#[and that pieces of someone is a weird thing to hold]

[jungwnies]

lights, camera, action - lewis hamilton (1/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : lewis hamilton x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (req by @lewismcqueen ) : when lewis hamilton steps behind the camera for his directorial debut, the last thing he expects is to fall for the lead actress he casts.

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : tws : mild workplace power dynamics, mentions of media/press stress, brief tension or arguments, mild romantic/sexual tension ୨ৎ : wc : 530

part one | part two | part three | part four

Lewis Hamilton had been in front of cameras for most of his life. He’d mastered interviews, documentaries, sponsorship reels, even executive producing. But this...this was different.

Directing a film wasn’t just about showing up with a vision. It was about building something from scratch. Shaping performances. Holding the story in your hands and hoping it made people feel something real.

He wasn’t interested in flash or filters. No glamor shots, no casting for name recognition. The script was personal. Quiet. Messy. It needed a lead actress who didn’t just act grief but understood it.

So far? Nothing.

Three hours in, he’d seen every version of the same overly rehearsed monologue. Every “it girl” showed up with glowing resumes and professional headshots. They were beautiful, sure. But none of them moved him.

“Let’s take five,” Lewis muttered to the casting director, already standing and stretching the tension from his shoulders.

That’s when the door creaked open.

“Sorry I’m late!”

You stepped into the room, slightly out of breath, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. No glam squad, no staged smile. You wore jeans, a hoodie, and a backpack slung over one shoulder.

Something about you was… different.

The assistant leaned in, whispering just loud enough for Lewis to catch it. “Last-minute addition. Theater kid. No rep.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, glancing you over again. “You ready?”

You nodded, stepping forward, nerves dancing just behind your eyes. You handed over your resume with a quiet “Thank you for seeing me,” and then took your mark.

No stalling. No small talk. Just a single, steadying breath. Then you began.

And everything else disappeared.

The room went still.

You didn’t just read lines. You spoke them like you’d lived them. The rawness in your voice wasn’t planned, it came from somewhere deeper. Something real. Your hands trembled, your jaw tightened, your voice cracked. And it didn’t feel like a performance.

It felt like watching someone fall apart.

By the time the last line left your mouth, the room was silent. Even the casting director had looked up from her notes, watching you like she forgot to blink.

Lewis just stared. Then cleared his throat, trying to shake the weight of it off.

“That was… good,” he said, the understatement hitting his own ears weird.

You gave him a small, unsure smile, tucking your hands into your hoodie pocket.

He blinked again. “We’ll, uh, we’ll be in touch. Callbacks. Definitely.”

You thanked them politely and left as quickly as you’d come. The door clicked shut behind you.

A pause.

Then the casting director turned to him with a raised brow. “She got you.”

“She’s got something,” he said simply. Quiet. Certain.

Later, he would tell himself he picked you because of your ability. Because you were the best fit for the story.

And that was true.

But so was the way you lingered in his head for the rest of the day. The way he kept picturing that moment your eyes filled with tears, how honest it had been. How it stuck with him, long after you were gone.

He kept it professional. He had to.

But even then… he already knew.

taglist : (comment to be added ... bolded couldn't be tagged)

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[loveln4]

LANDO NORRIS x ARAB!READER

Love me like a desert rose

Hold me like you can't let go

- Lolo Zouaï, Desert Rose

synopsis: the last race of the year; Abu Dhabi, allows Lando to rekindle a relationship with an ex lover.

warnings: vulgar language, flirting, fluff!!

“Yallah, yallah, yallah!” The girl urged the camels forward, “So, fucking slow.” Her english accent strong, gaining attention from tourists.

Her face was covered with a scarf, her eyes being the only visible feature on her face. She was beautiful, sculpted by the ancient Gods of Egypt, an ancient history major had told her back in London. All she had thought was ‘fucking flirt’ as he then asked for her number a few minutes later.

Though he wasn’t lying.

She truly was beautiful. Her skin was glowy as if it was made from the material of the sun, eyes brown like the dirt our first ancestors walked on, hair long and wavy like the oceans explored by travelers and her cheekbones as sharp as a samurai’s blade.

Let’s just say, someone had made a poem about her and it’s been imbedded in her mind due to the amount of times she’s read it.

“Excuse me.” A man had appeared behind her. She turned swiftly, her eyes gaining his attention immediately.

Her breath hitched. Should she take off the scarf? Reveal herself to this foreigner? “Yes?” She asks the man in front of her.

He was stunned. Her eyes were angled like a foxes, the colour soothingly ‘boring’ but so very familiar. “I—uh—the camels, how much for a ride?”

“For you? Maybe too much.” She turns back around watching her older cousin feed the largest camel. Y/n didn’t know whether to walk off, far enough that this guy doesn’t figure out who she is. “Oi! Ali!” She yells after her cousin, “Give me that camel.” She takes the reins and guides it back to the man and his group.

“Did you change your mind?” The guy jokes with her, “Or you figured out who i am?”

At this remark she takes the scarf off, “Still so full of yourself, huh? Things never change do they, Lando?”

A guy behind Lando laughs, “Fucking hell, Y/n!” Max Fewtrell gives her a hug, “Haven’t seen you in 7 years.” He says after releasing her, “This is where you’ve been?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” She turns to Lando, “So, want to have a ride?”

After two hours out in the heat the group had finally all had a turn riding the large mammal. She was thirsty, forgetting her water bottle back with her quad bike.

“Max, give me some.” She urges the curly head boy to hand the water bottle to her.

“Nah, i’m thirsty.” He takes a big swig out of the bottle, “Sod off will you.” Max says as her hand is left hanging, no water bottle in sight.

She kicks sand on his shoes, “Little bitch.” She mutters as she walks away and grabs the reigns of two camels, “Yallah, everyone follow me.”

They walk five minutes to the vendor and she puts the camels back in their stalls. Lando’s group swarms the fruit and drink stand by the exit hoping for a sip of water.

“You look different.” Lando said to y/n. “You look good—but, different.” He took in the sight in front of him.

“Just say i look like a piece of shit.” She responds to him.

“But—you don’t?”

“I know, i was just trying to see if you’d be a little shit and say how awful i look right now.” Y/n jokes. Nostalgia ran through her body, a small smile coming to her lips.

A water bottle appeared in her vision, Lando holding it out to her, “Drink, Habibi.”

Taking it with a laugh, “Gag. Don’t ever say that to me again.”

“You used to like it.” He bites with a large grin on his face.

“That was when you used to say sensually. Now it just seems weird.” She shrugs as she walks off toward the fruit stand, plucking a watermelon slice from behind the vendors back. “Amo, this is good!” (Amo-uncle)

“Little shit.” He grimaced. She continued to eat and snatched another one that he had just chopped, “You owe me enough money, stop stealing from your poor old Amo.”

Lando had leaned against the structure protecting y/n’s uncle from the hot sun, “So, want to watch me race?” He asked her as he accepted a slice of watermelon for her uncle, “Shukran.” He thanked him.

“Wow, okay Arab king.” She joked, earning a laugh not only from Lando but her uncle. “I can’t, I’m busy.”

“Liar.” Her uncle bit toward her, “She’s not busy, she just says she is.” His Arab accent was strong.

Lando laughed at this exchange between the two family members, “Is that a yes, habibi?”

With a roll of her eyes and slight smile, “Yes okay, but you’ve got to promise me the best seats, yeah? And! You need to stop calling me habibi.”

“Deal, Hayati.”

A/N: wanted something short and messy.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Please don’t be shy, send them through 🩷

[mostlymarvelgirl]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

H3X3S&H3ARTB3ATS

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Chaos Witch! Reader

Warnings: 18+, mentions of child abuse and neglect, suicidal thoughts, needles, mentions of pornography, kidnapping, mentions of death, mentions of blood and gore, mental illness, mentions of PTSD, corpses, gaslighting, guns, knives, slurs, weapns, alcohol use, violence, smut, angst, blurring of realities, heartbreak, loss of close persons, ritual uses, religious controversies.

୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ

SUMMARY: In a world where celestial beings roam untamed, their presence woven into the fabric of fate, one more should hardly make a difference. And yet, wherever Sam Winchester went, the supernatural followed—drawn to him like moths to a flame, relentless and inescapable. But for all the forces that gravitated toward him, the real question lingered in the air like an unspoken spell—did he ever truly gravitate toward them?

sneak peek...

The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across the room as you hovered over the worn, leather-bound grimoire. The scent of lavender and rosemary curled in the air, mingling with the faint trace of ozone that always followed your spellwork. Tonight, you were attempting something... experimental.

A love spell. On Sam Winchester.

Have you got color in your cheeks?

You weren’t in love with him, per se. Not really. You just wanted to see if it would work. If someone as relentlessly logical, as frustratingly skeptical as Sam could actually be ensnared by magic. It was, in essence, a test of your own abilities—a harmless little experiment.

With a smirk, you let a single drop of your blood drip into the concoction. The potion shimmered, turned an iridescent shade of violet, and thickened like molten amethyst. The candles around you flickered violently, their flames stretching unnaturally toward the ceiling. A gust of unseen wind coiled around your body, chilling your skin as you whispered the incantation. The words dripped from your lips, ancient syllables curling in the air like smoke. The room trembled, the air charged with raw energy, and you knew—knew—that the spell had taken hold.

And yet… nothing.

'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat

No sudden adoring gaze from across the bunker’s library. No dreamy sighs or poetic confessions. In fact, Sam walked in not ten minutes later, completely unaffected, utterly normal, and annoyingly unaware that you had just attempted to bend the very fabric of fate in your favor.

At first, you chalked it up to bad luck. But then strange things started happening over the next few days.

It was subtle at first—Sam waking up groggier than usual, rubbing his temples like he had a headache he couldn’t shake. He kept pausing mid-sentence, frowning as if he had forgotten what he was about to say. And then there was the way he looked at you—not with love-struck admiration, but with something like suspicion. Like he could feel the edges of something off but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He blinked at you one evening, frowning slightly. “Did you—uh—did you do something in here?”

Your stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a weird energy. Feels like… I dunno. Like something’s buzzing, but not quite.” His brows furrowed as he surveyed the candles, the bowl of shimmering liquid, and the open book at your feet. “Wait, is that Latin? What were you casting?”

Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?

You huffed, quickly slamming the book shut. “Nothing important.”

But over the week, the clues stacked up. The way Dean kept side-eyeing Sam like he was waiting for his brother to say something. The way Sam’s fingers twitched when he was near you, like he was trying to reach for something but stopping himself. The way he started watching you—not in a soft, affectionate way, but with the sharp gaze of a hunter piecing together a case.

Then, on the fifth night, he found your spell remnants tucked away under your bed. The half-melted candle, the parchment stained with your own blood, the last shimmering drops of the failed potion. When you walked into your room, he was already sitting on the edge of your bed, the evidence laid out in front of him like a crime scene.

Sam gave you that look—the one that said he wasn’t buying your crap for a second. He crossed his arms, looming over you in a way that made your heart do something it absolutely shouldn’t be doing. “Tell me you weren’t messing with love magic.”

You scoffed, feigning offense. “Pfft. Please. Like I would waste my time on that.”

His eyes narrowed. “Y/N.”

“…Fine. Maybe.”

“On who?”

Your silence was damning. Sam’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Wait. On me?”

Sad to see you go, was sorta hoping that you'd stay

“Look,” you said quickly, “I wasn’t trying to force anything, okay? I just wanted to see if it would work on you. Scientific curiosity.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said dryly, rubbing a hand down his face. “And?”

You exhaled dramatically. “Nothing. Zilch. Nada. You’re apparently immune to my magic. Which is honestly kind of insulting.”

A slow, almost amused smile played on Sam’s lips. He took a step closer, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“Just… interesting that you’d even try.” His voice had taken on a lower, softer timbre, and damn him, he knew exactly what he was doing. “You really think you need magic for that?”

Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do

Your breath caught. The air between you shifted, suddenly charged with something far more potent than any spell you could cast. Sam, still frustratingly unaffected, leaned in just enough to make your pulse spike.

“I—” you started, but the words tangled in your throat.

He smirked. “Didn’t think so.”

And just like that, Sam turned on his heel and walked out, leaving you alone with your useless spell and the mortifying realization that you hadn’t needed it in the first place.

Do you want me crawling back to you?

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

coming soon.....

[insomiaepisode]

Unpopular Opinion: Mark's feelings about Sinclair and Darkwing make total sense for him to have. They aren't just pieces in a hypothetical thought experiment for him. Sinclair nearly killed someone who's now a friend to him and kidnapped Mark's BEST FRIEND.

Darkwing is way more redeemable but Mark was left out of the loop on that one, after Cecil TOLD him to bring him in. He was completely blindsided, felt like his trust was betrayed, and blew up. Maybe if Cecil had TRIED to ease Mark into the idea of rehabilitation in the first place, or just explain his points any time earlier, things might have gone better.

It's a completely understandable to want someone that harmed you or someone close to you to never see the light of day again. How many people do you know that would go "oh yeah you mutilated corpses and combined a human with robotics against their i will and kidnapped one of my friends, but they have you doing the same thing with DEAD SOLDIERS now, so I guess you must be a good person."

(Using corpses as weapons is so disgusting and I doubt Cecil asked Sinclair to look for a way to make it all robotic.)

As for the point about Mark being more willing to forgive his dad that people use as a gotcha... like ofc he is. that's his dad. People's parents hit them all the time and they still love them and stay in contact. People's kids will commit horrible crimes but they'll still love them and defend them. It's not necessarily right but it happens often because that's how we are. People make excuses for people they love. We forgive people we love more easily. Mark wants to have hope for his Dad, because that's his Dad.

People really don't account for how young Mark is. He's like 19 (and the general consensus in the fandom is that his aging likely slows after he got his powers) and has experienced so much mayhem and death in an incredibly personal way. He has so much responsibility to be Earth's greatest hero and it's gotta feel like all that work means nothing when things like that happen.

Of course he wants to be against murder, "heroes" don't do that. Of course he's not expecting Cecil to start working with the bad guys. He grew up in a world with Omni-Man and now he has to live up to the hero part of his Dad's legacy and not the villain part. And in that world, they didn't need Cecil's contingencies.

I'm not saying Mark's perfect and should never be criticized, but dear god. People are trying to hold him accountable like he's a real person. The weird takes I see on tiktok are the reason I should've never told that app I watched that show

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Loss

Sequel to The Hunter, which I managed to cook up somehow despite being down with a fever.

Warning - angst without comfort. There is no comfort to be found here, maybe the upcoming cuddle fic will fill that gaping void. ok but on a serious note: Mention of suicidal thoughts.

For those of you falling in the void, I want to reach out my hand as someone who has fallen before and got pulled somewhat out by an interesting entourage of people whom I now call friends.

Summary: You and Bucky part ways after the gala, never to turn back.

It's weird, waking up alone in bed. You've gotten so used to the presence of another body lying next to you, one muscled flesh arm and one metal arm wrapped around you, holding you tightly. You've learned to sleep only on one side of the bed lest you get kicked off, and the habit continues even after he's gone. The silence of the morning and the coldness of the sheets on the other side of the bed remind you of what happened last night.

A chill pricks your skin as memories flash despite the pounding in your head. If Bucky was here, you'd see a glass of water next to some aspirin — never ibuprofen, you didn't like having to pronounce it so Bucky figured you wouldn't want to consume some, even if it was for a silly reason —, feel a warm hand cupping your cheek followed by a forehead kiss. This morning you wake up cold, and all alone.

You remember leaving the party early after the exchange and using your title, which is still viable after beating some people up, you rented a room for yourself and crashed on the bed. That's about all that happened. A heavy weight pressing down on your chest, you're not sure how to feel about last night. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong. Him being right means you have to apologise, and the thought makes you sick. Your stomach churns and you rush to the toilet, vomiting all the contents of said stomach out.

Panting, you stay kneeling by the toilet bowl, head hung. You squeeze your eyes shut, struggling to stop the tears but they fall anyways. You'd already lost him once before, when Thanos snapped him away, and you'd fought tooth and nail after some convincing from Natasha as well as Steve to bring him back. The second time it's your fault, and that knowledge makes the pain even worse.

You weep, hating the sounds that fall from your lips and slump against the toilet bowl. It hurts, everything hurts. Your eyes water, your throat is burning, your heart is shattered and you want it all to end. It would be easy, and nobody would miss you.

Not anymore.

A knock sounds on your door and you quickly clean yourself up, flushing the toilet and wrapping a towel around your head to hide your ugly mess of a face as much as you can. Grabbing the pistol hidden under your pillow, you move to the door, hand resting on the handle.

3, 2, 1, now.

The door opens with a click and your powers activate, warning you of no danger. You exhale softly but keep a firm grip on your gun lest things go wrong. Letting down your guard in Madripoor is the same as asking to be killed, and you're not about to die to some random goon.

"Hunter! It really is you! We've been awaiting your return ever since rumour spread that you appeared at Selby's bar!"

You eye the man in front of you warily, then it clicks.

A piece of your past, back when you had first escaped Hydra and fled to Madripoor. You'd taken on whatever jobs were available, and that quickly caught the eye of many leaders who tried to recruit you but you'd turned them all down, wanting to remain alone. Then a job offer came in to eliminate a dangerous group, so you'd taken it without a second thought but the so-called 'dangerous' group was made up of scared children and elderly, unable to fend for themselves.

You couldn't do it. You couldn't pull the trigger for some reason. Maybe it was your conscience slowly returning after years of conditioning under Hydra, maybe it was the fact that if you disobeyed, you could kill the one who gave the orders this time around. No more brainwashing, no more conditioning, no more punishments for failure. You were on your own, and free.

But it was most probably the fear in their eyes that made you see a reflection of yourself in them.

So you made a choice, and it felt good to. You spared them, guided them secretly to where you stayed and told them they could stay there. You would also go after the one who put a bounty on their heads, and bring his head back as proof that they no longer needed to live in fear. They'd agreed, and offered to help scavenge for food, collect intel, but most importantly, expand your network in Madripoor — the key to survival in this rotten city. You'd been more than happy to accept the offer, and it had benefitted everyone. It wasn't long until you were the name whispered among the streets, a name feared in the shadows.

The Hunter.

It felt nice, to be needed, to be depended upon, to be able to depend upon. Sure, it took a while, with you double checking every piece of intel and food before consuming it, but after some months you'd let your guard down around them. The group came to be known as The Pack, and it grew to include more frightened citizens of Madripoor who had no where else to go.

Then the fateful mission came. You knew Shield had eyes on the prize as well, but it was too good a challenge for you to pass up. Besides, you wanted to see what the fabled Shield was capable of. So you'd taken the bounty, reassuring The Pack that you'd be back, that you'd stay safe, but it was a lie. You'd been captured, made into a Shield agent, unknowingly worked for Hydra who had infiltrated Shield, escaped when you found out, and the rest is history. You never thought you'd see The Pack again, until now.

"Casimir." The man before you was a scrawny teenager the last time you'd laid eyes on him, but his mannerisms and scent remain unchanged. He's still a cautious yet cheerful person, and it warms your heart to see that Madripoor hasn't broken him.

He beams, obviously delighted to see you haven't forgotten him, but how could you? He'd fought you the first time you'd met him, believing you to be a threat, and you admired his spirit. You'd never considered fighting back against Hydra until the day you saw Bucky lying on the cold hard metal floor, covered in blood, bruises and various liquids. Punished for absolutely no reason, tortured because they could.

The memory stings and you quickly push it away. "Is there something you need?"

"Will you return to The Pack? We've missed you, thought you were dead too. We thought Shield had executed you." His voice is laced with sorrow and you smell a hint of sadness, but there's also hope. Hope that you will return, hope that you will take your place as the leader of The Pack once more.

"I —" You're not sure. You want time to sort things out, get rid of the loose threads that are your feelings for Bucky. Casimir's eyes gleam with hope, reminding you of the time when Bucky had looked to you with such eyes, lips curved into the biggest smile he could possible muster. The delight in his ice blue eyes when you asked him out for the first time, the way he had gripped your hand tightly, as if you would disappear at any moment.

"Give me three days." You make up your mind. "If I don't show up by then, assume I will never return."

Casimir's face falls for a split second but quickly brightens again. "The Pack will be excited to see you again!"

With that, he leaves and you lock the door, slumping against it. The towel come apart, falling onto your lap and your vision blurs with tears once more. You want to take it all back, you really do, but something's stopping you from doing so. There's this coldness that has settled within your chest, and it's slowly freezing the rest of you. Your hands feel numb, and soon your feet do too.

No more. No more crying, no more weakness. You are a lone wolf, you've always been. The Hunter needs no one — no pack, no friends. The only thing you need is yourself, your instincts, and your weapons.

Pushing yourself to your feet, you drink the bottle of water on the table and begin to pack. The Pack knows where you live, and you have to move. You have to move to somewhere where they will never find you, somewhere in the deepest depths of Madripoor. Maybe a cage fighting area just like the previous time you lost Bucky. The Pack hates those kinds of places, it bring back traumatic memories.

Yeah, that sounds good. You're great at fighting, everyone's always told you so. You were born and bred to fight, to kill, to destroy, and that's the only thing you can do. So that's what you'll do. You'll fight for your life each and every day, just like back in Hydra, and what happens next? You don't know. You haven't thought that far ahead and don't care to do so.

Slinging a backpack over your shoulder, you slip out of the apartment through the window, thankful to your last night self that you'd gotten a room on the second floor. You're not sure who you are anymore, the Hunter is dead, killed by whoever you are now. You remember the name Aeron, the Welsh name of the god of battle and slaughter in Celtic mythology from the mythology book you've left at Bucky's place.

Aeron. Maybe. Nameless sounds good too. No One sounds weird.

Sighing, you push those thoughts away. You can decide on a moniker if you want to, or let the crowd decide for you. Maybe that's a better option, who knows how creative those minds can get. Leaping from the window, you vanish into the shadows, a skill honed for years and head to no where. You can survive Madripoor, you've done it once you can do it again. Besides, if Death chooses to claim you right this instance, you're not going to fight it. You've lost everything, there's no point clinging onto this wretched life. So you walk on, glancing at the lost and broken, observing the rich and drunk, and leave the Hunter behind.

~

Bucky watches from the jet window as the plane takes off, leaving Madripoor behind. No, it's not just Madripoor that's being left behind, you're being left behind too. He's torn, distracted, wondering if he should have convinced you to stay somehow.

"Hey Buck?" Sam leans closer. "You alright?"

He laughs hollowly. "I just broke up. I'm perfectly fine."

Sam raises an eyebrow but doesn't press the issue further. Bucky will talk when he's ready, Sam is sure of it. In the mean time, he'll just have to keep a closer watch on his best friend.

Bucky watches as Madripoor grows smaller and smaller until it fades from view, wondering where you are right now, wondering if you're safe. He shakes those thoughts out of his head, reminding himself that the two of you have broken up and there's no going back. You didn't seem like you wanted to mend the relationship anyways.

It's fine, he's already lost so much, what is one more person?

[sideblogdotjpeg]

ive been thinking about the red string superstition recently and also sol bufo always and it makes me sick how uncannily caldwell tanner has made sol to perfectly target me personally

(+ cropped versions !)

[xiii-e]

//ooc posting: I NEED to find more fun/silly things to do with my two they are Not meant to be all agony all the time I swear- I just have a penchant for the dramatic and they're a little in the torment nexus o(-< but on god they will Have Fun too

[cloudd-nyne]

.

[creaturefeaster]

Are any of the CQ characters neurodivergent or have mental illnesses???

Buddy you have no idea...............

[incendiorum]

io keeps their own private collection of various books and arcane items upstairs, in inter mundos's apartment. and in one of those many books is a hidden cache of news articles. some of them old, yellowed, and fragile, and some much more modern. all of them have something to do with col. a lot of them mention a maritime shipping company named venator, which is col's creation and operates even now as the oldest shipping company in the world. it provides funding for the hounds, and jobs besides hunting if they desire them. other articles might mention col when he inserted himself into various political or business affairs. all of his business and appearances always circle back to the hounds and what he does for them. but it's the only information about him that io can reliably get their hands on. a guilty secret tucked into one of their many bookshelves.

[inseobts]

Idk if u do request but can you do Scary reader x One piece men? Law, Shanks, Sabo, Ace, Croc, The monster trio & whoever else you want! Basically the reader is really scary but {{char}} finds their scariness attractive.

Attractive Scariness

a/n: sorry but at some point I got out of ideas lmao

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, law, ace, shanks, sabo and crocodile

words count: around 0.4k - 0.9k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

You’re used to fear.

The wide eyes, the shaky hands, the people stumbling over themselves to get away, etc. It’s always the same. Ever since you ate your Devil Fruit, people have called you a monster. Even when you’re not fighting, your presence alone makes people nervous.

So when you land on this island and step into a small village, you already expect the usual reaction.

And you get it.

The streets clear as soon as you walk in. The market stalls empty. Even the shopkeepers pretend not to see you.

You sigh.

“Again?” you mutter “I just want some food…”

You’re about to turn around when someone doesn’t run. A boy in a red vest and a straw hat stands right in front of you, grinning like he doesn’t even notice how scary you are.

No. He notices. He just doesn’t care.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, eyes shining “You’re super strong, huh?”

You blink “What?”

“I can tell!” He nods, completely sure of himself “Strong people have this feeling about them. And you feel really strong!”

You stare at him. That’s… new. No “stay away from me” or ��please don’t kill me.” Just pure excitement.

Luffy tilts his head “What’s your power?”

You hesitate. Usually, this is the part where people scream. But he’s looking at you like a kid waiting for a magic trick.

You raise your hand. A shadow swirls around your fingers, shifting like smoke. The air around you grows heavy, dark, unnatural.

Luffy gasps.

“That’s so cool!”

“…Huh?”

“You can control shadows? Or darkness? Or... wait, is it nightmares?” He’s practically bouncing “Can you do giant shadow hands? Or make yourself super big? Or—”

You blink at him “You’re… not scared?”

Luffy grins wider “Why would I be? You’re awesome!”

This has never happened before. Ever. You don’t know what to do.

Then Luffy grabs your wrist “Hey, join my crew!”

Your brain short-circuits “What?”

“I’m Luffy! I’m gonna be King of the Pirates, and I need strong people on my crew. And you’re really strong!”

You open your mouth, then close it. You look at him, at his bright, careless smile, at the way he’s just standing there, holding onto your wrist like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like you’re just a person.

Not a monster.

“…You’re weird” you say.

Luffy laughs “People tell me that a lot.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Then, for the first time in forever, you smile.

“…Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll join you.”

Luffy cheers, throwing his fists in the air “Yes! This is gonna be awesome!”

You have no idea what you’ve just signed up for. But for once, you don’t feel like a nightmare.

You just feel like you.

Years have passed since you met Luffy. Since he grabbed your wrist, called you strong, and changed your life without even trying.

Back then, you weren’t sure what you were getting into. Now, you know.

Being with Luffy means chaos. It means waking up to find him hanging upside down from the ship’s mast, laughing like it’s normal. It means fighting beside him, watching him charge straight at danger without fear—because he trusts you to have his back.

It means love.

A love that is loud and wild, but also simple. Easy. Because Luffy has never been afraid of you. Not then, not now.

Right now, you’re on an island, sitting in the shade while the crew runs around. The villagers are keeping their distance, just like always. Even after all these years, people still fear you.

But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Because across the field, Luffy is waving at you, smiling so wide it makes your chest feel warm. He doesn’t care that people avoid you. He doesn’t care that you’re “scary”, to him, you’re just you.

He runs over, plopping down next to you with a grin “Whatcha doin’?”

You raise an eyebrow “Sitting.”

Luffy gasps dramatically “No way. That’s crazy.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder. He just laughs, leaning against you without a care in the world.

For a while, you sit there together. The sun is warm, the breeze is nice, and Luffy is… Luffy. He hums a little song under his breath, playing with your fingers like he’s fascinated by them.

Then, he says “You know, you’re kinda scary.”

You pause “Oh?”

He nods “Yeah. Like, super scary. When you fight, people freak out. Even Zoro said you’re the last person he’d wanna fight seriously.”

You wait for the usual words to follow. Monster. Freak. Too much.

But instead, Luffy grins and squeezes your hand.

“I love it.”

Your heart stops for a second.

Luffy keeps talking, like he hasn’t just turned your entire world upside down “It’s awesome! You’re so strong, and you do that cool shadowy thing, and when you get serious, even the bad guys look like they’re gonna cry.” He laughs, eyes shining “It’s really cool.”

You don’t answer right away. Because what is there to say?

For so long, your power was a curse. Something that made you different. Something that made you alone.

But here, with Luffy, it’s just another part of you.

“…You’re an idiot” you mumble, looking away.

Luffy laughs “Yeah, but you love me.”

You roll your eyes “Unfortunately.”

He gasps “What?!”

You shove his face away, and he just laughs harder, wrapping his arms around you like an octopus. He clings to you, laughing and warm, and you sigh, pretending to be annoyed.

But the truth is, you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

Because you are strong. And scary. And Luffy loves it.

And that is more than enough.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

Zoro knows strength when he sees it.

He can sense it in the way people move, in the way they breathe. Some fighters hesitate, some carry doubt, but you don’t.

From the moment he meets you, he can tell. You don’t just fight. You hunt. And for some reason, he can’t take his eyes off you.

It starts on an island known for its warriors. The crew stops to rest, but Zoro wants a challenge. A real fight. So when he hears rumors of a swordsfighter so deadly that even bounty hunters avoid them, he doesn’t hesitate.

But when he finds you, it’s not what he expects.

You’re not some old master or a towering brute. You’re just… you. Sitting under a tree, sharpening your blade like you have all the time in the world.

Zoro stops a few feet away, arms crossed “You’re the one they’re all scared of?”

You glance up. Your eyes are sharp, your aura heavy, and for a second, it’s like the temperature drops.

Zoro grins. Oh, yeah. This is gonna be good.

You sigh, standing up “You here to fight me too?”

He smirks “Yeah. Unless you’re scared.”

Something flickers in your gaze, something dark and dangerous. Then you smile, slow and sharp “You’ll regret that.”

And then you move.

It happens fast. One second, you’re standing still. The next, your own blade is inches from his neck. Zoro barely blocks in time, his instincts the only thing keeping his head attached.

His blood rushes.

You don’t fight like normal swordsfighters. Your movements are smooth, calculated, but there’s something more. Something predatory.

Zoro grins “Not bad.”

You tilt your head “Not bad?”

And then you attack for real.

The clash of steel echoes through the trees. Zoro meets each strike, but he can feel the difference in the way you fight. You don’t waste movement. You don’t test him. You go straight for the kill.

Most people would find that terrifying.

Zoro finds it hot as hell.

His smirk widens “You don’t hold back, huh?”

You don’t answer, but there’s something in your eyes... curiosity, maybe. Like you’re testing him.

Good. He likes a challenge.

The fight goes on, fast and brutal, but in the end, neither of you go all out. It’s just a taste, a promise of something more. When you finally lower your blade, Zoro does the same.

You study him for a moment, then nod “You’re not bad either.”

Zoro huffs a laugh “High praise.”

You sheath your sword and turn away “I’m going back to town. You coming or what?”

He watches you go, smirking to himself.

Yeah. He’s definitely interested.

Years Later – Zoro should probably be concerned that his partner is one of the most terrifying people he’s ever met.

But he’s not.

In fact, it just makes him like you more.

Right now, you’re standing on the deck of the Sunny, staring down a group of bounty hunters dumb enough to challenge you. You haven’t even drawn your sword yet, but the way you look at them, sharp, unreadable, deadly, makes them hesitate.

Zoro leans against the railing, watching with amusement. He already knows how this will go.

One of the bounty hunters shifts nervously “Y-you gonna fight or what?”

You tilt your head, smiling faintly “You first.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. Then they charge. Big mistake.

Zoro watches as you dodge effortlessly, your blade a blur. The fight lasts seconds. By the time you sheath your sword, your opponents are on the ground, groaning in pain.

Silence. Then, Luffy cheers from the mast “That was awesome!”

Zoro smirks. Damn right it was.

You turn to him, raising an eyebrow “You just gonna watch?”

He shrugs with a smirk “I was enjoying watching... and didn’t wanna get in your way.”

You walk over, stopping in front of him “You’re getting lazy.”

He scoffs “Oh yeah?”

You lean in, voice low “Yeah. Maybe I should fight you next.”

Zoro feels a familiar rush of excitement. His hand twitches toward his swords “You sure you can keep up?”

You smirk “Try me.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Lost in you, in the fight, in the thrill of having someone who meets him blow for blow.

You’re terrifying. And beautiful. And stronger than hell.

And he wouldn’t have you any other way.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

Sanji has seen all kinds of people. Beautiful women, powerful warriors, even actual monsters. But he’s never met anyone like you.

You meet in a quiet, dimly lit tavern. The crew stops for a meal, and Sanji, always on the lookout for interesting faces, notices you immediately.

You sit in the darkest corner, barely touching your drink. Your posture is relaxed, but there’s something wrong about it, like you could strike at any moment. The air around you feels heavy.

People glance at you and quickly look away. A group of bounty hunters at a nearby table seem tense, whispering among themselves.

Sanji watches as one of them inches toward the door. His hands are shaking.

That’s when he realizes, they’re afraid of you. A lot.

Sanji takes a slow drag of his cigarette. Interesting.

“Hey cook, what are you doing there, standing like an idiot.” Zoro says while they all sit at a table.

He’s about to turn back to his crew and reply to that marimo when the bartender makes a mistake and accidentally spills a drink on your sleeve.

The entire tavern stops breathing.

The bartender goes pale “I—I’m so sorry—”

You say nothing. You don’t even look at him. Just slowly, carefully, you pick up a napkin and wipe your sleeve.

The silence stretches.

Sanji almost laughs at how scared everyone looks. What, do they think you’re gonna kill him for a drink spill?

The bartender swallows “Please, let me—”

“It’s fine” you say.

Your voice is quiet. Smooth. Too calm.

The bartender flinches anyway.

Sanji watches as you set the napkin down, push your drink away, and stand. You turn toward the door, and the crowd parts around you, everyone desperate to get out of your way.

Sanji, curious as hell, does the exact opposite.

He steps into your path, smiling “Leaving so soon?”

You stop and lift your gaze, as everyone there gasps.

Most people can’t meet Sanji’s eyes for long. His confidence, his sharpness, it makes them squirm. But you?

You stare right through him.

For the first time in a long time, Sanji feels his heart skip.

“…Who are you?” he asks.

You tilt your head slightly “Does it matter?”

That voice. Calm. Slow. Like a knife dragging against silk.

Sanji exhales smoke, smirking “I’d like to think so.”

You study him. And for some reason, he feels like he’s the one being hunted.

Then you smile, small, unreadable “See you around… cook.”

And just like that, you’re gone.

Sanji stands there, heart pounding as he thinks, oh, I’m in trouble.

Years Later – Sanji likes to think he doesn’t scare easy. He’s faced warlords, monsters, and the wrath of Nami’s fist.

But nothing terrifies him more than the way you just appear.

“Sanji.”

“GAH—!”

He jumps, nearly dropping the plate he’s holding. You’re suddenly right next to him, quiet as a shadow.

He clutches his chest “How do you do that?!”

You blink “Do what?”

“That!” He gestures at you wildly “I didn’t hear you at all! You just—just materialized!”

You tilt your head, amused “I walked in.”

“No, you haunted in.”

You hum in thought “Maybe you should pay more attention.”

Sanji groans, running a hand through his hair “You’re gonna kill me one day, I swear.”

“Wouldn’t be much fun,” you say, smirking slightly “I’d miss this.”

Sanji pauses. Then, with a slow, dramatic sigh, he pulls you into a hug.

You stiffen at first, but he’s patient. He knows you’re not used to softness.

When you relax, he kisses the top of your head “You’re cruel, y’know that?”

“Am I?”

“You make my heart stop every damn day.”

You smile against his chest “Good.”

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

Law prides himself on being composed. No matter the situation, he never loses control.

But then he meets you, and for the first time in a long time, he feels something close to unease.

It happens on a stormy night. The Heart Pirates dock at a quiet island, and Law sets off alone, drawn by rumors of a dangerous individual hiding in town. Some say you’re a ghost, others call you a demon.

He doesn’t believe in superstition. But he believes in threats.

So when he finds you in the ruins outside of town, standing perfectly still, eyes dark and unreadable, he watches you carefully.

“You’ve been causing trouble” he says, testing your reaction.

You don’t move. Don’t speak. The wind howls through the ruins, but you remain as still as a statue.

Most people shift under his gaze. But you? You don’t even blink.

Law narrows his eyes “Who are you?”

Finally, you tilt your head “You already know, don’t you?”

Your voice is calm. Steady. Wrong.

It reminds him of the quiet before a scalpel slices skin.

Law tightens his grip on Kikoku “What’s your ability?”

You step forward, and the ground cracks beneath your foot. A shadow flickers at the edge of his vision, stretching unnaturally.

“Does it matter?” you ask.

Law doesn’t flinch. But something deep in his chest tightens.

Because he knows that feeling. The quiet hum of danger.

And yet, instead of fear, he feels something else. Intrigue. He's actually really attracted and he can't deny it.

It takes Law a while to notice. To really notice.

Because you’re fearless in battle. You fight like a force of nature, silent and merciless, the kind of presence that makes enemies pray they don’t cross your path. You don’t just win fights, you end them.

And yet, when you’re with the crew, you’re… different.

Law catches it in small moments.

The way you ruffle Bepo’s fur when you think no one’s looking. The way you always make sure Penguin and Shachi get extra food after a long day. The way you quietly fix things around the ship before anyone else notices they’re broken.

And he feels it most with him. Like when you sit beside him in the submarine’s dimly lit halls, comfortable in silence, just existing next to him without expectation. Or when you lean against him after a rough mission, exhaustion making you a little softer, a little less guarded.

Or, most obviously, when you think he’s asleep.

He catches you once, fingers brushing against his hair, barely there, like you’re memorizing the shape of him.

He should say something. Call you out. But he doesn’t.

Because for some reason, the realization that the person who terrifies even seasoned killers, is so unbelievably gentle with him?

It does something to him.

Something dangerous.

Years Later – Being in a relationship with you comes with some complications.

Like right now.

“Sit still, damn it” Law mutters, pressing bandages against your side.

You sigh “It’s just a scratch.”

Law glares at you “It’s a stab wound.”

You shrug “Same thing.”

He clenches his jaw, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him “I swear, you are the worst patient I’ve ever had.”

You smirk “And yet, I’m still your favorite.”

Law groans, but he doesn’t deny it.

Because despite everything, your terrifying strength, your eerie presence, your complete disregard for injuries, he can’t help but be drawn to you.

You are the only person who unsettles him. And somehow, you’ve also become the one person he trusts the most.

He huffs, finishing the bandages “Try not to die.”

You grin, leaning in “Worried about me, doctor?”

“Tch” He flicks your forehead “Shut up.”

And despite himself, he smiles.

The next time you get hurt, Law doesn’t even bother hiding his frustration.

“You’re reckless,” he mutters, tightening the bandage around your arm “One of these days, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

You watch him, amused “Would you miss me?”

He scowls “Shut up”

You smirk “You would.”

Law clicks his tongue, looking away. He hates how smug you sound. Hates it even more because you’re right.

Instead of answering, he sighs, finishing the bandage. Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he presses a hand against your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re lucky I like you” he mutters.

For the first time, you freeze.

Then, slowly, you smile. And Law knows he’s in so much trouble.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

On a nameless island, a pit stop for pirates and criminals alike, Ace hears the rumors first, stories about a lone warrior, someone so deadly that even bounty hunters won’t go near them.

He thinks it sounds like fun.

So when he walks into a bar and sees everyone stiffening at the mere sight of someone sitting in the corner, he knows he’s found you.

You sit alone, idly spinning a knife between your fingers. Your expression is calm, unreadable, but the tension in the room is thick.

Ace grins, making his way over “Mind if I sit?”

You don’t look up “Do what you want.”

He plops down across from you, resting his chin in his hand “Y’know, people are real scared of you.”

Silence.

Ace watches you carefully. You don’t move like a normal fighter. There’s something off about the way you breathe, the way your presence lingers like a shadow stretching too far.

It should probably freak him out.

Instead, it makes his blood rush.

“So,” he continues, smirking “What’s your deal? You a bounty hunter? Are you here to fight?”

You finally meet his eyes. Your gaze is sharp, calculating, like you’re dissecting him without lifting a finger.

"I was just curious who everyone was talking about, turns out it was you."

“…You’re not scared of me?”

Ace grins wider “Should I be?”

The knife in your hand stops spinning and or a split second, the air feels heavy.

Then, slowly, you smirk “Maybe? You tell me. That's what you came here for, isn't it?”

Ace laughs. Loud, bright, genuine.

And just like that, he decides that he actually finds you very attractive, and isn't letting you go so easily.

Years Later – Ace still remembers the first time he saw you fight.

He has always been the kind of guy who laughs in the face of danger.

He doesn’t hesitate to charge into battle, doesn’t flinch at the thought of death. He’s faced warlords, marines, even entire armies.

But when he saw you fighting? For the first time in his life, he felt like prey, even if you weren't fighting him.

How you moved like a phantom, striking fast, silent, merciless. How your enemies barely had time to scream before they hit the ground.

Everyone calls you terrifying. A monster. A nightmare in a human form.

And yet, right now, curled up against him, grumbling sleepily as he wraps his arms around you Ace can’t help but laugh.

You groan “What? You going crazy now?”

“You,” he teases, resting his chin on top of your head “You’re supposed to be the scariest person alive, but look at you.”

You swat at his chest “Shut up.”

Ace just grins, pulling you closer “Nah. I like reminding you.”

"You're always so annoying..." you say turning to not let him see you blush.

Because despite the way you fight, despite the way you terrify your enemies, Ace has seen what no one else has.

How you tuck into his blankets when you're alone. How you always make sure the crew eats before you do. How you fuss over him when he pretends his injuries don’t hurt.

You act all tough, all sharp edges and killing intent.

But Ace knows the truth.

You’re soft. At least, with him.

And that makes him fall for you even more.

He turn your head so that he can see you and with a smirk he says "Don't worry you're hot both ways, I don't mind your soft side at all"

Then he kiss your forehead and you try to hide again, making him laugh softly.

── .✦ Shanks:

Shanks has seen a lot in his life.

He’s fought warlords, crossed paths with the most dangerous men on the seas, and stared death in the face with a grin.

But when he meets you, he realizes he’s never met someone who could scare him and turn him on at the same time.

It happens in a crowded port town, where pirates and mercenaries walk side by side, tension thick in the air. Shanks and his crew are enjoying a round of drinks when Benn nudges him, nodding toward a shadowed corner of the bar.

“Oi, I found out that one’s got quite the reputation.”

Shanks follows his gaze and sees you.

You sit alone, posture relaxed but too still. There’s something about you... something in the way the people around you refuse to meet your eyes, in the way the bartender serves you with hands that tremble, scared to even do his own job.

The crew isn’t easily shaken, but even they seem wary.

Shanks just grins. Because if there’s one thing he can’t resist, it’s a challenge.

“Think I’ll go say hi.”

Benn sighs “Of course you will. Never doubted it.”

Shanks strolls over, drink in hand, and slides into the seat across from you without asking.

You don’t react. Just lift your gaze and meet his like you’re peering into his soul.

He whistles “You’ve got quite the stare.”

“You’ve got quite the nerve...” you reply smoothly.

Shanks chuckles “I get that a lot, actually.”

Silence stretches between you. He expects you to get annoyed, to tell him to leave, but surprisingly you don’t.

You just watch him. Measuring. Calculating. And damn if it doesn’t send a thrill up his spine.

Finally, you speak “You’re not scared of me.”

Shanks smirks, tipping his drink toward you “Should I be?”

Your eyes glint with something sharp. Dangerous. Interested.

“Maybe not, but who knows.”

Shanks leans forward, grinning “I like my odds.”

"I can see it..."

Years Later - “You’re doing it again” Benn mutters.

Shanks blinks “Doing what?”

Benn nods toward you. You’re across the deck, casually sharpening a blade, the crew giving you a very wide berth.

“You’re staring like a love-struck idiot” Benn sighs.

Shanks laughs “Can you blame me?”

Because despite years of being with you, despite knowing exactly how terrifying you can be, Shanks still finds himself completely captivated whenever you're fighting or not.

He’s seen you end fights with a single strike, watched entire battlefields fall silent at your presence. You are ruthless when necessary, the kind of person who doesn’t waste time with threats, just action.

And yet when you think no one’s watching, he sees the little things.

How you make sure the younger crew members eat first. How you adjust someone’s coat when they’re not paying attention. How, late at night, when exhaustion weighs heavy, you let yourself lean into him.

And Shanks?

He eats it up.

Because out of everyone in the world, you choose to be soft only with him.

Later that night, as you both sit on the deck watching the waves, Shanks stretches, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You roll your eyes but don’t push him away.

He grins “Y’know, for someone so scary, you’re kinda sweet.”

You turn, raising a brow “Wanna say that again?”

Shanks chuckles “Not if I value my life, and I do.”

You smirk, leaning against him just a little.

And that small, rare gesture is worth more to him than any treasure. He's totally in your hands, can you believe it? Because even he something looks at himself and shake his own head at the thought, but at the end who cares? He's with the most attractive person out there.

── .✦ Sabo:

Sabo isn’t the type to scare easily.

He has fought world nobles, infiltrated enemy territory, and stared death in the face more times than he can count. Fear isn’t something he entertains, it’s something he’s learned to push aside, to control.

But when he meets you?

For the first time in a long while, he actually hesitates.

It happens in a revolution-friendly town, the kind of place where people whisper about rebellion but fear retaliation too much to act. Sabo’s here on business, but what he doesn’t expect is to hear a name spoken in hushed, almost fearful tones.

A name that isn’t a government official or a bounty hunter, but yours.

“Who are they?” he asks a local, intrigued.

The man pales “Someone you don’t want to cross.”

Sabo just smirks “Is that so?”

He should probably be cautious. Should probably listen to the fear in the man’s voice.

But instead, he just wants to meet you more.

You’re exactly as the rumors say. You're cold, calculating and dangerous.

When Sabo finds you, you don’t attack him. You just watch him. Still. Silent. Your presence alone feels heavy, like the weight of an unseen blade resting against his throat, daring him to make a wrong move.

Most people would crack under it.

Sabo just grins “Heard a lot about you.”

You don’t react “Likewise.”

He hums, studying you. Most would be unnerved by your unwavering stare, the cold calculation in your eyes. But Sabo finds it fascinating. Finds you fascinating.

He hums, studying you “And? What’s your verdict?”

Your eyes narrow slightly, assessing him like he’s prey “Too early to tell. I don't judge based on rumors.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, a quiet tension settling between you. Sabo knows he should be cautious, he knows he’s facing someone whose strength is being feared even among revolutionaries.

But all he can think is — Damn. They’re kinda hot.

Years Later – It’s funny.

Everyone fears you. The Revolutionary Army sees you as a force of nature, one of their strongest, deadliest members. You’re efficient in battle, merciless when necessary. People whisper about you in the same breath as high-ranking officers, speaking of you like a phantom, something to be respected, but never approached.

But Sabo sees more than just the deadly aura that makes people tread lightly.

He sees the way your eyes gleam with amusement when a mission goes exactly as planned. He sees the way you tilt your head in interest, studying your enemies as if they’re puzzles to be solved before being discarded. He sees the way you move, every motion precise, effortless, a dance with death that you never lose.

And he loves it.

Loves the sharp edges, the lethal grace, the way you make his heart race, not with fear, but with something far more intoxicating.

And yet, he also sees the moments no one else does.

You, sitting beside him late at night, absentmindedly tracing circles against his palm.

You, making sure Koala doesn’t overwork herself, leaving her favorite snacks on her desk without a word.

You, rolling your eyes but still letting Sabo pull you into a hug after a long mission, even though your reputation could probably shatter just from being seen indulging him.

“You know,” he teases one night, tilting his head, “for someone so scary, you’re kind of a softie.”

You give him a flat look “Take that back.”

Sabo laughs, eyes gleaming with challenge “Nope. Never gonna happen.”

You grumble something under your breath but don’t pull away, and he counts that as a win.

Because out of everyone in the world, he knows you’re only ever like this with him.

And as much as he adores every part of you, it’s that razor-sharp danger in your eyes, that power in your every movement, that makes his blood sing.

It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating.

And damn, does he love you for it.

── .✦ Crocodile:

Crocodile has met aaaall kinds of people.

Cowards who grovel at his feet. Fools who think they can challenge him. Liars who smile while plotting his downfall.

But you? You don’t fit into any category.

Because when he first meets you, standing over the broken bodies of bounty hunters, face calm, eyes cold, he doesn’t see fear. He doesn’t see arrogance.

He sees power.

And for the first time in a long while, he’s interested.

When in Rainbase, long after the fall of Baroque Works, Crocodile has been rebuilding, regaining influence, cutting down anyone foolish enough to think he’s lost his edge.

And then you show up.

A ghost in the desert, they call you. A storm without warning. The kind of person who doesn’t make threats, just leaves bodies in their wake.

Crocodile hears the whispers. He almost ignores them.

Until one of his men ends up dead.

Then it's when he decides it’s time to meet you himself.

He finds you in a back alley, wiping blood from your blade.

You don’t look surprised to see him.

“You’ve been causing many problems” he says, exhaling smoke.

You tilt your head, unconcerned “That depends on who you ask.”

Crocodile’s lips curl into something amused. He’s used to people trembling in his presence. But you? You just stand there, watching him with the same detached intensity one might give a corpse.

It should irritate him.

Instead, it makes his blood thrill.

“I don’t like loose ends,” he says “So tell me, why shouldn’t I kill you?”

For the first time, you smile.

Not kind. Not warm.

Just sharp. Cold. Dangerous.

“You could try, I'm happy if you try.”

The air shifts.

Crocodile’s grip on his cigar tightens. His instincts, honed from years of surviving the worst of the worst, tell him that fighting you would not be easy.

And he likes that.

Years Later – Most people don’t look him in the eye.

Most people don’t speak without permission, don’t challenge his decisions, don’t dare to stand too close.

You do all of that.

And Crocodile lets you.

Because unlike the weaklings who grovel before him, you don’t need protection. You don’t need his power to survive.

You’re strong. Cold. Unshaken by blood or war.

And that makes you the only person truly worth his time.

One night, you’re both on the balcony of his hideout, looking down at the city below.

Crocodile exhales smoke, glancing at you “Most people would rather die than be in my company.”

You don’t even blink “Most people are weak.”

He chuckles, low and dark “That so?”

You finally meet his gaze, and in your eyes, he sees something sharp. Something dangerous.

Something that matches him.

He smirks.

Because finally, after years of dealing with fools, liars, and cowards, he’s found someone who is exactly his kind of monster.

[elumish]

I think that there's a feeling that, if you start writing something and don't finish it, it's a failure.

As someone who has far more unfinished pieces than finished pieces (sorry to anyone who reads my stuff on AO3), here are a few good things about doing this:

First, all writing is practice. Just like there are reasons to sketch and do practice drawings, writing even unfinished pieces builds your skills in drafting sentences, characterization, voice, tone, and even working in a variety of styles. If you start a story in a new style, even if you never finish it, you have some experience in that style now.

It can also tell you what you love or hate about something. Sometimes you don't finish something because you realize you don't like it. That knowledge is also valuable.

Second, you can always go back to unfinished work. The main novel that I'm querying right now is one where I wrote the first couple thousand words and then didn't touch it again for probably at least a year and a half. It's now a finished novel.

Sometimes you need space away from a story to make it work. Sometimes you need to improve your writing skills to be able to accomplish whatever you were trying to accomplish then. Sometimes you need a mental or physical health break or you just need more time in the day before you can finish something.

Third, writing is fun and you shouldn't hold yourself or your sense of success at writing to how many stories you finish. Did you enjoy yourself even for the period of time that you wrote whatever you wrote? Did you end up with something cool, interesting, fun, exciting, weird, or different? Great, that's all a victory.

[calypso-rt]

When Rafe Realizes...

He’s Falling for You

-> Rafe x F!Reader

-> Pt. 2: Your Favorite Dates with R.C.

The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting golden light over the backyard as Rafe leaned back in his chair, the legs precariously balanced on the uneven patio bricks.

You were sitting beside him, scrolling on your phone, the occasional sound of your laughter breaking through the hum of cicadas.

He wasn’t sure when it started, but lately, he found himself watching you more than he should...at least more than someone who was supposedly "just friends" should.

He told himself it was harmless. You were easy to look at, after all, with your beautiful hair catching the light and your lips quirking into tiny smirks when you read something funny.

"Rafe," you said, your voice cutting through his daydream. You barely look up, your attention still on your screen. "Your hair is doing that weird thing again."

"My hair doesn’t do a weird thing," he shot back defensively, running a hand through it out of instinct.

You snorted, finally glancing up at him. "It absolutely does. Hold still."

Before he could protest, you leaned in, your fingers brushing against his forehead as you flattened a rogue piece that had sprung up, defying gravity. The touch was brief, just the lightest pressure of your hand smoothing over his hair, but Rafe felt his entire body tense like he’d just been electrocuted.

"There," you said, sitting back with a satisfied nod. "Now you look less like a mad scientist."

"I didn’t look like a mad scientist," he muttered, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up his neck.

"You kinda did," you teased, your focus already back on your phone.

Rafe leaned back again, a smug retort dying on his tongue as he felt the ghost of your touch still lingering. It wasn’t like you’d done anything grand. Just fixed his hair.

People did that kind of stuff all the time, right?

Except… no one else did it to him. And certainly not like that. There was something so natural about the way you’d reached over, like it was second nature, like it was the most normal thing in the world for you to touch him.

And now he was stuck, hyperaware of how the air still smelled faintly of your sunscreen from when you’d leaned in.

How the air between you had felt charged, even though you’d gone back to scrolling like it was nothing.

He shifted in his seat, trying to push the thought away, but it clung stubbornly to the edges of his mind. How could something so insignificant make him feel like the air had been knocked out of his lungs?

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched you laugh softly at something on your phone, oblivious to his internal crisis. He swallowed hard, his chair tipping back a little further as he tried to refocus.

How does something so insignificant feel so important?

"Careful," you warned without looking up. "Fall off that chair and I’m not driving you to the ER."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

You had no idea, did you?

No idea that one absent-minded touch had just tipped his entire world off balance.

"Thanks for your concern," he said dryly, finally steadying himself.

You gave him a fleeting smile, one he tried to memorize. Because somewhere in the chaos of his overthinking, Rafe Cameron was beginning to realize something terrifying and wonderful all at once.

He was falling for you, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Rafe leaned against the counter of the grocery store, pretending to scroll on his phone while you wandered the aisles. He hadn’t even wanted to stop here, but you’d insisted on grabbing snacks before heading to the beach.

"What’s the big deal? It’s just food," he’d grumbled earlier, but you’d only rolled your eyes and dragged him along anyway.

Now he was waiting impatiently, glancing at his watch every few seconds. “You done yet?” he called out.

“Almost!” you yelled back. “I’m looking for something specific.”

He sighed dramatically. “We’re going to miss the sunset at this rate.”

When you finally rounded the corner, a triumphant grin on your face, you were holding a bag of… lemon pepper sunflower seeds?

“What’s that for?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You blinked at him, clearly unimpressed. “For you, obviously.”

Rafe stared at the bag, then back at you. “What?”

“You told me a few weeks ago you used to eat these all the time when you were a kid. Remember? You said your dad used to bring them home after his fishing trips.”

For a moment, he was silent, caught completely off guard.

He had mentioned that, hadn’t he?

Some random memory he’d thrown out one evening, barely thinking about it. It wasn’t even important. Just some passing detail about his childhood.

But here you were, holding a bag of sunflower seeds like it was the most normal thing in the world to remember something so small.

“I didn’t think you’d…” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck.

“Didn’t think I’d what? Listen to you?” you teased, tossing the bag into the basket.

“Well… yeah,” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I always listen, Rafe. You just don’t talk enough for me to prove it.”

There was a lightness to your tone, but the words hit him harder than he expected. You listened to him. Actually listened. To the stuff no one else cared about, the random memories he’d barely even registered himself.

“Sheesh,” you said, breaking him out of his thoughts. “If I’d known this would blow your mind, I would’ve grabbed these for you weeks ago.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but he was smiling now, following you toward the register.

As you paid, chatting casually with the cashier, Rafe kept glancing at the bag of sunflower seeds in your basket. Something so simple, but it made him feel… seen. Like you actually cared about the parts of him that most people ignored.

Walking out of the store, he finally nudged your shoulder. “Thanks. For, uh, remembering that.”

“Of course,” you said, flashing him a grin. “Just don’t eat them all at once. I’m not buying more if you get another craving later.”

He laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he fell into step beside you. Inside, though, his chest felt warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

She actually listens to me, he thought, stealing a glance at you as you debated what playlist to put on in the car. How is she so thoughtful?

And just like that, another piece of the puzzle slid into place. He was falling for you, headfirst and helplessly, and he wasn’t even mad about it.

The rain was relentless, pounding against the pavement like a drumline gone rogue. Your car sat lifeless on the shoulder of a backroad, hazards blinking uselessly in the downpour.

You’d tried everything.

Turning the key again and again, Googling quick fixes, even giving the steering wheel a good, frustrated whack.

Nothing worked.

Which is how you ended up sitting in the driver's seat, soaked from your earlier attempt to check under the hood, dialing a number you swore you wouldn’t use unless it was an absolute emergency.

“Rafe?” you said when he picked up, voice sheepish.

He immediately picked up on the edge in your tone. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“It’s probably nothing,” you rushed to say, cringing at how pathetic you sounded. “My car broke down, and it’s pouring, and I’m kind of stuck on the side of the road. I just… I didn’t know who else to call or...or what to do...”

For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the rain hammering against your windshield and the faint noise of his car’s radio in the background.

“Where are you?” he said, tone clipped and serious.

You gave him the location, muttering something about how you didn’t want to bother him if he was busy, but he cut you off.

“Stay put. Lock your doors. I’ll be there in ten.”

True to his word, Rafe’s truck pulled up exactly ten minutes later, tires skidding slightly as he parked in front of your car. You barely had time to roll down your window before he was at your door, an umbrella in one hand and an intense look in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning down to peer inside.

“Yeah, just a little damp,” you joked, gesturing to your soggy clothes.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he opened your door and handed you the umbrella before crouching to look under your hood himself.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” you said, feeling a little guilty as you watched him fiddle with something. “I could’ve called a tow truck.”

“Yeah, and waited an hour for them to show up while sitting out here alone?” he shot back, not even looking up. “Not a chance.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sharpness in his tone.

“Rafe, I’m fine—”

“You’re not fine,” he interrupted, standing up straight and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Your car’s dead, you’re soaking wet, and it’s pitch black out here. What if someone stopped by who wasn’t me, huh?”

The thought made your stomach flip, but you tried to shake it off. “I had my doors locked.”

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair.

You stared at him, taken aback by his uncharacteristic panic. “Why are you so worked up?”

“Because I care about you!” he snapped before freezing, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Your eyebrows shot up. “You… care about me?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I care, okay? I don’t like the thought of you being stuck out here alone in the middle of nowhere. It freaks me out.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The Rafe you knew was cocky and confident, never flustered or vulnerable like this. Seeing him so visibly shaken made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“Well,” you said softly, “thanks for coming to my rescue.”

He finally looked at you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. “Always.”

You smiled, holding the umbrella a little higher to shield him from the rain. “Guess you’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the faint grin tugging at his lips. “Don’t let that get around.”

As he helped you into his truck, soaking wet and dripping water all over his leather seats, he couldn’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

You shivered, hugging your arms to your chest in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.

Rafe’s eyes softened for a split second before he quickly reached for the spare jacket in the back seat, tossing it to you. “Here,” he muttered. “Put this on before you freeze to death.”

You gave him a grateful, but shaky, smile, slipping the jacket on. “Thanks, Rafe.”

He didn’t respond, but you caught the way he kept his eyes on you, making sure you were okay. The warmth of his jacket, the concern in his eyes, it was enough to make the cold rain outside feel like nothing.

She called me. Out of everyone, she called me.

And that’s when it hit him, hard and fast like a tidal wave. He wasn’t just smitten. He was utterly and completely gone for you.

Rafe sat back in his chair, his gaze lazily sweeping over the busy café. He had his usual coffee in front of him: black, no sugar, no cream.

Just the way he liked it.

It was a Saturday morning, and the place was a bit quieter than usual, with only a handful of people scattered at tables around him. His fingers tapped the rim of his cup as his mind wandered.

He was halfway through a text to a friend when he noticed something that made him stop mid-typing.

You had slid to sit across from him, sipping on your own cup of coffee. When you lowered it, you caught his eye and gave a small smile.

"Coffee’s perfect today," you commented, stirring it absentmindedly.

Rafe blinked, then stared at your cup for a second. It was identical to his: black, no sugar, no cream.

"You—" he started, his voice trailing off in confusion. You hadn’t ordered the same thing, had you? No, you always chose the caramel latte, but you had started transitioning to more bitter coffee...

His eyebrows furrowed, watching you take another sip.

"What?" you asked, noticing his stare.

"Why’d you..." Rafe caught himself. "Never mind."

He shook his head, chuckling under his breath. You’d been unconsciously drinking your coffee just the way he did. Had you even noticed?

His eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned back, his gaze not leaving you. You’d also been humming that same song he had been listening to on repeat all week. An old track by some band he'd introduced you to, one that had been stuck in his head for days.

When you softly hummed the chorus as you fidgeted with your phone, he couldn’t help but grin.

"You always hum that?" he asked casually, raising an eyebrow.

You stopped and blinked, then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I didn’t realize it was the same one we were playing the other day, though."

He sat forward slightly, his eyes searching your face for a moment, trying to figure out if you were joking, but there was something in the way you said it that made it clear: you weren’t aware of the little things.

How, over the past few weeks, your habits had begun to align with his.

And in that moment, Rafe felt a quiet thrill spread through him. You were becoming his person without even trying. Without even realizing it.

He leaned back, smiling to himself, then took a sip of his coffee. “Guess we’ve got the same taste,” he said with a half smirk, watching you carefully for your reaction.

You looked at him and shrugged again, clearly clueless about what had just happened.

"Guess so," you said, a playful glint in your eyes.

Rafe’s heart gave a small, almost imperceptible flutter.

You weren’t his yet. Not officially, at least. But in this small, unspoken moment, he was already beginning to feel like you were.

You had spent hours upon hours, which felt like minutes, talking, joking around, and watching ridiculous movies with stupid plots, chowing down on various snacks.

The door had clicked shut behind you with the usual soft thud, and now that you were gone, he couldn’t help but feel that sharp pang of longing in his chest. It was like someone had tugged at something deep inside him, pulling a part of himself along with you as you left.

Rafe’s lips pressed together, and his gaze drifted to the spot on the couch where you had just been sitting.

When did she start taking up so much space in my life?

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake the thought. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how true it was. Every time you were around, everything felt just a little more... right.

Even the way the silence between the two of you felt more like a conversation than an awkward pause.

With a groan, he grabbed his phone, half-wishing he could text you to come back, but he knew that was ridiculous. You’d left, and it was just the way things were.

Still, as he sat there in the quiet, he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d gotten so used to your presence in his life.

And how much he already missed it.

Pt 2: Your Favorite Dates with R.C.

[ohgodthevoices]

going crazy over how husband material osamu is, hear me ouuutttt

tags : fluff, time-skip, f!reader, tattoo , he listens to, he cares , and he cook , i’m thirsting m sorry

osamu would be the type of bestfriend that knows damn well you want him bad but keeps on teasing you and acting clueless just to see how far you can go before you crack

as childhood friends, it was normal for you to be touchy and generally comfortable with each other but it raised his suspicions when you now looked away when he was topless around you. it’s not like you were uncomfortable with it ?

you’ve basically lived your whole life with the miyas, you’ve seen osamu wet the bed as a kid, get rejected by his middle school crush you’ve even witnessed him putting his hand in his pants and scratch his butt, seeing him topless in the comfort of his apartment was a casual thing so why the hell would you look away , did he lose his shape ? no, he still worked out frequently even if he’s not an athlete anymore…

either way osamu always took care for you, he was always so careful when it comes to you , sure he’d playfully hit you here and there but it was nothing you couldn’t handle

just imagine him cooking you a nice heart-warming meal, glancing at you every now and then while you’re sitting on the counter looking like a mess after a long exhausting day , wine glass in hand and rambling your worries away. it really became a ritual for you to swing by his place unannounced after a bad day.

he’d open the door with his signature lazy smile “ya had a bad day?” you finally let you shoulders relax “long story..” he steps back, inviting you in “i got time”.

sometimes osamu gets this weird feeling he can’t explain when he realizes he’s seen you grow into a real woman, it really freaked him tf out when you told him you had your first time with some boy he never heard the name of.

he scolds you after a bad decision for sure , but he’s always there to comfort you right after. SO imagine his surprise when during a drunken confession after you finally listened to him and dumped your toxic bf, you admit to him between sobs that broke his heart into pieces

“why can’t i find a guy that actually likes me—?” your face was buried in his now wet tshirt , his strong arms holding you tight as if they were gonna protect you from feeling hurt, your words were muffled, melting together “why can’t i find someone like you samu…im so jealous of the girl that’s gonna be yours” holy fucking shit how was he so blind to never realize this…

thank god that night was complete blurry in your mind , so when you woke up the day completely hung over and found your beloved best friend making you breakfast with a bed hair and his sleeves rolled up showing off his forearms that you find really hot for some reason , your slight blush was explained.

omfg the day he showed up to your workplace during his break with a well crafted lunch box he made full of delicious onigiris because he listens and he remembers that your annoying coworker kept flaunting her relationship to you and it pissed you off and you wanted to show her that you can pull too

ever since he realized the power he had over you, he wouldn’t stop just picking at you and seeing how far he can go, he was basically testing the waters by stretching until his shirt lifts up, hold eye contact for a lil longer than what he should, and how he praises you don’t get me startedddd

“yer actually pretty decent at this” when you cook dinner with him, “look at ya bein all confident and independent !” when you actually tell the waiter they got your order wrong, “yer pretty distractin’ yk that? that’s kinda dangerous.”

osamu was a pretty touchy guy, not overly cuddly or anything but he did enjoy proximity, he’d usually hold your wrist when passing crowds but for some reason he now held your waist, his touch gentle yet firm on you. istg his hand placement is impeccable

there’s just something about him keeping a hair tie on his wrist for you that’s so endearing, so caring and attentive to your lil daily struggles.

it all happened when you got your first tattoo, he had sent you to his friend whom he deemed good enough to ink your body. he was nervous and excited as if he was the one getting tattooed but that’s mostly because you wanted to keep it a mystery, he knew that when he came home after closing the shop he’d find you there already.

there was just something so intimate about him coming back from work and finding you already at his place , he liked it, he could get use to it.

“ ‘m here !” he yelled out closing the door behind him , analyzing you from head to toe as you pop infront of him with his tshirt and shorts on displaying an almost mischievous smile, his eyebrows creasing as he doesn’t see any trace of a tattoo on your arms or legs, maybe it was on your shoulders?

he plopped down on his couch , man spreading “soo… are ya gonna show me or ?” you happily turn to the side, his eyes widen as you lift up the shirt enough to reveal a sideboob tattoo. he sits up the shock visible on his face “holy shit cmere” you obey him , getting closer for him to get a better look. with a swift motion his arm was now around your hip , pushing you to sit on one of his legs

he clearly recognized his friend’s intricate style, the design cupping the side of your boob, he wanted to admire his work but damn he felt a lil jealous that he worked so close to you. he finally looked at you only now noticing your reddish face

his face was just inches from yours, his previously shocked expression fading as he met your eyes. he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your jaw, and for a split second, everything around you felt quiet, just the two of you in that small space. he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, though, breaking the tension as he nudged you lightly

“didn’t know you had it in ya to do somethin’ like that” he whispered.

before you could answer, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, gently pulling you in. his lips brushed yours, just a soft, teasing touch, before pulling back slightly with that same smirk. “couldn’t resist,” he muttered under his breath, and this time, when he kissed you again, it was longer, deeper—no more teasing, just the feeling of the moment taking over.

i’m currently such a sucker for time skip osamu he’s all i’m thinking about

[kaiser1ns]

#. IT'S NAP TIME !

featuring 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. michael kaiser, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, otoya eita

fluff. taking a nap with your boyfriend it's the most comforting thing, at least most of the time.

MICHAEL KAISER

Your boyfriend takes his one-hour nap during the day, it doesn’t matter if it’s early in the morning or late in the evening—he always carves out that extra time to recharge, unless you’re there.

As he lies sprawled across the bed, his shirt slightly crumpled and hair tousled, you can’t help but climb on top of him. Wrapping your arms around him, you press gentle kisses against his cheek, but he doesn’t stir, not even a twitch. Instead, he groans faintly, burying his face deeper into the pillow, murmuring, “Liebling, nap with me or leave me for an hour. Just one hour…”

But you know better. You know this isn’t just a regular nap. Tomorrow, he’s flying to Japan for this big football project, and the thought of being apart is breaking your heart to pieces. You don’t want to leave him, not even for a second.

Tenderly, you brush the soft strands of his blond bangs away from his face, taking in the calm expression he rarely lets the world see. This time, instead of kissing his cheek, you lean down and lightly bite the soft skin, hoping for some reaction.

“Mmm… what are you doing?” he grumbles, his voice muffled. He shifts slightly, his arm lazily draping over your waist to pull you closer. “Trouble, aren’t you? Just let me sleep…”

You giggle softly, resting your head on his chest your fingers idly tracing the lines of his tattoo. His heartbeat, steady and calm, feels like home. Even if he’s leaving soon, for now, this moment is yours.

ITOSHI SAE

The man lying under your bed sheets values a healthy lifestyle and an impeccable sleep schedule. But you? You value getting your fair share of sleep, even if it’s only occasional. Every time you decide to indulge in a well-earned nap, he somehow finds a way to kick you out of the bed—your bed. He came to your apartment seeking peace and quiet, but he was sorely mistaken. Not under your roof.

Eyes still heavy with sleep, your grip tightens around the pillow in your hands. It’s a weapon of choice because surely a good boyfriend deserves some form of reward now and then. Whether that reward comes in the form of suffocating love or a plush pillow smacking his face depends on the moment.

So you do what any rational person would. You throw the pillow at his head.

It sails through the air, hitting its mark with a satisfying thwack. Sae groans, rubbing his head as he pulls the pillow away. He slowly blinks his eyes open, only to find you standing at the doorway and if looks could kill, he would be six feet under.

He doesn’t say a word. Instead, what does he do? Exactly what he always does, he lifts the blanket in silent invitation—a silent peace offering. How thoughtful. He could have done that a few minutes ago.

You sigh, giving in because, well, of course you do. But not before marching over, slapping his arm for good measure, and planting a quick peck on his lips. It’s the least you can do for a man who’s equally deserving of your love and your wrath.

He doesn’t complain, he never does when you settle in beside him.

NAGI SEISHIRO

Sleeping Beauty, if someone asks you about Disney classics or to describe your boyfriend this is exactly what you will say. You fell asleep at the same time but you woke up because this same princess decided he wanted the whole duvet for himself and you just stared at him and it wasn't weird at all to stare at your boyfriend, not when he's so cute with slightly puffy cheeks and soft lips... Will he wake up if you kiss him?

You hovered your face above Nagi's, just like the Prince did in Sleeping Beauty. Gently cupping his face, you leaned down to kiss him. Seconds passed, and he still wasn’t waking up. Just as you were about to back away, his hands moved, softly holding yours and pulling you closer again.

That’s when you couldn’t breathe anymore. You placed your hands on his chest, breaking off the kiss. What a hassle—he just wanted to take a nap. Now, though, the taste of your lips lingered on his, and it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Your princess was quickly turning into a beast, especially when you stole the blanket and curled up with it, pretending you hadn’t just woken him up. His gaze shifted to you before he hugged you from behind trapping you in his warmth.

"Whatever," he muttered. He’d deal with this later.

ITOSHI RIN

Your favorite thing to do when coming over to the Itoshi’s household was defiantly laying in your boyfriend’s bed to take a nap after school, while his favorite thing was to sit on his desk playing horror video games or watching horror movies. The amount of time you have heard “Here’s Johnny!” when he yet again rewatched The Shining, while you tried to rest and most importantly trying to convince him to join you under the warm blanket.

Tossing and turning, craving his attention, but Rin stayed focused on the horror movie, ignoring your pleas. Frustrated, you sat up and declared, “I’m calling my mom to pick me up!” At first, he didn’t take you seriously, but as you dialed and started speaking, his body tensed.

“Mom, you’re coming to pick me up, right?” you said into the phone. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just need to finish some homework. Okay, I’ll wait outside in ten minutes.”

That was all it took. Rin abandoned the movie, snatching the phone from your hand before pulling you into a tight embrace. The two of you tumbled back onto the mattress. Smiling, you ran your fingers through his hair, feeling him relax against you. You always knew how to get his attention—just a little acting and a few white lies did the trick.

“Here’s Rin,” you teased, whispering into his ear as his breathing softened. “Shut up…” he mumbled, still sprawled on top of you. You smiled, snuggling him like a teddy bear, drifting off together. After-school naps like this were the best.

SHIDOU RYUSEI

How naive of you to think you're going to sleep at all when he's here asking you all sorts of things while rummaging through your wardrobe or spinning in your chair talking about velociraptors… As much as you love dinosaurs you would love to have some decent rest, but no your boyfriend decided that this is the right time to tell you about the evolution of the planet, the Big Bang and how these cute reptiles are gone. You feel the bed dip and he is next to you, poking you with his finger like a little kid beginning for some candy.

“Ryu, stop it or I will cause another Big Bang and you will be the first one to disappear,” he stopped and then he was on top of you crushing you with his weight. “Not If we die together~”

With all your strength, you try to shove him off. After a brief struggle, he tumbles onto the floor, smirking when he notices your exhaustion—dark circles under your eyes and eyelids heavy. Finally realizing you need rest, he gets up and gently tucks you into bed. But of course, he’s not done yet. Sliding beside you, he wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. Too tired to resist, you let him stay as he resumes his velociraptor monologue.

“And the way they eat people is cute—” he pauses, glancing at your sleeping face. “But you’re cuter~” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead before dozing off beside you.

OTOYA EITA

Does he really think he can just leave out of the blue because he has “more important” things to do? Yeah, you definitely haven't heard that one before. However, Otoya Eita is nobody new in your life, a boy you've been seeing for a while, and even though you know what he's like, he's been acting like you're in a relationship for the past two months when you're not. You're either officially together or not, right?

He’s bold, you’ll give him that—trying to wriggle his way out when you cuddled on the couch taking a nice and peaceful nap. Now, with nowhere left to run, he’s backed into a corner. You’re staring at him like he’s the lowest on the food chain, and honestly, he finds it kind of hot. Good thing he had gum earlier—never know when a kiss might happen or when a girl might get so mad she leaves you speechless.  

“Amaterasu,” he mutters, locking eyes with you, and you immediately facepalm. “Eita, we talked about this. I’m immune to ninjutsu—you know what, forget it.”  

He blinks, stunned. Your surrender throws him off. You? Giving up? That’s never happened. So why does he suddenly feel like apologizing and staying over?  

“If you wanna leave, just go,” you say, turning away. But instead of moving toward the door, he hesitates. “If I stay,” he finally asks, voice softer now, “Can I sleep between your legs?”  

The things you do for him. Well, you like him, so you’ll try to work it out. Besides, he’s been faithful, most of the time. That’s gotta be worth something. 

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[frownyalfred]

Lois finding out Bruce's secret identity and using/abusing his expertise on crime and weird combat shit to ask him questions for background on random pieces she's assigned to.

"Hey hotshot. Quick question. Hypothetically, can you, or can you not, die from a punch to the throat."

"Hello, Lois. Nice to hear from you again."

"No, I don't think you heard me. Throat punching. Is that a thing?"

"A thing?"

"Can someone die if you punch them hard enough in the throat? Google says maybe."

"Looking it up on Google. That's a new low for you, isn't it?"

"The new low for me was thinking you'd take this conversation seriously. I need a yes or no answer, Bruce."

"..."

"I can hear you typing. Are you Googling it now?"

"Give me some parameters."

"I don't know, hard? If you punched them hard enough, could they die?"

"There would be some edema present, subsequent to blunt force trauma. Shortness of breath. Other delayed sequelae."

"So no?"

"Maybe."

"What if I punched them really really hard? Would it be instantaneous then?"

"Lois, I'm getting the impression this isn't much of a hypothetical anymore."

"Completely unrelated follow up question: can you break someone's neck if you punch them hard enough?"

"Lois."

"I just need a yes or no on this one. Promise."

"Lois."

"I'm not asking if you've ever done it, I'm asking if it's possible."

"...What does Google say?"

"To suck my dick, I'm on deadline."

"That new AI is testy."

"Are you going to be like this every time I call you?"

"Like this?"

"Yes or no answer, Bruce. Five seconds. I know you're holding it back. You're dying to tell me."

"I'm dying to tell you something you can Google?"

(five minutes later, Bruce's phone buzzes with a screenshot of a text conversation between Lois and a very confused Clark whose only response was "...I think so??? ask B")

Lois: final chance, yes or no

Bruce: Running to Clark is a choice.

Lois: oh god, you text with periods too?

Bruce: Yes.

Lois: yes throat punching or yes you text with periods?

Lois: Bruce

Lois: BRUCE