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tetzoro · 2 days ago

Text

˖˙ ꔫ — FEELS LIKE SUNSHINE ˚

꒰ synopsis : you’ve been having a tough time but kuroo is there to take care of you and remind you how loved you are. this fic is very indulgent so thank you for reading ❤︎ ꒱

꒰ contents : kuroo tetsuro x f!reader ; negative beginning but happy ending, hurt/comfort, non sexual nudity, use of pet names (sweetheart, beautiful, my girl) sappy at the end lol — WC : 1.8k ꒱

“Long day?” Kuroo asks, holding you close as you start to settle back home. The familiarity is swirling around you, yet you’ve never felt so out of place. You can’t even grace his question with an answer.

The world was muddled, gray. All of the colors around you felt muted and wilted away without the joy the sun brings.

It wasn’t often you felt like this, but in light of recent events, it’s become your new normal. A blanket of barbed wire wrapped around your shoulders, never letting you rest or relax completely.

You could see the look on his face, the worry etching along his beautiful features twisting the knife in your stomach, nausea rising up your throat. The buildup of bile threatened to spill out and you were choking back the words you desperately wished to say.

Life had a nasty habit of floating out of your grasp, the good things slipping through your fingers and leaving you holding nothing but vacant space, wondering what happened.

It wasn’t that your life had lack of love or enjoyment, but today all of it felt miles away as you’re faced with your reflection — everything bad staring back at you that makes you want to shrivel up and hide away, covering the mirror up in hopes it was all an illusion.

Insecurity and self-doubt chip away at you, taunting you as false memories try to validate all your worst demons, all boiling down to one simple thing.

The absence of hope.

The loss of light that causes darkness to flood in, sticky and invasive, a parasite that latches onto your flesh and bones, tormenting your mind with its lies that only selfishly feed into its lifespan.

Breaking out of it can be a terrible thing. It can hurt like hell — feel like it too as you rip apart something that’s glommed onto your skin and drains you of all the goodness you still desperately tried to hold onto.

But his touch helps bring you back. The gentle brush of his fingers along your cheek refocuses all of your thoughts — attention landing right back onto him.

“That bad, huh?” Kuroo gives a small smile, one that plants a seed of hope back into your body. The little joy he carries on his face as he looks at you warms and nurtures it, the feeling beginning to bloom and blossom into a rebirth. “Aw, come here, sweetheart.”

The hug he gives you grounds you, pushing all the spiraling pieces of your mind back together, his love consuming you as his arms wrap around your body.

“Just been a little rough lately.” You mumble, cheek resting against his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat a calming beacon of hope. After the agony of sailing alone in the dark for so long, your lighthouse stands tall, looking for you at every mile.

“I know.” He kisses the top of your head, giving you an extra squeeze. “But I've got you.”

“You don’t have to.” Self-sabotage floods your veins, your hands already trying to push against him, your body pulling away as you’d do anything to keep him from barring the weight you carried on your shoulders.

Kuroo lets you get some space, but you still feel his light touch you. The soft expression he had, the way his fingers twitched with need, already itching to have you back in his arms.

“I want to.” Not an ounce of hesitation wavered in his voice and you blink back a tear, desperately trying to hold your ground.

You wanted to give in so, so badly. But the thought of having anyone feel an ounce of what you felt scared the shit out of you. A last-ditch effort to protect them from you and all the hurt you held.

“I don't want to burden you.” The confession is but a whisper, secretly hoping that he didn’t hear you. But he does, he always takes it in and understands you even when your voice shakes.

“You couldn’t burden me even if you tried.” The fondness in his promise almost scared you, your walls screaming to be put back up. But you knew it was a lost cause, he was nothing if not persistent.

“But-“

“And even if you could,” he pauses, smoothing his palms over your cheeks and down your shoulders, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead, speaking his next words against your skull as if your brain would be forced to take them in. “Then please, please burden me.”

“What—“ He cuts you off before you can try to doubt his plea.

“I’ve chosen, committed to loving you. All of you, no matter what. We’re a team, remember? So, burden me.” The fiery intensity in his amber eyes shows you there’s not an ounce of doubt, no hesitation to what he just admitted. It tugs at your heart in all the right ways.

His forehead leans against yours, gazing down at you with all the love and care in the world that it makes you feel silly for ever doubting it. The lingering feelings remain, something deep down inside of you that wants to come out.

“Tetsu, I don't even know where to start.” your voice is still small, vulnerability creeping up on you, pressing down on your back as you fall deeper into his embrace.

“Then why don’t we get a little more comfortable?” Kuroo asks, innocently enough. “Pouring out your heart out in the front foyer doesn’t seem ideal now does it?”

“No.” You shake your head, a hint of a smile lining your lips. The slight twitch fills Kuroo's heart with hope. He gently takes your hand, leading you further into your shared apartment.

He’s quiet for a moment and you wonder if he’s feeling the weight you carry on your shoulders through the mere act of holding hands. Before you can slip through his fingers, he holds on tighter, tugging you forward so he can wrap his arm around your shoulder instead.

“What do you say, beautiful? Take a bath, order some takeout, and maybe tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” His other hand reaches up, gently booping you on your forehead, followed by the tip of your nose.

“Yeah.” The light begins to seep back into your soul the more you melt into his side, tucked away from the ugly thoughts that were invading your space these past few days.

To say you were lucky was an understatement. To have someone who’s willing to sit with you for as long as it takes until you muster up the courage to speak about your troubles is more than you could ever ask for.

The patience and care that exudes from the man beside you is almost infectious. Love pours from every word and every action he commits, flooding the walls of your heart until you have no choice but to open the doors and let him fully consume you. It only makes it easier knowing that he’s held the key all along.

“Get in there.” Kuroo smirks, jerking his head to the drawn bath, a waft of lavender filling your nose – the kind he knew you always loved. It crinkles your nose just right, scrunching it up in a blissful state that catches the sparkle of Kuroo’s bright eyes. Everything looked beautiful and your heart has never felt so warm, so cherished.

One of your favorite things about this apartment was the bathroom, as silly as it sounds. The high rise you lived in left big windows in every room, this one being no exception. The city lights shone beyond, letting you gaze out into the world when it didn’t have the opportunity to look back.

It’s amazing how one moment you can feel so down in the depths of despair but looking out at the window from this height serves as a reminder of how far up from the bottom you are. The progress you’ve made doesn’t become exempt the moment things start getting tough again, it’s merely another test that aims to show you how far you’ve truly come.

As you crawl into the warm water of the tub, letting the bubbles soak away your worries and sing you melodies of relaxation, Kuroo goes the extra mile. Because of course he does. There were a few candles you kept in the linen closet for nights when you two wanted to have a romantic bath. He lights them anyway, adding to the cozy ambience, and your heart soars at the thoughtful gesture.

“Are you planning on joining me?” You ask, eyes on him, watching him scurry around the small space to make things perfect. His head whips around to you, gaze softening once again before something mischievous swims his golden irises.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Kuroo quickly takes off his clothes, not giving you nearly enough time to admire his toned body before he slipped in behind you, sturdy arms holding you flush against him. “There, now we’re all nice and cozy.”

“Thank you, Tetsu.” You sigh a breath of relief that had been trapped somewhere deep within, locked away with a key that had been thought to be lost. Leaning back against his shoulder, you realize how much you needed this — him.

His syrupy sweet lips brush against your head like the sun kissing the horizon as it rises once again. It fills you with warmth, support, gratitude. Everything wonderful in this world birthed from a simple kiss that held all the love you needed.

“You can always lean on me, I won’t ever let you fall.” Kuroo’s voice is softer than usual, a tone reserved for you and these tender moments when you need a little extra gentleness. The tender, reassuring words cradle around your ear and hold your heart steady as his arms loop around you, securing you in place. “I promise.”

You know your thanks will fall on deaf ears, that this simple task he’s doing for you is no sweat off his back. The only thing he craves to hear from you is your acceptance, your willingness to let him in so you can tackle everything together like the power couple you were meant to be.

“Okay.” You whisper out into the soft-lit room, letting the atmosphere of love and bubbles consume you, melting away your troubles like the wax that drips from the candles. “I will.”

“That’s my girl.” Without even seeing his face, you know he’s smiling. A proud grin he notoriously wears like his finest suit whenever he finally achieves his goals. The one he knew he’d sport in only a matter of time after he broke down your stubborn walls once again.

Tender hands rub along your arms, his lips brushing along your head as he hums to the tune that never fails to make you smile right back. The song you would often sing to each other in the sweet moments in your life whether it be slow dancing in the kitchen as dinner cooks, or moments like these where you’re tucked away from the rest of the world to be reminded just how much your souls are tied together.

thank you for being here + thank you for reading ❤︎

#◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #feeling vulnerable so i am running off into the sunset ( logging off )

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vermillyons · 2 days ago

Note

You always have at least a part of Shanks’ attention, so the way you shift uncomfortably and curl slightly in on yourself is not going to go unnoticed.

The cause of his sudden and very dire lack of you is that very same newcomer.

you write shanks so endearingly here, the way he's so head over heels for them 🥰. it's almost childlike in how unabashed he is about it but it also juxtaposes with how insightful he is with him paying attention to reader's moods.

Shanks tucks you in sweetly (well… sweetly to a drunk; in all reality you kinda flopped in, but he did make sure you were shoeless and properly under the blankets, and he even shuffled back in to put water, crackers, and medicine where you could reach).

ok but shanks tucking you in is so sweet 🥺💖. bc im a sap im going to imagine he gave you a kiss on the head and a little pat after that.

your mihawk jealousy headcanon made me think too much about how he'd express his jealousy before and during a relationship that it's gonna end up being its own post 😭✌️ (no im not biased whattt)

At first he tries to discourage this lingering with his mere presence. He knows he’s capable of pumping out enough sheer displeasure into the air to knock out a squadron, so he keeps it to his other tools: body language that makes him feel larger than the room and a glare sharp enough to split hair.

mihawk really is the embodiment of “he’s just standing there! menacingly!” you did a really good job at describing mihawk’s body language and mood. i can’t help but smile at the image of mihawk staring daggers at the ex (poor marine).

Mihawk can tell that his mood is setting you on edge too - almost anyone would with the perturbed looks you’ve been sending his way - but that isn’t technically taking your joy, so he doesn’t back off.

You would have never guessed that his aim with his nitpicking and praising is to make sure your ex knows for a fact that you are out of their league. They don’t deserve you. But he could.

the implication of mihawk being so aloof towards reader that they can’t even figure out why mihawk’s so pissy like please 😭. mihawk you did this to yourself. also me going 👀 at the second quote’s wording “They don’t deserve you. But he could.” like the implications… the usage of “could” instead of “does” when it comes to mihawk deserving you.

Mihawk is simply delighted to see your attention going to its rightful place, on him. You should be looking at him with such interest and joy. You should be seeking his approval; not some simpering swine’s.

he is so cringe (affectionate)

His full height set strongly in sharp shoulders and straight spine cuts a devilish figure behind you. Your ex’s first impression was that he is haunting you, but there’s some little whisper in their mind that, no, Mihawk is protecting you.

good ass imagery. i love the contrast between mihawk being ominous and protective, the way his possessiveness seems to take physical form here. it’s bad news for the ex but not necessarily for reader.

also:

“I usually have to pour my own wine from the kitchen’s rack. What’s the occasion?” Mihawk takes a sip and the comfort of one of his favored wines coming over his senses coerces him into loosening his tongue. “You’ve been good.” Another sip and he thoughtfully adds, “I could give you more rewards.”

im going to hold back from saying anything too incoherently horny. anyways, i hope they makeout sloppy.

crocodile strikes me as the type of menace to sabotage any dates that you’d try to go on if it’s with anyone else but him. reservations get mysteriously canceled, transport breaks down, that kind of stuff. in true mr. 0 fashion, he’d pretend he had nothing to do with it.

since this reader is his assistant, i can see them being smart enough to figure it out. either their reaction can be indifferent (all those red flags just look like flags when you’re a criminal lol), bothered by the lying, or amused (like, wow, he didn’t have to do all that if he wanted them so bad).

It only irritates him even more that you don’t notice him until you’re swallowed by his shadow. You even have the audacity to look surprised when you turn to him.

(point and laugh) he liiikes them!

And thus begins the interrogation. You can only watch perplexed as Sir Croc tugs every bit of information he could want out of your ex, making sure to cut off anything he didn’t care to hear. That frustrated look and tone become more bored by the second. Every tone tells your ex that they’re barely worth the breath to speak, causing them to shrink even faster than Sir Croc’s anger did.

this captures his condescending and imperious apathy so well. it’s like it’s beaming a picture of crocodile directly into my brain. giving the same energy when crocodile went “idgaf about your plans” to blackbeard. he’s the worst 💖💖💖

the metal isn’t cold like you thought it would be. It must be warmed from resting on his thigh. You shake away the thought of warming it further.

ok ok ok 😳👉👈 what a nice, subtly sensual detail.

Noting how deep your draw to Croc is, you already feel that that would be a dead end. Well, maybe some time rekindling things would help your daydreaming and wishing for Sir Croc finally start ebbing away.

crocodile is going to be so insufferably smug once he finds out why reader’s been reconnecting with their ex.

When he reaches for his awaiting drink, he notices Daz Bonez come back into the room, wiping his hands off on his pants. Their eyes meet and Daz Bones gives a firm nod before heading back to his other duties for the night.

daz bonez, being an assassin, has definitely killed for pettier reasons but he really just killed the ex with no questions asked. unmatched loyalty! give this man infinite paid vacation days even if he’d never take them.

jealousy headcanons and scenarios r my kryptonite! especially for emotionally constipated characters lol. for shanks, mihawk, and crocodile seeing their crush interacting with someone that turns out to be said crush's ex? there's chemistry between the exes and are those lingering looks he's seeing?! 🫢

OOOOOOOO GOOD CHOICES GOOD CHOICES 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 I must say I am weak for some jealousy too 💀 why does it have to be so hot in fiction huh??? Or make me feel wanted????? Rude 😤

Three jealous DILFs coming right up 🫡

Jealousy from Shanks, Mihawk, and Sir Crocodile

Your ex comes back into your life and stirs up some feelings - How are these men taking it?

Form this took: started as a bulleted headcanons but then became a scenario/ficlet for each ahsdjajskdajs

Word count: Shanks - 1.1 k, Mihawk - 1.2 k, Croc - 1.2 k

Shanks

The clinging and diverting type

This mf tries to be sneaky about it

Key word: tries

It’s no secret that Shanks is the jovial sort and that his welcome and cheer extend easily to newcomers. However, something curious happens when the next one joins your large table.

You always have at least a part of Shanks’ attention, so the way you shift uncomfortably and curl slightly in on yourself is not going to go unnoticed. You catch yourself and relax back into your usual posture, but Shanks knows you well enough to see there’s a posed touch to all your expressions. It tames them from the genuine displays of your thoughts and emotions that Shanks so loves into something more suited to a diplomat seeking favor. Now that had him wary.

It took no genius to notice that each time a great laugh broke out your eyes would sweep to that newcomer to take them in, or how your would flicker your gaze over to them every time you had the spotlight, as if seeking approval.

Gods Shanks hopes that isn’t the case

Driven to seek comfort in your presence, Shanks leans into his affectionate nature to keep close to you. You can’t think too long on someone else with him constantly leaning into your space to whisper dumb jokes and silly observations. He made those laughs and he gets to enjoy them up close and personal. You may look to others but you always look back to him when he ventures to lay his hand on your shoulder or hand or thigh and give a happy, hearty squeeze before retreating. He relishes in the fact that you had been uncertain of his touch when you first met yet now you trust and even welcome his hand on you.

Shanks is burst right out of his bubble of avoidance when you suddenly jolt and sit straight, separating yourself from his side.

The cause of his sudden and very dire lack of you is that very same newcomer. The newcomer, who is leaning in so close to you. The newcomer, who now has all of your attention. The newcomer, who is giving you a smile that Shanks very much does not like. It’s very charming and holds a twinge of remorse that Shanks knows from experience would strike straight and true right to your heart

“I’m glad to see you in happier times. You look good,” they have the audacity to say, the words even seeping with honesty. Shanks isn't sure he focused on anything in his life as hard as he does on your reaction in this moment.

Your smile is breathtaking, one he isn't sure he’s seen before, all affection and understanding and a dusting of yearning. It turns his heart to goo right before it clamps it tight and squeezes, because that smile isn't for him. He needs that smile to be for him. His mouth is moving before the thought even sinks in.

“We do like to keep things cheerful here!” Shanks chuckles to the newcomer. He turns to you, making sure to catch your eye. “Life’s too short to anchor yourself to your sorrows.” Now back to the newcomer. “And this one-” an arm slips around your shoulders, hugging you to his warm side, “-helps keep it that way.”

The smile you give him isn’t quite as overflowing with emotion as the one you gave the newcomer, but he loves it all the same.

Unfortunately, that’s not the end of it and the newcomer actually sits down on your other side and insists on catching up. Shanks is a damn charmer though, and he knows it, so he’s not one to give up on keeping your attention through the night.

He stays in the conversation easily, not deterred by the newcomer outsider bringing up shared memories with you, even though they squeeze at his heart and lungs tighter and tighter. He uses it to get to know more of you, a part of him truly enjoying the new insights. However, a much larger part is simply set on keeping the reminiscing light instead of romantically charged.

As the time and drinks flow, his and the outsider's tactics get more obvious yet you get more oblivious, simply cruising on the comfy fuzz everything had taken on and enjoying the company. Your unintentional refusal to pick a favorite has both of them getting desperate and daring.

Try as they might, the outsider is clearly outmatched

By the end of the night you’re wearing Shanks like a perfume, he’s stuck to your skin at the heart of your body, chest always tight to your back or side, chin often hooked over your shoulder or on top of your head. His slight scruff tickling at your ear when he moves and talks is exceedingly distracting. So is the softness of his hair on your neck when he turns his head to bed his cheek into your shoulder and pull you a little tighter to him, saying its just 'cause he's a little sleepy and trying to get comfy. He unearths himself from his resting place only to seek it again every few minutes.

His arm is always around you when he wasn’t using it to drink (of course) or toy with you - tugging at your clothes for attention, tickling your sides to interrupt you, sweetly scratching your scalp to derail your train of thought, teasingly rubbing a thumb into your hip or thigh to feel you squirm.

Shanks is a handsy motherfucker (ironic right-), so you don’t take any of this as a proclamation of his love. The most you think is that it has just hit that point in your journey together where his vast appetite for partners has finally swept its way to focus on you.

You end the night giggling the whole stumbling way back to the ship, tucked into Shanks’ side. You manage to stay there despite being at the mercy of both of your swaying, constantly blending who’s supporting and who’s slipping. Your ex is far from your mind when Shanks tucks you in sweetly (well… sweetly to a drunk; in all reality you kinda flopped in, but he did make sure you were shoeless and properly under the blankets, and he even shuffled back in to put water, crackers, and medicine where you could reach).

Shanks does however have a flash of your ex in his mind when he's happily gloating to himself that he had won.

His last blurry thoughts are of how to make sure you and everyone else unquestionably knows that you are off limits. The unspoken claim understood by the crew while he works at winning you over doesn't seem to be enough anymore. Especially if that pesky ex comes sniffing around again. Maybe they just need a lesson in what staring down Conqueror’s Haki truly feels like.

Mihawk

The intimidating and biting type

Mihawk would likely be the most covert of these three, at least as far as your notice goes

Your ex has no questions about Mihawk’s dislike for them. With his reputation as emotionless and solitary, it’s not guaranteed that your ex will put two and two together to realize that Mihawk's dislike stems from their previous relationship with you. Even if Mihawk hints at it, they'll tell themselves that they're imagining things. It’s much more likely that they’ll think it’s because Mihawk is that way with all but the Few Exceptions, and they have definitely not made the cut.

It definitely didn’t help that they were a marine

Mihawk is already unhappy to see a marine on his doorstep, no doubt sent to yip at him about some nonsense or other that the admirals were in a twist over. That unhappiness quadruples when he hears you tentatively call to this marine by name, and then it multiplies again when the marine responds by breathing out your own name with shock and hope

This pest needs to be out of his castle quickly

Yet he can't bring himself to simply throw them out when you come over so disgustingly happy to see them. There were a few times where he'd interrupted or snuffed out your joy while adjusting to you joining his home, and he found the feeling it gave him insufferable. That's what forces him to let the pest in and guide them with you to the smaller dining room.

He’d simply have to find what the pest needs fast and expedite whatever catching up you two apparently must do.

That's easier said than done; you and the pest are insistent on taking time between flustered pleasantries to share uncertain smiles and lingering looks of longing in charged silence.

It's giving him the worst mood he'd had in years.

At first he tries to discourage this lingering with his mere presence. He knows he's capable of pumping out enough sheer displeasure into the air to knock out a squadron, so he keeps it to his other tools: body language that makes him feel larger than the room and a glare sharp enough to split hair. Both make the pest cringe and shy away, but the chance to gain your favor makes them push through it. Even though he hates it, Mihawk can't blame them.

Mihawk can tell that his mood is setting you on edge too - almost anyone would with the perturbed looks you've been sending his way - but that isn't technically taking your joy, so he doesn't back off.

In fact, he decides it's time to push even more.

He begins interjecting in your conversation, mostly with little insults to take the wind out of the pest's sails.

You aren't yet tipped off that there's something hiding behind his mood; he was never fond of braggarts so it isn't so out of the ordinary for him to humble someone. Of course, you wouldn't exactly call what your ex is doing "bragging" so much as filling you in on their growing career. They are actually relatively humble about it, clearly just excited to fill you in and not phrasing things to seek your praise.

Then Mihawk starts complimenting you.

Mihawk is not one to dish out praise. You've had to fight tooth and nail to get the mere drops of it you'd tasted so far, so his sudden highlighting of your positive traits trips your sensors. It isn't exactly alarm bells ringing, more it makes you feel like there's something you're missing. You figure it's the sudden disruption and old instincts from his Marine Hunter days cropping up.

You would have never guessed that his aim with his nitpicking and praising is to make sure your ex knows for a fact that you are out of their league. They don't deserve you. But he could.

No matter the reason though, you certainly relish in Mihawk calling you things such as "necessary for [his] castle", "smarter than those inane marine trials", "finally proficient and needing no distractions to ruin that", and "better company than a bunch of sea monkeys". Sure, from most anyone else they'd feel slightly insulting, but from everything you've so far seen of Mihawk that's a glowing review.

The uncanny nature of this whole interaction, from Mihawk's tank in mood to the sudden praise, keeps your focus away from your ever shrinking ex.

He figures he's been patient enough (it's been almost a whole ten minutes after all) and it is time to end this farce.

Mihawk stands from his spot and goes to sift through the wine rack. He returns with an above average vintage (even by his tastes) and two glasses. He sets them at the corner of the table so he can deftly open the wine. The silence as you both watch him work elates him.

The first glass is placed in front of his seat and swiftly filled. You watch the action with admiration for his fluid and confident motions. The pest watches with growing envy.

The second glass is filled while still sat in the corner, keeping its owner ambiguous.

The bottle leaves one hand and that glass enters the other, coming with Mihawk as he moves to stand behind your chair.

His full height set strongly in sharp shoulders and straight spine cuts a devilish figure behind you. Your ex's first impression was that he is haunting you, but there's some little whisper in their mind that, no, Mihawk is protecting you.

That whisper gets stronger as Mihawk leans forward over you, getting much too close to be polite while he places the wine glass down directly in front of you. His eyes hold the pest's with an air of warning the whole time.

Mihawk settles back upright, placing a hand on both carved corners decorating the back of your chair. The act seems clearly possessive. But surely Mihawk couldn't have found some special fondness for you?

You are none the wiser to Mihawk's antics behind you, too enraptured by the closeness of his reaching arm then too distracted checking out the color and aroma of your gifted wine.

Having at least enough pieces of a functional brain to pick up on that cue, the pest begins rushing out some excuses and makes to leave.

Kind as you are, you tell them they don't have to rush off, but they're adamant. You're a bit sad to see this chance meeting end so quickly, but your mind quickly settles on thinking it's for the best. Your memories of them are distant enough to be cherry picked and seeing them scamper off so easily reminds you that there are reasons you parted.

Mihawk chases escorts them out and returns to you looking much less belligerent and much more at ease. You figure it best to not risk ruining the positive turn by questioning it, yet you can't help but ask one thing.

"I usually have to pour my own wine from the kitchen's rack. What's the occasion?"

Mihawk takes a sip and the comfort of one of his favored wines coming over his senses coerces him into loosening his tongue.

"You've been good." Another sip and he thoughtfully adds, "I could give you more rewards."

Sir Crocodile

The assertive and analytical type

Despite Croc being a plotter, I see him as being quite direct in this situation

Ok yeah maybe he insists it’s because you can do better and you’re definitely above crawling back to an ex (“you broke up for a reason didn’t you?”)

But maybe he also takes this as his opportune moment to get you into his clutches.

Who could blame him when he feels the threat of such an unworthy little nobody working so hard to catch your eye.

Croc always keeps an eye on you, no matter what else demands his attention. Sure, there's an obsessive edge to it, but he just needs to know what you're up to - has to know you're safe near for when he needs you. You are the best assistant he's ever seen after all, and he's been through an army's worth. He's sure his new organization would've crumbled if you weren't there to balance out the clown and his circus monkeys constantly shooting themselves in the foot (sometimes literally).

Many of those circus monkeys were even stupid enough to try and approach you themselves. Luckily for him, you seem about as enthused on the idea of you having a partner as he is.

Which brings us back to his irritation that you haven't swatted that bug away from you. No, instead you seem to be rather tolerant of their buzzing. Maybe even fond.

That just won't do.

The crowds at this schmooze-fest, thrown to entice more pirates and criminals alike, part easily for his beeline to you.

It only irritates him even more that you don't notice him until you're swallowed by his shadow. You even have the audacity to look surprised when you turn to him.

And you truly are surprised - as far as you know there's no reason for Croc's usual grimace to turn into something so stormy, especially directed at you. It quickly jumps to your ex however and focuses that torrent there.

"I don't know you," Croc states gruffly.

"I'm-"

"Your name doesn't matter," Croc interrupts. "What do you do? Why are you here?"

And thus begins the interrogation. You can only watch perplexed as Sir Croc tugs every bit of information he could want out of your ex, making sure to cut off anything he didn't care to hear. That frustrated look and tone become more bored by the second. Every tone tells your ex that they're barely worth the breath to speak, causing them to shrink even faster than Sir Croc's anger did.

You catch their eye and send them a sympathetic smile, and then Croc moves on to you.

"And you," he starts roughly. He lets you sit in suspense while he drags those hooded purple eyes from the crown of your head to the toes of your shoes and back. "Why are you here?"

You're taken absolutely aback by the question, mouth flapping from a mix of shock and offense. You have quite a list of things you keep your eye on at these parties; did he want you to go down the whole thing? After a deep breath, you try, "To gather informationof and from possible allies and help build relationships?"

"Wrong."

Well, at least he let you finish your sentence. Time to try again.

"To make sure the night runs smoothly," you say much more surely. It's an apt description of your overall job.

"Wrong again." Yep, that grimace is now definitely a smirk. One that only widens when you purse your lips and stare him down. You notice the genuine amusement shining in Croc's eyes and relax a touch, content to let him guide this to whatever destination he has planned.

"Then please, Sir, tell me," you relent. "Why am I here?"

He takes a deep puff of his cigar before pulling it from his lips and watching the smoke swirl out with his exhale. You watch it too - admire how handsome he looks reappearing through the haze. Enjoying how small you feel as he leans over you through its last remnants.

He rarely touches you with his golden hook, always using his hand (you've yet to realize it's because he prefers to feel you on his skin). Now, though, he raises it towards you. You're surprised yet again when the curve touches beneath your chin to tilt your face just a little higher; the metal isn't cold like you thought it would be. It must be warmed from resting on his thigh. You shake away the thought of warming it further.

He takes his time assessing you, giving you your own time to look over his breathtakingly chiseled face, admire his striking scar, forget everything else but his eyes on you.

Without intention, you gravitate towards him, leaning forward enough into him and that golden hook drawing you that you have to catch yourself with a stumbling step. The fond chuckle he gives in response resonates deep and rich and feels like a reward flowing over you.

"You, my dear," Sir Crocodile says with unfamiliar mirth, "are here to keep me happy."

"And how would you like me to do that, Sir?" you whisper back.

At first, that just earns you a smile. Then he's drawing his hook along your jaw, tickling the tip around your ear, drawing it gently across your cheek. It ends its journey on your lips, ever so gently pulling your bottom lip down before letting it flick back up when he draws his arm away. You watch the glimmering gold retreat. He's greedy for more of the longing he sees in your eyes. He leans slightly lower and gives you back that hook, this time in the form of an offered arm.

"With your company, of course," He finally answers. The warmth you hear in the drawl of his voice is beautiful.

You slip your hand into the crook of his arm, happy you can feel his body heat through the soft fabric of his shirt.

Halfway back to his previous spot, you realize that you'd become so distracted that you hadn't even said goodbye to your ex. You had wanted to exchange numbers, maybe truly get back in touch and feel out if things would be better this time. Noting how deep your draw to Croc is, you already feel that that would be a dead end. Well, maybe some time rekindling things would help your daydreaming and wishing for Sir Croc finally start ebbing away.

"Did you see where they went?"

Croc has to hold in his smile at your question. "They scurried off on you. It's for the best though; they were exceedingly unimpressive."

You couldn't help but snort at his assessment.

After guiding you to your chair and pushing it in, Croc settles down himself. When he reaches for his awaiting drink, he notices Daz Bonez come back into the room, wiping his hands off on his pants. Their eyes meet and Daz Bones gives a firm nod before heading back to his other duties for the night.

Sir Croc smirks and takes a heavy sip of scotch.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

There you are sweet anon, I hope you enjoyed and that it properly scratched the itch❣️ Thank you for the ask 🤍 Sending much love!!!

Part of a little celebration

#fic rec #shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #crocodile x reader

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quarterlifekitty · 1 day ago

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Hi! could you possibly write something about a fuckboy!soap and shy!reader that he uses for sex, and she keeps letting him? im craving angsty angst ANGST that just keeps hurting…you don’t have to if you don’t want to and thank you if you do! Have a great day!

Okay, one thing you all should know about me? Is that I’m a weenie lol so I can’t help but make things a little hopeful most of the time. Also— gonna make this like a college type AU

Soap clocks you from a mile away when he sees you at a party. There’s a cup of beer in your hand that you’ve been nursing, just sipping to have something to do while you cling to the side of the friend who forced you to come.

He’s seen you in his classes before. You’re good. Not the type to be seen in a place like this. And that kinda whets his appetite. He wants to fuck you, break you, make you fall apart for his own amusement.

He nudges Gaz— they have the routine down to a science— splitting up the birdies that are a little too huddled together so they can have their way with them. Gaz runs interference this time, Johnny mouthing an “I owe ye” his way— chatting up and pulling your friend away to talk a bit more. You’re alone now, and Johnny swoops in, weaving through people on a warpath.

He corners you expertly, and you’re a pathetically easy read. Easy to tease, to coax, to push. He just has to throw in a few lines about how pretty you look, peppered between him saying he’s always wanted to talk with you, always admired you in class— he gives just enough detail to lull you into thinking this is courting. That he’s going to fuck you because he likes you.

Works like a charm. Always does. You clumsily follow him to his room—“Ye didnae ken? This is my fraternity’s house, bonnie,”— as he pulls you along by the hand.

He enjoys pulling you apart. Like the birds taking Prometheus’s liver. He’s not a complete animal, he makes you cum, but he doesn’t give you kisses the way you’d probably hoped he would. He’ll tell his mates later— it was kinda cute how fucking bad you were at giving head, too.

He lets you stay the night even though your clinging is a bit annoying. Pushing you out would burn this bridge, and he’s not ready to do that just yet. Not when he could keep having fun.

Come morning your clothes are tossed your way (sans panties, those are going in his trophy collection), and he has the decency to drop you off at your place with the promise of further contact.

Come your next class, he’s back to acting like he doesn’t know you. You’re shy, but you’re not stupid. It’s easy to see that you were played, and you curse yourself for falling into it.

So why do you show up when he texts you, asking you to come over?

Promethean indeed.

And it keeps happening.

It’s not like he treats you badly— that’s what you tell yourself. You’re just the idiot for expecting more than orgasms. It’s nice to feel wanted. It’s not nice to put your clothes on and get out right after, but you’re willing to ignore that. You shouldn’t be. But you are.

You’re not the kind of girl who gets asked out. So why refuse the one source of attention you have? He makes you cum, right? That’s more than a lot of guys do, so it would be unfair to expect more. High maintenance. Right?

If Johnny can see the hurt behind your eyes when you turn to check behind you when you leave, as if he’ll suddenly change his mind and call you back into bed to hold you, he doesn’t do anything about it. He’s content to tug on his jeans and brush past you with a cigarette in his mouth.

You steel yourself as usual, double checking the straightness of your clothes as if it’ll make you feel like less of a cheap whore when his housemates glance your way as you leave.

The door across from Johnny’s is almost always open, despite how closed off its occupant seems. You’ve never met Simon. Well, you really haven’t met anyone in Soap’s life. That’s not what he keeps you for, is it? Fucktoys don’t get introduced to the friend group. Doesn’t stop Simon from staring holes in your back every time you leave. Must think you’re easy. Must wonder if Johnny’ll mind if he has a go. Or maybe he just thinks you’re pathetic. You certainly do.

But it’s happened one too many times. Apparently, even a worm will turn. His stare itches and crawls up your skin when you already feel like such a piece of meat— chewed up and spit out. And you must be losing flavor. Before long you won’t even have this. You turn to look at him instead of walking on as usual.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” You spit in a tone that surprises you. You’ve never said anything like that to someone, not in earnest, anyway.

“Lemme take y’out somewhere.”

What?

#writing #cod fanfic #cod #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny mactavish #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #college au

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boobearymuch · 2 days ago

Text

You feel it before you see it, and by then it’s too late. “Ow!” A hand flies to your forehead, shielding the sore spot from further mishap, and your feet quickly shuffle back. Zayne nearly drops his shopping bag reaching for your arm, and quickly looks you over for injury, “What happened?” The concern in his hazel eyes is sweet, focused entirely on you. You don’t speak—your forehead stings—so instead you point at the offender. Zayne’s gaze follows your hand: a low hanging sign that reads 50% off everything! You expect him to laugh, or call you a klutz—anything to alleviate your embarrassment—but he does neither. Your gentle doctor tugs you out of the busy sidewalk and caresses your cheek softly, “May I see?”

Hesitantly, your hand falls to reveal the angry red mark stamped on your forehead, and his other hand thumbs the injury. “No bump,” He mutters more to himself than you, not that you’re paying much attention anyway. Your focus is on his lips, and the way he holds your face like glass. The tip of his nose inches closer, and your eyes droop in anticipation. “How’s your head?” Zayne murmurs at last, looking just as expectant. The adoration behind his gaze warms your cheeks, and it’s the most affectionate he’s been in public. You almost feel bad for what you’re about to say. Almost.

Your eyebrow quirks suggestively, “Haven’t had any complaints yet...”

At first, Zayne doesn’t get it. Then he spots the impish grin now stretching your lips, and the light fades just as quickly from his eyes. “You’re fine.” The intimacy of the moment vanishes, along with any concern Zayne held for you. He pushes your face away—pink instantly dusting his cheeks—and you laugh harder now. “I ought to take you in for an MRI. You’re delirious.” He mumbles, but you’re too busy snickering about the look on his face. Then he gently pinches your cheek, “Or maybe,” Zayne closes in, and your laughter ceases the moment his lips brush your ear, “We should evaluate your…head elsewhere.”

masterlist | one | two

inspo

#ik he's sick of me #love and deepspace #drabble #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #lnds #zayne x mc #love and deepspace zayne #zayne lads #zayne x y/n #zayne l&ds

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 19 hours ago

Text

[5:57 pm]

(cw: a little angsty, a bitch ass "friend")

Crush!Haechan looked so pretty tonight. His hair was fluffy and styled off his forehead. His sweater looked comfy and he looked cozy and cute. Then again, he always looked cute. He was chatting with one of your mutual friends, head thrown back as his throaty laugh filled the air. He was so handsome when he laughed. Well, you thought he was handsome all the time.

He was nice too, funny, and smart. He made your heart race by just looking at you. Actually, just hearing his name made your heart race. Hearing that he would be here tonight made you want to look extra good. Yet, all night you’d barely spoken to him. You’d said a simple hello and spent the next few hours staring at him not-so-subtly from across the room while you willed Haechan to come talk to you.

Someone sidled up to you, arm brushing against your back before you heard, “staring at your crush Haechan again?”

You jumped in surprise, looking at another friend with wide eyes. You’d never told anyone about your crush, you’d barely admitted it to yourself. Your words came out stuttered with a nervous laugh, “what? No way! I don’t like anyone!”

“But it’s so obvious. You blush every time Haechan talks to you, you stare at him all the time, and when he does talk to you, you don’t even really reply,” the friend continues and you feel your embarrassment building.

Was it that obvious? Did you really blush every time he spoke to you? Did you sound like an idiot every time he made conversation? Every time you thought you were making progress was just a lie? Your heart was racing and face hot with the reality of the whole situation. This was bad.

“I’ll tell you what, how about I go tell him so we can all get over your pining, yeah?” Your friend smiled with a wink before skipping off in Haechan’s direction.

Ok, this was worse than bad. This was something out of one of your nightmares. Your friend touched Haechan’s shoulder, leaning in until she was whispering in his ear. You saw his eyes widen with surprise and then he was staring right at you as he nodded.

This couldn’t be happening! You turned on your heel, making your way to the exit as you felt your heart racing with panic and embarrassment. This crush was something special to you. It was for you to enjoy and fantasize over but never act on. It wasn’t ever supposed to be anything more than just a crush.

You knew that realistically you and Haechan wouldn’t be the best match. He was more outgoing, outspoken, he didn’t mind having the attention on him, and though he was introverted, he really didn’t mind putting himself out there and making friends. He could comfortable with people he’d just met an hour before and you struggled to open up to people you’d known for years. It wasn’t realistic!

You felt tears build in your lash line as you finally stepped out into the cool air, using the back of your hand to wipe away a tear that managed to escape. And your friend. Some friend she was! She just wanted to embarrass you and make you look like a fool, how could you ever believe she was your friend?!

Your steps were hurried, arms holding your jacket tight around you with the biting cold as you made your way to your car. That is, until you heard your name being called.

You turned your head and spitted Haechan jogging toward you, a smile on his face as he came to a stop before you. “Hey, you got out of there pretty fast. We didn’t even get a chance to talk tonight,” he smiled at you, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jacket.

You smiled softly, hoping you didn’t look like you’d been crying, “I uh- I don’t feel good so I’m heading home early.”

Haechan’s face twisted into a look that told you he read right through your lie, “this doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that our friend told me about your crush on me?”

Again, the tears immediately gathered in your eyes again, threatening to spill onto your cheeks, “I didn’t- I don’t- I never said that.”

“So you don’t like me?”

“I feel like you’re teasing me and I really don’t appreciate it and I just want to go home and forget this ever happened!” You rambled out in a broken voice.

“Woah, woah, woah! Hey, honey, I’m not making fun of you. If I’d known that she was just being a bitch I’d have told her off for you. I…” he started before stopping himself to take a deep breath, “I like you too. And I’m being serious, you make me feel like I have butterflies in my stomach, weirdly enough you make me shy, and I can barely be around you because I act like some kind of bumbling fool.”

You used the back of your hand to wipe away at a tear that had tracked its way down your cheek from the corner of your eye as you looked into his eyes, looking for any sign of deceit. You found none, finding only warmth in his deep brown eyes. You breathed out a shaky sigh of relief, “I don’t think you act like a bumbling fool. Far from it.”

“Yeah, well we both have rose colored glasses when we think about each other don’t we?” Haechan smiled warmly at you, “do you want to go get dinner or something?”

“Yeah, that sounds really nice,” you nod with a smile.

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kinda-indecisive · 2 days ago

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･˳ . ⋆ .˳⋆ Face Kisses pt. II ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳

Basically how I imagine their reactions to an onslaught of face kisses from you (MC). Fluff.

Part 2: The Rafayel and Sylus Edition!

+:★:+* *+:★:+* +:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+* *+:★+:★:+* *+:★

Rafayel

Enjoying the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against your ear, you are already comfortably nestled into your spot on his lap, arms lazily hung around his neck as he continues to flip quietly through the gallery catalog over your head.

A catalog Thomas had sent Rafayel to review a week ago, which you feel kinda guilty about.

Usually, Thomas can trust you to keep Raf in check, pushing him to slough through the boring stuff so that the two of you can spend the rest of your time together doing other, more exciting things. This past week, however, you had been having a really frustrating time dealing with a particularly nasty group of Wanderers that kept reappearing at the most inopportune times and locations. And, when you showed up in his studio, he noticed something was off instantly.

He’d taken it on as his duty to pull you out of your slump of frustration, dragging you from marketplace to marketplace, shop to shop, beach to beach, hoping to get your mind off of those “creativity sucking Wanderers with bad attitudes”. And that was just on the first day. All week, he’s been there the second you wake up, chattering excitedly about where you two were off to next. And, in all honesty, having him around has kinda helped.

And although you didn’t say it out loud, he sensed this, too. Hence the only reason he has finally given you a second to breathe, curled up in his lap on the sofa, the beach breeze gently blowing at the white curtains, and the only other movement in the room being his occasional page turning.

When he hums softly in disdain at something, you are snapped out of your comfy daze.

You really do appreciate how much effort he puts in to make you feel better at times like these. And even though he insists on brushing it off as no big deal (“I already needed to make a trip to this shop, cutie, you just saved me from having to go alone” ), you know that his actions have always spoken much louder, and much more clearly, than his words.

Your heart nearly bursts at how true the thought is and you shift in his lap to look down at him.

He groans loudly, setting the catalog aside, his eyebrows furrowed as he pouts up at you, “Why are you moving around so much? I was perfectly comfortable staying how we were before and I’ll never get any work done if you keep squirming…”

He continues to pout, even when you take his face between your palms. Such a nice face belonging to someone with such a good heart. An absolutely gorgeous face, even if he does keep that indignant little scowl and crease between his brows.

You kiss this space between his brows first, which makes his eyebrows raise in surprise. But before he even has a chance to collect himself from this initial surprise, you continue planting small kisses to cover the rest of his face, making sure to leave no space neglected.

“Alright, alright,” he says once you’ve already finished, clearing his throat and turning his face away, “You’re treating me like some kind of puppy. I’m not your pet, y’know.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and pretends to be annoyed, his face still turned away. His refusal to look you in the eye, however, only gives you a better view of his bright red ears and cheeks, betraying exactly how he feels about the attention he just received.

“Oh? Well, I guess if you didn’t like that, I shouldn’t do it ever again. I admittedly still don’t know much about what kind of behavior is accepted in Lemuria. And I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything,” you say, pretending to get up from his lap.

He catches your wrist and gently pulls you back down, giving you that signature head tilt and grin when he reassures you.

“Aw, well, I get it. You are still pretty new to this Lemurian thing. Besides, it wasn’t too horrible,” he says, his hair falling in front of his eyes. He swipes it away nonchalantly, continuing, “I could maybe suffer through such treatment once or twice a month. Or a week. Or even once a day if you really felt the strong desire to. You humans and your customs are weird, but I can be a good sport about some of them.”

“No, no, there’s no need,” you continue to tease, pretending to stand once again, “I really should be more mindful when it comes to these kinds of things.”

“No, I insist. As a matter of fact…” he says, catching your wrist again and tugging you back down to sit in his lap, simultaneously managing to wrap his arms around you to prevent you from getting up again, “...dontcha think it’s my turn to give this newfound custom a try?”

+:★:+* *+:★:+* +:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+* *+:★+:★:+* *+:★

Sylus

When you arrive at the N109 Zone, it’s almost noon. Therefore you aren’t surprised that Sylus is still in his room, is still asleep, and is not quite ready to compromise that sleep for anyone or anything.

You know that technically doesn’t include you, but you don’t want to ruin his rest, so you leave him be for now. Instead, you decide to check out some more rooms in this grand house.

Your visits to the N109 zone have been much more frequent, despite this past week apart. But before this last week, you had come and gone with a frequency that Sylus had finally seemed pleased with.

In that time, you had familiarized yourself with many of the rooms of this mansion already. That being said, you could almost swear that Sylus brought in something new every single day, so there’s always something new to discover on your visits.

And now you find yourself faltering before a suit of armor you hadn’t noticed before. It must have been pure white at one time, but now has gone dark from wear, age, and transportation. The armor wasn’t made for someone of Sylus’s size, and you wonder what about it made him want to add it to his collection. You try to resonate with it to get something off of it, but nothing really happens.

Soon, however, you grow tired of the silent house and the suit of armor. You figure that a small nap never hurt anyone. Besides, it feels like you haven’t seen Sylus in ages, even though it’s only been a week. A long, tedious week of Wanderers and stuck up clients who you sometimes thought about leaving to fend off the Wanderers themselves.

Slipping into his bedroom, his bedside lamp is on. The dim light casts strange shadows around the room, but softly illuminates the man on the bed.

Walking around the bed, you crawl onto the mattress and begin to make yourself comfy, trying to do it slowly so you don’t disturb he who breathes deeply beside you. Once settled, you roll over to face him.

His normally strong features look so soft in this lighting, and his brow is furrowed slightly in his sleep, his expression one of a man concerned. Your heart aches a little as you realize just how much you’ve missed him this week despite trying to convince yourself you were better off without his incessant teasing. Reaching out, you mean to brush your fingertips over his cheekbones, but you suddenly hesitate before touching him. He sleeps so lightly sometimes and you don’t want to be the reason he can’t fall back to sleep.

But it’s already too late.

That frown of concern shifts into confusion as his eyes open—the color as bright and striking as ever—then relief when he sees you, sleepily taking your hand in his own and intertwining your fingers. Rolling onto his side, he smiles faintly at the sight of you tucked in beside him.

“I’m not dreaming, am I, sweetie?” he murmurs, his already deep voice even deeper with sleep, “It’s been 8 days and a few hours since I saw you last.”

“You keep count?” you tease as he brings your wrist to his lips.

“Maybe I do,” he says with a huff and a shrug, his still-heavy eyelids closing again. You know he isn’t asleep, however, by the sound of his annoyed grunt when you try to slip your hand out of his grasp, “Leaving already?”

“No, I just want to get more comfortable.”

His eyes still closed, he allows you to take your hand back. You start to settle in beside him, but thinking about how lovely and worried he’d looked when you first came in, you suddenly have an idea to hopefully help soothe whatever dreams he’d been having.

His brow furrows again when you take his face in-between your hands, but a smug little smile is quick to replace it as you place feather-light little kisses against every inch of his face.

He sinks deeper into the mattress as you do, his entire body relaxing as you surge with gratitude for the fact that he shares this vulnerable side with you and only you. By the time you finish, his smug smile has faded softly as he dozes off and on again.

“Hmm? Is that all?” he hums. Rolling your eyes, you chuckle, sliding back into the blankets, grabbing his arm and drawing it around you as well. Nuzzling his nose against the back of your neck, he murmurs with a voice as smooth as velvet, “Thank you, sweetie. It’s been a hell of a week and I needed that.”

“Don’t be silly,” you murmur, “Now go back to sleep, Sylus.”

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

Part 1: Xavier and Zayne Edition

A Short Little Tag List! 💕 (I hope you enjoy :))

@lemurianmaster @myeagleexpert

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace sylus #lads rafayel #lads sylus #qi yu #qin che #my stuff

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g1rld1ary · 3 days ago

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snowball fights - james potter x fem!lupin!reader

wc: 1756

cw: none!

me: can u tell i've never seen snow LOL -- it is actually fire szn here so veryyyy different vibes

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You loved being at Remus’ house. As your favourite side of the family, Remus’ house was always the place to be. Growing up in a household with many siblings, the Lupin's place was your safe haven when it all got to be too much and Remus became your best friend despite the year age gap.

You were staying at the Lupins over the Christmas break of your seventh year, not even expecting Remus to be there but wanting some peace and a relaxing break with your aunt and uncle. It was only as you’d apparated in from King’s Cross that you were told Remus and his friends would be having their annual Christmas dinner at the Lupin’s this year. You couldn’t lie that you were excited, you loved Remus and adored his friends even if you weren’t super close with them.

Remus swept you up in his arms as the boys burst into the house, announcing their presence with raucous laughter and heavy footsteps.

“Are you taller?” He imitated his mum good-naturedly and you laughed, putting your hands on your hips to mimic your own mother.

“You need to eat more, Remus, you’re thin as a beanpole.” You both dissolved into laughter, years of family gatherings leaving an imprint on both of your memories.

“Hey, kid,” Peter greeted you by ruffling your hair, making you swat at his hand and duck out of his hug, going back when he exaggerated his heartbreak.

“I’m only eighteen months younger than you, idiot. Don’t make me sound twelve.”

“Stop looking like you’re twelve, then, little lady,” Sirius came around the corner teasing you. You pouted, accepting his kiss on the temple nonetheless.

“You’re so mean to me. You know I’m basically your sister and this is how you treat me? Cold,” You grumbled, secretly smiling when you saw him and Remus exchange momentary eye contact when you mentioned their relationship.

“You think this is bad? You should see how my cousins treat their siblings,” He retorted and you grimaced, shaking your head.

“Not cool to pull the shitty family card, dude. None of us can compete with that.” Sirius made a triumphant noise and held up his hand for a high five which Remus reluctantly reciprocated, leading his boyfriend down the hall to where his parents were certainly awaiting in their unassigned—assigned armchairs. That just left James to enter, doing the majority of the group’s heavy lifting, biceps flexing under the weight of suitcases and gifts — not that you were thinking about his biceps.

“Let me help.” You rushed over to him, taking one of many bags from his arms.

“Thanks, little Lupin. I owe you one.” You internally sighed. James, the most loyal friend, had only ever treated you like Remus’ younger cousin, even when you did everything you could to move out of that role. Still, it was better than nothing. Even a little bit of James Potter’s attention was enough to feed your delusions and keep you girlishly attached to him over the years since you’d met.

Christmas lunch was the highlight of your whole break. Remus and his friends always brought an unmatchable energy wherever they went and you always felt lucky just to be in their presence, like you were still the annoying younger sibling your parents made them include. That was only exacerbated by the constant teasing you endured whenever you spent time with them.

“Little Lupin, how does it feel to still have to go back to school?” Sirius asked, knowing you’d be annoyed by the question. You rolled your eyes heavily, slumping dramatically in your chair.

“I’m counting down the days until summer, I’ll tell you that. How does it feel to have to go back to work?” Then it was Sirius’ turn to grimace — he was still searching for a ‘dream job’, taking up a temporary office post at the ministry in the meantime.

“Touché,” He relented as James sent you a thumbs up. You pretended not to be affected by it.

“How is school? Not causing too much trouble, are you?” Peter asked through a mouthful of bread. You shook your head, taking a mouthful of the wine Remus’ parents only let you have on special occasions.

“No way, I’m not taking after — guys it’s snowing!” You shrieked, running to the window of the dining room. You pressed your face to the glass for a better view of the new snowflakes covering last night's blanket of powdery white snow. You heard a cacophony of laughter behind you but intentionally ignored it, admiring how the street was turning into a winter wonderland.

“Please, please will someone come outside with me?” You asked hopefully, interrogating them all with intense eye contact. Remus shook his head immediately, not one to put up with your shenanigans.

“You know I don’t like the cold, and Sirius is already under the weather, he’s not playing in the snow today.” He gave a pointed look to his boyfriend who tried to act tough, but melted easily. You moved on to Peter, puppy dog eyes on full force.

“Sorry, bud,” He said softly, as if it was out of his control and not just a dislike for being cold. You pouted.

“You’re only allowed to call me bud when you’re not making me sad.” You didn’t bother asking your aunt and uncle whether they’d go out with you. They were getting old, it wouldn’t be fair.

“I’ll go,” James broke your woeful silence.

“Really?” You looked back at him with wide eyes. He nodded, now slightly unsure, and you hopped up with newly revived energy, rushing out of the room and down towards the front door. James followed behind.

There was a strange energy between the two of you as you pulled on your coats and winter gear. Of all the marauders, James was the one you were least close to. Not for any specific reason, but at school he’d always been the most popular of the group — always busy with quidditch training, Lily or the gaggle of fans that always fought for his attention. That left him with little time to hang out with you, his best friend’s irrelevant little cousin who just happened to think he was fit. You didn’t hold it against him at all, you had enough of your own friends, it was just a fact that you didn’t know much about each other.

Still, you had someone willing to put up with your love of the snow. You weren’t going to waste that. You flashed him a smile as you beat him to getting ready, slipping out the door and out into the street. You let yourself laugh loudly as you spun wildly, arms out and face tipped up to the sun to catch the snow on you. You loved the cold, it was reassuring, grounding.

James watched you from the gate, smiling softly as you frolicked around, dancing in the snow as it fell lightly on your head and shoulders. He ventured closer, shoes covered in snow as he stared down the street, momentarily struck by the view of a dozen quaint houses all covered in white, something straight out of a fairytale.

He was drawn from his reverie by stumbling forward, propelled by a force to the back of his head. His hand snapped up to where he was hit, emerging covered in powdery snow. James whirled to face you where you stood with a faux-innocent expression, revealing your guilt with a playful smile you were trying hard to conceal.

James gasped in mock outrage, dropping to the floor to create his counterattacks. You squealed as he flung snowball after snowball at you with alarming accuracy, no doubt thanks to his many years as chaser.

You had your back to James to endure the majority of the attacks, coat becoming thick with exploded snow. You’d gathered a few snowballs to keep yourself armed but as you popped back up to throw them James’ strong arms came around your middle, lifting you into the air. It was too intimate for the relationship you had, but you were both affected by the winter heaven you were in (and maybe your Christmas spirit) and you laughed loudly, tilting your head to the sky to feel cold wind on your features. As James spun you around you remembered your secret weapon, smushing a snowball into his face, all but cackling as he spluttered and dropped you to the ground.

“Oh, you’re evil, little Lupin,” He said, pointing an accusatory finger. You took a dramatic bow, launching from your spot on the ground when James launched towards you, armed with more snowballs. You sprinted as James launched them at you, groaning when one hit you particularly hard.

You only stopped running when you’d been thoroughly worn out, legs giving way until you flopped onto a thick layer of snow, sinking slightly into it. James tortured you with one more snowball to the face — probably revenge for earlier — before setting himself down beside you, letting his perfectly messy curls get wet from the snow melting under his body heat.

You’d been staring up into the sky, squinting under the bright sun when you felt him watching you. You turned your head slowly to face him, gasping softly as your cheek hit the ice. James was staring at you, a soft look in his eye.

“What?” You asked, unnerved by his silence.

“Merry Christmas,” He said, sharing a small smile. You returned the phrase only slightly awkwardly, choosing to look back out at the sky for fear of getting intimidated by James’ gaze.

From behind the living room windows, the rest of your Christmas party watched the entire display unfold.

“Ten galleons that Prongs tells us he likes her before New Year's,” Sirius said with a laugh.

“No way, Valentine’s Day,” Peter chuckled.

“Maybe he doesn’t like her, right?” Remus suggested weakly, feeling slightly sick to his stomach.

“Oh, Remus,” Hope smiled, “I say tonight.”

Laughter echoed around the small house as Remus put his head in his hands, mortified by the prospect of his closest friend pursuing his little cousin, even if you weren’t so little anymore.

You and James were completely unaware of the bets being made inside, swallowed whole by the bubble of peace that the snow brought.

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scoupsakakitty · 2 days ago

Text

Misunderstanding | idol!Vernon x reader | angst,fluff

The members were scattered around their hotel suite, relaxing after their final U.S. tour performance. Mingyu was stretched out on the couch, munching on snacks, while Jeonghan leaned back in a chair with a smug look on his face. Vernon, however, sat quietly, staring at his phone.

“Vernon, you’ve been looking at your phone for, like, an hour,” Seungkwan pointed out, throwing a pillow at him. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Y/N,” Vernon muttered, catching the pillow but not looking up.

That immediately got the attention of the room.

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “What about her? You two seemed fine last time you talked.”

“She’s ignoring me,” Vernon admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been texting and calling, and she hasn’t replied. I don’t know what I did.”

“Maybe you did something without realizing it,” Seungkwan said, leaning forward with interest.

“Or maybe she’s overthinking something and waiting for you to fix it,” Jeonghan added with a grin.

“I didn’t do anything,” Vernon insisted. “At least, I don’t think I did. Everything was fine two days ago.”

“Girls don’t just start ignoring you for no reason,” Jeonghan teased. “Trust me, I know.”

“Just call her and find out,” Joshua suggested.

“Yeah, call her now,” Seungkwan agreed, then smirked. “And put it on speaker so we can hear.”

“What? No,” Vernon said, frowning.

“Come on,” Mingyu chimed in, laughing. “We’re trying to help. If you get stuck, we can tell you what to say.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Vernon muttered, but he relented, dialing her number and switching the phone to speaker. “If this goes badly, I’m blaming all of you.”

The members immediately leaned in, some trying to stifle laughter as the phone began to ring.

———————————————————————————

Y/N sat on her couch, scrolling through her phone. Her stomach churned as she saw the photo of Vernon and the girl yet again laughing together, looking like they were sharing a private moment. Her phone buzzed in her hand, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Vernon’s name flash across the screen.

She let it ring a few times before answering, her tone sharp. “What do you want?”

The members collectively winced at her cold tone. Mingyu mouthed, This is bad.

“Y/N,” Vernon said cautiously. “Why have you been ignoring me? Did I do something wrong?”

“Seriously, Vernon?” Y/N snapped, her voice icy. “You don’t know?”

Vernon glanced nervously at the members. Jeonghan gestured for him to keep talking.

“No, I don’t know,” Vernon said honestly.

“Unbelievable,” Y/N muttered, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “Maybe it’s because this—whatever this is—clearly doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Joshua widened his eyes, silently mouthing, Ouch.

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asked, his tone edging toward frustration. “Of course, it means something to me.”

“Oh, does it?” Y/N snapped. “Because it sure doesn’t feel that way. You know what? Forget it. Go hang out with your other girls or whatever.”

The room fell completely silent, every member frozen in place.

“Other girls?” Vernon repeated, bewildered. “What are you talking about? There are no other girls.”

“Right,” Y/N said bitterly. “Not that it matters. We’re not even official, right? You don’t owe me an explanation.”

The words hit Vernon like a punch in the gut. He stared at the phone, momentarily speechless.

Seungkwan broke the silence, whispering loudly, “Say something!”

“Y/N,” Vernon said, his voice softer now. “Why are you saying this? What’s really going on?”

Y/N hesitated, her anger flickering. But instead of explaining, she shook her head. “Goodnight, Vernon.”

She hung up before he could respond.

The room was silent for a beat before Jeonghan whistled low. “That was… rough.”

“What does she mean by ‘other girls’?” Mingyu asked.

“I don’t know,” Vernon said, staring at his phone. “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Well, whatever it is, she’s clearly upset about something,” Joshua said. “You need to figure out what it is before this gets worse.”

———————————————————————————

The airport was bustling as the members prepared to board their flight back to Korea. Vernon was quieter than usual, still turning the conversation over in his mind.

“Hey, Hansol,” Wonwoo said, walking over to him with his phone in hand. “You need to see this.”

Vernon frowned as Wonwoo handed him the phone. On the screen was a picture of him and a girl standing outside. The girl was looking up at him, laughing, while Vernon appeared to be smiling at something she said.

“That’s what Y/N must’ve seen,” Wonwoo explained. “My girlfriend just sent it to me. Apparently, it’s all over Twitter.”

Vernon’s stomach sank. “This is what she was talking about?”

“Probably,” Wonwoo said. “It looks bad out of context. If I didn’t know you, I’d assume it was a date.”

“It wasn’t a date,” Vernon said firmly. “She was just a fan. She asked for an autograph, and I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Well, you need to explain that to Y/N,” Wonwoo said.

———————————————————————————

Y/N wasn’t expecting a knock at her door, and she definitely wasn’t expecting Vernon. When she opened the door, her breath caught.

“Vernon? What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” he said, stepping inside.

She crossed her arms defensively. “I don’t think there’s anything to say.”

“Y/N,” Vernon said, his voice firm. “I know why you’re upset. It’s because of that picture, isn’t it?”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t respond.

“The one of me and that girl,” he continued. “She was just a fan. She asked for an autograph, and I didn’t want to be rude. That’s all it was.”

“You’re serious?” Y/N asked hesitantly.

“Of course, I’m serious,” he said, his tone softening. “I didn’t even know the picture existed until this morning. If I’d known, I would’ve explained everything sooner.”

Her anger began to waver, replaced by guilt. “I just… I saw the picture, and I thought…”

“I get it,” Vernon said gently. “I would’ve felt the same way if it were you.”

Y/N looked down, her voice small. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Vernon said. “I hate that this made you feel like you don’t mean anything to me. Because you do.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. “I do?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile. “And about what you said on the phone… you’re right. We’re not official. But I want us to be.”

Her breath caught. “You… what?”

“I want to make it official,” he said, stepping closer. Slowly, he reached up, gently tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. His hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin as he held her gaze. “No more guessing, no more misunderstandings. I want to be with you, Y/N. For real.”

Her lips parted slightly, her emotions written all over her face. Tears welled in her eyes as her heart pounded. She nodded, a soft smile breaking through. “Okay. Let’s make it official.”

Relief and happiness washed over Vernon’s face as he pulled her into his arms, holding her close. The world seemed to fade away in that moment.

As they pulled back from the embrace, Vernon leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “I’m so glad I have you,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with warmth.

Y/N closed her eyes, her heart feeling lighter than it had in days. “Me too,” she whispered.

———————————————————————————

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dysphoric-bitch-boy · 18 hours ago

Text

OP men when you’re on your period

Doffy -lol good luck -physically couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried -wants to fuck -calls you gross

Crocodile -he’s been through this shit so he’s sticking with you -buys you fancy chocolates -gets you ibuprofen -if he has time he’ll watch a movie with you -god help him if it’s titanic -genuinely comforts you and stays by you as much as possible

Corazon -has heard of chocolate on your period so he gets you some -you ask him for pads and he’s wholly confused -“overnight? Light flow? Medium flow? HEAVY flow?” -“yeah I’m in the pad isle what size vagina do you wear?” -“so you DONT shed skin on your period?” -overall he has no idea what the hell he’s doing but he’s doing everything he can to make sure you’re comfortable -gently holds you like an egg and cries to titanic with you -“Laaaaaawwww it’s so sad join us pleeease!” -he eventually wears Law down enough to watch it with you two

Law -he’s a doctor who actually knows how periods and people who get them work -he knows to get you chocolates, pads, ibuprofen, heating pad, etc -kinda bad with emotions so if you’re super emotional he doesn’t know how to navigate it -lets you rest your head on his shoulder as you cry to titanic

Buggy -like Corazon, has no idea what to do -starts panicking about what happens if you get super angry at him or what if you’re so depressed you can’t even eat or what happens if you lose all your blood or- -does everything he can to help you, if the cramps are really bad he cuddles you until you feel better -walking on eggshells to not upset you even tho a lot of its unnecessary -treats you like royalty -you’d definitely save him from an attack or something and he’d ease up about most of his worries -he’d throw you a banquet in celebration and also in relief -“WHAT????? You’re telling me these come EVERY MONTH?????????”

Sanji -bro is already a huge simp -but on your period you’re not allowed to even lift a finger if he has anything to say about it -makes you plenty of protein-rich meals and chocolaty French stuff -gives you all the attention and love he can give and more, which may or may not get super annoying really quickly -knows nothing about pads so he just buys them all for you -literally every single product in the isle -it’s fucking expensive but he’d do just about anything for you especially since you’re the only one who’d date him

Zoro -wtf??? -doesn’t have the slightest idea of what a period is -thinks you’re joking -“okay, so you’re telling me once a month you bleed in your pants to prepare for getting pregnant? Nice try, everyone knows that the stork brings the baby-“ -don’t even bother with him

Franky -tries to invent you a device that captures the blood and gently heats your lower stomach -if you ask for ibuprofen or anything like that he might just bring you cola instead -“I don’t know about you but this stuff makes me feel suuuuper! I’m sure it will work on your cramps and get you back to your normal, energetic self!” -it doesn’t work

Brook -sad that you’re wearing the period underwear instead of panties

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solarwynd · 3 days ago

Note

https://x.com/slvrtre/status/1869076594905723348?t=_3v_QkwjLW24CRQiYgWHFw&s=19

I saw this and was wondering how many times These ppl or #HIM in specific lies to keep that ot7 shit forever going. First things first none of these men hold a candle against dancer jm to even comment on his dance, not even hobi because jm is way more versatile dancer than hobi, but even if I give benefit of the dought and think they were giving objective critisism Why in the world would you lie and say you were praising jimin pre-debut when the said man is right there and has known what you said about him? That too twice brother? Where's your shame? Atleast feel a little to do that when jm is right there? Although idt it was all of them so i wonder which one of them criticized him. Idt it would be yg and jk because i do remember jk's first impression of jm was that he was kinda impressed with his stunts and was even asking jm how to do it(but that was when they first met so idk again) for yg i just think he in general loves jimin's voice and dance. He does think jm can do it well so idk i just think he's been encouraged when it's needed.

Also read a comment that once taehyung said that his alarm ringtone is Army's voice or something like that and jm caught him on the spot and asked him to play the ringtone right there and taehyung admitted lying AGAIN......

I also remember this guy playing dumb as how he doesn't know how to use that mask while cooking with his Jinny's kitchen intentionally putting it over his eyes when we literally have rub BTS ep where he's used that mask perfectly fine over his mouth....like bro why even? Wanting attention of fans thinking they'd find it cute? How many times does he lie? Then every single time him presenting things the way shippers aka Tkkrs wants to and then you hear it from the other husband aka jungkook and it's a different story......IF the speculations of jennie being with them in Hawaii is true then again presenting it in how shippers wants that too during jm's album release time is fked up.

Then members say this man is most innocent what innocent when you do things with different intentions and those intentions not even being right in the first place.

I know i only pointed out just taehyung while talking about all members but i have seen incidences with him so i pointed him out. Honestly wonder how they actually treated him because from the looks of it only yg seems to be encouraging one when jm was a trainee, we know what kind of a guy jungkook was with jm lol.

Honestly who knows.

But the way that’s not even the first time Jimin has brought it up so you know it bothered him. I’ll forever find it beyond strange just how badly Jimin was up against it during his debut days. From the aversion of so many higher ups in the company down to some of the members themselves. And it’s not even like they were battling against each there for a spot on the team atp, they were all fixed and Jimin just came on later. What was there to even feel indifferent about someone that talented (and who honestly saved the group from just being a couple notches above average) was joining? Just weird ash.

I feel like Jimin is very much a “forgive but don’t forget” type of person. Maybe not so heavy on the forgive part, just moving past. Because it was extremely bold of that man to try and rewrite history that Jimin experienced personally. And ontop of that without us fully knowing the extent of how bad it was, him lying about it probably came off as trivializing or minimizing it even if he tried to pass it off as a joke.

That’s why in retrospect, I still really don’t understand how that “soulmate” narrative even stuck for as long as it has. I understand that not all relationships have a solid start and can change over time, but theirs has so many lows and never really changed for the better…And Taehyung at his core is just such a fake ass unlikable person. Just does or says whatever he feels will make he look good in a certain light. Literally everything his solos and tkkrs accuse Jimin of doing, that man is the epitome of all of it.

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ghostgirl-22 · 15 hours ago

Note

a mistletoe artrick story? 👀

Thanks so much for the prompt my lovely 💜 This ended up being completely SFW so I’m either very sorry or you’re welcome. Either way I hope you like it <3

—-

It happened once last year at the winter formal. Patrick won prince or king or something like that so he already had a lot of attention on him which meant people were watching when he pulled Art to the side to ask about something… Art barely remembers what it was. What he remembers is that they ended up under the mistletoe.

“Guess what? Now you have to kiss.” Someone shouts followed by a lot of laughter and chatting.

Art isn’t used to being the center of attention and as embarrassed as he is there is a small, small distant part of him that likes it. Still he doesn’t want this kind of attention. He wasn’t even going to do it but someone said it’d be bad luck not to. Come to think of it that someone was probably Patrick.

Art doesn’t need anymore bad luck. So he lets Patrick pull him closer, wearing one of his goofy grins.

“It’s the kiss you’ve all been waiting for,” Patrick announces to their classmates. Most people are laughing but some are actually cheering. Patrick’s girlfriend Madison rolls her eyes but she’s smiling.

It’s theatrical, Art knows that. And Patrick knows how to put on a show. Still, Art shivers a little as their lips touch. It’s probably nothing. Patrick has soft lips. But it’s nothing. Everyone laughs it off makes the obligatory vaguely homophobic jokes and they continue to dance all night.

None of that’s the weird part actually. What’s weird is what happens the next month. Patrick does well on an exam he was dreading. “I got a B+” he exclaims and he kisses Art straight on the lips.

Art rubs his mouth idly but Patrick looks like he’s already forgotten about it and he runs to call his mom. So Art forgets about it too.

And then in February. Valentine’s Day, actually. Art got a bunch of Hershey’s kisses from his new girlfriend Christina. Patrick sneaks one off his desk and later says, “I guess I owe you.” And he cradles Art’s head and plants a kiss right on his mouth. He grins after as Art stares at him dumbfounded and shrugs. “Kiss for a kiss.” And without another word he leaves to go wash up for his date with Madison.

It gets to be normal after that. Their first doubles win of the tennis season. Patrick kissing him right on the court. Just so quick you wouldn’t think twice about it. But Art can’t stop thinking about it.

He gets a kiss on his birthday. Twelve midnight Patrick crawls into his bed while they’re finishing homework.

When he gets his acceptance letter from Stanford. “I don’t think you should go but good job.”

When Christina breaks up with him for Tim Lyons because “he’s just a better player.” Patrick’s making a face, “Tim? Really?”

On the Fourth of July. Hidden away in the boat house on Patrick’s family’s estate.

And the kisses are changing too. Sometimes it’s short and sweet. Other times it’s slow and intimate. Sometimes Art thinks he might have feelings all tied up in this.

They kiss like that, in front of Tashi Duncan. Just the most beautiful girl Art’s ever seen. She seems to be into it— the kissing. And poor Madison is history after that.

He hates Patrick a little bit after the junior US Open final. But that doesn’t keep him from letting Patrick kiss him something quick before they go out to search for beer.

By September they’re kissing in Arts bed just because it’s Tuesday.

On Halloween Art can’t recall what it was like before the kissing became normal. Patrick visiting Tashi at Stanford but staying in Arts room and before they all go to some dumb Halloween Party. Patrick kisses him. They meet Tashi for drinks and he kisses her.

Art’s in this weird place where he doesn’t really know who he’s more jealous of.

It’s December when they go out to eat at some themed restaurant to celebrate the end of their first semester. Patrick’s ordering drinks with his fake ID. Art leans next to him on the bar. Tashi taps his shoulder and points up at the feature where wineglasses are hanging and she’s smirking at the mistletoe draped just above them. “Guess that means you two have to kiss right?” She says.

Patrick grins at Art and Art feels his skin heating up. It’s some kind of kismet obviously.

“Oh come on,” Tashi teases, gently rubbing Art’s shoulder. “It’s not that big of a deal. Cause I know for a fact you’ve done it before.”

#art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers fic #art x patrick #artrick #tashi duncan

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christinebloodwrittings · 3 days ago

Text

Die in your arms #4

Alastor x Fem!reader

Taglist: @littlebluefishtail @maxlynn17 @vxllys @modifiedmonster @sirens-and-moonflowers @qardasngan

Warnings: Implied SA, imprisonment, trauma, mentions of blood.

Masterlist

Proofing made by: @littlebluefishtail

March 1914. New Orleans, Louisiana.

Seven am to seven in the evening, Mondays and Thursdays. Tuesday and Wednesday he gets up at six anyways, but prepares breakfast for both before he leaves. He calls around eight A.M everyday, to check in before the show starts, then he comes back at ten pm, sometimes eleven. You had his steps studied. Well, almost.

After three months, you discovered that Alastor is very unpredictable. His mouth says words but his eyes show the opposite. He keeps his body language at bay as much as he can, but there are times when he betrays himself. When he’s in pain for example, he’s bad at hiding stress and headaches.

In the dead of night, he returns from ‘work’ reeking of watered down blood. He does that every single Thursday, but the frequency has increased every week since Christmas.

What kind of trouble can a scrawny radio host like him get into?

One Saturday morning, a day in which he only writes the scripts for his upcoming week, he was more tired than usual. “Morning” he saluted you without taking his eyes off the semi-blank pages, taking occasional looks at the newspaper.

He also had your steps memorized. Decisive but soft steps, he also noticed how you walked on your toes instead of putting the weight mainly on your heels, and you don’t like using shoes.

He only had seen your routine when he’s - obviously - inside the house. It goes without saying that you act way more ‘at home’ or ‘comfortable’ when he’s not around. He was more than aware of that fact.

He detested your ‘tiptoeing’ or ‘walking on eggshells’ attitude around him. Not in a controlling way, but in a ‘could you please acknowledge that I'm not a threat?’ way, otherwise he felt like his bastard step-father who caused his mother to behave in much the same way.

Within the first three months he realized he hated your careful demeanor, in an absolutely selfish way, because he wasn’t doing much to atone it, other than avoiding being too ‘present’ or ‘involved’. But then he realized that was exactly what he needed to do in order to create the home atmosphere he started craving.

So, that Saturday morning, after breakfast, he sat nearby as you added a compost of your own making to the soil. Although he thought he was making a good move towards you, he was so difficult to read that you felt as if he was going to pounce on you at any given moment.

How fucking invasive! You thought, adding more and more strength into the hole making for the tulip bulbs. Why was he staring at you like that? A normal wife would be more than flattered to have her husband’s attention like you do, but you have seen the passive yet menacing stare of a tiger at some point. The feeling is exactly the same as how you felt under his watch, like a prey preparing itself to run for their life.

That, until you decided it was enough…ten minutes after he sat down that is.

“What’s going on?” he opened his eyes to your strong tone of voice. Which, by the way, has improved quite a bit compared to the dry, hoarse voice you had in November. “I can’t have some coffee in the yard of our house?” He avoided saying ‘my house’ on purpose, - avoiding being an asshole -.

You stabbed the small shovel hard into the dirt and turned to look at him. “The fact that you’re there doesn’t bother me, the staring is the fucking problem” alright, point strongly taken, but the “What about it exactly?” question was bugging him, and unconsciously slipped past his lips.

You closed your eyes, swallowing a lot of words to just say, “I feel your stare burning the back of my head”, then another deep breath for the following, “If I have to be honest, it does make me angry”, among other feelings. It did feel strangely formal to talk like that, but Rosemary did scold you for the excessive use of foul language, and you really wanted to avoid that from happening again.

“I just…I like watching you work the dirt” he was tongue tied, he had literal goosebumps of excitement. “Do…You want to help?” he nodded, like a kid being offered to lick the frosting off a spoon. It felt off, wrong, but you weren’t going to get more information off the distance.

If you were going to live in the lion’s den, you might as well get some ways to crush him.

“Then come here and make yourself useful” you hand-motioned him to get closer.

It came out harsher than he intended, but he felt like he'd taken a good step. He made you say ‘I feel’, which in the few psychology books he had read, was a way of communicating what your body couldn't.

You took a quick glance back at him, that turned into a solid minute, just to watch him rolling up his sleeves, realizing that he was not as scrawny as you thought. But of course the suit hid all of that.

“So, what can I do, boss?” He chuckled as you shook your head. “Your fingers are larger so make a hole deep until the brim reaches your second finger joint, not your knuckle” Your hands were considerably smaller than his, he found that adorable.

Bossy, he thought.

On the other hand, you weren’t going to lie, Alastor is a very good looking man. The mustache was a bit much, but the smart look his glasses gave him, his chocolate skin color, light brown eyes. And his hair! He had a haircut where the left side was kept gel smooth towards his nape, while the right side had a fringe of curls hanging down over his glasses. The side without gel looked fluffy and soft.

Damn you, good looking monster. You bite back.

“Is there a way to predict what color they will turn out?” you heard him, far away, echoing in the distance. Which was odd considering he was just a few feet from you. “No, you just plant them, with the green tip up, and just wait” the sunlight flickered above you, but you figured it was just a passing bird.

“What color are you hoping for?” his voice was suddenly close, his side of the dirt already done with what you had asked. “White or maybe pink tulips” you answered softly.

He didn’t want to push his luck, given that you eyed him up and down, “You also gave me roses and mint, I planted the seeds separated because they do not like each other, they compete for nutrients like leeches” you made worm fingers near your face, just to show him how nasty they were.

He seemed to listen intently to what you were saying, not in a ‘I’m forced to do so’ way, but really interested, he saw you turn your eyes away from him, light shining and fading just as quickly. “How do you know so much?” he copied the way you tucked in the bulbs with dirt, as he wondered.

“My mind is a little foggy, but I just know” you lied, it was from the first book your father gave you, an herbology book to put some color to the garden. Oh how you missed the vines with tiny pink flowers growing outside your window.

“Where I grew up there was a big cinnamon tree. I never developed a taste for tea, but my mother loved her black tea with a stick of cinnamon.” He once called it sock water in front of his mother, when he was a very young boy, she tickled those words away. The memory brought him a tender smile.

“How wholesome” memories slipped off your mind, especially your mother’s face and voice. “You don’t remember anything from your childhood?” you suddenly heard him from in between the void, “Not much, but I do remember smells, lights, and the taste of apple pie…” crunchy crust, soft inside, the lovely taste of cinnamon. But then, there was just darkness, where could everything else be? “Other than that, it’s…pretty blank”.

“I’m not a fan of sweets, but my mother had a recipe for apple pie, I can try and take a crack at it, if you wish” In contrast with his brown skin, he had lighter coloured marks going upwards into his forearms. “Your mom liked sweets?” you wondered, feeling his eyes following your stare up his arms. “Baking made her happy” Him eating them was the thing that made her happy, you thought, and you weren’t wrong.

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to try”, success! He had made a good step forward.

Soft jazz played from the gramophone near the stairs, a cheerful tune with no lyrics, just the drums, bass, and the occasional trumpet solo. When the high notes were struck but the pace never fastened, he heard you humming in repeat, softly, just for yourself. Truth be told, he noticed that any tune that carried enough feeling through the bridge brought a smile to your face.

When the needle moved to another song, he started humming as he kneaded the dough. The piano was his favorite, you could tell by the way he made the movements of the keys against the marble of the counter, and his feet moved to press an invisible pedal.

“Cinnamon and a splash of lemon” he added to the filling, your hand flinching away a little when he tapped the bowl, prompting you to move it more to the space between you.

He was so close.

He gave off a smell of tree bark, freshly cut grass and rainwater. Very pleasant, charming, and dangerous. But you remembered every poisonous stench of the men that attended the brothel, he not only was a threat, he was a true rose. Beautiful and inviting, until you get too close and get caught by its thorns. But, somehow he didn’t smell of sweat off alcohol, like other men.

You gave off a smell he couldn’t adequately describe. He couldn’t get close enough to try, either. Though, he was quickly distracted by the sight of your bare hands, a knot tying a noose in the inside of his throat.

He remembered having your hands in his, but he had never seen them without gloves or bandages. Your right ring finger was crooked, a cut where it was obvious it had been sliced like a ham and glued back onto your right middle finger. Both of your hands had healed scars on their knuckles, and what looked to be cuff scars on your wrists.

Despite the time, there were parts of your skin that would not return to their original color, nor any amount of cream and ‘regenerative’ treatments would help either. Your knuckles were forever disfigured, no wonder you were still using bandages despite them being already healed. It did caught his attention.

He wondered, what the hell happened that forced you to fight to that extent?

He swallowed a lump of saliva, then pointed to your right hand, “Does it hurt?” then moved down to also ask for your wrist. You looked up at him wondering what was the purpose of the question, if it was pity or just curiosity, but you couldn’t tell by the look on his face only.

Shrugging your shoulders you turned back to the bowl, mixing the filling, “Not anymore” you limited your answer to a half told truth. “You don’t have to answer, but, is there a reason for the bandages?” You thought about his question for a minute, not paying attention to how his eyes scanned your up and down.

“Comfort, that way I avoid unwanted friction and looks” the way you shot him an accusatory sideway eye, made him choke down a scoff. “May I?” he took a deep breath trying not to laugh, to ask for your hand. He had his over yours, with the intention to simply touch, but you ended up putting your hand over his knuckles.

‘So, not touch but look, I can do that’ he thought as he pulled a little to get your hand closer as he adjusted his glasses. He hummed, inspecting the variety of reliefs and depths. Definitely the result of a crude fighting style, yet strong.

The wrist lines though, those weren’t made by the police handcuffs. He mentally noted that it had to be a bigger and thicker kind of cuff to make such a damage, and also a lot of resistance.

Thinking about that just made his knot worsen.

He gently motioned his hand down, your hand shakily coming back to the side of the bowl. “I noticed you were looking at mine earlier” from the corner of your eye you saw him roll his sleeve higher, “If you wish, you can do the same”. You put the spoon and bowl aside, with one hand you grabbed hold of his index and middle finger, pulling down gently yet no less tensely. With your other hand you touched the pale streaks of skin upwards. Causing all sorts of chills up Alastor’s spine.

Alastor didn't know if he regretted his offer or if it was a good idea to begin with. You looked like a blind person reading braille as you touched him. There was the amusing way you made sure he couldn't grab you if that was his intention, that took his mind aside from his nerves. In the position he was in, Alastor recognized that you could easily twist his fingers if he did something wrong.

'So cautious, I like it' he thought now seeing how you simply observed the skin he was so mocked for.

He heard you humm and set his arm to his side, then your attention went back to the mixing bowl. Just like that. So it was okay for you to invade his personal space, but not the other way around?! Perhaps he could see how far he could push that boundary.

“Did it hurt?” you spoke softly, but he couldn’t tell if it was out of concern or curiosity. “Yes, but I don’t regret it” another humm, this time in understanding.

A deafening silence was created. To alastor the music of the gramophone seemed so far away, echoing in between thoughts and questions.

“Can I try something?” He bit his tongue as soon as he spoke, but he couldn’t take his words back when they already had caught your attention. “Another recipe?” you could hardly believe you sassed him, how did he get you so comfortable?

“No” he laughed, “I’ve never been fond of physical contact, but-” the feeling of his skin that had lingered on your hands began to burn, had you done something wrong, will he do something to punish you for taking such liberties? He offered, how could he be mad?! doesn't matter you were going to make sure to block anything he was thinking of doing.

“Oh, then I overstepped, I’m sorry” Alastor felt as if you had shut a door straight against his face, “No, it feels odd but, unlike others you don’t do it…with bad intentions”. He saw you eye him up and down sideways, would that mean you opened the door again, just a smidge? “I just want you to know, that you can touch me whenever you feel like it” he was probably shooting himself with that invitation, but he wanted to know if you’d take his hand or grab him by the arm - so to speak.

One motion, you made one downwards with your finger for him to move a bit to your level, given that he’s taller than you. But he had to be ridiculous, instead of bowing down, Alastor knelt down in front of you again. Just like the night after the wedding. And with a fucking shit-eating grin, definitely enjoying your confusion/flustered mix of emotions.

Before your peripheral blind spot, you spotted a knife, if you were quick enough you could grab it and slit his throat. End this whole farce once and for all. It had become oh so annoying, his smile, his confidence, and his false sense of chivalry.

He was mocking you, with every smile and soft, considerate touch. He's a fucking monster, just another pervert of the bunch, he'll be quick to take advantage of the slightest spark of trust you give him.

'But still...' you brought your hand to his face, running down his jaw to the Adam's apple on his neck. 'What a nice sternocleidomastoid, how would it look skinned and open?' under your hand you felt him swallow. Was he nervous? How shameless.

'You're studying me and you're not ashamed to show it’ Alastor mocked mentally, his eyes locked on yours. His mind was alert and yet his body surrendered to your warmth. While having your hand on his neck, it was like looking at himself in a mirror. What a depraved look you had, he felt as if you were visually making your way between every strand of his muscles, perhaps seeing how many ways to make him scream in agony.

"Soft," you whispered unconsciously. As soon as he appeared, your predatory gaze disappeared, your hands moving up to his hair, enjoying his well-defined curls between your fingers.

Where did your blood-hungry look go? It was a drastic change, almost as much as going from one song to another. From a dull and sadistic one to an innocent and happy one, how interesting.

Both of your hands were in his hair now, drawing his face to your collarbone. Now that he was close enough, he tried to decipher, what was your smell? Dirt, dried blood, burnt skin, alcohol and bandages, what a sad aroma. He was suddenly so depressed, he couldn’t enjoy being so close to you.

“May I?” he put his hands up, aiming for your arms. "No…unless. If I put your hands on a specific spot, do you promise not to move them from there?" how about giving him the chance to slip and give you a reason to harm him? A fake image of trust to feed his ego.

Your heart started pumping loudly inside your ears, as you put his hands up the sides of the unmarked sides of your waist. Unmarked, but not untouched. He felt how a shiver went up your skin, even through the thick layers of fabric.

An image of brown and red leaves flooded your mind, warm sunlight and a swing, your legs swinging back and forth, the momentum making the wind lift your hair. Oh how you missed not having to feel invisible hands touching your skin, eyes on the walls, mirrors and dark corners. Just living under the warmth of the sun and the spring breeze, sweetly and innocently.

The sound of the needle hitting the end of the record pulled you back to reality. You took a deep breath, and notice just how close you were, your unmarked cheek pressed against the crown of his head, arms around his neck.

As soon as Alastor felt you move back, he immediately removed his hands from your waist. Reluctantly closing his eyes as he was kicked down by the cold again. Couldn't you stay for five more minutes? But he just silently turned to watch you walk around the kitchen island and change vinyl records, with an inevitable longing stare you never caught sight of.

“What language is this?” you muttered to yourself, attempting to read the burgundy cover. “It’s French” his face was so close, you could smell his shampoo again. “Mon coeur s'est envolé, it means ‘My heart flew away’” Since you’ve never heard French before, you couldn’t tell if he was being truthful, he might as well be just speaking gibberish to impress you.

“You speak french?” you looked up at him. “A variety. I speak Cajun, after all I’m creole” You hummed again, this time an ‘oh’ he couldn’t decipher. “It’s a waltz version of the original, would you like to play it?” he moved the needle up for you to put the A side up.

He had you almost caged inside his arms. His right one down the level of your eyes, the other out of sight. But how come you didn’t feel so threatened? Still possibly in danger, but…how come?

To Alastor you seemed so tense, hesitant. He really wanted to hold a steady pace with you, but somehow he kept going backwards. What drove you to be so extreme with your emotions?

Most of the time you look at him like a pest, others you don’t even look at him at all. That bloodlusted stare was the most sincere sight he had of you since he met you, and he couldn’t settle with just those crumbs, he wanted more.

“Could you say something else in French?” oh wait, were you actually interested? Alastor smiled and got his face as close to your ear as he could without pressing himself at all to your back. “What would you like me to say?” his breath and velvet voice tickled your ear, “Anything”.

He took your hand, raising it so he could softly kiss your scarred wrist, “J'aimerais t'embrasser” he whispered against your ear, as if he was telling you a secret, something for your ears only. “What does that mean?” he softly lifted your hand, turning you around on your heels. “It means, you owe me a dance” his hand pulled your back from the same height you allowed him to touch, just so your chest could be closer to his, “Would you do me the honor?”.

‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ Alastor slapped himself internally. In his way of thinking, there were two possible options that could explain what was going on with him.

The hug you gave him made him go too far out of his comfort zone where he felt in control and he tried to counteract it by making you feel uncomfortable. Or he was actually enjoying your company.

Utterly preposterous.

He put the pie to bake, then started the song again.

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