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seresinhangmanjake · 2 days ago

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Inside You

Remmick x reader

Sinners Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Summary: Remmick is obsessed with you and has been watching from the shadows, plotting, planning, waiting until it’s the right time to claim you as his own. To you, however, he’s just a gentle man who arrives on your property seeking help. It’s once he’s inside your house that your feelings and senses no longer make sense. You can’t explain it, but it might just be that your mind and body already know this man.

Warnings/Notes: Smutty-ish (so 18+) in a less explicit way (it's also like, one paragraph). Mention of blood and injury. Remmick’s got an extra power, I guess, where he can sort of manipulate humans’ minds. None of the vampires from Mississippi died. Not necessarily historically accurate as far as a few details are concerned. Typos, probably.

I don't support the actions of this character in the movie at all. I just think the guy's hot, alright? I'm sorry. I can't even explain why.

Words: 4400

He watches you from afar, as a man obsessed often does. For weeks, from his hidden spot along the treeline, his eyes have followed your body as you've moved about the interior and exterior of your house, reading books, preparing meals in a flowered apron, changing out of your dresses into the nightgowns that barely conceal the silhouette of your curves.

He likes to imagine you putting those on for him. He pictures you coming out of the house into the glow of the moonlight, extending your hand toward him, practically begging to be engulfed by his need.

It’s a dream he intends to have fulfilled, and he will do whatever it takes to ensure nothing stands in the way. Certainly not that fiancé of yours.

A pathetic waste of space, if you asked him. Not worthy of your time and attention. He could give you better, and maybe if your head wasn’t so stuffed full of useless thoughts of a man other than him, you might have noticed him by now. You might have felt him, felt his eyes on you. You might have sensed the cord of tension between your bodies that penetrates through the walls of your house. You might have recognized his whispers in the night, seeping into your mind, luring you to come to him, which, if it weren’t for that man, would have successfully brought you into his arms. More than once, he’s watched you wake in a trance-like state, guided through the house by his voice, only for that man to notice the creaks of your aged floorboards from his own room and take it upon himself to lead you back to bed. Sleepwalking—that's the man's diagnosis. A fool.

But tonight, the man is gone and you’re tucked into a porch chair reading a book, completely unaware, completely exposed to the night. Your hair is down, your face is washed of rosy paint, no jewels adorn your neck. Bare, just how he likes you. A breeze blows up the skirt of your nightgown, the dancing fabric almost demanding he explore the space between your legs.

From behind him, sticks crack under pressure and leaves rustle from disturbance, piercing the veil of Remmick’s fantasies.

“You might be gettin’ too attached,” Bo says as he comes up beside him.

Without tearing his gaze away from your long limbs, Remmick says, “I sure don't recall askin’ for your opinion.”

Bo yields, his hands raised in surrender. “I ain't tryin’ to offend,” he says. “It’s just, the others are sayin’ we’ve been here too long. Stack thinks the townsfolk are startin’ to get real suspicious. So unless you intend for us to kill ‘em all, it seems we ought to be movin’ on to the next.”

Remmick swells with irritation at the suggestion. Move on? Without you? No, not a chance.

“We’ll be leavin’ soon enough,” he says, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. “Got one last thing to do.”

—

Your eyes widen, your book closing and falling aside when you notice him. “Oh my–” you mutter under your breath and quickly rise from your chair.

He’s limping toward you, and you swallow hard, unsure if you should run, retreat into the house, threaten him with a weapon you don’t have, or stand there frozen in the foolish hope he hasn’t noticed you. For a brief second, you consider that perhaps you have nothing to fear, but you don’t want to take the chance. Limping or not, he's a man. And no telling what a man might do.

But then he pauses under the exposure of the moon’s light, and the rigidity of your spine instantly eases.

His clothes are disheveled: a white button-down tucked into tan slacks, suspenders strapped over his shoulders, boots scuffed from long-term use. But he’s got a nice face. Light scruff highlights the line of his jaw. Under pinched brows, his eyes are gentle. His lips—not quite full, not quite thin—are slightly curved in a weak smile as if suggesting the last thing he wanted to do tonight was bother you.

“I don’t mean to be intrudin’, miss,” he says. There’s a smoothness to his accented voice, like a lullaby without the tune. “But would you be willin’ to offer a little kindness and assistance?”

He takes one more step, a short one with the leg that can’t seem to hold up the weight of his body. Your eyes trail down, and a gasp escapes your lungs once you reach the slash in his slacks and the dark red stain seeping into the material.

Something inexplicable takes over you, like an invisible force latching on to each of your senses and rearranging them, reteaching them, conditioning them as it pleases. The feeling is fleeting, however, and you slough it off like a layer of dead skin, emerging anew in a way you can’t quite put your finger on.

Ignoring all convention, you rush down the stairs in your nearly see-through gown and run across dewy grass that pushes up between your toes. When you reach him, he’s swaying on the verge of instability, so you press a hand to his chest to steady him.

“You poor man. Where on earth did you come from?”

A ragged breath. “Just beyond those trees there,” he says, nudging his head in the direction of the forest. “Was huntin’ and things took a turn.”

“Goodness.” You bite your lip. His gaze hones in on the action. “Well, you better come on inside and I’ll see what I can do for you. I’m no nurse, but–”

The worry of his brow dissolves, and a new smile displays a mixture of exhaustion and relief. “I’m sure you’ll patch me up just fine,” he says. He moves another step closer to you, but stumbles with a grunt.

“Let me help you,” you say as you shift to his side, tucking yourself under his arm to bear some of his weight.

“You’re mighty kind.”

—

Your mama never taught you much, but if you could thank her for at least teaching you to sew, you would.

Remmick—that’s his name—sits atop your dining room table, his legs stretched in front of him and arms back to keep him upright as you weave a needle and thread in and out of his skin.

Impressively, he’s rather unaffected. For a man who winced from the slightest step, you expected a grumbling, a curse, upper teeth digging into his bottom lip—anything to match the pain your handiwork is surely inflicting. But no. He’s perched on polished mahogany, simply staring at the side of your face as you tug on the needle and close up another inch of his wound.

“You ain’t too bad at this,” he says, making you chuckle and shake your head.

“It’s the first time I’ve tried it.”

He hums. “Well, I sure wouldn’t mind gettin’ cut up again if it means I got you around to fix me.”

Your hand freezes in mid-air just as you're about to delve into another stitch. Your throat goes dry and you try to swallow away the sand. If you’ve learned anything about this Remmick in the last hour, it’s that he’s wildly charming and wholly effective. He knows how to talk, what to say, what words are playful enough to make a woman blush without being sinfully offensive.

That blush has found your cheeks a handful of times tonight.

Whether or not it's a reaction he’s drawn from you with intention, you can’t tell, but you refuse to ask and just pray he doesn’t detect it in the low lighting of your dining room.

“So…what attacked you?” you ask. “I would think an animal’s claws would leave more than one laceration.”

When you glance up from your task, he’s still staring at you, so you quickly look away and return your focus to your work.

“Didn't see,” he says. His voice is a touch lower, a bit more husky, and it makes you dizzy.

Sew; just keep sewing.

“That must have been terrifying.”

He snickers. “Miss, I promise ya, I’m the most terrifying thing in those woods.”

You dismiss the jolt that went through your entire nervous system at the sound of that laugh, and after pulling the needle through the last bit of skin, you tie off the thread in a knot and cut the excess free with a pair of manicuring scissors.

You assess your work. Not bad. Not great, but passable. The slacks are done for, though, unless he intends to remove them so they may receive the same treatment you gave his shin. But unlikely is it that he would want to stand there unclothed as you repair the rip in the fabric. So with a blink and a subtle shake of your head, you shove aside the image of him doing just that.

“All done,” you announce, putting down the needle and leaning back in your chair.

“A darn shame,” he replies. “Was just gettin’ used to havin’ your hands on me.”

You feel it again—that inexplicable something. Your eyes meet, and the stare between you lingers in a silence that only serves to amplify the chirping of the crickets outside your window. Even as he eases his legs off the table, the connection doesn't break. It’s only when he plants his feet on the floorboards and steps out of sight that you are able to blink and breathe.

The legs of your chair skid across the floor as you stand. You turn to face him. Your mouth parts, but you snap your lips shut before the words you wish to say can string together and reach his ear. You don’t have to go yet—that’s what it would’ve been. And how asinine a suggestion.

Remmick’s smile teeters on the edge of a smirk, as if he can hear those thoughts tumbling around in your head. “I should be goin,” he says. There’s a long pause, and you know you should say something, but you still don’t trust your mouth. “If you're wantin’ me to, that is.”

You yearn to protest, but again, you don't let it out. Instead, in the absence of words, your head falls forward and your hands begin to fiddle with your skirt.

Remmick sighs, and in your peripheral vision, you can see him nod in disappointment. Regret takes root as he heads toward the door. There's a sudden itch to keep him with you, to wrap your hands around his wrist and then your arms around his neck and then your legs around his—What in the good Lord’s name is wrong with you?

He's reaching for the knob of the door when he abruptly halts. Three heavy beats of your heart pass, then that stalled arm falls back to his side.

“Before you send me on my way,” he says, twisting back around. “You think I could get a goodbye kiss?”

Your eyes widen, and your head jerks back, and that’s…that’s too much. Too far, isn't it? You can’t possibly. It wouldn’t be right. The skittering of goosebumps along your arms can tell you that much.

“What for?” you ask.

His hands go into his pockets and he shrugs. “Been wonderin’ what your lips taste like for some time now.”

He gives you that statement with the ease and casualness of expressing a simple, inarguable fact. Two plus two is four. The sun always rises. He’s been wondering what you taste like. And it should sound wrong—too invasive, too bold—but it doesn't. It sounds natural, lacking the impropriety that you’re quite sure should be there.

You take a second to regain your composure, clasping your hands in front of you, exhaling a slightly unsteady breath, and raising your chin a bit higher.

“Sir, I am happy to have been a help,” you say, “but I’m afraid I have a fiancé.”

Remmick’s brows shoot up his forehead. His weight shifts to his bad leg. “A fiancé? Well, that there is a problem.”

“Yes,” you confirm, both pleased and put off when he doesn’t instantly tell you he doesn’t care you’re engaged, that respecting boundaries isn’t his concern, that if he wants a kiss, he’ll take one. “We will be married in the fall.”

He seems to be thinking for a moment, then his lips quirk in displeasure. “You like the fall?” he asks. “All that incomin’ cold startin’ to drive everybody indoors well before dark?”

For some reason, that question feels intimate. More intimate than asking for a kiss, and you stumble to provide an answer.

“Don't gotta think too hard, lass,” he says.

Lass.

You ignore the endearment in favor of searching for an answer that doesn’t show how little your fiancé takes into consideration your preferences. Because, no, you do not like fall. You like heat and sweat and heavy air that’s sometimes hard to breathe through. You like sticky nights and the music of the critters that frolic through the dense forest. You like the insatiable desire to strip yourself of dresses and stockings and soak your body in the nearby lake. Fall begins the chasing away of everything you worship about summer. It’s the start of a grueling, miserable craving for next June. So, no, you don't like it. Not one bit.

Clearing your throat, you say, “Seasons change. It's unavoidable.”

A full, unabashed grin. “That sure sounds like a no to me,” he deduces, and warmth returns to your cheeks.

Then he starts to abandon his spot, his slow, even steps closing the distance between your body and his.

“I'd bet anythin’ you're one of them summer-lovin’ girls.” Closer. Your pulse races, thumping hard just under the edge of your jaw. “One of them that prefers everythin’ to be all hot and humid…and sweaty all the time.” Closer. You gulp. Barely a foot separates you when he stops. “A bit like tonight, wouldn't ya say?”

You peer up at him, suppressing a shudder that pleads to shoot down your spine.

“Y’know, me and my family, we thrive in the summer nights,” he tells you. “You'd fit in real well with us.”

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t fill the space with empty words. But you do wonder what this family of his is like. If he comes from a hoard of relatives, or if he’s flanked by a select, special few. Either way, you imagine him as the leader, the one who takes control, the one with a power over the others that they don’t fight against because they know they couldn’t do better.

His eyes roam about your face, not settling on one individual feature for too long. They last on your lips for a handful of seconds, his own parting as if to finally capture that kiss, but then he swallows and locks his gaze with yours.

And you can’t do it. You’re not strong enough to hold up your side of the bond.

You drop your eyes and maneuver around him, setting about putting the sewing supplies away. Gathering each piece in your hands, you walk to a nearby cabinet, open the drawer, and organize them as they belong. It’s a good distraction. A brief distraction. A useless distraction, you realize, when you turn back around and find him close again, much closer than before. Where before there had been feet, now there are inches. Where before your breath was your own, it now blends with his.

Remmick’s fingers graze yours.

“You should come along with me, lass,” he says. Soft and silky, a lullaby once more. “That fiancé of yours don't treat you right, anyway. Leavin’ you here all alone for hours and hours. No protection. Won't even let you have your wedding when you want.”

“He's—” His brow lifts, daring you to object. “He’s a perfectly good man.”

Remmick tilts his head, clicks his tongue, tsks at your naivety. “Good men ain't ever what they seem,” he says. “You can't always be blindly trustin’ what's in front of you.”

Then his hand reaches up and you don’t know what he’s going to do. If he is going to graze his knuckle down your cheek or cup your chin in his palm or run his thumb over your bottom lip. Your body stiffens with anticipation, but he does none of those things, instead plucking a lock of your hair and curling it around his index finger.

“Won't be long ‘for he comes home,” he says, eyes flicking back to yours. “You gonna let me have that kiss now, or should we wait ‘til he's ‘bout ready to walk through the front door?”

A crease forms between your brows, not of irritation or frustration, but of worry. Though Remmick is broad and firmly structured in his own right, your fiancé is bigger, both in weight and height, and you’re not convinced a brawl wouldn’t end in devastation.

You think of him gone, this man you just met, taken from you and the world because you let him stay too long, and, awash with a wave of protectiveness, you refuse to allow that to happen. So you have to get rid of him, despite the screaming in your head that argues against it.

“Just one kiss?” you ask. “That's really all you're wanting?”

With his finger, he draws a cross over his heart. “On my honor. Then I won't ever bother you again. Unless you want me to, of course,” he says, finishing with a wink.

Now that you have an understanding between you, a set rule—one kiss, only—you feel a bit more secure. But the longer his eyes claw into yours, the quicker that feeling starts to wither, and without its barrier, the full magnitude of what this kiss could do to you sinks in. You become jittery, spinning from the intensity of your pulsing nerves, and suddenly, it's more than just a want to kiss him, it's a need to kiss him. Need in a primal sense, like it would satisfy your basic instinct to survive.

With Remmick’s smirk, your autonomy surrenders. There’s no control of your body, your fingers, which dig into the collar of his shirt and pull him closer. Then you press your lips to his, and something flashes behind your eyelids, and it feels like the most right thing in the world. It’s as if he, his mouth, this kiss, fills a slot inside of you that you weren’t aware was empty.

When you part your lips and meet his tongue, he tastes like recollection, like memories, like dreams lost; the kind of dreams that are so good while you sleep but are ripped away from you the second you wake. Something about him is not new to you. You know him. You can’t explain how, but you do. Like he was woven into the cords of your brain long before this moment.

You moan.

Remmick grins into the kiss.

“I knew you'd feel this good, lass,” he mutters with a light chuckle that briefly separates your lips.

You plant your mouth back on his, because, frankly, you don’t care about what he knew, only that he stopped kissing you and you can’t stop kissing him if you want to continue chasing after those dreams in the hope of uncovering the secrets within them. You need to understand how much of this man isn't foreign to you. You need to see if you will find familiarity in his messy groans and desperate touches, and whatever else there is.

You go for the buttons. You’ve never undressed a man but you undo them with the skill of an experienced woman. With half of his shirt open, his hands slide from your waist to the outside of your thighs and back up, the motion pulling up your gown. Kisses travel to your cheek, your jawline, lips finding home against the curve of your neck. He inhales you deep into his lungs. Nails—surprisingly sharp—dig into your skin through thin white cotton, but the sting of pain does not stop you from attacking the zipper of his pants.

But then there’s something new, odd, strange, unwelcome. Something that turns your eyes into saucers and steals your breath away and makes the weak yelp that leaves your throat sound as if it’s coming from vocal cords that have been through hell.

Teeth are tearing into your flesh. Ravenous. There’s sucking and lapping. A groan that is exactly what your mind told you it would be.

One of Remmick’s hands is still firm on your waist, but the other has moved to the side of your head, his strength keeping you still, holding you against him as he feasts. Your own hands have reattached to his shirt, latched on to the fabric as tightly as when your desire for him demanded it of you.

You don’t know how long it lasts, but the instant he pulls back, you feel the river flowing down your neck to your collarbone; a mirror to the crimson cascading from his exaggerated canines, over his chin and adam’s apple, reaching for the muscles of his chest.

Both your clothes are ruined. There’s no getting blood out of white, and much like the permanence of that, you know what he has just done cannot be undone. You’re losing energy too quickly. Your knees are loosening, and when they can no longer hold you up, Remmick catches you in his arms and gently eases you to the floor.

“There we go, lass,” he soothes as he makes sure to support your head until carefully placing it down with the rest of your body. “S’alright. You don’t gotta cry,” he says.

Crying? Are you crying? You can’t tell.

You wonder if he knows blood can stain hardwood. Does he care that it will ruin the rug if the puddle underneath you spreads far enough?

His thumb wipes at what you can only assume is a stray tear. Glowing red eyes pry into your soul. “I'm right here, lass,” he says, nodding as if to reassure you. “You just rest yourself for a minute.”

And then there’s only darkness.

—

Images are flickering by, some faster than others, some almost too quick to catch. You don’t bother chasing after those ones; you’d be running for ages. Instead, you reach for the images that seem to want to come to you, and it’s those ones that are the first to be sewn together to create a moving picture in your head.

Some of the images you know are real. Those images are all of you:

You from a distance, the view partially obscured by a layer of trees. You in your kitchen, cooking stew with your mother’s apron around your waist. You lying in the grass amongst the fireflies. You letting your dress fall to your feet, your bare form dipping into the lake under the moonlight. The body of your fiancé, unmoving, plastered to the gravel walkway under the library window where you can be seen selecting a book. A single claw on a pale hand slicing into the flesh of an equally pale leg right before approaching the porch where you sit. Your eyes staring upward as your rapid heartbeat echoes throughout your dining room like the rhythmic beat of a drum.

Then there are the images you know are not real. Not real, and yet so familiar to you:

You, opening your window, inviting him into your room. His fingers guiding the straps of your nightgown over your shoulders, pulling on the neckline until your breasts are free and the dress is discarded. Palms cupping, thumbs brushing over hardened buds. One of them in his mouth. The swirl of his tongue. His head between your legs. Those groans and moans and kisses, and the touches that claim your body as his weight is settled on top of you in your bed, your core stretched and filled. You can hear the whisper of your name in your ear. You can feel the moment he finishes.

They are the lost dreams. And they’re all of him. Planted by him, so that when he finally came for you, you wouldn’t be unsure, you wouldn't be afraid, because he was already buried inside of you.

More images: instruments playing, people dancing, their eyes similar to Remmick’s but glowing white with the reflection of the moon. Teeth, so many teeth. Blood, so much blood. Family—one that you yearn to be a part of.

But then, before you’re ready, everything dissipates, images blurring and distorting as they wisp away like smoke in the wind. Darkness returns, and you’re left in solitude, confused, until an onslaught of emotions floods your system.

Obsession, desperation, lust, want, need, determination—you absorb the sensations right before they vanish and are replaced by something sweeter, like the juice of a berry, or fresh iron on your tongue. Suddenly, there is softness: caring, tenderness, devotion…love? Abnormal, twisted love, but undeniably love. You absorb those just the same into the overwhelming melting pot.

Then your fingers begin to twitch. Your lungs expand. Your heart tests itself with a few timid beats. Your eyelashes flutter and light blinds you, and when you blink it away, you’re met with the whiteness of your ceiling. A ceiling in a room in a house that is not your home anymore.

“Welcome back, lass,” you hear.

Your neck is a bit stiff as you turn your head.

Gentle eyes. A fanged smile.

“Feelin’ all better now?”

---

A/N: OK, hope you enjoyed. Stack fic is next.

#remmick #remmick x reader #remmick sinners #sinners #sinners 2025 #remmick fic #sinners movie

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teapotofbees · 3 days ago

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With a sigh of resignation, Tim gives in to the terrible suggestion that Constantine gave. Summon the damn thing and banish it.

Constantine did not have the specific summoning circle that Tim needed, but he did give Tim a name for a bookstore. Doing the research proved to be surprisingly easy.

As Tim meandered the store’s copious shelves, the books he needed were quite obvious. When he sat in one of the plush chairs by a fireplace filled with candles, another book when appear next to him. While checking out, the cashier made a vague comment about his “aura” and tried to convince him to buy a candle “that encourages protective spirits.”

“Just the books, please,” Tim insists.

The cashier gestures to the air around him. “You sure? Your coloring is quite strong.”

“Yup, which is why I’m getting the books.”

They look at the titles while ringing him up. “I see, then I really would recommend using this candle.”

“Okay, fine, sure. And I’ll take an energy drink from your fridge. Whichever is fine.” He buys it just to appease them (and not because he might need protection from this thing. After all, Tim is rational). However, he swears the cashier smirks when they place a neon green can on the counter.

Meanwhile, Danny is over the moon! His chosen is taking an interest! It’s finally happening! Evening though it’s a roundabout method, trying to summon him when Tim could just talk to him after class or something, who is Danny to stop Tim? Danny is more than happy to assist in finding the right information and he’s positive that Tim is smart enough to figure out the right combination. It’s not going to be hard with the marks Danny has given his chosen.

Tim choses one of the safe houses and sets to work in the basement. The books are never far from his reach when he needs to reference them and he swears that a phantom hand guides his through some of the more convoluted symbols.

Finally, he dumps a load of kissed hoodies in the center of the chalk circle (and lights the damn candle). For a moment, Tim feels entirely misled as he calls out into the empty air, “Okay, show yourself, you hoodie defacer.”

Then a shimmer of green light and a figure appears in the circle, floating over the pile of hoodies. The skin is black as night, hair shocking white, limbs a gradient into star flecked purple, but Tim’s attention is locked on that neon green mouth that splits into a smile. “Dear heart, you finally called.”

The voice is almost familiar? Hard to tell with the way it echos. Tim shifts his attention to the luminescent green eyes. “Who are you and what do you want?”

The figure pauses, startled, raises its twinkling hands up as if to plead or to offer everything. “You know me. I’m your betrothed.”

“Nope, that’s not an answer.”

The figure pauses, eyes flicking between Tim’s, weighing and assessing and reassessing. Then there is another flash of light and Danny Fenton is standing before him. “I thought you were supposed to be a genius detective.”

For a moment, Tim is slack jawed as his brain races to connect several red strings into one full picture. Cold hands, slow heart, ghost accident, meta-human liminal powers. Classes and meet-ups and late night study sessions. It’s definitely the caffeine making his heart race.

“My name is Danny Phantom, King of the Infinite Realms, Ancient of Space, Protector of Thieves, and Apprentice to the Ancient of Time.” Danny quirks a smile, his lips flashing green as he clicks his tongue. “But that’s too long, so you can just keep calling me Danny.”

Tim finds his words. “The kisses appeared when you started attending my classes.”

Danny shoves his hands in his pockets as he lands next to the pile of hoodies. He nudges one with the toe of his ratty sneaker. “Yeah, well, you saved me.”

“I saved you?”

“I was lost in the time stream,” Danny explains, “an errand for Clockwork gone wrong. Then I heard your voice and you anchored me. I chose you to anchor me.”

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose, a memory flashing into his head. “I should have died. I was supposed to die. I shouldn’t have survived that fall. The angle to land on the mattress wasn’t right and even then I landed without bouncing. That was you.”

Danny nods.

“Why couldn’t I see you until now?”

Now Danny heaves a sigh. “The energy is fucky here. I had a heard time perching through the veil as my ghost self.”

“Then you could have talked to me like a normal person.”

“It has been… a long time… since I’ve been a ‘normal person.’” Danny’s cheeks flush green. “And since I met you as my ghost self, it seemed right to court you that way.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Yeah.”

“I like your candle,” Danny says. “It’s a poor imitation of an eternal flame, but the sentiment is the same… I hope.”

“I’m gonna need you to be more specific.” Tim says.

Danny blinks at him. “Is this not you agreeing? To marriage?”

Tim nearly chokes. “Marriage! We barely know each other!”

“I see, then you wish to court the mortal way.”

“I-“ Tim pauses, thinking. “Actually yeah. Let’s start with that.”

Danny steps over the circle boundary and places a green kiss on the back of Tim’s hand.

The Case of the Phantom Lipstick

Tim Drake is many things: a genius, a detective, a vigilante, a caffeine-dependent insomniac with abandonment issues and seventeen backup plans for every imaginable outcome.

What he is not, however, is delusional.

Which is why when he finds a kiss mark—an actual lipstick kiss mark—pressed to the inside of his favorite hoodie, he does not panic. He calmly, rationally, pulls the hoodie off, examines the fabric, and blames Steph. Probably Steph.

Except… it’s neon green. Not Steph’s color. Not Cass’s style either. Babs doesn’t do lipstick. Kon doesn’t own lipstick. And the only people who’ve been in his apartment recently are Bruce (definitely not), Damian (God, no), and Alfred (crime).

He throws the hoodie in the wash. Industrial cycle. Hot water. It should come out.

It doesn’t.

It doesn’t even fade.

It glows slightly under UV.

Okay. Fine. One hoodie. Maybe it’s old. Maybe he forgot something. Maybe he bought it that way.

But it happens again.

And again.

Old hoodies. New hoodies. Hoodies buried at the back of his closet that he hasn’t worn since he was sixteen. A hoodie still in the packaging, tags attached—he opens the bag and there’s a green kiss mark on the inside sleeve, like it’s been waiting for him.

They’re always placed differently. Sometimes hidden in the seam of a cuff. Sometimes pressed on the back hem. One tucked into the folds of a sleeve. One directly on the chest, over his heart.

He checks for tracking devices. Hidden ink. Sensors. Spoilers. Anything.

Nothing.

And it doesn’t stop with the hoodies.

One day, after a long patrol, he peels off his Red Robin gear and catches a glimpse of green near the collar of his suit. He freezes.

Another kiss mark. Same color. Right on the inside lining.

There’s one on his glove. One hidden under the fold of his utility belt pouch. One on the lining of his cape.

What’s worse? The Batcave scanners pick them up. There’s residual ectoplasm. Babs runs the data three times before looking at him like he’s either cursed or dating something from the beyond.

(He’s not. He’s pretty sure.)

Every attempt to investigate it fails. The cameras glitch. Video footage loops or scrambles. Laser grids are bypassed by something moving through walls. Magical wards short-circuit. Even Constantine shrugs when Tim reaches out.

“Strong liminal energy,” Constantine says, puffing a cigarette. “Someone’s got their spectral claws in you. Not a curse though. Feels like... courtship.”

“Courtship,” Tim repeats.

“Yeah. Spectral wooing. Ghost smooches. Congrats on your engagement, mate.”

Tim hangs up.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

Meanwhile, Gotham is experiencing what can only be described as “mild haunting.” But by Gotham standards, it’s barely a blip.

There are no mass possessions. No destructive battles. Just… ghosts. Hovering. Watching. Whispering things when Tim walks by. They show up at patrol spots. Float past his apartment. Some even drop cryptic notes: “May your union be fruitful,” and “Blessings upon the Chosen.” Occasionally they throw gifts at him. One leaves him a glowing thermos full of ghost flowers. Another—a floating knight in spectral armor��bows low while handing over a box of what Tim can only imagine is their version of chocolate, before vanishing with the words “For the chosen consort.”

Tim’s furious.

He’s not dating a ghost. He doesn’t know any ghosts. He doesn’t want to be courted by one.

...Probably.

Except.

Except sometimes, when he’s alone, he swears he feels someone there. Not threatening. Just present. A warmth in the air. A flicker in the corner of his eye. A soft sigh on the back of his neck. A whisper:

“Mine.”

And Danny Phantom—Protector of the Ghost Zone, King of the Infinite Realms, 100% a disaster bisexual—floats outside his window every other night with his face pressed against the glass like a cat trying to figure out if the human inside likes him.

Because Danny’s not trying to scare him! He’s just following tradition!

See, ghosts mark their chosen with energy. They ward off rivals. They court with gifts and blessings and acts of devotion. And yeah, maybe leaving lipstick marks on someone's battle gear is a little extreme, but Danny’s working with ghost etiquette, okay? And from where he's standing, no one's stopped him.

(Though Jason did try to stab him once. Danny considered it a bonding experience.)

Now Danny just needs Tim to say yes so the full wedding rite can be completed. The lipstick marks? Those are just... engagement placeholders.

The problem? Tim doesn’t know he’s essentially dating a ghost.

The bigger problem? Gotham’s ghosts do.

And they’re ready to throw hands with anyone who thinks they’re a better match for Tim Drake than the literal Ghost King himself.

Tim? He just wants one hoodie without magic lipstick on it. He’s not even asking for peace anymore. He just wants answers.

He’s so tired.

#tim drake #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #brain dead #dead tired #kiss marks of devotion #liminal marriage proposal #paranormal courtship #inspired by the kiss mark hoodies people make for their s/o's

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allllium · 2 days ago

Text

The Guy at the Bar

[ Jack Abbot x reader ]

~ Fluff, maybe ooc Abbot? WC: 1899

~ Prequel to Just a Bit of Fun

[ - Banner coming Soon - ]

- You meet a maybe grumpy old man at a bar

Being a doctor is no joke.

After a 12 hour shift all you want to do is chill for a while and maybe have a beer. What a better place to do that then a janky old bar with only one worker and shady people hiding in every corner.

It's definitely not the fanciest place ever, but it's cheap and convenient. Ten times better than going home and cooking for yourself.

You've had a hard day and going home seems too daunting at the moment. Maybe you'll feel better after scrolling on your phone with cheap food and even cheaper drinks.

But no, of course the world just has to throw something else your way today. As if a hard day working at a shitty hospital isn't enough.

"Excuse me." You say to older man sitting on the corner bar stool. The stool you sit in after almost every hard shift at the hospital just a street over.

"What." It's not a question. Just a word thrown out with no real interest in the answer. You pause for a spilt second. Confused at his harsh tone but you're not the only one that has hard days.

"Is there any way you could move to another stool?" You try to ask as polite as possible. You know he has no reason to listen to your request but you're not one that does well with change. Even something as small as a stool. A routine is important. Especially while working in a place as chaotic as an ER everyday.

"Why?" He asks, this time with a little interest. At least you think. You can't tell considering he has a completely straight face and won't take his eyes off the drink in front of him.

"I sit here every time I come here." You try to explain in a way that doesn't make you sound dramatic or childish. By the way his lip curls up on the side, you don't think you succeeded.

"Must come here a lot to have your own stool." He doesn't look your way or pay any attention to you. If he hadn't responded so quick you'd think he was ignoring you entirely.

"I work a hard job. Sometimes I just want to relax with some bad bar fries." You don't have to explain yourself. You could find another stool instead of standing here over explaining yourself to a complete stranger. A stool is not a big deal and this man shows no sign of moving.

"At seven in the morning?" There's no judgement is his tone. He seems more like he's trying to get a simple read on you. Not really necessary in order to switch stools but you won't question him, out loud.

"I work nights. What's your excuse?" He gives you a other lip curl and tilts his head to actually look at you for the first time during this conversation.

"You're not the only one on the night shift." He takes a second to actually look you. Unfortunately after a long shift, you know you probably look like a mess.

"Y'know we don't have to bond for you to move." You match his strange voice. If you had to pin his vibes down, it would be an uneven mixture of mystique and sadness.

"My stool, my rules." He shrugs and finishes his drink.

"Oh that is not your stool and you know it." You're ashamed of the whine that comes through your words, luckily it's masking your struggle to not laugh. You wouldn't want him to downplay how serious this is.

"My ass is on it."

"Well your ass is about to be knocked out of it." He turns back around to face you with an eyebrow raised. You're not actually gonna knock him on his ass. That's a very dramatic reaction to a simple situation and this man is far too scary looking to even consider it.

"Wow. Wasn't expecting to be threatened by a stranger today." He doesn't look worried at all. Makes sense. You are complaining about a stool.

"In this city? You're just asking for issues at that point. You should always be weary of strangers."

His eyes widen just enough to be noticeable. "I'm pretty I could handle it."

"Alright but I don't want to hear any complaining when you end up on the floor." You laugh and he continues staring at you intensely.

He takes another look at you before turning back to his drink. "Fine I'll move. Wouldn't want to end up on such a nasty floor." He eventually resigned. You want to think your toughness scared him off but realistically he got annoyed by your presence.

You're about to celebrate this small win but he gets up and sits back down on the stool directly next to yours.

"Why man? Why?" He smirks to himself as you sigh in confusion and annoyance but still sit on your stool to celebrate your small victory.

"I'm Jack." He introduces. He doesn't do anything fancy like reach out to shake your hand. Once again you'd believe he's ignoring you if it weren't for his short responses.

"How interesting." You remark in fake uncaring. Of course you're secretly excited that this handsome man wanting to introduce himself to you, unprompted at that.

"Do I not get to get know your name?"

"I see no reason why you need it." You shrug as you wait for the bartender. "For all I know you'll try to follow me home and murder me."

"I am definitely not gonna do that."

"Exactly what a murder would say." You double down, not looking his way.

"Okay, that's fair." He raises his hands in play defense. "But in my defense it's also what a non-murderer would say."

"Well I guess I'll never know."

You fall into silence until the bartender comes. You chose not to order an alcohol for the day and instead settle for a simple appetizer. He orders another of whatever he had been drinking when you arrived.

"So what is your hard job?"

"You're real chatty aren't you?"

"You must bring it out of me." You shake your head with a smile. You look over to see a similar smirk on his face.

"I'm a doctor." You decide to answer. What's the harm of indulging a men you'll never see again. Granted he's not a murderer or alcoholic.

"What a coincidence, so am I." He turns his entire body to face more in your direction.

"Coincidence indeed. What kind?" He doesn't give you doctor vibes at all.

He sighs heavily and takes a big drink. "ER."

"No shit." You turn your body towards him as well. Now you're completely facing each other. For the first time can see his whole face. It's probably just the bar lighting but he's extremely good looking.

"You too?"

"Yeah, just across the street."

"That place is the worst."

"Definitely. Where are you at?" As you talk he leans over and steals a piece of your food. You're about to lecture him but he shakes his head at you and offers a bit of his drink. What the fuck is up with this guy?

It makes you laugh to yourself. You never thought you'd meet such a weird guy in such a weird place. Actually that makes a lot of sense. You shouldn't be too surprised.

"Pittsburgh Trauma."

"I've heard no good things about that place." Apparently the staff calls it The Pitt. Nothing good can come from that name.

"It's not so bad."

"So says the man on drink two at seven in the morning."

"What can I say, I'm a lot more positive after two drinks."

"This is you being positive?" He chuckles at your slight surprise.

"You come here after every shift?" He asks suddenly, changing the subject completely.

"Not all of them. Usually when I'm too tired to cook or had a hard shift." You sigh and reach over to take a sip of his drink. If he's gonna be weird, so can you. Here's hoping he doesn't have any sort of strange disease you can catch. "Why are you here?"

"Hard shift. As usual."

"Trauma's tough."

"Y'know we almost always have positions available." He casually mentions. Now that the bar is close to closing they turn up the lights just a little bit. It's unusual how seeimh him in more light, makes him more attractive. You can see a lot better how much older than you he is.

"Sorry are you trying to make me come work for you." You chortle at his not so subtle antics.

"We could always use more people."

"You don't even know my name, let alone how good of a doctor I am." Before he can answer, you decide to order a drink after all. It might help ease the nerves of talking to Jack. You've only been referring to him as that guy in your mind. Even thinking his name changes the vibe of this situation.

Once you're done ordering, Jack leans slightly into your space. "It's okay, I could teach you."

He says it with a straight face. It's very hard to tell if he's flirting or not. Does he mean to sound so flirty with that or is he just very serious about his job? Maybe it's just his voice making it sound like this.

"Unfortunately I require no teaching." You say it quietly because he's still leaned over to you. He has his arm resting on the bar and his hand holding his head.

"So you say." Okay. Flirting or insulting? This guy is hard to read but you're not about to ask him for clarification. Wait maybe that'd be a good thing, he strikes you as the type to like that.

"Do you always offer jobs to people you meet in bars?"

"No this would be a first. You seem interesting."

"Usually if you wanna flatter someone you call them something better than interesting."

"I'm not trying to flatter you."

"Are you not? Maybe it's just the tone of your voice that gives that impression."

"My tone?" He wonders in genuine curiosity.

"Yeah it's confusing. You could be super excited or about to jump off a roof and I can't tell which."

He immediately lets out a loud, bold laugh.

"I think you can read me a lot better than you think." He admits with lingering hints of laughter.

"Spend some time on roofs do you?" You copy his pose by resting your arm on the bar and putting your head in your hand.

Naturally, this pose moves you both closer together than before. You're realizing now how close together the stools are.

"More than the average."

Checking your phone, you notice how close it is to closing.

"Oh what a great note to end off with." You chuckle to yourself as you get up to pay your bill.

Jack doesn't move from his seat and you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. You highly doubt a murderer would come as strange as he has.

Before you leave, you chose to give him your receipt with your name on it.

He grabs your wrist to stop you from walking away so quick. "Think about what I said. We'd love an employee I don't have to teach."

"We'll see."

- This was a lot harder to write than I thought

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husbandjoel · 18 hours ago

Text

only exes in the building | joaquin torres

summary: you only had two months left on your lease with your ex

pairing: joaquin torres x fem!reader

word count: 3.7k

content: mutual pining after ending it on good terms, swearing, sexual references, joaquin is cocky and a little bit of an indecisive asshole but in a hot way. reader has lost their mother (not relevant to the plot), idiots who have been in love and still are

a/n: not proofread! i’m a dog for joaquin and the roommate trope is my bone. new girl reference at the end! iykyk

gif credit: @sammywilson

Two months.

That’s all it was. Two months. A nicely rounded sixty days and counting, until your lease to your shared apartment in Downtown NYC, with your ex-boyfriend — Joaquin Torres — was over. Done and dusted. Boxes packed and labelled, ready to move onto bigger and better things.

That’s what you had kept muttering to yourself under the weighted blanket, Joaquin had bought for you on your first anniversary as a couple. The cardboard boxes meant for your belongings were still flat and encased in a plastic film to further prove your procrastination. Laptop balanced upon your knees, you picked at your bedside snack and scanned the dimmed screen of your laptop for a suitable apartment for your new beginnings.

These mundane tasks would have been suitably easier to complete, if your breakup with Joaquin was loaded with a heartbreak filled with anguish and hatred. In fact, it had been the complete opposite and often led both of you reminding each other that your three year long partnership was well and truly over. Joaquin had been the one to call it quits on a random Tuesday night over your Thai Tuesday Takeaway.

“I—I just, I’m not ready to take this further.” Joaquin had explained when feeding you Khao Pad. Hamster-like with your cheeks full, you stared at him utterly confused and he was quick to implement his decision, “I love you. I just keep thinking back to your life plan, and—and with how busy I am with Sam. . . I am hindering that. I want, no, I need you to be happy and fulfilled.”

What the fuck. Over Khao Pad?

Joaquin had referenced to your life plan that you had showed him on your second date. It was a little premature and ambitious, but Joaquin fed into the idea positively and in turn, found out about your four year rule on being proposed to. You had established in this said list that you wouldn’t abide to a relationship that extended past the four year mark without a ring on your finger.

With smugness tugged upon his lips, Joaquin swelled his chest with confidence that it wouldn’t take him four years to bend his knee for you.

He was wrong. So, incredibly wrong.

Which led him to initiating a gentle breakup at the three and a half year mark. The plan, as any plan was curated, was purely a guideline for your life and not set in stone as curveballs could be thrown from any direction — and they had — so, you hadn’t been too obsessed with Joaquin proposing, although, it seemed as if it bothered him more than it bothered you. Regardless, it was over between you two, and you cemented that end of an era with some mind-blowing breakup sex.

The morning after Joaquin moved to the couch in the living room and you had called the landlord to enforce that the lease would not be continued once the renewal of your contract was offered.

That had been two months ago.

An addition of two extra months did have its flaws even if the breakup was a little blurred in the lines. Eventually, you did begin to harbour some resentment toward Joaquin, because nothing was wrong in your relationship and if he was truly insecure about a life plan you had scribbled up when you reached twenty-one, why didn’t he just go purchase a stupid ring and call it even?

Anyway, you never delved into opening that can of worms with a further two months to go.

Additionally to that, neither of you discussed your success in finding a new home that, even if it was a studio apartment, would look a little emptier without each other’s belongings in it. You weren’t even sure Joaquin had the time to scroll endlessly through rental sites. Most of the time he was gone early and back late or the next day and that began to grate on you too. He broke up with you — he should be jumping at the chance to escape.

You’d have to brave the talk with him.

One rare morning that he was home, you had caught him grunting as he cautiously lifted himself off of the couch, his hand to his back and a face screwed up in pain.

“Are you OK? You asked with alarm. It was no secret that Joaquin was dabbling in some perilous missions with Sam Wilson who had been knighted from The Falcon to — and rightfully so — the shiny new Captain America.

Joaquin often needed wounds tended to, and you were there to wrongfully kiss his patched up wounds better.

His nodded his head without looking at you, “My back just hurts. This couch sucks, why did we get this one again?”

“It was my mother’s.” You stated and Joaquin cringed, “The one that died. Remember?”

How could he forget.

Brown eyes met yours to form an apology, and instead he was distracted by the item of clothing you had branded yourself in.

“Baby—” He corrected himself with your name, “That is my t-shirt.”

You looked down at the basic grey tee and back up, “You gave it to me.”

Was he starting the divorce settlement? You had seen two divorcees split their Beanie Baby collection online. This was starting to render the same energy.

“When we were together. Don’t exes give a boxful of stuff back to the rightful owner? I think that includes t-shirts.” He smirked and you fiddled with the hem of it. Oh god, this was the Beanie Baby divorce.

“I guess you’re right. It’s a little weird that I’m wearing it—Here.” Without a thought you pulled the t-shirt from the bottom hem and straight over your head, leaving you stark naked as you chucked the item of clothing at Joaquin before retreating back into your bedroom.

Joaquin stood with his jaw slack and blinking in disbelief, “That also includes getting naked in front of me!”

“Sorry!” You called out genuinely.

“It’s OK!” Joaquin let his voice drop lower by octaves, so you were unable to hear, “It was great actually. . . Fuck.” His head rolled back as he chucked the t-shirt over his face to attempt to smother his groan.

After that incident, you were more than cautious about indecent exposure around Joaquin. Although, it did cross your mind that it would get him out of the apartment quicker. Joaquin, too, had to be reminded that the double standards were not tolerated under your unorthodox living space. Often caught in the kitchen, living off of high protein food in nothing but gym shorts, his torso exposed to show off his carved physique.

You would sit, food missing your mouth across the island in the kitchen whilst you watched him, shirtless, tenderising some meat for his meal prep. The shirtless fiasco had to end. Joaquin happily obliged with a smug grin on his face whilst he pulled a t-shirt over his head that didn’t do any favours in hiding his toned muscles.

“I’m going out tonight.” You shook your wandering mind from the muscle tank and eventually mouthed some cereal.

Joaquin paused his tenderising, “Oh yeah? Like, out—out?” He pulled at his earlobe, “With friends?”

You hummed. He didn’t like that.

“You could say that.” Oh. He really didn’t like that. He spared you a weak smile as you continued to explain, “With the potential of going further, if it works out.”

Joaquin prayed it didn’t.

Immediate in sensing his shift in energy, you stared him down as if he were bacteria under a microscope. Three and a half years, and you could smell the disconcert off of Joaquin Torres like it was a spritz of his aftershave. Fingers fidgeting, brow pinched and his jaw tightening, the news of your date that you had casually sprung upon him was setting up inner turmoil.

Not wanting to draw too much attention to it, you slipped off of the stool and padded around the island to place your bowl in the sink. The drop in your gut not going amiss.

“So, do I know them?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, “Yes.”

“It’s not that person from your work. Is it?” Joaquin had fully forgone his meal prep, “Not the one that tried to kiss you whilst we were still together."

“Joaquin. Does it matter?” You whined and he was aghast. Hands held up in surrender to take the argument on the precipice down a notch, “We aren’t together anymore. Who I date doesn’t concern you, really.”

“Yeah, it kinda does when you still live with me.” Joaquin seethed, his hands coming out in gesture to emphasise his vexation.

This had you recoil. Your mouth pulled downward in frustration. Suddenly, you felt a wedge cram between Joaquin and you, the looming thought that exes couldn’t healthily live together and move on in unison began to barge to the forefront of your mind. Your friends — as much as you disagreed — may have been correct when they ogled your explanation of the Joaquin Torres situation. Personal torture, they had called it. Now you happened to agree.

He ended it with you. There was no part of that conversation where you thought Joaquin was correct in his astonishment about your date.

You took a step forward and prodded his toned chest.

“Then find somewhere else to live, Joaquin.” The words came out more sour than intended but your point still stood. You added, “This is over. We are over.”

Joaquin nodded, “I will.”

“Fine.” You exchanged and he responded with ‘Brilliant.’ Before you stormed off into your bedroom to cool off and further, get ready for your date that had already been soiled by the negativity from your ex.

That night, Joaquin stayed up past his usual bedtime schedule to ensure maximum rest for his duties as the Falcon. To keep himself entertained, he had dragged out his Falcon suit, acting out certain high-risk scenarios in the living room with the furniture — your furniture — pushed back. You had left hours prior, he hadn’t seen you but had heard the click of the door to signal your departure and Joaquin tried, he really tried to close his eyes and drift off into a peaceful sleep.

The insides of his eyelids were painted of images of you kissing the person from your work. A smile reserved for when you were in love on your features as they caressed your face, your eyes shone with adoration. He fidgeted, tossed from one side to the other to try shake the feeling off, heels of his palms dug into his eye sockets to blacken the scenes of you with another person intimately.

Joaquin was having a hard time fighting his demons for the decision about breaking up with you. He was still, entirely devoted, to loving you with the regret that hung above him like a neon sign in a dark tunnel. Everyday he had to wake up on the sofa that was like concrete against his back, and have to continue the suffering by not being able to hold you in the mornings before he had to spring out of bed and meet Sam Wilson. Or, a chaste kiss to your pretty lips and a promise that he’d keep safe just so he could see your face another day.

It was plain sadistic torment.

Sam had even offered up a place in Washington D.C. for Joaquin and he declined it with a blatant knowing look from his superior.

The situation was messy. But it was Joaquin’s mess. And he wanted to soak up whatever time he had left before you moved out and away from him.

“Man. It’s almost midnight.” He mumbled to himself whilst he dodged an invisible swing of a fist, “Maybe I should call her.”

As if you were connected by red thread, the front door opened and you peered in to see Joaquin clad in his metal gear, his helmet off so his wet hair could air dry into ringlets. He halted his actions to face you, his wings shooting open when he saw your outfit.

Scrambling to power them down and tuck them back into his suit, Joaquin muttered profanities under his breath from embarrassment. You hadn’t spoken to him since your small disagreement in the kitchen, but you weren’t one to hold grudges for long; a smile breaking out onto your face at him floundering.

“Was that some type of physical double entendre?” You shouldn’t have joked about it but you did. Purse placed on the counter next to the door, you tilted your head at Joaquin, “I like your suit.”

An olive branch. You had given him an olive branch.

Joaquin huffed a laugh, “Give me a sec,” Finally, the wings shut off, his face warm, “I’ll have Sam look into why that happened—You, uh, you like my suit?”

You nodded, “Yeah. You look cool.”

“Yeah?” Joaquin felt his shoulders broaden, quick to clear his throat, he asked, “How, um, how did the date go?”

Terribly. As a matter of fact.

“Oh, it was OK. Nothing to write home about.” You sat down on the couch and fingered at the strap of your heel with a wince from the chafing, “Somewhere between the breadsticks and the mushroom tagliatelle, I figured it was a bad idea on my behalf.”

“Mushroom tagliatelle? You hate mushroom tagliatelle. Do they even know you?” He vocalised disdain.

“Turns out not so much. But—It’s OK, it wouldn’t have worked out anyway.” You side-eyed Joaquin still stood in his Falcon uniform, listening so intently to every word that left your mouth. Your heart thrummed and you deeply exhaled, “It wouldn’t have worked out because I think—I know I am still caught up on my plague of a roommate.”

Joaquin Torres felt his mind go blank. Stupidly stood in the middle of the living room, with his ex-girlfriend professing the love that was hindering her, he gulped at the dryness that seized his throat and said. . .nothing. His nerves shot, he felt the beads of sweat coat his brow whilst his brain malfunctioned.

He should’ve told you he loved you tremendously. He couldn’t dream of a life where he didn’t wake up with you. The breakup he initiated was out of fear, and selfishly, he wanted to beat you to the heartbreak before the four year countdown on your ticking time bomb was up. Joaquin never stopped being in love with you. But as he stared down at you, face filled with plead, he chickened out.

Joaquin sniffed, “Yeah, well, we’ll be out of each other’s hair soon.” He didn’t deserve you, this was what it was all about. Quick to break the eye contact to forgo seeing your face drop, Joaquin turned his back to beeline for the bathroom, his feet stopped at the door, “You—You look beautiful by the way.”

Your wedge widened the gap that night. Brief good mornings and good nights were spoken with only one month to go. Your heart threaded and pulled back together after your ex-boyfriend rejected your affirmation that love was still on the cards — ring or not. Joaquin became a pure figment of your imagination with being sent on missions that you had no privy to, sometimes you would hear the clatter of his arrival through the night, your shoulders tense when you saw his feet hesitate at your bedroom door, illuminated by his phone torch.

You were relieved that he was giving you the space you needed. Your boxes had been packed and a friend was renting a spare room out for your dire situation once they had heard the sniffles at the other end of the phone. A spare box tossed to the side, labelled in red marker: J’s belongings, taunted you at the end of your bed; unable to pluck the courage up to hand it over to him.

Because that meant looking him in the eye and carelessly falling all over again.

Your progress wouldn’t be defeated by his charm. How you missed someone so sorely that lived in the same space as you, was a topic you thought someone should write a thesis on. You’d bring it to the board one day. Regardless, you were headstrong in protecting your peace.

Box in hands, you stretched for the bedroom door that was always kept shut, grunting as it swung open and you waltzed out; presuming Joaquin had left early that morning as you hadn’t heard a peep out of him.

“Shit—” Joaquin spoke out, “I’m sorry. You need help?”

Oh no. Not now.

“I think I got it. Thanks.”

“What is this?” Joaquin acted naive to the situation. It was a cardboard box, duct tape haphazardly stuck to the bottom so it wouldn’t give out from the sheer weight.

You huffed, “Your stuff. I’m literally just putting it in the living room.” You wanted him to leave you alone.

“Oh!” He reached for the box, “Then, let me—” You protested by clutching the box and Joaquin insisted, “Come on, let me help you, I’ve been training real hard with Sam—”

His fingers caught the only flaw in your taping and the two flaps on the bottom gave way, a large clutter hit the floor and the pair of you stared at it with mouths open. You were the first to look up at him with fury behind your eyes, your lips pulled into a thin line to contain your anger for a moment more.

Joaquin swallowed.

“I am so sorry.” He meant that. For everything.

“I said I had it, Joaquin.” Fingers pinched the bridge of your nose, “Can you just let me do this? Please. I don’t need your help carrying a fucking cardboard box from one room to another.”

His hands went up, “OK. OK. I was just coming to tell you I would be leaving tomorrow. Top secret mission.” He tapped his nose and tried to ease the palpable tension. “I spoke to the landlord, he’s fine with my premature departure. I think being the Falcon has its perks, you know?”

You looked him up and down, “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. Is—Is that OK?”

Why wouldn’t it be? So were you.

You nodded hesitantly and Joaquin rubbed his jawline, “Wanna watch a movie? Call it a Farewell Friday, you can pick it. As long as it’s not Dirty Dancing. I don’t want to see you cry over Patrick Swayze before I leave.”

You fucking hated Joaquin Torres.

Everything about him. Down to the kindness of his soul. Because, he made it so easy to fall back into your — now — four year long attachment to him.

Still. A movie on the sofa wouldn’t hurt. If you stayed five feet apart at either end of the furniture and didn’t share popcorn.

“Sure, let me just brush my teeth.” You said quietly without confidence as Joaquin handed a Polaroid that fell from the box back to you. He had looked at it and let out a soft chuckle before placing it in your hand. It was the first picture you had taken together on your first ever date. You felt your heart restrict, Joaquin could’ve ripped it from your chest if he wanted to.

He was relieved that you agreed, “Cool. I’ll come with.”

The bathroom wasn’t small but it wasn’t big enough that personal space wasn’t invaded as you stood at the sink, Joaquin faced you with his back leant against the wall adjacent, brushing his teeth and staring at the ceiling to minimise the glances to your side profile. One arm folded against his chest, he contemplated striking conversation with you just to feel your warmth for a final time before the doors shut to your joint lives altogether.

He carried the guilt tucked into his rib, it felt like a stitch every single day he left without explaining himself to you. Exposing that he made the biggest mistake of his life. Twice. Joaquin Torres needed you, and from the minimal explanation from Sam Wilson, he’d be away from resolving this for a long time. Long enough for you to get away.

Ultimately, he kind of deserved it.

You watched him from the mirror at the sink, the cogs turning in his head were evident. It was too exhausting to delve deep into what had created such a deep frown line between his brows, so you decided to keep it lighthearted for your last night.

Feet turned and pointed to his, you continued to brush your teeth in silence, a smile crept upon your face when he smiled cheekily with a mouthful of toothpaste. You unmistakably loved Joaquin; you would miss raw moments like that.

Suddenly, the air felt thick. Both of you slowed your brushing down, eyes trained toward each other before Joaquin leant forward into the ceramic sink and spat the contents of the toothpaste out.

No time to rinse, Joaquin pulled back and wiped the residue off of the corners of his mouth.

“Please don’t move in with your friend.”

Eyes almost popped out of your skull, you too, spat out the toothpaste from your mouth and pulled back to gawk at Joaquin.

“OK.” What? That wasn’t on the cards for you to say. You breathed.

“OK.” Joaquin copied.

Hands grappled at you, Joaquin yanked you by the elbow into his hold, a firm kiss pressed against your lips as you both dropped your toothbrushes onto the bathroom tiles, too wrapped up in each other to notice let alone care about it.

Hearts melded together, you both melted into each others bodies. After relentless torture, you were able to release the harboured feelings that lingered the moment Joaquin broke things off. Joaquin clung to you, his fingers threaded between yours behind your back whilst a low hum elicited from his throat into the kiss you shared.

He didn’t deserve this. But he took his wins.

You pulled back, lips swollen, “You’re an asshole. You let me pack all my things.”

Joaquin pressed a kiss to your lips, “I know,” Another kiss, “I know, baby,” Another kiss, “Let me make it up to you.”

“Call the landlord.” Hands roamed your body.

Joaquin shook his head and spoke into the kiss, “Only exes live in this building.”

#🔖 koolie writes #joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x fem!reader #joaquin torres x you #the falcon #captain america: brave new world #roommate au #it’s silly and i hated it #marvel fic

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lipstainedgemini · 3 days ago

Text

24 HOURS h. shinsou

✴︎ synopsis : a day in your life dating hitoshi shinsou.

✴︎ content : bf!hitoshi x reader , fluff , kissing , sharing a bed , cuddling , itty bitty teeny weeny angst if you squintttt?? , usage of l-word , silly banter

✴︎ wc : 2.9k

✴︎ a/n : he's so black cat vibes

hitoshi shinsou has been your boyfriend since you saw him at the sports festival and knew he was perfect for you, taking initiative to talk to him and befriend him before locking it in. and neither of you could want it any other way if you tried.

this is a glimpse into one of the many days you spend together, as most couples do.

6:30am

you wake up to your alarm playing muffled, tucked somewhere between your decorative blankets and pillows. your eyes peel open, met with soft rays of sun filtering through your window, bathing your dorm room in it's ethereal glow, partnered with your led lights still set on a dark purple, as well as a deadweight on top of you, arm slung around your waist, basking in your body heat like a black cat.

the reason you had to set your alarm this early in the first place.

you squirm, burning up beneath the combination of the sunlight, layer of blankets and your sound-asleep boyfriend. "hmm... toshi," you hum, eyes flitting down to the only part of his face you can see. his typically sharp eyes are shut, peaceful. you love seeing him like this. the rest of his face is smushed into your pillows, his lavender hair tousled over the fabrics.

he doesn't move a muscle.

"toshi." you mumble, a little louder this time, slowly pulling yourself up. he stirs this time, humming softly, turning on his side before his tired eyes meet yours. you've barely managed to escape the prison of blankets, adjusting your flimsy grey tank top. "it's six thirty. you gotta go back to your dorm." you murmur, eyes still heavy with sleep.

he hums, rolling over and wrapping both arms around you, effectively holding you down. "now.. why would i do that when it's so nice and warm right here.." he mumbles, burying his face into your chest.

"because if you stay too long and leave when everyone's already up, how are you gonna explain being in the dorm room for a class you aren't a part of??" you say, exasperated, trying to squirm out of his grip, but you can't help the ghost of a smile on your face.

he only tightens his grip. "fuck that, i'm in the hero course now." he smiles, voice muffled by your chest.

"you wish." you snort, trying to push him off of you. "now let me go. seriously. you're gonna get in trouble."

reluctantly, with a sigh, he loosens his grip on you and rolls over, standing slowly and stretching his back out. his baggy black tee rides up slightly, revealing his lower back. jesus christ, even the most random parts of him are sexy. "i'll just brainwash whoever sees me first." he mutters, and despite it being unserious, you still respond.

"so how would you explain getting caught in the wrong dorm room, with one of my classmates brainwashed??" you grin, sitting up fully, adjusting your top and your pajama pants that have twisted slightly. he turns to you with a shrug. "say i got kidnapped or something, i dunno." he says in that blunt, soft tone of his.

you let out a breath through your nose, standing up slowly and stretching. "you're so dumb." he doesn't respond immediately, opting to wrap his arms around you from behind instead. "i am not. n'you love it." he murmurs, head dropping to your shoulder. you can't help but shut your eyes, relaxing in his grip.

"can't tell me to get up now. we're already standing." jesus, you can hear the smirk in his voice. "hitoshi, you need to leave now. how's that?"

he hums in faux contemplation, before responding. "and what if i took the risk? what are your classmates gonna do, anyways?" you scoff, trying to move around your room, but he's not letting go. he really is like a fucking cat. "they wouldn't do anything, but i'm sure mr aizawa would have your soul or something."

he scoffs, grinning. "aizawa loves me. m'not even in the hero course and i'm his favorite student." he says, finally letting go. you immediately walk over to your closet, grabbing out your uniform. "yeah, that's actually kinda wholesome when you forget about the fact that it's really fucking weird. you're like his son."

he laughs behind you, and the next thing you know he's turning you around to face him. "walk me out, at least? don't wanna get caught alone incase someone is up. plus you'll probably have a better excuse, since they're your classmates." he mutters, soft eyes staring into yours.

you huff, before mumbling a 'fine.' and grabbing his arm, slipping on your dorm shoes and opening your door quietly, checking the hall is clear before padding out into the open space, dragging him with you to the elevator.

the ride is short, per usual, and the both of you walk toward the kitchen to get to the door before stopping dead in your tracks.

sitting on one of the barstools is momo looking too put together at 6:40am, eyes widening as she sees the both of you. "momo, you're my friend. you cannot utter a word of this to anyone." she only rolls her eyes, nodding with a small smile. a relieved breath escapes your mouth, continuing to drag him along, a little sheepish this time.

the two of you reach the door, stepping out, wrapping your arms around yourself at the chilly morning air. "ok.. don't die, or whatever." you mumble, stepping away to the door, but not before he grabs your hand, pulling you back. you laugh, only able to get out a 'hey–' before his hands are on your waist, his lips on yours. it's a short kiss, and you know he's sheepish about things like that.

"see you at lunch rush?" he murmurs, as he pulls away.

12:45pm

you were hanging with kyoka and mina until the cafeteria hall was a little emptier. hitoshi had something to work on anyways, so you know you didn't keep him waiting. you finally make it into the hall, grabbing your food of choice before heading over to your usual corner. he's already sat there, in his own world, that naturally tired look [but beautiful nonetheless] on his face. he's flipping through a notebook of his, chewing on whatever food he's gotten, not having noticed you yet.

his eyes flit up to you, though, as he hears your tray clatter on the table when you sit down next to him. "what's that?" you tilt your head, eyes switching between the notebook and his face, in which a small smile has made it's way onto. "just training notes. m'still nowhere near up to speed with everyone in the hero course."

you move your hand toward the notebook, a 'may i?' gesture, to which he nods. you pull it toward you, flitting through the notes scribbled down in his messy handwriting. "i'd say you're doing pretty well. you're already set to join us next year, and fuckin' aizawa is mentoring you. plus you won against class B during joint training." you ramble, still flipping through the notes. they're detailed. it's genuinely heartwarming how devoted he is to this.

he shrugs, turning back to his food. he doesn't think he'll ever get used to how you see him. doing pretty well? he also lost a round of that joint training.

you eventually shut the book, pushing it back toward him. those notes have got aizawa written all over them, no pun intended. actually, hitoshi in general has got aizawa written all over him. you're proud of him. for staying determined to be a hero, for spending every moment of free time training for the hero course despite being a general studies student.

you don't even realize you've been staring until he pokes you in the shoulder, tilting his head. "what?"

you blink, before smiling. "you're kinda pretty."

he rolls his eyes, trying to hide the grin on his face. "eat your food."

you scoff, taking a bite of your food, but you continue speaking afterwards anyways. "i don't think lunch rush has ever been as full as it was when lunch started." he raises a brow. "yeah? what'd you do while i was finishing up my assignment?"

"was sitting outside with mina 'n kyoka." he nods, tilting his head. "how're ashido and kirishima?" you fake gag, earning a quiet laugh from hitoshi, before responding. "still going strong. it's hard to believe they were ever not dating."

he nods again, before smirking slowly. "and... jirou and kaminari?" you turn to him, eyes wide, and he knows full well he's started a rant.

"still on that "he's so dumb", "she's so annoying" bullshit. i've literally seen him genuinely enjoying life with her more than any of his other friends recently. they have to kiss or some shit soon otherwise i will genuinely kill myself out of frustration." you ramble, dead serious. because what the fuck??

he grins. you're definitely the yapper in this relationship. "oh yeah?"

"yes. even people from other classes thought they were together at first glance because of that dumb 'flirty-insulting' thing they have." you grumble, taking another bite.

"you know..." he starts, eyes flitting to you, that small smirk back on his lips. "we kinda got that... 'flirty-insulting' thing as well."

"exactly! and you woke up in my bed this morning. goes to show how much they need to fucking date."

the conversation flows so easily between you two, all the time. whether you're rambling about a plot point in that american show you've been binge watching, or he's talking about how training was yesterday, or you're asking him to finally teach you how to ride a fucking bike, or you're eating in silence. it's comfortable.

the both of you finish eating after about 20 minutes, deciding to walk around outside for the remaining 10 minutes before he has to go back to lesson and you have to get changed for training. you've fallen into step with eachother, hitoshi's hands in his pockets while one of yours comes up to fidget with your necklace.

"we still on for after school? sakae closes early today but we can go there first to get my matcha." you suggest, looking up at him. the gentle breeze is curling between you two, tousling his hair and making him look even prettier. sakae is one of the cafés in downtown musutafu, one that you always enjoyed going to, and one he's learned to enjoy the presence of.

he nods, eyes flitting down to you. you're so pretty it's unreal. he doesn't even know how he's walking here with you right now, allowed to call himself your boyfriend. he doesn't really know what love is supposed to feel like, but he knows it's past a crush when his heart sinks just by the thought of you in a bad mood and you're literally all he thinks about during the school day, so he's pretty sure love is what he feels for you. but he's not sure he can say that out loud yet.

"sounds good." is all he says. he's not shy, moreso reserved. and sarcastic. that side of him is so hot. but you like how he can be softer, and clingy around you. "meet me where we usually do."

3:15pm

the last few minutes of class were filled with upcoming training sessions, events, and what we need to improve on, presented by aizawa's harsh bluntness. the usual. and you were glad to leave because jesus, that matcha was calling your name.

you walked out quick, saying a few goodbyes and 'i'll see you back at the dorm!'s to your friends before exiting the main building, walking to the front bench by the student gates where you and hitoshi always been to go downtown. he's immersed in something on his phone, eyes flitting up instinctively when he hears the crunch of gravel under the pattern of footsteps he's learned as yours. "waited forever. thought you'd never show." he smirks, tilting his head.

you roll your eyes, making an effort to bump his shoulder as you walk past. he doesn't move a centimetre. "class ended five minutes ago, you baby. plus your ipad-kid ass seemed perfectly content staring down at your phone just now." you say, hooking your arm through his and starting to walk. he scoffs, pocketing his phone. "had to keep myself occupied somehow."

"it's not my fault your mentor likes to grill us on our progress and what we need to do for our upcoming training lessons." you grumble in faux annoyance, glancing up at him. he rolls his eyes dramatically, firing back with a; "at least you're not listening to cementos yap endlessly about fuckin' economics and the ideal way to be the 'heroes that keep society running'." he mocks in a stupid tone that makes you laugh, which makes him so happy.

"yeah, fair enough. you train willingly. can't blame you, though. i'd die in a general studies lesson." you shrug, and he nods. "you'd disintegrate."

the rest of the 20 minute walk downtown is filled with little remarks here and there, an occasional 'the sky is so pretty!!" or 'omg look at that stray cat over there' between the cracks until you turn a corner, past the small park and into sakae. you check your phone, your lips curling up. "25 minutes before they close. we're good."

you drag him up to the counter with you, taking note of his hand that slides around your waist as you order, the eyes of the lady at the counter flickering with recognition. you've been a regular here since the start of first year, and she's learned to expect him here with you in recent months.

you place your order ; matcha with strawberry foam, which hitoshi hates the tatse of but always asks for a sip anyways just to be annoying, and when you pull out your wallet, he physically smacks your hand away.

"toshi–" "nope." he cuts you off. you frown, watching him pull out his phone and tap it to the card reader, waiting for it to transact before handing you your drink, thanking the lady at the counter and walking out like that didn't just happen. you follow behind him, waving goodbye to the lady before catching up. "hitoshi, what the hell?" you grin, and he's already rolling his eyes.

"you always pay and i feel bad." he mutters, seeing your pretty smile. his eyes drop down to the drink, holding his hand out, eyes expectant.

you shoot him a playful glare. "you don't even like my matcha. m'not letting you fanum tax me this time." his jaw drops in faux-offence, scoffing. "even after i bought your drink and everything like a good boyfriend."

"hey– that was out of your own choice!" you laugh, and he smiles back at you.

the two of you walk back down to that little park you passed on the way to sakae, sitting down under one of the trees. you two have these little moments when you're both free, either using the time to talk and mess around or do your own thing.

it's both today, yourself immersed in a book while he pulls out his notebook and develops a few more notes and techniques, throwing around little comments in between. your eyes flit to him occasionally, the way he's so focused and gets lost in things so easily. his hand moves fast, jotting down potential ways to improve every part of his technique. it's cute.

the sun dips lower and lower in the sky and after about an hour and a half, you're both walking back to campus.

10:00pm

he's been hanging back at your dorm for a while now. he trained with aizawa for almost two hours after dropping you back at your dorm, getting a start on developing his fighting style with those notes he made before heading back, thankfully dropping in unnoticed and making his way to your dorm room.

you've already gotten ready for bed, settling in with him laying down next to you, forcing him to watch the show you've been binge-watching that he pretends to find annoying. eventually it gets later and since your alarm is set at the asscrack of fucking dawn again to make sure he gets up in time to go back to his own dorm, the both of you are about ready to fall asleep at 10:30.

one of his legs tangles with yours under the infamous layers of blankets, resting his head in one of his arms. he places a small kiss on your cheek, mumbling a quiet 'goodnight' which you return, moving closer to him.

a few beats of silence pass before he breaks it. "hey." he murmurs, and you peel your eyes open to be met with his tired ones staring right back at you. you hum, and you catch a flicker of hesitation behind his eyes before he replies.

"i love you."

guess it's not an 'ordinary' day after all. but you're so not complaining.

i do not condone plagiarism, stealing, copying, or translation of any of my works without permission.

✴︎ taglist : non rip🥀

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danadiadea · 3 days ago

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Okay, so I was rereading the famous "I see no difference" episode, and remind me, why do we so unanimously connect Snape's comment to Hermione's teeth at all? I don't want to sound like a conspiracy theorist, and I have no problems with loving a character who made a mean lookist comment on their student in Snape's conditions, really, but I analyzed it, and it appears.... at least not as straightforward as it's most often described. Let's remember how the scene goes first:

"For a split second, they looked into each other’s eyes, then, at exactly the same time, both acted. ‘Furnunculus!’ Harry yelled. ‘Densaugeo!’ screamed Malfoy. Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in mid-air, and ricocheted off at angles – Harry’s hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy’s hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up – Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth. ‘Hermione!’ Ron had hurried forwards to see what was wrong with her. Harry turned and saw Ron dragging Hermione’s hand away from her face. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Hermione’s front teeth – already larger than average – were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, towards her chin – panic-stricken, she felt them, and let out a terrified cry. ‘And what is all this noise about?’ said a soft, deadly voice. Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamoured to give their explanations. Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, ‘Explain.’ ‘Potter attacked me, sir –’ ‘We attacked each other at the same time!’ Harry shouted. ‘– and he hit Goyle – look –’ Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. ‘Hospital wing, Goyle,’ Snape said calmly. ‘Malfoy got Hermione!’ Ron said. ‘Look!’ He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth – she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape’s back. Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, ‘I see no difference.’ Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight."

First of all, was the spell intended as a comment on Hermione's teeth, or bullying of her? No. It was directed at Harry. It was just a coincidence that Hermione's front teeth were naturally prominent. Did any slytherins or Snape directly connect the effect of the spell to Hermione's teeth? Also no. The girls giggle silently behind Snape's back, but whether that's because they make fun of Hermione's own teeth, or they just think she looks funny with the spell taking effect right now, is unclear. No-one laughs after "I see no difference", too, even tho Slytherins often giggle at Snape's comments, and previously mentioned girls could've stopped hiding if Snape supported their fun – but it hadn't happened. The only person who connects the effects of the spell with how Hermione normally looks is Harry in his head, imposing that view on a reader with that notion: "already larger than average". But that is never voiced anywhere during the scene but in Harry's private thoughts.

Now let's look at what was said out loud:

'Explain.’ ‘Potter attacked me, sir –’ ‘We attacked each other at the same time!’ ‘– and he hit Goyle – look –’ 'Hospital wing, Goyle,’ ‘Malfoy got Hermione! Look!' 'I see no difference.’

When we see the dialogue itself, the fact that "I see no difference" is connected to Hermione personally is more than unclear. It literally can mean "I see no difference between what happened to her and to Goyle". It can mean “I see no difference between what Goyle and Granger should do”. He could say "she looks the same" or "I don't see what's wrong" if jkr wanted to make it clear it's a comment on Hermione's appearance.

Okay, but how it was said? Was Snape smirking or speaking in a sarcastic, snide voice? No. He gave Hermione a cold look – well, sorry, I do not see such a difference between descriptions "examined" and "looked coldly". It's not like he kissed Goyle's forehead – he also just looked at his traumas, with his eyes that we know generally look "cold and empty" according to Harry. His tone isn't described here – we can assume it was also cold, and considering that Snape previously spoke in a "deadly" and "calm" voice, that's not a drastic difference as well.

Did Snape punish anyone unreasonably? No. He didn't punish Harry for attacking Goyle, which is what happened according to Draco (Snape is so prejudiced though, right?), and he didn't punish Hermione for leaving the class without permission. If Snape insulted her, then she ran away without him letting her go, yet no points were taken from Gryffindor for that – except if he wanted Hermione to do exactly what he told Goyle to do, that is go to the Hospital Wing, and that's why he didn't have problems with it. Snape only took points and gave Harry and Ron detention for publically cursing and screaming at the teacher, which is more than fair, if you ask me.

Would Snape even notice Hermione's unusual teeth at all? Harry, Hermione's best friend, didn't notice that they became shorter for a couple of months, nor did Ron. We don't ever have Snape's POV, so we don't know if he tends to notice details like that about people, but we know that his own teeth were uneven as well, and he didn't care enough to change them, or anything else about himself; and we know that he didn’t insult anyone's appearance in the books on any other occasions, making mean comments on skills or moral qualities instead. I personally quite often am perplexed when a person shares that they are insecure about some part of their body, because I don't pay much attention to that, so I wouldn't even know it's "unconventional" if they didn't tell me. What for Hermione was a feature she saw in the mirror every day and was well aware of, for Snape was a minor detail in the appearance of one of the hundreds of students he teaches. We know that Draco did notice Hermione's teeth, but Draco also makes comments on Lupin's old robes, for example, it's not unusual for him. Even if Snape noticed that Hermione's teeth looked unconventional before, "I see no difference" still totally could apply to the parallel between Hermione and Goyle, because without Harry’s commentary, the ISND connection to teeth is not only vague – it's almost non-existent.

"But Harry got mad at him! Harry and Ron cursed and screamed at him, they clearly thought he insulted her!" Well, Harry and Ron also thought that Snape was trying to kill Harry, or poison Lupin, or that him giving Neville a detention where he worked with ingredients for melting 6 cauldrons in a very short period of time was somehow unreasonable. Like I literally do not care what those boys assume about Snape, they are incorrect 90% of the time.

"But Hermione cried and ran away and was upset!". She was already "whimpering in panic" and "letting out a terrified cry" before that. Whether Hermione had taken it as a comment on her natural teeth or not, it doesn't necessarily mean that's what Snape was saying. She also got over it, and kept telling Harry he's unfair to Snape.

The only other times when Snape voiced his problems with Hermione in unprofessional ways was when he called her an "insufferable know-it-all" for speaking out of turn for the third time, and called her a "stupid girl" in a middle of a mental breakdown, reliving his near-death expierience and trying to save her. That's it.

So that's my take on it. You can agree or disagree, but frankly, I think this interpretation is at least as valid as that he made a comment on her teeth, if not making more actual sence.

#I honestly didn't expect it to make that much sence but I genuinely think it does #tell me if you think I'm crazy guys #severus snape #pro severus snape #severus snape meta #snape meta #hp meta #hermione granger #professor snape #pro snape #harry potter #hp watsonian analysis

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owololcat · 2 days ago

Text

Slugcat Dashboard Simulator!!!

💥 scavslayingchieftain

what in void’s name are these fucking thingies? /pos

⦻ vultureculture-deactivated119023

those are yeeks! They're normally native to outer expanse, though you may occasionally find a few in farm arrays if you're lucky! :3

💥 scavslayingchieftain

I love em gimme like 20

🍯 gourmdan-ramscug

I just saw a pup get carried into the treetops by a squidcada. Their mom was able to grab em before they could get hurt but now I'm wondering how many squidcadas it’d take to lift me…

🍯 gourmdan-ramscug

clerik dem

🎭 long-live-4pe

I think catboy pebbles would kill a wildscug.

🐁 the-johndoe

Wildscug from Outer Expanse here, can confirm. I only got one second to process the glory of an iterator in a catboy costume before I got my brain nuked and woke up back in The Wall.

🎭 long-live-4pe

… Not what I meant, but this is most certainly funnier than what I intended.

👁️ ripples-and-reflections

heyyyy sorryyyy your mate went down to the void sea and became an echo. yeahhhh he’s stuck between life and death with no escape to either. his attachment to his worldly desires was just too strong, sorryyy.

🌀 ur-getting-eepy

OE scugs, today is the day we finally decide...

🍯 gourmdan-ramscug

This is actually a fun way to gauge the colony's opinions on my antics. I’ll be keeping tabs on this! Thanks, Hypnotist!

🌀 ur-getting-eepy

OH HI DAD

🐟 moons-secret-lovechild

I just found 2 dead noodleflies with their needles shanked into each other. Can any nature-smart scugs explain why they do this?

🌼 fren2all

actually it's just a simple territorial dispute, which are always battles to the death in noodleflies. but what's really interesting is that if there's a winner left alive, they'll actually adopt the baby noots of the loser!

🐟 moons-secret-lovechild

Huh. Talk about a custody battle, am I right?

💥 scavslayingchieftain

my iterator just gave me a pearlreader and a cluster of pearls with a graphic novel series called “Spinning Top’s Folly” on them and WHERE THE FUCK HAS THIS BEEN ALL MY LIFE???

🪡 slash-srs

A new face to share brainrot with is always a welcome sight.~

💥 scavslayingchieftain

oomf, you don't get it.

i used to be a wildscug.

this is my first taste of iterator entertainment.

i can never go back.

🪡 slash-srs

OH SHIT, THAT IS A BIG DEAL. Anyways, your iterator picked a great first series for a creature who's unfamiliar with the benefactors and their history! If you're interested in fanfiction, I recommend trying to get your paws on some of the “Eternity Confluence” pearls by The Werelizard! Its this really silly canon divergence fic where Howlite Skies follows Spinning Top when they run away from the creche, resulting in extra shenanigans and a happier ending for both.

🦎 da-littlest-lizor

imma lizardcat, actually, but ty for the shoutout! I had a lot of fun expanding upon the sibling dynamic they had in the early chapters :}

🪡 slash-srs

H-HELLO?????

🐁 the-johndoe

I stole an egg with plans to eat it the following cycle but oops looks like I'm a dad now. forgive the shitty quality but meet batnip bread everyscug

🌼 fren2all

Pretty fucked up lookin slugpup

🐁 the-johndoe

monk ur supposed to be the nice one, don’t insult ur niece! >:T

🐁 the-johndoe

#so this is the fabled found family

@gourmdan-ramscug MOOOM HYPNOTIST AND MONK ARE BEING FUNNIER THAN ME ON MY OWN POSTS AGAAAAIN!

🌼 fren2all

Fuck kinda dad runs to the grandparent to solve his problems? lol

🐁 the-johndoe

I will suplex you into a patch of protorot grrr

🎭 long-live-4pe

Guess who finally got their title? The Gentleman, at your service.~

🦎 da-littlest-lizor

holup i thought u were a messenger how tf u get a title?

🎭 long-live-4pe:

I actually reside in a colony atop Four Painted Easels. I am a messenger by employment rather than by purpose!

As for how I earned a title in the first place, the scavengers took a pearl that was of great importance to 4PE, so I swiped it back from right under their snouts. Apparently I greatly resembled a gentleman thief from some old novels from the benefactor era.

🦎 da-littlest-lizor:

oh those scavs are gonna send they best elites after u lmao. i can def see how a colony would see you in that way tho, congrats! u earned it!

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alltimecharlo · 18 hours ago

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Accidental courting alpha!mack and omega!will 🤭 i could just picture macklin being a total oblivious idiot that all his instinctual dotting on will is actually him already courting the omega. and ofc, will is going to be the one to break the news to him 🤣

cute cute cute!!! love this prompt :)🩵 fic under the cut!!

Will isn’t trying to jump to conclusions.

He’s not. He swears he’s not.

It’s just—Mack keeps doing things. Omega-specific things. Courting-things. Like walking him to his car every night. Like making him little snack bags before road trips—things with protein and omega-safe supplements that Will’s never even told him he takes. Like growling a little, low in his throat, when one of the older alphas on the team pats Will on the back too long in the gym.

It’s…a lot.

Will’s not complaining. He likes it. Loves it, actually. Gets butterflies every time Mack nudges a bottle of water into his hands or adjusts Will’s cap before they leave the rink. The other omegas tease him constantly, asking when he’s going to let Mack take him home and feather a nest.

He’d love that. Would do it yesterday.

But the thing is, Mack hasn’t said anything. And that’s the weird part. That’s the part that makes Will feel a little bit insane, because as far as Will knows, alphas don’t do all that stuff unless they’re trying to court you. And if Mack’s not courting him, then Will is going to need someone to explain why he’s been sleeping with one of Mack’s hoodies like it’s scented with a bonding trigger.

So when Mack shows up outside his place for the third morning in a row—hood up, coffee in hand, and a protein bar that’s Will’s favorite kind—it kind of… breaks something.

Will blinks at him through the front door, hair messy and his scent still all sleepy and warm from bed. “You know you’re courting me, right?”

Mack just. Stares.

He blinks, confused, and looks down at the coffee in his hand like maybe it’s the wrong one. “What?”

Will takes the cup anyway and leans in the doorway, sipping it. It’s perfect, of course. Cream, two sugars, little bit of cinnamon. The way he likes it.

“You’re courting me,” Will says again, slower this time. “You’ve been courting me for weeks.”

Mack’s brow furrows. “I haven’t—” he breaks off. Runs a hand through his hair. “I was gonna ask. I mean, I was—planning to. I just—”

Will tilts his head. “You haven’t noticed you’ve already been doing it?”

“I was just taking care of you,” Mack says helplessly. “I didn’t think—I mean, I wanted to, I just thought… I had to do it properly. Like, the whole formal thing. Ask you. Make it a thing.”

Will snorts into his coffee. “Macklin. You growled at a defenseman for standing too close to me yesterday.”

Mack turns red. Actually red. Neck to ears.

“That wasn’t—he was being weird—”

“You brought me soup when I had a sore throat and you stayed up all night to make sure my fever didn’t spike.”

Mack frowns. “You didn’t tell me you thought that counted.”

Will laughs. He actually giggles, hiding his face behind the coffee lid. Mack looks stricken, like he’s trying to figure out whether he’s messed everything up or not.

Will reaches out, tugs on Mack’s sleeve, and pulls him closer until he can press his face into his chest. Mack’s scent is grounding—clean and sharp and safe.

“I think you’re cute for not knowing,” Will mumbles into him.

Mack wraps his arms around him, still bewildered but holding him tight. “So you’re not mad?”

Will grins up at him. “I like being courted. And I like you. So you can keep doing it.”

Mack kisses his hair. “Then let me do it properly. Tonight. Dinner? Real question and everything?”

Will leans into him, all warm and pleased. “You’re a little late, alpha. But yeah. Ask me anyway.”

Mack laughs, and Will thinks, finally.

♡

#omega will my beloved <3 #willmack #macklin celebrini #san jose sharks #will smith hockey #mackwill #wacklin #hrpf #hrpf fic #hockey fic #hockey rpf #willmack prompts

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2b4st4r · 13 hours ago

Text

Explained distance

Zoro x reader

!!SMUT WARNING!!

Minors dni

Words: 7,621

Summary: Ever since you joined the crew, zoros been unfortunately distant, your determination to find out takes over your mind.

Warnings: sexual content/smut, consensual sexual content, degrading, praise, mild pain/discomfort, mistakes, p in v, bottom reader, top zoro, female reader, fingering, semi public ig??

I have NEVER written smut before so I hope this was at least decent. And I hope I did this right..

✸→→⛤←←✸

The Thousand Sunny had quickly become your home, a vibrant, chaotic, and unbelievably welcoming place. You’d integrated seamlessly, laughing with Usopp and Chopper, swapping stories with Robin, getting pulled into Nami’s schemes, cooking with Sanji, listening to Brook’s terrible jokes, and even finding a strange, quiet camaraderie with Franky. You’d gotten close to everyone on the Straw Hat crew, becoming an undeniable part of their madcap family. Everyone, that was, except for Roronoa Zoro.

It didn't make sense, not to you anyway. You were a swordsman, too. Not on his level, of course – no one was – but you knew your way around a blade. You understood the weight of the hilt, the balance of the steel, the rhythm of a fight. You thought that shared connection would be a bridge between you, a silent understanding. Instead, there was just... silence. A constant, almost palpable distance that left you wondering what you were missing, or what he was even thinking.

You had tried. You really, truly had. You weren't one to give up easily, especially when something just didn't add up.

There was that one time, not long after you joined, when you spotted him napping on the deck, a rare moment he wasn't actively training or getting lost. You thought, "This is it, a calm moment, perfect for a casual chat." You walked up, a friendly smile on your face, and softly said, "Hey, Zoro." He stirred, grunted something unintelligible, and then, with a fluidity that was almost impressive, simply got up and walked away, leaving you standing there, feeling utterly foolish.

Then there was dinner. Meal times on the Sunny were always boisterous, a chaotic symphony of laughter and flying food. You figured if you just sat near him, even if you didn't talk, you could at least exist in his space. One evening, you saw an empty spot next to him at the table and, seizing the opportunity, you confidently took the seat. You were barely settled when he looked over, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, and then, without a word, he picked up his plate and moved to the other side of the table, leaving you once again feeling like you had the plague. It was baffling, frankly. Every attempt to bridge the gap between you seemed to just widen it.

The silence from him was maddening. You were dying for even a single word to be directed at you, something, anything, to acknowledge your existence beyond a shared space on the ship. You didn't even care if it was him yelling at you, telling you to get lost, or complaining about your presence. At least that would be something.

So, you resorted to drastic measures. You started trying to piss him off.

One afternoon, you saw him walking across the deck, heading towards his favorite napping spot. An idea, mischievous and desperate, sparked in your mind. As he passed, you "accidentally" stuck your foot out, just enough to catch his ankle. He stumbled, catching himself with a surprised grunt, and you immediately plastered on your most innocent, apologetic smile. "Oh my gosh, Zoro! I am so sorry! I completely tripped over my own feet!"

He slowly turned, his single visible eye narrowed, and he looked you up and down, a long, assessing gaze that made your heart pound with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. Was this it? Was he finally going to snap? He just let out a low, exasperated huff, turned back around, and continued on his way as if nothing had happened.

Even Luffy, who usually found everything amusing, tilted his head. "Shishishi! That's not normal, Zoro usually yells when someone trips him!" he chirped, before going back to whatever game he was playing.

It was true. No matter what you did—whether it was "accidentally" knocking over his weights, "misplacing" his katanas (only for a few minutes, of course, you weren't that crazy), or even humming off-key near him—Zoro just ignored you. It was like you were a ghost, an inconvenient breeze, anything but a person he needed to acknowledge.

The sun was high, warm and inviting, casting a golden glow over the deck of the Thousand Sunny. Nami, Robin, and you were sprawled out on towels, enjoying a rare moment of peace, soaking up the rays. But even the perfect weather couldn't soothe your simmering frustration.

"I just don't get it!" you huffed, flipping over onto your stomach, propping your chin on your hands. "I've tried everything! I've said hello, I've tried sitting next to him, I've even tried to annoy him, and he just... ignores me!"

Nami chuckled, adjusting her sunglasses. "Maybe he just doesn't like small talk, Y/n. Zoro's not exactly the most social one of the bunch."

"But it's not just small talk!" you insisted, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "I tripped him! Accidentally, of course," you added quickly, though a small, guilty smile played on your lips. "And he just huffed! Not a word! Not even a glare! Luffy said it wasn't normal!"

Robin, ever calm and observant, opened one eye. "Perhaps he perceives your attempts as a challenge, or simply doesn't see the need for extensive interaction. He is quite focused on his training."

"But I'm a swordsman too!" you whined, feeling a little childish but unable to stop yourself. "I thought we'd have that in common! I thought he'd at least, I don't know, acknowledge that! He moved his whole body from the dinner table just to avoid sitting next to me! Who does that?!" You flopped back onto your towel, staring up at the clear blue sky. "It's like I'm invisible to him. Like I don't even exist. It's so weird! Does he hate me? What did I even do?"

"I just... I've faced down sea kings, I've fought marines, I've even survived luffy's cooking— that says a lot," you muttered, pulling your knees to your chest. "But this? This silent treatment? It's like a new level of torture! I've never felt so utterly dismissed by anyone before. It's worse than being yelled at, worse than being attacked, because at least then you know where you stand! With him, it's just... nothing. A void."

You sighed dramatically, turning your head to look at Robin. "What do I do? Is there some secret Zoro-language I'm not speaking?"

Robin smiled gently, her eyes still closed against the sun. "Perhaps the issue is not in the language you speak, but in the questions you are asking, or rather, not asking. Sometimes, the most direct path to understanding another's silence is to simply inquire about it. Have you considered approaching him, not with an agenda to annoy or to force interaction, but simply to observe and to ask what might be on his mind, or why he prefers solitude?" Her tone was soft, but her words carried a quiet weight, suggesting a depth you hadn't considered.

Nami, however, snorted, pushing her sunglasses up her nose. "Seriously, Y/n? Why does it even bother you so much? It's Zoro! He's always like that. He's a man of few words, and even fewer social graces. Just let him be."

"Ugh!" you groaned, burying your face in your towel. "I don't know! That's the thing! I honestly don't know why it bothers me so much! It's just... I feel this desperate need to get close to him, to understand him. When he's near, there's this weird pull, like I'm constantly aware of his presence, and when he ignores me, it just... it feels like a punch to the gut. It's so frustrating!"

Nami's eyes widened behind her sunglasses, and then a slow, dawning realization spread across her face. Her jaw dropped, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, but not before yelling, a little too loud, "Oh shit... you LIKE Zoro?!"

Your jaw dropped in turn, your face flushing a furious red. "No! It's not like that!" you sputtered, scrambling to sit upright.

Robin, ever serene, merely tilted her head slightly, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. "From an objective perspective, Y/n," she observed, her voice calm and measured, "the emotional intensity you describe, coupled with your persistent attempts to bridge a perceived distance, does tend to align with the initial stages of romantic interest."

"No! No way!" you insisted, shaking your head vigorously, your face still burning. "He's... he's always sleeping! And he gets lost constantly! It's infuriating! And he's so quiet, it's like talking to a brick wall! He's grumpy, and he smells like... well, like sweat and swords! And he never smiles, not really, just that terrifying smirk when he's about to cut something in half!"

You paused, taking a breath, your mind racing for more reasons, but your voice began to falter. "And... and he's always training, always pushing himself, even when he's exhausted. And when he does fight, it's... it's incredible, isn't it? The way he moves, so precise and powerful. And sometimes, when he's just sitting there, quiet, he looks... really peaceful. Like he's carrying the weight of the world but still standing strong. And his muscles are... well, they're definitely there. And his hair, it's so green, you can always spot him in a crowd, even if he's trying to get lost..."

Your voice trailed off, the frantic energy draining from you. The reasons you were listing to deny your feelings had somehow morphed into a list of things you found undeniably captivating about him. The deck fell silent, save for the gentle lapping of waves against the ship and the distant sound of Luffy's laughter. Nami and Robin watched you, their expressions unreadable, but you could feel the weight of their gaze.

A slow, creeping warmth spread from your chest, not from the sun, but from the undeniable truth that was now staring you in the face. All those attempts to get his attention, all that frustration, the desperate need for him to see you... it wasn't just about swordsmanship or camaraderie. It was something else entirely.

You swallowed hard, your gaze fixed on the distant horizon, a faint whisper escaping your lips. "...Oh. Oh, crap. I... I think I do."

Nami's mouth, which had been agape, slowly curved into a mischievous smirk. She pulled her sunglasses down her nose, revealing eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and a touch of "I told you so."

"Oh, crap is right!" Nami burst out, a loud laugh bubbling up. "I knew it! The way you've been obsessing over him, the way you get all flustered! It was so obvious! You really like the moss-head, huh?" She leaned back, a triumphant grin on her face. "Well, this is going to be fascinating to watch. Good luck getting him to notice anything besides his swords and his next nap spot."

Robin, on the other hand, simply closed her eyes again, a soft, knowing smile gracing her lips. "Indeed," she murmured, her voice a gentle, almost melodic hum. "The human heart often finds its own unique paths, even towards those who appear... less inclined to acknowledge them. It merely confirms my earlier observation." She didn't seem surprised in the slightest, as if she'd been reading the subtle currents of your emotions all along.

You just groaned again, burying your face in your hands. This was worse than fighting a whole crew of Marines. This was feelings. And they were for Zoro.

You groaned again, pulling your hands down to cover your burning eyes. "Oh, this is just... this is a nightmare! What do I do?! How do you even... how do you even talk to someone who actively avoids you?!"

Nami tapped her chin thoughtfully, her earlier amusement giving way to a more strategic glint in her eyes. "Hmm. Well, the direct approach clearly isn't working. And trying to annoy him just makes him... huff. With Zoro, you can't just tell him things, you have to make him realize them. Or, better yet, make him need you for something. He's surprisingly simple when it comes to his core needs. Maybe you need to get him lost, then be the only one who can find him? Or accidentally 'borrow' his swords right before a fight, then return them at the last second, making yourself indispensable?" She grinned, clearly enjoying the plotting. "Or, here's a thought: just ignore him back! See how he likes being the one on the receiving end of the cold shoulder!"

Robin, meanwhile, offered a more contemplative approach. "Nami's suggestions, while... spirited, may not yield the desired depth of connection. Perhaps a more subtle approach is required. Observe him, Y/n. Not just his actions, but the moments of quiet, the subtle shifts in his demeanor. What truly captures his attention beyond his training? What brings him a moment of genuine, unburdened peace? Sometimes, the most profound connections are forged not through direct confrontation, but through shared, unspoken understanding. Offer a presence, not a pursuit. And remember, patience is a virtue, particularly when attempting to unravel the complexities of a man like Zoro."

You peeked out from between your fingers, first at Nami, then at Robin. "Okay, Nami," you began, a hesitant smile on your face, "I appreciate the... enthusiasm behind your ideas. And the 'make him need me' thing is... well, it's definitely a strategy. But 'getting him lost' and 'borrowing his swords' feels a little... uh... extreme? And possibly dangerous? I don't want to end up on the wrong end of a Wado Ichimonji, even if it's 'accidental'."

You then turned to Robin, a hopeful but slightly bewildered expression on your face. "And Robin, your advice is... very profound, as always. But 'observe his moments of quiet' and 'offer a presence, not a pursuit,' and 'unraveling his complexities'... could you, maybe, just... dumb it down for me? Like, what does that actually look like in practice? Because right now, all I'm seeing is him ignoring me, and all I'm feeling is confused."

Nami let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically before sliding her sunglasses back down over them. "Honestly, Y/n," she muttered, settling back onto her towel, "you're making this harder than it needs to be."

Robin, however, simply chuckled softly, a warm, melodic sound. She opened her eyes, looking directly at you with a gentle gaze. "My apologies, Y/n. Sometimes my explanations can be... layered. To simplify: Instead of trying to make him talk to you, or make him react, try simply being near him without any expectation. When he's training, perhaps train nearby, not directly with him, but in his vicinity. When he's napping, find a quiet spot to read or relax in the same area. Don't demand his attention, just... exist.

"And 'observe' means," she continued, a faint smile playing on her lips, "pay attention to what he does when he's not actively avoiding you. What makes him pause? What does he look at? Does he ever seem to relax his guard? Sometimes, the most telling conversations are those held without words. And remember, Zoro is like a very old, very sturdy tree. You cannot force it to grow faster, but with consistent, gentle presence, it may eventually offer its shade."

You nodded slowly, processing Robin's simplified advice. "Okay... okay, I think I get it. Just... be there. Don't push. Let him come to me." You repeated the words, trying to make them fit.

Then, your expression shifted. A flicker of something restless and determined entered your eyes. You paused, the thoughtful look fading, replaced by a familiar stubbornness. "But that's... that's just not me," you admitted, a groan escaping your lips. The idea of passive observation, of waiting patiently, felt utterly alien to your nature.

Suddenly, you sprang to your feet, a renewed spark of defiance in your stance. "That's it!" you declared, planting your hands on your hips. "I'm not waiting around for him to notice me. I'm going to force him to talk to me."

Nami, who had been lazily stretching, snapped her head up, a wide, excited grin splitting her face. "Now that's more like it!" she cheered, clapping her hands together. "Finally, some action! Go get 'em, Y/n! Let's see what kind of chaos you can stir up now!" She leaned forward, clearly anticipating the spectacle.

Robin merely watched you stand, her serene expression unwavering. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her, and a small, knowing smile played on her lips. "A direct approach, then," she mused softly, her gaze following you as you turned. "An interesting variable in the equation. Do be careful not to damage any important ship components in your... pursuit, Y/n." Her tone held no judgment, only a quiet observation, as if she were watching a fascinating experiment unfold.

The next few days became a blur of increasingly desperate attempts to corner the green-haired swordsman. You tried approaching him while he was lifting weights, striding up with a confident "Hey, Zoro!" only for him to grunt something about Luffy needing him right now and walk off, leaving you talking to thin air and a pile of barbells. You tried catching him on deck, near the crow's nest, but he'd suddenly remember an urgent need to clean his swords, disappearing before you could get a word in. Every time, he had an excuse, a grumble, or simply a dismissive turn of his back. It was like he had a sixth sense for your approach, a Zoro-radar specifically tuned to avoid you.

That was the past. Today is today. And today, you were done with subtle hints, done with "accidents," and definitely done with trying to catch him unawares. You had a new plan, born from sheer, unadulterated frustration and a healthy dose of your own stubbornness.

You spotted your chance when Zoro, grunting with effort, hoisted a heavy-looking crate and disappeared below deck. Sweat glistened on his skin as he navigated the narrow passages, moving things around with surprising focus. This was it. No escape routes, no convenient naps, no Luffy needing him.

A few minutes after he'd gone down, you followed, your heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and fierce resolve. The cargo hold was dimmer than the deck, filled with the scent of wood and salt, and the air felt heavy. You found him, just as he was setting down the last box. He stretched his back, letting out a low grunt of satisfaction. Before he could even turn around, you spoke, your voice firm.

"Zoro."

He stiffened, slowly turning to face you. His eye narrowed, and you could see the familiar pattern beginning: the slight shift of weight, the almost imperceptible movement designed to slip past you. But you were ready.

"Don't you dare move," you said, stepping forward, your voice surprisingly steady. "We need to talk."

Zoro's single eye landed on you, but almost immediately flicked to a spot just beyond your left shoulder, anywhere but meeting your gaze. His jaw was tight, his posture already coiling as if preparing for a sudden dodge.

But you were faster. The frustration of weeks, the sting of every dismissal, every averted glance, boiled over. You weren't holding back this time.

"Don't you dare look away from me, Roronoa Zoro!" you practically yelled, your voice echoing slightly in the hold. "What is your problem?! Do you have any idea how infuriating it is to be constantly ignored?! I've tried talking to you, I've tried sitting next to you, I've even tried to annoy you just to get a single word out of you! And all I get is grunts, huffs, and your back walking away!"

You gestured wildly, feeling the surge of emotion make you bold. "I get it, you're the quiet type, the brooding swordsman, whatever! But we're nakama! We're on the same ship! Everyone else has welcomed me, talked to me, shared stories, something! But you? It's like I'm a ghost, an inconvenience, a piece of furniture you wish wasn't there! What did I do? Is it my swordsmanship? Am I not good enough? Do you just hate me for no reason?!"

Your chest heaved, adrenaline coursing through you. You were so tired of the confusion, the self-doubt, the feeling of being utterly invisible to him. "Just tell me! Give me a reason! A real reason! Anything other than just walking away like I don't exist!"

Zoro's jaw clenched, the muscle flexing under his skin. His single, visible eye, which had been stubbornly fixed on the wall, finally, slowly, swung to meet yours. The usual indifference, the distant weariness, was gone, replaced by a raw, almost desperate intensity that took your breath away. He held your gaze, his chest heaving slightly from the earlier effort, and a low, guttural growl escaped him.

"Damn it," he rasped, his voice rough and laced with an unfamiliar strain. "It's not hate. It's because... because if I didn't ignore you, I'd just do this."

And then, before you could even process his words, his lips crashed against yours.

Your eyes, already wide with shock from his sudden confession and the unexpected contact, grew even larger as his lips met yours. It was a firm, almost bruising press, tasting faintly of salt and something uniquely him. Your mind reeled, a thousand thoughts colliding—he kissed me? did he just say what I think he said?—and for a critical second, you remained utterly still, unresponsive.

He pulled back, a harsh, almost pained breath escaping him. His single eye, still locked with yours, was now clouded with regret, a flicker of vulnerability you hadn't seen before. "I knew I shouldn't have," he muttered, his voice rough, already turning to walk away, to retreat back into his familiar silence and distance.

But this time, you weren't letting him. The shock dissipated, replaced by a surge of understanding, of relief, and a desperate, undeniable need. Your hand shot out, not thinking, not planning, just acting. Your fingers fisted in the soft fabric of his plain white shirt, right over his stomach, and with a strength born of pure emotion, you tugged. Hard.

He stumbled back, thrown off balance, and your bodies collided. Your hands found purchase on his shoulders, gripping him, and you rose onto your toes, bringing your lips crashing back against his. This kiss was different. It was desperate, a raw, demanding plea for connection that spoke volumes of everything you hadn't been able to say. Your mouth opened, a soft gasp escaping, and his lips, initially hesitant, responded, a deep, consuming fire igniting between you. It was a kiss of release, of unspoken understanding, of a tension that had been building between you since the moment you stepped onto this ship. It was a kiss that promised no more ignoring.

The initial surprise of his kiss had melted away, replaced by a searing, undeniable heat. Your fingers tightened on his shirt, clinging to him as the kiss deepened, becoming more desperate, more demanding. His hands, rough and calloused, found your waist, gripping you with a possessive strength that pulled you flush against his solid form. Every inch of you was pressed against him, and a soft moan escaped your throat, lost between your lips.

It was a consuming inferno, born of weeks of unspoken tension and raw, unleashed longing. You broke apart, gasping for air, your lungs burning, but the separation lasted only a fraction of a second. Your eyes, still wide and dazed, met his, reflecting the same hunger you felt. Without a word, he nudged you back, a slight push that sent you stumbling a step. You hit the wooden wall of the cargo hold with a soft thud, the unyielding surface a stark contrast to the burning intensity of his touch. He followed, caging you between his body and the hard planks, and his lips claimed yours once more, even more fiercely than before.

The world narrowed to the feel of his body pressed against yours, the scent of him, the intoxicating taste of his lips. Your hands, driven by instinct, abandoned his shoulders and tangled in the short, moss-green strands of his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until your head spun. Every touch, every desperate groan, stoked the flames higher. The air in the hold grew thick, charged with the palpable friction between you.

Then, he abruptly pulled away, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your forehead. His single eye, still dark with desire, searched yours, a flicker of doubt in its depths. His voice was a low, hoarse whisper, raw with exertion.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his grip on your waist tightening almost imperceptibly, as if seeking reassurance before going further.

You laughed, a breathless, shaky sound that was half disbelief, half pure exhilaration. "Are you sure? Are you kidding?" you gasped, your own lungs burning for air, for more of him. "Just fuck me already."

A slow, predatory smirk stretched across Zoro’s lips, a silent answer that sent a shiver down your spine. His mouth crashed back onto yours, a raw, hungry devourment. Almost simultaneously, his large, calloused hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt, cool against your heated skin. He pulled away from your lips just long enough to grasp the fabric, lifting it expertly over your head and tossing it aside, leaving your upper body exposed to the dim light of the cargo hold.

He lowered his head, his breath hot against your skin as he peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, trailing down your neck, over your shoulder, and across your sensitive collarbone. His fingers fumbled, a rare moment of uncertainty for the swordsman, before the soft clicks of your bra clasps echoed in the quiet space. With a practiced motion, he pulled the lace away, letting it fall to the floor.

Your breasts, now entirely exposed, rose and fell with your ragged breathing. His single eye, dark with desire, drank in the sight. A low, reverent rumble vibrated in his chest. "Beautiful," he mumbled, a rough, almost inaudible word. Then, he was on them, his mouth hot and wet, suckling lightly, sending jolts of pleasure straight through you. "Such a good girl," he rasped between heated kisses, his words a primal hum against your skin, driving you further into the intoxicating haze.

Your hands, desperate and seeking purchase, tightened in Zoro’s hair, your knuckles white against the dark green. A searing heat pulsed between your legs, a throbbing ache that demanded release. "Zoro..." you moaned, the word a breathless plea torn from your throat, your head falling back against the cool wood of the wall.

He pulled his mouth from your breast, leaving a slick, tingling trail in his wake. His gaze, heavy-lidded and intense, dropped to your hands, which had instinctively moved to the waistband of your pants. Your fingers plucked restlessly at the fabric, a silent, urgent invitation, almost succeeding in pulling them down over your hips. His own hand followed the path your fingers had blazed, his touch sending a fresh wave of shivers through you. His calloused fingertips brushed lightly against the juncture of your thighs, a teasing pressure that made you gasp.

He leaned in close, his warm breath ghosting over your ear, his voice a low, husky rumble that vibrated deep within you. "Please what, Y/n?" he murmured, the question a deliberate torment, each word laced with a knowing amusement that only heightened your desperation. He lingered there, his fingers still lightly grazing, promising and yet withholding, drawing out the exquisite agony. "Tell me what you want."

You whimpered, a soft sound lost in the dimness of the cargo hold, and instinctively rubbed your thighs together, seeking even a hint of the pressure you craved. Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment, heat flooding your face, before fluttering open to meet Zoro's intense gaze. The silence stretched, filled only with the ragged rhythm of your breaths.

He leaned in closer, his voice a low, teasing murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "Come on, sweetheart," he coaxed, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, just above your hips, "say it louder."

"Please..." you mumbled, your voice barely a whisper, your cheeks heating even further. "Please just... fuck me. I can't wait any longer." The words, though quiet, were clear enough for him to hear.

A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face, a flash of pure, unadulterated triumph. Without breaking eye contact, his hands moved with a practiced ease, swiftly pulling down your pants, the soft material pooling around your ankles.

You swiftly finished shucking off your pants, lifting your ankles to kick them free, sending the fabric scattering on the floor. Zoro's gaze followed every movement, his grin widening. Then, his rough, calloused fingers, surprisingly gentle, found their way to your lace panties, pressing firmly against your pulsing core. He teased you through the delicate material, a light, circular motion that sent a jolt of exquisite sensation straight through you. A choked whine escaped your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated need.

He chuckled, a low, husky sound that vibrated against your skin as he dipped his head, placing a hot, open-mouthed kiss just below your navel. "So wet for me already, hm?" he rumbled, his breath hot against your lower stomach, the sensation both intimate and utterly overwhelming. His tongue flickered out, tracing a burning path along your skin, circling just above the lace, hinting at the depths he was about to explore. Each stroke of his finger, each brush of his breath, stoked the fire within you, making your hips instinctively tilt into his hand, begging for more.

Your hips instinctively arched, rubbing against his teasing fingers, an involuntary movement born of desperate need. Zoro's other hand flattened against your lower stomach, pressing you firmly back against the cool, wooden wall, effectively pinning you and halting your restless movements.

"Stop moving," he grumbled, his voice a low, rough command under his breath, his breath ghosting over your skin. The pressure from his first hand eased, his fingers stopping their direct assault on your aching core. Instead, they moved to the side of your lace panties, his thumb and forefinger plucking lightly at the delicate fabric, teasing it away from your skin, stretching the lace just enough to hint at the promise beneath. It was a deliberate, slow torture, a silent assertion of control that left you breathless and trembling, anticipating his next move.

With a decisive movement, Zoro finally pulled your panties down, the flimsy lace joining your pants in a heap around your ankles. His gaze dropped, consuming the sight, and a low, soft whistle escaped his lips—a rare sound of pure appreciation.

"You're fucking soaked," he rasped, his voice thick with desire, his single eye glinting with dark amusement as he took in your flushed, exposed core. He then knelt, slowly, deliberately, bringing himself to eye level with your trembling thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat as his thick, calloused finger, surprisingly delicate, reached out. He traced the very edge of your swollen clit, not pressing, just outlining it, a whisper-light touch that promised everything and delivered nothing but exquisite torment. The slow, circling motion sent shivers like electric currents straight to your core, making your hips involuntarily tilt forward, a silent plea for more.

Your desperate hip tilt was met with a firm hand from Zoro, pressing against your thigh, stopping any further movement. A choked whine escaped your lips as he pulled his hand away from your clit entirely, leaving you aching and deprived.

"I said don't move," he rumbled, his voice a low warning that sent shivers through you despite the searing heat building between your legs. His gaze, dark and unyielding, pinned you to the wall. "You do wanna be fucked, don't you?"

"Y-yes... yes, I do, Zoro..." you whimpered, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush, your cheeks flushing with a desperate need. You couldn't tilt your hips anymore, held captive by his command and his hand.

Then, his finger returned, not to your clit this time, but shifting lower, his touch a feather-light tease before he found your hole. His finger didn't fully enter, but pressed against the opening, applying just enough pressure to make you intensely aware of him, the promise of what was to come a delicious torment.

Finally, with a slow, deliberate push, his thick finger eased into you. Your body tensed instantly, a sharp intake of breath catching in your throat as you felt the unfamiliar fullness, a distinct pressure on your inner thighs as your muscles involuntarily clenched. For a fleeting moment, a sting of discomfort, a sudden jolt of pain, blossomed inside you. But it was fleeting. As his finger slowly began to move, a slow, grinding friction against virgin territory, the initial discomfort quickly dissolved, giving way to a nascent wave of pleasure that began to ripple outwards, warm and undeniably potent.

A deep moan tore from your throat, your body tensing further as his finger continued its slow, deliberate rhythm. "Z-Zoro... fuck," you whined, your hands instinctively clenching in his moss-green hair, pulling at the roots.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Shhh," he murmured, the sound a gentle rumble against your skin. "Be quiet and relax. You don't want the crew to hear you, hm?" His finger, still deep inside you, curled slightly, then began a slow, rhythmic dance of pushing in and pulling out, a sensual torment that made your vision swim.You bit down hard on your lip, muffling the sounds of pleasure that threatened to spill from your throat. Your legs, already weak, began to tremble uncontrollably, threatening to give out completely beneath you. Zoro's gruff hand continued its relentless work inside you, his finger curling and stroking, pushing deeper with each slow, deliberate thrust. As you struggled against the sudden instability, trying desperately to stay upright, his other hand, which had been pinning you to the wall, subtly shifted. Instead of just holding you still, it now pressed firmly against your lower back, offering a steadying support that helped keep you on your feet. He was always observant, even in the throes of passion, subtly adjusting to your needs, ensuring you stayed pinned but also allowing you to stay upright, prolonging the exquisite torment.

His gaze, heavy-lidded and focused, never left your face as his finger continued its slow, merciless rhythm inside you. He watched your bitten lip, the tremor in your legs, the desperate clench of your hands in his hair.

"Good girl," he rumbled, the words vibrating against your ear as he leaned in closer. "You're doing so well for me. Just like this." His thumb, rough yet knowing, brushed against your clit from the outside, a light, teasing caress that sent a white-hot jolt through your entire being, making your hips instinctively buck against his touch even as his other hand held you steady. "Almost there, Y/n. Let go."

The light, teasing brush of his thumb against your clit was the final spark, igniting the tinderbox of sensation within you. A frantic, desperate energy surged through your veins, hot and demanding. Every nerve ending seemed to hum, vibrating with an exquisite pressure that built and built with each slow, deliberate push and curl of his finger inside you. The friction was a sweet agony, stretching and filling you in a way you hadn't known was possible, making your entire core throb with a singular, all-consuming need.

Your vision blurred at the edges, and the world narrowed to the feel of his touch, the scent of his skin, and the ragged gasps of your own breath. You felt your body tighten, coiling like a spring, muscles clenching deep inside you, instinctively gripping around his finger. A low, guttural moan escaped your throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"Zoro..." you gasped, your voice thick with unshed climax, the word barely a whisper against the roaring in your ears. Your nails dug into his scalp, pulling at his hair, desperate for something to ground you as the waves of sensation crashed over you. "I'm so close... Oh, God, I'm so close!" Your hips bucked involuntarily, a desperate, silent plea for him to push you over the edge.

The world exploded in a kaleidoscope of sensation. You clenched around Zoro's fingers, your body arching violently against the wall as a wave of pure, unadulterated release shuddered through you. A choked moan tore from your throat, muffled instantly by your hand that flew to cover your mouth, but the sound still reverberated in the small space. Tears, hot and involuntary, pricked at the corners of your eyes, blurring Zoro's intense gaze as your legs finally gave out, threatening to buckle beneath you.

Zoro's grip on your waist tightened, holding you steady against the wall. His thumb, which had been teasing your clit, now pressed firmly, almost possessively, as your body spasmed around his finger. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, a low, satisfied growl rumbling deep in his chest.

"That's it," he rasped, his voice rough with triumph and a hint of something deeper, something possessive. "Mine."

With a soft groan of satisfaction, Zoro slowly withdrew his thick finger from you, a glistening trail of your release following its exit. He brought it to his lips, his gaze still locked with yours, as he tasted the slick evidence of your climax, a faint, almost primal hum vibrating in his chest. His eyes, dark with raw desire, deepened as he savored the flavor.

He pulled his finger away from his mouth, his breathing still ragged, and then, without breaking the intense eye contact, his lips crashed against yours once more. This kiss was desperate, an immediate, consuming plunge into the depths of raw passion. You could taste yourself on his lips—a sweet, tangy essence mingled with his own unique scent—a potent, intoxicating flavor that pulled you deeper into the intoxicating swirl of sensation. It was a kiss that sealed the unspoken pact between you, a tangible connection after weeks of frustrating silence.As the kiss deepened, Zoro broke away only long enough to reach down, the sound of his zipper echoing softly in the cargo hold. His pants fell to his ankles, joining your discarded clothing in a forgotten heap. The dark fabric gave way to the undeniable outline of his enraged cock, straining against the material of his boxers, a formidable presence threatening to spring free.

You, still reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, took a shaky, deep breath. Your eyes, wide and heavy-lidded, instinctively dropped, drawn by an almost magnetic pull to the impressive bulge straining against the cloth. It was thick and long, a formidable shape that promised to fill you completely, and the sight sent a fresh jolt of anticipation through your still-trembling body.

Your eyes, still a little glazed, traveled up from the rigid outline beneath his boxers to meet his gaze. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face, a silent challenge in his dark eye. He reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers, and with a swift, fluid motion, he peeled them down.

His cock sprang free, thick and engorged, pulsing with a raw, undeniable power. You let out a soft gasp, not of surprise, but of pure awe. It was even more impressive unleashed.

"Ready, Y/n?" he rumbled, his voice rough with anticipation, his hand already reaching for your hips, pulling you flush against him. The heat radiating from his erection was almost unbearable, pressing against your slick core.

You could only nod, your voice caught somewhere in your throat, your hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders, your body already arching to meet his.

Without breaking the intense gaze that held yours captive, Zoro's hand slid down, grasping your legs just above the knee, lifting them effortlessly to wrap around his waist. His formidable dick, hot and slick, lined up precisely with your eager, aching hole. He leaned in, his lips claiming yours in a rough, possessive kiss just as he began to push.

The penetration was a slow, grinding invasion, and the pain was immediate. A sharp, stretching agony that stole your breath and made your body instinctively tense. You gasped against his mouth, a muffled cry lost in the desperate clash of lips and teeth as he pushed further, claiming every inch, filling you to the point of bursting.

The rhythm deepened, becoming a powerful, consuming dance. Each thrust drove him deeper, making you gasp and whimper, the initial discomfort long forgotten, replaced by an escalating fire that coursed through your veins. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for more. Your hands tangled in his hair again, clutching, pulling, urging him on.

"Zoro... fuck..." you panted, the words broken, barely coherent.

He pulled back almost completely, then drove forward with a powerful thrust that elicited a sharp cry from your lips. His hand, rough and heavy, slapped your exposed ass cheek with a resounding smack.

"That's it, slut," he rumbled, his voice dark and possessive, the impact sending a jolt of both pain and fierce arousal through you. "Just like that. Take all of me."

He quickened his pace, his movements becoming more primal, more urgent, driving you to the edge of delirium. You arched into him, meeting his every thrust, your world dissolving into the relentless rhythm of his body against yours, lost in the raw, consuming pleasure.

The sharp sting of his hand on your ass, combined with the raw possessiveness in his voice, ignited something primal deep within you. You bucked against him, a desperate, guttural moan tearing from your throat, no longer caring if the entire crew heard. His pace intensified, a relentless, driving force that pushed you higher and higher.

"Zoro! Please!" you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders, your head thrown back against the cool wood of the wall. The world was a dizzying blur of sensation—the friction, the heat, the intoxicating smell of his sweat, the taste of him on your tongue from the previous kiss.

He leaned down, his teeth gently nipping at your earlobe, sending shivers through your already electrified body. "Beg for it, Y/n," he rasped, his voice a low, dark growl that vibrated through your bones. "Tell me you want it."

"I want it! I want it, Zoro! All of it!" you cried, your hips clenching around him, muscles tightening around his formidable length. The pressure built to an unbearable crescendo, a sweet, agonizing torment that threatened to shatter you.

His movements grew more frantic, a primal, unstoppable force. Your body was a taut bowstring, stretched to its absolute limit, every nerve ending screaming. You could feel the tremors beginning deep within your core, the precursor to the inevitable release. Your fingers, now tangled in his hair, pulled, urging him faster, harder.

"That's it," he grunted, his breath ragged in your ear, his voice thick with his own impending climax. "Give it to me, Y/n." He slammed into you one last time, a powerful, all-consuming thrust that sent a blinding flash of white-hot pleasure through every fiber of your being.

A guttural cry tore from your throat, a sound of pure, unbridled ecstasy as your body convulsed around him, clenching, milking every last ounce of pleasure. Your legs locked around his waist, holding him tight as the waves of orgasm crashed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

Zoro let out a deep, satisfied groan, his body shuddering against yours as he released himself deep inside you, the hot surge of his come mixing with your own juices. He slumped against you, his forehead resting against your temple, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled back just enough for his lips to find yours, pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss. It was a kiss of exhaustion, of raw triumph, and of a connection forged in the depths of shared passion.

They remained pressed together, bodies still intimately entwined, the only sounds their ragged breaths and the gentle creaking of the ship around them. The raw intensity of their shared release slowly softened into a warm, lingering afterglow. You could feel the heavy thud of Zoro's heart against your chest, slowly returning to a normal rhythm. Your own limbs felt like jelly, deliciously heavy and spent.

After a long minute, where the silence was comfortable rather than stifling, Zoro shifted, pulling back slightly to look at you. His eye, no longer clouded by raw desire, held a surprisingly soft, almost vulnerable expression. He reached up, his rough thumb gently brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

"Y/n," he rumbled, his voice still a bit hoarse, but no longer laced with the earlier urgency. He took a breath, the words seemingly pulled from deep within him. "Damn it. I… I think I really like you."

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chrattsbrat · 3 days ago

Text

* SWITCHING POSITIONS

summary: matt is usually in control but he lets you take over this time.. but not for long.

warnings: rough sex, course language, cry, begging, teasing, demanding matt, mentions of chris

"sweetheart" matt groaned, his voice filled with a mix of pleasure and frustration as you slowly rode his cock, teasing him with each agonizingly slow thrust. matt was used to being in control but this time he surrendered to you hoping for a different kind of pleasure. Matt realized that he immediately regretted his decision. the longing to take charge again consumed him.

his hands were bound to the headboard of the bed as your hole consumed his cock. extremely too slow for his liking. he felt like he could cry. all he wanted was to flip you over and slam into you, hear you cry and moan and beg to be allowed to cum. but he was playing by your rules now. he couldn't do anything but lay there and take it.

"what is it baby?" you teased and god did matt want to slap that smug smile right off your pretty face. he knew you were taunting him, wanting him to submit and become a whining mess like you usually would.

"faster" matt groaned in what sounded like an order and you weren’t having that. you continued the slow pace of teasing matt.

"princess if you don't go faster, i'm gonna break these fucking handcuffs and fuck you until you can't walk!" matt growled through gritted teeth, forgetting he wasn't in charge here. with a sudden, unexpected force, you delivered a sharp slap across Matt’s face, mirroring the dominance matt had shown you before. the sting made matt wince, a mix of surprise and arousal coursing through his veins. "did you forget you're not in charge this this time matt? be a good boy and be patient or i won't let you cum at all." you explained, forcing matt to hold eye contact.

matt whined pouting up at you, trying his best to look as sweet as possible but he was just playing along with you "princess?" he moaned breathlessly catching your attention "i need to touch you, please!" matt begged, trying his absolute hardest to sound sweet and innocent, doing whatever it took to get his hands free and on you.

"yeah? are you gonna be a good boy for me?"

"i'll be good. i promise," matt responded and that was a bold lie. he didn't plan on behaving at all. it seemed to be enough for you to give in, moving to undo matt restraints and freeing his hands from the bed. a sadistic smile played matt lips as he got what he wanted, but he made sure you didn't catch a glimpse before his hands were finally free.

and as soon as his hands were free he eagerly gripped your hips, flipping them over so he was now on top and eliciting a surprised gasp from you. he immediately attacked your mouth with his own, their lips and tongues moving together so perfectly. You surrendered to the pleasure, your dominant facade fading away. matt let out a sigh of relief as their warm bodies finally pressed together, and he began a rapid pace of thrusting into you. his cock stretched your eager hole with every thrust and the head continuously abused your clit. the room filled with their erotic moans and cries into each other's mouths.

matt watched your eyes roll back, a sense of pride mixing with the pleasure. he loved making you feel this way.

"god you're so fucking hot" matt growled into your ear and it made you twitch at the words, feeling impossibly closer to the edge. eyes rolling back. moaning and whimpering pathetically. matt leaned down to capture his lips again, his tongue swirling around yours.

"matt- i'm gonna cum!" you exclaimed, a plea for permission laced with desire. matt, with a mischievous smirk and heavy breaths, glanced down at your pulsating pussy. his thumb teasingly swirling around the sensitive bud, digging his thumb into the slit, causing your body to jolt with pleasure, accompanied by a whimper that escaped your lips. biting down on your lip, your back arched.

"yeah? you wanna make a mess on this pretty cock?" matt taunted, kissing your jaw. "you gotta beg for it baby." Matt explained.

"please let me cum? feels so- fuck- so good! so good!" you cried, eyes streaming tears from them.

"such a good girl for me." matt praised. you would never admit how much he secretly loved when matt spoke to you like that.

"fuck baby, i'm gonna cum." matt moaned and that's when you lost it. you loved making matt feel good. within seconds you were spilling warm pearly white all over Matt’s cock and the pillow beneath you with a loud cry. your body jolted and trembled as the aftershocks of your orgasm hit while matt continued to fuck into you before stilling his hips completely. cock shoved all the way inside your tight hole. Matt came inside with an animalistic moan before he pulled out and collapsed onto you, your bodies entangled and your chests rising and falling with each breath. sex always exhausted you both. So you both lay there, panting and trying to catch your breath. when Matt finally caught his he kissed your forehead before pushing up "here let me clean you up." you immediately missed the warm, comforting feeling of matt on your chest.

"we should ask chris to join us next time ." you sleepily stated making Matt’s eyes go wide eyed in shock of the bold statement. "yeah? you want chris to fuck you too baby? want him to use you while i use your pretty mouth?" matt whispered in your ear. your eyes rolled back at the filthy words fueling the filthy thoughts in his mind.

"imagine how pretty you’d look all tied up while we fuck you." matt smirked as you twitch at his words.

"should i tell him you want him to use you baby?"

"fuck! matt stop saying shit like that or i'm gonna get worked up again." you whined.

#chratt #chrissturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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feelfreetopleasemexo · 2 days ago

Text

Proof that dynamite has a heart, part two.

You needed to find him, to explain to him in anyway possible that he had gotten the wrong idea. You could pummel him so he was forced to listen….no he was too strong. You could write him a letter….hed just burn it up before reading it. You could call his mum….that was stupid, if he wasn’t going to listen to you theres no way he’d ever listen to her. You were lost, nothing could make sense to you in this moment, nothing came to mind to help you make him realise…until you heard footsteps behind you. It was the reporter, shakily holding his camera from his hands. He was recording all of that?! Youd just saved his life and he was broadcasting your most vulnerable moments to the entire world? You slammed your fist down, surrounding you in a cloud of smoke as you ran off, you were broken and angry, at the world, at him, at katsuki for not listening, at yourself for letting the reporter even get close enough to you to brush your face. Everything felt like it was burning up around you, you couldnt breathe, you couldn’t stop shaking, your whole world had been ripped away from you in an instant, and now everyone was going to think Katsuki was a monster for shouting at you.

You didnt know where to go, so you ended up back at his apartment. He wasn’t home, you could see this from the lack of light illuminating the windows, and the lack of explosions erupting from inside. You went in and fell straight onto his bed, screaming and crying into his pillow, desperately trying to decide if it was right for you to even be here anymore. Every tiny noise made you jump, terrified that he was going to come home and instantly blast you out of there. You write three notes for him, the first a long explanation as to what had happened, knowing it would probably be incinerated before it was read, the second a slightly shorter message apologising and asking to talk, that would also be blown up instantly. The last read,

‘Im sorry. I’ll leave you alone. I will always love you.’

With the ring placed ontop of it. You wanted to write more, wanted to pour your heart out, but you knew he was far too angry to read, to understand, youd ruined his life on live television without meaning to. You packed up all the little trinkets that you had scattered around his apartment, all the photos of you two together, all the silly little love notes he swore he hated but still kept in their places anyway, your fuzzy slippers and hair bands strew across the bathroom too, that he swore cluttered up the place. You eradicated anything that would remind him of you, you only left one photo on his desk, a photo of the both of you on your first day at his Agency. Youd forced him to take the photo, to prove to the world that he wasnt that scary, and that indeed dynamite had a heart. You kissed the faded photo of him and placed it back down on his desk, turning around and lugging your bags over your shoulders and leaving your key posted back through the door as you locked it. You knew he wasn’t the type to pine over you, he didn’t need constant reminders of you flooding his safe space, so you left no trace of your life together behind.

Youd assumed hed gone back to the agency to beat kirishima up to let his anger out, kirishima was always good like that, he let Katsuki use him as his emotional punching bag. He told everyone it was a way of making sure his quirk was as strong as it needed to be to be a pro hero, but you knew he was doing it to help Katsuki, to save him from burning up from the inside out. You wanted to ring him and explain what had happened, to beg for his forgiveness for hurting his best friend, as if youd done anything wrong, but you knew you couldnt. Not yet. You didn’t need Katsuki thinking you were sleeping with him too, he needed his best friend, you couldnt let anything get in the way of that. So you rang izuku, if anyone knew Katsuki it was him.

“Izuku, I need you. Im sorry it’s late, and I’m sorry we haven’t talked much in the past few days, I just…” You couldnt hold your tears back any longer, they were flooding your throat and your cheeks. “I can’t lose him, please.”

“I’ll be with you in a few minutes, meet me at the coffee shop by his apartment, it’s okay you won’t lose him.” Izuku was stern but soft spoken, he knew he needed to be there for you.

You stood tapping your foot against the floor as you leant against the building, your cigarette barely touched as it burnt out in your fingers. Izuku walked up to you and hugged you, embracing his arms tightly around you as you tried to stifle back your tears. He offered you a tissue to dry your tears, as you both continued to walk through the town.

“I can only imagine how badly he’s hurting Kirishima right now. I know he’s tough, but kacchans explosions are a next level type of brutality.” Izuku spoke sweetly, his green hair dancing in the wind as he tried his best to comfort you.

“Yeah, Im assuming he’s there too, I feel bad for forcing kirishima to put up with that shit..” Izuku interrupted you,

“You haven’t forced anyone to do anything, don’t worry. Be kind to yourself, you’ve done nothing wrong. I know it may seem like you’re the worst person in the world right now, but I promise you you’re not. Okay?” His sweet smile warmed your heart, you knew he was the best person to help you calm down, his demeanour was soft and kind, even if he didn’t have such immense power hed still be the most powerful hero around with that smile.

“Im gonna kill that report I swear…” You said looking at your feet, trying to get the picture of his face out of your head. Izuku stopped in his tracks, a finger to his chin as he mumbled to himself.

“The recording equipment is his quirk correct? Maybe he recorded the whole ordeal between you two? Maybe you could ask to get a record of it to show Katsuki, prove to him how it all happened?”

“You think either of them would listen to me right now?” You looked at him with half lidded swollen eyes, your desperation faltering at this proposal, there was not enough force in the world to get Katsuki to listen to you right now.

“Theres only one way to find out. You head to the reporter and I’ll head to kacchan, I’ll meet you at the agency in half an hour. I promise you I’ll get kacchan to listen to you, even if it means using reasonable force.” His smile quivered at his lip, his eyes tearing up as his determination shone through. You hugged him tightly and nodded, a small thank you managed to slip through your tight throat as he nodded and shot off towards his impending fight with Katsuki.

You managed to track down the reporter, pleading to him to let the footage free so you could show Katsuki that you didn’t want the kiss, didnt want the world to think youd cheated on him and worse yet, didnt want the world to think of him as a monster.

“And why would I do that? Our ratings are through the roof, everyone saw how he hurt you, they’re all furious at him for hurting his side kick, better yet his girlfriend. They don’t need convincing hes a monster, this was just the last final push to show them what they already feared. It means great things for you too, you rejected me and then became the wounded hero, left broken and bruised as the promise of marriage got ripped away from you. They love you! You’ll be the number two in no time…”His voice trailed off as he saw you drop to your knees, clutching your chest crying at his feet.

“Please…I can’t lose him. Hes everything to me. It’ll eat him up inside, it’ll shatter his heart. Please, he doesn’t deserve anymore pain, he’s been through enough.” You heard the click of the reporters quirk activate as you pleaded to him, looking up and being met with a camera lens an inch away from your face.

“What a sweet hero, begging to try save Dynamite, even thought he hurt her. This ladies and gentleman is what coercion in a relationship looks like, watch as she begs, tries to sacrifice herself to protect the man who hurt her. If you or anyone you love is being hurt by a partner then please dont refrain from calling the appropriate authorities.” The shock and anger became too much for you to handle. You grabbed the reporter by the throat and lifted him above your head as you let the flames engulf your other hand. You spoke directly to the lens in your face.

“This reporter is trying to destroy dynamites reputation by withholding important information. For the safety of the pro hero’s name, and the sanity of myself, I will now force him to active his quirk and show you the recording he has of him forcing himself onto me. I by no means condone the type of behaviour I am about to demonstrate, it is purely to clear dynamites name and show the world how cruel and misconstrued reporters can be. Im sorry.” And with that you reached your burning flames to the reporters chest, engulfing it entirely in warm sparks. Your flames weren’t particularly powerful in this instance, but you let them burn slightly hotter than youd wanted to, as his quirk activated and he replied the events that had caused the world to think dynamite had attacked you.

The world saw him advance you, you reject him, your declaration of love for dynamite, then Katsuki seeing everything from a distance. It was clear it had been misconstrued through the reporter, and what they all had thought was dynamite attacking you, was his frustration and anger at his own miscalculation of the events. You didn’t want everyone to see Katsuki being vulnerable, you knew he’d be beyond pissed at them seeing him nearly cry ontop of you, but you needed the world to see the truth. You went to dim your flames as the last of the recording played, but then it flicked to the reporter paying the villain money for his role in the carefully constructed play. He had planned this whole ordeal out, every moment, every tiny detail.

“You…you planned this? You planned our downfall for what….more ratings? The chance to potentially get your dick wet when I was beyond vulnerable? You’re a disgusting villain….” The flames burnt brighter as you clutched his neck harder in your fist. You wanted to kill him, wanted to make an example out of him, to show what really happens when you fuck around with hero’s lives. You were suddenly stopped as izuku and Katsuki shouted at you from behind you, carefully keeping their distance. You flicked your head to meet their gaze, lowering the reporter slightly as you saw how concerned izuku looked. You didn’t want them to see you as dangerous, but they looked at you with extreme caution and fear.

“Y/n, can you please put the reporter down? I spoke to kacchan and we saw the live stream, he believes you! Just, put your flames out, everything’ll be okay.”

Izukus voice shook, youd heard this tone before, he was talking to you like a villain. You felt disgusted in yourself, you lowered the reporter and extinguished your flames, falling to your knees and crying into your hands. Youd never seen that look of concern and anxiety in Katsukis eyes before, he truly thought of you as a threat in that moment.

Suddenly, as the reporter scrambled away from you, your whole body became engulfed in blue flames. You were too hurt, too broken, your quirk had become too much to handle, it had evolved into something unmanageable. You cried and screamed as your heart shattered inside your chest, not only had you lost your best friend, your future husband, but now there was no coming back from him looking at you like a villain. Your worst nightmares had been realised and played out right infront of you.

Your guttural screams shattered katsukis chest, as his feet moved before his mind, izuku tried to stop him but he was too fast. He burst through your flames as they scorched his skin, he dropped to his knees and held you against him. Your flames burnt the skin surrounding his forearms, his face, his chest, but he didn’t care. He winced through the pain and held you tighter, tears burning up before they could reach his cheeks. He sobbed into your head as you clung to him, desperately trying to put your flames out, but seeing they couldnt so easily be turned off, you started back away from him, screaming for him to leave you alone.

“Get back kats! I can’t turn them off! I can’t burn you like this, please, just run!” He grabbed your collar and pulled you into a passionate kiss. Your fire dancing around you both, now creating a circle forming around you both.

“Not a fucking chance, if you burn up then so do I, you fucking idiot. I love you, I have always loved you, and I will always love you.” As he embraced you and continued to cover you in kisses, your flames finally diminished, along with the help from izukus wind pressure. You lay in katsukis arms, burnt and breathing deeply, trying to get any oxygen you could, he looked down at you with burns singeing his own skin, as he whispered to you before you lost consciousness,

“How could I ever let the heart of Katsuki Bakugo ever burn up. You’re stuck with me now idiot, I’ll marry you and show the world that no one fucks with us, not now, not ever.”

You could see his smile fading away as your eyes fluttered closed, he really did believe you and izuku, he really did love you. If you died now, youd did happy knowing he loved you just as much as you loved him.

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wordsofwhimsy · 15 hours ago

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𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑌𝑜𝑢...

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x GN!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Friends-to-???, angst

Word Count: 1.676

Synopsis: Being a hero was hard. And being their best friend? Well, that’s hard too.

a/n: i legit did not mean to make this into a full on one-shot. it was just supposed to be a mindless rambling i kept coming back to between listening to calls at work but it just kept goinggg ugh so if it sucks & seems discombobulated that’s why!! sorry ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

They say that good things come to those who wait.

Waiting, as it turns out, can be painful. Agonizing. Hollowing. A process so slow you don’t even realize it’s happening until one day you’re sat on the shower floor, water gone cold as it drops across your goose-bump covered skin.

Your mind was blank, too tired to even echo what was weighing inside your chest.

Mark had been gone for over a month. No calls. No texts. Not even updates from the news on the latest whereabouts or sightings of Earth’s greatest defender. You visited Debbie every day—he’d asked you to. Said that she just needed some company, and that the house was too quiet now that his dad was gone. You, of course, said yes. You would’ve gone to see her even if he didn’t ask. She was like a second mom to you, after all.

She’d made you a cake for your 12th birthday. Took you to pick out new shoes for the start of freshmen year. Drove you home from school more times than you could count. Before puberty hit, sleepovers were a regular occurrence for you at the Grayson household. You and Mark used to even share a bed—both so excited to dawn your favorite hero pajamas. Even in your teens, you still would occasionally stay the night. Still in Mark’s bed—though now he slept on the couch.

Debbie insisted it be that way. Saying it was only the gentlemanly thing to do. He hated it every time, and you felt guilty, every time. But there was never any room for argument. Just a resigned acceptance of fate as you buried yourself deep in the clean bedspread, blanket pulled to cover your mouth as your wide eyes watched him retreat to the living room with slumped shoulders. Utterly defeated by people much shorter than him.

You’d known about his dad being a super for a long time.

Ever the inquisitive and observant child, you found yourself just staring with round unblinking eyes as his mom one day loaded the very familiar red and white suit into the laundry.

“Isn’t that Omni-Man’s suit?” You asked pointblank. Debbie jumped, cursing quietly under her breath as she whipped around to face you.

“[Y/N]! What—I thought you were outside playing with Mark!” She stuttered on an exhale. You blinked owlishly, eyes never leaving the costume she was now trying to hold behind her back.

“I was. But then I got thirsty.” You took a sip from your juice box, as if being reminded of your own dehydration.

“I’m just doing laundry sweetheart, this was just something Mr. Grayson wore for Halloween,” she tried to explain away with a sweet but tired smile. A dribble of juice ran down your chin that you didn’t bother to wipe.

“But it’s March.”

Debbie’s brow twitched. The corner of her lip did too.

“Mrs. Grayson, I think your husband might be a superhero.”

After that, the family could only keep up the charade around you for so long. Soon enough it would all come completely falling out of the bag. Not in full detail, of course, but enough for you to understand the importance of keeping the information to yourself. And you did so dutifully. You loved the Grayson’s and would never do anything to hurt or betray them.

You and Mark started daydreaming together about what it would be like when he finally crested that hill to herodom. How you made him promise that he’d take you flying right away. A back-and-forth speculation of just how strong he’d actually be.

“I bet you’ll be able to karate chop through a brick!”

“I bet 10 bricks!”

“I bet a million!!”

When high school rolled around, Mark still very much just the average student, you were there to comfort him. Even give him a hard time like was it really so bad to be ordinary like you? He’d give you that guilty grin, shaking his head like you’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

You were so far from ordinary. He just didn’t know how to say it.

The night he got his powers was otherwise uneventful.

You were sitting in the dining room of the Burger Mart, throwing down fries as you read and reread the same paragraph from your study packet for the US History exam. You were waiting for Mark, like you always did, to end his shift so you could walk home together. He didn’t have his license—insisting that he wouldn’t need to drive as soon as his Viltrumite genes kicked in.

You had no such pride. Just no money, and consequently, no car.

He’d mentioned once about how he bet he could convince his mom and dad to buy you one, but the conversation died there. That was something where your pride did indeed play a factor. The last thing you needed was for him and his family to see you as a charity case.

Besides, you enjoyed your walks together. Just the two of you and the endless dark above.

Only, this night, Mark didn’t meet you out in the dining room at closing, and instead you were being ushered out by the manager. On the sidewalk you turned back to the restaurant, brows pinched together in confusion. You pulled out your phone, ready to call him—had he seriously left without you?

Just as the device was being brought to your ear you felt yourself being ransacked hard from the left, your mouth falling open in a terrified scream.

“Oh my god [y/n] it happened!!”

Your heart was still racing despite having recognized his voice immediately. Now even the familiarity of his smell was registering to you as you struggled to turn your face out of his chest and catch a breath. “Shut the fuck up—NO WAY!!” You gasped, any fear or anger from the surprise attack immediately melting away.

Then he was hoisting you up and full-on RUNNING to the back of the Burger Mart, and if you were being honest, that casual display of strength was answer enough.

But not for Mark.

He steadied you back on your feet when you reached behind the dumpsters, giving you the chance to see his face for the first time. His eyes were wide and shining, grinning even wider than when he learned they were planning to make a Séance Dog movie.

“Okay—watch this,” he said with dramatic flair, taking a step back and reaching for a tin can that didn’t quite make it into the trash. You grimaced a bit at the grossness, but didn’t push it.

He turned, and with a casual toss of his arm flung the can into what you could only presume was low orbit. Your jaw fell slack and before you knew it you were bouncing on your feet, clapping your hands and giggling like crazy. “HOLY SHIT IT’S ACTUALLY HAPPENING!” You squealed, eyes flying back to him with the light of the sun.

Mark’s breath caught in his throat at the sight.

Without thinking you scampered behind him with wild excitement and awkwardly climbed up his back.

“Wait, what are you doing?” He laughed; despite the way his arms instinctively hooked beneath your knees to keep you secure.

“What the hell do you think!” You practically cried, locking your arms tight around his neck. “I told you I’M gonna be the first person you take flying!!” You kicked your feet into his thighs and pointed one finger vaguely in front of you. “C’moooon, let’s go!!”

He winced a bit at the light kick but laughed anyways, his fingers digging just a bit deeper into your skin. “Jeez, kinda killing my buzz here,” he said with a smile. “I haven’t even tried doing that yet. I literally just flung a trash bag past the horizon and then—well, yeah, I went to find you.”

Something fluttered in your stomach at his words. You chalked it up to nerves.

“Ugh, okay okay I get it: you need a crash course in flying before you take up passengers.” You sighed and untied your arms from his neck, leaning back and letting your hands slide down his back.

Was it always this… muscled?

A small chill ran down his neck at your touch. He shook his head, as if that would clear away the feeling you just gave him that he didn’t quite understand.

“I think my mom would actually kill me if she found out I took you up flying this soon.” He bent a knee to carefully set you back down, his fingers slipping just barely higher up your thigh as your feet made contact with the ground.

You both pretended like the feeling in your heart was nothing.

The beginning seemed so fun. So impossible. Like a dream both of you couldn’t wait to experience every day.

But the weight of the world came crashing too soon. The truth of Nolan’s purpose here. The hurt. The healing. The emptiness that followed.

And then there was you. Trying to be his stability through it all. His one constant. Forever there, dependable, a guarantee that he could bet on day and night. You never realized the way it ate away at you. Knowing now that despite his hero namesake he wasn’t truly invincible at all.

That you’d nearly lost him that night.

That every time he flew off into the sky, into space, into another dimension—there was a chance he’d never come back.

What you were left with was all your swallowed feelings. All your stunted thoughts. A constant ache in your heart and sickness in your stomach. A love you didn’t know how to express, and a fear that you never would.

He was the world’s hero now. The one they all needed more than ever. The one that had to let go of the idea of college, and a normal life.

The one who still gave up his bed for you.

Your best friend.

Your Mark.

#invincible fanfic #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson fanfic #mark grayson x gn reader #mark grayson x y/n #mark grayson x you

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riddlesrizzler · 2 days ago

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hello there, sweet soul! i have a little request, if you’re open to it (of course, there’s no pressure at all).

inspired by the charm of !deer reader, i dreamed up a story about theodore nott. he’s been having a recurring dream—a forest cloaked in mist, quiet as a held breath. in the heart of it stands a deer, watching him with wide, gentle eyes, as if calling to something deep inside him.

then, one day, a new girl arrives. and something about her tugs at him. he doesn’t understand why, only that he needs to look again.

one night, on one of his usual escapes to the astronomy tower, he finds her there. and when he sees her clearly, truly sees her—he recognizes those same soft, doe eyes from his dreams.

i’ve fallen in love with your writing and would be over the moon to read your take on this story. thank you so much for reading this—truly. 🤍🦌

omg thank you so much for this request and I am so sorry it has taken me some time to get to!

but I am so glad that you love deer! reader and this was so fun to write! I hope you enjoy!

Theodore Nott dreamed often, but never of things he knew.

He didn’t dream of school or of people or the cold marble halls of his manor. His dreams didn’t take the shape of faces or voices. They came instead in texture-mist thick enough to touch, quiet that pressed against his ears like velvet, air so still it made his heart pound louder than it should.

Always the same forest.

Its trees reached high into the grey sky, gnarled branches clawing at the clouds. Moss curled around the roots, and the fog never lifted. The world in those dreams was colorless, but not lifeless. There was something watching.

And in the center of it all stood a doe.

She was still. Not with fear, but with purpose. Poised like something sacred. Her eyes were dark, wide, endless. When Theodore looked at her, he felt the strangest sense of knowing-not like meeting someone new, but like recognizing a lullaby from childhood, or a scent from a house you’d long forgotten.

She never moved. Never fled.

Only watched.

And he woke each time with a name just out of reach, his chest hollow and aching, his palms curled like they’d been reaching for something that wasn't there.

It had been weeks since the dreams began when she arrived.

He didn’t even notice her at first-she wasn’t the sort of girl people paid much attention to. She sat in the back of classrooms, never raised her hand, and rarely smiled unless it was to herself. Her robes were always a little too big, like they belonged to someone else before her. Her hair was soft and unassuming. She carried books that looked older than she was, pages frayed from love.

Theodore didn’t notice her, not properly, until he caught her staring at the lake.

It was a Tuesday. Grey skies, wind curling off the water. He was walking back from Care of Magical Creatures alone, his mind in that familiar foggy half-state the dreams left him in. She stood by the edge, shoes just shy of the damp grass, chin tilted like she was waiting for something to rise from the depths.

And the way she stood-the tilt of her head, the soft stillness of her expression-it knocked the breath clean from his lungs.

He stopped walking. Just stood there for a moment, heart thudding for no reason he could explain.

It’s not her, he told himself. That’s ridiculous.

But something whispered otherwise.

Days passed, and he found himself looking for her without meaning to. In the Great Hall, in the corridors, in the reflection of the window glass. She didn’t act like the other girls. She didn’t act like anyone at all. And for some reason, that bothered him more than he expected.

Theodore Nott didn’t chase things.

He didn’t chase people.

So instead he watched.

He started walking the long way to class. Started lingering in the library. Started paying attention.

And still, he couldn’t shake the way her presence pulled at something wordless in him.

It was past curfew when he saw her again.

The Astronomy Tower was his escape. It had always been his-tucked above the castle, so high the world fell away below. The night pressed cold against the stone, and the stars stretched wide above, uncaring and beautiful.

He climbed the final steps, mind thick with fog again, hoping maybe the sky could quiet it.

But when he pushed the door open, someone was already there.

She stood at the far end, arms folded on the ledge, chin resting on her hands. The moon spilled across her face, catching in her lashes, lighting the edge of her hair like frost.

She didn’t turn when the door creaked. Didn’t move.

Theodore froze.

He thought about leaving-pretending he hadn’t meant to come here-but something in him refused. So he stepped forward instead, each movement careful, like she might vanish if he startled her.

She turned her head slightly, just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye.

“I thought I was the only one who came up here,” she said quietly, voice barely above the wind.

His throat felt dry. “You’re not.”

Her mouth curved into the smallest of smiles. “It’s peaceful.”

He nodded, unsure what to say. Her presence felt like a dream he hadn’t fully woken from. Familiar. Too familiar.

“I’ve seen you before,” she said, turning to face him now. “You’re Theodore.”

He blinked. “Yeah.”

“You look like someone who doesn’t sleep well,” she added, voice gentle. Not mocking. Not curious, even. Just… aware.

“I don’t,” he admitted before he could stop himself.

A pause. Her eyes searched his face like she already knew what she was looking for.

“You dream, though.”

The air between them grew still. Something in his chest twisted.

“How do you-?”

“I dream too,” she said, and her voice softened, like she was saying something sacred. “A forest. Always fog. And a boy. He never speaks, but… he looks lost.”

Theodore’s heart slammed against his ribs.

His lips parted, but no sound came.

She stepped closer, and in the moonlight, he saw.

Those eyes.

The ones from the forest. Gentle. Deep. Knowing.

A memory disguised as a person.

“I think you’ve been looking for something,” she whispered.

He swallowed hard, the wind rattling through his bones. “And you?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “I think I’ve been waiting to be found.”

#ask the rizzler #theodore nott #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott #slytherin boys #slytherin #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #slytherin aesthetic #harry potter #my works #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #deer!reader #animagus!reader

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4doras · 22 hours ago

Text

STUDYING WITH BOYNEXTDOOR ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆

boynextdoor x reader

genre. fluff

wc. 1.4k (200+ per member)

a/n. this came to me mid test LOLLL happy finals month (💔💔) also not proofread!!

౨ৎ SUNGHO

sungho is terribly patient with you. if you’re struggling, he’d explain things clearly without making you feel bad, assuring you that no one could understand it without help. he’s not overly passionate or pushy, but he checks in with small gestures – a little nudge if you’re distracted, a quiet “you got this” when you’re frustrated or stuck, and if you’re doing well, he notices and smiles.

more under the cut!

you tapped your pencil on the desk, biting at the skin on your lip, hoping it’d help you solve the question that lay on the paper. you had been stuck on the same question for the past seven minutes, your textbook staying lying open onto the same page you started on. and of course, sungho being sungho, noticed it.

“you need help?” sungho asked, already solving the question in his head. “yeah, i don’t really understand it.” sungho reassured you, telling you how nothing’s easy the first time.

before he would continue explaining, he’d make sure that you understood the parts he previously explained. but with how easy and how much leeway sungho gave you, it ended up in him explaining every single question until you finished the paper.

“thanks for helping me, baby.” you smiled at him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

sungho didn’t care that you basically made him do the whole worksheet while you nodded as he explained each step, he loved you and would do anything for you.

౨ৎ RIWOO

riwoo is the type of boyfriend to bring notes just for you. he’d know all of the syllabus in his head without any need for notes, but he’d still take them for you, knowing that you struggled with some topics. when studying with you, he’d be focused, but also take breaks, preparing small snacks to share with you.

you and riwoo planned to meet at his favourite cafe to study. of course, you could just facetime each other and study from the comfort of your own homes, but you preferred being in the same space as him, enjoying his presence.

“let's do this part and then take a break, yeah?” he tended to push you to do a little more than you usually would, but always promised a break after.

once the long-awaited break came, riwoo got out of his chair, going to the register to order desserts for the two of you.

“i thought you’d want this one, i saw you eyeing it when we first came in.” he said, placing down a small slice of cake in front of you. “also,” he slid a small tart towards you before continuing. “because you were studying well.” he gave you a sweet grin before indulging in his own food.

this was good enough motivation for you to keep studying, or maybe it was riwoo himself.

౨ৎ JAEHYUN

jaehyun was good at studying. alone, that was. but with you? he was everything but focused, and that distracted you. on the rare occasions that you allow jaehyun to come over and study with you, he wouldn’t be focused on his work, instead, he’d be fiddling with his pen, playing with small strands of your hair, or just trying to get your attention.

“jaehyun.” you said in a stern voice. “seriously, jae. focus on your work, not me.” you said as you pushed his textbook in front of him. “i invited you over so we could study, not for you to whine while i study.” but that didn’t mean anything to jaehyun, who couldn’t care less. his relentless pestering continued as you studied.

hours later, and he still hadn’t touched a pencil, not even once.

“baby,” he hummed. “do you really have to study? our test is in like… two weeks.” he was aching for your attention. “i mean, yeah. you said it, baby. we have a test in two weeks, that's not a lot of time.” he groaned in response, upset that you wouldn't give him any peace of mind. “and you,” you said, poking him on the cheek. “should be studying, too.” giggling at his annoyed face. “you’re so mean.” he pouted. “oh you’ll be fine, you big baby.” you kissed him softly on the lips before going back to studying.

౨ৎ TAESAN

mr competitive over here will use bets to motivate you, turning each section into its own small competition with a reward that always ends up with the both of you distracted from your work. and if he’s not making it a competition between you two, he’s creating some sort of reward system, his favourite being “finishing one topic = ten minute break” which actually meant him attacking you with kisses.

“hey, baby.” just by the start of his sentence, you knew what was coming; a competition. “whoever finishes chapter sixteen first wins, loser owes them boba.”

an hour and thirty minutes later, you finished all the questions on the chapter.

“oh…” taesan sighed. “i guess i’ll get you boba then.”

as you laid on your bed, happily sipping on your drink, taesan crawled onto the bed, lying beside you. “aren’t i the best boyfriend in the world?” he asked, looking at you through the corner of his eyes. “hm?” you hummed in response, confused by the sudden question. “i got you boba.” his eyes had a twinkle of hope, anticipating for the answer he was looking for. “baby,” you softly laughed. “that was part of your bet.”

the small glint in his eyes dulled into pure sadness, a small downturn on his lips.

“my god, sannie… you’re such a baby.” you giggled as he fell into your embrace, wrapping his arms around your body. “i’ll let you win next time.”

i live for whiny taesan and i think that may or may not have biased this #oops (ᵕ,•ᴗ•)

౨ৎ LEEHAN

leehan is understanding and always patient with you, even when you ask him to explain the same question three times because you got distracted somewhere in between. if you’re getting distracted and he notices, he’ll say a little “just a few more minutes, okay?” which made you focus, even if it was for only the next twenty minutes.

your eyes wandered around your room, head sleeping on the desk. you weren’t sure why you couldn’t focus – maybe it was how boring the subject was, or maybe it was because your boyfriend was with you.

leehan was too sweet to you when it came to studying. if you needed any sort of help, he’d drop whatever he was doing to help you.

“baby,” leehan carded his fingers through your hair. “do you need help?” you hummed in response. leehan would notice things before you could even ask him for help.

while your boyfriend demonstrated how to solve the question you were stuck on, you were busy staring at him.

“hannie,” your eyes were still on him. “why’re you so pretty?” the pretty boy in question was confused, astounded at the unexpected confession. “it’s really distracting me.” you sat up properly, moving your chair closer to leehan's.

“sorry, baby.” he chuckled. “let's focus on the work, not me, okay?” you nodded in response.

it wasn’t your fault that you couldn't focus, it was your boyfriend's fault for being so pretty.

౨ৎ WOONHAK

studying with woonhak is like trying to sleep with a hyper puppy. you’d be trying to solve a question while woonhak is talking your ear off about something completely unrelated. if you’re moving through the textbook together and you’d move on to the next question, woonhak would whine about how you’re a traitor. he could never study in silence, but he never would, considering how much of a chatterbox he is.

“woonhak,” you dragged out his name. “focus on studying, stop being silly and distracted!” scolding him did nothing but make him clingy and whiny, distracting the both of you.

“maybe you’re too focused, y/n.” he pouted.

he unwillingly picked up a pen and drew the shared textbook to himself, giving you none to see.

you softly slapped his hand, resulting in the book being in between you.

“if you don’t understand, i'll teach you.” you said in a stern voice, tired of his silly antics. “you big baby.” and this set woonhak off.

“big baby? i’m not a big baby!” he snapped, eyes wide in shock.

“whatever, woonie. and you’re still distracted!” you cheekily stuck your tongue out at him.

for the next hour or so, you and woonhak worked on the questions together.

“i’m tired,” woonhak yawned. “can we please take a break?” he begged, already pulling you into his embrace.

there was no point in rebelling. as much as you squirmed, you knew that woonhak would do anything but let go of this moment. but being in your boyfriend's arms was much more preferable than studying, so you couldn’t really complain.

bnd taglist: @beomev

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