#anyway. hope this answers your question enough anon!

[ryuichirou]

Do you have any headcanons for your genderswapped twst ships?? Doesn't really matter which ones

I do, Anon! And you’re cruel, because I want to talk about everyone, and I am very bad at picking one option… So I ended up writing one hc for a bunch of ships. I don’t think I skipped any of our absolute favourite ones, but I definitely didn’t cover all the ships we love :( Sigh!

If you want to hear more about any of them, let me know! But also, feel free to read previous hcs posts about the girlies: 1, 2, 3.

Also! Some are horny, some of them are not, keep that in mind please.

Alright, so…

Azul/Idia – while Azul complains about Idia always wearing baggy ���boy-ish” clothes, she actually enjoys it on some level; sometimes she expects Idia to open doors for her, sometimes she hugs her arm when they walk together, it’s like she automatically figures that she herself is “the lady” in their relationship with Idia. Which is a concept that only exists in Azul’s head: Idia knows that Azul isn’t a lady at all. All of the “girly” things she does are very performative, and in actuality, Azul is very dominant, bossy and not gentle at all! She is an aggressive beast that loves to fuck tomboys…

Jade/Idia – during their housewarden+vice-housewarden meetings, Idia sometimes watches Jade as she writes down things and gives Azul documents and forms and stuff. Is it because Jade is just that beautiful? Yeah, but not necessarily in a good way – to Idia, Jade feels otherworldly, but also kind of terrifying. Like a beauty from a horror movie. Since Idia watches everyone through her tablet, she feels safe when staring at Jade (she would’ve been scared to look at her irl), but one time Jade looked straight into the camera, and Idia got startled and fell from her chair. For some reason she felt the good kind of goosebumps at the same time…

Floyd/Idia – one time Idia was careless enough to mumble something about Jade being perfect for a cosplay of a certain character. She thought she said it very quietly, but Floyd did hear her, and immediately asked about what kind of character would be perfect for her, instantly adding that Idia can’t pick the same one she chose for Jade. Idia panicked and said that she needed some time to think about it… hoping that Floyd would just forget about it, but she kept appearing out of nowhere and asking this question for a couple of weeks. Sometimes she would show up with her buttons undone and without a bra or panties, as if that would inspire Idia to give her an answer. Idia never felt so intimidated before..!

Floyd/Riddle – one time they had a physical fight that turned too horny. Of course, Floyd wasn’t giving it her all because in terms of physical strengths she could easily snap Riddle in half, for the most part she was just having fun. But the way Riddle squeezed her thigh with her own thighs and aggressively rubbed against it, the way she grabbed her shirt and ripped it open, the way she bit her neck and viciously sucked on it (to make it hurt more, clearly) made it pretty obvious that poor Riddle doesn’t quite understand what she wants from Floyd. Of course, she punched and slapped her face a couple of times too, but that doesn’t make the situation any less horny! Well, Floyd did bite her ass (literally) as a revenge, but the moment she grabbed her between the legs, Riddle squealed, kicked her off (with a heel!) and ran away. What the hell was that? Mixed messages…

Trey/Riddle – Riddle is one of the few people in their dorm that isn’t aware (and doesn’t suspect) that Trey is into girls. To the majority of people it’s pretty obvious, but Riddle has absolutely no idea. It’s not like Riddle would react in a bad way, but whenever she casually says shit like “it is too early for us to worry about husbands anyway”, Trey’s brain melt a little bit. She only sees her future with Riddle…

Ace/Deuce – they are “those two girls”, the ones that are always fighting, but also so close that it’s almost like they’re… you know. They are more likely than their boy versions to push that semi-playful flirty thing, and it’s always Ace who initiates it. She pokes Deuce’s boob with a pen, lifts her skirt, “accidentally” ends up in suggestive poses with her, makes jokes that take a couple of moment for Deuce to get (then she gets red and mad), and all of that is just them messing around of course. Nothing serious, for sure…

Jack/Deuce – when they kissed for the first time, Jack grabbed Deuce’s waist and lifted her up so their faces would be on the same level. Deuce got so surprised by that (her feet were barely touching the floor!), she whimpered in the kiss, and Jack got immediately embarrassed and put her back down. Both liked it a lot and felt hot because of that, but were too awkward to do it again…

Kalim/Jamil – Kalim is so innocent it’s very difficult for Jamil to think about the fact that one day she’ll start having sex and even worse, producing babies. The second part is so terrifying that Jamil prefer not to think about it at all, but even just the first part makes her very frustrated somehow. Is she angry about it? Somehow, imagining Kalim with someone like that feels very wrong, and Jamil’s frustrated mind makes her dream about Kalim doing things to her body instead. Jamil woke up all sweaty and with a blanket squeezed tightly between her thighs. 

Azul/Jamil – despite her busy schedule, there are moments when Azul has some free time and goes to see Jamil play basketball. She is always very clearly rooting for Jamil and Jamil only, as if she is the only one playing, and Jamil finds it annoying… Oh, is she distracting you, Jamil-san? By being a cute little cheerleader? Also, did I mention that Azul likes tomboys already?

Rook/Vil – when Vil gets mad, sometimes squeezing Rook’s boobs a couple of times makes her feel better. But when Vil gets very mad, the only thing that could help is for Rook to pull Vil’s underwear down and dive with her face between her legs. Then she eats Vil until she is so tired that all agitation has left her body, and her anger is gone… Technically, if Rook isn’t around, Vil could just breathe in and out until she is calm, but for some mysterious reason Rook is always around whenever Vil starts feeling angry. Is it a coincidence?

Floyd/Epel – while the bra that Vil makes Epel wear isn’t uncomfortable and is actually quite nice, she still doesn’t like the fact that she is supposed to wear it, so whenever she sees Floyd going around clearly bra-less, she gets so fascinated and excited. One time when they were hanging out together, being all rebellious and stuff, Epel took her bra out and looked at Floyd very proudly and smugly. And Floyd pointed out how pointy and erect Epel’s nipples are and giggled at her… and then quietly stole her bra while Epel was busy covering them and feeling unexpectedly embarrassed. They were hard the entire evening, which Floyd found very cute and couldn’t stop commenting on.

Ortho/Idia – when they were kids, Idia tried to make Ortho to be “the princess” in whatever story they were playing because Ortho is younger, and Idia wanted her to feel cherished and a centre of attention. But Ortho threw a tantrum about it because she wanted Idia to be the princess instead. They weren’t really into playing with dolls or all this princess stuff, so it was just a very rare and kind of wholesome memory that Idia completely forgot about… until Ortho called her a pillow princess and said “see, I was right” with a smug face all those years later. What do you mean you were right…! Is this really a good moment to bring that up?? While pressing a pulsating finger against your sister’s you-know-what??

Lilia/Idia – one time Idia actually went to listen to Lilia’s bass guitar performance in an empty clubroom because she wouldn’t go out of her room otherwise. And Lilia teased her a lot that day, acted very smugly, called Idia her groupie and even suggested to give her an autograph by signing her titties. Idia was embarrassed and terrified, but Lilia did end up lifting her shirt and doing that…

Lilia/Silver – when Lilia is feeling down for some reason, sometimes she makes Silver sit on her lap. Silver is too heavy for that at this age, and she usually says that it will make mother’s blood circulation worse, but Lilia always says that it’s okay and pushes her down. Then she hugs Silver tightly, presses her cheek against Silver’s chest, sits like that for a couple of minutes and playfully slaps Silver’s thigh, telling her to stand up and saying that she is a good girl and made her feel all better. Whenever Lilia stands up though, her legs shake because of bad blood circulation… Silver told you!

Sebek/Silver – whenever Silver falls asleep and Sebek doesn’t wake her up right away for some reason, she always makes sure she looks appropriate: closes her legs, fixes her shirt, even puts her hair back from her face. Although every now and then she does end up staring at her sleeping face and body for some time before doing that… you know, if no one is around…

Lilia/Malleus – as Malleus’ breasts were growing, she was in pain pretty often because of the drastic and quick growth. Lilia used to soothe her pain while massaging her chest with her small but knowledgeable hands, and it helped a lot… but also backfired, because now Malleus’ breasts are very tender; but also sometimes when she gets angry she really wants to have them squeezed and groped, as it pacifies her.

Sebek/Malleus – Sebek loves repeating that she’ll never get married because she already decided that she will live only to serve Malleus. One times Malleus heard about it and said that it really is a shame, because someone would be lucky to have Sebek as a wife. She didn’t really mean anything by it, but Sebek was so shocked to hear that that she still can’t process that conversation…

Crewel/Deuce – while Deuce wasn’t super sexually experienced before their affair with Crewel started, she was pretty experienced in terms of masturbation, and thought that she knew her body quite well. She was wrong because Crewel made her feel the way she didn’t know she could before… She used to be a very horny young teen, but now is the first time when she stands up and can feel wetness between her legs dripping down her thighs (without even being touched!). She also squirted for the first time with Crewel… and was pretty shocked by that, instantly getting embarrassed that she just peed herself. This woman melts her brain…

[shai-manahan]

hi, I sincerely hope I'm not being pushy or anything, and that you're doing ok! I saw your post about the devastating typhoon in your country and know that must be heartbreaking. if it's okay to ask, is Hollowed Minds still being written? I completely understand if it's not, since I (and other readers) know you have probably been going through a lot. I still love and think about your IF everyday to the point it's become a comfort game of mine and gotten me through some tough times with its engaging mysteries and angsty, touching moments, and though I would obviously be sad about it, the mental health and personal circumstances of authors are so much more important than a fan's feelings. I wish you good luck with life regardless of whether this IF is continued or not!

Hi! I appreciate the concern and your love for HM and don't worry because I'm still working on it <3 I know it's been a while, and admittedly it also distresses me that I haven't updated the game yet after all this time. But please be assured that this isn't a story I could ever let go of or even think about canceling no matter what.

Honestly, our country's been through a lot these past few years. My family, friends, and mentors have been through a lot as well. There is increased hostility targeted at marginalized communities everywhere and it's made a huge impact on my writing and my perception towards my own characters. I also find I relate to a lot of them now to an extent I never wished to reach.

It's partly why I decided to make MC someone with Filipino (specifically Tagalog) heritage, why I made their personality a little more preset (while still allowing space for headcanons and a few trait choices), and why I'm making some revisions to make certain details clear upfront.

Also, I suppose I'm just afraid a lot of readers would not get the point of the series itself. We're still at a very early stage of the plot, and while I've gotten anons whose theories have made it clear that they understand what this is eventually leading to, I do get the sense that some might still think of it as a mere cop thriller story when I actually aim for it to be a critic of policing institutions and the system itself. This is something that would be made clear anyway as we progress, but I at least want it to be apparent that MC will never ally nor respect some characters throughout the series, and that there are actions they would never find justifiable/fair.

I haven't posted significant progress updates lately (which is also why Patreon billings are still paused atm) because I don't think I've made enough progress to talk about. I will still answer asks, however, so please feel free to send them if you have questions/concerns/fun asks!

And I'm really glad HM has helped you get through tough times :') I know writing it helps me as well.

[mengyan]

may we hear any extended thoughts you have about yunzhiyu/my journey to you?

anon, i feel like the fact that i had to start writing a fix-it fic right after i finished and i'm currently 40k/60k+ words in, that already says a lot about what i think... 😭

you have opened a can of worms really. you asked for this

THE SHIPS: i have to start with this, sorry. neither of the two main ships compelled me. gzy/yws was alright, i could see the appeal, and i mean i do like them enough. they're good for each other, i'm glad they're happy. as for gsj/sgq i will just say concisely: no. jf/gzs were very cute and i enjoyed them, yun que/yue-gongzi as well!

THE SHIPS (NON-CANON): THANK YOU GJM FOR GIVING ME SHANGGUAN QIAN AND YUN WEISHAN. THANK YOU FOR CAPTURING THEIR INTENSE, INSANE CHEMISTRY SO PERFECTLY. THANK YOU FOR HANDING THEM OVER TO ME, THEY'RE MY OCS NOW. MY TOP YZY SHIP WHO'S DOING IT LIKE THEM

THE DYNAMICS: now here is where yzy NAILED IT!! i may not have liked gsj/sgq as a ship, but as a DYNAMIC? amazing. perfect. all the two of them are is a game of weiqi and a guilt-ridden tragedy. lovely stuff. juezhi? absolute gold. the family dynamics? so complex and tasty. the hanyas, dianzhu, zhuo mei in relation to yws and sgq? i could go on forever. and any dynamic with sgq makes me insane.

THE PLOT: started off strong and ended........ well. see above (my estimated to be 60k fix-it fic). some parts definitely could have been cut or made more concise. there are... a lot of holes to patch. some lore really should have been used better too.

THE DIALOGUE: good at some parts and too direct at others. a lot of telling and not enough showing.

THE AESTHETICS: 100000000000000000/10 NO NOTES

THE ACTING: 100000000000000000/10 NO NOTES X2

THE OST: 100000000000000000/10 NO NOTES x3

OVERALL THOUGHTS: this is definitely an interesting drama to rewatch because for all the scenes you sped through before, you learn several pieces of information you missed 😂 i rated this drama 8/10, which was carried by its production, cast and characters. my biggest issues were the plot holes and main ships, but otherwise, it's a worthwhile watch. i don't regret watching it for sure- i can't imagine how empty my brain would be without shangguan qian (and yun weishan) haunting it daily 😂

[shkika]

W1 wombo combo Gabriel.

But on a more serious note, do V1 and V2 have differing opinions on anything? And if so, when interacting with someone, would they express both opinions equally?

They do have different opinions on some things yes! As long as they agree on how to act they are fine.

If you were to interact with W1 it’d be a terribly confusing experience. Which I love so much. They do not really care or try to make the way they work accessable to anyone outside their own head.

Inside of which VV1 constantly talks to itself. So you’d be met with mostly silence as it discussed you in detail in there. It’s very aloof and expresses contradicting opinions sometimes.

That’s because they are both quite lenient with what the other can do or say. So if V1 wants to say that rodents are fucking awesome. It will.

But then 10 minutes later you asked it what it’s favorite animal is, V2 could say that they don’t particularly care for any of them. Like at all.

And that’s fine. Both are correct.

If V1 wanted them to watch a rodent run around for 2 hours we’ll do that anyway.

VV1 can say it hates sitting still, but then you could observe it scanning books for a while.

If you had no idea it has 2 brain, W1 makes very little sense.

And W1 doesn’t care about making sense to anyone, because it’s simply happy to be itself.

[the-casbah-way]

What’s your opinion on the English

[jen-with-a-pen]

If people aren't comfortable reblogging fics to their blog (which I am not, due to a personal history of being doxxed and humiliated to my irl friends and family), are comments sufficient enough engagement or would you rather that reader not engage with your work at all?

I feel like that came out sounding passive aggressive but I truly mean it as a genuine question and am just not sure how to rework it to sound less snarky! I see this discourse on and off from different fic writers and respect both opinions and think everyone should be able to curate interaction with their fics as they see fit.

Hi, anon.

I've been thinking carefully on how to respond to this. I can tell you're not trying to come off as snarky– which i say as someone who can't read tone for shit most of the time and whose own tone can come off aggressive or bitchy when I don't mean it to be.

I'm gonna address your ask as thoroughly as I can, if that's cool. Sorry if it's a long response. I'll put a cut in so I don't interrupt feeds ✂️

First, I want to pose a question to your question, which I mean genuinely with no spite whatsoever: why are you on Tumblr if you're not reblogging or don't even reblog?

As I've stated in other replies to the post I made a few weeks back, from the way I see it, Tumblr is literally built upon the foundation of sharing creations and content. There is no dead-set algorithm here like there is for Instagram or TikTok. Sharing is, quite fucking literally, caring here. We are able to form communities of all sizes because we share things. Reblogging is essential to the upkeep, and quite frankly the existence, of fandom and communities. Without sharing, our communities crumble and become ruins. We are actively seeing this as we speak: many mutuals and authors I follow are starting to quit writing due to passive, demanding consumption patterns and 0 engagement.

I know you probably know this, but I thought I'd restate it for answer's sake.

To answer the meat of your ask, I will pull from both personal experience and mutuals' experiences and input.

In my own personal opinion, if you are solely commenting on fics and are not engaging in anything else (no likes, no reblogs, etc.) then I personally think that Tumblr is not the site you should be on and, frankly, you should go sign up for AO3 if that's all you're going to do.

And I mean this earnestly. If all you want to do for engagement is commenting, then AO3 needs you because sharing does NOT affect authors nearly as much over there as it does here. In fact comments on AO3 are the literal equivalent to reblog on Tumblr: we don't get any and when we do it's like finding an oasis in a never ending desert.

Now in terms of what mutuals and other authors have said on the matter, it seems the consensus is that commenting without reblogging is a case-by-case basis. I'm going to quote a mutual of mine here:

"...if someone is commenting on my work but not reblogging… I'd say it's case by case. If it's just MY fics they aren’t reblogging, then it'd be a problem, but if they don’t reblog ANY [fics] I'd be more okay."

Another mutuals also put it this way:

"... I feel like there *is* both sides in this sense; yes comments are nice and engaging even though they aren't the preferred and most helpful way to boost writers..."

I feel like both of them put it into words where I struggled to. I will also say that I do agree with the point being that if you're not gonna reblog ANYTHING– no art, no content, no photos, no other fics, nothing– AND your profile adheres to the guidelines set forth in basic Tumblr etiquette (not looking like a bot and not a minor) then sure, comment away.

The verdict, in summary with my opinion and mutuals': it depends on your behavior and your interactions with other works and content.

I hate the word content but I couldn't think of another one.

But, my question still stands: why are you on Tumblr when you don't even participate in the basic fundamental function of this site?

I also wanted to take the time to address the other part of your ask regarding the doxxing and people finding out your identity.

It has been very widely known for (close to) two decades now that Tumblr is the place where you can have an anonymous identity. Truly. I've been on here for the collective half of the last decade and have been on the Internet for a little more than half my life, now, and Tumblr and fandom are literally the biggest and best places where you can be someone else. You can be completely anonymous.

The common denominator, however, is you.

The amount of information you have on your blog is what you choose to put on it. If you state your real name, your state and city, have one of those (imo stupid) carrd things or whatever, then honey– and I mean this in the nicest way possible, truly– that is on you. I know for a fact (from good and bad experiences) that you have all of the power in the world to annonymize yourself while still maintaining yourself on the Internet. That make sense?

A couple of mutuals made very excellent points regarding this:

"...I have a best friend irl who has Tumblr and is so close to the fandoms I'm in, and she doesn't know I write here. I am anonymous on here. I'm suprised she hasnt connected the dots because my aesthetics are the same in real life..."

"...I personally think its pretty easy to be anonymous on tumblr. Especially since usually all we ask is you have that you aren’t a minor at the top of your blog..."

"...it's really easy to be anonymous on the internet [...] you can be an ENTIRELY different person on the internet..."

From that last mutual, I'll paraphrase and go off of another point they made: the fact that you do want to participate and comment negates your ENTIRE arguement because someone– anyone– can find you and your blog through said comment(s).

Your digital footprint is what you leave behind. So if you have your city and state and grade and real name and all this other shit in your blog or carrd or whatever, then you are the only one who is responsible for having put said information out there.

Hell, I've been mutuals with some people going on 2-3 YEARS at this point and the only other things they know about me is my state, general city vicinity, my cat, and what I do for a living. That's it. And we span from early twenties to married with a kid or two.

We are in charge of what we share and I implore you– as someone with a certification in legal information technology– to please educate yourself on your Internet privacy and digital footprint. Please take the time to think about your actions and the information you have online. I STILL do this to this day, even after getting certified and being on the Internet for half my life.

I am sorry that you've gotten doxxed in the past. Truly, I am. It's a horrible act and I hope you never have to experience that again. Please know I am not being dismissive of that nor trying to blame you for said acts.

But it all comes down to you at the end of the day. In general, it's you, your actions, and the consequences of your actions. And if you happen to be a minor, then I strongly urge you to rethink your decisions and maybe step away from social media and utilize critical thinking in order to asses your situation and who you surround yourself with, both online and offline. I wish I had someone to tell me that when I was 14– fuck, even when I was 18.

And I mean it when I say AO3 might suit you more than Tumblr. If any fandom site has more capabilities to be anonymous than Tumblr itself, it's AO3.

Anyways, I think that's all I have to say for you. My DMs and ask box are always open and I am open to more commentary on the matter and related ones so long as it is civil and respectful. I refuse to stop having this conversation.

Thank you for listening ❤️

[skeletalheartattack]

Who was your favourite mario character as a kid, and who is it now?

honestly? that's a pretty tough question for me to answer, because i played a lot of mario games growing up, and i don't know if younger me would've been able to choose a favourite. in terms of established characters, i think a safe option would likely be bowser; he was always my pick in Mario Kart 64, Melee, and Brawl. though in terms of the entire series as a whole, i liked the luigis mansion ghost designs a lot.

a favourite nowadays? i'm not quite sure. if i had to pick an established character, it'd probably be wario or waluigi. in terms of the entire series, i like the Mario Sunshine boos design a lot... but that's narrowing it down too small because i like a whole lot of designs from the franchise, so it's really hard to pinpoint.

[despairforme]

hi toby! ive been a fan of your writing for a long time and the threads you had with your now deactivated partner, lexie, and i was wondering on why does nnoitra keep constantly thinking about grimmjow when nnoitra, himself, cheated on him and thinks that hes that deserving of having any form of relationship when he's a bad person. isn't he supposed to be this masculine guy that doesn't let stupid stuff get to him? wouldn't he just move on when grimmjow wants nothing to do with him? curious.

Ah, FUCK. He sure as shit didn't want to talk ( or think ) about this.

Isn't he supposed to be this masculine guy that doesn't let stupid stuff get to him?

Damn, he sure as hell wished things were that easy. If he could choose to NOT let stuff bother him, he'd have the best life ever. Unfortunately, he wasn't like that. He wasn't sure whether or not that had anything to do with his masculinity though. It wasn't like he was whining about his old relationship. He did think about Grimmjow quite a lot though, that was true. Was he not allowed to even think about him? His relationship with Grimmjow hadn't been some fling. It had been a deep, committed relationship. A connection that had lasted for many years. And Nnoitra had never loved ANYONE like he'd loved ( and, in a way, still loved ) Grimmjow.

First things first - the cheating.

Yeah, he'd cheated on Grimmjow, but that was not the full story. People usually said there was no excuse for cheating, and Nnoitra would agree. However, there was an explanation.

His relationship with Grimmjow had been falling apart. Not through arguments, but through a growing distance. Grimmjow had simply stopped giving him attention. Going without sex had been one thing ( Nnoitra had a huge sex drive, he needed to get laid ), but going without affection had been worse. Living with a person who didn't give him any attention what-so-ever. Feeling Grimmjow's love for him dwindle. Fade away. Nnoitra had ALWAYS feared that deep down, Grimmjow couldn't forgive him for what he'd done, and that that would eventually lead him to fall out of love with him. Having this fear unfold before him had been the worst. Nnoitra had never felt more unlovable than during those months. Yet, he'd held on. Hoping. That maybe Grimmjow would come back to him. Would look at him again. Touch him. Tell him: Sorry, I was going through something, but it's not your fault, I still love you. Of course, that didn't happen. It was just a fucking fantasy. OF COURSE Grimmjow would fall out of love with him. If he ever even loved him in the first place. Maybe their whole relationship was just built on Grimmjow trying to somehow cope with the trauma Nnoitra had caused him. Like a fucked up sort of Stockholm syndrome.

When Nnoitra had gotten a text from his ex, Kyota, asking to meet up, Nnoitra had hesitated. Even meeting up with Kyota while he was dating Grimmjow had felt wrong, but - in the end, he'd just NEEDED to see a friendly face. When he'd met up with Kyota at the bar, he hadn't had any plans of going to bed with him. Cheating on Grimmjow with Kyota hadn't been the plan.

But, when faced with Kyota's kindness, and the straight-forward invitation for a good fuck? Nnoitra hadn't resisted. He'd known he was throwing everything he had with Grimmjow away, and he'd chosen that. Just to feel close to someone. Just to feel good, for the first time in months.

He'd never told Grimmjow about the cheating, but maybe the other had figured it out somehow. In any case, one night Nnoitra had come home from work - Grimmjow had been gone. No goodbye. Nothing.

Why did his relationships always end with people leaving him without a word? Nnoitra had asked himself that many times. He wondered if the answer was that his partners were afraid of him. Maybe they were afraid he'd hurt them. Grimmjow had every reason to believe that, so Nnoitra couldn't blame him. Kyota too had left him like that. Without a word, even though Nnoitra had never hurt him. Perhaps he'd been able to see it anyway. See what kind of person Nnoitra was.

That was the story of how he'd cheated on Grimmjow. It wasn't like he'd excuse his behavior. However, he knew that if his relationship with Grimmjow had been good, he never would've done it.

Then, next - it was the matter of him thinking he was DESERVING of a relationship. This was simply not true. Nnoitra DIDN'T think he deserved to be loved. He knew he was a bad person. The worst kind of person, and there was no way he could ever hide that from anyone ( not that he even tried ). If someone managed to fall in love with him ( it could happen, since it had happened before ), they'd fall out of love with him when they saw his true self. There was only so long someone could lie to themselves about what Nnoitra was.

He didn't understand why this stranger thought he thought that he deserved a relationship. He WANTED one, sure. But that didn't mean he thought it was what he deserved. People usually didn't get what they deserved. They just got whatever random shit the universe decided for them. He'd pay for his sins when he died and ended up in hell. In the meantime... He sure would like to at least feel loved again. If only for a little bit.

Why was he so HUNG UP on Grimmjow? Why didn't he "just move on"? That sounded like some shit advice from someone who didn't understand. It was a cliche to say that, he supposed. He just didn't think that how things had turned out with Grimmjow could be classified as "stupid stuff". Stupid stuff was... When you dropped your phone, or someone gave you the wrong drink, or the bus didn't drop you off at your stop.

Having your fear of not being lovable confirmed by the person you loved the most in the entire world - that was not "stupid stuff". Moving past it wasn't that easy. ESPECIALLY when he hadn't gotten ANY sort of closure. It would've been easier if Grimmjow had broken up with him. Had told him everything straight out. Nnoitra would've preferred to hear him say: I DON'T LOVE YOU. Somehow, being left without a word was an even worse type of rejection.

It was unfair to say that he wasn't moving on at all, because - he was. He WAS looking ( though halfheartedly ) for a new partner. Be it a boyfriend or a girlfriend. Sure, he thought about Grimmjow from time to time, but not nearly as much as he had done a year ago. What was he supposed to do? Forget all about him? That wasn't happening. He'd known him since they were fifteen. How do you forget a person like that? He didn't even WANT to forget. He did want to move on though - or, to keep moving on. It was a process. It wasn't like stubbing your toe and "deciding to walk it off".

[sinnaminteru]

So you liked Danganronpa for 7 years? Thats a long actually. And liking Teruhina?

I want to know how you got into it.

Yup, I got fully into dr mostly dr2 when I like was fifteen to sixteen, when a friend brought the game up and how I would like a certain character in that game. Funny enough I knew about dr1 when I was thirteen to fourteen but didn’t get fully into it because it didn’t interest me at the time. But yeah that grimlin Teruteru is the reason, I still draw fanart of him and dr2 cast to this day, although I feel once I finished that bloody longfic of Teruteru/Hajime fanfic I’m taking a long break from it and focus on others thing like original projects.

How I get into Teruhina, well that interesting to be honest at first I ship them as a one sided attraction joke on Teruteru part but how I dived deeper into it was by a user named marisexmas they are not in fandom anymore but their Teruhina posts were really great they even made the fanfic of Teruhina they coin the ship practically. Other Teruhina shippers thoughout the years also helped my deep appreciation for the ship. It strange how I kinda became one of main artist for the ship, I wouldn’t be surprised if got a know for it but I don’t know because I probably not well known especially in the fandom so probably not ha ha.

Okay, the reason I ship it is because I love their dynamic as a couple there both people who hide who actually are to people Hajime comes off as sassy and level headed but deep down is very axinious about himself and his abilities. Teruteru is ashamed of his roots being from south japan on small island from the country side his accent his whole up-bringing, so he lies about himself and creates this greaser ladies man persona. He thinks will make him more likeable and get the attention of the ladies, but he still supports Hajime telling him he like Hajime for Hajime. Which is surprising given his need to cover his own real self behind a mask perhaps he see a kinship in Hajime or at least get Hajime in a way others can’t. (Although Chiaki and Komeada also kinda do it. It’s not fully the same thing or context :>)

(Also for love all things please don’t being that scene here, I know about it’s not great. But I heard so many times over the years so please no, honestly it pisses me off how one scene wreak a character so hard. Also I won’t let slap to the face/electric shock to my soul, stop me from enjoying it. Because I refuse outright to let a bad taste joke ruin a character and a ship for me.)

But yeah, it’s been my comfort ship for long time ha ha, like literally I still writing that long fic on them which chapter 5 is almost finished in of clean up finally because I finally decided to download use goggle docs to edited my work on. It not the same as using word but it will do.

[mad-hunts]

👄 + Scarecrow

there's a pause from barton, or THE DOLLMAKER, as he was currently dressed in all of the garb appropriate to his namesake upon being asked about the complicated case that was jonathan crane. a displeased hum left his lips then as if the act of just mentioning him was bothersome to him — and truthfully, gauging by what he said next, it might have very well been, ❝ ugh. you can't tell because i'm wearing my mask, but i'm rolling my eyes right now. if i tell you how i feel about him, then will you finally leave me alone? i'm busy, you know, ❞ barton's voice was very matter-of-fact as he spoke, though it was raised a degree, like he wanted to make sure whoever this was who was asking him this would hear him. he leaned forward towards them with his hands gripping the autopsy table in front of himself.

❝ i think he squandered his potential the moment he decided to pursue the very unreachable goal that is conquering his own fears, and so, i don't know whether i want to grimace at him every single time i see him or simply avoid him. because fear is something that is engrained in us, and without it, we'd all likely be dead. so by pursuing a way to find out how to remove this very necessary thing we have for survival... it makes him look like he's incredibly ignorant because it's something that doesn't need to be conquered, in my opinion, and so he isn't exactly using his 'smarts' effectively. which is why i consider him a waste of potential; he's just going to keep on running in circles for eternity trying to find a way to get rid of it. but what do i know, i'm not a psychologist like he is. ❞

there's an important distinction there as barton referred to him as a psychologist in the present tense rather than the past tense. barton's mask suddenly creased in the furrow between his brows as if he were getting annoyed, ❝ i also think he's an uppity asshole who acts like he's a lot more important than he actually is, but i have to say... and don't tell him i said this because the last thing i need is for him to think we're suddenly friends; i do somewhat respect him at the same time. he does seem like a really intelligent man, but like i said; if he'd just ditch the whole ' i have to conquer my own fear ' thing, he would so much better off. i suppose he has been kind of drifting away from that in recent times, though, but not nearly enough. he is also someone who likes experimenting on people and exploiting their fears because he likes to feel as if he's being taken seriously and like he's big, powerful. so it was out of insecurity that he started making his toxin at all. or, at least, that's how i see it. ❞

barton shrugged his shoulders slightly and turned around to have his back pressed against the table. whether this was on purpose or not was unclear, but he could've been doing it to hide his reaction to what he was going to talk about next, ❝ i think he himself still has some beef with me over the incident me and him had in arkham. which is fine, of course, i don't really care. but it has been a while since i took that needle and thread to his lips because he really does have the widest smile. and it makes me physically want to squirm whenever i see it because i just... want to fix it. it's too wide, you know. i suppose it's probably likely he remains hung up over it to this day because i didn't use anesthesia, ❞ barton flipped his whole body around then, a bit of a twisted snort leaving his lips. ❝ but where are you going to get that in arkham? they don't even let us see the dentist half the time, so you know. i had to improvise. but anyway, does that answer your question? ❞

[pathologicalreid]

hiii I love ur fics <3 I am OBSESSED with the prompt “can you come get me?” bc h/c makes me 💥💥💥 so I was thinking:

reader has been kidnapped by the latest unsub and the team is trying their hardest to find her but all the leads keep coming up empty until one day Spencer gets a call from her and the first thing she says is “can you come get me?” she sounds extremely upset and afraid so Spencer and Hotch leave to go find her. when they get there, she looks like she’s been through hell so they rush her to the hospital to be checked out, all the while they can’t seem to get any info out of her about what happened.

Spencer & reader could be platonic or romantic, whichever you like. (also I was thinking maybe hotchner!reader ? if that wouldn’t be too many things to ask for lol)

I love how you do angst and h/c, so keep up the good work and have a wonderful day <3

can you come get me? | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, hospitals, stitches, blood draws, catatonia, disassociation, brief mention of sa, ohio mentioned, general cm violence (let me know if i missed any) word count: 4.56k a/n: i have no idea how this got so long but i love the plot of it so much that i couldn't cut any of it! i'm such a slut for the "you came"/"you called" trope that i couldn't help myself! i wrote this with the idea that it would be in place of the m*eve storyline (which means our lord and savior blake is here)!! anyways anon i hope you enjoy this - i love you!

Any external sound was completely ignored as Spencer flipped through the same file for the eighteenth time that day. In his periphery, he saw JJ and Rossi nod at each other before Rossi split away, walking up the ramp to where Hotch’s office was.

It took him a moment to realize JJ had made herself comfortable by sitting on the edge of his desk. She had her jacket neatly folded in her arms as she eyed the file he had, grief filling her eyes as she registered what he was looking at. “What are you doing tonight?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as light as possible.

The question was entirely pointless, she knew exactly what he was doing tonight, but in an attempt to get her to leave him alone, Spencer humored her, “I’m working late tonight,” he answered simply.

JJ’s smile faltered ever so slightly before she shook her head, “You’ve been working late all week, what if you come over tonight? Will’s making dinner. Garcia’s coming after she finishes her system update,” the attempt to get him out of the office didn’t go over his head, but it wasn’t going to work. “Henry would love to see you – maybe you could teach him a new magic trick.”

Peeling his eyes off of the paperwork, he looked up at the blonde, “You know I can’t.” He felt so close to an answer, he couldn’t possibly leave.

“Look, Reid, I get it, but you’ve been working crazy hours for the past month. Maybe taking a night off would be good. You can start fresh in the morning,” she tried to coax him into leaving the case be.

It hadn’t been a full month; it had been twenty-seven days. Almost four full weeks since you were taken. It had been one week since Section Chief Cruz had told Hotch that the BAU needed to start taking new cases, as the trail to you had run cold.

Considering you were Hotch’s daughter, that discussion had gone rather poorly. Cruz had been able to give the team leeway. Both Spencer and Hotch had fully intended on taking advantage of that leeway, and the rest of the team helped when they had the capacity.

Turning back to your file, Spencer shook his head, “I’ll go if Hotch goes.” He knew there was no way Hotch would be leaving the office tonight, the only reason Hotch went home anymore was for Jack, and he was at a sleepover tonight.

JJ’s shoulders slumped in abject disappointment as her eyes followed Dave as he exited Hotch’s office, the slamming of the door enough to make the lingering BAU agents flinch. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, defeated.

Rossi wagged a finger at Spencer, “Go home at some point tonight, kid,” he instructed.

Waving a quick goodbye, Spencer resumed making notes in the margins of the papers that were making a permanent home on his desk. He looked up when Hotch exited his office, eyes following him as he brewed a pot of coffee in the kitchenette. The two of them acknowledged each other with a nod before continuing on with the hunt.

Both of them knew the odds, that you had been gone this long and there was a good chance that they’d never see you again. Despite that, Spencer would head up to Hotch’s office in about an hour, and the two of them would confer.

Eventually, the sun set, and a thunderstorm rolled in, the flashes of light coming in through the windows as he began to consider going for another cup of coffee.

Wiping a hand down his face, he inwardly groaned as his phone started to ring. Half expecting it to be JJ, he was surprised to find that it was an unknown caller. Clicking the answer button, he lifted the phone to his ear, “Hello, this is Dr. Reid.”

There was an eerie silence on the other end of the call, if he strained his ears, he could hear the pattering of rain. He tried to greet the other person again, but when there was no answer, he started to lower the phone to hang up.

“Can you come get me?” Your quiet voice came through the receiver, effectively knocking the wind out of Spencer’s lungs.

Fiddling with his belongings, Spencer gripped your file, “Where are you?” He asked urgently.

You sniffled, “I don’t know. A payphone off of twenty-eight.” If he strained his ears, he could listen to the rain. Spencer wondered if he could calculate how far away you were by the sound of the thunder where you were compared to where he was.

His chest ached at the exhaustion in your tone, imagining you had gotten approximately as much sleep as he had recently. That is to say, little to none. Pulling the phone slightly away from his face, he called out for Hotch, getting his attention and waving him over. “Y/N, can you see any mile markers or exit signs anywhere?” Spencer asked, bringing the phone back up to his ear.

“I can’t see much of anything,” you admitted. That made sense, your glasses had been recovered at your abduction scene. Spencer kept them in his bag with the rest of your belongings that had been released from evidence. “I feel lucky enough that I was able to find a pay phone,” you said, and for the first time, he noticed that you were whispering.

Glancing at the inside of his wrist, Spencer checked the time. JJ had mentioned something about Garcia staying in her office for a system update – what were the odds the tech analyst was still there? Stalking out of the bullpen, he made his way to her office, Hotch hot on his heels.

After knocking on the door, her voice rang out, “Enter, mere mortal.” Once she had recognized who it was, she greeted Spencer directly, “Ah, Dr. Reid, did you need a ride to JJ’s?”

“Can you locate a payphone based on the phone number?” He asked hurriedly, the longer you stood out there in the rain, the more danger you might be in.

A confused look was plastered on her face, but she turned back to her screens and started click-clacking away. “Most def, boy genius. Run me the digits,” she responded, pulling up some sort of database that Spencer didn’t recognize – probably for the best.

She typed the phone number just as quickly as he recited it, turning around and telling him that the pay phone in question was approximately thirty minutes away. You had only been thirty minutes away this entire time. “Send the coordinates to Hotch’s phone,” Spencer instructed, stepping toward the door. “Tell the rest of the team to come in,” he continued, “it’s Y/N.”

Each stage of grief flashed across Penelope’s face as she nodded assuredly, scrambling for her phone as she took care of notifications.

Impatiently, Hotch held the elevator door open as Spencer entered, keeping the phone up to his ear, “Stay on the phone,” he told you.

A desperate whimper came from your end of the call, “I don’t have any change. I found a few quarters on the ground, but I don’t have anything on me.”

“Stay on as long as you can, angel,” Spencer amended. “We’re on our way.”

The rain was worse than he had initially thought, but Mother Nature was no match for Aaron Hotchner. They were only about five minutes from the coordinates that Garcia had shared, and the phone call had dropped off before they were even on the main highway. The dropped call certainly didn’t help the rising tension in the SUV.

“Did she sound scared?” Hotch had asked for the nth time.

Not taking his eyes off of the map, Spencer nodded, “She sounded like she was stranded in the middle of the woods in Virginia, in a thunderstorm, and was using a pay phone as a lifeline.” His entire body was thrumming with nervous energy as they sped down the road, “but she’s alive.”

He didn’t miss the way Hotch’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. You being alive would have to be enough of a comfort to the both of them for now, but Spencer knew what your life meant to your father.

“There it is,” Spencer said, interrupting his thoughts with the recognition of a phone booth on the side of the road, in front of a seemingly abandoned gas station. In a moment of uncharacteristic recklessness, Spencer clambered out of the vehicle before it came to a full stop, an umbrella and jacket in tow.

Hesitantly, he approached the crumpled heap of limbs underneath the pay phone. It wasn’t a full booth, it had just enough coverage to prevent the payphone from short-circuiting. You had jammed yourself underneath it, trying to keep yourself as dry as possible.

Kneeling in front of you, he swept his sopping-wet hair from his face, “Y/N.” His voice was no more than a breath, he didn’t dare reach out to touch you — lest you not want to be touched. A strike of lightning lit your surroundings enough for him to note the bruise that had bloomed on your cheek.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched as your lips parted in recognition, “You came,” you whispered.

He nodded, “You called.” His heart soared as you shuffled yourself closer to him, allowing him to wrap the FBI-issued jacket around your rain-soaked frame. “Let’s get you out of this rain, alright?”

Standing up on shaky legs, Spencer helped you walk to the SUV where your dad was waiting, shining a flashlight to help guide you to the vehicle. Based on how heavily you were leaning on him, he could tell that your left leg was injured. Despite your injury, you stepped away from Spencer to hug your father.

For a moment, Spencer felt like he was intruding on a family moment, but he recalled all of the times he had been invited to join in Hotchner festivities these last few years and allowed his eyes to meet Hotch’s.

The two of them shared an understanding look as Hotch pulled away, “We should get you to a hospital,” he said, cupping your face with parental gentleness.

Spencer helped you into the SUV, unable to put any pressure on your leg, you depended on the handles to pull yourself up. As you maneuvered yourself, he tried to determine what your injuries were. His eyes scanned your body until he made his way back to your face, “Angel, keep your eyes open.” He felt as if he was asking a lot of you, but he didn’t know if you had taken a hit to the head. Falling asleep could do more damage. “Hey, Y/N?” He said, watching as your eyes fell shut and your head slumped forward. “Hotch,” Reid said urgently from the backseat.

Understanding perfectly, Hotch hit the lights on the SUV and turned on the siren. Flashes of red and blue signaled to other drivers that there was an emergency.

You were silent.

As soon as they had gotten you to the emergency room, your entire demeanor had changed. Spencer guessed that you had been in fight or flight when they had picked you up from the phone booth, and now that you were getting the help that you needed, all of the fight had vacated your being.

In the white fluorescence of the hospital, he could see how drained you looked. Once the doctors got their hands on you, you refused to let him or your dad near you.

Hotch was in the hallway, talking on the phone with your Aunt Jessica while he tried to arrange childcare for Jack so he could stay with you - the leader of your care team estimated you’d be in the hospital for at least a few days.

While you had been mobile when they came to get you, your energy had left along with your adrenaline, and eventually, the best course of action was to just let you sleep. That was how Spencer ended up sitting cross-legged in a stiff hospital chair, watching over you as you slept.

Respectful of your wishes, he kept a fair distance from you, but you’d be hard-pressed to convince him to let you out of his sight. There were tubes and wires going every which way from your body, oxygen, an IV, and electrodes monitored your life. Boiling you down to a collection of numbers that showed Spencer just how alive you were.

The doctors suspected you had bacterial pneumonia, but they were still waiting on the results of your chest X-ray to make a formal diagnosis. Your presumed leg injury had turned out to be a bruised hip bone – part of a sickening pattern that reflected that of someone who had been thrown down a flight of stairs.

A knock on the window to your hospital room caught his attention, causing him to turn his head and come face to face with Rossi and Blake. Opening the blinds so that he’d be able to keep an eye on you from the hallway, Spencer stood up and joined his colleagues in the corridor.

“What’s the report?” Rossi asked, nodding in the direction of your room, and placing his hands on his hips.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck before responding, “The doctor said that all things considered, she’s in good shape, but…” Shaking his head to wake himself up, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “She’s sick and was beaten. Right now, she’s sleeping. We have no idea she was running in the woods, so it’s not surprising that she’s exhausted.”

He continued on to list other maladies that the doctors had provided, dehydration, malnutrition, one cut on your arm that needed to be stitched, and that was just scratching the surface. Dave nodded understandingly, “but the sooner we get to ask her questions, the better.”

Shrugging, Spencer looked over at your father, and then back to you, “When she wakes up on her own,” he murmured, watching as a nurse checked on your IV. He didn’t want to risk waking you up or asking too much too soon of you. “Can I ask you a quick question?” He lifted a finger inquisitively to the nurse who was walking out of your room, scribbling something on your chart.

The nurse hummed in response, raising her eyebrows as she waited for him to ask.

“Do you think the infection has anything to do with her silence? She might be hurting so she isn’t talking?” He asked, it wasn’t unheard of, when people were in a lot of pain, sometimes they coped with silence.

While the nurse might have an excellent bedside manner, the three profilers took note of the concern in her eyes. “The silence might have more to do with her psychological well-being than her physical well-being,” she responded, it was a healthcare way of trying to appease them. Really, they didn’t know much better than the members of the BAU did.

Blake’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity, “Could it be catatonia?”

“In order to diagnose catatonia, she’d need to display three of twelve symptoms. Those are stupor, catalepsy, waxy flexibility, mutism, negativism, posturing, mannerism, stereotypy, agitation, grimacing, echolalia, and echopraxia. So far, she really only meets one of twelve,” Spencer answered.

Shrugging, the nurse pointed at Spencer with her pen, “What he said.” She looked down at the chart before continuing, “Her care team leader called for a psych consult, but we won’t really know one way or the other until she wakes up.”

Nodding, Rossi nodded in acknowledgment, “What else could it be?”

Pursing her lips, the nurse tilted her head to the side, “Peritraumatic disassociation is another possibility, but again, we won’t know until she wakes up.”

The waiting game began. As luck would have it, an FBI agent being abducted created a lot of paperwork, so Hotch was holed up in a conference room while Rossi and Blake worked on the profile. JJ and Morgan stayed back at Quantico with Garcia to look back at what information Hotch and Spencer had been gathering over the past twenty-seven – now twenty-eight – days.

Spencer stayed with you, tucking your blanket around you when he watched goosebumps sprout along your arms. He paid close attention to everything that the doctors and nurses said about your condition, relaying everything to Hotch via text message. They ran a kit on you, and the only solace was that there was a chance that they could DNA match whoever did this to you.

He left that last part out of his message to your father.

As soon as you started waking up, Spencer had to leave the room, watching from the hallway as medical personnel flurried around your bed. At first, he had assumed your aversion to himself and your dad was an overall aversion to men, but you didn’t flinch when it came to the male doctor who was checking your vitals manually.

A nurse peeked out from the door, “Are you Dave?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Spencer cocked his head back in confusion, “No? I’m not – why?” He asked, gaze flickering back into your room as you scrawled something on the piece of paper that a nurse had handed you.

“She said she’d talk to Dave,” the inquiring nurse shrugged, turning back into your room, and adjusting your pillow beneath your head.

Still confused, Spencer slipped his phone out of his pocket, nimbly typing a message to Rossi before returning the phone to its home in his slacks. Trying to respect your peace, Spencer remained in the hallway, leaning back against the wall as he heard the familiar sound of Italian leather boots turning the corner. “Are you sure she didn’t mean Aaron?”

Spencer shook his head, mirroring the older man’s confusion, “She physically wrote your name out. She’ll only speak to you,” he answered, trying to hide his own pain for the sake of ridding you of yours. If you wouldn’t talk to your father or himself, it made the most sense that you’d talk to Rossi. You’ve known him the entire time your father worked in the BAU.

Shrugging, Rossi walked into your room and approached you with the care of a man approaching a deer. He remained this way until he made it to your bed, and Spencer watched as he smoothed your hair away from your face affectionately.

You leaned into his touch, and Spencer didn’t miss the cue. When was the last time anyone had touched you with love in their heart?

He had kissed you goodbye before you went on your run, just thirty minutes before your location turned off and your usual Thursday route turned into a hunting ground. With what you did for work, you switched paths frequently, but someone had been watching you, or at least, that was the conclusion the team had drawn.

Watching as Rossi spoke with you, Spencer noticed one anomaly – you weren’t speaking to him. Instead, all of his questions were answered with blinks or scribbling on paper.

The two of you went until a nurse came in, telling the both of you that they needed to run a few more tests. Taking his leave, Rossi told you something that Reid couldn’t quite make out and rejoined him in the hallway.

“What did you say to her? Just now?” Spencer asked, his need for any sort of contact with you becoming so desperate that he’d now accept it secondhand.

Frowning, Rossi placed both of his hands on his hips, “I called her piccolina, I used to call her that all the time when she was just a little thing running around the old BAU bunker.” Taking a moment, Rossi pulled out his little notebook and read through it. “White male, late twenties to early thirties, sometimes gone for days on end citing ‘work,’ but she never figured out what he did for work.”

Spencer’s eyes burned at the realization that you had been working your own case while being victimized, he peered in through the window as a nurse drew your blood.

“She said he drove a dark American sedan, making it either blue or black,” Rossi continued to list off, eyes following Blake as she approached the two of you. “Y/N said the car was filthy like he had been living out of it when he couldn’t get to her in the woods. The car had an Ohio party plate on it with expired tags.”

Blake arched a brow at the new information, “Party plate?” She said quizzically, looking at Spencer for clarification.

Nodding, Spencer looked over at his friend, “That’s the colloquial name for restricted license places. They’re given to people who are convicted of DUIs, which is actually called an OVI in Ohio. In Ohio, they’re yellow with red print, and the only state to have something similar is Minnesota where they call them whiskey plates because they all start with the letter W.”

“Well, he’s confident. Maybe too confident, driving around with expired tags and a license plate that already puts a spotlight on him,” Blake said thoughtfully, adding to the profile in her mind. “We should get this information to Garcia, maybe look for people who recently relocated from Ohio with those plates,” she suggested to Rossi.

Rossi nodded, skillfully flipping the cover back over his notepad and gesturing for Blake to follow him to the conference room, effectively leading Spencer to his own devices. When the nurse left to bring the vials of blood to the lab, he returned to your room, taking his seat on the edge of the room – as far away as he could get while keeping his eyes on you.

He looked up to your bed, catching you staring at him. As soon as you knew you had been caught, you turned your head to the other side, averting your gaze toward the window.

Every thirty minutes or so, Spencer moved the chair approximately five inches closer to you, by four in the morning, he had closed half of the space between you. He kept his eyes on you, watching as you stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. You had that crease between your eyebrows that told him you were thinking too hard, and he had to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching out and touching it as if he could soothe all of your bad thoughts.

In the doorway, Rossi had appeared, garnering your attention as you propped yourself up on the flat hospital pillows. “We got him,” Rossi announced to the room, a reserved smile on his face.

Spencer watched as you visibly relaxed on the bed, your face softened as your eyebrows relaxed. Rossi explained some next steps, but he was only half listening, he could only focus on you.

Once Dave was gone, Spencer took a leap of faith and shuffled the chair to your bedside, “How are you feeling, angel?” He asked, taking up a muted tone.

You stared at him, blinking at him until, eventually, your face crumpled, and you leaned toward him.

Not missing a beat, Spencer stood up from his chair so that he could sit on the edge of your bed, meeting you in the middle, he gently wrapped his arms around you, rubbing small, soothing circles along your back with the flat of his hand.

In the past twenty-eight days, Spencer thought that being reunited with you could fix all of the hurt in his chest, but this, right here, was a different kind of pain. Tears sept through the fabric of his shirt just as soon as they fell from your eyes, and all of the hurt that he had felt before just morphed into a different kind of suffering.

His heart ached at the sight of you in this much pain, so much emotional turmoil that you had silenced yourself. What was he supposed to say in order to comfort you? ‘You’re okay,’ was wholly false, and ‘it’s alright’ felt like a cruel joke. You very clearly weren’t okay, and none of this was alright.

“I’m here,” he reassured you, his voice no more than a croak as he tried to swallow his own emotions. “I’m right here,” he repeated, continuing his ministrations on your back until you had cried yourself to sleep.

With your body in its weakened state, Spencer carefully adjusted you onto the bed, making sure none of your tubes or wires were kinked before settling back down in his chair and taking your hand in his.

Around the time the sun came up, your care team came through for morning rounds and woke you up to thoroughly inspect your status. Once they left you to your own devices – with the promise of food in half an hour – Spencer focused all of his attention on trying to coax you into speaking to him.

Tenderly, he dragged a finger across your forehead before continuing down the bridge of your nose, “I’d really like to hear your voice, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, maintaining a subdued tone in the early hours of the morning.

He watched as you sighed, deflating all of the air in your lungs as you tipped your head to the side, interrupting his movements. “I asked him to do it,” you murmured, voice raspy from lack of use.

“To do what?” Spencer asked, heart beating a little faster at the sound of your voice. He watched how you nervously gripped a fistful of sheets and looked at him. Only you weren’t looking at him, it was more like you were looking through him.

You took a deep, shuddering breath before you answered, “To kill me.”

The confession weighed heavy on his shoulders, but it wasn’t regarding anything against you. It was in the realization that you had been in so much physical and emotional turmoil while in captivity that you had asked for your own death. That even for a moment, you sat in front of a killer and asked for him to end your life as an act of mercy.

Noting Spencer’s lack of response, you continued speaking, “That’s why he let me go. I begged him to just end it and that took away any appeal for him.”

Last night. You had pleaded on behalf of your own demise last night. Carefully considering his next words, Spencer met your eyes and replied, “That must’ve taken a lot of courage.”

You faltered for a moment, evidently not having expected those words from him, “What are you talking about?”

It made sense to him now, why you wouldn’t talk to him or your dad. He felt like such a fool. You had been ashamed because you felt like your abductor had diminished your worth by breaking you down. Spencer knew better, “You stood your ground. You faced your own death, and you chose that over further suffering. Dying isn’t an undignified act, no matter how it comes upon you,” he reminded you, smoothing your hair away from your face as he watched your lip quiver.

“Thank you for staying,” you croaked as emotion closed your throat.

Spencer hummed thoughtfully, swiping a rogue tear from your cheek, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Ah I see well if that's the case ♦️ I would like to request Sub Albedo "experimenting" on Dom male reader. Which is a excuse to have rough sex.

Author's Note: The concept I went with is; Albedo is testing out a new potion that causes Reader to get suuuuper horny, so Reader indulges his urges and this leads to very rough, primal fucking (something that Albedo 100% planned on/wished for). I hope that works for you, anon! :3

Pairings: Albedo x male reader

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Albedo, rough sex, handjob, blowjob, dirty talk, dry humping, reader gains an inhuman amount of stamina temporarily

“How is it?”

You attempt to stifle an incoming burp before replying, “Not… great. Not the worst taste either.”

Albedo smiles faintly, penning something down before he turns towards the table behind him. He reaches for a glass jar filled with small, crystalline objects and pulls one out.

“Here,” he says, placing the object in your palm. “this should help with the taste without disturbing the potion.” You smile and thank him, popping the small—what you now realize is candy—into your mouth. Its sweetness coats your tongue, erasing the weird bitterness of Albedo's concoction. It's rather nice, actually.

Minutes pass by. Your partner asks you a few more questions and notes down your answers, then turns back to tinker with some other glass beaker (filled with another strangely coloured liquid), leaving you to remain seated on an adjacent table as the potion he had you test sets in.

At first, you didn't feel any different — no sudden change in body temperature, not a single gurgle from your stomach, nor any hallucinations to be found. Although… the newfound tightness of your pants was undeniable…

“Mmrgh…” a groan escapes you, but you don't think Albedo notices. He's too focused on maintaining the temperature of that other potion.

The throbbing between your legs is in sync with your heartbeat; growing louder by the second and speeding up as your thighs tense and twitch all on their own.

“H-hey… 'Bedo?”

“Hm?” He doesn't turn around yet.

“Is that… supposed to make me feel warm? Like, real warm?” you ask, chest heaving greatly.

Albedo holds a beaker up and swirls the liquid inside around as he replies, “It is a possibility. Is your body temperature increasing?”

You pant. Dragonspine definitely shouldn't feel so hot… not even in the comfort of your partner's cave-lab, tucked away from the icy wind that plagues the rest of the mountain. “I… maybe? It's hard to tell by myself.”

Finally, he turns around to face you. His face is as unreadable as always as he walks over and begins to inspect you; placing the back of his gloved hand to your forehead. Albedo pivots back around to retrieve his clipboard and pen, writing something down again.

By now, you're humping the air, desperate to feel a little friction against your dick as it strains against your pants. Either Albedo is oblivious, or he's ignoring it, because he keeps asking questions even while you're grinding against your own pants…

But that's not enough… “Hey, c-can I… see your hand a sec?” your voice is hushed, but the alchemist hears your request and holds out his hand for you anyways.

He gasps, unmoving as he lets you put his hand in between your legs; you're grinding even harder, the tent in your pants pressing hard against his palm, and your precum leaks through the fabric easily. You moan and lean your head back as a small wave of relief eases the searing ache that racked your body before. Now you simply used Albedo's hand as an object to hump, like a pathetic mutt in heat. And, thankfully, he didn't stop you. Albedo allowed you to become this crude display, even tossing the clipboard aside so both hands could cup your erection and stroke it (which you were undoubtedly grateful for!)

“Fascinating…” he mutters, just as you feel a chill on your dick as Albedo pulls it out, his hands wrapping around your length fully. It takes both of his hands to fully work your cock; they glide up and down expertly, spreading every dribble of precum. The rough texture of his gloves adds to the pleasure—not rough enough to be unpleasant or painful, but just enough to spice up an already amazing handjob. Albedo's skills have improved so much ever since you started dating.

The cold table knocks against the stone ground underneath as you shamelessly thrust up into your partner's fists. The surface chips with every clench of your fists, your nails dig in harshly and create marks as the tips of Albedo's fingers graze against your cock head. He knows how to play with your body in such a way that would make you bend to his will; relentless teasing and touching so, so close to where you need him to. But he doesn't. He leaves you wanting more, even as he gives you so much already.

Your breath hitches when he rubs the head once more, and you wheeze out “Fuck–!! Fuck… baby… please…!! You're gonna use more than just yer hands, right?”

Albedo meets your gaze, and you can barely make out the flicker of excitement in his eyes. His movement halts as he tilts his head, asking “Did you have something particular in mind?”

Before the alchemist can say more, he finds himself pushed between your legs, face smushed against your glistening, throbbing cock. The smell alone makes him dizzy. Just being in this position, in such close proximity to your dick, has Albedo growing hard himself, eyes half-lidded and tongue licking the underside of your cock almost mindlessly.

“Suck it.” you half plead, half command. He planned to anyway, but it's not like he has much of a choice with your heavy hand pushing his head down, forcing him to swallow half of your cock right away. He coughs, squeezing your thighs in a slight panic before adjusting to the steady thrusting of your hips. You keep both hands firmly on Albedo's head now, holding it in place as you fuck his warm mouth.

“Mmph! Mhm, suck that cock, babe- yeah–!!” A shaky breath surprises you, brought on by the alchemist playing with your balls while you use him.

It doesn't take much more for you to fill his mouth — a thick load of cum, which Albedo swallows easily. Whatever didn't go down dribbles down his chin, hanging there as he catches his breath.

Though you just came seconds ago, you notice that your dick is still standing upright, hard as it was and coated in the aftermath of that sudden blowjob. Whatever Albedo used in that potion must be messing with your hormones, because that primal desire to fuck—to bury your cock in a tight hole and breed them stupid—was still gnawing at your conscience.

Before he could register your movement, the chalk prince found himself bent over the table you were just sitting on; pinned by a hand on the small of his back, and teased as you push your stiff cock in between his cheeks, grinding fervently.

But it's not enough… he's wearing far too much clothing right now–

Albedo yelps, startled when he feels the fabric covering his ass tear. A large hole left him wide open, and you don't hesitate in slamming your dick inside of him. To your surprise, your dirty boyfriend must have prepped himself, because his hole was already slick and slightly loose when you entered.

“Oooohh shit~ Oh my god– haha, were you hoping for this, Albedo?” you growled, smacking his ass. “You dirty bitch, you just wanted- fuck! …you just wanted me to pound you, right?” Albedo bit his lower lip, peering at you over his shoulder with a look that confirmed your suspicion.

Well if that's what he wants, then you'll happily give him a real pounding; fit for a prince 💛

You grip his shoulders and speed up, hitting his sweet spot. His walls squeeze your dick, milking another load out of you. …Except, this time, you don't stop. Despite your orgasm, you don't feel the need to recover; instead, you keep that bruising pace while Albedo cries out, swearing and gasping.

The table bangs absurdly loud with every thrust, scooting across the mountain floor until it's up against the wall. The alchemist screams in ecstasy, repeating “yesyesyesyesyesyes–!! ”. You're hammering your semen deeper inside, listening to the squishy sounds of your boyfriend's hole, watching your length disappear as he takes all of it.

“Gonna cum again! Take it, baby- take all of it—!!” with a grunt, you finish inside of him again. Albedo's body lifts up as you push inside as deep as physically possible, his feet dangling off the ground as his eyes roll back, and a silent moan falls from his open mouth.

You both remain there, shaking—trembling—until your muscles give out and you collapse on top of him. Neither one has the strength to move for a while.

Albedo hums when he feels you nuzzle against him with your cheek. Your hands remain on him in some manner; trailing up and down his sides, reaching up to tangle with his hands, or thumbing at his lip softly. He whines, a familiar throbbing sensation buried in his guts signaling that the effects of that potion haven't quite worn off yet……

[moonstruckme]

since it's currently flooding where i live, i'm gonna request firefighter!marauders or emt!marauders (whatever works) saving reader who is trapped in her house with the flood being past the chest or something

andddddd reader has asthma, if ur okay with that? (i have terrible asthma and it's so so annoying honestly)

anyway, thank you for writing all of these fics of yours! they are all so amazing!!!

(also, can i be 🌼 anon?)

Hi lovely, thanks for letting me do just James for this! And ofc you can be that anon <3

cw: water rescue, asthma attack, I did do research but I feel like this can’t be accurate so sorry about that

firefighter!James x fem!reader ♡ 589 words

You wait until you hear the boat motors getting close again before you start to crawl out the window. 

“There!” you hear someone shout, and you nearly collapse with the relief of not having to use your air to call out. The boat rumbles closer, and then a fireman with sweetheart eyes and a mop of curly hair crushing out from beneath his helmet is reaching for you with both hands. 

“Hi, there,” he says, grabbing you around the waist and lifting you the rest of the way out. You brace yourself by putting your hands on his shoulders (his very impressive shoulders, you can’t help but notice, which make you remember how your own clothes are stuck damply to your skin from the chest down). Your lungs burn beneath his hands, no better or worse for his touch. “Is it just you in there?” 

“Yeah,” you wheeze. Another firefighter settles one of those aluminum blankets you’re always seeing on TV around your shoulders. “Just me.” 

“Alright,” he says, dark eyes growing troubled as he processes your onerous breaths. “Are you okay?” 

The pain in your chest worsens as you forcibly expel another breath, dragging in a hasty inhale. “My inhaler got ruined.” 

The man’s expression clears just before his brow creases. “You’re having an asthma attack?”

You nod urgently. 

“Alright, okay. Come here, let’s sit down.” 

He pulls you to the back of the boat, guiding you down onto the rubbery floor while someone else passes him a medical bag. Your knees fold towards your chest automatically, some useless instinct to protect the part of you that’s hurting. It does nothing. 

“Have you had asthma attacks before?” he asks you, digging through the bag. Someone starts driving the boat forward. You start to relax when you see him pull out a mask attached to an air compressor, your salvation.

“Yes.” 

“Compared to the other attacks you’ve had before, how badly would you rate this one on a scale of one to ten?” 

“Six.” You answer without hesitating, familiar with this line of questioning. 

“Alright, lovely.” He finishes affixing the hose to the nebulizer, setting the mask to your face and turning on the air compressor. “Just breathe in for me.” 

You do. The relief isn’t instant, but it may as well be. You feel heaps better just knowing the medicine is working. 

You must look visibly calmer, because the man across from you smiles. It looks at home on his face, and the little crinkles which appear at the corners of his eyes suggest he does it often. 

“There we go,” he encourages. You hope your expression conveys the appropriate gratitude as you take the mask from him, holding it to your own face. “I’m James. You were trapped in there for a while, huh?” 

You nod, and he laughs at your weary look. 

“I’m sorry.” James gives your shoulder a friendly squeeze. His face is remarkably cheery for someone who’s been tasked with boating around and rescuing people all day; then again, as a rescuee, you can see the value of a bright spot in the murk left behind by the floor. As soon as you get this mask off, you think you owe him about a million thanks. “I’m sure it’s been really difficult, but we’ve got food here you can have in a bit, and that thermal blanket should help warm you up quickly enough. Just keep breathing into that thing for another few minutes, love, and then we’ll get you all fixed up.”

[kirain]

Why would you pick Gale over Astarion? Man's a walking 🚩

Okay. 😒

This is the third anonymous message I've received regarding my Gale romance, and I genuinely don't get it. This isn't even a Gale-oriented blog, plus I've already answered it. I like him better. That's all there is to it. I've seen other users get hit with this question, too; as if Astarion's the only "right" choice, and it's never even warranted. I haven't said a bad word about Astarion or anyone who romances him, but the irony of you calling Gale a red flag, then shaming me for not choosing Astarion is mind-blowing. If Gale's a red flag, Astarion's an entire bunting.

Since you've pushed me, I would rather romance any of these NPCs before canonically choosing the vampire:

Hope that answers your question, anon. 👌

I was trying not to let it happen, but this fandom has effectively ruined any appreciation I might've had for the character. At this point, I'm just sick of hearing about him, especially in comparison to Gale. Everything isn't about Astarion, anon. Believe it or not, there are other really great characters, but fans like you just can't get through the day without propping him up above all others.

A few hours ago, as I was considering how to respond to this message, I bumped into this drama on a post about Shadowheart. Long story short, the uploader made a positive video where their Tav hugs Shadowheart during her personal quest, then someone came in to talk about how Astarion is "so much better" and expressed their desire to hug him during his personal quest.

Enough is enough. Seriously. I could go on and on about why Gale is actually a green flag, but I feel like I've done that extensively on this blog. And people like you will probably just disregard it anyway, because you don't like him. At the end of that day, that's really your motivation behind this, isn't it? You don't like Gale and you feel invalidated by people who do. I'm sorry, but that's a you problem. Don't go after people just because they prefer a different character. It's ridiculous.

And you know what the saddest part of this is? Astarion was next on my list to be romanced. I made a cute half-elf Durge character just for him. I wanted to do a redeemed run, since I've heard it's really rewarding ... but now I kind of don't care. Thanks for that, anon.

[tender-rosiey]

hi hii (　；∀；) since its geto suguru's birthday today (03 february), could i pretty please with a cherry ontop kindly request something about it? can be suggestive or fluffy!!! bonus points if satoru's teasing him all the way through because we love an annoying bestfriend

in bloom — geto suguru x gn!reader

a/n: what’s with me writing hurt/comfort for characters’ bdays—forgive me anon, but I have decided to make him suffer a little first 🙏 and hey I am late again but what’s new 🧍‍♀️

suguru wouldn’t exactly call himself someone who views the world in a poetic way.

he doesn’t concern himself with the meaning of the sun’s particular position behind the clouds today or the darkness of the sky that seems to mesh with the rays of the sunset.

it all seems a little too complicated for his liking.

nature is to be loved, of course, he thinks, but he just isn’t the type to go into details about it.

he just lets out a small hum of appreciation and a thankful sigh about yet another day accompanied with a good weather and a sun that doesn’t burn his skin but warms it just right.

that’s enough he thinks.

but right now? he sure hoped that nature was the topic that occupied his mind instead of the incessant sound of clapping.

it plays on a loop, and when he thinks that it stopped—even for a second—he starts hearing it in the rhythm of anything around him.

he wants to rid himself of all this misery and being sentenced to relive this event in every time of the day. he desperately wants to forget it all, but he halts.

wouldn’t forgetting it disrespect those who have passed? disrespect the tears and blood spilled? disrespect the pain that his best friend had to go through alongside him?

wouldn’t mean that he is treating the friends who died along the way as a burden that he needs to dispose of? but if forgetting is disrespectful then the remembrance is devastative.

what does he do? does he act on it? does he forget it or not? or does he tried to find a solution, a way to rid everyone of this burden—but then he halts yet again. it feels too much. it is too much.

so he does what he thinks is best and he pushes it aside, neither forgetting or remembering it endlessly—as much as he can.

a bit of time passes, summer bursts through the door, and he has never hated it so much.

the sun is scathing to his skin, and the sweat makes him feel disgusting like those in the star plasma group. but the shower is a place that he fear? hates? despises? loathes?

the shower head never failed to let out drops in a rhythm that wickedly mirrored that of the claps of the people in that cult.

he notices the worried glances of his friends—those he sees anyway—and he appreciates those who ask about him when they get the chance to—satoru. still, he feels suffocated, and he keeps wondering just what will set him free from all of this.

in what form will salvation come in?

it came discreetly, that’s what he knows, but he doesn’t know when.

he doesn’t know when he started to seek the sun’s heat more, the darkness’ quietness, or the fields behind his school, especially the fields behind the school. flowers are nice, but what role do they play?

they simply just exist. they do nothing effective to help him with solving his inner turmoil, so why does he sit in the field, gently playing with the petals of an iris?

it’s a lot of questions. he knows. he is also searching for answers.

and salvation? he doesn’t expect it to come in the form of you.

he doesn’t know when you made your way into his heart, and he knows that he started looking forward to your “good morning, geto!” to transform into a “good morning, suguru?”

maybe because he cared about you, but why does he do that? then he remembers some stuff. they’re minor, but they are what he remembers at the moment, and he thinks they’re enough.

he remembers the worried glances of his friends—you—and he appreciates those who ask about him when they get the chance to—you then satoru.

he starts to remember how you followed him and never left him to his thoughts, always considerate of his feelings and asking him to convey what he truly wanted.

like that one time you going to buy meals for everyone. after you asked everyone their preferences, you went to him—leaving him for last and at the time, he remembers feeling a little offended because why?

you asked the same question that you asked to everyone, “what would you like to eat?”

and he replied with his constant at that time, “i am not that hungry, but satoru probably wants something sweet so you can get him kikufuku.”

“I already asked gojo what he wants. what do you want to eat?”

he stills for a moment, and he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. you roll your eyes with a smile, ignoring his malfunctioning, and ask him something else, “what’s your favorite food?”

he blinks before murmuring softly, “zaru soba.”

“see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” you smile and ruffle his before running away yelling, “the best zaru soba is on the way!”

in that moment, he couldn’t help softening his expression and the small smile that appeared.

another thing that he had assumed is that this journey through these thoughts would be a solo one.

last thing he expected was you dragging him out to the roof  of the school before asking him right away, “what’s on your mind?”

he resists. it’s not your burden to shoulder, and, frankly, it’s none of your business, so why should he tell you?

so he doesn’t and replies lightly, “nothing.”

for some reason, when your expression becomes ridden with sympathy and sadness and your hands gently hold his own, he feels something.

your thumb rubs his hand soothingly as you murmur, “it’s okay; you don’t have to say anything just—“ you take a deep breath “—just know that I am here for you, and I am trying to understand—“

“why?”

your eyes travel to his face, and he is barely keeping it together.

“why did she have to go through that? why were they delighted in her deaths?”

you listened to all his questions and thought of answers together. words never stopped flowing from him, and you never stopped indulging him. he remembers that first ray of sun that hit his eyes.

he had been spilling his emotions till sunrise, and you stayed. you weren’t talking to him like he is crazy either. you discussed it through and through.

you stayed, and you were trying to understand.

then he figures out that you frequent the fields behind the school. you tell him that you go there because sometimes you just need a break from everything that surrounds jujutsu and the school itself.

he finds himself agreeing that, yes, sometimes we need a break.

at some point,  he finds himself going there with you. the two of you talked about anything, not just the thoughts that plagued his mind (plagued?). 

satoru bugs him about where he goes after school, but he tells him nothing. he feels that letting the secret of the fields being known by anyone other than you two makes it lose something to him.

gradually, he starts going there before you. while he waits, he finds himself thinking about how the sky is brighter nowadays. maybe it’s the seasons or some kind science stuff that satoru is into.

he laughs off the thought then he begins to see your figure approaching the field, slowly but surely.

he takes in your shocked face then the smile that creeps up your face. suddenly, the sun shone brighter, but a small breeze kept him cool.

that’s when he realized that spring has entered, and the daffodils are finally in bloom.

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: FLASHBACK TIME !!!!!

prev

authors note: guys ive lowkey been picturing things as i would direct them in a film or music video so 😭 if my writing angle feels off then thats why. but i hoped u enjoyed anyway !! if u still arent on the tag list, feel free to let me know thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <33

you stepped out of the sleek black car, your heels clicking against the pavement as you’re greeted by a wall of flashing lights and the low hum of the press. the red carpet at the love, simon premiere was buzzing with excitement, packed with celebrities and industry professionals.

this wasn’t your first time walking a carpet, but it was different tonight—there was something in the air, an energy you couldn’t quite place, but it felt like just another event to get through.

you paused in front of the photographers, striking a few effortless poses. to everyone else, you looked like you were in your element—smiling, waving, and giving the cameras exactly what they wanted.

but inside, you were already thinking about when you could leave. you were there because the director was an old colleague from your recent work on tempest, your breakout role. it was your agent’s idea to make an appearance, to be seen and keep your name in the buzz, but you hadn’t really planned to stay long. just the premiere, maybe the afterparty, and then home.

as you moved down the carpet, a journalist caught your attention. “y/n, over here! a quick word?”

you nodded, stepping toward the microphone with a gracious smile. the flashing bulbs intensified as you answered questions about your latest projects, your outfit for the night, and how excited you were to see the film.

“you’ve been busy with tempest—how’s that going?” one interviewer asked.

you offered a polite smile. “it’s been great. we’re still filming season two, so it’s been pretty nonstop, but i’m thrilled to be here tonight to support this movie. i’ve heard such good things about love, simon.”

you kept your responses short but engaging, giving just enough without going too deep. after a few more quick exchanges, you excused yourself, nodding to your team as you made your way inside.

the grand theater lobby was filled with more celebrities and industry insiders, everyone dressed to the nines and mingling, but you were already scanning the room for a drink. maybe a glass of champagne woule make the night pass quicker.

your mind was preoccupied, already drifting toward the idea of heading inside early, when you felt yourself bump into someone. you glanced up, ready to offer a quick apology, but the words froze in your throat the second your eyes locked with his.

he was tall—taller than you expected—with broad shoulders, and his hair was just slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it all night. he’s startled at first, like he wasn’t paying attention either, but the moment his gaze met yours, there’s a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. maybe recognition. maybe awe.

his lips parted slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but he didn’t. instead, he just stared, clearly a little stunned. for a second, you felt like the noise of the room faded into the background, like it was just the two of you standing there.

“sorry about that,” you said first, stepping aside to give him room, your voice casual despite the strange pull you felt from his gaze.

he blinked, shaking his head quickly. “no, no, it’s my fault. wasn’t paying attention.” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered, and then finally added, “i’m drew, by the way. starkey— drew starkey.”

there was something familiar about the name, but it didn’f immediately click. “nice to meet you, drew,” you replied with a small smile. you glanced past him, ready to move on, but he didn’t make it easy. he was still looking at you, like he was trying to memorize your face, like he’d just seen something—someone—he didn’t want to forget.

“you’re—” he began, but then cut himself off, a little embarrassed. “i mean, i know who you are.”

you raised an eyebrow, curious now. “oh yeah?”

he nodded quickly. “yeah, you’re amazing on tempest. my sisters are obsessed with the show, but i started watching it, too, and— yeah, you’re great.”

his words tumbled out fast and you couldn’t help but be a little charmed by how genuine he sounded. he wasn’t smooth like some of the other people you’d met that night—he wasn’t trying to impress you with industry talk or big names. he was just . . . honest.

“well, thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm a little. “that means a lot.”

there was a brief pause, and you could see him struggling for what to say next. the thing was, it wasn’t awkward—it was kind of endearing. finally, he let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “sorry, i didn’t mean to fangirl or anything.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “don’t worry, you’re fine.”

he was still standing there, not moving away, and for some reason, you didn’t feel like walking off either. maybe it was the way he was looking at you, like he couldn’t believe he was even talking to you. it’s a look you’d seen before, but it felt different coming from him. there’s no agenda behind it. just . . . admiration.

“so,” you started, trying to keep the conversation going, “what brings you to the premiere?”

he blinked, like he’d forgotten why he was even there. “oh, uh, i’m actually in the movie.”

and that was when it clicked. drew starkey. you heard the name before, seen it in casting lists, but seeing him in person, you hadn’t put it together until now.

“right,” you said, nodding slowly. “that’s why you looked familiar.”

he chuckled softly, but there was still that slight blush on his cheeks. “yeah, that’s me.”

the conversation flowed a little easier after that. you asked him about the movie, and he asked you more about tempest, genuinely interested in your work, not just going through the motions like so many others do at those events. he was funny, too, in a shy, unassuming way that caught you off guard.

as the crowd around you thickened, his eyes never left yours, like he was completely captivated. you weren’t sure how long you stood there talking, but it was long enough for you to forget about slipping out early.

and then, before you knew it, the lights were dimming, signaling that the movie was about to start. he glanced toward the theater doors, then back at you, almost hesitant.

“well, i guess we should head in,” he said, sounding a little disappointed that your conversation was being cut short.

“yeah,” you agreed, though part of you didn’t want the night to end either. as you both moved toward the entrance, something pulled at you to say more, to affirm the spark that had ignited between you. you abruptly stopped in your tracks. he turned to face you, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“i’ll catch you at the afterparty?” you told him, your voice light and teasing. you watched his face break into a genuine smile, the kind that made his entire demeanor shift from nervous to gleeful.

with that, you turned and headed toward the theater doors, the buzz of chatter and laughter enveloping you. you could feel drew’s gaze lingering on you as you walked away.

you knew you weren’t on the cast so it would have been unexpected if you showed up. but you knew that he’d be there.

as you navigated through the crowd, you couldn’t help but glance back one last time, and in that instant, you caught drew watching you, his expression soft and hopeful. a faint smile tugged at your lips, and finally, you disappeared into the crowds of guests entering the theater, but the memory of his gaze stayed with you.

the afterparty was a vibrant swirl of lights and laughter, complete opposite to the behavior of the premiere just hours ago. you stood with leila, theo, and gia, the four of you navigating the home.

after a few minutes, you spotted him across the room, laughter dancing in his eyes as he talked to a small group. you excused yourself from your own conversation, weaving through the crowd until you found yourself standing beside him.

and soon, time seemed to slip away as you both dived into deeper conversations about your lives, your careers, and the dreams you’d harbored since childhood. drew opened up about his recent experiences filming, and you found yourself sharing the struggles and triumphs of your own journey in the film industry. every moment spent together felt natural, as if you’d known each other for much longer than just a few hours.

by the end of the night, the party winder down and guests began to trickle out. you exchanged numbers, both of you eager to see each other again. and you did. time and time again.

you paced around your apartment as you gestured animatedly. throwing your hands in the air, your eyes widened with passion, as if you were trying to grasp an idea that was just out of reach. drew leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching you intently with a soft smile playing on his lips.

“i just wanna have some time to go out there and have some fun,” you were telling him, “be there in the moment, explore la. not with any paparazzi there to demand photos of me or take them when i have my guard down. just me and the city.”

as you spoke, your gaze shifted toward the window, where the sun peeked through the window across your living room. you imagined yourself outside, feeling the sun on your skin, surrounded by the pulse of los angeles.

spinning around quickly, your face lit up like you’d just had a revelation. “like starstruck!”

“starstruck?” drew echoed as he squinted his eyes, trying to grasp your idea.

“yeah, you know that one movie on disney? christopher and jessica are running around los angeles in that one scene—” you continued.

“—before they get their car caught in that mud and christopher ditches her at the beach,” he interjected with furrowed brows, knowing full well how the scene played out.

you stopped abruptly, narrowing your eyes at him. you tilted your head, “you wouldn’t ditch me, would you, star?”

drew shook his head, “no way.”

satisfied with his answer, your expression brightened again, and you nodded vigorously. “good. then come on.”

you grabbed your keys from the table and practically dragged him out of your apartment. the door clicked shut behind you, and you led the way down the corridor.

as you made your way into the parking garage, your laughter rung out, echoing off the concrete walls. when you reached your car, you slid in and grabbed your sunglasses from its compartment to slide them on.

drew chuckled as he put his seatbelt on, shaking his head in disbelief. “you really have a plan for everything, don’t you?”

“only when it comes to having fun,” you replied, your grin widening as you pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head to shield his face. “don’t worry, they’ll never see us coming,” you assured him, your laughter infectious as you started the engine and pulled out of the parking garage.

and over the course of a year, you and drew became inseparable. what started as stolen moments during movie premieres and secret hangouts morphed into a deep, unshakeable friendship.

laughter echoed in your shared memories—late-night talks sprawled on the floor of your apartment, spontaneous adventures through the streets of los angeles, and lazy mornings spent in bed, wrapped up in each other's warmth.

as the seasons shifted, so did the nature of your connection. the boundaries blurred, and your heart raced at the thought of what could be. but you both chose to keep it light, enjoying each moment without the weight of labels.

then one evening, everything changed. it was a night like any other. the winter air was crisp as you and drew strolled through the twinkling streets of los angeles. you were coming back from a cozy evening out, the laughter still lingering between you as you recounted the highlights of the night.

as you walked, the sound of distant pops drawed your attention. you paused mid-sentence, eyes widening as bursts of color lit up the night sky. fireworks!

the brilliant reds, blues, whites, and purples filled the air. a smile spread across your face as you turned to him, the shared excitement pulling you closer together.

“this is so cute,” you said, leaning into drew’s side to admire the display. you were momentarily lost in the beauty, the chaos of colors exploding above you like confetti.

but then you spotted something in the midst of the fireworks—words began to form in the night sky, each letter crafted from the brilliant light.

‘will you be my girlfriend?’ the phrase appeared among the colors, messy yet somehow legible.

you read it, confusion washing over you at first. someone was asking someone else through fireworks? but as you turned to drew, you noticed his gaze, expectant and hopeful. the realization quickly sunk in.

your mouth gaped open in shock, your heart pounding as you processed what was happening. you looked back up at the sky, needing to confirm that this moment was real, that the words were genuinely meant for you.

but you turned back to drew, and without thinking, you nodded. before you knee it, you were jumping into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck, and holding him tightly. he caught you effortlessly, and you could feel his warmth seep into you as he hugged you back, pulling you close.

you could feel the happiness reflected there, and for the first time, it felt official—no more questions, no more uncertainty. you were exactly where you wanted to be.

and just two years later, you and drew found yourselves on the set of hellraiser, a project neither of you anticipated becoming a part of when you first met. it’s actually funny how it all unfolded.

initially, you weren’t even considering taking the role. after all, you were still knee-deep in filming tempest. the thought of juggling both projects seemed overwhelming, and you were ready to prioritize your current work over anything new.

when drew secured his role in some film, he kept the details to himself, not wanting to distract you from your current commitments. he didn’t mention the movie by name, and you didn’t press him for details; you respected his space and didn’t want to add to your own frustration about whether to accept the new opportunity.

“you should really consider it,” he urged, his voice filled with genuine belief in your talent. “this could be a great chance for you, babe, and imagine how much fun you could have! you’re almost done finishing tempest this month. after that, you’ll have plenty of time for your new project.”

you weighed his words, feeling torn. you loved the idea of the role, but the reality of juggling two major projects felt daunting.

yet, after a long talk about chasing new opportunities and taking risks, you found yourself swayed by his excitement and your own desire for growth. finally, you decided to go for it, officially signing on for the project.

what you didn’t realize, until the casting announcements were made, was that you and drew would be filming in the same movie. when you heard the news, you actually went insane. you felt like the universe was rewarding you for taking that leap of faith. the two of you would not only be working together but doing so on a film that promised to be both challenging and thrilling.

as filming began, the reality of being on set with drew hit you both like a wave. the two of you were navigating the intricate dance of being both co-stars and romantic partners, which brought its own set of challenges.

you found joy in the little things—the shared lunches, the whispered jokes during scenes, and the late-night talks about the original film. every day, you felt grateful to have him by your side, knowing that while the world outside the set may have been chaotic, your little bubble was filled with warmth, support, and your boyfriend. not everyone was able to be in your position.

but it wasn’t the same anymore. at least a year later. you were in another city, staying in yet another hotel room, the kind where the silence hung heavy in the air, almost suffocating. the glow of the city lights outside filtered through the curtains, casting a soft haze over everything.

you rested your back against the cool surface of the wall as you stared out into the city through the window. it was strange—the city was vibrant, loud, yet all you felt was isolation. your reflection stared back at you, tired eyes searching for something, anything, to hold on to.

you let yourself imagine drew standing beside you, his arm slipping around your waist, the warmth of his presence easing the ache that had settled deep inside.

but it was just a fantasy. he wasn’t there. not really. not the way you needed him to be.

he was somewhere else, in another city, on another set. networking. working. living his own life. you both were—careers that had taken off in opposite directions, always moving, always busy, always apart. your schedules were like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together anymore, no matter how hard you tried to force them.

sometimes he would surprise you, show up in whatever city you were in, standing at your door with that smile that used to make your heart race. but even then, it wasn’t enough. when he was there, it felt like you were lying next to a stranger, like everything you shared before felt like a distant memory.

your mind wandered as you stared out the window, trying to remember what it used to be like. the way you used to laugh together, the way he used to look at you like you were the only person in the world. but those moments felt so far away now, like they belonged to another lifetime. your careers were taking off, yes, but your relationship was falling apart.

you tried everything to get him to spend more time with you. it wasn’t just the long phone calls or the quiet hopes you'd whisper when he promised he’d visit, but you actually took action.

you started reaching out to his manager, a move that felt so cold, so far removed from the days when it was just you and him figuring things out together. now, it was emails and calls, hoping to align your schedules like some kind of business transaction.

you’d ask if there was a window, any gap at all, where you could see each other, trying to make sense of his packed days and your own commitments. it felt impersonal, like you were just another appointment penciled into his calendar, waiting to be confirmed.

there were weeks when you’d sit down with your team, trying to move things around, freeing up your time in the hope that his manager would find a slot that worked. you bent over backward, squeezing your own projects tighter so maybe, just maybe, you’d have a few days together. but it always ended the same.

another ‘maybe next time’ or a polite suggestion from his side to ‘keep him updated’—as if he wasn’t even aware of how much you were trying to hold everything together.

what shattered you was seeing him with his costars. scrolling through social media and seeing him hanging out with them after long days on set. grabbing dinner with them, laughing with them, being the drew you used to know—but never like that with you anymore.

he made time for them, he’d pay them visits, go out for drinks, be himself. but not with you. why not with you?

you couldn’t understand it. and that was the worst part. you weren’t jealous of his work or his friends, but it hurt seeing him give them what you so desperately wanted. time. effort. attention. those small moments of connection.

you tried bringing other people into the mix, hoping it would be less pressure for him. leila and theo became your go-to when you were feeling desperate. you’d invite them out, framing it like a casual group hang, knowing that maybe if drew wasn’t faced with just you, he’d be more likely to show up.

you thought maybe he'd feel less cornered, less pressured. and so you'd reach out, asking leila to join you and casually suggesting that maybe drew could come along too. a movie, dinner, anything. you tried to make it seem easy, no big deal.

but he never gave a direct answer. it was always a dance—drew would respond with something vague, something about being busy, or how he’d love to but he wasn’t sure, and he’d get back to you. he’d redirect the conversation, shifting topics before you even realized what had happened. it wasn’t malicious, but it left you feeling hollow, like he wasn’t even aware of how long he’d been doing it, how much he’d been dodging your efforts to pull him closer.

and you couldn’t help but feel bad, feel like you were trying so hard for someone who wasn’t even putting in half as much as you were. it wasn’t like he didn’t care—he was just so wrapped up in his own world, his work, that he didn’t see how hard you were fighting to keep your relationship alive.

you were trying to reach him, but it felt like he was always just out of reach, just beyond the point where you could hold on.

it wasn’t anger you felt toward him, but this deep, aching sadness. because no matter what you tried, it felt like you were the only one trying at all—did he even like you anymore?

and then suddenly, it snapped.

like a taut string pulled too tight for too long, it finally gave way. all the moments you fought so hard for, the endless nights spent hoping, came crashing down in an instant. his words weren’t loud or angry; they were quiet, almost too calm. it was like the end had been sitting between you both for months, waiting to be spoken into existence.

“what?”

your voice was small, a cracked whisper filled with disbelief. you’d heard him—of course, you’d heard him—but it felt so unreal. your heart ached, like it was physically breaking apart, but your mind couldn’t fully process it. it felt like you were standing outside of yourself, watching this unfold, wondering if this was really happening.

“why?” you managed, your voice barely holding together as your eyes searched his face for something, anything that would make sense of this. you saw his regret, the sadness behind his eyes, but there was no answer that would make this hurt any less. his lips parted like he wanted to explain, but there were no words to fix this.

he reached for you, like he thought he could make it better somehow, but you took a step back, your hand instinctively wiping away the tear you didn’t even realize had fallen.

all the effort, all the time you had spent trying to make things work, fighting for what you thought was love—it felt like it had all been wasted. your chest tightened as you stared at him, the silence between you thick and unbearable.

“get away from me,” you whispered, your voice stronger now, though your heart was shattering inside. you waved him off, refusing to let him touch you, refusing to let him see you break any more than you already had.

he hesitated, his hands dropping to his sides as the distance between you widened, both physically and emotionally. it wasn’t just the breakup that hurt—it was everything. all the time you’d given, all the compromises, all the moments you’d spent wishing for more.

you turned around, not wanting him to see the fresh tears that blurred your vision, not wanting him to see how deeply this cut. it wasn’t just about losing him; it was about losing the version of yourself that had believed, that had hoped for something different. something better.

“good luck on everything, drew.”

the words left your mouth before you could stop them, bitter and sharp. it felt like a punch to your own chest, but you had to say it. you had to remind yourself that maybe his career was the priority now, not you. and you needed to remind him of that, too.

even as your throat tightened, and your body threatened to break down entirely, you forced yourself to keep walking.

you didn’t look back. not when the tears started falling faster, not when your hands shook as you unlocked your car door, not even when you could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back like a weight you didn’t want to carry anymore.

the sobs finally broke free once you were inside, gripping the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white. he didn’t chase after you, didn’t say another word. he just watched you leave, and that somehow hurt more than anything else.

as you drove away, tears streaming down your face, the weight of it all finally settled in. you didn’t want to hear his excuses, didn’t want to hear whatever reason he thought justified this. you just wanted to go home, to get away from the pain that now felt too familiar, and to leave behind the pieces of your heart that had shattered at his feet.

and just like that, the year of silence between you began.

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