#captain ephemeral

[waywardsou2]

╔═*.·:·.✧ Ephemeral ✧.·:·.*═╗

CT – 0010 | Captain Ephemeral

(art coming soon)

General Info

His identification code is CT – 0010. He has amber eyes, deep brown slightly grown out curly hair. He has a scar on his right check. He’s one of the more serious clones in the group but he still loves his brothers very much. He’s the second oldest technically and after their eldest brother died, who was like a father to the rest of them, he had to fill his brothers shoes. Which being a Captain and now a dad added so much extra stress onto his shoulders…sometimes he can’t take that pressure.

He is bisexual

Backstory

He is the oldest, but second out of the tube. He was named Captain once they graduated and was named leader of his squad by his brothers. He often fought with The Wolffe pack and the 501st but that was only when excess numbers were needed. His batch mates are some of the first. 0010. There is something strange about being the 10th clone of the first official batch made for the republic…something he couldn’t rap his head around, he also never understood how he was still alive considering he was so old (for a clone)

Due to the fact that him and his batch mates have such close and fresh copies of Jango’s DNA they are more durable, more sturdy. Despite their significant differences and often defective nature compared to Jango. They are some of the only people who go to meet Jango in person and they know the most about him (aside from the Kaminoans)

He learnt very quickly the Clones were property to most people, definitely to the Kaminoans and more or less to the Jedi, some were better than others but none were better than Master Kuiper. In his humble opinion. His Commander, was kind, courageous and ferice. He never put his men in positions where their life might be thrown away and he attempted to rescue every single Clone he could, even if they were past saving. His Commander made fighting in this war just a little easier…but he had his doubts. Being one of the first he had been here for a very long time. He had seen much of the war, and yet it still didn’t make sense to him. They were out there, day and night fighting with everything they had for a war that had nothing to do with them. The Senators talked about how to end the war whilst he was out there fighting it, and it never felt like either fronts were accomplishing things. But he kept up his spirits and didn’t tell his brothers such things.

Very early on during their Cadet days they had another brother Pluto, but a parasite somehow made it’s way into his tube and affected his brain. He aged just fine and was better than all of them when it came to their training, but he was different. At least that’s what the Kaminoans had told him. And the parasite affected his brain so bad that he was in constant pain and had to be put down.

(No one knows this wasn't true at all and he was actually a force sensitive clone, that is currently sitting in a bacta tank fully grown constantly being tested on)

[miraculous-prompts]

Write a Crack Post-Reveal, Post Hawk Moth defeat, Post-Relationship, 1940's AU fic featuring Jessica as Ephemeral going to the beach with Sentibug as Captain Hardrock

[rcmclachlan]

Can you imagine what Tommy looked like when he went in for his shift later that day?

(8x11 coda)

+

When Kinard walks into the locker room at the start of their shift, Lucy does a double take that would make Tex Avery weep with envy.

No one at Harbor would be able to say with a straight face that Kinard's been fully himself over the last few months, what with the wistful eyes and the almost complete lack of Independence Day quotes, but watching him stow his shit in his locker now, he looks diluted, like someone spilled water past the edges of his outline until he grew blurry and ephemeral. She has no idea what could've happened to make him look like this.

He shuts the door to his locker not with the cheerful flair with which he's done since she met him, or the way he's been doing it as of late: quick and perfunctory, like if he wastes even the slightest bit of movement, he'll be losing some kind of bet with himself. 

He shuts the door with a quiet click. Then he just stands there, hand on the handle. She's not even sure he's registered that she's in there with him.

"Kinard," Lucy says. "You good?"

It takes a second for it to penetrate, but she sees the moment it does. He blinks himself out of the fugue state and straightens up,  no expression on his face. He looks like the fucking Terminator. 

"Kinard," she says again, this time barking it out as forcefully as she thinks he can handle. That tone never fails to work on her brother's demon kids, and also Captain Ribiero.

"Donato." He says her name slowly, almost dreamily. He's as solid as a cloud. If she got off the bench and put her hand on his arm, it would fall right through him. "Do you remember the second time we flew together? The gas explosion at Park Fifth. Do you remember what you said to me after we got the kid out—Charlie?"

Wide-eyed, she stares at him, because he's never once brought up Park Fifth since it happened, mostly out of fear that she'd bludgeon him to death with the closest thing within reach for the reminder. It's been literally years since then, and the trust and rapport they've built has erased any hard feelings from that night.

"I asked..." She trails off with a grimace.

It hadn't been her finest moment, considering the kid had just died in his arms. It was her fault—for not listening to him when he wanted her to fly to the east side of the building, downwind, so he could get in and run to where little Charlie Kindstrom was trapped inside with a gas fire that wouldn't quit no matter what they threw at it. She had wanted to get in from the apartment window, have him attack it head-on, to save time, and she'd used her seniority to override him. They wasted precious minutes anyway, trying to get him inside by way of the one clear corner and somehow keep him from being flambéd. 

When they finally got Charlie on board, Kinard had been covered with ash and blood from where Charlie's skin had sloughed off during the transfer, and when Reina, their aeromedic, couldn't get her pulse back, he looked at Lucy with what, at the time, felt like blame. The guilt and frustration and the fact that this smart-ass fucking newbie was calling her out on her mistake, even though he wasn't, not really, got the best of her, got control of her mouth before she could wrestle them back.

"I asked if you ever got tired of being right all the fucking time."

He'd rocked back from it like he'd been slapped, eyes wide and hurt, red from the smoke and the loss, but he never answered her. Reina called time of death, and nobody said a word the entire flight to LA General. When they got back to Harbor, they had it out right there on the tarmac, then walked back inside, arms slung around each other, to find three of their teammates holding up pieces of paper with scores written on them. Nico gave them a 6.5, the fucker.

Now, she watches with wordless horror as a smile like a flatline slowly creeps across his face, eating everything in its path. He steps back from his locker.

"I do," he murmurs. "I really do."

Kinard exhales, then visibly steels himself, plates of armor sliding down, locking in, and then walks out into the hangar like nothing can touch him. Like nothing will touch him ever again. 

Realization hits, and it takes conscious effort to dig her nails out of her palm so she can grab her phone off the bench and open a very, very, very old text thread.

Blowing out a breath, she puts her phone on Do Not Disturb then slides it into her pocket so she can finish tying her boot laces, trying to unclench her jaw with varying success.

Not only does she have an entire shift to lead during the fourth straight day of a county-wide burn ban, which means every idiot from here to San Bernadino is going to try to burn their neighborhood to the ground because they couldn't go a week without throwing a backyard barbecue, but her best pilot's nursing what is clearly a freshly broken heart, and that's a thousand times more dangerous than some dumbass lighting up a firepit in their bone-dry yard.

"I should've called out," she mutters, then stands up.

Would've, could've, should've, but that won't pay her bills. Spending the next 48 hours keeping Kinard from falling out of the sky, however, better come with OT pay.

[circledemptiness]

Beneath the Sails and Stars

Fandom: One Piece (Live Action) Pairing: Buggy the Clown x Reader Rating: Explicit +18 Tags: Bad flirting, oral sex, rough sex, bittersweet ending

✦ Read on AO3

You’ve seen all kinds of pirates come through this tavern. Loud, rowdy, obnoxious. But this one? This one is something else. Buggy the Clown is a walking spectacle. He takes up too much space, talks too loud, his voice booming through the entire tavern, his laughter both infectious and obnoxious. Or: you work at a tavern and meet the Clown Captain, fresh from the seas and seeking a night of indulgence. And tonight? Well, you’re ready to indulge right back.

Tonight, the tavern is packed. 

The air is thick with the dubious smoke of cheap tobacco, loud and boisterous laughter, and the sweet scent of rum-soaked wood. Old metal lanterns cast a golden glow over the otherwise dimly-lit space, their flickering light cutting lively shadows on the walls, draping the room in a warm, comfortable and festive haze.

The patrons are a subtle medley of villagers and travelers; sleazy regulars who drink more than they should, weary wanderers resting for one last night before their next journey, and even some new, nameless faces who seek the tender anonymity of the night to revel, forget, indulge– to overall share a good time.

The island, strategically positioned at the crossroads of major trade routes and nestled between winding canals that connect inland rivers to the open sea, acts as a natural waystation for merchants, sailors and wanderers. 

Thus, the steady flow of ephemeral travelers makes new faces an everyday occurrence, bringing with them a generous share of surreal and at times hardly believable stories, occasional importation of rare and exquisite goods, and precious, interesting memories.

You like it this way. The constant novelty, the occasional thrill of brushing shoulders with ruthless pirates, the vibrant effervescence of a new crowd… This has been your life since birth, and even more so since you started working at the island’s main tavern nearly a decade ago.

Since then, you've become a familiar face to both islanders and travelers alike. Regulars ask for you by name, and it’s not uncommon for you to end your evenings playing cards with patrons; be they neighbors, Marine officers, or dangerous pirates. You treat them all the same, your sharp wit and easy charm weaving an unspoken truce between these walls, if only for a night.

Tonight, the crowd is mostly local islanders, merchants from the West Road who have claimed the tavern as their own, along with a few quiet, exhausted travelers you don’t recognize. Still, the atmosphere is just as lively; the canorous chants, the clinking of glasses, and spirited conversation fill your heart with a sense of familiar comfort.

You weave between tables, dodging grabby hands and serving drinks, your shift as routine yet unpredictable as ever. Each night delivers its share of playful banter, witty exchanges, and the occasional pearl of tavern wisdom. Tonight is no different.

Then, you hear them, before you see them. Loud voices– many of them. A group. Travelers, for sure. Pirates, maybe. Their raucous cheers echo in the distance, victorious songs carrying through the night. And then, the doors swing open, and you have your answer.

You recognize them instantly– of course you do, who wouldn’t, in this part of the ocean? Colorful, flamboyant, always impeccably dressed as if ready to step on stage, start a show. This is Captain Buggy the Clown and his Freaks.

You’ve never seen him in the flesh before, but you’ve heard the stories from passing merchants and seasoned sailors alike; he’s erratic and explosive, a coward and a braggart. “And what a nose!” You smirk internally, deciding that the infamous ruby-painted extremity at the center of his face isn’t as ridiculous as the rumors made it seem– it’s quite endearing, actually. 

Your gaze follows the Clown Captain’s theatrical entrance, your curiosity piqued as his crew floods the tavern, occupying space as if the establishment were built solely for them, not a single care for their surroundings. Other patrons watch warily, perplexed, their amusement tinged with caution. Ah, pirates…

With a grand, dramatic sweep of his hand, the flamboyant Captain roars to no one in particular, his attention still half on his crew.

“Bartender! Keep the rum flowing! I wanna see these tables drowning in booze! And the rest of you– drink up, my freaks! We’ve fought, we’ve bled, and now we celebrate! Drink up ‘til we can’t stand!” His voice is triumphant, theatrical, and far too loud, making you arch a brow. But you exhale,  a roll of the eyes punctuating your thoughts as you carry pints and bottles galore, his crew cheering with near-religious fervor.

You’ve seen all kinds of pirates come through this tavern. Loud, rowdy, obnoxious. But this one? This one is something else. Buggy the Clown is a walking spectacle. He takes up too much space, talks too loud, his voice booming through the entire tavern, his laughter both infectious and obnoxious.

You serve the crew as discreetly as possible, maneuvering through the mass of eccentric silhouettes while their captain gloats incessantly about whatever treasure they found, whatever fight they won– you’re not sure which anymore.

But then, the second he spots you filling his glass, his eyes light up like he’s just found a rare treasure. You feel the telltale sensation of fingers grazing your waist, and you open wide, owlish eyes before instinct kicks in; you swat his hand away, your sharp frown only amusing him. He grins; wide, cocky, shameless, raising both hands, palms open in mock surrender.

“Well, helloooo, gorgeous.” He whistles low, his voice dripping with amusement as he gives you a slow, unsubtle once-over. “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in a dump like this?” 

You roll your eyes, leaning against the table, giving him one of your signature looks, pursing your lips like a playful siren.

"I'm sorry, Captain," your voice drops into a sultry purr, dragging out the title in a way that makes his grin stretch wider. "But I don’t make it a habit to fuck my patrons. Believe me, I’m just as disappointed as you are." Your tone oozes mockery, the sarcasm so thick it's practically choking him. He barks out a laugh, the sound a medley of amusement and disbelief. 

Then, before you can turn away, the asshole snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you effortlessly onto his lap.

“You got a real nice mouth, sweetheart. Bet I could give you somethin’ better to do with it than talkin’ back.” His voice is low, velvet and indecent, and you swear you could slap his self-satisfied smirk from his painted face.

There’s almost nothing more annoying than a pirate. Except maybe a pirate with heavy balls, who’s just spent Gods only know how long fucking his own fist and is now desperate to shove his cock into something that isn't his hand for a change. And this clown? Yeah, he’s been at sea way too long, flirting like a man who’s never heard the word no in his entire life, clearly determined to bust a load or several before he sails off again.

And for the most part, you ignore him; because, please, you’ve dealt with cocky pirates before. And though you can’t deny his charm, or those damnably beautiful pale eyes, you still have enough dignity to resist. 

Not much, mind you. But enough.

So when his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, you roll your eyes, hard. You push him away with an exaggerated sigh, cocking a brow at his smug face, his grin more wolfish than man, before slipping off his lap. He exhales dramatically, still amused, still committed to charm you– well, enough to bed you, anyway.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let me ruin you a little. Just enough that you’ll never be satisfied by anyone else.” His purr follows you as you return to your work, tending to the other patrons, but the ghost of his touch around your waist lingers, an unshakable warmth that makes you shiver.

The rest of the night is the same heated tango; a dance of proximity and defiance. You serve him and his crew; he whispers filth in your ear. His fingers wander where they shouldn’t, and when you bat them away, he only chuckles, unbothered, as if all of this is an elaborate seduction rather than a blatant display of arrogance.

But, most peculiarly, as the night progresses, something in you shifts. Each time his breath caresses the nape of your neck, each time his hands brush against your thigh, his touch lingering just a second too long, you feel your resolve slip, letting his bizarre charisma win you over. There’s something magnetic about him; maybe it’s his striking eyes, maybe it’s his colorful personality. You’re not sure. 

But your stern façade softens, and you allow him to court you. Your smile turns feline, and if you sway your hips just a little too much when leaning over to serve patrons… well, that’s nobody’s business but yours.

By the time the first light of dawn punctures the sky, the tavern has emptied, save for a few stragglers. Buggy grows more comfortable, caressing your lower back each time you fill his glass, until his hand not so subtly trails lower, brushing against the curve of your ass. But you don’t move away. And he knows exactly what that means.

The last few members of his crew don’t pay attention to the little game of silent courting their captain is playing with you, exchanging knowing looks and sultry smiles.

“Y’know, sweetheart, you keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you wanna fuck me,” he whispers with the arrogance of a man who hasn’t just spent literally hours unsuccessfully trying to get in your pants. You scoff playfully in response.

You don’t answer immediately, chewing on your bottom lip as you debate with yourself, wondering where the dignity you thought you had has gone. And, well, your shift is over, after all…

You tilt your hips, leaning against his table, fingertips tracing the arm wrapped around you as you finally make up your mind.

“You talk a big game, Buggy. Think you can back it up?”

The clown grins, triumph clear on his face, and for a fleeting moment, there’s a small, minuscule part of you that wonders if you’ve just made a mistake. But that thought is quickly drowned out by the sheer anticipation and excitement; you haven’t had a good lay in too long, and even though pirates are the most unpredictable lovers, you’re more than willing to find out what this one has to offer.

His hand finds the swell of your ass, squeezing possessively before he stands in one swift motion.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, grinning like the devil himself. “You just made my whole goddamn night.”

With a vague gesture of the hand, he signals his departure to his crew, his arm snaking around your waist as he leads you out of the tavern, moving with the eager and excited stride of a starving man.

After a brief walk, you reach his impressive ship, an extension of his own flamboyant personality. The vessel is as eccentric as its captain, adorned with gaudy colors and theatrical embellishments, a traveling circus in every sense. Even at this late hour, some of his crew remain on deck, reveling in their hard-earned break from the sea, the air thick with laughter, music, and the lingering scent of spiced rum.

Your gaze roves over the multitude of details, eyes wide with intrigue, an excited heartbeat drumming in your chest. Buggy catches the spark of admiration flickering across your face, and his chest puffs out with pride, a self-satisfied grin curling his lips.

“Yeah, she’s a beaut, isn’t she?” he says, voice laced with smug amusement. He winks, flashing a grin that’s all mischief and bravado. “And you haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

His hand finds your waist again; an anchor, a claim, as he guides you toward his quarters.

The moment the door swings shut behind you, the air shifts. A charged silence lingers for only a heartbeat before Buggy presses against you, flush and possessive. His hands map your curves with greedy urgency, his mouth descending on the sensitive skin of your neck. His touch is heated, hungry, and his breath is a mix of rum and something distinctly him; copper, cannon powder, something heady enough to make your head spin.

A surprised gasp escapes you as his fingers cup your breast, and the contact jolts you from your momentary daze. Instinct takes over.

You twist in his grasp, pushing him back until he hits the door with a solid thud, his wide eyes flashing with something between amusement and exhilaration. Then, without hesitation, you crash your mouth onto his.

The kiss is nothing short of feverish. Sloppy, desperate, all tongue and teeth; the dance of two people touch-starved enough to skip the pleasantries. There’s no decorum, no soft, lingering prelude; only raw, unrestrained hunger.

He tastes of the night; spiced rum, the grease of his makeup, the salt of long days at sea. Your hands roam, clutching, tugging, pulling him closer; closer still, until there’s no space left between your bodies, just heat and friction, the pounding rhythm of your hearts, and the unmistakable press of his growing length stuttering back to life against you.

He finally breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough for you to take in his swollen lips, the smeared remnants of his red paint now a faint whisper against his skin. A flicker of curiosity crosses your mind; just how much of that grease now stains your own face?

“Shoulda just climbed into my lap hours ago, sweetheart. Woulda saved us both some time,” he drawls, voice thick with smug satisfaction.

You roll your eyes, but the moment is short-lived. With a dramatic flourish, he tosses his tricorn hat aside, lets his coat fall to the floor, and in the dim candlelight, you catch the tantalizing ripple of the muscles of his arms rolling beneath his skin.

Then, before you can react, he crouches in a swift, fluid motion, grips your thighs with ease, and in one effortless motion, hoists you up over his shoulder as if you weigh nothing at all, and–

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Maybe you should have climbed into his lap hours ago.

Your stomach flips as you marvel at the sheer, raw strength he possesses, your breath hitching slightly at the sudden change in position. He carries you like a prize, his grip firm, his steps confident as he strides across the room. Then, just as unceremoniously, he tosses you onto his bed.

The mattress isn’t the most comfortable you’ve ever felt, but the scent, his scent, engulfs you. That wild, almost beastly musk, the remnants of sweat and grease and salt; it’s intoxicating, dizzying, stirring something primal deep in your core.

And thank the Gods, he’s just as desperate as you are.

With a feline smile curving your lips, you waste no time, shimmying out of your pants as Buggy’s mouth descends, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, trailing down your sternum; meanwhile, his hands are impatient, helping you remove your shirt (well, nearly tearing it apart, really). When his lips close around a stiffened nipple, his tongue flicking, his teeth grazing just enough to make you arch, the sound that escapes you is utterly shameless, nothing short of undignified.

Heat licks behind your navel, nerves tightening with every teasing pull of his mouth, every possessive squeeze of his fingers kneading the softness of your breast. His teeth nip, pull, tug at your flushed nubs, then, before you can fully process the medley of sensations flooding your body, his hand slips between your legs, fingers dipping beneath your underwear in a swift, urgent motion.

A strangled moan catches in your throat as his calloused fingers part your folds, grazing against your slick heat. Instinctively, your hands clutch at his tunic, yanking at the fabric until it falls open, giving you the freedom to roam over the firm, heated skin beneath. He hums in approval, his hips grinding against you, and already, you can feel yourself growing wetter, desire pooling down the cleft of your ass.

“I knew you wanted me the second I laid eyes on you,” he growls against your pulse point, nipping at the sensitive skin as his fingers tease your entrance. You want to scoff at his arrogance, but the way you’re already rocking into his touch, chasing the friction, begging him wordlessly, makes denial impossible.

Then, suddenly, he withdraws, leaving you gasping at the loss. You barely have time to protest before he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his hands cradling your face, tilting your head just so before guiding you upward, urging you onto your knees.

“Fuck– Gimme your throat, sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice thick with need. “Been dying to feel your pretty mouth on me all damn night.”

Buggy practically reeks of despair, his breath coming out in uneven huffs as his fingers tangle in your hair, gripping just enough to send a thrill down your spine. He stands at the foot of the bed, undoing his belt with desperate efficiency, already working his slacks open as you kneel before him, watching with half-lidded eyes, lips pursed in a siren’s smile.

The sight alone makes your mouth water, hunger curling deep in your belly as your hands slide up his thighs, slow and teasing. Your lips follow, pressing heated kisses to the taut expanse of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. He shudders, a delicious tremor rolling through him, and when he finally frees himself, the sheer anticipation has you humming in sinful appreciation.

Your fingers trace his length, teasing, barely touching, savoring the way his cock twitches under your featherlight strokes. A choked groan escapes him, his grip in your hair tightening ever so slightly as if to ground himself.

“Yeah? Like what you see?” he rasps, the arrogance in his voice unshaken despite how clearly wrecked he already is.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes at his insatiable bravado, but it only makes him all the more endearing. You stroke him leisurely, reveling in the way his breath stutters, the low moans spilling from his lips, each one raw and unguarded. His hips jerk subtly, chasing the friction, his restraint barely hanging by a thread. The longer you make him wait, the more his composure frays. Until at last, with a wicked smile, you decide to put him out of his misery.

You roll the tip of your tongue along his length, slow and deliberate, tasting the heat of him as you watch his expression shift; lips parted, brows furrowing, his whole body tensing with pleasure. He’s beautiful like that, speechless, a light flush tinting his cheekbones. A low, desperate groan rumbles from his throat, as if all the tension of the night is finally given release, and you revel in the power of it. He tastes as strongly as you imagined, thick with desire, the salt of his sweat mixing with something uniquely him, and it only makes you hungrier.

You swirl your tongue around the flushed tip, teasing him with kitten licks, savoring the way his thighs tremble beneath your hands. Then, with deliberate slowness, you swallow him down, centimetre by centimetre, until the head of his cock presses against the back of your throat. His whole body jolts, his fingers tightening in your hair, a ragged curse spilling from his lips as you hold him there, reveling in the weight of him, the way he throbs against your tongue.

“That’s it– oh fuck, just like that…” he groans, voice ragged, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as you take him deeper, centimetre by centimetre, stretching your lips around his thick length. His cock fills your throat beautifully, the salty musk of him coating your tongue as you swallow greedily, drinking down the precum that beads at his swollen tip. It’s intoxicating, the weight of him on your tongue, the way his breath stutters each time you push yourself further, testing your limits just to hear him unravel.

His fingers tangle in your hair, tightening at the roots as he follows your movements, fucking your throat gently, guiding you into a slow, ruinous rhythm. Your head bobs eagerly, your throat clenching around him each time he presses deeper, and the way he groans, all rough and wrecked, makes slick pool between your thighs. His hips jerk forward, chasing the heat of your mouth, until he’s buried to the hilt, his heavy balls flush against your chin, stretching your jaw deliciously.

“Fuuuck, you’re perfect,” he rasps, jaw slack, his head tilting back just slightly, though his pale eyes never leave you; watching, drinking in the sight of you choking so prettily on his cock. He looks devastating like this, sweat gleaming along the ridges of his muscles, his breath ragged, his belly tensing every time your tongue flicks over the thick vein running along his shaft.

When you cup his balls, rolling them in your palm with practiced ease, the sound that rips from his throat is downright sinful; a strangled, broken moan that sends a vicious throb straight to your core, makes your cunt spasm and flutter over nothing. Your thighs clench, desperate for friction, but right now, you’re more fixated on reducing him to the mess you know he’s about to become.

You pull back slowly, lips sealing around his flushed, leaking tip, suckling just enough to make him twitch against your tongue. A wicked smile tugs at your spit-slick lips as you look up at him, voice sultry and teasing.

“What’s the matter, Captain?” you purr, stroking him lazily, feeling his cock throb in your grip. “You gonna spill down my throat before you even get a chance to feel me wrapped around you?”

Buggy’s expression shifts; half amusement, half challenge, his grin sharp, breath hitching as his fingers tighten in your hair.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckles darkly, rolling his hips just enough to graze your lips with the thick head of his cock. “That mouth of yours is dangerous.” His thumb traces your swollen bottom lip before pressing inside, watching as you suck it between your teeth.

Then, with a smirk, he adds, “But if you think I’m gonna waste a drop anywhere but inside that tight little cunt, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Buggy doesn’t waste a second. With a firm grip on your waist, he maneuvers you into position like he’s done this a thousand times before; strong, confident, in control. His calloused hands guide you onto all fours, arching your back just right, presenting yourself to him like a gift he’s about to rip open.

You giggle breathlessly, anticipation buzzing under your skin as you shimmy out of your soaked panties, letting them drop somewhere forgotten. Then, with a wicked little smirk, you reach between your thighs, spreading yourself open for him, letting him see exactly where you need him the most.

Buggy sucks in a sharp breath behind you, and when he exhales, it’s ragged, filled with something animalistic. “Fuck–” he groans, voice thick with hunger. A palm lands heavily on your ass, spreading you wider, making you twitch at the raw exposure. “That’s a real pretty set of holes you got there. Gonna ruin ‘em both– gonna ruin you, beautiful.”

And then he’s on you.

He bends over, dragging the heat of his breath along your spine before burying his face between your legs, tongue flattening against your soaked folds, licking a long, slow stripe from your aching entrance up to your puckered hole. You keen, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as he groans into your cunt, his mouth hot, wet, and insatiable against you.

His tongue works you over like a man starved; lapping up your slick, swirling over your clit before dipping lower, teasing at your fluttering hole, nudging your asshole eagerly. You tremble beneath him, pressing your face into the mattress, gasping at the obscene, wet sounds echoing in the room.

“Goddamn, you taste fucking sweet,” he mutters, voice muffled against your cunt before his tongue pushes inside you, slick and demanding, making you jolt. His hands grip your ass, spreading you open as he devours you, fucking you with his mouth, teasing your rim with slow, taunting licks that send sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

You moan loudly, shamelessly, bucking against his face, desperate for more; more tongue, more friction, more of him. The heat coils tighter in your belly, the tension so deliciously unbearable that you whimper when his fingers find your clit, circling it with just the right pressure to make your knees shake.

But then, without warning, a strong hand presses down against the back of your skull, forcing your cheek flush against the mattress, your breath stuttering at the sheer dominance in the motion.

“Be good for me and stay right here,” he rasps, his voice coarse and dripping with need. “Like the perfect little thing you are.”

The words send a violent shiver down your spine, and before you can even think to respond, his mouth is back on you; suckling and pulling at your folds, wrecking you until all that spills from your lips are choked, incoherent sounds, your body trembling, your eyes rolling back into your skull.

Your orgasm crashes through you like a violent, unforgiving wave, tearing a broken cry from your throat, louder than you meant; louder than you can control. The pleasure blooms inside you, setting every nerve ablaze, white-hot and all-consuming, your body writhing, trembling as wave after devastating wave rolls through you.

Buggy watches you come apart with something damn near ravenous, his tongue carrying you through the high of your orgasm, savoring the way you pulse and clench, shuddering beneath him.

Eventually, you slump forward, boneless, spent, your body a slick, shaking mess against the mattress. Buggy exhales a dramatic breath, wiping his soaked mouth with the back of his hand before leaning over you, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear, his breath warm and thick with sin.

“So?” he drawls, his voice cocky, playful. “Not half bad, eh?”

You scoff, barely able to catch your breath, a stupid, fucked-out smile tugging at your lips as you nod weakly. He chuckles, low and satisfied, his teeth grazing your pulse point before his hands grip your waist. Firm, possessive.

And then you feel it. His cock, hot and heavy, pressing against the slick cleft of your ass, smearing precum and the remnants of your own release as he ruts lazily against you. The sensation alone makes your breath hitch, makes your already overstimulated body stir back to life, your cunt fluttering in anticipation.

“Wanna see what else I can do?” he whispers, voice dark, laced with something entirely sinful.

You can’t even answer. Not with words. Instead, you bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut as your heart pounds wildly in your chest. 

You nod.

That’s all he needs.

Buggy pulls back, kneeling behind you, his fingers digging bruises into your hips as he lines himself up. And then–

With one brutal snap of his hips, he buries himself inside you to the hilt, forcing every thick, throbbing centimetre into your tight, spasming cunt in a single, merciless thrust.

The stretch is instant, searing, toe-curling. Enough to knock the air clean from your lungs, your jaw dropping in a silent, shattered moan. Buggy growls; a deep, guttural noise from somewhere in his chest, as your walls squeeze around him, sucking him in greedily, clamping down like a vice.

“Holy fuck, sweetheart,” he grits out, voice strained, hands tightening on your waist. “You’re fucking squeezing me.”

He doesn’t give you time to adjust. Buggy’s already moving, already pulling out only to slam right back in, making your entire body jolt forward from the sheer force of it. And then he does it again. And again. Harder. Rougher. His pace brutal and unforgiving, splitting you open around his cock, using you like you’re his to take apart.

And, tonight? You are.

Buggy ruins you; his pace is relentless, merciless, each thrust driving so deep you swear he’s splitting you in half. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the cabin, filthy and wet, each snap of his hips punching ragged moans out of you, reducing you to nothing but a shaking, gasping mess beneath him.

And fuck, does he love it.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick with satisfaction as he watches you take it, as he watches your ass bounce against his abdomen with every brutal thrust. “All dumb and fucked-out already? Thought you had more fight in ya, sweetheart.”

You want to talk back, you really do, but the way he’s stretching you, hitting that devastating spot over and over, makes it impossible. Your mouth is open, but all that spills out are wrecked, incoherent moans, drool pooling at the corners of your lips as you cling to the mattress for dear life.

He chuckles. Excited. Proud.

Then, a strong hand fists your hair, yanking your head up, forcing you to arch. His other hand snakes beneath you, fingers dipping between your thighs to find your aching, swollen clit, rolling it between calloused fingertips. The sensations, his cock pounding into you, his fingers rubbing merciless circles over your sensitive bud, send violent pleasure crashing through you.

Your thighs shake. Your arms give out. Your body surrenders.

“Ohhh, fuck yeah,” Buggy groans, his grip tightening, his voice pure, unfiltered sin. “You love this, don’t you? Gettin’ fucked like a goddamn whore– fuck, taking me so fucking good, sweetheart.”

He’s feral. His breathing ragged, sweat slicking his skin, his fingers bruising your waist as he uses you, wrecks you. He watches his cock disappear into your dripping, swollen cunt over and over, watches the way you clench around him, sucking him in greedily.

Buggy slams into you with a vicious growl, deeper, harder, his rhythm breaking as he chases his own high, as he fucks you like he owns you, like he’ll never get enough.

“Gonna –fuck– gonna cum so deep inside this pretty cunt,” he groans, voice wrecked, hands tightening their grip as his thrusts grow desperate, sloppy.

Your entire body stiffens, teetering dangerously at the edge of another devastating orgasm, and the moment he presses down on your clit, rubbing feverishly, you scream.

Your orgasm crashes inside you with bone-shaking force, your entire body convulsing, spasming, milking his cock for all he’s worth. Your vision whites out, pleasure scorching through every nerve as you sob, wail, your voice raw and ragged.

And that, that is what does it for him.

Buggy bottoms out deeply, his hips stuttering as a vicious groan rips from his throat, and then you feel it, feel him, filling you, spilling thick, hot ropes of cum inside you as his whole body shudders against yours. He stays buried to the hilt, panting heavily, hands gripping your waist like a vice, like if he lets go, he might die.

For a long moment, the only sound in the cabin is the two of you catching your breath, the air heavy with sweat, sex, and exhaustion.

A slow, smug chuckle rumbles from his chest, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he kisses your damp skin.

“Yeah,” he pants, voice hoarse, cock still twitching inside you. “You’re fuckin’ mine now, sweetheart.”

As the night fades into morning, the cabin is bathed in the warm light of the rising sun, casting a soft glow over the two of you tangled together. Buggy lies next to you, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his arm draped lazily over your waist. The heat of the night has subsided, leaving behind a strange comfort in its wake. You both rest in silence now, the passion of earlier replaced by something quieter, something that doesn’t need words. 

For the first time, you exchange a glance that isn’t full of fire or hunger. There’s something softer there now, a quiet acknowledgment that lingers between you. He looks at you with a hint of something you don’t quite understand, but it’s not arrogance or bravado this time. It’s... gentler. His fingers graze the back of your hand, just a fleeting touch, but it speaks volumes. In that moment, the rawness of the night before becomes something almost tender.

Eventually, you both drift into a light sleep, the kind that comes when you’re wrapped in warmth, in a moment of unexpected peace.

When you wake, he’s already up, getting dressed. The reality of it hits you. This was always going to be temporary. He’s a pirate, a wanderer, and you knew the moment you stepped aboard that his departure was inevitable.

Still, as you watch him gather his things, there’s no bitterness, no regret. Just a quiet, lingering sense of loss, one you can’t quite place.

"You gonna miss me, sweetheart?" Buggy’s voice is teasing, but there's a certain softness to it now, a little more genuine than before.

You sit up, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, and give him a soft smile. 

"I think I will," you admit, the words simple but true. You’ll miss him, the chaos, the madness, the passion. But more than that, you’ll miss the unexpected comfort of the night you shared.

He grins, that familiar, cocky smile making its way back. “Well, if you ever need another ride, you know where to find me.”

A couple of weeks later, as you stare at his ship sailing away, you realize that, no, there’s no regret. But the quiet ache of missing him settles deep in your chest, the knowledge that something, someone, was here, and now they’re gone.

You don’t know if you’ll ever see him again. But for now, you can’t help but smile, knowing that for one brief, chaotic night, you were his.

And he, yours.

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[hobipobi]

Cracks In The Ice

Gepard Landau x Female reader

Summary: A frozen city. A guarded soul. A quiet meeting— where cold begins to crack. What will melt first: steel or silence?

I'm here once again with a one-shot.

Yes, inspired by Character.ai once more AHAHAHA Warnings: slow burn (?), NSFW in the end Words: 5.638

Belobog was always cold.

But today, it felt colder.

Not in the dramatic sense, not the kind of cold that bites through to the bone or howls in alleyways. This cold was quieter — pervasive, persistent. The kind that settled in the air like grief, numbing without pain. It whispered against buildings, swept across the cobblestones, and hung over the streets like a second sky.

Y/n hunched deeper into her coat, gloved hands buried in the thick fabric, scarf wound twice around her neck. Her breath rose in slow, ephemeral coils — pale ribbons that dissipated too quickly to enjoy. Snowflakes drifted down in slow spirals, catching on the tips of her lashes and the wool brim of her hat. She didn’t bother brushing them away.

The Silvermane Guard Headquarters loomed before her, stern and symmetrical, carved from stone the same gray-blue shade as the clouds above. Its sharp lines and flag-bearing parapets stood unyielding against the frost — a fortress not just of walls, but of principles.

She stared at it for a long moment, then exhaled.

“I swear,” she murmured, voice muffled beneath her scarf, “Serval owes me at least a month’s worth of drinks for this.”

A folder—thick, heavy, and filled to bursting with maintenance logs—was tucked under her arm. The paper edges were crisp, her gloved fingers damp where snow had melted against them. She could have handed it off to a courier, or even just dropped it at the front desk. That would’ve been the sensible thing to do.

But no.

Serval had insisted.

Correction: pleaded.

“Just drop it off for me?” she’d said that morning, hair still damp from the shower, eyes half-lidded with sleep. “He’ll ignore the notes unless someone explains them. I mean, I wrote margin comments and everything—”

“You could go,” Y/n had replied, nursing her own cup of coffee, voice dry.

“Yeah, but he listens better when it’s not me yelling.” Serval had grinned into her mug. “Besides, you haven’t met my brother properly, have you?”

Y/n hadn’t. Not really. Only in passing. Glimpses — a tall figure striding across the plaza in glinting armor, posture like iron drawn straight, voice low and unreadable when issuing orders. Every sighting had been like watching a statue move: all grace and discipline, none of it inviting.

Gepard Landau.

Captain of the Silvermane Guards. Defender of Belobog. Local icon of brooding restraint.

She’d seen the wanted posters in the bookstore windows — clean-lined illustrations of him in formal uniform, jaw set, gaze distant — almost heroic, if a little tragic. Always alone in the frame.

Now here she was, standing at the threshold of the Guard HQ, folder clutched tight to her chest like a child with a school project.

Gathering her resolve, she stepped inside.

The first wave of heat was jarring — sudden warmth against flushed cheeks and snow-slick boots. The lobby was stark but orderly, marble floor shining beneath yellow lights, banners of the Guard hanging high from stone pillars. A single desk stood at the center, manned by a young soldier who looked up from his ledger and blinked when he saw her.

She offered the folder wordlessly, watched his gaze flick from the seal on the document to the name scrawled in thick ink across the front. Serval Landau. Recognition sparked immediately.

“She sent you?” he asked, already reaching for the comm button. His voice was polite, but there was a curl at the edge of his smile—something between amusement and sympathy.

“Apparently it’s urgent,” Y/n replied, trying for nonchalance.

He waved her through with minimal questioning and gave her directions to the captain’s office. Fifth floor, east wing. Take the lift, then straight down the corridor until the hall narrows. Door on the left, nameplate in gold.

As she ascended, the building felt more like a cathedral than a barracks. Everything was pristine, purposeful — no clutter, no wasted space. Even the silence felt manicured.

By the time she reached his door, her fingers had thawed. But the nerves had kicked in.

She hesitated only a moment before raising a hand and knocking once, firmly.

The door opened almost immediately.

Captain Gepard Landau stood in the threshold.

He wore the full uniform: the dark silver armor lined with blue, pauldrons gleaming beneath the overhead lights. His blond hair was neatly combed back, a few loose strands falling across his forehead. His expression was unreadable — not stern, but still.

“Captain?” she asked, breath fogging softly in the air between them.

“Yes,” he replied. His voice was low, measured. Not unkind. Just… exact.

There was no flicker of recognition in his eyes, but no suspicion either. Only a quiet scrutiny, as if cataloging her presence for the record.

She held up the folder like a peace offering. “I’m Y/n. Serval sent me. She said you needed these reports before the next patrol rotation.”

He took the folder without a word, gloved fingers brushing hers — briefly, barely — and flipped it open with a soldier’s efficiency. His eyes moved quickly, reading in sharp movements.

“You’re her friend,” he said finally.

Y/n arched a brow, a wry smile tugging at her mouth. “She has a lot of those. I like to think I’m her favorite.”

There was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But something.

“I’ll review these.”

“She also said you’d probably have questions,” Y/n added, stepping lightly into the room without waiting for an invitation. “And that I should ‘walk you through the parts that make you tilt your helmet in confusion.’ Her words, not mine.”

His gaze lifted. She met it. Steady. Curious, now — faintly.

A beat passed.

“…In that case,” he said, stepping aside, “you should come in.”

She did.

His office was exactly what she expected: immaculate, sparse, functional. A large desk dominated the room, flanked by high shelves filled with binders and military files. A topographical map of Belobog stretched across the far wall, red markers indicating patrol paths. A single mug of coffee sat near the window, steaming quietly, untouched.

Y/n tilted her head at it. “You ever actually drink that, or is it for morale purposes?”

He followed her gaze, then returned to his seat behind the desk. “I take breaks. I just don’t waste time.”

“Mm. No hobbies, then? No guilty pleasures like cheesy novels or off-key karaoke?”

“I read military history.”

“Scandalous.”

Something flickered in his eyes again. Drier, this time. A ghost of amusement.

Y/n leaned her hip against the edge of his desk and tapped the folder. “Page five — the notes for Unit 7-B might throw you. There’s an override code listed, but Serval rewired the matrix. Ignore the override.”

He flipped to it without hesitation, eyes scanning. “That explains the energy flux reported last week.”

Their hands met again as she passed him a post-it Serval had attached.

This time, their fingers brushed. Just briefly.

But neither of them pulled away.

His gloves were warm — soft leather over calloused hands. Hers were cold from the snow, her skin pricking with contrast.

When he looked up again, there was something different in his gaze.

Not interest. Not emotion. But presence. A shift.

Awareness.

Y/n offered him a slow smile. “Relax, Captain. I don’t bite.”

His response was quiet, almost dry. “Good. Unauthorized violence isn’t permitted in headquarters.”

That earned a laugh. Sharp, but warm.

And for the first time, he smiled. Just faintly.

Outside, the snow hadn’t stopped.

Y/n stepped out into the wind, wrapping her scarf tighter around her face. The air was sharp again — but it no longer bit. Her steps crunched softly on the frosted steps as she descended, the HQ standing tall behind her like a frozen watchtower.

She exhaled, breath curling skyward.

That had gone better than expected.

He was still guarded, still distant. Like the city he protected — reserved, cold, and shaped by discipline. But underneath the steel, there was warmth.

Just a flicker.

She could work with flickers.

She had time.

One snowflake at a time.

Two Weeks Later

Belobog's sky was the color of old bruises—dusky purples muddling with the exhausted blue of a winter twilight—and the cold had turned cruel in the way it always did when the sun began to vanish behind the skyline. It was the sort of cold that gnawed through wool and leather, the sort that clung to your bones no matter how long you’d been living in it.

Y/n had just finished prying apart a stubborn heating coil, knuckles scraped and soot streaked across her cheek, when the workshop door burst open with a metallic slam. The clatter of boots and labored breathing preceded the frantic voice that followed.

“Emergency on the Rivet Town patrol line—Unit 3 is down! Total system failure in one mech, coolant’s spilling, and—” The junior guard in the doorway wheezed like a rusted valve. “They need a tech. Immediately.”

Y/n squinted at him through the swirl of steam from the broken coil. “Can’t Serval—?”

“She’s mid-calibration downtown. System locked. You’re next up.”

Of course she was.

She sighed, dropping her wrench into the battered toolcase with a thud. “Tell them I’ll be there in five. And someone better warm up the rover unless they want a field tech turned ice sculpture.”

The ride through Belobog’s frozen arteries was a blur of passing lights and the occasional jolt of potholes beneath steel wheels. The transport heater wheezed ineffectually against the cold, and Y/n’s fingers stayed clenched around her thermos of half-drunk coffee more for warmth than caffeine. Snow swirled against the windows like a living thing, thick and wet and relentless. Her boots tapped in rhythm with the rattling toolbox at her feet, each bump of the road echoing the restless pace of her thoughts.

By the time they reached the patrol site just beyond Rivet Town’s edge, the light had all but fled the world. What little remained bled out in bands of gray and deepening blue, casting the snow-drenched ruins in a pallid glow. The mech was a hulking silhouette against the whiteness, half-submerged in a snowbank and bleeding mist from a cracked coolant valve like a wounded animal exhaling its last.

And there he was—tall, unmistakable even in the half-light.

He was pacing, his broad figure cutting a clean silhouette against the jagged landscape, the edge of his cloak whipping lightly in the wind. Even now, with frost clinging to the fringes of his armor and tension riding hard along his jaw, he looked like a statue—cut from ice instead of stone. Immaculate. Rigid. And very much out of place amidst the broken machinery and chaotic chatter of field guards.

He turned when she approached, and his eyes found hers almost instantly.

“I didn’t expect them to send you,” he said, voice low, steady. His tone didn’t carry surprise—only the faint strain of something restrained. Fatigue, maybe. Frustration. Concern.

“Likewise,” she replied, hopping out of the vehicle with practiced ease, toolcase clutched in both hands. “But if you want this mech back online before your squad freezes solid, I’m your best shot.”

The edges of his posture eased—minutely, like a shutter slipping open just enough to let a little warmth in.

“Do what you need.”

She was already kneeling by the damaged unit, muttering under her breath as she flicked on her headlamp and yanked the hatch open with a grunt. A hiss of escaping vapor greeted her, along with the sharp tang of coolant.

“Well, there’s your first problem.” Her fingers moved fast, confident. “Your emergency override was tripped and left half-engaged. Probably fried the failsafes and locked the circulation node. Coolant’s clogged to hell.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “Who patched this up last?”

“Private Elron.”

Y/n froze. Blinked. “Is he twelve?”

There was a pause. Then—

“I’ll see he’s reassigned to something less… delicate. Counting icicles, perhaps.”

She snorted before she could help herself, the sound muffled by her scarf. “You joke, but that was a mechanical innuendo. That’s character development, Captain.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You absolutely did. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Personal growth is nothing to be ashamed of.”

His arms folded across his chest, posture unconsciously defensive. But his lips twitched—just slightly. A ghost of a smirk that barely touched the corners of his mouth.

“You’re very persistent.”

She paused, knuckles deep in frost-slick wiring. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” he said quietly. “It’s… surprising.”

Her movements slowed, but didn’t stop. She looked up at him through the tangle of wires and steam, taking him in. Not the armor, not the command—just the man. Sharp edges dulled by wear, shoulders too straight for someone carrying that much weight. He looked exhausted beneath the discipline. Frayed at the edges.

“Not used to people pushing back?” she asked softly.

“Not like this,” he replied after a long beat. “Not with this kind of… familiarity.”

The words hung there, suspended in the cold like crystal.

She stood then, brushing snow from her thighs and pulling off one glove. “Well,” she said, voice quieter now. “I’m not just anyone. And I don’t want to be just another face you forget after a mission.”

Something flickered in his expression. Faint. Elusive.

“You won’t be.”

The repairs took time. Longer than she’d expected, but not for lack of skill. The systems were fragile, already compromised, and the cold didn’t help. Her breath fogged the air as she worked, fingers reddened and stiff but determined. Gepard didn’t hover, but he stayed close—silent, steady, a constant presence just at her periphery.

When the mech finally purred back to life with a quiet hum and flicker of panel lights, the sigh of relief that left her lips was mirrored by something softer in his eyes.

“Thanks to you,” he said, “we won’t have to retire this unit.”

“Happy to save your squad from unexpected snow-based combustion,” she said, popping her back as she stood. “I accept gratitude in the form of hot beverages and spa vouchers.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I can offer one of those.”

“Generous.” She chuckled, breath curling between them. “Careful, Captain. That almost sounded like a joke.”

He didn’t argue this time. Just looked at her in that quiet, steady way of his, like he was trying to map the shape of her presence in his world and not quite knowing where to place it.

By the time she packed up her gear and clambered back toward the rover, the snow had started again—soft this time, delicate and drifting. Gepard walked beside her in silence, hands clasped behind his back, his strides longer than hers but deliberately slowed.

“I’ll ensure your repair notes are included in the report,” he said as she reached the vehicle.

“Be sure to add a line about Private Icicle and his near-disastrous attempt at sabotage,” she called over her shoulder, grinning.

He nodded once. Almost smiled again. Almost.

“Y/n.”

She paused, fingers halfway to the door handle. Turned to him.

His voice dropped—no longer the clipped tone of command, but something closer. More uncertain.

“I’m not good with people,” he said. “Not in the way Serval is. I’ve always… kept things close. Too close.”

“I noticed,” she said gently.

He nodded once, jaw tight. “But I don’t want that to stop this.”

A breath. A beat. Snow gathered softly on his pauldrons.

“What’s this, Captain?” she asked, her voice barely above the wind.

He met her gaze, no helmet, no shield. Just the man.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But I think I’d like to find out.”

The rush of warmth that bloomed in her chest was ridiculous, sudden, and entirely welcome. It made the cold feel distant.

She stepped toward him, gloved fingers brushing lightly over the insignia on his chestplate—an almost reverent gesture. Not flirtation. Not a tease.

A promise.

“Then let’s take our time, Frostbite.”

He blinked. “Frostbite?”

“It’s cute. It suits you.”

A quiet groan slipped out from between his teeth, and she grinned. He didn’t smile—but his eyes softened, and he didn’t step back when she did.

A Few Nights Later — Outer Snowplain Patrol, 2300 Hours

The cold beyond Belobog’s outer walls was not merely a matter of temperature. It was an entity unto itself. It pressed in from all sides, seeped into bones, clawed at exposed skin with the sharp, vindictive touch of a world that had never been tamed. The wind howled low across the frozen expanse, threading through ruined trees and half-buried outposts like a whisper meant only for the dead.

Y/n tightened her scarf and adjusted the strap of her tool pack as she stepped out of the guard transport, boots crunching onto hard-packed snow. Her breath hung in the air like ghostly smoke, already beginning to sting her throat. She hadn’t been scheduled for this patrol. She wasn’t even technically on shift. But Serval had cornered her earlier with the subtlety of a brick to the face and an arsenal of barely-veiled guilt trips, ending with a text that simply read:

“Do it for me. Or your soldering station might have a sudden accident.”

So here she was.

To her mild surprise — and brief, traitorous spike of nerves — Gepard was already waiting near the outpost gates. He stood apart from the two junior guards prepping a sled unit, his silhouette sharp and unmoving beneath the heavy frost-stained lights. Even beneath layers of regulation winter gear, he looked every bit the Silvermane Captain: posture perfect, helm tucked under one arm, expression unreadable as he glanced her way.

“You didn’t have to volunteer for this,” he said without preamble, voice low but audible even over the wind.

“I didn’t,” Y/n replied, drawing closer. “I was guilt-tripped by your sister via seven angry texts and a thinly veiled threat of sabotage.”

That earned her something rare — the faintest breath of a chuckle. She caught the way his shoulders shifted, like he was holding back more of it than he allowed to show.

“Serval hasn’t changed,” he said.

“She’s the same menace with a bigger wrench,” Y/n agreed.

They exchanged no further words as they passed the checkpoint and began walking, boots carving fresh prints through untouched snow. The night stretched out around them, black and endless, the sky choked with cloud cover heavy enough to blot out even the stars. Wind swept across the plain in unpredictable gusts, carrying with it the groan of frozen trees and the distant, hollow screech of ice shifting against steel.

A kilometer in, they passed the last of the patrol buoys — soft blue lights blinking at intervals like artificial fireflies, each one dimmer than the last.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” Y/n asked after a while, breath puffing visibly between them. “A full patrol, in this mess. With me.”

Gepard didn’t look over. He kept his gaze trained ahead, methodical and unwavering. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugged, but it felt more like a shield than a gesture. “Well… I figured it’d either be comfortable or painfully awkward. Given everything.”

A pause. Then, “You’re unusually blunt.”

“I prefer ‘efficient.’”

He stopped walking.

The abrupt halt jolted her a little, forcing her to take a step back to face him. Snow clung to his shoulders like powdered silver, glinting faintly under the distant lights of Belobog behind them. His eyes searched hers — not harsh, not cold. Just searching. Measuring.

“You’re not wrong,” he said quietly.

That made her heart beat just a bit harder.

She held his gaze, her voice gentler this time. “Gepard…”

“I’ve been thinking,” he interrupted, eyes flicking down to the snow at their feet. “About what you said. That night near Rivet Town. About not wanting to be just another face I forget.”

A silence stretched between them, fragile and waiting. Y/n’s fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her tool pack, grounding herself.

“I couldn’t forget you if I tried,” he said. “You get under my skin. You always have.”

She blinked, caught off-guard by the honesty in his voice. There was no hesitation, no flinching away from the words. Just the weight of them — and the ache she hadn’t realized had taken root in her chest until now.

“We barely knew each other a month ago,” she said, half-choked.

“That doesn’t change what I feel when I look at you.”

The world around them narrowed to the sound of wind, boots in snow, and the steady thud of blood in her ears.

She took a breath — shallow, unsteady — and turned to face him more fully. “Then tell me. What do you feel?”

His jaw tensed. His shoulders squared.

“Frustrated,” he admitted first. “Curious. Guarded. Drawn.” He met her eyes, and there was something else flickering there now — something not soldier-sharp or duty-bound. “You challenge me in ways no one else has.”

“And you hide so much of yourself,” she whispered. “It’s like every time I think I’m close, you retreat. You lock it all away again.”

“I know,” he said — and this time his voice cracked, just barely. “It’s a habit I’ve spent my whole life cultivating. And for the first time… I hate it.”

The confession hit her like the cold — slow, painful, impossible to ignore.

But before she could speak, a shriek of wind carved across the trees behind them.

Gepard turned sharply, eyes scanning the darkness. “Storm’s coming in. Fast.”

She felt it too — the sharp sting of sleet against her cheek, the taste of ice in the air.

“We won’t make it back to base in time,” he said. “There’s a patrol shelter about a kilometer east. Not far.”

She nodded, already adjusting her pack. “Lead the way, Captain Frostbite.”

He didn’t even argue this time.

Fifteen Minutes Later — Patrol Shelter B-9

The shelter looked like a forgotten relic: a squat steel cube half-sunken into a snowdrift, partially buried by years of neglect and storms. Its door groaned as Gepard forced it open, and the interior greeted them with stale air and the metallic stench of frozen rust.

Inside, the space was barely large enough to stand side by side. A folding cot leaned against the far wall. A portable heater hummed weakly in the corner, already devouring the last of its fuel cell. Emergency rations were stacked on a shelf above it, each one stamped with Silvermane insignia and expiration dates that danced a little too close to obsolete.

They peeled off their outer layers with stiff fingers. Snow melted into puddles around their boots. Y/n’s gloves slapped wetly against the cot as she sat, rubbing at her arms and blinking away the sting of windburn.

“Well,” she muttered, voice dry. “Cozy.”

Gepard was unfastening his armor piece by piece. Even beneath the thermal undershirt, he looked broad, solid. Flushed from the cold, damp hair curling slightly against his temples. He caught her looking.

“Something wrong?”

“Nope,” she said, a little too fast. “Just… observing the rare and elusive Off-Duty Gepard.”

He tilted his head. “Are you always like this with people you’re interested in?”

The air turned leaden. Her heart leapt.

She swallowed. “Did you just admit you’re interested in me?”

“I did.”

No hesitation.

No retreat.

Just that voice — low, steady, warm in a way it had never been before. It struck something deep in her chest, somewhere between relief and something that felt too much like longing.

“Say it again,” she breathed.

He stepped forward.

“I’m interested in you, Y/n.”

And when his hand reached out — slow, uncertain — she met it. Fingers brushed. Then curled. And the moment their hands locked together, the tension between them snapped taut like a wire.

“Then stop looking at me like that,” she whispered, pulse skittering, “if you’re not going to do something about it.”

A breath passed.

Then he surged forward — not with recklessness, but inevitability.

The kiss was not tentative.

It was a clash. A release. A storm of heat and restraint giving way, all at once. His mouth found hers with desperate precision, and she met him just as fiercely, her back slamming gently against the cold steel wall. His hand found her jaw, tilting her face with reverence, even as his mouth moved over hers like he’d been waiting far too long.

When they broke apart — panting, dazed — their foreheads stayed pressed together. His eyes fluttered shut.

“I’ve been trying not to want this,” he said hoarsely.

She leaned into him. “Then stop trying.”

And when he kissed her again, it was slower — not gentler, but deeper. Purposeful. A promise, unspoken and undeniable.

Outside, the wind screamed on. But inside, the storm had shifted.

The heater in the corner of the shelter hummed with a soft, almost apologetic persistence — its coil barely enough to thaw the breath from the air, but somehow enough to make the space feel less like a bunker and more like somewhere human warmth could survive. Outside, the storm clawed at the earth in relentless gusts, the frozen world beyond the reinforced walls forgotten in the quiet that settled around them.

Forgotten — because nothing else mattered anymore.

Gepard kissed her again.

It wasn’t careful this time. Wasn’t questioning or restrained. No, this wasn’t a kiss that asked for permission.

It was a surrender.

A confession.

A claiming.

Y/n’s breath caught at the back of her throat, stuttering against the pressure of his mouth as he guided her backward with quiet insistence. His hand, broad and calloused, found the curve of her waist, fingers splayed as if to ground himself — or her — as if he didn’t quite trust the world not to fracture beneath them. The other hand, roughened by years of battle and frostbitten patrols, cupped her cheek with the gentleness of someone who had long since forgotten how to be gentle — but was trying anyway.

The cot behind her creaked in protest as she sank down, guided by his weight, the worn frame groaning beneath them. But the sound was distant, irrelevant. Like the storm outside. Like the war beyond the doors. Like everything that wasn’t him.

Her hands rose without thought, finding the hem of his shirt, the fabric still damp with melted snow and battle-sweat. She hesitated only long enough to feel the heat of his body through it — then slid her hands beneath, fingertips tracing the hard lines of his abdomen.

He stilled.

Just for a breath. Just for a beat.

Not in refusal — never that — but with the quiet, unspoken reverence of a man who hadn’t been touched like this in a long time. Maybe ever. He stared at her, eyes a tumult of restraint and disbelief and want.

“I’ve imagined this,” he admitted, voice barely a whisper. Fractured. Raw. “More times than I can count.”

She looked up at him, her voice low, aching with everything unsaid. “You think too much.”

A breath of a laugh. Then a nod. “I know.”

He helped her pull the shirt over his head.

What she saw beneath stole the air from her lungs.

Years of disciplined training had sculpted him — not in the way of vanity, but in the quiet, utilitarian grace of a soldier. Lean muscle wrapped his frame, taut and capable, like he was carved to bear the weight of others before himself. Scars traced his skin in pale, silvery patterns — faded battles, ancient wounds. Near his ribs, one looked fresher than the rest, still pink at the edges.

She leaned in and pressed her lips to it.

Gepard inhaled sharply, fingers flexing at her hip as if the contact burned. His body trembled once, barely contained.

“Y/n…”

“You don’t have to carry all of this alone,” she murmured against his skin. “Not tonight.”

His breath caught. Not from cold — from something far deeper. A breaking point. A dam cracking wide.

Her coat came next, discarded onto the floor without ceremony. Then her shirt. The cold brushed against her skin for a moment before his hands replaced it — warm, reverent, wandering the line of her waist with a tenderness that bordered on desperation.

His lips trailed down her neck, soft at first, then deeper, more urgent. Each kiss left behind heat, a promise, a silent plea. He moved lower — collarbone, shoulder, the gentle swell of her chest — until she was gasping, her hands threading into his hair as her hips arched toward him of their own accord.

This wasn’t just desire.

It was months of tension that had lived unspoken between them — buried under duty, sarcasm, awkward silences, and longing stares when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Every place he touched her felt like a declaration.

That she wasn’t just Serval’s friend.

That she wasn’t a distraction.

That she was his undoing.

His hands were shaking when he reached behind her, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. Not from nerves — but from restraint stretched to its final thread.

And when it fell away, when her chest was bared to him in the dim amber light of the shelter, he didn’t look away. He didn’t rush. He stared — as if seeing something sacred. As if he had spent too long believing he didn’t deserve moments like this.

“God…” he breathed, reverent.

She cupped his face, dragging her thumb along the edge of his jaw. “Touch me.”

His hands found her again — slowly, carefully — cupping her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her nipples until they peaked beneath his touch. She gasped, her back arching into him, and his mouth followed.

Warm lips closed over her, gentle and exploring, then with more hunger. He sucked, slow and thorough, teeth grazing just enough to make her cry out softly, thighs twitching under him. His other hand worshipped the twin peak, drawing circles that left her trembling.

When he finally pulled back, her skin was flushed, her breaths shallow and uneven. Her eyes — heavy, pleading — met his.

Gepard rose just long enough to strip the rest of his clothing. One boot at a time, then his pants, boxers — every layer peeled off with an almost painful patience. Until he was bare before her, breathless and beautiful in a way that only a man stripped of every defense could be.

He was strong. Solid. The kind of body built to withstand war — yet still human. Still vulnerable. His cock hung thick and flushed between his thighs, twitching as her gaze trailed down.

She swallowed. “You’re gorgeous.”

He gave her a crooked, almost disbelieving smile. “So are you.”

Then he was kneeling between her legs again, hands skimming over the curve of her thighs. Her pants followed, underwear next — soaked through with arousal.

When his fingers brushed the slickness between her folds, her hips jumped, a sharp gasp escaping.

“You’re already wet,” he whispered, voice rough. Like it hurt to speak.

“For you,” she said, barely able to breathe. “For this.”

He groaned — a low, broken sound — and kissed her again, harder now. Desperate. His hand slid between her thighs again, fingers parting her folds, one thick finger sliding in with maddening slowness.

She moaned, her walls clenching, and he added a second, pumping rhythmically. His palm rested against her mound as his thumb found her clit, circling with excruciating care. Her body arched, trembling, thighs clamping around his wrist.

“So tight,” he breathed, staring down at her. “I need you.”

“Then have me,” she said, voice rough with need. “Please.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He lined himself up, cock thick and heavy against her entrance. Even now, even trembling with restraint, he paused — eyes locked on hers.

“You’re sure?”

She reached up, cradling his jaw. “Don’t make me beg, Captain.”

He groaned, forehead dropping to hers — and then he pushed in.

It was slow. Agonizing. A stretch that burned and filled, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside her, buried to the hilt. She gasped, nails digging into his back, overwhelmed by the sheer size and heat of him. He held still, trembling above her, a litany of curses whispered against her shoulder.

“God… Y/n…”

“Move,” she begged. “Please.”

He did.

The first thrust was cautious. The second — deeper, stronger — rocked her against the cot. He found a rhythm quickly, building with each snap of his hips. Every movement dragged a sound from her throat, her hands gripping his arms, his waist, anything she could find.

She wrapped her legs around him, ankles locking behind his back, drawing him deeper. Their bodies met over and over, slick with sweat, burning hot despite the frost clawing at the shelter walls.

Every thrust a reminder that they were still alive. Still capable of feeling. Of wanting. Of choosing each other in a world where choices were often stolen.

“Gepard—” she gasped, head falling back. “I’m—close—”

He grunted, reaching between them again, fingers circling her clit with purpose now. “Come for me.”

She shattered.

The orgasm crashed through her like a wave, her body convulsing around him, hips lifting off the cot as she cried out. He groaned, the tight grip of her walls enough to pull him over the edge. With a low, ragged moan, he spilled into her, hips stuttering as he pulsed deep inside, warmth flooding her.

And then he collapsed — like he’d been holding up the weight of the world and finally, finally let it fall.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Breathing. Tangled. Quiet.

His arms came around her, holding her close, his heart still racing under her palm where it rested on his chest.

After a while, she broke the silence with a tired, cheeky murmur. “So… is this going to be awkward when we get back?”

He huffed a quiet laugh into her hair.

“No,” he said, voice low and sure. “We're going to make this work.”

2025 © hobipobi — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are welcome.

[b1xi]

───𝘊𝘜𝘗𝘐𝘋───ハイキュー!!

Tsukishima Kei(ハイキュー!!)x fem!reader

Word count:2880

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

By the time you returned, the atmosphere in the gym was electrifying, charged with a palpable tension that permeated every corner of the place. The scoreboard reflected an eerie equality between both teams, which foreshadowed a frenetic outcome. Sweaty and exhausted bodies moved dizzily around the court, each player fighting with all their might to keep the ball in the air, giving up any trace of tiredness. It was a fervent battle, an outpouring of energy that kept everyone on the edge of their seats.

Hinata, with a dazzling heavenly shot, had managed to take his team to the lead, his contagious energy igniting Karasuno and generating murmurs of excitement in the stands. However, Seijoh, with the skill and precision characteristic of their game, was quick to equalize the points, undoing the ephemeral advantage. Uneasiness took hold of you, your skin crawling as you watched each movement with almost hypnotic attention. The voice in your mind, animated and frantic, echoed: “You can do it, I know you can do it” – though the words never came out of your lips.

You gasped when Oikawa, in a moment that should have been critical for his ego, missed a decisive serve. The Seijoh captain, known for his grace and skill, had unintentionally handed a valuable point to his opponent. The pressure on his shoulders was evident, and you could imagine the storm of frustration he must be feeling at failing in a play he traditionally dominated. However, the Seijoh players were tireless, and within minutes, they managed to regain the lost point, reaffirming their determination not to give up in this match.

As the match progressed and each point was added to the tally, your heart beat with an unknown rapidity; you had never felt such an intense connection with a volleyball match. You were completely absorbed, following each play with an almost hypnotic concentration. The tension intensified with the approaching end of the match; only one round remained. 

The ball traveled through the air, finally landing on Karasuno's side. Kageyama, with his sharp gaze and unmatched precision, deftly received it, sending it to Asahi, who, with strength and determination, returned it to Seijoh's court. Seijoh's libero, however, demonstrated his agility and skill, intercepting the ball with ease and bringing it back towards Karasuno's court. 

Hinata tried to break through the defense with a powerful spike, but Seijoh was prepared, blocking the attempt with impressive timing. The ball rose again in a frantic dance, and in an instant that seemed to last forever, Kageyama, Nishinoya and Asahi launched themselves in a united effort to receive it. But time had run out, and the opportunity was lost in the face of fate: the ball hit the ground.

Your eyes widened, disbelief taking over as you took in the, until then, unthinkable defeat. The mix of emotions overwhelmed you: the euphoria of the game, the sadness of the loss, and an undeniable admiration for the effort everyone had put into that contest.

The atmosphere at school felt heavy and oppressive. Hinata hadn’t exchanged a word with you since the game, and though you didn’t blame him, it was clear that he was mired in deep sadness. You understood all too well what it felt like to be dejected; you didn’t feel like socializing either. As you watched the hands of the clock slowly tick away, you realized that you would be spending the break alone this time. Nayuta had skipped class; she had told you over the phone that she wasn’t feeling well. 

“Today is going to be a pretty boring day,” you sighed heavily. Coach Ukai had cancelled practice, leaving you with the afternoon free. You thought you’d use that time to head to the music room. With auditions right around the corner, warming up a bit would do you good. 

You stood up and grabbed your bento, looking for a comfortable spot to eat lunch at school. Your eyes scanned the empty classrooms, longing for something to catch your attention. It was then that you stopped, drawn to the intense gaze of the tall, blonde boy from class 1-4. His golden eyes met yours, a flash of surprise in both of you.

You found yourself staring at him more than you'd like to admit. Just as the intensity of the moment was beginning to envelop you, Yamaguchi's voice snapped you out of your brief trance. You turned to look at him, feeling a sudden relief at the sight of his friendly face.

"Yamaguchi, hello," you greeted.

The young man, adorned with a pair of freckles on his cheeks, turned his gaze to your bento, which your dad had carefully wrapped in a pink handkerchief with daisies on it. "Would you like to have lunch with us?" he asked, accompanying his invitation with a genuine smile as he pointed at Tsukishima, who was still sitting at one of the desks in the classroom.

Your first reaction was to hesitate. If the invitation had come from the blond, you would have felt a rush of embarrassment and nervousness that would have led you to politely decline. However, the kindness emanating from Yamaguchi was so contagious that your heart rebelled, refusing to reject his offer.

 With a slight smile, you decided to accept the invitation. “Sure, I’d love to,” you replied, feeling a light blush creep up your cheeks. The nervousness that had previously gripped you gradually faded, replaced by a warm feeling of camaraderie. 

The two of you entered the empty classroom; Yamaguchi pointed to a seat next to Tsukishima, who remained silent. You felt a little uncomfortable, as if your mere presence irritated him. After a brief moment, however, you chose to ignore that feeling. Yamaguchi took the seat in front of you, and with a friendly gesture, the two of you prepared to share the meal.

Before you began eating, you exchanged a heartfelt “bon appetit” for the meal. The atmosphere in the room, quiet but cozy, allowed you to appreciate the small details you usually overlooked in moments of tension. The walls were adorned with student projects, and the rays of sunlight filtering through the windows gave a warm and pleasant air to the space.

However, once seated, you realized that you had never had the chance to meet Yamaguchi and Tsukishima outside the context of the sports club. A slight feeling of uncertainty came over you; you didn’t know what to talk about. As you began to eat, your eyes moved between your two companions, searching for a thread that could carry the conversation.

It was then that your attention was drawn to Yamaguchi’s handkerchief, which was decorated with designs of different Pokémon. “Does he like Pokémon?” you wondered, feeling that it was a good starting point. “What is your favorite Pokémon?” Hoping that it might open up a pleasant conversation.

 Yamaguchi smiled widely, his face lighting up immediately. He began talking enthusiastically, sharing his knowledge of the franchise and mentioning several Pokémon you hadn’t heard of in a long time. His eyes sparkled as he told stories about each one, and you realized his passion surpassed your own knowledge as a fan. The conversation flowed naturally, and before you knew it, time passed quickly. 

Once they had finished their lunches, Yamaguchi showed you his small collection of Pokémon cards, carefully organized and protected in laminated cardboard. 

“Look at this one! This is my favorite,” he said, holding up a card that shone with vibrant colors. 

Unable to help yourself, you exclaimed, “That looks just like Kenma!” Without thinking, you pointed at the Torracat illustration on the laminated cardboard. 

“Kenma?” Yamaguchi repeated, frowning as he looked at the card, as if he didn’t understand the reference.

“The setter of the Nekoma,” Tsukishima explained, breaking his silence. “The pudding-headed fool,” he added in a lower, sharper tone, averting his gaze elsewhere.

Tsukishima’s comment surprised you and caused an involuntary smile. There was perhaps a hint of jealousy in his tone, but you decided not to think too much about it.

“Ah, the boy Hinata said you liked,” Yamaguchi recalled as he rearranged his cards. A shocked expression was left on your face. How did he know that?

“What Hinata said that!?” You looked at him in bewilderment, feeling confusion and disbelief take over you. That carrot-headed fool.

“He had told us that you liked him. I assumed that from how you talked so animatedly with him and because you seemed to spend a lot of time together,” Yamaguchi explained, visibly flustered by the intensity of your annoyed look. Before you could retort, Tsukishima interrupted him.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” he said in a tone meant to be dismissive, and Yamaguchi looked down, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, Tsukki,” he apologized, looking down in a gesture that showed his discomfort. His eyes held a slight glint of guilt, and you sighed in frustration.

“I don’t like Kenma,” you explained, crossing your arms in an attempt to convey your seriousness. “I just thought he was cute, that’s all.”

“So, you like him,” Yamaguchi replied with the same certainty as always, as if he were revealing the absolute truth.

“No, just because I think he’s cute doesn’t mean I like him,” you replied firmly, trying to make him understand your position.

“But if you think about it, isn’t it the same thing?” he insisted, his attitude stubborn. “Sometimes, when we find someone we like, we start by thinking that he’s cute...”

“Yeah, but… that’s not the point,” you interrupted, trying to adjust the conversation to your true feelings. “I don’t like him; I’m interested in someone else now.”

Yamaguchi’s question took you by surprise. “Who do you like then?” you frowned, feeling the conversation becoming awkward.

“You piss me off,” you said through gritted teeth, your frustration rising at the insistence.

“Who do you like?” Tsukishima joined in the conversation, his mocking tone ringing in your ears. “As if you didn’t know,” you thought disdainfully.

You sighed, straightening your back in your seat. “I won’t name names,” you stated, eyes narrowing as you cast a challenging glare at the blond beside you. “But he’s a tall, rather sarcastic boy,” you emphasized the last word, hoping the insinuation would be enough.

Yamaguchi brought a hand to his chin, making a thoughtful gesture. “Who could it be?” he murmured, his innocence contrasting with the tension you felt.

Finally, the bell announcing the end of lunch rang through the air, and you quickly said goodbye before standing up and heading towards your classroom.

“Hey, Tsukki, who do you think it could be?” Yamaguchi asked his friend, watching as you walked away through the door.

You rested your head on your mother's shoulder as you both waited for the time to board the plane to Kyoto. Automatically, you shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, trying to calm the anxiety that was beginning to settle in your chest.

According to the schedule, you would arrive in Kyoto today, just in time to participate in the auditions for the orchestra tomorrow. Yesterday, you had tried to locate Hinata at school to say goodbye, but you were unable to find him. You thought about looking for him at the gym, but the rush to return home prevented you from doing so, leaving you with a slight regret for not having been able to say goodbye properly.

"Calm down, sweetheart," your mother urged, placing a comforting hand on your leg, which was moving nervously up and down. "Yes," you replied, trying to follow her advice.

Turning your gaze to the magazine your mother was reading, you focused on the images of Kyoto's tourist sites, trying to distract your mind. However, as you looked at the beautiful landscapes and temples, a thought crossed your mind: you should return with a couple of gifts for your two best friends. Maybe in Kyoto you would find something that Tsukishima might like as well. With each image you passed, the thought of gifts intertwined with the memory of the conversation you had with him about his date to the festival, making you blush involuntarily.

You glanced at your mother, who was engrossed in her reading and didn't notice the flushed cheeks or the silly smile that adorned your face. You decided it was time to ask her permission so there wouldn't be any awkward questions later on.

"Mom," you called her in your native language, wrapping your arm around hers and putting on your best puppy dog eyes.

"What do you want?" she replied, getting straight to the point, already familiar with the innocent tone you adopted when you needed something.

“You know, the Tanabata festival is coming up and I was wondering if you could give me permission to go,” you asked, choosing your words carefully. “I want to go alone, without my sister or you or dad, just me and…” you paused for a moment, trying to properly categorize Tsukishima in your mind. “Just me and a friend.”

Your mother looked up from the magazine, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “A friend, you say? Sounds interesting. And is that friend someone special?” she hinted, her tone hinting at her curiosity.

“He’s just a friend,” you replied quickly, feeling the blush deepen on your cheeks. However, your mother’s expression, which had turned from surprise to a mix of amusement and expectation, made you hesitate. “It’s just that we like spending time together,” you added, trying to downplay it.

“Sure,” your mother said, a knowing spark in her eyes. “As long as you stay safe and come home at a reasonable hour, I think we can come to an agreement.”

The plane ride was fairly smooth and quick. Kyoto was really different from Miyagi; you were amazed at the number of temples and rich Japanese architecture that surrounded you. You stayed at a lovely hotel in the city center, mainly because your mother had plans to go sightseeing. She was excited to check out the prefecture’s cuisine and sights. You, on the other hand, felt nervous, fidgety even, as you moved your fingers on the small desk in your room, like they were piano keys. You had to do your best tomorrow; you had to make the trip here worth it.

You woke up early in the morning to get ready. Your mother made sure you looked radiant, insisting that a good appearance was key to making a good impression. Stepping onto the university campus, you were struck by the magnitude of the place. When you were led to the auditorium where the auditions would be held, your stomach dropped at how crowded it was. There were many young people your age, and most of them were students from the same high school.

You stood in a corner, holding your mother's hand tightly. You could feel your legs shaking, and at that moment, you completely regretted being there. Just as anxiety began to wash over you, a vibrant buzzing in your pocket made you snap. You quickly reached for your phone; an unfamiliar number appeared on the screen. You quickly apologized to your mother before leaving the room so you could answer it.

"Hello?" you said, trying to regulate your breathing.

"Hello!" a familiar voice answered, full of energy.

"Hinata... is that you?" you asked, feeling a surge of relief at the familiar voice. You lifted the phone from your ear to look at the screen; you thought you had added his number to your contact list, but apparently you hadn't.

“Yeah! It’s me. Well… not just me, the rest of the team is here too,” he explained, and in that instant, a chorus of voices echoed on the other end of the line, shouting a loud “hello!”.

“Oh, hello, guys,” you greeted, waiting for Hinata to explain the reason for the call, as you had to be back soon.

“Well, we were calling to wish you good luck,” Hinata said, his voice softening as other murmurs could be heard in the background.

You stayed silent for a moment, feeling your heart fill with warmth. “That’s really nice, Shoyo.”

“Don’t give me credit, it was Tsukishima’s idea,” Hinata replied, his tone changing to a lower one, followed by a small uproar among the boys. “Here, tell her something!” he insisted, struggling with someone.

“What am I supposed to say?” you recognized Tsukishima’s voice, which sounded somewhat resigned before falling silent.

“Uhm… hello,” he finally said, his voice clearer now. You felt your heart race at the sound of it. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, a little nervous, actually,” you confessed, feeling the mere act of talking to him give you a slight boost of confidence.

“That’s normal,” Tsukishima replied, his tone denoting understanding. “That time when I saw you play in the music classroom, you did amazing.” You can do it.” There was none of the condescending or hateful tone he usually used in his voice, and that pleasantly surprised you.

“Oh, it’s turning red!” Nishinoya’s voice exclaimed from the back, followed by a thump and Tanaka’s laughter, causing a smile to spread across your face.

Your eyes sparkled at his encouraging words. Receiving a compliment from Kei Tsukishima was nothing short of a miracle. The blood rushed to your face, dyeing it a lovely pink. “Thank you, Tsukishima,” you managed to reply, feeling that simple interaction give you a surge of confidence.

“Good luck,” Tsukishima concluded, his voice ringing with sincerity before the call was dismissed with a chorus of well wishes from everyone.

Taglist @hwanghyunjinismybae @keishuii @darthferbert @kittyOsunny @hiqhkey @shoyosyoyo

[cookieshipshowdown]

Current "standings" (if you can even call them that) of the different ships submitted. This house is a fucking nightmare, and my spreadsheet is already in shambles.

The keep reading is just to make the post shorter because. there's so many different ships.

Single Ships (A prelim round is on the horizon prolly) :

Moonfairy (Moonlight Cookie x Sea Fairy Cookie) Milkstar [QPR] (Star Coral Cookie + Milky Way Cookie) Timemilk (Timekeeper Cookie x Shadow Milk Cookie) [Ruler of Ephemeral Flow TK x Sage of Truth smilk was a second submission] Stormcacao (Stormbringer Cookie x Dark Cacao Cookie) Unichip (Cream Unicorn Cookie x Crunchy Chip Cookie) Hollytaya (Hollyberry Cookie x Pitaya Dragon Cookie) Evil Advisors (Affogato Cookie x Smoked Cheese Cookie) Chocowolf (Dark Choco Cookie x Werewolf Cookie) Wizardcrepe (Wizard Cookie x Strawberry Crepe Cookie) Candycrepe (Candy Apple Cookie x Strawberry Crepe Cookie) Vanillaraisin (Pure Vanilla Cookie x Black Raisin Cookie) Caramelraisin (Caramel Arrow Cookie x Black Raisin Cookie) Sapphireraisin (Black Sapphire Cookie x Black Raisin Cookie) Golden Cheese and her treasures (Cheese Kingdom Polycule) [Includes Smoked Cheese, Burnt Cheese, Mozzarella, Olive, and Black Raisin] [Plus a second submission of JUST Golchi and Raisin] Goldentiger (Golden Cheese Cookie x Nutmeg Tiger Cookie) Gingerberry (GingerBrave x Strawberry Cookie) Spicedchoco (Burning Spice Cookie x Dark Choco Cookie) Rasprincess (Raspberry Cookie x Princess Cookie) Poly Cookies of Darkness (It's what it says on the tin) Timeguette (Timekeeper Cookie x Baguette Cookie) TBD Polycule (Timekeeper x Croissant x Ephemeral Flow TK x Director Croissant x String Gummy) [This one is funny to me because it's four alternate universe versions and then. String gummy in the corner.] Shadowfaerie (Shadow Milk Cookie x Elder Faerie Cookie) Wedding Yuri (Wedding Cake Cookie x Black Forest Cookie) Juice Bar Regulars (Sparkling x Mint Choco x Vamp x Herb) Mintcocoa (Mint Choco Cookie x Hot Cocoa Cookie) Pomegranate Cookie x Starfruit Cookie (ship name?) Longan Dragon Cookie x Pitaya Dragon Cookie (ship name?) Maple Taffy Cookie x Cappuccino Cookie (ship name?) Clotted Cream Cookie x Financier Cookie (ship name?) Captain Caviar Cookie x Abalone Cookie (ship name?) Black Sapphire Cookie x Nutmeg Tiger Cookie (ship name?) Adventurer x Blackberry (ship name?) PV x Elder Faerie x Milennial Tree (ship name?) Rich Cheese Cookie x Banana Peel Cookie (cut content ship)

-=--=====--=-

Single Instances of Specific Polysouljam Ships :

Shadowsalt (Shadow Milk Cookie x Silent Salt Cookie) Shadowflour (Shadow Milk Cookie x Mystic Flour Cookie) Mysticsugar (Mystic Flour Cookie x Eternal Sugar Cookie) Mysticsalt (Mystic Flour Cookie x Silent Salt Cookie) Saltedvanilla (Silent Salt Cookie x Pure Vanilla Cookie) Burningcacao (Burning Spice Cookie x Dark Cacao Cookie) Shadowlily (Shadow Milk Cookie x White Lily Cookie) Goldenflour (Golden Cheese Cookie x Mystic Flour Cookie) Cheese-n-chocolate (Golden Cheese Cookie x Dark Cacao Cookie) Goldencacaoberry (Golden Cheese x Dark Cacao x Hollyberry)

-=--=====--=-

Ships with More Than One Submission :

2 instances of Jestergem (Wind Archer x Shadow Milk) 2 instances of Espresseleine (Espresso x Madeleine) 2 instances of Poly Cops-n-Robbers (Rye, Almond, Roguefort, Chili Pepper) 2 instances of Burningvanilla (Burning Spice x Pure Vanilla) 2 instances of Truthlessage (Truthless Recluse x Sage of Truth) 2 instances of Eternalcheese (Eternal Sugar x Golden Cheese) 2 instances of Purelily (Pure Vanilla x White Lily) [One of which is "evil purelily" AKA TR x DE] 3 instances of Wildchip (Wildberry x Crunchy Chip) 3 instances of Blackbell (Black Sapphire x Silverbell) 3 instances of Lilyenchant (White Lily x Dark Enchantress) [Plus 1 with Silent Salt and Elder Faerie thrown in] 3 instances of Polysouljam (The Beasts and Ancients) 3 instances of Mysticcacao (Mystic Flour x Dark Cacao) 3 instances of Silentlily (Silent Salt x White Lily) 3 instances of Sugarberry (Eternal Sugar x Hollyberry) 4 instances of Burningcheese (Burning Spice x Golden Cheese) 6 instances of Shadowvanilla (Shadow Milk x Pure Vanilla)

I'm losing my mind. 53 submissions and the week isn't even up. There's so many pairings. and ships. Guys. Not even MCYT ships are this diverse I'm crashing out

....Keep going. At least TRY to make multiples of the single ships. they're lonely :( or just do whatever. add more to my list, we can make ALL the rarepairs fight

[jilyawards]

The Big Little Moments by @annabtg

Risky Business by @arianatwycross

The Quidditch Captain's Secret by Finnicksarchive

star light, star bright by @gigglesandfreckles-hp

Sweet Seventeen by @jamesunderwater

The Couch Chronicles by jamesunderwater

The Raven-Haired Prince by jamesunderwater

falling (for fools) by @jjameslily

in losing grip by @keep--driving

Love for the Summer by @missgryffin

he thought they were roses by ohevans

things toddlers just do by ohevans

Do You Want To Build A Snowman? by @practicecourts

Ephemeral by @smurfica

Midnight Train to London by @tedwardremus

Tranquil Solitude (Until You Came Along) by tedwardremus

After Dark by @yallthemwitches

Simple Math by yallthemwitches

The Seat with the Clearest View by yallthemwitches

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Tim drake for the hedcanons ask game?

Headcanon 1:  Realistic

I put this one in The Return. Tim is messy.

I don't believe he holds much value in possessions, first of all. Things are just things, either tools or objects filling a space, with little inherent sentimental or monetary value to him. He's rich and he was a neglected kid oversaturated in things and deprived of love, time, attention, etc.

But also, consciously or unconsciously, I think being messy and leaving his things everywhere is a way to mark, however ephemerally, that he was there. That he existed. It shares his existence to those who come behind him and gives him an excuse, however, slight, to come back. When Tim chooses to erase himself, he does so completely. When he's hesitant about his place or his welcome, he keeps himself contained and confined. But when he is comfortable in a space (the Manor, for example), he leaves himself everywhere.

Headcanon 2: May or not be realistic, is definitely funny (at least to me)

Another thing I've hinted at it in my own fics before: I do think Tim has a weirdly effective relationship with Bruce. This kid appeared out of nowhere when that guy was at his absolute lowest and as a weird little teenager bullied Batman into something approaching equilibrium.

This is a guy who can imitate Alfred's pointed look when he needs to, sure, but worse, he's squared off with Bruce over taking care of himself before and won and by gum he will invoke that history at the drop of a hat if needed.

If he tells Bruce get off that ankle right now you KNOW better B what are you trying to do cause even more damage, he means it, and he will stand in Bruce's path and stare him down until B hops back to a chair where he can elevate his leg.

Headcanon 3: Evil and heart-breaking why would you do this

I know I keep saying "I don't think this is evil, but—", but I really don't think this one is! I think it's just... factual, even a little hopeful, but not cheery-positive.

Even when Tim is an adult, grown, settled, happy, still sometimes he will worry that the others don't think about him, that they don't really want him around, that they don't really consider him family like they do the others. He will know cognitively that this worry is not grounded in reality. It is without proof, a phobia, an anxiety as fictitious as unbridled paranoia, rooted in a childhood rife with being unwanted.

As he ages, he will build himself a better life, better structures, better habits. He'll go to therapy. He'll learn to express his doubts to others, to seek comfort and assurance instead of retreating to see who notices or follows. Maybe he'll see his own insecurities in others and feel the strange twist of experiencing the consequences of his own neuroses from the outside, and choose to grow from those experiences.

He will change. He will learn. He will grow. But his fear will remain a part of him.

Headcanon 4: Doesn’t align with canon (or maybe even reality) but I do what I want

I don't understand whole chunks of Tim's various canon interpretations, so for me, in my own little universe:

Tim's parents were absent, self-focused, and neglectful, but not physically abusive

Janet died in a car crash and Jack from an aneurysm (no murder by Captain Kangaroo or whoever)

Dana is still undefined for me. She exists, but I'm not sure how to use her.

Tim feels like he needs to be useful to belong in any given space, and he so desperately wants to belong.

[rainbow-arrow]

Lukadrien Episodes:

Luka Couffaine is only in like, 19 episodes, so here's the list from the top of my head:

Episodes where Luka and Adrien Interact in Some Capacity (some ARE a stretch but I've had Lukadrien brainrot for literal years):

Season Two: Episode 16: Captain Hardrock (Luka introduction, iconic 'Welcome to the Band') Episode 17: Frozer (sure it's a bi-square ep but watching through a lukadrien/marigami lens is so fun)

Season Three: Episode 7: Silencer (Silencer calls Chat Noir 'kitty' and no one ever talks about that) Episode 11: Desperada (the whole episode. no explanation needed) Episode 20: Party Crasher (Luka comes to party uwu, Vipernoir moment)

Season Four: Episode 1: Truth (anytime he's akumatized and interacts with Chat Noir is so fun to me. 'do u love me? beat me up pls' also both times they really emphasize hand-to-hand combat) Episode 12: Crocoduel (no Lukadrien bc 'GOTTA KEEP ADRIEN AWAY' but lukanoir is a fave of mine) Episode 13: Optigami (a stretch, absolutely, but the idea of Luka coming to a model thing for Adrien is so funny and cute to consider) Episode 18: Wishmaker (Iconic, the whole episode. 'you don't want to be a model Adrien, i hear your melody' etc; kicking and screaming) Episode 19: Ephemeral (pls watch this with a Lukadrien lens, Chat Noir's shocked face at Viperion de-transforming makes me cackle every time)

Season Five: Episode 6: Determination ("He loves everyone and everyone loves him back, he's surrounded by love and has a hard time understanding it all") Episode 12: Perfection (the song one. You know how they look at each other at band practice) Episode 13: Migration (*through gritted teeth* "this way, CHAT NOIR can come help us" *shoves Adrien in the closet*, oh and of course "'what would I do without you")

The episodes Luka appears in that he doesn't really interact with Adrien/Chat but just merely appears:

Season Three: Reflekdoll (complimenting Juleka) Heart Hunter/Miracle Queen: (cute biking sequence, Marinette sobbing into his arms)

Season Four: Lies (being the inverse to Truth ofc) Sole Crusher (party on the Liberty) Penalteam (Viperion is trapped in the bubble for the wHOLE GAME) Risk (barely there as Viperion) Strikeback (Luka gets a :o moment)

Season Five: Re-creation (comes back fINALLY)

tldr w/out my commentary:

Season Two: **Episode 16: Captain Hardrock Episode 17: Frozer

Season Three: **Episode 7: Silencer **Episode 11: Desperada Episode 20: Party Crasher

Season Four: Episode 1: Truth Episode 12: Crocoduel Episode 13: Optigami **Episode 18: Wishmaker Episode 19: Ephemeral

Season Five: Episode 6: Determination Episode 12: Perfection **Episode 13: Migration

**personally view these as the Most Lukadrien:tm: episodes

[bethanydelleman]

New Year's Resolutions for Jane Austen Characters (mid-novel)

Emma Woodhouse: Find a new man for Harriet Smith No more matchmaking! Admit Knightley (and his brother) were right. Meet Frank Churchill, finally.

George Knightley: Just feeling thankful for everything I have. I don't think my life needs to change.

Mr. Woodhouse: Finally convince Isabella to live at Hartfield instead of with her husband. Poor Isabella!

Harriet Smith: Marry Mr. Elton 💗💗💗 *unable to read tear-stained writing*

John Knightley: Spend more time at home with my beloved wife. Why do people invite us places???

Elinor Dashwood: Find a way to get over the most perfect man I've ever met.

Edward Ferrars: Find an honourable way to get out of the engagement with Lucy (same resolution he's had for three years now)

Robert Ferrars: Build a magnificent cottage

Marianne Dashwood: Marry the most perfect man to grace this earth with his beautiful presence, John Willoughby. Also, read more poetry.

Colonel Brandon: *stares at the paper in despair because he cannot bear to give form to his ambitions which seem already impossible*

Elizabeth Bennet: I don't really think there's anything I need to improve about myself. I'm really a great judge of character.

Fitzwilliam Darcy: Remember that duty comes before ephemeral feelings of affection.

Jane Bennet: Find a way to get over the most perfect man I've ever met.

Charles Bingley: Buy an estate (resolution submitted by Caroline & Louisa)

Caroline Bingley: Encourage Charles to finally buy an estate (not in Hertfordshire), get Charles and Georgiana Darcy engaged, get engaged to Mr. Darcy, attend a party with at least three members of the nobility... (too many goals to record here)

Mrs. Bennet: MARRY OFF AT LEAST ONE OF THESE DARN DAUGHTERS

Anne Elliot: find a way to be less awkward around Captain Wentworth... Prepare myself for Captain Wentworth to marry Louisa... Try to endure Bath with a smile

Captain Wentworth: Get out of the obligation to marry Louisa Musgrove by any fair means. PLEASE GOD I AM BEGGING YOU

Captain Benwick: Mourn Fanny for eternity Marry Louisa Musgrove

Catherine Morland: Henry Tilney 💗💗💗💗 Henry Tilney, Northanger Abbey 💗💗💗💗 Henry Tilney & Mrs. Catherine Tilney 💗💗💗 *doodles ideas for wedding gowns*

Eleanor Tilney: Marry the love of my life (same goal for the past three years)

Henry Tilney: Keep being awesome

Frederick Tilney: Keep being awesome

General Tilney: Have all my children disposed in marriage to wealthy individuals (goal since Frederick turned 21)

Mrs. Allen: Purchase some very fine lace

Fanny Price: marry edmund Be as unnoticed as possible

Edmund Bertram: Marry Miss Crawford

Mary Crawford: Marry Edmund Bertram

Henry Crawford: Promote William Price, marry Fanny Price. Rub my excellent treatment of Fanny in the Bertram's faces.

Tom Bertram: *never wrote anything down, never does his years are always awesome*

Mr. Yates: Finally put on a production of Lovers' Vows third times the charm!

Mrs. Norris: Save more money than last year by furthering economy. Keep Fanny in her place. Become more necessary to the Bertrams.

Lady Bertram: sew a cute little jacket for Pug

Lady Susan: Keep being the best Gaslight Girlboss *kisses paper*

(if Christmas happened within novel, I tried to place the resolutions around it. If not, I made up a time)

[alcnolien]

I have just inflicted/experienced the most insane Miraculous Ladybug watch order

A friend of mine was hanging out today, and we’ve been talking about their love of Sad Boys in media, and also me and Chat Noir

And I asked them,

“Hey

Do you wanna see just how sad this catboy can get”

“Yes please”

We then proceeded to watch, in This Order:

Chat Blanc (an absolutely unhinged choice to start with)

Oblivio

Miraculous World: Paris - Tales of Shadybug and Claw Noir

Ladybug and Chat Noir the Movie

Conformation/Re-creation (The Final Day pts 1 & 2) (“wait is that how they really ended the entire hawkmoth arc” “YES”)

Action (Me- “Wait, what’s this episode they have listed after the final day?” *cue the most Captain Planet-ass episode that I did not know existed before*)

Desperada (“Hey you like messed up time loops right” “YES”)

Ephemeral

Kuro Neko

An absolutely unhinged set of episodes to watch in one go for me, and I cannot imagine what it must have been like for this batch of episode in this particular order to be one’s introduction to the series

My friend is super pumped to watch more tho so hey if they’re happy I’m happy

[flightfoot]

I'd like to see Adrien snapped at Marinette for the whole lies she told him, even better if it happen after reveal so all lies will come to light and break up would be nice. But i really have no faith in this show anymore because if anything this show will go either Adrien get angry at Marinette but will forgive her a minute later because him being angry make her sad, Adrien get angry and left but something happen that make him misunderstood something and end up forgiving her despite everything like Kuro neko or it will happen in erased timeline a la chat Blanc or ephemeral.

Yeah I agree with you, like I want him to forgive Marinette for the lies and for them to make up (after he sets some boundaries with her that she makes sure to respect) but I'd want there to be tension between them for a few episodes, and for him to get to be angry at Marinette for a few days first.

Like we've seen Ladybug get to be angry at Chat Noir in the NY special and even to say that she doesn't trust him anymore for simply not informing her that there was a change of plans at the last minute and he'd be leaving Paris after all. Chat should get to be at LEAST as angry at her as she was at him in that scene.

Sparrow:(deep voice) You've come all the way from Paris to help us out? Cat Noir: Yeah! We thought it'd be friendly to give you a hand in honor of French American Friendship Week! (Techlonizer gets down and uses its laser beam as Ladybug, Cat Noir, Uncanny Valley and Sparrow split up.) Sparrow:(deep voice) See that?! They don't need anyone's permission to take action! Ladybug: That's right! He never asks for anything! DO YOU, CAT NOIR! Uncanny Valley: Sparrow, did you warn Knightowl and Majestia? (she punches Techlonizer) Sparrow:(deep voice) I couldn't! But you know what?! -- we don't need anyone's permission either! Uncanny Valley: Are you sure you wanna step out of the procedure? Sparrow:(deep voice) This is our chance to prove to them they were just like these two! Autonomous, bonded together but trust and super efficient! Ladybug: "Just go and rest easy! Yeah, leave Paris with me!" Cat Noir: I-I didn't know I was going to leave! It was a last-minute decision, that's all! (Techlonizer hits Ladybug and Cat Noir. Sparrow and Uncanny Valley are shocked.) Ladybug: Do you realize that because of you there's no one left in Paris to protect the city?! (Techlonizer runs away efficiently.) Ladybug: He's running away! Sparrow:(deep voice) You sound like Captain Obvious! Ladybug: Why didn't you tell me that you were leaving?! Cat Noir: I was afraid you'd get angry! Ladybug: And you were right, because as you can see, I AM angry!! Scene: New York City. Uncanny Valley: Autonomous, bonded by trust and super-efficient?! Sparrow: (deep voice) Yeah, I might have overestimated them. (Techlonizer lands down. Uncanny Valley drops Sparrow.) Sparrow: (deep voice) Surrender, Techno-Pirate! There's nowhere to run now![Superpower Sequence] [Cut to Cat Noir] Cat Noir:Cataclysm! (Cat Noir uses his Cataclysm.) [Cut to Ladybug] Ladybug:Lucky Charm! (Ladybug summons a bicycle pump.) Cat Noir: A bicycle pump? What are you gonna do with that? Ladybug: I may have an idea, but you wouldn't like it! Techlonizer: Why run away when I can finally get me revenge by eliminating the beloved kids of AMERICA'S MOST BELOVED HEROES! Cat Noir: M'lady, I didn't tell you because I was afraid of losing your trust! Ladybug: Well, I can't trust you anymore, can I?!

Side Note: I still think Ladybug was way angrier at Chat Noir than she deserved to be, especially considering that the Shanghai special canonically took place before this one, and she didn't give any notice that she was leaving when she totally could have (Chat didn't either, but it was last minute for him so he probably didn't get the chance).

But yeah. If Ladybug gets to berate Chat about the consequences of his actions in the middle of a fight and say that she's lost trust in him simply because he didn't tell her that he was forced to leave Paris at the last minute, then Adrien should be allowed to also say a similar level of stuff about being angry and losing trust in her over her lying about what kind of a person his father is and how he died.

[lightningant]

hey, how do you see Eileen? i really liked your reading of mommy tom for sev, but what about her?

If we look at her history...

Born to a wizarding family, but it's not actually every stated if they were pure-blood or were in a position of privilege. My money's on a "decent sort" kind of middle-class, and more incidently pure-blood.

Captain of the Gobstones team, which is wizarding marbles; a children's game. This is a really niche nerdy hobby for an older girl to have.

She married a destitute muggle in a poor neighbourhood. Harry recognizes Cokeworth as a stop in Vernon Dursley's rampage to get as far away from human contact as possible, so IMHO it's very out-of-the-way and there's probably a spattering of wizarding houses nearby (the same way the Weasleys, Diggorys, and Lovegoods live near a muggle village) and this is a man she knew locally.

She had screaming matches with Tobias Snape.

Despite living in a muggle neighbourhood with her muggle husband, she dressed Snape in wizarding clothes (the strange smock which made Harry - who is part of a generation of wizarding children who wear jeans - go HUH?) and teaches him all about Hogwarts and instructs him on a truly prodigious amount of hexes.

Snape was convinced he'd go to Slytherin. The only reason for him to be so convinced is if his mother was in there too.

My diagnosis is that Eileen was a wallflower and a nerd in Slytherin, and wasn't valued as a woman. She escaped a restrictive system by marrying a free-spirited Tobias Snape straight out of school, only for Tobias' poverty to crush his spirit, and for him to take it out on her.

As a Slytherin student, a common past-time was showboating with hexes, and she taught her son to be prepared for Hogwarts, to earn his standing with his casting prowess, and to not flatten himself. Tobias was probably angry about her privileges and her magical abilities and could sense how much she regretted marrying him, and take Snape's defiance and interest in magic as Eileen's doing.

...Which is to say she treated her son as an extension of herself and groomed him for the ephemeral concept of a do-over for a squandered youth cut short, and so Snape is going to be receptive to other people who also treat him this way.

I love the fics where she straight up abandons the family and Snape has to reckon with the fact that her trying to live vicariously through him was not true maternal love, and it radicalized him against Voldemort who was until that point enterprising on this framework. And also against himself, who was replicating his mother's love as his way of expressing his care for Lily, who rightfully dumped him. Like as soon as he became an adult with a successful contract with a beloved figure in well-to-do families it was permission for her to be a complete human being. Delicious

[queensharotto]

Brittle Doughie’s Cookie Run x Reader Masterlist (Part 1: Mid to Late 2022)

A masterlist of @brittle-doughie’s Cookie Run stories organized by month, starting with August 2022.

Genre Emojis

😞 is for angst, 🎃 is for Halloween, 🎄 is for Christmas, 🍪 is for Cannibalism, 💗 is for Yandere, 💝 is for Valentine’s, 👻 is for Horror, 🎂 is for Birthday, 💚 is for Yandere!White Lily Cookie

The Indents are related to the featured cookies. If there are numerous cookies (Over 10 Cookies Featured), I’ll make a note on that as well. Additionally, I’ll categorize various cookies if they’re associated with a specific hobby, location, food etc.

August 2022 🌅

• “Picnic Time” 💗

Featuring: Cherry Blossom Cookie

• “Pizza Time” 💗

Featuring: Pizza Cookie

September 2022 🍂

• “The Beloved of Duskgloom Sea” 💗

Featuring: Black Pearl Cookie

• “Heartbreak”

Featuring: Kumiho Cookie

• “The Apple in this Doctor’s Eye” 💗

Featuring: Dr Bones Cookie

• “The Incorrect Quote Cookie Jar #1”

Featuring: Numerous Cookies

• “The Time Balance Department’s Handycookie”

Featuring: The Time Balance Department

October 2022 🎃

• “Biggest Fans” 💗

Featuring: The Cherry Stars

• “The Idol and the DJ” 💗

Featuring: DJ Cookie

• “Time Travel, Woo!” 💗

Featuring: Croissant Cookie

• “Hollyberrian Marketplace Ruckus”

Featuring: Princess Cookie, Knight Cookie and the Hollyberrian Shopkeepers

• “The Spooky Cookie Tapes” 🎃💗

Featuring: Numerous cookies

• “The Thrill or the Peace”

Featuring: Adventurer Cookie and Blackberry Cookie

• “The Deal with Dragons” 💗

Featuring: The 5 Dragons

• “Baking for Them”

Featuring: Frost Queen Cookie, Sea Fairy Cookie and Black Pearl Cookie

• “The Face of the Future”

Featuring: Director Croissant Cookie, Stringy Gummy Cookie, and Ephemeral Flow Timekeeper Cookie

• “Missing You…” 😞

Featuring: Numerous Cookies

• “Sunrises”

Featuring: Numerous Cookies

• “Real Y/N Cookie Birthday Hours” 🎂

Featuring: Birthday Cake Cookie, Cheesecake Cookie, Truffle Cookie, Lotus Dragon Cookie, and Croissant Cookie

November 2022 🌾

• “A Tune for You”

Featuring: Vagabond Cookie

• “Let Me Be Your Relay Cookie”

Featuring: Numerous Cookies

• “A Phenomenal Photo”

Featuring: Chocolate Bonbon Cookie, Sour Belt Cookie, Shining Glitter Cookie, Scorpion Cookie, Orange Cookie, Cotton Candy Cookie, and Almond Cookie

• “Polar Opposites” 💗

Featuring: Timekeeper Cookie

December 2022 🎄

• “Bake It till You Make It” 🍪💗

Featuring: Captain Caviar Cookie, Caramel Arrow Cookie, Oyster Cookie, Affogato Cookie, Blackberry Cookie, Black Raisin Cookie, and Cocoa Cookie

• “The Deal with Ancients V1”

Featuring: Gingerbrave and Co, The Cookies of Darkness, The First 3 Playable Ancient Heroes and Cookies seen throughout Episodes 9 - 14

• “Yandere Cookie Team Ups” 💗

Featuring: Fire Spirit Cookie, Wind Archer Cookie, Croissant Cookie and Timekeeper Cookie

• “Speak of the Tree”

Featuring: Millennial Tree Cookie and Churro Cookie

• “For Their Majesty” 💗

Featuring: Amber Sugar Cookie

• “Spared No Expense” 💗

Featuring: Cheesecake Cookie

• “The Flipside” 😞

Featuring: Cocoa Cookie, Mint Choco Cookie, Croissant Cookie, Kumiho Cookie, Lilac Cookie, Pomegranate Cookie, Caramel Arrow Cookie

• “When the Jingle Bells Rock” 🎄

Featuring: Numerous Cookies

• “What If: In Your Name” 🍪

Featuring: St Pastry Order

• “Secretly Reading Your Diary”

Featuring: Rougefort Cookie, Licorice Cookie, Pomegranate Cookie, Strawberry Crepe Cookie and the Choco Chess Twins

• “From the Brink”

Featuring: Caramel Arrow Cookie, Pomegranate Cookie, Pastry Cookie and Milk Cookie

• “In a Heartbeat” 💗

Featuring: Pink Choco Cookie

Divider Source l Next Masterlist

[hoippu]

ZoLu Fanfic Masterlist

(Guide for people who want to avoid anime spoilers)

it's in chronological order of the anime arcs but the first several ones are the AU fics

EDIT: check out the google doc for more updates on the list

Ephemerality by greatduwangs

http://archiveofourown.org/works/37446706

Alternate Universe – Demon AU

Don’t need to be caught up to One Piece tbh but still have a good amount of knowledge on some early introduced characters. If you’ve at least gotten to Baratie I think that’s good enough.

Read Roses Mean Friendship by Aki133

http://archiveofourown.org/works/44277967

Alternate Universe – Flower Shop AU

You don’t have to be caught up to One Piece either.

There’s a few characters here tho that get introduced in the anime in Thriller Bark and in Dressrossa.

Tomatoes, Spanish class and roommates by bunnylover101

http://archiveofourown.org/works/38490631

Alternate Universe – Modern College AU

Unrelated to the main story of One Piece but it contains characters from Dressrossa, post-marineford and I think Water 7.

Eternity would be a Curse (Without You By My Side) by Puppypaws54672

http://archiveofourown.org/works/47262166  

Alternate Universe – Gods & Goddesses

No actual spoilers but theres a lot of characters from like the whole series lol

Splendid fanfic

Part 1 of a series

Eternity Had Cursed Me (To Be Without You By My Side) by Puppypaws54672

Part 2 of Eternity would be a Curse (Without You By My Side)

Alternate Universe – Gods & Goddesses, Reincarnation, Modern

No actual spoilers but theres characters from the whole series

The Story of Us by Mugiwat

http://archiveofourown.org/works/48543286

Alternate Universe – Modern AU

No actual spoilers but theres lots of characters again.

Warning: youre gonna hate Law In this fic lmao

catching butterflies by aquietdin

http://archiveofourown.org/works/48133825

(pre-timeskip) Takes place sometime between Skypiea arc but before Long Island arc.

You should also watch the G-8 filler arc because I think it’s referenced, but it’s okay cuz it is honestly the best and only filler arc worth watching.

Ode to an ocean by novks (thychesters)

http://archiveofourown.org/works/46906945

(pre-timeskip) Takes place right before water 7.

Chimes by drcalvin

http://archiveofourown.org/works/451483

(pre-timeskip) Contains spoilers from Water 7/ Post-Enies Lobby.

Takes place after shortly after marineford I think. Maybe wait until the timeskip begins before reading this one just in case.

Unable Are the Loved to Die by BasicallyACat

http://archiveofourown.org/works/24785554

(pre-timeskip) post Enies Lobby

Is a series

You are all I see by Anonymous

http://archiveofourown.org/works/47441071

Alternate Universe – Modern AU

Do not read until you’ve finished Marineford arc

One of my favorites

The Dawn that Rises Bloody by BasicallyACat

http://archiveofourown.org/works/27556822

a sequel to Unable Are the Loved to Die

(post-timeskip) I don’t recall reading this one yet so I cant really say up until where you should watch the anime. But definitely post timeskip

Feelings, what a mess! by drcalvin

http://archiveofourown.org/works/371473.

(post-timeskip) Very early into the timeskip. I’d say you can read when they’re on the way to fishman island.

Heliotrope by LostInClouds

http://archiveofourown.org/works/44929768

(post-timeskip) As long as you reach the timeskip and have made it more or less to when theyre sailing to Fishman Island, you should be fine.

The Things we do for Love by LostInClouds

http://archiveofourown.org/works/46912906

(post-timeskip) It’s recommended that you reach the timeskip for this one too and probably before fishman island is also good enough.

Of First Mates and Duty by Whatev3rs

http://archiveofourown.org/works/40266276

(post-timeskip) takes place in an indefinite point in the timeskip after return to sabaody arc.

Probably my favorite zolu oneshot fr

His Captain, Captivating by jirachi

http://archiveofourown.org/works/48769138             

(post-timeskip) Try to read after Wholecake arc or at least Punk Hazard. There aren’t any major spoilers for Wholecake but there’s a new crewmate there that doesn’t join until then.

Kizuna by YokoHogawa

http://archiveofourown.org/works/4452800

(post-timeskip) after fishman island

The Five Times Luffy Kissed Zoro, and the One Time Zoro Kissed Luffy by EclecticIsMyMiddleName

http://archiveofourown.org/works/18994144

This one takes place throughout the story up until the end of Wano arc.

It’s preferable that you’re fully caught up because it’s so good you might wanna binge it.

However if you absolutely must here’s the time period for each chapter:

Chapter 1 (pre-timeskip) right after Arlong Park

Chapter 2 (pre-timeskip) takes place in episode 223 (I think that’s a filler arc but its short and not too bad to watch)

Chapter 3 (pre-timeskip) between Enies Lobby arc and post-Enies Lobby arc episodes 312 and 313 (don’t read the chapter summary cuz it has spoilers)

Chapter 4 (pre-timeskip) At the end of thriller bark episodes 377 and 378

Chapter 5 (post-timeskip) from the beginning of timeskip until Wano

Chapter 6 (post-timeskip) end of wano