Cam :)🎃

[She/Her] [24] 🦇IG: camsbrainmatter 🎃drawing whatever 🦇clowns aren't real, wym?🤨🤨

[gorjee-art]

HEARTACHE OF CHAOS - MARES IN THE SKY

The warmth of the sun could not reach the shadows; it wallows, knowing it cannot say "You did your best."

[innerchildabortionclinic]

i'll always meet someone described as not friendly, and it's just a person who doesn't smile or talk a lot unwarranted. I feel like I have to continuously explain to people that this is not inherently hostile behavior

[depsidase]

[clownconspiracist]

So I'd be full and fun at parties

[clownconspiracist]

Boyfriend's best friend's account got hacked and tried to ruin a 10 year old server. Didn't work and now we're all watching this pos try to message other friends like sir🫩🤨 we all know you ain't our mans🫩🤨 fuck outta here lil bro

[yumenosakiacademy]

There was nothing Citlali sought to challenge —except the slow march of time.

[robs-your-robins]

Thinking more about the rumour if how Bruce Wayne acquired his two eldest boys because they both are carbon copies of him and everybody at first thinks that Bruce fathered them with the same woman on the side but for some reason didn't marry her or couldn't for some reason but then...

Then Superman flies into Gotham to rescue Bruce and the kids. And everybody is like, "wait a damn minute" because while Dick and Jason are copies of Bruce, they do sort of look like... And Superman is very intimate with them, hugging Dick and crouching down to talk to twelve year old Jason who looks a little wary and then there's Bruce. There's Bruce, who is smiling, not that ghastly social smile or that flirty smile but something real, and he looks so comfortable around Supes and... Did Superman just brush something off Bruce's Wayne face? Immediately rumours start spreading and Gotham has a new reason to loathe Big Blue from Metropolis:

Superman: Don't be afraid, just take my hand and we will get you somewhere safe.

Gothamite, clinging to a lamppost: How about fuck no?

Superman: um, excuse me, sir?

Gothamite: You think I'm letting you fly me out of here? Taking me off to god knows where? So you can what?

Superman: Save you?

Gothamite: Oh, like you "saved" Bruce Wayne? Got him pregnant with two babies you don't pay child support for or even visit? They're beautiful boys but I'm not having no alien baby let alone with some deadbeat baby daddy.

Superman:

Batman, deadpan: I'm mean he's right, Superman. You did me wrong like you did Bruce Wayne. Two babies and no daddy.

Gothamite, angrier now: YOU KNOCKED UP THE BAT TOO?

Batman: He won't even visit us any more. Nightwing and Robin miss him so much.

Superman:

Nightwing, holding Jason Todd, both looking like puppies in the rain: Daddy?

[itsfumblebee]

Fire Fist!

I am a firm believer that when Ace has a s/o he won’t spare another person a moment of his time, and in the funniest way too.

In my missing Ace era

Having someone as attractive as Ace on your arm was bound to have its challenges. From freckles that mimicked the constellations glittering the night sky to muscles chiseled by the gods themselves, there’s a certain level of security required to loving Ace.

You have to know the man would never entertain another soul once entering a relationship with you. Fiercely loyal, unwavering in his adoration. His eyes search for in every corner of the world, whether you’re alongside him or not. His heart beats to the syllables of your name and swells ten times its size when you merely utter a word.

Bars were a regular occurrence for the Whitebeard pirates. When they weren’t out conquering the sea, they were engaged in parties—drinks and food and dance until the crack of dawn.

A particularly attractive woman sauntered towards Ace, clearly drunk.

“Hey, handsome, whatcha say we get out of here?”

Ace, physically unable to entertain the thought, replied in a nearly robotic voice. “My partner kills people.”

You coughed up your drink, turning towards Ace with an incredulous expression, his face remaining stoic; the man was serious as a heart attack.

The woman was taken aback. She gazed at Ace with quizzical eyes. Your man, clearly noticing she hadn’t taken the hint, turned in his chair to face you.

“Hi, hun. Gotta borrow you real quick.” He said, smiling a bright smile. But by the time he’d turned around to face the woman once more, this time with you wrapped in his arms, his expression went dark.

“I wouldn’t want to unleash the deadly force of my one true love.” Ace threatened. He held you out as though you were a kitten between his palms, air jailed.

You nodded your head in greeting, tilting your drink in the woman’s direction, “I’ve been known to kill on occasion.”

She scurried away, leaving you there In Ace’s lap. You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck and feathering his face in kisses.

“You’re such a dork.” You teased. He accepted it gratefully, returning your kisses with a flurry of his own.

“Only for you.”

And my, it’s far from the first time something like that had occurred.

“Hey there,” Another woman flirtatiously approached. “Aren’t you a sight.”

She traced a manicured nail along his bicep, planting her palm against his broad chest.

“Unhand me woman, I’m married!” Ace screeched, swiping her hand away as though it burned, flashing a toy ring you’d fake proposed to him with; having won it at a fair on an island a few months back.

But Ace took your faux proposal seriously, cherishing the ring that was a size too small and glittered red in the sunlight. The only time you’d ever seen him take it off was during a fight, worried he’d somehow burn it to ashes. His shorts had a designated compartment to carry it, and once business was handled he’d frantically fumble to find it again.

The woman took the hint, thankfully, and Ace fiddled with the ring, staring at it with a small smile. The sight had reminded him of you, of the love he wore as a badge of honor.

Deciding he’d had enough for the night, Ace took his (unpaid) beverage to go, running back to the ship so he could tell you all about the ring and how it’d saved him.

But your favorite occurrence of Ace curving women was one the entire crew told stories of to this day, your boyfriend’s face flushing red every time someone dared bring it up.

Ace was drunk.

Actually, that’s an understatement, Ace was wrecked. Speech slurring and body rocking back and forth. Marco and Thatch had thought it would be the best decision for Ace to turn in for the night, the imminent hangover that would eventually ensue sure to be a whirlwind.

You agreed, letting Ace know you were gonna grab some food to go then you’d head out—the man was always starving after a night at the bar.

Ace stood in the center of the dance floor, lazily swaying to the music as his mind conjured thoughts of you. He’s an affectionate drunk, all cuddles and sloppy kisses. Marco once scoured an entire island in search of you because an intoxicated Ace was throwing a tantrum regarding your absence, body flickering in and out of flame.

Now, as he dreamt up cuddling with you beneath a mountain of sheets—takeout shared between you—he couldn’t have been happier.

That is, until someone had to go and ruin his fun.

A woman scarcely dressed swayed alongside Ace, mimicking his lazy dance moves and adding her own exaggeration. The man didn’t notice at first, far too caught up in his thoughts of you. So she shimmied closer, body a mere few feet away from Ace.

This, he noticed. Not thinking much of it, Ace scooted away. But she followed, closing the distance even more than before. Again, Ace tried to keep space between them.

But upon her third attempt, Ace panicked, not wanting to be around anyone but you for a moment longer.

Thus, the interaction he can never seem to live down:

In a high-pitched voice, Ace squealed for the entire bar to behold.

“Woman, you’re way too close, fire fist!”

A surge of fire erupted in his hand. He threw the flame down in the small space between their shoes, a plume of fire separating them. Ace was satisfied, a smile on his lips and hands triumphant upon his hips.

The entire bar erupted in boisterous laughter. Meanwhile, takeout in hand, you fought back tears of amusement.

You watched your boyfriend frantically search around, eyes finally locking onto you and scrambling to your side. His arms wrapped protectively around your waist, practically whimpering as he whined for the two of you to leave.

You hummed, shifting the food into one hand and fluffing his hair.

“You alright?”

He huffed like a child, pushing himself further into your side. “She attempted my life.”

You laughed then, a full belly sound that ached your ribs and burned your lungs. Air felt as though it were in short supply, struggling to grasp what wisps you could.

“It’s not funny!” Ace defended, still violently intoxicated, words slurred like a ship on the sea. “I was defending our love!”

That made you stop, looking down at your lover and sighing.

How you loved that man. A burning pillar of everything you could’ve asked for and more. Love was simple with him, honest and passionate. He loved fiercely and was unapologetic in doing so. There’s never been a moment where you’ve questioned Ace’s feelings for you. He wore them proudly, his heart that called your name and cursed the heavens when you were away.

You kissed the top of his head, Ace visibly softening beneath the gesture. He rose then, cupping your cheeks and pressing a burning kiss upon your lips. The scent of alcohol and the flaming sea filled your senses, the two of you mingling, meshing into a single being of desire.

“Let’s go home.” You spoke softly, breaking away from the kiss.

Ace nodded in agreement. “Only if I get cuddles.”

The two of you departed from the bar hand in hand, the night sky and summer breeze guiding you back to the ship.

“You’re sharing that food, right?”

“Yes, Ace. Always.”

[dragonstarlightwrites]

Scrap Metal Menagerie 

Characters: Kid

Summary: No one warned you that falling in love with animals would result in receiving handmade metal gifts from one of the most dangerous pirates on the sea. But it's not bad at all. 

Masterlist

It started small. 

You returned to your desk late one evening, notes still spread where you’d left them, migration routes traced in ink, behavioral anomalies circled and underlined, half-finished sketches of sea creatures. The lamplight caught on something unfamiliar. 

Perched atop one of your books sat a tiny metal bird 

A News Coo.  

You lifted it carefully, half-expecting it to spring to life. The craftsmanship was meticulous. Its little hat was perfectly tilted, the satchel slung across its chest heavy with miniature newspapers. Even the small coin pouch that usually hangs from its neck was there. The flap had been pulled back. Inside, nestled neatly together, were tiny replicas of metal berries. 

The bird was cool in your hands, the surface smooth from careful filing. It wasn’t just a sculpture, it was an imitation made by someone who had watched these birds closely. Someone who noticed details.  

“…Huh,” you murmured. 

“Don’t break it.” You jumped. Kid stood in the doorway, arms crossed, red hair wild as ever. He looked, tense, like he was bracing for criticism. 

“I wouldn’t,” you said quickly. “Did you make this?” 

He scoffed. “Obviously.” 

“It’s a New Coo,” you said, eyes lighting up. “You even got coin pouch right and it has berries in it.” 

Kid blinked. “…You like it?” 

You smiled. “I love it. This is amazing.” 

He grunted and turned away. “Tch. Good.” He left immediately after. 

After that, it became a pattern. 

One morning, you woke to the weight of metal at your bedside. Three Kung-Fu Dugongs stood shoulder to shoulder atop the table, sculpted mid-pose, round bodies grounded, flippers raised as if ready to defend one another. Their shell plates were smooth beneath your fingers, edges softened with care. They were heavy, solid. Comforting. Each one was slightly different. A nick in a shell here, a deeper-set eye there, imperfections that made them feel less like copies and more like individuals.  

A tiger showed up tucked between your books, tail curled neatly around its feet. Its body was carved low and tense, as if caught in the moment before a strike, metal muscles layered and deliberate. The eyes were narrow, focusing overlooking the room. 

Once, after you came back soaked through from a sudden storm, you found a tiny metal seal sitting on your pillow, flippers spread wide like it had been waiting for you. Its rounded body was smooth and warm from the room, and when you touched it, something in your chest loosened. You slept better that night. 

You never asked him about it. You just admired them openly, talking about the animals they represented whenever he happened to be nearby. Kid always pretended not to listen. 

Still, the next time you passed his workshop, you left a small bag by the door. Nothing obvious. A couple of wrapped snacks you knew he liked. A bottle of something cold, condensation already dripping. 

The bag was gone the next morning. After that, it became another quiet habit. Some days, you’d find new metal filings swept aside more carefully than before. Other days, the drink would be returned, empty and set back in the exact spot you’d left it.  

One night, you caught him. You’d forgotten your notebook in the workshop and went back for it quietly. The room was lit by sparks and low lantern light. 

Kid sat hunched over his bench, tongue caught between his teeth as he worked. Scrap metal shifted and bent beneath his hands, slowly becoming something. You leaned closer before you could stop yourself. “…Is that a fox?” you whispered. 

He startled, a sharp clatter of metal ringing through the room. “DAMMIT!” Then he froze. “…You weren’t supposed to see that.” 

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly. 

He scowled. “It’s not done.” Still, he set it down with surprising care. The fox’s body was sleek, tail caught mid-swish, ears sharp and alert, like it was listening for something just beyond the room. “You said once,” Kid muttered, eyes fixed stubbornly on the bench, “that foxes adapt to anything. Survive anywhere.” 

You remembered. You’d been rambling about resilience. “…Yeah.” 

“Thought you’d like it.”  

Your chest ached. “You do this for me,” you said. 

He shrugged. “I had scrap.” 

“You could make weapons.” 

“I do.” 

“But you make animals, for me.” 

Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then, quieter, almost begrudgingly, he said, “You look happy when you talk about ’em.” 

You stepped closer, gently picking up the fox. “You make me happy.” 

Kid’s ears went red instantly. “Tch, don’t get weird.” You laughed softly. He glanced at you, then away. “…You can keep it, after I finish.” You smiled, holding the fox close before placing it back in his hand.  

As you turned to leave, Kid added gruffly, “…If you ever want a specific one… just say it.” 

Your heart skipped. “…How about one you think suits me?”  

A smirk tugged at his mouth as metal flickered back into motion. “Already workin’ on it.” 

The shelf was beautiful. You’d arranged it carefully, every metal animal lined up just so. The News Coo perched at one end, forever mid-delivery, its tiny satchel heavy with metal coins. Nearby, the trio of Kung-Fu Dugongs stood shoulder to shoulder, solid and unyielding, their smoothed shells catching the light. The tiger rested among them like a silent guardian, stripes etched deep, eyes watchful even in stillness. The seal resting to the side, it’s flipper out like a greeting.  

And at the center, the fox. Sleek and alert, tail caught mid-swish, it seemed almost alive compared to the others. The metal there was polished more carefully, the lines finer, as if Kid had lingered longer over it. Your fingers brushed it without thinking, and you smiled. 

The shelf itself was solid, reinforced steel, mounted seamlessly into the wall. Kid had built it without saying a word.  

He’d been fixing your desk at the time. You’d just returned from sketching the Sea King that had been circling the ship, the last few days. Seemingly content to travel with the ship for the time being. It seemed small; you thought it may be a young one. You were sorting through your colors, deciding how to layer the greens, when you heard it. 

“…The hell is this?” 

One of your crew mates stopped by the room before you even saw him. “Put. It. Down.” One of the crew members had lifted the metal fox, turning it in their hands with careless fingers. 

“Relax, Captain,” they said with a laugh. “Just lookin’. Didn’t know you were into...”  

Kid crossed the room in three strides. The air hummed. His metal arm snapped out, wrenching the figurine back so fast it startled everyone. He didn’t even look at the crew member, only at the fox, checking it for damage with a gentleness that made the room go silent. “…You don’t touch their things,” Kid said lowly. 

The crew member swallowed. “I didn’t mean...” 

“Did I stutter?” 

“No, Captain.” They backed away immediately. 

You stepped in then, resting a hand lightly on Kid’s arm. “It’s okay,” you said softly. 

His shoulders eased a bit. “Not okay,” he muttered. “They’re not toys.” Your heart warmed. 

Later that night, Killer leaned against the doorway of your room, arms crossed, mask tilted slightly. “So,” Killer said lightly, “how long before Kid makes a Do Not Touch sign?” 

Kid, who was adjusting the shelf for the third time, snapped, “Shut up.” 

Killer chuckled. “You almost took someone’s head off over a fox.” 

Kid scowled. “It was bent.” 

“It wasn’t,” you said gently. 

“It could’ve been,” Kid shot back. You smiled.  

Killer tilted his head, eyeing the shelf. “You made all of these?”  

Kid didn’t answer right away. He tightened a bolt, then another, like the delay might somehow change the question. 

“…Yeah.” Kid shrugged slightly, “They like animals.” Your chest fluttered. 

Killer laughed. “You built the shelf too, didn’t you?” 

Silence. 

Killer hummed. “Interesting how the most dangerous man on the ship spends his free time making animal figurines and furniture.” 

Kid pointed at him. “Keep talking and I’ll make you into scrap.” 

Killer shrugged. “Worth it.” You bit back a smile.  

You stepped closer to Kid, reaching up and squeezing his hand. “Thank you.” He returned the squeeze, tight, deliberate, as if trying to communicate more than words could. 

Killer watched the exchange with obvious amusement. “You know,” he said, “if anyone didn’t realize how much you care before, they definitely do now.” 

Kid scoffed. Killer chuckled before giving you a nod and headed out of the room. Killer’s footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving the room quiet except for the soft hum of metal from the shelf and Kid’s slow breathing. 

You turned to him, heart still racing from the exchange. “Hey,” you said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. 

He tensed. “Don’t get… weird.” 

You smiled gently. “I’m not.” 

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His eyes flicked to the shelf, then back to yours, and for once, the usual scowl didn’t mask what he was feeling. 

Slowly, you stepped closer. Your hand slid over his metal one, squeezing it lightly. He stiffened, then tightened his grip in return. Before he could pull away, you leaned in. 

Kid froze for a heartbeat, then his hands were on your waist, holding you close with a force that was equal parts instinct and caution. Your lips met his, soft at first, testing, before he responded with a rough, tentative intensity, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel this, or if he was allowed to show it. 

You whispered against him when you pulled back slightly. “Thank you. You’re not afraid to care.” 

He let out a low grunt, resting his forehead against yours. “Tch… don’t get used to it.” 

You laughed softly, your heart still beating in your ears. “Too late.” He smirked, a little shy, a little proud, and pulled you back in, just enough to press another quick, heated kiss before stepping back; eyes burning with quiet defiance but also love. Pure, undeniable love. 

And the shelf? No one touched it again.  

[emmcfrxst]

[kitkatscabinet]

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS

pairing | hal jordan x fem! reader requested | by anon as part of dc to dos

Your head is pounding, a persistent throb that has you whimpering in pain the second you open your bleary eyes. The room is dim, with only a few rays of sunlight filtering in through the hideous floral print curtains and onto your pillow, but it's enough to have you scrunching your eyes shut once more.

Beside you, a body shifts with a groan, slinging a muscular arm over what you now realise is your naked waist. Jolting your head to the side so fast that your vision blurs, it takes a few seconds until you can make out a dishevelled mop of mousy brown hair.

Dread settles in your stomach as the man turns, and it's Hal Jordan's sleeping visage facing you. He sniffs a little, attempting to nuzzle even closer to you in his sleep, and you freeze, heart pounding in time with your head as you desperately try to scrounge up any memories from the night before.

Hal murmurs something unintelligible, his brow furrowing in what you assume must be distress. Without thinking much of it, you bring a hand up to softly stroke his hair until he settles under your touch.

He's unfairly pretty like this, long lashes brushing against his cheek and face free from any of the day-to-day stresses. Not that you'd ever tell him that, Hal would be insufferable about it until the day you died.

A sudden glint catches your eye, and your hand freezes in its movement atop Hal's head, the dread returning in your gut as you stare at what is undoubtedly a wedding ring sitting on your left ring finger.

"Hmm, why'd you stop?" A groggy voice cuts through the dread, and you let out a screech, shoving him away from you and pulling the blanket up over your chest.

"God damn, woman." He groaned, bringing a hand up to wipe the sleep from his face, letting you glimpse the matching metal band adorning his finger. Without thinking, you grab his hand, bringing it up to your face and touching the ring like it'll shatter the illusion. "Hey, now, if you wanted to hold my hand—"

Hal's cocky statement dies halfway through as he finally registers what's got you in such a tizzy.

"Is that—"

"Yep."

"How? Where? When?" He stammered, shooting an accusatory glance your way like this whole thing was your fault.

"I don't— Do you remember anything from last night?" You sighed, rubbing your forehead in an attempt to lessen the headache.

"I remember Ollie ordering those blasted tequila shots, then the fireball... Then... Batman? Wait. Was Batman the officiant? Did Batman marry us?!" Hal squawked as you squinted into the distance like it would conjure up your memories.

"No... I think Bruce was my maid of honour?"

"I swear Batman was there." Hal insisted.

"Alright, forget Batman for a second! What else do you — what is that?" You lean across Hal, reaching for the small bedside table and grab a small stack of papers.

There's various photos. Most are of you in a white dress you certainly hadn't started the night in, and Hal in a fancy-looking tux, looking for all intents and purposes madly in love.

You spot Ollie, Barry and Bruce in some of the pictures, but you barely pay them any mind. Not when, at the bottom of the pile, you find a marriage licence. A legitimate marriage licence signed by both you and Hal.

The two of you are silent, staring at the dmaning evidence before you.

"Well," Hal clears his throat, "I s'pose I could do a lot worse."

"Excuse me? I'm the best you could ever hope to land. You're punching Jordan." You scoff, trying to beat back the butterflies that squirm in your belly when he grins at you.

"Yeah, but you still took my last name, Jordan." You hate the way his stupid grin brings the butterflies back in full force. He's not exactly ugly, and you'd be lying if you said you'd never thought about him like this, naked in your bed.

"This is such a bad idea," you murmur, catching his attention. Before he can question you, you pounce, straddling his waist and pulling him into a deep kiss.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what—" Hal gasps when you finally pull away, lips swollen and gaze half lidded.

"Well, I can't seem to remember our wedding night." You pout, wrapping your arms around his neck and lightly tug at the hair on the nape of his neck, "Care to remind me?"

"Oh fuck yes, thought you'd never ask, baby." Hal practically throws you back against the mattress, making you squeal and giggle before he's pulling you into another searing kiss.

Yeah, you supposed you could do worse.

[uniicorns-arereall]

you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free

(just NO a.i)

[that-dumb-bunny]

Yees, fall for my hal fics propaganda and join my cult (pathetic hal enjoyers)

[ballard96]

[bimstown]

bug

[cypher-lovesjohnwalker]

[click4rainy]

Yeah, whatever.

👽: He’s a cutie patootie FR. Had the BIGGEST crush on him when Ultra Sun came out. Have the biggest crush on him now. TEEHEE 🤭

✅:Proof Read

🖇️:Guzma x Reader (ROM Fic)

⚠️:(SFW), Fluffy, love hate relationship, he’s a big dumb bully that “totally” hates you. Slow slow burn. Rivals to lovers? Or enemies to lovers? Something like thatt

★ The sun hung lazily in the sky over Route 11, casting soft rays across the tall, waving grass. You were crouched low, gently coaxing a Cutiefly so you could add it to your Pokedex entry. The buzzing pokemon flitted about, wings shimmering in the light, but eventually settled on a large rock nearby, holding still just long enough for you to get a proper shot of it.

★ “Gotcha,” you whispered, standing up to brush the dirt from your knees.

★ “Ahww, look at you. Real impressive,” a familiar, grating voice drawled behind you.

★ You sighed, already knowing who it was without needing to turn around.

★ “Guzma,” you greet him flatly, as if his sudden appearance was just as normal as a Pidgey flying overhead…

★ Nothing better than the self proclaimed “Gang leader” of Team Skull approaching you. He had a knack for that it seemed. What a thorn in your side.

★ He stepped out from behind a tree, leaning casually against the trunk as he folded his arms over his chest. His white dyed hair sticking out wildly, matching perfectly with that fuck all attitude he always carried.

★ “You really got nothin’ better to do than babysit bugs out here?” He smirked, tilting his head to watch the Cutiefly dart away. “What, you tryna be a professor now? Fillin’ that Pokédex all proper?”

★Glancing up at him, almost chronically unimpressed with him at this point. “Yeah, some of us like helping out, you know. Not everything’s about causing trouble.”

★ “Tch—Sounds boring.” He kicked a pebble across the path, eyes flicking toward you in a way he hoped you didn’t notice.

★ But…you noticed. It was hard not to, considering how used to his antics you were. The sneering, the teasing. But something about the way he kept showing up around you, especially when you were obviously out by yourself. It made you wonder…

★ “Uh huh,” you replied dryly, stepping further down the route as if to leave him behind. “If it’s so boring, why are you here?”

★ “Pfft—i ain’t here for you,” he retorted quickly, catching up with you in three strides. “I’m just—ya know—scouting. This place’s on Skull’s uh, radar.”

★ You couldn’t control the lift in your brows, amusement coloring your features. “Really? Hm. Last i checked, Cutiefly weren’t exactly rare treasures for your big schemes.”

★ Guzma frowned, clicking his tongue. “Maybe I just like walkin’ around. Got a problem with that?”

★ You snort softly at his stupid, almost charming, defensiveness. Shaking your head, “No, no problem here. I just think its kinda funny how you always ‘happen’ to be wherever I am.”

★ His steps faltered for half a second before he regained his composure, shoving his hands into his pockets with a scowl. “You think too much, ya know that?”

•••

★ The two of you kept walking, the silence stretching out, broken only by the occasional rustling of wild Pokémon in the grass. It wasn’t uncomfortably awkward, though. Guzma, despite his reputation, had this strange way of being tolerable when he wasn’t actively trying to irk you.

★ As you crouched to inspect another little Pokémon, Guzma shifted from foot to foot behind you. Clearly restless.

★ “So…what, you really enjoy all this?” He asked suddenly, nodding at the Pokédex in your hand.

★ “I do.” You simply replied with a small shrug. “I like learning about Pokemon, helping them when i can…guess its just the way i am, i dunno.” You nonchalantly say.

★ Guzma scoffed, but his usual venom wasn’t there. “Figures. Bet youre the type to give a Potion to a wild Rattata or somethin’.”

★ “Maybe,” you replied with a small smile.

★ He stayed quiet after that, watching as you worked. After a while, you stood up and stretched your arms above your head.

•••

★ “Alright, I think i’m done for today.”

★ “Bout time,” Guzma grumbled, though he made no move to leave. “You headin’ back?”

★ “Yeah. You…wanna walk with me?”

★ His eyes narrowed suspiciously, like you asked him to confess his deepest secret or something. “And why, would i do that?”

★ “Because you clearly have nothing better to do.” You sigh, rolling your eyes at him.

★ Guzma opened his mouth for a snarky comeback but shut it just as quickly. Staring at you for a long second, his brows furrowing before shrugging dramatically.

★ “Fine, but don’t get any ideas. I ain’t bein’ nice or nothin’. Just…bored”

★ “Sure, sure.” You bite back a grin as you side glance him.

★ The two of you walked down the path, the heat of the afternoon sun easing into a cooler breeze. A flock of wingull circled overhead, their caws blending into the soft hum of the route. Guzma kicked at the dirt, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.

★ “So,” you began, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “how long are you gonna keep pretending you don’t like hanging out with me?”

★ His head snapped towards you, his eyes widened before slanting at you. “Hah?! You kiddin’ me? I don’t—“

★ “Relax,” You laughed, matching his steps. “I’m messing with you. Mostly.”

★ Guzma huffed loudly, but there was a tiny smile playing at hush lips while dragging a hand through his hair.

•••

★ Guzma’s eyes drifted to the side, stealing glances at you whenever he thought you weren’t paying attention. Something about the way you smiled at wild Pokémon, or how gently encouraged a Metapod out of the path, made his chest feel weird—tight almost. He hated it.

★ “Hey,” he said suddenly, his chin nudging, pointing toward your Pokédex, “that thing tell you how strong a Pokémon is?”

★ “Kinda…? it’s more for cataloging, though…”

★ He snorts. “Bet it can’t ‘catalog’ my Golisopod.” He arrogantly points at you with a stupid smirk.

★ You grinned, ignoring his dumb jab and instead find interest in his ace. “You’re really proud of that thing, huh?”

★ “Damn right I am. Golisopod’s a beast.” He crossed his arms, chin lifting slightly.

★ “Well…” you teased, “if i ever catch one, maybe i’ll let you know how it compares.”

★ “Tch, good luck with that. You’d need me to show you the best spots.”

★ “Mmh, sounds like an excuse to hang out again,” you quipped, nudging his shoulder lightly.

★ Guzma looked away sharply, hiding the pink dusting his cheeks. “You wish…”

•••

★ The path eventually led to a small clearing. The sun finally dipping and painting the sky is soft oranges and pinks. The sound and smell of the nearby ocean faintly lingering in the air. Guzma slowed his steps, almost reluctantly. Like he was about to say something…

★ “What? are you scared of the dark?” You playfully ask, looking over tour shoulder to see him already catching back up.

★ “You’re so annoyin’ sometimes” he simply mutters, not bothering to pull away from you as your shoulders brush against each other.

★ Eventually, the sky had melted into deeper shades of purple and orange when you reached the edge of the route. The last bit of sunlight lingered on the horizon, but it wouldn’t be much longer until nightfall. Kricketot settled into their chirping, the evening proving its presence when the breeze nipped at tour akin, making it prickle.

★ Your eyes slid to the side, catching Guzma stealing yet another glance your way. He shoved his hands further into his hoodie pockets and looked away quickly, pretending to focus on a distant tree, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

★ “You know,” you drawled out, breaking the silence. “I can get home just fine from here. You don’t have to stick around…”

★He scoffed at that, waving off your words. “Yeah, right. Like i’m gonna let you wander off alone when it’s gettin’ dark.”

★ He saw you tilt your head, and tried to correct himself clumsily. “Wild Pokémon come out more at night…ya know?” he added, like you didn’t already know that.

★ “Ahh, that’s why you’re still here.” You press, but not too much.

★ “Exactly,” he said a little too quickly. “I mean…what kinda person would I be if i just let ya get jumped by Spinarak or somethin’?”

★ “Right…” you smirk, and he grumbled under his breath, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “Don’t make it weird.”

•••

★ The two of you continued walking, the atmosphere quieter but of course for you, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Guzma’s usual snark had dulled, replaced by something that was definitely akin to awkwardness. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

★By the time you reached the path leading to your house, the stars had begun to scatter across the sky, twinkling against the almost pitch black canvas. The faint glow from your porch light illuminated the small, yet pretty front yard, beckoning you into the warmth.

★ “Well,” you said, stopping just short of the front steps. “Home sweet home.”

★ Guzma lingered a few feet behind, shifting on his heels. “Yeah…guess so.”

★ You tilted your head a notch, catching the way he seemed hesitant to leave. His gaze drifted over the house, as if he were searching for an excuse to stick around just a little longer.

★ “Thanks for walking with me,” you said softly, stepping up onto the first step

★ “Tch, I wasn’t walkin’ with you, punk.” He muttered, staring down at his sneakers. “I was just headin’ the same way. Pure coincidence.”

★ “Right, of course—pure coincidence.” You echo, rolling your eyes at him.

★ His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, and you could see the faintest crease of hesitation in his brow. He stayed rooted to the spot, looking like he wanted to say something but couldnt quite get it out.

★ Without thinking too hard about it, you leaned in, pressing a quick peck to his cheek.

★ It was light—barely there—but the second you pulled away, Guzma froze like you had just taken his picture with the flash on. His eyes widened, hand instinctively shooting up to where your lips had been, fingertips brushing against his cheek, as if needing proof that had actually just happened.

★ “Goodnight, Guzma,” you said softly, turning back toward your door.

★ Before you could fully step inside, his hand shot out, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist.

★ “Hey,” he muttered, voice lower than usual.

★ You glanced back around him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?” For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his grip on your wrist wasn’t firm, but it was enough to stop you. There was something uncharacteristically soft in the way he looked at you. Something rare for the Leader of team skull.

★ “C’mere,” he said, tugging slightly, making you stumble toward him. His other hand hovered uncertainly by your waist, and his gaze flickered between your face and the ground like he was trying to work out if this was a terrible idea or not.

★ Before you could question it, Guzma leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. It wasnt rushed or over the top. It was a simple, soft kiss thag lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary. His hand stayed loosely around your wrist, thumb brushing gently over your skin.

★ When he finally pulled back, he didn’t move far. His forehead rested lightly against yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off his face, even as he tried to play it cool.

★ “Guess i’ll walk ya home more often,” he muttered.

★ “Oh yeah?”

★ He huffed, finally releasing your wrist, though his hand trailed down as if reluctant to let go. “I mean, yeah. You’re kinda alright, it’s not a thing though.” He smirks.

★ “So now i’m ‘kinda alright?’ Ha.” You teased, leaning against the doorframe.

★ “Yeahh, well. Don’t push it, short stack.” He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets for the umpteenth time tonight, rocking on his heels with a small grin.

★ You couldn’t resist asking, double checking maybe? “so…are we just gonna pretend this didn’t happen or…?” You cock a brow.

★ Guzma shrugged, the grin turning slightly smug. “I dunno. Maybe i’ll letcha call me your boyfriend if ya catch up with me tomorrow.”

★ “Oh, let me?”

★ “uh, yeah? I got standards.”

★ You scoffed at his obvious joke, his tone weirdly softer than usual. As you opened the door, Guzma stood there, watching you step inside.

★ “Get some sleep, loser.” You say before shutting the door behind you.

★ He stood there for a moment, before turning around to make his own way home, his mind swirling with too many thoughts of you already. “Did i just officially, unofficially cuff them or…?”

👽: not me getting back into my pokémon era?!?! (This collected dust in my drafts.) Might continue this idkkkk tehe. Guzma let me fix you baby boy. Let me FIX you.

[ageae]