#I thought he was one of those people who would never care about that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just1cefor4ll · 1 day ago

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Thanos/Choi Su-bong x fem!reader warning. reader has an ed, swearing, not proof read, mentions of a toxic music industry

A/n. if anything here triggers you and it isnt listed in the warnings, dm me and ill add it in. I do NOT by any means encourage this type of “life style” and if you’re struggling with this, please try and seek out help— you’re not alone!!

You never thought love would be this exhausting. When you met Choi Su-bong—better known as Thanos—it was effortless. The kind of connection that didn’t need explaining. You were just a woman who had a shitty day at work and he was just a guy with a passion for music, and you just so happened to be in the right place at the right time.

That night in Hongdae, after his set, you locked eyes across the bar. You knew who he was, but you didn’t treat him like everyone else did.

“You rap?” you asked, casually swirling your drink.

“I try,” he smirked, leaning against the counter.

You scoffed. “I saw your set. You don’t just try.”

And that was it. That was how it started. Late-night walks through Seoul, deep conversations about music and life, stolen moments in the quiet corners of the city. Love was simple back then.

And for a while, life was good.

The first time the paparazzi caught you together, you didn’t think much of it. His fame had just sky rocketed but maybe people would talk for a bit and they’d move on, right?

You were wrong

Within hours, your face was everywhere. "Who is she?" "She’s not even pretty." "She’s just using him for clout." "She’s ruining his career."

At first, you laughed it off. It was just noise. Strangers behind screens didn’t know you— didn’t know him. But the more you saw it, the harder it became to ignore. They picked apart your looks, your past, your worth. The more you scrolled, the more those words burrowed under your skin.

Still, you smiled through it. You told him it didn’t bother you.

And he believed you.

It started small. Skipping meals here and there, telling yourself you’d eat later. You weren’t even trying to lose weight at first—you just didn’t feel like eating. But then the guilt crept in. Every bite felt heavy, every meal like a reminder that you weren’t enough. You started purging before you even realized it had become a habit. The first time, it was an accident—you ate too much too fast and felt sick, so you ran to the bathroom. But after that, it became… easy. A solution. Eat what you want, then get rid of it. No guilt, no weight gain. A perfect balance.

And no one noticed.

Not even him.

He was always busy—touring, recording, filming. When he came home exhausted, you curled up next to him, pressing your body close so he wouldn’t notice how much smaller you’d gotten. If he asked if you’d eaten, you’d lie. “Yeah, I grabbed something earlier.” If he asked why you were so tired, you’d blame work.

You convinced yourself it wasn’t a problem. You weren’t like those girls in the hospital beds, hooked up to IVs. You could stop whenever you wanted.

But you didn’t stop.

And eventually, he started noticing.

“You’ve been getting sick a lot,” he said one night, brushing your hair back as you sat curled up on the couch. “Are you okay?”

You forced a smile. “It’s just stress.”

“You’re barely eating.”

“I eat.” A lie. A reflex.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Is this because of the shit people say online?” “No,” you said too quickly. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. “I don’t care what they think, you know that, right?” He pulled you into his arms, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield. “None of that matters.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did.

You didn’t remember passing out. It was the next day and Su-bong had left earlier that morning for a meet and greet which you decided to sit out, not feeling like facing his fans at the moment. One second you were going to the bathroom and the next you were hunched over the toilet, spilling your guts out before everything went black.

When you woke up, you were in a hospital bed. The beeping of machines filled the silence, the sterile smell burning your nose. Your throat felt raw, your body weak.

And then you saw him. Sitting in the chair beside you, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.

He looked up when he realized you were awake, and you’d never seen that expression on him before—this mixture of fear, anger, heartbreak.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice was hoarse, like he’d been yelling or crying. Or both.

You wanted to speak, to tell him you were fine, but nothing came out.

“I—” he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “I didn’t see it. I should have seen it.” His jaw clenched. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears burned your eyes. Because you wouldn’t have understood. Because I didn’t want to be your problem. Because I thought I had it under control.

But the truth was, you didn’t know why. And now, it didn’t matter.

Because it was already too late.

Waking up in that hospital bed was one thing. Facing what came next was another.

The first few days were a blur—doctors coming in and out, voices you barely registered, Su-bong staying by your side through all of it. He didn't leave. Not once. Not when they hooked you up to IVs, not when you were too weak to lift your head, not even when you refused to look at him out of shame.

But silence never lasted long with him.

"You scared the shit out of me," he admitted one night, his voice quiet but raw. He was sitting in the chair beside you, fingers laced together as he stared at the floor. "I thought I was gonna lose you."

You swallowed, throat still sore. "I'm sorry." "Don't—" He shook his head, running a hand down his face. "Don't apologize. Just.. tell me what I can do. Tell me how to help."

You didn't know how to answer that.

But help came anyway.

Recovery wasn’t linear. Some days, you convinced yourself you were getting better. You ate the meals they gave you, nodded along when the doctors talked about therapy, let Su-bong hold your hand and tell you things would be okay.

Other days were harder.

Some mornings, you stared at the tray of food in front of you, stomach twisting with guilt before you even took a bite. Some nights, the voices in your head whispered that you didn’t deserve to get better. That you weren’t sick enough. That this was still your control to take back.

But every time you struggled, he was there.

He held you when you broke down. He sat with you through therapy sessions, even when it hurt to talk about things. He learned. Read books. Asked questions. Stopped saying things like “just eat” and started saying “I’m here” instead.

And slowly—painfully—you started to believe him.

But the world outside didn't make it easy.

You weren’t on social media anymore, but you didn’t have to be to know what people were saying. The news was everywhere.

"Thanos’ girlfriend hospitalized for an eating disorder."

"Scandal or sympathy grab?"

"Fans blame toxic industry for shocking health crisis."

Some people supported you. Others weren’t so kind.

And when Su-bong sat down for his first interview since everything happened, it was only a matter of time before someone brought you up.

"So," the interviewer started, her smile more fake then the diamond ring she had on, "there’s been a lot of talk about your personal life lately."

Su-bong tensed. He knew where this was going.

The interviewer continued, undeterred. "Some fans think your relationship has been a distraction for your career. There’s been speculation that—"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The entire room went silent.

The interviewer blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." His voice was sharp, his hands clenched into fists on the table. "You think this is some gossip headline? Some scandal to dissect? I almost lost her because of people like you. Because of people who picked her apart, made her feel like she wasn’t enough. And now, instead of talking about the real issue, you wanna turn this into some bullshit narrative about my career?"

The interviewer fumbled for a response, but he wasn’t done.

"I don’t give a fuck about the music industry if it means losing her. You get that?" His jaw tightened. "She is not a distraction. She is my life."

The interview ended early. The clip went viral within hours.

You saw the video later, sitting on the couch at home, wrapped in one of his hoodies. You expected to feel guilty. Maybe even embarrassed. But instead, for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

He sat down next to you, watching carefully. “You okay?” You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.” “For what?” “For fighting for me.” He exhaled, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I’ll always fight for you."

Healing wasn’t a straight path. Some days were good. Others weren’t. But you weren’t alone anymore.

And that was enough to keep going.

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whizzing-fizzbee · 24 hours ago

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I Remember

Sebastian Sallow x GN!Reader

Rating: General (death, mild violence) Words: 5,339 Tags: G/N reader, G/N MC, angst, grief, mourning, death, love, hurt no comfort, heartbreak, sad Sebastian Sallow

Summary: You died during your seventh year at Hogwarts before you could tell your best friend, Sebastian Sallow, how much you loved him. But when he discovers a box of your pensieve memories, he learns the comforting, yet cruel truth.

Notes: This is a little different from my usual smutty crackfics. So enjoy a bit of angst and have no fear, I’ll be back with more of my usual work soon.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Sebastian Sallow hadn’t been a fan of birthdays in years. He shared his own with a twin sister who no longer cared to speak to him. Their parents hadn’t been alive to celebrate with them in ten years, and now, you – the only person he ever loved romantically – were also gone.

Now, people couldn’t help but whisper and wonder if death favored poor Sebastian Sallow.

Life had been far too cruel to Sebastian for him to care about something as flippant as his seventeenth birthday – especially when it was the first birthday he’d spend without you.

Sebastian never told you how he felt. He could never quite find the words or the right time. A teenage boy plagued by so many misfortunes couldn’t be expected to understand such love anyway. All he knew was his eyes constantly searched for you in every room. He knew he craved lapsang souchong tea, because that’s what you drank – bold and smoky, just like you. And he knew that he would have died for you, without question, if he’d only been a little faster.

It happened three months ago, though it replayed in Sebastian’s mind with such frequency and clarity, it could have happened three days ago, for all he knew.

The two of you had ventured into the Scottish Highlands in search of dittany leaves for a potion. It had been a soft, serene morning punctuated by a mild breeze and the maternal kind of sunshine that embraced you with warmth, offering no inclination you’d endure your demise that day.

After all, you’d eliminated Ranrok and his loyalists. You’d saved Hogwarts – and wizardkind – all while helping the Keepers preserve the secret of your ancient magic in the repository. Your biggest fears these days were Potions exams and Imelda Reyes’ taxing quidditch practices.

But poachers and Ashwinders remained, operating under new unscrupulous undertakings. You knew that – you eliminated them whenever you encountered them – but you hadn’t expected them to be camped outside of Keenbridge that day.

You and Sebastian laughed and joked, unaware that those three Ashwinders were very aware of your presence. So while the two of you cackled about Puffskein Duncan’s hideous new haircut, those Ashwinders were watching. They observed as you gathered your potion ingredients and stashed them inside your bag. They saw the way you tried to shove Sebastian in a creek when he teased you. They noticed the way Sebastian’s eyes lingered on you as you drank from a canteen you’d nicked from Gladwin Moon.

But they didn’t care. And then they struck.

They ambushed you both when your guards were down, your eyes too busy clinging to each other and your thoughts too consumed by your pounding hearts.

An Incarcerous spell struck Sebastian first, whipping ropes around his hands and feet so that he fell at your side. You knelt to help him, shielding you both with Protego until you managed to hit one Ashwinder with a stunning spell.

Another Ashwinder drove you backward with a slew of spell combinations, leaving Sebastian bound and helpless in the grass. He writhed and jerked in desperation. You took the second Ashwinder on, your eyes shifting between her and Sebastian. And when you saw the third Ashwinder approaching him, you lost all regard for anything but him.

“Expelliarmus!” you shouted as you disarmed the third Ashwinder. You sent another cast at Sebastian, freeing him from his bindings so that he could scramble to his feet. You caught his gaze, admired those deep brown eyes, and he smirked at you. The two of you had been in similar scenarios more times than you could remember. And you always walked away unscathed.

And then, the explosion sent you backward. The Ashwinder you had been fighting seized that opportunity when you were lost in Sebastian and sent you flying off your feet until you toppled over the edge of a cliff.

You fell and fell, a slow-motion stage exit to the grand production of your short life. It was quite a letdown of a finale. Surely someone with experience like yours would die in a much more grandiose manner than a few lowly Ashwinders.

The last thing you heard was Sebastian’s scream before your body returned to the earth. Your soul never did, though.

So while Sebastian managed to escape those Ashwinders with his life, he walked away from that day drained of his will to continue surviving.

He’d lost nearly every person close to him. It made him question everything – his purpose, his resolve, and every choice that had led to so many devastating conclusions.

He had to be the one to apparate back to the Hogwarts grounds with your body. He could still hear the whispers – then the screams – as your fellow students realized what had happened. He sat through your funeral while Headmaster Black prattled on some performative prose about how wonderful you were. Then he clung to a corner of the Slytherin Common Room while your housemates drifted past, mumbling their condolences.

And then, whatever spell had been placed on the world was lifted. Hogwarts was no longer frozen in time. Your classmates returned to their studies and professors went about their lessons. The morose hallways reignited with their old energy, ringing with jubilant chatter. Even the weather moved on, its summer blossoms and laughing waters wilting amid a cold cast of clouds and decay.

Life carried on for everyone but Sebastian. He remained there with you, rooted to the spot in time where he watched your spirited life reach its screeching halt. While everyone else drifted forward, Sebastian lingered in place, searching for you in every new moment while the old ones anchored him to his anguish.

It had become a canon event in Sebastian’s life, a familiar foe he couldn’t outrun. He lost someone he loved, the world felt sorry for him, and then it moved on. It left Sebastian lonely and isolated, smothered by a grief few others could comprehend. Hogwarts had been his home for years, but your absence made him homesick.

That’s why no one blamed Sebastian for hating his birthday today. No one even dared to approach him, except Ominis in the morning. He urged Sebastian to eat but left when he was met with a cool response. It made no difference. Sebastian had mastered the art of saying words he didn't believe, even if Ominis saw right through them. Instead of attending classes, Sebastian retreated to the Undercroft.

The dark, damp dungeon missed you desperately. When Sebastian first introduced you to the space, you had insisted on tidying it up. You used scrubbing spells to clean the surfaces and fire spells to clear the cobwebs; then you used Professor Weasley’s conjuration spells to add furniture and desks. You even placed thoughtful little trinkets to a tabletop, a touch that reflected your desire to add warmth and comfort wherever you went.

But now, the Undercroft was achingly empty in your absence. Though the traces of your previous presence lingered, the room’s creaks and groans seemed to whimper for your return. The surfaces had collected dust and the floors were dingy again, desperate to be disrupted by your tread. The braziers were dimmer, begging for a blast of your fiery existence.

Sebastian hated that room now. It was once his recluse; his safe space meant only for him and the three people he cared about. But now that your handprints were all over it, it was lacking the life you had once breathed into it.

Sebastian left the Undercroft and ascended the Astronomy Tower. When the Room of Requirement appeared for him, he strode right in. It would provide him with whatever it was he needed.

He visited your room often, simply to stand and feel its pulse. You were everywhere. And unlike the Undercroft, you lingered with life here. Sometimes, Sebastian sat on a sofa in the side room until he dozed off. Other times, he’d venture into the vivariums to check on its inhabitants. Most times, he merely felt ; the room seemed to know Sebastian wanted to remember you, and it often hummed with a calm, quiet murmur reminiscent of your soothing tone.

Today, the room seemed to know Sebastian was in need of a birthday gift. As he wandered toward the side room, his eyes scanning the bookshelves you’d filled with your – and Sebastian’s – favorite novels, his eyes fell on a trunk. He had never noticed it before.

Sebastian frowned and eyed the trunk’s lid. There was no lock on it.

After you died, your friends had been careful with your belongings. Sebastian kept everything of sentimental value in a trunk of his own, from your school robes to the notebooks containing your scribbles about ancient magic. Everything that mattered to you was in his care now, so it struck him as odd that there’d be a secret trunk in your Room of Requirement.

Sebastian swallowed, unsure of what he would find as he kneeled over the trunk and waved his wand. The lid clicked open and he lifted it, revealing some old clothes. Sebastian blinked. It all seemed rather anticlimactic. But as he lifted an old sweater from the top of the pile, he stilled.

The familiar S.S. initials were embroidered across the left breast. He had wondered what happened to this sweater and assumed it was lost in the laundry ages ago. Beneath it, was a scarf. His school scarf.

At the very bottom of the trunk was a package – a small box wrapped in brown paper with your familiar scrawl in ink. You had written his name across the top.

Sebastian stared at it, as if lifting it from the trunk would shift the paradigm of his universe. But curiosity was Sebastian’s Achilles, and he soon found himself setting his old clothes aside for the package.

He brushed dust from the top of the wrapped box, his fingers tracing over his own name as if the ink you’d left would leech into his fingertips, absorbing you with it.

He treated the paper with the utmost care, peeling it slowly away from the box to ensure it wouldn’t tear. It revealed an old wooden box, unremarkable and unassuming. Sebastian turned it over carefully, the sounds of delicate glass tinkling from inside. Once he confirmed there were no markings or inscriptions on the box, he flipped it back over and snapped the top open.

Inside was a folded sheet of old parchment and a set of tiny glass vials, each filled with clear liquid. Dust clung to the vials, leaving Sebastian’s fingers dingy as he examined each one for clues revealing their contents. Each cylinder was labeled with a date so small, Sebastian had to squint to see them.

He set the box on the floor next to the trunk and carefully unfolded the old parchment with both hands. Again, your familiar handwriting revealed itself.

Dear Sebastian,

Happy birthday! Please view these pensieve memories on your own time, in private. You’ll understand once you see them. Then come find me when you feel the time is right, no pressure.

Love always, Your kindred spirit

Sebastian smiled. Your voice echoed in his mind and ears, like you were reading the letter aloud right next to him. He hadn’t smiled at the memory of you since you died.

Instead, his grief had crawled into every crevice of his brain and body, constricting him into a body bind of immobilizing heartache. It clamped down on his veins and arteries and cut off his blood supply. His brain screamed for some semblance of life. It left his nerve endings void of all sensation and pooled in the pit of his stomach, an omnipresent offering of torment and guilt.

Sebastian scrambled to his feet, cradling the box in his arm as if it contained the most important secrets in the world. To him, it did.

He scurried from the Room of Requirement and retreated back to the Undercroft, now grateful for its quiet seclusion. He set the box carefully on a table and sorted through each vial until he found the one with the earliest date.

After he uncorked it, his hand shook as it hovered above the pensieve. Its swirling liquid seemed to beckon him, pleading for memories to resurrect it back to life. But Sebastian hesitated, fearful for what lay on the other side of this moment.

He trusted you more than anyone, but you clearly had meant for these memories to remain a secret until the right moment. Sebastian was sure you’d packaged them up under the assumption you’d be alive for his birthday. What if your death had changed everything and these memories were supposed to die with you?

The last thing Sebastian wanted was to betray or dishonor you. Your life had been so full of intention – from your determination to stop Ranrok to your sincere endeavors to help cure Anne’s curse. Sebastian wanted to preserve your memory with love and admiration. But these were his memories now. You’d wanted to share them with him and he would honor that, no matter their contents, no matter the cost.

Sebastian tipped the vial and watched a single drop ripple across the pensieve’s surface. It glimmered and swirled, stirring wispy trails in its gentle wakes. Sebastian didn’t wait to plunge his face in.

More smoke swept past him and he hurtled straight into the Slytherin Common Room. He immediately spotted himself, pacing in front of the fireplace with his nose in a book. He recognized this moment better than his own wand.

And then you appeared. You paused behind the sofa and watched Sebastian curiously. He had never noticed that. Your eyes studied him until he finally looked up from his book.

Sebastian had to watch himself meet you for the first time all over again. It tugged at his heartstrings, twisting and tightening them inside his chest. You were right there, mere feet from him, but he couldn’t reach out and touch you.

He watched as you introduced yourself and smiled as you inquired about his book. He told you not every useful spell could be found in assigned textbooks, to which you expressed your intrigue. And that was when Sebastian declared you kindred spirits; the phrase that would connect the two of you by an unseen thread for life.

Sebastian was uncertain why you chose to return him to this particular memory. He remembered it far too fondly to need a refresher. But as he watched your first meeting come to an end, he noticed as you walked away and paused to turn, your gaze lingering on his form long after he had returned his attention to his book.

He hadn’t known that happened.

The memory ended and thrust him back to the Undercroft, where Sebastian stilled to process your replay of your first meeting. What was he meant to take away from such a simple moment? Of course, the events that followed had been anything but simple. You became the most complex person to ever enter Sebastian’s life.

He fumbled quickly through the remaining vials for the next and wasted no time tapping another drop into the pensieve. This memory seemed to shimmer and sparkle as it dispersed across the pensieve’s cloudy waters. Sebastian drew a breath and dipped his head.

This one was clearly Christmastime. You, Sebastian and Ominis were cozied up in the common room. You were seated between the two boys on the sofa, a blanket thrown across your lap while you clutched a mug of cocoa in your hand. Ominis looked relaxed, a rare change from his typical poise. Sebastian slouched lazily in his seat, a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans in his lap. The fire crackled as you laughed at one of Ominis’ dry remarks, though your eyes were on Sebastian.

He watched as you smiled at his pensieve form, warmth radiating from your gaze. Your lips curved as you teased him about his tousled hair, to which he became indignant and tossed a jelly bean at you. You squealed and nearly splashed your cocoa on Ominis, who squawked in displeasure.

You picked up the jelly bean and chucked it back at Sebastian, who caught it and popped it in his mouth before his features contorted in disgust.

“I think that one was dirt-flavored,” he whined.

“Good, serves you right,” you declared happily. Sebastian’s pensieve version reached toward you to give your hair a sharp, playful tug. You swatted his hand away and laughed wildly, all while Ominis chided you and Sebastian for making a mess.

It was another moment Sebastian had committed to his own reserve of memories with clarity and fondness. But again, your version was different.

This time, he noticed the way you noticed him. Your eyes never left him, even when Ominis spoke. You leaned closer to him, your body nearly touching his when you teased him. And then there was the moment your hands brushed – completely innocuous – but Sebastian noticed the way your breath hitched and your cheeks flushed. His did the same.

He watched as Ominis yawned and declared it was time for bed. Your mutual friend said goodnight and disappeared toward the boys’ dormitories, leaving you and Sebastian’s pensieve form in each other’s company.

The pair sat and talked quietly, an occasional giggle interrupting your murmurs, until the fire waned to soft embers and you dozed off on his shoulder. That was one of Sebastian’s favorite memories.

But he remembered the subtle smell of your hair, the warmth of your body and the soft breaths that sighed from your lips during your slumber. He didn’t remember what happened once he fell asleep.

And so he watched as the memory shifted like a leap in time, and then you stirred, likely in the middle of the night. You lifted your head and peered upward at Sebastian, smiling as you watched him sleep. Your chest swelled and eyes softened until you gently returned your head to his shoulder until the morning.

As the memory came to a close, Sebastian began to wonder. What were you trying to tell him? What did those stolen glances and secret smiles mean?

The third memory surged inside the pensieve when the liquid met the surface. This one stirred a storm of dark and volatile streaks, which made Sebastian scared to see its contents. But once again, he dipped his head with bated breath.

He recognized the Feldcroft catacomb immediately. And in a sudden rush, he watched himself sprint past, toward the exit. Sebastian couldn’t forget this moment if he tried – and he often did.

“Sebastian!” you cried as you jogged into view. Tears streamed down your cheeks and your face was bleeding from your fight with Solomon. You begged Sebastian to stop, but he was far too gone – in every sense of the phrase – to even acknowledge you.

Shame surged through Sebastian as he relived one of the worst moments of his life. He followed after you as you pleaded with his pensieve version to wait until you eventually stopped calling his name.

But when you reached the exit, the memory shifted and Sebastian was thrust to your dormitory. This scene was new to him.

His expression fell as he watched you sink to the floor, your body hitching with violent sobs. Your hair was still disheveled, robes torn and tattered, and blood streaked across your cheek from the fight in the catacomb. Sebastian had never seen you so anguished. The sight would haunt him the same way your death would.

He stood in the corner of the room, tears welling in his eyes as he watched you unravel, scared and alone. You sobbed so hard your chest heaved and your stomach lurched.

The scene blurred again until Sebastian was returned to the Undercroft, this time as a voyeur. He caught his breath as he watched you plead with Ominis to refrain from turning him in for killing Solomon.

“I don’t want to lose Sebastian, but I don’t think we have a choice,” Ominis said.

“We do have a choice,” you insisted. “What good would it do if we turn him in now? He clearly regrets everything. He’s not going to do anything like this again.”

“We both heard that before,” Ominis argued.

“But we also need to think about Anne. She’s lost her health. Now she’s lost her uncle. Do you really want to take her brother away from her too?” you pushed.

When Ominis finally relented, Sebastian watched as more tears streamed over your cheeks. Your eyes were empty, no longer brimming with your bold energy. Sebastian had drained it from you. The realization shattered his heart.

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Ominis asked you.

“I care about them both,” you answered. “I know Anne doesn’t much care for me, but Sebastian needs her… and I need him.”

“You love him, don’t you?” Ominis asked quietly.

You nodded in response. “I do.”

Ominis sighed, though it was evident he wasn’t surprised by your revelation. You and Sebastian were as clear as diamonds — and as hard as them, too. As much as it frustrated Ominis, he knew it was also what made the two of you so simpatico. You understood Sebastian on a profound level few others could even scrape.

“You’ve got to save him,” Ominis whispered. “He can’t save himself. He’s too far gone. You have to be the one to help him. You’re the only one.”

You nodded in understanding, your cheeks now raw and red from the salty sting of your tears.

“I will,” you said softly. “I love him too much to lose him to this.”

The memory ended and Sebastian swished back to the Undercroft, now in its present state. He gripped the edge of the pensieve to hold himself upright, its cold stone pressed hard against his fingers. He was crying now, his breath shaky as he fought for air.

His legs gave way and he collapsed to the floor on his knees, his body bent in child’s pose as he choked on his own sobs. He remained there until his bones seemed to disintegrate. His body felt like a vacant home left to rot into ruins.

You loved him. He watched you admit it. You loved him, and you fought for him. When others wanted to give up on him, you were ready to step closer. You vowed to save him because he had meant that much to you.

And you had succeeded. Because once your fifth year ended, you inserted yourself to Sebastian’s side, an extension of his own body. You resurrected him from the cavernous clutches of dark magic and desperation, and revived him with renewed energy. You let him lean on you in the days that followed Solomon’s death. You talked him through his guilt and reminded him he was worthy of a good life that shouldn’t be defined by his past. You refused to allow him to punish himself, but ensured he was remorseful for what he did. You showed him what it meant to become redemption.

Your empathy and understanding nursed Sebastian back to his old form – the charming, friendly and resourceful boy he was before your fifth year – the boy you had never even met. You were his savior, not because you needed another person to rescue, but because saving Sebastian from himself also saved you.

After all the evil you’d endured, you needed to believe that people could still be good. You needed reassurance that light could still outshine dark. And you needed to know if your love would be enough for someone, even if it wasn’t reciprocated.

Because the one thing that saved you and Sebastian Sallow both was your best shared attribute: your optimism.

Sebastian lay curled up on the floor of the Undercroft for a good hour. He was overcome with grief, guilt and regret, and they all clashed at once, straining his heart until he was certain it would sever inside his chest.

What if he had simply told you he loved you? Maybe it wouldn’t have prevented your death, but at least you would have known. At least you would have died with a full heart and the comfort that the boy you cared about the most needed you in all the same ways.

And selfishly, maybe you would have told Sebastian you loved him, too.

When silence returned to the Undercroft after Sebastian’s sobs subsided, he sat up, his weight supported back on his hands. There was still one vial remaining.

He wasn’t sure he had the energy to witness any more monumental memories, but truly, he had no choice. He wouldn’t rest until he understood every message you were trying to send him. He owed you that, at the very least.

Sebastian gathered himself up off the floor to retrieve the last vial. He was cool and clammy, which caused him to grip the vial particularly hard amid concern he would drop it. As he tilted it over the pensieve with a shaking hand, it splashed and shimmered streaks of gold that reminded him of sun rays.

He recognized this memory instantly. It had taken place a week before you died. The two of you snuck out of the castle to explore another old cave. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, other than an adventure. Sometimes, the two of you merely created your own expeditions for old time’s sake.

This one led you all the way to the Clagmar Coast. Once you determined the cave housed nothing more than a chest of old spectacles, you and Sebastian decided to sit and watch the stars under the cover of the cave’s secluded opening. It overlooked the sea, which shimmered beneath the moon. You could hear the churns of the waves smashing into the cliffside below, but not even the surf’s rumble could drown out the slamming heart inside your chest.

You hugged your knees as you sat close enough to Sebastian that you could feel his warmth. The salt air whipped through your hair and he laughed as you struggled to keep it in place, finally admitting defeat when it plastered itself to your face.

Sebastian watched as you shivered. He had chided you for wearing only a knit jumper, even though he had done the same. What he hadn’t known was that your shivers weren’t from the cold. As so when he draped an arm around you and pulled you close against his body to keep you warm, your own body shuddered more. You welcomed its response because it meant he’d hold you even tighter. You did this more often than you’d ever admit – sometimes you pretended to be cold just so Sebastian would hold you.

Sebastian had dwelled on this memory at a damn near obsessive rate. His head had become a vast vault of moments with you, each one stored away in meticulous order that would make Madam Scribner proud. But this one sat on the nearest shelf, within easy reach so that he could call upon it often.

He hadn’t known it would be one of his final fond memories of you.

But again, your version was different.

Because this variant exposed everything. The moonlight cast itself over your eyes, which softened every time Sebastian glanced at you. But as you snuggled closer to him, Sebastian watched as you squeezed them shut. They looked like a camera shutter, committing the moment to the film inside your head.

And then you stole one more glance up at Sebastian’s pensieve form and your eyes screamed louder than the waves below. You gazed at your freckled friend with so much love, it made Sebastian’s chest cave as he watched.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t utter the words that were perched on the tip of your tongue. You didn’t have to. Neither of you did.

Finally, Sebastian understood.

That was the beauty of it all. For all of your unspoken words, your silent declarations, and your desperate desires, you were both enough.

You and Sebastian adored each other in secret and in silence. But you lived and loved out loud.

And though you both wished you could have experienced that love to its full extent and in its truest form – raw, real and unrestrained – what you did share was enough.

So when Sebastian returned to the Undercroft for the final time, the last of your pensieve memories complete, he sank back to the floor with his back pressed against the wall.

Because even though he understood now, even though he realized he’d always carried your love, he was in mourning.

He mourned the romance you’d never have. He mourned your future cut short by the sharp, cruel blade of an unfair fate. And he mourned your memories – all of them – because this wasn’t how you’d intended him to see them.

He was supposed to view them and then sprint to you. Had you been alive, he likely would have found you tucked away in a quiet corner of the library or en route to the Three Broomsticks for butterbeers with Poppy and Natty. He would have chased you down and told you he’d seen all the memories. He would have told you he loved you, too. The two of you would have laughed at how silly you’d been. And then he would have kissed you and stolen you away from whatever endeavor you had going on to make up for lost time.

But now, you’d lost more than time and nothing would make up for it. It would gnaw away at Sebastian forever.

But the worst part was he couldn’t save you. He could return to your memories to see you again, but he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t feel you, couldn’t speak with you or reach out to pull you to safety. He couldn’t bring you back.

Soon, those memories would be gone, too. The vials you left were no bigger than Sebastian’s index finger. They’d run empty if he revisited the pensieve too often. He hated how he had to ration you like this. You loved each other. He deserved you with boundless abundance.

And though you’d found a way to tell him how you felt, he would never have the chance to tell you. He silently prayed you somehow secretly knew, but you deserved more than the cowardice of unspoken words. You deserved a loud and vibrant love, obnoxious to those who envied you and beautiful to those who understood you.

And then Sebastian realized.

He scurried from the Undercroft, your vials left in their box to be retrieved later. Right now, he had to get to you.

You were buried just south of Hogsmeade, near the observation platform that overlooked the South Hogwarts region and the castle. It was your favorite place, because you said it presented you with a perfect view of home and everything you loved.

When Sebastian reached your grave, he fell to his knees before it. Tears returned to his eyes and he choked back a sob.

“I saw them,” he sputtered. “I saw everything – all of your pensieve memories. I wish you’d told me. I wish we could have known how it felt to be together. And I wish I could have told you how much I love you, too.”

And then he wept. He wept for himself, for you, and for the universe that had to continue its existence without the privilege of your presence.

He cried until every emotion had poured itself from his eyes into the soil of your grave. He prayed his tears would seep six feet under and find their way to you. You had given him your tears – they now sat in those tiny little vials that Sebastian would treasure forever. The least he could do was gift you with his, even if it was his birthday.

He stopped celebrating for good that year, electing to instead spend every birthday returning to your pensieve memories until one day, those were gone, too.

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x gn reader #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfic #angst #whizzing fizzbee fanfic

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hannahbarberra162 · 3 days ago

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Hearts and Flowers (Sanji x Reader, Valentine's Day Special)

For @quinloki's Love Is In The Air event, I present my (day late) Sanji x Reader. All fluff, no bite. Dedicated to @thirstydiglett and @sordidmusings, my fellow Sanji simps.

@sordidmusings and @gouraminnow beta'd this for me and I appreciate it immensely.

WC: ~ 2k

Warnings: none <3

You swirled the pink colored drink Sanji had made for you as you watched him carefully cut fruits into heart shapes and place them delicately alongside the handmade chocolates he’d prepared in advance. You weren’t sure how he had managed to keep all this from Luffy but his efforts were paying off as the multi-tiered tower of desserts and treats for you, Nami and Robin came together under his watchful eye. The galley of the Sunny was decorated like one of those fancy magazines you’d read but couldn’t afford on islands - the counters were covered in tablecloths with red and pink decorations, cakes in the shapes of hearts and flowers were on the tables, and there was a mountain of wrapped presents waiting for you all, helpfully labeled with tags.

You hadn’t known Sanji as long as Robin and Nami but had quickly understood the chef’s love of love when you came aboard the Thousand Sunny. He was always looking at beautiful women, always simping for you, Robin, and Nami, always thinking about his future bride and wedding. And yet, watching him place the melons and pineapple on the tower, you had an inkling something was amiss with the Love Chef.

“Sanji, do you like Valentine’s day?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Of course! Who wouldn’t want to celebrate the love of Mellorines and -” he started to say, a smile on his face that didn’t match the brilliant one you’d come to know and love. You tried to stop yourself but you found yourself watching the chef near constantly when you weren’t working - you knew his body language, his mannerisms, and could even predict what moves he’d use when fighting Zoro on the deck. Which is how you knew the smile on his face wasn’t completely genuine.

“No, what I mean is - do you like Valentine’s day? You specifically?” Sanji’s beautiful hands paused after placing the last fruit on the platter as he stared blankly at the creation he had made.

“Would you care to accompany me while I go smoke on the deck?” he asked you, reaching for the cigarettes in his shirt pocket. You hoped you hadn’t made him upset in some way; you wouldn’t say anything to intentionally hurt his feelings.

You would never admit it to Robin and especially not Nami for fear of teasing, but you harbored a huge crush on Sanji. He was sweet, handsome, kind, helpful, and strong, everything you could ever want in a man. Sure, he could get a little silly or flirty, but you felt that if he was in a relationship he would be loyal. Sanji was your dream man, but you felt unable to actually touch him, to get to the real man inside the character.

“Oh, uh, sure,” you replied, hopping off the barrel that had been your makeshift chair. You left your pink drink on the table as you passed in front of Sanji, who was holding the door open for you to exit first. You thought he’d go to the side of the ship but instead Sanji started to walk towards the ladder to the crow’s nest.

“Oh, wow, up here?” you asked, starting to climb. You were wearing a skirt and hoped the view would tempt him to flirt with you a little. It didn’t take anything at all to have him espousing his eternal love or bleeding from his nose and that was well and good. You’d been trying to get him to show a little true emotion but maybe starting with flirting might help loosen him up. Sanji was a lot more reserved than most people gave him credit for. His outward emotions were real and reflected his heart but he didn’t often share the depths of his thoughts or feelings with anyone, much less with the newest member of the Strawhats.

“Mmh. I don’t want to ruin my Valentine’s Day surprises for Nami-swan and Robin-chwaan!” he said, his tone falsely saccharine. You climbed the rest of the way in silence, going towards the open window to air out the smoke of his cigarettes. Standing next to you, Sanji lit up and inhaled deeply from his cigarette.

“Sanji, what’s going on?” you asked, putting your hand on his forearm in concern.”I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You could never upset me, mon ange. But I have to admit I am a little surprised to be having this conversation. I - you’re the first person to ever ask me, but to answer plainly - no. I don’t like Valentine’s day. I haven’t since my days at the Baratie,” he explained, blowing smoke out the window.

“Would you mind if I -?” you asked, sticking out your index and middle finger.

“My pleasure, mon amor. Would you care for your own?” Sanji asked with a smile as he reached for the pack.

“No, I want - I like sharing them,” you said, aware a small blush was creeping up your face. Sanji didn’t say anything but placed his cigarette between your fingers, curling his long elegant ones around your palm for a moment.

“So, since the Baratie?” you asked, taking a drag of your own before passing back the cigarette.

“Mmh. Every year we’d get all these calls from wives and girlfriends, planning their own valentine's day celebrations. Sometimes the men would call, but not nearly as often. The women would be dolled up, looking incredible, while the men would be plain and boring, wearing unironed disgusting clothes. They’d bring tacky gifts that the women would pretend to like, while the men would pretend to listen to what their partners were saying. It was sickening,” Sanji spat, flicking the cigarette still between his fingers. He placed it gently once again between yours as you continued to listen.

“It was so disgraceful, so distasteful, such a mockery of what love should be. If I was lucky enough to call someone my partner, they wouldn’t have to wait for Valentine’s day to feel the warmth of my love,” Sanji said with a faraway look in his eyes. You placed the cigarette back in his fingers, though it was nearly out. The tips of your fingers brushed his own as he looked you in the eyes.

“Thank you, dearest heart. If I had someone who loved me as I loved them, they would know with every fiber of their being that I cared for them, that I yearned for them, that I needed them like I need air and water. I wouldn’t wait for some paltry date on the calendar to tell me to celebrate my love,” Sanji stated, flipping his hair out of his face as he continued. It fell immediately back into place as it was before but Sanji didn’t seem to notice.

“I’d celebrate every morning, noon, and night, cherishing my love with my whole heart. I’d devote every moment to making sure their life was as incredible as they made my own, whether that be in gift giving, or sweet words, or even just a gentle touch at the end of a long day,” he stated, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

“My partner would never have to look farther than my loving arms to find what they needed in the world, and if I couldn’t provide it I would step aside and let them find better. Valentine’s day? What a cruel joke. If I had someone love me as I loved them, every day would be as romantic as Valentine’s day,” Sanji concluded, stubbing out the cigarette. You weren’t quite sure what to say to Sanji’s impassioned speech but had a follow up question.

“Sanji, I - then why make the big production? The cakes, the presents, the food and champagne? Why all the work for a holiday you don’t like?” you asked, leaning closer to him. He gave you a soft smile and caressed your cheek with a thumb, his eyes shining with happiness.

“Because I don’t want you to feel unloved. Robin and Nami never had the luxury of having Valentines, they were…busy. And how could I exclude you, ma vie? No, all of you must have the perfect Valentine’s day celebration and who else could pull it off? Not some idiot Marimo that’s for sure,” he said, now pulling another cigarette from his pocket while he distracted himself with thoughts of Zoro.

“That’s so selfless, Sanji. Thank you, this really is the best Valentine’s day I’ve ever had,” you stammered, unsure what to say in the face of Sanji’s vulnerability.

“Then it was worth the effort,” Sanji replied with his true smile, the one that made his eyes close with how high his cheeks rose on his face. Watching him carefully, you placed your hands on either side of his face and pulled him down towards your own. Sanji’s stubble was rough on your palms as his blue eye opened wide. Holding his face between your smaller hands, you pecked him lightly on his full lips. You’d spent countless hours day-dreaming of this moment, of how it would happen, and how he would react.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sanji,” you whispered, letting go of his face. Sanji’s face turned bright red as his fingers rose to trace where your lips had been, his mouth slightly open. He wasn’t responding, just staring at you in silence as you fidgeted, gripping the hem of your skirt in your fists. You couldn’t look at him in the unbearable silence so you turned to go back down the ladder. Sanji caught your forearm gently before you could leave, pulling on it without force. As you turned to face him you saw his forehead was scrunched up, the swirly eyebrow you longed to trace with your finger tip tilted up in silent question.

“Mon cherie, you didn’t have to do that. I don’t need any kind of -”

“I didn’t have to, I wanted to,” you said softly, reaching for his face like he had yours a few moments prior. He flinched back ever so slightly but allowed you to cup his cheek as you looked into his kind face, unguarded and vulnerable for a few moments longer before both of you had to return to reality and get back to party preparation.

“I’ve wanted to for a long time, Sanji. I’m sorry for not asking first, if you never want to talk about this again I, -” your voice was quiet but determined but you were cut off as Sanji leaned forward to return your kiss. One of his hands went to the back of your neck, holding the weight of your head in his splayed fingers, while the other wrapped around your waist and pulled you towards his lithe body. He kissed you tenderly, almost reverently, like you’d combust into smoke should he press too hard. His lips sought yours at every turn, gently coaxing you into opening your mouth for him so he could deepen the kiss. He moaned into your mouth when you nipped his lip gently with your teeth before returning the favor. He was breathing heavily as he began to press kisses into the column of your neck.

“Ma bichette, please, do me the honor of being my Valentine this year,” he mumbled into your skin as you tilted your head to the side to give him more access.

“I t-thought you didn’t li-ike Valentine’s day,” you squeaked as he mouthed over your jaw. His eyes looked up at your own as he smiled.

“You have shown me the error of my ways, mon tresor.”

#op x y/n #love is in the air #fluffy sanji #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #op fluff #tooth rotting fluff #he'd like anything you told him to like #God I love him #Sanji feels(tm)#x reader

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totallyxtaurus · 3 days ago

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I just want you to know who I am pt. 2

Summary: What if Sylus had kept going to all those lantern festivals in hopes you’d be there and what would he do if you actually were. Pairing: Sylus x gn reader Genre: Angst A/N: Finally, here's part 2! I just started a new job and it has taken up so much time already plus school work, ugh. I had this second half in mind while writing the first but for some reason this was much harder to write. So, I hope it's okay and not too rushed! I cannot begin to express my thanks to those who liked, commented, and reblogged! I sincerely appreciate you! Enjoy!💗

Frantic. That’s the only word Sylus can use to describe the turmoil raging inside him. His legs propel him forward, fighting against the sea of people, as though he’s swimming upstream, that block him at every turn. He continues to shove past the crowd, guilt rising with each shoulder he knocks into as he forces himself through the press of bodies. Yet, as the light ahead grows shorter, the gnawing guilt fades-replaced by something sharper.

Finally, he reaches the end of the light, but… there is no one. Just a dark ominous looking alleyway, silent except for a handful of figures loitering at its mouth, smoke curling around their heads as they take a break from the wave of the crowd. His breath catches in his throat, and he’s unsure whether it’s from the exertion of running or the sting of disappointment swelling inside him. His chest heaves, raw and jagged.

The people lingering in front of the alley’s entrance eye him with a mix of suspicion and indifference. But without pause, Sylus steps into the shadows of the alley, the silence sheltering him. Just before the alley curves out of sight, he halts. A soft sound reaches his ears- a voice, tender, and coaxing, murmuring toward something small. A pull tugs at his chest, instinctively, and he presses himself against the rough wall, peering around the corner.

There, crouched low to the ground, bathed in a soft, golden ray from a nearby streetlamp, is a figure- shrouded in the warmth of the light- offering a stray kitten the remains of some festival food.

Sylus’ chest, once tight and heaving with the weight of his frantic search, has finally found its calm. The rush of blood in his ears wanes as his breath evens out, all the tension from the day’s chaos melting into something softer. His eyes are drawn to the golden light radiating from the streetlamp, casting a warm halo over the scene before him. It’s not just illuminating the alleyway- it’s unveiling the person he’s been chasing for so long. A gift from fate, just for him.

Finally.

Here you are. Of course, this is where you would be.

You don’t look like how Sylus remembers. The face he searched for in every crowd, the features that haunted his thoughts- none of them matched the person before him now. That explains why the physical descriptions he had gathered came up empty. But it is you. He knows it with the certainty that pulses in his chest. This moment, this scene- it tells him everything.

Everything about you may have changed, your appearance, your posture, the way you carry yourself- it’s all foreign. Yet, despite the shift in the shape of your form, the core of who you are remains untouched. You’re still the person he remembers, the person who’s always been more than superficial.

It’s the tenderness of your gestures, the way you tentatively lean toward the stray kitten, slowly offering it festival food with such gentle care. It’s the way you softly gaze at the creature before you, greedily eating from your hand yet eyeing you cautiously. It has only ever known fear and danger, like him. Yet, there’s empathy in your every movement, an unmistakable kindness. And, in that moment, Sylus realizes that despite all that’s changed, you’ve never stopped being the same person. The one who shared his soul, who saw the world through the lens of compassion despite its cruelty.

As you rise to leave, Sylus has already slipped from his hiding place, merging into the shadows at a safe distance. But he’s not far from you now. He watches as you step back into the crowd, and he knows, from this moment on, you’ll never again be out of his sight. Still, he doesn’t approach.

He tells himself it’s because you’re not ready, that the time hasn’t come for him to reveal himself. But deep down, he knows it’s not you- it’s him. He’s never thought this far ahead, never thought this moment would happen in his lifetime. What would he say? What would he do? The thoughts loop endlessly in his mind, taunting him with the possibility of rejection. And worst of all, what if you don’t remember him? Fear hits him like a bullet, sharp and sudden, tearing through him with a force he knows too well. At least with a bullet, he knows what to expect, how to numb the pain. But this? This feeling? This devastating uncertainty? He’d rather be shot again than feel this way, raw and vulnerable. No, he’s not ready. Not yet.

Instead, he hangs back, careful to stay out of your line of sight, yet his eyes remain fixed on you as you move through the crowd with quiet grace, effortlessly dodging the hustle and bustle around you. There’s a soft caution in the way you navigate, a careful awareness of your surroundings, just like him. He can’t tear his gaze away, tracking every subtle shift in your expression, every stall you pause at. What makes your eyes light up, what catches your attention longer than it should.

And yet, at this moment, in this aching distance, he finds a strange comfort. Watching you, following you, even if only from a distance, feels like a small but vital victory. It’s more than he ever thought he’d be able to ask for, more than he feel he deserves. For now, this is enough. But then he sees it—just for a moment, a fleeting glance—your eyes flicking over the couples around you, and he recognizes that quiet loneliness in your gaze, that unspoken thought that mirrors his own. You’re alone, just like him. And in that shared loneliness, there’s a bitter kind of understanding.

That doesn’t stop the yearning from gnawing at him, though. The desire to step forward, to close the space, buries itself in his bones. He must push it down, he must press on, because he’s just not ready. Not yet. But when he is, he’ll come crawling back to you.

youtube

#love and deepspace #lads #lads sylus #lnds #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x gn reader #sylus qin #qin che #yearning sylus #lads fanfic #lads angst #Youtube

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hardly-an-escape · 17 hours ago

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just a little something for Tommy Kinard Appreciation Day and @peppermintquartz <3

A few weeks after they get back together, Tommy comes over to the loft for dinner. It's nothing fancy, no special occasion – Evan's got a new roasted chicken recipe and they both have the night off, so Tommy shows up around 6:00 with a bottle of wine and a slightly nicer-than-average shirt.

He's rummaging around in a kitchen drawer, looking for some matches or something to light the candles on the dining table, when he finds the notebook. It's one of those composition books with the classic black and white cover, the miniature version, a little beat up. He probably shouldn't read it – scratch that, he definitely shouldn't read it – but.

It's labeled with his name.

Tommy, right on the cover, in Evan's handwriting.

He glances over his shoulder. Evan has his back turned, fussing with the salad dressing and not particularly paying attention, so Tommy palms the little notebook and wanders over to the living room to open it.

The first page has a single sentence: Things I Miss about him. After that it turns into a list.

His eyes

the way his face scrunches up when he smiles for real

his hands

His ass! And his dick!!!

I feel like I shouldnt write that but it's true!!

Tommy swallows hard. Evan's handwriting is kind of uneven and hard to read, and his spelling and punctuation aren't the best – but it's undoubtedly a list, all lined up with neat little bullet points, of the things he'd missed about Tommy while they'd been apart.

His hugs

especialy the way he used to press our cheeks together and hang on just a little longer then I was expecting him too

He's such a good firefighter and so expereinced, I always felt like I couldve learned alot from him

the competency in general... hes so good at so many things!

he could be so bitchy/sarcastic but he's actually so kind. Like his jokes were never mean

Really good with kids

he would be an amazing dad someday

The last item is barely legible, thoroughly scratched out, as though Evan had thought twice about it the moment he'd written it down. Tommy feels tears prick behind his eyes. Evan would make a fantastic father, he thinks. They haven't really talked about it – marriage, kids, the whole nine yards. Before, it had been too early, and now that they're together again... it still feels too new, too raw, to bring it up. But Evan's the first person who's ever made Tommy want to have that conversation. He flips to the next page.

I don't want it to sound like I was only with him for sex but god I miss his body so much

Tommy snorts. He's so absorbed he doesn't hear Evan call out from the kitchen.

"What was that, babe?"

He took such good care of me. like when I hurt my shoulder but also just in general. He checked in with me alot and always made sure I was ok

really good listener

Did I take care of him enough? did I listen to him enough?

I think maybe I didn't

"Hey, Tommy, did you – oh," Evan says, poking his head around the stairs. "Uh. You found that."

"I'm sorry," Tommy says immediately. "I shouldn't have looked at it, I just – it had my name on it," he finishes lamely.

"It's okay," Evan says, coming to sit next to him on the couch. "It's just a little embarrassing. I didn't really know what to do with myself, I had a lot to say and, uh, people got kind of sick of me talking about you after a while. So I started writing it down. I kind of forgot it was still floating around."

The thing is, over the past couple of weeks they've talked about those last two items on the list. Tommy's been honest about the fact that he'd felt, at times, that he was being more careful with Evan than Evan was being with him. About the fact that he'd been okay with that, until he wasn't; that he'd been okay in the role of fun, sexy first boyfriend, until he realized that not only were he and Evan not on the same page, they weren't even reading the same book.

It's different to see the words written out so plainly. But they're on the same page now. They're walking into the same future, hand in hand.

Tommy sets the little notebook aside and laces his fingers together with Evan's.

"I love you a lot, you know," he says. It's not the first time he's said it, but it still feels so special it's a little unreal.

"I love you, too," Evan says instantly, beaming, eyes twinkling.

#bucktommy #my writing #tommy kinard appreciation day #911 abc #it's still 2/17 in my time zone!#and yes this is also a list of things I miss about Tommy Kinard #me and Buck are on the same page

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 15 hours ago

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@zepskies

I'm going to be honest here, I think I broke myself with the angst as well 😅

Your AN also scares me a little because you know my hopeless romantic heart is fragile, but I trust you in whatever direction you decide to take this next!

Girl I got you, I'm exactly the same way 🥰. But oh my word it broke me to put Ben through this and it does get better... but there is so much bad before we get to better 😬 But thank you! It'll all be okay in the end... I hope.

I feel like Ben realizes that he scared her by the end, so he's gonna have to dig deep in order to work on himself if he wants to figure out how to be a man she can actually want to be with. 😅

Exactly! Ben is going to need to do some things that make him uncomfortable and do things for the reader that he hasn't done for anyone else in the past. But I also think that this story is going to be a bit more redemptive for him than the ones I've written in the past, especially because he's already at such a disadvantage with this particular reader. And he is going to have to try his hardest to win her.

But I also totally understand her side of things. She doesn't "know" him, but she's been essentially traumatized by everything she's seen of him in her dreams. He's a scary mofo. He's not a good guy, and honestly he doesn't deserve her love (right now, at least).

Yep, she is "essentially traumatized" by what Ben has done, but I completely get her too. I think that I would be terrified if I had to witness any of those things, and the fact that it comes from someone who is supposed to be the other half of her soul, it hurts even more. Yes! He is "a scary mofo" (🤣) and he is not a good man by any means. He's gonna have to earn her love by doing things that he probably would mock anyone else for and it is not going to be easy 😅

Also loved the detail of hearing each other's thoughts and feeling each other's emotions when they're in proximity. That's my favorite soulmate AU to read AND to write. 💕 I hope he got a good snapshot of how she felt before and after her instincts shifted to fear.

Thank you! In this soulmate AU, there are going to be a few ideas that are merged- I'm going to be using some of that "writer science" we talked about before 😉. I chose the telepathy and the emotions for that exact reason, I wanted Ben to feel her fear and hear her thoughts because of what it would do to him (I also hate myself for this reason 😭). He's had people be afraid of him before (and we all know he likes it), but he's never had someone like her afraid of him before, someone who is supposed to care about him and potentially love him. I thought that it would really kick start the internal reflection process that Ben needs to have if he's going to win this reader over.

I can't wait to see where you take this next! (But also scared of more angst. 😅🥲😂💓💓) Something tells me Ben isn't gonna be a happy camper.

There will be an (un)healthy amount of angst coming in the next chapters 💕 He is not going to be happy... he is going to be his loud, impatient, obnoxious self when he realizes that he's not going to get his way, and it will be heartbreaking 😭 But thank you so much for all your love and support on this project my dear friend 💗 I hope that the next part doesn't break your heart too much 😅

Chapter 3: But I Don't Want to Carry On Like Everything Is Fine

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!Reader, Reader POV

Summary: With a birthday printed on your wrist that happened over a hundred years ago, you always thought that you were cursed to never meet your soulmate. But when you finally meet the man that's supposed to be the other half of your soul, you wonder if the stars were wrong, and wonder how this man was meant for you. Reader is Hughie's sister, is not a supe, and is a Literature Professor that gets dragged into the middle of things. This fic takes place in an AU set loosely after Season 3 and does deviate from the plot of The Boys

Tropes: Soulmate AU, Little bit of Grumpy and Sunshine, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy, Jealous Ben/Soldier Boy

Warnings: I'm gonna label this one 18+ because it's Soldier Boy and we all know he's a warning. Homophobic comments towards Hughie (It's Soldier Boy y'all), Self deprecating thoughts, ANGST, SADNESS, HEART RIPPING OUT OF CHEST (figuratively because it's what it felt like to write this), Fear? Mentions of past graphic death, Mentions of torture (SB in Russia), Cursing, Mentions of past abuse (verbal abuse and it's SB doing it to someone because… we ALL know), Mentions of drinking, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Death, Loneliness, Longing, Basically the reader just wants to be loved, Reader wears glasses?, Soldier Boy might be a little OOC.

Word Count: 6.9K

Song Inspiration For Chapter: Love In The Dark By Adele (Title for chapter taken from this song)

Playlist For Series!✨

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

A/N: I know this chapter is a long time coming, but thank you so much to everyone who has loved this series so far, and for encouraging me to come back to it. I hope y'all are strapped in for a ride, because this is when all the angst starts to unfold… But also… I might have changed up the Soulmate AU even more in a crazy more heartbreaking direction so, there's that too

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Guide:

Reader's thoughts are in italics and in first person.

Ben's thoughts in italics, bold, and blue!

Previously:

"I've been looking everywhere for you sweetheart." The man rumbles, the words vibrating against your fingertips where they rest against his muscular chest. He smiles at you and somewhere deep down you feel something break open that you thought was locked away long ago.

And as you stand there looking up at the man you thought you'd never see again, you feel a flicker of something that could grow into a blaze.

You stand there in the silence that follows the words of your soulmate, the rough vibration of his voice still trembling through your fingertips where they lay against his chest, as you stare up into his hypnotic green eyes. The sunlight that streams in from the windows at you back traces the hardened edges of his handsome face turning his dark hair a honeyed brown. A smile pulls at the end of his lips, crinkling his eyes, and bringing a softness to the rugged features that make your heart beat quicken.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen and yet nothing what you’d expected. You briefly wonder if you were what he expected, but judging from the women you'd seen him with in his memories you weren't, given that you looked nothing like them.

The air around the both of you warms as electricity pops and crackles along your skin skittering against the flesh and bringing goosebumps in its wake. A wave of heat travels from where Ben's hand is gently cupping your chin in his calloused fingertips, that makes you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

Nothing else exists in the world except the two of you. There's no need to breathe, no need to see, and no need to speak, because all you know is your soulmate. You can feel the beating of his heart in your own chest, feel the thrum of electricity in his body along your nerve endings, and each breath he takes you can feel vibrate in your lungs.

You'd spent years feeling like a freak, lost, and out of place, but standing here with Ben so close that you can feel his breath on your face, makes you feel whole for the first time in your life.

He's still too far away.

A voice whispers in your ear and you long to close the distance between the two of you, to hold him tight and never let him go.

The date on your wrist sears hotter than it did the first day you met him burning through the foundation once again that you'd smeared across it to hide it and the golden cord that wove through the air securing his heart to yours seconds ago grows so hot that it turns a blinding white. And just as you think you'll have to shut your eyes from the brilliant light, the cord squeezes your chest to tight it takes your breath away.

You inhale sharply as a flood of emotions comes washing over you that aren't your own, memories that you'd only seen in your dreams flash through your mind as if you lived them, and Ben's eyes widen as he feels the same thing. His heart beats in tandem with yours, the space between you growing to almost nothing as the cord yanks you so close that you can feel his breath on your lips and his hands fall to your hips to steady you against him, sending goosebumps prickling over your body with his touch.

You'd read about what it was like to meet your soulmate before and people had tried to tell you, but for everyone it was different and no one ever described as anything like this. Especially not happening a second time after they'd crossed paths.

This shouldn't be happening, we've already met.

But you know you're not imagining this, you know that your soul is singing to Ben's, calling out to his and both of them are twisting between the two of you, weaving you together, binding you as one.

The spark in the pit of your stomach you felt the moment Ben's eyes locked with yours has begun to flare again until it burns into a wild-fire, but it's not love you feel, not compassion, not relief, or love, it's fear.

It sobers you.

Its cold finger drags down your spine and seizes in your chest, wiping away whatever else you're feeling for the handsome man standing only millimeters from you.

The Ben's memories you re-lived in your dreams come roaring back like a lion over a kill, each one more horrific than the last.

You see your soulmate standing triumphantly over bodies burned beyond recognition, see him beating someone into submission his fists splattered with red, watch as he laughs at the torment of his younger teammates and then opens his mouth to say something so repulsive it makes your skin crawl, and you see the proud smirk when he knows he's won, when he knows that he can't be beaten and no one can stop him.

He had no remorse in any of those moments, no compassion, no regret, there was only the pride and arrogance that comes with his belief that he had bested whomever attempted to challenge him.

Nothing about him is gentle, caring, or kind and nothing about him is anything like you.

You who'd never been in a fight your entire life, you who tried your hardest to make sure that no one ever felt what it was like to be alone as you had for so many years, you who always put others first, and you who tried to always find something kind to say about someone else.

Everything about your soulmate and who he is terrifies you, chills you to your core and wipes away the sensations that skittered along your skin and buried themselves in your heart moments ago.

He can't be mine. Not someone like him. Please no, anyone but him.

Your soulmate's head tilts to the side and his eyebrows furrow with confusion, mouth twitching into a frown, and you realize that he can feel your fear, maybe even hear it in the quick pulse of your heart or maybe he could smell it.

You weren't sure how his powers worked, all you knew was that you'd seen what he'd done with them, you’d seen the kind of person he was, and you wanted no part of that even if it meant being alone.

You'd spent your entire life waiting for this moment and now you wish it never came.

The cord between you snaps, the sound like breaking glass, but the man's emotions still remain in your head. You feel his confusion, his apprehension, and underneath it all you feel something else, something vulnerable that flicks away in an instant.

You step back from him, allowing his hands fall from your waist, prepared to run, needing to put as much distance between the two of you, but his fingers closes hard on your wrist just over his birthdate, hard enough to bruise.

I have to get of here.

"Where are you going?" He asks, his voice gruff, the sound of water over rocks, smoothing the sharp edges, answering your thought with a question.

"Please let me go." You say, unable to catch your breath and tugging at where his hand tightens around your wrist.

The feeling of his skin pressed to yours is overwhelming, begging you to curve into him, to sink into the warmth of your soulmate and never resurface for air.

But you can't. The fear is there, rising in the back of your throat, clamping down hard and stopping the rush of oxygen to your brain.

You weren't like Butcher, you didn’t hate supes, but you also weren't unrealistic or clueless about them. You didn't believe that all of them were bad, because with the bad came the good.

Your brother's soulmate Annie was proof of that, a supe that wasn't evil or callous or on a power trip to make others submit to her will. She cared for other people, used her powers to help others, but not all supes were like her.

Your brother had told you to stay away from supes like your soulmate, warned you about Homelander before he vanished, and warned you that not all supes were as they appeared. Although, Hughie had tried hard to keep his life separate from yours, Butcher believed you had a right to know that the supes who promised safety and freedom would be the first to take it away from you.

The stories Butcher had told you about Homelander kept you awake at night fearing for your brother and Annie’s safety, and your own. You knew that the new leader of the Seven, Stormfront, was just as bad, if not worse.

As much as you believed in the strength of your brother's soulmate, there was another part of you that knew she might not be a match for Stormfront, at least not on her own.

You yank your hand again trying to break his grip, but it doesn't move from Ben's grasp.

Why is she trying to leave?

Ben's voice in your head makes you hesitate, eyes widening as you look up into his face. You knew that Ben didn't say that out loud and yet you'd heard it.

Holy shit, how can I hear his thoughts? Can he hear mine?

You weren't a supe and you didn't understand why you could hear his thoughts and feel his emotions, or why you hadn't been able to feel or hear them in the year since the two of you met.

What the fuck is going on? Ben's voice says louder in your head and you don't understand what the hell was going on. No one in history had ever been able to hear their soulmate's thoughts or their emotions, you knew that for a fact.

"Let me go!" You say louder.

All other sounds of whispered conversations and tinkling glasses have stopped as everyone in the room turns to stare at the two of you.

Your emotions were overwhelming, the part of you screaming to run away fighting with the urge to get closer to Ben.

His confusion floods into you as well as a slew of other emotions from him that you can’t put a name to. He doesn't understand why you're trying to get away from him and why he can feel your emotions either.

"But-" Ben begins to say.

You're my soulmate. His thought finishes in your head.

"Let her go." Hughie says appearing on your left.

The confused look in Ben's eyes shifts to annoyance, the green hardening within a second. "Fuck off. This isn't your problem." He snarls gaze flicking to your brother who looks closer to anger than you'd seen him in years.

Ben's anger and annoyance comes in a wave of heat, scorching up your arms and into your chest, clawing against your ribcage.

What the hell is happening?

"Oi let her go mate." Butcher's voice joins Hughie's and you can feel the presence of the other man hovering just over your shoulder.

Truthfully you liked Butcher. You thought he was funny and that he cared more about other people more than he was willing to let on. Not to mention after he lost his Soulmate, Becca, Butcher didn't have much to do, so you’d invite him over for movie nights with Annie and Hughie so you didn't feel like the awkward fourth wheel. Butcher was as much your friend as he was Hughie's.

I didn't fucking ask to butt in you British cunt. Ben's thought burns through your body with a wave of his anger and you can feel the heat of his skin raise.

Another shiver of fear courses down your spine at the thought of Ben losing control and burning you alive just as he had done to his teammates.

Ben's eyes drop back to yours when you whimper in pain, trying to free your wrist from his grasp, and this time Ben releases you.

The warmth you felt from touching his skin is gone, leaving only a dull throb in your wrist as you clutch it to your chest, eyes wide with fear and horror.

Ben's eyes drag down your body to your wrist and you can feel a flicker of something that might be guilt, but you're not sure if he can feel things like that. All you know is that you have to get away from him.

Why is she afraid of me?

Ben's thoughts are back, vibrating through your skull and bringing a wave of emotion with it that's not yours. You back away from him, but Ben takes a step forward to fill the space you left behind reaching for you again.

"Don't touch me." You whisper, throat thick. You couldn't tell what were his emotions and what were yours colliding in your head, all you knew was that you didn't want him anywhere near you.

Stay away from me! You think taking another step back. Ben tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He takes another step towards you still not comprehending what is happening, frustration and confusion burning through the air between the two of you.

You'd seen the short temper your soulmate had, saw what happened to people on the wrong side of it, and you cringe away from him in fear. You didn't want to be on the receiving end of his fist or whatever the hell he had locked away in his chest.

Please don’t hurt me.

The thought comes before you can stop it and you watch something flash in Ben’s eyes that looks surprisingly like hurt.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ben says, eyebrows furrowing together. “I’m your soulmate, I’d never hurt you.”

It confirms what you already know, that Ben can hear your thoughts just as you can hear his.

You back up into Butcher's chest and he drops his hands down on your shoulders to make you feel better.

Get your fucking hands off of her. She's mine!

Ben's voice roars in your head. The wave of jealousy and rage that you feel rip through your body at the feeling of Butcher's touch scorches against your insides.

"You should go." Hughie says calmly, but you can hear an edge to his voice.

"I'm not going fucking anywhere you overgrown glory hole!" Ben snaps, eyes flashing in the light of the sun behind you, the soft green long gone, but falling on you once more.

Why is she acting like she's not my soulmate? Like she doesn't want me?

Ben's voice asks in your head, the words snagging in something deep down that you thought you locked away years ago, the empty place inside that you longed for someone to fill, the empty place you knew that this man was supposed to belong.

No. No. No. Why is this happening to me?

"Hey, you don’t get to fucking speak to him like that in our house!" Annie shouts back at Ben, her eyes narrowed at the man who was at least two heads taller than she was.

It was all too much. You couldn't be here, not with all these people watching you. You move out of Butcher's grip and around Ben as close as you dare, trying to get to the front door and away from him. You could feel everyone's eyes on you and hear their silent judgement.

It reminded you too much of your childhood, the one you spent wishing that the whispers and odd looks would stop, the one when people would cross to the other side of the road like you had something contagious, the one where you felt so alone that you couldn't standing it and when you wished that someone, anyone, would fill the hole you felt inside for far too long. The same hole that you couldn't feel when Ben was touching you.

"Wait-" Ben begins to say, voice gruff, while trying again to grab you, but you dodge his hand and run full speed at the front door of the apartment.

Come back.

There's something behind those words that grates against your heart, but you don't turn around.

Hughie and Annie shout your name, but you're already gone. You can’t be here, not now, not with him standing there, not when he's everything you'd thought you'd never have and yet, everything that you fear.

Your footsteps pound against the cracked pavement, the world around you a soundless blur with every pump of your arms. Rain swats against your skin as you run, each slap of your bare feet against cracked pavement mirroring the thunder that shakes the buildings around you.

You'd lost your shoes the minute you broke into a run outside Hughie and Annie's apartment, and you were too afraid to go back for them.

Water trickles down your spine, bringing the chill of the rain with it, but you can’t feel it, the only thing you feel is the flood of emotions you'd had since the moment you ran into your soulmate again, the one who left you on the street one year ago like you meant nothing to him.

Funny, when that happened you thought that was the worst of it, but it wasn't.

What did I do to deserve this?

Flashes of your soulmate's memory echo the lightning above, the horrors you witnessed in the sweet abyss of sleep that haunted your mind. Bloody fists, blackened bodies, harsh laughter, and clips of dialogue play through your mind on a sickening loop.

You ran as if you thought you could leave it all behind, as if you could leave him behind, but he was everywhere. He was in the faces of the people in the crowds, in the sound of the thunder, in the thrum of your blood through your veins, in each beat of your heart, and in each breath you took.

The look he had on his face when you fled was there, bringing a wave of guilt for leaving him behind the way that he left you one year ago.

But he left me before he knew me. I know him. I've seen what he's done. I-

The thought brings the memory of the hurt that flashed through Ben's eyes at the apartment back into your head.

In all the memories you'd seen of him, you'd never seen him look hurt, but it was there somewhere, slipping through whatever warped telepathy the two of you had, the telepathy you didn't understand.

How could someone you waited for your whole life fill you with such dread? How could the man who was the other half of your soul, be anything like the man you met?

In the past you'd tried to imagine who it would be, what your soulmate would look like, how he'd treat you, and what kind of man he'd be. You'd seen a faceless man holding sunflowers out to you, a man holding you while you cried, a man sitting with you curled on the couch while you read through one of your favorite books with your head leaning on his shoulder, a man taking you to bed while your fingers clasped his above your head and the soft sound of his voice telling you how much he loved you, a man who touched you reverently, as if you were something to be worshipped, a man who made you feel safe and who would listen when you talked to him, a man who remembered the little things, a man who took care of you, and a man who sat with you while you graded papers and sighed to yourself at the end of a day that seemed endless.

Now it all seemed like a big lie, because your soulmate could never be that man. You'd seen exactly who and what he was.

The idea that you were cursed seemed to fit now, because there had to be something or someone above laughing at your expense, making you suffer all the years you were alone dreaming of a man who could be those things for you only to give you the one man who could be none of them.

Annie and Hughie were perfect in every way. All the little things that made each of them unique molded together to create something beautiful. They loved each other in a way that made your chest hurt to look at them.

You'd wanted that so badly for so long.

And now the stars laughed at you because they'd given you him.

You didn't think it would be possible for you to ever love someone like him. Someone who took from others and gave none in return, someone who found joy in the submission of others, and someone who hurt and killed with no remorse.

Monsters did that, men who thought the world owed them something or rather that the world should submit to them, men who took and took and never once cared what it did to the people around them, and men who never saw anyone else as an equal.

In the past you'd thought that your soulmate of all people would see you as something more than just a possession, but rather something that strengthened him, made him stronger with your love and care, made him a better man, and a man who saw you as someone, not something.

People clear out of your way, parting to watch what they must believe is a woman driven mad, running shoeless, down the streets of NYC in the middle of a torrential downpour.

And maybe you were crazy to run from someone who looked like your soulmate did.

There was no denying that he was gorgeous. He looked like he stepped right out of a book, the dashing dark-hared brooding hero with sharp features and green eyes you wished to lose yourself in. Your soulmate looked like every lead male character you'd imagined and fallen in love with in every book you ever read. The novels you read when everything in the real world was disappointing and bleak, the ones that opened their pages and welcomed you home, promised an escape from the mediocre and enveloped you in the extraordinary.

He looked like everything you ever wanted. Something taken from your unconscious and made real.

Why me?

The fear was back, the cold trickle that became a roar blocking out the little voice inside your head that scolded you and told you to turn around and go back to him, that you needed him, the little voice that told you he was yours, that he was made for you, just as you were made for him. The voice that promised after years of being alone and filled with a cold, empty feeling, all you had to do was turn around and run back to the sun.

But you can't go back, because you're not sure if your soulmate is even human anymore.

In the past your bathtub had been a place of solace where you could have a nice glass of wine and lose yourself in a good book, but today the warm water did little to sooth the anxiety prickling on the back of your neck.

There was a Rosemary Mint candle lit on the small counter next to the sink sending a flickering yellow light over the worn subway tiles in your bathroom. One of two candles Annie had gifted you for Christmas in a handmade basket full of things to pamper yourself and a candle that was supposedly good for "stress relief" but you were prepared to call bullshit on that given the state of your nerves.

The plush white bathrobe hanging on the back of your bathroom door, the jar of soothing lavender bath salts nestled into the elbow of your tub, and the face masks scattered on the bathroom counter also came from the same basket.

All of which served as another reminder of how perfect she was for your thoughtful and caring brother.

The thought brings a wave of sadness over you and you lean your head into your knees.

None of this was helping.

You couldn't remember coming home, didn't remember running up the creaky stairs to your floor, didn’t remember passing by Mrs. Charleson's apartment with the happily painted yellow door, didn't remember unlocking the five locks on your apartment door, and certainly didn't remember slipping into the warm bath you found yourself in.

The only thing you could remember was meeting your soulmate, feeling the warmth of his caress over your skin, hearing the smooth rumble of his voice like distant thunder, and seeing how the memories you'd seen did not do justice to the handsome and rugged features he had.

A shiver of fear follows and your tighten your arms around your knees.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be different.

You think to yourself as your eyes drift to the hand print on your wrist, the one that had already begun to turn an ugly blue and ironically was curved over the birthdate that glowed gold in the flickering light.

Why him?

A wave of guilt comes swiftly when you think of the way he looked at you when you thought that in front of him.

How could he hear my thoughts? How could I hear his thoughts and feel his emotions?

There were so many things about the soulmate bond the two of you had that made no sense. You knew for a fact that no one else could see their soulmates memories when they slept, but the ability to hear your soulmate's thoughts and feel his emotions? It was impossible. And unless someone had spiked your drink with compound V at the party, you still weren't a supe and had no idea what the hell was going on!

But you were thankful that you couldn't hear Ben's thoughts and emotions right now. You didn't know why that was and hoped it meant that it only happened when you were around him or hoped it meant that it would never happen again.

The memory of how you met Ben again sends a warm feeling from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Another mystery… why it was like that to meet Ben the second time.

None of your friends ever told you that it was like that to run into your soulmate a second time.

Then again what other soulmate leaves you standing in the street alone?

The golden cord glows behind your eyelids, the cord that bound Ben's heart to yours for a few precious seconds, a moment that lasted forever. You'd never heard anyone talk about a golden cord before either. Annie said that when she met Hughie it felt like fireworks, but she never talked about feeling like she was bound to your brother or told you that it was anything like what you’d experienced with Ben.

What the hell is going on?

When you'd told Mrs. Charleson that you were dreaming Ben's memories she'd said that she'd heard a myth about it, that it meant the two of you were "meant to share more than one lifetime together," (whatever that meant), but she'd never mentioned anything about a cord that wove soulmates together. You would have gone to talk to her after the train wreck that happened at the party, but you knew that she was still at work.

Despite the fact that she had more than enough money to retire, your neighbor argued that people "who slowed down got old." She'd been running a successful apartment and house cleaning business for years, but about a year ago a man had hired her to clean his apartment and cook for him full time. He'd offered her so much money that your neighbor no longer needed to clean anyone else's home and was employed as his housekeeper.

You didn't know anything about him, didn't even know his name, but your neighbor said he was a kind young man who often reminded her of her son and was richer than a piece of french silk pie. You supposed he was a wall-street guy or the founder of some tech company, but you couldn’t believe the descriptions of his apartment she told you or the pictures you'd shown you.

It sounded and looked like a palace so far in the air it might as well be a castle in the sky, but you wanted to see it in person.

You did like your apartment, but it was too small even just for you. The thought of having a place where you could have a real desk, sunlight, consistent water pressure, a breathtaking view, and no super who only responded to twenty dollar bills and asked you for pictures of your feet daily sounded heavenly.

Not to mention it would be nice not to live somewhere with walls so thin you could hear your neighbors having obnoxiously loud sex at all hours of the night like bats. You had no idea how they ever got anything done with so little sleep.

And yeah, maybe Mrs. Charleson and you had made fun of the guy's decorating choices, but you figured that maybe he just needed someone to help him pick out furniture that was a little more comfortable to make his apartment seem less like a museum and more like a home. Mrs. Charleson had said he was single anyway, which meant that guy probably hadn't met his soulmate and when he did, they would help him out.

The front door of your apartment opens and fear momentarily spikes at the thought of it being your soulmate, that he'd somehow figured out where you lived, and he'd find you naked and vulnerable in the bathtub.

But then you hear your brother shout your name from your living room and a wave of relief crashes over you.

"I'm in the tub." You yell back.

Honestly, you didn't feel like talking to anyone, not after the day you had. You wanted to forget it happened, to go to bed and go to work tomorrow as if everything were normal and not as if your life was falling apart. It always felt like it was falling apart, but today was exceptionally heart breaking.

"Can you come out?" Hughie asks. You can hear him lean his head against the door of your small bathroom and you imagine his frown.

"I don't feel like talking right now." You reply pushing your face further into your knees.

"I brought tacos."

You hesitate for a second. Your brother and you had always been close. Sure there were those awkward sibling moments and a little bit of sibling rivalry and times when Hughie annoyed you to no end, but he was your best friend. It was him who encouraged you to become an English teacher despite the constant disapproval from your parents, him who loaned you enough money to get out from under their roof and start your own life, and him who always knew just the way to cheer you up… hence the tacos.

"And a blind date from Inky's Inspirations." He continues.

Damnit.

Inky's Inspirations was your favorite used book store. You had spent many a weekend curled up in one of the holey reading chairs with a worn paperback in your hand, letting the rest of the world fall away while you were lost in a book that whisked you away on ink and paper with gentle prose. The store had started doing "blind dates," wrapping up books in brown paper with descriptors like "Will melt your panties" or "Made me realize I have a bondage kink" or "Supernatural creature hunter vibes" or "In case you're curious about what the inside of the Loch Ness monster looked like."

That last one had been a supernatural romance that you still weren't sure if you liked it or not. It had been interesting...

But you were under the impression that no one could have too many books. The books scattered all over your apartment and stacked up so high they hit the ceiling were proof of that.

You sigh to yourself cursing your thoughtful brother. "Give me a second."

When you come out of your bathroom wearing your favorite soft t-shirt and sweatpants, your brother envelops you in a warm hug, and unfortunately undoes the little relaxation you felt when you took a bath and makes you begin to cry.

Worse was that a little part of you wished that it wasn't your brother but your soulmate who was here holding you, or rather the version of the soulmate you'd invented in your head, not the man you’d seen earlier.

It made all of this worse, that you were still so alone and sometimes you couldn’t understand how you could feel so alone with so many people in your life who cared about you. But you wanted him, wanted the other half of your soul to hold you close against him, to feel the warmth of his body curving around yours as he told you that everything was going to be okay.

It hurt more than you knew it would, especially now that you knew he existed.

Sobs shake through your body as you cling to your brother and rub your nose into the front of his shirt as everything from today washes over you all over again. Meeting your soulmate again after a year, having all those feeling and emotions roll through you, seeing flashes of his memories again, and running away from him as fast as you could.

You felt lost and yet there was a voice whispering in your ear that told you that the only place that you could be found was back with the man who held the other half of your soul.

"Shh. It's alright." Hughie soothes, rubbing his hand up and down your back. "It's okay."

It was the same thing that he used to tell you when you were younger and nothing made sense, when it felt like you were a freak because of the date printed on your wrist. The same days when you'd ask yourself the ultimate question: would it be okay?

But now you knew the truth… it wouldn't be.

Because you'd hoped and prayed to meet your soulmate every day of your life, and now that you had, you wished that it never happened, because the man who grabbed you so hard it bruised your skin couldn't be the man you imagined falling in love with when you were a little girl.

"Are you okay?" Hughie asks you.

"No." You murmur pulling back to clean your tear smudged glasses.

Hughie was still wearing the light blue button down shirt from the party, and you feel a wave of guilt crash over you thinking that you ruined his and Annie's housewarming party.

Your brother presses his lips together. "I'm sorry-" He begins to say, but you interrupt.

"I'm the one who should be saying that."

"What? Why?"

"Well I ruined your party and-"

"Are you kidding? No you didn't! That asshole did-" Hughie frowns. "I don't know what he was thinking grabbing you like that."

You swallow the lump in the back of your throat remembering the grip Ben had on your arm.

"Did he hurt you?" Hughie picks up your hand to examine your wrist, frowning at the handprint. "What a dick!"

Your brother didn’t usually get angry, he was more of a suffer in silence kind of person who kept all their emotions a little more close to their chest, but he looks livid. "I swear the next time I see him I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. He shouldn’t have fucking grabbed you like that-"

The thought of your gentle brother yelling at Ben makes a lump of worry catch in the back of your throat. You didn't want Ben to hurt your brother, he was only person in your entire family that made you feel like you belonged.

"Hughie calm down, it's okay."

It wasn't and you both knew it.

"No it's not. He could have broken your arm!" He snaps.

"He didn't." You murmur.

But he could have.

Those words are like taking a bullet to the chest. You’d seen exactly what your soulmate was capable of and exactly how he acted when he didn’t get his way.

What did I do to deserve this?

"That doesn't matter! He didn't have a right to treat you like that. Like you're-"

"His." The word comes out before you can stop it. "But I kind of am." You shudder at the confession.

Even if you didn't want Ben in your life, it didn't change anything. He was still your soulmate. Every part of him was molded and shaped for you just as every part of yourself was molded and shaped for him.

Ben was yours, but you didn't want to be his.

Hughie shakes his head. "He might be your soulmate but you don't belong to him. You're not his property-"

"I know that but-" Your voice breaks under the weight of everything crashing back down over you. "How can he be my soulmate?"

Hughie whispers your name, but you keep talking. It was coming out of you, everything that you had pushed down, all the emotions you'd had as a child, because you didn't want to keep going like everything was fine, it wasn't.

It never had been.

"Why is he my soulmate? How are we anything alike? He's-" A memory of Ben ripping someone in half comes across your mind and it makes you feel nauseous.

"I mean I-" The tears were coming fast again now, hot against your cheeks. "I waited all these years, thought that he'd never exist, thought that I was going fucking crazy staring at this damn date on my wrist and after years of feeling like a freak I find out that the man I've been waiting for is him? How is any of this fair?"

"It's going to be-"

"Stop saying that!" You shout, hands clenched at your sides. "It's not Hughie! It's not going to be okay and I'm so sick of hearing you say it. Not everyone can be happy all the time and have a perfect soulmate. Some of us are fucking stuck with a barbarian who doesn't give a shit about anyone else and kills people for sport!"

Hughie recoils with your words and you feel guilty.

You didn’t mean to hurt his feelings and you knew that your brother was here to help you, but you were just so frustrated and confused over everything that had happened today. You had no idea what was going on and what any of this meant. It all made you feel helpless and you hated feeling like that.

"He's-" You squeeze your eyes shut as if it'll make the thoughts stop, but it doesn't. "He's nothing like me! He's-" The image of a body laying at Ben's feet comes flashing through your head with him standing triumphantly over it. "He's a monster."

You hadn't said it out loud until right now only thought it. The word seems harsh, but you didn't know what else to call a person who killed and hurt other people with no remorse. In all the memories that you’d relived of your soulmate that was the ingredient missing.

Remorse.

Regret.

Guilt.

Shame.

All were things that would have made you reconsider going back to Ben if he'd felt those things after killing or hurting someone, but you didn't feel a shred of any when you watched him tear people apart with his bare hands.

You wonder if it had something to do with being tortured in the lab all those years, if being put through that changed him, but you’d seen memories of him acting just as terrible years before that happened.

"Someone like him isn't capable of feeling love! You can't do all the things he has with no remorse and still be capable of that." By now you were babbling, your voice barely recognizable from the sobs and shaky breaths you kept taking to stabilize yourself, but the truth was you were on the verge of a panic attack. Your eyes shift to your brother's concerned expression. "I'm sorry Hughie I-"

Hughie hugs you again, holding you so tight against him that it hurts. “You don’t have to be sorry. I know you’re frustrated. And I don't understand why he's your soulmate either. You have no idea what I’ve seen him do.“

“I don't know what to do.” You whisper into his shirt with a sniffle, still trying to calm the rapid breathing and beat of your heart, but nothing was working.

Because what the hell should you do?

You'd lived so long believing that you’d never meet your soulmate and even though the thought of being around him terrified you, there was another part of you that was begging you to go back to him.

The fantasy version of Ben manifests again, the one you'd imagined when you were a little girl dreaming of the day you'd get to meet the man who would complete you. Now those fantasies mocked you, every year you spent celebrating the birthday of your soulmate alone in the darkness of your apartment, every minute you spent trying to shrug off the taunts of the people in your hometown and your own parents when they saw the date on your wrist, and every second you spent hoping that it would happen to you while a little voice in your head told you it wasn't meant to be, that someone above cursed you to be alone forever.

All the hope you'd felt was a lie.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this and now that I’ve seen what he’s done I… I don't think I could ever love someone like him."

"No one is asking you to." Your brother says.

"I know that, but- He's still my soulmate."

I want to love him. A little voice deep inside said, it was the same one that was begging you to give Ben a chance, but you ignored it. You had seen the kind of man he was and you wanted no part of him in your life.

You take in a shaky breath and pull back from Hughie to examine the handprint shaped bruise on your wrist right over the golden birthdate that glows against your skin. "I'd rather be alone than be with him.”

The words hurt to admit to yourself, especially after all the years you’d spent wishing that you wouldn’t be alone and watching everyone else get the happy ending you so desperately wanted.

But none of that mattered now. Soulmate or not, everything about Ben scared you, and it didn't matter that the universe said he was yours, you knew in your heart that he couldn't be and that you'd never be able to love someone like him.

And miles away, on the other side of the bustling city that never sleeps, your soulmate sat on the end of his large bed in his empty apartment and looked down at his own wrist, tracing an ugly blue bruise that looked surprisingly like a handprint over your golden birthdate, and the first bruise he'd had in over eighty years.

A/N: Welp, I told y'all it was sad and oh my stars it broke my heart to do this to Ben. 😭 I'd like to say that the next chapter I have planned is less sad... but oh man I think it's worse 😅

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always welcome and appreciated! I really love hearing what y'all think. ❤️ If you'd liked to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

Taglist:

@reidtomewinchester @livya99 @pascal-rascal424 @xaviersgifted @zepskies

@bagpussjocken @bitchykittenconnoisseur @kamisobsessed @goldenmaknaes @ophennie

@infinityonhighhhhh @modiddys-blog @globetrotter28 @roseblue373 @tulipsvanilla

@annoyingrebelsoul @soldiergrimes @megara0224 @zpandaqueen @ladykitana90

@corruptedcruiser @podiumackles @criminalyetminimal

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#jensen ackles #jackles #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #lovelyreaders #wonderful mutuals 💕#Hello My Friend! 💗

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fanged-fanfics · 2 days ago

Note

Hey Fang! Just stopping by to drop off another request for you to try out.

I understand you have things to do and fulfill requests from other people. Don’t push yourself too much, alright? No pressure.

May I request HCs of [TF One] Megatron with a Cybertronian![S/O] [Gender Neutral] [Romantic] who has a Symbiote?

It’s not exactly like Venom, but I could imagine it as an extra modification made up of tiny nano-bots and it’s sentient on its own. It probably still needs Energon to feed on.

☆ Devil On The Shoulder — TFOne Megatron x GN Reader HCs ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 In the rise of the Decepticon army, the newly-named Megatron made it a point to recruit those that felt outcasted by society. Those who could relate to his rage, and feel his anger in equal amounts. He sought to give them a place to belong

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You were one of the more interesting bots he'd recruited. Your modifications left many wary of you, but he extended a servo of guidance nevertheless. He promised to give you a home you could fight with, so you joined his growing army

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He kept a cautious optic on your nanobot extension, admittedly. He knew it seemed to have its own sentience, and while he didn't mind the thought, he was careful to make sure it wouldn't become a problem

ᯓᡣ𐭩 When he assessed it as safe, he came around to talking to you on a more personal level. He made sure you knew the lengths and depths his loyalty went to this cause, and made sure to help train you and your nanobots to keep up with the High Guard

ᯓᡣ𐭩 When he found out the extension needed fuel, he began making sure you always had enough to feed you both. In a show of good will, he even offered some energon out of his own palm. You found it immensely amusing how he tried to hide his startled expression when the nanobots immediately dived to aggressively eat out of his servo

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He once very seriously told you that he was certain your symbiote had winked at him and it was so hard not to laugh, he was being dead serious about it too

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You showed great promise with your symbiote, and Megatron made sure to tell you as such. He wanted you to feel appreciated and accepted, to let you know he was serious about his words of dedication to you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 For someone so cold in disposition and stern in his leadership, there was never any doubt in your processor that Megatron truly cared for you. Even on harder days, you were a relief he took great comfort in visiting, and no little nanobot friend gnawing on his helm would dissuade that

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louisaguy · 23 hours ago

Text

pls ignore that this character has had one (1) line in this show and i am creating her out of essentially whole cloth. i am aware that this is essentially an oc at this point. i don't care i can't stop thinking about her she obsesses me.

(this may be out of context bc it springs up from convos i've had with people in DMs and wips i haven't finished or posted lmao but it's just more convenient to put it here where i can copy paste the link to people so. sorry if you're seeing this with 0 context! i hate isobel too i prommy but she also compels me so deeply)

The thing about it is, like, I do really get where Isobel’s jealousy of river comes from. In a lot of ways, she’s not wrong in thinking of herself as the black sheep of the family. David and Rose— they loved her, of course, but they didn’t really like her. She didn’t think like them, didn’t want what they wanted— she chafed under their conventionality, valued independence, adventure, impulsivity over stability, career, family. Meanwhile, river— though he does have that rebellious and impulsive streak in him, which in the books David attributes to his mother’s genes in him— is a much more conventional person— as in, he’s more open to and accepting of the idea of bowing to fit in with conventions. He tries to follow in David’s footsteps, be exactly the protege child David wanted from him. He doesn’t SUCCEED per se, but he tries.

I think it comes from the fact that like— this is something that my friend Ash pointed out to me, I don’t think I ever thought about it until she mentioned it but like-- that story in s4 that David tells river, about having a snowball fight with his KGB equivalent christmas eve 1982? That would have been when isobel was 12ish. That’s a Christmas that her dad wasn’t at home because he was off fighting cold war battles. Of course they have different opinions of David’s work-- River was weaned on glorious war stories that he ate up with a spoon, but David was only around to tell those stories because he was retired. Isobel, meanwhile, had to deal with the David who was still actively living those stories-- the David that was never there. Of course they would come away with different opinions about the service and about David himself.

So I think a lot of Isobel’s acting out comes from this abandonment, like, she acts out to get David’s attention. She wants to piss him off because otherwise it feels like he just ignores her. River, meanwhile, already had all that attention freely given while he was growing up-- if anything, David went too far the other way with him lol, and raised River in his image. So River never felt the need to act out for attention-- instead, he tries to please his grandparents, tries to live up to what they want from him. That makes his relationship with them much smoother-- even though he has a rebellious streak in him and doesn’t always listen, on the whole, his goal is to make them proud of him. Meanwhile Isobel’s goal is to piss them off enough that they can’t ignore her (and by “they” here, I really mean David. It’s quite a… traditional marriage, David and Rose’s. Rose doesn’t have much of an identity outside of her husband. And that may be just a consequence of the way Mick Herron writes women, but… let’s pretend it’s intentional for now. I do definitely think David is the one the buck ultimately stops with in that household).

Isobel’s not wrong in thinking of herself as the family fuckup and River as the golden child. Her parents do like River more than they ever liked her. He just makes it so easy-- him and his overeager want to please. He’s a much easier child than she ever was. And he’s happy to get invested in what they’re invested in-- Isobel had her own interests, her own ideas about what she wanted from her life, and they quite often conflicted with what her parents wanted from her. River, meanwhile-- he’s still his own person, of course, but he’s much more receptive to the interests and personality traits being suggested and encouraged in him by his grandparents. See his interest in the service, his continuing habit of gardening with David, his childhood bedroom decorated with history books and maps of England and toy cars and posters of military airplanes. All things that would please David greatly, I imagine, things David likely gave him or at least encouraged his interest in. Evidences of a child willing to accept and enjoy the traditionally masculine, nationalistic childhood David wanted for him. Which isn’t a bad thing! It’s just a personality difference, between him and Isobel. He was much more receptive to all that than she ever was. And that’s what I mean when I say River is happier to conform to conventions than Isobel was-- he’s happy to take what David gives him and run with it, whereas Isobel tended to flatly reject it.

Though, of course, maybe those things were just ever offered to her in the first place. Because River’s not just the golden child, is he? He’s the golden boy. He gets toy cars and camping trips and shooting lessons because he’s a little man. Was any of that ever offered to Isobel? On the rare occasions when David was around, I can see him mostly ignoring Isobel, because... well, some men just have no idea what to do with their daughters. They know what boyhood is supposed to look like, but girlhood? They’re stumped. They don’t offer camping trips and military history and shooting lessons, because those are Boy things and not suitable for a Girl child. But they don’t offer any Girl Bonding events to take its place, either. it's very shiv roy "he couldn't hold a whole woman in his head". I can see David just not really knowing how to connect with her, and by the time he realizes he’s had like 2 minutes of bonding with her in her entire life, she’s already a resentful teen ready to reject anything he throws her way. Whoops.

Anyway, all this is to say, I really do understand Isobel’s jealousy when it comes to River, her feeling that he’s the preferred child to her parents. She’s kinda not wrong. They DO like him better, they DO get on with him easier than they get on with her, they WOULD rather have him around than her. I get why that stings.

…But that’s not poor baby River’s fault. If you’ve got problems with how David treated you growing up, understandable, but then address David with that. River didn’t make him ignore you two decades before he was even born.

River’s just an easier conduit for her jealousy and resentment. It’s easier for her to blame him and say that he stole her parents’ love from her than to question why it wasn’t given as freely to her in the first place.

And it is truly ridiculous to abandon your kid and then be mad that they’re receiving love and attention from somewhere else when it was your responsibility to give it to them and you shirked that responsibility. Truly ridiculous. Don’t blame the kid. He was like negative 15 years old when all this shit started up.

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goldfades · 2 days ago

Note

Hi:))) could you write something about Booker proposing to Reader, please?

i hope you enjoy!!! hubby devin is soo cutesy

You met Devin in a way that made you believe in fate a little more than you probably should have. One of those right place, right time situations—except, in hindsight, it was never just timing. It was how he looked at you like he already knew you, how the conversation never felt forced, how his presence settled something in you rather than stirring it up. He wasn’t the loudest guy in the room, never needed to be, but from the moment you met him, he had this gravitational pull. And you? You never stood a chance.

The early days had been easy, seamless in a way that made it hard to believe. No guessing games, no second-guessing. Just long drives with the windows down, his hand on your thigh, a playlist full of old-school R&B and whatever song you’d been obsessed with that week. He had this way of making everything feel slower, like the world could wait for you two to finish your conversation before it kept spinning.

And then, of course, there was basketball. Devin’s love for the game bled into every part of his life, and by extension, into yours. You had learned to tell what kind of game he had just by the way he walked through the door—victories came with an easy grin, slow and satisfied, while losses weighed on his shoulders in a way only you knew how to lift. You loved him for it, for the way he cared, for the way he never let it make him anything less than the man you had fallen for.

The years had been kind to you both. Through seasons and off-seasons, through quiet nights and loud arenas, through stretches of time where the only way you could reach him was through a grainy FaceTime call in a different time zone. But it had always been worth it. Because at the end of the day, it was him. It had always been him.

And lately, you’d started noticing the way he looked at you—like he had a secret he was dying to tell.

Devin had never been the type to overcomplicate things. He liked to go with the flow, to let life unfold the way it was meant to. Planning wasn’t really his thing—not for trips, not for dinner, not even for his own birthday. But this? This was different. This was you. And if there was one thing in the world worth getting every single detail right for, it was you.

He had known for a while now. Maybe he had always known, but lately, the realization sat heavier on his chest, warm and insistent, like the sun in the Arizona sky. He would catch himself staring at you across the room, watching the way you curled up on his couch like it was yours, flipping through a book with the same concentrated expression you had when you were trying to beat him at cards. Or the way you leaned into his side at dinner, fingers idly tracing patterns on his wrist like you weren’t even aware you were doing it. And, man—if that wasn’t the kind of love that made him believe in forever, he didn’t know what was.

The decision wasn’t hard. That was the easy part. The hard part was figuring out how to ask, because even though he wasn’t one for grand gestures, he knew this couldn’t be something he just winged. You deserved more than a last-minute idea. You deserved the kind of proposal that would sit in your bones for years, one you’d replay in your head on random afternoons and smile about.

So, for the first time in his life, Devin Booker started planning.

It started with the ring—because if he was going to do this, it had to be right. He spent weeks searching, scrolling through jewelers’ websites at night, consulting with a handful of people who would know exactly what you’d like. He even considered asking you outright, but he knew you too well. You’d sniff out what he was up to in a heartbeat. And sure, maybe he could be slick on the court, but off it? Around you? He had no shot.

Next came the how. At first, he thought maybe a big, picturesque setup—something extravagant, something cinematic. But the more he thought about it, the more it didn’t feel like you two. You had always been the best parts of quiet moments. The in-betweens. The stolen seconds before he left for a road trip, the half-asleep murmurs of love you when one of you dozed off on the couch. He didn’t want this to be a spectacle; he wanted it to feel like home.

That’s how he knew. It wouldn’t be some flashy event. No helicopters, no mid-game Jumbotron moment (not that he ever considered that). Just him, you, and the kind of moment that would be yours and yours alone.

Now, all he had to do was actually pull it off.

Devin had never been this meticulous about anything in his life. Not about planning trips, not about packing bags before road games, not even about scouting reports—not in the way he was about this. He was the type to figure things out as he went, to trust his instincts, and nine times out of ten, that worked out just fine. But this? This had to be perfect. Because this wasn’t just a moment; this was the moment. The one that would mark the beginning of something bigger than both of you.

The ring had been the first step, and, honestly, that part had stressed him out more than he cared to admit. Devin Booker, three-time All-Star, calm under pressure with the game on the line, had found himself sweating in high-end jewelry stores, feeling wildly out of his depth as he stared at rows of diamonds that all started to blur together after a while.

But when he finally saw it, he knew.

It wasn’t the biggest or the flashiest, because that wasn’t what this was about. It was timeless. Elegant. The kind of ring he could picture on your finger twenty, thirty, fifty years from now—worn and loved, catching the light as you ran your fingers through your hair. He had spent an unreasonable amount of time picturing it on your hand, getting lost in the thought of you wearing something that told the world you were his, that he was yours. And once he had it, tucked safely in its little velvet box, he carried it with him like a secret, weighty in his pocket, a promise waiting to be made.

Now came the part that had been messing with his head for weeks: how to actually do it.

Devin knew you. He knew you better than anyone. Knew that you weren’t the type who needed grand, flashy declarations, that the idea of being proposed to in front of a hundred people would make you want to disappear into thin air. You liked the quiet things, the intimate things. The moments no one else saw, the ones that lived in the spaces between all the noise.

And when he thought about your moments—the ones that had built the foundation of what you had—it became clear.

It had to be at home.

Not just in the house, but in the life you’d built inside it. The late-night kitchen conversations, sitting on the counter while he cooked because you insisted he made the best eggs. The lazy Sunday mornings with your legs tangled in bed, neither of you in a rush to start the day. The warm glow of the TV as you both dozed off on the couch, his arm instinctively pulling you closer even in sleep.

That’s what he wanted this moment to be. Not some big event. Just you two.

So he started laying the groundwork. He made sure you wouldn’t suspect a thing, playing it cool even when he felt like he might combust from keeping it all in. He paid attention to the little things you said in passing—like how you’d been craving a certain dish from your favorite restaurant, or how you mentioned that the last time you got flowers was forever ago (which, okay, was an exaggeration, but he took the hint). He wanted everything about that night to feel right, to feel like the two of you.

When the night finally came, he could barely sit still.

He had ordered your favorite meal, set up the table just the way you liked it, dimmed the lights just enough to make everything feel softer, warmer. The ring box sat in his pocket, a solid, burning presence against his thigh, like a constant reminder of what was about to happen. He had gone over it a thousand times in his head, but the second he heard your key turn in the lock, his heart kicked up in his chest like he was back in the fourth quarter of a tied game.

And then you walked in, and it hit him all over again.

This is it.

This was the moment that would change everything. The moment he had been waiting for. The moment you would remember forever.

You barely paused to take a breath as you rambled on about the latest season of Love Island, kicking off your shoes the second you stepped through the door. Devin was at the kitchen counter, leaning against it in that effortlessly cool way he always did, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you with an amused expression.

"I'm telling you, Dev, this season is chaos—like, these people don’t even like each other, but they’re moving mad for camera time. It’s embarrassing." You dropped your bag on the counter, shaking your head as you walked toward him. "Like, at least pretend you’re in love, you know? That’s the bare minimum."

Devin let out a soft chuckle, his lips twitching like he was holding back a full grin. "So what I'm hearing is… you're emotionally invested."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "I wouldn't say emotionally—"

"You literally just walked in here talking like you've been personally betrayed."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Okay, maybe a little emotionally invested."

He laughed then, a deep, warm sound that settled into your chest in a way it always did, spreading like heat under your skin. He reached for you, fingers catching yours, pulling you into the space between his legs where he sat perched on a barstool. His hands slid over your waist, settling there like they belonged.

And you? You didn’t suspect a damn thing.

Because this was just him. Just Devin, with his quiet affection, the way he always pulled you close like it was second nature. The way he looked at you, warm and steady, like you were the only thing worth looking at.

"You hungry?" he asked, rubbing slow circles against your lower back with his thumb.

You leaned into him slightly, enjoying the way his body felt against yours. "Starving. I swear, I was this close to getting popcorn at work just to survive."

"Good thing I planned ahead," he said, nodding toward the dinner he had laid out. Your favorite dish, perfectly plated, candles flickering low on the table.

That’s when you paused.

Devin wasn’t not romantic. He had his ways—bringing you your favorite snacks when he came back from road trips, pulling you against him in the mornings before either of you were really awake. But this? The effort? The set up?

Your eyes flickered back to him, suddenly a little suspicious. "Okay, what’s going on?"

He smirked. "What do you mean?"

"You made my favorite dinner. There are candles. You hate candles."

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "I don’t hate candles."

"You claim they make the whole house smell like a Bath & Body Works exploded."

He didn’t argue. Just reached for your hand and pulled you gently toward the table. "Can’t a guy just do something nice for his girl?"

You eyed him, still skeptical, but your stomach was louder than your suspicion, so you sat. Devin made a show of pouring you a glass of wine before settling across from you, watching as you took your first bite.

And for a while, it was easy. Normal. You got lost in the food, in the way Devin kept the conversation flowing, letting you ramble about your day, about Love Island, about whatever popped into your head. He was good at that—at making space for you, at making you feel like everything you said was worth listening to.

You were so caught up in it that you didn’t even notice the way his knee was bouncing slightly under the table. Or how he kept fiddling with his napkin. Or the way his jaw clenched every time he reached for his pocket, only to stop himself.

Until, finally, after what felt like a lifetime for him, he cleared his throat.

"You know I love you, right?"

You looked up mid-bite, eyebrows raised. "Obviously." You chewed, swallowed. "Is this a bad news kind of ‘I love you’ or a normal one?"

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Nah. No bad news."

"Good, because you scared me for a sec." You reached for your wine, taking a sip before meeting his eyes again.

And that’s when you noticed it.

The way he was looking at you.

Like he was about to change your life.

Your stomach flipped, and suddenly, you weren’t so sure if it was just the food warming you from the inside out.

Devin shifted, reaching into his pocket. His fingers curled around something, and when he pulled it out, your heart slammed against your ribs.

Small. Velvet. A ring box.

Your breath caught, eyes flicking between the box in his hand and the expression on his face—this mix of love and nervousness and something else, something deeper.

He stood slowly, circling around the table until he was in front of you, and before you could even process what was happening, he was sinking to one knee.

Your hands flew to your mouth. "Oh my God."

His hands were steady, even if his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest. He had pictured this moment over and over, had run through every possible scenario, but nothing prepared him for the way you were looking at him now—eyes wide, lips slightly parted, your breath coming out in shallow, uneven puffs.

It was you. It had always been you.

"Baby," he started, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. "I—I don’t even know where to start, because there’s just so much I wanna say."

Your hands were trembling as you lowered them from your mouth, resting them over your chest, like you were trying to keep your heart from bursting out.

Devin swallowed, wetting his lips. "I knew, from the second I met you, that this was different. That you were different. And every single day since, you’ve proven me right. It’s not just that I love you. It’s that I need you, in a way I didn’t even know was possible."

Tears pricked your eyes, and you let out a shaky laugh. "Devin—"

"I wanna wake up next to you for the rest of my life. I wanna hear you complain about Love Island for years to come. I wanna be the person you turn to when things get hard, and the one you celebrate with when things go right. I wanna love you like this—always."

You felt like you were floating. Like none of this was real. But it was.

Devin flipped open the box, revealing the most perfect ring you had ever seen—classic, elegant, you.

"Marry me," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "Please."

Your breath left you all at once, and for a second, all you could do was stare at him—the man you had loved for so long, the man who was asking you to be his forever.

There was only one answer.

"Yes," you whispered, then stronger, louder, "Yes. Yes."

And the second the words left your mouth, he was up, wrapping you in his arms, pulling you into the kind of kiss that left you breathless.

And just like that, your forever began.

#devin booker #devin booker x reader #devin booker fic #devin booker imagine

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mcdonaldsnumberone · 2 days ago

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CHERISH (MY LOVE)!

❤︎ you have no clue just how much your fate is intertwined with that of adisorn's. ❤︎ adisorn moore x gn reader ❤︎ wc: 1k ❤︎ content warning(s): yandere, stalking/adisorn is your stalker, written before full game release/based on adisorn as portrayed in the free demo, demo spoilers ❤︎ adisorn moore is from the game online obsession being developed by sourmiiiilk

Adisorn Moore gets such a rush when you indirectly think of him as your guardian angel.

“I got another one of those weird letters,” your text to him reads so casually. “Something about my mayo expiring. And they were right.”

He still remembers the day he sent you the first letter. Words couldn’t properly articulate the complex emotions writhing and coursing through his veins, consuming his waking senses and taking root somewhere in between his trembling heart and racing mind. You were so sweet, so witty, and yet so unsuspecting.

“Again? That’s so creepy…,” Adisorn’s quick to write back to you. Eight months wasn’t a long time, but he was thorough. He needed to win your trust, to convince you that he was just as ordinary as you were. You never suspected a thing, and he wanted to keep it that way. What you had with him was pure, and he considers it his duty to preserve that purity for as long as he could.

He hopes you can forgive him. You will. He knows you will.

Your reply is instantaneous. “Yeah, it’s weird, but… There’s really not much I can do at this point. I don’t like the thought of being watched in any capacity, but what can I do? The letters are helpful, and the police won’t do anything about it.”

Helpful. He likes that. The words are nothing more than an afterthought to you probably, but it’s the world to Adison. You take his little tips seriously. You don’t consider him a threat. You think they’re worth listening to. You heed his letters. You touched the same paper that he did, your gentle eyes going over the words that he typed up and picked just for you.

If he was a better man, he would suggest that you visit the police again. But it’s a good litmus test for him—the local authorities are useless. It gives him more wiggle room, and it leaves you vulnerable. Sure, there’s the matter of figuring out just how vigilant your friends and distant family would be, but the first line of defense around you has crumbled a long time ago.

A ping from you breaks his rambling thoughts. “Maybe it’s a bad prank? A new Tik Tok trend? People will do anything on that damn app for attention, and I’ve already seen some kids on campus trying to do street interviews in hopes of making their big break.”

There’s a moment of silence before he sees your typing bubble floating at the bottom of his phone screen.

“Maybe whoever’s sending these letters genuinely just wants to help. I don’t think any of my neighbors are that kind of people, but who knows? Can’t judge ‘em based on what little I know,” you confess wholeheartedly to him. “Or it could be my landlord. I mean, I get it. I’m not the most organized person, so it doesn’t hurt to have a guardian angel of sorts watching over me.”

There’s a warmth spreading from his fingertips, up his arms, and gripping like the rush of first love at his heart. A guardian angel. It’s stupid, and it’s so childish, but it makes Adison so happy to think that you find his little advances as something special. Only you could turn someone like him, someone so rotten, into someone worth salvaging and someone worth loving.

“If you insist,” he types back to you. He swallows thickly at the thought of you actually appreciating the letters. Should he write to you more frequently? Observing your life was such a treat to him. He wants to know more about you, every little bit that you’ve been keeping from him. Once he got a taste, he couldn’t turn back. “You should still be careful though. Wouldn’t want some bad guy snatching someone as cute as you up. That’s my job, you know!”

“Oh, quit it, Adi,” you’re too used to taking his flirting and countering it in your own way. “No one’s snatching me up. I’m too busy keeping you company and covering your ass during Star Blitz. Nimo’s already cracking jokes about how they can’t wait to babysit our future kids, so you can only imagine how much worse it’ll get if I spend any more time with you.”

The corners of his scarred lips twitch as Adisorn bites back a small laugh. He doesn’t dislike the thought of both spending more time with you and a future together. Wouldn’t that be so much fun? Then he wouldn’t always have to creep around the edges of your life, like a shadow gobbling up the rays of light cast its way. He could be by your side as he always wanted.

Sure, he’d have to make some changes to your pace of life, but knowing you, you would learn to love it. You would learn to love him. Truly for who he was, rather than the small bits and pieces he’s built up for himself. Eight painstaking months was nothing in exchange for the prize of a lifetime with you. His entire life up until this point, as miserable and cruel and dark as it was, was nothing but a small price to pay at the thought of having you all to himself. There would be no more hurt, no more pesky interferences, no more space between your radiance and him once he could put everything into motion.

His aim has always been simple.

Your love is the reason he’s living again. You’re the breath on his scarred mouth, the blood in his tangled veins, the thump-thump in his calloused heart, the warmth coming from the body of a whole person. He’s undeserving, and yet he craves for it, the addictive sensation of your honeyed affection rousing up his cold heart and spreading warmth throughout his decaying body.

You awaken something deep inside of him.

He has to cling to that light, the saving grace in the darkness that he’s wallowed in forever.

Adison knows what he has to do.

To breach that final distance separating you from him.

To keep the promise of his love.

To cherish you tenderly.

#online obsession #online obsession x reader #adisorn moore #adisorn moore x reader #x reader #my writing #guys its so bad im down so horrendous #i got one (1) taste of this man n went straight to google docs #we know nothing about him 😭 and here i am going hummina hummina #when i tell you my jaw DROPPED at the ending #played the demo for like three hours last night to get all the dialogue options but also like #to js experience the bonechilling feeling at the end like #i was GAGGED when i experienced that for the first time #GAGGED I TELL YOU

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givemeanaccountalready · 2 days ago

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Same anon as before, throwing in this ramble into your asks, hope you don't mind (feel free to ignore and delete if you do tho)

Things aren't really adding up with how Milgram works.

K, so, those voted guilty at trial 2 apparently got restrained. So, again, how the fuck did Haruka die?

But also, remember the Mahiru trial 2 sprite? Standing. On a leg with a cast. And yet, during her voice drama, we literally hear her get inside with a wheelchair, and she's mentioned to be using one (until her condition worsened so much due to Shidou's "care" that she ended up bedridden). So where's the wheelchair on the sprite?

Tbh, I feel like the way sprites get drawn is more for symbolism purpose rather than them being actually restrained like that.

Ann ee ways, this trial I'll be voting everyone inno.

Yuno and Kazui didn't do anything wrong throughout the previous trials, Fuuta's case is very common (in Milgram fandom especially, ironically enough) so I feel like it's hypocritical for us to vote him guilty and to make him suffer and spiral even more, and Muu has clearly not changed at all so punishing her through voting is not gonna help and she should face the consequences for her actions outside of milgram. Kotoko and Amane are unique cases, but I feel like they should be voted inno too.

For Amane, we are to blame for how she turned out. Voting her guilty first trial, when her MV showed her helping a cat and then getting punished for practicing medicine, sent a very clear message to her that "medicine = bad, if you help people, you deserve punishment". And then when we got more detailed visual of what she went through in next trial, we voted her inno, which sent a message "things you were taught are correct and you should indeed punish the ones who go against the teaching". It's no wonder she ended up killing Shidou, especially if it turned out that Mahiru died before he did, which means Amane would consider her early death to be his fault.

Kotoko, there's not much to do about her. We first judged for her crime alone, and that is it. Based on what we saw, she killed someone who did, indeed, deserve to die (and that crime already was judged outside of milgram). Her actual reason for being in Milgram is, without a doubt, someone else's death, who's death she blames herself for (since, for Milgram, you don't actively have to commit a murder or even admit you feel guilty, you can simply believe something is considered a murder, example. Yuno case, or feel like you're responsible for their death, example. Fuuta, Mahiru and Kazui), but we haven't seen that in MV (yet). There was no way we could have known she'd start beating up people who were voted guilty if we voted her innocent. Putting her through further punishment now to try to get her to learn that what she did is bad will not work, just like with Muu. It's pointless, and she's not facing proper consequences (and she likely never will because another guilty might get her killed, which won't make up for violence she inflicted on prisoners that resulted in one eventually dying, but an inno will result in her being freed from milgram, where, again, she'll never face consequences for that violence because it happened inside milgram).

For Mikoto though, I think we should finally vote based on his crime. So far, first voting was because people thought he was faking DID (despite the fact that it was plainly explained to the audience that he definitely does have it, and the way milgram works makes it impossible to fake DID since it differentiates each alter as its own soul), and he got voted guilty for this. Second trial, we voted him inno to, well, basically "fix" his DID (and it didn't fix shit, we just forced John into going dormant, which, surprise surprise, turned out to be horrible and is making Mikoto suffer even more now). He's literally the only character we were voting based on his disorder rather than actually judging him. I'd personally want him to be voted innocent so that he could have a proper trial outside of milgram.

Hi anon! Never apologize for entering my ask box. It’s open to all. And I love listening to rambles, because I ramble so much myself. It's nice hearing others do it too.

First thing first, holy crap that was an amazing catch by you about Amane. I didn’t even think of Amane’s verdicts like that. We have no idea what or how much of our collective thoughts the prisoners, especially the ones voted Guilty, hear/feel. Since Jackalope described their beliefs being rejected, it may be reasonable to assume they only hear the bad, while the ones voted Innocent may hear bits of everything, the good and the bad. But, even though they can hear us, for the Innocent, the decision to accept or reject our thoughts is theirs, while the Guilty seem to have to rely on their mental fortitude to reject the bad feedback.

Let me start with those voted Innocent during Trial 1. Haruka and Muu both highly value and covet validation, so it’s no surprise that they would accept our affirmations without much thought. Yuno voiced her disgust with being seen as pitiful and being forced into prostitution and corrected it. Shidou and Kazui were also voted Innocent and rejected what we thought of them. Kotoko was probably going to do her thing regardless of our vote, because she believes Es doesn’t have it in them to punish the Guilty right. I think her Innocent verdict during Trial 1 emboldened her to go as far as she did. If she was Guilty Trial 1, then someone else would have acted negatively in-between Trials 1 and 2, and she could have been an acting force against any chaos and used that to bargain for her fang position, stressing to Es that her freedom of movement needs to be maintained like Shidou had argued. Someone was going to be a bad actor in-between Trials, if only to up the stakes like Kotoko was able to.

But back to the pushback for the Guilty prisoners. Mikoto doesn’t discuss what the voices told him, and that’s probably because he doesn’t get the chance to. His second audio drama is mostly John and Es talking, rather than Mikoto. Fuuta is quick to point out that Kotoko told him that Es’s forgiveness gave her the sanction to beat him to a pulp. But his focus is more on Kotoko’s violence and Es’s hypocrisy, and so we only get a tidbit of him listing a few things the voices told him, “Countless voices, judging me with all sorts of words… just for interest, just for fun, just because they don’t like me.”

Mahiru also mentioned hearing the voices between Trials 1 and 2, “Voices saying I couldn’t be forgiven.” And like Fuuta, she does question why she can’t be forgiven. She takes it a step further and says, “To not forgive me is to take the act of loving away from me. That’s the same as not being alive,” and, “So… if this love isn’t allowed, then I don’t mind dying.”

Amane seemed to be the most resilient, because of her repeated rejections of what the voices told her. What we do hear of what the voices told her are things we know she hates: pity because she is a kid. Amane was very vocal about hating that kind of treatment back in Trial 1. I was so focused on her outside rejection of pushback on her religious beliefs, I totally neglected the idea that she may have internalized that we agreed with her punishment. Like damn… that’s a sucker punch right in my heart’s gut.

But I skipped over what you first said. Questioning how symbolic the sprites are compared to reality is a good idea. Like there is currently no way for Muu and Kotoko to independently eat, drink, or even use the toilet with how their restraints are now. That or Milgram managed to remove their need for that, but someone surely would have said something by now, right?! And seriously, how did Haruka manage to kill himself? Could he have starved himself to death in Milgram? But if Milgram could remove your ability to act or experience a biological function like menstruation, surely, it can remove the need for food and drink and restroom needs. And his hands were most likely restrained, so he must have had to get creative to do it.

Now, about voting this time around… other people have said this, and mine is probably not going to be anywhere near as elegant. I know the fandom is pretty global, but growing up, did you ever hear the phrase, “You just lost the game,” from another kid? It is a dumb game that you lose simply by remembering it exists. Basically, rage bait on the jungle gym. There was no way to actually win that game, and I bring that up because I don’t think there was ever going to be a way to win Milgram. As a fandom, we can point fingers at each other all we'd like about if or what verdict or prisoner destroyed all our attempts to do damage control, but I really think that all ten prisoners were doomed by the narrative, because Milgram is not a friendly entity. No truly friendly entity would go to the degree of the restraints we've seen on the prisoners. And not just the physical ones, but the mental restraints as well. Based on what I've mentioned earlier, the Guilty prisoners can reject our rejection of them, just like how the Innocent prisoners are free to do the same to our affirmations; but, the toll it takes to do so is much higher, so it's harder for the Guilty prisoners to resist the bombardment of awfulness they get from us. To varying degrees, the prisoners have maintained their own sense of autonomy. And they will not bend to our will just because we said so, but only if they believe we said the right thing. In that respect, the prisoners have more agency than Es--their warden--does because Es gives whatever verdict we say to and then gives themself a reason for that verdict later.

And this doesn't even include considering the meta side of things. Yamanaka and others on his team have seen our comments on the music videos and across multiple social media platforms. I believe that the stakes were going to increase across trials regardless of who was Innocent or Guilty, and if it wasn't Kotoko inflicting harm on other prisoners between Trials 1 and 2 and posing a threat to others between Trials 2 and 3, then another prisoner would have been assigned the role as the bad guy. I entered the fandom late, sometime before Purge March came out, and looking back, I think that's clear. To put it more simply, at least one prisoner would have been hurt between Trials 1 and 2, at least one prisoner would have posed a serious threat between Trials 2 and 3, with at least one prisoner dying being somewhere between a serious risk and a guaranteed threat. Our choices influenced who did what and to what extent, and that while we were meant to try to mitigate the damage done, there was a degree of inevitability that something would have happened. And that's not to say, we the audience should wipe our hands clean of this. We are as much of a player in this game as Es and Jackalope. The prisoners are our pawns, and we did not do a good job of taking care of them. I know that's a strange way to put it, since calling others pawns has a very negative connotation to it, but relative to us, but we essentially played god and now we are reaping what we've sown.

So, Trial 3 voting... for the sake of not causing further harm, I want to vote all Innocent, even if I don't think I could find it in me to forgive their original murder, and this doesn't include what I think about certain people's actions in Milgram. But, I'm wary that this is going to blow up in our faces. An amendment to "All Innocent" would be "Sacrifice One or Two of the Guiltiest to Sate Milgram's Need for Justice," but that just sounds immensely cruel and will probably also blow up in our faces. I think we're damned if we do and damned if we don't, so we might as well vote "All Innocent" and pray for the best. I think it's the kindest option, so I think I want to go for it too.

My biggest worry is what will happen when the third trial is over. My final song agenda has changed from something hopeful to something more grim. The final song will most likely include Es making a choice, and I'm hoping that it's going to be a rejection of their role in response to what Milgram plans to do with the prisoners once Trial Three finishes. I think that it will involve killing the prisoners, though I'm not know if all prisoners who have been voted Guilty at least once will be targeted, or if it will be anyone who receives a Guilty verdict during this Third Trial. I don't have any basis for this, "Milgram Death Penalty Ending," but I've been thinking about Es's role after I had finally finished my Mikoto post. I think that Yamanaka has been setting Es up to make a serious decision over whether they will side with Milgram or with the prisoners. Throughout the past two trials, the prisoners have called out Es for their role in Milgram. While Es has pushed back on their criticism, most of their denial sounds weak, and it's clearly an attempt by Es to keep their conscience clean. Es believes that someone in their position should be right and just, and like Fuuta and Kotoko, Es wants to be seen as a hero, or at the very least, the good guy in this scenario, by removing themself from the prisoners' actions. Maintaining this degree of separation will fail Es once they learn of the three prisoners' deaths, and I think that this will impact Es's upcoming choice.

Es's third trial sprite shows them discarding their warden's hat and cap, as well as their gloves and key necklace (which I thought was the cord that kept their cloak on their shoulders). This gives me hope that they will waver and align themself with the prisoners. I'd like to believe in Es, because screw it, I like to believe that individuals will do the right thing, even though humanity can be an absolute cesspool of callous viruses, so I can get up and face the day. As seen when Es interrogates Haruka, Fuuta, and Amane, Es can be a petty, hypocritical bully when they are at their worst. But Es also has a moral code, a heart, and a belief that they need to see their responsibilities through to the end, so I'm hoping the good in them motivates them to side with the prisoners if Milgram forces Es to choose a side.

Throughout Milgram, there has been an emphasis on obtaining information through direct and indirect means. Jackalope has dangled a number of questions over Es's head (and ours as well) about what will happen next, only to smugly assure Es that those worries are not for the guard to concern themself with. We should just focus on the crime at hand and the judgment we think it should receive. Except, the reveal of Trial 2 pretty much drilled into us that nothing we do is in a vacuum, and we will see ripple effects that we didn't even think would happen. As we move into the third trial, I think Kazui's words from his first voice drama will come back to haunt us, "In other words, we're divided into positions of guard and prisoner, but we're both playing roles due to our lack of information."

The third trial songs are probably going to feature the most violent, selfish, and/or cruelest versions of the prisoners. Using our responses to what happened between Trials 1 and 2, Yamanaka and his team know about the fandom's attachment to their characters, and they are probably going to try to override the desire to shield the prisoners from further harm with the idea of, "Are these really the people you want to save? Do they even deserve it?" We are in for hell, and I am ready.

Innocent for all, I think. Sorry, this turned into a bit of an Es ramble. But it was awesome to hear your thoughts, anon!

#anon ask #gimme rambles #milgram #milgram es #amane momose #haruka sakurai #fuuta kajiyama #mahiru shiina #kazui mukuhara #muu kusunoki

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