#Recently it's been “we real cool” and “first fall”

[narniaandplowmen]

I might seem normal at work but there's always a little creature in my brain gnawing on something and going feral over a piece of literature

[sturionic]

Donald Trump Is Not Joking About Annexing Canada: A Fucking Timeline

December 3, 2024: Trump's quip about Canada becoming 51st state was a joke, says minister who was there (CBC News 🇨🇦) <- This is when it could have feasibly been a joke

January 7, 2025: Donald Trump is quoted in a press conference directly stating his intentions to annex Canada (New York Times, timestamp 0:45 🇺🇸) <- This is where Americans should have stopped telling Canadians it's just a joke

REPORTER 1: Are you also considering military force to annex and acquire Canada? DONALD TRUMP: No. Economic force.

February 7, 2025: Trudeau says Trump threat to annex Canada 'is a real thing' (BBC 🇬🇧) <- This is where the Commonwealth starts to take it seriously

Trudeau suggested Trump has floated the idea of taking over Canada and making it the "51st state" because he wants to access the country's critical minerals. "Mr Trump has it in mind that the easiest way to do it is absorbing our country and it is a real thing," the prime minister said.

February 9, 2025: "Trump's national security adviser: 'I don't think there's any plans to invade Canada'" (NBC News 🇺🇸) <- CANADIANS NOTICE THAT THIS IS NOT A VERY STRONG DENIAL OF POSSIBLE MILITARY FORCE

February 10, 2025: Trump Confirms He’s Serious About Wanting Canada As 51st State (Forbes 🇺🇸)

Fox News host Bret Baier asked Trump whether Trudeau was right in telling business leaders the U.S. president’s threat to absorb Canada is a “real thing,” to which Trump agreed with Trudeau and responded, “Yes it is.”

February 12, 2025: ‘Trump effect’: How US tariffs, ’51st state’ threats are shaking up Canada (Al Jazeera 🇶🇦) <- This is where the rest of the fucking world outside America starts to take it seriously

February 18 2025: CBC releases podcast episode: "What if the U.S. invaded Canada?" (CBC's Front Burner 🇨🇦)

March 4, 2025: Canada Eyeing NATO Ally's Nukes To Deter Trump 'Threat': Candidate (Newsweek 🇺🇸), British nuclear weapons can protect Canada against Trump, says Trudeau party candidate (The Telegraph 🇬🇧)

“I would be working urgently with [European Nato allies] to build a closer security relationship… in a time when the United States can be a threat,” said [Canada's] ex-foreign minister and finance minister at the final Liberal leadership debate last week.

March 4, 2025: Prime Minister Trudeau: "What he wants is to see a total collapse of the Canadian economy, because that’ll make it easier to annex us” (CTV News 🇨🇦)

March 7, 2025: BC Premier David Eby: “We know the president in back rooms with Canadian officials has said he wants to redraw the border" (Global News 🇨🇦)

Eby: "If this president wants to annex Canada, he should save his breath to cool his soup, it is never going to happen.”

March 7, 2025: How Trump’s ‘51st State’ Canada Talk Came to Be Seen as Deadly Serious (New York Times 🇺🇸) <- This is where American news media starts to treat this as maybe possibly not a joke

March 9, 2025: U.S. Congress bill aims to prevent funding of invasion of Canada (CTV News 🇨🇦) <- This is where you should understand that military force is ON THE TABLE

March 11, 2025: Canadian opinion of U.S. falls sharply; 63% take Trump's threats 'very seriously' (National Post 🇨🇦)

March 13, 2025 (TODAY): Trump threatens to acquire Canada, Greenland while next to NATO chief (Global News 🇨🇦)

“To be honest with you, Canada only works as a state...This would be the most incredible country visually,” [Trump] said. “If you look at a map, they drew an artificial line right through it, between Canada and the U.S., just a straight artificial line. Somebody did it a long time ago, many many decades ago, and it makes no sense.” -Donald Trump

And hey, just for fun, let's contrast that with another quote:

First of all, I would like to emphasize that the wall that has emerged in recent years between Russia and Ukraine, between the parts of what is essentially the same historical and spiritual space, to my mind is our great common misfortune and tragedy...I am confident that true sovereignty of Ukraine is possible only in partnership with Russia. -Vladimir Fucking Putin, the year before launching an attack on Ukraine, which everyone also said he was joking about and definitely wouldn't do (2021 essay, Kremlin official website 🇷🇺)

I know you're overwhelmed, Americans, but please stop saying this is a joke. Canadians are anticipating an invasion, possibly within the year. This is not a fucking drill.

[eden-axe]

Wrong Sparks p1

Summary: During an argument with Eddie, Volt gets upset with you and kicks you out of the bar, unknowingly hurting you.

Part 2

Eddie/Volt x gn!reader

Warnings: Yelling, electrocution, mentions of falling down stairs, Volt being possessive, minor violence.

Word Count: 1,727

After closing hours at the Breaker Box arguing could be heard to anyone who passed by Dorian, who was unlucky enough to have heard all of it for the past hour.

From inside the club you and Eddie were having, what you both would consider a ‘causal argument.’ Though to those who did not, your dynamic would think it would put Harper & Dirk's shouting matches to shame. Though every argument you had with Eddie had one thing in common: it came from a place of genuine concern and love; but paired with both of your stubborn ways, it looked more violent than you intended.

"Do I seriously have to ban you for a week so you can just cool down?" Eddie was growing tired from trying to get you to stay put at the bar for the past hour. You have been trying to help with maintenance, but he denied your offer every time since you sprained your wrist.

You knew his threat was empty, but with your mind growing just as tired, you believed him. You huffed, “Fine, then maybe I'll go be a regular at Bev's!”

Eddie reeled back at your very real threat. You did it before and didn't come to the Breaker Box for two days. All because Eddie wanted to stop serving you after you got drunk once & almost fell down the stairs; And if it weren't for Dorian pulling you into your room and getting you to bed safely. After Eddie learned what happened, you got into another argument, to which you went to Beverley's and slept next to Koa that night. You knew Eddie would blow a fuse that night out of concern if he saw you go up the stairs after getting drunk at Bev's.

When you realize you stepped out of line due to Eddie's silence, you shuffle your feet, thinking of what to say, but he beats you to it, "You can stay... but you can't help.

That comment sparks the fire of the argument in you again, "That's how we got here in the first place!"

Eddie sighs and pinches his nose, “Oh god, not this again" Eddie sighs & pinches his nose.

Your argument picks up again, possibly even louder now. The reason for the fight? You had recently sprained your wrist & cramped your hand from taking on a part time job from home while in ‘labor limbo’ and going around the house helping everyone else. Due to your exhaustion you didn't help much with repairs at the bar, but just sat at the bar and chatted with Eddie.

Eddie was there when you realized how bad your hands were; You were drying dishes while he washed, when you turned the glass & dropped it clutching your hand.

After a quick trip to Farya, she wrapped and iced your hand and told you to take it easy on physical labor. You listened to her for a few days; you stopped helping people around the house, and only took time in keeping pleasant conversation, and even took time off work. But now you feel guilty. Eddie had fallen further behind on work since you would stay after house at the Breaker Box for a chat. Now he was stretching himself thin to take care of you and the bar. When you didn’t come to the bar, Eddie would always come to find you and make sure you were resting… Which brings you back to now...

"I can handle it! Let me help!”

"No, you need rest. I've got it handled." The lights were starting to flicker as Eddie just wanted to get back to work and let you rest.

You scoffed, “Oh yeah, because working alone got you really far last time!"

You both paused as a bulb burst from above you. You look at Eddie, shocked at your own words. You start to move to him when a large hand grips your shoulder, painfully so.

“Volt—” Eddie starts, but doesn't get to finish.

Volt's skin, an inhuman shade of blue, stares coldly down at you, “You’re cut off for the day. Get. Out”

"Volt” You grab his wrist, about to beg him to hear you out, when he suddenly grabs your injured wrist.

Eddie tries to reach Volt seeing you hold back a pained yell, but Volt already has you out the door. "Stay away from Eddie." "Volt doesn't even look at you as he slams the door.

You bang on the door yelling for Volt to let you in, when a small current comes through the door. That small spark finally allows you to feel the pain in your arm, it's excruciating. Volt, whether knowingly or not, had electrocuted your arm. You let out an ear piercing scream, only muffled when someone pulled you into their chest & everything went dark.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you wake up you notice Farya and Betty right by your sides. Betty was petting your head as Farya was checking up on your arm. Her poking and prodding didn’t bother you, but you were confused why she was here.

“What happened?” You look around, but Betty keeps you lying down.

Curt and Rod appear from the end of your bed. Curt starts off the explanation, “It was crazy. Dorian bursts into the room carrying your.”

“And you were practically dead. Limp. The whole dramatics.”

“Yup. Farya entered not long after, and you were messed up real bad. Whoever you fought, they got you good.”

“They singed your arm bad. Farya considered cutting it off.”

Your heart started sped up as your breathing became uneven.

“They are just messing around. That was never even an option cutie.” Betty reassured you. Her warmth helped a bit, but the second you calmed down, you shot back up.

“Eddie!” You leapt from the bed before anyone could stop you. You raced to the door, but before you could even touch the handle Dorian grabbed your hand.

You look at him, but he shakes his head, “You need rest. Not to go mingling about with them.”

“Dorian, he didn’t mean to,” Your legs gave out, and he picked you up. When he put you back on the bed, you grabbed his hand, “Can you at least check if they are alright, especially Eddie.”

When Dorian doesn’t respond, you resort to puppy eyes and beg, “Please?”

Dorian sighs and squeezes your hand, “Your heart is too big from them, luv’.”

You thank him, and tell him you’ll go rest. You go to turn the lamp off, but when you make contact with the switch it shocks you. You go to pull your hand back, but Farya is already checking your fingers, lightly touching them.

“Does it hurt?”

You look at your shaking hands being touched by her steady one, then look at her, “I- I can’t feel anything.”

She releases your hand which begins to shake even more violently. Curt and Rod get up and head to the door.

“Oh those two really have their wires crossed.”

“Ain’t nobody mess with our friend.”

When they reach Dorian, he blocks their path, and before they could protest he gives them a look that shuts them up, “Look fellas, I know emotions are high but please, stay here with em’. I’ll handle them, I swear.”

Curt and Rod nod and go back to your bed, Curt pulling out cards they had kept themselves busy with before you woke up.

Rod dealt the deck as Dorian closed the door behind him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Breaker Box had been closed for a few days after the incident with you and Volt. Eddie was against the idea, but Volt wanted him to rest and get the repairs done in a timely manner; it also gave Volt time to cool down.

Volt had regretted how rough he handled you that day, but when he saw Eddie blow a fuse he got overprotective. It was a rare thing for both of them, especially now that you joined them. When Volt got too overprotective, he boiled over to controlling and possessive, and this was the first time you had seen it. His blue flared side was something Eddie had told him to reel in, and Volt swears he’s been working on it.

Now Eddie was ignoring him as Volt refused to let him leave to check up on you. So now Volt is in the front cleaning up, while Eddie sits backstage. A loud banging on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“We’re closed.”

“Not here for a drink.”

Volt stood up straighter and opened the door when he heard Dorian’s voice. Volt invited him in and put on his warm host persona.

“How can I help you Dorian? You rarely come here, even when I personally invite you.”

Dorian glances around the room, “Where’s Eddie? I need to speak with both of you.”

Volt felt his protective nature boil up again, but Eddie’s voice carried from across the room, “What do you want? We’re busy right now.”

“Look I don’t want to be here either, but I need to know,” Dorian glares at the two of them, “Which one of you blokes messed with the power.”

“I beg your pardon? We’ve been here fixing the breaker.” Volt puffs out his chest as Eddie stands by his side.

“Look,” Dorian closes his eyes, “I know you lot had an argument the other day, but what you did was too far.”

Eddie moved his hand to his hip, “What was too far?”

“Ah… alrighty then.” Without warning Dorian reels back and punches Volt, sending him to the ground. Eddie rushes to Volt’s side and opens his mouth to yell.

“Look, if you want answers, ask your mate here. And please do stay away from the human unless you both have a proper apology. And I’ll think of letting you see them once they recover from your little stunt.” Dorian gives Volt a pointed look before taking off.

Volt sits up and looks at Eddie confused, “What does he mean ‘recover?’ Our live wire got hurt?”

Eddie looked at the door of the bar, “Yeah, they sprained their hand earlier. The one you grabbed, rather roughly.”

Volt looked down, the guilt finally catching up to him.

“We’ll go apologize to them tomorrow, for now let's deal with your face.” Eddie helps Volt up and takes him to the back to ice his face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note: I will be making a part 2, so if you want to be tagged send me a dm or ask and I'll make sure you're notified when it drops. Please know it may take me a week or so to get it done. Any comments, feedback, or support is appreciated.

Also requests are open, please check pin to check out who I write for!

[cowboygenesis]

18+ knuckle up | astarion x reader

| buy me a coffee?

summary: after a drunken night and a dumb bet you're left in an emotional (and physical) chokehold by your favourite vampire companion.

pairing: astarion ancunin x afab!bard!reader tags: 18+, smut, fluff, switch dynamics, m/f, fingering, unprotected sex, resolved tension, playfighting, sex after training session. word count: 7.8k notes: this fic was SO fun to write even if im a gale girlie myself. this is my first attempt at writing ANY bg3 character, so i really hope i did okay. if not, let me know! comments help me improve my writing (and warm my heart, seriously, thanks to anyone taking the time out of their day to comment). anyways gang, no beta as ALWAYS, you know how we roll. ENJOY! masterlist.

It still made little sense to you.

You had honed your skills at the most prestigious music schools in Faerûn for years, pouring your heart into every note, every chord, only to find yourself shamelessly ridiculed for an entirely different kind of performance. And by a man you’d grown to like, no less.

"Get up, darling," Astarion’s voice drips with amusement, the self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips with infuriating smugness. His crimson eyes watch you with a predatory glint, locking onto your vulnerable form sprawled in the dirt—a definitive result of his frustratingly agile moves.

You groan lowly, propping yourself up on bruised elbows, wincing as a dull ache pulses through your body. A stray lock of hair falls in front of your face, and you blow it away in frustration.

"I’m starting to think this isn’t educational at all." You glare at him with all the venom you can muster, eyebrows furrowed as his arms cross.

Your eyes absentmindedly scan down his body, taking note of his slightly disheveled shirt and tousled hair. He looks… good. Beautiful, even. Basking in the soft moonlight seeping through the vast greenery above, he stands there like he’s in his element.

He chuckles, seemingly unbothered by your vapid tone. "Oh, but it is, my dear. Think of it as a new, humbling experience. Valuable in its own right."

You bite back a retort as he offers you a hand, his expression making your eye twitch. You never thought you’d fall for arrogance, yet ironically it’s your own conceit that might have brewed your upcoming downfall.

After a particularly boisterous night of drinking in camp—brought on by the recent victory over a pack of gnolls—you foolishly accepted Astarion’s challenge to best him in hand-to-hand combat. Your alcohol-addled brain had been more confident than your body, and now, after a series of harsh jabs and sidesteps, you were being taught the harsh reality of “real” combat.

Defeated, you eventually obliged a quick lesson from the master himself, which he had (admittedly suspiciously) made you take after losing your bet.

At the very least, the bruising would rid you of your lingering hangover once you were done taking the thrashing. Plus, you hoped it would bring you two closer. Figuratively and physically.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your hesitation. "Come now, my dear, don’t be so stubborn. You seemed so eager at first,"

"You told me you’d teach me to fight, not fall on my damn face," you lament, but begrudgingly accept his help, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

His grip is firm, and the coolness of his skin sends a small jolt of electricity down your spine. You had often imagined what holding his hand would feel like during the colder nights alone in your tent, and while the circumstances ended up being less than ideal, it was good enough for you. For now.

You rub at your sore arm with a frown and catch that Astarion, unmistakably, stands completely unscathed, his pale complexion almost glowing in the ambient light.

"I’m thinking…” he muses, glancing at the weathered lyre resting peacefully by the roots of a tree. His lips curl into a smirk, and you can feel the teasing jab sting your pride. “Perhaps you’re better suited to the more... delicate aspects of life,"

Your jaw clenches. While bards famously went underestimated— a fact you were reminded of frequently— it hurt more coming from someone you so badly wanted to fuck.

"Oh, I don’t know," you say with a saccharine tone, brushing the residual dirt from your pants; your favorite pair, yet you’d probably end up having to toss them out after your poor performance today. "I think a harp string could make a fine garrote in the right hands."

Astarion’s laughter rings out clearly, and your heart skips a beat unbeknownst to you. "Dully noted. Fortunately for the both of us, we’re stripped of any weaponry in our current pinnacle."

Your eyes roll, running a hand through your disheveled, sweat-slick hair and adjusting your posture to the one he had taught you: one foot forward, back straight.

"Again," you demand, squaring your shoulders. If he wanted to mock you, fine— but you wouldn’t go down without a proper fight.

Astarion’s eyes widen, but his smirk never falters. He sighs in faux exasperation but quickly matches your posture. "So eager to be tossed into the dirt again, darling."

Your face flashes with heat at his painfully languid remark, your mind going places it probably shouldn’t. You knew the pet names were simply an inherent part of his vocabulary and that he used them generously, with everyone, yet a part of you liked to imagine they were reserved for you, and you only.

“Try me again,” you reply curtly, lowering your gaze as you feel the tension sprawling through your aching body.

He shoots you an arrogant smirk, his gaze penetrating your soul with an intensity you didn’t think possible. He bares his fangs, licking over his bottom lip lazily. “Let’s see it, then.”

Astarion approaches, but this time, you’re ready. As he moves to close the distance, you anticipate the first jab, ducking low before he can catch you off-guard. You dart to the side, aiming a swift thrust toward his midsection. It’s clumsy and unpracticed, but it seems to work.

Your fist connects with his toned stomach. He topples off-balance, but only for a fleeting second. His reflexes are too sharp, too honed through his century-long life for you to overcome with your pitiful attempt.

He catches himself with a graceful pivot, turning the stumble into a curt spin that has him facing you once more.

"Fast learner, are we?" he muses, watching you closely through his fists. "I might actually have to try now."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you shoot back, heart racing. At that moment, you recognize you can’t win. Not this time, probably not the next. But you don’t want to forfeit, even if it means enduring a day or two of terrible muscle soreness.

Every sidestep, every deflected blow, brings you closer, the air between you growing heavy with static. You aren’t sure if it’s the heat of the fight or the dangerous proximity, but you can feel it—an irresistible, undeniable pull.

"Careful now," Astarion purrs as you barely miss his face with a rugged swing. He catches your wrist, holding it tight as he leans in, breath ghosting over your ear. "You wouldn’t want to harm me, would you?"

You swallow hard, your body tensing under his tight grip. The closeness is intoxicating, but you force yourself to stay focused, pushing back against the growing heat in your chest.

"Maybe I would." You don’t.

For a moment, neither of you move. The world seems to narrow, the charged atmosphere thick with tacit suspense. You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat, senses sharp, attuned to every breath he takes as they intermingle with yours.

"Darling," a dramatic pout creeps onto his lips, only to be replaced by a sly grin seconds later. You feel his grip on your wrist loosening just enough for you to slip free. It’s a calculated move, once he grants you himself. "You wound me with your words."

You take a step back, breathless. This isn’t over, not by a long shot, yet your muscles fight against that thought. They scream at you with pain, worn and stretched by what feels like hours of sparring.

“Sounds like you’re the one trying to wound me,” you taunt, shooting him a lowered gaze. “Why’d you take me out here? Trying to make your next kill less obvious?”

The vampire had insisted you two train away from the bustle of camp, even if it meant missing out on tonight’s feast. While the rest of your companions enjoyed the finest ale Baldur’s Gate could offer, you were stuck trying to prove something to your crush.

Astarion's grin widens, his eyes flashing with amusement as he takes a slow, calculated step forward. “Now, now,” he purrs, voice dripping with mock innocence. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have seen it coming— no need for childish theatrics.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to let him see the slight tremble in your legs from the strain of the sparring—or maybe it’s from something else entirely, you can’t be sure. You know he’s dangerous, that this game you’ve been playing with him has always had its sharp edges. But there’s something about that edge, about the way he dances so easily between teasing and threatening, that weakens your knees and makes you breathless every damn time.

"Then why are we here?" you challenge, taking a step back to match his forward one. Your voice is steady, but your pulse is hammering in your throat. The woods feel like a world apart from camp, the sounds of chatter distant as you sit in your isolated little bubble of the world. “It’s a little… intimate, don’t you think?”

Astarion tilts his head, studying you with a curious twinkle in his crimson eyes. “That sharp tongue again,” he says quietly, “Do you truly believe I’d go through all the trouble of bringing you out here just to end you? If I wanted your death, I’d make it enjoyable for both of us.”

Your breath catches at his words. His words drip with venom, but somewhere deep down, in the depths of his blackened heart, you swear you feel an instance of temptation.

“What’s the game then?” you ask, holding his gaze despite the anxiety twisting in your chest. “Because by the Gods, I know you love those.”

Astarion’s smirk softens, but the intensity in his eyes never falters. He steps closer again, until there’s barely any space between you, his presence intoxicating. “Maybe I just wanted to see what you’re capable of,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. “Maybe I wanted to see how far you’d let me push you before you push back.”

His hand hovers near yours, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, but he doesn’t make full contact.

“And maybe,” he continues, leaning in just enough that his breath grazes your cheek, “I’m curious what could happen once we both stop playing.”

Your heart is racing now, and you’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from the sparring or the charged air between you that’s making your head spin a hundred miles an hour.

“You’ll never know,” you murmur, meeting his gaze with a boldness you don’t quite feel. “Because I’m not backing down from this.”

His grin widens at your rebellion, and with a swift, fluid motion, the man’s playful smirk turns into a vicious one. Before you can react, he spins you around, movements smooth and practiced, making you lose your balance.

Your back hits his chest, and within seconds he wraps one arm around your neck in a tight headlock— his grip is firm, but not painful. Your mind strays to his other arm, feeling it press against your waist to keep you securely against him.

“Such a feisty little thing,” he purrs into your ear, his breath warm against your sweat-slick skin.

You struggle against his hold, trying to twist free, but his grip is relentless. “Fuck you,” you manage to scowl, though the words are strained by the pressure on your throat.

Astarion chuckles softly, and you feel it reverberate through your body. “Oh, she bites back,” he teases, his voice a dark, seductive buzz. “Are you taunting me, darling?”

You try to shift your weight, to find a way out of the headlock, but his grip doesn’t waver. “You’re projecting,” you growl breathlessly.

“And you’re persistent,” he replies, “Suits you well.”

You feel a warmth spread through your belly, tickling your nerve endings and making your thighs squeeze. You thank the Gods he can’t see your flustered face right now.

And suddenly, he releases. Not fully, but his grip weakens enough to allow you a moment to slip out again, stumbling over your own feet as you face him.

“Here’s your second freebie,” he chuckles, getting into position again. “Careful, next one might come at a price.”

“Like I need a third one,”

You recalibrate, then in the spur of the moment, pounce. Your arms extend as they barrel toward him. His eyes widen, but he manages to catch them mid-air; his hands clasping into yours and pushing against you.

“Fair strategy,” he commends, and you sense it might at least be partially earnest. “Desperate, but fair.”

You strain against him, breath hitching when he periodically pushes back. Whenever he does, you feel his gaze boring into you with a crazed intensity.

Then, you try not to think about the fact your digits fit together really damn well— and fail. Take what you can get, right?

“What’s wrong, my dear?” he sneers, slender fingers tightening around your palm. He leans in, your chests threatening to collide. “Getting distracted?”

You grit your teeth, leaning in with your full body weight, but he barely budges. “You wish,” you shoot back breathlessly.

“I feel it,” he corrects in a whisper, leaning in just enough that his lips hover dangerously close to your ear. “It’s in your eyes. You’re not even thinking about our little lesson anymore, are you?”

Your breath hitches at his words, the undoubted truth in them cutting through the haze in your mind. He’s right. The bet, your lesson —somewhere along the lines, your sparring posture went lax. All that matters to you now is the palpable closeness, your hands in his, and his hot, idle breath on your neck. Your throat threatens to cast a strained groan, but you withhold.

“I—” you start to protest, but your voice falters. His chest is now pressed flush against yours, pushing you forward.

“Admit it,” he murmurs, his voice low, seductive. “And I’ll let you win.”

Your hands tremble in the small space they lock with his, the smoldering red of his gaze telling you he knows exactly what he’s doing—how his actions leave you a mess in body and soul.

“I won’t, I— I can’t,” you manage to stutter, but the words sound weak and unconvincing even to your own weary ears.

He chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through you like a slow current. “Liar,” he whispers, and you catch a glimpse of his pearly fangs in your hazed peripherals. “Not a good one, either. Another thing I should school you on.”

Your eyes roll, but the implication accelerates the growing tension within your guts. “Just how generous you are.”

His head tilts gradually, and you go pale as you catch his tongue running along the length of his bottom lip.

“No, darling,” he purrs, “I haven’t shown you generous just yet.”

And then, you catch his eyes darkening. There’s a certain mania to them when they widen, pupils blown out like a cat’s when he suddenly pushes firmly against you. Your feet stumble backward, staring into him as a wild grin plasters on his face.

You yelp when you lose balance, lips ajar and eyes closed shut as you feel your back crash into something soft, or at least, soft enough to leave you un-bruised.

When your eyes flutter open, he’s on top of you. You study his broad shoulders, the pale neck between them, and finally let your half-lidded gazes connect in a silent, tension-filled juncture.

The ambiance of dusk quiets down to a soft murmur, crickets chirping in the distance as his strong body hovers inches above you, hands placed firmly around your wrists to successfully lock you in place.

“Seems to me you’ve lost our little bet,” he purrs out, and your breath hitches as one of his legs slides between yours, slowly inching to put a distance between your knees.

All you can do is stare up at him hungrily, desperately, drinking in his weathered features and pray he’d let you run your fingers through his flaxen locks at some point in the night.

“No clever retort? That’s not the little bard I know and love,” he teases, and your hips almost buck into him at that one word. You know he doesn’t mean it, yet your teeth still clench when your body jolts in response to his familiar lilt.

“You’re playing dirty,” you finally breathe out, cringing at how strained your voice sounds as you lie under his weight.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” he retorts, his crimson gaze boring into you before gradually disappearing into your neck.

His lips hover over your skin, hot breath tickling the soft spot near your pulse point as you gasp quietly. You feel him hesitate, arms tensing and releasing over your own as if soaked in apprehension. You strain your muscles, eyes shutting in preparation for the inevitable, sharp bite coming onto your poor vein. Gods, was this his plan all along?

But then, you feel the grip on your wrists loosen.

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly catch the tousled white locks in your neck as the vampire looms over you.

“Here’s your chance to run,” he hitches, and somehow he sounds just as out of breath as you do.

You lie on the blanket of moss, chest heaving and gaze tracing languidly over the treeline as you feel your body go limp. He’s giving you one last opt-out before… before something happens, be it a bloody massacre or... Or?

Your mind shrieks at you: take advantage, prove yourself on top in this stupid bet— but the little voice in your heart urges you to stay under his firm body; find out if your instincts rang true after all.

You stay. Not only that, but you let your hands slip out of his, one of them snaking down his shoulder while the other runs through his waves. They’re silky, and soft, and when you catch a whiff of rosemary in the air, your grip tightens.

“Astarion,” you whisper, voice surprisingly steady as your heart beats a constant rhythm into the space between you.

His body jerks abruptly, albeit subtly, and you feel him smirking— smiling— into the soft flesh of your neck. “So I was right, after all.”

His face withdraws from you slightly, the residual condensation of his warm breath leaving you shivering. You catch his gaze, half-lidded and scanning your expression with apt concentration.

“Feisty, spirited little thing,” he continues, inching towards you again.

Your stiff body jerks, grazing against him as your shaky hand snakes to his cheek. You cradle it gently but with urgency, and there’s a beat of silence before you finally understand what to do.

You inhale softly, catch his questioning gaze, and crash your lips onto his.

He groans softly when you meet in the middle, lowering himself with his arms. Your chest thrums with the beat of your heart, shooting waves of dopamine down your worn spine.

When you feel his nimble hand on your jaw, your lips part with a sigh. He matches your buzz with his own self-satisfied murmur, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

You smile. He’s sweet and bitter, and you whine gently into the kiss when you recognize brandy on his tongue.

This is what you’ve been waiting for all these lonesome months.

The culmination dawns on you like a powerful current, making your eyes squeeze and your hands tremble in his waves.

He seems to notice your tremor, but instead of slowing down or (Gods forbid) stopping, he dives deeper. You moan into his mouth as he wriggles a hand around your waist, holding you close to his hips and suddenly, you feel a steady pressure grinding into your crotch.

The movement is slow, precise, practiced. His hips buff into yours in a controlled rhythm, making you sense his already taut erection through the thick material of his linen pants.

“Do you get it now, darling?” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to stare lazily into your glassy eyes. “Look what you do to me.”

His hand snakes to your blouse, and before you can register what’s happening, you hear three ivory buttons pop off followed by the cool, evening breeze tickling your heated skin. You don’t need to open your eyes to know your nipples are standing taut in the chilly air, yet the image makes you redden.

“How— how unceremonious,” you croak out, moaning softly when his large hand begins palming at your right breast.

His thumb and forefinger squeeze at your erect nipple, toying with it in smooth, tactile movements and relishing the way his name sounds coming out of your kiss-swollen lips.

“Mm, forgive me,” he chuckles darkly, planting a quick, ardent kiss on your lips before lowering his face to your chest. His tongue licks a slow, tender strip up your sternum before he looks up to smile at you; it’s a genuine look of satisfaction, untouched by the plague that is his faux arrogance. “I’ll make sure to be good next time.”

’Next time?’

You look at him lazily, gaze puzzled and lips ajar to ask but he doesn’t even offer you the chance. His hand dips from your tits to the band of your pants, sliding underneath it with his finger, the coolness of his skin making you gasp.

His mouth assaults your other nipple with sucks, nibbles, and gentle bites, making you mewl under him as his hand continues to travel down the soft flesh of your thigh. He rubs it gently, lovingly, starting under your hip and slowly stroking his way toward the inner region, where you’re most sensitive.

“Divine,” he mumbles against your chest, pressing a kiss to your rib. “So divine.”

His free palm moves to your exposed belly, massaging it gently. You sigh at the slow, consistent pressure, moving your trembling hand to the back of his neck.

When your one eye pops open in curiosity, you see him snug against your body, face contorted with empathic fixation as he labors down your body. It’s intimate, yes, but also… loving. His tongue is warm against your breast, and his palms caress your skin with slow, delicate strokes; the same hands you’ve seen wield blood-soaked daggers and longbows.

He runs two digits along the stretchy fabric of your bottoms, lip caught between his teeth. He catches you staring and smirks up at you.

“Enjoying yourself?” he husks out, and you’re desperate enough to nod wordlessly.

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, hand smoothing down the waistband of your panties that peers from behind your bottoms. Not even your cutest pair, but oh well. He doesn’t even seem to notice, as his digits play with the elastic.

You’re already so exposed, but nothing can prepare you for what he does next.

With a few more kisses to your breasts, he tugs at the two waistbands, pulling down your pants and panties in one go.

The material slides off your legs and you hiss out, feeling the coolness caress your slick core. Your hands instinctively reach to cover up, but you’re stopped in your tracks by a strong grasp around your wrist.

“Oh no, no,” He looks up at you with an arched eyebrow, and somehow, despite his collected mien, you catch a soft dusting of pink across his cheekbones. “Don’t you dare deny me this view. Not after I’ve waited for so long.”

Your face heats up at the brazen comment, but that only seems to draw him closer. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and he takes the hint immediately.

You connect in a heated kiss, and this time, Astarion is the one groaning against you. You work in tandem, like a gentle, effortless dance, heavy breaths intermingling in a sweet symphony of hums and sighs when…

You feel a touch against your heat. The contact is almost impalpable, yet your eyes flutter open in shock as the man’s fingers trace over your slit.

He withdraws from your kiss, hovering inches from your lips with a soft smile.

“S’unfair,” you slur, gazing up at him with a pleasure-drunken gaze. He exhales loudly, and you gasp. His fingers dip in, rubbing slow circles around your clit. “You— Gods—”

“Yeah? Tell me,” he taunts lowly, continuing his torturously languid movements with a devious smirk plastered on his perfect face. “What’s got you so bothered, my sweet?”

He dips down, teasing your entrance with his index. You pant softly at the prolonged stimulation, trying your damn best to stay focused on furrowing your eyebrows in mock anger.

“Got me so exposed and—” you trail tensely as his finger probes your entrance. “—And you’re still in your damn clothes.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but you doubt he’s even listening to you by how he surveys your body, bottom lip caught between his fangs. “I’m about to show you ‘generous’, like I promised.”

And then, he bottoms out. You moan, feeling two of his digits sliding into you, the slickness of your opening making it an easy feat.

You squeeze around him, and he pumps into you once, then twice for good measure. The sound of his movements is unbelievably and utterly obscene, making your stomach knot in delight.

“So wet already,” he purrs through a smirk, watching you writhe under him, “Don’t tell me our little sparring session got you this bothered.”

You roll your eyes, thighs squeezed tight around his wrist as you move your hips in tandem with his rhythm.

“Come on, talk to me,” he taunts again, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and letting his fingers fuck you in a steady, purposeful rhythm. “Now’s not the time to get coy.”

He switches gears, stopping his movement so he can curl his fingers inside you. He presses against the sweet spot, his thumb reaching to simultaneously rub slow circles against your swollen clit.

You cry out at the newfound pressure, the warmth in your belly twisting into a vortex of fiery delight.

“I—” you mewl against him, wrapping your fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt. “I’m gonna— c-cum—”

His movements quicken at your desperate words, digits working hard against your favorite spot.

“Cum then, my darling,” he taunts firmly, his free hand roaming under your jaw and holding it in place. “Cum for me. Let me— let me look at you, sweet thing.”

Your glassy eyes struggle to focus on his face, but once they do, he hits something white-hot inside you.

His lips crash desperately onto yours, but you struggle to kiss him back through the blinding pleasure of your climax. It thunders down your legs, up your belly, making you cry out against his mouth as everything melts away into a wonderful oblivion.

The last thing you see before your muscles go lax is red.

He rubs your clit methodically through your high, letting you ride it out peacefully as he burrows into your neck again.

When your breath steadies, you feel his fingers slowly withdraw. The emptiness that follows makes you cry out softly, helplessly watching as the man runs his palms up and down your sides.

He presses a soft, soothing kiss against your swollen lips, and you can’t help but glare when you see that he’s still fully dressed, even after your heated orgasm.

He catches your pouting and raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, darling?” he purrs, pulling away to take you all in. You’re caught speechless when his hungry gaze scans down your nude body; starting at your smitten face and ending with a lingering glimpse at your spent pussy.

“Please,” you mewl out, raking your hands down his clothed abs. “Gods— Please take these off, I can’t—”

He does.

His hands momentarily withdraw from around you, and with a swift, deft move, he tosses his shirt off.

The silken cloth comes flying into the night like a phantasmal figure, and you watch it catch onto a stray branch to your right.

Your gaze skims hungrily down his sculpted body, watching his muscles tense and release with every little movement. Yes, you’ve seen him shirtless before, yet the context of your current predicament somehow makes it feel like it’s the first time all over again.

Unbeknownst to you, his hands work at his bottoms, swiftly unbuttoning the waistband and letting it sit loose against his hips. You catch a soft, white trail against the edge of his undergarments, leading down to a straining, tented mess below.

Your hand reaches out absent-mindedly, still drunk off the high of your climax and so, so desperate to finally feel him for yourself.

“Not so fast, darling,” he scolds, gently slapping your hand away and letting it wither at your side.

“Let me touch you,” you retort desperately, but he only chuckles as his fingers begin working at his waistband.

“You lost our bet,” he explains, sliding a thumb under the elastic and letting it lower. You catch the very base of his straining erection, and that taunting alone makes you gasp. “Gives me the upper hand.”

“Says who?” you hiss under your breath, failing to give him the glare he deserves as your eyes bore into his.

He gives you a once over, gaze drawing languidly over your exposed body, and only then does the extent of your nudity finally dawn on you.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

You shift under him, shimmying within the small space he allows, and he takes your brief distraction as a moment to unravel his pants completely. They drop to the ground behind you, leaving him in his undergarments, and you bite your lip at how dangerously lax they sit around his hips.

“I think I’ve left you waiting long enough,” he mutters, and your lips go ajar.

The thumb hooked into his briefs starts sliding down his waist, lower and lower until you’re finally even in terms of undress— and you’re ever so starstruck by the sight of his bulging cock hovering over your belly. It stands thick and taut within arm’s reach and you find the fact makes your mouth water.

Then, before you can think of touching him, you feel him place either hand below your knees. He looks up at you with a sly smirk, and you gasp softly when he pushes your thighs flat against your torso, feet in the air and scandalously exposed in front of him.

“You’re playing with me,” you mutter breathlessly, hissing as you feel his length stroking against your inner thigh.

His arms compress you tighter as you feel him lowering, the underside of his cock slapping against your tummy. The gasp that leaves your throat at the sudden contact widens your eyes, and he catches your gaze with his self-satisfied one.

“Do you like that I’m playing with you?” he follows up without a beat, his hips rutting forward. The movement is gentle, yet the pressure is enough to make you whine out in desperation— it’s also the only answer you manage to choke up for him before his cock slides between your wet folds.

“A-Ah— you fucking— fucking prick,” you hiss at the vampire, and so he bears his fangs at you through a wide grin. You find that it makes your breath hitch even amidst your despair.

“Now, now,” he reprimands, words syrupy, “bold words coming from someone so vulnerable.”

His nails dig into the soft flesh of your legs as he slides back and forth, taking meticulous care so that the head of his cock butts against your clit with every dip. The stimulation feels electric, and soon enough, you feel your still-sensitive body ramp up with heated energy for a second time this night.

A minute passes, yet it feels like an eternity. The air between you is thick with tension and the soft, repetitive harmony of your strained moans and his little gasps. You watch his eyes close in concentration, and despite his otherwise relaxed facade, you can tell he’s struggling to resist you by the way his eyebrows knit in the middle.

“Fuck me,” you breathe out, one of your hands extending to claw at his withholding forearm.

When your gazes meet, he looks surprisingly spent; eyes glassed-over, mouth ajar, and the slightest hint of sweat glazing his pale forehead. You realize that his domineering act seemed to come at the expense of his stamina: a resource you had slowly replenished in your comfortable position.

“Not— not yet, darling,” he hitches out, but the words appear tender and helpless to your trained ears. “I— I want to enjoy this— enjoy you—”

Your grip on his forearm tightens, making the bucking of his hips stutter. His eyebrow raises at your touch, but before he can shoot you a witty comment, you’re pushing him forward.

It happens within seconds.

Your knees straighten, feet slamming into his abdomen. He coughs at the sudden, unexpected impact, and you take the opportunity to grab tight onto his forearms. He falls backward, and just before his spine hits the soil beneath, you use the momentum to push yourself onto him.

When his eyes flutter open, you’re straddling his waist.

He blinks in brief confusion, surveying his surroundings before the crimson gaze finally turns to you.

He surveys your face, and you let him. The moment is like a silent meditation, heavy breaths intermingling as he takes your raw beauty in; the longing in your eyes, the soft dusting of pink across your nose, and ultimately, the plush of your lips he had ravaged mere moments ago.

Next, he moves to your body. His eyes scan down your taut nipples, down your tummy, and to the softness of your thighs squeezing his midriff to the ground. When he reaches the junction between your bodies, your hips buck as if on instinct.

“My, just how courageous we are,” he purrs under you, hands reaching to rub down the outside of your thighs. “I wouldn’t be so nice about your dirty tricks if I didn’t find this view thoroughly delectable.”

You shiver at his honeyed words, yet your gaze stays determined on him. Your palms go to rest atop his, marveling at the eccentric softness of his knuckles and the polarizing edge of the nails.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” you grin playfully, rocking your hips back to feel his hard length against the curve of your ass. When a soft hiss escapes his lips, you feel your ego inflate. “Sound familiar?”

His eyes roll, but the grin creeping onto his lips deceives him immediately.

His head tilts at you, fangs bearing in the soft moonlight. “You’re trouble.”

The mischief of your smile spins into a warm fondness. Your cheeks warm, and your heart swells, but you don’t quite understand why. “Oh how rich that is coming from you.”

And then you’re rising on your knees, hips hovering over his throbbing erection. Your palms connect, digits intertwining with his as you lower yourself onto him.

You test the waters first, letting his tip brush over your slit with feather-like touches. You hum gently at the teasing pleasure, and so does Astarion.

When you feel your tummy tightening with anticipation, you dive in. With a light shimmy, you line your hips with his, and with more desperation than you planned, you slide down.

You both hiss as the head of his cock penetrates you, the stretch making your palm tighten against his. You bend at the knees, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the delicious sensation of being filled to the brim after such a long, lonesome time.

Finally, you let your hips slam against his. The sudden, harsh movement makes you gasp out into the tantric air as his tip pokes against your womb. The dull pain quickly shifts into a flat, resonant pleasure, and you waste no time.

Your hips begin to buck against his, building a slow, steady rhythm until you’re confidently riding your vampire lover with a self-satisfied smirk on your lips.

Each thrust makes you mewl, moan, and cry out into the night, that pleasant angle of his cock hitting that same spot his fingers did just minutes ago.

His head rolls back into the ground, and with the remnants of his energy, he issues an occasional, quick rut into you. As it’s rare, you decide to savor it. You squeeze around him with the thrusts, and soon, you feel yourself running out of breath.

“I— I could let you do this for—hells— forever,” he hisses out, and suddenly, you feel his hands unclasp from yours and snake around your waist. “Where have you been all these centuries?”

Your upper body is dragged forward, your tits colliding with his toned chest when he pulls you into a tight, possessive embrace.

You gasp at the warmth between you, and your eyebrows soon furrow when you realize the position limits your hip movement. As you’re forced into a pause from your delirious riding, his lips crash onto yours.

Your tongues share a private, slack dance, heads tilting to adjust as you both hum and groan into the fiery kiss. You attempt to rut into him, and soon enough he gets the hint.

Keeping you immobilized against his chest, his hips pound up into you. The first few smacks are scandalously loud, and you revel in the newfound angle.

You’re lost in him, completely and utterly. When he moans, you respond with a hum— when his embrace tightens around you, you kiss him harder.

The familiar, fiery heat in your tummy bubbles up again. You feel it amp up, grow, and send jolts up your spine when suddenly, you’re being pushed up. When your eyes flutter open, you catch his still closed.

His chest stays firm against yours as he positions you upright, letting you straddle his hips as you’re both left sitting in the soft patch of grass and wildflowers.

With your body regaining its mobility, you start grinding against him again. The position allows for a deliciously intimate closeness, his cock burrowing deep into you as you resume riding him.

The pressure within you grows, emerging as a knot— threatening to unravel with every other thrust. Your clit rubs against the base of his groin, amplifying the pleasure into a sensation you’ve long forgotten about.

“A-Astarion—” you mewl out between kisses, and his hot breath tickles your face when he chuckles.

“Cum for me,” he sighs out, and the assertion comes off soft and pleading as it settles into the groves of your heart.

“O-Okay— I… I—”

He tightens his hold on your waist with one hand, as the other moves to cradle your cheek. His touch is unbelievably delicate and affectionate, and out of all the stimulation he had so graciously provided you this night, it’s that soft touch that sends you over the edge.

Your lips connect in one last kiss, and you moan throatily into his mouth. Your hips still, thighs squeezing as your pussy tightens around his cock in a moment of pure bliss. The steadily rising pressure in your belly finally tips over, sending a wave of bliss down your entire being.

Still, he keeps moving. You almost want to scream against him as his hips begin pounding into you again, the soft slaps quickening as he slowly peaks with you.

Withdrawing from the kiss to lean against your neck, he cums. Hard.

Your slowly declining climax seems to slam the gas pedal as you feel him release deep into you, the warmth spreading through your body like a genial embrace, a fact that makes him groan loudly against your mouth. Your breath stills in your throat, before finally releasing into a long, guttural moan— it echoes into the night, and your vision blurs.

White-hot bliss envelops your body, and you melt into Astarion’s for solace. You feel him grip you, caress your face, kiss away your adrenaline-fueled tears, and pant softly against your lips as your pussy spasms again.

Your orgasm envelops you in slow, pulsating waves as it withdraws, and you’re soon left huffing into the vampire’s flaxen locks. You think you hear him speak, but the ringing in your ears is too potent to know for certain.

Then, as the ringing finally retires, you hear him whisper your name. It’s a soft, patient call against the burning skin of your neck, one you commit to memory as you’re finally awarded your senses back— if only partially.

The forest feels exceptionally silent as you fall into his arms. You recognize the soft chirp of crickets in the distance, perhaps a distant hoot of owls, but it all seems to blend into an indecipherable blur as exhaustion floods your system.

Your head falls into the crook of his neck, and your mind sinks into the soft, languid thumps of his heart. His hand caresses your back, and you sigh deeply.

You sit there for what feels like hours, drinking each other in. You’ve waited so long, and finally, you’re at ease— it’s a feeling you wish to cherish, and if it wasn’t for the pesky passage of time, you’d choose to stay in this damned forest for eons; with him.

You feel him shift against you. His hands withdraw from your waist, and he whispers softly against you. “Come, my love.”

You hum in disagreement, face burrowing deeper into him. Yes, rosemary and brandy— now it’s clear to you.

He exhales sharply, and you smile into his neck. He waits for a beat, before placing a soft kiss to your temple. “Wait here.”

You nod gently and finally allow him to withdraw. The separation makes you sigh, your body shivering in the newfound cold of the night, but you persevere. In the longing to hold on to the moment for a little longer, you keep your eyes closed and hope he’ll return before you open them again.

You hear him shuffle around, walking from left to right, before finally returning to face you. “Hands up,” he mutters softly, and you do as you’re told in your pleasure-drunken stupor.

You feel him drape something silken over your sweat-slick body, the soft material draping your hips before coming to a stop at your thighs. When you breathe in, you immediately realize it’s not your shirt, so you grin.

When you’re comfortably wrapped up, he leans in. Once you finally sense the familiar warmth of his chest, you lean against his shoulder and breathe in his scent.

You’re surprised he does this for you. Tenderness is not exactly something you’d connect with a man of his past, of his skill. Yet, when his hands move to rest under your knees and back, you don’t resist.

He lifts you off the ground, letting your fatigued frame rest against him. He takes it upon himself to get you back to camp, safe and sound, and only slightly perturbed.

You drink in everything you can, letting yourself be greedy for once. The steadiness of his breath, his warm chest, the crinkling of leaves under his feet— it’s an image you swear to place, no matter what difficulties might threaten to befall you in the future.

And he’s silent up until you reach the campgrounds. The chatter of dinnertime has long died down, and when you open your eyes, you spot the crackling embers of firelight flickering away among a circle of stones. The flames cast a soft, warm light onto the closed tents, and you revel in the intimacy of the moment.

“Everyone met their bedtime while we’ve been naughty sneaking out,” he murmurs with a chuckle, and you close your eyes hurriedly in hopes of feigning slumber. Still, you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face at his brazen comment.

You reach the outskirts and finally spot his tent just below an old, sturdy oak tree. You recall the talks you had out front so many times before, back when your feelings were just sparks of something much stronger and much, much warmer.

He crouches down and with an unsurprising agility climbs into the little shelter with you still in his arms. You lie slack against him, letting his arms lay you gently onto his woolen mat. You melt into the warmth almost immediately, sighing out dreamily when you feel his presence beside you.

It’s silent for a moment, and when your eyes finally flutter open, you catch him staring at you. His gaze is thoughtful but warm, lingering over your form with a certain glimmer.

“I guess it’s official, then,” you sigh out, closing your eyes again and letting a lazy smile drift over your features.

He pauses for a moment, then clears his throat. “What… what is?”

You chuckle softly at his awkward tone, shifting to the side and letting one of your eyes pop open to glance at him.

“My victory,” you state matter-of-factly before quickly shifting to your other side, facing away from him just to let a satisfied grin creep onto your face.

You don’t witness it, but his expression goes from tense, to disconcerted, to irritated in a matter of seconds. His eyes roll, and you suddenly feel a flat slap against your ass.

“Woah there, hey!” you gasp, followed by a cheeky giggle. Your head turns to face him from your comfortable position, and you catch him mirroring your grin.

“Quiet, now,” he commands softly, pivoting to lie beside you. His arm comes over your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Bet’s over, darling. I’m sorry to say, but you’ve not proven yourself capable. Shame, really.”

You blow a raspberry through your smile and shimmy closer to him, your body melting perfectly into his— a fact that has you near to falling asleep.

“Shame indeed. The look on your face was priceless when you ate dirt,” you shrug nonchalantly, “At least that’s the version I’ll be telling everyone come morning.”

He scoffs, the low rumble of it vibrating against your back, but his arm only tightens around you. You feel his face in your hair, breathing in your scent.

“If you do that, I might just have to kill you,” he mutters, but despite the intensity of the words, his voice is soft and loving against your head. His hand drifts to your belly, fingers tracing lazy circles against the soft skin there.

“You would never.”

He’s silent for a beat. Your lips open to build on your clever retort before you feel his sharp exhale on your neck.

“Sleep, darling,” he reprimands, squeezing your midriff gently.

You sigh contentedly, your lips brushing against the pillow as you settle deeper into his embrace. The tent is cocooned in warmth, but you feel the cool kiss of the evening breeze filtering in through the small opening at the entrance. Outside, the campfire crackles faintly, the last embers glowing like distant stars before fading into fine ash.

As you drift closer to sleep, wrapped in the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the world around you blurs into the peaceful haze of near-dreams.

Just as the veil of slumber begins to pull you under, you feel his lips press against your hair, a soft whisper brushing against your skin.

“As long as I'll live, I never could.”

[akawifeyy]

so american | smau (OP81)

description: you might not be australian, but oscar piastri loves you just the same.

tropes: yapper x listener, he falls first and harder, celebrity actress!fem!reader (you’re the daughter of matt damon, please tell me you all know who he is)

face claim: addison rae

trigger warnings: suggestive content, swearing

| note: sorry for the long wait between posts, i'm not feeling the best right now and i've also had a jam-packed schedule. but anyways! here you go! this is based on ♪ so american / olivia rodrigo, which is one of my fave songs of all time :)

@ f1gossip: The daughter of Matt Damon, Y/N, is reportedly dating McLaren's F1 driver, Oscar Piastri. Thoughts?

tagged: @ f1, @ f1yaps, @ f1talk

comments (5862):

@ user1: she's so pretty omg 😭

-> @ user2: First thought was, "She's everything, and he's just Ken." Y/N is absolutely gorgeous.

@ user3: even though i've been an oscar girlie since day 1, i support this. if this is real, i wish them the best of luck <3

@ f1yaps: Has a hot new WAG entered the paddock? Only time will tell

@ yourusername: howdy, cota 🤠 had a great time

tagged: @ f1, @ mattdamon, @ yourbffusername

@ user4: prettiest cowgirl there is 🤎

@ oscarpiastri: It was nice meeting you!

-> @ yourusername: ditto! hoping to buy tickets for las vegas :)

@ user5: Why is Oscar lowkey lurking in the comments... 🤨

-> @ user6: read @ f1gossip's most recent post

@ yn.updates: during an interview for her upcoming movie, "riptide", y/n was asked about the gossip concerning her and mclaren f1 driver oscar piastri. with a big smile, she replied, "he seems like a great guy, but let's be for real. i've met him one time. let's not get too far ahead, please!"

tagged: @ yourusername, @ oscarpiastri, @ f1, & 2 more

comments (1257):

@ user7: That dress is stunning 😩

@ user8: they'd be cute together as a couple ngl. i'd love to see more of them

-> @ user8: but, they deserve their privacy

@ user9: ynoscar is adorable ❤️❤️

Text messages between Oscar and Y/N (2025):

@ yourusername: las vegas was a hit! congrats to the papaya boys, p2 and p3

tagged: @ f1, @ mclaren, @ oscarpiastri, @ landonorris

comments (9374):

@ yourbffusername: super cool! miss you xoxo

-> @ yourusername: miss you too, i'll be back home soon 💗

@ user10: Twinklaren tagged!!

@ oscarpiastri: Thanks for coming!

-> @ yourusername: of course, i wouldn't miss it for the world 😁

comments (539):

@ user5: Have any of you seen Oscar's most recent Insta story?

-> @ user11: the way i ran to check and SCREAMED 😳

-> @ user5: IK, they are so evil for soft-launching, they're torturing us. *Sobs*

Oscar's Instagram Story:

comments (7521):

@ yourusername: might not be good at legos but it was still fun being with you!

@ user12: ADORABLE 🥰

@ user8: how does it feel to live my dream 😞

Press Conference Interview Excerpt with Oscar (2025):

Interviewer: Congratulations on your podium in Qatar, Oscar! We noticed a special someone was missing, would you like to tell us more about them?

Oscar (smiling): If the special someone is Y/N Damon, you wouldn't be wrong. She means a lot to me, and I'm very lucky to be with her. Anyways, she sadly wasn't able to make it because she is back in America for the time being. She's about to have her red carpet debut for her movie, "Riptide"! I saw a few clips from it and she does a flawless job.

Interviewer: Is this an acknowledgement of the relationship between the two of you?

Oscar: Yeah.

Interviewer: How long have the two of you been together?

Oscar: A few weeks after COTA.

Interviewer: Well, best of luck to the new couple!

Text messages between Oscar and Y/N (2025):

@ oscarpiastri: What a way to end 2025! See you all next year

tagged: @ landonorris, @ f1, @ mclaren, @ yourusername

comments (4898):

@ user13: ahhh omg y/n mention!! 🥹

-> @ user14: They're so cute

-> @ user9: best couple in a long time

@ landonorris: Always glad to be with you, mate

-> @ oscarpiastri: 2026 three-peat is on its way!

@ yourusername: so so proud of you 🥳

-> @ oscarpiastri: Thank you, I'm proud of you too. Can't wait to be with you again 😘

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[kandyscorner]

Hello!!!! I've been thinking recently like what about Jason Todd takes the reader on a ride with his motorcycle but like she's never been on a motorcycle. She acts nonchalant about it, like she's not nervous about it(she is) and since she doesn't own any safety gear that she doesn't need it, but Jason makes her wear stuff anyway like a helmet and maybe his jacket. And like then when the bike starts up she suddenly clutches tightly to Jason in slight fear. Just a protective Jason idea I had and since I'm not a writer it's just been a thought for me. Hope you like it!!!!

this ask was fun because there's a chapter in my Do I Know you? series that is a lot like this. it was good practice to try and write the scene a little different. Thank you! and enjoy!

****

“Oh, you’re driving a motorcycle,” you say, staring at the bike before you.

“Told you it was in the shop. Three weeks and those assholes made the problem worse. Had to take her somewhere else but now,” he grins at you and pats the seat of the bike, “she’s ready for a ride.”

You press your cheek to your shoulder, hands suddenly sweaty in your pocket, “of course you call the bike a she.” You joke, trying to cover the building anxiety in your chest.

“You don’t need to be jealous, sweetheart.” He steps into your space, hand pressing to the side of your face, “you’re much prettier.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, tucking your face into his neck with a blush. His arms wrap around you in a tight hug.

He's tugging you from your hiding place far sooner than you're ready for, still trying to use his proximity to unsuccessfully cool your nerves.

“you ready? It'll be fun.” You keep your mouth shut but give him a tense smile and nod. 

You knew he rode a bike. He told you about it, shown you pictures. And while you found the concept very attractive, the bike, very much a real thing in front of you now, was intimidating.

You'd never ridden a motorcycle before but you had heard horror story's of shredded skin and broken bones. You worry you're not dressed correctly and that you certainly don't have any safety gear for yourself.

Jason gives you a meaningful look and tugs you forward towards the bike, “come get a closer look. Promise she doesn't bite.”

The lightfulness in his tone reminds you to breathe. Any vehicle was as safe as the person driving. Your positive Jason is a good driver, based on the amount of times he's actually told you about the bike, he probably rode it often.

“It's pretty,” you tell quietly as you take a closer look.

“Not as pretty as you.” he repeats his earlier statement, softer this time and you turn to find him staring at you already with the slight forlorn look he gets sometimes.

You reach out to poke at his side in jest and he curls his hand around yours.

“you okay with this?” he asks, direct eye contact emphasizing the importance of the answer to him, “I should've asked before. We can postpone it and I can bring the car instead.”

You flush at his sudden rush to accommodate you (clearly you hadn't hidden it very well) despite his excitement about the bike.

“It's okay,” you placate him with a tiptoed kiss to his cheek, “as long as you make sure I don't fall off, yeah?” You ask the question to lighten the space between you but your worry sits at the edge of your voice.

he blinks at you for a moment, before his mind clearly clicks back into the conversation. 

“like I'd every let something like that happen.” He nearly scoffs at you before he lets go of your hand to tug off his leather jacket. He holds it up to you in offering.

“What?”

He playfully rolls eyes at your question but patients bleed into his tone, “safety first sweetheart.” 

You turn around, nearly losing your balance in the spin due to the sudden awareness of how you didn't have to say anything to Jason for him to know what was bothering you.

His jackets warm from his body and too big but that does deter him as he faces you and zips up the jacket for you. It takes a moment for you to realize he's talking to you.

“-on to me, okay?”

“What?” he edges into your space at the question, cornering you against the bike.

“I know you can be a good listener, sweetheart. Could you do that for me?” He grins down at you and you wrinkle your nose at him.

“Don't patronize me, jay. I could still change my mind.” He eases up out of your space pulling the helmet that had been resting atop the bike with him. 

“I need you to hold on to me tight when I accelerate and to brace your weight against the tank when…” he continues on with directions for when he turns, how to get on and off, and how to get his attention. 

He pauses in between sentences to press the helmet over your head and then continues talking as he tightens it.

“If you ever feel uncomfortable and like you want to get off, you tell me, understand?” he asks. You nod and his fingers curl into the chin of the helmet to gently tug you.

“Words, Sweetheart.” he says sternly. You're suddenly thankful for the helmet because of the flush on your skin that it covers.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you.” You finally say timidly. His hand moves from the helmet to cradle the side of your neck.

“That’s my girl,” He coos at you and you wrap your hand around his wrist to pull at him.

“Let's go,” you say cheerfully, “We have places to be and things to do.”

Jason stares you down. It makes you itch at the way his expression alone digs at you. You stare back as well as you can through the visor of the helmet. You would never tell Jason not to do something simply because you don't want to do it. Especially something he definitely knew how to handle.

“I’m serious, Jay, let's go,” you hop on your feet, hoping to give an air of excitement to your words instead of anxiety. He finally shrugs his shoulders and climbs onto the bike, helping you climb on behind him. 

He takes the time to make sure you're settled before even turning on the bike. WIth the bike on, you place nervous hands at his waist, mildly resting there. You want to hug him in a vice grip but you think that might give away your feelings. His hand settles on top of your knee, curling around it slightly. You tip to that side trying to see his face assuming he wants to talk to you. 

The bike gives a sudden jolt forward, your body jerking slightly back with the movement. Your neutrally placed hands scramble to wrap around him tightly. He has the nerve to laugh at you, hand at your knee tightening.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” he says and despite his laughter, you can hear the sincerity in his words. His hand leaves your knee to resituate your hands, one wrapped tight around him and the other pressed to the gas tank.

“Holding on,” he taps the hand pressed to his stomach and then taps the one at the tank, “bracing, okay?” you nod at the question and his hand pinches lightly at your leg.

“Okay,” you answer after attempting to smack his hand in retaliation. He doesn’t even move his hand away, not threatened by you. His hand rubs soothing circles into your thigh before it returns to the handlebars.

“I'm going to move,” he tells you one last time and your arms tighten around him as he slowly brings the bike into the street and then you're off. You can tell he’s being cautious, that this isn't how he usually drives, but you can't help but be grateful. Your hands rub and squeeze at his chest in show of that gratitude. You can tell he understands when, at a stoplight, his hand comes to hold yours there, a silent communication. 

You think you could come to like motorcycle rides, especially with Jason as the driver.

Masterlist

[moonstruckme]

stem girlie anon here! so glad to hear you’d consider it <3 exams have been kicking my ass recently lol. i was thinking maybe pre-relationship peter parker + reader finishing their big midterm and accidentally falling asleep together while trying to do an exam debrief?

Thank you stem girlie anon :)

tasm!Peter x fem!reader ♡ 675 words

There’s a fly in the room. 

Peter registers its low buzz distantly, from the deep black of unconsciousness. But once he hears it, it won’t go away. Slowly, Peter comes awake, peeling his cheek up from cool vinyl wood and closing his mouth against the dryness that sits on his tongue. He knows faintly of a pleasant warmth on one side of his arm. 

With his other, he snaps his hand out while still blinking blearily, catching the fly. It’s only after the buzzing stops that he registers the sight in front of him. 

You’re bowed like a snowdrop over the table. Just across from Peter, your forearm pressed to his and your breaths fanning gently over the wood. Up until he moved a moment ago, you might have been a mirror image. 

Most tables in this part of the library are empty except for yours. It became your table quickly, without discussion, simply because it’s the place you first chose to sit when you agreed to study with Peter in the library across from your class together. Peter didn’t really need the studying help, but you’re as smart and generous as you are pretty, and what he did need was an excuse to talk to you outside of the classroom. He’ll have to come up with something new once your class is over for the semester. Or maybe he’ll work up the guts to ask you out for real by then. 

You make a soft sound in your sleep, a murmur faded to nothing halfway through. Peter fights the urge to take off his hoodie and cover you with it to be sure you won’t wake. 

Times like this, Peter wants to study you for science. How you’re so completely asleep, lashes twitching in a dream, with your back curled over this hard table is beyond him. Granted, you studied even harder than he did for your midterm today, and the stress leading up to the test had surely taken it out of you. But your neck must be aching. 

“Hey,” Peter says, so softly at first you’ve no chance of hearing him. He tries again. “Hey.” 

A couple passes of his hand over yours has you rousing. You do the same as he had, closing your mouth and lips pursing like there’s a bad taste. Your eyes find Peter’s, unfocused and endearingly sleepy.

“Oh,” you mumble. 

You start to sit up, and Peter’s hand reaches for your back without permission, some instinctive protectiveness for your poor bent-up spine. He only ends up looking stupid, but luckily you don’t seem to notice. 

“God, sorry.” You arch your neck, closing your eyes as your back gives a couple of clicks. “Did we fall asleep?” 

“Guess so,” Peter says. He’s too busy not looking at the shape of your neck to come up with anything more eloquent. “I, uh, can walk you home, if you want.” 

“Yeah—” You’re overtaken by a yawn. You hide it behind a hand, and Peter mirrors you a second later. You smile apologetically. “Sorry. Yeah, I think I should go home. That test…” 

“Rough,” he agrees. “I could sleep for a week.” 

“Yeah. You don’t have to walk me, you should go get rest too.” 

Peter waves you off. “I want to. It’s on my way home, anyway.” 

It’s not, but Peter’s told this lie a few times already and you’ve never been to his place so you can’t contradict him. He’s hoping by the time you figure it out you’ll have found enough redeemable qualities in him to overlook it. 

“Okay.” You let him get your coat for you, shrugging it on before hitting him with the kind of lazy smile that turns his insides to slush every time. “Thanks, Peter.” 

“No sweat.” He reaches around your collar to tuck your tag in, rubbing the back of your neck while he’s there. “Your neck okay?” 

“I’ll live. What about you, does yours hurt?”

Peter thinks of your arm lying against his. Your quiet breaths and your sweet yawn. “I’ll live.”

[itsrubesshawty]

The Quiet Hours

Pt.2 to “spit it out”

Tw: attempted suicide, drugs/alcohol

Darlin’ had been getting better.

Or at least, that’s what they said.

That’s what Sam wanted to believe.

That’s what David never asked.

They went to therapy—once. Took meds—sometimes. Stopped drinking—mostly. Smiled when people looked. Responded to texts. Showed up, made jokes, gave hugs. The whole performance.

But none of it ever stuck. Not really.

Especially not at 3:00 a.m.

The apartment was too quiet.

Too dark.

Darlin’ sat on the floor of their bedroom, a joint half-burnt between trembling fingers, eyes bloodshot and wide. The shadows in the corner moved wrong. Something about the walls—too close, too loud. Everything hummed like it was alive.

There was a voice in the hallway.

Not one they recognized.

“… don’t turn around…”

Their heart dropped.

Another voice, this one closer—behind them.

“… told you this would happen…”

They blinked hard. Rubbed their eyes. Tried to ground themselves, but the floor didn’t feel solid. The air was thick, like syrup, and their hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Shut up,” Darlin’ whispered, clutching their head. “You’re not real.”

But the whispers just laughed.

The apartment pulsed. The ceiling breathed. Shadows stretched long across the floor like hands, reaching. Grabbing.

Panic clawed up their throat.

They stumbled to their feet, knocking over the ashtray. Glass shattered against the wall. They didn’t even feel it when it cut their foot.

The balcony door was open.

The night air beckoned.

Cool. Quiet. Simple.

No voices. No shadows. No past. No Quinn.

Just air. Just falling.

Their chest heaved. Tears welled. Not because they wanted to die—God, they didn’t—but the noise wouldn’t stop, and nothing felt real anymore.

Their hands gripped the railing.

They climbed.

And that’s when the neighbor screamed.

—

It all happened in a blur.

A call. Sirens. Blue and red lights spinning against the glass.

Darlin’ on the edge of the railing, barefoot, sobbing. Begging the air to stop pressing in on them.

A police officer on the balcony, voice calm and distant:

“Hey, hey—look at me. You don’t have to do this.”

Darlin’ couldn’t even hear them. All they saw were hands. Quinn’s hands. Shadows. David’s face twisted in shame. Sam walking away. Everything closing in.

When the arms grabbed them, they screamed.

When the needle went into their neck, they didn’t even flinch.

—

He got the call at 3:51 a.m.

“Hi, is this David Shaw?”

The voice was too clinical. Too calm.

“This is Officer Daniels with the LAPD. We need to inform you about an incident involving someone named uh tank..? They’re listed as your emergency contact.”

His whole body froze.

“What happened?”

“They’re alive. That’s the important part. They had what appears to be a psychotic episode and attempted to jump from their apartment balcony. They’re stable now, with paramedics. No hospitalization—just observation and follow-up needed. But they’ve been using again, and there were signs of recent self-harm.”

David sat on the edge of the bed, breath stolen from his chest.

“Where are they now?”

“We administered a sedative. They’re still at home. Someone’s sitting with them.”

A pause.

“Look, sir, this is more than just a bad high. We’re not trying to scare you—but they need help. Real help. Family. Friends. We thought you should know.”

David didn’t say goodbye.

He was already throwing on a hoodie, keys in hand, rage and guilt boiling together in his chest.

How had it gotten this bad without him seeing?

—

They were curled up on the floor in the living room, the lights off except for one flickering lamp. Their eyes were half-open. Silent. Drifting somewhere between exhausted and numb.

The paramedic had left already, and a kind but awkward officer waited by the door, arms folded.

And then—he came in.

David.

Darlin’ looked up slowly, heart pounding even though everything felt fuzzy. Their throat was raw. Their hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He said nothing at first.

Just stood there.

Looking at them.

And then—

“What the fuck, tank?”

His voice cracked down the middle. Not angry. Just devastated.

Darlin’ flinched.

“I’m—” They tried to speak. It came out dry. Weak. “I’m fine.”

David scoffed, loud and bitter. “Fine? Fine? You’re high out of your mind and hanging off a balcony and that’s fine?”

“I didn’t mean to,” they whispered. “It wasn’t—It wasn’t supposed to go that far. I just—I couldn’t sleep. The walls kept breathing—”

He crouched down in front of them, voice softer but still strained. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because you’d look at me like this.”

David’s face twisted. “Like what?”

“Like I’m already gone.”

Silence.

He sat beside them, leaning against the couch, eyes closed.

“I never thought you were gone,” he said. “I just thought you were getting better. That you didn’t need me anymore.”

“I needed you every day,” they whispered, crying now. “I just didn’t want to be a burden again.”

“You were never a burden,” David snapped. Then, softer: “You’re mine, tank. You’re my pack. I’d burn the world down before I let it eat you alive.”

They broke.

Completely.

Folded into his arms, sobbing so hard they couldn’t breathe. He held them tighter than he had in years.

No judgment. No anger. Just raw, painful love.

And the promise to never, ever leave again.

[letters-to-rosie]

random Ekko thoughts

so I'm trying to get a little fic writing in, and I was thinking of some timebomb takes I've seen recently. I realized that a lot of opinions people have on their relationship and how it's depicted center around Jinx, and I was wondering what care people give towards writing Ekko, so here are some things I like to include when writing him:

perfectionist. Ekko, at least in League canon, goes back and forth over and over to craft a perfect moment. I think he'd be observant, detail-oriented, probably a little neurotic, definitely the type to replay an awkward interaction over and over in his head in the shower or before falling asleep

emotionally guarded. first, I gotta say I don't think Ekko would want to be this way. but he's been through so much he finds it useful to have walls up. it's not like all the toughness is a defense mechanism—he fights for what he believes in and is clearly very brave (who else makes hoverboards ffs). he does miss, though, the times and people that allowed him to be more vulnerable, and he treasures it when he has it. his childhood ended way too soon

chronic overthinker. this goes back to the perfectionism, but I think he'd constantly be questioning everything. he's good on his feet, but he likes to have a plan, and he'd tends to think about those for a long time

charismatic as hell. this one I think is proven by the show, lol. Ekko seems very personable, likes to haggle (at least as a kid), and is liked enough to lead a resistance movement. I think he'd make good speeches and be good at convincing people. this would, of course, cause drama with Jinx, because he'd be like "all these people believe in me and my former best friend doesn't," ow

drama. I like to give him a pretty dramatic inner monologue, lol. I also like to think he's self-aware enough to realize he's being dramatic in the moment and to then continue the drama anyway

enjoyer of thrills. hoverboard. need I say more?

childish and playful side. didn't get to have a full childhood and cherishes getting to let that side out. cue fluff

fidgeter. it preceded the tinkering

player of mind games. this is mostly based on how he treats Caitlyn and Vi after kidnapping them, putting them through what essentially amounts to tests (for, imo, understandable reasons). he also goads Jinx into a game he knows he'll be able to win. I think he'd apply this thinking to other scenarios, be they big or small

too-big sense of responsibility. would feed into the drama for sure. he feels the weight of his community on his shoulders, and because he wants things to go well, and because they're counting on him, he takes on a lot that he maybe should not

self-righteous. he strikes me as filled with righteous anger. he's right, most of the time. on the occasion he isn't, this causes problems

proud. wouldn't be a real issue in most situations, but it's there

irreverent. he flips off cops as a kid. we love him for this

smart. this is obvious, but sometimes can be forgotten in the fandom. I'd see Ekko as book-smart and having street-smarts (or at least a lot more than Jayce, but that's a low bar). I think his verbal skills would also be a bit more polished than some of the other science-inclined characters (cough cough Jinx). I think it's also notable that among the others (Jayce, Viktor, Heimerdinger, Jinx), Ekko is the main science character who has no access to proper schooling at any point. sure, he has his job with Benzo, but it's unclear how much that would have taught him. Silco probably got at least books for Jinx, and the others had real teachers. there's an element of resourcefulness in Ekko's smarts which is laudable, imo

very dorky. we love a man with range. I feel like he would be able to operate on multiple levels, one in which he's this cool charismatic leader and another when you get to know him better, who makes science puns and has a lot of insecurities, which naturally leave him replaying awkward conversations in the shower. layers!

idealistic. you have to give people what they need to live

heart of gold. one thing that always strikes me is that Ekko is really the only member of the main cast concerned enough with the plight of the average person in Zaun to make it his whole business. he's tending to the crisis in a way that is simultaneously very grounded and (again) idealistic, where substance use recovery is very much needed in the setting but he's also (perhaps in contrast to Vander) throwing himself into battles that are unsustainable because he believes in his cause, even if the persecution is so bad he has to hide over it

disaster bi (this one is for me)

Ekko's a really layered and interesting character. I wanted to bring up some things I think about when writing him because of posts I've seen recently about him being reduced to "Jinx's boyfriend" (due to anti-black racism, of course) and posts just kinda about timebomb in general? I think because it's been canon that Ekko has a crush of Jinx for so long, it's easy to take that for granted and not give much thought to his side of the ship. we also spend a lot more time in Jinx's head than his in the show, even though the brief moment we do spend in his head introduces a whole new art style and the best song on the soundtrack (fight me)

obviously, I'm a shameless Ekko and Firelights stan. he's my favorite character in Arcane and one of my favorites in anything ever, so it was fun to flesh out my headcanons, things I think are extrapolatable from canon, and just some of the traits that go into writing him. if people have others (or just traits and things they think are interesting) I'd love to hear them! I love my brilliant and contradictory boy!

[itsmeyaspider]

Yandere Kengan Ashura mens x female reader

Pov: The first time they saw you

Trigger Warning: Yandere behavior, stalking, jealous behavior, possession, obsession, smoking, cigarettes

Note: I know it's been a while since I wrote something, but I recently finished watching the Kengan Anime and I can't stop thinking about anything else, then my hot muscle men's!🤧😭✨️ ((I probably should mention that this was my first real attempt to write several headcanons, english is not my main language I really tried my best! I still hope you liked it<3))

Ohma:

Ohma doesn't think much of love and certainly not of love at first sight. He has far more important interests than dealing with such an idiotic thing like love, or at least he thought.

The first time he sees you was at one of his underground tournaments , you were sitting in the back row, waiting for a friend to bring some drinks and popcorn. At first he didn't think much of it, you were just an ordinary spectator who had come to watch one of his fight. But something in him wondered what a beautiful woman was doing at such a place. Of course there were other woman present but they eiter were CEOs or family members. So what the hell are you doing here?

He keeps catching himself staring at you, something about you has aroused him but he didn't understand what. Was it your beautiful (h/c) hair? Or were it the different gestures you made during the tournament? Something deep inside him wanted to see you closer, he wanted to talk to you and ask what you are doing here.

After the tournament was finally over he ignored everyone else around him, he had a new important mission and that was to find you. He walked in every hotel room and in every corridor just to find you. It took a while but he found you. Finally. You were sitting outside on the beach with your friend and it seems that you having a lot of fun together. Was this your boyfriend?!

Only now does he notice how his heart begins to race faster and faster, something he only knew from fighting. He immediately comes over to the two of you, as your (e/c) eyes look at him for a few seconds. You are a bit surprised what one of the fighters wants from you at such a lats hour, as you let out a small sigh.. "Can we help you? Oh and your fight was sooo cool!" A small smile spreads on your lips as you keep looking at the fighter.

That was the moment when Ohma fell in love for the first time in his life. Your voice, your eyes, everything about you made him want more of you. You were his new obsession and he would do anything to keep it that way. Even if it means to get rid of this asshole by your side. He was the better choice anyways.

"I don't like seeing you with that guy. You should stay by my side, forever. You are mine."

Raian:

Raian knew since his childhood days that one day he would be forced to marry someone. After all, the Kure Clan is known for strengthening their family through marriages. Even if he would rather devote himself to other, more fun things like murdering or fighting, he had no other choice but to obey his grandfather.

The first time he met you was outside at night. You were on your way home when a strange, drunk man accosted you. You usually ignore this kind of people, but today was a fucking shitty day. "Please leave me alone sir. I need to get my bus." You said with annoyance. The man weren't interested in your words, he came closer to you and as he was about to touch you, you finally had enough. You threw your (f/c) bag you had taken with you on the ground and kicked him in his face.

"Don't you dare to touch me ever again." you threaten him, the drunken man slowly falls to the ground. You roll your (e/c) eyes in annoyance as you pick up your bag and make your way back to the bus stop.

Suddenly you feel a warm breath behind you, as you slowly turn around you see a tall, muscular man. His wide sadistic smile and his damn black eyes who keep staring at you, made you really uncomfortable. The mens laughter didn't make the situation any better and something inside you knew immediately that you didn't stand a chance against him.

"Look what we have here~ A little bunny trying to act all mighty and strong. How cute." His voice sounds almost psychotic, something that makes your body tremble. How long has this men been behind you? Why didn't you notice him? And why the fuck is your body acting so damn scared? "Have you lost your tongue?~"

And from this moment on he laid eyes on you, Raian knew that he would marry you. Even if you didn't want to, what are you going to do about it? Try to fight him?

Even his grandfather couldn't do anything about it, once bis grandson got something into his head there was no turning back. At least the Kure Clan would get new descendants.

"You will be mine and mine alone understand?! You will obey me and give me many children little bunny."

Sen:

Sen is a womanizer, he loves woman very much but sometimes a little bit too much. He never really cared about commitment in a relationship. Most of the time he gets bored and breaks up with a woman, or he simply cheats on them. It's nothing personal, but that's how he is.

So when he met you for the first time he was in a small shopping mall, he didn't have much to do and because his day was filled with boredom he decided to go to the mall. He was just about to take a cigarette out of his pocket when he realized that he had lost his lighter. With a small sigh, he scratches his head as he looks around for someone who might have a lighter with them.

And then you caught his eye, you were standing in front of one of many entrances, lighting up a cigarette. You took a drag from the nicotine as you feel your body relax.

"Do you have a lighter for me?" You are thrown out of your daydreaming when you hear a soft male voice. You immediately reach into your pocket and hand the handsome man your lighter. With a smile, the men starts to light his cigarette too. "What is a beautiful woman like you doing here? Oh, how rude of me, my name is Sen." You're a little bit suprised that the men is talking to you, most people ask someone for a light, then they light their cigarette and disappear again. "Oh...I'm working here, I just have a small break. My name is (Y/n) it's a pleasure to meet you."

Sen is visible pleased that you are talking to him, his relaxed eyes never take their eyes off you and your (b/s) body. The two of you talk for a while, as you almost forget your work. "I need to go back to work, it was a pleasure to meet you." You say with a small smile on your face, putting out the cigarette. For a glimpse you thought you saw some anger in his eyes, but you shake off those thoughts as you head off to your work again.

He decides to make his way home, but all he could think off is you, something in him longed for you and your sweet voice. He wants to protect you...and maybe also kiss you. With a small sigh he turns back to the mall as he slowly starts to watch over you. He only wants to make sure that no one is trying to hurt you.

"Don't be afraid of me doll, I will make sure that nobody hurts you. Just come in my arms and I will show you how much you mean to me. You will be mine so don't be a douchbag and accept your faith."

Saw Paing:

Saw Paing had never thought much about love, his life consisted mainly of training and fighting, one day he would beat his rival Kaolan for sure! But he wasn't like Ohma who is certainly not interested in love, he just never had the right moment for it.

He was in the gym where he started his usual training routine, when he suddenly noticed you. You were doing a few push-ups as you failed miserably. Something in him had to giggle at your helpless sight, he immediately runs to you with a lot of charged energy. "SHALL I SHOW YOU HOW TO DO IT PROPERLY?"

The unexpected shout jolts you out of your thoughts as you fell on the floor. Your cheeks start to flush from the embarrassing moment you witness. Why can't you just sink into the ground? Unfortunately that wasn't an option, you try to pick yourself up as you notice that the men is holding out his hand to you. For a small moment you both stare at each other, but the silence was even weirder than your push up and so you gladly took his hand.

The man pulled you up with such a swig that you thought you would fall to the ground again. Saw Paing started to laugh again, as you still were embarrassed by the whole situation. "I AM SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TO SCARE YOU." He yells again. "It's alright, I just wasn't expecting this."

The man turned out to be Saw Paing, you two talked a bit and he actually helped you to do some proper push ups! However, it was getting late and you were desperate to get home before it went dark. The fighter offered to walk home with you, you smile as your (e/c) eyes start to sparkle. "Thank you, that would be really nice."

The two of you spent some more time together, and Saw Paing noticed how much fun it was to talk and train with you. He saw how your beautiful eyes sparkle when you talk with him. Something in him wanted to know if you also look at other men's like that.

He doesn't quite understand what's happening in him, but something inside him wanted to spend more time with you, even if you are a stranger to him! He didn't want you to lead a life without him and forget about him. He wanted to be there for you, to help you! Was that love? If so, then he would do anything to make sure that you were only his!

"Let us be together (Y/n)! I will help you with everything you need, just promise me that you only have eyes for me! You are mine."

[bradleysass]

sleep - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 786

James wakes with a start, the kind that jolts you up from a dream you can’t quite remember but leaves your heart racing. He blinks against the quiet dark, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand, and that’s when he notices it again— Regulus’ side of the bed is cold.

Not just cool-from-recently-vacated. Cold like he hadn’t been there at all.

It’s the third time this week.

James pads barefoot into the living room, wrapped in the oversized Gryffindor hoodie Regulus likes to pretend he hates. There, curled in an armchair, knees pulled to his chest like he’s folded himself inward, is Regulus. A single book rests open on the armrest, untouched.

“You’re not reading,” James murmurs.

Regulus doesn’t look up. “Was,” he says. “You woke up.”

“You weren’t in bed.”

A pause. Then, “Couldn’t sleep.”

“You never sleep.”

James walks over and settles on the rug in front of the armchair, cross-legged, like they’re teenagers at a sleepover. “That’s not true,” Regulus says quietly, and it’s a weak deflection, so James lets it hang between them.

Instead, he leans his head on Regulus’ knee. “You know, it’s a bit rude to keep letting me fall asleep thinking I’ve got you beside me, only to wake up and find you’ve disappeared like a ghost.”

Regulus exhales. “I didn’t mean to. I just… didn’t want to wake you.”

“You never wake me.”

Regulus doesn’t answer. His fingers twitch near the book like he’s thinking about picking it back up just to have something to do.

James watches him, eyes soft. “Is it nightmares?” he asks gently.

“No,” Regulus says. Too quickly.

“Too quiet? Too loud?”

Regulus shakes his head.

“Too many thoughts?”

Regulus opens his mouth. Closes it. Shrugs.

That’s when James decides to talk to Sirius.

Sirius is in the kitchen the next morning, spooning instant coffee into a chipped Black family crest mug he’s ironically adopted as his favorite.

James slips in beside him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sirius says. “Where’s Sleeping Beauty?”

“Hasn’t slept,” James says.

Sirius stills.

James lowers his voice. “Pads, he never sleeps. Or if he does, it’s barely an hour. And I only know because sometimes I’m up at five and he’s already awake. Not waking up—already awake. Sitting somewhere. Reading. Thinking.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything.

James hesitates, then asks the question that’s been sitting on his chest. “Was it… always like that? When you were kids?”

Sirius sighs, leans his elbows on the counter. “I didn’t notice it when we were little. Or maybe I didn’t want to. I was always too busy making noise, making trouble, being loud enough to drown out the silence in that house. But Reg…”

He shakes his head. “He learned early how to be small. How to take up as little space as possible. Our parents taught him that. He’d sit in his room for hours, pretending he didn’t exist, just so he wouldn’t get yelled at. He got real good at it, too.”

James swallows. “So he just… stayed quiet. Stayed still.”

Sirius nods. “After I ran away, he wrote me letters. I didn’t answer most of them. But the ones I did get… he never mentioned sleeping, but he always talked about the night. He’d tell me what the moon looked like, or which stars were brightest. Stuff like that. As if he was spending every night staring at the ceiling.”

James closes his eyes.

Sirius puts a hand on his shoulder. “He’s not broken, you know. Just… scarred in weird ways. Like some part of him doesn’t think he’s allowed to rest.”

James nods, grateful.

That night, James doesn’t fall asleep right away. He fakes it—lets his breathing even out, waits until Regulus slips out from under the covers like a whisper.

Then he gets up and finds him again, this time on the couch with a cup of tea going cold.

James doesn’t say anything at first. He just sits beside him and pulls Regulus into his side, arms wrapped around his waist.

Regulus doesn’t resist. He never does.

“You don’t have to be quiet here,” James whispers. “You don’t have to be small.”

Regulus’ eyes flick up. “I’m not—”

“You don’t have to make yourself invisible to be loved.”

Regulus stiffens.

James cups the back of his neck, thumb brushing behind his ear. “Sirius told me a little. About when you were kids. About how you used to count stars instead of sleeping.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Regulus mutters, defensive.

“I know. I believe you.” James leans in, forehead resting against Regulus’. “But you were alone.”

Silence.

Then Regulus, in the smallest voice James has ever heard: “I didn’t want to be.”

James kisses his temple. “You’re not anymore.”

[factual-fantasy]

26 asks! Thank you! :}}} 🪲

Oh absolutely I do. That's why I always ask before drawing anyone's OCs, or using/modifying their original meme templates, or anything of the sort. Friends and strangers alike.

And same goes for AU ideas. In the past I've seen a really cool idea for an AU and tracked down the OP and asked if I could incorporate their idea into my AU as well. I do my very best to do this for other artists because its what I wish people would do for me.👍👍

I have a master post for all my Octonauts artwork here. 👍

@ripchaos69

I'm really proud of/pleased with how this fairy piece came out! :DD

I also really like how this pixelated cat came out! :)

I was very pleased with how WALL-E cam out in this piece!

I also think this is one of the best drawings of Optimus I've ever done! :))

Even if I knew the answer, that's probably not something I should share online anyways is it?

@mothpendragon

I remember not liking him at all the first time I watched the show. But now watching it a second time years later, I think he's really not that bad. :0 In fact I don't know why I disliked him so much back then.

There are some parts about his character that annoy me. But most of that either is good character writing or isn't his fault. I don't like how immature he tends to be, but of course he's immature. He's still basically just a kid who hasn't experienced much of this war.

And when things get rough, he really straightens out and tries his best to be serious and obedient. Which is very nice to see.

Another thing that I don't like is how the phase shifter was kind'a overused. It became his signature weapon that he used to bail him out of everything. Smokescreen has demonstrated that he's actually pretty clever and slick, it would have been fun to see him trick or outsmart the cons more often instead of just using the phase shifter to save his aft every time. But again, this is not Smokescreens fault at all. Its the writers fault for making his use it so much.

And lastly, something that really made me like Smokescreen was the whole thing that happened with Optimus nearly dying. Smokescreen freaking out at the prospect of becoming a Prime felt really real. Instead of being honored and having and having an inflated ego like I thought he might for some reason- he was terrified.

And him panicking and using the forge to repair Optimus last second felt very real. I could really understand how Smokescreen must have felt, wanting to follow Optimus's orders and restore their home, but also being unable to bare the responsibility of being a Prime. Eventually dragging Optimus back to the land of the living and throwing away any hope of restoring the Omega lock.

If I was better at analyzing characters, I would have loved to draw a comic about what happens right after Optimus was repaired.

My first thought is Smokescreen feeling guilty and ashamed of having used the forge against Optimus's wishes. Would Smokescreen crumble? Fall to his knees, crying and apologizing? "I'm so sorry Optimus- I just couldn't do it-- I couldn't do it, I cant be a Prime- I couldn't-- w-we couldn't lose you.." Is that in character? Honestly I have no idea. 😔

I've thought about doing that for my lineless style, but I haven't gotten around to it.. 😓

If someone goes out of their way to comment on your post/in your ask box saying you're cringe for liking transformers, block the all the way to the sun and back.

What a jerk. I wouldn't be friends with anyone who goes around insulting/trying to upset people for no reason like that. Block them and don't accept/respond any phony apology they might throw your way. They knew they were being rude when they sent that message and deserve to be blocked.

Dude I would take that so fast. No one in my family would ever have to work or have debt ever again 😭

I figure if I ever feel like drawing/posting Octonauts art again, I would just put it behind a paywall on my Ko-fi. Which ngl I've thought about doing a lot recently with the new movie that came out.

But also- I would have no way of filtering out people for that private blog because how am I supposed to know who will and wont steal my artwork just by looking at their account? And when it did get stolen, I would have no way of knowing which follower did it-

I believe I've mentioned it before, but I didn't want to watch Rescue bots because its attached to Transformers: Prime <:/

Its supposed to be connected to Prime, but its rather baby-ified. The tone is much more light hearted, the plot of Rescue bots completely rewrites/contradicts the plot of Prime, Optimus comes back to life for no reason. Stuff like that.

Atm I'm only interested in Prime 😔

@kitkat1003

OUGUHHH SO REALLLLL 😭😭😭😭

REALLL I've only ever found ship fics😔😔😔 I'd love to see an aftermath fic with no romance involved.

@virtualworldfp5

That's a really cool idea! :D Great artwork too! :))

@badlyblurry

Man, if I had a nickel for every time Jeffery Combs played a character with some sort of scientist background and that had some form of contact with a green chemical compound that holds harmful properties to one body in a way, I'd have 3 nickels. Which isn't a lot but its weird that it happened 3 times. XD

@anonymous-red-shades

I'd definitely want to be something that can fly :00 But I don't think I'd wanna fly super fast because i wanna enjoy the scenery.. hmmm.. maybe a helicopter or a classic pontoon plane? :000

As for abilities... uhhhhhhh the only special abilities I know that transformers can have is the warping thing that Skywarp does. I don't know of any other powers <:0 Maybe an ability to change into more than one alt mode..? So I could be a submarine and go underwater? Or maybe the ability to breathe underwater or something? :00

(Referencing this post)

They're so unhinged I swear 😔

@chickenmilk120 (Referencing this post)

NOT YOU TOO-

@cherrycreamfairy

I couldn't find any websites that didn't make my anti virus tweak out <XD So the only villain I like from memory is Captain Gantu from Lilo and Stitch.

I still like it yeah :0 but I'm not really engaging in any Mandalorian media atm-

@minnesotamedic186

Okay the killing part aside a Plymouth Fury is an excellent choice of car ngl. Especially a fiery red 💅💅💅

@axolotlcookie0

The fact that it looks like Thomas's face has been bagged makes it even funnier XDDD

@wolfie-777

XD I actually think of that a lot yeah. I always tell myself "oooo I should draw that later" but I never do XD💀

@beryl-shade

Bibi would probably use it as intended. Sharpening and cleaning his claws💅💅

Meanwhile Cici would use it as a weapon to beat up Jangles and Gerald with XDD

What was his real name supposed to be in that continuity then? XD

@milk-powrit

References. Looooots and looooot of references.

Typically I use references of realistic skeletons. But if there's a part of the body that I just cant seem to draw right, then I look up drawings of skeletons to see how other artists drew that part. 👍

@beryl-shade

Oh no doubt they'll have an episode that takes place around the lake and the fair grounds(?) The theme park next to the main tent-

The fact that Caine mentioned their existence at all implies that an episode is going to take place there. At least for me-

[megamagimugi]

It's finally 2025 where I am. Since I only joined Tumblr in June 2024, this is the first New Year's celebration I get to share with you guys. I hope it's okay if I say a few words on this special occasion.

Real talk: I can't say 2024 was a particularly good year for me, though like any year it certainly had its ups and downs. My mental health hasn't really been good since 2017, and it seemed to only be getting worse as my life kept falling apart over the years. The consequences of my bad decisions along with some things outside my control not working out in my favor kept eating away at my hope bit by bit, slowly killing my normally optimistic nature. In the first half of 2024, I had an increasingly hard time finding reasons to even keep going.

But then I joined Tumblr for one reason only: to read some cool Mario fan comics as Tumblr kept telling me to sign in. Annoyed, I eventually caved in and created this little Mario themed blog. Little did I know it would be my best decision of the year.

Turns out, while there are certainly things I don't like about Tumblr just as I initially thought, they all pale in comparison to one of the first things I found here: a surprisingly wholesome and supportive community full of joy, kindness, creativity and camaraderie. It proved me wrong when I thought it wasn't possible to find and maintain true friendship online, especially without ever meeting in person. It also proved me wrong when I thought I was unlovable and unworthy. It has also validated me a lot as an artist, welcoming the fanart I've shared with a level of enthusiasm I never expected to see. And finally, it has been changing me as a person, inspiring me to be a little gentler and more caring.

As I recently noticed, ever since joining Tumblr my mental health has significantly improved. It's nowhere near perfect (ha! I wish it was that simple), but I'm overall significantly less lonely, quite a bit happier and it's not as hard to find the motivation to keep going anymore. I'm more thankful to you all for this than I can express with words. I'll still say it: thank you for everything, guys!

Some people I'd like to tag here, that I can think of off the top of my head (if I'm forgetting anyone, then I'm really sorry!): @silenzahra @bberetd @vulpixfairy1985 @peaches2217 @itsavee4117 @stripetkattelalala54-gf @coffeecat1983 @multicolour-ink @jelly-fish-wishes @pepperycar @supergay-64 @roscolate @doodleydoo101 @drones-of-innocence @elitadream @akiiame-blog

I just really love this community that has become such an important part of my life. I also love the Mario franchise for leading me to it, and for always bringing me joy and fun even in the darkest of times❤️

Say what you want about 2024, but I think we can all agree that at least it was a great year for Mario!

Happy New Year, everyone!🥳🎉🎉🎉

[goldensunset]

actually straight up do you know what has always haunted me. the way the relics of the keyblade graveyard are laid out into four neat quadrants

first off like. how is it so neat. how does it work. we see during the keyblade war it’s just a jumbled mess of keys falling everywhere.

after death do those keyblades retain some sentience and instinctively like move on their own and sort themselves back into their unions. faithful to only their own people after death? because that would mess me up. i mean even if it was just an aesthetic choice back in bbs era (assuming nomura wasn’t planning everything from the start, which. i am not gonna assume that. especially not in light of recent news) you don’t just casually design an ancient battlefield with such a precise design for no reason

that aside. from khux we can figure those corners are supposed to represent the different unions

even though all five appeared to fight…

slayyyy ava for showing up late and then barging her way into the middle. but like what does it mean that the end result looked so different? why are there four sections and not five? what happened with the vulpes kids who fought? and i mean other than ‘so the lore was consistent with bbs’ because like i said i really feel like this has to have been intentional from the start tbh. and mind you:

it’s not like they were sorted centuries after. this happens like right after the war. there is no way someone meddled with all these fallen soldiers’ weapons by hand

potential thoughts:

1. they aren’t actually organized in any meaningful or intentional way. there is a magic force field that is obsessed with organization and that sorted everything into one of four corners. or otherwise some spirit that was like you know what would make this place look really cool (and worthy of a slay epic prophecy). every union is actually mixed together at random. don’t ask me more about this idk

2. the other foretellers were said to have crossed over into unreality. we don’t know ava’s whereabouts at any point after the war. it’s possible she stayed behind on the battlefield longer and personally did something with the keyblades of her fallen union members. like gave them all proper burials/memorials/etc (she could’ve also been the one who sorted the other keys into their unions using magic idk)

3. my own personal insane thought. it’s always bugged me that ava fought in the war (and led her union in too!) like i know there’s more to her than meets the eye and she’s not always a nice person but it still seems out of character for her to be so coldhearted like that. we know especially from back cover she clearly can’t stand all this fighting. she cares about her dandelions but surely she must care about her vulpes kids right?

and like i know she was convinced to some degree by invi that they all absolutely had to remain in balance, even if that meant doing stuff they weren’t supposed to be doing, such as competing over lux or outright fighting. you wouldn’t want vulpes to fall behind or to come out ahead, depending on how the war went. the unions needed to meet the same fate one way or another because the foretellers firmly believed any imbalance would lead to darkness. still…

is there a possibility they never fought at all? that they were mere illusions cast by ava (since we know she has the power to do that, and some crazy powers at that), and maybe the real vulpes children are elsewhere? it would explain why no tangible trace of them remained in the world… like at the last minute she once more defied both fate and precedent set by others. she had mercy on those poor kids but decided to at least make a show of convincing the world she was in fact following the script she was supposed to follow, for one reason or another. it would be real nifty

[thaliagrayce]

Jason was headed to the Big House when he caught sight of Nico leading a trio of terrified-looking twelve-year-olds to where Mrs O’Leary lay napping in the strawberry fields. It had been Nico’s idea to introduce some of the younger campers to monsters in what passed as a safe environment. He’d argued that Mrs O’Leary could be a great tool for teaching, and for making the kids less likely to panic when they first met monsters in the wild.

Nico looked more and more relaxed as the group got closer to Mrs O’Leary. She lifted her head to give a sniff, and Nico went straight to her and leaned on her sun-warmed flank. Jason always liked watching Nico interact with her. He looked so much more at ease around the hellhound than he did around most campers.

“Spending a lot of time with him recently, huh?

Jason did not jump. It took effort. Leo had materialized on his left, and he was looking at Jason as if he expected a response.

“Yeah,” Jason said once his heartbeat had returned to normal. “Nico’s really cool, once he gets comfortable around you.”

“Hm.” Leo squinted into the fall sunshine to where an Ares kids had tentatively held her hand up for Mrs O’Leary to smell. It was going well until Mrs O’Leary sneezed, and the kid flinched hard enough to fall on her butt.

Jason could almost hear Nico’s laughter from here, if he focused hard enough. He felt himself smiling in response.

“Should I be, like, nervous?”

Blinking, Jason turned back to Leo. “What?”

“Di Angelo isn’t trying to replace me or anything, right?”

Jason snorted. “Of course not.”

“You sure? He looks like a man who’s gunning for the Jason Grace Best Friend title belt,” Leo joked. Jason rolled his eyes at him. Nico looked like a boy who needed to lean on his SUV-sized dog to stay upright when he laughed.

“Aw, come on. You know it’s not the same.”

“How?!” Leo’s tone was light, so he was probably teasing, but Jason still had a hard time differentiating sometimes. Leo was good at hiding his real hurt behind jokes, but he also told a lot of jokes with no substance to them. Whatever raised a reaction. Jason wasn’t sure how serious he should treat this line of questioning.

“I don’t know, it just isn’t. We mess around a lot, right? I’m usually nicer to Nico—”

“So what I’m hearing is it’s different because you treat him better! I’m too late!” Leo cried out, finally pulling free a wire from the walkie talkie he’d been messing with. He flashed a grin at Jason, showing off the disemboweled gadget.

Teasing, then. Jason felt himself relax.

“You wouldn’t want me to be nicer and you know it. Besides, we both know you can take it.”

“And Nico can’t?” Leo was already turning his attention back to the walkie talkie.

“It’s not that, it’s more like…” In the field, Nico reached out his hand to the kid who’d stayed in the back of the group up until now. Even from this far away, the kid looked scared. Nico supported them as they walked up to Mrs O’Leary, though. He held their hand through something that had obviously scared them. It was such a Nico gesture, Jason couldn’t help but smiling.

“He could take it, sure, but he shouldn’t have to. He deserves to be treated gently.”

There was silence for a while, and Jason only really became aware of it when Leo slowly leaned forward into his field of vision. His eyebrows had made a migration toward his hairline, and they didn’t look like they were dropping anytime soon. Jason thought back over what he’d said and blushed. When had he started looking at Nico again, anyway? He turned away from the strawberry field to look at Leo full on.

“Dude,” Leo said.

“Shut up.”

“I was joking before, but like, now I’m not sure. Do I legit have to be worried you like him better?”

“I don’t like him better, I just like him different. It’s totally normal.”

It was true, too. Even more than he’d even realized when he said it. Friendship with Nico didn’t feel like any other friendship he’d ever had. It was… quiet. Intense. It felt charged, but relaxing at the same time. It was contradictory and almost addicting, Jason couldn’t really describe it. He caught himself before his eyes drifted back to the strawberry fields and made himself focus on Leo, who looked dubious to the point of being borderline offensive.

“Different, or—”

“Different,” Jason insisted. “Just like I like you and Piper different. Not better or worse, just… Different.”

Come to think about it, though…

“Sure fuckin' hope you like me and Piper different,” Leo grumbled. “You’re my bro, but I don’t want you pulling your Loverboy moves on me. I mean…” Leo kept going, but Jason was too busy spiraling to pay attention.

He’d said he liked Leo and Piper different, but did he? The way he felt about Leo was a lot closer to the way he felt about Piper than it was to what he felt for Nico, if he stopped to think about. Remarkably similar, really. His palms started to sweat.

Oh gods, he thought. Do I have a crush on Leo?

[littledeathlittleghost]

My big Natemare headcanon EXPLAINED

(Real Not Fake!)

Okay so I have been talking a Lot about Mare recently but I haven’t really explained what exactly I think his backstory and motives are? So this is just gonna be a big post of me explaining my headcanon because I NEED to get it out of my head.

———

So for starters, I believe Natemare is actually Nate from FNAF the Musical. It makes sense to me; his relationship with Matt— or Henry— being the prime example.

Natemare is the product of Nate getting extreme anxiety and paranoia after the whole Freddy’s thing. Henry had put him through so much. He saw someone’s face get eaten off, watched a guy die, almost died multiple times, got chased down and threatened by the Evil Dirtbag With A Chainsaw™️, and that’s only the stuff we KNOW ABOUT. I’m sure going through something like that would be absolutely horrifying, even though he did handle it really well in the actual series.

After Henry got jailed and threatened to come find and kill Nate, even though he looked super chill about it I’m sure some anxiety would creep over into his mind. In the musical he was shown to be really easily scared or creeped out by things even though he keeps a cool head.

My headcanon is that Nate started absolutely falling apart after a while as Henry’s sentence got closer and closer to ending (of which wasn’t very long in the first place, a few years at most). People who don’t realize they’re this paranoid and this much of a danger to themselves don’t really think about getting help, on top of the fact that Nate’s character seems like the kind of guy to not worry about his own problems as much as everyone else’s. This would eventually lead into a deteriorating mental state caused by this paranoia of something like Freddy’s happening again at the hands of the same man.

This is also what I believe to be the origins of his “tear marks.” I like to think they’re actually scars, caused by scratching of the face and neck or pulling at the eyes, which are both signs of extreme anxiety (that I personally suffer from, just not as seriously). Them being so prominent are probably just them covered up with purple makeup because LOOK at him. He wears so much eyeshadow. Look.

So after years of Nate slowly devolving like this, Henry’s sentence would either be over or he’d get out on good behavior (because he’s a manipulative dickbag). Obviously his first thought would be to go kill Nate and most likely steal his identity, but Nate wouldn’t let that happen. He’d think that it would be better to capture Henry before he could do anything and TORTURE him, just as he used to torture Nate by making him work at that (literal) hellscape of a restaurant and getting him caught in that whole situation. Also hence the whole FNAF themed kidnapping-set.

But he became exactly what Henry was/is, a lunatic hellbent on sadism to make himself feel better.

That’s my whole HC for Natemare :P I hope it’s cool and fun and I’m cool and fun. Thanks for reading 🔥