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[mglaserinc1]

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[auto2mation1]

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[neckromantics]

We don't talk enough about how absolutely devastating and romantic and hot the idea is that Astarion would know the scent of your blood anywhere.

How quickly he would notice when you've even the slightest of nics? When, no matter how focused on anything else he might be at the time, he always comes to check it out?

You'll be peeling a piece of apple with your pocket knife when it slips in your grip. The sharp edge of the blade slices a shallow cut into the meat of your thumb, and you inhale sharply through your nose even though it barely hurts at all. Instinct has you sucking your injured digit into your mouth with a soft curse– the sweet juice of the fruit you were snacking on quickly overpowered by the metallic twang of blood.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he appears over you not a moment later. He makes some offhand comment about how careless you are. Takes hold of your injured hand and tuts like he intends to tease, but he isn't fooling anyone.

He stands so close, jaw ticking as he clenches his teeth, a tension in his shoulders that tells you he's doing everything in his power to keep composure. Your blood calls to him like a moth to a flame, and as funny as you find it in the moment, you don't have the heart to tease him for it. It's actually kind of endearing.

He'd only get quicker in noticing as time passes.

Especially after you've been traveling together for a few years, and he's come to know your scent better than his own. Which only makes sense considering how often he's got his nose pressed to some part of you. (He thinks you smell good.)

At this point, when you get injured in battle, he often catches the fragrance before you've even processed that you've been hit.

He'd suck in a sharp breath through his teeth– a hiss so loud that it catches your attention just enough for you to spare him a glance as you fight.

It's all you need to see just how blown his pupils are from where you're standing, mostly because his gaze is laser locked onto you to second you search for him. His movements turn faster. Deadlier, as he scans the field before you. Determined. Hungry. Angry. He's searching for the sorry wretch that dared to get the best of you– that dared spill even a drop of his beloved's precious blood upon the soil.

You've already taken them down, of course. Poor sap might have gotten a good dig in at your shoulder, but ultimately didn't stand a chance once he properly pissed you off.

Astarion's eyes go heavy.

Half-lidded in that special way of his and only darkening further as he appraises you. You can practically feel it as he follows the line of your throat, zeroes in on your pulse point for a moment, before settling to watch the warm crimson that's beginning to soak into the sleeve of your tunic.

You see a bit of concern in those eyes, but then he sees your smile and– A flash of hot, honeyed desire catches you by surprise.

You suddenly can't tell if it's just the blood loss making you woozy or if he's about to make you swoon like a maiden from an old romance novel. You try (and fail) to keep a straight face when he sinks his dagger into his final opponent's neck without so much as a glance their way.

There's a splash of red against pale white skin, and a lifeless body dropping to the grass by his feet. Your heart stutters in your chest, and he all but moans in response to the sound of it. A mere four paces and he's on you– hands and teeth and tongue exploring every inch of your exposed skin, ripping open parts of your armor to gain better access, like you're not stood in a field of gore and ruin and freshly spilled blood.

You cling to him like a lifeline.

Before he drags you away to camp– to a warm tent and a soft bedroll where he can have his way with you for as long as you and your mortal body will allow him– he has you down a potion of healing or two.

And it's a good thing one of you has a Lesser Restoration spell handy somehow, cause you're most definitely gonna need it.

[punjabexim]

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[avelera]

Man, there’s all these little beats in OFMD S2 1-3 where people keep EXPECTING Stede to be upset or horrified about Ed’s actions and then he’s just. Not. In a way that reminded me of how a lot of fanon kept softening Stede into someone who doesn’t swear and is horrified at Ed for setting those ships on fire when imo to my eyes he was horrified for Ed because Ed was still so clearly distressed about it.

- Zheng Yi Sao asks Stede how he’s doing now that he knows Ed did horrible things to his crew and there’s this beat and Stede just pivots to, oh yeah, sometimes Ed is troubled. Like it didn’t occur to him to be upset on the crew’s behalf he’s worried about Ed.

- Izzy keeps trying to spare Stede’s feelings and cover up Ed’s spiral, but Stede clocked what was going on with Ed immediately and wasn’t the least bit intimidated or bothered. The knives brought the room together. Of course Ed’s trying to burn the world down or die trying. Duh. And I genuinely don’t think the STUFF in the Revenge mattered even a fraction to Stede as much as the signs of Ed’s breakdown broke his heart. It’s just STUFF, who cares.

- Lucius had to SPECIFICALLY call out Stede for not being surprised or bothered by what happened to him. What Ed did. Stede has to almost consciously remind himself to express polite concern. He just doesn’t actually care, instinctively or automatically, about what happened to Lucius. Part of it is he blames himself more than Ed. Part of it is he just doesn’t care, Ed is the priority.

They’re little blink and you’ll miss it pauses in some cases. Micro-expressions. The absence of a reaction. But honestly, I will scream it to the end of time, Stede is not some nonviolent creampuff scared or upset by Ed’s evil ways. He wants to join Ed in the atrocities. The man ran away to become a pirate. He asked if Lucius was taking notes during a murderous raid.

Stede’s at least a little on some kind of whackadoodle pirate comedy neurodivergence spectrum to the point where he actually really actually struggles to empathize with people, even people he cares about!, if their feelings conflict with his hyperfixation (piracy) and the love of his life (Ed Teach). He’s always, ALWAYS going to pick Ed over Lucius or Izzy or his crew or even his own feelings, if the option is there. He will literally throw himself overboard to get to Ed’s side. No pause. No consideration of anyone else or even his own safety.

Stede sometimes seems to have to consciously remind himself things like, oh yeah, the crew, I need to see to them. Not because he’s heartless or doesn’t care, but because it takes a bit of conscious effort for him to see beyond the laser-focused spotlight of what and who he does care most about, he has to remind himself of social niceties and other people’s feelings (just see him running away in the first place!) when he gets an idea in his head. It’s as if he had to train himself to consciously care about some things other people care about and as a neurodivergent person myself, that felt very familiar in a comedically writ large sort of way. I’d even argue that’s where all his aristocratic social niceties come from. They were his guidebook for how to do things “right” in a world that otherwise made no sense to him outside his hyperfixations. He practiced being a person through the aristocratic training because it was all so foreign to him from the start, including caring, actually caring, about the needs of others. Not because he’s consciously evil or consciously a jerk. The instinct just isn’t there unless he practices at it until it becomes reflex to ask how others are doing, because on his own his brain just doesn’t really notice or care.

I just… hope the fandom notes and has as much FUN as I do noticing all the little moments where even people inside the story of OFMD expect Stede to act in a normal way and instead he remains unhinged, laser-focused on Ed.

Stede’s not just an Ed apologist, he truly doesn’t blame Ed for any of it. He blames only himself. He doesn’t always voice this but he really really only cares about anyone else including the crew as a DISTANT second and he has to consciously REMIND himself to do so. He is able to rally to take action, to care about their physical needs like safety during the rescue, but he still struggles, deeply struggles, to remember to show empathy in a non-performative way for anyone except his special person, Ed.

Stede’s not a creampuff, not a nice guy, not some emotionally or morally perfect angel. He has to consciously practice caring about literally anything else but what he wants to do and his special person. And to me that’s a thousand times more interesting than shoving him in a box labeled “the blond, pacifist do-gooder good guy” in their relationship.

[rmadridcore]

When You’re Here

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Requested

Summary: Jude, missing you deeply, is overwhelmed with joy and love when you surprise him by showing up at the Bernabéu to watch him play.

Word Count: 3.1K

Author’s note: I had this in my requests for a while, sorry for the delay, hope you love it anon! 🤍

Jude’s typical training day demeanor was straightforward: laser-focused. On any other day, he’d immerse himself fully in the drills and exercises, cracking a joke here and there during breaks but tuning everything else out when it came time to work. Today, though? Today was different. Yesterday was the same. In fact, he hadn’t been himself for weeks — ever since you left for that work trip.

Normally, Jude could handle brief separations. He was no stranger to them, away games you couldn’t attend or your quick business trips that lasted a week, tops. But this time was different. You had been gone for almost a month, and Jude was on the verge of losing it.

Sure, you two FaceTimed every night before bed. You called whenever you had a spare moment. You texted back and forth throughout the day, as much as your schedules allowed. But none of it felt like enough for Jude. He wanted you there with him — not just virtually, but physically. He needed to feel the warmth of your presence, to hold you, to have you by his side. The emptiness of your absence seemed to grow louder with every passing day.

“This is probably the 20th time you’ve checked your phone, bro,” Camavinga teased, breaking Jude out of his spiraling thoughts. Jude wiped the sweat from his face with a towel, phone in hand for what felt like the millionth time today, scanning for a reply that still hadn’t come.

Jude sighed, tossing the towel aside. “I texted her, and she hasn’t responded,” he muttered, his frustration slipping out in his tone.

Camavinga chuckled. “She’s probably busy, man.”

Jude nodded half-heartedly, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah, maybe,” he admitted, though the crease in his brow remained.

“How long’s it been since you texted her?” Vini chimed in.

Jude blinked, glancing back at his phone to check. His teammates knew you well. They’d met you often at team dinners and events, where you were always effortlessly charming, seamlessly blending into their lively banter. They also knew how hopelessly smitten Jude was with you — and, admittedly, they’d been enduring his constant moping and wistful sighs for weeks now.

“Fifteen minutes,” Jude declared, as if that was an eternity, his voice tinged with irritation. He tossed his phone onto the bench with a thud.

The boys exchanged amused glances before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

Jude shook his head, his lips twitching in reluctant amusement. “You lot are useless,” he muttered, though a soft chuckle escaped him.

He sat down next to them, stretching his legs and trying, and failing, to shift his focus back to training. He knew logically that you weren’t ignoring him. You had a demanding job that kept you busy, and the rational part of him understood that you’d reply the moment you had a free moment. But logic wasn’t winning against the ache of missing you.

The truth was, Jude wasn’t just annoyed or impatient, he felt incomplete without you. Over time, he’d come to realize how deeply you’d become woven into his life. You weren’t just his partner; you were his peace in the chaos, his constant in the mess of fame and football. You made him laugh when nothing else could, listened when he needed to vent, and brought a light into his life that felt irreplaceable.

And now, without you here, that light felt dimmer. He was counting the hours, the minutes, until he could have you back in his arms.

After working out for a while, Jude decided to take a break. He grabbed his phone again, and this time, relief washed over him as he saw your name lighting up his screen with a new message. His face lit up instantly, the weight of his frustration and sadness dissolving in an instant. A humongous smile spread across his face as he eagerly opened the message and began typing a reply.

For those few minutes, he felt like himself again. Chatting with you, even briefly, was enough to lift his spirits and give him the boost he desperately needed. But all too soon, he had to return to training. Reluctantly, he said goodbye, promising to talk later.

As Jude put his phone back and glanced up, he caught a reflection in the mirror that made him pause. Rodrygo was mimicking him with an exaggerated, love-struck grin, pretending to text on an invisible phone. Vini, standing beside him, was silently cracking up, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

Jude grabbed his towel and tossed it at the pair, hitting Rodrygo square in the chest. “Idiots,” he muttered with a half-smile, shaking his head. Their laughter only grew louder, echoing through the training area.

The rest of the session passed uneventfully, but Jude’s mood was noticeably lighter after talking to you. Once training wrapped up, he showered and headed back to his room at Valdebebas. The exhaustion from the day caught up with him, and he longed to be home in his own bed. But more than that, he wished you were there beside him.

Lying in bed, Jude grabbed his phone to FaceTime you, a nightly ritual whenever the two of you were apart. Truthfully, he missed home more when you weren’t there, mainly because when you weren’t around, he found himself hugging your pillow as he slept. It was a habit he wouldn’t dare admit to anyone, not even you.

When your face appeared on his screen, it was as if the entire world shifted back into focus. “Hi, baby,” you greeted him with your sweet voice, and the stress that had been weighing on his chest dissipated instantly.

“Hey, my love. How was your day?” he asked, propping himself up against the pillows.

You started talking about your day, how busy and tiring it had been, but also how much you missed him. Jude sighed as he listened, nodding along with a soft smile, though the longing in his heart grew with every word.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow’s game?” you asked, noticing the subtle tension in his expression as he rubbed his face, clearly trying to shake off his frustration.

“Fine, I guess,” he replied, his voice low and filled with fatigue. “We should do well. I just wish you were here.”

Your heart ached at the way his voice softened when he said that. “Aww, Jude. I miss you so much. I wish I could be there too,” you admitted, your voice laden with emotion. You missed everything about him — his scent, his warm hugs, the way he’d kiss your forehead, the silly songs he’d hum, even the soft snoring you used to tease him about.

“I always play better when you’re here supporting me,” he said, his words carrying the weight of truth. It was something he’d told you many times before, and he meant every word. When you were in the stands, cheering him on, he felt like he could conquer anything.

“You will be watching, though, right?” he asked, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. He knew you never missed his games, even when you were busy, and the thought of you not being there, even virtually, dampened his spirits.

You hesitated, biting your lip. You didn’t want to lie to him, but you had to for the sake of the surprise. “I’ll try my best to watch, baby. I have a meeting at the same time as the match, but I’ll do everything I can to catch some of it,” you said apologetically.

Jude’s face fell slightly, and the sight of his disappointment tugged at your heartstrings. “Okay,” he said quietly, trying to mask his sadness.

“I’ll be supporting you from afar, love. You know I love you so much,” you said, hoping to cheer him up.

“I love you too. More than anything,” he replied, his voice firm despite his obvious exhaustion.

“Get some rest now, okay? You need to be ready for tomorrow,” you reminded him gently. You could see the sleepiness in his eyes, but you knew he’d never be the one to end the call first. Jude loved hearing your voice so much that he’d rather fall asleep mid-conversation than hang up.

“Goodnight, my love,” he murmured, his eyelids growing heavier.

“Goodnight, Jude. Sweet dreams,” you whispered, watching as he slowly drifted off, still clutching the phone.

Match days for Jude had always been a rollercoaster of emotions, but not in the way most people might think. While he naturally felt a bit of anxiety before stepping onto the pitch, the dominant emotions coursing through him were always motivation and determination. Jude was fiercely dedicated, a player who thrived on focus and precision, never allowing his nerves to get the better of him.

As part of his pre-match ritual, Jude strolled onto the pitch long before the stadium filled with roaring fans. With his headphones on, he stepped onto the pristine grass, taking a slow walk around the grounds. It was his way of grounding himself, visualizing the game ahead, and soaking in the calm before the storm. The music in his ears created a protective bubble, letting him zone in on the task at hand.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the vibration of his phone in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen and saw your name flashing with an incoming FaceTime call. A small frown formed on his face as he answered — it wasn’t like you to call so close to your big meeting.

“Hey, gorgeous,” your voice greeted him, warm and teasing, immediately cutting through the hum of pre-match nerves.

“Hey,” he replied, slipping one hand into his pocket as he cradled the phone in the other. “How’s it going halfway across the world?”

You smirked, tilting the camera just enough to give him a better view of your face. “Work’s been good, but I wouldn’t say I’m quite halfway across the world anymore.”

Jude squinted at the screen, his brows furrowing. Something about the background behind you seemed… familiar. He also noticed the collar of the shirt you were wearing, it looked suspiciously like a Real Madrid jersey.

“Wait… where are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

“What do you mean?” you replied with an innocent tone, though the twitch of your lips betrayed your amusement.

“That—” He leaned closer to the screen, narrowing his eyes. “That looks like a stadium behind you.”

Feigning confusion, you turned the camera slightly, revealing a glimpse of the unmistakable seats of the Bernabéu. “Oh, this place? Yeah, it’s kinda cool. Thought I’d check it out.”

Jude froze, his jaw going slack as the realization hit him. “No way. Are you—? You’re here?!”

“Surprise!” you exclaimed, flipping the camera to fully reveal yourself standing by the edge of the pitch, already decked out in his jersey.

He ran a hand on his face, his heart skipping a beat. Quickly, he glanced around the stadium, which was still mostly empty since the game was hours away. When his eyes found you, waving at him from the sidelines and blowing him a kiss, his entire face lit up. If it weren’t for the cameras and a few teammates milling around, he might have jumped up and down like an overexcited kid. Instead, he settled for a wide, uncontrollable grin.

“Are you serious? You didn’t tell me? When did you get here?” His gaze flicked back to his phone, needing to see your face up close.

“This morning,” you replied with a playful shrug. “I wanted to see that priceless look on your face.”

Jude shook his head, his grin so wide it almost hurt. His chest felt impossibly full, his heart pounding in a way no pre-match ritual could replicate. “You’re unreal,” he murmured, his voice brimming with disbelief and affection.

“You’re welcome,” you teased, leaning casually against the railing. “Now go out there and show me why I flew all this way.”

He chuckled, shaking his head again. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“You scored a few goals, I guess,” you replied with a wink, making him laugh.

“I’ll score ten tonight if it means you’ll keep surprising me like this.” His tone softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. “Thank you for being here. It means everything.”

“Always,” you said, your voice tender and sincere. “Now go win us that game.”

With one last look, he ended the call, his chest swelling with newfound energy. He felt unstoppable.

The game began with Real Madrid dominating right from the first whistle. The team controlled the pace effortlessly, holding possession, creating chances, and putting pressure on the opposition. Jude was a maestro on the pitch, gliding with the ball as if it were an extension of himself. His mind occasionally flickered to you, sitting somewhere in the stands, watching him. The thought of you there, cheering for him, filled him with an unmatched drive.

The match was electric. Vinícius scored the opening goal with a stunning strike, followed by Rodrygo slotting one in with finesse. Jude orchestrated the midfield, dictating the flow of the game, and his every move seemed to hum with purpose. Victory felt inevitable, and the energy in the stadium was palpable.

In moments of brief stillness on the pitch, Jude would glance toward the stands, knowing you were there, proud and beaming. It pushed him to play harder, better, with every passing minute.

The atmosphere at the Bernabéu was electric, as always. The fans roared with passion, their energy pulsating through the stadium. The game had been going spectacularly well, but Jude had one thing on his mind — a goal. His performance had been stellar, commanding the midfield with his usual elegance and precision. But scoring in front of you after so long felt essential. You hadn’t watched him play in person in what felt like forever, and he wanted this goal to be just for you.

As the minutes ticked down, Jude's focus sharpened. While directing the game from midfield, he kept scanning for spaces to exploit, calculating every opportunity to find the net. And then, as if fate had aligned perfectly, the ball came flying toward him off a cross. He surged forward, meeting it with a powerful header that sailed past the keeper and into the back of the net.

The stadium erupted. The cheers were deafening, a symphony of celebration as his teammates rushed to embrace him. Jude stood there, soaking it all in, arms wide open in his iconic celebration. Yet, despite the roaring applause and the love from tens of thousands of fans, all he could think about was you. He imagined your radiant smile, your eyes shining with pride. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

He kissed the badge on his chest, but as he waved to the crowd, his gaze flickered up toward the VIP section. He knew you were watching, and the thought filled him with an unmatched sense of accomplishment. Taking a deep breath, he let the adrenaline rush through him, knowing the game, and his night, couldn’t have gone any better.

The final whistle blew, sealing the victory. The Bernabéu buzzed with excitement, the fans still chanting his name long after the match ended. But Jude’s thoughts weren’t on the post-match celebrations or the cameras following his every move. His focus was singular: you.

In the tunnel, his teammates teased him mercilessly. “In a rush, mate?” one of them quipped. “Someone special waiting for you?”

Jude only laughed, brushing off the comments as he hurried through his post-match routine. A quick change, a few celebratory high fives with his teammates, and a rapid cleanup later, he was finally free. Emerging near the VIP area, his eyes scanned the space eagerly until they landed on you.

You stood by the railing, his jersey hanging slightly oversized on your frame, a grin lighting up your face as your eyes met his. Jude didn’t think — he moved. Jogging straight toward you, he ignored the curious glances from onlookers, his entire world narrowing down to the sight of you.

“You,” he murmured as he reached you, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. His hands slid around your waist, lifting you off the ground slightly as he buried his face in your neck. The familiar scent of your perfume washed over him, and in that moment, it felt like coming home. Holding you after so long filled the emptiness that had grown inside him.

“You were incredible,” you whispered, your arms tightening around his shoulders. “Man of the match, Mr. Bellingham.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his cheeks flushed from the game and the overwhelming joy of having you there. “You don’t know how much it meant to see you up there tonight,” he said, his voice soft. His eyes held that familiar twinkle you adored, a warmth that only appeared when he looked at you.

“Seeing you score was worth every minute of the flight,” you teased, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek. “Not bad for someone who’s been pouting over FaceTime all month.”

He laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. “I wasn’t pouting.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” you replied with a grin, your fingers playing with the hem of his jersey.

Jude leaned closer, his voice dropping low so only you could hear. “You know, I was planning to dedicate that goal to you. But I figured kissing the badge was slightly less obvious than blowing a kiss to the VIP box.”

“Smooth,” you quipped, your eyes sparkling. “Guess I’ll take it.”

“Take this too,” he said, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your lips. Though quick, it was impossibly tender, a moment that conveyed everything he felt for you. Jude had a way of making even the simplest gestures feel like declarations of love, and this was no exception.

The world around you blurred. Despite the residual chaos of the stadium, the two of you stood in a little bubble of intimacy, your connection shutting out everything else.

“You’re coming home with me, right?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope.

“Where else would I go?” you replied, taking his hand in yours.

“Good,” he said, intertwining your fingers with his. “Because after tonight, you’re not allowed to leave again.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, though the smile on your lips betrayed your amusement. “We’ll see about that, superstar.”

“Oh, it’s not up for debate,” Jude replied confidently, squeezing your hand as he led you toward the exit.

And with that, the night belonged to the two of you — a perfect ending to a perfect day.

[ssruis]

Rui defaces school property kindly and generously gives the baby upgrades. like what he did to nene’s hinamatsuri dolls.

ruikasa should be forced to co-parent of one of those little robot babies they use to prevent teen parents. they're paired off together bc the teachers don't want rui taking the baby apart

[amourcheol]

agrodolce (teaser)

❝Because you cannot create perfection without a little tension.❞

rivals to lovers! au | fluff | approx. 20k words

s u m m a r y : one would expect being a dessert chef to be a life filled with sugary goodness, but nothing is sweet when working alongside boo seungkwan. when the two of you are forced to create a special dessert for the winter menu together, you think the restaurant will burn down. late night planning, shopping mall snooping, and a simple dessert might just save you from your expectations.

c o n t e n t : dessert chef! mc, dessert chef! seungkwan, rivals to lovers! au but i'm keeping it tame so i don't lose my mind, they bicker a lot obviously, head chef! jeonghan who is sick of his employees, seungkwan is leading the sassy man apocolypse, flatmate! julie from kiss of life who wants to be santa, lots of mentions of italian desserts, litttle bits of tension, making out but no smut because im fearing god again, more tba!!

p l a y l i s t : candy by seventeen || chocolate by seventeen || daawat-e-ishq by sajid-wajid || strawberry sunday by dojaejung

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld (send an ask if you wish to be tagged <3)

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : this fic will be part of the @camandemstudios 'Winter with You' collab! please do check out the other fics when they are released! thank you em and cam for inviting me to be a part of this project!! i will defo yap more once i release the full fic but anyway pls enjoy the teaser <33

back to masterlist

“OH NO,” YOU SAID IN GREETING AS YOU ENTERED, QUICKLY STEPPING PAST HIM AS HE CLOSED THE DOOR. “WHAT’S THAT LOOK FOR?”

Mingyu chuckled a little, tightening his apron’s bow on his back. “Seungkwan’s been waiting at your station for thirty minutes.”

A curse escaped you, furthering his amusement. “How mad is he?”

“He shouted at me for the lack of ricotta in the pantry.” 

You scrunched your brows in shame, widening your lips in a line. “That’s on me. I threw it at him the other day.”

Although he shook his head, he said, “Tell me it hit his face, at least.”

“Right on target.”

Hearing his laughter behind you, you dashed to the cloakroom, quickly changing into your uniform. Tossing your bag in the small lockers, you exited, finding yourself in the familiar surroundings of the dessert station. 

From the last time you had been in this side of the kitchens, the place had been the victim of your vicious food fight with Seungkwan, stained with sauces, powdered with flour, and littered with different nuts and sprinkles from the pantry. Now, the floors and tables were spotless, all evidence of your petty rage disappeared into your memories. 

Unfortunately, the cleaners could not make the sole reason for your anger disappear. He stood, back hunched to you, like a nasty stain upon your domain, refusing to be wiped away. You could not help your glower towards his figure, a small hope that you would develop lasers for eyes and smite him off the station.

“What’re you glaring at me for? You’re the one who’s late.” 

Jerking your head back at his voice, you twisted your lips downwards, walking towards him. “You don’t know that,” you challenged, sneaking a look at what he focused on—a notebook, with messy scribbles written in black ink. 

“I do, because you’re glaring at me as we speak.” He glanced up at you. “See?” 

It was a little pitiful now, trying to school your face into neutrality. “Whatever,” you muttered, taking out your own notepad, setting it on the steel tops. “And for the late thing, rush hour spares no one.”

“Yet the entire staff managed to come early,” he said, a certain, condescending ease in his tone which made your glower darken. “We’re lucky that Jeonghan’s helping us with desserts in the next coming weeks, or we would have been screwed.” 

“Jeonghan’s coming?” you asked, genuinely surprised. You were aware that he was trialling a few dessert chefs to deal with the restaurant’s rush period, but did not expect the big boss to turn up at the stations.

“He wants us to focus on ‘team collaboration’,” he iterated, exaggerating the latter words in air quotes, “As well as ‘building our professional relationship’.” 

“Jesus,” you could only say, dreading the near future for what it held for the two of you. Jeonghan was either the dumbest person to grace this restaurant, or enjoyed fucking with his employees for work-place entertainment. 

A glimpse of the clock. “We’re due for starting up in a couple of hours, so we better start thinking up ideas now.” You looked down at the pages of your notebook, a few ideas already jotted down that needed further exploration. “Since we’re only doing one dessert, this shouldn’t take us more than a week to decide.”

Seungkwan’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “Yeah, if you’re just handing a scoop of gelato to them.”

That particular comment had you craning your head back. “You have to be braindead to take two months to come up with one item.”

“You must be putting anything in your customer’s plates then,” was his sour response, “To only need a week to create a luxury food.”

A sharp sigh escaped you. “What grand plans do you have for the public then?”

Picking up his notebook, he brushed a finger past the page. “Right…so we already have the standard tiramisu and gelato variations. We should definitely incorporate a sugary pastry since we’ve been lacking in the previous quarter.” 

“Pastry,” you mumbled. He was talking pure, unadulterated shit. Chocolate Bignè was the permanent item on the summer menu—little, indulgent profiteroles that melt into the taster’s mouth. Apart from that, the generic selection of cannolis and bomobolini doughnuts were already sold at the till within the cafe section outside, so another addition of the pastry was not needed.

Perhaps your thoughts projected upon your face, because the boy was incredulous. “And what’s so wrong about pastries?”

“It’s been done too many times.” You showed him the previous menu, which he had before him. “We should do something different.” 

“And what would that ‘different’ be?”

You scoured your page, latching onto the words of strong flavours. “Stray from the sweets this time. I’ve been wanting to experiment with a few flavours, and I think that bitter amarettis will be big this winter.”

Mentioning the Italian macarons did not bode well. “Bitter amarettis? Are you insane?”

Instantly you crowed, “The Sarano branch is actually very popular ‘cause they’re smaller and easier to eat after a meal. We can flavour them with coffee or almonds.”

“No.”

The sudden dismissal was enough for you to argue your case. “It’s better than a goddamn doughnut!”

“Fine.” He clutched his notebook tighter. “Let’s drop the pastry. How about a pannacotta?”

Pannacotta—sweet cream dessert thickened and moulded with gelatin. Not your first choice, but its greatest advantage was its range of flavours that it accommodated.

You decided to try your luck once more. “We can do something with that.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, thinking of any flavours that were not simply sugar sprinkled on cream. “I’ve experimented with bay leaves before. We can add one or two to add a lime-like essence.”

The man scrunched his nose at the notion. “My God. Were you thrown against the wall as a child?”

That morbid image had you scoffing. “I had an amazing childhood, thank you. Why are you so against it already?”

“Pannacotta is a sweet dessert, _____. I’m not adding fucking leaves on a delicacy.”

“Adding herbs on certain confectionery is actually a luxury trait. You learn this in culinary school.”

Once again, the idea was immediately cut for another. “We should add cinnamon to it.” He pointed towards his notebook. “A nod towards the coming Christmas.” 

“Cinnamon?” you parrotted. “A sweet flavouring on an already sweetened cream? Do you want to rot our customers’ teeth?

“Oh, what do you suggest then?” He let out a harsh scoff. “Coffee for the millionth time?”

“Well, actually—” you were about to make an incredible point, but your partner began to groan, cutting you off. “Hey, coffee is versatile, and you know it!”

Seungkwan looked to the side, as if there was an invisible camera he could make a face to. “Here comes the anti-sweet agenda.”

Your sharp exhale was loud enough to gain his unpleasant attention. “If you had your way, all our customers would have type 2 diabetes!”

“Well sorry that I don’t want my customers as bitter as you are!” he exclaimed. “It’s beyond me how you became a dessert chef!” 

“It’s called having range, dumbass!” you shouted right back, unwilling to relent. “My skills go beyond just dumping a load of sugar and calling it a dessert!”

He slapped his notebook on the desk, leaning in. “I said to have cinnamon because it’s bloody Christmas. My bad if you like to Grinch it up every year.”

“You want to show Christmas through cinnamon, huh?” You huffed a laugh in his face. “Wow, Seungkwan, how original! I might as well put a fucking christmas hat on top of our tiramisu. Fuck it, let’s start singing a Christmas carol while we serve it since you want to be on theme so much!”

Seungkwan’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want fucking leaves in a dessert.”

You matched his anger. “Well, I don’t want you in this process, but we can’t always have what we want.” 

A tilt of his head, the locks framing his forehead sliding along. “I wasn’t dying to work with you either, dearest.”

Dearest. That pissed you off even further. “Then find a way to deal with it,” you seethed. 

“I could say the same thing to you.”

You pursed your lips, at a loss for words. The man stared into the rising rage of your gaze, his own agitation reflected clearly. He was watching you intently, words dying on his lips, only inhaling and exhaling sharply. Had he been a few inches closer, his huffed anger would have fanned your face, truly taste how he felt about this entire situation.

But that was the last thing you wanted, and so you could only match his displeasure. 

“I’m not losing my job because of you,” you warned.

His eyes darted all over your face before he deigned to reply to you. “And you think I want to be fired?”

The quirk of your mouth upwards had his nostrils flaring. “If you act like an asshole, Seungkwan, that’s exactly what you deserve.”

“Why do you get to be the judge of that?” he scoffed out.

“I won’t. Jeonghan will see through you soon enough.”

[incorrectbatfam]

It's movie night but they can't use the home cinema, what do they do?

[week 1]

Bruce: Thanks for letting us use your place for movie night while we fix that leak at home.

Dick: No problem. Besides, I have plenty of snacks and the director's cut of Dumbo.

Everyone: *gathers around*

Dick: *puts on the movie*

~ 10 minutes in ~

*beep* *beep* *beep* *beep*

Tim: My crime alert's going off.

Harper: Mine too.

Duke: Must be big.

Bruce: Suit up and rendezvous in three.

Dick: *sighs and pauses the movie*

Dick: Can't get one night in this damn city.

———————

[week 2]

Tim: Steph, why are we at a karaoke lounge?

Steph: I know the owner's cousin's hairdresser's dog walker's sister's girlfriend and I convinced them to let us use the party room. Don't worry, it's just like a TV screen.

Steph: *puts on Pitch Perfect*

Steph: Ooh, I love this part.

Steph: *grabs a mic and starts singing*

Everyone:

Damian: *stuffs napkins in his ears*

———————

[week 3]

Jason: Since we decided on Pride and Prejudice, I thought I could play it at my safehouse.

Dick: Sweet, thanks!

Jason: *unlocks the door*

Dick: *tries to step in*

Jason: *stops him*

Jason: I said I could play it. I never said you could come in. I don't want your you-ness all over my new stuff.

Bruce: Jason, be reasonable.

Harper: Yeah, you got this junk off the side of the road.

Jason: My junk, my rules.

Tim: Then what are we supposed to do?

Jason: Fire escape's around the back. You'll get a decent glance.

~ 20 minutes later ~

Dick: *leans his head in to hear better*

Jason: My air, my rules.

Jason: *closes the window*

———————

[week 4]

Bruce: Cass, it's your turn. Got the movie?

Cass: *nods and plays Rambo on her computer*

Barbara: Uh, why isn't there any sound?

Cass: Volume button broke. Just read lips.

Jason: Kinda hard to do that with the brightness at zero. Did that stop working too?

Duke: Looks fine to me.

Jason: Shut up, Flashlight.

———————

[week 5]

Tim: I brought my entire Star Wars collection.

Bruce, dodging a space laser: Not the time.

Tim: Okay.

Bruce: *punches an alien robot*

Tim: How about now?

———————

[week 6]

Barbara: Sorry I got a cold, but at least we can still have movie night on Zoom. I torrented a copy of The Matrix.

Barbara: *shares her screen*

*movie plays*

Barbara: *leaves herself unmuted*

Barbara: *starts crinkling Sun Chips*

———————

[week 7]

Everyone: *crowd around Damian's phone watching My Neighbor Totoro*

Bette: Why is your phone so small?

Damian: I have tiny hands.

———————

[week 8]

Harper: Because we're watching Cars this week, I thought I could put together an all-immersive experience.

Bruce: BY LOCKING US IN A RUNAWAY SEMI-TRUCK?!?

———————

[week 9]

Duke: I called this company and since we're heroes, they're letting us use their electronic billboard for this week's movie at a huge discount. Kill Bill should be coming on right about...

*movie starts playing*

Jason: Not bad, Narrows.

*billboard switches to an ad*

———————

[week 10]

Carrie: Since Steamboat Willie is now public domain, I thought we could do something different tonight.

Carrie: *pulls out a flipbook*

———————

[week 11]

Everyone: *watching Love, Simon in a dark living room*

*lights flick on*

Apollo and Midnighter: *standing there in date night outfits*

Steph: Um, Cullen, who are these guys?

Cullen: *laughs nervously*

Cullen: Everyone, meet Apollo and Midnighter. They're kinda-sorta my gay uncles and we're kinda-sorta in their apartment and I kinda-sorta didn't expect them to come back early.

Midnighter: Remind me why we gave you a spare key?

———————

[week 12]

Kate: *sets up a projector and plays Glass Onion*

Bruce: Kate, this is a crime scene.

Kate: The fun part's already done, let Gordon do cleanup this time.

———————

[week 13]

Alfred: Back in my day, we did not rely on scrupulous use of technology. Which is why I propose watching a classic Sherlock Holmes tale on a classic instrument.

Alfred: *pulls out a zoetrope*

Steph: Anyone know what that is?

Dick: Not a clue.

———————

[week 14]

Luke: Nothing like a good ol' drive-in movie. Great idea, Helena.

Helena: I know, and the Godfather is perfect for this.

*Batmobile crashes through the screen*

Steph: Sorry we're late.

Duke: I'm still figuring out the PRINDL.

———————

[week 15]

*TV playing the Aristocats*

Bruce, trying to flirt: I like what you've done with the curtains.

Selina: Thanks, but it was Snowball's after-dinner surprise.

*TV blinks off*

Tim: Hey, what gives?

Selina: *takes a chewed-up cord out of a cat's mouth*

Selina, sighing: This is why I married rich.

———————

[week 16]

Luke: May I present the ultimate Snakes On A Plane drone show!

*phone rings*

Luke: Hello? ... Yes, this is he. ... Mhm. ... Yep. ... Okay.

Luke: Never mind, the FAA says I can't.

———————

[week 17]

Everyone: *watching Legally Blonde at Bette's place*

*dogs barking*

*sirens*

*loud music*

*car honk*

*neighbors shouting*

Bette: Sorry, we have thin walls.

Bruce, shrugging: Eh, still not as bad as HOA.

———————

[week 18]

Damian: Where is movie night this time, Father?

Barbara: My money's on another crime scene.

Bruce: Actually, I rented out the theater just for us and they're playing a special edition of The Mark of Zorro. Everyone got their snacks?

Duke: Popcorn, check.

Cass: Licorice, check.

Steph: M&Ms are obviously the right answer by the way.

Dick: I got a slushee.

Jason: I got the slushee machine.

Bruce: Alright then, take your seats. The movie's about to begin.

*movie plays*

*Rogues break in, make a mess, and leave*

Bruce:

Bruce:

Bruce: I miss my parents.

[emmyrosee]

Bakugou gets invested really easily.

He loves to pretend that he doesn’t care about things, or get super interested, but you know better than anyone that when he wants to get his focus on something, it's almost impossible to break it.

When it's in your favor, it's addictive always having him hang off of you, burrowing his face against you, relishing you in affections only his closest friends would believe and having him eat out of the palm of your hand.

When it's on something else, however, it's torturous.

And yes, while you adore Kaminari Denki's enthusiasm for the first book he's read in four years, it now has Katsuki's full enthusiasm that he covers under a shroud of "like hell he's gonna read more books than me."

He's so full of it, it hurts.

Katsuki's read books in three days or less, tearing through them with ease after work; now, its his one-sunday-a-month off, and he seems completely content in sitting on the couch reading his damn book for hours.

At first you had no issue curling into his lap to rest, his big hand resting on your head and massaging your temple while you drift in and out of sleep.

But it's been four hours. You've woken up three times.

You try for a round of kisses, but he merely returns pecks with his eyes still on the book. You nip at his ear, but his shoulders hike up to nudge your face away. You offer him mewls of 'love you''s, and he grunts back.

You're dying here.

Huffing softly, you push yourself up and off of the couch, shuffling to the kitchen for a glass of water. There’s a small part of you that hopes he notices how annoyed you are and he’ll chase after you.

This, he does not.

With a soft snarl in your throat, you finish off the glass and toss it haphazardly in the sink, once again hoping it’ll rise some form of reaction from Katsuki.

He merely sniffles in the background.

You pace in the kitchen for something to break his laser focus. The closest you've come is when your phone rings back in the living room and he grumbles an annoyed 's' the fuckin' nerd.' You stomp into the living room for your phone, and Katsuki barely spares you a glance over his wire glasses.

Izuku's phone call keeps you all of 3 minutes, and your eyes watch for Katsuki's annoyed grumble and slamming of his book to stop reading and scold you.

No dice.

"Sorry, the oven's on fire, I'll call you later," you interrupt whatever he was saying and hanging up, tossing your phone on the couch next to your boyfriend.

"Why's the oven on fire?" He mumbles, turning the page.

"Because you won't give me attention," you snip.

"Ah."

God, you hate his rare nonchalance sometimes.

Out of options and minimal patience left, you move one of his crossed legs to rest flat on the floor and crawl into his lap, which automatically situates itself to keep your perch. Despite his subconscious action, he smacks his lips in frustration and merely turns the page in his own act of defiance.

“Can I help you?”

“You’re being annoying.”

This, finally, has currant eyes flicking up to you, a brow quirked in confusion and, maybe, just maybe, a glimmer of bothersome.

“I’m literally sitting here, reading. I’ve maybe taken a sip of my water and kissed your forehead while you napped. How the hell am I being annoying?” At his snap, you pout and cross your arms childishly, and he groans in the back of his throat with exhaustedly. “I didn’t mean to snap, baby. You brought that shit out of nowhere, I didn’t know sitting in silence could be annoying.” He dogears his page to give you finally give you his attention. You pout, and he gives you a small sigh, “come on baby; fuckin' talk to me.”

You huff petulantly, but you soften as massive paws smooth over the slopes of your hips. “It is annoying, when you’re ignoring me.” His hands stall, and you avoid his gaze. “I wanted to spend some time with you today, and all you’ve wanted to do is stay in and read… I know you like quality time and everything but I want to do something fun before you’ve got your hands full with work again.”

He rolls his eyes before rubbing his hands up and down your thighs, “so this is something you tell me, not pout and whine. I ain’t a fuckin’ mind reader.”

You turn your head in defiance, “wouldn’t have to say something if you’d stop focusing on your stupid romance novel.”

“It’s not a romance novel,” he says, trying to hide his amusement. “And don’t be fresh. I ain’t the only one at fault here.”

“But here I am- blaming you.” You try your hardest to fight back the smile tugging your lips.

“And you just can’t let me live for five minutes, can you?” He snarls, lips curled in a smirk as he leans forward to bite at the softness of your jawline. “Always gotta have my fuckin’ attention don’t you?” You giggle and shrink back slightly, but his arms tighten around you to keep you from going too far. “Nah. You wanna make a fuckin’ scene about how you want my attention? You’re goin’ no where.”

“Katsu, no!” You whine around giggles, his nose bullying past your tucked chin to nibble and playfully suckle at the tender skin of your neck, making the signals in your brain cross at the silly affections. Your hands shove at his broad shoulders in an attempt to make some distance, to no avail.

He’s got you right when you wanted to be.

“This is all you wanted huh?” He mumbles into your neck, scooting forwards on the couch to hook your legs around his waist. “You just needed me to snuggle and tease you soooo bad.”

“I do not!” You squeal, and your own fingers try to tickle his neck; it manages to get a few snickers before he gathers them in his own large palms and pins them between you.

“Fuck you,” he sneers. He does stop his torment before resting his head against the curve of your neck, and you mewl happily when you worm your hands out to wrap around his shoulders. “Cant have one fuckin’ second of peace.” He kisses the delicate skin of your neck lovingly this time, letting his hands soothingly run up and down the planes of your back. “Don’t get why you don’t fuckin’ talk to me about this shit, we’ve been together for years.”

You huff dramatically, “because you should know.”

“Yeah, we’ve established that I don’t.”

“Shinsou would know,” you poke, smiling as he tenses up and fists the shirt you’re wearing.

“Don’t you fuckin’ start.”

[fatuismooches]

principiis amoris.

synopsis: In other words, five times Dottore swore he hated you and the one time he realized it was the opposite.

includes: dottore w/ gn! reader

notes: I wanted to try my hand at these 5+1 fics, and Dottore seemed to be the best candidate. Behold, 6k+ words of fluff. Reader and Dottore are complete menaces (and not very good people) and you also throw a book at someone.

I. blindness

Much to anyone’s surprise, Zandik was having what he would call a good day. Today was the last day of all of his especially boring and easy classes, the illegal parts he secretly ordered came in, and he would be able to stay in his dorm for a while before classes started again. A break from these all these so-called scholars would be much appreciated. He was growing rather tired of them and was greatly looking forward to the much-needed retreat of progressing his research. He could feel it already - the sweet sensation of tinkering with the new parts quickened his pace.

What he was not expecting was his door to be open, voices and rustling noises coming from inside. Immediately a frown appeared and his good feeling was lost. Quickly, he entered the room and saw an unknown figure donning the Akademiya’s robes, and an academic counselor he recognized standing in his room. Now he was glad he made sure to put his tools away. Ones that were totally not prohibited.

“What is the meaning of this?” He didn’t try to hide the loathing in his voice.

The counselor shifted in place, clearly not wanting to be here anymore due to his presence. You, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care. In fact, Zandik could see that you were smiling.

“Ah, hello Zandik. Good to see you are doing well,” she lied through her teeth. “This here is [Name], your-”

“Your new roommate!” you chimed in. The counselor shrunk in her place even more, probably regretting all her life choices now as Zandik’s laser gaze was on her now. 

“I thought I made myself clear when I informed you that I did not want anyone in my dorm?”

“Yes, well, as per the rules of the Akademiya, every scholar should try to have a roommate for the purpose of cooperation…” Her voice became progressively smaller as Zandik continued to burn his gaze onto her, “a-and collaboration. Regardless of your thoughts, [Name] has to try to dorm with someone, and that someone happens to be you.” You nodded your head in agreement as the counselor spoke.

“So please, um, try to get along!” She quickly excused herself and scurried out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. You smiled at him yet again, sticking your hand out for a handshake, to which he only spared a glance and turned away.

“Pleased to meet you! I’m excited to live with you!”

“We’ll see about that,” he scoffed. You’d be out of here in less than a week, just like the few other roommates he had. But to think he had to spend his break with a nuisance in his room now? That irritated him to no end. Though what confused him more was your sunny disposition. Quite literally everyone in the Akademiya knew him and acted the complete opposite.

“Hehe, sure. By the way, I call the top bunk bed!”

It was from that moment he knew.

Zandik hated you.

II. relentless

Zandik had been giving you the cold shoulder since the moment you stepped into his (now yours too) dorm. You knew this would be a tough journey, but damn. At least he was good eye candy and wasn’t loud. (If you excused his eerie laughter in the middle of the night.)

On this particular night, Zandik was at his makeshift workbench tinkering with Archon knows what, as usual. Unfortunately, even though you found it to be interesting, you were unfamiliar with all of that mechanical stuff. You always would look at him while he worked, and while he would sometimes snap at you to stop staring, he never actually did anything about it. Today was one of those nights.

“You’ve certainly been at that for a while,” you commented. Zandik showed no sign of reaction.

“You don’t want anything to eat? Or drink?” you continued.

“Don’t have time,” he responded with no hesitation, far too interested in his new play toys, and also wanting to shut down this conversation immediately. But, you didn’t think these were the ones he usually used. You think he kept the deadlier ones hidden away in case you reported him or something.

“To consume something?”

“To make something right now,” he corrected.

“Well, yeah, I know. That’s why I’m going to make it for you,” you clarified, kind of surprised (but also not) that you needed to say it directly. This managed to make your roommate pause.

“So you are offering to cook for me?” he clarified your statement yet again.

“Yes?” This time he freed his hand of items completely and looked you dead in the eye.

“Explain.”

“E-Explain? Well, I mean, we’re roommates and all, habiting the same space. It only makes sense that we do things we each other once in a while.”

“So you expect a transaction.”

“A transaction…? Huh? No! This isn’t some kind of business deal or whatever. No, I do not expect anything back from you. I am doing this for you because I want to. There’s nothing more to it.” There was no response from Zandik, and he was silent as if he was trying to process what you just said, which was rather cute.

“I do not understand.”

You mentally sighed. “That’s fine, for now. I’m gonna whip something up anyway.” Before he could protest further, you disappeared into the tiny kitchen the Akademiya’s dorms provided.

You had to think of a suitable snack. He probably wouldn’t eat it if it was too cumbersome and distracting from whatever he was doing. He needed some kind of finger food… and you had just the idea. You believed that when you were a struggling Akademiya student, it was only natural to have some good recipes up your sleeve.

Samosas. Delicious bite-sized pieces of goodness. Although they would take a bit to make, you didn’t think Zandik would care. He hardly realized the difference between minutes and hours when he was in this kind of scientific state. And you were glad you stocked up the pantry with your own products because you really had no idea how Zandik lived in these conditions.

Soon enough, you had made a portion for him (and secretly snuck a few for yourself) and you had also made a piping hot cup of coffee, a student’s best friend of course. You then plated it and brought it to your roommate, setting it down in front of him wordlessly, to which he seemed surprised.

Zandik did not realize you were even still doing that. He thought you were bluffing. But now that such aromatic food was right in front of him, his stomach came to life and he noticed the dryness of his throat. With squinted eyes, he tentatively picked up one of the samosas and inspected it. (Did he think you poisoned it or something?) But then he popped one into his mouth and began to chew experimentally. His face did not betray his emotions, but your questions were answered by his next actions.

“Hmm,” he said matter-of-factly, before nomming on another samosa. You peered at him from the top bunk bed as he polished off the bowl of samosas rather quickly. Now, he was waiting for the coffee to cool.

“Sooooo, how was my cooking?” you questioned, already internally knowing the answer even if he didn’t admit it.

“It was convenient,” he admitted. Most of the time, Zandik did not cook for himself, as he found the process a waste of time when he could be doing other things. 

“I’m glad. And the taste?”

“It was fine.” Actually, it was far more than fine. The constant consumption of the easiest food to make had dulled his taste buds and made him accustomed to bland food. Though your food was quite tasty, Zandik was not about to let you get a big head now.

“Just fine? Seemed like you scarfed them down pretty quickly,” you teased.

“The quicker I eat, the quicker I am able to devote my full attention to the research,” he corrected you. You pouted but still felt pleased.

“Then I’ll make something for you every day.”

He felt on guard again at your kindness. “Why?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t I already say? ‘Cause we’re roommates and all, and also soon-to-be friends. And friends usually help each other out, yeah? And also because I’m kind of worried how you eat the same thing over and over.” 

He immediately frowned at your proposal. “I am not your friend. And never will be.”

You shrugged your shoulders and moved to lie down instead, pulling the blankets over you. “Ehe, we’ll see. I have a way with words, you know!” You smiled and winked at him, to which you received a deadpan glare. “Good night, Zandik! Oh, and make sure to clean up afterward!”

“Hmph.”

Friend. He toyed with the word and idea in his head, mocking it internally. Friend… friend, as if that could ever be feasible. Of course not.

Zandik hated you.

III. possessiveness 

It had been a while since you moved in with Zandik, and he stopped treating you with disdain. Though, Zandik was Zandik, so you still got a tongue-lashing from time to time. (But you could never take him seriously anymore, which irritated him.)

Lately, though, he had begun to show you some of his research, and even begun to let you tinker with some of his stuff! Only while he was present of course, but you were elated. Though, he seemed to be enjoying this more than you somehow. You could ask one question and suddenly he’d be on a tangent. But you were just happy he was talking to you.

You had been upgraded from hated stranger to tolerable stranger to okay acquaintance in Zandik’s eyes. You had insisted on calling him your friend, to which he still did not understand, but for some reason he allowed it. Perhaps it was because it felt nice.

Actually, you were a helpful, okay acquaintance. You frequently looked over his notes for him, correcting spelling and grammar errors from when he scribbled so fast. Tidied up his bed and work space too. The best part was that you had begun to run errands for him so he didn’t need to leave the dorm himself. After these series of events, you had declared yourself his assistant without even asking him first, but he supposed that was okay. He valued usefulness. And maybe your company a bit, too. And although he enjoyed silence the most, maybe he liked how nice your voice was in the background.

Today was one of those days where he waited for you to get back from an errand. It was quick and easy, and the seller wasn’t too far away. Like always, he occupied himself with his work and awaited your return, which proved to be fruitful as usual. But after a while, something did not feel right.

Zandik could not put his finger on it. Why did he have this feeling in the back of his mind? He was quite irritated at this itch he could not reach. Perhaps you would have-

That’s right. You. You. You. Where were you? That’s when he realized that you were gone longer than you usually were. To think that his body and mind would get so accustomed to your presence. He wasn’t sure whether to feel disgusted or not by this feeling.

He wondered what was the holdup. But there was naught he could do except wait. And wait. And wait. Until the jiggle of the doorknob drew his attention and you stepped through the door with the items he requested. 

“Hey, Zandik,” you greeted, locking the door behind you and dropping the bag on the table. He didn’t respond, but you didn’t think that was anything strange since he never cared much for greetings. “Got your stuff,” you continued your normal routine, kicking off your shoes and shedding your sweater, expecting the silence to continue.

“What took you so long?” You almost did a double-take when he spoke.

“What?”

“What took you so long?” he repeated.

“Oh, on the way back, some students stopped me and asked if I could explain some stuff to them. I guess I did take a bit longer than usual. Why?” you questioned. Did he really notice the difference? It hadn’t even been that long, maybe ten to fifteen minutes extra that you took. And plus, it’s not like you two were doing anything together. Just sitting in silence with metal clanking as usual.

When you did not get any response, you raised your eyebrows and tip-toed your way over to him to get a glimpse of his expression. It was mostly empty if you ignored the eye twitching and the downward curve. You had to dig your fingernails into your palm to control the chuckles. 

“Could it be… did you miss little old me, Zandik?”

“Perish the thought,” Zandik immediately interrupted before you could even finish your sentence. “Your whereabouts are not my concern,” he vehemently denied.

“Mhm, alright then.”

“I simply do not see why you need to talk to those so-called scholars. They are not worth the time or energy to even look at.”

Ah, there it was. So he was jealous. You understood now.

“Well, I was just doing what a normal, nice person would do.”

“The fact that you are still living with me proves you’re not normal. As for the nice part, you don’t need to do that for anyone.”

“Oh really? So what should I do, turn a blind eye to everyone else and save the sweet words for you?” you joked.

“Yes. Were you not the one who declared yourself as my assistant? Assistants always follow their seniors,” he stated matter-of-factly.

You were completely surprised at his mini confession, that if you spoke carelessly, you knew you’d stutter. But you weren’t complaining. You ignored the heat on your face, and matched his words.

“Hmm… I would say in that case, you can’t speak to anyone either, but it’s not like you do that anyway,” you said simply, biting down on your lip to prevent laughing. Zandik immediately scowled at your statement.

“I don’t need, want, or care to speak to anyone. But since you clearly need to be around these low-tier scholars, you can get out this instant.” You couldn’t help but double over with giggles now at his defensiveness and landed on Zandik’s bed. He huffed. You loved when he acted like this.

“Ah, I’m so glad I asked to dorm with you,” you giggled with a dopey grin. Zandik paused his work, taking in what you just said.

“You… what?”

You turned to lay on your side and propped yourself up on your arm. “Hmm? Did I say something strange?” you questioned.

“You chose to live here? With me, of your own choice? I knew it was strange when the counselor chose me of all people. Surely there were others available?” Zandik was utterly baffled as he had now temporarily abandoned his tinkering to gauge your expression.

“Yes! Shall I recount the exact events for you?” Without waiting for an answer, you prattled on. “Okay so, I went to the counselor lady and she wanted me to dorm with this random guy, and I was like okay cool, but then I got this little sneak peek of the list she had and I saw your name in fancy handwriting. And then I was like, hey, that’s the smart cute morally dubious guy that I hear people talking about! So then I said, nah, give Zandik to me instead please- hey, why is your face kind of red?” 

You ended your little rambling and sat up straight, leaning into your roommate’s face. “Hey, are you embar-” Before you could finish your sentence, he quickly spun back around to face his desk, trying to block out your incessant giggling.

“Shut up,” he hissed in reply, quick to defend himself. “No one in this school would willingly live with me.” And how dare you call him that? That… c-word.

“Well,” you clutched your chest to prevent any more laughter, “That’s clearly not true anymore, because I’ve been here for quite a while! But wow, your face!” You toppled back onto his bed grinning. He swore you were brain-dead. 

Zandik hated you.

IV. like-mindedness

Zandik did not like being in public. That was something you came to realize and understand rather quickly. For the most part, you had no qualms with it. You were quite content with bantering with him in the privacy of the dorm or in the desert or forest looking for whatever specimens he wanted. There were no distractions, no other people to give you weird stares or looks.

It was another normal day for you, and you came to realize that you’d actually been living with Zandik for quite a while. You liked to think that you two were rather close now. The time had flown by quickly for you, but apparently very long for others. To say people were baffled was an understatement. 

People were shocked, fascinated, intrigued, fearful, any word you could think of, at how you managed to dorm with Zandik and still be alive, mentally and physically. Many people even applauded you for managing to live with Zandik for so long. You had people coming up to you asking for tips on how you confronted your fears so easily. The crazier ones even wanted to write a paper on your mental fortitude. (Thankfully your roommate hadn’t found out about that yet.)

Today, however, the two of you decided to stop by Puspa Café after class. It was a nice day to dine outside, and the coffee and food there was excellent. You had no complaints, especially since this was your first time doing this kind of thing with Zandik. It was going quite well, as the two of you read over your notes in silence until whispers began to penetrate the tranquility.

“Hey, look over there. Is that Zandik?”

“Oh wow, you’re right! This is my first time seeing him outside of class.”

“Really? This is my first time seeing him in general.”

“Well yeah, he only goes to class and then back to his dorm. Everyone knows he’s a freak.” Their blathering continued and you twitched your eye, unable to concentrate. You peaked at Zandik but he looked unbothered.

“We’re right in front of them and can still talk about you like that?” You were simultaneously shocked and impressed at their audacity and stupidity. Zandik simply shrugged his shoulders, his uncaring attitude shining through as he was practically immune to these kinds of scenarios now. You huffed and flipped a page in your book. Sometimes you wished you could borrow some of his ability to not care what people think.

But there was only so much you could take. And Archons above, these scholars and their incessant talking were annoying. You had no idea how Zandik could continue to read so intently with this racket. At least he was more pretty when he was quiet.

Slowly you stood up, and Zandik glanced at you, a bit confused but not too interested, still absorbed in his own book. His eyes returned to the text, but then he heard a loud thump from the side. Now more of his attention was on you, as he saw you now closed the thick book shut.

“[Name]?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow. You were now retrieving some Mora, probably for the bill, and laying it on the table. “Do you have business to attend to?”

“Business? You know what, yes, yes I do,” you chuckled a bit eerily. “But it’ll only take a couple of seconds.” With that, you picked up the textbook and lifted it up and down like a weight. Finally, you positioned yourself properly and raised your arm toward the direction of the student.

You threw the fucking textbook.

It was a sight that Zandik would never forget. A heavy book that would hurt anyone’s arm from lugging it around, flew through the air, and with uncanny precision, knocked the scholar right in the face.

It was dead silence for a few seconds.

And then chaos.

Screams erupted from the other students at the table at the sight of their fallen friend. A commotion was born as people scrambled to the boy. Zandik was having a bit of trouble comprehending what just happened. Yes, he just understood that you just threw a textbook at a guy, but he did not understand at the same time. Even he knew not to harm someone in public. (Private was a different case.) And you did it with no hesitation, no logical thought process of what would happen. It was an activity far from what most scholars did.

While he was in a little stupor, you quickly pushed your papers into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “Hey! Teyvat to Zandik! Don’t just sit there! We have to leave the scene!” you scolded him, taking initiative and stuffing his work into his bag as well. He wasn’t the most pleased with how you treated his precious research material but that was only a fleeting thought compared to what just occurred. You threw his bag over your shoulder as well and cursed at how heavy his damn textbook was. But what he did not expect was what you did next.

Rolling your shoulders back to prepare yourself for the weight, you then grabbed his hand and started pulling him away. 

Zandik then had no words to describe his emotions. He could only focus on the prickles that arose from all over his body at such prolonged and close contact with you. He was used to your teasing - running your hands through his hair on occasion, or leaning in close to his ear to whisper something, but this simply broke his scale. He felt as though he was moving unconsciously, feet moving in sync with yours, and he had no idea how to feel or even understand this phenomenon. 

“Hey, I know you can walk faster than that!” Your voice snapped him out of his unfamiliar sensations, and that’s when he realized what was happening. You had actually managed to drag him so far along that you were both probably halfway through the city looking like complete, bumbling fools. And you were still holding his hand, and that’s when he realized again how lovely you looked in this moment. He quickly discarded those thoughts.

“Release me this instant, [Name],” he threatened, immediately putting his vexed look back up. He could feel your warmth penetrating his whole body just from your hand.

“Sure, sure~! Let’s turn into this alley to hide,” He could tell that was a complete lie because your laugh was so loud it probably rang out all the way to Port Ormos. Zandik scoffed and bit his lip to prevent a smile.

Soon enough, you both reached a secluded part of the city, away from all the hustle and bustle and caught your breath. You slid down a wall in relief and closed your eyes while Zandik had his eyes trained on you for what you just put him through.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he raised an eyebrow at your crazy behavior. You peeked at him and put your hand on your chin, in a thinking position.

“Hmm… well, that was quite fun, was it not?!” you tried to keep a straight face but you could not help but laugh at your friend’s incredulous expression.

“You- we, we are going to get in trouble with the dean you know. And the counselors,” he said, trying to bite down the smile that kept rising when he remembered the expression on the assaulted student’s face.

“We’ll be fineeeee,” you shrugged your shoulders and stretched your letters. “Haven’t you gotten into more trouble with the head administration with your little controversial experiments? Besides, if we’re lucky, he’ll be too scared to report the incident,” you laughed, completely nonchalant about what you just did.

“Hmph. The blame is on you if anything happens,” he attempted to speak in an irritated voice, but he could not help but be amused. A bit elated, even. There were many people he wanted to see get chucked with a textbook. And do worse things too.

But a bit of the thrill came from how you did that with no hesitation. It was a… strange feeling to have someone do that for him. Actually, this whole relationship was strange. You were strange. Even he felt strange. He was honestly a straight-up asshole to you sometimes, like he was to everyone else. But that didn’t drive you off. You still did things for him. You still spoke to him. You didn’t want anything in return, not money, not knowledge, not relics, but perhaps what you did want was-

Zandik stopped that line of thoughts in its tracks, trying to ignore how his hand was all tingly from you holding it. Things were fine this way, he declared. He could not admit he was enamored with you. Nothing needed to change. He had to maintain his view of you, otherwise… 

“You know, I’m surprised I even got you to do that. Did you hit your head too?”

“Shut up.”

Zandik hated you.

(You two did get into trouble. The Akademiya assigned you an apology essay which Zandik refused to do so you had to write two separate essays for each of you. With some begging, he did your homework for you in return, and somehow managed to get the blood stain off of that textbook you had thrown. You didn’t question where he learned that.)

V. kindness

It had been years since that fateful day, the time when you first moved in with Zandik. The Akademiya was a long and arduous grind, but that was to be expected. Your friendship with Zandik was one you cherished more than most things.

To say the two of you were close was an understatement. You still remember the counselor’s expression when you told her how well the two of you were getting along, and that there was no need for you to ever switch roommates. You think she became afraid of you too after that.

Tonight was a relaxed night. Zandik and you were not doing any work, simply laying side by side on his bed. (Even though he always threw fierce words at you, you knew he liked your touch.)

In the beginning, you would never be able to tear him away from that desk, but with time comes new things. You were just happy he was getting more hours of sleep.

The two of you lied in the dark as usual, simply enjoying the cool Sumeru breeze and the muffled noises from the city. You learned to grow content with these simple moments. But tonight you felt like talking.

“Hey, Zandik?”

“Hm?”

“Remember when you met me?” You could feel his head shift to look at you, probably for asking such a dumb question.

“Yes, I do. Too well, actually.”

“What was your first impression of me?” you questioned, realizing you never actually asked him that.

“That you were quite annoying and a thorn in my side.”

Anyone else might have been hurt by these words, but you did not mind. He made it pretty obvious that was how he felt in the beginning anyway, so it was no surprise. “But what about now?”

“You’re fine.” Even in the dark, he could feel your pout and pleading eyes. “And your intelligence and helpfulness deserve to be praised, I suppose.” And then he could feel your smile grow as your face was partially on his shoulder. From then the conversation flowed through many things. That research paper you two were working on, some kind of experiment he wanted to do on you (he swore it was painless), about that one scholar who was always annoying during the lectures.

The more you spoke, the more you realized how much of your life centered around being with Zandik here. You didn’t know if you ever wanted to graduate. To ever be apart from him.

“You know, I’ve been thinking. How long do you think we’ll live here?”

“Hmm, it’s hard to say. The benefits the Akademiya provides are far too good to let go of now. Speaking of that, there’s somewhere I want to visit.” 

“Oh, you mean those hidden ruins you think are connected with Khaenri’ah?” How nice it would be if you could just drape your arm over his chest.

“Yes. Though I don’t know if the Akademiya will let me make another trip back to the desert as of right now,” he pondered.

“Are you referring to how you’ve been on the Matra’s watch list for years? So they started following you everywhere?” you giggled.

“Not just me. You too, [Name],” he rolled his eyes. “At least I never threw a book at someone in public.” You pouted and playfully punched his arm.

“C’mon, that was so long ago! You can stop bringing it up!” you whined. He would never let that go, huh? The conversation died down from there, but it was a comfortable silence, which you loved. After that little banter, your eyes began to droop and you yawned. Zandik glanced at you.

“Tired?” You nodded and blearily rubbed your eyes.

“Sleep, then,” he commanded, and you had no qualms with following that. Soon enough, Zandik was the only one left awake, staring out at the open window. He had found these little resting sessions of yours good for clearing his mind. He closed his eyes too. 

Two people, on the same tiny, college-sized bed, arms brushing each other and talking nonchalantly. Totally, two good friends.

Friends. Friends, friends, friends. Long ago, the word left a distasteful feeling in his mouth, and it still did, but not for the reason he originally felt. Now, what he desired was more complicated.

Zandik hated you.

VI. endless

Zandik knew he would be expelled from the Akademiya soon, for the crimes he committed. And yet, instead of preparing for any future plans, he found himself following the directions of a note you left on his workbench. Meet me at our usual spot, 8 PM.

He was a busy man, more so in soon-to-be exile. He didn’t have time for your frivolous games. But for some reason, he found himself heading over to the cliff anyway. It was dark outside, but the stars illuminated your figure, and that was when he noticed the basket next to you as well. You noticed him and sat up eagerly.

“Hey, you made it! I was worried you wouldn’t come, to be honest.”

“...What is this?”

“Eh? A picnic, of course. The weather is real perfect for one.”

He was so astonished that the laugh building in his throat could not come out immediately. Surely you were aware of what he had done? Practically everyone in the Akademiya knew. You couldn’t walk for five minutes without hearing rumors floating around. Or perhaps you were that oblivious?

“Oh really?” His familiar, eerie laugh that you loved finally rang out. “Did a Ruin Guard finally toss you around well enough? Only an idiot wouldn’t know what I’ve-”

“I mean, do killers not like picnics anymore?” You replied so nonchalantly, he was actually a bit shocked. 

“You’re… you’re frustrating,” he murmured.

The way you managed to make him so tongue-tied all the time made him itch to put you in your place, to snap back somehow, but he found himself unable to lately. Actually, he struggled to do that for a while now, and he despised how you made him feel like a bumbling fool.

“Heh, perhaps some of your unhingedness rubbed off on me,” you shrugged, patting down the spot next to you. “Look, I made samosas for you again.”

The blanket was soft and comfy, and though he didn’t care much for the flavors of food, he did enjoy your cooking. You continued to polish off your meal before you spoke again.

“So, I hear you’re going to be expelled soon.”

“Correct. Though I care little for this place, it’s a shame to lose a suitable environment for my research.”

“Have you decided where you’re going? I’m sure you’re not planning to stay exiled in the desert for the rest of your life,” you hummed. “Leaving this country, perhaps?”

“That seems to be the most logical action. There is nowhere in this nation that would fund my research.”

“I see. You’re going far away from here.” Zandik nodded in reply, but the more he thought about it, the more irritated he felt. Far away from here meant far away from you.

To think he felt no remorse for murder but he felt a tingle of emotion (sadness? regret? anger?) at no longer being with you. Whatever it was, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He loathed to admit it, but he enjoyed your company. He enjoyed dragging you out of bed in the morning, and he enjoyed you dragging him to bed at night. He enjoyed your bantering, your inquisitive nature towards his work. He enjoyed being the only person you’d treat like this and having one person to himself. Zandik enjoyed you, thoroughly and fully.

“Well, keep me updated. I already got my bags packed and ready to go.” 

“What?” A quirk of yours, he realized, was being able to leave him surprised at the most unpredictable times. Although scholars must plan for every possibility, he found it difficult to prepare for yours.

“I’m coming with you, of course. You’re gonna need your number one assistant with you. Hey, why’d you stop eating? We still need to get through the Padisarah Pudding.”

“You? Accompany me?” All of a sudden, everything made perfect sense. Yes, of course! You were right, he thought, as a fit of laughter overcame him. It was a splendid idea, one that pleased him immensely. Having you with him would be a great asset for his research. No one suited the role better than you. And you, in general, were… nice. You didn’t grate on his nerves like everyone else.

“Ha! Good! Amazing, even! I shall be sure to tell you when we depart from this nation of fools.” You raised your eyebrows at his sudden enthusiasm, but witnessing Zandik’s bursts of inspiration was nothing new to you either. 

“Well, glad to see you’re so keen on it,” you chuckled. “But I have a request. Actually, it’s more like something I have to say to you before we embark on this. It’s crucial, really.”

“Oh? Do tell.” He wasn’t rich, but he had the ability to procure a wide variety of items. The Nation of Wisdom was more corrupt than one would think. But he did wonder what you would ever want. You didn’t chase after material goods like the majority of humans.

“To be frank, I like you,” you declared, looking right into his eyes. At that moment, it felt like the world had gone silent. The wind stopped blowing, the animals lied low, the grass no longer rustled. “I like you. I want to be more than just friends with you,” you stated bluntly. You felt that getting straight to the point was the best course of action with Zandik, since many things besides his research and manipulating people tended to go over his head.

“So, what do you say?”

There was no response. You attempted to build your case.

“By the way, did you think I’d go through all this trouble if I didn’t want to be with you? I didn’t dorm with you for no reason, you know.”

“...”

“For such a smart guy, you aren’t very good at this, are you? Well, I can’t be too mad. I’ve been dealing with the denseness for a few years now. You know, I’ve been making the first moves this whole time.”

“...” 

The lack of response was beginning to make you nervous. You preferred the maniacal laughter of rejection at this point. “H-hey, I’d like a reply, you know. You don’t need to accept-”

Zandik thought. And he found that the words he spoke next were genuine.

“I find you… agreeable as well.”

You couldn’t help but throw your head back and laugh, shoulders now relaxed. “Why, such an amazing compliment from the high and mighty Zandik has me even more lovestruck!” He wanted to be mad, he really did, but it was at this moment he understood what it meant to be mesmerized by another person. He had found himself mesmerized by ancient machines, ruins, texts, his research. But he truly found you beautiful, your giggles echoing through the night.

“I’m agreeable, yes?” You turned to face him, your body leaning in closer to his. “Am I agreeable enough to do… this?” You tentatively glided your fingers over his hand, gauging to see how far Zandik would let you go. He stiffened at the foreign contact, clearly unused to it, but let you continue.

“What about this?” You slid your hand up and down his arm, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time. He tried not to show any emotions, besides a half-hearted scowl, but you could still see the red tips of his ears. He was so cute.

You scooted closer to him and let your other hand rest on Zandik’s thigh. “I think I’m much more than agreeable in your books,” you teased, cupping his cheek. He scoffed in response but did nothing to refuse your advancement. You leaned in and connected your lips with your lover’s. It felt damn good. Zandik had no idea what he was doing, but it was endearing nonetheless. You kissed him again, and again, and he reciprocated, albeit a little awkwardly. Your heart soared as you pulled away, and placed a few final kisses on his cheeks.

“Now, how did that feel?” You already knew the answer to that, of course. You knew Zandik for a long time, and could tell when he was in a shitty mood, a bad mood, a grumpy one, an excited one, a happy one, and much more. This mood was one you haven’t seen until now, but it sure was a good one. Completely flustered was a great look on him.

“I… I cannot come to a definitive answer as of now. I would say that I need to carry out some more experiments to reach a conclusion.”

“Oh? Then I’m a willing participant for however long as you want,” you smiled, finding comfort in his soft, teal locks. 

And that’s when Zandik truly realized. You were more tolerable than the rest. You were bearable enough to want to keep you around forever. Smart enough for him to desire to hear your honeyed voice. Soft enough to want to feel your skin against his. Ah, he would never say it though, as he brushed his lips over yours once again.

Zandik loved you.

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[grandline-fics]

If request are open, could I ask for a pt. 2 of the siren song/hearing you sing, for Law, Marco and Ace please?

DESCRIPTION: The first time they hear you sing captivates them

WARNINGS: None

CHARACTERS: Law, Marco, Ace, Crocodile, Kid

WORDS: 2,612

A/N: Thank you for this request, I'm fond of this idea so I'm glad to revisit it with more characters. I hope you like what I came up with for these guys

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

LAW

When Law begins to ponder things he’s relentless until his curiosity is sated and the answer he sought was his. Usually these pursuits in knowledge took a small amount of time to accomplish because of how driven he would be and what he needed to know would be in one of the many hefty books in his, nestled somewhere amongst the thin papers and tiny printed words. However if the clear answer wasn’t there, at the very least his books pointed him in the right direction of an island or person who could tell him what his mind was currently fixated on knowing. This current question however could not be revealed to him through books or other masters of particular fields of intellect. No, the only person who could relieve him of this question was you. The question: what did you sound like when you sang?

It had honestly been something he’d never given much thought before. The cause for the nagging question had come one evening when he’d emerged from his study one evening and came across Bepo who was in a more cheerful mood than normal. Curious about the clear change in his navigator, Law couldn’t help but ask for the cause. It surprised Law to hear your name come from Bepo’s mouth. Then the surprise became confusion, you’d been part of the crew for a while now, why would you suddenly affect him? Obviously needing more information, Bepo continued. “I heard them sing! They’re amazing, it’s put me in a great mood ever since.”

While Law knew music could affect a person’s mood, he hadn’t seen something so strong which began to stir his curiosity more. Already he wanted to hear your singing for himself, mostly to see if the change in mood was something that happened for everyone that heard it but also because on the slightly childish reason he was annoyed Bepo had heard you sing before he had. He was aware of his attraction to you and to know that you were a singer only furthered his interest in getting to know you better. However he couldn’t just order you to sing for him, that’d be overstepping things entirely and while he was your Captain, he wasn’t going to act like you were his to order about to please his personal whims. No, if he was to hear you it would have to come about naturally. 

Sadly he wasn’t able to hear you for himself right away. With the current layout of the crew’s work patterns and the long stretch of travelling through a particularly turbulent part of the sea it meant everyone was laser focussed on their tasks to ensure the Polar Tang navigated the waters safely. This meant very little time for relaxing. For the duration of the journey everyone mostly ate their meals and went to bed in the spare windows of time they had between shifts. It wasn’t until the submarine surface at the new island that everyone let out a sigh of relief. Since you were the last one on watch you wanted more than anything to go and sleep. You could explore the island later and returned to the sleeping quarters while the others prepared for disembarking. 

Law knew the island was a peaceful one so he opted to stay behind while you slept, letting everyone else explore. He’d even let the Polar Tang stay above the water’s surface and enjoyed the quiet this rare occurrence brought. Without the echoing sound of the water enveloping the Tang, without the sounds of footsteps against the metal floors and heavy doors shutting, and without the constant whirl and hum of the engines and computers, Law found himself enjoying the  peace as he lay on his sofa, eyes closed in contentment. Then he finally heard the answer to the question. 

Through the empty corridors, the song broke out and carried itself clear and alluring. Law sat upright and looked to his partly opened door as your remarkable voice practically called to him, pulling him from his seat and urging him to come closer to the source and he went oh so willingly, it was practically hypnotic. In a blink it seemed, he was standing in the doorway leading to the stairwell that would take him to the top deck. There you sat on one of the steps, singing perfectly and smiling when you saw him approach. When the song came to it’s natural end you had a look of satisfaction on your face. 

“I’ve always been curious about how good the acoustics were when the ship was silent. Definitely better than I’d hoped.” You explained. Law couldn’t help but chuckle, glad that both of you had found the answers to the questions you’d had and that for both of you it was more than worth the wait.

MARCO

Truth be told Marco hadn’t really paid you much notice when you first joined the Whitebeard Pirates. He learned your name and face at the first introduction and some of your medical history out of necessity but because you were in Izou’s division, everything else about you was a mystery and not exactly one he’d be in a hurry to unravel. For the first months of your recruitment, polite conversation only happened in the groups and parties on and off the ship. There wasn’t much one on one time between you both so you just melded into the background for the most part, only coming into view when you were needed. As long as you were loyal to the family that was the crew, pulled your weight and worked hard that was all that mattered. 

Then after a while, Marco did begin to take a slight notice. In fights you were capable and swift, able to act without hesitation while also making sure you weren’t acting foolishly and out of impulse. Everything you did had a purpose. You also had a good sense of humour and attitude that allowed you you settle in amongst the others quickly. You also weren’t afraid of voicing your own opinion and were ready to argue your point if something disagreed with you. Sometimes he’d find himself on the receiving end of that but anything you gave him, he’d return in kind. There was no real animosity between you both, any arguments between you were swiftly settled and you both returned to your own coexistence on the ship. 

Sometime along the way, Marco began to notice that Whitebeard held a certain soft spot for you, he couldn’t exactly pinpoint where it came from or when but it had left him curious about it all the same. Still, he didn’t pry into Pops’ reasoning for this. Whitebeard’s business was his own, for all Marco knew you simply reminded him of someone from his past. Knowing he’d probably never know, Marco pushed the curiosity and settled his mind on the things that were important such as the care of Pops and the crew. 

Then one night when Pops’ pain had flared to the point he found himself unable to sleep and not even the soothing flames of Marco’s Devil Fruit could remove the ailment entirely, Whitebeard asked for you. It wasn’t long before the nurse that had been sent to get you reappeared with you following close behind. With a kind smile, you approached his enormous bed and sat on the edge with enough room to ensure there was space for Pops to remain undisturbed. 

“Rough night Pops?” You asked with a knowing look. 

“Could say that, or maybe I just wanted my children to fuss over me a little more.” Whitebeard grinned, always trying to reassure and keep things light. Despite his words, he dismissed the nurses until it was just you and Marco in the room with him. 

“So what will I start with tonight?” You asked gently. “Your favourite one from home?”

“Yeah, always like that one.” Whitebeard nodded, letting his eyes close so he could focus on Marco’s flames while you began to sing. 

Marco’s eyes widened at the sound of your voice, so strong and yet so sweet, pulling his focus from Pops’ face to look fully at you. You controlled your singing expertly, the sound just as reassuring and soothing to Pops, the song one he’d known since a boy, comforting him as an extra salve to his discomfort. Another form of healing and just as powerful as the Phoenix who continued to look at you in awe, with fresh eyes and he couldn’t help but think it was such a shame he’d allowed you to fall into the background for so long. Perhaps if he’d given you more notice sooner, he’d have been there the night Whitebeard had heard your singing while you were perched up in the Crow’s Nest and understood his soft spot for you from the beginning. 

When you finished your song, Marco uttered out a single word. “Beautiful.” You whirled your head around to finally meet his stare, eyes widened and lips parted in surprise. Cursing inwardly Marco cleared his throat and quickly looked away from the force of your eyes that he now found just has much power over him as your singing did. “The song.” He added, trying to recover his brief slip, not wanting to make you uncomfortable around him. “Pops is sleeping now. You can go back to bed if you want.” 

Slowly you looked away from Marco and you smiled to see Pops’ chest rising and falling steadily, already fast asleep and thankfully looking more peaceful than he had been. Still you remained where you sat and shook your head. “Nah, I’ll stay. He might wake up again.” You explained before looking back to Marco smiling at him, trying not to seem too eager. “You got a favourite song Doc?”

“A few…” Marco admitted with a relaxed smile, glad you had decided to stay.

ACE

It took a lot to get Ace angry; unwarranted and unnecessary violence to innocent civilians who couldn’t defend themselves was one thing, disrespect to Whitebeard was another. When someone somehow managed to combine both things at once? He was beyond furious. His hands shook as he stared at the townspeople trying to help each other whether with medical aid or helping to clean up what was ruined and find what was still salvageable. Ace ground his teeth together and balled his hands into tight fists, flames rippling over his arms in growing fury. “I’ll fucking kill them.” He snarled, beginning to step forward.

“Woah, woah there hothead.” You quickly darted in front of him and stopped his advance towards the ruined town centre. “Take a breath and calm yourself.” 

“Calm?” Ace demanded looking at you in anger. “This is Pops’ territory and someone’s attacked it. Look behind you! We have to get those bastards back it and these people!” Only a small group of you had been sent out to the island to investigate reports of an unallied ship sailing close. By the time you’d arrived, they’d already docked and begun to wreck havoc. None of you could let this stand. It startled Ace to see you weren’t taking it seriously, instead you were fixing your anger on him. 

“Take your own advice, Ace and look behind you.” You snapped harshly. “These people are terrified. We need to support them first, they’ve had enough of seeing violent pirates for one day. Pops’ people are the priority.”

“But-” Ace’s mind began to clear slightly from the angered haze that had settled over his eyes when he glanced behind you to look at the civilians. He took a slow breath and sighed. “I just want to make them pay.”

“Those nobodies aren’t getting away, we destroyed their ship the second we docked. They’re trapped here and the others will track them down in no time. Come on, let’s do what we can here first. These people need to see friendly faces.”

Ace hated how you were right. Taking another breath he calmed himself of his outward fury and nodded, signalling you to start walking towards the town. By the time the both of you came into their line of sight, you saw their initial panic fall away to relief. The older members of the town recognising you immediately and hurrying over. From them you learned that those who attacked hadn’t realised the island was Whitebeard’s territory until the sound of your ship approaching reached them. When they learned of their mistake they fled into the forest and mountains nearby. While you were glad it hadn’t been intended to be a declaration of war against Whitebeard, their attack would not be forgiven and their fates were sealed. 

Still though, you and Ace kept your minds firmly on the people, first aiding their cleaning of the mess made. Your calm personality and Ace’s naturally charming nature swiftly allowed the civilians to relax and fall into conversation with you, leading those that had been hiding with the children to come out. Immediately the children flocked to you and Ace in excitement, knowing they were safe. You grinned to see the youngsters ultimately decide in unison that Ace was the perfect target to climb on and a laugh broke from your lips to see four children were hanging onto his outstretched arms for dear life while their legs dangled in the air. 

You were happy to see that the children had managed to distract Ace from his earlier anger just as much as he had served to erase the fear these people held. Already you could feel the shift in energy and just as you’d finished the cleaning, the others in your group appeared triumphant with the news that the pirates that had attacked had been swiftly dealt with. Now in the need to celebrate, food was prepared and furniture was assembled to create an impromptu party to celebrate and turn the bad day into a good one. 

When the food was served you took pity on the children who still excitedly clung and pulled Ace who while was having fun, wanted nothing more than to eat and enjoy the meals he could smell. The others in his group, his family cruelly taunted him by declaring how good their food tasted. You laughed and rolled your eyes, taking pity on him faster than the others. You approached one of the townspeople who you’d helped locate his missing guitar and sat beside him, asking him to play a song you knew. Immediately his face broke out into a grin, he played the quick and cheerful song and you started to sing. 

Like a flick of a switch all of the children and Ace’s heads snapped towards you, immediately fixated with the sound. Some of the adults had even started to dance to the song. In all the time Ace had known you, flirted with you, adventured with you, how had he not known you sang? Even more, how had he never know you sang so beautifully? Even with him now free from the swarm of children who’d demanded his attention he was following them to where you were seated and singing, unable to look away and completely lost in the power of your voice. There was nowhere else he could possibly find himself wanting to go.

From their spot at the table, the remaining members of Whitebeard’s pirates in the group grinned at Ace’s expression and utter captivation in you. Slowly they shook their head at how their Division Commander was obviously smitten with you. They were already aware of his feelings for you and that was before he’d heard you sing. He was powerless against you.

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

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[punjabexim]

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[citrusai]

how hungry i always am.

summary: as vought starts deteriorating under his leadership, homelander finds a "secret weapon" that stan edgar had been hiding. unfortunately for him, he has no idea what kind of trap he's walking into.

warnings: 18+! NSFW! dub-con. mind manipulation. emotional manipulation. mommy issues.

wc: 1.9k

a/n: afab character, but i kept the descriptors of appearance vague so feel free to self insert. idk where i'm taking this piece yet. as always, crossposted on ao3!

He’s unaware this is all a dream, a façade, too engrossed in the sensation of love, and pleasure.

She pokes and prods at the most sensitive parts of him, his brain, lungs, intestines, heart.

“You’re my special boy, John.” Her voice a soft murmur against his ear.

He moans out a noise of disapproval.

“No, not John.” She chuckles, fingers carding through his messy hair. “Homelander.”

He cannot feel the true nature of her touch, her hands wrist deep inside his innards, as she toys with them between her fingers.

No, what he feels is pure unadulterated pleasure, her on top of him, riding him slowly.

She cannot say why she chose him, to play with him, to prod and desecrate his body, his mind. He’s not particularly intelligent, and his mind holds no value in that regard, but the sweet, sweet smell of desperation rolls off of him like a perfume.

He wants to be loved, and appreciated. He wants to be held, and told he’s mommy’s good boy. He wants somebody to cradle him, to nurture him and to tell him he is all right, all powerful.

And who is she to deny him of this?

Homelander surrounds himself with sycophants, people clawing and toiling away for his approval. His rage decimates everything in its path, anyone who’s seen as expendable is garbage, waste.

He’s so used to taking, being forceful. It’s only fair she takes something from him too.

Vought has no use for her, or so they claim. Her power is volatile, it is ugly. Although she seldom stains her hands with blood, it’s much worse to invite the people to celebrate somebody who could turn them into a vegetable at will.

Locking her away would be fruitless, and so they let her enjoy the privileges of freedom, at a cost. She is there, when the Seven fuck up. She is there when a politician or a foreign government official needs a nudge.

Homelander meets her when Vought starts crumbling with him at its head. He’s briefed by some assistant about a secret Edgar had been keeping in some shitty upstate house. He doesn’t know what he expected, truly.

They had shared with him the coordinates, and he spared no thought about going down there.

He had walked into the house as if it were his own, sauntering through the rooms. It looked sterile, something more like the bad room he would be kept in than a place to live.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

Homelander hears her before he sees her, and when he does gaze upon her the view feels foggy. It’s as if she is many people all at once, her face, her body shifting before his very eyes. But no, that’s not right. When she touches him she’s real, tangible, all her curves and all her features.

“Who the fuck are you?” His tone is clipped, fists clenched at his sides.

All he hears is a laugh as she reaches to grasp his chin between her two fingers. “I’m you, silly.”

She can feel the anger radiating off of him, his gaze reddening as he attempts to laser her head off. The disappointment and surprise tastes delicious on her tongue.

“If this is some fucking trick-“

“No tricks, just me, just you, just two Gods.”

The use of the word gods gives him pause. Homelander rolls his shoulders, but his body feels like jello. “You’re not a god.” He speaks, tongue heavy in his mouth.

“No? Then why are you putty in my hands?”

Maybe this is when she chose him. The sensation of him pulling away, trying to untangle himself from her mind tendrils. Most of the people she’s had the displeasure of subduing or lobotomizing hardly fight back. Drenched in panic and fear, they succumb to her like prey.

In his own right, he is special, she thinks. Beneath all the bravado, the self-hatred and pain, there is something in there that makes her want to spare him.

This was one of Edgar’s tricks. Send Homelander to her safe house, subdue him, and do as you wish with the corpse. But Edgar’s been indisposed, prison. Or so she hears. And although she doesn’t doubt he’ll be back soon, what’s the fun in not playing with one’s food?

Homelander sees what he wants to see, the soft glow of a mother’s love, a lover’s embrace. Yet it is not her who puts those ideas in his head, it’s he who wants to mould her that way. It’s how they end up on the couch.

And although she will not take physically, she has no qualms in feeding his delusions. She needn’t lift a finger.

Her free hand traces the curves of his mouth, and he sucks the digits in.

“You’re hungrier than I am.” She murmurs, hand inside his body going up, up, up, to graze his heart. “Or are you as hungry as I am?”

She takes her fingers out of his mouth to let him respond.

“I think I’m starved.” His voice is hoarse. “But not… in the physical sense.”

“I know, sweet boy.” One hand cascading down his face, the other tracing fingertips against his heart. “You want so much, yet it’s out of your reach, isn’t it?”

Homelander nods helplessly, and it’s endearing. He’s so soft, so sensitive under her. She would never go hungry again if she kept him beside her. And so she takes her hand out of his chest, and smears the blood across his mouth. He laps at it, eagerly.

“Do you want me to help you?”

And he nods once again, as if he’s lost the ability to speak.

“No, you have to say it.”

“I do.” It’s choked up. “I do want you, want you to help me, I need you to.”

She smiles, baring her teeth like an animal, her canines sharp, and it feels familiar. Except, it’s Homelander on the receiving end of the brutality, he is the one submitting to a higher power.

He holds onto her hips, fingers almost cracking the bone, were she a lesser being her hip-bone would’ve shattered. She offers the relief of freeing him from the illusion. Homelander feels disoriented, yet his cum-stained suit pants hold proof that at least a part of it was real, carnal.

She continues to straddle him, hands tracing his features. “I can give you anything, anything at all.”

“I already have everything.”

She tsks, “Not daddy’s approval, not mommy’s love, and your son…” She trails off. “What a mess.”

Homelanders hand clutches her throat, channelling all his strength in trying to break it. And all she does is laugh. A sound that should not make his heart constrict, should not fill him with warmth, but it does. It’s sharp, and light, and comforting.

“Do you need to hurt me?” She asks, head angled to stare down at him. “Will that satisfy your hunger?”

His grip slackens, and she leans in to nip at his nose, his lips, his chin. The hand that was around her neck slips down to her waist, pushing her closer to him.

“I don’t… I don’t know what I want.” The admittance comes as a whisper, as if it’s a dirty word.

She can taste him, the vulnerability, like a ripe berry in the summer. She kisses him, licking into his mouth, as her teeth sink into his bottom lip. Homelander hisses, one hand wrapped around her waist, the other sliding from her hip down to the curve of her ass.

The kiss is overwhelming, a part of him knows this is manipulation. But it feels good to let go, it feels nice to not be placated, to be put in his place as a subservient worshipper at her altar.

She breaks the kiss, breathing against his mouth, still.

“I know what you want.” She speaks. “At least, I know what I can give you in this moment.”

His gaze is half lidded as he watches her, her hand dropping down into his pants, gentle fingers touching his overstimulated member. But she makes no other move, simply holding it in her hand.

“But it’s not just sex you need, not just basic pleasure, is it?”

And he nods, words coming out as stutters rather than intelligent sentences.

“I can be whatever you want me to be. But you have to be what I want you to be.” She whispers.

“And what’s that?”

A meal, a toy, a plaything, an object she can play with then cast aside.

Instead she says, “Vulnerable, pliant, soft. I want you tender, for me only. And in return, I will give you all that you need.”

He studies her, and perhaps it is her effect on his mind, or his own thirst that has him drinking in her words like a man in a desert, but all he can mutter out is an okay.

She smiles, and strokes him gently. It doesn’t take much for him to cum again.

When she gets up, he feels at a loss. She moves around the space as if he isn’t even there. Hurt simmers in the pit of his stomach, and it climbs up his throat.

“Do you need me here, or there?” She asks, back turned to him, wiping down her bloodied and cum-stained hand.

“Why did Edgar keep you here?”

She throws the dirtied towel on the coffee table, standing above him. “Because Edgar doesn’t trust me, and he doesn’t want me in his head. So I stay here, where I can’t interfere unless I have to.”

Homelander looks around at the barren room, no pictures, the windows shut and blinds drawn. He remembers of his own time in the lab, the bad room, and he feels sick again. “You’re caged.” He says.

“I am. I was.” There is no hurt in her voice, no betrayal of how she feels. “But I was made for this. They brought me into the world to be a weapon. And you…” Her voice softens. “You were an experiment, an idea, a product.”

“And how can I trust you?” Homelander eyes her suspiciously.

“You can’t.” Her answer is definite, simple. “You can’t even trust that your words are your own right now, but isn’t it easier?” He doesn’t reply, just continues looking at her, thoughts swirling in his head. “Is it not simpler to let me take the wheel now and again, to carry that burden for you? That’s what you need, isn’t it?”

And a dam inside him breaks. And he feels like a child again, tears brimming at his eyes. But he will not let her see him like this, so he makes quick movement to get up off of her couch, and she catches his cape in her hand before he can move further than two inches. Her hold is a titan grip, it feels like it immobilizes his entire body, or is it her using her mind on him? He doesn’t know.

“Answer me, John.” There is no malice in her voice, no undertone of a threat. He hears her step closer, arms wrapped around his middle, her cheek against his back.

His hand clutches hers, and he squeezes as if searching for reassurance. His voice wavering. “It is.”

“Good.” She nuzzles her cheek against him, taking in a breath. “I’m here now. You don’t have to burden yourself with Godhood alone.”

And when he tells her to come with him, she makes no sound of protest, and she does not ask to sit at the head of his table. And when the rest of the Seven watch their leader clutch her hand like a lifeline at every meeting, and take her everywhere with him as if she were a ragdoll, they make no comment, no noise.

And Homelander doesn’t feel so starved anymore.