#I am saved with the streak freezes

[ruin--eclipse]

HELPPP I JUST MAD IT TO DAY 300!!!

[fxstpace]

☆ kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ domestic fluff, established relationship au. 0.57k words.

“this is a bad idea.”

“this is not a bad idea.”

“i’m going to ruin everything.”

“you’re not going to ruin anything,” mingyu assures, turning to look over his shoulder at you, even though his hair is sectioned off, and your gloved hands are already poised with a streak of dark blue dye.

you groan, throwing him a half-hearted glare. “stop moving! this is already stressful without you wiggling around.”

your boyfriend obediently stills, turning back around and letting you carefully work the dye into his bleached hair. the colour looks ominously dark against the bright blonde; you freeze for a moment, heart pounding.

“what if it comes out patchy? or green? or worse—what if i miss a spot, and you have to walk around looking like a dalmatian?” you say in a rush, trying to focus on evenly coating the strands.

“i think that’d look good, actually,” he teases, but when he notices the tension in the line of your jaw, his voice softens. “seriously, though, you’re doing great. even if it turns out bad, i don’t care. it’s just hair.”

you huff. “you’re saying that now, but wait until it’s done. then you’ll be begging me to shave your head.”

“bold of you to assume i absolutely wouldn’t rock a shaved head,” mingyu says, grinning as he looks at you in the mirror. you shoot him a warning look, and he faces forward, adopting the expression of a chastised child. “sorry, sorry! i’ll stay still.”

“thank you.” you exhale, leaning closer to ensure every strand is thoroughly saturated. the gloves crinkle while you section off another chunk of his hair, carefully applying the dye.

he hums a soft, aimless tune under his breath to fill the silence, the melody curling around you both, gentle and warm. his eyes follow every movement of yours, and his lips curve upwards into a tender smile. “you’re really focused on this, aren’t you?”

“of course i am!” you reply, brows knitting in determination. “you trusted me with your hair, mingyu. your hair. the thing you spend half an hour styling every morning even if we’re just running out to buy milk.”

“first of all, it’s only twenty minutes, not thirty. second, i trust you.”

“yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable. i’m not a professional,” you mutter, though your cheeks heat up at his words because it’s such a mingyu thing to say—unabashedly sincere, the kind of sweetness that isn’t sugar-coated because it simply is. 

“that’s okay. professionals are boring. you’re much better.”

you roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “you’re such a flirt.”

“can’t help it. my girlfriend’s cute.”

“flattery will not save you if this goes horribly wrong,” you warn, reaching for the dye bottle to squeeze out the last bit of product.

he tilts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “good thing i’m not worried, then.”

with one final swipe, you finish applying the dye and step back to inspect your work. mingyu wraps his blue-tinged hair in a plastic cap and peers at his reflection in the mirror. “well?” he asks. “am i handsome yet?”

“you always are.”

“and you say i’m the flirt.”

grinning, you poke his cheek. “sit down and don’t touch anything. i don’t need blue stains everywhere in our apartment.”

“got it, boss,” he says, plopping down on the edge of the bathtub. his expression turns contemplative. “next time, we’re going pink.”

“absolutely not.”

⇢ a/n: everyone say thank you to skye for sending me a series of blue-haired mingyu pics yesterday night that prompted me to lose whatever small amount of sanity i had.

[heliosunny]

Can you do more Yandere Castorice?

Yandere!Castorice x Reader

It had been a week since you landed on Amphoreus. At first, it was just another stop, another unfamiliar world to explore. And in that time, you met Castorice.

She was an enigma, a contradiction wrapped in a quiet, knowing smile. Her presence was both inviting and repelling, a paradox that only seemed to deepen the longer you spent around her. Others kept their distance. Don’t get too close. Don’t linger too long. But despite everything, despite the way fate itself seemed to twist in her wake, you didn’t leave.

And then came the accident.

One misstep, one fleeting moment where you crossed an invisible line, and suddenly, you were drowning in an agony beyond words.

The air between you and Castorice crackled with unseen tension, thick with something far more dangerous than simple misfortune. A creeping, inevitable decay hung in the air—her curse, unraveling everything it touched. And it was tearing through you.

Your breath hitched as a sharp pain lanced through your chest, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Your limbs felt sluggish, bones aching as if they had aged centuries in mere seconds. A wave of exhaustion crashed over you, your skin burning and freezing all at once.

“Stay back!” Castorice’s voice was sharp, panicked—a rare glimpse of genuine fear flashing across her usually composed face. Her hands trembled at her sides, fingers twitching as if she wanted to reach for you but knew she couldn’t.

But you didn’t move away.

You couldn’t.

Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was the way she looked at you.

So you stepped forward instead.

Your body screamed in protest, your vision darkening at the edges, but something deep within you refused to let go.

And then—nothing.

The pain was gone. The suffocating weight of her curse had lifted. Your body, which should have been crumbling under its influence, remained whole.

You exhaled, slow and steady, and met Castorice’s wide, disbelieving gaze.

“Looks like I’m not going anywhere” you murmured, flexing your fingers as if testing your newfound resilience.

“You really shouldn’t have done that.”

But you only smiled.

Because now, there was nothing stopping you.

No more passing things by dropping them at her feet. No more careful, calculated distance. No more barriers between you and the one person everyone else feared to get close to.

----

The sky split open.

A streak of light, blazing and uncontrolled, carved through Amphoreus’s eerie glow like a star torn from its place in the cosmos. It fell fast, plummeting toward the ground with no signs of stopping. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the streets as people stopped to stare, but no one moved to help. No one even tried.

But you did.

The impact shook the ground, dust and debris kicking up in a thick cloud, obscuring whatever had just fallen. When it settled, you saw her—a girl, sprawled across the cracked earth, body tense with the lingering shock of her descent. Her clothes were torn, her breath ragged, but what caught your attention most was the way her wide, unfocused eyes darted around in confusion.

She had no idea where she was.

You knelt beside her, speaking gently. “Hey. Can you hear me?”

She blinked up at you, struggling to form words. Then, finally, she whispered, “...Where am I?”

Your brows furrowed. “Amphoreus. You don’t remember how you got here?”

She shook her head.

You helped her sit up, steadying her when she wobbled. She felt so fragile—so utterly lost. Something about it tugged at you, and before you knew it, the words left your mouth:

“I’ll take care of you.”

And from somewhere behind you, Castorice saw it all.

It started small.

Castorice would always be within your reach to observe that girl. She never interfered, never stopped you from looking after the stranger you saved. But every interaction came with something off.

One evening, as you tended to the girl’s wounds, Castorice leaned against the doorway, her voice laced with an unsettling sweetness.

“You’re so kind” she mused, tilting her head. “But kindness can be dangerous, you know.”

The girl stiffened slightly, but you barely noticed. “What do you mean?” you asked, not looking away from the bandages in your hands.

Castorice hummed, stepping further into the room, her movements slow, deliberate. “Mm… It’s just that people who don’t belong here tend to fade away.” Her fingers traced idle patterns on the wall as she spoke. “Amphoreus isn’t… welcoming. The ones who arrive suddenly, without a place? They never seem to last long.”

The girl swallowed, gripping the edge of her sleeves. “I… I don’t plan to stay forever”

Castorice’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something sharper in the way she tilted her head. “Good” she said.

----

The girl had been weak since the fall. Her body was healing, but there were moments when exhaustion hit her like a wave, forcing her to lean on you for support. It was one of those moments, just a fleeting second, when she lost her balance, and without thinking, you caught her.

“Careful” you murmured, steadying her by the shoulders.

She looked up at you, wide-eyed, vulnerable. And at that precise moment, you felt a familiar presence lingering nearby.

Castorice stood at the threshold of the room, hands loosely folded behind her back.

“Am I interrupting?”

The girl pulled away from you instantly, guilt flashing across her face. “N-No, I—”

“It’s not what it looks like, Castorice.”

“Of course not,” she said, stepping closer. “Why would I think otherwise?”

One other night, you caught the girl sitting outside alone, staring up at the sky. She had been restless lately, quieter than usual.

“You okay?” you asked, taking a seat beside her.

She hesitated before speaking. “…I think I should leave.”

“What? Why?”

“I just… I feel like I shouldn’t be here. Like I can’t be here.”

You exhaled slowly. You understood, Amphoreus was unsettling, and Castorice, despite how much you cared for her, wasn’t exactly… welcoming. But something about the way the girl spoke made it sound like more than just unease.

Before you could respond, a voice cut through the silence.

“How sweet” Castorice cooed. “A little late-night chat under the stars?”

You sighed. “She was just thinking about leaving. I was trying to understand why.”

Castorice tilted her head. “Thinking about leaving?” A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “Why does it sound like you’re trying to convince her to stay?”

“That’s not—”

“It’s fine.” She stepped forward, her gaze settling on the girl. “If you really want to leave, then by all means…don’t let me stop you.”

You noticed the girl had been avoiding you. You didn’t know why—until the day you found her, standing frozen in an alleyway, her face pale.

“I—I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

“What did she say to you?”

“I don’t know” she whispered, shaking her head. “She didn’t say anything. But I felt it. Like if I don’t leave soon… I won’t be able to.”

And then, as if summoned by the mere thought of her, Castorice appeared.

“Oh?” she hummed, “But what’s wrong with staying?”

The girl let out a strangled breath and took a step back—only for the shadows behind her to twist, cutting off her retreat.

“Castorice. Stop.” you said

“I let you have your fun” Castorice interrupted, her tone light yet suffocating. “I let you take care of her. I even let her breathe the same air as you.”

Then, she turned her gaze back to the girl.

“But she’s been here long enough, don’t you think?”

Later on, the girl vanished with no trace.

----

When you entered the room, you didn't expect Castorice to be waiting for you—lounging in your chair.

“You look tense” Castorice mused, tilting her head.

You sighed. “I am fine.”

Her smirk deepened. “Mmm”

Before you could respond, she moved—graceful, fluid. She was in front of you in an instant, fingers tracing idle patterns against your collar. And then, just as effortlessly, she slid into your lap, pressing close.

Your breath hitched. “Castorice—”

“Hush.” Her hands trailed up, curling around the back of your neck, her nails ghosting over your skin. “You spend so much time thinking about her lately… but I wonder…” She leaned in, lips brushing just barely against your ear. “Do you ever think about me?”

Your hands instinctively found her waist—whether to steady her or push her away, you weren’t sure. But she smiled at that, her fingers threading into your hair as she pulled you in just enough to let her lips hover over yours.

“You belong to me, don’t you?”

She didn’t need to threaten you. Didn’t need to demand anything.

Because this—the warmth of her body against yours, this was far more dangerous.

Castorice didn’t move, still perched in your lap, fingers playing with the strands of your hair as if she were weaving something unseen between the two of you. The warmth of her breath lingered against your skin, but you forced yourself to steady your voice.

“You know it’s not like that” you murmured, hands still resting on her waist. “She needed help. That’s all.”

Her purple eyes darkened slightly, her smirk faltering just for a moment. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” You met her gaze firmly, your grip on her tightening—not in resistance, but in reassurance. “You’re the only one I’ll ever support. The only one I’ll ever stand beside.”

Something flickered in her expression. Surprise, maybe.

Then, she laughed softly, tilting her head, her fingers tracing down your jaw with a feather-light touch. “You say that so easily…” Her voice was sweet, almost mocking. “But I wonder—will you abandon me like everyone else?”

“Castorice. You know I'm not that kind of person.”

She leaned in, brushing her lips against the corner of your mouth but never quite closing the distance. “Alright” she whispered. “I trust you”

And just like that, she pulled away, slipping from your lap as effortlessly as she had settled into it. But before she left, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“You’re mine, after all.”

[novaursa]

The Blackwood Flame

- Summary: You saved his life and won his heart.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Davos Blackwood

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The crackle of flames and the heavy scent of burning timber fill the air as you descend on the battlefield, Sheepstealer’s mighty wings blotting out the sky above. Below, the chaos of the Battle of the Burning Mill plays out, iron and steel clashing against the smoldering earth. But even amidst the din of war, a strange, tense silence falls as your dragon's shadow sweeps across the soldiers, both Blackwood and Bracken alike, turning their gaze upwards in a mixture of awe and terror.

With a signal, you command Sheepstealer lower, his form casting an intimidating silhouette as he glides down with an almost predatory grace. As you prepare to strike, you catch sight of the Blackwood forces struggling against Bracken forces along the tree line, each side locked in fierce combat. Sheepstealer releases a roar that splits the heavens, and the men below freeze, eyes widening as they realize the sheer destructive force looming above them.

"Dracarys," you whisper, the word slipping from your lips like a prayer. Fire pours from Sheepstealer's maw, engulfing the enemy lines in blazing flame. The Bracken men scatter in terror, leaving behind smoldering ash and broken steel, their will shattered by the fury of dragonfire. Those who don’t fall immediately are cut down by the reinvigorated Blackwood forces, who rally around the sight of you, their silent ally from above.

The battle is won, and as Sheepstealer circles the battlefield, his flight low and slow, you survey the scorched ground below. The once fertile valley has become a field of death, bodies strewn across the smoldering remnants of what was once a mill and its surrounding woods. A grim sight, yet necessary.

But it’s then that your eyes land on a familiar figure sprawled amidst the dead. A streak of raven hair, dark armor, and the unmistakable sigil of House Blackwood upon his breastplate: Davos.

Your heart seizes in your chest. No, it couldn’t be… But the pang of fear pushes you to guide Sheepstealer down to the earth, sliding off his rough hide before running across the bloody terrain, weaving between fallen men and discarded weapons. You find him lying on his back, eyes half-lidded, face pale beneath streaks of grime and blood. His breaths are shallow but steady, a faint tremor in his body as you kneel beside him.

His eyes flicker open, a small, pained smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he meets your gaze. "Am I dead, then?" he murmurs, his voice weak but laced with a soft wonder. "Because I see a Stranger… or maybe just a ghost."

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "A ghost wouldn’t bother risking her life to bring you back to Raventree Hall."

He chuckles, though it quickly turns into a wince as he attempts to move. "Careful there, princess. I might just believe you."

“Stay still,” you murmur, inspecting his wounds. Blood seeps from a nasty gash along his side, and several bruises bloom across his skin, yet none appear fatal. Relief washes over you, mingling with a bitter anger at the state he’s in.

“Why did you do something so foolish, Davos?” you ask, your voice quiet but charged. “Riding to the front lines as if you were invincible…”

"Couldn’t let my men fight alone," he replies, managing a smile that’s both proud and defiant, even as the pain etches deeper into his features. “We all play our parts in war, don't we?”

You don’t answer, only lift him gently, securing an arm around his shoulders. "Come, let’s get you out of here."

He blinks, startled, as you half-carry, half-drag him toward Sheepstealer, whose immense form waits patiently. Davos’s gaze remains fixed on you, a bewildered look in his eyes as if he’s seeing you anew.

“Still lookin’ at me as if I were some apparition?” you tease, though there’s a softness in your voice that betrays your own worry.

His hand finds yours, grasping it weakly but with surprising warmth. “It’s hard to believe you’re real, here with me. You look like something out of a song, Y/N.”

Despite the grim setting, his words stir a warmth within you, one you suppress with effort. “Hold tight,” you say as you help him onto Sheepstealer, securing him behind you. He gasps, though whether from pain or awe, you can’t tell. He clutches you as the dragon lifts into the air, his grip growing tighter as the ground falls away below.

The flight is short, yet every moment feels stretched as the wind carries you swiftly to Raventree Hall. The sun begins to set, casting the land in hues of gold and amber, and as you feel Davos’s head rest against your shoulder, a strange, aching tenderness blooms within you. He’s quiet, barely moving, and you worry he’s slipped into unconsciousness until his voice murmurs in your ear, barely above a whisper.

"Thank you, Y/N… I thought I was lost… until I saw you."

His words linger, carried away on the wind as you hold him close, focusing only on the steady rhythm of his breaths as Sheepstealer descends toward the courtyard of Raventree Hall.

The smoky light of early dawn spills across the training yard of Raventree Hall. Davos swings his sword in practiced arcs, letting the rhythm and heft of the blade chase away lingering aches. It’s been weeks since that fateful battle, but a faint stiffness still lingers in his side, a constant reminder of how close he’d come to joining his ancestors.

A deep, booming laugh pulls him from his thoughts, and Davos glances over to see his friends, Gawen Rivers, Orwen Blackwood, and young Tomm Casker, approaching with wide grins and a glint of mischief in their eyes. Davos sighs, already suspecting where this is heading. Gawen, the bastard cousin of the Blackwoods and an incorrigible tease, leads the pack, his bulk casting a shadow over Davos as he claps a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Look at him, lads,” Gawen says, his voice thick with amusement. “Our own brave Blackwood knight, nearly taken by the Stranger himself—only to be saved by a Velaryon princess on a dragon. Doesn’t it sound like a tale for the bards?”

Orwen, the quiet but sharp-eyed archer of their group, smirks, shaking his head. “I don’t think the bards would be telling it right. They’d have to add in how he looked at her after, like some lovesick calf.”

Tomm snorts, barely able to keep a straight face. "He was probably half-dead, thought she was the Maiden come to sweep him off. Ain't that right, Davos?"

Davos feels the heat rising in his cheeks, and he scowls, pushing Gawen’s hand off with a grunt. “I thought she was a ghost or worse, if you must know. And I didn’t look at her like a lovesick anything,” he adds, though the denial feels weak even to his own ears.

“Oh, but you did!” Gawen presses, grinning like a wolf. “Orwen’s right, you were gazing at her like she was a fine Dornish wine on a cold night.”

Davos sighs, rolling his eyes but unable to stop the small smile creeping at the edges of his mouth. “I’ll have you know, my first thought was that I’d finally gone to the afterlife, because no living woman should look like that.”

Orwen chuckles, shaking his head. “You might be the only man who’d say he’d prefer death over looking at a woman like her.”

Davos shrugs, sheathing his sword. “I was half-conscious, in case you lot have forgotten. But you should have seen her…a dragon behind her, flames and smoke around her. It felt more like something out of a nightmare than a dream.”

“A nightmare you wouldn’t mind falling back into, though,” Gawen jests, winking as he leans in closer. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve been wandering around in your own mind ever since that day. Sighing at the moon, staring off into the distance—never seen you so quiet.”

Davos’s face grows hotter under their laughter. “It’s not like that,” he protests, though the words sound feeble. “She’s… She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known. Strong, fearless. And she saved my life when she had no reason to.”

Tomm snorts, giving Davos a knowing smirk. “I think you’d like to give her a reason, though, eh?”

Orwen arches an eyebrow, his expression one of playful seriousness. “Davos, mate, be honest with us. Are you planning to write a love song about the dragon-riding princess who swept you off the battlefield? Because if you are, we’ll help you rhyme it up right.”

Davos groans, running a hand over his face. “Enough of this,” he says, though there’s no bite to his tone. "The lady’s got her own path to walk, and it's a thousand leagues above us. You think someone like her would give any thought to the likes of me?"

The three men exchange looks, Gawen shaking his head with a grin. “Oh, I don’t know about that. From what I heard, she risked quite a bit to drag you back here. Seems to me she might just have noticed you.”

“Aye, seems to me she noticed,” Orwen agrees, his voice softer now. “But even if she hadn’t, it wouldn’t change how she’s got her hooks in you. I don’t think you’d stop thinking about her even if she never came back here.”

Davos lets the words settle in, staring out over the training yard, watching as the first of the sun’s light crests the rooftops of Raventree Hall. It’s true, he hasn’t been able to get her out of his mind—the sight of her standing amidst the battlefield, like some fierce warrior queen from the old tales, her hair wild, her armor stained with ash, and her dragon looming over them all.

There was something in that moment, something that went beyond the blood and smoke. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite name, but it had taken root in him, stubborn as any Blackwood loyalty. He hadn’t admitted it to himself fully, but he couldn’t shake the memory of her or the way his heart had raced when she looked at him.

“Aye,” he says at last, voice barely above a murmur. “Maybe she has her hooks in me. But whatever she may be to me, I’m nothing to her. And that’s enough, lads.”

“Is it, though?” Gawen challenges, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk. “Is it really enough?”

Davos chuckles, his face softening. “Maybe not. But it’ll have to be.” He pauses, a smile tugging at his lips. “For now.”

The others let out a collective groan of disappointment, but he only laughs, feeling, perhaps for the first time since the battle, that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

The winding corridors of Harrenhal cast long shadows that seem to cling to every corner, giving the ancient fortress an almost ghostly air. Davos Blackwood feels each step echoing in the vast, hollow halls, his nerves a raw and pulsing thing within him. Lord Samwell Blackwood had been unable to come to the meeting, so the task fell upon him, a chance to prove himself to Prince Daemon and House Targaryen. A chance he knew he couldn’t afford to waste.

The doors to the hall creak open, and Davos enters, straightening his shoulders, trying to summon every bit of confidence he can muster. Prince Daemon sits at the head of the table, clad in dark leathers and fine cloth, his silver hair catching what little light seeps through the high windows. And beside him, with an almost ethereal glow, sit you, Y/N Velaryon, your gaze falling on him with a quiet intensity that steals his breath.

Swallowing hard, he tries to focus, feeling the weight of your stare, aware of every inch of distance—and the faintest, foolish hope that it might someday be closed.

“Lord Davos,” Daemon greets him, his voice a smooth rumble, almost amused. “I trust the journey here was not too troublesome?”

Davos bows, hoping his words come out steady. “A bit long, Your Grace, but… well, I mean, not that long, of course, just��� a journey.” He falters, feeling his cheeks redden as he realizes how utterly inane he sounds.

Daemon’s mouth twitches with the faintest hint of a smile, his gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to Davos. “A journey, yes. Much like the one we are on today,” Daemon replies, a glint in his eyes as if finding this moment far more entertaining than he should.

“Yes… precisely, Your Grace. We—uh, I mean, House Blackwood… we look forward to working with you. I mean, your family,” Davos stammers, mentally cursing himself with every garbled word. He tries desperately not to look at you, who sit beside Daemon with your hands folded, a serene expression on your face, though he catches a faint glimmer of amusement in your eyes as well.

“Good to hear,” Daemon says, leaning back, his gaze sharp. “Lord Blackwood has long been a staunch ally to House Targaryen. We have need of such loyalty—something… binding.”

Davos nods vigorously, hardly trusting himself to speak but feeling compelled to respond. “We’d be honored, Your Grace. To bind our houses, in… well, in whatever way you see fit.”

At that, Daemon exchanges a glance with you, and a smirk edges across his lips. “Very good, Lord Davos. I think you and my companion here would… complement each other well.”

Davos’s mind blanks momentarily, his cheeks reddening again as he tries to decipher the meaning behind Daemon’s words. “Yes… well, yes, indeed. Complement… Yes, Your Grace.”

Daemon inclines his head, his gaze piercing. “Then it’s settled. House Targaryen and House Blackwood will be bound, and I’m certain you’ll both find your paths much improved.” He rises, nodding to you, and you stand beside him gracefully. You send Davos a lingering look, and he feels his pulse quicken, though he dares not meet your gaze too fully.

“Until next time, Lord Davos,” Daemon says, voice almost lilting. He and you make your way out of the hall, leaving Davos standing there, his thoughts a chaotic whirl of half-formed ideas and inexplicable emotions.

Lord Simon Strong, a shrewd man with a knowing glint in his eye, approaches him, clapping Davos on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Lord Davos,” he says with a broad smile. “I can only imagine the festivities your family will prepare for such an occasion.”

Davos blinks, still a bit dazed. “Festivities? I don’t… I don’t follow, Lord Simon.”

Simon chuckles, shaking his head. “For the union, of course! You’ve just accepted the alliance with House Targaryen. I’d say a marriage to a Velaryon princess is something well worth celebrating, wouldn’t you?”

The words crash over him like a tidal wave, and Davos stares at Simon, his mouth slightly open as realization dawns. “Wait… A marriage?”

Simon only laughs, giving him a hearty slap on the back. “Yes, a marriage, my lord. I suggest you start rehearsing how to speak to her without turning as red as a beetroot.”

Davos’s face burns as the truth settles in. He had just—unknowingly—agreed to marry you, the woman who’d haunted his thoughts since that fateful day on the battlefield. He felt both mortified and strangely exhilarated, his heart racing as he replayed the scene in his mind, Daemon’s knowing smile and your quiet amusement.

All he could manage was a faint, “Seven hells…” as Simon roared with laughter beside him.

[naomijoestar]

⋆.ೃ JJBA SCENARIOS ࿔*:･

Masterlist here <3

Genre: platonic, non-bio father daughter duo, fluff, soft abbacchio (kinda)

Warnings: none

Characters: Leone Abbacchio

Notes: I was sad and bored and decided to write this, when I first watched jojo when I was younger all I could think about is how much abbacchio could make a great father figure to someone, so here you all go, I hope you enjoy this, I kinda wrote this as a lil comfort scenario for me and I hope you guys will be able to find comfort in it too <3 F!reader but I tried not to imply it too much

⚠️ Also just so there is no confusion the reader is NOT abbacchios real daughter in this scenario nor is he her biological father! The reader simply sees him as a father figure and abbacchio cares for you like his own daughter (although he would never admit that.)

Abbacchio walks in on you trying to dye your hair at 3 am

It’s the dead of night, closer to 3 a.m than any reasonable hour, and Passione’s safehouse is completely still, save for the faint rustling of wind against the windows. Leone Abbacchio is in bed, trying to ignore his insomnia the way he usually does: by lying stiff as a board and glaring at the ceiling, his teeth grinding slightly in irritation.

He’s almost convinced himself he’s about to drift off when he hears a soft, repeated thud coming from the bathroom down the hall. His eyes snap open, narrowing instantly. He isn’t a paranoid man by nature—not anymore—but in his line of work, you don’t ignore unusual noises at odd hours. With a grunt, he gets out of bed, slipping into his boots and stalking down the hallway.

The light is on in the bathroom, leaking out under the door. He scowls. He knows everyone else in the safehouse is asleep; or at least they should be. Abbacchio raises a fist to knock, but just as his knuckles connect with the wood, the door cracks open slightly.

Inside, he sees you.

You’re hunched over the sink, a pair of bright purple gloves tugged awkwardly over your hands, which are currently smothered in what looks like… pink dye? A lot of it. Bottles and brushes are strewn across the sink in a chaotic mess, the stark white of the bathroom’s countertop streaked with alarming splashes of neon color. A towel—formerly white, now a blotchy pink—hangs precariously off your shoulders. You freeze when you see him, your face contorted in a mix of guilt and panic, as if you’ve been caught red handed in the middle of a crime.

“…What the hell are you doing?” Abbacchio deadpans, his voice dripping with disapproval. He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway with a look that could cut steel.

“Uh.” You blink at him, hands still poised mid-air like a kid caught stealing cookies. “…Dying my hair?”

“In the middle of the night?” he snaps, eyebrows furrowing deeper. His gaze sweeps over the mess behind you, and his lips press into a thin line. “Do you have any idea what a disaster you’re making?”

You wince, holding up your gloves defensively. “I was trying to be quiet! And I was gonna clean everything up-”

“Quiet?” He steps into the bathroom, his tall frame instantly making the small space feel cramped. “I’ve seen murder scenes with less chaos than this.” He gestures sharply to the sink and the floor, where a drop of pink dye glistens mockingly under the fluorescent light. “If Bucciarati sees this, he’ll have your head.”

“…It’s not that bad,” you mutter, but your voice lacks conviction.

Abbacchio sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why,” he begins slowly, voice as flat as a stone, “are you even doing this? What was so urgent about turning your head into a neon sign that you couldn’t wait until morning?”

You bristle, turning back to the mirror and avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know, okay? I just… felt like it.”

He watches you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Though he’d never admit it, he can see the exhaustion in your movements, the way your shoulders slump slightly despite your efforts to seem nonchalant. Something about it makes him soften, just a little.

“…You’re an idiot,” he mutters gruffly.

“Thanks, Dad,” you shoot back without thinking, half-smiling as you dip the brush into the dye again.

The word makes him pause. He doesn’t respond right away, but his scowl deepens—not in anger, but in that vaguely flustered way he gets when he doesn’t know how to handle sentiment. “Don’t call me that,” he says finally, though there’s no real bite in his tone.

You glance at him in the mirror, and the corner of your mouth quirks up in a way that’s both teasing and oddly sincere. “Whatever you say.”

For a moment, silence settles between you two, broken only by the faint sound of dye being brushed through your hair. Abbacchio watches you work, his sharp eyes catching the streaks you’ve missed and the uneven patches forming near the back of your head. It’s grating to watch.

“Move over,” he snaps suddenly, taking the brush from your hand before you can protest.

“What-”

“You’re doing a terrible job,” he grumbles, pulling a clean pair of gloves from the counter and snapping them on. “If you’re going to make yourself look ridiculous, at least do it properly.”

You stare at him, caught somewhere between stunned and amused. But you don’t argue. Instead, you shift forward slightly, letting him take over.

He works in silence, his movements surprisingly precise as he sections your hair and applies the dye with the same focus he uses in the field. Every so often, he mutters under his breath about how reckless and stupid you are, how you’ll be scrubbing pink stains out of this bathroom for weeks.

But underneath the grumbling, there’s a strange sense of comfort in his presence—a steadiness you’ve come to rely on, even if you’ll never say it out loud. And though Abbacchio would rather drink bleach than admit it, there’s a part of him that doesn’t entirely hate this, standing here, helping you, and making sure you don’t completely ruin your hair.

By the time he’s finished, the first rays of dawn are peeking through the bathroom window. He steps back, pulling off the gloves with a snap and tossing them onto the counter. “There. You look ridiculous.”

You turn to the mirror, examining the vibrant pink that now coats your hair. It’s loud and obnoxious and entirely you. A grin spreads across your face.

“Thanks, Abbacchio,” you say softly, the sincerity in your voice catching him off guard.

He grunts, turning away to hide the faintest hint of warmth creeping into his expression. “Just clean up your mess,” he mutters as he heads for the door.

But as he walks away, you swear you catch a flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips.

If you enjoyed this make sure to check out my other posts, and if you’d like anything specific written for a jjba character/squad you can request it if my requests are open!

[minniethemoocherda]

A Spoonful of Sugar

A/N: My first Sonic fic! I feel like I've unlocked an Internet Achievement lol. Anyway I am loving all the fics of Stone adopting Shadow after the events of Sonic 3 so I had to write my own! Hope you guys enjoy it! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

"… with whipped cream, marshmallows, sprinkles, two shots of vanilla, three of cinnamon and a chocolate chip cookie melted on top please!"

Stone fought back a grimace at the blue hedgehog's latte order, if one could even still call it a latte after everything Sonic wanted to ruin it with. Stone wasn't entirely convinced this wasn't some sort of twisted revenge for the admittedly many times he had tried to kill him.

However they had been able to come to a truce in the past months, with them agreeing not to try to kill each other after Stone re-opened The Mean Bean. This left Stone with no choice but to settle on the hypothesis that the hedgehog was just insane.

After handing over his pocket money, Sonic sped over to his brothers' table by the window and this time Stone was unable to hold back his grimace as the speedster once again burned streaks into his oak floor.

Biting back a curse, Stone shoved the change into the register before handing over a copy of the order to his barista.

Shadow took the piece of paper with a determined nod. He then went straight to work on the machine, each dial and instrument moved with perfect precision as he focused his entire energy in to his new mission.

Stone didn't even try to hold back his smile. Shadow had come a long way since Stone had first found him unconscious in that creator, bruised and broken to almost beyond recognition. And so had Stone. Honestly after everything that had happened, he'd been ready to end it all. But saving Shadow had given him a purpose. And he'd been able to provide one for the hedgehog in return.

They still had a long way to go. Shadow was still simultaneously convinced that Stone was going to kick him out of the spare room or keep him locked up there for another fifty years. But every night they would watch a new episode of La Ultima Passion together and Shadow had finally agreed to see the private tutor Stone had hired to get his schooling up to speed alongside his employment at The Mean Bean. Plus Stone couldn't deny that the hedgehog looked adorable in the custom child sized apron Stone had ordered for him. Even if he did have a habit of eating the speciality coffee beans straight out of the tin.

As Stone took advantage of the break in customers to clean the counter, he caught Sonic trying to catch Shadow's eye but the barista must've seen the other hedgehog's attempts in the reflection of the metal coffee machine and had decided purposefully ignoring him.

Eventually Sonic gave up, going back to talking a mile a minute to his brothers.

Nobody in the coffee shop batted an eye at the sight if three alien children. The people of Green Hills were long used to the sight. Hell, Stone had once been their sworn enemy and even he didn't find it odd for the trio to visit The Mean Bean during their own tutoring breaks, (in fact it had been Mrs Wachoski who had put Stone in touch with company behind the boys' own tutors).

Stone saw Sonic snort as Knuckles swore revenge on his frappe for giving him a brain freeze, the blue hedgehog nearly choking on the muffin he must've nabbed with his super speed without Stone noticing.

The sun beamed through the wooden frame of the window and for a moment, Sonic was bathed in a golden glow like he had the day he had absorbed the power of the Master Emerald to stop the Doc-

Stone tried to stop that train of thought. But it was too late. Suddenly all Stone could think about was the Doctor and that day and how from the wreckage he had healed the Doctor back to health and that even now he couldn't stop the hope and guilt that the Doctor was still alive out there waiting for help even though it had been months and all the evidence proved that the Doctor was really dead this time and-

"FUCK!"

Stone startled at the sudden curse.

He spun around to see Shadow snap his hand back from where it had been held under the steamer. Strangely, there was no cup in Shadow's hand, the bio-degradable Styrofoam still on the counter. For a second, Stone wondered what could have caused Shadow to forget it, but that question was quickly pushed to the back of his mind as he focused on the more pressing matter.

It was mid-morning so most people in Green Hills were already at work with the few children there at the school in the next town over. Besides the three aliens the only other costumers were Crazy Carl and a group of retired old ladies playing poker in the corner. Stone placed a small sign on the register that they'd be back soon before guiding Shadow through to the kitchen.

"Can I see you hand?" In their short time together, Stone had learnt early on to present any medical concerns as a question instead of a demand.

Shadow took of his glove and held it out without complaint, still conditioned to listen to doctors lest he face the punishments.

There was a burn on the edge of his palm, the red and black fur slightly singed and the usually tan skin underneath was staring to blister pink.

"We're going to need to hold it under the cold tap for a while to cool your skin down. Then I can wipe it with some antiseptic to make sure it doesn't get infected." Stone said, making sure to explain the reason behind the treatment.

Shadow nodded, his nose and eyes scrunched as he braced for the impact of the cold water of the sink.

It was nothing compared to the injuries that Stone had helped to heal him from as well as whatever hell he'd been through in those labs.

Still he flinched as the cold continued pouring onto his hand.

"We can take a break if you want?" Stone offered.

Shadow's eyes widened, as though ever after all this time, he still couldn't believe that Stone was giving him a choice. Before his eyes soon narrowed into familiar slits.

"No." Shadow stated, that steel determination present in his voice that Stone knew meant it would be impossible to change his mind. As much as Stone didn't want Shadow to force himself through more pain, he was proud that the hedgehog was standing up for his own medical desires.

After a few more minutes, Stone turned the water off, then as gentle as he could, stroked an antiseptic wipe over the burn. Thankfully it wasn't very deep. It would probably hurt for the next hour but should fully heal within a few days.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?" Stone asked.

"Not anymore. But before my cheeks were warm, my pulse quickened and I felt as though some of your Earthling butterfly creatures had infested my stomach."

Oh, Stone thought, coming to a quick diagnosis. He was all too familiar with that set of symptoms, having suffered from them the entire time he had known the Doctor.

He missed them.

Now whenever he thought of the late Ivo Robotnik, he felt an empty sense of sickness.

Still for Shadow's sake, he swallowed his feelings and put on a smile.

"I think I know how to fix that. Spending time with another anthropomorphic hedgehog should alleviate them. And since you're going to take the rest of the day off to heal your hand, why don't you go do that now?"

Shadow wasn't stupid. Judging by the glare he was currently aiming at the former agent, he knew that Stone was hiding something. However he must've come to the conclusion that he wasn't straight up lying, which he wasn't, as eventually Shadow nodded.

"Great! I'll make Sonic's order then you can take it to him as an excuse to talk to him."

"Fine." Shadow hmphed, following Stone back behind the counter.

Stone remade the abomination of a latte before handing it over to Shadow.

Stone watched as he marched straight over to the window, handing the cup of to the fellow hedgehog as though he were issuing an arrest warrant. Sonic didn't seem to mind Shadow's stony disposition, already babbling on as he thanked Shadow for how amazing the latte was even though he hadn't even taken a sip yet and Shadow hadn't even been the one to make it himself. It would go unnoticed by most, but Stone was easily apply to recognise how the corner of Shadow's lips twitched into a smirk at Sonic's antics.

The scene reminded Stone of when he'd first met the Doctor. Wasting his engineering degree working in a brand named cafe when the most striking man he'd ever seen walked in to order the most striking order he'd ever made to then hire Stone on the spot after he'd taken one sip.

For the first time since everything had gone to shit, instead of feeling sick, the thought of The Doctor made Stone smile.

One that grew even larger as he over heard Shadow call Sonic an idiot for attempting to down the entirety of his drink in one gulp.

And over dinner, Shadow later told him that he was full of shit as spending more time with Sonic only made his symptoms worse.

[raptorific]

2024 was not a good year. 2015 was the worst year of my life and then every subsequent year has managed to break that record and then some, and 2024 managed to beat it by a wide margin. The year started with me being very literally trapped for several hours at the scene of a homicide, where a man gave me covid. The second I tested negative, I was woken up at around 5 AM when a leak in my roof causing freezing cold water to rain down on me in the night, and also disabling the light fixture in my room both permanently and literally explosively. The year has continued in that fashion without reprieve until this very moment. I've lost count of how many people I love who have died. I got the news that my best friend died the night before that accursed election. This has been a year of unending sorrow and twists of the knife.

I won't, as many people are, mark the end of this year with joy to see it gone, but with grief for what it should've been. None of this should've happened. It wasn't fair, and it didn't make sense. But this is what happened, and we move forward from here.

I move into the next year grateful for the people I love who kept me afloat, and choosing to remember what I gained while honoring those I lost. I wrote a book this year, hell, I wrote TWO books this year. I cemented lifelong friendships. I bought a computer with money I earned on one hell of a bartending run. I made my niece smile more than a few times. This year should've been all moments like that. It's too bad it wasn't.

Tell your friends you love them while you have the chance. Write that book. Draw that art. Finish that game. Whatever you're saving for a special occasion, do it, because the days might run out without warning, and you could lose the chance forever. And, if you have a minute, toast to my best friend Carrie. One of the greatest women I've ever known, taken far too soon. I knew her from the beginning and she was supposed to be here the whole time. She wasn't supposed to go first, but life doesn't always follow the rules. Now, I have to survive and have a long, interesting life so I have all sorts of stuff to tell her when I see her again.

This is my last post of a uniquely terrible year. Let's break a streak next year and try to actually have a good one. I love you all. Happy New Year.

We will never settle. It would crush our souls.

[unangelic-thoughts]

Forgive me...I want you. (Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader)

Summary: After a drunken mistake where you expose yourself to your aunt's boyfriend, you unknowingly start something between you beyond your wildest dreams…

Warnings: NSFW smut 18+, infidelity, age gap, masturbating while being watched, phone sex (sorta?? but more like window sex??)

Word Count: 3k

Author’s note: A specific part in this is loosely inspired by taylor swift's 'you belong with me' scene where they see each other through their bedroom windows…hehe…;)

Reblogs and interactions are most appreciated <333

I walk as quietly as I can up the stairs of the house I currently live in with my parents so as to not wake them at one thirty in the morning. Although I'm in my mid twenties and would love nothing more but to have my own place, rent is ridiculously expensive and I'd rather save up for as long as I can. Thankfully for me, I get along with them both and we respect each other's privacy - so it works.

I shut the door to my bedroom quietly, extending my hand to the wall beside me to switch the light on. I take my cross-body bag off over my head and throw it on my bed with a sigh. Running my hands through my hair, I think back to today's unfortunate events. From deciding to surprise my girlfriend on our six month anniversary, to catching her in bed with my best friend, to going from bar to bar with my sweet Angel of a cousin to try and forget it all; I am completely and utterly emotionally and physically exhausted.

The makeup I put on earlier today is patchy and smudged but I feel too numb to care. Walking into my on-suite bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror while my arms rest on either side of the sink. Black streaks of mascara cover my cheeks from where I'd been crying. I take a deep breath, grabbing a makeup wipe and take it all off.

Once I'm done with skincare, I walk back into my bedroom and pick out a clean pair of undies and oversized tee from my closet, setting them out at the end of my bed. I begin stripping from my clothes, starting with my top, then my skirt and tights. I stand up straight, my hands reaching behind my back to take my bra off when I lock eyes with Joel and I freeze.

Joel is my next door neighbour. He is also my dad's sister's husband. In my current messy state, I  completely forgot to pull my curtains shut and that Joel's office literally faces my bedroom. In my defence, I wasn't expecting him to be up this late.

The initial state of shock begins to subside but neither of us has attempted to look away first. I'm reminded of the very innocent crush I've had on him since the day my aunt introduced us to him five years ago. Of course, I knew it was futile - considering the whole Joel-is-now-technically-my-uncle thing as well as the age gap thing. I never let myself think about it too seriously except for the times late at night whenever I've struggled to fall asleep. Thoughts of him laying on top of me, kissing down my neck while his hands caress my body intrude my mind more often than I'd like to admit and I feel so guilty, but I can't help it.

It feels like I've been standing there half-naked in front of my window for hours when in reality it's only been a second or two. I spot my dressing gown draped over my swivel chair in the corner of my eye and I quickly grab it to cover myself as best as I can.

When I look back at him, his eyes have fallen to the laptop in front of him and I instantly feel the loss of his intense stare. A pang of disappointment hits me, missing the feel of his eyes on me and the way it ignited a fire in my lower belly.

Desperate to get his attention, I loosen the grip I have on my dressing gown and let it fall in front me, exposing me once more. His dark brown eyes instantly meet mine again and it makes my insides flip.

I swallow down the lump in my throat, deciding to ignore the warning lights and sirens going off in my head that are telling me how terrible of an idea this is. But in this moment, I couldn't care less. I just want to feel wanted.

My hands find their way to my bra for a second time and unclasp it. I hold the cups of my bra against my breasts, a moment of hesitation washing over me but I shake that feeling away as I shake off my bra.

Joel goes very still and it feels good to know I'm having an effect on him, so I continue. My hands drop to my panties, my thumbs hooking on either side as I slowly slide them down my legs and step out of them.

I feel so empowered and in full control of the situation, which is exactly what I need right now. I turn around, grabbing my clean undies and slipping them on followed by my oversized tee. I walk to my window, wishing I could reach out to touch him but instead, I pull the curtains shut knowing I've already gone too far and put an end to whatever this is.

***

I've avoided Joel for two whole weeks since that night; not that it has been hard to do since he's definitely been avoiding me too. He hasn't even spared me a glance when we've passed by each other in our adjacent driveaways, oftentimes me going out and him coming home at the same time.

The anxiety of what I'd done was eating me up the first few days, worried that he'd tell my aunt about it. But the longer it's been, the more confident I feel that he's not planning on telling a soul. God, if anyone found out about my drunken mistake, it would completely destroy our family.

I've thought of countless of ways I could apologize to him but none seem good enough, worried it'll just make things more awkward; if that's even possible. Sometimes it's better to pretend like nothing ever happened and things will eventually fix by themselves with time. Yes...I just have to give it some time and it'll soon be a distant memory...

***

The chime of the doorbell distracts me from my current seated position on the sofa, one hand holding the book I've been reading and the other stroking my cat, Felix. I place the book next to me and cradle Felix in my arms like the little baby that he is and head to the door.

It's my aunt, Tess. "Hi hun, are you enjoying your weekend alone?" She extends an arm to rub Felix under his chin.

"Yeah, it's been nice having the house all to myself. Mum and dad won't be back until late Monday evening so I still have a couple of days of peace." I say, chuckling.

"That's great! Although I'm about to disturb that peace, but not for long. I promise! I just need a small favour." She cautiously smiles at me.

"As long as it doesn't involve screaming kids or maths, I'm happy to help." I respond lightheartedly.

"So, I ordered a couple of new sculptures of Athena and the delivery driver just dropped them off outside our door. He ran off before I could get the chance to ask him to help bring them in." She sighs.

"Oh my God, more Greek sculptures? You're obsessed! Don't you already have like 50? How do they all fit in the house?!" I say half-serious, half-laughing while I shake my head. For the past year, Tess has developed a fascination for Greek mythology and the house has basically turned into a museum of Ancient Greece.

"I know, I know." Tess replies, swinging her hands back and forth to dismiss my accusation. "Anyway, I've hurt my back so I can't lift anything and Joel needs another person to help him. Would you mind lending  him a hand?"

"Yeah, sure." I somehow manage to say nonchalantly even though inside I'm screaming. The last thing I want to do is be near Joel but I can't tell Tess that. "I'll be out in a minute" I say, forcing a smile and nod my head as I step back into the house to slip into something more appropriate. 

Once I've pulled my shit together and reassured myself that this isn't a big deal, I make the short walk over to their place. The door opens before I reach the steps, both Tess and Joel coming out at the same time. She places a quick peck on his lips before making her way to her car. "Just going to do some grocery shopping, I won't be long. And be careful with my sculptures!" She calls out as she shuts the car door after her.

I notice the silence between us immediately, fiddling my hands nervously. "Where do these need to go?" I ask as I point to the sculptures in front of me, desperate to be done with this as quickly as possible.

Joel doesn't hold my gaze however, and it makes me think that what happened is still bothering him. "One in the living room and one in the bedroom."

Once we've figured out how to carry the first one, we manage to place it in the living room with relative ease. The second one however is much trickier, needing to be carried all the way to the upstairs bedroom. I can feel myself building up a sweat but I try my best to keep my breathing steady. Once we reach the room, we set it down in its new spot. Not even a second later and I trip over my own foot, falling towards the direction of the sculpture. Joel is there before I know it, one hand holding Athena and the other steadying me. The feel of his arm around me feels different to any other time we've hugged, I notice.

"That was close." He says, pulling back once I've got both feet on the ground.

"It was. Thank you. Tess would kill me if anything happened to it." I exhale, widening my eyes in horror at the thought of breaking the sculpture.

"And I'd be right there with you too. She can be a scary woman when she wants to be." He jokes, an uneasy smile on his face.

"I'm sorry." I blurt out as I fix my gaze on the sculpture rather than Joel.

"Don't worry about it, nothin' broke so we get to live another day." He shrugs his shoulders as his hands rest on his hips and laughs.

"Not about that...I'm sorry about what happened that night. I was drunk and it was wrong of me." I find myself saying before I can stop myself, the guilt finally getting to me.

The grin on his face immediately drops and I brace myself for what he has to say.

"It was a fucked up thing to do and it's best that we forget about it." He says, his tone razor sharp.

"I know and for that, I sincerely apologize." His words sting even though I know they shouldn't. I mean, he didn't look away either. It can't just be all on me, he could've easily left. He had plenty of opportunity to do so.

"You put me in a really uncomfortable position. What would Tess say if she found out? What would your parents think?" His brows are furrowed together in anger and I regret ever bringing it up.

"I-I wasn't in a good place mentally and I definitely wasn't sober but I don't think it's fair to put all the blame on me." I defend, shaking my head.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, "And who should share the blame? Me?"

It's my turn to furrow my brows, not liking where this conversation is going. "Well, yeah. You clearly didn't dislike what you saw. You could've left at any time."

"I think you should leave." He responds firmly, crossing his arms.

"You don't have to tell me twice." I scowl. Turning on my heal, I strut out of the room and slam the door shut behind me. Regret fills my chest, not for my drunken striptease, but for my stupid attempt at apologising to that asshole.

*** He tries to apologise to me twice this week but I blank him both times. He tells me that Tess noticed something has been off with us and confronted him about it. He told her it's because he yelled at me when I almost broke one of her statues and now I'm mad at him. That's the only reason he wants to apologise, so that everything seems normal in front of everyone else; not because he's genuinely sorry. So no, I'm not ready to forgive him that easily.

***

I'm having one of those late night closet clear outs, deciding whether my denim midi skirt is staying in the keep pile or the donation pile when my phone rings.

My breath hitches as the name of last person I thought would be calling me right now pops up on the screen. At first I think it might be a mistake, but as it rings for the fourth time, I have to decide whether to answer or ignore it.

He's never called me this late before and the curiosity takes over, so I swipe the green button on the screen and put the phone to my ear.

"Joel?" I ask hesitantly, even though I know it's him calling.

"Can we talk?" His voice low on the other end of the line.

"I'm busy right now." I reply, finally tossing the skirt I've been holding to the keep pile.

"No, you're not. I can literally see you in your bedroom." With that, I turn around and look up. Lo and behold, Joel is standing in front of his office's french doors and he's looking right at me.

"What do you want?" I ask, my heartbeat increasing tenfold.

I watch as his hand trails up his shirt, his fingers starting to unbutton it from the top.

"Tell me to stop at anytime, and I will." He whispers as I stand there completely dumbfounded.

Once his shirt is unbuttoned, he shrugs it off his shoulders, letting it fall on the floor behind him. It exposes his soft chest and belly, and I can't take my eyes off of him.

His hands move on to his belt, swiftly removing it from his jeans and popping open the button. He stops just before he pulls his zipper down and I feel a pang of disappointment until I hear his voice once more.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks simply, as if he hasn't just asked me such an incongruous question.

I shake my head from side to side ever so slightly, it's barely noticeable.

"I need you to use your words darlin'" He's looking at me intently and it makes me feel lightheaded.

I don't want to say it out loud but if I-

"Don't. Don't stop." I surprise myself at how sure I sound, not realising how badly I've wanted this since I exposed myself to him until this very moment.

I notice his chest contract as he exhales in relief; Like he was hoping I'd want this just as much as he does.

He continues then, removing his jeans completely and takes a seat on the chair behind him while still facing me.

"Your turn." It takes me a minute to process what he's saying. He wants to see me naked. Again. Part of me questions whether this is a prank but the part of me that has secretely wanted to do this since forever decides to push the doubts aside.

I hesitate only for a second before I remember that I've done this before and he's already seen my exposed body, and then I strip down to my underwear - just like he has.

His hand reaches inside his boxers and he begins to stroke himself. My panties are soaked within seconds. His breathing becomes shallow as he increases the speed of his hand on his member. My hand is on my breast, squeezing it hard as my thumb and index finger stroke my nipple.

"Touch yourself." He orders and I immediately oblige, my hand gliding from my breast to my soft tummy and finally underneath my panties. I hiss as my fingers touch my bundle of nerves, making circular motions. I'm already so wet at the sight in front of me that it doesn't take long for me to slide my fingers through my contracting walls. I pump my fingers with the same rhythm that he strokes his cock as I close my eyes to imagine that it's him inside of me. It feels so good and yet it's not enough, but I know that this is going to be as good as it's ever going to get. This won't ever happen again. I shake those thoughts away and decide to savour the present moment.

Opening up my eyes again, my gaze is back on Joel. His mouth is parted lightly and his eyes are half shut as his head rests on the back of his chair. His movements under his boxers become more frantic and I know he's close. It drives me to go faster and I yelp as I unexpectedly hit a sweet spot, "Fuck!"

"Keep going baby." He urges me on as he grunts in pleasure. My eyes shut tightly and I bite my lower lip, fastening my pace which causes squelching sounds from my dripping pussy.

"Atta girl." He praises, seemingly satisfied by the sounds travelling through the phone.

I whimper in pleasure as I feel the orgasm build inside of me. I stare back at Joel who lets out a "Fuck" at the same moment that I do. We both come apart together, moaning and whimpering in unison; creating a sweet melody of pleasure.

I never, in a million years, thought that I would ever get the chance to see and hear him coming undone but it's the most mesmerizing thing I've ever witnessed. 

"Am I forgiven?" He asks once his breathing has returned to normal.

"I think you already know the answer to that." I say, as a smile creeps up on my damp face.

--------

Thank you for reading! I'd love it if you let me know your throughts <3 (Uuumm personally, I would jump straight through that goddamn window and onto his lap...fuckkkk)

Lots of love, Elki xoxo

[phantomwithbreakfast]

~ The Frightmare Of Christmas ~

So uh. Even when we know Danny hates Christmas, right? And it doesn’t get any better in the future, right?

I came up with a Phan Fic story—Christmas edition. It popped in my head when I was wandering around in a book shop. And now I hate myself for writing it. Because every damn thing I write is so depressing and hurt and dark and angst! Why, oh why? And Danny is always the victim. He can’t be happy for once in his whole lifetime! It was supposed to be a ‘two sided’ one-shot, but of course, it didn’t last by a one-shot.

It’s not online yet. I don’t even know if I want to post it online tho.

But I’ll give you a teaser / spoiler.

———————

Genre: Angst / No Comfort / Pain

AU — OOC — very uncomfortable for that pang feeling, so beware! (that’s why I’m doubting for putting it online on FFN)

Trigger Warning: Emotional Distress — Violence — Graphic Content

Rating: T+ (or M due graphic content)

———————

Summary:

Surrounded by cheerful lights and carols, Danny faces another dark Christmas again. Battling with family ties and his mom’s shadow looming over him, he’s forced to confront the unbearable burden of his secrets and broken hope.

{It’s about a mad scientist that doesn’t know it’s her son in disguise laying on the examination table — the typical phandom dissect—no, vivisect story tho. Or am I wrong?}

———————

Teasers / spoilers / pieces:

~ Frozen Tears ~

(Prologue pieces)

———————

Danny’s POV.

—

…

Suddenly, he was running. He bolted from the room, ignoring the startled looks from his mom and Jazz, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. The hallway blurred past him as he pushed through the front doors and into the freezing night air, his breath visible in sharp, frantic puffs. His heart felt like it was shattering, pieces falling away faster than he could hold them together.

…

It hurt.

God, it hurt in ways he couldn’t describe.

His arms hung limp at his sides, his shoulders slumped forward as though he carried the weight of the world. His head drooped, and his white hair brushed against his forehead as the cold wind whipped past. Behind his eyes, a sharp sting burned, a signal of tears threatening to spill. He blinked rapidly, but it was no use.

Danny’s chest tightened, and he let out a shaky breath that turned to mist in the freezing air.

It wasn’t enough.

The wall broke.

His body gave out, the emotions were too heavy to bear. He plummeted from the sky like a broken bird, spiraling down until he hit the cold, snow-dusted asphalt with a muted thud. The chill of the ground seeped into his body as he lay there, motionless for a moment, unable to move.

Then, slowly, he curled into himself.

Danny rolled onto his left side, pulling his knees tightly to his chest. His arms wrapped around his upper body as if he were trying to hold himself together, his fingers gripping his biceps so hard it almost hurt. His face pressed into the crook of his arm, hiding his tear-streaked expression from the empty street around him. His body trembled, every shiver a reflection of the storm raging inside him.

He felt so small, so fragile, so broken. The world around him was silent, save for the faint sound of wind brushing against the empty street. The cold bit at his skin, but he didn’t care. The pain inside him drowned out everything else.

Danny hugged himself tighter, as if he could somehow protect what little was left of him. But he knew the truth. There was nothing to protect anymore.

Even though he tried to stop it—God, he tried—the hurt tore through him like a tidal wave. The tears spilled over, streaming down his face like an icy waterfall. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing them to stop, but it only made it worse.

A sharp sob escaped his throat, then another, until the quiet night was filled with the sound of his breaking. He cried out loud, each sob cutting through the cold air.

He wanted to stop.

He needed to stop.

But his body betrayed him, shaking uncontrollably, the wall he’d built to hold it all in was crumbling down and beyond repair.

The tears kept flowing, cold against his frozen cheeks. His chest heaved with the force of his cries, and no matter how tightly he clutched his arms or buried his face, he couldn’t contain it.

It wasn’t just crying—it was a complete collapse. His body trembled, his mind fractured, his heart ached, and his core felt like it was shattering into nothing. All of it was giving in to the pain he’d tried so hard to hide.

But he just couldn’t.

———————

Maddie’s POV.

—

…

“Phantom?”

Maddie called again, her tone firmer this time, bordering on impatient. She didn’t wait for a response. Instead, she lifted her right boot and gave it a sharp kick in its back, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

It didn’t respond.

Not the way she expected. It didn’t lunge or lash out. It didn’t even look up. Instead, it let out a weak, shallow sound—a muffled sob—and its breathing came in uneven, cracking gasps.

…

You belong to me now, Phantom.

Finally.

Her fingers tightened around the Fenton Thermos, the cool metal humming faintly in her grip. She could feel it—feel him—moving inside. Or was that her imagination? It didn’t matter. It was trapped now, contained. No more mocking escapes, no more clever tricks, no more illusions of control.

You thought you were so untouchable, didn’t you? And yet, here you are.

She traced the edge of the thermos with her thumb, a shiver running down her spine. What was it thinking in there? Was it afraid? Angry? Could ghosts even feel those things? Oh, how she longed to know. How she longed to make it feel those things.

Phantom was hers now, and hers only.

The ultimate head prize.

The climax of her work.

The thought of opening the thermos, of seeing it again, of watching it struggle against her containment—it made her breath hitch. But she wouldn’t rush. No, not yet. The anticipation was intoxicating, and she wanted to savor it.

Oh, the experiments I’ll conduct.

She could start with figuring out what made it function, the mechanism behind its being, what fueled its power. She’d extract every secret, every ounce of it, until there was nothing left for it to hide.

I’ll take you apart, Phantom. Piece by piece, layer by layer, I’ll strip you down until there’s nothing left but data—every secret, every fragment of what you are, cataloged and understood. And when I’ve wrung every answer from you, when there’s nothing left for you to hide... your existence will have served its purpose.

She hugged the thermos closer to her chest, the thrill of victory warming her even in the icy air. This was her moment.

But patience. Always patience. A good scientist knows not to rush.

Maddie’s smile widened as she turned back toward the car, cradling the thermos as her precious gift.

And now, she needed to find her son, her little boy, Danny.

———————

Plus, I’m still kind of learning how to write though. I mean, I started writing ‘real’ stories in August. So, that’s around four or five months. Wow!

I always try to write in first perspective, but in third person. Does that make sense?

I wrote three chapters in two days. Not revisioned or improved. Only the first one, the prologue. But! I need to read and probably revise, refine and polish it again and again and again. ‘Cause that’s how I am. And even… after posting something online, I still find mistakes. Frustrating!

And, I wanted to write a positive and a negative story. The difference and actions about Danny being not depressed, and Danny being depressed. But hey! Guess what lasted?

Probably, if it wasn’t a Christmas edition, the title would’ve been “Danny Didn’t Respond” or “He Didn’t Respond”.

Anyways, that was it.

———————

You can find my Phan Fics here.

[halfagonyandhope]

Hi, are you still receiving Obitine prompts? You could make one of a fight between them, I love how they argue.

They’ve been in hyperspace for three days, with two more still ahead of them. Draboon has been left far behind, but Satine can’t shake the echoes of images - of sterile medbays and too-cold caves and -

Satine presses her forehead to her knees.

She’s climbed up into the small observation balcony of the ship, adjacent to the gun turret. There’s not much to be seen beyond the streaks of light characteristic of hyperspace, but it’s hypnotic and strangely calming.

She hears the metal of the ladder beside her creak before Obi-Wan’s head appears. She doesn’t catch his eye, but she lets out an audible sigh.

He huffs in response. “You’re giving me the cold shoulder,” he says as he sits down across from where she's seated.

She glances his way, noticing how the lights of hyperspace highlight the purple under his eyes. Or maybe he’s just exhausted.

Whatever. 

Satine looks away. She shouldn’t care.

“I am not,” she protests.

“You are,” insists Obi-Wan, and the space is so small that she’d literally have to crawl over him to get to the ladder to descend to the main part of the ship, which she suspects he’d intended. He reaches up to fiddle with his padawan braid. “And I’d like to know why.”

Satine rolls her eyes. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” says Obi-Wan. “Because before this conversation, you hadn’t spoken a word to me since - ”

“You flatter yourself in thinking that there’s a reason. Perhaps I’m just cross.”

Obi-Wan pulls the band from his braid and snaps it against his skin. “You are cross, generally speaking,” he says, snapping the band again. “But lately you’ve been particularly cross at me.”

Satine is deliberately avoiding his eyes now, as though this stretch of hyperspace is particularly interesting.

“Did I do something?” asks Obi-Wan weakly. “If I messed up, I’d at least like to be aware of what crime I’ve committed. That way I’ll know the consequences of said action should I choose to do it again.”

If Satine were standing, she thinks she might actually stomp her foot to the ground. “Kriff off, Kenobi.”

He’s in the process of redoing his padawan braid when he freezes at her words. “So we’re back on last name terms? That’s how it is now?” He begins retwisting the braid and says, “I must have done something truly unforgivable.”

“You did,” Satine says sharply.

Obi-Wan fumbles with the hair band, and it shoots toward Satine, smacking against the skin of her collarbone. She hisses at the sharp snap against her flesh.

“Stars, I’m sorry,” says Obi-Wan, moving over to her and looking distraught. His hand hovers over the angry pink splotch that’s begun to form over her clavicle, and he touches it gently. “Are you okay?”

His eyes shoot up to hold hers, and they both freeze.

Satine studies his earnest expression, the way his brow is furrowed in concern. She feels the agony roll off him, has felt it for the past three days, ever since they’d escaped Draboon and -

“No,” she whispers. She shakes her head. “I mean,” she adds, handing him back the band, “not because of your hair tie.”

Obi-Wan kneels in front of her, his hand moving to her jaw. “What’s wrong?”

And his care for her is so genuine that Satine cannot push him away any longer. Instead, she falls toward him, and his arms quickly circle around her back.

“Satine?” he asks weakly, relaxing around her and letting her sink into him.

She tries to steady herself, breathing in deeply against his tunic. She doesn’t want to say the words out loud - that would confirm them, would write them in stone, would verify their truth.

But he needs to know.

“I’d never taken a life before three days ago,” she whispers, her words almost lost in the fabric of his tabards.

“Oh,” he says, his voice meek.

She feels him swallow, can practically feel his thoughts as he reaches the only conclusion.

“You mean…” he says, voice still low. “You mean you hadn’t killed before…before you had to kill to save my life?”

Satine can only nod.

Obi-Wan’s arms tighten around her. “Oh,” is all he can manage to say.

Satine’s hand fists in the front of his tunic. “So, yes, Ben, I’m cross with you,” she hisses. “If you hadn’t needed saving - ”

“You wouldn’t have needed to compromise your ideals.”

She pulls back slightly. “I would die for you, Ben. And I guess now we know I would kill for you, too. What sort of pacifist does that make me?”

Obi-Wan’s hands move to the sides of her face. “A human one,��� he says. “You’re not an automaton, Satine. You don’t perform calculations like a droid.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t allow myself another such moment of weakness,” she whispers. “I cannot.”

"Unbelievable." He scoffs. “That’s what you call it? A moment of weakness?”

“Yes,” she says firmly. “It cannot be anything else.”

“Not compassion?” says Obi-Wan. “How about morality? How about - ”

Satine cuts him off, knowing what he’s about to say next.

“No,” she says. “I definitely cannot call it that.”

Obi-Wan’s hands fall to her upper arms, and she can feel the way his fingers shake in barely-controlled rage.

“Call it what you want, Satine - or don’t, I suppose,” he says, his jaw tight. “That doesn’t change what it is.”

She shakes her head, eyes wide. “It cannot be that,” she whispers. “They’ll expel you from the Order.”

“What if I don’t care?”

She sucks in a breath. “Don’t say such things, Obi.”

“Fine,” he snarls. “I won’t say it.”

But he leans in to press his lips against hers, one hand sliding down her arm to twine his fingers with hers. And if she had an argument to make, she doesn’t any longer. 

She returns the kiss.

[perpetualcynicism]

Hello! here regarding the impromptu drabble event~

Image: Sailing to the moon in a silver boat Oxymoron: Bittersweet

the spice~~ no emotive words<3

this sounds like a lovely exercise! im also just very happy to see new xiao fics lmfao

Lightning whips its tongues against the surface of the turbulent ocean and thunder snarls like a beast in your ears. You are lashed and lashed upon by sheets of rain with drops so heavy that they bruise you as they slam into your skin. 

Fingers slipping down the boards of the tilted deck, you manage to hook your elbow around a railing as a wave heaves the ship sideways. The wooden panels squeal and groan under the assault; the ship teeters in place, bent almost horizontal over the ocean, before rising again. 

In a slim parting between the clouds, the moon hangs fat and full, throwing its indifferent light onto the sea like a white lamp shining behind the parting of a flapping curtain. 

Caught on another wave, the bow of the ship rears dangerously upwards; for a brief moment, under a flash of lightning which casts the vessel in silver, it seems that you have set a course to the heavens and are sailing straight into the moon. 

The wave passes, leaving a deep groove in its wake. What follows is inevitable. You clutch onto the splintering woodworks and whisper a prayer to Rex Lapis as the bow dips downwards, and, with a final protesting groan, the ship plunges headfirst into the black abyss. The instant you hit the freezing water, you are unconscious. 

When you awaken, you find yourself lying on a sandy bank illuminated by moonlight. It is quiet. You turn your head in the sand and cast your eyes around the space. In the distance, you catch sight of the sea—or at least, you think it to be the sea—off whose steel-like surface the moon is reflected as a glinting coin. The murmur of waves which reaches your ears is peaceful; nothing like the terrible roars which cast your ship astray. 

The ship! you remember in a sudden flash. Where has it gone? You draw yourself upright and survey your surroundings with keener attention, but you see no indication of the vessel: there is no wreck, nor any pieces of wood scattered in the sand to suggest you have been washed ashore. At a similar moment, it comes to your realisation that you are uninjured. Where you should be bruised and bleeding, your skin is unblemished.

Finding yourself in such a strange place, so far removed from the disaster which struck, there is only one explanation which seems plausible to you.

“Am I dead?” you speak aloud into the silence. 

The nighttime cold from the sand begins to chill your feet, and you know you cannot be dead. 

But if you are not dead, what are you? Where are you?

It is here that you perceive you are not alone. A figure stands some metres away on the bank, donned in a mask which covers his face completely. The only feature you can distinguish for certain is a pair of luminescent green streaks in the place where his eyes would be. 

Perhaps you ought to retreat from such a figure. Instead, you approach him. 

“It is you who brought me here?” you say. Your voice is swallowed by the noiseless murmuring ocean. The figure remains silent and unmoving; yet somehow, you sense that his answer is yes. 

“What of the others?” you ask the masked figure. “My brother was aboard that ship, my father—”

The figure shakes his head once. You sink to your knees in the moonlit sand. The loss drives a wedge into your heart which throbs with a heavy, persistent ache. 

“Why am I here?” you implore the figure, your voice lower than a whisper. “Why did you bring me to this place?” 

Here, the figure at least speaks. He says, “You were the only one to survive the fall into the water. I was not able to save the others.”

His voice, not muffled whatsoever by the mask, does not resemble what you would imagine the voice of such a figure to sound like. Its tone is low, and he speaks with gentleness, as if passing on condolences to you. 

You turn tear-streaked eyes up to face him. “What am I to do?” you ask the kind, masked stranger. 

He lays a gloved hand upon your forehead. “Wake,” he commands softly, “and do not worry. You will see them again. They are waiting for you, in the moon.”

Your eyelids flutter open. Warm, golden sunlight spills in through the paper shutters outside your bedroom. With a grumble, you rub your groggy eyes and sit up beneath the blankets. 

It has been some years since the unfortunate accident which claimed your family and your ship. The loss of your relatives is one which still burdens you, but its weight has eased with time. 

Every now and then, you relive the strange experiences of that night in dreams. The particulars shift, but two details invariably remain the same each time: that flash of lightning which set your ship’s course for the moon, and the voice of the masked stranger releasing you from the strange, silver shores. 

In the moments before rising, you lie in bed and wonder whether, when it is time for you to join your father and brother in the lunar palace, he will be there also to guide you into the glimmering immortality found in death, as he guides you into waking.

(If he is to be there, you think death is not so terrible. What is there in it to be so, if you need no longer walk the path to the moon alone?)

[deusvervewrites]

Bladestorm AU

How does the Sports Festival go down in this AU? Because with Izuku’s slight ruthless streak, some things could get changed up a bit.

Midoriya in this AU is in a weird place because he's stuck between being a cinnamon roll, being a Proper Hero™ like the HPSC taught him, and impressing All Might

I don't think the Obstacle Race would go all that differently. Uraraka might still be his friend depending on the Entrance Exam, but Iida wouldn't be because of how Midoriya didn't destroy the Zero Pointer so he didn't notice Midoriya saving Uraraka (or any of the other things he noticed in canon, like the muttering).

Let's see... Midoriya here is running the race with a Quirk and with less desperation. Given his physical training, he'd be at the front of the pack, but his Quirk has limited mobility options. Hmm...

This puts Hatsume in a weird spot. Todoroki would turn her down because he's got his strategy already. Bakugou came second, and since Midoriya was never at Aldera in this AU (or barely at Aldera, depending on how late his Quirk came in), Bakugou has less insecurities and would accept her help. This dramatically throws off both of their team compositions from canon.

I am... not actually sure what the teams would be.

Midoriya's goal in the tournament is to win to prove that he's the best in his year to impress All Might because that's what the HPSC told him would work (hint: they have no fucking idea how All Might thinks because he does not think like they do)

As for Todoroki, I quickly did some research on how cold makes metal brittle, and, uh, that happens at roughly -75°C / -103°F. Frostbite, on the other hand, sets in much faster than that. Todoroki could never hope to freeze Midoriya out; in fact, it makes him tougher at those temperatures until he hits that threshold for brittleness.

Meaning Midoriya is likely to win the whole thing.

[hazelnatcoffee]

soapghost drabble

Doing Soap’s eyeliner before every Ghost-squad stealth mission was not in the field manual.

“Aye, watch it!” Soap hisses, the first time they do it. He’s got his legs slung over the stainless steel bench in the back of Alejandro’s storage room, and Ghost’s sitting opposite him with the compact and brush. Similar exclamations come from the others scattered around the shelves and lockers; Ghost had watched on with amusement, hauling ration bags back and forth until he saw Soap struggling by himself, and had taken pity.

“Stay still,” Ghost says.

“I am stayin’ bloody still,” Soap growls, then flinches. “Ow! You did that on purpose!”

Ghost snorts and gathers more of the inky paste with the brush. “Can’t say you don’t deserve it after that headache in Las Almas.”

“Thought we agreed I deserved a medal,” Soap bites.

“For what? Getting your arse handed to you?”

Soap says under his breath, “should’ve been for putting up with you.”

Ghost ignores that, but there’s a twinge in his chest and he’s pretty sure it’s not nerves before the mission. They’d been tentatively cooperative since Las Almas, if a bit distant, but this– hostility is new. It’s new and it’s cold.

“Save it for Graves,” Ghost says, finally, and brings the brush up to Soap’s eyelid again.

“Putting up with him, or getting my arse handed to me?”

“Likely both.”

“Ye know, I didn’t bloody know he was gonna go after us– if I did, I’d have kept my distance.”

“I doubt that,” Ghost says, thinking of the way Soap strikes up conversations like matches. “But maybe Las Almas was a lesson.”

Soap pushes his hand away. “It wasn’t. It wasn’t a headache, or a lesson, or–” his voice tremors, “--anything, Ghost, it was a bloody nightmare–”

He inhales sharply and cuts himself off, squeezing his smudged eyes shut. A few Vaqueros glance in their direction. Ghost braces himself for another round, but Soap just mutters a soft, “fuck,” and presses his knuckles against his eyes.

Ghost freezes.

Tears track down the liner and over Soap’s cheeks, streaking his face with black.

Any other time, with anyone else, and Ghost would tell him to pull himself together, or pretend not to see, but this isn’t another time and Soap isn’t anyone else. He’s the goddamn heart of their operation and he’s bleeding all over the floor, all over Ghost, and it’s at once everything Ghost expected and nothing he’d prepared for.

“Soap,” he says, and sets a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me.”

Soap inhales again, that sharp, awful thing. The guys around them that have noticed turn their eyes onto Ghost. 

“Johnny,” Ghost says.

His hands come away from his face. He ducks his head, blinks fast and fumbles for the wet rag he’d been using to scrub the mistakes off his cheeks before– Ghost takes it from his hand and cups his neck, tilting his head up. His eyes are the kind of blue you only see in a sky that’s about to cloud over.

“You’re right, Johnny,” Ghost says, and thumbs the wetness off Soap’s jaw, “you’re right. I’m sorry.”

There’s more he should say– could say, but he doesn’t think Soap wants that. The stares on them are more concern than judgment, but you don’t crack in a room full of people without feeling at least a little ashamed.

Ghost wipes the streaks and gives him a minute. When Soap’s breath evens out and he nods, Ghost lifts the brush to his eyes again.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Late Shift (Danbrey)

The winner of the "creatures and people" prompt poll was: A vampire who works the night shift at a gas station

Anywhere else, Dani would get in serious trouble for adding fresh herbs to the donut case offerings at four-thirty am. 

Amnesty Lodge, with its attached gas station, does things a little differently.  For starters, the head cook at the Lodge restaurant refuses to let them sell the standard gas station snacks without adding a few of his own into the mix. Hence the fairly fresh batch of doughnuts that he dropped off fifteen minutes ago. Dani’s basil plant has been growing even wilder this year, and she worked out that a sprinkle of basil makes the lemon filled donuts–even the ones Barclay doesn’t make–taste a million times better. 

At least, that’s what customers tell them. Dani hasn’t eaten a donut since 1964. 

Even when Stokers Famous Tonic became mainstream, allowing vampires to eat human food without getting violently ill, it’s not always cheap to get your hands on. And Dani likes to save hers for the fresh fruit from the garden, or when Barclay wants a recipe tester or Mama invites her for an early-morning cup of tea. 

Or, if she plays her cards right, dinner with her favorite regular.

The door opens and the object of her dinner plans walks in, with far more energy than most humans have in the darkness of the morning. 

“Hi Dani!” Aubrey waves. She’s brightened the flame-orange streak in her hair since Friday, making the black curls around it shine like a raven in the sun. 

“Hi” Dani is relieved, not for the first time, that she can no longer blush, as Aubrey bends over to grab a Double Shot Oatmilk Monster Energy Coffee. She’s in her stage outfit, black dress jacket with studs sewn on the shoulders, and shorts and white dress shirt that look like someone ripped the arms and legs from a tuxedo. 

Aubrey looks over her shoulder with a smile and Dani pretends to find a spot on the counter to clean with her nail. 

“Just the usual please, if you’ve got it” The magician sets the drink on the counter. Dani grabs a waffle sandwich from the warming station; eggs, cheese, and hot sauce on a slightly sweet waffle, the kind Barclay makes in huge batches and then freezes. 

“We do. Did you just get back from a show?”

“Nope” Aubrey leans on the counter, allowing Dani to see the bra peeking through the dress shirt, “heading to one. They booked me for a big brunch show at some country club in Huntington but they want me there, like, super duper early. Oh, wait, do you have baby carrots today?” 

“Ummm” Dani glances at the chilled food display, “nope. Shipments are still kind of weird. Sorry.”

“Dr. Harris Bonkers will live without them. I’ve got other stuff to bribe him with to stay calm in the car.” She takes her change, but doesn’t move her hand right away. Instead she adds, “But you’re gonna owe him nose pets the next time he comes in.”

“I can handle that. Break a leg at the show.”

“Always do.” Aubrey gives her a wink and heads out into the parking lot, leaving her to rest her chin in her hands and sigh at the candy display.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Aubrey’s totally going to do it. She’s going to ask Dani out when she stops for gas today. She’s made this promise to herself every day for the last two weeks, but gosh-darnit today she means it. 

Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD, runs circles around her feet as she swipes on black lipstick and stamps on her eyeliner. 

“Just a sec buddy, I’m almost done.”

A honk in reply. 

“Look, if I had my way I’d spend all day petting you, but I need to get groceries and you’re not allowed in Leo’s after the banana incident.” She crouches down pets the rabbit’s nose, “but you’re coming with me tonight even though we don’t have a show. I’m gonna need emotional support for this. You gonna be my wingman?”

She moves her hand back a half-inch, and he immediately bumps it with his nose.

“Thanks doctor, knew I could count on you.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Dani is dumping blood orange syrup into the slushee machine when Aubrey walks in. The magician makes a bee-line for drinks, Dr. Harris Bonkers hopping behind her. The white rabbit is close to the size of a Corgi, sporting his black harness with flames on the sides as his claws click on the tile. 

Technically he’s not supposed to be in here, but Mama has never booted him when she’s spotted him inside the Lodge or the restaurant, and Dani figures people who are stopping for gas at eleven at night have more on their minds than complaining about a fluffy bunny. 

She heads over to the counter and Aubrey follows her, setting her Cherry Coke next to the sign for the Kepler Trunk or Treat. 

“That all for tonight?”

“Yep” Aubrey says a bit too cheerfully. She’s worrying the chain of her necklace, something Dani wishes she would do less or do much more, depending on how in control of herself she’s feeling that night. 

She has such a gorgeous neck. 

Oh no that’s too creepy. 

“Anything for the doctor?”

“Nah, he got an apple slice earlier–Dr. Harris Bonkers you put that down.” She disappears from view, reappearing with a pack of Double Bubble in hand. There are two, square teeth marks in it. 

“This too. Sorry, he really likes the smell of bubblegum.” 

“Silly bunny, that’s not for you. And don’t worry about paying for it, it’s like a buck and also Indrid will eat the stuff that didn’t get chomped.”

Aubrey laughs, “Thanks. Um, so, I’m doing shows at the Kepler Fall Festival this weekend. One at eleven and one at three. I know your schedule is probably weird because you work so late here but, um, I realized I’d never actually invited you to one of my shows. This one is going to be super freaking cool, I made up some Halloween tricks and everything. Do you know it’s weirdly hard to make a pumpkin disappear? Uh, anyway, just thought I’d ask.”

If Dani goes, there’s a very high chance she’ll get a serious sunburn. 

Aubrey smiles hopefully, the expression crinkling her nose and making Dani want to lean over and kiss it. 

“I’ll be there.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dani wasn’t at the first so, and with five minutes to go before the second one starts, Aubrey’s worried she won’t show. She so rarely sees the other woman around the Lodge during the day, like she sleeps through it, and it was silly of her to think she’d see her now.

She straightens Dr. Harris Bonker’s skull and crossbones tie, looks at the crowd and doesn’t see her.  So she straightens out her cuffs and looks again, 

Dani is there, in a seat in the back row. Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders, and she’s wearing a long, mint-green dress, brown boots up to her knee, lacy green gloves to her elbow, and is carrying a green and white striped parasol. She looks so cool and hot, how the hell is Aubrey supposed to focus on anything else?

Then again, Dani clearly made time to come see her perform. 

The festival emcee announces her name. So she strides out to give the best performance of her life.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dani is pruning her night-blooming jasmine when she hears it; the unmistakable sound of something munching her collards. 

“Hey Dani, have you seen-”

She holds up a hand to shush Barclay, “Can you see what’s making that noise at all?”

“Uhhhhh” the cook scans the beds, then raises his eyebrows, “unless my eyes are going, it’s Dr. Harris Bonkers.”

“What the hell?” Dani slips into the next row and finds Barclay is right; the massive rabbit is happily munching a big, green leaf without a care in the world.

“He must have hopped out the Lodge door.”

Barclay shakes his head, “Aubrey hasn’t been here since this morning, and I saw her leave with him in her arms. And her car isn’t in the lot now. He must have run away from home.”

Dani frowns, “Her apartment is three blocks from here. That’s a long ways for you to have gone, doctor.”

“C’mon little guy, let’s get you into the Lodge and give Aubrey a call. She’s probably worried sick.” Barclay bends down but the rabbit swiftly hops away, leaf still in its mouth. 

“He’s right, we–whoops” Dani makes a grab for him, but he darts between her legs. 

After ten minutes of failing to catch him, Dani is even more impressed with the fact Aubrey trained him for her act. Because if he doesn’t want to do something, there seems to be no way to make him do it. 

“Hang on, I have an idea. Stay here and make sure he doesn’t run into the woods.”

Dani looks around, then turns into a bat and zips across to the gas station, grabs a pack of gum, and runs back to the Lodge garden. She kneels and calls, “Doctor, look what I’ve got.”

The rabbit, done with it’s collard, sniffs the air and turns towards her. 

“It’s your favorite” She holds out the pack and the rabbit hops forward, bobbing now and then like he suspects a trap. Only when he gets his teeth on the wrapper is Dani able to scoop him into her arms. 

He snorts, annoyed, as Dani passes Barclay the gum, “can you toss that or give it to Indrid? I’n gonna go call Aubrey.”

Dr Harris Bonkers explores her room as Dani picks up the landline and dials. Three tries over fifteen minutes leads to nothing. Kepler is in the NRQZ; if Aubrey’s not at home, Dani’s going to have a hell of a time getting a hold of her. 

She keeps trying until it’s time to go to work, at which point she sticks the rabbit in a small laundry basket and carries him over to the gas station with her. After several attempts to get out, he calms when she gives him a few baby carrots and turns on the audiobook of Bunnicula on her phone (it helps her fall asleep).

Around midnight, the door dings and Aubrey walks in, looking more haggard than Dani’s ever seen her. 

“I” she sniffs, wiping her eye, “I was wondering if you’d maybe seen Dr. Harris Bonkers? He, he got out while I was asleep earlier and I, I looked all over the neighborhood and I can’t, can’t”

“Hey, fireblossom, it’s okay.” Dani hurries around the counter a tad faster than a human should, “we found him in the garden. He’s behind the counter.”

“Ohthankfuckinggod.” Aubrey collapses against her, hugging her, “I was so worried, thank you so much, I owe you, like, big time.”

Dani hugs her back, takes a deep breath, and says, “How about dinner tomorrow?”

Aubrey looks up at her and grins, “I was hoping you’d say that” she kisses her nose, “and it’s cute that you already have a pet name for me.”

“Look, I have a lot of free time during work and it’s more fun to think about you than rearrange the candy bars again.” Dani kisses her cheek, “here, the doctor is waiting for you.”

They find the rabbit lounging, legs out, as the story drifts from the nearby phone.

“You are in big trouble young man” Aubrey scoops him up and holds him tight, “you jerk, never ever scare me like that again. You’re lucky Dani found you and not a coyote. Or the Johnson’s cat.” She pauses, listening, “awww, Dani figured out your favorite book.” She smiles like a thousand stars as she says, “I loved that one as a kid. I’ve always been a big fan of vampires.”

Dani licks a fang and kisses Aubrey on the cheek again, making her laugh, “Then I have another really good piece of news for you.”

[chasani]

SO MY COMPUTER DIDNT UPDATE AND WOULDNT UPDATE FOR DAYLIGHT SAVINGS AT FIRST AND I WAS SO ANNOYED BUT HERE I AM AT 12 IN THE MORNING LIKE OH MY GOSH I DIDNT DO MY DUOLINGO YET SO I GOT ON MY COMPUTER AND DID IT FOR TODAY TO GET IT OUT OF THE WAY AND I WAS LIKE "HUH WHY DIDNT IT USE A STREAK FREEZE?" BECAUSE ITS SET TO 11 PM !!!!! IT WAS 20 MINUTES BEFORE MIDNIGHT THANK YOU COMPUTER

[tvrningout-a]

first thing in the morning i'm thinking about chiyo's atsv au, so here i am to talk about the title " jorogumo " and how she came to be called that! and heads up that i wrote a lot asdfg i got a lot of thoughts about this au :' )

so i've mentioned that after her uncle ben dies, chiyo does go through a bit of a vengeful streak. she learns how to fight with naoki's help, who at this point knows that she's spider-woman, and contrary to chiyo's belief, he doesn't blame her for what happened. he understands why she didn't lean into the whole hero thing -- he's known her since they were kids, after all. he understands it's scary, and walking into a home invasion and being unable to help had to be scary, too. chiyo's just a kid ( bc when this happens, she's probably? 15 or so ), so how can he blame her for freezing up?

but that isn't really hashed out until later bc chiyo doesn't tell naoki that she blames herself even after he's told her it isn't her fault. so when she learns how to fight, when she finally can put those powers to use, chiyo goes on a manhunt.

there's a lot of instances in which chiyo is too hasty and strings up people who weren't doing anything. she catches a lot of bad guys, too, but there's a decent amount of people who only looked suspicious bc she wanted them to. she wanted so badly to catch the guy who killed uncle ben, wanted so badly to stop the " bad guy, " that anybody walking down an alleyway or fiddling with a door at night looked like a threat to her. it isn't until people start calling chiyo " jorogumo " that it starts to click that maybe she's not doing the right thing.

chiyo is very familiar with yokai -- it's one of her special interests. she knows what jorogumo looks like, what it's known to do, and it makes her stomach twist uncomfortably to be called that. she keeps up her lil vigilante night-walks, though, trying to convince herself that people comparing her to a scary demon is a good thing. scary is good bc it's a deterrant.

but then she saves somebody from getting mugged, and they flinch when she turns to them, explains that ofc they're scared of her when she's been known to go after regular people and criminals alike. and that's when it really clicks ( or punches her in the gut, really ). as you know by now, chiyo gets her act together after that.

now the name " jorogumo " is spoken fondly, shortened to " gumo-san " when most people call after her, but it serves as a constant reminder of what can happen if she allows her feelings to cloud her judgement. it reminds her what she doesn't ever want to become.

chiyo doesn't mind the moniker anymore, but i do imagine she probably won't give your muse the full story if they asked :' ) she definitely feels ashamed thinking back.