#i wonder if he will ever want to speak with me again.

[fenya-scribbles]

U

♥--------♥--------♥

Pairing: idol!Bangchan x fem!Reader

Other Characters: none

Summary: You break up with Chan, but he won't let you go that easily.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort?

Content warnings: there's a break up happening, lots of heartache and crying

Word Count: 985

Screenshots: 3

A/N: *my life, my love is you* U is just a great song and it hurts me so good every time I listen to it. Also, this went through several rewrites, but I also didn't really proofread it lol. I almost cried writing it though because hurting Chan even in fiction is just cruel and it hurt my soul.

♥--------♥--------♥

"Well, I'm sorry my passion is such an inconvenience for you!", Chan yelled. He was fuming, restlessly pacing through his living room. "That's not what I was saying and you know it", you retorted from where you were sitting on the couch. You were angry as well, but more than that you were tired. This was the third time this week the two of you blew up at each other. Once again you'd felt neglected, once again he'd gotten lost in his work, swamped with appointments, too busy being an idol.

And it was thoroughly exhausting to fight with him. Because you loved him with all your heart, you did not want to fight. But you also didn't want to feel left on the sidelines, like an afterthought. Things had been going downhill for a few months now. You wondered how you'd ever managed to balance the relationship and his profession. He'd asked you to quit your job and just follow him wherever he went. But that was not fair, you thought, that you had to give up your own dreams to be with him.

"This is not working, Chan." It hurt you in your soul to speak the words, but you felt yourself reaching a breaking point. "We are not working anymore." He stopped in his tracks and stared at you. "You don't mean that", he said, all his rage suddenly deflated. "No, I do, actually. Look at us, we're a mess. All we do lately is fight." "So what, you want to break up? Throw us away?" You felt the tears coming, felt your heart clenching painfully in your chest. "I don't know, Chan. All I know is that I can't do this anymore."

Chan took a seat on the couch beside you and reached for your hands, but you pulled away. "Please don't make this harder than it already is", you whispered as tears started running down your cheeks. "Baby...", was all he said as tears also filled his eyes. "I'm sorry, Chan. We tried...I tried....but I'm exhausted." "Don't do this, babe", he begged, reaching for your hands again. You didn't pull away this time, letting him grip you tightly. "I love you", he said. "I love you too", you said, "but it's not enough anymore."

***

The following weeks were torture. You went into survival mode, functioning at work and falling apart at home. You barely slept, and if you did, you were crying yourself to sleep. After three days of total isolation, your friends started to worry and showed up unannounced at your place. They kept doing that, making sure you ate and took at least somewhat care of yourself. They tried to cheer you up, tried you distract you, but all you thought about was Chan.

Everyday you asked yourself if you did the right thing. Everyday you reminded yourself of why you left, why you had to break it off. Everyday your thumb hovered at least once over the "unblock" button in his contact on your phone. Everyday you felt less like yourself, less like a person, less alive. It was as if breaking up exhausted you far more than fighting with Chan ever had.

Three weeks went by like that. Three weeks of you walking around like a zombie. Three weeks of missing Chan with every fibre of your being, missing his hugs, his voice, his love. And then you couldn't take it anymore, your thumb finally hitting that damned "unblock" button.

You were swamped by messages from him.

Your heart lurched in your chest with every message you read. You had to go over it several times, rereading every line, eyes blurry with tears. And by the end you finally realised what he was saying, so you got up and checked your mailbox. There was indeed an envelope in there, your name written on it in Chan's handwriting with a heart next to it.

Hastily, you went to the living room, opening the envelope on the way. There was a USB Stick inside and a small note.

Y/N, I miss you so much. I made this song for you to show you that I'm willing to fight for this relationship. Please give me the chance to fix this. I love you, Chan.

You started at the note, thumb brushing over the handwritten words. A tear landed on in next to his name. You missed him so much. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, then you grabbed your laptop from the couch table and inserted the USB Stick. On it was one singular audio file: For Y/N

With shaking hands you opened it and the song started. You fill up my mind 24/7... It was beautiful, hauntingly so, the lyrics piercing your heart. When it was done, it just started over again, and you let it. You played it on a loop, again and again, your quiet tears turning into full on sobs, as you fell apart on your couch.

It took you a while to process the song. To process Chan's messages and the lyrics and the fact that he had dropped a USB stick in your mailbox just a mere hour ago, because it was the only way he thought to get the song to you. He'd been outside your door, so close to you yet so far away still.

When your sobs finally died down and your mind stopped racing at light speed, you knew what to do. You picked up your phone, Chan's contact still open, and pressed the call button. He picked up immediately.

"Y/N?", he said hesitantly. You stayed quiet for a moment, words stuck in your throat. "Please say something", Chan said, voice shaky. "I listened to the song", you managed. There was another pause. "Can you come over?", you asked. You could hear him let out a breath of relief. "Open the door."

♥--------♥--------♥

Masterlist

[tinum]

Can I request a fix where reader had heart surgery and they are kinda loopy after the anesthesia and just flirt with harumasa??? Ok it's not realistic to meet someone directly after surgery but I think it would be cute XD

Heartbeat - Harumasa x Reader

Warnings: Little bit of angst, probably incorrect portrayal of heart surgery, errors WordCount: 966 Notes: I felt like readers personality was closer to his in this fic but its okay because he was just worried!

When Harumasa first heard about your surgery from Soukaku, he could barely contain his anxiety. Thoughts of all the complications swirled in his brain, prompting him to reach for his phone with a shaky hand. He immediately texted Yanagi that he would not be going in to work for the day. She understood your situation, and though she wanted to respect your wishes, she knew Harumasa wouldn't back down. Not when it came to you.

Harumasa was no stranger to hospital visits; in fact, he was quite friendly with the staff. He knew the ins and outs, the sterile coldness, the checking in, the waiting. He sat for what seemed like hours, his leg bouncing in place and a deep pit in his stomach. Whenever a door opened, he would snap out of his trance, hoping it would be your doctor.

When the time to visit came, he was leading the doctor. The halls were practically mapped in his mind. A few turns down hallways and up an elevator would lead you to the recovery ward.

This ward in particular always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. The walls seemed to be painted with such a vibrant hope: to heal and never return. His eyes had grown used to the colors; they'd grown dull and hope seemed like a foolish notion. Could it really be classified as recovery if coming back was the only outcome?

"We already administered them pain medication so they should be resting. Try not to do anything that'll increase their heart rate," the doctor advised. He nodded, not fully listening. It's not that he didn't care about protocol; no, he quite understood the importance of it. He just couldn't bear another moment wondering if you were okay. "They're strong. A full recovery is likely."

It was as if the doctor could sense his worry. Maybe he noticed his shaky palm reaching for the doorknob, or he was just doing his job. Either way, he had to see you.

Upon stepping into the room, a wave of frigid air struck his cheeks. It was dimly lit, the only light coming from the lines on a nearby monitor. You were lying on your side, slowly twisting upon hearing someone enter the room.

"Haru?" Your voice was hoarse.

He cringed at the weakness coming from you. In a way, it was painful to see you like this: frail and sick. "Hey, how you feeling?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

"Like I just had surgery." He smiled at that, he supposed it was a good enough sign. You weren't the type to hide your struggle behind a cheesy joke like he did. He admired that about you.

A few moments pass before he speaks again. "I didn't know."

"I thought I hid it well enough. You weren't supposed to find out." You look up at him; his brows are furrowed and his eyes hold some sort of pain behind them. Maybe it was just the meds, but he seems more beautiful than ever.

"Soukaku told me," he lets out a sigh, "you can tell me anything, you know that, right?" Pulling a chair from the wall, he sets it next to your bed.

"I know. I just didn't want to worry you." Why at this moment did you decide to be selfless? Though he couldn't fault you. It was as if you had taken a page from his own book.

"I'd be worried either way," he murmured, letting his gaze fall under the weight of something tender. "I care about you."

"I don't get it, why are you so worried? It's just surgery." You laugh, a smile rising to your lips. It was rare that Harumasa was this soft. Usually, his tenderness would be waved off by an onslaught of jokes.

"I already said I care about you. You're practically family." His eyes analyze your face. He couldn't quite tell if you were being serious or just fishing for more heartfelt words.

You place a palm to your heart in mock hurt. "Ouch, Harumasa! Did you just family-zone me? That hurt more than the surgery!"

"Oh, c'mon. You know what I mean." His hand wraps around yours, nuzzling it into his cheek. He is warm, or the room is getting hotter. "I care about you. More than just a friend."

Harumasa doesn't miss the way your cheeks flare up or the sudden beeps from the monitor. He retracted his hand in a swift motion and stood up, his expression showing worry. "Are you all right?"

"What's wrong, Harumasa?" you smirk, wiggling your eyebrows at him. "Did you do something bad?"

Running a hand through his hair, he stares at the monitor. Your heartbeats slowed down and no doctors seemed to be rushing in. He was sure he was going to faint, the thought of possibly hurting you fresh in his mind.

"So, was that a confession?" You snap him out of his trance with your teasing voice. His eyes snap to yours, giving you an unimpressed look. You were going to give him a heart attack one of these days if you continued like this. The more he thought about it the more he didn't mind, maybe they'd put him in the room next to yours.

"You," He scoffs, flicking his finger against your forehead lightly, "need to get some rest."

"Aw, running already, Asaba?" As much as you tried to stifle it, a yawn slipped it's way out your throat. His gaze softened when he realized he was making the correct choice. You needed rest.

"Nah, just leaving before you make me do something that'll get me into trouble with your doctor." You didn't catch it from your angle, but his cheeks blushed with a quiet warmth of his own.

[honestcompassion]

𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓. state of being overly involved in a relationship

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 yandere pure vanilla cookie headcanons

warnings: obsessive and possessive behavior, moral ambiguity, inferiority complex, guilt complex, emotional dependence, guilt tripping, stalking, potentially ooc

A/N: The ribbon has been cut, the store is now open, and here comes our very first customer! I lost the request for this one but they asked for one order of yandere pure vanilla cookie headcanons. I apologize for the mistake this early on, I hope you enjoy this sweet treat!

Pure Vanilla Cookie as a yandere would be as sweet as a soft, fluffy cloud of whipped cream atop a slice of warm pie, light and tender, yet undeniably indulgent. His sweetness is the kind that brings a sense of peace, like the first sip of a perfectly brewed cup of tea on a quiet morning. He'd be so endearing and affectionate that you'll fail to notice just how much he's slowly changing as his love for you grows more and more.

He would dedicate himself entirely to your happiness, attending to every need and want with almost unnatural precision. He notices the tiniest details—your favorite treats, the way you prefer your tea, and even your smallest habits—and adjusts his behavior to cater to them perfectly. However, this attentiveness comes at a price: he begins to believe that no one else could possibly care for you as deeply as he does.

Pure Vanilla Cookie’s adoration for you is boundless, but beneath his gentle exterior lies a storm of conflicting emotions. To him, you are the epitome of perfection—kind, radiant, and far beyond anything he could ever hope to be. The way you carry yourself, the light in your eyes, even the simplest of your actions—they all leave him in awe. He holds you on a pedestal so high that he feels utterly insignificant in comparison.

He tells himself that his feelings are wrong, that someone like him—flawed and unworthy—has no right to desire someone as extraordinary as you. The guilt eats away at him, a gnawing ache in his chest every time he catches himself lingering too long on the thought of you. "How selfish of me," he thinks, "to want someone so pure, so beautiful, for myself."

Yet no matter how hard he tries, he cannot let go. You are his light, his guiding star, the only thing that makes the world seem bearable. He convinces himself that his love is selfless, that all he wants is your happiness. But even that reasoning begins to crumble when he realizes just how dependent he has become on you.

Every time you speak, every time you smile, he feels a pang of inadequacy. He wonders how someone like you could even spare him a glance. He berates himself for his shortcomings, for the things he cannot do, and he becomes obsessed with trying to be better for you. Yet, no matter how much he does, it never feels like enough. "You deserve so much more than I can give," he whispers to himself in the quiet of the night. But even as he thinks this, he cannot bring himself to let you go.

His love for you blurs the lines between right and wrong. He knows it’s wrong to follow you when you don’t know he’s there. He knows it’s wrong to memorize every detail of your life, from the places you visit to the people you speak to. But the thought of not knowing where you are, of not being able to protect you, fills him with such dread that he convinces himself it’s for your own good. The guilt of his actions warring with his desperate need to keep you safe.

Your happiness becomes his only source of joy. If you’re upset, he feels as though the world has lost its color. He tries to fix everything, bending over backward to ensure you’re content, even at the cost of his own well-being. If you’re happy, he feels like he can breathe again. But this dependence is suffocating—not for you, but for him. He begins to tie his entire sense of self-worth to your approval. If you were to reject him, he feels he would shatter completely.

While he is too kind to voice his jealousy, it festers beneath the surface. When others take up your time or attention, he feels a pang of envy so sharp it makes him sick. He tries to rationalize it, telling himself that he has no right to feel this way. But the more it happens, the harder it becomes for him to suppress. He starts to find small ways to keep you close—insisting on helping you with tasks, offering to walk you home, always being there when you need him.

His love drives him to extremes he never thought himself capable of. He follows you from a distance, his heart pounding as he watches over you. He tells himself it’s only to make sure you’re safe, but deep down, he knows it’s more than that. He needs to be near you, to feel connected to you in some way, even if you don’t know he’s there. The guilt eats at him, but he can’t stop. You are his everything, and he’ll do anything to ensure you’re protected.

In the end, Pure Vanilla Cookie’s love is as sweet as it is tragic. His selfless devotion becomes tangled with his selfish need to keep you by his side. He struggles to reconcile his guilt with his desires, walking a thin line between love and obsession. All he knows is that you are his one constant, his one truth, and no matter how much he doubts himself, he will always choose you.

The night was still, the castle shrouded in silence save for the occasional whisper of the wind against the stained-glass windows. You stirred in your bed, the faint feeling of being watched prickling at the edges of your awareness. Slowly, you opened your eyes to find a familiar figure standing at the foot of your bed, bathed in the faint glow of his staff.

"Pure Vanilla?" you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep. "What are you doing here?"

He stepped closer, his beautiful eyes shining with an intensity that made your heart race. His usual gentle smile was there, but something about it seemed… strained, as if it masked something deeper.

"I’m sorry if I startled you, my love," he said softly, his voice carrying the same warmth you knew so well. Yet, the way he said my love felt heavier tonight, almost possessive. "I couldn’t sleep knowing you were here all alone. What if something happened while I wasn’t here to protect you?"

Your brows furrowed. "Pure Vanilla, it’s the middle of the night. I’m safe here, aren’t I?"

He hesitated, his grip tightening slightly around his staff. "Yes, but… I can’t help worrying. The world is unpredictable, and I’ve seen too much to take your safety for granted. You mean everything to me."

The intensity in his words made you sit up, the sleepiness fading from your mind. "You don’t need to worry so much," you reassured him. "I’m fine, really."

But he shook his head, his expression almost pained. "You don’t understand," he murmured, stepping even closer until he was at your bedside. "I can’t bear the thought of losing you. Every moment you’re out of my sight, I feel this… emptiness. This fear that I’m not doing enough."

You felt a chill creep over you. "Pure Vanilla, I appreciate your care, but… you’re scaring me a little."

At your words, his eyes widened, and he dropped to his knees beside your bed, reaching out to take your hands in his. His touch was trembling, desperate. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I don’t mean to frighten you. I just… I love you so much, more than words can say. You’re the only light in my life, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. Please, forgive me if I seem overbearing. It’s only because I want to keep you safe."

You hesitated, the raw emotion in his voice tugging at your heart despite the unease creeping up your spine. "I forgive you," you said quietly, trying to steady your voice. "But you have to trust me too. I can take care of myself."

He nodded slowly, though the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t entirely convinced. As he rose to his feet, he lingered for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "Rest well, my love," he said finally, his voice tender. "I’ll be just outside if you need me."

Something is wrong.

[the-raven-and-the-tower]

Viago de Riva; forgotten son with a found family of assassins (a brief but angsty dive)

Born one royal bastard of many to King Fulgeno II of Antiva, Viago was born without a lot of choices, but one very large one;

Exile or the Antivan Crows.

VIago was the only one of all Fulgeno's bastards that chose the Crows, a choice that put him on a path of shadows and blood. Turning his back on the only home he has ever known for the ruthless world of the Crows, Viago had to forge his own house and find his own family, turning his back on a royal lineage that never wanted or acknowledged him.

Viago has walked in both worlds, where betrayal can come from any direction and alliances are often temporary - in either world, his survival has hinged time and time again on his vigilance and natural mistrust of others. More than once, the only thing that has kept him alive was the way he builds tolerance to poisons and insists on testing everything he eats. I have to wonder if Viago has ever truly rested, he's always alert, always keeping one step ahead of all the threats on every side - always in danger, both as a bastard who could be seen as a threat to the legitimate line and as a Crow Talon surrounded by ambitious assassins.

And then there's his relationship with Teia 💜

I love the humanity of Viago's struggle to love and be loved. As a royal bastard, he would have been inherently unwanted and constantly reminded of his illegitimacy - daily reminders to ingrain a perpetual sense of unworthiness and isolation into him. I love the honesty of how he struggles to open up and be vulnerable, even with someone like Teia from within the world of the Crows.

The two of them live in a dangerous world, where personal relationships can become weapons in the wrong hands. Viago has every reason to shy away from Teia (and sometimes does), yet that inherent need for perception and connection drags him out of safety and back into her arms, time and time again.

All of that to say loooooooooooook at this fourth draft of a letter Teia is helping Viago write to send to his dad about the situation in Treviso with the Butcher.

King's Draft: Action on Behalf of Antiva

As Seventh Talon, I give notice that the Antivan Crows have drawn a contract against the enemies of Treviso, the Antaam. (Teia)

Teia, the Seventh Talon, is writing to inform of the situation, rather than Viago (Fifth Talon). We don't know if she's stepping up to protect Viago from his asshole father or if Viago doesn't speak to the king often on principle (he does in prior Dragon Age content), or if this is simply how it is done - maybe there's an existing agreement among the Crows to avoid political complications by keeping the king and his son seperate. Any way the cookie crumbled, I like these crumbs.

It is not the Antaam. (Viago)

We aren't required to give His Majesty a point-by-point, but he's your blood, Viago. It is a courtesy to let him know we are going to war. (Teia)

"He's your blood, Viago." I don't know if this is a reminder of his unique ability to bridge two vastly different worlds or if it is just a reminder of political significance, but either way it struck me as significant. Despite his royal blood being a source of personal pain, it provides Viago leverage in ways that other Crow Talons could never wield, not even Caterina.

The occupying Antaam are strong, driven, fanatical. They cannot be reasoned with because reason is just a weapon to be resisted. They can be killed, of course, but removing a leader does not remove their desire to be led. They are a force we must contend with, but they are NOT Treviso's true enemy. (Viago)

A name, Viago. Contracts require a stabber and a stabbee. (Teia)

Teia (child street thief turned Crow) is the pragmatic and operational, focusing on fulfilling the requirements as a formality, while our baby boi Viago the Strategic is firmly honed in on reality and understanding the details. Teia wants to take the next step to move forward, Viago wants to understand the problem before making the next move. They are so different and I love the way their differences lend their relationship strength, rather than pulling it apart.

Teia, you know my doubts. The Butcher took the city too easily, and there is dealing with the gods there that I dread to know. But I fear that the true enemy of Treviso is not known because they ARE known, merely unrevealed. (Viago)

"The Hand That Leashed Treviso." Is that nebulous enough? (Teia)

I like this. Sarcastic, yet she's showing that she's listening to Viago's concerns and hearing them.

Yes, that is a series of someones we can eventually kill. But not something we can send my father. (Viago)

And he acknowledges being heard, but points out the impracticality of presenting such a target to his father. Again, I think it's fucking significant that he refers to Fulgeno as his father and not as the king. Whether he's tying himself verbally to his unique position, subconsciously reacting to his abandonment by the royal family or just responsing to Teia's "he's your blood" earlier, it feels powerful. Like the kick in the gonads I'd like to five Fulgemo.

On to draft five, then. Neri, begin again. (Teia)

It says a lot to me that they're having this entire conversation in front of their scribe. Doubtless someone sworn to secrecy already, it just strikes me as wholesome that they're comfortable having these disagreements in front of Neri. They may not agree yet, but they're committed to it. And their disagreement has no weight on their opinions of each other.

Viago de Riva, Fifth Talon Andarateia Cantori, Seventh Talo Transcribed: Neri de Acutis

[flawssy-227]

Fogwell’s pt.1 Matt murdock x f!reader

pairing: College!matt murdock x fem!reader

a/n: this is a repost from almost THREE years ago on my old blog! since the new daredevil is coming out soon... maybe I'll revisit my favorite hell's kitchen baby boy.

I will always do my best to leave the reader description as vague as possible (albeit female, but I am a woc, so will also always have woc in mind in my writing)

WC: 1.3k

Warnings: mention of beer, language

You remembered the first time you met him.

It was a Sunday at Fogwell’s, the gym was closed except for a private training session you had held earlier, some women from a hair salon in Hell’s Kitchen wanting to learn self defense.

You heard the little bell chime above the front door that signaled someone was coming in.

“We’re closed,” you called out without turning around. You were preoccupied with taking off your hand wraps as you heard him tentatively tap his way into the gym.

“Oh, sorry,” he started. “I was hoping I could speak with the owner.”

“You’re lookin’ at her,” you stated definitively. You took in his appearance, tall, somewhat built, a slight blush crossing his cheeks, and stubble you almost wanted to reach out and run your fingers across. He was cute you thought, as you tried searching his eyes before realizing they were pointed downward, a walking stick clutched tightly in his hands. “What can I help you with?”

“You don’t sound like the owner of a boxing gym in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen,” the man cocked his head to the side with a small smirk.

You scoffed a bit. “It’s my uncle’s gym, but he is on an extended vacation in Florida. Till he comes back, if he comes back, I’m the owner-operator,” you stated matter of factly. “You gonna question me or tell me what you want?” you said as you finished unwinding your hand wraps.

His small smirk extended into a full grin as he took a step closer to you and extended his hand for you to shake. “I’m Matt. I uh, I wanted to see if I could train here?”

You shook his hand, large and warm in yours. “Yeah, sure. We have open gym from 11-4, Monday through Saturday, kickboxing classes during the week at 5, boxing after that…” you trailed off. “What are you looking for?”

“Something more… private, actually.”

Now it was your turn to cock your head questioningly. As if he could feel it, he started speaking again.

“Even though I’m blind, I can feel people watching me. I know they’re wondering what someone like me is doing at a boxing gym, but I don’t need the judgement or little comments they make that they think I can’t hear. Plus my dad used to box here, way back in the day. I just want to be able to train in peace, privately. After hours?” he explained.

“After hours?” 

“Just a couple of days a week. I’ll stay out of your way. I promise.”

There was sincerity in his voice as you weighed your options. He seemed perfectly nice, innocent even. You usually stayed late in the gym most nights anyway, either looking over Fogwell’s books or training by yourself. Matt training after hours wouldn’t really impact you either way, plus, if you were being honest, you could use all the extra help financially.

“I’ll tell you what, you can stay today. I’ll be in the office, working on some things. Use the gym, do whatever you want, and I’ll make a decision after. Does that sound fair?”

Matt nodded his head, still clutching his walking stick. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“No worries, Matt.” You began walking your way back to your office before turning around again. “You’re a Murdock, right?”

Matt was in the middle of unzipping his jacket when he turned to look back at you quizzically. 

“You said your dad trained here. It was Jack, right? Jack Murdock?”

He slowly nodded back at you. 

You walked backward to your office, taking in the man in front of you. “Nice to meet you, Murdock.”

That was about 5 weeks ago, and Matt had been making regular appearances in your gym ever since. He would show up after hours a few times during the week and on weekends, sometimes giving you a call and begging, pleading you to come back and unlock the gym for him. You always would, knowing he would slip you a few extra dollars or bring you a 6-pack of beer to show his gratitude. You knew it wasn’t the only reason you would go out of your way to let Matt into Fogwell’s, but he didn’t have to know that.

You had a quickly developing crush on him. He was sweet, kind, and smart. Not hard to look at, either. He would flirt with you sometimes too, you were sure of it. Complimenting your perfume, praising your generosity. Sometimes you felt like he could read your mind, calling out your name or coming into the office every time you would daydream about him. You would always ask him to stay later when he brought you beer, too. Sometimes he would, and you two would spend an extra hour sitting around and talking about life. You really began to look forward to his calls, feeling a little lonely if you didn’t hear from him for a couple of days. 

There were other reasons you wanted to see him, too. He would do things, when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Things that made you question how much his disability really affected him. So, when he gave you a call at 9 PM on a Saturday, begging, no, pleading you to open up the gym for him, you immediately said yes.

He was waiting for you at the front door, body perking up as he heard you approaching.

“You got here fast,” he said.

“Murdock, you know I live upstairs.”

“I know, I know. I’m just surprised you didn’t have plans. It is Saturday, after all.”

You scoffed as you held the door open for him. “Here to make me feel bad or to train?”

He laughed as he made himself comfortable in the gym. He took off his hoodie and you made a sharp inhale at his toned stomach. Was it just you, or was he getting ripped?

“Can I ask you a question?” you asked, walking toward the ring in the center of the gym.

“Sure,” he said, rolling his neck and shaking out his muscles.

“You ever think about getting in the ring?” You hopped up onto the platform and lowered the middle rope to climb in.

Matt looked at you, a smile tugging on his lips. “Can’t say that I have. Might not be easy for me to see who I’m fighting, on account of the no seeing thing.”

“Humor me,” you said, trying to take a slow deep breath as the shirtless man made his way toward you.

Matt walked to the ring, reaching his hand out to feel for the platform before climbing into it himself.

You slowly walked around the ring while Matt stayed close to the ropes, trying to decide the best way to approach your theory.

“I’ve been watching you these past few weeks,” you started, centering yourself directly across from him.

His eyebrows quirked up at your confession. “Oh?”

You nodded your head. “You’d probably be a tough opponent. Natural ability, a lot of fight in you.”

Matt’s smile grew bigger, his chest puffing out slightly at your compliment. He was clearly about to make some clever, flirty remark back at you, as he always did, but you took advantage of his distracted state and slid your keys out of your pocket, throwing them straight at his head.

You watched as his brows furrowed, only slightly, his head popping straight up. You don’t know it, but Matt feels the breeze shift in the gym when your arm quickly moves to throw the keys, he smells your deodorant, the fragrance being released because of the little bits of friction caused by your movement, and he tastes the metallic of the keys as they fly through the air.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. You had a feeling, but you were still surprised to see Matt clutching your keys directly in front of his eyes. He looks at you, eyes pointed slightly downward, a devilish smirk plastered on his face, knowing you caught him.

“I fucking knew it!”

would you guys like more Matt? I have a very very old angsty wip that I'm tempted to finish if anybody is interested!

[damsalindistress]

aventurine x f!reader

imagining aventurine talking you through it,

(mdni, but i don’t control u so yk what ur reading, nsfw warning. blowjob, slight ooc!aventurine bc i don’t wanna get attacked, messy & nasty, big dick!aventurine (not humongous lets be realistic))

your lips are wrapped around his thick shaft in between his thighs, your tongue swirling around his tip so perfectly he lets out shameless moans on your guys’ shared bed.

“mmh fuck, thaaat’s it..” he let out a small hum, feeling your cheeks hollow as you take him deeper into your mouth, his hands find their way to your hair and he gives you a bit of a harsh tug to go deeper, you wonder if he even knows he’s now shoving your head down and your lips are swelling at the constant up and down movement but he looks too lost in the pleasure with the way his eyes are perfectly closed right now.

“such..- such a good girl for me,” he smirks lazily through half lidded eyes, looking down at your swollen lips, chin dripping with saliva as you tried to please him further, wanting to hear his groans again. “take it deeper, c’mon..”

“atta girl..” he says, you almost hated the way you felt your stomach heat up and the way your walls tightened around nothing from the simple praise.

“mmph!” you let out a muffled gasp, his hips began thrusting up, one of his hands tangled in your hair and controlling your head while the other one squeezed the sheets. what was just a normal sensual blowjob became him just fucking your throat.

“nghphh,” you mumble on his cock, trying to suck him but at this point it’s not worth it with the way he’s using your mouth with zero remorse.

it’s okay though, because he’ll eat you out after this right? you really hoped he would. (he does of course.)

“mgh, gonna cum,” he expresses another heavenly moan, you could see his chest rising up and down and his breathing getting heavier as tears almost welled up in your eyes from the way his dick was hitting the little thingy in the back of your throat when he went all the way in.

“nphh— cumgh,” you try to speak, but it only sends vibrations around his member and he pulls on your hair.

“want me to cum in your throat?” he asks you, his voice sounding breathless as he speeds up

“yeah.. yeah you do,” he answers for you before he thrusts his hips up once again, pounding his balls up to your jaw and chin to match with the movement as your hands that were previously calmly on his thighs at the beginning, now gripping his hips.

“ah—ah.. fuck!” he comes apart in your mouth, his load squirting inside of your mouth and when you think you can finally get a breath of air out through your mouth, he holds your head there, letting his liquid go allll the way down.

he lets you swallow around his shaft, enjoying the feeling before he lets your lips slip off with a lewd pop! noise.

“that was.. some of the best head i’ve ever gotten,” he murmurs to you, admiring your dripping chin and your watery eyes once more.

“good, because now i’m expecting the same,” you answer as you swallow the last remains of his warm cum that still remained, licking your lips and catching your breath.

✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　

i had sm fun writing this, i was lwk craving aventurine and then giving him a bj just sounds sooo mwah mwah mwah.. thank you guys for reading ୨ৎ

(if there’s any spelling errors or if you have any recommendations on what i can do better please lmk!)

requests are open !

[buttercupblu143]

*clears throat* whale...it's something

Satoru's Psyche P3 - Psycho!Gojo x Nurse!Reader

(not gone cap chat, there's so many excerpt i could've pulled from this chapter, it was hard asf to choose so 😬)

“You just don’t seem like yourself today,” you say carefully, studying him.  “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” he fires back, his tone light but threaded with a subtle warning, though it doesn’t land because your mind is already spinning, beginning to wonder…if something is actually bothering this impenetrable terror. If anything could get under his skin?  The silence between you is getting to you though, thick with unspoken tension and tangoing with his eyes that are duller than you’d like and make you look away. Your gaze drops to your clipboard, fingers softly drumming against its edge, the muffled rhythm failing to drown out your thoughts. Swallowing them down feels impossible when they keep burrowing in, clawing at your throat for answers until it feels unbearable, daring you over and over again to poke the bear and find out what’s been digging at you ever since you first heard your name and Satoru Gojo’s in the same sentence.  But don’t be stupid.  And don’t let whatever charade Gojo’s putting on fool you. All it takes is one wrong move or word to tip this delicate scale into chaos. You know the risks—will never shake off how heavy they hang on your shoulders—and yet you almost feel helpless to resist how it pulls you in like a magnet, drawing a shallow breath to push you through as you take the plunge anyway.  “We’re going to talk about the incident,” you begin, slow and steady, relaxing your body. “What do you remember about that day? What were you feeling?” His eyes snap to you and there’s a pause, the kind that makes your chest go tight. You might as well have said the name Voldemort, the question you’ve been wanting to ask slipping from your tongue after waiting the longest for it to appear on paper and give you permission to do so.  You hold your breath as his gaze drifts back to the window as if it holds the truth he doesn’t want to say aloud. “Did it feel good?” you press, cutting through the silence. “What did that power feel like?” You lean in just enough to remind him of the space between you and Gojo shifts, your voice coming more softly this time. “Do you still feel it?” It’s as faint as whisper, but he hears you loud and clear, and when his eyes finally meet yours again, his grin returns. But it’s thin.  He sits a bit taller, head cocking. “You’re asking all the right questions,” he says, his voice a shade darker than before. “But are you really ready for the answers?”

i wanna fucking tear you apart P2 - Vampire SuguChoso x Reader

“Well, well.” He circles you. “What do we have here?”  Oh, fuck.  You knew they were real but never imagined them looking like this. Feeling like this. The way he speaks, you’d think he was trying to seduce you rather than trying to eat you up like mere nano-seconds ago. He’s not just ominous—he’s radiating threat, his aura alone making you want to shrink into the ground and your blood turn to ice. You always knew you were a snack, but he’s looking at you like dinner, licking his lips, as your hands fly to cover your neck—as if that’ll help much.  But what could you possibly say that won’t end up with your blood splattered all over the cobblestone just seconds after finally reaching your destination? You made a deal with the universe, dammit.

ty for the tag Kali and making me stress about choosing the perfect excerpt as if i didn't have enough writing woes on my plate 😅. don't ask me why i didn't follow the rules, i can't read .-.|tags: @halohelene @nkogneatho @ryomens-vixen

silly wip tag game!◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

show us a paragraph, line or dialogue out of context from your current wip[s]. if you aren't a writer, feel free to share one from the last fic you read! ♡

these are from three different wips, the last one is something i wrote in december 2024 (those who remember me talking about nanami and a desi reader...yea), and the second one is something my aashi (@fushitoru) has been asking for since the beginning of time [hint: salaryman choso]

— npt: @gojocon @norikuna @sonnytoru @starmapz @aishi-toru @baepsays @gojosoups @indiewritesxoxo @madamechrissy + anyone else

[skibasyndrome]

"please, speak to me" for the prompt thingy?🫶

Tinaaaa!!! Thank you so much for sending me this prompt! I'm extremely sorry for taking forever to write this, but here it iiiis.

Because I simply couldn't leave them in their messy little fwb situation, this is a follow-up to this drabble here.

Hope you'll enjoy! 💜💜💜

For the first couple of days, Wille is so caught up in replaying his last night with Simon that he doesn’t fully notice to which extent he’s being avoided. When he does, the realization hits him square in the chest.

Wille doesn’t think that, during the admittedly relatively short time they’ve known each other, he’s ever gone this long without speaking to Simon. They just clicked, right away, became friendly very quickly, became… more than friendly equally quickly. And up till now they’ve never gone this long without speaking, at least a little bit. Wille misses his friend’s presence next to him during the one lecture on postmodernism they normally attend together. And he misses the stupid jokes they tell each other in the cafeteria during lunch breaks. Wille texts Simon twice during the week following the incident. Both times, Simon answers quickly, but the conversations die down just as quickly. Wille knows he’s busy with exams, but this is different. Simon won’t admit that anything’s wrong, continues to throw Wille a quick smile every time they cross paths on campus. But before Wille has the chance to approach him, he’s gone again. It feels like something ended between them. And Wille doesn’t know what to do about it, let alone what to say. He can’t suggest they have sex again. Well. He would like to, but he won’t. Every time he thinks back to Simon storming off, he feels like an idiot. But any other suggestion feels almost more ridiculous. He can almost hear Simon scoff at him whenever he thinks of something new to say. They’ve never done anything else, they’ve been friendly at uni, then spent their time back in the dorms fucking. Anything beyond that feels like an imposition. In front of his mind’s eye, Simon is rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Wille’s suggestion for brunch on Sunday or a couple drinks Thursday night. And so he keeps them to himself, his silly suggestions. But by week two, Wille feels like he’s going to burst if he lets the scenario play out inside of his head another fucking time. He needs to figure this out, needs to fix whatever there is to fix. Right whatever wrong it was that Wille did. Even if this arrangement, whatever it was, is over for Simon, Wille wants them to part on good terms. And not have Simon think badly of him. He feels more than a little silly as he finds himself walking through the halls of the music lecture building. And even while he’s waiting outside of the room he knows Simon’s choir is practicing in, he almost gets up and leaves again two times. Scrolling on his phone is barely enough of a distraction. Especially when, from time to time, a few beautiful notes hit his ear, coming through the large door. This would be a lot easier if he didn’t immediately recognize the beautiful voice. or Or if he didn’t remember what other beautiful sounds that voice is capable of producing, under the right conditions. 

He clears his throat and rolls his neck, trying to banish those tempting images from his mind. He’s about to give up and leave again, go for a walk or go find something else to distract him from his own misery, when the door opens and a couple of students start streaming out. Wille immediately gets up from the random chair he’s found sitting in the hallway, straightens up, feeling weirdly caught and weirdly out of place. Before he can wonder if Simon will even notice him standing in the hallway like a lost little puppy, the door closes again. It leaves Wille standing face to face with the man he hasn’t gotten a proper look at in a very long two weeks. Wille raises his hand for an awkward wave and notices too late that he clearly must’ve interrupted a conversation between Simon and his choir teacher, who now looks between the two of them, visibly confused. Even she must notice that this amount of silence isn’t very normal. Giving Wille another once-over, she retrieves her key from where she was about to lock the door and hands it over to Simon. She tells him to leave it on her desk later before walking off. For a gratingly long moment it looks like Simon is about to run after her. When he turns back around to Wille he looks a little less panicked, albeit no less confused. His bag is casually slung over his shoulder, and something inside of Wille’s chest aches at the familiar picture. Instead of dwelling on it, though, he shakes his head slightly, takes a step towards Simon. “Hey,” he starts and tries to smile, but it must be coming off exactly as weird and forced as it feels, because Simon only nods at him. “Hey.” Simon’s own smile is late, seems a little out of place. Maybe there’s still time to run away. But when Simon opens his mouth to speak, a different sense of panic washes over Wille, so he simply has to blurt it out. “I wanted to see you.” The silence that follows Wille’s confession is clearly taunting him. Simon just looks at him with his brows furrowed. “And I wanted to talk to you,” Wille continues, and maybe it’s the way Simon’s gaze darts back and forth between Wille’s lips and his eyes that makes Wille go on.  “Because I missed you,” he says. And because he’s not made enough of a fool of himself.  “Miss you, I mean.” Simon only nods quickly and, for a second, Wille gets caught up in his eyes. It's been entirely too long since he’s gotten a proper look at them. If Wille didn’t know any better, the idea that he’s spent hours looking at them before would sound ridiculous.

Simon is the first to break contact. He clears his throat. “So…?” he starts, then trails off, lifting himself up and down on his tiptoes. “Can we talk?” Wille is practically pleading and, as if on cue, a student pushes his way past, apparently seeing no better path than going between him and Simon. “I mean, maybe…” Wille gestures towards the room and Simon catches his hint. He gives a curt nod, one that Wille can’t read. But he does turn around, and not to leave. He slips in through the door, Wille at his heels. And before Wille has any chance to take in the interior of the room, or think about what the fuck he’s supposed to do now, now that he’s gotten to this point, Simon is on him. Wille's back hits the door with a loud thud, his chest immediately colliding with Simon's. He lets out a strangles sound of surprise when he suddenly has an arm full of Simon. But even his moment of shock is cut short when Simon’s lips are on his. Finally again. Wille quickly melts into the touch, relishes in the way Simon licks into his mouth, almost like he's been plagued by the same desperate need that has rendered Wille sleepless for these past two weeks. Wille's arms close around Simon's middle, backpack and all, and Wille lets out a sigh of… something. Relief, probably, but also pleasure. This is what they're good at, this is a way in which they've always understood each other. This is what makes sense for them. So much sense that Simon has Wille heavily panting against his lips in no time, so much sense that Wille’s hands easily find their way into the back pockets of Simon’s jeans, like they’re two puzzle pieces. So much sense that it takes Wille a long time, many seconds, minutes maybe, to realize that this isn’t what he came for. Not really, not initially. He tries to pull back, not going far with the wood of the door right behind him. But Simon understands, moves back, then takes a big step away from Wille that causes Wille’s hands to slip out of his pockets. He weakly holds them at his side, suddenly feeling really awkward about just standing here. He clears his throat. “I…” It’s like Simon didn’t only take away his breath, but also his speech. Wille tears his eyes from Simon’s face, from the soft reddish hue on his cheeks, from his wet lips. “I wanted to talk about last time, what you said. I-” Simon interrupts him with a groan. “Can’t we just forget about this already?” He sounds frustrated, angry almost, but there’s a trace of desperation. Wille swallows hard, very unhelpfully notices Simon’s taste on his tongue. While every bone in Wille’s body is yearning to just get back to what they were doing, to get back to what’s always felt good, he knows he shouldn’t. Not like this. Not until he’s tried, not until-

Simon groans loudly again and moves towards the handle, trying to get past Wille. His rib cage contracts painfully at the sight, and his last resolve crumbles. “Wait, please, wait, Simon,” he tries, quietly, too quietly, but, fuck, how else is he supposed to say this. Without thinking about it, he goes in for Simon’s wrist, grabs it, squeezes once, then lets go again, suddenly terrified he’s making it worse. He back away from the door, stops blocking it. “I’m sorry, Simon, I don’t-” “Don’t say it,” Simon rushes out. As quickly as he reached for the door, he’s taking a few steps back again. Wille opens and closes his mouth again, entirely helpless. He’s not fucking following. He shakes his head, trying to make sense of it all. “But what you said then, and when you left-” “It doesn’t matter, okay?” Simon is pacing, and there’s too much distance between them for Wille’s liking, way too much. But he doesn’t want to reach out, doesn’t want to overstep, but, fuck he needs to fix this, he needs to understand, he needs Simon to tell him. He can’t keep wondering if maybe, just maybe…. When Simon stops pacing only to go for the door again, it bursts out of Wille. “Please, just speak to me!” He startles himself with his raised voice, and Simon stops dead in his tracks, head whipping around towards Wille. It’s Simon’s turn to gape at him, speechless.

He juts out his chin in defiance and crosses his arms. Wille’s heartbeat quickens when Simon turns towards him again. There’s a fire in his eyes that makes Wille feel like Simon is the one towering over him. For another few seconds, they just stare at each other, neither willing to be the first to break contact. It’s scary, tense, like any wrong move could shatter everything. Wille decides then and there that he’ll keep this up for hours if he has to, if it means that Simon isn’t going to run away again. But it seems like Simon has different plans. With a long, exasperated sigh, he turns away again. Wille watched his shoulders sag, watches him throw his head back in frustration. When he runs a hand up and through his curls, a silly part of Wille’s conscience wishes he could be the one doing that. “Look,” Simon starts, and Wille steels himself for whatever revelation might be coming his way. His eyes never leave Simon’s face, still. “I’m sorry, okay?” Wille feels his face fall. “I’m sorry that this isn’t what we wanted, I’m sorry that I said what I said, I just-” Simon tugs on his hair again and lets out a frustrated noise. “It’s okay,” he says, and suddenly all the fierceness drains out of his voice. When he twists his head to look back towards Wille, Wille’s pulse yet again picks up speed.

“It’s okay that you don’t want the same thing, it is!” Wille has trouble listening with his heartbeat hammering away at his temples. “We can keep doing this,” Simon gestures between the two of them ”I’ll be fine, I swear, can we just not talk about-” Suddenly, it clicks. Oh. “Stop,” Wille says, quietly, carefully, and it must be such a stark difference in tone that it’s unsettling. Simon immediately quiets down, enough for Wille to take a step towards him. To finally close the distance between them. Wille doesn’t think his pulse has ever been this quick without him nearing a panic attack. Once again, he swallows. “You’re saying that you… like me?” Simon presses his eyes shut, lets his head fall back in a movement of aggravation. “Wille…,” he groans, but there’s no edge to his voice, no hostility. He rolls his head back, looks pained, but he doesn’t withdraw, stays where he is. “Yes, I like you. That’s the whole point, that’s why-” Oh. Wille doesn’t waste another second, doesn’t give Simon any more time to misunderstand him. With a fervor that’s entirely new in its intensity, he rushes forward. One hand on Simon’s neck, the other reaching for Simon’s arm, linking their fingers together loosely, Wille kisses him. He kisses him and kisses him and lets out a pathetic little noise when Simon presses back after a moment, returns the kiss with equal force. Fuck. Wille can’t keep it in any longer. A wave of relief washes over him, strong, intense, warm, just like Simon. Wille giggles into their kiss, breaks away from Simon’s lips. When he does, he doesn’t pull away, rests his forehead against Simon’s. And he simply can’t hold back his stupid grin. “I like you too,” he says and fuck, that feels a lot like butterflies. “A lot.”

Send me one of these prompts for a short lil story 💜

[marshmellin]

Galadriel is a kick-ass, legendary warrior in Arondír's eyes. I suspect other rank-and-file elven soldiers view her similarly.

Every time (every. time.) Arondír is on screen with Galadriel, we get to see how much true awe he looks at her with. Arondír gives us the unique perspective of how Galadriel is perceived as a warrior among other elven soldiers. Gil-galad and Elrond (as well as Círdan and Celebrimbor) are all very familiar with Galadriel and her bullshit. They know her great deeds on the battlefield. In some cases, their in-show vibe has been like: Yeah, the darkness, the shadows, the evil. Valar, we know, you are older than the sun itself. YES, we will text you if the darkness returns, grandma, just staaaaaaahp fighting so much.

Arondír looks at her in a completely different way. He looks at her with the eyes of one who knows of her great deeds, and can not believe he is now in the same room as her. The look on his face, IMO, says she's damn near a mythical warrior at this point for him. (To get poetic and therefore less accurate with it; Galadriel's status to this rank-and-file elven soldier is: Athena. The Morrígan. Freyja. Ishtar. Durga.)

Arondír's face when Galadriel:

"So, Theo, m'boy, that is Lady Galadriel, commander of the Northern Armies, and she's here to save every Valar-damned one of us. I can not believe she's here, are you kidding me? She is a LEGEND. Put some respect on her name and heal her already, Elrond, why are you standing there like an idiot if you have a magic ring? Are all High Elves this insane?"

Arondír's face when not Galadriel:

I think there’s a deep beauty in seeing just how much Galadriel has inspired other elven soldiers, and how long she has been fighting. For Arondír to say her name like that, with such relief and awe in his voice, truly says something to how he — a normal elven dude who used to be a grower before he was hauled into mandatory watchguard duty or whatever the hell — views her.

I don't get the sense that he and Galadriel are work besties, so to speak. So that makes me think Arondír knows of Galadriel and her skill from what he has heard of her — her renown, her reputation. Potentially her magical hair color.

And this warrior respect she has won is highlighted again. Arondír knows her enough to trust her and listen about when to attack Adar outside Eregion. The man wants blood even if it's his own, and she talks him down. Galadriel is the reason he is alive rn, candidly. Her on-the-field advice to both him and Theo — to pause, to show restraint, to plan for tomorrow — is indicative of the type of leader she is.

This, to me, also makes the nearly-kinda-sorta mutiny when we first see Galadriel hit so much harder. If she is this near-mythic warrior and general known by all, and soldiers like Arondír know of her greatness from stories of what she has done — if she's THAT GIRL from a warrior and leader perspective and yes JRR did in fact make her that girl — then yes, that mini-mutiny at Gil-galad's order stings so much more. Not only that Gil took command of these five troops and said "follow her until you reach X and pull back regardless of her command." That sucks a lot. But I see additional pain there, IMO, because she could interpret that move as Gil-galad saying "her judgment as a warrior and leader can't be trusted. She no longer is the mythical warrior we need." A hit to her reputation in front of other soldiers, not just a censure of the actions she took. Yikes bikes on your timing there, Ereinion.

Bonus Trek Thought:

Truly, the first time Arondír said “Galadriel” with wonder to Theo, he instantly made me think of BOIMLER in the SNW/LWD crossover ep! He is bashful and giddy about meeting Number One on the original Enterprise. GIDDY. Every time he sees her, he is in awe. And it's because she was a legend to him. Her story inspired him to join Starfleet; set him on his life's path, literally. She was the coolest officer and fighter and scientist he had ever heard of.

his hero. and now he's meeting her.

An additional note: We can read the look on Arondír's face as romantic, too, don’t get me wrong -- ship and let ship. Would it be the Arondriel girlies (gn)?. But jokes aside, I don’t want to relegate Arondir’s closeness and warrior bond with her to romantic only. Miv has unstoppable chemistry and so does Ismael. Hot people are hot, more breaking news at 11.

[ryuzakemo128]

Ghoap x Female Reader

Content Warnings: Female reader is Italian and speaks Italian. Swearing. Cursing. Insults thrown around. Reader talks about their wealthy family ties. Philosophy talk about death and what it means to accept death. Car accident in somewhat graphic detail I guess?

Note: If you want more of this type of thing, let me know, and I'll whip up a part two in a heart beat.

Note 2: Camion is Italian for 'truck'. At least, I think it is. But please correct me if that is incorrect.

You were still unconscious from the car accident, you weren’t the one who caused this forsaken mess, and yet you were the one who suffered the consequences of somebody else’s actions. Doctors said you suffered greatly, but then again anyone who was railed by a camion would have.

The term ‘suffered greatly’ is absolutely vague and at this point? It felt almost deliberate. Who knew when you would wake up? Let alone wake up at all? The nerves bundled up inside the both of them. Unsure why they had insisted it was safe enough for you to go there alone.

As the rain hammered down upon the asphalt road. As the camion came beside you inside the car that was small enough to be crumpled with too much ease. You didn’t see it coming. Not that you would have now, would you? It wasn’t like you could predict the future and considering the past is set in stone. It wouldn’t do any good trying to change what already happened.

“I will not be subjected to your lack of taste. Nor do I expect you suffer from my own tastes.” You told them months ago about Italian opera and how much you enjoyed it. “Either way. What you need. You shall have. No strings attached and no favours required.”

You are far too ‘selfless’ sometimes. According to them. But you loved them for what they did for themselves rather than what they did for you. What good is assistance if they can’t hope to help themselves.

“Hey, I will not have you speak negatively about yourself or wishing death upon yourself either. Neither helps you and nor will it help you heal either. Just because can doesn’t always mean that you should. You told me that once and I think it should be said to you too.” You gently scolded them once.

You showed them your AGM-1 carbine, your Italian Bullpup Carbine, once, “Its nice. I quite like it.” You said to Ghost one afternoon. “Its one my favourites. Along with the Barrett M8A1 I use.”

Soap hasn’t stopped pacing around the hospital waiting room. He was sure you would be dead before the two of them got to start dating you. Couldn’t have that now can they? But much like life itself.

Moments like these aren’t fair. Ever. You told them life shouldn’t be taken for granted. Cherish the time you have now and mourn the people you eventually leave behind. You knew this more than most people. You studied it in subjects like Forensics Anthropology, Forensics Pathology, Thantology, and Archaeology.

“Death cannot be cheated, nor can it hope to be delayed. To think you can do just that is beyond naïve. Hopefully idealistic in the act of thinking humans could ever dream of immortality.” You told them once. 

“Unless you are like my lineage, I doubt your family is going to have their own homegrown cemetery attached to their own churchyard. ‘Can’t have the ‘common folk’ get anywhere near our dead or something like that.” You added in.

When you do wake because death had decided it wasn’t quite your time to leave the earth just yet. Denying you passage to death’s cold embrace. How long would it take for you to get used to your new arm you wonder.

Ghost still remembers hearing about your favourite flower being ‘Lilly of the Valley’. Shocking him because they were light coloured flowers and the total opposite of your aesthetic. You said it was because of the fact life gave them such light colours to such delicate things. It was your mother's favourite for a while, along with flowers like sweet pea.

You didn’t like them until she passed, and thereafter? Loved them completely. Roses were fine. You weren’t going to turn away from them completely. But the sentimental value from the light pink lilies were far more than any dark red roses could offer. It was like comparing a sunrise to a sunset. Both were beautiful, one had a taint of sadness captured in it that you found absolutely charming.

“I find them prettier than I did when I was younger. Perhaps it was because my mother valued them so much? I can only guess that was the reason I took a liking to them.” You told him looking back at him from looking out the window. The rain hadn’t stopped pouring down from the look of things.

You continued speaking after a brief pause, “Though I do remember bringing her red and white snapdragons on Mother’s Day one year. I didn’t think it would affect her so much, until she said she had chosen them for her wedding bouquet. Her mother-in-law hated it, said it clashed with the ‘atmosphere’ and yet she decided to go with it.”

“You should have seen her, inside of white, she wore a midnight blue with silver embroidered stars along the fringes of the veil and the dress’s long train. Like she was walking straight from the depths of the sky. I said it was like the moon was loaning her its stars in the attempt to woo her into staying with him instead. In her refusal he gifted them in remembrance.”

You didn’t speak about your family’s ludicrously magnanimous volume of worldly goods, nor did you want to. Why would you?

How do you put in plain words to someone that it was reaped by taking care of the dead? You know you didn’t have anything to be embarrassed of. But in what way does someone go about telling loved ones their family’s legacy lies inside the act taking caring of the dead or the ones about to die?

Even though it was your mother’s side who dabbled in such things and not your father’s. Your father’s side were the more pompous kind of rich, lavish, extravagant and excessive with their wealth. It was your mother’s side that was more grounded, more in touch with reality. Creating the overture combination of a rich girl with the heart of someone who knew of suffering.

Though parts of your furniture does seem odd. Like the Marc Held for Prisunic Moulded Fiberglass Bed, c. 1966. You had decided to place a waterbed mattress to it, just because you wanted to make it feel older.

The black silk sheets and crimson silk pillowcases were the things inside your bedroom. These things? They made it feel more 70's. You liked that era, you also loved the 60's and 80's. Which despite the gothic shades, tones and colours. It was like you were trying to hold onto a piece of your mother.

They didn't know how to cope when they first heard you were in a car collision with a camion, you weren't going too fast. You weren't intoxicated. You weren't high. You were just driving back home after a rough case, and fate decided it was time to throw you curveball. A fucking curveball no one saw coming.

Soap slept in your bed that night, inhaling your scent from the silk sheets and clutching your whale shark plush. The heavy blanket draped over him. The fur blanket made from real deer fur. You told him it was made from the first deer you hunted with your grandfather months before he passed.

You had killed it yourself. You remarked it was your grandfather’s way of making sure you respected the animal you slaughtered. Use every part otherwise its murder and not hunting. A beautiful blanket which has lasted longer than most things you bought. In colour it’s a deep, rich brown, almost auburn in the right lighting. Soft to the touch. Eerie to think it once was a creature roaming the forests freely.

When you woke and Ghost had been in the chair beside you the whole time? “What……what time is it?” you asked like you had rolled out of bed.

“Two in the morning. You’ve been asleep for seven days and eight nights.” Ghost answered calmly. Knowing the doctor told him to keep the excitement to a minimum.

“I don’t know why, but I jumped, panicked a little, thinking I had to wake up for work.” You mumbled, you are still completely out of it from the amount of morphine inside you.

[theproductofcreativity]

Selfish

This just in. Cringe culture is dead and I'm posting my self indulgent fluffy oc x canon fanfiction. In the dead of night so no one can perceive me

The knightformers au belongs to @archie-sunshine and Gleam belongs to me. I hope the two entire people that end up seeing this enjoy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shockwave knew he was the last person to deserve the sight before him. Gleam's tired eyes staring at him lopsided in the dimly lit room, freckles glowing a pale blue in contrast to the warm yellow of the light spell she was just barely maintaining in her sleepy state. It was late, and yet she always insisted on staying up with him as long as possible whenever he stayed over. Another thing he knew he didn't deserve.

Shockwave was well aware of the truly heinous things he had done in the war. To others. To himself. His form corrupted beyond repair, done of his own free will in his pursuit of knowledge and power. Even just speaking his name was enough to make some shudder with fear. And yet, sleepy sky blue eyes stared with nothing but pure love and adoration for him. 

Truly, he had no right to have such eyes on him. No right to be laying beside Gleam on her vast collection of soft blankets and pillows, gently brushing his thumb over the star-like freckles on her cheek. Surely just a mere touch from an abomination like him would corrupt her beauty, and yet it never did. 

“You look lost in thought.” Soft purple words appeared in front of him and lingered for a moment before fizzling out. 

“I am simply wondering how many stars were sacrificed in order to etch them into your skin so beautifully.” Of course he would never tell her what was truly going through his mind. He had made the mistake of expressing these thoughts to her once and will not be doing so ever again. It had resulted in a confusingly angry and affectionate lecture on all the good he’s done for her, how happy he makes her, and how dare he disparage her boyfriend like that. Definitely not something he was looking for a repeat performance of.

Unaware of his mental plight, Gleam simply smiled and leaned into his touch. “You already know. You counted at least ten times by now.”

And he had, because of course he had. It was imperative that he knew every single detail of her body, the exact number of freckles on it included. Of course she hadn’t stayed still through the ordeal which had necessitated the numerous recounts. Not that he minded. It was simply more time spent appreciating the sight of her he knew he wasn’t worthy of.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t moved so much I wouldn’t have needed to count so many times. The slightest touch had you squirming.” He poked her side just to see the silent giggle etching a smile onto her face, only for a yawn to break it.

“You are tired. You need to sleep.” Shockwave had lost the need to sleep long ago with his corruption, but could still appreciate sleep when it allowed him to hold his love while she rested. A fact he had to struggle to remember when a truly heartbreaking pout formed on Gleam’s face. She hated when he insisted she sleep when he was there. She always wanted to spend as much time with him as possible before he left again.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know I will be here for at least three more days.”

“I know…” Suddenly she leaned forward, loosely draping her arms around his shoulders. “Carry me to bed? Please?”

Another tactic of hers. One he was powerless to resist.

“Very well.” Carefully pulling her into his arms, Shockwave stood and lifted Gleam from the mass of pillows and blankets. The “cuddle puddle”, she had dubbed it. Making sure not to jostle her he carried her to her bedroom, though she kept insisting he call it their bedroom, and set her on the bed. It took some gentle tugging as well as the promise to only take a moment to remove his armor to convince her to untangle her arms from around his shoulders. He felt her eyes on him as he turned his back to her and began removing his armor, and no sooner had the last piece been removed did he feel her arms wrapping around his waist and gently pulling him back towards the bed.

“Impatient little thing.” Yet his tone held nothing but fondness as he allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed, turning himself so he lay facing her and once again had her adoring gaze on him. Of course, no sooner had he laid down did he feel her delicate fingers tracing the ‘Y’ shaped scar on his chest. It was self inflicted of course, done to himself in the process of becoming what he is now. This time he forcefully shoved down the thoughts of such an unholy part of him tainting her soft skin as he felt the soothing pulse of healing magic flowing across his chest. It wouldn’t do anything. Scars this old couldn’t be erased. Gleam knew this as well, and yet she insisted on doing this every time. She had claimed it was the same thing as “kissing it better.” An action she had also performed on numerous occasions. A completely nonsensical and illogical notion, not to mention completely useless and ineffective.

Though he found it increasingly difficult to care as the calming blue light from her palm illuminated the scar on his chest as well as the jagged runes etched onto his arms. A cheap bastardization of the pale blue starlight on her cheeks.

All too soon, the light faded and she simply rested her hand on his chest. Even in the near complete darkness of the room, Shockwave could see Gleam struggling to keep her eyes open. Normally he would pull her to him, keeping her safe in his arms as she rested, but he was feeling a bit self indulgent tonight. Instead, he tucked his face into the crook of her neck. He felt her silent giggle as her hand found the back of his head. Tendrils of smoke caressed her fingers as he nuzzled further into her. The scent of medicinal herbs and flowers flooded his senses. A scent so uniquely her that he couldn’t get enough of.

Shockwave stayed pressed against her, as close as he could possibly get, hearing and feeling her breathing gradually evening out as she fell asleep. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, his mouth began to open. Jagged teeth poised just millimeters away from the thin skin of Gleam’s throat. It would be entirely too easy to bite down. To tear her tiny little throat out that wouldn’t have been able to scream even before then. She was so weak. So fragile. And yet she slept so soundly, unaware of the true danger she was in. She trusted him so implicitly. Him. The Demon Lich. And he so readily, so selfishly took advantage of her trust. Allowed her to show him affection. Allowed him into her home and bed. Accepted her kindness and gazed upon her beauty he had no right seeing. 

Yes. Shockwave was selfish. Keeping this treasure locked away all for himself. Away from someone who truly deserved such a light in their life. But really, when has he ever cared about being selfish? Not once has he been a good person and he wasn’t about to start now. He had his love in his arms, whether he deserved it or not, and he will not be letting her go.

Daring to let the tip of his tongue brush against Gleam’s throat, tasting her, feeling the small shiver run down her sleeping body, Shockwave felt a sense of satisfaction knowing no one else would have her. She was his and only his.

Slowly, he closed his mouth again. He nuzzled his face back into her neck, taking in her scent once more as the thought settled in his mind.

He truly was a selfish man.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunlight slowly filtered into the bedroom as the sun rose and Gleam awoke not to the gentle brushing of fingers on her cheek like she did when Shockwave stayed over, but to the feeling of arms wrapped tightly around her waist and soft breaths fanning over her neck. Her sleep-addled mind struggled for a long moment to comprehend the situation before it finally clicked. 

Shockwave had fallen asleep.

Gleam remembered him telling her that he could sleep, he just didn’t need to anymore. So even on the rare occasion that he wanted to be held by her as she slept, much like last night, she would always wake to their positions reversed and Shockwave stroking her cheek or hair. Not long after he would make her get up and start the day, no matter how much she pouted.

Today was different, however. Shockwave had fallen asleep and was still asleep. Asleep and clinging to her. Logically, she knew she should wake him up and get the day started. She had potions to make and he had his own projects to work on. But when did she ever get to sleep in with him? Surely just a few more minutes to hold him wouldn’t hurt?

Yes. It was fine. She could keep him to herself for a little while longer. She could be a little selfish. 

[drrobctnik]

the silence was strangling. felt like it had a vice grip on his throat, threatening to close up his windpipe. great job being quiet, julius, you stupid piece of shit⸻ say something. SAY SOMETHING, FUCKING TALK⸻

"......i'm," his fingers shift, and he moves to rub a hand along the side of his own neck, not looking at stone as he says this, "i'm sorry you never got to tell ivo," that felt strange to say, "the things you wanted to." he felt jealousy nip in his chest and knew that was irrational and stupid. he barely knew stone after all. & clearly they were both lonely from, everything either of them had gone through. but julius wanted to throw caution to the wind and let himself feel jealous, want stone, want, want⸻ he always wanted but never knew how or if he should sate that wanting. if he had the right to.

what had stone called it? marinating? just marinating, coasting through life, he supposed. doing what he felt he had to. a death without dying.

he exhaled, not sure he had it in him to explain more. there was so much more he felt he wanted to say, it was conflicting. he was scared that if he didn't now, the opportunity might never present itself again. he wondered if that itself was irrational, or maybe stupid, or naive. too emotional, too sensitive. he also couldn't stand the silence. wanted to speak with stone, but didn't know how. was he afraid of judgment? rejection? stone recoiling?

was he scared more, maybe, of stone stepping forward to meet him, and accepting it? what would that mean? to be seen, accepted, wanted not in spite of his ugliness or his horrors or his darkness but because of it.

"...i want," he swallowed, inhaled shortly, exhaled, and finally looked at stone again, "i want to tell you. i do. i just... i don't know how. no one's, ever bothered to ask, before. to want to know," he isn't sure how to express that, so he, he just lays a palm against his own chest. as if to silently say 'to know me', all of him.

stone knew by the silence that seemingly yet again he'd said the wrong thing, and a small part of him was starting to grow irritated at that fact. he tries to do his best to listen and be reassuring but it's perceived as anything but, and he practically has to stop himself from letting out a frustrated sigh at the entire scenario.

he knew very well when to pick and choose his battles, and right now his annoyance was not needed nor welcomed.

so instead of speaking and potentially further souring things between them he just stands there, arms resting loosely over his chest as he watches julius stand up. there really wasn't much in the way of anything that he could say to the man, it seemed.

[hym-beaux]

.

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i know that when carlo suddenly decided that he needs to marry guy made a whole list in his head n like had a deadlines n shit. like it was some kind of a task he needed to do

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[nrc-asteryn-crew]

When the phantom allowed them to come inside, Yuuto's head immediately whipped around to stare at it, completely dumbfounded. Aros' eyes widened before schooling themselves.

"Ah, is that so..? Thank you, then. We will not attack you unless provoked ourselves, that much I can say with certainty."

He said in gentler tone, taking a hold of Yuuto's free arm and bringing them both to the entrance.

Making their way through the dorm, they eventually caught up to where Kiyuu was standing now.

"Darling, your eye makeup is all smudged..."

Aros murmured, frowning as he tilted her head, down this time, ever so slightly, to get a closer look. Kiyuu shook her head, Aros bringing his hand away in response. She gave him a small smile, meant to reassure him.

"I'll be okay. Yuna's more important than my smudged eyeliner. By far."

She said quietly in response.

During all of this, Yuuto stood, leaning on a nearby wall, before abruptly pushing himself off of it, and casually walking his way up to her, seating himself down nearby, turning to address her.

"Hey. I'm Yuuto, 'n this is my crow, Xen. You can pet him, or even hold 'im if you want. He won't attack ya or anythin' 'nless I tell 'im too. Ain't that right?"

He said, gesturing towards the crow that was perched on his arm. He squawked, and fluttered his wings a little, but otherwise stayed amicable, Even leaning a little towards Yuna, as if expecting something from her.

Aros and Kiyuu simultaneously gave Yuuto their own questioning looks, both of them about to say something when Yuuto spoke up again.

"What? You really think she's gonna trust us as is? Some random strangers trying to pry into all her life problems? I'm just evening the playin' field a little, so I'm not too much of a stranger anymore. Ain't that hard to comprehend."

He said, speaking to them all while sporting a tired, deadpan expression. His voice held a slight edge to it, as if a little irritated that he even had to explain it. But really, it was a little more than that.

"Ah. You'd know that. Wouldn't you..."

Kiyuu whispered softly to herself, as Aros began to respond at the same time.

"That makes a lot of sense. It's a good idea, I like it.

My name is Aros, and I'm a 2nd year from Pomefiore. I'm a model and an actor, and have been since I was very young, though, quite obviously, I am not nearly of the same level as Vil, both skill and popularity wise."

He said. Though, as he thought about it more, it seemed almost... too rehearsed, too rigid. It didn't really suit the scene in front of him.

"...Something a lot of people have told me, is that I'm quite fond of animals. This... quirk of mine, seems to also extent towards beastmen, too. Much to my embarrassment..."

He found himself saying, after a few short moments of struggling to find something else to tell about himself. He hadn't quite meant to say that much, but he hoped that it meant something, to share such a trivial yet somehow personal (read: embarrassing) fact.

"Ah! This is cute, okay! Uhm- I'm Kiyuu! I really like cooking meals, especially with others. I also- really like surfing and ice-skating, though that doesn't mean I was- really any good at either, but I haven't really been able to do either much lately. Ya'know- being on- on Sage's Island and all that..."

She shared, trying to remember the different things she really used to enjoy. With her whole routine and schedule that she'd held on and off for many years being dishevelled since she'd gotten here, It's been harder for her to really find the time or energy to do some hobbies of her's anymore, and found it a little bit of a strain to even remember them anymore.

"Hey, that makes three of us right now with 'Yu' names! Those are some crazy odds- I wonder how many there are of us..."

She then pondered in a mumble, mostly to herself.

Yuuto turned back to Yuna, leaning back onto one of his hands, leaving the other lifted, for Xen to continue to perch on.

"So. It's your turn now, Goldie. Doesn't matter that we already know ya name, bet you've got plenty more interestin' 'bout'cha than just that. Let's hear it."

He grinned.

A notification flashes across phone screens everywhere throughout NRC. The radio podcast, NRTea has gone live once more!

"Hello, hello, dearest listeners! And welcome to another episode of NRTea, the hottest tea party on sages island! I'm your host, Chamomile-"

"and I am Earl Grey"

"And oh boy do we have a story for you today! Take it away, Earl!"

"...alright.

As of late, there have been brambles spiralling up and encasing parts of the Ramshackle dorm. The brambles themselves seem generally harmless, as do the roses that fall from them, but if you prick yourself on the thorns, it would be quite an unpleasant sensation, so I'd suggest exercising some extra caution when visiting for now."

"Yup, yup! If you've got a friend or two living in the dorm out there, go check on em and make sure they're doing okay!"

"I know I myself must check in on my dearest companions soon..."

"Well that's it for now! We've been your hosts, Chamomile-"

"And Earl Grey,"

"And this has been NRTea. Stay thirsty, dear listeners!"

The stream continues on for a bit before cutting off, though.

"Hey... James?"

"Yes?"

"Y'know how Yuna has been locking up lately and stuff? Says she's been super sick recently."

"Mhm... It's quite concerning, if I am being honest. I haven't seen her for a while..."

"...I wonder if Yuna is alright. I hope she doesn't get hurt with all those brambles."

"...Me too, Lewis. Me too."

(✨YUNA OVERBLOT STUFF YAHOO!!!

-✨mod, @night-raven-miscellany. Technically James and Lewis, too, but I haven't been adding them fhdjfj)

Kiyuu stared down at her phone with a frown as the podcast ended. She didn't say anything, prompting Aros to speak up from behind her.

"...Lucky you haven't been over there for a while, isn't it?"

He spoke, giving Kiyuu a faint smile, leaning in just a little closer while dabbing a makeup brush into the eyeshadow pallette in his hand, before applying it, making slightly quicker movements than previously, already being able to tell what Kiyuu was thinking.

They both knew the signs by now from even just a glance. With the context the podcast had accidentlly given... Something bad was about to happen. That much they could tell.

His expression morphed back into a frown as he watched how Kiyuu's face seemed to go through a cycle of conflicting emotions, confirming what he'd thought.

"...Yuuto's close by, though. And he definitely won't hesitate to head straight for Ramshackle once he suspects something's happening..."

There was more silence, only disturbed by the quiet sounds of rummaging through makeup and supplies from Aros. They'd been in the middle of testing out some makeup samples Aros had been sent for a promotion when they'd decided to tune into NRTea's podcast in the background.

"...Would you like me to quickly finish applying your makeup before we go?"

Aros offered, picking up an eyelash curler, and tilting Kiyuu's head up gently with his pointer finger.

"But-"

"Ah- Let me finish now. If you're worried about time, I'll change up our plan, do something quick, yet effective, instead. Don't stress out more than you need to. It won't do you any good."

"Mmh... Okay then. I'd- really like that. Thank you..."

Kiyuu conceeded softly, a silent exchange of gratitude from Kiyuu between them, Aros nodding in response, expression neutral as he continued.

"...Heh. I bet he's real excited right now. I worry a lot for him when he does this sort of thing, y'know. Just doing whatever he wants with no consideration to anyone else's feelings..."

Kiyuu mumbled, an underlying bitterness that she never quite felt wholeheartedly in her voice.

"That's just how he is. The only thing for us to do now is help them both out, hm?"

"Ah- right..! Yuna, I heard their name was, I think... I hope they're alright..."

"As do I."

Aro's commented as he stood, reaching instinctively for his hand mirror, handing it to Kiyuu as he hastily, yet still neatly, tidied up his supplies.

"Satisfactory?"

He asked, turning his head around to gauge Kiyuu's opinion.

"Yeah! More than, for sure."

Kiyuu agreed, handing back the mirror. She felt a little better now, the familiar feeling of her makeup calming her nerves ever so slightly.

After a few short moments she stood, hastily reaching to fix up her hair into a more practical fashion.

"Okay! Okay. Let's go! We shouldn't waste anymore time."

She announced, projecting bounds more confidence than she actually felt.

"Yes, let's. Perhaps we'll even arrive before anything too disastrous occurs on either party's end..."

Aros responded. Though somehow, they both doubted that much of a miricle would happen for them today...