#and it turns out maybe... he can bear the weight of caring again

[nastybuckybarnes]

Date Night

Pairing: dbf!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky makes a big mistake.

Warnings: Angst, Language, yea sorry

Word Count: 1.7K

A/n: teehee whoops. im gonna have a ghost one coming out soon for you guys, and then maybe some more teddy bear picnic but we'll see

~*~

"Hey kid, wanna grab a beer and watch the game with your old man? Or are you too cool for that?"

You grin at your dad and slow your steps, glancing at the hockey game on TV.

"Where's Bucky? I thought he was your game night date? He finally realize hockey sucks?"

Your dad gives you an offended look then rolls his eyes playfully.

"Nah, he had to cancel last minute - he's got a hot date tonight."

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, unaware of the fact that those six words have flipped your night upside down and caused knots to form in your stomach.

You don't remember having plans with him tonight.

As casually as you can manage, you head into the kitchen, pulling out your phone and tapping a quick text over to the man in question.

'Not coming over tonight?'

It's read within the same minute, and then the telltale three dots pop up before his message spawns.

'Sorry baby, not feeling too hot.'

The knots in your gut are quickly crushed by the boulder that settles there, and you need to take a few careful breaths to stop yourself from crying in the middle of the kitchen.

~*~

"Everything okay, James?"

He huffs out a sigh and glances up from his phone, smiling weakly at the woman across from him.

"Listen, Dot... I can't tell you how grateful I am that you managed to make such a beautiful cake in such a short amount of time. And, while I'm flattered that you'd want to go out for dinner, I had you make that cake for a woman who means... quite a bit to me. I don't want to make things awkward but I do want you to know that I'm out with you tonight as a friend and nothing more."

The woman across from him blinks blankly a few times, then takes a sip of her martini, stands up, and leaves the table.

Bucky watches helplessly as she leaves the restaurant without another word, dropping his head back for a moment as he feels onlookers stare.

It takes a few minutes for the waitress to come back, but by the time she does, he's got a wad of cash ready for her and his keys in hand.

He all but runs out of the restaurant, a new lightness in his shoulders like a weight has been lifted from his chest.

Immediately, he grabs his phone and shoots a quick text off to your dad.

'Room for one more?'

It takes a few minutes for your dad to respond, which Bucky uses to put on his helmet and straddle his bike.

'Date not going well?'

Bucky chuckles softly.

'Something like that. I'll be there in five.'

He swipes out of the conversation with your dad and then clicks on the only pinned conversation on his phone.

'I'm feeling a bit better now, gonna pop by for a bit.'

With that, he locks his phone and brings his bike to life, eager to be in your presence again.

Your phone vibrates, pulling you from your pity party, and you frown at the text on it.

You turn your phone off and drop it face-down on the carpet, ignoring this text the way you've ignored the last three from him.

You can hear him downstairs chatting with your dad as if he's done nothing wrong. As if he wasn't out with another woman less than an hour ago.

Grinding your teeth together, you decide that enough is enough, and it's time for bed.

At the very moment you open your door to head to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Bucky decides to raise his fist to knock.

Your eyes meet his and, for a moment, you forget that you're mad. You forget everything.

And then he opens his stupid mouth.

"Hey, what's with you tonight?" He asks gently, reaching forward to grab your hand.

You yank away from him and take a step back, levelling him with a steely glare.

"How was your date?"

You watch as he deflates, as his face falls and his shoulders slump forward the tiniest bit.

"Sweetheart, it's not what you think, I swear."

"Oh Jesus Christ," you murmur, pushing past him and heading downstairs to watch the game with your dad. At least down here he can't talk to you.

He can't try to justify him willingly going on a date with another woman.

Well, not until the game's over, at least. And it seems like it's only a few minutes before your dad is yawning, turning the TV off and heading upstairs to go to bed himself.

This leaves you alone in the living room with Bucky, tension building with every silent second that passes between the two of you.

"Honey, I had to," he finally whispers, breaking the silence.

You whip your head around, mouth dropping open in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

He holds his hands up, a desperate and pathetic attempt at pleading with you, begging you to hear him out.

"It was the only way for me to get your birthday cake. Dot is an old friend from high school and... she wanted a date as payment for the last-minute cake," he explains quietly.

You purse your lips, nodding as if it all makes sense now.

"Oh, I see! So, not only do you admit to forgetting my birthday, but you also agreed to go on a date with a woman who has had a thing for you since high school! Buck, that is so not okay on so many different levels!" You exclaim in a whisper.

The last thing you need is your dad overhearing any part of this conversation.

"I know. That's why I left. I told her I couldn't, that the cake was for someone important to me and that I was only having dinner with her as a friend."

You shake your head at him and rise to your feet, unable to stay still while he spews nothing but nonsense at you and expects you to forgive him.

"You shouldn't have even gotten me that cake if that's what she wanted as payment! You should've told her to stick it and then you literally could've gotten me a Starbucks cake pop. I don't need fancy cakes or expensive things, James, I thought you knew that." Your voice gradually loses its anger, disappointment and exhaustion taking its place.

"I know but... I wanted to do something special for you." He looks like a kicked puppy, and it takes a serious amount of self-control to hold on to your anger.

"My birthday was special. Even without the cake it still would've been special. Especially if I'd've known it would mean that you would be going on a date with another woman in order to get it."

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry," he pleads, reaching for you again only for you to shake your head and step away.

"No, Bucky. Sorry doesn't fix this. Can you imagine if the roles were reversed? What if I had to go on a date with a guy who's been wanting me for over a decade just for the perfect steak? And then, what if I lied to you about it and you found out from my dad that I was out on a 'hot date'? A date with someone that the general public would deem more appropriate for me to be with? Someone who would fit me better. How would that make you feel?"

He stands there silently for a moment, fists clenched tightly as he imagines everything you just said.

He imagines you laughing on a date with another man, a young man, a man far more appropriate for you to be with. He imagines sitting waiting for you, only to find out that you're out getting hit on by some young punk who wouldn't know how to please a woman like you. His imagination runs wild, to the point where he can almost feel steam billowing from his ears, but all he says is

"Shitty."

"Shitty?" You laugh, "Try worthless. Embarrassed. Humiliated. At least that's how I felt. And-and maybe I'm just reading too deep into this. Maybe this 'exclusivity' that I thought we had is one-sided."

"It's not," he interrupts quickly, taking a step forward only to pause when you step back again.

"Maybe I just thought things were more serious than they were," you continue, eyes stuck on the ground as your thoughts spill out before your mind has a moment to realize what you're saying.

"They are serious-"

"Maybe we should just stop... whatever this is that we're doing."

Silence hangs heavily in the air when you finish speaking, and you feel tears sting at your eyes when he says nothing.

You count thirteen heartbeats before he finally says something.

"Is that what you really want?" He asks softly, his voice discouraged.

Slowly, you raise your eyes to his.

"What even are we?" You ask breathlessly, a single tear sliding down your cheek. "What are we doing?"

"You're my girl."

You sniffle and shake your head.

"No, I'm your dirty little secret, that's what I am. And I'm tired of it. I wanna be something you're proud of, not something you have to hide," you whisper, your chest aching with the weight of your confession.

Bucky's heart breaks at your words, and he wants nothing more than to scoop you up in his arms and kiss away any insecurities you have in your relationship. If you can even call it that.

"I am proud of you, sweetheart, beyond proud. I can't even put into words how I feel about you," he whispers, desperate for you to understand just how much you mean to him.

"Why haven't you told my dad about us yet?"

The silence that follows your question is answer enough for you, and you nod.

"I... I think you should leave," you finally whisper, hugging yourself and keeping your gaze locked on the ground.

He stays rooted in place for a long moment, testing your resolve, waiting for you to break. When you don't, he takes slow steps toward the door, waiting, praying for you to change your mind.

But you stand firm.

Never able to deny you, he leaves you standing alone in your kitchen, your dad peacefully asleep upstairs while your entire life gets turned upside down.

[kaivenom]

Hi! Can I request telling the One Piece Dilfs to make you pregnant? :d

Asking the One Piece Dilfs to make you pregnant HCS

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

A/N: OMG this week people are going crazy with requests for these amazing men. I hope you like it

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

He got really turned on.

He put his weight on you, his chest on your back and his thrusts starting to become painfully slower.

His hot breath now on your neck, bitting and kissing.

"So you want my seed? you want to bear my lineage," you nodded, suddently embarrased of your words, "i would like to do that with you, filling you up and seeing your round belly."

He continued with that filthy speech impulsed by his recently discovered breeding kink.

Every thrust being more powerful and intoxicating than the last one, until he came inside you, a lot.

He rolled over and put you onto his chest.

"I don't know how good i will be with children but since i had Zoro and Perona around here two years, i think i have a little experience. Prepare yourself, this night you will end up pregnant."

You were so flustered and turned on that you couldn't answer, but you know tomorrow you won't be able to walk.

Donquixote Doflamingo

The perfect excuse to be more rough with you.

He simply didn't really care about the thing of making you pregnant, he was just turned on about being able to cum inside you over and over.

That night was really exhausting for you.

"Ohh, my little slut wants to be a mother? then you should be able to take it, if you can't take my dick how would you take my child?"

When he finally stoped getting his multiple times with you, you passed out of exhaustion.

You didn't notice how he got up and went to the window with a bottle of alcochol.

"Stupid woman, how would you want my child... i can't deny anything to you, even that. It would be bad like me or good like Corazon." he spent the rest of the night thinking about every posible future for the child and for you two, "at least i can try to be funny and get them whatever they could think of... better leave the education to her."

Sr. Crocodile

"You have everything you want from me, my money my house, my love and know my child? you are a very vicious one, my woman."

His thrusts were deep and rythmical, with all the conversation he didn't stopped or changed his way with you.

"How would think of people if they saw you have my child? I am a criminal, a very wanted one, i am dangerous. How could someone like you think it's a good idea to have a family with me? How could you think i want you to have it with me?"

That last phrase was really cruel and you made him stop, flipping yourself and force him to look at you in the face, to see how angry you are.

"I am dating you, idiot, i love you stupid Crocodile... it is that strange that after a couple of years of dating i want a family?" you wanted to slap him but he stopped you with a strange face.

"It's not strange, in fact i thought about that too but think, i am a wanted man with a really dangerous environment, do you really want to expose yourself like that? and a child?"

"I am already exposed, there is no going back, just continue and take the next step. We know how to take care of ourselves, right?"

"Yes, youre right... and sorry for talking rude to you."

Smoker

It awaken something on him.

It was in the middle of the act and you say it in the heat of the moment but that froze him.

Suddently you are turn over and you are facing him again, his eyes full of insecurity and awkardness.

"Do you really want it?" you blinked a couple of times, all the hornyness going away, this is serious "I have a stable job, we've been together for a long time and well... maybe it's not so bad the idea of being parents."

Yo nodded with a sincere smile while stroking his cheek slightly.

"I would love to be a parent with you."

Then he started again with his thrusts, this time more tender and full of love.

Akagami Shanks

You were riding him and he put his hands on your thights, stopping you from moving.

"I don't oppose to the idea of filling you up until you can´t take it anymore but do you really think we are capable of raising a child on a pirate ship?" his face was halfway into laughing but you know he is being dead serious.

"I think yes, you were raised on a pirate ship and you ended up well."

He couldn't deny that, you were absolutely right.

"If we think of doing this, you won't get out of the ship while pregnant or you will be accompained everywhere and when you give birth you will take care of the child while i..."

You pinched his cheek frustated.

"This would be OUR child, i get it will i am pregnant but after that we take turns, i won't be in lock down like the child is a virus."

You didn't stopped pinching his cheek until he agreeded with you.

"I love you and we will take care of she."

"She? You already put a gender?"

"Then i will have my queen and a princess... if we have two? a prince and a princess?"

"Step by step."

[juicegremlin]

Literally sobbing my eyes out because Jean wanted Neil to stay at The Nest so. Bad. Someone barrels into his life—the "what could have been" of Jean Moreau if his mother had saved him instead of sold him—and tells Jean that he doesn't deserve to be treated this way. Jean-Yves "Starving Dog" Moreau doesn't deserve to starve, doesn't deserve to spend his whole life chasing safety and approval. For the first time in a long time, Jean has someone to protect and be protected by—a partner who won't throw him under the bus the first chance he gets. Someone to hold his fucking hand.

And then Neil leaves. Neil leaves, and Jean shatters into even more pieces than before. His partner—the one and only bright spot in Evermore's relentless sea of bad—has gone back to the Foxes, a group of people that would never treat someone the way Jean has been treated. Jean has been abandoned, yet again, by the only person capable of being there for him. Kevin got out. Neil got out. They find homes and lives and families while Jean is forced to stay and let Riko beat him into the ground, day after day after day. What makes Jean so different? So unworthy? Why can't fate hand him the same cards?

He watches Neil flourish from behind black walls, watches Kevin grow and heal and thinks why not me? And he's glad they are safe, but Jean can't help it—he wants them back. Wants someone to bear witness to his pain, even if it means putting them in danger. And is that so awful to crave? A partner in punishment? Someone to promise him hope when all he can see is black?

Kengo dies, and what little bit of hope Jean had allowed himself to cling to dies with him.

I am going to die here, Jean realizes, bleeding out onto the dormitory floor. I am finally going to die here.

When he spots Renee, he thinks he has died. Who else would come for him but an angel without wings?

But no, this is real. Jean is alive, and this is real—after years of battering, it is finally his turn to be saved, and it's all because of the Neil Josten. Jean may have been left, but he was not abandoned. He was in the back of Neil's mind the entire time. Jean watches from behind the Foxes' safety net as Neil takes Riko's resolve and dismantles it with unforgiving hands, as Neil helps return Kevin to his former glory. Watches as Neil drags Riko's life to a screeching halt. Neil cuts a deal for Jean with the Moriyamas—gives him a place outside of Evermore for the first time since Marseille—and Jean can barely breathe under the weight of himself. It's real, but it doesn't feel like it.

And then Kevin—that beautiful, unattainable piece of bitch—sends Jean to the Trojans, repayment for helping Kevin escape all those months ago. Neil takes care of the last piece of Jean's painful past, repayment for Jean's life-saving support at Evermore. And perhaps there is no real way to settle the score between the three of them, but they're free. They're safe. They're alive, and they never could have done it without each other. Maybe that's enough for now.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Hitman // Accident

Imagine you wake up tied to a chair ducktape over your mouth and the weight of gravity weighing on your chest. Finally gaining your bearings you realize you are haphazardly hanging from a rickety-looking bridge above a raging river by a man in a black compression shirt a bored look on his face and a phone to his ear. You don’t try to struggle only watching wide-eyed as you hope this Hitman doesn’t drop you 

“Really…the wrong one? Fine, I’ll figure it out.”

Breathing is so much easier when he pulls you from the edge with one hand by the way. He doesn’t untie you sighing exasperatedly while running a hand through his hair. Finally, he takes the ducktape off your mouth waving off your barrage of questions. 

“Look things happened and I was supposed to kill someone who looks a lot like you but not.”

“So you're a hitman and you made a mistake?”

“Yup.”

“Are you going to kill me for knowing you then?”

“I don’t have to.”

“Then can I go home?”

“Er no.”

“Because I’m going to talk?”

“No more like you wouldn’t be able to get into the country anyway.”

Turns out the hitman who happened to target you was incredibly too thorough and ended up burning your ID, crafting up a reasonable missing persons case for you, and making it hard for you to do anything in the country that you can’t properly even find on a map. So to combat the absolute mess of having to go through all the legalese and interrogation you’d go through to get back to your life he comes up with his solution.

“How about you just stay with me? I’ve got more than enough room.”

And he does. It's a place that’s like a small castle, he reasons it’s best that you just help clean the place and maybe make a meal or two. You accept not that you had any other choice at this point so he’ll untie you and take you there. Wherever this backwater country is he’s got a home filled with villagers who are happy to care for it. And in a language you don’t recognize they celebrate it when he brings you home, cheering and excitedly holding your hands. He can’t help but laugh at you while you try to figure things out.

“Hey! What was she saying before?”

“You really shouldn’t just blindly nod to what people are saying. That’s what gets you in trouble.”

“What else am I supposed to do?! She was smiling so wide it must’ve been something nice, right?”

“Hahaha, you're hopelessly adorable.”

When this Hitman is not sitting around laughing at you or mistranslating your requests, he’s not so bad. As the only one who understands what you’re saying and can actually respond to you in a rewarding way. Dismissing that he ruined your everyday life, he’s decent company usually smirking to himself while he makes fun of whatever you're doing. 

“That hat is way too big for you and so are your clothes. It’s kinda cute.”

“It’s not cute! For whatever reason nobody will give me anything other than your clothes it’s really inconvenient.”

“How do you know they're mine?”

“Because they smell like–”

“Awwww are you smelling me in your free time (Y/n)?”

“NO! Wait it’s just an observation—”

“Ewww so perverted (Y/n)~”

When he’s not around to mess with you, he’s off to work. Wearing those same tight-fitted pants he did when you first woke up. It’s…a little sad sometimes. He is the only one you can easily communicate with but you manage to enjoy the thousands of books he has in his home, hang out with the kittens of the farm, and slowly but surely get a grasp on the language all the villagers speak. Maybe one day you can surprise him by being able to call him out the next time he tries to humiliate you to the villagers. It certainly keeps you occupied from thinking about going home anytime soon.

“That’s another body in the ground. Where’s my money?”

The hitman once again casually dismembers another target for his client, taking a quick picture before hurrying to the store. You did say you were a fan of a certain gaming system, he’s got more than enough to spend now that he’s completed another job. Not that he really needed to that amount he had could very well pay for the entire lives of generations to come. That is if he hasn’t budgeted for a luxurious life with you.

���Mmm, which one should I get? Hmm?”

“Oh, are you interested in some of our AAA titles?”

“Not for me but for my partner….I’m just worried they’ll leave me and our kids out while playing.”

“Well if you like we have some lighthearted multiplayer games.”

“That’s perfect!”

He does plan as though you already have kids. He doesn’t need to know if you two will conceive with him or adopt but it doesn’t matter it’s happening. Because to him, you two are already bound to be happily married—all according to his plan. He’s just glad it’s going off so far without a hitch.

“Hi I’m back!”

“Welcome welcome hope everything went well for you chief!”

“How are their studies coming?”

“Decent but they’ll never fully be able to grasp the codes, just as you planned.”

“Perfect. (Y/n) they’re saying you should be the one to massage me this time.”

“What?! There is no way they said that.”

Your hitman’s greatest power is his nonchalant attitude. It’s what allows you to accept that it was his carelessness that led to you being targeted in the first place. It’s what have you not looking twice when ‘the villager’ demands you both feed each other. It might take a while before you fully become the you–he envisioned in his plans but he can wait.

After all your hitman’s waited this long. He doesn’t mind waiting a little more.

“Don’t think too much and let’s just let fate that I’ve chosen decide.”

[yesimwriting]

Okay, so, secretly pining best friends with Logan! Very fun! Loved it!

But also, adults do have "sleepovers," (too tired/drunk/late to drive home, so you crash overnight on the couch) and depending on the dynamic of your friendship, can actually be a little taste of what domestic life would be like together. Just. Sitting together quietly, winding down from a good day, then getting ready for bed when one of you decides it's time to be A Responsible Adult and get a decent night's sleep (you're not kids anymore, after all. Sleep is important).

Waking up in the morning, knowing your best friend is here. Quietly making breakfast together, laughing over how sleepy you both are before coffee, lightly teasing each other over bed head and morning breath. Doing your morning routines together, pointing out stupid shit in the news or bitching over work emails, just drawing out the time before you have to get ready to face the real world.

Imagine Logan being one of those sleepy bear types who grumbles until he fully wakes up, who's soft and warm and domestic when he's with someone he trusts. Also, I imagine that if you tease him about needing to shave in the morning, he'd be the type to chase you down and rub his scruffy face on you in revenge, which is basically how a scruffy guy marks you as his. (His best friend? His potential future partner? No, just his in general.)

a/n yes, a hundred percent yes to all of this

----

The soft glow of the bedside lamp has transported you into another world. A universe made up of the faint scent of detergent and the feel of warm bedding beneath your fingertips.

You blink. There's no reason to feel as drowsy as you do, not when Logan's spent the last ten minutes scolding you. Still, though, something about sitting at the foot of his bed makes it easy to give into your lingering haze. It'd be easy to fall asleep like this.

"Don't," the instruction is flat, "Stay awake."

His back is still to you, which means there's no harm in openly frowning. "I am."

Logan's sigh is nearly masked by the gentle groan of a drawer being pushed shut. He turns around, expression still pinched but much less irritated than before. "Barely." You part your lips, some nonsensical protest waiting on the tip of your tongue, but Logan beats you to it, "Here."

He's extending an arm, a piece of fabric clutched loosely between his fingers. You blink again, this time focusing on the weight of your eyelids. The gesture is such a sharp contrast from his earlier attitude, you're nearly overwhelmed by your whiplash.

You stand before accepting the T-shirt. "Thought you were mad at me."

He lets out a breath, the sound sharp enough to constitute a warning. "I'm not--" His gaze shifts towards the ground. "You should have called me."

This again. "I was fine." His eyebrows draw together with the same level of offense that he used when you first presented this argument. "And I wasn't even alone, I was with Jean and Scott." He scoffs. "And you said to call you if anything went wrong, and nothing did."

Logan walks forward slowly, his steps measured until he's close enough to fully deteriorate your already fragile train of thought. In an attempt to regain control, you lift your head to look him in the eye. He frowns as he raises a hand, his fingers coming to rest beneath your chin.

He's careful as he tilts your head back. There's a weight to his silence. "You're drunk." All you can think to do is blink. He's known this, it's the main reason he's been lecturing you since the couple that graciously allowed you to third wheel all night dropped you off. "You're unreliable."

"Not that drunk."

The correction doesn't ease him. He studies you for another long moment before releasing you with a tired sigh. Maybe you should take it easy on him. It's not his fault he has the heart and patience of someone that's lived two centuries. You sigh. "Fine, next time I go out, I'll wake you up to come get me, even if I'm totally okay."

He ignores your sarcasm with expert ease. "Knew you'd get it, Princess."

You squeeze the T-shirt's fabric between your fingers in an attempt to ignore the warmth threatening to crawl up your neck. "I'm full of understanding."

"Yeah," he mumbles flatly, turning away from you as he walks towards his bed. You watch him with an openness that a more sober you would have never gotten away with. Logan had come to the door in a pair of loose sweats and no shirt. It had been easy to ignore his appearance when you were still in the giggly stages of being drunk. "Go change."

An instinctual desire to argue almost has you protesting, but you are tired of your going out clothes. And the thought of getting to pass out in Logan's bed for a few hours isn't exactly unappealing.

You pull the T-shirt over your head. Logan says your name, but you're too focused on adjusting the hemline to react. The shirt's large enough to cover most of your upper thigh, falling only an inch or two above the dress you're wearing. You slip the dress's straps off of your shoulders before reaching beneath the shirt's loose fabric. You tug at the dress's zipper before slipping the material down your legs.

You pick up the discarded fabric, folding the dress before placing it on top of Logan's dresser. He's uncharacteristically quiet as you approach the available side of his bed. "You seem tired."

He leans towards his nightstand, arm stretching outwards to turn of his bedside lamp. His eyes settle on some point a little past your shoulder. "Not all of us are 20-somethings that can stay up all night."

It's a teasing comment, likely an attempt at preemptively limiting your usual 10 to 15 minutes of yapping before actually attempting to fall asleep, but it digs at you. Jean was the one that insisted on letting Logan babysit you, you wanted to let him sleep. "I didn't want to wake you up."

Logan shifts, his bent leg nearly brushing against yours. "I wasn't asleep," the words are low, careful, "But if I had been--you wake me up." He pauses. "I'd rather that than know you're walking around drunk and looking like that."

An uneasy heat spreads through your chest. You focus on the bedding pooled over your lap. Like that--the kind of comment that'd usually have you insulting the person making it for attempted slut shaming. But Logan's voice is too distant for you to find any insult in it, even in a teasing context.

You bend fabric between your fingers, pressing the nail of your thumb into the material. You nod once.

He shifts towards you, his warmth becoming impossible to ignore beneath shared bedding. "I sleep better like this anyway."

The words are uncharacteristically soft, almost cautious. You lean into the feeling of them, allowing your back to relax against a pillow.

You've shared a bed with Logan before, usually after hanging out with him a little too late and once on a mission where you had to pretend to be recently engaged to avoid blowing your cover. It's not exactly common, but you know how he sleeps enough to know that he's not exaggerating. As soon as he's asleep, he loses the ability to be aware of personal space, an arm across your waist and chin pressed into your shoulder.

"Considering the way you take up the entire bed, I'm sure."

He exhales, the sound more pointed than it needs to be. "You steal blankets."

You scoff. "That's so not true." The corner of his mouth pulls itself upwards, the look much too triumphant. What a lame argument--you don't steal blankets, you're not given a chance to. As soon as Logan's on you, it's nearly impossible to move. "Like I can steal blankets out from under your adamantium skeleton."

Logan tilts his head, eyes narrowing in a way that promises nothing good. "You're saying I'm heavy."

Well, when framed like that, anything can sound rude. "No." You press your lips together to keep from laugh. "I"m saying your skeleton is literally made of metal..." You straighten in an attempt to make yourself focus. "...And metal is--" Your mental hold slips, a soft laugh tumbling past your lips as you try to think of a politically correct way to make your point. "...Heavy."

He leans forward, his knee brushing against your leg. There's a tact to his movement, a deliberateness better suited for the violence of the outside world. A warning, you realize, a moment too late.

Logan shifts his weight. You laugh as his hands find a place on each of your shoulders. "That's the same thing."

Helplessly, you press a palm against his chest. Your halfhearted protests do nothing to sway him. You laugh again, elbow pressing into the mattress in an attempt to steady yourself. Logan moves a hand to the back of your head before letting the brunt of his weight fall onto you.

You let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a squeal as you're pushed down. Your head hits the pillow, but the suddenness of the motion doesn't hurt. His forearm is resting near your head, turning him into more of an implication than an actual force capable of crushing you.

You let yourself smile openly. For someone that's always willing to remind you of his age, he has no problem acting like a child. Your lips part, but the laugh attempting to crawl up your throat dies before it can slip out.

Logan's watching you, his eyebrows drawn together in a way you can't interpret. His warmth, the feel of him against you, all of it, loses its humor.

He stays like that for what could be awhile, or no time at all. Then, Logan shifts, his arm moving away from the side of your head. Before you can overthink the change, he's resting his head against your upper stomach.

He's--there's never been this much openness about physical contact. Sure, you guys are comfortable with each other, with you having no issue resting your head against his shoulder during movies or reaching for his hand after a particularly rough mission, but that's--that's usually you.

You force yourself to recover, focusing on your breathing to keep from outing yourself. With the kind of care you'd use to keep from scaring off a skittish stray, you move a hand towards his back. He briefly stiffens as you drag your fingers against his skin, but after a second, he exhales. "You're like a house cat."

You feel Logan's sigh more than you hear it. "I'm not answering that." That's okay. You're happy enough without his validation.

Things stay quiet, and you slip further into the realm between sleep and consciousness. "You--you're um--okay, right?" The question is stiff, maybe even a little awkward. You're so close to sleep, you can't bring yourself to get what he's asking. "Comfortable?"

You're glad to not have to hide your smile. "Yeah," you mumble, voice distant, "It's nice."

You're not sure what you're referencing, but Logan doesn't ask, so you decide it doesn't really matter.

----

The light is a tangible thing, felt against your skin before you can squint your eyes open to see it.

You shift, noting the dull ache of your head as you lift your hand to wipe at your face. Wait.

It comes back to you all at once--the drinking, the after drinking, Logan.

You open your eyes fully. It's instinct to shift, but it's nearly impossible to do much more than lift your head. Logan's asleep, his head resting against your ribs and arm draped over your waist. How did you not notice this?

It would make sense for Logan to be a light sleeper. Even when he's at ease, he never seems fully settled in the feeling. So you're careful as you move, head turning as you try to look at him.

Logan's breathing loses its consistency before you can fully embrace the privacy. His fingers press into your hip so briefly you almost convince yourself the contact is only a product of your early morning haze.

He moves onto his back, palm brushing against your shirt as he leaves you. "Morning, princess."

There's something comforting about hearing his voice first thing in the morning. "Good morning." The words are a little raspier than you thought they'd be, difficult to force out around your hazy discomfort.

The corner of Logan's mouth pulls itself upwards. "I thought 20-somethings didn't get hangovers."

You roll your eyes. There are a lot of aspects of Logan's personality that warrant old man jokes, but his alcohol tolerance isn't one of them. You roll onto your side, propping your head up on one elbow. "I'm not hungover."

The almost-smile grows into something more assured. You let yourself enjoy the easiness of it. "Sure you're not, bub." The response is so warm you have to work at keeping your halfhearted pout.

Logan shifts, the mattress dipping as he sits up. "C'mon." He turns his head, looking at you from over his shoulder. "You'll feel better after you eat something."

The mention of food makes you aware of a hollowness you hadn't yet noticed. The thought of breakfast feels perfectly settling. You sit up with a smile, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. "You're not gonna make me eat weird hangover cures, are you?"

He pushes himself to stand. "You're going to have to take that chance."

There's no humor in his tone, and his back is to you so you can't read his expression, but something tells you it's safe to follow him out of his room, anyway.

[plutoswritingplanet]

could you do a request of Buggy (opla) falling for Luffy’s older sister? (Adopted or blood relation, doesn’t matter) like he takes her hostage but she doesn’t seem to mind. She know she can escape at any time, but keep annoying buggy to a point where… he doesn’t see her as a hostage anymore, more like treasure? And she starts to maybe feel something for the clown?

You Started It (Buggy The Clown x Reader)

a/n: how did i know the first request will be about the clown lmao. i took some liberties when writing this but i hope you still like it <3

Warnings: Buggy Being Kind Of An Asshole, Captivity, Some Suggestive Themes

Summary: Poking the bear isn't the wisest things you could be doing in your particular situation.

Part 2.

You've memorized every nook and cranny of your shoes. The time you've spent in containment has really opened your eyes, when it comes to how little you actually knew about the clothes you were wearing. For example, your right shoe was slightly bigger, molded by your foot. You must be putting more weight onto your right leg, when standing. The hem of your shorts is made with a very close cross stitch, making them slightly sturdier and thicker. Right where the material folds, just above your knee, you've managed to pick out a small hole, the strings of abused material hung sadly and tickled your skin.

There wasn't really much to do, while being kept in a cage, in the backstage of a circus which belonged to the infamous Buggy the Clown. Well, except studying the stains on your shoes and waiting for the Captain to visit you, which he did quite frequently.

"Entertainment purposes" is the reason he declared, when you've asked him why on earth is he keeping you locked up in a hanging cage. But you weren't so easily fooled. You knew from the start, that the role he has envisioned for you to play, was that of a Hostage and Bait. So, inevitably, when your younger brother and his merry band of misfits come to save you, he'd be able to even out the score. Which was a shitty plan, in your opinion.

They've kicked his ass before, they can do it once again.

So, that's why you're here, feet dangling above the floor, as you hum to yourself. Anything to pass the time. That is, until you hear the door to the backstage open, and a familiar tone of voice calls out.

"Hostage!"

Really, how did he even expect you to stay in the dark about his plan, while calling you like this? The man was clearly insane.

Buggy the Clown stands before you, makeup disheveled as always, with his Captain's hat abandoned in favor of a striped bandana. He's excited, which is evident, by the way he can't seem to stop moving, jumping from one leg to the other, hands fidgeting at his sides.

"How are you feeling, my dear Hostage?" he asks with fake concern, and just as your mouth opens to answer, he interrupts "Ah, never mind that, I don't care."

You don't even try to hide the annoyed expression on your face.

"You can sing" he states matter-of-factly, pointing a finger right at you.

"Barely."

"Can you dance though?"

"Barely as well."

He hums in thought, pacing the floor in front of your cage. Finally, he stops, looking at you with his head tilted to the side. His eyes rake over your body, and it brings a sudden wave of discomfort to your bones.

"You'll be performing in our next act."

Again, his tone leaves no space for an argument. Still, you were never an agreeable person, smiles were more of your brother's thing. So, you straighten out as much as the cage allows you and cross your arms in front of your chest.

"Do whatever you like, my brother will get me out of here before you can say Welcome to my big show".

"Welcome to my big show" he says immediately, then, raises his finger, as if he's waiting for the entire crew of Strawhats to fall from the sky.

They don't, obviously, and he gives you a pointed look, to which you respond with a roll of your eyes.

"Besides" he turns around and opens one of the chests laid out on the table "Aren't you a bit old to dote on your younger brother so much?"

The question genuinely offends you, and as he pulls out another bandana, this one red, covered entirely with big white polka dots, your eyes glimmer with venom.

"Aren't you a bit old to play dress up?"

He turns in a blink of an eye, and with terror mixed with disgust you watch his hands detach from his body, slamming into the cage. The force of impact sends it flying right into the nearby wall, the back of your head smacks against the metal bars. The swinging of the cage coupled with the stars erupting before your eyelids from the impact make you feel dizzy.

Then, Buggy takes a step towards the cage, connecting his hands with the rest of his body, and your prison stops swinging in an instant.

"I should kill you for that" he says lowly, his blue eyes bearing into your face.

"You started it" you choke out an accusation, trying very hard not to vomit.

He stays completely quiet, just watching you for a long while, his hands slowly loose tension. Then, as if his rage has entirely dissolved, he smiles, teeth completely exposed, as his cheeks crease. God, you'd do such a better job at his make-up, given the chance.

"You're funny, Hostage" he shakes his head, and suddenly, for some unknown reason, it downs upon you, just how close to you, he's standing.

"Sing for me some more" he says.

And then, his hands push back with sufficient force to send your cage flying again. You groan at the movement, another wave of nausea almost making you loose your breakfast. When you finally have the perfect, biting comeback, he's already gone, the door slamming after him. You're alone again.

A sigh escapes your lips, as you press your forehead to the cold metal of the cage. You've already memorized all the details of your own clothes, and the room was too dark to see anything more. So, you start observing the cage. The way the light shifts up and down on the bars, the way the brown paint seems to peel away under your thighs. Then, you look up, towards the place where all the bars have been stuck together.

And then your eyebrows furrow. Because just above the ceiling of the cage, you can see something poking out. Something roughly the size of a fist and colored a pale, fleshy color. You raise yourself slightly in your seat, to get a better look, and immediately regret doing so.

It's an ear. His ear. Detached and placed right on top of the cage. That's how he knows about your singing, the bastard.

An idea brews in your brain, mischief spilling out of your growing smirk. You pull yourself up, until you can reach the top of the cage. Your arm is just slender enough to slip past the bars, and your fingers brush against the cold flesh of the ear. Before Buggy, wherever he is, can react, you snatch the ear from the top of the cage, keeping a tight grip, as it starts to jump in your hand.

Then, you take a deep breath, place the ear close to your lips… And give the most blood-curling, shrill scream you could muster.

Immediately, you hear a string of curses coming your way, and a second later Buggy bursts into the room, a murderous expression on his face. You open your hand, and the ear nearly bursts out of your fingers, flying back to it's owner like some sort of deformed beetle. The sight, for some reason, is so incredibly funny, you can't help but choke out a little giggle. Which soon becomes a quite big giggle, which in turn morphs into a full blown laughter.

You can't see the Captain through the tears of laughter forming in your eyes, so when he knocks on the metal bars of your cage, you nearly choke from surprise. He's looking at you strangely. Not quite as angry as before, but there is something else lurking behind his eyes. As if he's enveloped deeply in his thoughts, but at the same time completely present and focused on you. Your laughter dies down in an instantly, and you reach up to wipe your tears, clearing your throat awkwardly.

"I've captured myself a comedian, huh?" the man leans closer to the bars of the cage, placing his forehead against them and looking at you from below "You trying to take my place as the funniest person in the circus? Hm, Hostage?"

You risk a smirk, leaning down towards him. He watches your movements with a curious expression, eyes darting all over your face.

"Yeah" you whisper "So, you better watch your back."

At that, he smiles one of his brilliantly wide smiles. This one however, seems the most honest out of every one you've seen up to this point. You try not to linger too much at the way his eyes seem to shine in the dimly lit room. Or how the stubble on his face makes his features sharper. Or even on the way his arms flex as he leans against the cage. And definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, you're not focusing on the fact, that he's standing nestled right between your dangling legs.

So, before your brain conjures up any unwanted ideas, you clear your throat again and straighten up. Buggy notices the shift in your posture, but doesn't move, instead it seems as if a lightbulb has literally appeared beside his head. Desperate to change the subject, which hasn't been even brought up yet, you wave your hand in the general direction of his ear.

"Your ability is pretty useful" you try to sound as neutral, as humanly possible.

"Oh?" he tilts his head back and gives you a suspicious look.

"Yeah, that eavesdropping thing was really cool… And slightly disgusting" your nose scrunches "But mostly cool."

He hums low in his throat, his hands slowly letting go of your cage. Still, he remains standing between your legs, your knee brushing against his prominent hip bones.

"Are there" you swallow "Any limits to this ability?"

Now, his eyebrows jump straight under his bandana, and you definitely do not like the slow smirk filling his features.

"I mean, like, can you detach your nose? Or um… I don't know, your fingernails?"

Finally he steps back, stretching his arms to the side, as if he's giving you a show, and in a way, he does. There are muscles, hidden under those circus clothes. His exposed forearms are nicely shaped, with thick veins running the length of them. You really don't mean to ogle the man, but fuck, he is handsome. In an "insane-sadistic-clown-who-is-also-a-pirate-for-some-reason" way.

"I can detach every single part of my body with no effort" he says, his smile growing.

Before you could really think about your actions, your gaze falls downward, right to his belt keeping his trousers up. Mortified, that your brain would even go there, you tear your eyes up, and with a horrified expression, look upon a face full of excitement.

Then, Buggy raises his hands to his heart, feigning a scandalized expression, which would've been funny, if you weren't currently blushing in the lovely shade of a ripe beetroot.

"I'm sorry… that's not… I didn't" your words come out a jumbled mess, and Buggy wheezes out a laugh.

"Oh would you look at that" he puts his hands behind his back, as he slowly starts to stalk towards your confinement "You know, with how sheltered your little brother is, I didn't expect you to be such a dirty pervert."

You choke on air, arms flailing inside the cage, as you genuinely are at a loss for words, You can feel your face grow impossibly hot, the heat spreading all the way to the tops of your ears. The Clown still advances, until his face is pushed right between the bars of the cage, a smile on his lips and a glint in his eye. You don't know what to do with yourself, as the man continues to laugh at your outrage.

Finally, his right hand flies from behind his back and stops right above his head. Then, as if making a show specially for you out of his unusual abilities, he lets his pointer finger remove itself from the hand. Involuntarily, you make a face, and try to push yourself as far into the cage, as humanly possible. Which, given the size of your prison, does practically nothing. The finger aims straight at your nose and presses it with slightly more force, than a friendly "boop" would.

"You started it" he throws your own words back at you, and watches your dumbfounded expression with a smile and a giggle.

Finally, he steps back, all his body parts in place, and you can breathe again at last. Then, with a flourish, he bows down before the cage, before giving you a slightly unbalanced twirl. At that, you can't help but smile, almost fondly. He's not so bad, when he isn't actively trying to murder you and your friends.

"Anyways, get ready, your grand performance is in a week" he concludes, and you sigh deeply.

So he hasn't let this one go.

No matter. A week from now, you'll be out of this place. The thought fills you with joy, and strangely, with some sort of melancholy, which you have to jot down as nausea, just to protect your own mental health.

"Hostage" the man says, as a goodbye, bowing once again, this time with fewer theatrics, and begins to walk back towards the door. "Captain" you respond in kind, inclining your head slightly.

He stops in his tracks, back turned to you, before slowly, twisting his body, to look you in the face. He wants to say something, his mouth opens and closes, and anticipation floods your stomach. But then, his lips pull back into one more smile, more reserved, more private. Now, in this rare moment of tranquility, he looks truly handsome, and your heart jumps to your throat at the realization. He gives you one last look, shakes his head at the floor, and exits with a soft click of the door.

You're, once again, left alone with your mismatched shoes and the hole in your shorts. This time, however, your head is filled with tender thoughts, one that could keep you company, until another visit befalls you.

[rispwr]

Still with you - JK - MDNI - PART TWO

pairings : ex!jk x ex!reader

genre : fluff, angst

context : after breaking up with your boyfriend for 14 years for cheating on you, choosing to still stay with him in his apartment wasn't quite the best idea. especially after seperating.

warnings/contents : smut, mentions of pregnancy, cheating, rape, unprotected sex, alcoholism, degrading, and this jungkook should be a warning.

songs : house of balloons, swim, into it, goodluck, babe, so high, bloodline

this fic only has maybe 2 or 3 chapters

I wake up to the sound of my alarm, the shrill beeping cutting through the silence of the room.

 I’m on the couch again, my back aching from another restless night. The familiar weight of tension settles over me as I remember where I am, Jungkook’s apartment. I groan, rubbing my eyes, wishing I could wake up somewhere else, anywhere else.

Today’s a workday, and for that, I’m grateful.

 Work is my escape, the one place where I can forget about everything that’s gone wrong in my life. I sit up, running a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. My mind is already racing with the tasks I need to tackle at the studio, the new song I’ve been working on, the production tweaks that need to be made.

I stand, stretching, and glance at the closed bedroom door. He’s still in there, probably asleep. Good. The less I have to see him this morning, the better. I grab my clothes and head to the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible.

As I get ready, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, trying to push away the anxiety that’s been gnawing at me since I woke up. I need to focus on work today, not on the fact that I’m still here, stuck in this apartment with him. The makeup I apply is like a shield, something to hide behind. I can’t afford to look vulnerable, not today.

When I step out of the bathroom, fully dressed and ready to go, I hear movement from the kitchen. My heart sinks. Of course, he’s awake now. I should have left earlier. I quickly grab my bag, hoping to slip out without any interaction.

But as I near the door, Jungkook’s voice stops me. “You’re leaving already?”

I freeze, my hand on the doorknob. “Yeah. I have to get to the studio,” I say, not turning around.

“You’re always in such a rush,” he says, his tone casual, but there’s an edge to it that I can’t ignore.

I sigh, closing my eyes for a brief moment. “I have a lot to do.”

“Right. Because work is all you care about now.” His voice is cold, and it hits me like a punch to the gut.

I turn around, glaring at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, leaning against the counter, his eyes dark. “Just that you’ve been burying yourself in work ever since...”

I know what he’s about to say, and I can’t bear to hear it. “Don’t,” I snap, cutting him off. “Just don’t.”

His eyes flash with anger, and for a moment, we’re locked in a silent battle of wills. But I don’t have the energy for this fight. Not today. I turn and walk out the door, slamming it behind me.

at work

“Hold the elevator!”

I quickly hit the button to keep the doors open, and a moment later, Yoongi slips inside, slightly out of breath. He grins at me, and for the first time today, I feel my mood lift a little.

“Thanks,” he says, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “Didn’t think I’d make it.”

“No problem,” I reply, smiling back at him. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

He nods, still catching his breath. “Yeah, just started producing for some of the artists here. It’s been a wild ride so far.”

“That’s great,” I say, genuinely happy for him. I’ve been running into Yoongi at the coffee shop for a while now, and there’s something about him that makes everything feel a little less heavy. “I’m a producer and singer here too. Guess we’ll be seeing each other around a lot more.”

“Looks like it,” he replies, his smile widening. “Maybe we could work on something together sometime.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You say that like I wouldn’t be honored.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “The honor’s mine. Seriously.”

There’s a comfortable silence as the elevator continues its ascent, and I feel a sense of relief that I haven’t felt in a while. Being around Yoongi is easy. There’s no pressure, no expectations. Just two people who happen to get along.

Before the doors open to my floor, Yoongi pulls out his phone. “Hey, do you mind if we exchange numbers? In case you need anything...work-related, of course.”

“Of course,” I reply, feeling a warmth spread through me as we swap numbers. The doors slide open, and I step out, turning back to give him a small wave. “See you around, Yoongi.”

“See you, Y/N,” he replies, and I can feel his eyes on me as I walk down the hallway. For the first time today, I feel a genuine smile tugging at my lips.

-------------

Yoongi’s arm is around my shoulders as we approach my apartment building.

 The evening air is cool, a welcome relief after a stressful day. We reach the door, and I fumble with my keys, feeling a tight knot of anxiety in my stomach.

As we step inside, I’m met with an unexpected and unsettling scene. 

Jungkook is sprawled on the couch, clearly drunk, his clothes disheveled. The room is a chaotic mess, reflecting his mental state.

Yoongi looks at me with a quick, sympathetic glance but doesn’t enter the apartment. “I’ll text you once I’m home,” he says quietly, giving me a reassuring smile.

“Thanks, Yoongi,” I manage to reply, though my mind is already racing with dread about the confrontation that’s about to unfold.

Yoongi watches me walk towards the door before turning and heading back to his car. 

I take a deep breath and step into the apartment, trying to steel myself for the encounter.

Jungkook’s eyes shift towards me, narrowing with a mix of anger and contempt. “Look who decided to come back,” he slurs, his voice dripping with disdain. “You and your new friend.”

I try to keep my voice steady. “Jungkook, can we not do this right now?”

He stands up with a lurch, stumbling towards me. His face is flushed, and his breath smells of alcohol. 

“Oh, so now you want to play nice? After everything you’ve put me through?”

I wince at his words but hold my ground. “I didn’t come here to fight. I just needed to get rest after work.”

Jungkook’s gaze hardens, and he stumbles closer, his voice rising with every word. “You think you can waltz back in here like nothing happened? You were too busy with your career to even notice what was going on with us. And then, when we lost the baby, you act like it’s all my fault?”

The accusation is a knife to my heart, but I try to stay composed. “That’s not fair. You contributed to the stress, too. It wasn’t just me.”

Jungkook’s eyes are icy, filled with cruelty. “Fair? Do you know how it felt to be ignored? To have the person I was supposed to rely on pushing me away? You didn’t care about me or our baby. It was always about your career, your stress. You failed us.”

My tears start to fall uncontrollably.

 “I was trying my best to handle everything. I needed your support, but you were too busy finding someone else.”i sob

Jungkook’s anger intensifies, and he stumbles forward, grabbing my arms roughly. “You think you can just come back and fix things? You destroyed everything, and now you have to face the consequences.”

Before I can react, Jungkook pulls me towards him, his lips crashing onto mine in a forceful, unwanted kiss. The suddenness of it shocks me, and I struggle to push him away, my tears mixing with the bitterness of the moment.

“Stop it!” I manage to cry out, pushing against his chest with all my strength. “This isn’t what I want.”

Jungkook’s grip tightens, his eyes wild with a mix of rage and desperation. “You don’t get to walk away from this. You’ve hurt me, and now you’ll face it.”

I wrench myself free, stumbling back. My heart is racing, and the pain is overwhelming. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m done.”

I pull out my phone, feeling the tears fall freely. Yoongi’s message is waiting for me: “I’m home. Let me know if you need anything.”

I respond quickly, “Thank you.” The message is a small comfort amidst the storm of emotions.

jungkook threw the phone away, my eyes watching the phone being thrown away to the couch. 

he then tries to unbutton my blouse "jungkook- s-stop" i whimpered, trying to pull away from him but it wasn't working. he didn't stop kissing me.

 i was trapped.

 "you're still mine y/n" jungkook’s grip tightens, his eyes wild with a mix of rage and desperation, his voice is deeper than usual.

i just cried. letting him do what he wants to me knowing i can't do anything about it. he's too strong for me. 

all i need is to get away from him and get out of this apartment as soon as possible.

jungkook was drunk as hell.

 pounding into me harshly "you think you can get away from me?" he grunts 

"this cunt is mine only" i moaned as i sob at the same time. i didn't want this. 

"jungkook! please.. stop" i let out a whimper, still my palm on his chest, trying hard to push him away. 

finally i felt jungkooks release into me. i felt dirty.

i felt dirty having him all over me.

he pulls out and forgets about me, and goes to the shower, leaving me as it is. 

like im some sort of object. 

i sit down looking down at my bruised cunt, sobbing.

[oceaneyesinla]

Imagine you work in your family store, a few doors down from Cafe Pothos. Many of the Furin boys are regulars, whether they drop by to purchase from the store or just to check in on the owners, your grandparents.

By far the most frequent visitor is Umemiya. The leader of Bofurin first walked into your store after chasing off some youths causing trouble for your grandmother, and you were taken by him immediately. Broad shoulders, sky blue eyes and a smile that lit up a room; how could you do anything but stare as he fretted over your grandmother, offering to help her clear up the stock thrown from shelves.

While he worked, your grandmother had lamented the damage to her beloved potted plants - a collection she took diligent care of, and one that many in the town adored.

Those pretty eyes had lit up as he listened to her talk, and the next day, he reappeared with arms full of seedlings and potting soil, and you were certain you were falling in love with him.

After that, he stopped in every couple of days, usually bearing gifts of a new fertiliser blend he was trying, or a new sprout he thought your grandmother would like. He had utterly charmed her, and he was well on his way to earning your grandfather's approval too. The two of them had built a new display for the front of the store, and it was pure coincidence that you spent all of that day cleaning the windows of the store, within eyesight of where they were working.

It's driving you mad, you think as you watch him chatting to your grandmother. He lifts an arm to rub the back of his neck as your grandmother tells him he's a wonderful, kind boy, and you can feel the heat pooling in your cheeks as his shirt rides up to reveal a toned stomach and a hint of white hair poking out of his waistband.

You pray he doesn't turn to you - it's bad enough that your grandmother is shooting you a mischievous, knowing smile. You busy yourself rearranging the display behind the counter, and so you don't notice Umemiya approaching until he speaks. His voice makes you jump, and he apologises through a laugh.

"Cna I help you?" You give yourself a mental pat on the back as you manage to not stumble over your words under the full weight of his stunning smile.

"Your grandmother is very insistent that I should ask for your number, and I can't let her down."

You can feel yourself blushing all over again - his charm is near irresistible, but you don't want him to feel pressured, "You indulge her too much. You didn't have to do as she said. I won't be offended if you don't take it." Maybe you would be, a little, but you wouldn't blame him. A boy as beautiful as him probably already has a line of girls following him, desperate for even a second of his time.

"I think I indulge her just enough - she always takes care of the Furin guys when they stop in here." His smile grows a little softer around the edges as he leans on the counter, chin resting on one hand as he looks up at you, "Besides, I was already coming to ask you on a date - why not get your number at the same time?"

The boyish grin on his face just highlights the growing blush across his cheeks, and you're powerless to do anything but smile back, holding out a hand for his phone. Once you hand his phone back, he leaves the store with a cheery goodbye to you and your grandmother, bell chiming as he exits.

Almost immediately, your phone chimes and you almost drop your phone trying to unlock it.

'Meet me at 6 tonight for dinner?'

Your eyes flick up, meeting his through the glass of the front window. You nod once, and the smile you get in return could light all of Japan.

You tuck your phone back into your pocket, already planning out your outfit even as your grandmother begins teasing you about your new 'boyfriend'. Maybe, just maybe, after tonight, she would be right.

(Years later, on your wedding day, Umemiya admits that he started dropping off those plants so that he had an excuse to see the pretty girl working the counter. As your guests laugh at his story, your eyes find your grandmother. She's already watching you, and you're certain she already knew.)

[miifu666]

We know sukuna's a huge hater for Yuuji right? But theres a saying around my country where "you shouldn't hate someone TOO MUCH or else fate will always unite u with them."

Or sum like "don't hate someone too much, it'll turn to love."

<<<<<<♡>>>>>>>

Imagine a happy ending Sukuna, one where he genuinely decided to be in a loving and domestic household with you. He saw what the jujutsu world can do, both ancient and modern, Gojo has provenly showed him a thrilling time by being the one and almost only person to make him feel the life and death situation in such a predictable battle.

He got to meet the plentiful talented sorcerers in the modern world, one where they have far more advanced knowledge in how life works than those in the heian era. The new sorcerers didn't disappoint him too much. Some managed to learn innate domain expansion in a mere second, others didn't have any curse energy yet managed to hurt him more than those who do. He's seen it all, he feels content.

Hence why he made a choice to have his own happy ending, see where life gets him after his "unsavory" conversation with his fated nephew. The tangy memories of that boy's bright smile hearing sukuna giving him a chance to show him how beautiful life can be, even if deep within. Theres a dreaded feeling whenever he sees that gullible boy, a fire pit inside him whenever he realized how innocent his so called "nephew" is for believing someone like him can be saved too.

Sukuna thought back idly, coming back to his senses as he feels your hair being combed through his fingers in a consistent motion. He wonders if maybe that annoying brat is right, he has a dutiful lover now. One who he feels as though wouldn't have been his if he didn't accept that despicable brat's decision.

The warm feeling of the sun hitting both him and his equal is... a blissful feeling. He used to be empty, seeking thrill from both knowledge and greed of such delicacies, humans, animals.. all he could find and devour till his stomach is full. All knowledgeable for such sorcery to make sure he stays the top, to see if someone is there to fight and able to defeat him on top of the lonely world of the strongest.

Now he's sitting here, the daunting feeling of such title no longer haunts him. Theres no one who can use him like an object, to fight and treat him like a game boss, speak his name like an object to defeat, disregard him as something worth less than humanity and curses, a natural calamity. Inside this prosperous Minka, he is just sukuna. Hes not the starving child, ostracized from society, being stripped bare of his real birth given name.

He's now.. Sukuna.

The husband and father of... currently one brat.

Speaking of a brat.

There's hustling noises of running feet ontop of the well cared grass, the thumping of something- no. Someone not much older than 5 years old.

"Papa!"

There he is.

"I got butterflies!!"

The small brat he managed to raise. The one and only child he has, a miracle. He was tempted to call him "megumi" too actually- but he's too prideful to use a rip off of someone elses name. He created his own, he hoped. This child doesn't get sick from bearing the weight of his own name.

"Those are Dragonflies, Yajou"

Yajou, a combination of both the kanji for appearance and fulfillment. A perfect name for one who completes the boundaries between human and curses.

Although...

Sukuna stared at his son again. His face is much more similar to a certain brat than him. His bright and naive eyes, those unopened set of eyes under his proper main ones, the tufs of pink hair on top while his lover's natural hair decorated the sides. Its all too familiar, he hates it. He hates having a split image of his disgusting nephew in this... fleshy and chonky baby form.

"Free! Free dragon!"

The child babbles out, spreading his hands out to let the Dragonfly leave his fleshy touch. It was... cute, adorable even. Sukuna sigh.

This.. is a funny way of fate telling him to learn his lesson.

>>>♡♡<<<

God i had this thought at 1am i did NOT proof reading this i just fucking wing it brooooooo. Hope its good ig djdhdjjdkd

Yajou Doodles♡

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Episode 10: The Couch

Wow @lurkingshan, it’s like you really know me! This scene is exactly what I was going to talk about for Episode 10 because the fucking TENSION put so much weight in to the air when I was watching that I could hardly breathe. 

CHRIS CHIU

THE ACTOR THAT YOU ARE

Scene Breakdown time!

First of all, I love the little couple dynamic moments we get between Lili and San Pang, where Lili has to tap San Pang in to Yuan and Qian’s fight. San Pang arrives and in a very strategic move informed by knowing Qian and Yuan for a significant amount of their lives, he arrives with food he knows will go over well with Qian and will test Yuan’s ears (he comes down the stairs from his room to throw the food away after all). 

Which, let’s just acknowledge that when Yuan comes downstairs and takes all the alcohol and greasy food away, the moment Yuan approaches the coffee table, Qian looks back towards the TV screen pretending he is disinterested in the situation at hand. But his eyes give him away because he keeps glancing at Yuan when he thinks he can steal a second. And stealing is what he is trying to do because he keeps his head pointed directly towards the television, while looking for half a second at Yuan out of the corner of his eye when Yuan leans over to collect the food. After that moment, Qian does not look towards Yuan again until Yuan has turned around and Qian can stare at his back. 

It must be said. Chris is a phenomenal actor, because even without seeing his face, just the top of his head, you can kind of tell the mood that Qian is in as Yuan walks away, because he turns towards Yuan. We see Yuan look in Qian’s direction, Qian moves his head further back to look at San Pang, then looks away shaking his head. I acknowledge I’m probably reading too much in to it, but I can feel the incredulity radiating off of that head shake. 

Yuan heads up the stairs, and Qian looks towards the staircase only after Yuan has disappeared. His head movement is so much more obvious than his previous motions that it literally looks like Qian is breaking character, or like he was previously frozen and had only now been allowed to breathe. Qian’s eyes look up towards the staircase (towards Yuan’s absence), then downward as he thinks about his next move, then back towards San Pang, then down once more as he makes a decision about whether or not he wants to Start The Conversation. 

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul (my savior)

Qian here is trying to check that Yuan is out of earshot because he Will Not have the The Conversation about His Feelings if there is a chance that Yuan will know about it. 

With the heaviest of sighs, Qian gives San Pang an opening: “Did you buy those for me, or for him to throw away?”  Qian asks, and once again looks out of the corner of his eye, getting serious “Or for him to throw away?” 

And there is no doubt in my mind that it is the latter. San Pang bringing food that would trigger Yuan’s care instincts towards Qian, cause Yuan to intervene, and San Pang to bear witness to the tense and angry energy from Yuan towards Qian and force the issue. I think it’s partially why Qian does not deliberate for long in starting the conversation despite his hesitancy. 

San Pang scoffs and says in response “He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t care about you. Xiao Yuan can’t bear to leave you alone.” holds up the salad as a physical example of the care that Yuan has for Qian. 

gifs by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Qian gives another giant exhale and looks contemplative. Something that I do find really important in good acting is the use of internal monologue. Qian always has something on his mind that he is sitting with. And the benefit of a scene like this is that the production team, and the camera trust the strength of their actors to hold the silence that settles over the room as Chris runs the gambit of Qian’s internal thoughts. 

Qian is well and truly sitting with the acknowledgement of Yuan’s feelings from San Pang. Maybe I am wrong because I am not an actor, but I do not have the kind of intentional and conscious control over my face to have the kinds of lip twitches that Chris has when Qian is thinking about Yuan’s care for him. They may have twenty seconds of silence on screen, but that does not mean the scene isn’t still in motion. There are so many little things happening in the span between San Pang’s comment about Yuan and his next reflection on sending Yuan away. 

“Xiao Yuan can’t bear to leave you alone,” Qian turns that over in his mind, to me it’s like he’s feeling the weight of it on his tongue, in his body. Qian looks up, and then around, and tosses the remote to the side, breathes heavily again. That feels like a begrudging acceptance of the statement. At the very least it is permission from Qian to proceed with the difficult conversation. 

“Before I had Yuan leave the country, I had been thinking I was doing the right thing for you two. But seriously, be honest, did you feel empty when Yuan was away?”

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Qian blinks twice and we cut to a flashback of a lovely little isolated frame of Qian feeling Yuan’s absence. We cut back to a close up of Qian’s face and his lip twitches. Which I love because it feels like an involuntary admission. We know Qian, we know that boy is stubborn and stoic, that he muscles through all the pain, that he does not let many people see his weaknesses. San Pang asks Qian if he felt empty and Qian does. not. move. He holds exactly the same position, lounging on the couch with his hand behind his head like he is unmoved, unaffected by San Pang’s question. But that little twitch of his lip gives him away. San Pang has struck a nerve. San Pang has forced Qian to hold a spotlight to the feelings he’s been trying to numb for the last four years. 

“Let me tell you something. When Lili and I first got together,” 

I don’t know about anyone else, but I snorted at the way Qian turned his head to look at San Pang in warning. We still have not seen Qian approve of that relationship. And San Pang knows that he’s staring at the precipice of some truly hot water, which is why he follows up with a “hear me out.” 

Qian relaxes and once again turns to look away from San Pang. From San Pang’s position very little of Qian’s face is visible. So Qian keeps holding a position that will give San Pang as little of a chance of reading him as possible. 

“I’ve struggled too. I…I always wondered what happiness could I bring her? Was I doing the right thing? How could I face you? And then…I felt it wasn’t right. Life is too short.”

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Again, I just have to say. CHRIS CHIU IS A PHENOMENAL ACTOR. He does not move a muscle, but you know Qian is locked in on what San Pang is saying because of how he moves his eyes. When San Pang says “life is too short” you can actually see the moment where Qian starts paying more attention to San Pang’s words, because he looks away from the TV and more downward in thought. 

“Getting hung up over it for years, would it be worth all the lost time?” 

Chris changes how he breathes here. You can see Qian take in a deep breath, but he holds it for a few seconds, he lets his nostrils flare, and then you see a large release of breath in the movement of Qian’s chest. This is really really getting to Qian. That nostril flare was not because he was breathing in. Because he’d already taken a breath. It was not because he was breathing out, because we see that happen a few seconds after the nostril flare, without his nose moving again. When Qian flares his nostrils, he is holding his breath, for a rather noticeable amount of time too. 

I love Chris because he embodies Qian so well, I can almost feel the way Qian is feeling internally in all the subtle little ways Chris plays with how Qian holds and releases tension and attention. 

“Who’s been good to me?”

Qian blinks twice, letting the question hit him, and only then does he finally release his breath. 

“Who put me before themselves?” 

San Pang looks at Qian after he finishes asking these hypothetical questions. But Qian is still looking ahead towards the TV, trying to come across as disengaged in the conversation as possible. And San Pang notices that, and that is why he continues to talk. Because Qian is hearing him, he’s listening and processing, but he isn’t engaged. He hasn’t put his body in to the conversation yet, he hasn’t responded to anything that San Pang has said to him. So San Pang keeps pushing. 

“A lot of things are only between you and Yuan. Unless you really have something against being with a guy, Yuan’s the only one who will be by your side, no matter what. Are you really not going to confront it?”

And I love that we pull away from that question to Qian looking like he is lying in a therapist’s chair. And Qian holds that position he has been maintaining throughout the conversation for a few seconds longer. The number of times he blinks the only indication that what San Pang has said is getting through and that Qian is mulling it all over. 

And only then, after San Pang has said all these things about Qian and Yuan’s relationship, in a way that is not judgemental or against the idea of these brothers becoming romantically involved. Only after San Pang has said that Yuan would be by Qian’s side no matter what does Qian set his jaw and push himself up in to a sitting position to continue the conversation. 

San Pang does not know what happened at Le’s gang beyond them being beaten up. So while it is highly likely that he is aware saying that Yuan would follow Qian anywhere is opening a can of worms, he does not understand how much ammunition he has just given Qian to talk about the danger that loving him too deeply has put Yuan in.

We do not give enough credit to film actors for maintaining continuity across scenes, because this man sits up and the first thing Chris has Qian do is massage the back of his head, where the pain of his blood clot sits. I could probably sit here all day trying to talk about all the little facial expressions he does as Qian sits up and starts preparing himself to be vulnerable with San Pang. But we can leave it as merely that. Qian is getting ready to talk to San Pang about some deeply personal stuff.

Personal stuff that Qian usually does not typically get in to. Like, San Pang says he knows what Qian went through, but I do not think he does. I do not think Qian has told him about the sexual assault, or San Pang would not have been trying to throw women at Qian. 

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

“San Pang.” He pauses, and you can see the way he is still noodling, thinking about whether or not he wants to talk to San Pang about all this. And notably, he does not meet San Pang’s eye when he begins “Do you know…” Qian looks to the side, he frowns a little bit, he taps the palm of his hand against the top of the couch arm. It feels so childish and small of him in a way that really struck me. Qian is nervous, he is redirecting that energy in to his motions. In to the tapping, in to looking away, in to not having to reveal deep personal truths sitting that close to another soul. “Do you know what my biggest wish in life is? My biggest wish in life is for them to be happy,” 

Ohhhhhh how that breaks my heart. Qian has suffered so much, he has done so much, he has survived so much. If you were to ask me, I would bet that Qian has never been happy. He was forced at a very young age to take over the role of caregiver. He is both a brother and a father to Yuan and to Lili. And it is a testament to Qian’s love for his family, and the pain he is willing to put himself through that Lili is so bright and vibrant and naive about some of the workings of the world. I believe that Lili is happy. I believe that Qian has succeeded in at least that much. But that is not something he has had a chance to do. “Even if the world comes down, I’ll hold it up.” I have not forgotten that line from last episode. Qian would hold the world together if it meant ensuring his sister’s happiness. 

I do not know what it is, but there is something in the way Chris moves his mouth after he says “My biggest wish in life is for them to be happy,” that just absolutely destroys me, because he makes himself look like this is such a huge confession. 

“Mine is the same.” 

gif from @wanderlust-in-my-soul

“I just want them to grow up healthy and happy, because I’m their big brother.” Qian’s words become so breathy and he’s jabbing his finger straight in to the arm of the couch to drive home his point. These are the words that matter, this is the wish that matters. Qian’s feelings, Qian’s happiness have nothing to do with it. If he’s empty so be it, as long as his siblings are happy and healthy he will wound himself a thousand times over. His fucking face here, once again is just…When Qian takes in a breath, it is shaky. You can tell by the movement of his jaw, which looks like it is moving from side to side a little bit. As he approaches the end of his sentence, it feels like he is trying not to cry. 

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Yuan’s life might be summed up in two words: Wei Qian 

But Wei Qian’s life is summed up in five: 

Because I’m their big brother. 

“We grew up together. You think I don’t know how hard life’s been on you? But you know that Yuan’s feelings for you are different.” 

Qian looks away incredulously, and there is something else there too, I think. Something in the way that Qian’s eyebrows furrow, the way his mouth hangs open, the way he breathes out. I don’t know that he can really believe that this conversation is happening right now. That San Pang would let these words reach the light of day, that he would acknowledge them so openly, so matter-of-factly. 

“We’ve tried everything. We even sent him abroad for years. You were miserable every day. You love him and he loves you.”

We get more of Qian’s thinking face here as San Pang says these words, his mouth agape, his breath quickening, his eyes moving back and forth as he sorts through his own thoughts. 

But I need to acknowledge San Pang. He has such an intriguing connection to Qian and his family. San Pang has power of Qian, because his parents are Qian’s landlords. He and Qian have been best friends for a very long time, and even though I think it is true that San Pang likely knows the most about Qian’s life history, he does not know it all. He is still, in many facets of his life, acting like a kicked dog and backing down every time he tries to push back against Qian now that Qian knows that he and Lili are together. But when push comes to shove. When Qian’s happiness is impeded, when Qian’s health is at risk, he will tell Qian what Qian needs to hear. 

Whether or not Qian is truly having a hard time parsing through his feelings for Yuan doesn’t matter to me as much as Qian getting permission from multiple people to actually pursue the relationship. In acknowledging all of this, San Pang, the man who at one point told Yuan he could like anyone but Qian, the man that sent Yuan away for four years, is telling Qian that it is okay for Qian and Yuan to be together. He is the external judge that is finally accepting this taboo relationship, because he knows that if he does not show Qian that it is okay for him and Yuan to change from brothers to lovers, that neither Qian or Yuan will have any chance in hell of long term happiness. 

“Even if you’re not together, he’ll be sad to see you sad.” 

Off come Qian’s glasses. Shit is getting serious now. Qian rests his head on his hand, he looks away from San Pang. He really sits with it, you can see the emotions rising up in him, in the way he breathes, in the way his nostrils move, in the way his lips tremble for a second before he speaks. 

gif by @ueasking

“I’m scared, you know?” he turns to look at San Pang, and he sucks in a huge breath through his nose. It’s the first time we’ve seen him breathe so obviously that way throughout the entire scene. GOD, QIAN KILLS ME. 

“You haven’t even tried. What are you scared of?” 

And this is the fascinating thing for me, right? Outside of Yuan, San Pang is Qian’s best friend, but they do not have conversations like this that often. San Pang has tried time and again to start the more serious conversations, to act as an emotional support for Qian, but Qian brushes those conversations off as much as he can. San Pang knew the medical issues, he knows the history, he knows about the pieces of Qian’s life that Qian can’t hide. But he does not know everything, Qian does not usually let himself be this vulnerable with San Pang, hell he hasn’t even told San Pang everything that happened with Le’s gang. He’s about to, but that is only because he is trying to make a point. 

I think he is only having this conversation with San Pang, only admitting he is scared, and confused about his feelings for Yuan because he has literally no one else to talk to about it, and he’s starting to break down to the point that he can’t hold it all in by himself. And San Pang keeps pushing. 

“You know he went to find Le by himself that day?”

“I know.” 

“He was surrounded and beaten by six people, and in the end…”

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

He sucks in a breath. It takes him a moment to find the strength to form the words, so he forms a gun shape with his hand, which he points quickly a few times to fill the silence and the stillness in the room as he finds the shape of the admission on his tongue. He accentuates the severity of the memory with one final large motion. 

“...they pointed a gun at…” 

Ah, and there it is. The real reason behind Qian’s comment about wanting Lili and Yuan to be happy and healthy because he’s their big brother. Qian will not act on his feelings for Yuan, especially not right now because he is feeling guilty. Not just for sending Yuan away, not just because of the letter, but because Yuan’s unwavering loyalty, protectiveness, and love for Qian got Yuan hurt. Nearly got Yuan killed. Again. 

Qian’s whole world, his entire drive was shattered the day Yuan confessed, when Yuan told Qian that he was suffering. Yuan’s love for Qian was hurting him. But Qian just wants Yuan to be happy and healthy. The chance at having that world again was nearly destroyed with the realization that Yuan almost died abroad. His world was made complete again when Yuan returned home. And it was very nearly destroyed once more when Yuan walked in to that gang in hopes of protecting Qian. 

There is pain in witnessing the kind of love someone would die for. 

Qian can put himself in danger for the sake of his siblings, because from my perspective, Qian never thought his life had much worth. His formative years were filled with horrific abuse, assault under the guise of love, pain, suffering, doing terrible things just to survive. But this is all because he cannot see the forest through the trees, of the life that he has built, of the home that he has built, of the safety that he has built for his siblings. 

Yuan is not allowed to believe his life is less important than Qian’s because no one has ever thought that Qian’s life was more important than theirs. 

“Fuck, you- you’re telling me that now? Then, you…Right now, you…So, you’ve lost…”

Another quick shout out to San Pang, and moreso to the writing for San Pang that they don’t always let him have these brilliant speeches. He was able to navigate the beginning of this conversation because he knew mostly what he was walking in to, but with the reveal of Yuan and Qian’s near death experience, he is fumbling. 

The camera cuts back to Qian. I’d say Qian is listening to San Pang, but not fully present. Chris is doing so many things with his face in that moment. His nostrils are flaring, his lips are tightening like he’s trying to hold something back, he’s rocking his jaw from side to side. 

gif by @ueasking

“So, this isn’t a decision I can make so lightly.” He is almost crying now, he won’t cry, I think the only time we’ve seen him cry is when he was staring the prospect of Yuan’s death directly in the face during Russian Roulette and when he was hugging Yuan afterwards. But you can see the growing frustration and the threat of the tears very clearly on his face. Qian emphasizes the statement by once again jabbing his finger into the couch. 

“I have to consider the future.”  

“Do you want him to have a future without you?”

Let me tell y’all the way I collapsed under the weight of that question…it is no wonder Qian, notoriously quiet Qian, immediately shuts his mouth. I appreciate how much San Pang is willing to be the sacrificial lamb, because that is exactly the question that Qian needed to hear. That is exactly the reality that Qian, Yuan, Lili all face if Qian does not get his blood clot treated. A future without Qian in it. 

Qian needs to know exactly what he is doing to the people he loves by continuing to delay this medical treatment, but San Pang had to know that in asking it, it would only make Qian retreat back in to himself. Which is what Qian usually does. It was a miracle in it’s own right that San Pang was able to get Qian to voice this many of his concerns, to tell him the entire truth, to talk to him about the fear. 

gif by @ueasking

Qian closes his eyes, he lets the blow of the question absorb in to him, and he nods his head. Which, in my opinion, is a brilliant choice because the way he nods does not read to me as a confession that yes, Qian does want Yuan to have a future without him in it, and more so is an admission of defeat from Qian. But because we don’t get verbal confirmation either way, we do not, San Pang does not, Yuan does not get any confirmation one way or the other about what Qian is thinking. 

Qian just nods, lets the silence hang one moment longer, and kicks San Pang out. 

“Go home.” He says. But there is a more promising follow up “Let me think about it.” 

Which feels like the only thing Qian has really been doing for the last four years, but we’ve already established, that boy is about as moveable as a brick wall, and he and Yuan both serve to lose a lot if this goes wrong. 

And there you go @lurkingshan! 4103 words on the mouth twitch, nervous body language, and tears in this scene :D

[awkward-walking-potato]

Logan x gn!reader that can’t feel emotional pain, or js can’t cry in general? Even in the darkest, or sad times, they just can’t cry? And it makes them feel indifferent because others in their past accused the reader of being selfish and uncaring when it’s the opposite. They can express sadness in their face, like grief, but any other kinds of things relating to emotional sadness, and even tears are something they can’t express.

The Tears That Never Fall

Logan had seen grief in many forms over the years. He'd seen people sob uncontrollably, collapse to the floor, and scream at the heavens. He’d witnessed the silent type too, the ones who shut down completely, as if their hearts were too heavy to bear the weight of their pain. But you? You were different.

Sitting beside him on the porch, staring out at the horizon, there was no mistaking the sadness etched into your features. Your face carried the telltale signs of sorrow—your eyes distant, your lips pressed into a thin line. Yet, there were no tears. There never were.

"You don’t gotta hold it in," Logan said quietly, his voice unusually gentle. He was never great with comforting words, but he was trying. He’d seen that look on your face enough times to know something was weighing on you.

You turned to look at him, a small, tired smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. "I’m not holding anything in."

Logan frowned, clearly not understanding. He didn’t doubt that you were hurting—he could see it plain as day—but your lack of tears, of any kind of outward breakdown, made him uneasy. You had a way of carrying your grief silently, and it was something he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

"You’ve been like this a while now," he said, more softly. "Whatever it is, you can talk about it, y’know?"

You let out a long, slow breath, your gaze returning to the view in front of you. "I know," you said. "But it’s not that simple, Logan. I… I can’t cry. I haven’t been able to for as long as I can remember."

Logan’s brows furrowed, his confusion deepening. "You mean, like you physically can’t?"

You nodded slowly. "Yeah. No matter how sad I get, no matter how much I feel it inside… the tears just don’t come. It’s always been like that." You hesitated, biting your lip before adding, "People used to think I didn’t care. Like I was selfish or cold because I wasn’t crying at funerals or when things went bad."

Logan was silent for a moment, processing what you’d said. He hadn’t known that about you. Sure, he’d noticed you never cried—hell, you never even came close, even when things had gotten rough at the mansion. But hearing that it was something you physically couldn’t do? That was new.

"That why you don’t talk about it much?" Logan asked. "’Cause people don’t get it?"

You nodded again, a flicker of something like relief crossing your face. "Yeah. It makes me feel… indifferent sometimes. Like I’m broken or something. People would tell me that I should cry, that it would help, but I couldn’t. It’s not that I don’t feel things—I feel them deeply. I just can’t express it the way they expect."

Logan let out a low sigh, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "You ain’t broken," he said firmly. "People grieve in different ways. Just ‘cause you don’t cry doesn’t mean you don’t feel things. I know you do."

You glanced at him, surprised by the certainty in his voice. Logan was never one for long, heartfelt speeches, but when he did say something, it always carried weight. And right now, those words felt like a lifeline.

"It’s just hard," you admitted, your voice quieter now. "When everyone else around me is crying, I feel like I’m on the outside looking in. Like I’m missing something… human, you know?"

Logan’s hand found yours, his grip strong and steady. "You ain’t missin’ nothin’. You feel things just as much as anyone else, maybe more. Don’t let anyone tell you different."

For a moment, you stared at him, your heart warming at the simple but profound reassurance. Logan had a way of cutting through all the noise, getting straight to the point without any of the unnecessary fluff. And right now, he was reminding you that your inability to cry didn’t make you any less human, or any less worthy of being understood.

You gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand. "Thanks, Logan. You… you’re one of the few people who hasn’t judged me for it."

Logan chuckled softly, giving a small shake of his head. "I ain’t one to judge, darlin’. I’ve been through enough to know that grief don’t look the same for everyone."

He pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as you leaned into him, letting the comfort of his presence settle around you. It wasn’t often that Logan was this openly caring, but with you, it felt natural. You didn’t need to cry, or break down, or do anything other than what you were doing now—sitting quietly beside him, your sadness understood without needing to be spelled out.

And for once, you didn’t feel like you had to hide or explain yourself. Logan got it. He always did.

[bratdotcom]

Stay (The Hell Away from me)

( Billy Butcher x reader || neighbor!au, soft angst, Billy is caught yearning, good ending ♡ )

“You know I can’t stay long, luv. Ye know how it is.” Butcher sighs through his teeth, holding, almost gripping onto his phone. He can feel you hesitate to speak, your side of the line going quiet as you decide what to say. He could picture it clearly in his mind, as if you were right in front of him.

“I just want to see you, Billy.” You reply, leaning your cheek against the screen of your phone. God you missed him. How long has it been since the last time you saw him? Days blurred into weeks, weeks turned into months. Months and months of radio silence.

Butcher juts out his lower lip as he thinks of what to do. Endless possibilities leave his mind, in one ear, out the other. All of them end in him leaving you. But he couldn’t bear to do that. You could’ve just left him for dead on your street, but you didn’t. It’s been a while since he’s met someone as genuinely kind as you.

The world you both lived in was fucked, and Butcher didn’t know if you knew that or not but you made living more bearable for him.

Fuck it.

He sighs again. “I’ll be there in ten.” he says, one of his hands readily grabbing onto the wheel. He puts his phone on speaker as he places it onto the passenger’s seat, wanting to hear your voice one last time before he sees you in person.

You smile, even though he can’t see you. “I’ll be waiting.” you say, promptly hanging up after.

He arrives at your back door, rough knuckles gently knocking against its flimsy screen. Butcher unknowingly sneers as he waits on your back porch. The screen itself looked half-done, barely being kept in place by a rusty-looking metal door frame. He could probably do a better job drunk than whoever the hell installed your screen door.

Maybe one day, he’d come by with his tools, offering to fix your door as an excuse to see you again. Maybe you’d offer him lemonade as a way of saying thank you.

Knowing you, the lemonade would probably be more sweet than his liking, With sugar decorating the rim of the glass.

He’d bear through it. If it meant he could see you.

You finally open the door, hugging him immediately after. He freezes up, not expecting you to hug him so quickly. Your hands run up the sleeves of his trenchcoat, your arms wrapping around the collar. Already, you were caring for him. Without even realizing it.

“I missed you.” you say softly, resting your head against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, every little rise and fall of his breath. His hands gently rested against the small of your back, Butcher was genuinely scared of hurting you.

“I missed ya too, luv.” he says back, the usual gruffness in his tone softening.

Shrugging off his coat and putting his boots near the door, Butcher follows you to your living room. The couch creaks under his weight. He watches as you hand up his coat, leaning against the couch cushions.

As soon as you turn around, he pats his thigh, inviting you to sit in his lap. He wished he could grow used to this. Hell, wanted to grow used to this.

Eagerly, you sit down, wrists perched against his broad shoulders as you kiss his lips. Butcher melts into the kiss, leaning in with his hands resting on your hips.

He tilts his head, the coarseness of his beard rubbing against your chin.

Butcher pulls away for air, a stupid smirk on his face as he sees you catch your breath. “Missed me that much, eh luv? Outta breath all because of me?” he teases, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at you.

“Shut up.” you say back, and he does that. You lean in for more, his hands scoot you closer to him by the hips. Being the man that he is, he pulls away in between kisses to make even more comments. “Can’t get enough of me, huh? Look at you, all desperate f’me like you’ve never kissed anyone else but me before. It’s okay, sweetie. I’m here for ya.” Butcher was admitting things he didn’t even realize he was saying, they came naturally to him.

He was saying things he’d probably admit after at least five shots of jack, things he’d probably never tell to your face.

And yet here he was, saying these things. While having you in his lap.

Pulling away and looking up at him, your eyes soften. “You really mean it?” You ask, mindlessly fiddling with the chain around his neck.

“I..” for a moment, he hesitates to reply. He's pushed away so many people in his life that he was scared of pushing you away too.

“I do.” He says, looking back at you with the most sincerity you've ever seen in his eyes.

“I really do mean it, luv.

[wallowslistener]

is it casual now? ೨ৎ e. x reader

𐙚˚ elliot x fem!reader. light angst. 1.4k words.

✦ it’s midnight, and the glow from the streetlights seeps through the blinds of elliot’s bedroom. you’re both sprawled out on his bed, your legs tangled together under the sheets. 

his guitar rests in the corner, a reminder of the songs he played earlier—songs that always seemed to say more than his words ever did.

the room is quiet now, except for the occasional rustle of the sheets and the soft sounds of your breathing. you lie on your back, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the unspoken thoughts pressing down on you. 

elliot’s beside you, his arm draped lazily across his eyes, as if he’s trying to block out the world—or maybe just the things he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

you glance over at him, studying the familiar lines of his face, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead, the hint of a smirk that always seems to linger on his lips. it’s a face you’ve come to know so well, and yet, there’s always a part of him that feels just out of reach.

“elliot,” you say softly, breaking the silence.

he hums in response, not moving, but you know he’s listening.

“do you ever think about… us?” the question hangs in the air, vulnerable and loaded with all the emotions you’ve been trying to keep at bay.

elliot sighs, finally moving his arm to look at you. his expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that makes your heart ache. “what do you mean?”

you turn on your side to face him fully, propping yourself up on one elbow. “i mean… is this all we are? just… casual?”

he doesn’t answer right away, and that silence is all the confirmation you need. you feel a pang of disappointment, but you’ve come this far, and you need to hear him say it.

“i like what we have,” he finally says, his voice careful, as if he’s trying to find the right words. “it’s easy, you know? no pressure, no expectations… just us, having a good time.”

you bite your lip, trying to keep the frustration and sadness from spilling over. “but what if i want more? what if i need more than just… casual?”

elliot’s eyes flicker with something—regret, maybe, or guilt—but he doesn’t reach out for you. instead, he looks away, his fingers picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “i don’t know if i can give you that,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel the tears welling up despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. “why not?”

he shrugs, and there’s a sadness in his eyes now, a vulnerability that he rarely lets you see. “i guess i'm just… not good at that kind of thing. relationships, commitments… they scare me. i don’t want to hurt you.”

“but you already are,” you say, your voice trembling. “by not being honest with me, by keeping things… casual when you know i want more.”

elliot closes his eyes for a moment, as if the weight of your words is too much to bear. when he opens them again, they’re full of regret. “i'm sorry,” he says, and you can tell he means it, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

you sit up, pulling the sheets closer around you, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. “i don’t think i can do this anymore, elliot. i can’t keep pretending that this is enough for me.”

he looks up at you, his expression pained. “i don’t want to lose you.”

“but you don’t want to keep me either,” you say softly, the realization cutting deep.

elliot doesn’t argue, and that’s how you know this is it. you nod, more to yourself than to him, as you slip out of bed and start gathering your things. the room feels colder now, the distance between you two growing with every second.

as you head for the door,elliot finally moves, sitting up in bed. “wait,” he says, his voice desperate, but you can’t look at him, not now.

“i need more than what you’re willing to give,” you say, your hand on the doorknob. “and i deserve that.”

with that, you leave, the door closing behind you with a finality that echoes in your chest. you walk out into the night, the cool air stinging your skin, but you keep going. it hurts, but you know this is what you need to do—for yourself.

as you leave elliot's place, the cool night air feels both refreshing and harsh against your skin. the ache in your chest is almost unbearable, but you keep walking, forcing yourself to focus on each step rather than the pain. you know you made the right decision, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

a few days pass, and you don’t hear from elliot. it’s agonizing, waiting for him to reach out, wondering if he’ll ever realize what he lost. you go about your days in a haze, trying to distract yourself with friends, work, anything that will keep your mind off him. but every time your phone buzzes, you can’t help but hope it’s him.

then, late one night, as you’re lying in bed, your phone lights up with a message. it's from elliot. your heart races as you open it, not sure what to expect.

“i can't stop thinking about u,” the message reads. “i know i messed up. can we talk?”

you stare at the screen, torn between hope and fear. you want to believe he’s ready to give you more, but you’re afraid of getting hurt again. after a long moment, you decide to meet with him. if nothing else, you need closure.

the next evening, you meet at a small diner, one of the few places open late. elliot is already there when you arrive, sitting in a corner booth. he looks nervous, fidgeting with his cup, and the sight of him tugs at your heartstrings.

you slide into the seat across from him, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. the silence between you is heavy, filled with all the unspoken words and emotions that have been building up for days.

finally, elliot breaks the silence. “i’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft but earnest. “i was scared of losing you, so i thought keeping things casual would protect me from that. but all it did was push you away.”

you look at him, searching his eyes for the truth. “i can’t keep doing this, elliot. i need more than what you giving me.”

“i know,” he says, his gaze meeting yours. “and i want to try. i don’t want to lose you, and if that means facing my fears and trying to be the person you need, then i'll do it. i care about you more than i realized, and it took almost losing you to see that.”

his words are sincere, and for the first time, you see the vulnerability he’s been hiding behind his usual laid back demeanor. he’s scared, but he’s trying. and that means something.

you take a deep breath, letting his words sink in. “i need you to be honest with me, elliot. i need to know that you’re willing to give this a real chance.”

he reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. “i am. i want to be with you, not just casually, but really with you. i’m not perfect, and i know i’ll probably mess up sometimes, but i’m willing to try. i don’t want to lose you.”

the sincerity in his voice and the way he’s looking at you make your heart swell. you can see that he’s scared, but he’s also willing to face those fears for you. and that’s all you needed to hear.

you squeeze his hand, a small smile playing on your lips. “okay,” you say softly. “let’s try.”

elliot smiles, a genuine, relieved smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “thank you,” he says, his voice full of emotion. “i won’t let you down.”

as you sit there, holding hands across the table, you feel a sense of hope that you haven’t felt in a long time. It won’t be easy, but you’re both willing to give it a real shot. and for the first time, that feels like enough.

[bonesofapoet]

delicate [ lucanis dellamorte x rook ] author's note: the one where rook has the world on their shoulders and lucanis offers to help them carry it. explicit language word count: 1013

It was a strange thing, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. You don't even remember when it draped itself all cold and snug across your silhouette, or when it decided it was here to stay. This was a burden you never expected to hold, to carry with you during each passing moment, with every grounding inhale and exhale you took. It wasn't a welcome thing, these days; it had become so, so heavy, yet it was not something so easily discarded. Not even for a moment of blessed peace.

On the sleepless nights, a fire usually crackles and dances until it wears itself down to embers in the ashes, glowing soft and cozy as the moons begin to set in the sky. You would busy yourself with everything and nothing at all, to pass the time.

This night, however, seemed different. Felt different. You've let the hearth remain dark and cold, favoring the soft amber glow of candlelight instead. They chase away reaching shadows the crescent moon cannot touch. The comfort of a clay mug warms your fingers, curls of steam swirling off into the night. You've made yourself comfy in your favorite window to watch the landscape beyond, brightening by the gradual ascension of the moons.

And then you hear it. Soft footfalls. Faint, even in the blissful silence of an hour so late. They cease, hesitant outside the closed door, only to shift after a moment. The figure continues to linger, linger, linger until finally, a knock echoes through the wood.

You're unsurprised to find Lucanis standing on the other side.

"Can't sleep?" he says, hand curved around the door when he eases it open.

"Fast asleep, actually."

He huffs a laugh from where he stands. "Funny."

"According to you, I'm always funny." the barb is said with curved lips and a gesture to the chair nearby when he can't decide how to answer.

He's grateful for the offer, how you let his silence slip through the cracks. It's ridiculous, he thinks. He's a Crow for fuck's sake. Seduction, charm - it was literally part of his training; yet when it comes to you - well. Lucanis is absolutely delighted you don't twist the knife in his pride like Harding has started doing. Mercilessly, may he add.

He settles into the chair and pretends he can't feel you watching his every breath, his every shift until he's comfortable. When he looks at you again, he can see it almost instantly: the toll of what your lives have become. How you've grown and faltered, how you've shined and how you've crashed and burned. It's there, all of it, weaving it's way into your body language, your features, captivating as they are. And, of course - of course. He sees the way you catch him reading you, only to turn quickly back to the window, then to the contents of what remains in your mug.

That's what tipped him off, hearing you in the kitchen.

Silence, once again, nestles itself into the space, a warm blanket draped with care over the heaviness of a night bearing nothing but memory. It's something you've grown accustomed to, this comfortable stillness filling up the atmosphere when you and Lucanis are alone like this. It's nice. Reassuring, even. Like a little pocket held out of time and space, curated solely for both of you to catch your breath.

It's becoming something familiar, something Lucanis maybe even relies on, if only a little bit, when he remembers the crushing weight that he too, carries within him. This could be dangerous, he knows, whatever is blooming slow and soft and true between you, yet he's surprised to realize he doesn't much care.

He watches you swirl the dregs of your cup, curling steam no longer framing the divine contours of your face. His fingers grip the wood of the chair tight enough that it bites into calloused palms. He needs - well, to be honest, he needs a fucking minute, actually, or he's going to jump out of his fucking skin.

A fucking Crow - more like an embarrassment.

Naturally, it takes him little time to see an opportunity before he simply takes it.

"Let me get you another," he nods to the mug, resting loose in your grip, now that it's drained dry. "You stay where you are. Embrace the quiet while you can."

"I - it's -" You realize too late how you were never able to successfully lie to Lucanis. You had allowed him to learn you, and learn you well. An agreement stumbles through your lips instead. The cup is raised in surrender, with no thought to hide the exhaustion coating your voice with its poisoned tongue. "Thank you. Oh, and I made -"

"I know." He says, pausing when his fingers slide over yours to cradle the pottery. Your eyes meet, and neither of you move from the warmth, or the thrill of comfort that such a small touch brings you both.

And then, quick as it was cast, the spell shatters.

You melt into a teasing grin, still holding the attention of those lovely amber eyes. He doesn't seem to notice you're covering the frantic beating of your heart.

"Ah, so the Prince of Crows knows my drink order, does he? I am someone important after all."

Lucanis rolls his eyes and snatches the cup away. His turn is quick, not to hide his smirk, but the heat rising in his cheeks and nestling in his heart. What he can't hide, however, is the smooth rumble of laughter as he crosses the room. He lingers once more at the threshold, head angled toward your place in the window. He's unsure he should speak of it, but he decides he must, if right now, he cant offer you anything more.

His quiet words, when they reach you, are both a balm on your aching heart and a swift punch to the gut all the same.

"This is something we carry together, you know. Lean on us, Rook. Anytime you need."

Then the shadows of the hallway swallow him whole.

[mononijikayu]

we can’t be friends (wait for your love) — gojo satoru.

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation

WARNING/S: romance, domesticity, fluff, family, break up, comfort/no comfort, angst, trauma, implied death, hurt/comfort, character death, depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of graphic content, depiction of emotional breakdown, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief;

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

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you were always reminded of how beautiful and sad wintertime is. when you were younger, you excitedly put on your winter boots and puffer jacket, hurriedly running out to play in the snow, your muffler trailing behind you. you had fond memories of those snowy days, and that sentiment only deepened as you grew older.

winter became even more special the night you met gojo satoru at his birthday party, when your friend had dragged you along. you were so happy then, to have been able to have this man steal your heart. since then, winter had been warmer, happier. but lately, it wasn’t the case.

that was what you hated about winter—sometimes, all it brought was bitterness and a putrid cold. the nights were frightening, and the breath you took felt like it punched the air out of your lungs. everything stayed frozen in time, suspended by the snow that seemed to crush the earth with its weight.

nowadays, you can’t remember if you ever waited eagerly for the snow to fall. you don't look forward to winter as you did when you were a child. it was too hard to smile at the falling snow. but you still try. you really want to. you think that maybe, if you smile, it would be easier. if you smile, maybe your face will remember only the warmth. maybe if you smile, you won’t feel the bitterness—you don’t want to turn into winter itself.

you tear your gaze away from the narrow echoes of the windowpane. and for a moment, winter tears itself in two, into that bitterness and warmth. sometimes, looking at him makes it easier, and some days, it makes it harder. you supposed you always knew he was like snow itself—pure as the driven snow and yet so brutal with the weight you bear for it.

gojo satoru shifts carefully on the mattress, and before you can think, you are instantly beside him. you couldn’t help but put his hand gingerly in yours, making sure not to jostle him too much. you never expected this. that he would be in such a state. he had been so healthy all his life, and now he wasn’t even able to stand up by himself anymore.

it's very hard not to worry over someone whom you've loved your entire life. satoru, whom you would gladly go to war for. satoru, the man you had called yours at one point. the very same satoru from the life before this. from all the lives before this one. you look at him and see not the previous version of him you've once held in your arms, but the young boy you first met so many years ago.

“how are you, 'toru?” you ask him tenderly.

there is hurt and pain in these isolated walls, this stupid little winter cabin of his. there is the looming knowledge of what is to come, too, and it is something you can’t face. you already knew the answer to the question. the doctor told you. but you didn’t care about what science says. you wanted to hear it from him.

at the end of the day, you are still hopeful. because he's here. satoru is still here with you. his usually warm hand is cold; it had never been cold when it touched yours. not until recently. but you think that it doesn’t matter. cold or warm, you still held his hand.

it was still yours to hold. and you were together. the world didn’t matter right now. your own husband, your career, your reality—nothing mattered. you wanted to be here. you wanted to be by his side. you wanted to be his world again, just as he was yours.

“it’s cold today, darlin’." satoru whispers to you, trying to squeeze your hand, as though to reassure you that he was still here with you.

he wasn’t as strong as he would have liked, you knew that well. but he still held you. he still held your hand and would not let go. you don’t realize too late that you’ve been holding your breath.

you squeeze his hand and you try to smile for him, to be happy for him. satoru opens his eyes to look at you, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. he likes it when he can see you smile for him, as you always did years ago.

you don’t think it will ever sink in. this isn’t real. this isn’t happening. you could feel the bile stuck in your throat. you already knew that this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. you have experienced much worse together. you have done much worse to each other.

you have pulled each other through collapsed barricades just to find safety elsewhere. even when you weren’t together anymore, you have managed to survive it all. because you still had each other.

that was then, and this is now. here you are, huddled together for warmth, satoru’s lips chapped and blue. your ex-husband could only try and make a front for you, one that you think he could not hold for much longer. even if he wished he could, there would come a time when it would all be over.

the room is silent except for the faint sound of the wind howling outside, the winter storm a harsh reminder of the reality you are facing. you clutch satoru’s hand tighter, as if your grip alone could keep him tethered to this world.

“satoru, love.” you whisper, your voice trembling. “stay with me.”

his eyes flutter open once more, and he looks at you with a softness that breaks your heart. “i’m trying, darlin'.” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “for you, i’m trying.”

you bite back the sob that threatens to escape, not wanting him to see you fall apart. you need to be strong, for him, for both of you. you lean closer, pressing your forehead against his, your breath mingling in the cold air.

“i know, love.” you say softly. “i know you are.”

the moments stretch on, each second feeling like an eternity. you talk to him about anything and everything, recounting memories of happier times, of your first meeting, of the countless winters you spent together. you tell him about the future you once dreamed of, the life you wanted to build together. you pour your heart out, hoping that your words can keep him here a little longer.

but as the hours pass, you can see the light in his cerulean eyes dimming, the strength in his grip weakening. he is slipping away, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. you feel a crushing weight in your chest, the pain of losing him more than you can bear.

“satoru, my love.” you say again, your voice breaking. “please don’t go. i can’t do this without you.”

he looks at you with a sad, knowing smile. “you’re stronger than you think,” he whispers. “you always have been.”

tears spill down your cheeks, and you shake your head. “not without you,” you insist. “i need you.”

his hand moves to your cheek, his touch feather-light. “i’ll always be with you." he says softly. “in here.” he taps his chest weakly, indicating his heart.

"how do i live on without you?" your tears blur everything in sight, even him. but you don't want to. you don't want it to.

"you learnt how, when we got divorced, darlin'." he smiles at you. you can tell, he was having a harder time speaking. "you'll learn again. you've always been a fighter. my darlin'. you've always been a fighter."

you nod, even though it feels like your heart is shattering into a million pieces. you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, savoring the warmth and love you’ve shared. as you closed your eyes, you could feel it tremble with tears once again.

“i love you.” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

“i love you too.” he replies, his voice fading. “always.”

you hold him close as his breathing grows shallower, his grip on your hand loosening. you can feel his life slipping away, each moment more painful than the last. and then, with one final, shuddering breath, he is gone.

the room feels impossibly quiet, the weight of his absence suffocating. you hold onto him, your tears soaking into his shirt, your heart breaking in ways you never thought possible. the world outside is a blur of white, the snow falling relentlessly, indifferent to your pain.

winter has never felt colder than in that moment.

you stay there for what feels like hours, unable to let go. you waited for the paramedics to arrive. you call his kids, to tell him what happened. and then....nothing. emptiness. the quiet. not even the snow falling made a sound.

the memories of your life together play in your mind, a bittersweet reminder of all you’ve lost. you remember the warmth of his smile, the sound of his laughter, the way he made you feel alive. and though he is gone, those memories are yours to keep. you fall in love again. and that tears you apart. it kills you whole.

eventually, you find the strength to stand, to face the world without him. you know it won’t be easy, that the days ahead will be filled with pain and heartache. but you also know that satoru would want you to keep going, to find a way to live life as you always have.

when everyone arrived, you knew it was time to go. you didn't want to leave his body. but you have no right to be there anymore. his kids tell you that it was too dangerous out. but he was gone. you say your goodbyes, you walk over to the coat hanger. your eyes red, your heart heavy - you make your way to leave the cabin.

you could feel how cold it was when you stepped out into the echoing blizzard, this unforgiving winter. the snow crunches beneath your feet, each step a reminder of the journey ahead. you look up at the sky, the falling snow blurring your vision, and you take a deep breath.

winter will continue for a long time, you think. and perhaps, you’ll only ever breathe winter snow again, as bitterly as you could. but you hope maybe, one day—you’ll think of him and be warm again. you bit your lips, tears flowing freely.

maybe if you're lucky?

you'll be reborn again.

maybe you'll love him again.

[delicateflowerss]

Don't Worry, Darling: Eight

After marrying the love of your life, Rafe Cameron, you thought you couldn't be happier. But when a murder shakes the island, you learn you don't know your husband as well as you thought. When does Paradise become Hell?

Warnings: 18+, NON-CON, forced pregnancy, mentions of drugging, choking, vomiting, mentions of murder, dark!Rafe, mentions of a gun, mention of drugs, kook!reader, non-canon ages

Just one more chapter! Excited to be getting near the end, enjoy <3

Word Count: 3k

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Ice cold fingers dig into the searing heat of your skin. His hold on your neck is tight, making you gasp for air as his hand has the strength to stop you from breathing all together.

You can feel his weight on top of you, more suffocating than him choking you to death. He pushes himself inside you, over and over again. You want to stop him, but it’s impossible for you to use your breath to say anything.

Sandalwood hangs heavy in the air, mixing with his musk. Through the darkness, you can’t make out your assailant.

You want to call out, not only to stop him, but to get help from the first person your mind can think of. The man you still feel instinctively safe with.

Except, the man above you finally speaks. He tries to comfort you, soothing you from how he’s hurting you.

And then you realize that the man raping you and the man you are trying to find refuge in are the same.

You open your mouth to scream but instead you’re ripped from the nightmare, waking up with a gasp on your lips.

You look around your dark bedroom, only to find your husband sleeping soundly beside you.

You stare at him for a moment, the nightmare still floating around in your head.

You’re not sure whether the nightmare was tapping into your fears only located in your subconscious, or if it truly meant something.

It’s been about a week since you found out you’re pregnant. The news turned your world upside down. After you left the doctor’s office, you just sat in your car awhile, not stopping the tears from falling.

You thought about what it means for your life now and how it could’ve even happened. Even before the disarray with Rafe, you didn’t want a baby just yet.

So, with everything happening…how can you bring a baby into this mess?

But you knew how upset Rafe would be if you told him, you didn’t want the baby.

And all you’ve been doing for the last few weeks is trying not to upset him.

So, when he got home from work that day, you gave him the news.

He didn’t say anything at first and you worried that you got it wrong. That maybe he changed his mind, and a baby would only add to the stress.

Then, the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. He kissed you and you could tell he was elated about it.

But it faltered when he noticed that your mood didn’t exactly match his.

“I just thought we were being careful,” you told him.

You were sitting on a dining room chair, your hands in your lap. He bent down to look at you better, his hands gently finding yours.

“We were,” he said as a matter of fact. “But accidents happen. And I mean, we haven’t really been able to keep our hands off each other lately,” he added with a smirk.

He hasn’t been able to keep his hands off you, he means.

“What matters is we’re going to have a baby. We’re finally going to be a family.” He couldn’t hide his excitement even if he tried.

You couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your chest at his words. But as you looked into his eyes, trepidation filled yours.

Even now as you watch his chest rise and fall in his sleep, the feeling that he’s lying is one you can’t ignore any longer.

Before you can think about it anymore, you can feel your stomach twist into knots, bile starting to rise.

You jump out of bed and run to the bathroom, spilling the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

You’re not sure how much longer you can bear this sickness. You’re told it should only last the first trimester, but it could last the whole pregnancy if you’re unlucky.

You don’t hear him walk up behind you, but you feel the comforting weight of his hand on your back as he rubs circles into your shirt.

Even if you wanted to, you don’t think you have the strength to push him away.

The phone call came unexpectedly.

It’s true that you got behind on editing for clients. But you thought you were okay. You were just starting to get back into finishing them.

You were actually making yourself a snack before resuming your work on a new book. But now there’s no reason to keep going.

“They’re called deadlines for a reason, Y/N.” Your boss’s voice rings out.

“I know, and I apologize, Mr. Samuels. It’s just a lot has been going on lately and…I recently found out that I’m pregnant.”

You can hear him sigh.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But you knew from the beginning how important it is to meet deadlines, especially with how fast paced things are in the publishing world.”

You want to stop the words from coming out of his mouth, but you can’t. All you can do is listen.

“We have to let you go. I’m sorry. I wish you the best with the baby,” he says before hanging up.

Rafe finds you on the couch, still crying, even hours later.

He says your name with worry and fear.

Not even a moment later, he’s trying to wipe your tears away.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

All you can do is shake your head as you sit up.

“Baby, you gotta tell me what’s wrong,” he tries again.

You sniffle as you try to blink away anymore tears.

“They fired me,” you finally say, as if your mouth is filled with glue, struggling to get the words out.

He keeps his gaze away from you, putting a hand on your knee, trying to soothe you yet again.

You wonder if you’ll ever get sick of it.

Maybe you already are.

“Did they say why?”

Now it’s your turn to look somewhere else. You bite your lip instead of answering.

Rafe sighs before telling you, “Maybe this is a good thing.”

He gets your attention with those words. He immediately continues at your furrowed brow.

“All that work and stress isn’t good for the baby. Now you’ll have more time to relax.”

It takes you a moment to realize what he’s saying.

You scoff, “you’ve never liked me working. I’m sure this makes you happy.”

“No,” he argues. “I’m just trying to see the bright side of this, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. There’s no point in fighting with him about this. It’s not like this is his fault.

So, you just nod.

“I’m going to start dinner. You’re probably hungry.”

That’s all you say before leaving the room.

You thought the chaos would end there. You’ve been dealt one blow after another. So, maybe it was naïve for you to think things could ever calm down.

It starts with a segment on the news.

You had the TV on while you were vacuuming, barely able to hear the voices over the loud noise of cleaning the rug.

But when you catch a glimpse of the floating words under the reporter, you can feel your heart sink to your stomach.

You fumble as you try to turn off the vacuum as fast as you can before turning up the TV.

“The only information we have as of right now is a body was found earlier today, spotted by local fishermen. Based on eyewitness reports, it is a male in his mid to late twenties. Kildare County Police Department is refusing to comment at this time. We hope to…”

You almost end up puking on the rug you just cleaned, but you’re able to run to the kitchen. The poison spills from your lips into the sink.

You’re not sure when the tears started, but your retching turns into sobs as you collapse onto the floor.

You’re going to jail for helping to cover up a murder and all you can think about is what your parents will think.

The whole island will know what a horrible human being you are.

Anyone you have ever loved will never look at you the same.

Besides Rafe, you suppose.

Why doesn’t your love for him have any boundaries?

If only it did, you wouldn’t be throwing your whole life away.

This whole time you thought you were scared of Rafe, but really, you’re scared of your love for him.

He has a hold on you that made it so easy for you to throw away your morals, choosing his violence over your peace.

You barely hear him get home, closing the front door like he’s afraid someone will burst in at any second.

He’s off early from work, but you wouldn’t know that since you haven’t left your spot on the cold kitchen floor.

You don’t notice the guilt that washes over his face when he sees you because it’s gone as quickly as it’s there.

“We have to go, Y/N,” he says while reaching his arms out, trying to get you off the floor.

You ignore him, sobs still erupting from you.

“We’re going to jail, Rafe. They know. They know everything…”

Another gut-wrenching cry falls from your lips as your eyes screw shut.

“That’s why we gotta leave, alright?”

He’s finally able to pull you off the floor, guiding you upstairs with a tight grip.

“We’re gonna get out of this, baby. Just stop crying, please,” he placates.

You’re finally able to calm yourself down, a sob still trying to get free every now and then.

You realize what he’s doing when he starts throwing clothes into an empty suitcase.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to pack?” His appeasing tone is gone, irritation replacing it.

It takes you a moment to find your voice.

“Rafe, what are you doing? We can’t leave.”

“What other choice do we have?”

You follow him into his office.

“I’m not spending the rest of our lives running. Especially when we’ll have a baby soon.”

You try to convince him to change his mind.

He doesn’t stop to look at you, rummaging through the drawers of his desk. Your mouth twists up when a small bag of coke falls onto the wooden surface.

As much as it upsets you, it almost makes you nostalgic for a time when Rafe’s addiction was the only dark cloud lingering over your relationship.

Now, there’s too many to count.

“Flush it,” he demands, pointing to the bag.

You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes before you trudge over to grab it.

At least Rafe knows he can’t bring that with him.

You don’t want to have to say goodbye to your life, to the island you’ve always called home.

But you really don’t want to go to prison.

You’re still standing there, staring out your bathroom window after the drugs are long gone, flushed down the toilet.

It hits you how much you want your parents, wishing they could swoop in and fix everything like they could when you were a child.

It also hits you that the human growing inside you will expect the same thing from you and Rafe one day.

Except, you know they deserve so much better than what either of you could offer.

A thunderous noise echoes throughout the house, followed by a man’s voice.

You can still hear him yelling when you run to find Rafe.

“What are you doing?” you yell, seeing him loading a gun.

“They’re coming for us.”

“Are you stupid? You’re going to get yourself killed.”

You could hear them pounding on the door. They’re coming in any second, you know it.

You gently grab his wrist.

“Just do the right thing for once. Rafe, please,” you lightly say.

You stare into his blue eyes, and it feels like time has stopped, stretched thin before the inevitable happens.

His jaw ticks and you think he’s not going to listen to you.

But as the door bursts open, he drops the gun onto his desk.

He gives you a quick but bruising kiss before he steps into the hallway.

Everything that comes after is a blur.

The police let him walk downstairs, their guns pointed at him before cuffing him.

Not only do they arrest him, taking him to a police car. But they have a search warrant. They’re allowed to look anywhere they want to. Men you’ve never met before get to go through your things, creating a mess in their trail.

At least they don’t arrest you.

You expect them to, but instead they ask you tons of questions. You tell them how Rafe came home early from work, frantic about needing to leave. You were confused as he wouldn’t tell you anything.

You decide to feign ignorance. That’s a better way of saying you lie right to their faces.

But you’re not just protecting yourself anymore.

Now you wait at the police station, leg shaking and fingers fidgeting with the light sweater you have on.

You can hear Ward and his lawyer speaking to Shoupe, voices being raised every once in a while.

They’re charging Rafe with first-degree murder. As of right now, only for Jake’s murder. They still don’t have enough evidence to charge him with Chase’s, but you wouldn’t be surprised if they found something soon.

They booked him in the county jail where he’ll be until his trial. Unless Ward can negotiate bail.

You thought something like this happening would ease your guilt about the situation. But instead, you feel more lost than you have in a while.

Can you really spend the rest of your life without Rafe? Raise his child all on your own.

You hear a door open, and slam shut, Ward leaving the sheriff’s office with a look of annoyance.

He sits in the chair next to you, brushing his forehead with his hand before turning to you with a forced tight-lipped smile.

“How you holdin’ up?”

All you do is nod, giving him a tight-lipped smile back.

“We’re working on bailing him out. It might take a while, but we’ll do our best so he’s home before the trial.”

You decide it’s best not to say anything, unsure of whether you want Rafe away from you or with you. It’s been a battle of these feelings for the longest time now.

You just want it to stop.

“From what I can tell, the only thing they have on him is the weapon. All the DNA on the body was washed away in the ocean,” he explains.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye like he’s waiting for you to say something.

His casualty almost makes it seem like he’s aware that you’ve known about the murders longer than just today.

You’re not sure if it has to do with your calmness about the situation or if Rafe told him. If it is your calmness to blame, it’s really defeat that it’s being mistaken for.

“Thanks, Ward,” you quietly say. “I’m sure Rafe would appreciate this.”

“Well, it’s not just about Rafe. It’s about you too.”

You stare at him with a question in your eyes as you can feel your heart start to beat faster.

Is this about you helping Rafe?

“I want you to know you’re taken care of. That I always look out for my family. And you’re family, now more than ever.”

You squint your eyes still not understanding.

“Rafe told me you’re pregnant.”

You move your eyes to your lap before replying, “oh. We were going to wait to tell you.”

“I know,” he immediately says. “I know. I was supposed to act surprised when you told the family.” He chuckles a little. “But given the situation…”

He swallows, looking away for a second.

“I just know how much you need him right now. And whatever happens…I want you to know that I’m here for you. Rose is here for you. We’re all here for you.” He pauses, sincerity filling his eyes.

“I don’t want to say it, but if things don’t go the way we want with Rafe, I know leaving may seem like a good idea. But that baby is a light that will brighten the darkness that surrounds us now. We all need it. Even Rafe,” he adds.

Sometimes when you talk to Ward, it feels like he knows what you’re thinking.

Some people might like that. But not you.

You understand he’s Rafe’s father, but the fact that Rafe already told him about you being pregnant doesn’t sit right with you.

What else have they been talking about?

“It’s getting late. You should get home, get some rest. I’ll figure things out. I’ll get him home to you, Y/N.”

“Yes. Thank you, Ward. Try and get some rest too,” you tell him with a sweet smile that drops when you leave his sight.

When you get home, it looks like a tornado has been through it. All the time you’ve spent keeping it looking good has now been ruined by a bunch of men in uniforms.

You decide to ignore it all and go right to your bedroom, hoping to get the rest that your father-in-law was talking about.

When you see the state of it, you end up dropping your purse on the floor with a heavy sigh.

There is no rest in sight for you.

You start to tidy things up, putting clothes back in drawers, and fixing the pillows on the bed.

When the room looks clean enough, you head to the bathroom, finding everything scattered on the counter.

You quickly begin to put things back in drawers and in the medicine cabinet.

Until your thumb catches on a loose label on one of the pill bottles.

You think it’s one of the drugs that Rafe was prescribed a little while ago for headaches. But the label with the name of the drug is peeling back, another label under it.

You tear it off, brow furrowing when you see a name of a drug you don’t recognize. You find your phone and search up the name.

You can’t stop your bottom lip from trembling when you read what it’s for.

Why does Rafe need pills that put you to sleep, leaving you foggy and with possible memory-loss.

And why was he hiding it?

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