#Its like they can't be happy at the same time

[supernaturalfreakout]

Fester (possessed!Sam x fem!reader)

Summary: No matter how hard he tries, Sam can't keep you off his mind, and a particular demon has noticed. After a stressful hunt leads to a fight with Dean, Sam finds himself trying to dissociate, leaving him open for the taking. Meg seizes her opportunity, then proceeds to make sure Sam will never forget you.

CWs: Okay, this one's pretty dark. Triggers for non-con, non-negotiated/risky/dangerous kink, degradation, repressed desires, and lots and lots of guilt. If you are not comfortable reading any of these things, please DNI. 18+ MDNI. 🔞 There's some mutual longing here too underneath all the despair, but don't expect a happy ending or any fluff here. This is basically Meg screwing with Sam and having her version of a good time. If you like disturbing shit you might like this.

Thanks to @foxwinchester83 for the request. This never would have existed without you.

If Sam hadn’t let his guard down, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. 

If he hadn’t fallen out with Dean, slammed the motel door so violently it fell off its hinges, and ran until his breath was coming in shallow, wispy huffs—the stars above him no longer only in the sky, but sparkling bright and dizzying behind his eyes—then maybe he wouldn’t have ended up alone, pissed off, and incapacitated in the middle of this shit hole of a town. 

If he hadn’t lost his charm.

If he hadn’t stepped into that bar.

If he hadn’t drowned his sorrows in cheap whisky that turned his deoxygenated blood into honey, and his appendages into sluggish excuses for limbs.

If you hadn’t infected his memory like a stubborn contagion he couldn’t budge no matter how hard he tried. And if she hadn’t appeared: the haunting shadow that stalked his every move.

If Sam hadn’t let the bitch inside, the dumb fuck that he was.

It was nice at first, being out of control. It had felt nice for around five minutes, letting someone take over his body and just having things happen to him. He supposed that was why he’d started drinking. To dissociate. But he’d let thoughts of you fester. He’d let you affect him, and Meg had cottoned on.

After hijacking his body, Meg had also done the same to a car, and driven with haste towards the nearest highway.

What Sam was originally mad about no longer mattered. It was nothing compared to the horror he’d felt when he realized he was swerving off the road and barrelling towards your sleepy town.

Now, he was angry, drunk, incapacitated in a very different way, and most definitely not alone.

He hated himself for this. How could he ever forget you now?

Meg had seen her chance and grasped it with her filthy claws at the first opportunity, and now he was balls-deep inside the woman he’d been crushing on for the past six months, watching your pretty face contort with every deprived word that left his sinful mouth. 

It may have been his voice, but it definitely wasn’t him. And he was horrified to find that you seemed to be enjoying it. That he was.

Though he may not be in control of his hulking, sweaty body, he could still sense. He was still aware. Meg had made sure of that, slipping into his skin just loosely enough so he could still see everything. Hear everything. Smell everything. Feel and taste everything.

And you felt and tasted exquisite. Even better than he’d imagined a thousand times over. Spiced wine. Sweet, with just the right amount of tang to leave him buzzed and slightly on edge. But Sam had already drunk enough. He didn’t need another weakness.

But the sounds leaving your mouth–the moans that made his internal breath shudder–made him question his sensibilities and scold himself in the process.

He thought about the way your nipples pierced the air, and the way you’d arched your back for him—for Meg—when she’d slid his tongue down your stomach and attached his mouth over the whole of your dripping cunt.

The way your clit had tasted when Meg had plunged—without any warmup—two of his large, strong fingers into you, straight to the knuckle.

The way you’d screamed.

The way you’d writhed as your body struggled to accommodate him, and–despite the stretch–the way you’d begged for more.

Begged him to fuck you.

To tie you up.

To strike you.

To mark and bite you.

The way your mouth had felt around his cock. The way your drool trickled down his length—warm, wet, and slick. The noises you’d made when you’d gagged on him.

The way—despite his conflictions—every perverted act made his cock pulse violently.

You didn’t seem to be the kind of girl that would be into this kinda shit, but they never were, were they? 

It was all too much. Sam couldn’t take it. 

It wasn’t the sex that bothered him. The fact that you were enjoying his body delighted him immensely. It was the circumstances. Not what you were enjoying, but how you were enjoying it. The fact that it wasn’t him. Not really.

Is this what you’d expect from him if he continued seeing you after this? No. How could he even contemplate that? How could he go on after this? How could he ever look at you again without thinking of this moment? About how much you’d enjoyed him. Enjoyed her. He’d forever feel an imposter.

“Sam—” you gasped, and Sam pulled himself out of his reverie just in time to watch his hand slash across your ass in several merciless spanks. Squealing from the impact, you balled your already clenched toes and fists, muttering a string of curses Sam figured might as well have been Enochian.

Meg had flipped you over and was now taking you from behind in a rather undignified fashion. Your hands were still bound to the headboard with his belt, and he could see the leather chafing your wrists, making them red and sore. You didn’t seem to notice, or care.

Sam’s stomach dropped.

He wasn’t opposed to kink, as long as it was consensual. But he had not consented to this. Neither had you.

Meg hadn’t done it the way Sam would have; she hadn’t awkwardly asked you out, made you laugh, bought you flowers, or taken you on a nice date first. She had simply turned up at your door unannounced and proceeded to fuck your brains out.

But to Sam’s horror and delight, you seemed to be into it. Into him. And had invited him in willingly …

~

Sam felt your eyes wander over his body as he stood on your doorstep in the dead light of night. Your hair was mussed from sleep, and you were in your pajamas. Pink flowery ones. He’d woken you up.

“Sam?” You squinted up at him. “What… what are you doing here? It’s two a.m.”

Sam’s body shrugged and he heard his voice come out, rough from the alcohol. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said. Like that was an adequate explanation for his spontaneous appearance in the middle of the night.

You eyed him curiously for a moment, then seemed to accept it and welcomed him in. As Meg made his body step inside, Sam cursed your naïveté at letting a man inside your house at such an ungodly hour. You were too trusting. You should know better than this. As a daughter of a hunter, you were well versed in the creatures of the night, but had seemingly forgotten all your training when met with a familiar face. He’d need to have words with you after this.

After this? After what? What was happening here exactly?

Panic set in as Sam trailed you through your hallway to the lounge, through piles of open texts and manuscripts. Though you were in ‘the life,’ you’d managed to live adjacent to it, dedicating your time to research rather than being physically involved in hunts. It suited you better. You’d always been more a thinker than a fighter; you’d even gone to college to study occultism to help with the cause.

Sam was attracted to you from the beginning. You were incredibly studious, and your discoveries had saved Sam and Dean from several sticky situations over the past few months. He owed you a lot. More than whatever was going to happen here tonight.

“Bad hunt?” you asked, and continued to ogle Sam as he studied your lounge like it was the first time he’d seen it.

Something like that, Sam thought, but Meg didn’t answer. He could feel her impatience rattle inside him. She wasn’t a fan of small talk.

“Do you… do you want to talk about it?” And when Sam still didn’t reply, you rubbed your arms awkwardly, like you were warming yourself from the cold.

Sam wanted to offer you his jacket. Apologise profusely for barging in like this. Instead, he felt his lips curl involuntarily.

“Truth is,” he said, and he turned to face you, your figure tempting in the lamplight. Nipples peaking through the satin of your pajama top. Fuel to the fire of his already vivid imagination. He stepped closer, and your breath caught as he backed you slowly against the wall. “I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about you. In fact, baby, I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”

Meg wasn’t lying. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. That was the whole reason he’d been so distracted and screwed up on the hunt. The reason Dean had gotten so mad at him for his negligence. It wasn't like Sam to fuck up like that. Not like him at all.

Sam watched you closely. Watched you squint at him like he was a puzzle to solve. One of your cryptic passages.

Solve me, Sam thought, his mind pleading. Realize this isn’t me.

He hadn’t missed how your eyes had snapped up to his when he’d called you baby. He’d never called you that before, and he started to sweat. He would never be this forward.

He half expected you to laugh it off, to take it as a joke, or tell him he was an idiot and try to send him away. What he didn’t expect was for you to move closer. Much closer. So close he could see down your top. To your cleavage. To the perfect curve of your breasts and the way your nipples stood, now undoubtedly erect beneath that flowery satin. He didn’t have to imagine anymore. It felt like a personal attack.

If he was more himself, Sam would clear his throat and force himself to look away. Store the image for a lonely day and let it wreck him in a stolen moment of satisfaction that would promise relief, but ultimately leave him with a deep-seated shame.

But he wasn’t. And he didn’t. His body refused to obey him.

He could sense Meg’s tendrils in his motor cortex, prodding around and manipulating his voluntary muscles. His eyes. His voice. His limbs… She’d pretty much left his sensory and autonomic tracts unmanned. How generous.

A low, insidious hunger stirred below his gut, something darker than just want. Something he should fight. And he found himself staring like a dog in heat. A predator that had finally trapped its prey.

Low and behold the thing he’d feared appeared. Nature took its course, and it was fucking obvious. He couldn’t even move his arms to tuck it beneath his waistband.

A knowing smile formed on your face as you looked him up and down. You’d caught him out. Sam’s heart stuttered, and for a second he thought you weren’t just letting him look. You were daring him to.

You drew in a breath. “Fucking finally,” you said. “I was wondering how long you’d make me wait.”

And before Sam could register what he was hearing, you did something he had been imagining for months: you rose to your tip-toes and kissed him. And as your soft, warm lips collided with his stern, cold ones, Sam felt his internal knees weaken.

He wanted to tell you how much he’d longed for this. Longed for you. Wanted to soften the kiss and tell you how beautiful you were. How intelligent. How every time he was around you, he’d forced himself to look away, because he’d never be good enough for you. How you deserved better than him. Better than a college drop-out and a pathetic excuse for a hunter.

Instead, he was insulting you. Degrading you. Using you. Worse, he was letting Meg use you in whatever fucked-up game she was playing. He’d been negligent–again. This was all his fault. He should’ve listened to Dean and gotten that damn fugly tattoo.

The kiss was heady and demanding. All sharp lines and rough edges. A clash of tongue and teeth. With every movement your breaths were coming heavier, hotter, and you were pulling him closer, clawing at him.

Sam found his hands grappling for your clothes. Your flowery pajama pants. Hiking them down. And then his hand was between your legs, just a thin strip of cotton between his fingers and your liquid heat.

“Sam—” you gasped, as Sam cupped your mound possessively. His touch wasn’t shy, wasn’t gentle, and Sam shuddered at the thought that this was how he’d touch you for the first time. So selfish. The guilt that was his constant companion wound around his throat, constricting his internal voice, choking him harder with every effort he made to break free.

Sam wanted to take his time with you, to map your body with his mind and to notice every detail; how you liked to be touched and where, to gauge your reactions with every pass of his fingertips. But he wasn’t given that choice. This was an excavation, not an exploration.

 “Come upstairs,” you pleaded against his cheek, and bit your lip to stifle a moan as Sam started prodding you through your panties. “Please, Sammy ... want you in my bed.”

Sam heard Meg laugh, then speak to him for the first time.

She’s a brash little thing, isn’t she? I can see why you like her. A natural submissive, with a hint of defiance. This will be fun. Oh, how I love to watch them break. Better appease her first, though …

“Sure, baby,” Sam heard himself say, then let himself be pulled up the stairs.

~

This wasn’t fair. You deserved more than this. A conversation, at least. A safe word.

But Meg wasn’t big on safe words; she was only big on pain.

But this was never about harming you, Sam realized. It was about torturing him. It was always about torturing him ...

So, you’ve cottoned on, puppet?

Meg’s voice in Sam’s head rang clear as the highway had been when they’d driven here. Her voice was gloating.

You’ve always been my favorite toy, Sam. You’re so fun to play with. Big... Commanding... Full of self-loathing... You make it so easy.

Sam felt the threads around his internal voice loosen. She was allowing him to speak.

Get out of me, he growled. Leave her alone. Fuck off back to Hell.

Lighten up, Bullwinkle. She’s game. She wants this, clearly. She’s not as innocent as you think. Or are you really that dumb? Look at her.

And Sam did; he had no choice.

Meg flipped you over again so he was forced to look at your face, and he watched as your eyes rolled back in your head with every punishing thrust of his hips.

You looked like a broken doll.

Incapacitated, vulnerable, and…

Hot.

Incredibly fucking hot with your eyes glazed, tits bouncing, hair mussed, wrists bound, and legs spread wide for him.

Fuck. The fact that he was even deriving a single ounce of pleasure from this was unspeakable. Abhorrent. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t thinking straight.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Yeah, must be the alcohol …

With Sam’s lips, Meg smiled a sadistic grin and re-tightened her threads. Sam felt his larynx constrict, choking him quiet as Meg grasped you by the heels and sucked several of your pretty little toes into the pink flesh of his mouth.

Even they tasted sweet.

What the hell was wrong with him?

“God—” you choked out, squirming. In delight or disgust, Sam couldn’t tell any more. Maybe it was both.

Not everyone plays by the rules, puppet, Meg continued. You should know that more than anyone ... I wonder how many other men she’s fucked like this. Must be quite a few. She clearly knows what she wants.

Sam felt a rage that incapacitated him further. But he was completely at her mercy, unable to do anything to prevent this.

He pulled your foot from his mouth, your toes now shiny with his spit, and grazed his teeth along the inside of your calf, leaving several bruising bites.

A dog gnawing on a bone.

A rabid animal.

And stop lying to yourself. Your mind may be capable of deceit, but your meat-suit isn’t. The body doesn’t lie. That was all you…

That was, also, frustratingly true. Despite his intoxication, Sam hadn’t had any trouble getting it up. Of course he hadn’t—it was you. He’d imagined this moment too many times: you, naked, below him, screaming his name. He’d pleasured himself to that thought no less than ten times in the past week alone. It had gotten a little out of hand.

You want this too, puppet. Repression’s an insidious thing. Has no one ever told you that? I’ve seen how you’ve thought about her. The things you’ve imagined... You’re as sick as I am. I’m not doing anything you haven’t already thought about. I’m doing you a favour. Give her what she wants. Give in to the darkness that’s already inside you.

No, Sam thought defiantly, his vision swimming, stars falling like specks of dust. Not like this…

She wants this, puppet. If you won’t give her what she wants, then I will. You have no choice. She’s a pretty little thing. Even when she screams. I wonder what she looks like when the light’s leaving her eyes.

NO, Sam thought, but his hands were already grappling for your neck, his long, skilful fingers hovering over your carotid arteries.

“You want this, baby?” Sam heard himself ask. “You want me to fuck you up?” His voice was still thick from the whisky, and he was horrified to see you nod, dazed though you were.

Sam could hear Meg laughing in his head. This wasn’t funny. It was exactly the opposite. She was screwing with him well, making out that any aspect of this was consensual. She’d learnt that the hard way with Jo. If she was too obvious, you’d know this wasn’t him, surely? Surely you would?

“Just to be clear, you want this, right? ‘Cause I wouldn’t want to hurt you, baby.” Then Meg ran a hand down the rippling muscles in his arm and flexed, making him look like a total jackass. “I’m a big guy, if you hadn’t noticed.” Again, total jackass move.

“Yes, Sammy,” you rasped, watching him beneath heavy lids, mouth parted in awe. “Of course I’ve noticed ... I’ve been waiting so long for this ... For you.”

Sam felt his stomach drop again and fall through the earth. How could you believe this was really him?

You see, Meg taunted. She’s game, baby.

The admission did nothing to reassure Sam. In fact it only made the guilt worse. Hearing that you’d wanted him too, for some time, and were willing to overlook this problematic behavior, hit him like a punch to the gut. It shouldn’t have gone like this. You deserved more. So much more. You deserved to be made to feel loved, not lusted over and debased like a cheap whore.

Meg placed his hand around your neck and squeezed, and the moan you gave in response sent shivers up his spine. With every following word that left his mouth, he felt his grip tighten, your blood pulsing beneath his fingers. “You’re a depraved little slut, huh? Who’d have thought? It’s always the quiet ones. Lose all sense of dignity when they’re being fucked.”

At that, Sam’s hands withdrew and you gasped, your breath shallow and whiny, and your eyes reflected something other than pleasure for the first time tonight. They flashed black, and Sam could see himself in them. It looked a little like fear.

Meg laughed. At you. At Sam’s clear perturbance. And then with a force he never would dare use, drew back his hand and slapped you across the face. You were so small compared to him, so delicate, it wouldn’t take much to break you.

Don’t worry, Meg said. You’re not going to kill her. I can’t deal with reapers right now. They ruin all the fun.

Sam watched your supple skin bloom from the impact of his hand, and your head loll to the side. A single tear rolled down your cheek and pooled in the crevice between your collarbones. You looked undoubtedly out of it, whimpering incomprehensibly, but apparently that wasn’t good enough for Meg. If she couldn’t have you dead, she’d have the next best thing.

Please, Sam begged, as his hand returned to collar your throat. No more. Do what you want with me, but leave her out of this…

As his fingers constricted even further around your neck, Sam couldn’t deny how pretty it looked–his hand around your throat like a gorget. It fit perfectly, like it was meant to be there.

Trouble was, a gorget was meant to protect you, and he was doing the exact opposite…

Maybe you’re not a lost cause after all, Meg chuckled. Damn this is fun.

Fuck, Sam thought, as he struggled in vain to put an end to this violent act, his vile thoughts. But it was too late; the light was already leaving your eyes, your face was turning redder by the second, and...

And…

Your pussy was clenching around him.

This was getting you off.

Told you, Meg said. She’s a freak. We’re not that different.

And as the rest of your climax seized you, Sam felt his own take hold.

He pulled out and began pumping his throbbing cock with the hand he’d just used to strangle you.

A dizzying pleasure overcame him.

Whisky in his veins.

Stars again behind his eyes.

And it didn’t take long before he was groaning in ecstasy, shooting his silky seed across your chest and face.

Through Sam’s now hazel eyes, Meg forced him to look down at you. At what he’d done. At your unconscious shell of a body he’d defiled with his pathetic lack of self-control.

A pornographic painting.

A disturbing display of his descent into depravity.

And then Meg did the cruellest thing she could have possibly done in that moment.

She left.

Left him all alone to deal with the aftermath of this mess. The emotional and physical.

Guilt swallowed Sam whole. Not only for what he’d done, but for how good it had felt to lose control, to sate the desires that that taken root deep inside his rotten, corrupted soul.

The last thing Sam heard before she abandoned his aching body–as he closed his internal eyes and admitted defeat–was Meg’s voice, crisp, clear and gloating.

I’ve ruined her for you now, haven’t I, puppet?

And as much as Sam didn’t want to admit it, maybe she had. Because he now couldn’t imagine having you any other way. 

[followtheechoes]

FOUND AT LAST! thank you so much @eleceedlover for sending this to me!! it's a three part series and it's in the second part, so here are the links to each part:

Three Wheels: A Year for Secrets by Requiem17 | After Morgana's latest takeover attempt, things quiet down in Camelot…on the surface at least. [Canon Divergence, Post S4, Eventual Reveal] This story and its following two parts are revamped and posted on Ao3 under Three Wheels - Triskelion and the same penname. As of Aug '24, start on Ao3 and come back here at Part 2 if you're eager for the rest.

Three Wheels: The Year of Shadows by Requiem17 | Was he born Emrys, or is it a title to be earned? [Post S4, Canon Divergence, Eventual Reveal, Part 2/3]

Three Wheels: A Year for Strength by Requiem17 | Do you believe in prophecy, Merlin? Or do you make your own Fate? [Post S4, Canon Divergence, Reveal, Part 3/3]

And the ao3 link mentioned is here:

Three Wheels: Triskelion by Requiem17 | One month after Morgana seizes Camelot with Helios' armies, Gwen is crowned. Camelot almost knows a short period of peace, but for three small changes: Arthur follows through on a promise to a murdered druid boy. Merlin recognizes the insidiousness of complacency. And the Diamair foresees their own death.

In a journey that will take Merlin and his friends through the Veil into crystalline tunnels of golden magic, force them to revisit the trials of the Purge, and send them against Leshys, Shades, and dark magic itself- they all must decide whether they are brave enough to face their own fallacies and earn an age of gold.

Is Emrys born, or a title to be earned?

Do you rely on prophecy, or make your own fate?

some fics I found which are not the one I'm looking for but which still feature gwen, whether that means having her own agency as a character in a long fic or a brief character study (unfortunately it's usually the second):

A Heartbreaking Impossibility by Min Dae | Uther's ward needed a lady's maid. Morgana needed something else. Gwen is trying to figure out what she needs, somewhere in the middle.

Wonder What You Are by Capriccio. | There's a sadness in Gwen's eyes that wasn't there before. In the days following her father's death, Merlin sees very little of her. When he does catch her at the water pump or in the hallways, she turns away to hide her face. He can't think of what to say to make her smile again. (Set after 1x12.)

Night Piece by significantowl | It begins when their nights are once more their own, and neither Gwen nor Merlin sleep. [post-s1]

Untitled tumblr fic by @agapantoblu | This night, the happiness it pours into her, has to be the happiest she's felt in a long time. All the candles in the room are dancing and all the edges are dulled even when she bumps into them; her mouth is sweet with mulled wine, winter is held at bay outside the thick stone and Merlin is so, so warm.

Blood, Sweat, and Tears by tielan | It's not just her father's sword or the sword of the knight who made it - it's her sword, too.

nothing to fear for the day has broken by stanzas | She doesn’t know exactly when she realized it, but once the truth was presented to her, she couldn’t dismiss the idea any longer. Merlin used magic. Merlin had magic. And clearly he was mentally addled, like Arthur said – for why else would he be living in a place like Camelot?

a thief in mourning by killing_all_joy | Gwen manages to figure out that Merlin swapped Lancelot's cloak for a fake one when it was burned. She decides to ask him if she can have it, unaware of Merlin's connection with and love for Lancelot. / When she learns, they mourn together.

The Sword's Tale by Sydelle Rein | Or - "Guinevere's Astute Observational Skills As Conveniently Ignored by the Show." As Arthur holds the sword above his head and the crowd shouts its fealty, Gwen's eyes widen in recognition. 4x13

Destiny's Path by MonJoh | Following the events of Season 4, Arthur suspects the one person in the world he thought would never betray him. Merlin is forced to confront first hand the price of not returning magic to Camelot. Morgana faces her own failures.

something blue by alittleacatalepsy | As the royal wedding approaches, Merlin searches for items requested by a magical rhyme, Gwen crafts two gowns and contemplates loyalty, and Arthur is just doing his best.

Queen of Swords by reelin_writer | Guinevere is not in the bed. She is in the far chamber, just visible through the archway, using his sword to practice drills up and down the narrow length of space beside the table. / Or, Arthur realizes his wife has been practicing and is instantly starstruck by this new common passion.

Selfish by donttouchtheneednoggle | "Perhaps there is not one among us who has not lost a person they would like to speak with. People we didn’t even get to say goodbye to. That if you were going to use magic, make such an exception to the laws you uphold you would at least involve others in your decision?” / His eyes widened. “I- didn’t- think-“ / She smiled, a little tight smile with none of its usual open radiance. “No. Of course you didn’t.” / Or, Gwen finds out what Arthur has been keeping from her, and Arthur finds out more things he has been blind to.

My Golden Crown of Sorrow, My Bloody Sword to Swing by queerofthedagger | Gwen finds Morgana just before she dies. Morgana has taken almost everything from her, and there are things Gwen has left to say.

some tags for people who wanted to read it if found: @auldsusie @atdawn @renninflight

there's this merlin fic I read a few years ago: it was some kind of reveal fic, I think, and it was one of those tense, drawn-out ones set when arthur is king and gwen is queen. I don't remember the full context but I remember that gwen is holding arthur's sword and thinking that the craftsmanship is similar to her dad's, and then scrapes her fingernail over the place where her father would usually have added some kind of signature mark, and she realises that this is the sword she gave merlin forever ago. it was a fantastic moment of realisation and I would love to read it again, but I can't remember anything else about the fic :( if this is familiar to you could you please throw me a link or a few more hints? tysm

[bambisnc]

      I'LL LIKE YOU ♡ kickflip and meet cutes!

### . STARRING ⌢ OT7 ⋆ fluff + 0.4k // no warnings! ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ XOXO ⌝ kfp post#2 im on fire chat. minje's is long af inspired by jungwon in the romance untold drama, amaru's n juwang's tropes taken from here + [m.list]

౨ৎ ˖ 이계훈 — ❪ LEE GYEHOON ❫  

let's talk about skater boy!hoon who frequents skate parks often with his friends, just hanging out and chilling, etc. his first meeting with you would be the classic literally falling for a person trope. bro would be trying out some sick, new trick in front of the others and you'd yell out a quick hi to someone there, only for your voice to Distract him and cause him to trip and fall right at your feet... not the best impression, but it's okay because he's more than happy about the outcome : you patching him back up <3

          ⋅ ˚ ଳ ₊ ‧ others utc

౨ৎ ˖ 満行亜丸 — ❪ MITSUYUKI AMARU ❫  

being a little specific here, but seeing childhood best friend amaru (i'm never Getting over this trope sue me), who you have kinda lost contact with, come in to the convenience store you work at. it's bound to be a little awkward, you haven't spoken in ages, after all. but after he keeps coming to the store, specifically during early hours (think 4 AM) almost exclusively during your shifts only, you end up (amusedly) striking a conversation ><

౨ৎ ˖ 이동화 — ❪ LEE DONGHWA ❫  

being at a thrift store and reaching for the same item. could be a cute hoodie, piece of jewelry, cool shoes — you'd maybe be a little annoyed at first but when you guys would get to talking, you'd find out both your tastes are actually pretty similar? plus his sense of style is kinda fire if you're being honest... you'd end up spending the whole day shopping together (probably even get a bite to eat ><), with plans already made to meet up again soon 🫣🫣

౨ৎ ˖ 장주왕 — ❪ JANG JUWANG ❫  

i'm such a sucker for strangers to lovers. pretty boy juwang who you see during your commute almost everyday and who naturally has your attention drawn towards himself with practically no effort. however, the most you do is exchange glances or smiles, occasionally. until one time you both happen to be the only two people stranded on the bus/metro/train and can't help but start talking because the vehicle hasn't moved for almost two whole hours now and you're bored...

౨ৎ ˖ 최민제 — ❪ CHOI MINJE ❫  

basketball team captain minje who's known for being just the absolute epitome of perfection. he's nice to everyone, great at sports and number 1 in his grade for all subjects. it's a little intimidating, making him to hard to approach, even. but one day, you chance upon the school roof with its usually locked door slightly ajar. curiosity finds you venturing outside .. only to come face to face with minje. minje, with his collar unbuttoned, tie loose, hair messy due to the breeze (and an adorably shocked expression). and suddenly, you've become the one person he's comfortable showing his other, not-as-perfect side to .. <3

౨ৎ ˖ 岡本圭樹 — ❪ OKAMOTO KEIJU ❫  

gamer keiju gamer keiju!! you're both avid fans of the same video game and have a vague sense of competitiveness between each other which is only fueled when you end up playing together (via means of mutual friends). there's definitely tension brewing, considering he most definitely considers you his rival, but eventually cue him having to eat up all his words and ask you for help because of this one boss fight he just can't seem to win :/

౨ৎ ˖ 이동현 — ❪ LEE DONGHYEON ❫  

DUDE OKAY. him in his hockey era right? you, being nothing if not a diligent student with a shit ton of school spirit, go to show your support to the school team during one of their home matches... only for donghyeon, the star player, to end up bumping into you right before and spilling his water all over your clothes... he ends up having to give you his jersey to wear and, yes, everyone does think you're dating. lowkey, neither of you really deny anything and before you even know it, you've been crowned the it couple of the school. huh?

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[yooniivrse]

i love you, i’m sorry | chapter 01

summary. you have everything you once dreamed of—a successful career, a stable relationship, a life that should make you happy. yet an emptiness lingers, an odd feeling you can't seem to explain.

but when you unexpectedly run into jimin — your high school sweetheart, your first love, and the man you once swore you'd marry — you start to wonder if he might just be the remedy to that quiet ache in your heart.

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pairing: jimin x f!reader

content/warnings: dancer jimin x photographer reader, exes to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, (eventual) explicit sexual content

word count: 3.3k

note: trying my hand at another series and praying to the gods that this one works out. this is actually dedicated to my bsf @page-isa who might be the biggest jimin stan i know loll. thank you sm to aqua @glossdebut for beta-reading 🙇🏽‍♀️ anyways, enjoy <33

ps. one of the side characters in this fic happens to have the same name as an actual idol. i don't imagine him in my head as this idol and i never intended the character to be a reflection of him, but in the end, it's up to you whether you want to imagine him as just an oc or not

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The golden hues of the evening sun stream through your apartment window, painting warm streaks across the wooden floor. Dust particles dance in the light, their slow, aimless drift a stark contrast to the restlessness simmering beneath your skin.

Wrapped in the soft cocoon of your white duvet, you let out a quiet hum, nuzzling deeper into its comfort.

Beside you, Milo shifts, his plush fur warm against your fingertips as you absently stroke his back. His bright, beady eyes follow your gaze—locked on the same empty spot you've been staring at for the past half hour. Neither of you move.

You should be getting ready. The thought flits through your mind like a nagging whisper, but your limbs feel weighted, your body sinking into the mattress as if it were conspiring to keep you here. Anxiety churns uneasily in your stomach, a growing discomfort at the knowledge that time is slipping through your fingers, pulling you closer to being late for your shoot. But still, you don’t move.

Jaehyun would have found a way to coax you up by now—maybe with a teasing remark, maybe by pulling the duvet off in one swift motion, laughing as you whine in protest. But he’s not here. He left before you even woke up, off to yet another shift at the hospital. And the guilt settles in like a second skin.

You know you’re part of the reason he's been taking on more hours. No matter how many times he reassures you—telling you he’s happy to support you, that he believes in your photography even if it's not the most stable career—you can’t shake the feeling that you're weighing him down. That while he’s out there, exhausted but pushing through, you’re here, tangled in self-doubt and a comforter.

And yet, he's still the reason you move.

You inhale deeply and force yourself upright, wincing as your stiff joints crack in protest. Milo barely acknowledges the shift, offering nothing more than a sleepy blink before curling tighter into himself.

“Lazy ass,” you mumble, stretching your arms overhead.

Milo flicks his tail in what you assume is silent agreement.

────

The moment you step inside the building, the atmosphere shifts. The air is thick with a mix of sweat, hairspray, and the faint scent of something metallic. The low thrum of the bass vibrates through the floors, not loud enough to drown out conversation yet, but heavy enough to settle deep in your chest. People move around in bursts of energy—dancers stretching, managers giving last-minute pep talks, tech crew adjusting lights—everything buzzing with anticipation.

The venue itself is a repurposed theatre, modernized just enough to feel sleek but still carrying echoes of its age. Rows of seats stretch up on either side of the polished stage floor, which is framed by lit panels that shift between red and gold hues. The judges’ table sits front and centre, lined with small nameplates and bottled water. A few VIP seats are sectioned off behind them, while the general audience is free to fill the tiered rows along the back.

You scan the space quickly, taking in the best vantage points. You already know where you’ll set up. Front-right corner of the floor, near the judges but not blocking their view—close enough to capture the performers’ expressions, but wide enough to get full-body movement. You clock a few other solid angles—the far left side for profile shots, the balcony if you want a dramatic overhead view later—but for now, you move with purpose, slipping past groups of dancers as they warm up.

“Figured I’d see you in your zone by now.”

You glance up mid-step, already recognizing the voice.

Ari stands off to the side, one hand on her hip, the other holding a clipboard—official tonight, but not too stiff. You find it amusing to see her in anything other than a hoodie two sizes too big for her and sweatpants, but she pulls off the professional look surprisingly well. She looks every bit the judge she is—composed, professional, but with that same sharp edge that made her a force back when she was still competing.

“Been here two minutes, and you’re already on my case?” you tease, adjusting the strap of your camera bag.

Ari smirks. “You’re the one with a job to do. I can’t have my name attached to someone slacking off.”

You roll your eyes but smile. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make you look good.”

She gestures toward the balcony. “You might want to head up there at some point. The overhead shots last year were insane.”

You nod, already planning to. “I’ll move up once the first few performances are done. I want the close-ups first.”

Ari shrugs. “You're the professional.”

She’s pulled away a second later as one of the event coordinators calls for her attention. You take the opportunity to settle into position, kneeling at the front corner of the stage. With practiced ease, you unclip your camera, test the settings, adjusting and tweaking things to your need.

Soon enough, a low murmur rolls through the audience as people settle into their seats. The judges are taking their places, and the stage crew does a final sweep of the floor. The first act will start soon.

You exhale, steadying yourself. Though you laughed at Ari's remark, you seriously can't afford having these pictures be anything other than amazing. Both of your reputations are on the line, and you're only exaggerating a little bit.

────

The competition moves quickly, each performer bringing something unique to the stage. You capture it all—the precise control of the ballet dancers, the raw athleticism of the hip-hop crews, the effortless grace of contemporary solos. The lighting, the energy, the sheer emotion pouring from every movement—it’s everything you love about photography. You lose yourself in it, letting instinct guide your lens, the shutter clicking in perfect rhythm with the music.

By the time the final performance wraps up, the audience erupts into applause, and you lower your camera, rolling out the tension in your shoulders. You can already tell from the previews on your screen—you got some incredible shots tonight.

As the crowd begins to thin, you pack up your gear, mentally preparing for the editing marathon that awaits you. You know that if you don't start working on it tonight, you'll never start. Just as you’re slinging your bag over your shoulder, Ari appears at your side, nudging you with her elbow.

“Before you disappear,” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice, “I want you to meet someone.”

You barely have time to process her words before she’s steering you toward the judges’ table. You offer a polite smile, expecting to be introduced to one of the other officials or perhaps a sponsor.

And then you see him.

Your breath catches in your throat.

His hair is blonde—brighter than you remember, like the colour of wheat under the afternoon sun. It softens the sharp angles of his face, but his eyes hold the same intensity they always have. He’s effortlessly put together in a fitted blazer, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the faintest trace of ink on his forearm. His posture is poised, but there’s an unreadable flicker in his expression as his gaze lands on you.

You never thought you would see him again, and whether it's relief or fear that bubbles in your stomach at the sight of him is something you can't answer.

Ari doesn’t seem to notice your sudden stiffness. “Jimin, this is ___, and ___, this is Jimin.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jimin says smoothly, extending a hand toward you. His voice is calm, composed. Deceptively easy. As if he doesn’t already know you.

Your fingers twitch at your side. The breath in your lungs feels sharp, heavy. You glance at Ari, who is watching the interaction curiously. Swallowing, you finally manage, “We’ve met before.”

Ari’s brows lift slightly. “Oh?”

Jimin’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly before he retracts his hand, shoving it into his pocket. “Yeah,” he says, offering a small, unreadable smile. “A long time ago.”

The air feels thick, the tension almost palpable. Ari clocks it, glancing between the two of you as if she’s piecing something together. Before she can ask anything else, someone calls her name from across the room. She gives you both a lingering look before excusing herself, leaving you alone with Jimin.

The silence stretches, heavier now. Almost excruciatingly heavy.

Jimin exhales first, running a hand through his hair. “Didn't think I'd see you here.”

You let out a short, breathy laugh, shifting your camera bag higher on your shoulder. “Yeah, I didn't either. What brings you to the city?”

Your words are dry and you hate it. It's strange to talk so formally to the person you grew up with—the same person you once laughed with and cried with the same person who promised to stay with you no matter what.

"I moved here a few weeks ago. Got a job and figured it was best if I pursued something on the side other than dance, I guess."

You nod, not knowing what else to say. Jimin's gaze lingers, as if searching for something in your face. “How’s your life been?”

You hesitate before answering honestly, “It’s been… good. Busy. Work keeps me occupied.”

Jimin hums, nodding slowly. “Same here.” His voice is quieter now, almost careful.

You hesitate before asking, “Anyone special?”

Something flickers in his eyes, his expression faltering for the briefest second before he shakes his head. “Not anymore. You?”

You should say yes. You have someone. But the word sticks in your throat. "Yeah- well, I mean-." A sigh. "It's complicated."

Jimin’s lips press together slightly, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. Then, softer, almost hesitant, he murmurs, “I missed you.”

Your breath catches, heart twisting painfully. There’s so much weight in those three words, so much longing buried beneath them.

You swallow hard, forcing a smile. “Yeah… me too.”

Jimin watches you a moment longer, like he wants to say more—but then someone calls his name, and the moment is lost.

And just like that, he’s gone. Again.

────

By the time you step through the apartment door, exhaustion drapes over your shoulders like a heavy coat. The shoot had been exhilarating, the thrill of capturing movement and emotion exactly why you fell in love with photography in the first place. But the high has long since worn off, replaced by the dull ache of sore muscles and the weight of too many thoughts pressing down on your mind.

Jaehyun is sitting on the couch when you walk in, one leg lazily draped over the other, his phone in hand. At first, he looks casual—too casual—but the way his eyes snap up the second you enter tells you everything.

“You’re late,” he says, voice deceptively calm.

You exhale, setting your bag down by the door, trying to ignore the tight coil of anxiety twisting in your stomach. “Yeah, the event ran over a little. I was packing up when Ari introduced me to—”

“I waited.”

The words are simple. Heavy. A weight dropped right into the middle of the room.

You blink at him. “Waited?”

“For dinner.”

There it is. The thing he actually wants to say. You glance at the clock—past midnight. Guilt seeps in, thick and unwelcome. “Jaehyun, I told you this shoot was important. You knew I’d be back late.”

“I didn’t think ‘late’ meant midnight.” He tosses his phone onto the couch, rubbing a hand down his face. “Jesus, ___. You could’ve at least texted.”

The accusation lands, sharp and precise. You stiffen, fingers curling into your jacket sleeves. “I was busy, Jaehyun. You know how I get when I work. I lose track of time.”

His eyes darken slightly. “Right. Your work.”

A flicker of irritation flares in your chest. “Yes, my work.”

Jaehyun lets out a slow breath, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. It’s not amused. Not really. “You always have an excuse, don’t you?”

Your heartbeat stumbles. “Excuse?”

He stands, crossing the room in a few easy strides, stopping just close enough that his presence feels overwhelming. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How your job always comes first. How there’s always something keeping you from coming home on time. From being here.” His voice dips lower, each word deliberate. “From being with me.”

You feel yourself bristling, that sharp edge of defensiveness rising to the surface. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” He tilts his head slightly, watching you, waiting. “Because it kind of feels like I’m the one who’s always waiting, always making space for you, always understanding. And you… you just keep taking.”

The words sting, sharp and precise. And the worst part? You feel the guilt curling in your gut, just like you know he wants you to.

“That’s not—” You stop yourself, inhaling sharply. “You knew this was my dream, Jaehyun. You said you supported me.”

“I do.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “But supporting you doesn’t mean I don’t get to be frustrated. It doesn’t mean I don’t get to be upset when you don’t even think about me.”

“I do think about you,” you snap, more forcefully than intended. “Every goddamn day, Jaehyun. But what do you want me to do? Give it all up? Would that make you happy?”

His jaw clenches, eyes flashing with something unreadable. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then tell me what you actually want from me,” you say, voice wavering. “Because no matter what I do, it never feels like enough.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Jaehyun exhales, his expression shifting, softening in a way that makes you feel like you’re the one who’s overreacting. Like you’ve just imagined all of this. “I don’t want you to give anything up,” he says quietly. “I just want to feel like I matter to you.”

And there it is. The final blow. Because how can you argue with that? How can you stand here, exhausted and frustrated, and tell the person you love that they don’t matter?

You look away, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I'm sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Jaehyun steps closer, fingertips brushing your arm, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “You always do.”

He walks away and plops back down on the couch as you stand in the dark hallway, tears of frustration and regret building up painfully in the corners of your eyes.

You know he's right, and you know how impatient he gets. It's just the stress of working in such a high pressure environment for so long.

After a few beats of silence, you trace his steps and sit down beside him, turning your body sideways to fully face him.

"Seriously, I'm sorry. I know I should've texted you, I'm just really fucking tired right now."

He looks at you with a sigh. "It's okay, I forgive you." His lips curl into a soft smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and leans forward to press his lips against yours.

Your bring your hand up to cup his cheek, tenderly rubbing your thumb against his cheek.

“…Did you really wait the whole time?” Your voice is small, hesitant.

Jaehyun leans back slightly, his expression shifting. There’s a beat of hesitation—so brief you nearly miss it—before he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I did.”

You stare at him, searching his face, trying to tell if he’s just saying it to make you feel worse. But there’s a small part of you that believes him.

And maybe that’s what gets you in the end.

Because for all his sharp words, for all the way he makes you feel guilty without even trying—Jaehyun is still Jaehyun. The boy who likes having dinner with you. Who waits up for you, even when he’s mad. Who gets hurt because he cares.

And maybe that’s why you find yourself sighing, exhaustion giving way to something softer.

“…You should have just eaten,” you mumble, sitting beside him.

“I wanted to eat with you.”

A pause. You glance at him, and for the first time tonight, you see something vulnerable in his expression.

Your heart aches a little.

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper again.

Jaehyun pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you with an ease that makes your eyes sting. You let yourself lean into his warmth, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek.

"It’s okay," he murmurs against your hair. "Just text me next time."

“Okay.”

And this time, you mean it.

────

Midnight drapes over the city like a heavy blanket, the distant hum of traffic a lullaby against the quiet of your apartment. The only light comes from your laptop screen, casting a pale glow over your fingers as they hover above the keyboard, hesitating.

Your room is silent except for the faint buzz of the heater and the occasional rustle as Milo shifts in his sleep, curled up at the foot of the bed. The air smells faintly of detergent and Jaehyun’s cologne, a scent that should be comforting.

You should be sleeping. Jaehyun is already in bed, his breathing steady, the warmth of his body tempting you to join him. But instead, you sit hunched over your laptop, staring at the image frozen on your screen.

Ari sits at the judges’ table, laughing mid-conversation, her expression open and easy. And beside her—

Jimin.

He’s not even looking at the camera. His head is slightly turned, the blonde strands of his hair catching the stage lights in soft halos. His posture is relaxed, yet there’s something unmistakably distant in his gaze, like he’s present but not quite there. Like he’s lost in something—or someone—else.

Your stomach twists. You hadn’t even noticed him when you took the photo, since it was only meant to be a candid of Ari. But here it is, staring back at you, undeniable.

It's a strange feeling that blooms in your heart and wraps its tendrils across your skin. Your finger hovers over the delete button. It would be so easy to erase it, to pretend it was never taken. But your hand doesn’t move.

Instead, your eyes linger. On the slope of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the way his lips are slightly parted like he’s on the verge of speaking but never does.

It’s been years since someone made you feel like this—this heavy, aching awareness, like something fragile is caught in your ribs. It’s a cruel, inconvenient thing. A feeling you don’t want. A feeling you shouldn't have.

Because you love Jaehyun.

You do.

He is steady and kind. He is home when the world feels too fast, when your own thoughts spiral too loudly in your head. He is patient most of the time when you disappear into your work, when you forget to eat, when you crawl into bed hours past midnight with exhaustion clinging to your skin. He is all of these things, and you love him for it.

Sure, you have arguments some times, but Jaehyun is always forgiving, always there to give you the second chances you don't deserve. You're sure that if it were anyone else, they would have been sick of your shit by now — even Jimin.

Right?

You close your laptop.

Milo lifts his head, blinking up at you as if sensing the shift in your mood. You reach out, scratching behind his ears as you force out a quiet laugh. “I’m being stupid, huh?”

He meows in response, unimpressed.

You sigh, pushing the laptop aside as you slip under the covers. Jaehyun stirs slightly, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. His warmth seeps into your skin, grounding you.

You press your face into his shoulder, inhaling deeply. This is comfort. This is safe. This is love.

And that’s that.

So why does it feel like something is slipping through your fingers?

[buckleyflower]

so, gonna send this in from the prompts list as a combo because I think its absolutely devastatingly perfect. Can't wait to see what you write from it! <3

1.) "I Thought I Was Getting Better"

&

9.) "Make It Stop"

It happens to Eddie for the first time when he is in Afghanistan. He can’t breathe. Time moves too quickly and too slowly at the same time. His heart is about to leap out of his chest and his hands are shaking so much that he can’t unbutton his uniform to take a breath, even if he couldn’t, anyway.

He chalks it up to the stress that comes with… living in a war zone, probably.

He doesn’t panic. A panic attack makes no sense, does it? He is a soldier, for God’s sake. He doesn’t panic.

And maybe it happens again and again but the intensity is all too different to keep track of it every single time. And there’s always someone shooting at him or about to blow him (and all of his fellow soldiers) up, so it becomes just… his normal. Until he comes back home and has to face a whole new hell, and he is so consumed by grief and pain and anger that it all fades, until he forgets that sometimes his lungs don’t seem to cooperate.

Then Ana Flores comes along and wants to be perfect for him. Hell, she probably is. But not for him. She would be the perfect wife, the perfect partner, but not for Eddie, not for someone who already has everything he’s looking for in a partner in his best friend.

So it happens again. And he is sure he’s gonna die this time, in Los Angeles, while no one is shooting at him and no one is shouting at him. Everything is supposed to be soothing, and yet he hears the screams nonetheless.

He is so sick and tired when a doctor tells him that he is not dying and his heart is working perfectly. He is so sick and tired all the time, honestly, but then there’s Buck who keeps looking at him like he wants to pick all his pieces and put them back together, and maybe, in a way he does, because he breaks up with Ana and his heart slows down again and his lungs expand to a discrete level every single time.

Then, Christopher goes away. Christopher leaves him. He puts 800 miles between him and his father and Eddie can’t help but see all the time he has lost flashing before his eyes. All the little milestones of his son, all the things he will never get back, and all the things he will miss, again, because he is a fucking failure. As a man, as a husband, as a father.

He is not at all surprised when his heart rate spikes in the middle of the night, when his chest constricts and he gasps, desperately trying to get a full breath in, shooting up from the bed with cold sweat coating his forehead, hands shaking and mouth twitching with the need to cry.

His phone on the nightstand begs him to be picked up.

Buck would answer. Buck would make it all better.

But Eddie doesn’t take his phone and Buck never finds out about his panic attacks and nightmares.

It takes two months, of Eddie not sleeping, of Christopher barely speaking to him, of Eddie trying and failing to put up a happy facade, for Buck to notice.

Buck genuinely hates himself because even after his breakup with Tommy, he has missed all the signs. That’s why he doesn’t know what to do the first time that Eddie claims he is not breathing while they are just watching a movie on Buck’s couch, on one of their nights off. Then he tries. He tries to get Eddie to calm down by talking to him, every time, but when it doesn’t seem to work anymore, he starts to take Eddie’s hands into his, and then— then it just isn’t enough anymore and one day Eddie is fine and next thing he knows he’s sitting in his therapist’s office.

So Eddie is sure he is getting better. Weeks pass by and he hasn’t had a panic attack in almost… twenty-one days— yeah, he’s counting. But then— then it happens at the worst of times.

They are on a call when Eddie starts panicking again and suddenly he is engulfed by untamable flames that lick at his lungs both physically and metaphorically, and he can barely see by the time they get out of the building on fire, because he is most certainly hyperventilating. And that’s dangerous, he could have put himself and his teammates in danger. He could have put Buck in—

“Eddie!”

It’s Buck who tries to get his attention, tugging his protective gear off of him in the process.

“Eddie, hey, hey.” He frantically gets Eddie’s mask off his face and then starts unbuttoning his turnout coat, while Eddie is stock still, completely frozen. His chest heaving is the only indication that he is alive, until he stutters something that Buck almost doesn’t catch.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that, Eds.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, once, twice. “I— Buck I— I promise—” he sobs, uncoordinatedly clawing at Buck’s biceps.

“Hey, it’s okay, Eds— it’s okay.” Buck’s chest constricts uglily.

This is the man he loves, the man who makes it all better for him, and he… what can Buck do? He is shattering. But— first things first. He has to keep his cool.

“I thought I was getting better,” Eddie splutters, eyes wild while his grip on Buck’s falters. “Buck, I— why is— Frank said that—”

Buck is vaguely aware that Bobby, Hen, and Chimney are watching the scene like hawks, but they are nice enough to not interfere.

He cups Eddie’s cheeks. Maybe the touch can ground Eddie. “Breathe with me, talk later, hm?” He gently offers to Eddie. “Eddie.” He gets closer, in Eddie’s space, so much that he fears that Eddie’s condition is going to worsen, but Eddie ends up closing even more space. “I— I’m sorry, Buck.”

“What?” Buck moves his hands, puts them on Eddie’s hips, and then moves them up and down around Eddie’s chest.

He doesn’t understand, but then Eddie starts crying and he decides to pull him into a tight hug. “Shh, shh— I got you, just breathe,” he gently mumbles in Eddie’s hair, and he thinks they’re about to come out of this, that Eddie is calming down, but then— then his heart breaks in twenty different ways.

Because Eddie whispers “Make it stop,” eyes closed against his neck. “Please make it stop,” he sobs.

“You’re okay, baby, you’re okay, I got you,” is all Buck tells him in response. “We’re gonna figure it out, I promise.”

What else could he do, after all, if not whispering sweet nothings and gentle reassurance in Eddie’s ears? He can just love him. Yeah. That’s exactly what he’ll do, what he’s doing. And eventually, that will help Eddie to believe that he is enough.

—

I’m sorry if this is a bit too long and angsty :( but I hope you like it. Thank you for asking💓

[rosenclaws]

ma meilleure ennemie || Worst!Logan x Reader

summary: Logan loved, lost, fought, and killed you in his world. Now after being thrust into another universe. He finds you in a world where things worked out. How unfair.

warnings: angst, fem pronouns are used for the reader, its kinda a sad ending but like bittersweet more. talks of fighting and violence

wc: 4.2k

a/n: This is based on the song from Arcane! I would highly recommend watching the show btw its amazing and the scene this song is from is absolutely gorgeous. Anyways I hope y'all enjoy <33

Logan was really sick of all this multiverse stuff. Like seriously.

He barely remembers what happened. Wade had taken another one of this universe hopping devices from the TVA in order to complete some mission but as usual the two got into it. Shouting and fighting until Logan's claws went right into the little device. Before either of them could react it exploded. Logan felt like every atom in his body was being ripped apart and put back together. The world was spinning and he wasn’t quite sure where he was anymore.

In the blink of an eye he's not standing next to wade anymore. He in a bedroom. The light shining through the window and birds chirping outside. Logan looks down and sees that he's no longer in a bloody yellow and blue suit, but simple sweatpants and a black shirt. What the actually fuck. He catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror.

He looks different, just slightly. He had less wrinkles and the bags under his eyes were gone. His hair was a little longer too. It was uncanny as hell. It was him, he was moving his hand and touching his face but it doesn't fully feel like him. He hears laughter outside of his door.

Slowly he opens it, poking his head out to see the hallways bustling with students and teachers. He catches a glimpse of blue fur and he slams the door shut. No no no this isn't real. This is some weird fucked up nightmare dream thing. His heart starts to race as the sights and smells of this odd world start to fuck with his senses. He shuts his eyes and bangs his head against the door. Just wake up already Logan.

Wake. Up.

"You drink too much last night honey?" Logan acts before he can think.

Claws out and slamming whoever had snuck up on him into the door. Logan's eyes widen as he sees you under his arm. Confusion in your eyes as you tug at his arm.

"Fuck! Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." You push him away with your powers but Logan's gaze only hardens.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He growls. He should bury these deep in your fucking head.

"I live here?" You furrow your brows as you put your hands up.

You take a step forward but Logan takes on back. His defenses are up and he won't make the same mistake this time. You're dangerous, you're the enemy.

"Logan what's gotten into you?" You ask softly. You try again to reach out and touch him but he flinches away.

"Stay away from me." He pushes past you, shoving you into the wall as he rips the door open and runs down the hall. Ignoring the call of his name.

He wanders aimlessly around the mansion until he finds Charles office. If anyone can explain what was happening it's him.

"Ah Logan, I've been waiting for you to arrive, please sit." Hesitantly he sits down, he can't help but observe everything around him.

The last time he was here, at the mansion, was the worst day of his life. But now everyone's laughing and happy. He blinks and the memories flashes in his mind. The blood that stained the walls, the smell of burning, the screams.

"So much pain. I'm so sorry." Charles wheels over to Logan.

"Hey chuck. Been a long time." Logan grumbles. His hands dig into the chair handles, almost tearing them off the more he lets his mind spiral.

"Forgive me for prying, but your thoughts are incredibly loud." Charles pokes and prods Logan's brain. Seeing glimpses of his world and this one mashing together.

"You're not from here." Logan nods his head.

"I don't know how I got here but, I need to get back."

"Start from the beginning." Logan spills it all.

Starting with his own world. How he walked away and it led to everyone being killed. The years of grieving and killing. How he was found and kidnapped by Wade and how it led to him saving the universe. How their fight led to him being thrown into a completely new timeline. Appearing to have taken over the body of this worlds Logan. And you. How you were in his bedroom and the flurry of emotions that came with it.

In Logan's world you were a very powerful mutant with mind powers. You were kind and friendly, but rumbling deep within you was a terrifying power. Power that could level a city with only the snap of your fingers. Charles had taken you in as a child and nursed your abilities. Teaching you the importance of control. You were his prized student. But then Jean came along and Jean became everything you couldn't be. At least that's what you had always told Logan.

She took the spotlight. She got everyone's love an admiration. People weren't scared of her. Her power was graceful and strong while yours was reckless and something to fear. When Logan rolled around you were a professor. He had caught your eye from the moment he was brought in. A handsome, mysterious stranger. But as always it seemed that Jean was the one to grab his attention. Which Logan admits is true, at first. But Jean didn't want him and he respected that.

Logan met you in the middle of the night one day. Small talk turned into more as the sun came up and the two of you were still wrapped up on the couch. You understood him more than anyone and he got you. Your romance may have started slow but it grew into a pillar of Logan's life. He loved you. God he loved you so fucking much. You were his light, his love. You were never a second choice to him, but the right one. The only one that mattered.

But he got to you too late.

All that pain and doubt had been manifesting years before he got there and after one bad mission you exploded. The team had turned on you, told you that it was your fault. It was misplaced anger from everyone. Including him. A shame he carries to this day. Your powers became uncontrollable. If not for Charles and Jean together you could have leveled the entire mansion. Logan tried to console you, to bring you back to him but it was too late. You saw the fear and the hatred growing from those you once considered family.

So you left. The brotherhood got to you before Logan could and the next time he saw you was on the opposite side of battle. You had changed. He barely recognized you anymore. You were cruel and ruthless with your powers.

For years the two of you fought on opposite sides. Logan tried to fight for you. He was convinced the you that he knew was still in there but no one else believed him. They told him over and over that you were gone. That the woman he loved was no more and only a cold blooded villain remained.

You hurt his friends, you threatened the mansion, the kids who once looked up to you now shivered at your name. It hurt him to his core, but eventually he accepted it. His love wasn't enough. Nothing could bring you back. You were gone.

It all cumulated about five years after you left. The brotherhood wanted to use you to wipe out all those who opposed them. Innocent people included. Anyone who stood in their way. The X-Men were sent to stop them. It was a bloody, long, intense fight. Allies and enemies being taken down left and right until it was you and Logan left.

"Please sweetheart, I miss you." Logan begs.

"Come back home."

"That place is not my home anymore." You spit. Nothing but hatred in your eyes as you pushed Logan to the ground. Your powers keeping him from moving.

"I'm going to kill you and all your friends. Nothing is going to stand in our way. Nothing!" Your powers let him go but you grab him by the neck.

For a split second Logan thought he saw regret in your eyes. Something. Anything other than the empty soullessness from before.

Logan! Take it! He hears Jean speak in his mind.

She was nursing Scotts wounds, she could barely stand on her own. With a broken roar he digs his claws right into you. He watches as the light drains from your eyes. As the blood pours from the wounds he gave you. He holds you in his arms. Silently whispering that he loves you, that he's sorry.

Your body goes limp and when Logan can no longer hear your heartbeat he knows that you're truly gone.

Why you let go of Logan he'll never know. You had to have known what the risk was. Why would you ever give him free use of his hands, of his claws? A part of him wonders if this is what you wanted.

Your death took a heavy toll on him. He started drinking more and more. The conflicted feelings weighed heavily on him. Most would celebrate your death but he mourned you every damn day. Mourned the woman you were, the woman that you loved.

"What is she doing here?" Logan asks lowly. Memories of his version of you flashing through his head.

"Here she never lost control, never joined the brotherhood.

"What changed?"

"In this world, Jean came to me first. She was my student first and thus Jean helped me train her to control her powers. She was my star student. Never feared her powers." Logan scoffs.

Was that all it took? Was that little difference all it took to save you? If he had loved you enough could he have saved you? Or were you already too far gone by then.

"We'll work on getting you home. I'll talk to hank and get back to you. For now, just try your best to adjust." Logan is dismissed.

Now what? Maybe he should just hole himself in his room until its time to go home. Until he remembers that you're there too. Suddenly he hears kids screaming, his senses kicking into high gear as he runs outside, claws out on instinct. He sees you with a bunch of kids running around screaming. He doesn't have time to think. He just acts.

"Get away from them!" Logan yells. Making everyone stop in their tracks. He lunges at you and you use your powers to slam him to the ground.

"What the fuck is your problem! We were playing a game!" You shout.

"Kids, go back inside." You command and they slowly file inside, whispering amongst themselves.

"How was I supposed to know that?" Logan growls once you let him back up.

He puts his claws away but the hostility doesn't fade. How could it? His brain is so fucked up right now, he had long accepted that you were gone and now he's thrown into a world where you aren't a villain anymore. That you're the woman he loves again but he just can't let himself trust this. He can't. What if Charles is wrong? He just...he can't do this.

"What did you think? Did you actually think I was going to hurt them?!" You ask mostly as a joke.

"Logan, you've been off since this morning." You reach your hand out but he doesn't take it. He pushes himself up. Putting up these walls that you swore you broke a long time ago.

"I think its best if you stay the hell away from me." He walks away without another word.

Leaving you utterly confused.

Logan locks himself away for the next couple days. Only coming out when he was called by Hank and Charles. He could feel your eyes on him every time. Like a sad puppy he kicked to the curb. He doesn't even look at you. He knows he can't. If he does he'll cave. The problem is that Logan knows he can't stay here. He's only setting himself up for heartbreak if he lets you in. Nothing but pain and what could have been. He just doesn't think he can mourn you anymore. He just wants to go home. To forget this ever happened.

Once again he can't sleep, deciding to walk around the mansion instead. Pictures line the walls, some that he recognizes and others he doesn't. He stops and one in particular. Jean and Scotts wedding. Scott looks happy and Jean is a beautiful bride, but that's not what catches his eye.

It's you standing right beside her. A big smile on your face. You look gorgeous. So happy and carefree.

"I remember that day," He jumps hearing your voice once again. He turns to see you standing away from him, but staring at the picture. His claws don't come out this time at least.

"Can't believe Scott even wanted you as one of his groomsmen with how much shit you give him." You say softly.

"Yeah," Logan looks over to the other side of the photo. Seeing himself dressed in a suit. Except Logan's eyes are on you.

"Charles told me. About your situation. I understand why you reacted the way you did. I'd be freaked out too." You rub your arm awkwardly.

"How much did he tell you." He asks.

"Not much. Just that you're from another timeline and you're trying to get back." Logan grunts.

"That...you've been through a lot of pain and loss." Logan's breath hitches. So Charles didn't tell you any specifics. Maybe that's for the best.

"I don't know...what we are in your world. But I want you to know that I'm here for you Logan." He clenches his fits, god how can you be so sweet to him after he almost stabbed you twice. He'll never understand.

"Thanks. I'm sorry If I scared you before." He says.

"You can never scare me." You say and Logan shuts his eyes.

You used to say that to each other. Logan was made to be a weapon and you were a ticking time bomb. Yet not once were you ever afraid of each other. Both of you looking past what others saw.

"What...what am I? To you?" You ask hesitantly.

The question's been eating you alive since you learned about this whole thing. Logan takes a deep breath. Turning to look at you and feeling his heart sink down to his feet.

"It's a long story, one you don't want to hear." He says with a sigh.

"I mean, I have time. I just. I don't want you to have to carry it all alone." You reach up and touch his arm. Logan's eyes close as he feels your fingers trail down to his hand, lacing your fingers with his. It's been so long since he's held your hand.

"Maybe another time sweetheart." Logan squeezes your hand, using all his willpower to let go of your hand.

You watch sadly as Logan walks away, disappearing back into his room without another word.

He lays on the bed staring at the ceiling nursing a glass of whiskey. It's been a week since he got here. They're close to getting him home. There's muffled music coming from the living room.

It's Storms birthday. Logan should be out there, maybe to keep up appearances but a party is the last thing he wants to be at right now. There's a knock at the door and he ignores it. Until another one, and another. Finally he just gets up to tell them to fuck off. He opens the door to see Charles.

"I said no." He mumbles. Ready to slam the door but Charles stops him.

"I'm not here for that. We should be ready to send you home within the hour. That being said. I know it's been a long time since you saw most of us. Consider saying goodbye this time." With that Charles leaves, leaving Logan stunned.

Quietly he grabs his jacket and heads to the party. Sneaking in as best as he can. Sticking to the corner of the room. He sees Storm talking to Jean and Scott. They're smiling and laughing. Jean spots Logan from across the room. Offering him a small smile.

His eyes move over to the middle of the room. They had pushed the furniture around to make room for a dance floor. He watches as He's not strong enough for this? Rogue, Kitty, and Bobby were dancing. Laughing as they take turns making up stupid dance moves. Jubilee was using her powers to create fireworks that lit up the whole room.

She catches Logan's gaze and waves happily. Seeing everyone again, seeing them happy and thriving. It made his heart ache. To know that at least in one universe, everyone is okay. No thanks to him that is.

"Logan! Come dance!" Jubilee shouts, making everyone's eyes turn to him.

"No thanks kid, I don't do that." He grumbles.

"Oh come on Logan, it's a party." She begs.

Logan sighs and pushes himself off the wall. Walking to the dance floor taking Jubilees hand and spinning her around a little bit. A small smile crossing his face.

He remembers Jubliee asking him to dance once. Back in his timeline. She was a kid. There was this school dance and she wanted to go so badly. He took her hands and she stepped on his toes. He made her swore up and down to never speak of it but he remembers it fondly.

"Mind if I cut in?" He turns to see you standing there. You're all dressed up looking so pretty. Jubliee bows out, wiggling her eyebrows making Logan roll his eyes.

"Hi." You say softly as Logan holds out his hand.

"Hi." He says.

You and Logan move in sync. Like nothing had happened as the two of you move to the music. Logan smiles as he twirls you around and dips you. He lets go of the weight on his shoulders. Letting himself just exist for once. To enjoy holding you in his arms and dancing to the music. He'll face reality when he goes back. But tonight, he'll dance.

When the music lets up he drags you outside away from the noise and the prying eyes. You walk through the garden in a nice quiet. He leans down and picks a flower from the ground, putting it behind your year.

"Pretty." You bite your lip as you tug your coat tighter.

You sit on a bench and Logan joins you. From this angle you can see how lively the mansion is tonight. The party, the lights on in the bedrooms. Its so homey. Logan smiles, a part of his heart feels like it's patching itself up. At least its not all bad in every universe right?

"You go back tonight right?" You ask and Logan nods.

"Are you happy to go back?" Logan looks over at you, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly.

"I uh, I don't know." The truth is he wants to stay.

God he wants to stay so badly. To live here and be happy. No worries about the world ending or being reminded of his dead friends. But...He can't stay. As badly as he wants to this isn't his life. You aren't his girlfriend.

As he was told before. All the pain he went through made him the man he is now, there are people out there who still need him. Who need the Wolverine to fight for them. You lean your head on his shoulder.

"I wish I could stop time. Just for a second." He mumbles.

His arm wrapping around your shoulder as he watches them sing happy birthday. You lift your head, staring into his eyes. What sad lonely eyes they are. He leans in, foreheads touching as he cups your face gently.

"Can we, can we just pretend like it's the first time?" He asks in a low whisper.

You nod your head as you close your eyes and let his lips touch yours. The kiss means fucking everything to Logan. His thumb brushes your cheek as he kisses you with ever ounce of love he still has deep in his heart. He knows that you aren't the same woman but fuck he just hopes you know that he's sorry that he wasn't enough. He hopes you know that he loves you.

You tug on his hair and Logan groans. His other hand resting on your back pulling you closer. He reluctantly pulls apart from you. Breathing heavily as he catches his breath. There's this silly smile on your face, one that always appeared after Logan kissed you no matter how much you tried to hide it. He missed it.

Logan. It's time.

He hears Charles in his head. His smile dropping as he realizes it's time to go. "I can go with you down to the lab." You offer as Logan stands up. He takes your hand and helps you up, leaning in to kiss your forehead gently.

"No, I should do this on my own." The truth is he knows that if you're down there he won't be able to go through that damn portal.

"Don't look so sad, You'll have your Logan back soon sweetheart." He wipes away a stray tear from your face.

"I know. It's just, hard to say goodbye." You take the flower from your hair and place it in his jacket pocket.

"Something to remember me by." You walk hand in hand back into the living room.

Logan takes one last look around the room. A strange sense of peace coming over him as everyone smiles and waves to him. It's not goodbye for them, but it is for him. But at least this time, he got to say the words. Logan lets go of your hand, sparing you one last look as he steps into the elevator. He can't bring himself to say anything. You know what he wants to say.

The elevator moves slowly as he heads down to the lab. Silently he steps out and heads towards the lab.

"Logan wait!" He freezes as he hears your voice.

"How did you-"

"The stairs. I took the stairs." You blurt out. He nods, standing there unsure of what to say.

"Can I ask you one question before you go?" You ask breathlessly. He nods. He can hear something happening in the lab, he doesn't have much time.

"In your universe, did you love me? Were we happy?" Maybe its an odd question. After all you just made out outside. But you don't know what this Logan had been through, if things were different or how different they were. You just needed to know. You always had a hunch your love was stronger than a simple timeline.

Logan takes a long look at you. Committing you to memory, so that now he can remember you like this. Smiling and happy and unafraid of who you are.

"I loved you more than anything sweetheart, I still do." With a soft smile you take one last look at Logan before returning back up the stairs. When Logan returns he'll be the man you knew before, but you don't think you'll ever forget this other Logan. Not for a long time.

"You ready Logan?" Hank asks as he hooks Logan up to a machine.

This was supposed to separate the two Logan's. He just prays it doesn't kill him. Logan closes his eyes. Similar to the feeling before he grunts as his cells seem to tear apart once again. Only this time when the pain stops he's back in his bloody suit. The other Logan is laying on the ground. Knocked out from whatever the hell Hank managed to do.

Before their very eyes an orange portal appears. They must have finally pinpointed the anomaly once the two had been separated. Before he steps through he turns around, nodding his head at Hank and then Charles.

"It was good to see you again Chuck, Thanks for everything." Logan says.

It feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest as he steps through the orange portal. In a flash he's at the TVA headquarters, standing in front of Wade.

"Peanut! There you are, oh I was worried sick." Wade jumps into his arms and Logan just drops him. Wade stands up and dusts himself off.

"We need to get you chipped or something. Maybe a bell to wear around your neck." Logan rolls his eyes and just follows the TVA agent in front of them.

"I went to a world where dogs could talk. What about you?" Wade asks as they're brought back home. Logan thinks for a moment. He sticks his hand in the pocket of his suit. His body freezing as he feels the soft petals of a flower.

"Hello? Earth to Wolvie? What having some emotional flashback to something only the readers know about?" Wade waves his hand in front of Logans face.

"I was thinking asshole." Logan shoves his hand away. Smiling as he tucks the flower deep in his pocket, deciding that he'll keep his adventure to himself for now.

"Anything you want to share with the class?" Wade asks. Logan just shakes his head.

"No, nothing worth mentioning."

[physics-of-one-piece]

Ohhh Fizzyyyy~ ✨

While researching Doffy's Looks, I noticed something sad about the DQ Brothers and I have to make everyone elses a bit sad with me ~ 😌

And someone else has probably pointed that out already

About the color reverse with Doffy and Rosi, it only happened after Doffy shot his Brother ! (Actually it happened when Doffy ruled Dressrosa, but let me have this!!! )

Before The Incident™ we see Doffy in two magnificent fits.

This one: white trousers, black shirt, bit of red and dark pink on his pants. Similar colors to Rosi over all, but not a color reverse. Not sure about the timeline right now, but the colors might symbolize Doffy being happy his little brother is back and therefore making them wear similar colours to show it (let me have this 😩plz)

And then there is our beloved Red Suit Doffy. No White in sight, just Black and lots of Red (= blood = Family and death). He feels betrayed by the only Family he has left and there is only one solution for him! 😩 Bang bang.

And only after Doffy realized what he has lost, he subconciously choose to wear his brothers colors! ( I know it was Odas choice to show the parallels with the Brothers in the Dressrosa Arc, BUT let me-)

Anyway ✨✌🏻 i just wanted to point this out !

Have a loveley Day, Fizzy 🦩

PS: Its totaly off topic but I headcanons Doffy with a bellybutton piercing. Let me ha-

Hello, Coco ~💕✨🫶🏻

I love this. First of all, these two pics made me swoon North Blue Doffy is so handsome 😍

We will ignore that Oda designed Doffy first and only later decided to make Rosinante (in Oda's first ever sketches of Doffy, Doffy was a single child! But man am I glad he changed his mind) and used Dressrosa Doffy's clothes colours but switched them for the base of Doffy's brother because clothes are another writing/artist tool- as a writer, what better way to speak to the audience than through clothes? You get to say soo many things with clothes, especially in manga. Clothes are such a simple tool and yet a great tool to show the connection between characters while also giving them their own style!

However, let's ignore that entire "Oda created Doffy first" which and focus on how the characters feel and what made the characters pick their clothes.

And you're right. Now, why Dressrosa Doffy reverse clothes colours scheme for Cora? Easy. Audience. By now, it's been (counting from ep 608 when post-timeskip Doffy aka Dressrosa Doffy is revealed) 100 episodes that the audience has seen Doflamingo dressed in those clothes, white shirt, pink coat. The moment we see Cora, our minds need to go "that's Corazon, that's Doflamingo's younger brother" at FIRST SIGHT of Corazon.

So, Oda does the colours the same but on different clothing aka if Doffy has a white shirt, Cora will have white pants. If Doffy has a pink coat, Cora can't have a pink coat but his upper body needs to wear sth pink. Pink shirt with pink hearts. Genius. Oh, and the biggest "THIS IS DOFLAMINGO'S LITTLE BROTHER" sign? Feather coat like Doflamingo's just a black colour. Oda coloured Cora's coat black but I love the purple of the anime too cus it's literally on the colour spectrum right next to pink. I think Oda made it black but myb it was originally purple but the amount of times Cora lit it on fire just made the poor thing turn black. Though, there is the entire thing with flamingos. They have black feathers underneath their main pink feathers - it's the black feathers that help them to fly.

North Blue Doffy

I think the moment Doffy hit 21 (that's the legal drinking age in Japan) he switches to suits/more formal wear. And yes, you're right about Dressrosa Doffy being the reverse clothes switch of Cora aka after his brother's death. Doffy liked red a lot to go with his wardrobe.

This is how he dressed at 17 (I love it, it makes no sense and I love it) at Roger's execution. Maybe it was hot that day, but it did start to rain later but it was probably summer rain anyway. But I can totally see this being 17 year old Doffy's everyday fit.

So, sometime later when he reached 20 and he became the young pirate underworld businessman as Law (and we, the audience) meet him later as in North Blue, he switched to formal wear. Doffy likes luxury. He's a Celestial Dragon. Also, I like to think the climate of North Blue doesn't agree with him, so he goes for long sleeved shirts such as dress shirts and the full red suit. Of course he goes for suits. They can also make him appear less dangerous than he is while giving him an edge over other pirates who dress... Well, like pirates 🤣

So, when Cora came back (Doffy was 24, Cora 22) of course Doffy will try to colour match somehow. Ties are a no go. First, he needs EVERYONE to know that this clumsy pyromaniac is his wonderful cute little brother! And how does he do that?

COAT.

Doflamingo already probably has quite a bounty on his head even in his North Blue days (probably a 100,000 berries or a bit more, I think it skyrocketed to its 320 mil. when he attacked the Heavenly Tributes). His coat is probably INFAMOUS. It's what other pirates recognise him by. You see a big pink feather coat? Oh, that's Donquixote Doflamingo.

And so Doflamingo wanted everyone to connect Cora's black/purple(in anime)coat to "this is Doflamingo's younger brother, Corazon"

It's not known whether the pirate world is aware that Corazon is Doflamingo's younger brother,but I'd wager the answer is a big NO. They think as Doflamingo's right-hand man, it comes with the perk of wearing a feather coat 🤣

In short, I am a 100% sure Doffy picked Corazon's outfit.

Red Suit Doffy being = blood, family, death you get it Coco, you get it. 🥹🫶🏻

I love being delulu thinking Dressrosa Doffy subconsciously chose to wear his brother's colour scheme but reverse and with his own twists cus wtf are those pants colour, Doffy what fckn colour is that, Doffy. I fckn love it but what fckn colour - oh even that is just a lighter shade of Cora's beanie, just shoot me.

I mean, I know it's probably not true that he like subconsciously chose them cus of Cora, but I totally get you, Coco. Even if Doffy most likely chose them cus he likes them+white dress shirts are always worn by royals (thinks Sanji's outfit in Whole Cake) I support being delulu☝🏻🫡

Thank you for the ask, it hurts but it's worth it. 🫶🏻💕

But maaan, all this clothes talk is just making me wonder if Merlot & Primroses Doffy would be so terrible (at least it's in Reader's POV how Reader would understand it) to give Reader Cora's extra black feather coat fitted for her. Or myb the opposite, sth that he tries to erase Cora's presence with...

Where are those American flamingos...

A feather coat like this colour? It's such a close shade to pink but is its own shade. Like, the people will be thinking "there is a connection to Doflamingo" and that already is bad enough the moment they think that

Plus, the Chilean flamingos have their tail feathers in a darker pink colour too!

And some flamingos have black tail feathers, too (prob why Oda drew Cora's coat black (or bcs of the underneath black feathers as I said), now that I think about it).

Aaah, thank you for making me cry over DQ brothers again, Coco 🫶🏻🥹✨💕

And you may or may not have made me think about how to make Merlot & Primroses even more angsty, though I for some reason don't want to give Reader any feather coat. Those things can be HEAVY.

Doffy with a bellybuton piercing 😳😳 oh my 🫣🫣 that is so cute 🥹🥹

[hollow-lime-green]

hi, anon from "t/b discourse is dumb" ask here 👋 this conversation actually is really interesting and i wanna add a little more if thats okay. (how long is the average anon ask? im not new to fandom but i am relatively new to tumblr and its etiquette... so sorry if this is too long. ive done my best to condense it 😭 there's just too much to say and im a rambler)

i hope i didn't come off as blaming anybody for their response to harassment and such, i don't want to contribute to that. my ire is only pointed toward people who make it their business to hurt others over innocuous fandom happenings, those people who leave dickish comments on fics and send anonhate and mass qrt on twitter. but like i said, expecting those kinds of people to go away any time soon is not really something i have hope for at this point. you put it well: people get so emotionally invested --- and i too Love getting emotionally invested when it comes to fiction --- that logic stops being a factor. people all over the internet also tend to struggle with simply disliking something and leaving it there. you're allowed to dislike/disagree with something without turning it into a moral failure when it's all down to preference and the characters involved are not Real

i just wish more people saw the value in Healthy™ discourse. hell, even if someone's opinion ticks you off, that doesn't mean you can't engage in an open minded discussion with them, if you want to. but people can't do that even outside of niche online fanbases.

i would love to share my own opinions on t/b dynamics for satosugu and to learn why others may feel differently. actually, stsg is the first yaoi ship ive been this invested in, though it's been a while now, and reading fics for them has opened up a Lot of doors of thought for me that i wanna talk to someone about. but there's such hostility around the topic that opening that discussion up to the general fandom public hardly feels worth the risk, as much as i want to. that kinda leaves one floating out at sea here. so i have these conversations where i can, but i'll also block people over simple things. not because i think they're evil or their opinions are invalid, but because i really do just want to have fun, and previous fandom experiences have exhausted me with how much of the same repetitive venom i can personally handle at once

welcome back anon, and feel free to ramble away. honestly this has been a nice side quest for me during the thesis-ing, believe it or not.

if you want to have discussions/share takes on stsg (or fandom meta), then feel free to keep sending them anon, and i am happy to host that discussion in our friendly little corner. i haven't gotten anything nasty in my inbox, and i think everyone commenting and engaging with the posts on my blog is pretty friendly and level headed :)

i think it's possible that some people could get offended by your previous ask? but it's very obvious, to me, anyway, that what you are saying with "t/b discourse is dumb" is "this drama is dumb why are we doing this why can't we just have fun". you can twist the words, but that's the clear sentiment that I think 99% of us are trying to get across here.

and that also does not conflict with empathizing with and supporting people who have been targeted by this harassment. in fact, i would say out of anyone, they are probably most securely in the camp of "this drama is dumb please let's stop".

as @fushiglow pointed out, part of the reason fandom can get so vicious is due to depersonalization. none of these people would be acting so fuckin foolish in person. but across the screen, it is a lot safer and easier to be an absolute asshole than when you have to look someone in the face as you tell them that they are literal scum for your opinions on dick in ass, or something.

over the past few months i have been struggling with this in reverse, actually. one of my gaming group members almost definitely voted for trump (white women... we need to talk). i get so worked up when i think about it, because i hate her for it, especially her reasons for it (she is antichoice). and yet, when I see her in person, when we hang out, it is so easy to remember that she is my friend and she held my hair back when I was puking after my other gamer friends gave me too many free beers (blue moon isn't worth it guys).

one other thing i would like to add, and part of why i'm so happy to post this ask, is that conversations are not sentences. you get to clarify. you get to add. you get to change your mind. real 'discourse' (note: this word has lost all meaning in the year of our lord 2025) or debate is an exchange of ideas, whether it's about dick in ass or how we react socially in the situation of being attacked for dick in ass. keeping the conversation going to clarify these things, like your intent with the last ask, is important and necessary! it's what keeps us from being xitter/bluesky. we don't need to live as zingers and soundbytes on a text-based forum. we have the space to express ourselves fully, as many times as that takes. and i think that helps build back the empathy that is lost with the lack of face-to-face, voice-to-voice communication in online spaces.

so in the words of the great philosophers re: t/b discourse:

any hole's a goal

[illmoraineakoi]

Have you ever thought about how the best part of Victim's life perfectly coincides with the worst part of Chosen's?

Because I do. I think about it a lot.

[iceclew]

Did I accidently write more than just a few lines of dialogue for this scene?... *shyly fumbling with fingers* 🥹👉👈 maybe...

Sorry, I suck at words and this isn't betaread nor properly proofread and I am not native english, I'm very sorry in advance...

full story down below

(Chappel Roan - Love me Anyway)

(Benson Boone - Slow it Down)

"VICE-CAPTAIN!!!!"

The tiny moving plush-like thing in his hand apparently started screaming as well now.

"WHY ALWAYS MEEE!?!?"

What looked like the chibi mini-version of the Defence Force's biggest trump card, struggled to hold on his thumb, kicking around those little feet of his.

"Well, now I'm quite curious abut THAT story..."

"I CAN'T TURN BACK AND I AM T I N Y !!! (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )"

"I see that... How'd you even get in here?"

Tiny #8 stopped fidgeting a bit. Instead two unproportionally big round dark eyes goggled at him. It was undeniably adorable to look at. "Well after THIS happened, I couldn't grab my phone on the table anymore, so I ran around to find someone, but I figured Narumi and Kikoru would very likely take advantage of my situation and do something stupid with me."

"Oh yeah, they definitely would and I get why, honestly."

"So I ran around to find you, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW BIG THE 1st DIVISION IS, WHEN YOU'RE LIKE THIS, OK?! And then I saw the slightly opened window and just crawled in... ༼☯﹏☯༽"

"Wait... you know where my temporary place in the 1st Division is located? Why?"

"....Coincidence? (*ﾟｰﾟ) "

He sighed. "Well just when you think you saw everything...Kafka Hibino enters the stage..."

"SIR, WHAT SHOULD I DO?? WHY ARE THESE THINGS ALWAYS HAPPENING TO ME??"

"you really want me to answer that, bud?", he barely tried to hide the undertone of his voice, which left the small creature on the palm of his hand baffled for a second.

"Wha-? HEY, MEAN!! What are you on about!?"（＞д＜）

"Yeah, maybe, I don't know STOP CHANGING in general, like I told you f.ex.. or maybe stick to your training routine without going OVERBOARD on a regular basis? How 'bout that?"

The big dark round eyes got even bigger with every word spoken.

"Yeah, don't look at me like that, I might coincidently got wind of stuff, you know?"

His unexpectedly open and emotional response threw Kafka off. For a second he forgot about his *tiny* main problem, his mind jumped between confused and worried and he couldn't comprehend with his reaction for now. After some awkward seconds in silence, Hoshina's tone grew significantly calmer, but still sort of off to his usual self-assured expression. "Well at least this time you're actually telling me about stuff that bothers you, huh?"

Silence again. While hanging from the palm of his Vice-Captain's hand Kafka realized something (besides his size) was different. His senses grew more aware of his surroundings to find answers.

"Are... are you drunk, sir?"

Besides the slight scent of alcohol in the air, and the - well quite obvious - bottle of sake on the table, the startled twitch on his face confirmed Kafka's guess was right. Other than the sake the only other thing on the table were some snacks. Another odd thing to Kafka, who was used to see Hoshina's surroundings stuffed with documents, loose papers, books and other work related things.

The silence lingered around them uncomfortably. To Kafka's suprise Hoshina was seemingly struggling with words. A look on his face Kafka couldn't remember seeing before. Now his mind definitely jumped to 'worried'.

Hoshina tried to mimic an insulted face and looked away. "A little tippsy at most... I'm off-duty for tonight.." Besides the slightly blushed nose and cheeks, Kafka now noticed some dark circles under red eyes. "..and despite my gut telling me better, I assumed I probably won't be needed anymore today, and that I could hang loose a little. It's not my Division after all, there's another Captain and Vice-Captain in charge here. So I might as well make use of that chance... Should have known, it would end up that way or another.. " He smiled a bit and Kafkas felt like his heart clenching from the sight. "Although I definitely should have placed my bet on YOU to be the reason for that." He chuckled lightly, while his expressions grew somewhat softer.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"Nah, it's fine. As if I didn't get used to your-"

"I never put much thought to it, but ever since the Defence Force started preparing for the big counter attack on #9 your workload must've at least doubled in the 3rd and 1st Division.. and here I am still taking over the rest of your time as well..."

"Don't like where this is going, officer... You're not starting pitying me, are ya?"

"No I-...I just feel like.. I didn't realize, and there for not appreciated your work enough.." Silence. "And also.." The tiny kaiju had his look glued to the floor in front of him for a while now. "I know you told me to brush it off earlier but,... I truly regret ... not telling you about... #8 n'stuff.. I'm sorry... I'd change that if I could.."

A small plushy-sized Kaiju was gently put back on the ground again. Hoshina scratched his nose for a second, before bending far back to the other side of the room. He grabbed for his smartphone that was burried in piles of carelessly pushed aside documents.

"As I said. You're here now, aren't ya?" When he got his phone he chose to stay laid down on the floor and started typing something on the lightened screen.

A tiny transformed Kafka carefully made his way around and walked up on eye-level with Hoshina's face again. Once again overwhelmed by his current state of being, he let himself fall back on the floor and sat on the ground. "So... what should I do?"

"The first thing WE do is trying to make some calls. But since you seem to be in no life-threatening condition, we might have to wait 'till tomorrow for a first medical examination. If that's the case you'll stay, and I get you down to the lab first thing in the morning."

"Wait!" The tiny Kaiju made a suprisingly far jump right up to Hoshina's chest and pressed the (for him very big) red hang-up button on the screen with both paws. "You're right about that, I won't die this second from being tiny, so we might as well wait for tomorrow."

The questioning look on the opposite's face made a tiny Kafka look away and scratch his neck shyly. "Well, since you're ... I dunno,... I feel like, I can't have you be seen d-dru- .. like this by other officials of the 1st Division, b-because of me..."

A finger poked his forehead, which caused a tiny being like him to fall right back landing on warm soft fabric of Hoshina's shirt.

"Idiot. But you might be right about that."

[xxinkyshadowxx]

Little reminder for the people who forgot Kieran is 14 years old FOURTEEN meaning that any suggestive content of him automatically makes the poster of it weird as fuck ESPECIALLY if they are an adult but even if they are a minor posting suggestive stuff of a fourteen year old is still super weird so maybe don't do that

[torchickentacos]

The pokemon anime subreddit fascinates and frustrates me on equally deep levels

[ahopefulbromantic]

wait do you believe in hell as eternal conscious torment? (im curious bc that debate has been a crux of my own journey w faith & christianity)

I believe in hell as eternal disconnection from God or more precisely as defined by the Catechism a "state of definitive self-exclusion from communion with God and the blessed" (CCC 1033). How that would look like i have no idea but i do know that tearing yourself apart from the one and only source of life, love, happiness, fulfilment, goodness, and everything that is good would absolutely be the worst torment imaginable, or rather well, unimaginable. And i do know God would hate to have His beloved children be in this state. I hope with all my heart that hell is completely empty, i wouldn't wish it upon anyone and i mean anyone

Oh and since you mentioned a debate, can you tell me more about it? Cause i'm not sure what you're refering to and i'd love to learn more! God bless you anon and best wishes for your journey with faith!

[rolex-kaard]

it's actually so stupid

[melouthechalk]

I was about to say that I'm going to feed you guys once a week bc I have a big thing to draw and I still have to not be kicked out of college....

But then I remembered that new life series sooner then I think......

Oh no....