#also . is this filter too intense? i hate it a little

[dacuslucy]

psychopomp & circumstance

[helen-with-an-a]

Can you please write something with Aitana based on the video of her saying “fan number one?” and “you work or not work?”

Hiiii - so I used the dialogue in a way that I don't think I've seen other people use - I didn't want to make it too samey. This is inspired by how hot it was here for a little bit during the summer. Also, sidenote - next weeks post will be out on the Saturday rather than the Friday because of the football/international break. I hope you enjoy <3<3<3

Heat

Aitana Bonmatí x Reader

Description: The heat is getting to everyone in Barcelona

Word Count: 3.5k

One thing you loved about Barcelona was the heat. Coming from England, sunshine was a rarity, and sunshine that was actually warm was a precious commodity that you cherished. You could often be found dozing away in the sunlight, curled up like a cat absorbing the golden rays as you napped your free hours away. The warmth soaked into your skin, loosening the knots of tension that had become second nature in the grey, drizzly days back home. It was as if the sun in Barcelona had a different quality, something richer, more generous, wrapping you in a golden embrace that you had never known in England.

It was something you and your girlfriend had in common. Aitana was as much a sunworshipper as you were, perhaps even more so. Raised in the heart of Catalonia, she had grown up with the sun as a constant companion, and she revelled in its warmth with a kind of effortless grace that you admired. While you had learned to cherish the sun’s rare appearances in your life, for Aitana, it was a way of life. She would often tease you about how you could fall asleep anywhere as long as the sun was shining, but the truth was, she was no different.

The two of you had a ritual – every off-day, when you finally had time to relish in the sunshine to your heart’s content, you would pack a small bag with some snacks, a blanket, and a book or two, and head out to one of Barcelona’s many parks. Sometimes it was the sprawling greenery of Parc de la Ciutadella, with its majestic fountain and shaded pathways. Other times, you preferred the more secluded spots, like the hidden corners of Montjuïc, where the trees provided just enough shade to keep the heat bearable, but still allowed the sunlight to filter through.

You’d find a spot, lay down the blanket, and spend hours just basking in the warmth. Aitana would stretch out beside you, her hand always finding yours as you both soaked in the sun. There was something so simple, so pure, about those moments. The world would fade away, and it would be just the two of you, cocooned in a bubble of warmth and contentment. Sometimes you’d talk, sharing dreams and stories, your voices mingling with the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. Other times, you’d fall into a comfortable silence, letting the sun do all the talking.

But one thing you hated about Barcelona was also the heat. You weren’t used to it. The relentless sun that you had once welcomed with open arms quickly became an overbearing force, pressing down on you with an intensity that made you feel like you were perpetually walking through a furnace. You found yourself sticky, sweaty, and hot far too often for your liking. The sweat would bead on your forehead, trickle down your back, and make your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin. You felt like you couldn’t breathe in the heat, the suffocating temperatures wrapping around you like an unwanted blanket.

This was where you and Aitana differed. She relished in the heat. The intensity that overwhelmed you seemed to invigorate her. Where you saw oppressive warmth, she saw life brimming with energy. Aitana would thrive under the sun’s unyielding rays, her skin glowing, her movements light and carefree. She seemed to draw strength from the very heat that left you seeking refuge.

On those days when the sun blazed down mercilessly, you’d find her with an easy smile on her face, wandering the streets of the city as if the heat were a friend she was catching up with after a long absence. While you sought anywhere with cooler air, she would coax you back into the light, playfully insisting that a little more sun wouldn’t do you any harm. Sometimes, she’d lead you to the beach, where she would dive into the cool Mediterranean waters with a laugh, emerging refreshed and radiant. You’d follow, grateful for the temporary relief, but always aware that as soon as you left the water, the heat would be waiting for you again.

Yet, despite the discomfort, there was something about the way Aitana embraced the heat that made it bearable for you, even on the worst days. Her joy was infectious, her love for the sun a reminder of why you had fallen in love with Barcelona in the first place. She had a way of making you forget the sweat trickling down your back, or the way your clothes clung to your skin. Instead, she made you focus on the beauty around you – the vibrant colours of the city, the scent of blooming flowers, the laughter of children playing in the fountains.

Barça knew all about your conundrum surrounding the heat. It was a running joke among your teammates, how the sunlight and heat seemed to be locked in an eternal duel, yet somehow always managed to work together to make your life both blissful and unbearable. Sunlight often battled with the heat, but they were a bonded pair—you couldn’t have one without the other, much like they would find you trailing close behind Aitana as she traipsed around the city. The team would rib you about it in the locker room, laughing as they imagined you wilting under the sun's rays, while Aitana, always vibrant, led the way through the bustling streets of Barcelona.

It had become something of a ritual for the team to watch you struggle with the heat during training sessions. The mid-afternoon sun would hang high in the sky, relentless and unforgiving, as you ran drills on the pitch. While your teammates seemed to have adjusted to the searing temperatures, you were still caught in a love-hate relationship with the heat. You’d catch them grinning as you wiped the sweat from your brow, the back of your shirt clinging to your skin, while they effortlessly powered through the drills.

This wasn’t usually a problem—the gym was air-conditioned to a frigid temperature, offering a welcome reprieve from the sweltering outdoors. The cool blast of air that greeted you as you stepped inside was a small but cherished comfort. The staff, always attentive, kept extra ice packs and cold towels on hand, ready to pass them your way during particularly grueling sessions. They had come to expect your need for these little luxuries, and you had become something of a connoisseur of the best ways to beat the heat.

You were usually the first to dive into the ice baths, even when it wasn’t on your designated recovery schedule. The shock of the cold water was intense, but it was also the quickest way to bring your body temperature down from the brink of boiling over. You’d sink into the icy depths with a sigh of relief, feeling the cold seep into your muscles, soothing the burn from hours spent under the relentless sun. The other players would laugh and shake their heads, knowing you’d be there long before any of them even considered it.

Yet, despite all the precautions, the heat had a way of creeping back into your bones the moment you stepped outside. The contrast between the chill of the gym and the furnace waiting outside always caught you off guard, no matter how many times you experienced it. It was as if the sun, sensing your brief escape, redoubled its efforts to remind you who was in charge. The walk from the training facility back to your car felt like a marathon, the heat radiating up from the pavement, wrapping around you like an oppressive cloak.

Your teammates often teased you about this too, their voices carrying over the sound of cleats on concrete as they watched you dart from one patch of shade to the next. “Careful, chica, you might melt before you get to the car!” they’d joke, their laughter ringing out in the sun-drenched parking lot. But it was all in good fun, and you’d laugh along with them, shaking your head as you fumbled with your keys, already looking forward to the sanctuary of the air-conditioned interior.

While the heat was your enemy, you knew how to combat it. You had your routines, your strategies, your little comforts that made the relentless sun bearable. Until the day the air-con broke.

It had been on its last legs for a while now, the fan making a strange clanking noise that echoed through the gym like a ticking time bomb. You and your teammates had joked about it, but there was an unspoken understanding that the day it finally gave out would be a disaster. The unit had a habit of cutting out at random intervals, plunging the gym into a suffocating stillness until someone managed to coax it back to life with a few well-placed taps. But this time, it was different.

It was a scorching afternoon, the kind where the heat seemed to seep into everything, turning the city into an oven. The air outside shimmered with intensity, and stepping into the gym usually felt like a sweet relief. But not today. The moment you pushed open the door, you were hit by a wall of stifling air, thick and heavy, clinging to your skin like a wet blanket. The usual blast of cool air was conspicuously absent, and instead, the gym felt like an extension of the inferno outside.

You exchanged a glance with Aitana, the dread setting in as the reality of the situation sunk in. The air-con was dead – really dead this time. The fan was silent, the strange clanking noise gone, but not in the way you’d hoped. There was no more coaxing it back to life. The temperature inside the gym was already climbing, the walls seeming to radiate heat that had nowhere to escape.

“Oh, amor meu,” Aitana sighed, already dreading the moans that would be coming her way throughout the session. She looked at you wearily as your studied the machine forlornly.

“Maybe … maybe someone can fix it?” you looked up at her hopefully, eyes pleading innocently.

“I’m sure they’ll get a maintenance guy in,” she smiled at you. Aitana's smile was both reassuring and sympathetic, but you could see the glint of amusement in her eyes. She knew exactly how much you dreaded the heat, especially in a place where you had come to rely on the cool, controlled environment of the gym. Still, she tried to offer some comfort, even as the oppressive warmth started to settle around you both like an unwelcome blanket. “They’ll have someone here in no time,” she added, her tone light, though the sweat already beading on her forehead betrayed the discomfort you were both feeling. “Until then, we’ll just have to power through, won’t we?”

You nodded, trying to muster up the same optimism, but the thought of spending the next couple of hours in a gym with no air-con made you want to run back to the car and crank up the AC instead. Aitana, always the more resilient of the two of you when it came to the heat, took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, silently urging you to tough it out.

“Come on,” she said, leading the way to the changing rooms. “We’ll get through this together.”

You did not get through it together. You struggled limply through your workouts - refusing to do the optional extra reps and keeping the weights light. As you looked around the room, it seemed like you were the only one grappling with the oppressive heat.

The native Spanish players, their bodies accustomed to the relentless Barcelona sun, appeared to breeze through their routines. Alexia and Mapí chatted amiably through their sets, the heat barely registering on their relaxed faces. Irene and Marta, both seasoned in navigating the city's sweltering conditions, moved with their usual ease, seemingly unaffected as the temperature in the gym climbed higher. Cata, Pina, Patri, and Vicky handled the heat with a nonchalant grace. Even the Scandinavian players, usually the first to wilt under the sun, seemed to be faring better. Ingrid had her hair neatly tied up in a bun, but otherwise, the heat seemed to have minimal impact on her or her teammates.

Frido and Esmee were sharing jokes, their laughter ringing out above the hum of the equipment. Caro, in her typical fashion, was methodically stacking more and more weights onto her machines, her focus unwavering despite the stifling conditions.

It was then that you noticed Keira. She was the only one who seemed to be struggling as visibly as you were. Maybe it was because you both shared an English background, and despite years on the team, you were still not fully acclimated to the heat. Keira, with her freckled skin and usually upbeat demeanour, looked as if she was fighting a losing battle against the oppressive warmth. Her movements were slower, her breaths more laboured, and her usual efficiency in the gym was replaced by a noticeable struggle.

You caught her eye across the room, and she gave you a small, weary smile – a silent acknowledgment of your shared plight. There was something comforting in seeing someone else feeling as drained and overheated as you were. It was a rare moment of camaraderie amidst the collective struggle.

Aitana had left your side a while ago, a subtle sign she was over your complaints about the heat. You felt a little put out by it, but you understood. You knew you could grumble until the cows came home if it felt justified, and though her patience had worn thin, you couldn’t blame her for needing a break from the relentless whining.

You watched as she rejoined the rest of the team, seamlessly slipping back into the rhythm of the workout as if the heat was a minor inconvenience rather than the oppressive force it felt like to you. Her movements were fluid, and her energy seemed unshaken by the sweltering conditions that had left you feeling utterly drained.

As she chatted with her teammates, her laughter cut through the dense air, a reminder of how effortlessly some seemed to adapt. You took a moment to let your frustration settle. Deep down, you knew you were being unreasonable – Aitana had been more than supportive, and her patience had to be running thin after weeks of listening to you moan about the heat.

With a sigh, you decided to focus on finishing your workout. You adjusted your weights and forced yourself to push through the remaining sets. Each rep felt like a small victory against the heat’s oppressive grip. Even if you couldn’t match the others in performance, you could at least maintain your commitment.

By the end of the session, you were thoroughly exhausted, but you felt a slight sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t about setting records or impressing anyone; it was about getting through it, even when it felt nearly impossible.

Your self-imposed silence meant you had finished your workout a lot earlier than the others. You flopped onto the floor, letting the coolness of the mat seep into your skin. The contrast between the refreshing chill of the floor and the relentless heat you’d been battling was a welcome relief, even if it was fleeting.

As you lay there, catching your breath and trying to cool down, you watched the remaining teammates still at work. Their movements were fluid, a testament to their adaptation to the heat, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy mixed with admiration. The intensity of their focus and the ease with which they handled the oppressive warmth was something you hoped to emulate someday.

Minutes ticked by as you lay there, taking in the quiet hum of the gym’s remaining equipment. The distant sounds of grunts and the rhythmic thud of weights being lifted became a soothing backdrop to your respite. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself a few moments of stillness and gratitude for the rare, cool touch of the mat beneath you. You let your mind drift away to icy places; Antarctica and the penguins, the walk-in freezer in the physio rooms, England in the winter.

Someone cleared their throat above you. You cracked one eye open to see Aitana standing with her arms crossed, a scowl gracing her usually smiling features.

“You work or not work?” she asked, unimpressed at your supposed slacking.

“I work, thank you very much, Tana. I’ve just finished,” you said offended at her implications. You sat up, matching her scowl and raising and eyebrow at her. “Just ‘cos I’m not used to the heat doesn’t mean that I’ll slack off.”

Aitana’s eyes softened just a touch, though she kept her arms crossed, her posture still radiating a mix of concern and frustration. “I didn’t mean to suggest you were slacking off. It’s just… you looked like you were resting more than working. And you know how important it is to keep up the intensity, especially when we’re all pushing hard.”

“Yeah, I do know that Aitana. It’s all anyone ever reminds me off whenever I take an extra water break or need a sit down because I think I’m going to faint in the heat.” You huffed, standing up and snatching your water bottle from the floor. “I’ll see you at home.” You snapped as you walked out of the gym.

You knew you were just angry because of the heat. It had a way of getting to you. Aitana was a cuddler, much like you were, but in the heat of the summer, you couldn’t stand to be near her, much less sleeping wrapped around each other like you usually did. It resulted in a sleep-deprived, touch-starved you trying to go about their normal day and push themselves further with the increased intensity of the season.

As you walked out of the gym, the late afternoon sun blazed down with an intensity that only made your frustration worse. Each step felt like wading through a hot, sticky swamp, and the city’s noise blended with the oppressive heat, making it hard to think straight. You tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, knowing that the anger you felt was partly a result of the sweltering weather and not just Aitana’s well-meaning but poorly timed comment.

Once you reached your apartment, you kicked off your shoes and slumped onto the couch. The coolness of the indoor air was a brief but welcome respite from the heat outside, though it wasn’t enough to fully ease the agitation that had built up inside you. The usual comfort of being home felt diminished by the weight of the day’s frustrations.

You tried to calm yourself by closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, reminding yourself that Aitana’s intentions were good. She was trying to help, but the heat had made everything seem more intense, including the way you reacted to her. You knew that the combination of exhaustion, heat, and the pressure to keep up was making you more irritable than usual.

You must have fallen asleep because the next thing you knew, you were being woken up by a blast of icy air. You jolted slightly, not used to the coolness on your skin. For a moment, you were disoriented, blinking at the sudden chill that seemed to sweep over you.

As your senses returned, you saw Aitana standing beside you, holding a small handheld fan in her hands and adjusting the settings with a satisfied smile. The cool air that had stirred you was now filling the room, making the previously stifling atmosphere feel refreshingly crisp.

“Bona tarda, amor meu,” Aitana said softly, her tone laced with affection.

“Hi, Tana,” you smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through you that was as comforting as the cool breeze.

“I thought you might appreciate a little cool relief after the heat of the day.” You sighed, relief flooding your body as you felt yourself cool down.

“Thank you, baby,” you said, shifting to sit up and lean against her. You didn’t recognise the fan – small, white, with red and blue stripes clearly hand-coloured, and a large number 1 printed on the side.

“Fan number one?” you guessed, your lips curving into a playful smile.

“Exactly!” Aitana laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And fan number two.” She reached behind her and produced an identical fan, its stripes and number 2 matching the first one perfectly.

Aitana grinned and settled beside you, aiming one of the small devices in her direction. “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” you said quietly, not wanting to break the peace.

“And I’m sorry I implied you were slacking.” Aitana’s smile softened as she reached out and placed a gentle hand on your arm. “We both let the heat get to us. It’s been a tough few days, and I guess we both needed to cool off a bit, in more ways than one.

“I love you, Tana.” You sighed, feeling your eyes slip shut.

“T'estimo, amor meu.” You felt Aitana place a feather light kiss to your hair.

[jobean12-blog]

Can't Help Falling

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female!princess!reader

Word Count: 1,748

Summary: The more time you spend with the General, the more you fall in love.

Author's Note: I love (and hate for them) the idea that they have to be sneaky all the time and the library is a place of escape for them both so I thought having something a little extra naughty but also sweet would work. The poem I used in this story can be found HERE. You can read more about Catallus if you like. The library I'm referencing is the Ulpian Library and you can find info on it HERE and HERE. I'm pretty sure my timelines are all wonky but we can just pretend it all works out bc yay fanfic! 😁

Warnings: it's soft and sweet, semi public sex, fingering, oral (male rec), a lovely poem and a pretty library.

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

With silent footsteps you hurry across the stones, passing the Colosseum as it towers above you and blots out the brightest rays of the setting sun. The streets of the city are still very much alive with crowds but as you get nearer to the Forum of Trajan their voices start to fade and the warm breeze carries only the sounds of singing birds.

The Ulpia library is the same as you remember with long columns lining the courtyard and natural light filtering through every open space. There are people walking slowly along the walkways, books in hand and completely oblivious to your presence.

Even now, though you’ve spent such time together and watched him train and fight, it still feels like the breath rushes out of you when you see him. He stands taller than everyone around him, and as his dark eyes scan the courtyard, you take the time to enjoy him.

His tunic drapes across his broad shoulders, showing off his arms and legs and the ornamental stripes show off his status as General. He wears nothing on his head today and his curls blow freely in the breeze, giving him a slightly more relaxed look that makes you smile.

He turns and finds you then, standing and staring until you drop your chin under the intensity of his gaze. When you look up again, he smiles and discreetly crooks a finger at you, beckoning.

As you draw closer, he whispers, “you were staring Princess.”

“And you were not?” you shoot back, enjoying how his eyes sparkle with mischief.

Footsteps approach and you grow quiet, feigning interest in the architecture around you. A man passes by and greets the General before his eyes fall on you.

You’re recognizable even under your cloaked disguise so you quickly turn away and play shy.

It seems to appease the man and he walks off with his book.

“I have not visited this place in too long,” you tell Marcus.

With a quick look around, he gently presses his palm to your lower back and leads you deeper into the library.

“I figured as much,” he answers.

When you enter the main library room the smell of parchment and dust assaults your senses, and you breathe in deeply.

Marcus smiles and takes your hand, leading you to one of the niches where hidden inside there is a bookcase lined with scrolls and books. He plucks one from the collection and continues walking, tucking you both behind one of the floor to ceiling columns.

The bookcases press in on you from both sides and the tight quarters force you closer to him.

“Have you read any poetry by Catallus?” he asks.

“Not much,” you admit.

Anticipation spreads along your tingling skin when his lips meet the shell of your ear and he whispers, “not much…or not any?”

When you meet his eyes, he has his answer.

“He’s most known for his words on romance and love…”

You reach for the book, but he keeps it from you, his smile growing as confusion takes over your expression.

“We are going to read it here.”

“Here. But Marcus…”

“And you are going to read it to me.”

You swallow heavily, but when his palm flattens against your cheek and his warmth spreads along your skin you breathe him in and lean into his touch.

“I would have you laid out on my bed reading each and every night but given our circumstances, this will have to do.”

“Just reading General?”

His jaw clenches and his fingers press into your skin before he drags your mouth up to his. The book is smashed between you when he hauls you closer and kisses you with such urgency it steals your breath.

“One night very soon you will be mine and I will have you not out in the open with the fear of being caught but in safety where I can hear every sound of pleasure that I draw from these beautiful lips.”

The calloused pad of his thumb runs along your lower lip and his eyes wander over your features.

“Stunning,” he whispers.

Your breathing is heavy, and you grab his wrist, steadying yourself.

“Marcus,” you purr. “I fear I no longer care who hears or sees, I need you. Each night is torture.”

Because of the tall niches of bookcases surrounding you, you’re invisible from across the room, but if anyone were to walk down from the other side of the library, you would be exposed.

He bends to kiss you, starting with the corner of your mouth and humming at the contact.

“You know I could never allow that. I despise even the idea of any other man laying eyes on you.”

He turns you to face the rows of scrolls and reaches around you to open the book, stopping at a specific passage, and then moves your hand to hold it open. His finger points to the title: “Come Live With Me and Be My Love.”

“Read,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

You tongue wets your lips before you start:

“Come live with me, Lesbia, and be my love, And ignore the wagging tongues Of wilted crones and toothless geezers..”

His large hands ran up beneath your tunic, over your hips and across your stomach.

“You are so soft,” he murmurs into your neck.

Your words stutter and he stops his ministrations.

“Princess,” he orders.

You continue, willing your voice to stay steady.

“Suns rise and set, rise and set again, But we, when our brief light is blacked, Must sleep forever, and then forever.”

One of his hands smooths down your side and between your thighs. He teases the wetness he finds there, hissing out a curse when you spread your legs wider for him.

You try to focus on the words in front of you, blinking down at the book.

“Focus,” he whispers.

“So kiss me, Sweet, and kiss me plenty: First a thousand, then a hundred kisses; Then catch your breath and kiss me more: Another thousand, another hundred…”

His lips meet your neck, and at first he presses them softly against your skin then more firmly at your pulse point where he feels the hammering of your heart.

Without any warning he slips a finger inside you and starts to pump it slowly in and out. You groan, needing more and pushing onto his hand.

“Quiet,” he reminds you.

His drags his finger out and teases your clit with small and focused circles.

“Keep reading Princess.”

“I cannot,” you whimper as your hips roll. “I just…Marcus, please!”

“You can,” he says simply and pushes two fingers inside you. “Or we can stop.”

You begin reading again in a tight, stuttering cadence that drives him crazy.

“Still thousands yet till we've lost all count And must begin again, keeping Envious others guessing the sum Of how many kisses much we love.”

You string the words together and although they’re filled with a soft tenderness it does nothing to quell the heavy feeling of lust that rushes through you.

“Touch yourself,” he demands.

“Marcus,” you gasp and the book slips from your fingers.

With shaky trepidation you reach down between your legs and rub his hand brushing against yours as he pushes his fingers in and out of you.

Your legs shake and you squeeze around his fingers, your cry of pleasure muffled when his free hand covers your mouth.

When your muscles stop trembling, he keeps his fingers buried inside you and stifles his moan with his mouth pressed to your neck.

The library is now completely silent, and you realize you have no idea how loud you had been. Did you whisper each word you read? You were so completely lost in him you had no idea.

He pulls his fingers free, releasing a quiet grunt, and turns you to face him.

His lips meet yours in a desperate kiss and when you reach down to take him in your hand he sucks in a breath.

“Princess?” he asks, his eyes dark.

“It is my turn to touch you. Please Marcus.”

As if your name on his lips is his undoing, he releases you and places his palms flat on the bookshelves in front of him.

You drop to your knees, and he trembles.

“Remember, you must be quiet,” you warn with a mischievous grin.

He sucks his teeth when your hand circles around him and gently glides along his hardness. He waits, fingers digging into the wooden shelves and chest heaving, until you wrap your mouth around the tip of him.

Whatever string of words leave his lips are unknown to you and when the first taste of him hits your tongue you moan and take him deeper.

He keeps his eyes locked on you, imprinting the image onto his brain. His hips begin to rock, and he slowly pushes himself deeper, clearing trying to restrain himself.

You roll your tongue and use your hand, pumping and sucking as much of him as you can until he’s groaning a warning above you, the rhythm of his hips stuttering and slowing as he spills down your throat.

When you release him it’s with reluctance and only because he gently takes your arm and drags you up his body. He stares at you and your swollen lips then kisses you hard enough to have your back hitting the bookshelf behind with a thud.

He instantly slides his hand along the curve of your spine in a soothing manner, the only apology he can manage without breaking away.

“You are spectacular,” he breathes against your lips. “I would keep you here with me forever.”   

“But I must go,” you say quietly. “My father will surely know of my absence should I stay any longer.”

He nods and reverently brushes his thumb across your cheek before stepping slowly back.

You’re nearing the exit of the library when he reaches for your hand and pulls you into a darkened alcove.

“Just one more,” he murmurs, right before he brings his lips to yours.

It’s soft and sweet and he lingers, not wanting to be the one to pull away.

“A thousand kisses will never be enough,” he whispers against your lips.

You swallow and meet his eyes again, sweeping your fingers through his messy curls.

He presses his hand over yours as you cradle his cheek then brings your knuckles to his lips.

“Until next time, Princess.”

@hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814 @tripletstephaniescp

[charlie-lec-stories]

Nightmares // CL16 & MV1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character / Max Verstappen

Summary: Everyone deals with their own battle, but they are always easier faced together.

Warnings: Abusive parenting, homophobia, abandonment issues, sexism, grief and childhood trauma.

Author’s Note: This is about companionship, we all deal with our own pain and we all have a past that still haunts us. This is about facing those battles hand in hand with the people you love. I wrote this some time ago, listening to 'Return the favor' and 'Therapy', both by All Time Low, and 'The only exception' by Paramore. I highly recommend listen to those tracks. I hope you like the story. Rate: +16 (descriptions of violence)

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The cold wind from outside filtered through a small dent on Max's bedroom window and the contact it made with his uncovered skin made him shiver. He thought about all the other punishments he had endured before over his 16 years of life and he assured himself that it could have gotten worse. Spending the winter night on his bedroom floor, in underwear, was way better than when he had to spend a week sleeping in the back yard because he came in second on an important race. It was also better than when his father left him alone in that gas station, the fear so intense that he ended up crying on the bathroom floor, hiding from the strangers around. At least he was in his home, in his room and he had his stuffed lion to keep him company. He gripped it tightly, feeling a little stupid for keeping such a childish object when he was that old, but it was the only thing that brought him a little comfort. He thought about his mother, who gave him the lion, and wondered what his life would be like if he had stayed with his mom and sister instead of his father. Would he be happier? Would he be as good at racing as he was? Would his mother have accepted him for who he was? He had an answer for that one: Yes. His mother would have chosen to love him anyways, he was sure of that. He wished, with his whole heart, to close his eyes and wake up in a better place, where he was loved for who he was. So he closed his eyes and waited for his wish to come true.

Max woke up in a cold sweat, he could still feel his fingers and toes frozen, the floor against his bare legs. A decade had passed from that night, but he still had nightmares about it once in a while. His childhood always came back whenever he was stressed or with low batteries. It was like his brain tried to sabotage him, filling him with more pain than he already felt. He looked to his left and found Charles sound asleep, his arms under the pillow, bringing it closer to his face, a peaceful look adorning his features. He knew that Charles had his own battles, and that he dreamed of his own nightmares, but how he wished he had the kind of father Charles had. Hervé was a loving husband and parent and even though he left this Earth way too early, he left a wonderful mark on everyone who knew him. His children loved him, his wife Pascale loved him. What did his father do? He also left marks, his mom had an order of protection against him, his sister was terrified of him, and Max did everything he could to run away as far as possible so he didn't have to be near him. If he could, he would bring back Hervé and give up his father. With a sigh and feeling a little guilty for his thoughts, he finally got up. He had to look for his girl, who was definitely hiding somewhere instead of being in bed with them.

The sky was still pretty dark outside, the stars shining on Monaco's natural ceiling, the full moon big over the Mediterranean Sea. He found her sitting on the floor of the balcony, a cigarette between her lips and her eyes lost in the waves that crashed rhythmically on the beach. Charles hated when she smoked, so she did it outside, so the stick of the nicotine wouldn't stay on her clothes. Max didn't like it either, but he tolerated the habit because he knew that it helped her calm down, one day he would make her switch to something healthier. Some day. Before stepping out, he caught a glimpse of the beloved lion on one of the living room shelves, so he grabbed it and hugged it close, a familiar calmness running all over his body. If she heard him walk out, she didn't show, but she must definitely have noticed his presence when he sat down next to her. They were used to the silent conversations, they had had them their whole friendship. Secret gazes, millimetric gestures that only they could read, the changes on each other's skins when the other was around. They were used to the effect they had on each other, so he knew that she felt him there when the hairs of her arms stood up and her breathing changed, because even if she didn't say anything, her body did.

"Which one was it this time?". She asked, not even looking at him.

"The night I came out". He had said it so many times that his voice didn't break anymore.

"That one is tough". The comment was swallowed by the poof she gave to the cigarette, but he got it.

"It was. It always comes back whenever I'm happy with you, but angry at racing". And it made sense, after all the punishment wasn't only for coming out of the closet, it was also because Jos was sure that 'the queerness' of Max would make him a mediocre driver.

"You know that losing this championship wasn't your lack of concentration or skill. Charles is as great as us, and for the love of God, Ferrari finally did things right for once". He knew that, still, he lost and he always had a hard time losing. He lost in 2024 against her, he lost in 2025 against Charles, would he ever be able to win again? "You are a 3 times World Champion, Max. You don't owe anything to anyone, and I can assure you that you're not mediocre".

He pulled her close and took her cigarette away, she was about to complain when he pressed his lips against hers, kissing her deeply. He believed her, every word, and he was grateful that he had her to remind him of the amazing person he was and could be. They pulled apart when they heard movement inside, the curtains of the living room moving aside as Charles walked out to the balcony. Sleep was still written all over his face, but he woke up fully pretty quickly when he felt the dense atmosphere that wrapped them up. He walked over to them, a mixture of curiousness and worry in his eyes as he scanned them over. They pulled apart to make some room for him to sit in the middle, Charles noticed the lion and the cigarettes, understanding the situation. Resting his back against the building's wall, he pulled them to his chest and ran his hands up and down their arms, hoping for it to be enough. He saw Max's grip tighten around the old stuffed animal, the marks of his pyton's grip over the years clear on it. Charles pulled him a little bit closer and kissed his head.

"You're anything but ordinary".

She did all she could to get loose, but the grip on her arm was so tight it was impossible to break. She screamed and kicked as her mother dragged her to the room, she wished that her racing suit was ticker, so her arm wouldn't hurt that much. Her father was crying and pleading behind them, asking for his wife to finally let go, but it was pointless, when had she ever listened to anything he had to say? The mud of her shoes drew patterns on their living room floor as they neared her bedroom and she wondered if her mother was actually going to use the chancla on her. Her body made contact with the carpeted floor of her room and her mother grabbed her face to make her look at her. She screamed at her face, about how she was a disgrace, a 'marimacho', a 'zorra' playing with the boys instead of being a 'señorita', she went on and on about the shame she brought to the family. She reminded her that no daughter of hers would do something like racing, wear the clothes she wore and go around covered in mud and filth like she did. But the girl just muted the rest of the screams, she just let her say whatever she wanted, because she was not going to stop her from chasing her dream. She had just met the best boys in the world and she was going to race those boys for the rest of her life. No matter what. She felt the chancla hit her back, but it didn't hurt her anymore, no when she knew that it was the price to pay for sneaking out to race. Her mother would change her mind one day, but for that day to come, she had to take it today. No. Matter. What.

She woke up to the sound of the front door closing. Max and Charles were probably back from the supermarket. She sighed as he got up from the couch, the feeling of the chancla still lingering on her skin. It was the worst, the rubber hitting on the same place, over and over again, but it was more hurtful to her pride. The humiliation that came with the beating, the screams, the words, the hate on her mother's eyes. She remembered that beating like it was yesterday, because it was the one that changed everything. It was the first time that, when she was finally left alone in her room, she wasn't scared anymore. That week she met Pierre and he introduced her to Max and Charles the very same day that her mother gave her that beating. Meeting the boys and winning a race against them gave her the push she needed to hold on to her dream and never let go. Her motto was born that day: 'No matter what'. She took it to heart, and kept pushing and pushing, she took as many more beatings as she had, but she kept sneaking out, even if her mother dropped the chancla to grab the wooden spoon from the kitchen, even if the skin of her hands was red and burning from the hard wood against it. She kept pushing, and she became world champion. A hand on her back brought her back to reality and she relaxed against Charles' hand once his scent made her aware of his presence.

"Which one was it?". He asked softly as he ran his hand up and down her back.

"The day we met". She admitted, Max placed the bags on the floor and walked up to them.

"It's okay, Schat, you're safe now". She smiled softly at them.

"I know. It's just that her birthday is in a few days". Charles nodded, understanding.

"You know you don't have to go if you don't want to, Amour". It was her turn to nod.

"I also know that. But she changed a lot over the years. I know that we still have out problems and that she's not a fan of our relationship, but I can see that she's trying". Max was a lot less forgiving, but he was also aware that he wasn't the one with the best record of family choices, he still visited his father.

"I agree that she seems to be trying, Amour, and I admire you a lot for being able to see that and be so forgiving. I still want you to put yourself above everything. Take care of yourself, because you're not any of those things she said. You're wonderful, and we are beyond proud of who you are, okay?". Charles placed his hand against her cheek and she snuggled against it. "We are so very proud, Amour".

Charles rubbed his nose with hers, making her giggle a little, and bringing a smile to Max's lips. It always worked, because if there was something that she needed was softness. It was something that her dad did, treat her with gentleness, with love and with trust. He always believed in her, even if he was so afraid of his wife and had to take even more beatings and insults than her. She didn't blame him, but she was sure that she would never make the same mistakes her dad made. So she looked for gentle men, men with nice words and tender touches, nothing like her mother, nothing like who her dad settled for. And she found Charles and Max, the embodiment of kindness, enough for her heart to skip a beat and her shoulders to relax under their touch. It felt good, being able to be loved, laughing on a daily basis, relying on them when she needed and giving herself the chance of being an open book, unafraid and never judged. A lonely tear fell down her cheek and Max caught it before it made it to her jaw, wiping it away with a swift movement of his thumb. It made her look at him, his blue eyes looking back at her with the same adoration they have been for the past decade. Her heart made a few jumps inside her chest. Max pressed his forehead gently against hers, making her close her eyes with him, the feeling of Charles' hand agains the skin of her back, where the burning of the chancla was just a bitter memory in the back of her mind. Max's lips barely touch hers.

"You're a dream come true".

Charles ran, his lungs burning as the air coming inside was not enough to keep his body moving. The fog around the graveyard and the darkness of the night made his heart race faster, the feeling of it threatening to jump out of his ribcage. He called their names into the silence of the dead, but he couldn't hear anything. Does sound really exist if there's no one to hear it? He passed gravestone after gravestone, the names of his family and friends written in each one of them. He cried, the tears blurring his vision as he desperately looked for their names. He didn't want to be alone, in the dark, in the cold, with the dead. The place seemed to never end, filled with all the people he loved but weren't there anymore, the air felt tight around his body, sour inside his mouth, painful coming into his lungs. He kept searching. What would he do if he couldn't find them? How could he keep on living if they weren't by his side? He couldn't be alone, he didn't want to. He needed them, he needed his friends, his family. He kept searching, because it was the only thing he could do, and as the names kept appearing he felt like his heart just couldn't take it anymore. He fell to his knees, two stones right in front of him. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe anymore, the feeling of his lungs contracting for air but nothing going in. There they were, the names he hoped to never see graved in stone, right in front of his eyes. Charles clawed at the grass, removed the dirt, he felt the cold and humid soil under his fingertips as clear as he felt the daggers inside his chest. He just wanted to pass out, to turn to dust right there so he could join them wherever they were, because no life was worth living without them. But he had had this nightmare before, so he knew, he knew that he was never going to pass out, because this was his biggest fear: living the rest of his life mourning his own.

He woke up alone in the hotel room bed, a halo of cold sweat around him and he inhaled as hard as he could to keep his lungs full. He felt a rush of calm run down his spine when he felt the air come in. He searched for the dirt under his fingernails, only to find them as clean as they were when he went to sleep last night. Getting up, he gave up the longest sigh as he gathered everything he needed to jump in the shower. He needed it, he needed to get rid of the stench of the graveyard that still lingered on his nose, the humidity of the air clenched to his skin, but mostly, he needed to wash away the feeling of loneliness that haunted him still. As the water ran down his body, cleansing him like a religious ritual taking away his sins, he felt the same tug in his heart as he did a few years back. The guilt of that feeling settled inside his belly, like a parasite eating him inside out. He remembered the fear of closeness, how he refused to accept that he loved Max and Y/N because he was terrified of ever losing them, how he had found solace in keeping a comfortable distance, how he convinced himself that he was content with loneliness. He refused to love someone because he knew that the grief is as great as the love you feel. But they found their way into his heart and now he couldn't kick them out. He was destined to suffer, to live in pain. To be alone. He heard movement outside the bathroom as he stepped out of the shower. He opened the door to find his partners changing the bedding. They knew that he hated to be alone in the hotel rooms, he ended up getting sick and tired of sleeping alone over the weekend.

"Which one was it, Poopie?". Max asked, even though the messy sheets and the shower were a big hint. He just wanted to be sure.

"The graveyard". He sat on the bed, the smell of clean sheets comforting against the odor of the humid dirt that he could still remember.

"We're still here, Charlie". She reassured him, her hand on his tight applying a little pressure to ground him there.

"But you'll leave". He replayed softly. She pressed her hand more, a little proof to his heart that they were there.

"Everyone leaves, Poopie, but that doesn't mean you'll be alone". Max sat by his side and ran his finger through his hair, a gesture that brought some warmth to his chest.

"You can't know that". The risk was just so much, too great. "The more I love you the more it'll hurt".

"We know that, because we love just as much, Charles". Max pulled him into a side hug, his head resting against the Dutchman's collarbones. "Loving is a risk and we are all afraid of taking that risk. But, I have known since I met you, that there's just one person that everyone is willing to take the risk for, and that person is you. You're the greatest man I know. Loyal, just, kind, hardworking, you are the epitome of greatness. It's impossible for someone like you to ever be alone".

It wasn't just the words, but how they reverberated inside Max's chest, in sync with his heartbeat that made Charles believe him. It was the warm feeling of Y/N's hand still on his tight. They were there, they were worth it, the fear, the pain. He would rather spend his life mourning them if it gave him the chance to have them for as long as Death allowed him. He was still a work in progress, but he was on his way to believing, trusting, risking. He felt Y/N moving to sit on his lap, her hands carefully adjusting the towel around his hips so it wouldn't loose. She pulled him away from Max and placed his head against her chest, her own heartbeat now strongly pumping against his face. It gave him peace of mind. The feeling of them there, Max's hand still on his hair, her soft hands on his face. They made him feel loved, they made him feel like there was hope in life, no matter how hard the road was. And he finally felt like he may be that special person Max told him he was. Maybe he was one of those people that'll never be alone. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't need to be so scared. Y/N pulled him away and pressed her lips to his forehead, erasing the frown that tinted his features. Maybe, he was the reason why they were willing to take the risk of loving, even if their whole lives they had only met pain and hurt. Maybe the risk was as great for them as it was for him, so maybe he was the one they risked it all for, even if they said they would never. Maybe, he was comfortable with loneliness, except when it came to them. And he knew, the moment she mumbled against him, that he was...

"You're the only exception".

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I hope you guys like this one. It's really hurt/comfort and I feel like it turned out great. Like, reblog and comment, like you guys always do. Much love!

[mortarpestle]

ortolan

Short piece with professional chef!sukuna and younger kitchen porter reader. Title taken from the very brutal and illegal French delicacy of the same name, which one must hide their face to eat.

word count: 1.7k

*no curses au, age gap (chefkuna is in his 30s and reader is in their early 20s), employer-employee power imbalance, petnames ("kid", "brat"), Sukuna is intense, reader smokes right off the bat and is…a lil grim and unexpectedly Freudian?? Idk what happened here, suggestive themes ahead.

An angry red flake falls off the tip of your cigarette. It sways and loses some of its brightness on its way to the ground, succumbing to a puddle next to your feet. There's a couple more puffs left before you inevitably reach the filter, maybe double that amount if you're frugal with it. A few stolen breaths to catch until dinner rush.

You hate this fucking job.

You also know that by the time you clock out and return to your apartment, you’ll collapse on your bed with the prospect of a new shift working your nerves into a frenzy. Talk about an abusive relationship. Effectively stockholm syndromed by cutting boards and sous vides—and your boss.

Sukuna seems to have that effect on people.

Behind you, the back door creaks open. Heavy footsteps stamp down the stairs, coming to a stop by your makeshift ashtray. For a few precious seconds you’re content with counting the flour spots staining his black clogs (expensive brand, sleek, better than yours). He smells like his food; spicy, complex and a little smoky. The perks of working 14 hour shifts at a restaurant with high end cuisine and an even higher tax bracket among its customers, is that you’re afforded the luxury of smelling like a human being. No deep frier mystery oil notes clinging onto skin and clothes for you and especially him. You stifle a rather unsavoury thought about his cologne and inhale bitter smoke.

"You'll fry your lungs with that shit, kid."

Despite the distance, he sounds closer than you’d like, closer than you can handle having him. You don’t mean to shiver. Or for him to notice.

"That's the plan."

Every word coming out of your mouth makes you more conscious of your worldliness. Primarily your lack thereof. Speaking to your boss never ceases to make you seem like a peevish child in comparison. The little nickname he insists on using just for you doesn’t help either.

Sukuna doesn’t reply and your stomach churns.

"You don't smoke...why are you out here." You continue, painfully aware of your appearance.

"Don’t get it twisted. I should be the one asking you that. I can think of ten different things you should be doing before traffic picks up instead of getting cozy by the trash.”

The buildup sweat from the kitchen stovetops is slowly settling over your skin. Seated on one of the plastic crates left by your local produce supplier, you feel like a proper rat. What a picture to paint for the man singlehandedly responsible for funding your life.

Getting back to work is the lesser of the two evils you’re presented with. Still, one more smoke before shift's end sounds like a dream. You slip a stick out of the tobacco case tucked inside your apron pocket, taking his silence as permission to light it between your lips.

You smile.

"What's your vice, boss?"

Sukuna clicks his tongue. "Wouldn't you like to know."

He doesn't seem too offended. After working under him for nearly a year you've come to find that Sukuna is a man who is hard to surprise and equally as tricky to offend. Good at hiding it too, when he wants to. Which is why you ask again, be it a bad idea or not.

"Everybody has one. I've never met a professional chef without a few loose screws, so what is it?" Maybe you could've phrased that last better. You're too tired to care.

He mulls over your question without really giving into it. He’s awfully compliant today. Normally he would've chewed your ear off at the second cigarette.

Something’s off.

"I trust you include yourself in that crowd you speak of."

“Not really. I’m not a professional.”

(Ash stings your fingertips, but you refuse to let go.)

"You've got potential." He says, low and succinct.

You choke on your spit, laughing in earnest, "Sure.” Potential for cutting vegetables and cleaning after other people’s messes, maybe.

"I mean it, kid."

Sukuna leans against the railing, arms folding over his chest. One long glance out of the corner of your eye grants you with an intimate view of his tattoos. All these months you've been catching glimpses of the full design, unable to tell where it ends beneath the black fabric. Not a single hair is out of place. His uniform is rolled up just above his elbows, exposing tanned skin with tiny burn marks littered over hard muscle, no doubt from his early training years. He wears them like medals of honour.

The first thing you did after landing a position in his kitchen was googling his name. Ryomen Sukuna is fifteen years older than you and begrudgingly, the only thing standing between you and quitting as soon as tomorrow.

You’re no stranger to unwanted urges, the occasional intrusive thought. It’s human, you are human and therefore unjustly robbed of any sovereignty over your unconscious and its whims. You don’t think much of it. Even when you take your rare bathroom breaks outside peak hours, only to find that you’ve soaked through your underwear just from glances and strict instructions thrown your way. What does that say about you as a person? You don’t intend to figure it out today.

It's a classic case of treating the symptoms and not the source of your disease. Pretending he doesn’t exist outside of the physical place you both work at won’t get you very far. It won’t take long for the tide to turn over. Sukuna doesn’t play with his food. Only with the people tasked with preparing it.

You tug at a stray piece of lint on your chest, playing with the cotton ball over the flame of your lighter.

"If boss says it."

"Don't call me that." he all but sneers at you over your shoulder. His voice is grating when he wants it to be. You don’t flinch, not even when you turn around to catch the stare he’s drilling into your slouched back. On a second thought you don’t think he’s taken his eyes off of it since he he stepped out to join you. His stare is violence. He makes you want to crawl out of your own skin for comfort.

Working within a kitchen hierarchy is much like having a father; you get used to raised voices and empty threats whether you like it or not. With Sukuna creeping around the counters, you also learn to not talk back if you know what’s best for you. You consider yourself lucky to have never stood on the receiving end of anything more severe than a scolding. Then again, you’re not important enough in the grand scheme of it all, and you make a point to take advantage of that as often as you can.

"Are you not?" you sneer back.

"I'm quitting," Sukuna bares his teeth at you, "Expected to be gone by next week."

You bet he’s enjoying the look on your face. Surprised stupid.

"Pick your jaw up off the ground, s'not a good look on you."

You collect your thoughts and try to convince him that this doesn’t change everything for you. "Can I have your knives? The fancy Japanese ones you keep inside the office safe."

"You better keep your mouth shut and listen to what I have to say before I change my mind you brat." His voice commands you to look at him, "I'm not retiring. I'm opening my own joint and I want you to join me."

You feel nauseous.

"Why."

You've never been one to count your blessings, mainly because it's not worth doing so when you can do it on only one hand. Everyone says your early 20s are hell, the trenches of adulthood. No second-hand warnings and half assed attempts at lukewarm life lessons could've prepared you for the slump you hit after graduating college. Money is tight as it's always been, only now you've got twice the amount of problems and half the support.

The job advertisement was a beacon of good luck amidst a sea of bad decisions.

You had to fight tooth and nail to get through the first week (hell week, objectively the worst time in any hospitality job) without any power or warm water in your apartment after missing the payment deadline. Sukuna noticed—not like it was hard to, given that you looked like shit fresh into your employment—and slid you an early paycheck tucked inside an envelope on lunch break. A week's worth of dailies in an employment contract that only guarantees monthly wages.

You could cry.

(You did. In front of him.)

(He looked so distraught he almost snatched it back.)

"You're good, honest. Smart yet a little stupid, but even that's necessary to get by in the business. Like I said you have potential and I want you in my kitchen when you see it through."

"I think," you start.

Sukuna gives you a sly smile, mumbling a barely audible “Is that so” with his eyes narrowed down to slits.

"—You're only doing this out of spite. Stealing Gojo's staff is dirty work."

"Started that sentence on the wrong foot. You think I’d sabotage my own shit just to get back at that fraud? Most of the guys he's got back there working for him don't even know how to grill chicken without fucking up."

Yes. Yes, you do believe he’d do that, but opt to keep the thought to yourself. You’re sure Sukuna would kill the guy if he were guaranteed to get away with it. Gojo is an angel investor in name and nothing else.

"I'll give you a week, no more no less. Sit on it, let it marinade in that little head of yours and have your answer ready by morning shift." He pushes off the railing to take his leave. Halfway up the steps he backtracks to reach you, snatches the cigarette out of your fingers and takes a long drag, draining the leftover tobacco inside the poorly rolled paper. After he's done, he licks his lips and kisses his front teeth to taste your saliva, humming in satisfaction.

Kicking away the crate, you get up on baby fawn legs, half numb from being folded over yourself for so long. They tremble, a blink and you’ll miss it movement. Sukuna’s limp hand twitches by his side.

He’s about to leave for good when you speak again, moving towards him.

"You never answered my question.”

What's your vice?

Sukuna stumps your cigarette on the brick wall next to your head. His words are low, barely audible over the commotion slipping through the open door.

"Be good and I might just show you in practice."

[merthosus]

Cigarette Duett

Summary: As you finally get yourself comfortable after a long day, you were smoking a cigarette out of the window. Even though you Five scared you to death suddenly appearing behind you, the conversation between you two gets very intense.

Thank you for your lovely request! Also, here a sexy poster from Five I fell in love with! With every purchase you automatically support me :) https://amzn.to/3yGK6Fm

“You know those things are going to kill you one day, don't you?”

Your arms are covered in goose bumps, but you didn't mind. You were clearly too lazy to get yourself a sweater. You wouldn't stay at the window for more than two minutes anyway. You pull your long-sleeved T-shirt further down your arms in order to save every spark of warmth. The long drag on the cigarette makes your upper body rise up. You knew it wasn't good for you, but it had long since become a habit.

Each puff also brought a sense of security, the smell reminded you of your parents. Every time your lips touched the orange filter, your brain remembered a long hug from your mother. How comfortingly warm her closeness was, as a child you hated the smell of cigarettes. But now you miss it more than anything. No white walls are white anymore, no curtains are free of nicotine stains and no ashtray is empty. But you were different like them, you were very careful not to let a bit of smoke into the house.

It no longer mattered if Reginald found out you smoked, you were old enough and he was dead. None of the siblings thought it was great that you got your satisfaction that way, but they didn't judge you. Everyone took Klaus as a bad example and was glad that it was only cigarettes and not other things that Klaus offered you from time to time. But watching Klaus destroy himself piece by piece always made you turn down his offers.

Another strong puff made your cough seem all the louder when you were suddenly startled by the hand lying on top of you. It had been placed gently on your shoulder, with no intention of alarming you. As you turn around, coughing, you see Five standing in front of you, his face covered in a scowl. You try to hide the cigarette behind your back, as best you can without setting yourself on fire. “What are you doing here? It's pretty late, isn't it?” you ask him as you try to swallow the last few coughs. “You know those things are going to kill you one day, don't you?” Five asks you.

“If the apocalypse isn't quicker,” you smile a little and take the cigarette from your back again. “How did you know I was here?” you ask him, confused. “You can see the clouds of smoke from below,” he says as he tilts his head a little. When there is a brief but pleasant silence, he stands next to you and looks out of the window. “Could I steal one for you?” he asks. You weren't prepared for this question at all, your mouth opens slightly only to close again immediately afterwards.

“You smoke?” you ask him, perplexed. “Being stuck in the apocalypse for 45 years changes you. I found a few packs of Marlboro in an abandoned grocery store,” he tells you, before stealing one from your golden pack. You had no aider wall than to giggle. Five looks at you in confusion, trying to find a hold in your eyes. “What?” he asks, stunned. “I don't know, you're the last person I'd expect that from,” you smirk as you look at him with wide eyes.

Five lights the cigarette with a practiced flick of his wrist, the small flame briefly illuminating his face before he inhales deeply, the glow from the tip casting a faint red hue on his sharp features. The sight of him smoking is jarring, a reminder of just how much he’s changed—how much you’ve all changed. But there’s something oddly comforting in the shared habit, a small connection in the midst of all the chaos.

“Guess the apocalypse has a way of bringing out the worst in people”, Five says, exhaling a plume of smoke that mingles with the cold night air. He turns to you, his gaze softer than usual, the scowl that usually defines his expression replaced by something more contemplative. “Or maybe it just strips us down to who we really are". You lean against the windowsill, taking another drag from your cigarette as you let his words sink in. “And who are we really, Five? A bunch of broken kids trying to survive in a world that keeps falling apart?”.

He huffs out a bitter laugh, the sound tinged with a trace of sadness. “Maybe. But we’re still here, aren’t we? Still fighting, still trying to hold it all together. That’s got to count for something”. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the only sound the quiet hiss of burning tobacco and the distant hum of the city below. It’s strange, being here with Five like this—no time travel, no saving the world, just two people sharing a quiet moment. It feels almost normal, a fleeting glimpse of what life might have been like if things had been different.

The silence between you and Five stretches on, comfortable yet charged with something unspoken. The night air is crisp, carrying the distant sounds of a city that seems almost peaceful in its slumber. You take another slow drag from your cigarette, watching as the smoke curls into the darkness, and for a moment, you allow yourself to imagine that this is what normal feels like—a quiet night, shared between two people who understand each other in ways no one else ever could.

Five’s presence beside you is steady, grounding, but there’s an intensity in the way he looks at you now, as if he’s searching for something, maybe even a sign. You glance at him, catching his eye just as he turns to look at you, and for a brief moment, the world outside fades into nothingness. It’s just the two of you, suspended in time. “Do you ever wonder…” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, “what it would have been like if none of this had happened? If we’d just been... normal?”

Five takes a long drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving yours. When he exhales, the smoke drifts lazily between you, but his gaze remains sharp, unwavering. “All the time,” he admits, his voice rough but honest. “But normal was never in the cards for us, was it?". You shake your head, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “No, I guess not". Your mind wanders to what it would have been like without all the superhero stuff. “Do you think we would have got on well without the circumstances?” you ask him. Imagining what it would have been like makes you happy.

Five takes a moment to consider your question, his eyes narrowing slightly as he contemplates the idea. The cigarette dangles loosely between his fingers, forgotten for the moment as his thoughts drift. “Honestly?” he finally says, his voice low and thoughtful. “I don’t know. Maybe we would have been just like any other siblings—fighting over the TV remote, complaining about chores. Or maybe we’d still be this…complicated.”

The way he says “complicated” makes you chuckle, and you’re surprised at how light it sounds, even in the midst of such a heavy conversation. “Yeah, complicated seems to follow us around,” you agree, flicking the ash from your cigarette out the window. “But I think we would have been alright. Maybe even better friends than we are now”. Five raises an eyebrow at that, a hint of amusement in his expression. “You think so? You’re forgetting that we’re all a little messed up, even without the superhero baggage.”

“True,” you concede with a shrug, “but I think there’s more to us than just the mess. Maybe without all the pressure, we’d have found a way to be close. Or maybe…” You trail off, suddenly unsure if you should finish that thought. “Maybe what?” Five presses, his curiosity piqued. You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip as you try to decide whether or not to say it. Finally, you decide to take a chance. “Maybe we’d have found something even better than friendship,” you say quietly, not quite meeting his eyes.

You feel your heart skip a beat, your breath catching in your throat as your words sink in. The cigarette in your hand burns down to the filter, forgotten, as you meet his gaze—those sharp, piercing eyes softened now with an emotion that feels almost vulnerable. Five doesn’t respond right away, and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake by saying it. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see him turn to face you fully, his gaze intent and searching. “Something better?” he echoes, his voice tinged with an emotion you can’t quite place.

You nod, still not quite able to look at him. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve always felt… I don’t know, like there was something between us. Even with everything else going on. Something that might have been different if things hadn’t been so complicated". There’s a long silence, during which you can feel your heart beating in your chest, loud and fast. You’re not sure what you expect him to say—or if he’ll say anything at all—but the anticipation is almost unbearable.

Then, slowly, you feel Five’s hand on your chin, gently turning your face towards him. When you finally meet his eyes, you see a softness there that takes you by surprise. “Maybe you’re right,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Maybe we would have found something…better". Your heart races as Five's hand lingers on your chin, his touch both gentle and deliberate. The intensity in his eyes holds you captive, and for a moment, the world outside fades into irrelevance. It's just you and him, standing together in this quiet moment that feels suspended in time.

Five's gaze flickers to your lips, and you can see the internal struggle in his eyes—hesitation, uncertainty, and something deeper, something he’s never allowed himself to acknowledge before. You realize that, like you, he’s been holding back, keeping walls up to protect himself from the complexities of your lives. But now, in this fleeting moment, those walls seem to be crumbling. “Maybe,” he repeats, his voice softening further, “maybe we’ve been running from this—whatever this is—for too long.”

You barely manage to nod, your breath catching in your throat as his words sink in. You’ve always known there was something between you, something unspoken but powerful, simmering beneath the surface. And now, it feels like you’re both on the edge of something new, something that could change everything. Five’s thumb gently strokes your chin, his eyes never leaving yours. The cigarette between his fingers burns down to ash, forgotten as he leans in, closing the small distance between you. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, and your heart pounds in your chest, anticipation swirling in your veins.

Then, with a tenderness you never expected, Five presses his lips to yours. The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, as if he’s still unsure if this is real, if this is something he can allow himself to want. But as your lips move together, the hesitation melts away, replaced by a flood of emotion that neither of you can hold back any longer. You respond in kind, your hand sliding up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens. There’s a desperation to it, as if you’re both trying to make up for lost time, for all the moments you could have had if things had been different. The world around you blurs into insignificance—there’s only the two of you, here and now, in this shared moment that feels like both a beginning and an end.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Five’s eyes are closed, his expression a mix of relief and something else—something that looks like hope, like he’s finally found a piece of himself that he didn’t know was missing. “Maybe complicated isn’t so bad after all,” you whisper, your voice shaky but filled with a newfound certainty.

Let me know if you like a part 2 :)

[saikokirakira]

We're Not Married Yet [Jake Lockley x Reader]

word count: 2.5k

summary: you received nothing but radio silence from your partners for months. one day, jake comes home and calls you by an unknowingly offensive endearment. your insecurity acts up, and jake won't give up control until he fixes it.

a/n: more ANGST. MORE! *insert kylo ren meme* don't worry though. it's just miscommunication. also, it's time for our boy jake to shine and show his simpery. and the thought of this fic came from listening to "porque" by maldita and also finding out that querida is an endearment in spanish. in filipino, it means the complete opposite opposite – a married man's lover/mistress.

warnings: can be standalone; ANGST with fluff ending; hurt and comfort; separation anxiety/fear of abandonment; miscommunication/language barrier; insecurity in a poly-relationship (hinting at my wife layla in the loop as well); jake lockley is a simp and kinda romantically intense; use of chavacano (spanish-creole filipino language) by a non-speaker (so idk how it would translate for jake who is fluent in spanish) (just assume he does understand it lol)

It has been months. Months since Marc woke up and said Khonshu needed him somewhere. He and the god insisted that you stay home after a little mishap got you seriously injured from the last mission. You didn’t argue.

You just wished that there wasn’t any radio silence between you and them. When the first week passed, you managed to find out that they were with Layla, but neither of them bothered to call. They just left you to be the goldfish sitter. Not that you minded that much at first. You knew that Marc was still bothered over the fact that he accidentally killed Real Gus.

During the first month, you thought you were going crazy. You stopped by every day at Steven’s flat to feed the Gus-es and check his tank. Then you’d make yourself some tea and call out, “Do you want one, Steven?” before realizing that you were alone.

Halfway through the third month, you somewhat grew accustomed to the routine. Sometimes, you would spend the night at his flat, not because it was easier – it was harder actually – but because you were afraid that you might forget them. It was a silly thing to worry about, but you didn’t want to be so used by their absence that the feelings would just go away.

You used to have a whole speech on what to yell at them the moment one of them steps through that door, but now… you weren’t quite sure what to say. You’d be lucky if you’d get a word out as a matter of fact. Maybe you could get a slap in.

They came back on the last week of the fourth month.

You just finished cleaning the two Gus’ filter, which probably took longer than you should have. You felt like you were running slow when you woke up that morning. Putting on music on the speakers, you had planned to make a quick sandwich for lunch then curl back in bed.

Bakit sa’yo pa nagkagusto? // Why did I like you out of everyone else?

Parang bula ika’y naglaho // Like a bubble, you disappeared

Between the heavy daze in your mind and the music crooning all over the flat, you didn’t notice at all that the front door swung open. You had your back to him when Jake silently set his newsboy cap and leather gloves on the side. He was very careful that you weren’t holding anything that would injure you or him when he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

As expected, you stiffened and immediately relaxed when you recognized that scent. You hated how you still know it too well. The flat had been long cleared of any of their scent after the first month, and you cried about it for a whole night once.

But now, you weren’t sure what to feel. Like you expected, you wouldn’t muster any words. You couldn’t even distinguish the emotions bubbling in the pit of your stomach. Anger, relief, sadness, happiness?

Instead, all you said was “Jake?”

He merely hummed then buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in after months away. He didn’t want to let you go, even when you tried to move so you can turn to face him. He immediately felt months’ worth of tension leave his body. That and the soft music playing in the background started to make him aware of his fatigue.

“Let’s go to bed, hm?” you offered, catching the slight tired slump of his shoulders.

Jake hummed in acknowledgement again, but instead of walking normally, his hands moved from your waist to threading your fingers together, swaying you through the music across the apartment. Jake held you close to him as you both continued to sway in the free space near the foot of Steven’s bed. He didn’t understand a word of what the song meant, that is, until the chorus played again.

Bien simple lang I yo tapidi // What I ask is simple

Era cin ti tu el cosa yo ya cin ti // I hope you feel my sorrow

Jake still didn’t understand it completely, but fragments of the lyrics, chosen few of the words, he caught and interpreted the gist of it. He stopped moving and tucked his finger under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Is that how you feel, querida?” he asked.

Jake didn’t miss how your eye twitched at the nickname.

You tried to not to let it bother you. You really did. It’s his endearment for you. Jake rarely fronted, and when he did, he was incredibly loving towards you. There was no reason to take offense on what he calls you.

Hiding your discomfort, you buried your face in his chest and continued to sway. “It’s just a song, Jake,” you said. “My playlist is on shuffle.”

Na dimio rezo ta pidi yo // In my prayers, I ask

Era olvida yo contigo // I hope I forget you

“Well, I don’t like it,” Jake said bluntly with a plump pout on his lip. He stopped dancing once again and walked to turn off the speaker. “Let’s go to bed, querida.”

Again, Jake saw you relent but not only after you exhaled in a self-soothing manner. He pulled you under the covers, and you fell asleep within a few minutes. You seemed tired, emotionally drained to the point that you’d sleep to avoid them, and even though Jake was exhausted as well, his worry for you now kept him up.

I told you we were gone too long. Can she no longer stand endearments? Steven piped in their head. Let me have control. I want to talk to her.

“I’ll fix it,” Jake assured him, cutting himself silent when you stirred. He tucked you deeper into the covers and watched the furrow between your brows relax.

Jake will fix it. He always did. That’s why he’s fronting now when the others couldn’t even forcibly take control. Something was wrong.

~

When you woke up a few hours in the late afternoon, you were still tangled up in your boyfriend’s arms. You couldn’t tell who would be out once he woke up, but you were sure that if it were either Marc or Jake, they’d wake up as soon as you sit up in bed. Your thoughts were answered when the grip around your waist tightened when you tried to slither off to the corner of the bed.

“Marc?”

An agitated huff told you that you were mistaken. The sleepy daze immediately wore off. If he was still fronting, something might be wrong. “Is everything okay, Jake?”

“I don’t know, querida. Is there?”

At his pointed question, you immediately closed up. “You’re the one who disappeared for months without contacting me,” you shot back. “I’m surprised you didn’t mail me divorce papers as well.”

“We’re not married yet, querida.”

You scoffed and got out of bed, stomping your way to the kitchen. You took the tea tin and took a bag, then slamming the cabinet shut. It was only until you were filling up the kettle on the faucet did you realise your hands were shaking and tears were dripping on your outstretched arms.

Well, done, Fabio. You really did so well. Marc snarked at Jake from the mirror in front of their bed. Let me out.

“No.”

Let me out! Marc demanded.

Let him out, Jake. Steven pleaded. She needs—

“What? You? Us? Who exactly? We left. Everything will be exactly the same if either of you comes out.”

From the kitchen, you peered at Jake arguing with Marc and Steven from the mirror. There was no doubt they all were concerned now from your outburst. You didn’t even know why you were upset.

Well, you were, are, upset that they disappeared like ghosts for months. What you didn’t understand was why Jake’s endearment bothered you even more. It was an endearment. It’s not like he knew your language that well to deliberately calling you negative names.

Jake was cursing up a fury at the mirror when you silently sat on the spot beside him at the edge of the bed. He immediately stopped staring at his reflection to look at you. Really look at you. That’s one thing you loved about Jake. His gaze made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered to him. More than Khonshu. More than…

You shook the thought from your head. It was absurd to be jealous of your lovers that way. It wasn’t fair to you nor was it fair to them.

“Talk to me,” you said, grasping his hand in between yours.

“You didn’t deserve it. I know you deserve better, but I want you, cariño. You’re all I’ve wanted. I will always come back to you.”

In the background, you heard the electric kettle click itself off, but you were more focused on Jake baring his feelings for you. He was barely around for as long as you knew Marc and Steven, but he had never failed in being sincere with how he felt for you. “I’m sorry,” you sobbed.

Jake’s face fell, and if you could only see what he saw, Marc lowered his eyes in the mirror, while Steven retreated back in the recesses of their mind. Even Khonshu was eerily silent and nowhere to be found, which was odd enough as it is. The god was fond of you in his own way that he kept a safe distance hovering nearby.

“Don’t be,” you said. “I know what I signed up for when I decided to be with an Avatar.” You let out a weak chuckle at the unintentional reference. “Steven would’ve loved that one.”

“Do you wish to talk with him instead, cariño?”

You didn’t miss the hurt that seeped through Jake’s words. You barely spent time with him, and you knew him the shortest. You shook your head and cupped your hands over his cheeks, tilting his head to face you.

The same furrowed brow wrinkled his forehead again, and if it wasn’t for the stiffness in his eyes, the conflicted look behind those brown orbs would’ve easily misled you to think he was Marc. Jake’s hard expression was easily remedied when you pressed a soft kiss on his forehead. The hurt and fear were now exposed, and you had to come clean with your own issues.

“I’m not mad that you left for months,” you said and immediately caught yourself at Jake’s pointed look. “Okay, yes, I was mad, but only during the first month, especially when I found out that you took Layla with you.”

“It wasn’t all us, love.” Steven snuck out for a moment. “But she was also worried that it was too early for you to take this mission on.” His eyes rolled back, and Jake was back, annoyed from those few seconds of being interrupted.

“Sometimes…” you took a deep breath, finding the right words to say, “I feel like I’m just a liability to you guys, you and Layla.”

This time it was Marc who took the wheel. “You can easily put us on our asses, baby,” he laughed softly, trying to lighten your mood. “Sure, we’d put up a fight, but your powers are kinda scary sometimes.”

Your hands pressed against Marc’s chest before gripping his jacket in tight fists as if you were scared that he’d vanish after your next words. “That’s not what I mean, Marc.”

When the realization dawned on his face, Marc immediately cupped your face. “Why on earth would you even think that?” he asked, hurt from your words and from how you felt. “I mean, you were dating Steven when he had no idea of Layla and my existence, and we were even on the verge of divorce by then.” He continued, “and Jake… Well, I think Jake only likes you. That ass only shows up when one of us are dying or when it comes to you.

“And Layla adores you. Otherwise, she didn’t finish our job for us just so we can come back to you,” he added. Swallowing whatever weight that clogged his throat, he finally said, “You’re a part of this crazy relationship whether you like it or not.” Realizing what he accidentally implied, he softly asked, “If… if you were to leave…” He trailed off, his voice ending in a shuddering breath. His shoulder tensed for a split second, and he was gone, overwhelmed from his own fears.

“We will marry you in a heartbeat,” Jake said, grasping your hand. “If that meant you would never leave us.” That wide-eyed gaze he pointed at you showed that he was frighteningly sincere.

But it was quickly cut off with Steven nervously chuckling. “If you would have us, love,” he said. “Of course, consent is key. No need to be psycho about it,” he shot a pointed glance at the mirror.

You exhaled, feeling all the tension and issues wafting away from a single breath. “One thing though,” you stated.

“What is it, querida?” Jake returned, and this time, he finally noticed the twitch in your eye from the endearment he gave you.

“Two things I hate though,” you corrected yourself through gritted teeth. “Call me anything but that word, and propose to me properly. And we won’t have any problems.”

Jake would never admit it but the coldness in your voice and suddenly shifting to a sweet smile after you listed your terms made the hairs on his arms stand a bit.

Later that evening, Jake discreetly looked up what ‘the forbidden endearment’ meant on Steven’s phone. He sucked in a sharp breath at his massive mistake, and a pit formed in his stomach when it sank that he had been accidentally feeding your insecurity all this time. He immediately rushed over to you on the stove and pulled you into his arms.

“Jake! What the—” Unable to pull yourself out of his embrace, you barely managed to reach for the stove and turn the heat to low before you accidentally burn down his flat. “Now barely seems like the time to—”

“You’re the only one for me. I revere you. I fear you. I worship you. Cariño, mi vida, mi corazón​…”

You laughed in the midst of your confusion while Jake pulled you in for a tight hug. “What brought this on?” Your eyes landed on Steven’s phone at the kitchen counter with the latest search page still on display. A more genuine smile tugged at your lips as you buried your face into his chest, embracing his warmth.

“Also, I’m marrying Layla first.”

SMACK!

You barely registered the sting on your bottom when you were pushed away. Steven’s wide-eyed puppy eyes gazed at you in horror. His mouth hung open in surprise as he raised his hands in innocence.

“It wasn’t me. I swear!” Steven cried out. Then he paused, glancing off somewhere. “Jake says he’ll be back once he gets a ring before Layla comes home next week.”

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 24.5

Synopsis: enjoy

Part 24.5: fool's play

WARNING! Not safe for work or school! Also, this is an April Fool’s post so be wary

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

I should've known by the intensity of his stare, by the green edges of my vision, by the way my hair stood up, and by the dark aura coming from the corner of the room that Alastor wasn't happy.

I wasn't doing anything wrong or bad, necessarily, but everyone knew how impatient and attention-seeking he could be. I, especially, knew how he hated when I danced with other people. It was a cold, celebratory night for a new year so I was allowed to enjoy myself in the haven with my friends.

My partner, whom I didn't know their name, was moving as fast as Alastor liked too and found myself able to keep up with him a lot easier. The music was loud and people were stomping their feet, clapping their hands, signing their hearts out, and dancing to it just as well.

The song ended on a loud beat and my partner left us at a slight dip. The shattering of a glass didn't reach everyone's ears, but it reached mine. I turned my head to see Alastor wiping his hand on a rag while Husker cleaned up broken glass shards on the bar counter. Alastor's eyes flashed over to mine, as sharp as a cat's and as quick as a snake's.

My dance partner brought me up to stand and I thanked him for a good dance. We separated into the crowd and I noticed him pulling another girl onto the dance floor. I nervously made my way over to my soulmate, tail waving behind me and claws clicking together nervously.

The dress I was wearing was a bright red with a black corset of sorts hugging my center. It had a beautifully stitched red rose on the left side. The front of the dress barely passed my knees while the back went a little further down. Arleen had made this dress specifically for this occasion so I could dance my heart out without worrying about stepping on the fabric. The sleeves were also short and ruffled on the top of my shoulders. The rest of it exposed onto a portion of my chest - nothing too revealing for my own preference and for poor Alastor's sake.

I was lucky enough to convince Alastor to wear something other than his usual attire. He discarded his jacket for the night and went with a bright red button up underneath a black vest. He had traded in his bowtie for a long, black and gray tie. His pants were all black, no red on the bottom, and but he still wore his signature black and red boots.

Speaking of whom, the look he was giving me was...a look.

He had his signature smile but it looked like a cross between a smile and a snarl. His eyes were sharp and had the faint outline of his radio dials in his pupils. His eyebrows were also a strange cross, not quite far up like usual but not quite a glare. He looked like he was trying to hide his annoyance behind a genuine smile. It didn't make sense, but the look he was giving me sure did.

"May I have a word, love?" he asked, taking my hand and kissing the back of it.

"Of course." I wrapped my black claws around his leading arm and walked out onto the brightly lit porch outside. The rainclouds prevented me from seeing the bright stars but that wasn't where my attention was at the moment. I was too busy trying to keep my nervous hand from holding onto his arm too harshly.

He was quiet and still for a minute. Then he gently took my hand and pulled it across his chest so I was standing in front of him. He pressed a fleeting kiss to my neck, then planted several more on the way down to my shoulder where the fabric met my skin. He went back up to my ear and pressed his nose to the spot right behind my ear. It was sending goosebumps up my arm.

"Have you found another man to take my place?" he asked in my ear, radio filter practically surrounding me.

"What?" I tried to turn my head but his hand snapped up to my jaw to hold my head straight. I grabbed his wrist and flapped my ear against his nose. "Let go--"

"Have you grown tired of me, my dear?"

"Your jealousy is really bad, Alastor," I retorted, a smile edging on my lips. He wasn't actually upset. He was just feeling a little ignored, a little forgotten. He was an attention-whore afterall.

He let out a deep hum, one that I could almost feel in my chest. "I like when you say my name. It should be the only name that comes out of those lips." His touch on my back was light as he moved it to my hips than securely around the front, holding my flush against him. I could feel his warmth radiating off him.

"Alastorrr," I purred, earning a wider grin and another chuckle. "If you wanted my attention you just needed to ask."

"Hmm, I'm not asking," he said in my ear, lips grazing across my skin, "I'm telling you. I will have your attention now."

I let go of his wrist and moved my palm to his cheek, feeling his eyelashes brush on my cheek as he closed them. I moved my hand further up to thread my fingers through his pink hair. I gently massaged the area around his ears, drawing out heavy sighs and hums from him.

Then I tightly squeezed the bottom of his ear and he reared back, a pained noise escaping him. I didn't know what it sounded like but it wasn't quite human. I jerked his claw off my chin and spun to face him. His other hand had come up to hold his injured ear. "Why--"

"I'm not one to boss around, Alastor." I rolled his name off my tongue again, my lips quirking into a smirk. His shocked expression returned to the one he had before, but with more intent.

"Is that so, my dear?" He took one long step to be up close and personal again. My head was tilted back to meet his eyes, defiance and smugness written all over me.

"I thought you knew me better than that, love." The new nickname had an effect, his smile nearly turning genuine before he recomposed himself. He lifted his red claws to touch my shoulders but I had beaten him to it, glancing down at his waist to hook two claws on his belt loops, and jerking hard to make him stumble closer.

His claws found my shoulders and the tips were dangerously close to puncturing the fabric and my skin. "Careful, darling, you don't know what game you're playing."

"But I'm willing to find out." I kept him pulled firmly against me and rested my cheek on his chest, making him canter his head just to keep eye contact with me. His claws felt like they were shaking.

"Last warning, my dear," he moved an arm to wrap around the back of my shoulders, attempting to trap me against him instead of the other way around, "If you say yes, I will not be held responsible for what happens tonight."

I moved my foot claws so they were up against his ankles, my tail coming around to wrap around one of his knees. I lifted my head, licking my dry lips once, and let go of his belt loops to run my hands up his sides. "Yes, Alastor."

The one side of his smile flatlined. His shadows engulfed us both, sprinted up to the house, and manifested us in his room. The door was slightly open but his tentacles were quick to slam it shut, his hand coming up to my chest and shoving me away. My ankles hit the footboard of the bed, causing me to fall backwards on the thick covers. I lifted myself up on my elbows in time to see him hook a claw on his tie and pull it off his neck.

I licked my lips again.

He snapped his fingers to remove the black vest and began unbuttoning his long sleeve, taking long strides to the side of the bed. He had gotten half way down as I moved further up the bed. His antlers had lengthened a little more, darkness surrounding us and making it impossible to see anything other than him and the red sheets.

He put one knee on the bed and a claw near mine. I pushed myself up to a hand, all my teeth sharpening to a point to match his smile, and leaned forward to catch the aggressive kiss. Instead, his other red claw came to my chest and shoved me back down on the mattress. I let out a breathy snarl as he shifted to straddle me, hand never leaving my chest.

As retaliation, I brought my tail up to wrap firmly around his deer tail. It made him visibly shudder and a tentacle came out to pin it down. My hand around his wrist was peeled off and also pinned. I smiled wide, running my long tongue across my newly sharpened teeth. His beady red eyes watched intently until my other hand found his thigh.

He grabbed that one too and came forward to plan a kiss on my slightly exposed chest. I didn't let him have access to my neck so when he attempted to grab my chin, I grabbed his ear. Another tentacle came out to pull my wrist tight into the mattress.

"You don't get to challenge me," he growled in my ear, now able to pull my chin to the side and run his tongue along my skin. It sent a satisfying chill down my spine. "You gave the word, now you must suffer the consequences."

"I'm not so sure suffer is the right term, Alastor," his name came smoothly off my tongue.

"Suffer and love go hand in hand, don't you think?" Before I could answer him, he bit down hard on the top of my shoulder. My knees came up since my hands were pinned, quickly earning yet another set of tentacles to hold them down. He moved his one leg to rest his knee snuggly in between my legs.

"That's...cheating," my voice wavered at the end.

"There were no rules set in place," he said in between licking up my blood, "Perhaps you should have thought about that before agreeing."

I went into his mind and held on tight to it, making him go very stiff. A moment later his own magic grabbed mine and practically engulfed me.

"I told you, my dear, you don't know what game you are playing." He filled my mind, forcing me to think of nothing other than him. I could feel the burn of his touch and see the green of his magic. It was just him.

He finally let go of my mind and I found myself completely bare underneath him. I snapped his name like a curse and attempted to my pull my limbs free to cover myself. His claw came up to brush the back of his fingers across my skin like he always did.

"You are mine, my deer. There is nothing to hide from me."

It was then that I noticed he was also bare, leg still firmly in between my own. He moved to my neck again, our skin touching and sending sparks into my brain. I felt lightheaded as his mind wrapped perfectly around mine, not yet intruding again. I hadn't noticed the other things his magic had been doing further below.

"Are you ready?" His radio filter was off, voice genuine as he asked the question. I nodded my head but that wasn't enough for him. "Tell me yes, dear."

"Yes, Alastor."

I felt something in him snap. The dominating, aggressive aura returned as quickly as it had gone. One of his claws came up to mine, dispersing the tentacle in exchange for his hand. He firmly gripped my hand and planted a kiss on my chest.

The pain came first.

My head fell back against the pillow, Alastor leaving soft, feathery kisses along my chest and stomach. He would stop, pull away just a hair, then keep pressing in. One hand gripped the sheets and the other gripped his hand tightly. His breaths in between kisses were hot and heavy.

After what felt like forever, I had adjusted a little. He licked up the tears that had fallen on the sides of my face, softly asking if he could move. His voice was much deeper and filled with need. With permission, he began to move and my back arched off the bed, voice whining his name.

~~

My eyes blinked open. I looked around the dark room, my hand was resting on Alastor's clothed chest. My tail moved around my body as I felt my own clothing still on me. Nothing felt sore or hurt. Had it been a dream? Was it a vision?

He rolled his head to the side and pressed his face into my hair.

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

Author's Note:

Happy April Fool's <3

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

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

Out of curiosity, who would you swap on a bodyswap/element swap?

And who’s the most likely to have an accidental elemental outburst because the element & emotions that respond strongest to that outburst is different than their usual outbursts?

I think swapping the opposites (Cole+Jay and Kai+Zane) would probably yield the most chaotic results. Jay just constantly causing earthquakes just cuz he’s happy, and Cole trying to bury all his emotions but they keep coming out in sharp crackles at even the smallest bit of provoking. Or Kai being the coldest he’s even been in his life but the Ice isn’t responding to his extreme distress because Ice thrives with less emotion. And then Zane being unable to keep still with the thrum of Fire constantly burning in him, always itching to do something, anything, and disagreeing with Zane’s natural instinct to wait and watch.

But, them swapping with an element more “adjacent” to them could be super fun too! And, honestly, in this very specific scenario they’d probably have more Outbursts from being out of tune with their newfound elements.

Kai with Lightning would be chaotic—while both Fire and Lightning can hit high intensities, Lightning is meant to be temporary while Fire is meant to persist. He’d get a rush on all that power and energy all at once (especially while flying/teleporting ahaha) but then he would not be able to handle the following crash. If he had an Outburst, regardless of emotion, he’d be in pain trying to push through it or tap out completely

With Earth, both thrive with endurance, but there’s the obvious difference in fluidity. Kai would feel powerful with Earth, sure, but it would also come off as suffocating. And he, quicker to get emotional than Cole, would never feel like he could get all his emotions out, further frustrating him (which in turn would also probably cause an agonizing outburst)

For Jay, having Fire would probably make him even more jittery, except he wouldn’t have a cap on his energy, so he’d be go-go-go and never stop (and he wouldn’t know how to regulate it, meaning he’d hit a point where he’d need a break eventually but the Fire in him would oppose that). Moreover, if Fire reacts with his feelings of Sadness, then all the stuff he tries to hide behind his jokes and smiles? Yeah that’d all get bumped right up to the surface.

And then, if Jay had Ice he’d feel like he’s been slowed down too much. Always trying to do more but he can’t (similar to Kai with Earth). Inversely, Jay’s tendency to constantly distance himself from his less pleasant emotions would make the Ice in him stronger, so the more he tries to play things off the further he’d push himself towards an Outburst (instead of it being the opposite way with his Lightning)

Cole with Fire would be fascinating, cuz all the things he normally keeps buried would have no cap/filter/limitation anymore, meaning he couldn’t hide how he really feels even if he tries catch him flaming up just trying to talk to Zane or dealing with his dad lol). He’d feel comfortable with the amount of power Fire gives him, just not super strength

Cole with Ice, though—similar to Jay, Cole distances himself from feelings he doesn’t want to feel (or thinks he doesn’t want to), so he too would probably push himself closer to an Outburst without actively trying. But otherwise I’d think Cole would find Ice as a refreshing change of pace; it’s still got some solidity of Earth, so that’s familiar, but he wouldn’t have to be as rigid with it either (he prefers the guarantee of support over the fragility of Ice, but it’s a little nice to let loose)

Same with Zane and Earth—Earth has the same semblance of structure that Ice does, so he can work with that, but he’d struggle with the permanence. He’s committed, but not necessarily stubborn, so having less room for some flexibility would come off as stifling to him. Plus, Earth can either be hot or cold, so Zane would probably hate the inconsistency of temperature

Zane with Lightning—here he can understand the “temporary” principles of Lightning easily enough and use it to his advantage, but with Lightning being so erratic and without consistent form, he’d struggle to manipulate it for himself. And with Lightning, he’d also be less able to hide what he’s feeling—even the slightest grievance or joy would be punctuated with sparks, haha

And now having written all of this out, Lloyd swapping with any of them wouldn’t be nearly as fun given that he’s already able to connect and/or use aspects of their Elements, so he wouldn’t struggle nearly as much—he just might feel limited but not like there’s a gaping hole of something missing either.

[flightfoot]

The word "fanon" doesn't mean a lot to me. Fandoms are big and diverse. No one has the full picture.

But YOU are the exception. You seam to know every aspect of the MLB fandom. Or at least most of it.

So when you reblog a post about disliking a fanon Verizon of a character I noticed.

Do you want to elaborate on that?

Honestly I was mostly thinking about Chloe Bourgeois. I was gonna elaborate in the tags, but well... honestly, even in this case, it's not really the fanon version of CHLOE that's the problem. Which is why I didn't elaborate on it at the time, because it didn't totally fit.

Thing is, I do like Chloe, and I especially like versions of Chloe that follow off of the earlier seasons of ML, when it looked like there was going to be more to her, when there are hints of her having these insecurities because of her awful parents and just wanting to be recognized. With her being a mean bully, but beneath all of that being deeply hurt and trying to fill in the holes left behind by her parents' neglect or disdain. With her desperately trying to earn Ladybug's approval, approval that she couldn't get from her own mother. With her not thinking much of most other people, but going far to help the few people she cares about. So stories where she's still recognizably herself and still can function as a classic mean girl bully if the story calls for it, but with more to her, where she's treated as a person beneath it all still.

I'm not so fond of stories just giving her a straight-up personality replacement, where she's Chloe in-name-only, and she turns into a nice person off-screen with little explanation. I don't hate it, but it also doesn't feel like Chloe, and takes away what could be a really interesting character development arc. It's okay, but not my jam.

The stories I hate are the ones that do either of these types of things (especially the second one where she just gets a straight-up personality replacement) and then the other, canonically nicer kids are made worse, with Chloe and Alya basically swapping personalities. Everyone knows how much I hate Alya, Adrien, and the rest of the class being bashed, and Chloe and Alya having swapped roles just showcases the intense double standards of the writer, and is incredibly frustrating for me since it makes me leery of Good!Chloe and makes me want to vent about people making Chloe into a nicer person when that's not actually my central problem with the trope. So I have to try and take great pains to convey that I like Chloe being good, but doing it at other characters' expense, especially with how Alya in particular ends up getting targeted in these cases, is not cool.

I still remember when I briefly filtered out "Chloe Bourgeois Redemption" on AO3 because of a fic that started demonizing Alya out of nowhere by making her be mean to Chloe, and that was the only tag the fic had at the time that was even remotely associated with salt. I took out that filter soon afterwards because I do really like fics that redeem her, but dammit, BECAUSE of how those good and redeemed versions of Chloe are used, I'm often leery when I see her treated too positively and it sucks to have that knee-jerk reaction.

[flowerslut]

I don't know about you but I've always hated the trope of vampires being addicted to blood like it was drugs. That's like saying that a human can be addicted to regular water if they drink too much so they have to filter it or something to change it. I don't know, I just don't understand why they would be 'addicted' to the very thing they need to survive? It makes me think of the quote from Mad Max; Fury Road "Do not, my friends, become addicted to water. It will take hold of you, and you will resent its absence!" In saying that, I do find it very funny that Jasper can be addicted to certain emotions, like how he was following Bella around the house and reluctantly leaving rooms she was in when she came to visit because he was getting 'high' off her good mood and Edward was so bemused to see him in that state because he's typically sounded by moody bitches who always argue and complain so he's not used to someone (other than Alice but I think he's used to her now, whereas Bella would be a bit like a slap in the face I think) being so genuinely happy that he follows her around like pepe lepew and skunk stink. I read a fic once about Jasper/Alice and Emmett/Rosalie going to college and meeting there and joining frats and they were around a bunch of drunk college kids and Jasper was ALSO starting to act a little drunk and loose and silly because SO MANY DRUNK KIDS all in the same space together was starting to affect him too. I don't know. I've just been thinking about it

I've never really thought twice about the whole "blood thirst as an allegory for addiction/human vices" because that's always been tied together really well with most vampire stories. I sort of expect that measure of symbolism from vampire media now, and tbh you'd really have to do some heavy, intense worldbuilding to make a vampire universe where bloodlust isn't akin to sex or addiction or some sort of taboo in order to make it still have the correct ~vibes~ (not that it's impossible, but I think the struggle to having to resist, or not resist, is honestly part of the lure for some people.)

and I know what you're trying to do with the "humans can't be addicted to water" thing but if water could only be obtained through killing other people (which, ahem, *gestures to history books*) then people sure would be snapping necks to get it, aaand that makes for an interesting story! I think it (obsession with blood being used as an allegory for drug addiction) can lead to some really interesting story dynamics and plot conflict!!

"I just don't understand why they would be 'addicted' to the very thing they need to survive?" because it's interesting! what do you do when you have to kill to survive, even if it goes against everything you've ever been taught? i love it. 10/10. bring on the pain game. I want to see the hoops people will jump through to moralize their choices!!!! its fun dude!!!!! 🤩

it is cute that jasper's drawn to happy emotions but the way that stephenie implements it makes me roll my eyes half of the time. especially when edward is like "wow bella, jasper loves being around because your emotions are soooo nice and pure and good and addicting because our love is so #Strong! 😌" like, yawwwwn. talk about an informed trait. sorry steph I will never care about edbella 😔 and also, like, reading twilight from bella's pov we... really don't get the proof of her being such a happy person. homegirl has self-esteem issues out the ass so color me skeptical that her emotions were really that alluring 🙄

but it does lead to fun opportunities for headcanons whenever people ask "so...alice just walked up to jasper and he just? went with it?" because if all it takes is a bitch with a good mood to have this war criminal trailing behind them then jasper never stood a chance at being an independent entity. he would've been simping for the first person who didn't feel revulsion toward him. I guess we should be happy it was alice that scooped him up and not someone less cool and hot and fun

but yes! i love the opportunity for jasper's gift to really mess with him and its SO fun to play around with it in fic!!!! breaking dawn doesn't have a lot that I love but if does have some fun "jasper having to feel some nonsense" moments

[2willowlane]

i've been posting silly crack fanfiction on ao3 lately, and i decided to just upload this on my tumblr. it's inspired off of interstellartoaster's kalampokiphobia: fear of corn, and the mods harvey's irrational apple hatred and harvey hates apples.

fantastic works; mind you.

gender neutral reader, sfw; not really focused on romance, as it is just absurdity

tallying his profit, of which was a big fat zero, harvey sighed; pushing up his glasses. it's been a rather long week for him, considering no one wants to buy those energy tonic muscle whatever medication that he supplies. the only time that anyone has ever purchased such a redundant item from him, was whenever they misclick- accidentally bought it; and then just sold it again. the only way that he'll ever make a good buck out of his pharmaceutical care was if he just eradicated the valley's food supply... of which, did sound tempting, but harvey loves his pickles too much to give them up.

there haven't been any appointments placed recently, so he was having a hard time trying to keep up with the expenses. right now, he could so go for a bottle of fine wine... maybe it's because he's spending too much of his expenses on plane models, rather than actually trying to keep up with all of the financial records, like an actual adult should. huh, what a foreign concept. well, he's just going to go continue complaining about his money situation, until further notice.

with the door opening, he had to them correct his shrimp posture, as he then greeted you, the almost superhuman farmer, into the clinic. normally, you just like to go behind the counter and access rooms that are off-limits to regular patients, but there was something about your gumption that made you so lovable. even if you do tend to barge into private examinations, there was something that made you feel so rebellious; that harvey couldn't help but swoon over you! also, he's a pathetic beanpole of a man, so he'll probably get pummeled into the ground by your combat prowess if he ever rejects your blatant non-filtered view of what "personal space" meant.

you were about to get some items turned into the community center; as you were carrying a basket full of assorted goods (they ranged from something simple to five highly-graded melons, a still-flopping ghostfish, and poisonous mushrooms). oh well, with the poisonous mushrooms, those are harvey's choice of decoration during the autumn seasons; so, the doctor felt rather seen whenever he saw those clumped together. he grimaced at the fish, however. other than that, he was glad to see a good friend pop in now and then; he needed something to spice up his days, and he can always expect you at around 9am, or somehow always being in the places he's trying to go to... coincidence?

normally, you'd stop on buy and get him a coffee. either you've brewed it yourself, or stopped by gus', it was coffee. you wonder how many mugs harvey has, considering you also gift him a free cup alongside the sweet, sweet ground bean liquid. it really wasn't the healthiest thing to drink due to the sugar and caffeine levels, and you were pretty worried for the guy who has been through years and years of intensive schooling to know better about those dietary concerns. you assume he probably only has a cup twice a week, considering you have some type of intergalactic force keeping you from extending that quota.

you had some apples somewhere on your person, and it was probably the only thing he'd like; you'd figure. after all, they're just funky little guys. who doesn't like a good, crisp apple? even though they're supposed to be for the community center, you can always just get one later. you'd give harvey something else, but you decided that he deserved better than just countless upon countless liters of his favourite brew. you knew harvey appreciated a good foraged, natural good—especially with someone locally grown on your acres. fishing out an apple out of your pockets, you then present it to him.

"... i think i may be allergic to this."

as harvey looked like a sad shih tzu puppy, looking off to the side, your heart sank. he was allergic to apples? at first, you really wanted to make fun of him. he seemed like the type of person who'd be allergic to peanut butter, and be the kid that doesn't allow their classmates to bring in anything homemade due to those medical reasons. holding the red delicious apple in your hands, rotating it around in your palm, you decided to test that theory.

"may?" you inquiried, and with a look of horror, harvey began to shudder. yes, he's an anxious man at heart, but due to various interesting cases at the clinic, he's grown insensitive to many things. plus, he's in front of the one and only farmer(tm), and his crush. god, what an embarrassment he is. he didn't want to talk about his irrational hatred for apples; those disgusting overblown flower ovaries called "fruit" just sicken him to death, not to mention that the apples were the first to hate HIM—it wasn't his fault that his body rejects them!

"yes, yes! just- just get it away from me!"

"i don't believe you..."

and that's where you've learnt that the phrase "an apple a day keep the doctor away" was right.

[draceempressa]

"alcryst is so whiny he's so annoying" "why diamant is so bland?" oh my you're gonna hate what I'm gonna cook in this essay about their personalities.

So, Alcryst. It's mentioned his impostor syndrome is caused by people shittalked him to his face. But who are "people" ? that he is clearly loved by his closest family, yet these these people's words are so ingrained to his head?

The royalty is , naturally, rich, and typically, rich families hire private employees, from private army, escort, maids, tutors, driver, etc, in which these private employees typically either come everyday or living in the same building as their employer, as well sometimes they are hired even before the baby was born, and the child of that house may see these private employees as often or even more often than their family, a fact that still holds true even in these modern days.

in that sense, those private employees are very closely affiliated with the employers and their family by extension, since they live together. And thus, words from these private employees may be as heavy, or even heavier compared to the words of their parents to the children of the house. The nanny, the maid, the tutors. etc. And they, MAJORITY, shittalk Alcryst to his face, seemingly since he can remember. So yeah, all these adults are ganging on a child, because, it goes back to the fact they are royalry. Some people are not loyal to the entirely of the royal family, because royals they are, they still hold different power in the kingdom, different ideology too. So, them bullying Alcryst is basically an indirect political statement that they're not on his side. Maybe diamant's , maybe daddy's.

And we know Morion is dismissive of Diamant's opinions, he might have ignored Alcryst's pain too, saying something something like "my son can endure this, righ? my son is strong after all" being fratby manchild he is not intentionally abusiive, but yeah dismissive.

That being said, he, subconsciously is aware on how loved he is by his family. He openly says in chapter 10, if you did sent him against daddy. "I love you. I always will." He loved his family, because he, subconsciously is aware they loved him. He loved daddy, and daddy loved him. Another line also have him said daddy personally train him. His support is Saphir is where he didn't deprecate himself at all. which means he is either a: too focused to please mommy he forgot to self deprecate, b: mommy is the one person who never doubted him even if he fails, so he doesn't worry much about fail or mommy bringing him down.

And despite the self deprecation, he doesn't hate people no, loves them even. he is also rather experimental, willing to try new things, and flat out adventurous if given chence. he is not introverted or shut in, nope , not at all.

He loves people so much that he is rather horny and romantic to people, as seen with supports with Fogado, Lapis, and Alear. Related to his, contrasting Diamant, he apologizes a lot because he is the kind of person who "say/do things first, apologize later", in that sense, he is pretty reckless too. He will pull people by the collar when he's angry as much he will sob when he's sad. He just, doesn't have filter.

Alcryst loves his allies intensely, but it also means he hates his enemies intensely. Several of his lines like his crit lines, benched lines, implies he is lowkey a battle junkie, or straight up a ruthless killing machine. He is not only killing machine in gameplay, he is an archer for he is all for the kill and not sparing his enemies, and his glass cannon-ish , for he wants to make his family proud by piling up corpses, he also have little to no regard to himself. Hios apologies? Those are not for his enemies, those are for his allies. It was smth like "sorry I couldn't make a clean kill" not "sorry I missed and couldn't kill you faster" . If someone told him to meet the in the pti, he will happily dogfight them despite he also have the strategical intellect bc he is That Angry.

Says a lot when in chapter 10 and 11 he is more livid than takumi ever was in the entire conquest. He straight out goes navy seal copypasta to ivy (then again, his jp VA also voices Bakugou) If Diamant didn't hold him back, he would've strangled Ivy with his bare hands. As much he openly apologies and do reckless things, he also hates openly. Alcryst is an open book that let his emotions be known. Also interesting like all Engage younger royals, he is the ruthless and strategic sibling, despite his unstable emotion.

Now, Diamant. In contrast to the open book Alcryst, Diamant is a locked book with lots of belts and locks he can add. While Alcryst suffers from the younger brother syndrome where he feels like he can't catch up to Diamant, Diamant suffers from the older brother syndrome that he thinks as the older brother, he have to stay strong,composed, to lead, never to show any weakness, moreso since he's the crown prince.

Alcryst was so paranoiac he hardly sleeps at night , as he keep having nightmares of Diamant dies in front of him. However, it's implied Diamant also have the same fear, as it's shown he goes to bed when Alfred woke up, and in his waking up line he admit he fears Alear will never wake again.

Alcryst may score lower than Diamant in their sparing mtach, but remember Alcryst is 8 years younger. It implies Alcryst is indeed the talented brother, while Diamant is the one who make it with hard work. . All this implication of Alcryst is the talented one, is the one loved by daddy, as well there is the implication on how highly guarded Diamant is, hint at one thing: Diamant does envy Alcryst for his talents and their parent's love. He may be favored by the people, but he thinks it's because people want the crown prince and not him for who he is. when people who loved alcryst love him for who he is.

As happened in many cases irl, it's the case of "the parents spents too much time with the neurodivergent/disabled child they unintentionally ignore the normal one, leaving the normal one feeling unloved and envious" .

Unlike Alcryst, Diamant doubted if Morion loved him. He yells "Are you watching, Father?" in his crit as well asking "Am I a good son?" in chapter 10. This implies parental favoritism or Diamant feeling unloved to bc how much their parents focused on Alcryst while he struggles with the throne.

As much he is aware Alcryst is ever loyal to him, and his paretns did love hi, it makes him hates himself more, why is he feeling these ugly feelings despite is aware of all the facts?

Diamant is as self hating and insecure as Alcryst, he just doesn't spelled it out and you need several puzzle piecing to put up the self deprecatrion. He keeps asking for advice in his supports bc he thinks he's inadequate for the crown. Not helping is that he wants to end Brodia's warmongering policy, which seemingly put him at odds with daddy, it's not blatant but it's there, while he also wanted to be loved as a son would, like morion would've loved alcrytst, contractionary that sounds.

Alcryst mentioned that their mother favorite food is fish. Diamant runs the fishing miningame in Somniel. Hmmm.

That being said, despite he hides his pain , fear and sad-common flaw, he doesn't hide his happinness, he will laugh heartily when he feels like it, and he does try to find some fun (wack) in his life to make himself better. I mean, his retsiners are the literal crown and crack fic writer.

Whereas Alcryst is a killing machine in both personality and gameplay, Diamant is a tank for his focus is protecting his allies, not slaughtering the enemy the ay Alcryst does.

[fanaticsnail]

Hi Snail!

I see a lot of people talking about their OC, so I also wanted to talk about my sweetie. I started bringing her to life years ago; she was my first baby and I adore her! Of course, she has evolved a lot over time, but I’m happy with what she has become now.

My OC's name is Dawn. She is 25 years old (post-timeskip). She is 1.67 meters tall, has brown hair, and brown eyes. Dawn is exceptionally intelligent and has an eidetic memory. She can manipulate numbers with disconcerting ease and assimilate knowledge very quickly. This ability, although valuable, has often caused her behavioral problems and intense migraines. To manage her pain, she uses music as an outlet, which allows her to put her brain "on pause".

Dawn loves music! She plays the guitar, the piano, and she loves singing. She often has her headphones on and listens to her music way too loud (really way too loud!).

She loves reading, especially science fiction and fantasy novels, but she will read anything she can get her hands on.

Dawn doesn’t have a devil fruit and isn’t very skilled in combat, although she has learned to defend herself when necessary. However, she hates fighting and will do anything to avoid conflicts.

Despite her impressive abilities, Dawn lacks a lot of self-confidence and constantly seeks approval from others. She is honest, loyal, and kind, but can become extremely aggressive when under pressure or in intense pain.

Dawn grew up on an isolated island in North Blue. Because of her behavioral issues, she had very few friends. The other children found her too weird.

Regarding her relationships, she was initially with the Straw Hats (she joined them after Alabasta) but during the Timeskip she traveled with the Kid Pirates. Her integration among them was very difficult, but she eventually became accepted, and they became her new family. And of course, she falls in love with Kid.

This is very summarized; I still have a lot to tell (her family, her past, her origins, ...) when I imagined Dawn, I was also inspired by another fandom that I love: the Stargate franchise (SG1 and Atlantis). And so, I mixed the two universes (One Piece and Stargate) when creating Dawn and her story. Maybe it’s a bit "too much" but I don’t care, I’m having fun ^^

I really like you Snail, you're always so nice to us.

A musician OC, oh be still my beating heart! I love musician OCs, especially multi-instrumentalists like Dawn. I love these thoughts!!

I can see her with Brook having a soft moment where they're playing in the corner of the Thousand Sunny together. Something a little bit country, a little bit flirty, and their voices filtering together in perfect harmony. Hold up, it's happening.

I think you're wonderful, Armiliadawn. I hope you don't mind a mini-fic for Dawn and Kid below the cut! I hope you don't mind a "he fell first" type of fic.

The dining area on the top deck buzzes with life as grabby hands and food passes between the three crews of the Sunny, the Tang, and the Punk. Gruff words of thievery and territorial protection over their plates linger playfully on the lengthy wooden tables. Bodies squished into pews, shoulders bumping and ales sloshing, the soft melody picks up in the corner of the room.

The raspy voice crooned from the skeleton, the plucking of strings reverberating as he sung his lyrics with the young accompanist. The tale spoken within the words mattered not, none of the crew members paying too much attention to the music over the dull hum of the idle chatter.

All except Eustass Captain Kid.

No, as soon as the sweet harmony matched the Soul-King's melody, Kid's neck snapped upright and his attention darted over to the corner of the room. The tease in the tone, the smile in the hum, and the flirtatiousness in the plucking had him barking to silence his unruly crew to hear more from the two of them.

Dawn's soft voice matched and accentuated Brook's with each pulled-back emphasis, balancing the melody completely. When both voices picked up in the chorus, tingles shot down Kid's back and swelled in his chest. He had never heard such sweetness, and found himself immediately smitten with the songstress.

Upon finishing the tune, Dawn scrunched her nose at the skeleton with her smile. Brooks hand gently reached forward, pinching her shoulder in a playful familiarity to express his gratitude.

The scrape of wood caused her to snap her neck over to see the gruff red-headed captain rise to his feet. His scarred face depicting his awe, his tangerine-colored eyes smiling at her as his metal and flesh hands met in a rapid flutter. Applauding Dawn with gusto, Kid kicked at his first mate and commanders with his heavy boot-heel to do the same: an ovation in gratitude for her sweet song.

Dawn had no choice but to smile awkwardly while receiving such a great compliment from the towering man, her heart fluttering and teeth chattering in bashfulness. Kid couldn't help it, he was enamoured by her. Calls for an encore was hushed by the Straw-Hat archeologist who ushered Dawn over to finally take part in the meal.

Sitting beside the dark-haired woman, the instrumentalist avoided looking up because she knew exactly the sight that her gaze was to be met with.

Kid simply couldn't look away.

[yanderelmk]

I'm gonna bite, could you share some detail of the yanderes and their unaliving preferences? I'm especially interested to hear about the Mayor, Spider Queen, Wukong, Macaque, and Redson. Write as little or much as needed

CW: GORE, MURDER, HUMAN EXPERIMENTATION ☠️MAYOR☠️: BIG fan of making his victims live through a horror movie, preferably with an antique aesthetic painted over it. Imagining a scene of him slowly walking down a hallway quietly humming this song. (As a side note, anyone else thinking the Mayor would serve with an old filter over his voice???) He's a man of old fashioned tastes in my opinion. A simple axe will do most times, but that's for his casual ventures. The more angry he is with a person, the more intense the hunt. I imagine him having a sort of Backrooms-adjacent realm he can drag people to that has different settings he can chase you around in: an old oil baron's mansion, an expansive garden maze, perhaps even the woods if he fancies a more traditional hunt with a gun. 🕸️SPIDER QUEEN🕸️: Spider Queen also is partial to hunts. After all, she fed herself for many millennia on unsuspecting prey that fell into her web. Despite the size of her mech, the Spider Queen is extremely good at stealth and hiding in the shadows. You won't know she's there until she's dropped on you and her fangs are digging into your throat. However, if you've really pissed her off, she'll bite you with her paralysis venom and savor this particular meal. ☀️WUKONG☀️: Normally Wukong goes for something simple like his staff. It's quick and effective, and with how powerful it is only a red mist will tell that you were there at all. However, if you push him over the edge I can see him genuinely going feral and ripping a person limb from limb, mutilating them and tearing at them with his claws and teeth like actual monkeys in the wild (chimps, notably). It takes a special case Macaque to bring him to that point. 🌑MACAQUE🌑: Same with Wukong, if you push Macaque enough he will go absolutely feral and mutilate his target, but if he's of sounder mind he'll have some fun. Hunts include sending his shadow clones to fuck with you, making you think he's closer than he actually is. He has eyes and ears all over the forest, he can track you like a tiger could. His shadow clones are also very useful in keeping tabs on where you are. If you see them, he's already seen you. If he especially hates you, he'll have his shadow clones drag you to the shadow limbo, the place between his portals. There his clones will proceed to, without going too graphic, eviscerate you. He could also trap you within his lantern and force your soul to face its own shadow: all your secrets, all your nightmares, all of your life's pain displayed in an endless loop for his entertainment. 🔥RED SON🔥: Now obviously Red Son prefers varying degrees of burns, but I actually want to add more to this. What if he experiments on the most heinous of people? Tries merging flesh with machines? He takes the victim and begins trying to see if it's possible to merge a human soul with his demon bull clones. Why? Just to see if he can. I feel like we need more Mad Scientist Red Son, all of the vibes are there. I can also see him testing to try and see just how far the human psyche can go until it fully breaks, how far the human body can go under certain types of torture. He is a man of experiments after all.

[bamgyw]

soobin in six nights is so hot... the way he smiled HAS ME THINKING THOUGHTS... like HOW did you write him in a way that's so unsettling yet attractive at the same time to me??? i love it sm

(i love the way you write btw!!! scrumptious, yummy, delish 😋 and your rambles on yeonjun's character too!! would love more six nights rambles or rambles in general 🥹🫶💝)

well i love rambling so. here we are.

anyway. soobin being hot.

first nuance to this is that soobin is hot because he's soobin lol. i feel like if this hadn't been a fic and soobin was an original character, some people might have thought he's hot, but many more would've found him just unsettling and kind of scary, a potential agent of danger and betrayal.

but it's soobin and he's obviously so pretty, so he's hot in our sickened minds to begin with. like, that's not on my writing.

but. soobin in the text.

first thing's first. he's so cool. for no reason.

i didn't even intend to make him cool, i just wanted to make him suffer (sowwy). he's the sacrificial hero of the story, arguably the one who's had it the hardest. the shinji, the kafka tamura.

he has this herculean mental strength type of quality. someone who is broken and has endured great pain, but is still good at heart.

but he's so mysterious and reserved that he comes off as always knowing a little bit more than everyone, always being a step ahead, even if it's not true. (he can't know for sure that beomgyu and the mc are fucking around, but he's smart enough to guess it).

because he's very intelligent, too. he dismisses the nietzsche book like it's self-help for losers, when even beomgyu finds comfort in it. soobin suffered so much in his life that he defeated the final boss of the philosophy game (that is nihilism).

soobin thinks, that's all he does. he can't even sleep because of it. he's a thinker rather than a talker like yeonjun, or action-driven like beomgyu.

yeonjun is a blabber with no filter, and beomgyu's feelings are so intense and all over the place that he just can't help to act impulsively, no matter the consequences.

but soobin just remains quiet, jaw clenched, and thinks. that gives him a lot of power, but also makes him a little creepy. you never really know what side he's on.

he's against his stepfather, for sure, but from the moment he confronts beomgyu it's not clear if he's genuinely worried about his stepsister's safety or if he's just jealous.

so what are his priorities, then? not letting the mc get hurt or not letting beomgyu fuck her? even the mc herself doesn't really trust him.

so he's mysterious and cool and he's emo, and even though we know he has so much hate inside and he could snap any moment, we all wish him well because he's been through so much.

and then there's the smile. you horny bitches have been fixating on the smile.

you have this militaristically strict boy who up until now has been nothing but grim and gloomy. but when beomgyu tries to get under his skin by saying something outrageously filthy about his pretty little stepsister, he just smirks. like he has done worse things.

it creeps the shit out of beomgyu, too. beomgyu who was expecting him to get offended and snap like a loser. it's out of character, it shows there's more to him.

truth is, originally i meant it as a victory grin after the argument. the mc had been eavesdropping, and soobin had made sure that she would be wary of beomgyu's intentions from then on. like he told beomgyu, "consider her warned."

it wasn't meant to be something major, maybe the coolest thing about it (i thought) was hinting that mayhaps soobin chose to confront beomgyu at the corridor on purpose, so that she'd hear them.

BUT THEN YOU HORNY FUCKS READ IT AND YOU WERE ALL LIKE "HELL YEAH THEY'RE GONNA FUCKING RAIL HER BETWEEN THE TWO"

which made me laugh at first, but then i realised that your take was so much better than mine.

so the moral of the story is that you should always let me know what you think and send in a hundred thousand asks, because you're smarter than me. i believe in death of the author, the people knows best.

anyway yeah this was long i am so sorry.