the edges of his resolve eroding like a rock face worn down by the surf.

“You’re warm. You can barely keep your eyes open.” His voice drags pleasantly along with his fingers along the skirt of your jaw. “You can hardly sit upright, sweetheart. If I do this now, I won’t be able to stop.”

Quivering fingers close around his wrist. You adjust on the couch until your knees meet the side of his thigh, nuzzling your molten cheek into his palm, head reeling. “Who says you have to?” you counter, voice crackling. Pleading.

He presses your foreheads together again. Your eyes slip shut as he slides his fingers into the space between yours, guiding your hand to his mouth instead for a kiss. He’s warring with himself. Berating himself for even letting things get this far. For getting too close.

He draws back slothfully, like it stings, like he’s leaving a bit of himself with you. And maybe he is, his defenses halfway buried beneath the floor. The moment hangs between you, stretched like the fragile spindles of a spider’s web. He doesn’t want to break the spell. You don’t want him to, either.

“Not yet,” he rasps, settling against the cushions once more and drawing you back into his side. “Not like this. You’ll thank me in the morning, sweetheart.”

Somehow, you have a hard time believing that, a wobbly pout taking hold of your lips.

It annoys you to no end.

Sylus is a man who doesn’t take what he isn’t given freely. Coherently. He’s such a fucking gentleman, you want to punch him sometimes. This emotional warfare is maddening.

Still, you curl into his side, burying your face into the nook of his neck to chase that heady scent. His pulse quickens, a sharp intake of breath when your lips graze his carotid, before he rests his chin on the crown of your head. He smooths over the goosebumps flaring over your arm as the credits roll, offering a quiet apology, both for getting your hopes up and shattering them like rock candy against the concrete.

Another almost. Another could-have-been. Another bout of shitty timing.

[sebmindbreak]

on my KNEES for Dusekkar headcannons, pretty please :3 I need that man in my life fr

YAYSSS

THERES NOT ENOUGH OF THIS PUMPKIN </333

I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT!

DUSEKKAR x you

(also small headcanosn , i hc that he is part phoenix HEHEH >:D , because his pumpkin has fire, and so phoenix..)

TITLE : soft glow

Platonic

He noticed how different your aura felt compared to the others. Not better. Not worse. Just… more aligned with his energy.

Sometimes, he watches you read or tinker with something. He doesn't interrupt just sits nearby, creating calm by presence alone.

He’s always willing to explain magical theory to you, even if it’s wildly above your understanding. His voice gets a little more animated when you ask questions.

He keeps giving you random little objects he enchants. He doesn’t say what they do. Half of them are just for fun, like glowing softly when you hum.

He doesn’t laugh often… unless you do something silly. Then, you might hear the softest, most genuine chuckle from behind his scarf.

Especialy with how much he gets jumpscared by two time , man is always on edge..

First Meeting

He ALMOST ignored you. Another survivor. he hoped you weren't going to annoy him with his protection spells

When you looked at him, you didn’t flinch or avoid his gaze. You stared straight through the layers of his calm. That startled him more than he let on.

You tried to thank him for helping you escape a trap or using his speels to help you. He nodded once, then scurries off.

After that, he kept “accidentally” running into you during runs. Always nearby, but never intruding.

You asked his name. He told you softly, like it was a secret no one else deserved.

Getting Along

He starts waiting for you at the starting point of rounds. Never says it aloud, but you know he’s “protecting” you.

He listens when you talk, fully and intently. You start to realize he memorizes everything.

You catch him staring at you more often… not out of suspicion, but out of fascination. Like he’s trying to figure you out.

He lets you touch his spellbook , tea set , something no one else gets near.

You bring him tea once as a joke. He ends up loving it and starts making it himself… just the way you did.

Realizing He Has Feelings

The moment you got injured on a round and laughed it off, he froze. He didn’t understand why his chest ached.

He starts dreaming about you but they’re soft dreams. You laughing, you walking beside him, you resting in his study.

He gets jealous, but he doesn't know how to handle it. If someone else gets too close, he simply goes away and doesn’t return for days.

He tries writing about his emotions in his journal. Half of it is crossed out. He thinks love is illogical, yet he keeps writing your name.

He’s afraid of ruining what you have so he says nothing. But his silences grow heavier.

How He Confesses

It happens after a particularly close call. You saved him for once and that tipped the scales.

He appears at your bedroom door later that night, awkward, holding a glowing feather (one he plucked from his own tail.)

He doesn’t speak right away. He sits beside you and holds the feather out, whispering: “This… is yours. it's..something I’ve kept. From the day I first realized I couldn’t bear to see you harmed.”

He says: “I wish to be by your side. If you’ll have me. Not as a protector. As a man. As… me.”

He watches you closely gently, almost nervously for your reaction.

Romantic

He hasn't been with many partners ,so he is kinda awkward at first.

When you kiss him, he’s so still, like he’s afraid it’ll vanish. But his hands slowly goes up when he touches your cheek for the first time.

He crafts a room just for you in his sanctum. Full of candles, pillows, runes that react to your presence with warm light.

He reads to you in old languages, his voice so calm it feels like music. Sometimes, he falls asleep with you, arms carefully coiled around you.

When you’re gone too long, he gets anxious not possessive, just… worried. He tries to search around the hide out for you.

He never stops calling you “my star,” “my dove,” or “my light.”

I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!

HEHEH

[mister0ctopus]

Server Room (1)

series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary:  Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Smut (X), Office au, Mini Series

Word Count: 1.5K

Note: I wanted to write more, seems like this is my hyperfocus rn, but I’m sick, you guys. I skipped our company’s year-end party tn, so here I am typing with snot, lol. Hope you enjoy this, please let me know what you think! More to come. 😊

🐙 Masterlist / AskMeeeeee!!!

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The office floor buzzes with the noise of chatter and the clicking of keyboards. Four more hours to go, and you’re free from this torture. Work has been exhausting lately, with everyone scrambling to finish everything before year-end.

You’ve been typing furiously, finishing a report you need to present tomorrow, but when you hit the Enter key, nothing happens…

And as if the world is playing tricks on you, your screen turns blue…

Enter. Esc. asoyjebcvbcjkv.

No! No no no!

You stare at it in disbelief. You worked so hard on this report—there’s no way it didn’t save, right???

You suddenly stand up and rush to one of your friends at work, and your go-to guy in IT, Yoongi.

You open the door to the IT department and let out an exaggerated sigh before plopping down next to Yoongi’s desk. He’s wearing huge headphones and tinkering with a motherboard.

“I need your magical powers right now. You can retrieve my report after this thing died on me, right?” you say, shoving your laptop toward him.

Yoongi looks up at you, eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh… you’re not Yoongi.”

“Oh—uhm…” not-Yoongi stammers, quickly pulling off his headphones, clearly startled by your sudden appearance.

Big, round eyes stare at you for a moment, like a deer in headlights.

After a few seconds, you stand up, gently pulling your laptop away from his face.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were Yoongi. Is he—”

“He’s not here. He’s on PTO for a week. The rest of the team went to check the new equipment coming in. Uh— I’m new here,” he says, almost too quickly, before gulping nervously. “I started last week…” His words trail off abruptly, as if realizing he’s said too much.

“Oh! Right. I forgot about his PTO. Vacation. Yeah. Uhm…” You laugh at yourself, realizing you completely forgot about Yoongi’s vacation. He’s going fishing and camping with Jin, his brother, and wow, that actually sounds amazing. You really need a vacation too, but goddamn it, the report, YN! You really need that report!

“Yes. Report. I really really need your help. I’m YN btw, and you’re…?”

“Jungkook,” he says in a breathy voice.

“Right. Hi, Jungkook. I didn’t realize there was a new guy in IT. So, listen... my laptop just died, and I really need your help retrieving a report I’ve been working on for days. I’d be so grateful... please?” you smiled sweetly as you subtly leaned in, because lord, you’re desperate and running out of time.

He nods quietly and places your laptop on his desk. He inspects the device and types a few keys. After a few seconds, still without looking at you, he says, “I need to run some tests. It may take a while…”

“How long exactly?” You nervously bite your lip. There’s no way this report can’t be retrieved. You have no backup, obviously relying on the laptop to save everything.

“Maybe... tomorrow? I—I’ll try to fix it,” Jungkook stammers, his cheeks slightly pink as he types a few commands.

“No!” You cut him off a little too quickly, then softened your tone to control the panic rising in your chest. “I have a presentation first thing tomorrow, and I need it today. Tonight, at the latest.”

He still doesn’t look at you, focusing on the device.

“I’ll try my best. You can come back later before you go home.” That’s all he says before turning his chair away from you.

You were about to further insist on the urgency of this matter, but you don’t want to push him more. You’re at the mercy of this guy, and he’s the only one who can help you right now.

You nod, trying to keep your frustration in check. "Okay, I’ll be back before 5 pm." you say, giving him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Jungkook. I appreciate it.”

He simply nods back, still not making eye contact as he focuses on the device.

You leave the IT department, your mind racing as you think about how to explain to your boss if the report can’t be recovered.

4:07pm

You glanced at the clock for the eleventh time since leaving the IT room, your anxiety growing with each passing minute. You couldn’t wait any longer to find out if the laptop was fixed, so you decided to head back to the IT room, only to find it empty.

“Jungkook?” you call softly.

The room is small, with only four desks, so it’s easy to tell that no one is there—no one except for you.

You turn to leave when your eyes catch another door with a sign that reads “Server Room.”

Jungkook must be in there, so you approach the door and push it open. But just as soon as you step inside, you hear angry grunts and heavy breathing, as if someone is straining.

A sense of panic rushes over you, as though you’re not supposed to be here—should you be here?

You freeze, unsure of what to do next, but then you notice movement behind one of the racks directly in front of you. Colorful inked hand moves erratically, tugging at something angrily.

Up, down, forward, backward...

You hear the grunts shift into groans, and the heavy breathing turns into soft whines.

You hear slick, wet sounds and the pounding of your own heart. You know you’re not supposed to be looking, yet you can’t tear your eyes away.

Your eyes shift from his busy hands to his strained face, where you notice Jungkook biting his lip to stifle more sound from eliciting, his lip ring catching the light on his every movement, and you feel wetness soil you in your center, so you press your thighs together to try and soothe it.

You close your eyes because god why is this so wrong, and so fucking hot?

And you clench your cunt around nothing as you hear him call your name in the most strained voice, almost sounding like a plea.

“Fuck… YN, oh god of god oh goddd!” he whined, movements quicker now.

Your face goes numb with shock from the vulgarity, and you struggle to steady your breath as you quietly storm out of the server room, praying he didn’t notice you at all.

You hurriedly walk back to your desk, a wave of shame washing over you for what you saw and what you're feeling, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and need.

You fix your already neat hair, hoping no one notices the chaos you're feeling, but what you don’t realize is that Jungkook saw you leave the room, and that made him cum harder as he imagined his firm hands being your soft and wet hole instead.  

Still shaken from the incident, you finally gather yourself at exactly 5 PM and make your way back to the IT room. Desperation fuels your steps—there’s no way you can let what you saw, and the way it made you feel, stop you from retrieving your laptop.

As you step inside the room, expecting a dismissive Jungkook to greet you, you instead collide with something solid—a chest.

Jungkook’s chest.

Visuals of him from a few minutes ago flash through your mind, and you let out a small gasp. He is smirking, but his expression remains unreadable—a stark contrast to the shy and aloof Jungkook you had initially met.

"I fixed it. Your data is all there. I also made sure you're logged into the reporting CRM, so your presentation pulls real-time data via API. Basically—you have a backup," he said matter-of-factly, his tone professional—but his eyes are anything but.

He handed you the device, and you hesitantly took it, still processing everything.

With a sigh of relief, you offered him a sweet smile, your voice soft as you thanked him. "Thank you, Jungkook. You saved my life. I owe you," you murmured, though your mind was still racing, unable to shake the earlier scene.

 He nodded and remained quiet, simply watching you with a sly grin on his lips, his expression still unreadable.

The tension was unbearable. Unable to take it any longer, you quickly mumbled another "thanks" and made your exit.

When you finally reached home, exhaustion settled in, but relief quickly followed. You’d been running on adrenaline all day, but now that it was done, you could finally breathe. The changes Jungkook made were a game-changer—it fed you real-time data seamlessly, saving you hours of work.

After adding the final touches to your presentation for tomorrow, you got ready for bed. You couldn’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and awe as you closed your laptop for the night.

But your mind betrayed you—thoughts of Jungkook still lingered in your brain, refusing to let you rest.

His tattooed arm around his hardness…

The way his chest heaves…

The way he was beating his dick for you…

The way he sounded, his groans, his moans…

How the slick and wet noise filled the air…

How he looked so angry biting his lips, brows furrowed in frustration…

His dark hair stuck to his damp forehead…

The lip piercing that you were sure would feel cold against your warm folds…

You touch yourself with desperate need, pumping two fingers inside as your other hand circles your clit.

You yell his name over and over, as you buck your hips, feeling your release drench you further. Then you drift into slumber in soiled underwear and a sweet sweet smile, knowing you’ll see him again tomorrow.

[venusinthesun]

Evil women make the world spin round

Arlecchino, fem! Scaramouche, sandrone X reader

┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈

Part 1 (capitano, dottore, columbina) Part 3 (coming soon)

As much as I love arlecchino, I really have no ideas for her. That’s why her portion of this is really short, because genuinely I can only get so far. If you guys have any AU requests for her let me know :) also if any other writers are reading this does the “more” thing go before or after the divider??

Arlecchino

Cw: feminine reader, lingerie, sorry it’s short—ran out of ideas

“I do enjoy when you dress up for me, love.”

Arlecchino whispers into your ear, a small smile making its way across her lips at your little breathy gasp. Your sitting in her lap, your chest pressed against arlecchino’s.

You watch as she takes in your attire, eyes trailing over ever curve highlighted by the lingerie. It’s delicious almost; the way it suits you so well. You feel her hands wander up your thighs, taking their time to trail over every curve until they reach your hips.

“But so naughty—coming into my office while I’m working to tease me..”

“I..I wouldn’t have too if y-you came to bed on time..”

“Mhm, I suppose so,” Arlecchino wastes little time using her claws to tear through the lace, discarding the pieces to the floor. Your little whimper at the cold air doesn’t phase her, her palm quickly coming to cup your cunt. “Allow me to make it up to you.”

Scaramouche

Cw: ROUGH sex, knee grinding, choking, harsh degradation, could be read as dubcon. Fem reader

“How pathetic, really. I thought you were supposed to be a prized scholar.” Scaramouche sneers as her knee grinds against your cunt, deeply enjoying the way you’ve done undone with such simple teasing.

Scara has always found some sick pleasure in seeing people cry, but she’s sure that your her favorite view. It’s so…desperate, the way you sob from overstimulation but still wiggle your hips for more. You’re one of the most sad, pitiful people she’s ever met, and she loves it.

“Cmon…you can take one more right?” Scara coos, a smirk etched across her face at your dumb little whines. Your legs have given up a while ago, resigned to shaking but that doesn’t deter scaramouche from pressing her knee against your clit harder. “Was that a yes? I need a legible answer.”

“Ahn..ahh— n..onono…!!”

“What was that?”

Scara moves her hand from its position resting on the bed, traveling up your body until it gently cusps itself around your neck.

“I said, what was that sweetheart?” 

“n..no-! Angh—!”

Her hand squeezes tightly, a shiver running down her spine at the way your eyes widen to look at her. It’s thrilling, seeing how much you rely on her to not hurt you in this moment.

“We’ll be staying here until you answer me correctly, next time.”

Sandrone

Side note: I’m very iffy on writing her because I’m scared hoyo is gonna drop that she’s actually a puppet of that one dead kid and then I’m going to have porn of a puppet of a dead child T-T

Cw: bondage, vibrator, mostly tame. Gn reader

“Will you finally stop bothering me now..?”

Sandrone’s voice is barely audible above the whirring of the machines in her lab, but despite that her tone remains sharp as ever. You catch her eyes staring back at you, looking over your body before eventually dragging themselves back to her work.

Perhaps bothering your harbinger while she tinkers with the next puppet she’s making was a mistake, but you can’t exactly say you mind the position you’re in. Wires wrap around your limbs, keeping your hands behind your back and legs spread. It’s a tad uncomfortable, but the soft whirring of the vibrator makes up for it.

“I don’t think I was bothering you much before-��� you watch as sandrone turns her head to look at you, her eyes narrowed with annoyance.

“Lying isn’t encouraged when you’re already at my mercy.” For the first time in a very long time, sandrones hand stops its work. Instead, it makes it way over to the little remote sitting on the side of her desk, fidgeting with it before clicking a button once, twice and finally a third time.

You gasp as the vibrations pick up their pace, whirring away faster and faster. You’re practically double over—only held up by the wires to stop you from hitting the floor.

“Hopefully this should teach you some respect.”

Once again I don’t reread anything I write so if this is shit don’t @ me pls :( happy gooning!

[yen-sids-tournament]

Semi-Final Round: Fairy Godmother v Tinker Bell

Propaganda

Tinker Bell:

~As JM Barrie said, she's too small to have more than one feeling at a time, and mostly she chooses "bloodlust".

[camelspit]

Keeper Sexywoman 2025

Round 1

Councillor Alina vs Cyrah Endal (Apr 13)

Lady Belva vs Lady Fayina (Apr 14)

Master Cadence vs Juline Dizznee (Apr 15)

Calla vs Verdi (Apr 16)

Caprise Redek vs Councillor Clarette (Apr 17)

Edaline Ruewen vs Lady Gisela (Apr 18)

Emma Foster vs Councillor Oralie (Apr 19)

Esha Aria vs Waitress (Apr 20)

Grizel vs Ella (Apr 21)

Queen Gundula vs Lady Song (Apr 22)

Lesedi Chebota vs Lady Galvin (Apr 23)

Lovise vs Blue-haired Girl (Apr 24)

Luzia Vacker vs Tinker (Apr 25)

Mai Song vs Flori (Apr 26)

Umber vs Lady Vespera (Apr 27)

Queen Nubiti vs Tarina (Apr 28)

Empress Pernille vs Brielle (Apr 29)

Della Vacker vs Livvy Sonden (Apr 30)

Jolie Ruewen vs Elysian (May 1)

Quinlin's Receptionist vs Councillor Liora (May 2)

Councillor Ramira vs Lady Zillah (May 3)

Coach Rohana vs Councillor Velia (May 4)

Queen Hylda vs Silla Heks (May 5)

Mrs Stinkbottom vs Vika Heks (May 6)

Coach Wilda vs Councillor Zarina (May 7)

Ro vs Silveny (May 8)

Comeback Round (May 9)

[my313]

in beomgyu's room 🧸

now playing 𝄞₊⊹ bad - wave to earth & best friend - laufey

⋆ pairing: bestfriend!beomgyu x f!reader

⋆ summary: a reel of your most precious memories in beomgyu’s room(s), and the one time it’s also yours.

⋆ genre/themes/warnings: fluff, childhood friends, best friends to lovers, non-idol au, mention of mommy kink (sorry they have weird inside jokes)

⋆ word count: 3.6k

a/n: this isnt proofread n i dont think its my best writing, i wanted to focus on dialogue a lot more :0 but i just wanted to put out a lil something for gyu's bday <3 our talented pretty boy 🥹 anyways, i hope u enjoy reading this!

2009 

beomgyu’s room at eight years old is directly opposite from your window. you recently watched taylor swift’s you belong with me music video, and your unassuming neighbor who just recently moved in has become the center of the romantic production running in your little mind. 

when his family invites you over for dinner, you’re giddy to put a name to the pretty boy that’s been in your sights; only ever seeing him with a guitar strapped to his back when he walks by your house as you sit on the porch with a book. 

“hi,” he’s the one opening the door, greeting you enthusiastically. you assumed he would have been a shy boy, especially with the way he walked with his head down and never without an mp3 player and wired earphones. that was just one of the many surprises beomgyu had in store for you and your serendipitous friendship.

beomgyu smiles politely at your parents before pulling the door back and letting you all inside. your mother’s ushering you to the boy, hurriedly greeting his parents and leaving you in beomgyu’s care. 

you turn to him, shy and unsure of what to do, but beomgyu’s there to pull you out of your daydreams. he slightly tugs the sleeve of your shirt, chin tilted to the direction of the stairs. “wanna play mario kart in my room?”

you’re scanning the room to look for your parents, silently asking permission with your eyes when you catch your dad looking back at you. when he nods, you’re quick to relay it to beomgyu, who returns the biggest smile you’ve seen. boys are usually rough around the edges, either boisterous or freakishly hyper-aware of cooties, but beomgyu is different. he’s just loud enough to have you laughing until your tummy hurts, but he’s also a good listener. 

your feet dangle from the height of his bed while he sets up his wii. it only takes a few minutes of tinkering and confused grumbles before beomgyu joins you, sitting close and handing over the controller. 

“i’ve never played this game before!” your voice chimes with the game’s background music, fiddling with the buttons on your controller and accidentally pressing something that makes beomgyu laugh. 

“that’s okay,” he navigates through the buttons on the screen to take you back to the starting screen. “i’ll go easy on you.”

you may have gotten beomgyu all wrong, because as you inch closer to stealing his first place spot on your eighth round of playing, he throws a green shell at you, putting you off-course. 

“that’s so not fair, beomgyu!” you grumble frustratedly, shoulders slumped. beomgyu has a mischievous smile on his face; a different charm to the friendly one you encountered at his doorway, or the re-assuring one when he asked to play mario kart.

“i didn’t even know you could do that.” you whine, twisting your body left and right as if it would take away from your loss.

beomgyu’s mouth opens, but instead of hearing his squeaky voice, you both hear your mom’s. 

“yn, time to go home!”

you both tear your eyes away from the doorframe to look at one another. 

“teach me next time?” you plead, eyes shiny and hopeful that you’ve got a new friend to play with. someone who would always be next to you.

beomgyu feels similarly. he lets it show by nodding enthusiastically, his rectangular glasses pressed onto his rising cheeks, swelling from all the smiling he’s done tonight.

2017

“choi beomgyu!” you yell from the bottom of the staircase, leaning on the creaky railing despite beomgyu’s constant warnings of “you’re gonna fall off one day, y’know.”

you’re both sixteen years old, and tonight is prom. unlike the books you read, you were not serenaded by the most beautiful (subjective) boy in school; but like the disney movies, you’re at your best friend’s house and going as each other’s dates. 

the idea was initially disgusting to both you and beomgyu, suggested by menacingly blunt choi soobin during one of your escapades to the internet cafe. when prom started to come closer and closer, you and beomgyu would briefly text about it in jokes. the final straw was probably the fact that soobin actually got a date before either of you. so, with only three days to prom and a whole lot of spite, you and beomgyu hunted down matching corsages and sealed the deal.

you glance at the clock on the wall, ticking seven. sick of waiting on your bare feet, you lift the trailing end of your dress and make your way up to beomgyu’s room.

you don’t bother to knock, having seen the worst of beomgyu and his room already. the sight that greets you is anything but what you expect.

you expected heaps of clothes on the floor from his panicked frenzy of not knowing what to put on under his blazer; maybe some mismatched socks, and shoes tossed to every corner out of indecision. 

instead, you see beomgyu clad in a neat, black suit, with a navy blue dress shirt. his black hair, usually falling over his eyelashes, is tucked away to show off the face that many come to your classroom to see. just like how he was at eight, you know beomgyu is different; he’s delicate, never gruff, even when he picks you up from your doorstep with bedhead. 

beomgyu has always been pretty, but tonight, he’s charming. he’s handsome. just thinking it makes you want to regurgitate your words and flush them down the toilet. it brings upon this weird pit in your stomach that was never there when you were wiping your cheeto-dust fingers on beomgyu’s shirt as some petty form of teasing. that weird feeling you only got when someone cute walked your way, or someone flustered you to the point of developing a crush. you hope it’s nothing too serious.

“woah!” 

“what.” beomgyu deadpans, unamused by your exaggerated gasp. in reality, the pink on his cheeks already has you guessing that he’s shy. your beomgyu has always been one for compliments and sweet gestures, recalling how his eyes brightened every time your smaller hands patted his head when you were younger. 

“no need to get sassy, jeez,” you roll your eyes playfully, the smile on your face never leaving. “you look good. handsome.” 

“thanks,” he smiles sheepishly. it’s silent for a bit, until beomgyu says, “keep ‘em coming…”

“dipshit!” you smack his forearm. “you’ll hear more from everyone tonight, i bet.”

“i guess so,” he shrugs, looking at himself on the full-length mirror, trying to fold his necktie like the way his dad taught him. you move closer, your dress trailing behind you when you drop the sides in favor of helping beomgyu out with his tie. you’re so close; the kind of close you and beomgyu haven’t been ever before, except when you were ten and you fell off your bike, crashing onto him. 

you’re in front of him now, looping the fabric and not really looking at him. you can’t tell that he’s staring down at your concentrated face, smiling softly at how your tongue peeks out of your mouth in concentration. 

he hasn’t gotten the chance to compliment you back, but he’s noticed how beautiful you looked the minute you stepped into his room. his thoughts only get confirmed further now that you’re just a few breaths apart; your lip gloss has a sheen that’s tempting to swipe off with his own lips, and your eyelashes flutter in the way that beomgyu pictures in a few years time, where you’re waking up next to him every morning. 

“not from anyone that matters though.” 

your fingers stop working, peering up at your best friend. you don’t really know what to make of how his eyes glisten; how they look fondly at you, so you revert to the only thing you and beomgyu know will fix anything — fooling around, saying something stupid.

“are you saying if soobin complimented you, you wouldn’t give a fuck?”

“you make it sound like i’m in love with him.” you shrug, lips pursed as you continue the final touches of his tie. he bumps his forehead onto yours, making you curse. “what? bros can seek validation from one another!”

“so can i seek it from you, bro?”

you shake your head, amused by his unfamiliar use of the nickname. “whatever. are you done now?”

“no.” you groan. beomgyu pulls away from you first, going to his bedside drawer and fishing out a box. 

he come back to your side, this time, with the corsage you both overpaid for. beomgyu wraps it around your wrist and prompts you to turn your hand over, tying it up for you. you watch him intently.

unconsciously, your hands extend to caress his head, gently patting his styled hair. the moment your fingers graze his scalp, he freezes up for a few seconds before resuming, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in his chest.

“i forgot to say earlier,” beomgyu returns to his full height, but his hand is still holding yours. he squeezes three times with his dimples peeking out as he smiles, a semblance of a confession that you fail to pick up on. “you look beautiful tonight, too.”

2021

it’s nearly midnight when you and beomgyu decide that the best activity to do when both of you are jobless on a friday night (saturday morning now) is to dye each other’s hair. 

you left an hour ago for a random supermarket run, and you return with a bottle of bleach, developer and a bunch of dyes that were on sale. possibly also a whole new stock of instant ramen. tonight was one of the nights you’re relieved your best friend has a car.

you’re both twenty now, in college and far away from home for a while. still, home doesn’t feel too far away when beomgyu’s still waiting for you outside the girls’ dorm building with disheveled hair. from your freshman year to now, beomgyu’s still been the same beomgyu that you love. you can admit that to yourself now, finally catching the culprit of that odd feeling in your stomach from prom night. though you’re unsure when you can gather the courage to tell him all that.

you’re pushing the door open to beomgyu’s dorm room, seeing his roommate taehyun slipping his shoes on with a backpack.

“are you running away?” you question, half-joking. “beomgyu can’t be that bad of a roommate. he’s like a pet goldfish sometimes.” 

beomgyu’s shutting the door behind you when he walks into your odd conversation with taehyun. “that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said about me.” 

“goldfish are so cute though!” you reason with him, your tone higher in pitch as your silly charade continues. taehyun’s joining along too, laughing at the banter between you and beomgyu. “did you know the guy who created goldfish crackers made them because his wife was a pisces?”

“i’m a pisces,” beomgyu proudly states, chest puffed out with the bags of your pointless mission weighing down his shoulders. “would you make me a fish-inspired snack, yn? answer carefully, our relationship depends on it.” 

you try to ignore the fact that he says relationship, not friendship. details, details. but beomgyu’s all about details. he didn’t say anything for just no reason, so you can’t help but let the thought fester. for now, you keep up with the jokes.

“you don’t even like seafood, gyu.” 

“okay kids,” taehyun interrupts, heading towards the door. “i’m going to the gym. don’t burn the place up, please…” 

“i think i’m gonna burn something else.” you snark, looking up at beomgyu’s perfectly smooth hair. he catches your stare and consciously guards his head. 

taehyun leaves in the next few minutes, and it’s just you and beomgyu again. 

beomgyu’s eyebrows wiggle comically, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you to the bathroom. “w-wait, wait!”

“what? backing out?” he challenges you, shaking you by the shoulders. “yn, you can’t!” his whining is convincing, but mostly because beomgyu has this pout that he doesn’t know you succumb to every single time he pulls it out — which is nearly everyday. 

“n-no..! just..”

beomgyu’s face softens. he takes your face between his right hand, squishing your cheeks repeatedly. he huffs mockingly, “fine, you can do mine first.”

in the next hour, beomgyu’s desk chair is situated between the bathroom door and the carpeted floor of the bedroom, holding it open to let the stench of the bleach disperse. you’re sitting on said chair with a towel on your lap, while beomgyu sits on the bathroom floor, legs folded to his chest. his back is leaning against the middle of the chair, but he’s essentially sitting between your legs as you clumsily paint bleach over random sections of his hair. 

“sorry if this turns to shit, beoms.” you snicker, layering more product on the strand between your fingers. you’re startled by beomgyu’s movements, his head tilting upwards slightly to look at you before looking back down. “you owe me free food for the rest of our lives if i end up looking like a dalmatian.”

“that’s fine,” you giggle, tapping his shoulder to motion for him to turn around and face you, trying to get the sections with his bangs. “at least i know we’ll be best friends forever.”

beomgyu fights the urge to say something stupid; something that might end the nights of you sleeping over and snuggling close to his chest — the things that pop up in his head range from “you’re so cute, i wanna kiss you.” to “i think i’ve been in love with you for years, so yeah, anyway.”

he still says something rather silly, but he thinks it’s just slightly less off-putting than telling your best friend who you grew up with that you’re in love with her. 

“technically, you’d be my sugar mommy.”

you raise a brow, “outing your mommy kink?”

“yes, and?”

fits of laughter fill the air, you have to place the brush back on the sink in case you smack beomgyu’s face from how you throw your whole body around when you laugh. he’s just the same, nearly snorting when he sees how red your face has become. 

at some point, you’re still trying to recover from giggling so hard, taking the brush back into your hands and picking out sections of beomgyu’s bangs. he chooses to perch his chin on one of your thighs with his head tilted up, as if admiring you deeply from the ground. beomgyu can ignore the prickly sensation settling on his scalp and the cold tiles of his bathroom floor freezing his butt off if he can see you from this view more often. it reminds him of when you used to let him rest his head on your lap that one time your families went on a road trip, and you both were stuck in the back. or the other times in his childhood bedroom where he’d fall asleep and wake up with your fingers tangled in his hair, head over a pillow on your lap. 

beomgyu thinks he fell for you then, that he’d decided that he’d kneel on the ground forever if you asked him to. he thinks he’d probably do much worse if the requests were coming from your pretty lips. 

you stop painting over his hair, signaling that beomgyu’s done. you think beomgyu’s going to get up from the floor, his legs crossed and obviously sleeping from how long you’ve had him sitting down there, but he’s still in-between your legs that it stops you from moving too. you’re about to joke around and tell him to get up, but you finally catch onto the fact that he’s looking up at you like he’s stargazing, or watching the prettiest sunset in the summer.

“gyu, what’s up?” 

it takes a while for him to respond. beomgyu feels his mind drifting to places he doesn’t know he’s allowed to be in; thinking about how he’s thought of waking up next to you since he was sixteen, and it might have sounded like trying to snatch the sun from the sky back then, but he feels an inkling that it’s not too impossible right now, at twenty, in his room and at your disposal. 

“do you remember when we went to prom together?”

you snort, reminded of your trembling hands when your parents asked you and beomgyu to take pictures and pose together, feeling his hand on your waist. “yeah, we looked pretty good.”

“yeah,” beomgyu draws circles and random patterns on your clothed thighs. “we did look pretty good together.”

“what?”

“what?”

“what did you say, gyu?” your voice comes out in a whisper, even when you try to be firm and persistent.

“you heard me,” he mumbles, finally looking away from you with the pink dusting his cheeks.

“no, i think i have to hear it again.” you tease, flicking his forehead to turn his attention back on you. “come on, say it.”

beomgyu bounces back, eyes trained on you as his lips move faster than any other time you’ve listened to him babble. he’s never even spoken this fast when he’s raging on his matches with soobin.

“jeez, yn, you wanna hear me say i’m in love with my best friend who i have also imagined living together with for the rest of my life?” 

he blinks, realizing what he just said. “well… i mean, you got it.”

you press your lips together, trying to hold in the laugh that was threatening to burst out on beomgyu’s deer-in-the-headlights face. you’d feel terrible if you ruined this moment for both of you, so you try and keep it to giggles and a pleased grin.

“you sure you wanna live with me for the rest of your life, beomie?” you tease, bending down and bringing your face close to his. you enjoy the feeling of making beomgyu shy, and you know his guilty pleasure is when you’re rendered flustered and defensive. 

“that’s all you got from what i said?” he pouts.

“aw, baby,” cooing at him. if his hair wasn’t slicked with bleach, you would have fluffed it and patted it the way he always liked. “d’you wanna start apartment hunting and writing down our kids’ names?”

he blinks up at you, briefly taking his phone out of his pocket and turning it over to show his notes app. “yeah, go ahead.” 

“beomgyu.” you stare at him, slightly bewildered and freaked out, but also endeared. 

“i’m just joking!” he puts his hands up defensively. 

he taps your thigh again once his arms let up. “...you still haven’t said anything.”

“if it wasn’t obvious enough, choi beomgyu,” you start, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “i’m also in love with you. and i would love to be by your side forever.” 

2024 

it’s almost been three years since the night beomgyu and you confessed to each other. 

everything seems to come full-circle, because you’re twenty three and sitting on beomgyu’s lap while playing mario kart. you have vivid memories of being eight years old and telling beomgyu off for not going easy on a first-timer, but you’ve had years and years of payback for that moment by now.

beomgyu doesn’t need to go easy on you anymore, occasionally yelling in your ear when you sabotage him, only to trail kisses from your earlobe to your neck as an apology. 

as you finish up your last game as promised, you turn your head and press a chaste kiss on beomgyu’s cheek. sometimes, you still can’t believe your best friend has graduated from being just that, to being your boyfriend. beomgyu chases after your face as soon as you detach from him, his lips quickly pecking yours.

it took a while until you and beomgyu could live together, only finding a place you could both attest to earlier this year. but since then, you’ve made plenty of memories in every nook and cranny. 

you keep old habits like mario kart, and beomgyu purposely makes mistakes with his necktie just so you can tug on it, kiss him and fix it instead. but your life with beomgyu has new bits and pieces that flourished since sharing your love for one another. your shared baths that consist of gossip that beomgyu is overly enthusiastic of; taking selfies every night when you put on sheet masks for each other; and instead of picking you up with bedhead, you have the privilege of seeing beomgyu in a dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up, picking you up from work and waiting for you to fill the passenger seat of his car.

it makes you think not only about all the lovely moments you’ve had with beomgyu, but the ugly parts that only you both know of each other. 

“i really hope this is a forever thing, gyu.” you blurt out. 

“playing mario kart with me?” beomgyu knows what you mean; he can tell you’re floating in your head when you ask him. still, he lightens the mood.

“yeah,” you chuckle. you suppose he isn’t wrong, you wouldn’t mind this at all. 

“baby,” he tucks a hair behind your ear. “look at me, hm?”

“i love you today,” beomgyu kisses your lips, moves to either side of your cheeks. “i love you tomorrow,” now he’s pressing one on your nose. “the day after,” the last one on your forehead. “until we’re old and wrinkly, i love you.”

your smile in the midst of all his kisses is as wide as it was when you first met beomgyu. you cradle his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbones then bumping your noses together briefly. it makes beomgyu laugh, the sound still as pretty as when he stumbled over his words trying to confess to you. “there’s no one else i would have fallen in love with other than you, gyu,”

“my best friend in the world.”

[sonic-oc-showdown]

SONIC OC SHOWDOWN FINAL ROUND

Mira belongs to @fleetways

Squabble belongs to @sonic-adventure-3

Find out more about them below!

Chimera Baby "Mira":

Chimera Baby is a chimera (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chimera_(genetics)) and the oldest child of Sonic and Shadow. Mira was raised in the Chao Garden where she ate fruit and engaged in frequent karate matches and races and was very happy. As a young child she was very sweet and loving to her fathers but as she got older she has begun to experience latent Black Arms patricidal urges (exclusively towards Shadow).

Mira is the slowest in her family (but faster than you!), but has a very strong connection to chaos energy making her quite the powerhouse. However, she still has a long ways to go before she can actually hope to defeat Shadow. In her teen years Mira has become somewhat of a delinquent, speaking very little and preferring to get her messages across through action alone. She is the older sister of Mochi, who often acts as a mediator whenever she randomly tries to attack Shadow in the Costco.

Squabble the Pigeon:

incredibly cheerful untrained pilot and mechanic for a trio of freelance postal workers/hitman. LOVES airplanes and explosives and tinkering and package delivery, is a chronic pipe bomb maker, and has a boundless joie de vivre. she operates on cartoon physics, and has a messenger bag that functions as a hammerspace where she keeps her exposives, revolver, second identical revolver that pops a flag, bazooka, and everything else including the kitchen sink. incredibly cheerful and completely lacking in common sense or a coherent moral compass. about twelve, and on the short side.

[the-kr8tor]

Could we get some chill fluffy writing/hcs of hobie with an S/o that likes hanging out with minimal talking? Yknow just sharing their space and feeling safe :3? ❤️❤️❤️

S'cute!! Thank you for requesting! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You enter his workspace with a blanket trailing behind you, a thick encyclopedia-like book in the crook of your arm, and two mugs of steaming tea. The door was already open, a sign that Hobie openly invites you in. He feels your presence immediately, taking his eyes off from the contraption he's been tinkering with for hours, he senses that you want to be near him without interrupting his flow of work. To which he's most grateful for, he'd hug you if not for the high voltage tech he's handling.

“Plannin’ on stayin’, lovie?” Hobie asks, goggles fitted on his eyes, rubber gloves on his hands that he silently curses at because he can't hold you with it on— and because of the electricity coursing through his tools.

“Mm-hmm.” You nod, placing his cup on another table, safe from all his tools and thingamabobs. “Can I?”

“‘course.” You smile sweetly, leaning slightly, lips puckered up and head tilting questioningly. Hobie chuckles, and without another word, he purses his lips to meet with yours.

Your lips feel slightly tingly, you guess it's from the electricity. Nonetheless, you gladly kiss back even though it was quicker than you'd like. It's for your own good you bet as he beams up at you, goggles making him look a thousand times cuter than he already is. (which you thought was impossible at first) His brown eyes are all big and round, a sight that has you giggling and wanting to kiss him more. But alas, he has to continue working so that you have the rest of the day with him.

“I'll be there in a bit, yeah?” He whispers to you, matching your energy, and you immediately want to kiss him back for it. Fighting the urge to hold you, he returns to his work.

You nod, walking quietly to the cozy armchair that he specifically placed for you. It's a deep green colour, just looking at it brings you at peace. Laying your mug in the cup holder (which he installed for you) you wrap yourself with the blanket, perfectly tucking yourself in. With your book opened on your lap, you begin to relax whilst the soft whirs of Hobie's tools fills your ears.

You read while he works quietly, just two people living in comfortable silence. And loving each other in the same room but in different corners of it, it's love all the same.

Mug now empty, and belly fully warmed up, you're on page 210 when you feel him snuggle up to you. Hobie sits on the arm of the seat, body slightly folded to accommodate for your own; chin tucked atop your shoulder, lips brushing along your cheek. His arm finds its place wrapped along your middle, palm splayed over your stomach that he has since moved the blanket and your shirt over to feel you closer. Skin still warm, skin still making you giddy after all these years. His other hand meets with the other, fingers linking together, properly warming you up and embracing you like a burrito.

You lean close to Hobie, pulling him impossibly closer by the ribbons on his sweatpants. He chuckles against your skin, pressing a quick affectionate peck on your shoulder. You inhale his presence, he smells of steel and the green tea you've made him earlier.

For a minute, you two just sit there, you read and he watches your expression change depending on the paragraph you're reading. You suddenly sigh longingly, curious, Hobie follows your line of sight, reading it silently with you.

Hobie scoffs in place, rolling his eyes at the passage you're currently on. He points at the exact sentence that's full of pining and longing from the main character. You look at him as he points to himself right after, making a face that says ‘can’t be me, love’ and his hand gesturing a slash across his neck.

You raise an eyebrow, wordlessly saying, ‘you sure about that?’ Poking his chest, you shake your head with a smile and then you point at the same passage in the book repeatedly. ‘this was literally you, Hobie’

He shakes his head, mirroring you, ‘no, ‘m not.’

You correct him with a simple gesture that you know will have him melting into you further. And you winning the ‘argument’ Holding his cheek with one hand, thumb pressing softly on his chin, you lean forward, eyes slowly shutting close, lips reaching for his own.

Of course he'd chase your lips, especially when you flutter your eyelashes at him like that! His hands fly towards your own face, tenderly holding you close. Your lips brush along his, but before he could finally close the small distance, you move away with a smug smile. Hobie's mouth is agape, feigning offense. He follows where your finger points at the book where the main character literally did what he just did, chasing down his love interest’s lips like a thirsty man stranded in the desert.

You lovingly poke him again. ‘it’s you’

He sighs, defeated, ‘it's me.’

You're not a monster, so with all your heart, you continue what you didn't do just a moment ago. Wrapping your arms around him just like he did to you, you kiss him just like in the books you devour, you devour him also. To which Hobie clearly indulges himself in.

[dailyadventureprompts]

The Mechanics of Baldur's Gate 3

As someone who's constantly tinkering with the mechanics of my favourite RPG, I LOVE a lot of what Larian has done with D&D; not only accurately translating the base system but improving upon in ways I never thought of.

Playing BG3 feels good, and I want to see how much of their work I can adapt for my own table. As such, here's a breakdown of a bunch of little tweaks they've made to 5e (taken from the bg3 wiki) and whether or not I think they're a good fit for regular pencil and paper d&d.

Shove is not a part of the attack action. It is a bonus action available to all characters. Shove only pushes the target back an amount that depends on the shover's strength and the target's weight. It normally does not knock them prone unless they are shoved off a high ledge.

This might be THE best design Larian implemented and is instantly going in my games. Bonus action shoving is such a natural addition to combat, gives so many more tactical options. My one protest is that I am NOT calculating the weight of every creature and object ( mainly because I'm terrible at guessing weights for things) so I'd go with the distance calculation based on the creature's size and con score.

Gaining inspiration based on backgrounds

Gee, a mechanical reward for roleplaying your character, one that's way more straight forward than the DM arbitrated "ideals, bonds, flaws," system. From now on I'm going to give each of my players an upfront " You gain inspiration when you ______" note on their character sheet based on their backgrounds.

The party is limited to two short rests per long rest. Short rests restore each ally's hit points by an amount equal to half their maximum HP (rounded down). There is no hit die rolling. Long rests require camp supplies, which are food items that must be looted or purchased. In towns you will be able to rest at an inn.

This is a mixed bag for me only because I like hitdie as a mechanical abstract and I don't want to see them removed. Tbh I wish more mechanics interacted with them and they were called something abstract like "stamina" or something. That said I ADORE the camp supplies idea because it not only gives you something minor to reward exploration with besides GP. On the otherhand tracking all those supplies without the game's inventory management would be tedious as hell so it'd need to be highly simplified.

I especially like the idea of limited short rests/supplies in larger survival based adventures where time isn't at a premium like it is inside a dungeon.

If you hide while not in a creature's sight cone, you automatically succeed. If you try to hide while in a creature's sight cone, you automatically fail. If you are hidden and enter a creature's sight cone, you must roll stealth against the creature's passive perception. This may be a straight roll, advantage, or disadvantage, based on the creature's senses and the level of lighting. Some creatures with different senses such as blindsight may follow different rules

Congrats on fixing stealth rolls Larian. No notes.

LOTS more opinions under the cut.

When a creature is at least 10 ft above their target and makes a ranged attack, they receive a +2 bonus to the attack roll due to high ground. When a creature is at least 10 ft below their target and makes a ranged attack, they receive a -2 penalty to the attack roll due to low ground.

This is fine, and quite inline with a lot of fixes I've seen for flanking rules. I'm fine with a little extra battlefield math in order to make moments of advantage (spending inspiration, reckless attacking etc) shine.

The game does not stop a character from casting a leveled spell with both an action and a bonus action

Mixed on this, on one hand I've played enough clerics to know how much it sucks to have to use your bonus action to do a necessary spell and then be stuck with a so-so cantrip or melee attack for standard. On the other hand there's some design balance issues at play here.

Help is an Action. This ability allows characters to aid an ally in combat and remove negative Conditions. Using the help action on a downed ally brings them back to 1 hit point and leaves them prone.

Love the idea of help doing multiple things AND being a solution to minor status conditions. and giving everyone the ability to help means I can be a lot more aggressive when it comes to knocking character to 0. if I had to further patch this, I'd say that this also allows for a medicine check to allow a creature to spend a hitdie when they're downed, or allows the helping character to make a "SNAP OUT OF IT, WE'RE YOUR FRIENDS" charisma roll for charmed allies.

Jumping is a bonus action which consumes 10 ft of movement speed. With a Strength score of 10 or below, a creature can jump 15 ft, and this increases by 5 ft for every two points in strength above 10. At 20 Str a creature may spend 10 ft of movement speed and a bonus action to jump, and can travel 35 ft effectively increasing the creature's movement speed by up to 25 feet.

This, combined with the prone rules (see below) is JUICY, as it allows for risk-reward battlefield mobility . That said I'd add some caveats/clarifications: The jump always succeeds in moving you, but if you're taking damage, jumping up or down more than 10ft, or into rough terrain you need to make an acrobatics check not to beef it and fall prone (ending your turn). Your jump is likewise a buffer for how far you can willingly fall before taking damage, but if you fall after your jump, you always land prone.

Weapon actions, 'nough said.

It's more complexity than I'd give to first time players but HOT DAMN if it isn't a great idea to give the martial characters some options instead of just making the same attacks over and over again. I've actually been sockpiling 3rd party versions of this for a while now and I can't wait to add them in.

All The conditions are great:

Blinded: In addition to the other effects, ranged attacks are limited to 15 ft range. Blinded creatures can also make opportunity attacks.

Frightened: Creatures which are frightened are unable to move at all (rather than being unable to move toward the source of their fear), unless the effect instead makes them "fearful" which gives them the frightened effect as well as making them flee.

Prone: Being prone gives disadvantage on Strength and Dexteritysaving throws, attacks against a prone creature have advantage out to a range of 10 ft rather than 5 ft, and ranged attacks against a prone creature do not have disadvantage. Your character cannot do anything while prone. Starting the turn while prone will cause you to automatically use half your movement to stand up. Becoming prone during your turn automatically ends your turn.

Wet: This is a new condition that prevents the character from burning (e.g. from Searing Smite) and grants resistance to fire damage, but also makes the creature vulnerable to lightning and cold damage

[hummingbird24220]

after the zoro and luffy part in that alternate ending of sex pollen... I'd be deeply interested if you wrote a zoro × luffy one shot... Or any other ship, really. But ouugh it sure did make me feel things.

It doesn’t even need to be related to the sex pollen, really!

Yes! This is my first time writing char x char without a reader involved, but i hope you like it. Wasn't sure if you wanted NSFW or not, so have left it fluffy for now. Let me know if you want a part 2 that is NSFW, if that's what you wanted :3

Enjoy!

Where You Lead

Luffy x Zoro

The Sunny rocked gently on calm waters, sails full but steady. Night had settled in, the sky a soft blanket of stars, and the crew had drifted to their separate corners—some asleep, some tinkering or reading or planning. But Zoro stayed on deck, sharpening Wado Ichimonji under the lantern light, steel glinting with each pass of the whetstone.

He didn’t look up when footsteps approached, but he didn’t need to.

“Zoro! Look what I found!” Luffy plopped down beside him, grinning wide and holding a fruit in both hands. It was a mango. Whole. Uncut. Zoro sighed.

“You can’t just eat it like that, dumbass.”

“I can, I’m just not supposed to, huh?” Luffy tilted his head, as if that made him sound smart.

Zoro took the mango from him, unsheathing a small blade from his waistband. “You cut it like this. Around the pit. Then you do these little slices—like a grid.” He worked as he spoke, then flipped the mango inside out like a spiked sunburst. “There. Easy.”

Luffy’s eyes sparkled with wonder, like Zoro had taught him the secrets of the universe.

“Whoa! That’s so cool! You’re like a fruit wizard!”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “It’s basic knife work. Normal people know how to do this.”

“Yeah, but I got you for stuff normal people know,” Luffy said simply, digging his teeth into the mango cubes with sticky, childlike delight.

Zoro paused, just a moment too long.

Something about that made his chest clench and flutter all at once. Like pride. Like longing. Like a stupid, fragile feeling he kept sheathed tighter than any sword. He watched Luffy’s jaw move, his face sticky, hair a mess, shirt stained from god-knows-what.

Zoro knew what the feeling was. Knew it like the names of his blades, like the weight of his captain’s trust.

But saying it aloud felt like striking down the sun with a katana.

So he just leaned back on his elbows, sighing through his nose. “You’re hopeless.”

Luffy snorted. “You’re the one who followed me.”

“You jumped into the middle of the ocean with no plan. Again.”

“And you dove in after me! Again!”

They burst out laughing together, too loud for the quiet night, echoing across the sea.

A silence settled after, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Zoro let it stretch. Luffy chewed slower now, gaze fixed upward, toward the stars.

“You ever think,” Luffy began, voice softer, “that it’s weird? The way I feel ‘round you?”

Zoro didn’t move.

“I mean, it’s not bad. It’s... warm. And full. Like how I feel when I think about Ace, or Gramps, or Sabo. Like family.” He blinked. “But not exactly the same.”

Zoro’s throat went dry.

Luffy turned toward him, all big eyes and sticky fingers and no idea what he was doing to Zoro’s chest.

“I think maybe I feel that way ‘cause you were the first one to join me. You’re always there. Even when I mess up.”

Zoro met his eyes, just for a second.

That’s when he knew Luffy didn’t understand what it was he was feeling. Not yet.

And Zoro would never be the one to tell him. Not if it meant pulling either of them off their path.

He smiled. Just a little. “Guess you’re stuck with me, then.”

“Forever?” Luffy grinned, like the idea made perfect sense.

Zoro nodded. “Forever.”

Luffy leaned against him without asking, head on Zoro’s shoulder, finishing his mango in comfortable silence.

Zoro let him. Let himself want. Just for tonight.

-

The day started the way it always did: with shouting, sunlight, and something catching on fire that shouldn’t have been flammable.

“LUFFY, THAT’S NOT TOAST, THAT’S JUST BREAD YOU PUNCHED!”

Zoro groaned from his hammock, arm slung over his eyes. He’d been awake for ten minutes and already regretted it.

Footsteps thudded toward the men’s quarters, fast and uncoordinated.

“Zoro! Zoro! Zoro! Wanna spar?!”

“No,” Zoro muttered.

“You’re already up, though!”

“I’m not.”

“But you said you’d help me practice fighting with a stick if I stopped hitting people with fishing rods!”

Zoro cracked an eye open. “You didn’t stop.”

“YEAH, BUT I SAID I WOULD.”

There it was. That blinding, unfiltered, full-body grin. The one that made saying no feel like kicking a puppy. Zoro hated it. He hated that it worked. Every. Damn. Time.

He sighed, dragging himself out of the hammock. “Ten minutes. That’s it.”

“YEAH!! I’LL GO GET THE BIG STICK!”

Ten minutes turned into an hour.

It always did.

Luffy was a menace with a staff, and not in a good way. His stance was awful, his form worse, and he kept getting distracted by clouds, bugs, or Chopper walking by with a slice of cake.

But Zoro didn’t stop. He never did.

And when Luffy laughed—full-throated and bright, sweat clinging to his collarbones like sunlight—Zoro’s chest squeezed tight.

“You’re getting better,” Zoro said, flicking the stick from Luffy’s hands with a clean twist of his own.

“You always say that,” Luffy pouted.

“Because you are.”

“But you never say it with sparkles, like Sanji when Nami does anything.”

Zoro sheathed the wooden practice sword like it was a real one and grunted. “I don’t sparkle.”

Luffy blinked. “That’s sad.”

Zoro squinted. “You’re sad.”

“YOU SAID THAT WITH SPARKLES!!”

Zoro turned and walked away. Luffy followed—he always did.

-

Midday came with a nap on the lawn deck. Zoro didn’t ask, didn’t invite. But Luffy plopped beside him anyway, lying on the swordsman’s arm like it was a pillow designed specifically for idiot captains.

“Do you think stars ever fall on purpose?” Luffy asked, eyes squinting up at the clouds.

“Huh?”

“Like, not by accident. Like maybe they want to fall. Wanna see what’s down here.”

Zoro turned his head just slightly, enough to see the curve of Luffy’s mouth, soft with thought.

“Nah,” Zoro said. “They fall ‘cause they burn out.”

“Oh.” Luffy was quiet for a beat. “That’s kinda sad, huh?”

Zoro looked back up at the sky. “Not if they burn bright first.”

Luffy smiled again. Zoro didn’t.

Not because he wasn’t happy. But because he was.

And that scared the hell out of him.

-

Dinner was rowdy, messy, and ended with Sanji threatening to "personally deep-fry anyone who threw rice again."

Luffy, covered in food, plopped beside Zoro on the railing after it all calmed down.

“I like it here,” he said.

Zoro side-eyed him. “You live here.”

“Yeah, but I like it. And I like you, too, Zoro. You make things make sense.”

Zoro froze.

Luffy tilted his head. “Did I say something weird?”

Zoro’s jaw clenched. “No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

And like always, Luffy leaned against him, resting his head on Zoro’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Zoro didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe too loud.

Because if he did, the truth might come tumbling out—and he wasn’t ready to chase it.

Not yet.

-

“Chopper,” Luffy said, very seriously, “I think I’m dying.”

Chopper dropped his clipboard. “WHAT?!”

Luffy pointed to his stomach, brows furrowed. “It’s all twisty. And warm. Like soup. But not soup. Weird soup.”

Chopper blinked, placed a hoof on Luffy’s belly, then tilted his head.

“Hmm… no fever. No inflammation. No parasites…” He tapped his chin. “Luffy, are you sure it hurts?”

“It doesn’t hurt! It’s just… weird! Like butterflies! But I didn’t eat any butterflies. I think.” He paused. “Did Sanji make butterfly soup?”

Chopper looked at him, then sighed. “Luffy, I don’t think you’re sick. I think it’s…” he lowered his voice like he was sharing some ancient secret, “...emotions.”

Luffy gasped. “I have those?!”

“Yes! You do! And that weird soup feeling? That’s your heart reacting to something you feel.”

Luffy squinted. “...So you’re saying I have a belly full of feelings.”

“Essentially.”

He shot up from the infirmary bed, a determined look in his eyes. “Then I gotta find Zoro!”

“Wait—Zoro?! Why Zor—?!”

But he was already gone.

Zoro was in his usual spot: the edge of the ship, one leg propped up, arms crossed, sword at his side, face calm in that stupidly handsome and brooding way Luffy had come to know so well.

“ZORO!”

“Geh—what?!”

Luffy skidded to a stop in front of him, fists clenched at his sides. “You’re the reason I have the funny soup in my belly!”

Zoro blinked. “...What.”

“Chopper said it’s emotions. That I’m not dying. And every time I feel the soup, it’s when I’m around you.”

Zoro rubbed his face. “Luffy—”

“So,” Luffy continued, undeterred, “I decided to tell you.”

Zoro let out a long breath, glancing at the sea like it might save him. “Okay. Sit.”

Luffy sat, cross-legged and upright like an eager student.

Zoro leaned back, staring at the clouds. “Look… that funny feeling? That’s... probably affection. Love. Attachment. Whatever you want to call it. I’ve had it too.”

Luffy’s eyes grew wide. “You get the soup too?!”

Zoro gave a small huff of a laugh. “Yeah. Every day.”

They sat in silence for a beat. The waves rolled. The ship creaked gently.

Then—abruptly—Luffy leaned forward and kissed him.

Quick. Sudden. A little off-center. And horrendously bad.

Zoro choked on his own spit. “What the hell was that?!”

“A kiss!” Luffy beamed. “That’s what people do when they feel stuff, right?”

“Y-you can’t just—” Zoro started, then stopped. “That was awful.”

Luffy frowned. “Didn’t taste like soup either.”

Zoro sputtered. Then, slowly, laughed. A real laugh. The kind that shook his chest.

Luffy laughed too, wiping his mouth. “You looked so shocked! Like your face was trying to run away.”

“Because it was!”

They both collapsed backward, side by side, grinning like idiots.

The stars were just beginning to peek through the fading light. The sky overhead was open, wide, and full of quiet possibilities.

Luffy stared up and whispered, “I think I get it now.”

Zoro hummed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re like my sword-heart. Not in my brain. Not in my belly. Just kinda... always with me.”

Zoro looked at him, eyes soft. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Thanks.”

They kept grinning.

And kept staring at the sky.

[atinymekanie]

The Night We Met - Chapter 12: Only For a Moment?

|| Premise: What if Dawnbreaker's wish for one day and one night with the woman who lives only in his dreams... came true? ||

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 |

The sunlight shone through the gaps in the buildings of downtown Linkon City as Zayne strolled hand in hand with the woman he loved. His heartbeat sounded dully in his ears as he walked, his gaze straight ahead as the late afternoon sun cut through his irises, bathing the world in a burnished glow. The feeling of her hand in his made warmth flood throughout him, a very soft blush coloring Zayne’s cheeks ever so faintly as they walked.

The sound of her voice floated up to him as they strolled, genuine and comfortable as she explained about the market they were going to see – the food stalls that had opened recently, the vendors with trinkets and tinkerings and pretty little items for sale, and the music that played along the thoroughfare. Zayne thought it sounded nice, of course, but the thought of experiencing it with her was the nicest part of all. The fact that he had been allowed this moment made his heart swell with something he wasn’t used to feeling – a sort of gratitude, a thankfulness for being alive, for being allowed a moment that felt like honey on the tongue, golden and sweet and fleeting.

Reflexively, Zayne tightened his grip on her hand for just an instant, as if reassuring himself that this was real, that this moment was his to have. When she squeezed his hand back, he knew it was. For some unknown reason. Whatever he had done to deserve this instance of happiness, he knew not to question it. Whether he deserved it or not, Zayne wasn’t sure, but he was going to hold onto it for as long as he was allowed. Even if this was all he was allowed. Just holding her hand. Nothing more. No matter what else he wanted? No, no matter what else.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Zayne swallowed down the lump that rose in his throat, dissolving the ball of ice that had formed inside him as his mind wandered to where else his hand might touch, or where else her hand might go. The intrusive thoughts slammed against the walls he had erected, forcing their way to the forefront of his mind, making Zayne shove them away again, making him shore up those walls even further.

They continued walking, hand in hand, past the office buildings and the museum Zayne had seen in the old magazines he kept in his apartment. It looked so much more imposing in reality, and he vaguely recalled a memory of a dream, where the doctor had spoken with her while standing in front of one of the exhibits. The dream paled in comparison to the present, a shadowed copy of what he was experiencing now – her voice drifting into his ears, her palm warm against his own, her presence at his side filling him with a light he had not known existed until today. It would be enough. It had to be.

As they rounded a corner, the woman glanced up at him and saw the way Zayne was gazing ahead, his eyes fixed on the proverbial horizon, his cheeks lightly dusted with pink. It wasn’t the deep shade of red that had colored his ears previously, but it was enough to let her know that he was affected by her presence. That her earlier realization had been correct. A smile turned up the corners of her lips, her heartbeat quickening ever so slightly without her knowledge, responding to the feeling of his hand in hers and the expression on his face.

“Look! We’re here.” She raised her other hand, pointing ahead to the cordoned-off side street that was strung with currently unlit lanterns and filled with stalls that boasted all manner of wares and delicious foods. The sound of banter and the sizzling of grills mingled with the rhythm of the lively music that echoed from further down the street. Brightly colored banners hung on every stall, advertising the food or merchandise they sold, the large print and bold pictures inviting anyone who passed by to stop and have a look.

Zayne’s eyes widened as he took in the colorful thoroughfare, the street already beginning to fill with people who were strolling along the stalls and talking animatedly with the vendors. He had never seen something like this before; the camaraderie and the pleasant social atmosphere flowed past him like a gentle breeze beckoning him forward.

Now that Zayne had gotten more used to the number of people out and about and the very clear lack of Wanderers bursting out of the next person’s hide, he was beginning to realize that he quite liked the idea of socializing, at least to some degree. As long as she was there. With her by his side, it didn’t matter if there was a crowd of a thousand or no one else around. Wherever she was, happiness abounded. Zayne smiled down at her, mostly with his eyes, the barest hint of his smile curving his lips as he stepped forward, following her toward the market.

“So, what would you like to try? Or would you prefer to browse, first?” Her voice was louder than normal, raised ever so slightly to reach above the chattering of other perusing pedestrians. Zayne glanced around, his eyes flicking from stall to stall, reading the different items available for purchase.

“Maybe just…browse a bit, for now? I admit, I don’t know what all of these items are,” Zayne replied, his gaze landing on a stand that sold something called unadon. It looked like it had rice, and some sort of meat with the rice, but he couldn’t tell what kind. For a moment, Zayne felt the icy claws of uncertainty grip him, his own ignorance causing his voice to falter. He didn’t wish to look stupid in front of her, but at the same time, he also didn’t want to try something that might not be good, or that she wouldn’t enjoy.

Before Zayne could descend fully into the cold pit of chagrin that was building in his stomach, her voice halted his fall, the gentleness in it unmistakable. “That’s alright, I can explain them to you.” She had followed his gaze to the stall selling unadon, and she pointed to the photo of the dish on the sign. Hearing the slight waver in his voice and seeing the trepidation on his face made the woman want to ease his worry. “It’s made with rice and grilled eel. The sauce is really tasty. Kind of savory, yet tart in a way. Makes you want to eat more of it.” Her smile turned into a teasing grin as she glanced back up at him, pulling on his hand slightly as she started to walk down the street.

“Here, this stall has cheese pancakes,” she continued, her voice lilting through the air as she explained. “Don’t worry, it’s a sweet cheese. Although there are pancakes that aren’t sweet, like those over there.” Raising her free hand, she gestured toward a stall advertising scallion pancakes. “And that one over there sells egg tarts. Sort of like quiche, but…” She paused, realizing he might not know what quiche was either. “Sorry, it’s like a tiny pie, but the filling is made with soft baked egg, instead of fruit. It can sometimes have other things added into the egg mixture, but it all depends on what you want and what they offer.”

Zayne stifled a chuckle at the way her brow scrunched up as she tried to explain the egg tarts, the little furrow between her eyebrows extremely endearing to him. His gaze stayed on her as they walked down the rows of stalls, listening as she continued to explain the food items – everything from naan bread with various dips to sweet and spicy glazed pork to schnitzel and beef goulash, along with mochi of varying flavors and little buns filled with red bean paste. Sure, his eyes followed her pointing fingers to each stall, but they returned almost immediately to her face once the item she was indicating had been catalogued in his brain. While the food was fascinating, Zayne couldn’t deny the fact that the woman beside him was much more enticing to him.

At one point, the woman glanced up at him, meeting Zayne’s gaze as he stared down at her adoringly. This time it was her voice that faltered, the last of her sentence trailing off as she was explaining the filling of the pastries they had just passed. She felt her own cheeks grow warm, the weight of his gaze and the expression on his face as he listened to her every word filling her with affection and an ache she couldn’t name.

Clearing her throat, the woman tore her gaze from his, feeling the warmth on her cheeks spread throughout her as she made herself keep walking. His hand in hers felt oddly clammy, but she couldn’t tell if it was her palm sweating or his. Probably hers, she figured, given his normal range of body temperature. But that was odd. She and Zayne were way past the cutely crushing stage, where small glances were overly meaningful and holding hands made her heart race. Or so she had thought. Something about the way he looked at her now made her feel those same butterflies she had felt early on in their relationship.

Shrugging off the nagging thoughts, the woman shifted her hand in his, interlacing their fingers before pulling him towards the next section of the market – the arts and craft vendors. Stopping at the first one that looked remotely interesting, she pointed out the beautiful jade designs; some of them were ornaments, some were pendants, and some were even hair accessories.

Zayne let her pull him along toward the jade vendor, his mind racing at the way she had stared up at him, at the way her voice had trailed off near the end of her sentence. It had felt like something zinged through him when their eyes had met, and he hadn’t been able to look away, despite that being his first instinct. Like she had felt it, too. But that was crazy. She loved the doctor. Not him. She wanted the doctor. Not him. Zayne shook his head almost imperceptibly, in an attempt to clear his mind of such thoughts, his gaze focusing on the green stones before him.

One of them caught his eye, and Zayne instinctively raised his left hand, reaching out toward the jade that had been carved in the shape of a jasmine flower. His fingertips moved towards the petals, but before they could reach them, they met something else, something warmer and more yielding than jade – her fingertips.

“Look, it’s—”

“Oh, a jas—"

Startled, Zayne glanced up at the woman standing beside him, both of their words cut off as they each realized they had interrupted the other. He started to pull his hand away, the light dusting of pink that had only just faded a little while ago returning to his cheeks with a vengeance.

“Sorry, I—”

“I-I’m sorry—”

The woman started to apologize at the same time Zayne also started to apologize, their words falling over each other before halting again. She captured her bottom lip between her teeth, a soft laugh huffing through her nose at the way his ears had begun to turn bright red. Awareness of her own cheeks growing warm again flooded her, and she looked down at their hands hovering just above the jasmine-shaped jade ornament. What on Earth was happening to her? She drew in a breath and picked up the ornament, holding it up in the late afternoon sunlight to draw attention away from both of their predicaments.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it? Reminds you of the jasmine in the botanical garden, right?” Her voice was soft as she spoke, just barely loud enough to be heard over the crowd, and her gaze found his again, noting that some of the redness on his cheeks and ears had begun to fade.

“Yes, it’s quite…beautiful,” replied Zayne, his eyes fixed on her face, just past the jade ornament. Part of him hoped that she wouldn’t realize he was looking at her instead of the jade. Part of him hoped she would. Would it change anything if she noticed? Zayne didn’t know, but something inside of him screamed at him that it might. And the other part of him silenced it as quickly as he could.

His fingers twitched, the urge to reach up and touch the jade ornament in her hands as an excuse to brush his fingers against hers almost overwhelming him. As quickly as he could, Zayne stuffed his free hand into his pants pocket, reining in his desire as he nodded, reaffirming his confirmation that the item in question was indeed beautiful. Just like her. He watched her smile as she set the small stone flower down, placing it gently back in its spot upon the display.

They wandered through the stalls, admiring the paper lanterns in one, the specialty handmade plushies in another, and the hanging plants in tiny, cute planters at yet a third. At each stall where they stopped, Zayne kept his free hand in his pocket, letting her pick up and handle any items she fancied.

As much as Zayne wouldn’t have minded a repeat of the previous occurrence, he didn’t want her to feel at all awkward in his presence. If he got through the day with her feeling comfortable and happy with him throughout it, Zayne decided that would have to be enough. It was already a dream come true. No matter what else he might have wished for, he dared not spit in the face of whatever had granted him this by demanding more. Especially if it made her uncomfortable. That was unacceptable.

But had it made her uncomfortable? Zayne wasn’t quite sure, if he was being honest with himself. It was clear now that his previous worries about her being scared of him or disgusted with him were unfounded, but that still didn’t mean she felt the same way about him as she did the doctor. That would be too much to ask. Wouldn’t it? But the way she had looked at him, just for a moment, made his heart skip a beat.

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After about twenty minutes or so of browsing the vendors’ wares, the pair made their way back toward the food stalls, deciding on the unadon, the naan bread with three different dips to try, and for dessert the cheese pancakes and some mochi, along with a bottle of water for each of them. They purchased the items and stepped over to the sidewalk with their small feast. Along with the food stalls, there were some standing-height tables set up nearby on the sidewalk, allowing customers to set their food and beverages down while they ate.

Balancing two of the containers of steaming food on one arm and holding the package of mochi in his other hand, Zayne followed the woman over to one of the empty tables, setting down the items carefully, his eyebrows raising almost comically as he sought to do so without spilling anything. She had carried the other items over, placing them on the table and turning in time to catch his somewhat silly expression.

Laughing quietly, the woman reached over and took the mochi from him, allowing Zayne to properly set down the food. “You sure you’re not a waiter in your spare time?” she quipped, her tone teasing as she held out a set of eating utensils for him.

“Pretty sure,” he replied with a smile, his tone lighter than he felt as he took the utensils from her, his fingers brushing against hers, igniting a tingle of electricity that spread up his arm. “I think I would be a sight better at carrying these if I were.” Zayne glanced over at a beam of sunlight that pierced through the gap between two buildings, lighting up some of the stalls and making the steam from the grills behind them glitter like mist in the warm light. It was getting later. The angle of the light told him that sunset was likely only an hour or so away.

Zayne snuck a glance at her Hunter’s watch but couldn’t quite see the time without making his goal obvious. Maybe it was better not to know. Better to just savor every moment as it came, to enjoy what he could. While he could. He looked back down at the food set between them, the sight and smell of each dish tantalizing his senses. Yes, better to enjoy while he could.

Pushing aside the anxiety that threatened to rise inside of him like a cold, dark tide, Zayne focused instead on sharing each dish with the woman, enjoying the banter between them as they ate, marveling at the flavor of each food as they tried it and comparing their thoughts. He did his level best to ignore the creeping tendrils of ice that wormed their way up his spine as the light shifted, the sun sinking lower on the horizon behind the buildings.

The woman noticed the change in his demeanor, the subtle way his tone shifted and the fact that his smile didn’t always reach his eyes. They had finished most of their meal, the only things left being a little more than half of the cheese pancake and the mochi. “Here, why don’t you have the rest of this?" She tilted her head as she smiled up at him, pushing the dessert towards him, well aware of how much he enjoyed sweets, no matter which version of Zayne was present.

“Are you sure?” Zayne responded quizzically, not wanting to take more than his fair share of the delicious treat.

“I’m positive. I’m a bit full, and the mochi we can take with us to the Bay,” the woman answered, nodding decisively as she did so. She had hoped that the reminder of their plans to visit Whitesand Bay would bring that light back to his eyes, and she had been right. Zayne’s eyes widened slightly at her words, his irises catching the fading light of the sun as he glanced up at her.

“Right, the Bay.” Zayne felt his heart leap a little in spite of his worry about the time, his eyes flashing with excitement. To see such a wondrous thing, and with the person he cherished most? That would be enough to excite anyone. “Well, if you’re sure…” He paused a moment before taking another bite, wanting to be sure she meant for him to have the rest of it.

The woman laughed and nodded, laying her hand on his arm, feeling the firmness of his forearm beneath the fabric of his coat. “Go ahead, Zayne, I know how much you enjoy dessert.” Her words were laced with an easy familiarity, a gentleness that came from knowing the other person like the back of one’s hand.

Her smile and the ease with which his name fell from her lips stole Zayne’s breath, her familiarity with his preferences making something inside him melt. No one had known him in this way before. But she did. Glancing down at the food, Zayne went ahead and took a bite, trying to hide his sudden rush of affection for her by stuffing his mouth full of the sweet, fluffy dessert. His cheeks puffed out slightly as he chewed, the bite he took much larger than intended.

Without thinking about it, the woman reached up and brushed her thumb along his chin, just below his bottom lip, a fond smile tracing across her features. Zayne froze at the touch, his eyes meeting hers as he swallowed the bite of pancake, that odd electric feeling he had felt before making its way to the pit of his stomach. Was there something on his face? Why had she done that? He was afraid to move as her thumb gently smoothed across his chin, the pressure light but firm, the feeling in his stomach making his blood sing at the way her fingertips felt against his skin.

“You had something, just there,” she murmured, her hand falling back to the table as she spoke; her fingers settling on a napkin and wiping clean the small bit of pancake she had brushed from his chin. When she glanced back up at Zayne, the look in his eyes had changed somewhat. It was still one of excitement, but with another emotion simmering beneath it, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. A kind of…heat. Slightly flustered, the woman reached for the package of mochi, picking it up and counting the little desserts inside to hide her reaction to the way he had looked at her. “Looks like there’s three, no, four of them? Two for each of us, then.”

Zayne nodded hastily in agreement, grateful for something else to focus on other than the rising tide of warmth in his gut that was quickly traveling lower. He took another bite of the pancake, not knowing what to say and needing something to do that didn’t send the sudden tension between them sky-high.

“I hope we’ll be able to see the sunset while we ride the metro out to the Bay.” The woman knew her words were idle, but the hope was genuine, her need to fill the sizzling space between them with something other than silence pressing at her until she spoke.

Finishing up the last bite of the pancake, Zayne picked up a napkin and wiped his lips, avoiding the place where her thumb had touched. It was clean already anyway, right? He began gathering up the empty food containers, his voice coming out a little rougher than he intended when he answered, “I hope so too. It would be nice…to watch the sunset with you.” Whoops. Zayne hadn’t meant the phrase to come out exactly the way it had, but it was too late now.

She glanced over at him as he began speaking, her eyes meeting his as the words flowed from him. Her breath caught in her throat at the sound of his voice, the subtle emphasis in his phrasing causing her heartbeat to thrum in her ears and catching her off guard. Before she could respond, Zayne had turned away, quickly striding over to a nearby waste receptacle and throwing out the empty containers. By the time he came back, the heat in his eyes was gone, replaced by the warm glow of affection from before.

Zayne’s mind had run about a mile a minute as he had carried the trash to be thrown away, turning over the way she had responded to his statement – the slight hitch in her breath and the warmth on her cheeks. Perhaps she too would enjoy watching the sunset with him? Even though he wasn’t the doctor, perhaps for a moment he could pretend that her response had been for him. Only for a moment. Or maybe for longer? Only one way to find out.

With his heart in his throat, Zayne returned to her side, his hand slipping into hers as he nodded ahead of them, towards the metro station she had pointed out earlier. When her hand curled around his, instead of drawing away, Zayne felt his heart rate skyrocket, those thoughts he had walled away coming back with a vengeance. This was enough. He would remind himself as many times as it took – that whatever she allowed him was enough. More than enough. More than he had ever expected. More than he had dared to hope.

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