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socheckitout-mikey · 2 years ago

Note

do u think u could do something where johnny and the reader aren't officially dating or anything but she keeps stealing and wearing his clothes, and the gang starts teasing them for it, which eventually leads to him actually asking her out? i'm sorry if this is too much or anything but thank you so much!!

ahhh this is so cute! idk how i missed this one. my apologies for taking so long writing it out. it came out waaay longer than i anticipated, but i hope you enjoy what i came up with. (': <33 - mae

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Title: The Shirt Thief

Pairing: Johnny Cade x reader

Summary: A cold night with Johnny Cade in the vacant lot brings you an unusual sense of warmth in the form of his denim jacket. What starts off with said jacket, causes you to end up with multiple articles of Johnny's clothes. It all seems harmless until the gang starts digging their noses into Johnny's business. Are you guys friends or are you more than that?

Word Count: 9,472

Disclaimer: THIS IS EDITED! I fixed the spelling mistakes and some of the grammatical errors. I also added a few new things to it, mainly in dialogue. I hope you like it though! :)

Warnings: Mentions of abuse in Johnny's home (with his parents), animals hunting and fighting, Soc's bullying the reader - vice versa, almost attempted assault, the gang coming to the rescue, rough housing with the gang (banter mainly) and a whole lot of sass! Johnny is somewhat ooc here because he's more talkative and sassy, but it's just how the piece came along! Let me know if I forgot anything else.

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The story of our pesky shirt thief begins in the vacant lot under the sparkling night sky. This night was a relatively clear one in the cusp of autumn’s frost. The full moon was ample, a stunning silver glow that hypnotically danced, shrouded slightly from the wispy clouds sent onward by the chilly fall wind. Amber, golden and burnt brick red crumpled leaves tumbled noisily across the sandy dirt in a mini whirlwind. A toasty fire was being nurtured timidly upon the outskirts of this deserted place, courtesy of Johnny Cade. Underneath the jagged canopy of an almost bare tree, losing its wrinkled leaves, our greasy raven haired boy’s fingers quivered around the spindly stick in his hand. Gave an experimental poke to the half snapped branch swarmed by the smouldering, orange flames. He did not shiver from the cold, but from rampant nerves that pertained to someone he was particularly fond of being there beside him. That person being you.

In a gloomy haze, stretched over sixteen years, the dependent vacant lot with all of its decaying junk left to rot had become his home away from home. It was somewhere he could come to in order to escape the harshness he had just down the street, riddled with its cluttered and intense violence. The one he had with his parents – if he could ever really call them that – had never been consumed with even an inkling of love or nurturing. It practically rotted away from the inside out with its creaky floorboards, dust riddled insides and the damp lining the walls like a thick winter scarf. A location where he was destined to be neglected in, for the only attention he obtained was to be hollered at by his mother when she was hacked off at whatever or whoever it was that particular time: Whereas his father brandished anything he could in hand to pelt him with. The thought made Johnny shudder, a sick nauseous feeling welling up inside of him. Slimy and cold.

However, not all was lost. There had been some silver linings in teaching him things such as love, loyalty and camaraderie: His gang of reliable buddies that would stretch to the ends of the Earth for him were the culprits. Although they had nothing too, they gave him everything he’d been missing. Well, almost everything. They were the sole reason he had not run away about a million times by now. They grounded him, created a net of safety and support that he never would have experienced otherwise if he had not been born in this very downtrodden neighbourhood. Yet they could not save him from everything – a harsh reality he came face to face with daily. Nothing and no one could ever replace the lacking love of his parents.

Nevertheless, the youthful greaser that looked as if he were a puppy that had been kicked one too many times had grown used to bumming around most nights on the busted leather car seat left to waste away in the lot. A frequent bed he now sat upon to gaze up at the glittering stars in the midnight haze of the dark sky. He pondered to himself, watching it while his most favourite person in the world sat off to his right. The silence between you both wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Just off experiencing your own inner worlds whilst you enjoyed the other’s presence. Johnny wasn’t much of a talker as is. You understood the chips he had on the table and didn’t mind in the slightest, but you had your ways of getting him talking.

Despite the fact that he had a warmer and much more benevolent destination to crash at nightly: The Curtis House. He felt an immense pang of guilt and shame engulf him entirely at the thought of taking up that space. This house did not consume the same dreamy and abundant riches that one would desire at the core. Instead those fantasies were only destined for reality on the Wicked West Side of Tulsa, Oklahoma. “The home to the rich and greedy,” as Sodapop loved to put it.

Although the Curtis House lacked in material volume, it oozed a charm in its bare necessities and rundown appearance, with its peeling papered walls and well played piano that needed a miracle of tuning. What it lacked when it came to standardised beauty was made up for by its glowing warmth of love, companionship and acceptance of all the inhabitants that nestled under its rickety roof. It was a safe haven for anyone needing a place to lay low to avoid getting into trouble that could be avoided; a.k.a trouble with the law. Dallas and Steve were also regular inhabitants of the well loved couch perched up against the wall by the front door of the home: A product of powerful tempers that needed quenching. They found solace on that old, brown cushiony hunk of junk just as Johnny did when the nights grew too cold or unbearable on his lonesome.

Johnny stared up at Orion's Belt wondrously, remembering the time he'd heard Ponyboy rattle on about how he'd woken up to find the notorious Tim Shepard occupying his couch, reading the morning paper.

'Now, what in the hell was someone like Tim Shepard doin' on the Curtis’ couch?' Johnny thought silently.

Never had he bagged the likes of the eldest Shepard to reach out for a lifeline like that. It was almost unheard of, unfathomable. Tim was a handsome young man with a gnarly looking scar running from his temple to his chin. He was hard, cold and twisted. Jail, booze and all the criminal endeavours he had under his belt were like a morbid toolkit of how to be the best hoodlum out there. He looked about as capable of accepting charity as a lost soul in Hell. Then Johnny supposed that he never really knew him like Dally did. Johnny's silent disposition made it challenging for him to get close to anyone outside of his gang of buddies. Sometimes he preferred it this way, but usually he loathed it. Loneliness was easy in warping the soul of a good man.

From what Dally had told him of Tim Shepard, it'd be an immense knock to his swelling pride to reach out for help and have everyone aware of it. Inflated prides and fragile egos didn't do wonders for people with big mouths. Hence why Johnny kept his damn trap shut about it after Pony had told him.

'Man, he's gotta be pullin' my leg or somethin'.' He said internally before shaking his head.

Expelling a breath, Johnny settled back into the leather seat as comfortably as possible. He swore he'd get a bad back after opting to take the lumpy side of the car bench with the springs gnawing their way through. It had been the gentlemanly thing to do after all. He was a good guy with a good heart.

Warmth pervaded nicely from the reasonably sized fire he'd established in front of you both, but the chilly wind licked at any bare bits of skin daring to peer through tiny cracks in clothes. He hardly shivered outside of a nervous twitch. Perhaps that was only due to the fact he'd grown accustomed to the elements no matter the weather – unlike yourself.

Instead his charcoal eyes were doe-like, shakily flickering to his right where you sat. Only then in this moment did he fully come to the present moment, understanding the cold bit at your nose, ears and fingers in a way that looked cute. Yet despite your shivering that you so desperately attempted to hide, you sat there in all of your beautiful glory with only a few inches of space between you both. A comfortability you bathed in that seemed so raw, as if you were merely sitting on your living room couch with both of your knees and feet tucked under you and just off to the side. Peace prevailed from the tender smile gracing your features. A subconscious practice, you definitely seemed to be lost in your own thoughts. Johnny stared at you, and wondered what kind of movie was flashing behind those pretty eyes to have the sun dawn across your face like that. To him, all he could see was the vacant lot – a desolate place where only hoodlums would hang in droves, drawn in by its trashy grounds.

"You starin' cuz I got somethin' on my mug or it's just that ugly?" You grinned like a chessy cat, turning to look him directly in the eye. Thinking that being a wise cracker was funny.

Damn you and your perceptiveness.

Instantaneously Johnny ripped his gaze from yours, stiff as a plank. Embarrassment dashed across every cell in his body and left his lungs flat of oxygen. Man, if he thought his usual heartbeat was fast, what was happening inside of his chest right then must have been the speed of goddamn light!

All he could do was stammer out, "U-u-uh n-n-neither!" The poor guy sounded like Porky The Pig.

Your eyelids fluttered in astonishment at the stuttering mess of a young man he was. So jumpy. A mouse scuttling around on sharp eggshells. Part of you would've felt proud of your handiwork if it had been anyone else, but it was Johnny, your best friend. "Awe shucks, Johnny-cake," you offered him sheepishly, "I didn't tell you to stop. I was just messin' with ya. Gotta keep you on your toes somehow."

��Messing with him? That was evident. He wasn't cross with you for pulling on his leg, just bothered by himself for getting caught out in the act. "S'okay, I g-get it." He shrugged, trying to play it cool whilst he stared into the portal to the Underworld.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You tried again, bumping him softly with your shoulder.

"Nothin' much," He lied smoothly, picking at the hole in his tennis shoe.

"You sure you ain't developin' the cure for cancer or somethin'? You're pretty smart." You inquired with a cheeky beam.

"Shoot! Do I look like I know what two plus two equals?" Johnny was getting a little bit sassy.

"Okay okay, I get it. I'll back off." You chortled.

'Yeah, thank goodness for that…' Johnny thought to himself. Suddenly he was uneasy with the idea of you ever discovering his little moments of staring at you because he loved the way you looked in candid moments like this one just passed. How did one go about saying these kinds of things? Johnny didn't know a lick. He was a dejected lost cause in the romance department. An awkward bump on a log. Felt he looked cruddy right about now too so he scratched the back of his head fervently for a second. No one really gave him a second glance. He was invisible and too quiet to be noticed.

Yet he failed to realise that you noticed him.

His forlorn expression had been obscured by his shaggy bangs that hung on his forehead. In fact, they no longer existed. You watched him struggle with something akin to wrestling a twenty foot gator inside of that skull of his. It made you feel funny on the inside, as if you were to blame. Diligently Johnny picked up the jagged stick he'd used to poke the flames with earlier. Started drawing in the dusty cold dirt at his feet. Back and forth, left and right, then round and round. A tedious therapeutic cycle.

'Yup, he's off to the moon again.' You thought. 'I'll give him a sec to recoup. I think I made him short circuit a little too hard.'

Just then the bleakness of the night pressed its breathy lips against you. You shivered in response, huddling unconsciously to Johnny for his radiator heat. Part of him was shaking too. The flames jolted haphazardly. A violent twirl of dead leaves kicked up into the air before the wind relented altogether and they fluttered into the fire that engulfed them. It was a beautiful sight indeed, albeit destructive. The elements typically were unforgiving. That was the cycle of life. Mother Nature worked in wondrous ways that went beyond the mere perception of the human mind. Ever evolving and always there. It had put a smile on your face, and Johnny looked at you once more.

"Now, you wanna give me a penny for your thoughts?" He asked.

You slowly turned to look at him, your smile unwavering, "And cash in my trade secrets when you won't give me yours? That don't tally up to me."

Johnny shrugged, trying to hide a ghost of a smile on his features, "You just caught me off guard that's all…"

"Oooooh so I got the element of surprise on my side?" You wiggled your eyebrows. "Who knew I was mighty smooth!"

Johnny rolled his charcoal eyes, shook his head with a laugh, "Don't get too big headed now," he warned.

"Why, cuz I'll float away?"

"Naw," Johnny shook his head, "You sound like Two-bit."

Your countenance fell from grace then; all of the humour drained completely, replaced with a sulk. "Now you just went and ruined it."

Johnny laughed heartily, "I dunno why you got it against him, yn. It was only fifth grade-,"

"Don't remind me of fifth grade! He put gum in my hair and you saw it." You warned with a finger pointed at him. “I looked like a coconut headed bum for two years, Johnny Cade! Two years I ain’t ever gonna get back.”

"Alright, alright! Don't shoot." He mumbled with a half smirk on his face.

"And don't laugh either. Who's side are you on anyway?" You mumbled with your arms folded over your chest.

Johnny met his match in attempting to swallow the laughter down, "Who knew you were this much of a sore loser," with a shake of his head.

"Sore loser my ass…" You retorted, looking off to the side like a petulant child.

All Johnny could do was laugh.

The sourness of your mood forced you to realise the lateness of the night. The cold showed its first signs of frost that danced mistily away from the firelight. You quivered fully this time, rubbing your nimble hands up and down your arms. "Are you cold?" Johnny finally had the courage to ask.

"Uh-huh! But I'll be okay."

"You know you don't have to tough it out for me, right?" Johnny said sincerely. "You shoulda brought a coat. It's November not August."

"I forgot, mom." You mumbled wryly.

"Man, don't call me that. It sounds strange." He pulled a face as he spoke.

"And why not?" You demanded.

"Cuz you sound like T-," He began, but you cut him off.

"Don't even think about saying that name!"

Despite himself, Johnny was laughing something awful. A grin spread across his face akin to a mixture of pride and victory. He'd bested you in the end and even you knew it. "You asshole-," You muttered, but it all bled through into your own sense of laughter that mingled with his.

Then it seemed to die down, a comfortable glow encasing you both. In the midst of it you hardly realised Johnny shimmying beside you – too caught up in the afterglow. But then an uncanny warmth of freshly worn denim was draped over your shoulders. Ghosts of fingertips touched the nape of your neck as it was laid there. Your head turned to find Johnny retracting his hands shyly and passing it off without a word. The gesture touched you, made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Why?" Your better judgement couldn't stop the question from flying out of your mouth.

Johnny squirmed uncomfortably under your focused stare, "I dunno…" he shrugged. "You were cold and didn't have a jacket. It was the right thing to do I guess."

The right thing to do. It made you beam beautifully then. Johnny Cade was always doing the right thing. Well, maybe not all the time when he was with his buddies, but usually he did. A good guy with a good heart that made yours flutter at the touch. The act of giving you his most prized possession really touched you in ways that made your eyes begin to water. You needed a second to blink them back. Hoping he hadn't noticed. Luckily he hadn't.

You thanked him in the only way you knew how to, by leaning your head on his shoulder. He stiffened to the touch, unfamiliar with it. Johnny wasn't much of a hugger, so physical contact was reserved for special moments. He allowed it this time and you felt his body shake, unsure with what to do with himself. Your fingers wrapped around his bicep, a reassuring squeeze so light it helped him realise you weren't going to hurt him. You never could. He was too special, too gentle, but wild in his own way when he let himself out freely. Yet the person he was now, the boy that gave you his jacket and talked with you the most; that was your Johnny Cade.

"Thank you, Johnny-cake." You whispered into the air, gently holding his hand and squeezing softly. It was sweaty.

"D-don't mention it." He swallowed, giving you an experimental squeeze back. "It's just my jacket, softie."

"Who you callin' softie?" You look up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

"You."

Silence befell you, and it was laced in a tranquil dose. Hushed whispers reverberated off of the caverns in your hearts, growing more prominent. All the giggles filled with the springy frolicking of baby lambs. Clumsy and endearing. Johnny lit a fire in you unmatched and vice versa. Young love that was mutual, but unknown to the other. You stayed with him for quite some time, until he walked you home. You'd sent him off with a wave after him shyly telling you to keep it. Made him promise not to sleep out in the cold, and Johnny kept his word. Slunk all the way to the Curtis House three hours before sunup to fortunately find it free. Rest was his, all with a smile screwed on tightly to his features.

Many more instances of thievery occurred with your pesky little fingers and the growing feelings that possessed you like a restless spirit. Time spent with Johnny became your drug of choice, and you could not get enough of him. No funny business was happening, it was just your personalities melding well together. You brought out a sassy part to him, and surprisingly he could keep up with you. Each meeting was set in colder conditions than the last. Forcing Johnny to bring in what little reinforcements he had. You either seemed to forget a jacket or your layers weren't nearly enough. His jacket was a chameleon's skin, bouncing from his shoulders to yours. His shirts were a comforting reminder of him when he wasn't around – shields against the bleakness of winter. His grey sweatshirt was your favourite. Everything began to accumulate.

One day you were both coming from the tracks in the Shepard outfit where a little creek was running through another vacant lot by an old abandoned factory. The water was still frozen and the trees were barren. All sorts of junk stuck to the frosty ground. It was kind of niche-like, a quiet place that seemed abandoned when the sun shone its rays upon Tulsa. It had been an accidental find during a summer day the year before. A superb place to explore when things were warmer and less soggy. Though it was apparent that neither of you had the courage to explore the dangerous insides of the abandoned warehouse in its entirety. Anyone could be lurking there, boobietrapped the innards to protect their stashed hoards. So the pair of you stuck to the outskirts towards the vacant lot beside it.

There you both were, sat upon a crumpled wall, admiring a winter's afternoon like a pair of Humpty Dumpty’s. The sun was bright in the sky, threatening to melt the world entirely. The first inklings of spring graced reality. The robins were chirping, hopping around in search of food nearby. Adorable feathered critters, so fluffy. They reminded Johnny of Christmas as one turned its neck beside him, curiously looking up into his black eyes. Both were inquisitive of the other.

"He looks like you-," your half whisper broke out into the air too loudly. The disturbance made the robin jolt and fly off.

Johnny sighed, "Man, he got so close this time. You just had to go and ruin it didn't you?"

"I'm sorry. Was there a spiritual connection happening? How rude of me!" You gasped with a hand over your heart.

He shook his head, grinning because he wasn't angry about it at all. "He was a cute little guy though…"

"Hence why I said he looked like you." You clarified.

Johnny exploded with a blush, shaking his head again, "You must've hit your head when you fell on the ice earlier."

"My head is not any worse off than it was before, thank you very much!" You defended yourself.

"You know, the first sign of someone tellin’ porkies is denial, right?"

"I am not tellin’ porkies!"

"Are too-," Johnny countered, nudging you with his elbow.

"Am not!"

Falling back into that effortless banter made you both grin like chessy cats. It was silly, but very much needed. You knew Johnny got extra embarrassed whenever you'd start complimenting him, especially in the looks department. You didn't say these things just to throw him off, but because you truly meant them. Johnny was cute. One of the cutest guys you'd seen in a longtime. Maybe he wasn't moviestar handsome like Sodapop, but girls were missing out when they overlooked him. He had his own things to bring to the table; loyalty, kindness, abiding the law… Just to name a few. You suddenly shook these thoughts out of your head, deciding if you went too deeply down this path that it was best not to be done in Johnny’s presence. Lest you were to blabber about it like you'd done to your other friends who'd told you to ask him out already. They just didn't understand how delicate the matter was really. Johnny wouldn't say yes anyway.

"Hey look! Those cats are back," Johnny quietly hissed by your side, pulling you out of your daze.

You followed his line of sight and sure enough the two male felines were there. Lithe in nature and mean looking. A skinny orange tabby trotted forward, a snaggle tooth protruding from his mouth. By his side was his black Bombay counterpart, scraggy bodied with dirty fur and a distinct chip taken from his ear. They were silent, far from their former glory days when they knew what a good home was. The Bombay was a little bigger than his cheddar companion, and it was easily understood by any human looking in that a pact had been formed between them through a necessity to survive. The pair of you had spied them before, a distrusting set that initially hissed and growled. They were all claws and teeth so you kept your distance to avoid any surprise visits to the clinic. However now they seemed to tolerate your presence, acting as if the silence you exuded exempted your existence. Johnny and you admired them, goofy grins on your faces, because the cats were ready to commit their timely crime of hunting for some grub of the day. You knew who they reminded you of.

"Well if that ain't Dally and Tim," You consciously made the effort to whisper.

Johnny nodded in agreement, "Yeah, I can see it."

"Which one's which?" You asked, genuinely curious about Johnny's take.

He was reluctant to take his eyes off the cats, watching them begin prowling forth towards an unsuspecting robin. "Huh?" he hummed, finally looking at you just as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

"Which cat is Dally and which one is Tim? You know 'em better than I do." You pressed softly.

"Oh, that's easy, Dally's the ginger tabby and Tim's the Bombay." He offered with a nod of his head in the felines direction.

"What why?" You demanded it up at him.

“Well if we’re goin’ off their looks for a start, Tim looks like the Bombay cat. Guy is a real alley cat – got a lot of street smarts and carries himself well. Besides, he's tougher than a bag of nails.” Johnny did have a point – Tim looked just like that black cat with his curly jet hair.

Speaking of the black cat, it had entered a state of hunting, kneeling down with coiled taught muscles – just ready to pounce on that unsuspecting robin below, pecking at the seeds you and Johnny had left behind earlier. You hoped it wouldn’t be eaten, couldn’t stomach to see something so savage. However, you supposed that was only the way the circle of life worked.

“The orange tabby’s Dally cuz of that cool look in his eyes. The way he carries himself so freely. Out of the two, the tabby’s the one that’s in charge somehow. He writes the rules that the other cat’s always tryna best.” Johnny offered with a brief shrug before continuing, “Not that the black cat is following any rules. Both have minds of their own.”

Boy, you could really hear the way he admired Dallas Winston from the way he spoke about the orange tabby. It was wholesome. Dally was Johnny’s hero — the kid practically worshipped the ground the guy walked on. You didn’t see why. To you, Dallas Winston was a rotten hoodlum with a track record of breaking the law in every way, shape and form that he could. He frightened you like The Boogeyman had when you were nine. Where you both engaged with each other somewhat cordially, you preferred to keep your distance. You supposed that you had no room to judge after all. There was a deep friendship that had developed between him and Johnny; you’d seen it in Dally’s cold hard eyes… affection. It made you grin then, wondering if Johnny thought strangely of your heroes too.

“And both of them are jackasses.” You countered, bumping his shoulder mischievously.

Johnny laughed a little, looking at you for a few short moments. “Yeah alright, I’ll give you that.”

You liked the way he’d described the two though. It was a statement that fit the pair of hoodlums in a peapod together. Yet the orange tabby did appear to be the leader as it licked its wonky chops delectably. Inched closer by the second, a silent assassin to carry out its hunter gatherer lifestyle. It was intelligent, mimicking the movement of the robin that had caught onto it. It lured the bird on a swift and winding course, swiping for it good and hard but missed. Never mind. The robin fluttered up and into the line of sight of the black cat, a moment of fear in its beady eyes. Yet just as the night-like feline swept its razors at it, the robin burst into the air and flew off in the opposite direction. It had missed its meal by a feathers length. Every other robin in the vicinity flew off instantly, leaving the two cats dumbfounded.

In frustration, the orange tabby yowled and darted forth. Its clawed paw zipped out and popped the mouth of the black cat. The black cat hissed, stunned for a mere second before it lunged for the only comrade it had in this god forsaken world. The two tumbled together in an infuriated Halloween special of blurred fur. A gasp floated from your mouth as they rolled back and forth. A genuine cat fight unheard of. They sounded like two ghouls trying to out spook the other – alien and loud.

Johnny couldn’t help but laugh out of nervousness. He wasn’t trying to be cruel whatsoever. Didn’t like to see animals fighting and hurting each other, but it humoured some sick part of him. “Just like Dally and Tim, huh? Buddies one minute then at each other’s throats the next.”

“Amen to that.” You found the humour of the situation, only because it was too similar to the real life hoodlums you both knew.

You’d seen your fair share of those guys beefing it out in the past together in The Dingo parking lot, let alone practically in your own backyard. They were a strange duo – too competitive and cut from the same cloth. They’d never find another person just like them, that was for sure.

Just then an icy gust came throttling through the area, reminding you both that it was still winter. A tremor ran through the pair of you, and you huddled together for warmth. By now the cats had slumped off to their own corners of the lot, hissing and growling as they went. Sore egos and bodies made them sulk and mewl in the shade whilst they licked their wounds.

“Dammit-,” your teeth chattered, moving closer to Johnny. “March my ass…”

Johnny breathed a laugh, shaking his head. He scanned your features humorously, those bushy brows hidden by a thick blanket of his black greasy bangs that flopped onto his forehead.

“What?” You mumbled, your fingertips unconsciously reached for him in the space between you both. Johnny didn’t notice.

He stared at you for a good three seconds before opening his mouth to speak, “How can you be cold with all those layers you got on?”

“Well I mean it’s obvious, it’s winter.”

“Uh-huh-,” Johnny sassed, smirking slightly, “As if you ain’t wearin’ my shirt, my sweater and my jeans jacket too. Got the whole department store on your back.”

Abashment took hold of you as your gaze dropped down to inspect yourself. There was Johnny’s jacket on you, and underneath his tattered grey sweater, that black t-shirt poking up above the collar. And Johnny? He was adorned in a wrinkled white shirt with a blue and creamy egg yellow flannel over the top you guessed was one of the gang’s. Worn over that was Dally’s brown leather jacket with the cosy sheepskin lining. You pouted with a bruised ego, looking off to the side, “It’s not like you’re naked or nothin’…” you murmured petulantly.

Johnny chuckled breathily, your joined hands jostling as he tugged on it without any semblance of awareness, as if to gain your attention. “Not yet, but I’m gonna be! Man, do you know what I had to say to get this jacket from Dally?” He was teasing you.

“Mmmppppffff…” you grunted, crossing your legs on that wall.

“The guys are askin’ questions and I dunno what to tell ‘em any more!” His voice broke a bit before he continued, “Two thinks I’m preparin' to run down the centre of town butt naked!”

That made you burst out into fits of giggles. The thought was so unorthodox it was hilarious. “You’re tellin’ him that’s the truth right? God, could you imagine? I can see the news articles now: Johnny Cade, Teenage Delinquent Gone Buck Wild!” You beamed, throwing your free hand out to elaborate some unseen picture.

Johnny shook his head again, laughing with you, “Man, you’re just as bad as Soda!”

“I’m twice as good looking too!” You offered with all the cheekiness you could muster.

All he could offer was an entertained roll of his eyes. Your shoulders bumped together, old comrades turned into something more. His soft gaze fell onto your interwoven fingers, and his heart fluttered like dove wings. A widened gaze, then that notorious blush exploded under that tanned flesh. His mind was incapable of functioning. It was wholesome, but you read everything wrong. Made a move to release his hand and he stopped you.

"Don't." It was the strongest word you'd heard from him as he held your hand tighter than he ever had before. Not enough to hurt you, but to let you know it was real too.

"Y-you sure?" It was your turn to stutter.

The look he shared with you may have been wavering to some degree, but there was certainty in those eyes. His mouth opened to speak, "Yeah, I don't mind one bit."

I don't mind one bit. It ran round and round in your head. A starstruck expression invaded your beautiful countenance. The reassurance was a bonus that made your belly fill with a plethora of butterflies. Cloud nine had nothing on this moment.

Johnny explored the expressions flitting across your face with a newfound sense of wonder. That pleasant delight racing through you was infectious as you stared off into the junk riddled vacant lot, your mind preoccupied with his hand in yours. The sun dawned across your features once again, like that autumn night you'd spent with him in your neighbourhood's vacant lot. The understanding that he was the source of that made his belly squirm, a giddiness overcoming him. He could no longer deny the fondness he had for you so blatantly.

With him leaning a little closer to you, he whispered, "How about you give me at least some of my stuff back?"

"Mmmmm maybe,"

"yn-," there was an uncommon sense of sternness in his voice.

"But-," You tried objecting.

"No buts-," he rushed out with a shake of his head, "At least give me one! I've been wearing this shirt for three days now!" He was hilariously incredulous.

"Is that why you stink?" You taunted him.

"Not funny-," He made his best attempt to be cross with you.

"Okay, okay! I'll give them back." You said begrudgingly.

"You better bring the cavalry with how much you have stolen from me, you little shirt thief."

"In my defence, you did give them to me… But I'll have them for you next time I see you, scouts honour!" You spoke sincerely with your free hand held dramatically over your heart.

"Uh-huh, that's what you said last time and I still didn't get 'em back." He bantered.

"Well, that wasn't a real scout's honour." You admitted with a diffident rub to the back of your head.

"yn-," he shook his head.

"Hey! I'm serious this time."

"Good…" He trailed off, his other hand beginning to play with the rings banded around your fingers absentmindedly.

Blissfulness carried upon the wind, a promise of returning what wasn't yours already settled. Golden light broke through the clouds, catching Johnny in the face directly, which made him grimace evidently. You grew lost in his handsome physique, feeling the pad of his thumb drag up and down the back of your hand. The sensation was special, because Johnny had warmed up to you so much.

It was a lively Saturday night, and with the determined honour of a scout member, you showed up like clockwork with a bag filled with Johnny's things. It was just as the crowds at The Nightly Double encroached upon the Tulsa streets in boisterous droves. Everyone was high on the giddy delight of the movie they had just watched – the late night viewing of two specials before the drive-in closed its doors for the night. Previous arrangements with another friend had you missing out on the fun, but here you were wearing your very own leather jacket with Johnny's denim one bunched up nervously in the palms of your hands. Speaking of Johnny, he had tagged along with the gang – minus Darry, because movies seemed to bore the older man to death.

A pair of scrawny looking Socy guys stalked out of the front doors, acting like big shots, cutting in front of a dark green Corvair on its way out and into the oncoming traffic. The driver of the same social class hung out of the driver's window whilst his girl attempted to pull him back in.

"Hey watch it, wise guys! If you're lookin' to get your asses run over, then be my guests and step back in my line of sight!" He snarled aggressively before his girlfriend won the battle and pulled him back inside to tell him to "knock it off".

A line began to form behind them as the couple argued incessantly, presumably over the guy's foul temper. Car horns honked on the spring breeze, forcing the guy to nervously step on the gas. They almost crashed into a Chevy Impala before zipping off home. You could see the animated scowl of the girl refusing to talk to her boyfriend in the side view mirror as they retreated. She glowered at you as if you were the scum of the earth. It didn't make you feel too hot.

The two wisecracking Soc's cackled at their attempts at being hard, stalking forth when they caught sight of your lonesome form. Vile cackles were shot your way as they walked past you before deciding the better option was to encircle you like a couple of hammerhead sharks.

'Boy, these dingbats don't know what tree they're barking up.' You thought, stiffening your body up for any form of unexpected physical contact. You weren't gonna let yourself get blown over that easy.

"What's up, greaser? You lookin' to bum around on our streets?" The six foot tall pencil with the sour breath sneered down at you, bumping your shoulder, making a come around to your left. When he disappeared behind you, the other one with chestnut hair the texture of straw invaded your face.

"Yeah, who said you were allowed round these parts anyway?" He jeered, smacking his gum obnoxiously.

Typically these dorks wouldn't have been graced with so much of your attention, but being on your own with a whole sea of onlookers made you weary. However you sure didn't show it. No one was there to stand up for you so you had to do it yourself. All you could do was raise your eyebrows, feeling the burning sense of humiliation rise from the pits of hell beneath your feet. It felt toasty, but the wrong kind. A glower of pure vexation was sent up their way. 'Who are these cocky jackasses, anyway? I've got the same right to use these streets like anyone else!' You contemplated.

"Oh really? I never knew white trash chequerboards like yourselves owned the streets everybody walks on." Your lips flapped wryly before you could even say a word.

The entertained gazes of onlookers of every social class stopped to stare. Murmurs of speculation broke out: Two against one didn't typically seem like a fair fight, but with the sheer scrawniness of the socially elite, it seemed to look like the chips fell in your favour. Though you knew appearances could be deceiving, harbouring a surprising sense of physical strength.

In a rift of the crowd, six pairs of familiar eyes honed in on your shining moment of unprovoked confrontation.

"White trash chequerboards?!" The pencil growled out, sharing a glance with his straw haired counterpart. For the most part they were dumbfounded, not having expected you to stand up for yourself.

"If anyone's white trash, it's you, greaseball." The second one jutted his finger in your face.

Nothing about your countenance betrayed you. Cold and detached you stared at that finger in your face with a deep sense of boredom. Then an almost smug smirk etched your features as you stared up into his grey eyes.

"Oh my, my!" A dripping sense of mocking venom entered your tone. "Seems like I got more class than that finger you got pointed at me. Seriously, you got a licence to be armed with carryin' that thing? You better watch what you do with it before it falls into the wrong hands. You know, because with great power comes great responsibility and all." You were armed with so much sass it made you invincible.

The crowd surrounding you burst into a fit of laughter so potent that it burnt these punks into a startled pile of ash. The pair of Soc's were so vapid that they were a bore even to themselves, which is why they were acting out as if they were five times their sizes. You were lively, armed with a silver tongue that could slice just about anyone to pieces who tried to humiliate you.

"Oh yeah, you little punk?" The first one growled, invading all sense of your personal space.

You took one step back, your eyebrows raised, "It's his responsibility, not mine. Whatch'yu gettin' all riled up for, eh? Can't take a joke, Mister Funny?"

"I'll show you a joke when I knock your two front teeth out." He barked.

Oooh's and aaah's broke through the crowd on a symphony of guffawing. You cocked one eyebrow up at him, a cockiness overcoming you. What could you do otherwise? If no one had your back, you had to have your own. That was just the way the cookie crumbled when you were a greaser – if there was a cookie at all.

"Oooooh~ Don't threaten me with a good time, pencil dick." You snorted. "I will bend your ass like a goddamn pretzel before you can even have a chance to beg for your mommy to save you."

The two guys shared a look, the degradation burning their senses of pride to withering embers. Their faces were pinkened beyond recognition, boarding on a fiery red. Your insults only poured gasoline on the fires. They couldn't back out now with the engrossed mass around the three of you. Your body stiffened as they went to grab you, preparing yourself for a fight that would no doubt cause the fuzz to come shutting it down. The image of yourself being cuffed in the back of a cop car had you overcome with a sense of terror. You weren't made for jail with your sharp tongue and sass. Wouldn't last two seconds flat in a grim place like that.

Before any contact could occur, a boisterous New York accent throttled into the air, a familiar arm slinking over your shoulders, "Hey Dumb and Dumber, you really wanna go gettin' your asses handed to you by a girl in front of all of these people?" Dallas was snickering with a smoke hanging out of his mouth, leaning against you smoothly as he patted your upper arm, but he wasn't your only saviour.

The other five lean and hard looking members of the Curtis gang had rolled up in all of their greasy headed glory. Pony and Johnny were Dally's flanks whilst Sodapop and Steve jammed themselves on either side of the pathetic turkeys that had bothered you. Two-bit prowled like a cat, that smug, wild grin carved onto his handsome features. The oldest of the six came in the centre of the perpetrators, an arm slung on each of their shoulders. It was overly friendly, even for Two.

"Well, well, well, if it ain't the socially elite barking up a tree they didn't know was a mountain! I'd get your eyes checked if I were you." He laughed, squeezing them together under his impressive arms. The others joined in.

"I think it's time these tuff lookin' sons of bitches got in the ring with the big shots." Steve yipped sarcastically, clapping the straw haired guy on the back a little too roughly.

"Lookin' like a bunch of heavyweight champs, am I right?" Soda leered, his once kind blue eyes filled with a mischievous malice.

The two Soc's looked at each other, realising they'd made a mistake in targeting you. "We don't want any trouble." The first one said, fumbling.

"Yeah! We was only just jokin' around." The other made a pitiful attempt at joining in on the laughter.

"Oh really now?" Dally quipped through dragon's breath, plucking his smoke from his lips and wiping the back of his index finger under his nose like he was annoyed. "I call bullshit, beanpole. Ain't that right, Johnny?" Dally asked Johnny, motioning towards him.

With a black gaze as cold as obsidian, Johnny nodded his head, "Sure thing, Dally." He refused to take his gaze off of the perpetrators who recognised that hoodlum's menacing name anywhere.

"Pony?" Dally turned, looking over your head at the fourteen year old greaser with the greyish green eyes. He put that smoke back in between his lips and inhaled sharply.

"Yup!" Pony popped the 'p' at the end of the word.

"Great, it's settled!" Dally exclaimed, pulling his arm from over your shoulders and rubbing his hands together like a fly with an evil plan. He stepped forward, his face a mere couple of inches from theirs. "You dumbasses get to go toe to toe with me for fucking with the wrong person, and then my buddies will have what's left of you. How do you like the sound of that?"

The way Dally seethed it even had you shaking in your boots. There was almost a sense of honour riding on your guts. It wasn't everyday that Dallas Winston was standing up for you, but when it happened you took it willingly. The two guys had become pale ghosts, shuddering with sweat dewing their foreheads. Dally meant those words, but it seemed he was mainly toying with them. So were the rest of the gang too. With matching Cheshire grins plastered on their faces they watched as the two shoved past Soda, tripping over the boot Johnny had stuck out and shot in through an opening in the crowd to salvation. Sent to faceplant on the ground with a series of laughter as the drama seemed to be over for the most part and people lost interest.

"Where are you goin'? Wait until we set her on ya!" Sodapop called, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulders.

"Yeah, she may seem like she’s all bark, but she's got one hell of a bite!" Steve cackled.

Lost in an ocean of chaos, Johnny's inquiry of concern for you slithered back down his throat. He bled into the background, admiring the way your eyes rolled as the wisecracking descended upon you.

"The hell was that, kid?" Dally said between inhaling his smoke. Rubbing the top of your head with his ringed fingers awarded him with a generous shove from you. His treatment hurt, but he was happy to see you, which was unusual.

"Get offa me-," You grunted and he eventually relented.

Before Steve could chime in about you being a smart ass or wandering around on your lonesome, your most dreaded member of the gang came blundering on over. A half drunken stupor holding him up by some invisible string, "Haha! Where did you learn to talk like that? Dare I say you got some inspiration from somebody in particular?" He waggled his eyebrows at you.

"Oh, well ain't those the biggest words you’ve ever said! Ugh, don’t make me sick, two cents." You bit at him.

"Eh, at least I'm worth somethin' in this world." He chuckled, clapping your shoulder.

"That was meant to be an insult." You retorted.

"Really? That's a whole compliment and a half!" He exclaimed with his arms thrown up.

"Yeah yn, I sure can hear the church bells ringin' right now!" Soda grinned at you, cupping his free hand over his ear. In fact, to seal the deal he wrapped his arm around your shoulders as the seven of you began walking to your neighbourhood.

Steve came up on the other side, walking the tight line of the curb, "From haters to lovers!" He beamed, spreading his palms out in the open space before you like he was presenting a far away picture. "It all started when you were in fifth grade and he was in sixth, gum to the hair, a pop to the mouth and the rest was history!"

Johnny listened and observed, laughing halfheartedly along with his buddies. Something about Soda's and Steve's words tugged on his heartstrings in a plucking fashion. It was uncomfortable and didn't sit right with him. Yet he couldn't be too mopey about it, it wasn't like anybody knew his growing feelings for you. By now there was a confusion in your friendship, as if all these special moments you'd experienced together had evolved the friendship into something else. He was afraid of what that meant. Things would never be the same ever again, and he found himself eyeing up the bag full of his clothes on your shoulder and his jeans jacket wadded into your hand.

Well, at least your promise had been genuine this time.

If you weren't riled up before you were now. A sucker punch to the gut was minutely dodged by Steve, who hopped to safety behind Dallas like a kangaroo. Being surrounded by people you knew was nice as the mood settled somewhat. Johnny found his natural place to the left of you, keeping in time with your easy pace.

Sodapop raised his eyebrows and asked the question everyone had been wondering, "Hey yn, what were you doing there all alone?"

"Ain't that Steve's line?" You quipped.

“Gettin’ to be more and more like Ponyboy everyday, yn!” Steve warned, messing up Pony’s hair for comedic relief.

Pony was certainly not pleased, pulling his comb out of his back pocket and using the sideview mirror of a car to fix his hair in the dark. “Stupid Steve…” grumbled past his lips.

“What was that?” Steve barked next to Soda.

“Nothin’, said I looked stupid…” He lied with burnt cheeks and ears to match.

"That's what I thought, little guy." Steve stared at him.

Once the commotion had somewhat settled Dally eyed you up and spoke through his smoke, “Soda’s got a point. What were you doing there?” He noticed that bag over your shoulder and whistled, “Did your goody two shoes ass get kicked out or are you just droppin’ by to bid your farewells on us common folk before you skip town?”

Put on the spot, you hesitated for a second, “Uh, I just came to see Johnny.”

“With the entire mall's inventory?” Two grinned wickedly, pressing for more information. "Johnny's become quite the charity case lately." He teased, noogying Johnny playfully who shrugged him off with a small laugh.

“Hey wait a sec, isn't that Johnny’s jeans jacket?” Pony spoke up once his precious hair had been rearranged.

Dallas’s pesky fingers swiped the jacket in your hands with a mind of his own – and like a chimp, he examined its authentication closely. The five other members gathered around him as if he held the fifth wonder, which left you and Johnny with the liberation of simultaneously backing up at the edges of the throng. “You wanna make a break for it?” You hissed your suggestion at Johnny, who nodded his head.

That’s when five heads whipped up with dumbfounded expressions. This was Johnny’s jacket! The one he said he’d lost. Soda’s eyes were the first to eye up that bag strapped to your shoulder, a familiar grey sweater poking out through the zipper that wouldn't close properly. “Hold on one stinkin’ minute.” Realisation hit him with a dopey grin.

Two caught on next, his hand grasping the bag strap and pulling it from your shoulder. In the same motion he’d freed the grey sweater from the confines, only to find more clothes underneath. “Haha!” He cackled noisily, “You’re the one who’s been swiping his clothes? You sly fox!”

“Johnny and yn sitting in a tree-,” Steve cackled, only to get cut off by Dally who smacked him in the chest.

“What are you man, four?”

“Four?! I’ll show you four!”

“Oh glory-,” You mumbled, looking at Johnny, “I think I made a mistake.”

“You think?” He hissed, his tone was somewhat biting, looking scared stiff for the incoming of terrible teasing.

"Johnny's got a girlfriend! Johnny's got a girlfriend!" Soda and Two started chanting, patting and shaking their pal with enthusiasm. It wasn't long before the other three started in on it too. The chant of the year belted out from strong chests on shrill wails of hyena laughter.

"Check him out, famous ladies man! I knew you had it in ya Johnny." Dally clapped his back.

"Should've known you were stealing my girl, Johnny." Two teased. "You can have her the first five days of the week, but I call dibs on weekends! That's when she gets extra sassy."

"In your dreams, two shits." You barked.

"I dream of sixth grade every night!" Two swooned, making you laugh.

Johnny was as red as a beet, even Ponyboy couldn’t contain his laughter. 'Boy, do we have something to tell Darry!' Pony's and Soda's eyes gleamed dazzlingly.

"Eh, guess you won't be needing this!" Dally grinned from behind you both, softly tugging on his leather jacket Johnny was wearing. In one fell swoop it was off of his shoulders and draped over Dally’s humble forearm.

“Here you go, young sire!” Sodapop bowed with a roll of his hand, an English accent flawlessly executed.

In came Steve on one knee, holding up the humble denim article he'd swiped from Dally's pesky digits. “Oh Johnny, with all of my love for you, will you take this humble offer?” he exclaimed dramatically.

Johnny snatched the jacket from Steve’s gripey hands, along with the bag of his shirts you’d brought along from Two-bit. He was embarrassed, that was evident. Wished you’d done this at a different time, but hey, duty called; a promise was a promise. Scout’s honour, right?

Without even thinking he grabbed your hand in his, reeling you away from the madness, all sassy. “Alright, that’s enough now!”

A chorus of wolf whistles expelled into the air. Wildness evident in the five guys who'd grown up with the both of you. They were just playing of course, excited that Johnny finally had a lady in hand. It wasn't often the raven haired greaser picked someone up, let alone initiated any physical contact – romantically of course. Johnny had always been quite reserved, but here he was taking the initiative, pulling you around in the opposite direction of them. Surprisingly assertive despite him shaking like a goddamn ghost.

You guys got maybe a few feet away when Dallas called out on the wind, “Hey yn, you better not be takin’ off the clothes on Johnny's body or he’ll be arrested for public indecency!”

"I said that's enough!" Johnny called back, heat vivid on his cheeks.

With that you both escaped around the next corner, the gang's calls and laughter fading into the background. Dipped into an alleyway to lose them for good. Glory knew they'd follow you both, and Johnny couldn't bear the thought of that. There was exhilaration in your chests. Johnny's hand was hot and sweaty in yours when you wound onto Pickett and Sutton. The air felt tight and you were afraid you'd just made an inconsolable mess of everything.

“Honest to God Johnny, that wasn’t planned-,”

He was sour, scrunching up his face, “Shoulda just let you keep these things.” He said with a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “They looked better on you anyway.”

“Johnny Cade,” you gasped, stopping in the middle of the street, the yellow light from above illuminating you both, “was that you flirting with me?”

Albeit clumsy, he was endearing. “Maybe, I dunno.” His cheesy grin warmed your heart.

All you could do was gawk at him.

“Look, all I know is that I kinda don’t mind you stealing my crap, okay?”

“So I have special authority to steal? What is this, a secret mission for your girlfriend?” You grasped onto his arm, leaning into him.

Girlfriend settled in the air in a peculiar fashion. It had never been uttered before, you both had just been friends up until this point. The confusion between you both seemed to fizzle away. The term sounded right. Johnny didn't want to be your friend any more, the guy on the sidelines dreaming of being with you. He swallowed thickly, looking at you.

"I'm sorry I-," he cut you short.

"Nah don't be." He shook his head softly.

"So uh," you breathed a laugh, "that means we're like dating? " You tested the word on your tongue.

He exploded with a blush, and a sense of pride swelled in your heart. "Y-yeah-," he nodded softly.

It went quiet, but nothing was awkward about it. Two hearts galloped like wild horses through summer filled fields. You found the courage to speak first, whispering mischievously into his ear, "So what about that secret mission?"

Johnny rolled his eyes, but breathy humour expelled from his lips, “Operation Shirt Thief!” He said in his best movie man trailer voice.

You burst out in a fit of giggles, the walk home feeling bountiful and warm.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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lilacxquartz · 6 months ago

Text

Those Late Summer Nights I Chapter 10

satoru gojo x f!reader × suguru geto

plot: you moved to tokyo over the summer to take a teaching job. as you get settled in, you find yourself entangled in a toxic dynamic.

chapter summary: you were starting to feel a little overwhelmed with how much attention you had to divide between so many people and then in the midst of it all, something went terribly wrong.

warnings: dubcon

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

10. Just “Friends”

Back home at last, you chose to lay in bed until around four in the afternoon as you muddied your own mind with conflicting thoughts—trying to, hoping—to make sense of everything that had happened so far.

You weren’t quite looking forward to socialising with someone new, but you figured that if they were Shoko approved, then it was likely absolutely fine, so come the correct hour, you unstuck yourself from bed and entered a better state of mind.

Shoko introduced you to an equally nervous looking woman around her age standing right behind her. She was quite pretty, you thought as you looked at her; long dark hair and a scar over her face, kind eyes overlooking her features.

“This is Utahime,” Shoko said as she introduced you to her, “and Utahime, this is [name].”

You both awkwardly said that it’s nice to meet each other as you got settled on the sofa, Utahime brought out a couple of beers from a plastic bag as Shoko opted for a glass of wine instead.

“Any preference?” Utahime asked you, trying to be polite.

“Beer would be nice,” you accepted, not quite feeling the mood for heavier alcohol so soon.

She nodded accordingly in response as she cracked open two cans, seeming quite happy to share.

The conversation for the most part was carried initially by Shoko as you both carefully crossed the barrier in getting to know each other while you resisted the urge to spill too much of your trauma too soon, avoiding a repeat of the last time you spoke to new people.

When full comfort had been achieved, a mutual annoyance for Satoru emerged after a while of talking. Nothing too accusatory, but Utahime’s history with him seemed to paint him as a leading cause of her own stress while Shoko joked that he caused her smoking habit.

You didn’t really have a strong opinion on him just yet, but it was interesting to get to know him through the opinion of others. You wondered it with even Suguru before, thinking about the side he allowed you to get to know—thinking if Satoru was doing something similar to you.

Utahime and Shoko clinked their glasses and cans alike, announcing cheers for a peaceful evening and new company, because Shoko was right—you both did get along.

This newly formed comfort however was relatively short lived as soon as Satoru entered through the door, the celebration seeming to have been some type of summoning ritual for him instead.

“Hang on a sec,” Shoko said as she suddenly sat up, “how’d you get a key?”

She didn’t like that Satoru could just enter her apartment, choosing to come and go as he pleased. Her home was a sacred sanctuary for her own approved company and if he wanted to visit, he’d have to ask the same way as everyone else.

Utahime stared in mild disbelief, now wondering if she had managed to somehow hex herself as she stared bitterly off into her drink.

“Aww, don’t act that way~” Satoru purred as he continued to stroll inside, his hand arrogantly extending to reach out for someone to take hold of it, “we just need an extra person to get our usual table, otherwise they’ll just sit us at the smaller, worse table again.”

“Tough shit. I’m not abandoning Utahime to go be a table filler,” Shoko replied as she rolled her eyes, her hand playfully slapping his own away from her sight.

“I’m not going either,” Utahime replied.

“I-I can go otherwise?” you offered, presenting yourself as a sacrifice. You didn’t actually mind as it felt awkward enough already to third wheel between Shoko and her friend, since you could give them both a chance to catch up as you reconnected with the two people you already were familiar with.

“Don’t stoop to their level,” Shoko said, catching onto your wrist as you stood up, “let them suffer.”

“Ah, but she offered~” Satoru sang, tugging you away to the front door.

“I-It was nice to meet you, Utahime!” you called out as you quickly found yourself dragged outside into the stairwell, barely having time to grab onto your bag and shoes.

Suguru stood outside as he waited, his back leaning against the wall with a knee bent to balance himself.

Satoru walked down first as you followed, Suguru closing in from behind as he watched you go downstairs. In truth, this was his plan all along because he knew that Shoko would be occupied with Utahime and when Satoru showed up at his own place wanting to hang out, he knew that his friend was still burdened with clan responsibilities so he could still end his night with you—if he could help it.

He still felt some conflicting feelings about you getting closer to Satoru, which was exactly why he chose to hang out with him tonight in tow, wanting to keep tabs as to what you were up to at all times to make sure that nothing else blossomed beyond that kiss.

He did seem to understand though, that you didn’t think that the kiss itself was genuine so in his mind, what he was doing was closer to prevention; ensuring that Satoru didn’t try to talk you into doing anything else.

(While Suguru himself talked you into other things.)

You continued to walk in between the two of them to the bar, fully unaware at what festered away in the back of their minds. Suguru’s hand brushed on and off around your hips, guiding you a certain direction as you passed through thicker crowds. Satoru on the other hand occasionally would pull the two of you in as he walked and talked, sensing that you didn’t pull back as much anymore.

In reality, you were slightly buzzed from the maybe two cans of beer you had. They were tall cans and you didn’t quite care to push either of them away, leading them both to have the same type of curiosity invade their minds; could they go even further?

You settled off into the booth you got to know them both at on the night it had all began, sitting opposite with an empty spot beside you instead. Suguru ordered a bottle of sake for a change, pouring the three of you a glass each.

The topics of discussion were trivial for now, at least the ones that you could keep up with anyway. Things like your opinions on Utahime and the discussion of what Satoru was up to for the most part of the day occupied the conversation.

Then at some point during it all, Satoru got a phone call that he couldn’t avoid, zoning off into the distance as he talked himself through it.

“Just my luck,” Satoru sighed as he ended the call, “I’ll be seeing you both tomorrow.”

His tone sounded a little resigned but he tried to smile through the annoyance he harboured, refusing to sour the mood. He didn’t want to be constantly away, especially not during what was supposed to be his time off—but he wasn’t in a position to refuse his responsibilities either.

“Think they’ll bother you this much when work starts up again?” Suguru asked him.

“Probably not, no,” Satoru replied, “I’m probably being pestered so much because they know I have time to spare.”

“Must be difficult being so important,” Suguru teased him.

“You know me, the strongest and the most important,” he continued to joke even if his demeanour did continue to dampen.

When he left, the staff asked you both to downsize to a smaller table anyway to make room for the other customers as the establishment quickly filled out with more and more customers. Suguru didn’t really mind this development as he continued to top you up more, slowly drinking his own glass as you continued to finish off one glass after another, finding yourself a little bit too tipsy to think properly.

It was then that he moved just a little bit closer, playing the current situation into his hands with successful ease this time.

“You know, my place isn’t too far from here,” he spoke deliberately, allowing dangerous words playing off of his tongue in a tempting melody, “Shoko’s probably still busy with Utahime, probably best not to disturb ‘em,” he leaned a little forward as he spoke, “feel like relaxing at mine for a bit?”

You hesitated initially, wondering if by accepting that you were accepting something that you shouldn’t be. You didn’t want to lead him any more than you already had, either.

“I have my own room at Shoko’s you know, I can just wait it out there,” you replied, trying to establish a boundary right away.

“Yeah but, you wouldn’t want to impose right? Besides, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, [name],” he continued to say, coaxing you into his reach, “it would be just for a little while, we’d both sober up and I’ll even walk you back.”

“I mean…” you continued on as you started to slightly panic, your gut instinct telling you to pull away.

“I do this all the time with Shoko and Satoru,” Suguru continued to lie, knowing fully well that he doesn’t really allow anyone into his home, “I just think you need to relax a bit, that’s all.”

“B-but, doesn’t it seem weird if I go back with you while I’m this drunk?” you asked.

“Why would it be weird?” he asked, his voice hushed, as if he didn’t want to be heard by others.

“B-because, like, I don’t know-“

Suguru interrupted you as you spoke, trying his best to remain patient while he had you all alone, “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. We don’t do anything bad, we’ll just watch a movie or something to wait it out.”

“B-but-“

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked you, seeming a little colder.

“I-I mean, I guess I do…” you considered it again, foolishly trusting him to not do anything just because he said that he wouldn’t, the alcohol clouding your judgement.

“Just to unwind, yeah?” he repeated himself, luring you in. “It’s not like I’m asking you to spend the night, right?”

“R-Right.”

Still, some type of danger lurked. You were agreeable right now, drunk and easily swayed. Some type of looming threat filled his all too promising tone, seeming almost deceitful.

Your own gut instinct was telling you to reject him a second time, a third time if you really had to do so—but you didn’t do a single thing.

Instead, in the peak of your inebriated judgement you chose to trust him because he was your friend and because he promised you something so simple and yet so major.

He wouldn’t hurt you.

At least not like that.

(Would he?)

~~~

The walk back with Suguru felt strangely quiet but it was relatively a short journey just as he had promised you. He kept your body steady as he walked you back to his home, keeping you from tripping over your own feet.

To some extent, he wondered if he should actually be taking it this far with you given that you couldn’t even walk straight—but he wouldn’t be forceful, he’d only go as far as you’d let him.

His place was probably the most central out of all of the places you had been so far, not counting Satoru’s place as you hadn’t yet been there.

Suguru continued to carefully handle you as he sat you down on his bed, his movements feeling all a little too personal and calculated. His hand drifted back to your thighs to test the waters of your own lacking sobriety as his other hand swooped in to meet around your waist.

“So, [name], I’m sorry but I gotta ask you something,” he spoke up after a short moment of silence, doing his best to continue to keep his tone as kind as possible, not wanting to scare you in any way, shape or form.

“Huh?” you replied, suddenly catching onto the idea that he might have wanted something from you, only just now registering that his hands were on you, too.

You were still trying to keep as soberly passing as you could be, but the strange mood and the new environment felt disorienting, even if you had already been in here before.

“You haven’t been with anyone, right?” he asked you as his eyes locked onto yours, the question he asked you seemed important to him for some reason. “You’ve not slept with anyone?”

Usually, he didn’t even care about this sort of thing—but something about you being being one was making him go crazy, in an almost possessive kind of way.

It felt wrong for him to admit it, but he felt entitled to you—not just for a quick fuck either, but something permanent.

He wanted you.

“Yes, but don’t laugh-“

“—I’m not asking to make fun of you.”

“Then why?”

He sighed as he looked back at you, wondering if it was best to just let you fall asleep or to take you back to your apartment and forget that this conversation almost ever happened.

But something told him to hold onto you, wanting to see just how far it could all go.

“I have a dilemma with you, that’s all it is,” he admitted, scooting a little towards you so that he sat closer. It was difficult for him to get the right words out as he had to find a reasonable way to explain that he didn’t want others to get close to you, to make you understand exactly what type of madness was going rampant through his head.

It was difficult to form something coherent that didn’t sound like he wanted to use you, because that wasn’t his intention at all.

“A dilemma?” you asked, your words slurring against your tongue.

“Don’t get with anyone else,” he asked you, the hold he had on your thigh seeming to tighten as he talked, his other hand pulling you closer as he dared tempt something he might regret, “it makes me unwell just thinking about it, I don’t even know why.”

Your words initially got caught in your throat as you failed to produce a response—even currently drunk, you understood what he was trying to imply.

And yet, not a single word could come out.

“Don’t hate me for saying it, but,” he sighed again, not letting you move let alone get away, “I want for you to allow me to…”

“No,” you finally choked out, not letting him finish off his sentence that he barely got to begin with. You understood what he wanted to ask you and you weren’t ready, even when this drunk, you knew that much.

Suguru stared at you as he took that rejection somehow in continued stride, fully well having anticipated that exact answer. He never once expected you to directly accept his offer, knowing that it would be insane for you to do so.

Instead, his plan was to actually ease you into it; to build up a gradual acceptance on your side, to get you close to him before anyone else could.

Dating was too slow—he wanted to get to you sooner, before you could catch onto what’s going on, before you could simply just leave.

It was wrong for him to do so, he knew it, but his own desire was overwhelming his sense of reason and he had to do it, or else he’d actually do something he regretted.

So to him, this was a more diluted path.

“Look, I’m the only one who really gets you, right? I’m the only one who can look out for you properly,” he continued to say, “and I’m the only one who would stick around with you after, [name], because let me make one thing abundantly clear—this world is cruel.”

You continued to zone out as he spewed out words he thought you were genuinely considering when the reality was that you were trying to keep yourself from passing out in his company.

You knew exactly where he was going with this, you weren’t that unaware and oblivious, his intentions were apparent from the very moment he put his hands on you in the car but you weren’t still entirely sure how he went from ignoring your texts from days on end, to wanting to get in bed with you.

Something must have happened last night, otherwise why else did he know to ask you certain things?

“I’m just saying, [name],” he said as he pinched your chin, making you face him directly, “Satoru got a taste, but he didn’t appreciate you, did he?”

“I-I mean n-no, but-“

“—did he make you feel anything?”

“He never meant to.”

“But don’t you want to feel something, anyway?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Because, I want you to feel things.”

He didn’t give you a whole lot to work with, nor any time to think for yourself as this conversation continued back and forth. His body continued to otherwise slowly towards you the same way, regardless of what you said, his lips seeking yours out as you moved back in retaliated discomfort.

Suguru continued to play the part of someone who appeared reasonable, nodding and pulling back to respect your decision. He was going to get to you either way, so your rejection didn’t hurt him because as long as he got with you before Satoru did, then he will have won.

He reconsidered his options as an almost unhinged expression manifested on his face, tightening his hold on your body as he surrendered to a flow of worrying ideas.

You internally panicked as this all unfolded, doing your best to perhaps foolishly hold onto his friendship while also pushing back on his advances, entering a point in your own psyche where you had no idea what you truly wanted either.

Certain words stuck, like Satoru stealing your first kiss and the fact that you felt nothing from it. Shoko got the title of your first real friend and Suguru sported the title of your first date, even if it was platonic. To circle back to Satoru, he had the honour of being the first guy you introduced to your parents; so no wonder it all seemed so confusing if he even liked you at all.

Your friends were out here taking away all of your firsts that were meant to be special moments shared with someone you could trust, instead being snatched away by this strange new group of people at every whim.

The lack of it all being genuine except for the friendship was starting to eat away at you, realising that such rapid progression was beginning to hurt you in a way you didn’t truly understand.

But… you were still left unsure.

Was he making such a big deal out of this because he actually cared—or did he simply want to play you, to get into your pants?

As you continued to hold off on his advances, he finally let you go of you to find your own way, intending to just vent to you instead. You’d listen to him whether you wanted to or not, so he took advantage of that opportunity as it happened.

“I’m just feeling some kind of way, [name],” he said, surrendering a chunk of his feelings.

He continued to stare at you, feeling a little guilty as he continued to do so—this damn feeling just wasn’t going away.

“I think I like you and I don’t want to share, that’s all.”

“I-I can kind of get it, I think,” you finally said after a while, giving him an opening of sorts if only by complete accident, “but,” you were to still quick to stifle, “I don’t want to do anything I might regret and that includes with you, too.”

He nodded as you spoke, completely understanding the exact sort of direction to take with you now much to your unassuming dismay; you were simply shy in his eyes, inexperienced and not quite used to this sort of thing and he could work with that—to make you his before anyone else could even have such a chance.

He wanted to stick around, to give into those strange and confusing feelings that have otherwise been eating him alive for the last couple of weeks.

“So, how about we start off slow?” Suguru suggested, moving into closing off the gap with you once again, “I don’t want you to regret a single thing with me.”

“I-I still don’t really know-“ you considered, not quite saying no directly. He wasn’t backing off even if he did drop the subject concerning your virginity, being pushy in a whole other sort of way.

“Don’t you like me too?” Sugur asked you, trying to find something that might not have been there.

“I-I do, but you know, as a frie-“

He cut you off again, not letting you finish that sentence, “Don’t say it. We’ve got something going on that’s better than just being friends.”

“W-we do?” you slurred a little.

“Can’t you feel it too?” he asked, leaning closer again.

“I mean, I don’t know, this is all too sudden for me and I don’t even know you that well,” you admitted, trying not to give into the pressure, you didn’t want to be something temporary or casual to someone you were trying to just be friends with.

“Then get to know me,” he whispered, “nobody else will appreciate you like I do.”

By then, you felt the booze hit your body a bit harder too now that it has had time to simmer; suddenly you couldn’t quite sit still, let alone agree or disagree.

He leaned into your lips without any protest on your end, despite your lacking consent to continue onwards; the smell of stale cigarettes exhaled into your mouth as he finally connected this kiss. His tongue pushing itself into your mouth, wrestling it with your own—your own muscle reluctantly following suit, despite not really knowing exactly what to do.

Your vision blurred as you barely kept up; you never did express consent nor give him the green light to continue, but every time you considered speaking up, your words would either slur or they never made it out of your mouth to begin with.

“Relax, you can keep your mouth still if it’s easier for you,” he said as he pulled back, his dark eyes intently focusing on you, “I’ll lead the way.”

Once again, he didn’t give you an opportunity to reply as he quickly resumed his pursuit of you; his mouth reconnecting with yours as his breath so hot and heavy rippled waves down your chin—his tongue flickering against the tip of your own as it fought back involuntarily, trying to move it away.

You felt as his hand then crept towards your own, grabbing onto the back of it as he slowly guided you into his trousers; straight past the waistband and slipping into an even deeper layer so that you could feel his, his—oh—were you feeling his—?

You froze as you now had a burning compulsion to pull away but your head pushed up against his face as his free hand held your skull in place—fingers weaving between interlocked strands of your hair, bringing you forward and tugging at your lips with his teeth, keeping you tethered to him.

Using the hand that held your own hostage, he moved you in so that your hand filled out with the length of his meat; your fingers wrapping around it as he then moved your hand up and down in a particular motion, encouraging you to keep up.

Maybe this was more than just taking it slow—but fuck, he was so turned on.

“Can you keep that going for me?” he asked, his voice sounding dangerously playful as he clearly was enjoying this moment.

You couldn’t vocally protest in the meantime nor shake or nod as he kept you subdued in a specific sort of state, so you kept it up either way because you were too overwhelmed to break away.

Not that he would allow for you to do so either way.

This was too good for him—he felt too good, so fucking good and he hadn’t even gone all the way yet. He wouldn’t yet. He knew now that he should savour this, to build it up.

He pulled further back from the kiss as your saliva trailed over your chin, webbing between his own—curious to see exactly how you were doing, realising that you might be struggling to keep up as someone with virtually zero experience with this sort of thing, while also wanting to get you used to this sort of state.

You continued to get into it and kept up to his requested pace along his shaft as he finally moved the hand that otherwise kept you glued to him to slip in between your legs, finally getting just a little further. He moved in smoothly, his hands brushing up the skirt and pushing past your underwear—his fingertips finally exploring the slick wetness you kept so well hidden.

To his amusement, he could see just how turned you actually were based on how soaked you were as well as the blush that formed on your face, even if your expression was a little unreadable.

In reality, you were equal parts confused and rosy red from the liquor settling in your system, keeping up but just barely.

You knew that this was wrong, that he never even asked you if this was okay to do, but you’ve also been so confused in this past couple of weeks.

You didn’t know what you were feeling.

“You’re doing so well, [name],” Suguru continued to purr into your ear, “wanna let me help you feel good too?”

“U-um,” you managed to reply, although still not using proper words.

“Trust me, I just want you to enjoy yourself,” he tried to reassure.

There it was; that confusing feeling again. You felt cornered as you considered accepting his quickly approaching advances, even given the position you were locked into. His hand rested near you, delicately parting you using his fingers—his touch was pleasant and warm and he wasn’t hurting you at all, but it still felt so terribly fucking wrong.

So, when he continued to once again move in despite not getting a verbal confirmation, he wrongfully read into your lacking say in the matter as a green light, thinking that because you weren’t screaming no or for him to stop despite your body language gesturing at something different was simply because you were shy.

Oh no, he didn’t even think to consider that you were simply too drunk to comprehend a single thing to begin with.

His fingers continued to slide into your heat, pushing over the opening and searching for something else in particular; your clit from what it felt like, focusing his efforts on there as his fingertips started to trace circles right around it.

Suguru enjoyed watching your reactions, his dark eyes finding light in your expressions and reactions—your own thighs quivering from his touch, trembling as you approached your limit.

He of course wanted to push you even further, wanting nothing more than to see you be needy and to moan his name; to beg him to let him fuck you, but he couldn’t be too greedy, at least not yet.

He’d slowly break you in, convinced that there was something about the chemistry that you both shared; feeling certain that there was absolutely something there, even if you couldn’t quite see it just yet.

So as he continued to gently swirl around your budded flesh and as your breathing quickly grew shallow; cheeks bruising cherry red, your insides coiling from his pressing touch—he too, got sent over the edge just from the sight of you alone.

At the same time though, that invading thought relented, daring him to go just a little further despite you not being ready; wanting nothing more than to taste your neck, to nip on your skin and petal behind lovebites, to push himself deep inside of you and feel just how soaked you were—but, but… he had to refrain, to hold himself back, at least for now, remembering that he didn’t want for you to regret him, so he finally pulled back from you.

His breath shuddered as you finished up on him, his face tightening as he clenched his jaw, eyelids fluttering as he started to finish, remembering to complete the same for you.

You squeezed your legs tight as you enveloped his hand, a rising need to finally seek out release; his circling motions finally coaxing out rolling pleasure as waves of warmth coursed through your body, a reaction that caused you to almost whimper breathlessly.

He pulled you closer as you finished, practically leaning into a hug against your body; his face rubbing against your own as he feverishly kissed you, his hand guiding yours as he finally got closer and closer to—but not yet, closer—to—

“Go a bit faster he breathed into your mouth, demanding release, “be a good girl for me—please, fuck.”

You listened to him as you accelerated the tempo against his dick; feeling a little more at ease from his continued flow of praise and encouragement until you felt his cock twitch, his breath hitch and finally empty himself at the mercy of your hand. Hot white ropes shooting without aim, causing a mess for you both.

He breathed in deep to recollect himself, still leaning against you before finally peeling himself away from you, allowing you to take back your hand and to find your ground again.

Guilt however then started to surface as he saw just how drunk you still were, leading him to finally seek out his own senses as he paused in his own tracks, leading you carefully to the bathroom before getting you cleaned up before returning back into bed with him.

There wasn’t a single chance in hell that you were going back home, even if he were to walk you all the way back and tucked you into bed himself.

He didn’t want a single person to be near you currently, not even Shoko and he trusted her.

So as you fell asleep beside him, your side occupying the usually vacant space against his chest, he felt a new sort of emotion plant itself and bloom, knowing that you were both in trouble if he continued to keep this up, just like that realisation many weeks ago.

Knowing fully well that he still wasn’t going to stop.

Not at all.

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m-jelly · 10 months ago

Note

Can I request a Levi x reader where the reader is know to be very stoic and cold to everyone. But she really is touch starved and only shows him in private her clingy side.

True self with you.

Levi x fem!reader

Canon AU, fluff, romance, being a couple, stoic reader that's really shy, cuddly reader.

In public and while working you are rather cold and stoic, but it's because you're shy and you don't think people will accept you. As soon as you get home to Levi, you are a cuddly little bunny for him and you show just how soft you are.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird

"Please?"

You stared at the cadet. "No. Rules state-."

"I don't care! Can't you just this one time?"

"No."

They huffed. "You are so cold! No wonder no one likes you!"

You realised a long sigh. "I have to go with scout policy set out by Commander Erwin Smith. If you want to complain then I can file a report to the Commander, otherwise, there is nothing else that can be done."

"I always knew you were a cold and heartless bitch."

You stood up from your chair. "I will not tolerate such language in my office, please leave now."

"I'm not leaving until I get what I want!"

You walked over to your office door and opened it. "Leave."

"NO! You are not a commanding officer! You just do admin and paperwork! You're nothing."

You stared at them. "Then why are you complaining to me if I am nothing? I fail to see the logic in your reasoning. Why fight with someone who cannot provide you with what you need. Also, due to the way you have been speaking to me, I am less likely to help you. Do you really think throwing abuse would get you anywhere?"

"Tch, oi?" Levi stepped into your doorway. "What's going on?"

You stared at the scout. "Would you like to forward your complaint to Captain Levi?"

"Yes!" They huffed. "I need to speak to you and not this terrible person."

You hummed. "You may have my office unless you are taking them to yours."

Levi studied the scout. "I'll take your office and I'll speak to you after."

"Sure."

It was fairly normal for people to get upset with you. You had tried to get along with people, but you were rather shy and you assumed that people would not like you. There was also this constant fear that you'd fail at your job. You wanted to do your job well, so you followed the rules and the teachings.

Today, you were feeling rather defeated by your job. You were simply doing your job and trying hard, but it was never good enough for some people. It wasn't always like this, but the bad days were terrible. There was no in between.

"Bunny?"

You looked up. "Grumpy."

Levi closed his office door and approached you as you sat on the sofa. "I'm sorry they were a shithead."

"It's okay. I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be." As soon as he sat next to you, you hugged his side. "People shouldn't treat you this way, okay?"

You slipped your legs over his thigh. "Mm."

Levi wrapped his arms around you and hugged you. "You need extra cuddles today?"

"Yes."

He shifted on the sofa, lay across it and held you against him. "You know very well you can get all the cuddles you want." He squeezed you. "I love them and they heal me."

You nuzzled the crook of his neck. "I love you, Levi."

"I love you too." He played with your hair and rubbed your back. "You know, I like that you're cold with others because I get to see his adorable cute side of you. It's all for me."

You kissed Levi's neck. "I just feel like I can be myself with you. You make me feel safe to be me."

"Me too."

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severinageto · 4 months ago

Text

SILENCE - ONE SHOT

Silence.

Suguru thinks his life has been quite silent lately. Yes, the twins talk to him. Miguel and Larue too. In fact, they always talk to him.

Sometimes he thinks it might be too much, more than he can bear. “Perhaps adopting two five-year-old girls when I was 17 was a bit impulsive”, he thinks while brushing his hair for the first time that day.

However, those thoughts vanish once he has breakfast with them. Cereal for Mimiko, every morning. Nanako, on the other hand, insists on mimicking his traditional breakfast; not just the miso soup and rice bowl, but also the green tea and coffee. But she is too young for those stimulants. Orange or grapefruit juice is fine.

Sometimes, he looks at them with concern. He is not sure if he wants the same life for them. Perhaps a bit of normalcy is all they need.

And his life is anything but normal.

Once a week, he decides to take an afternoon for himself. As soon as he finishes teaching them what they should be learning in a traditional school, he leaves them with Miguel. He takes them to play, to different places. The square, the park, sometimes even drives to the beach. He knows from the photos and videos his loyal number two takes that they have an incredible time.

"Time to play leader," he thinks as he dresses in his gojo kesa. Meetings, exorcisms, more meetings, more exorcisms. Sometimes, photo sessions. The Vessel investors believe leveraging Suguru's charisma is good for business. They are not wrong. It has grown significantly since social media began.

Ugh, Facebook, Instagram, Line. They are not his style at all. Nevertheless, he pretends. And he is very good at it. Otherwise, he would not be the most sought-after exorcist in the Japanese archipelago.

But there is something he does like about social media. As if reading his mind, it suggested a contact for him. His fingers almost instinctively went to the profile.

"Of course, Satoru doesn’t have it private," he thought when he saw it. More than six hundred posts, all at his disposal. Some might think the albino did it out of egotism, but he believed he knew the truth. It was not just ego, but a desire to share. Perhaps, even a desire to share with him. His travels around the world, his selfies with his students (who were obviously there against their will), his meals. Sometimes, even reflections. Sure, maybe a comparison between Pepsi and Coca-Cola was not the deepest thing from his mind, but still; it was his mind. He laughed, noticing that he had not changed substantially. But that laugh was followed by a melancholy sigh. How he missed that way of thinking.

Nobody made him laugh like that.

Absolutely nobody.

On the other hand, Suguru knew he also viewed his profile. But it was not as personal as his. On the curse manipulator's Instagram, there was only room for his cult leader persona. He could not allow anything else. He could never show his vulnerability because, when he did, nothing good came out of it; even though it had been with him, he did not realize it. So how would he notice through a screen whatever he tried to communicate?

"Get over it, Suguru, get over it," he told himself as he left home. "You don’t have time to think about this. You don’t want to, either."

Or did he? Again, he found himself going to the station where they used to meet. Why was he doing this? He knew quite a bit about Freudian theories on unconscious acts, but this was too much. The third time, in less than six months.

"I’ve got some time to kill," he thought as he sat in the same spot. It was a public place, after all. He crossed his legs and took out Runaway Horses from his bag. He began reading, his hand resting on the bench. Suddenly, his gaze shifted to the corner of it. His heart literally stopped for a second. A camellia, his favorite flower, lay there, almost as if it had always been part of the place. Unchanging, beautiful, and eternal.

Coincidence? He did not know, but nobody else knew that was his favorite flower.

He tucked it into his book, sighing.

Perhaps in his blue life, silence also reigned.

—————————————————-

Image by @12eeeeco on X.

#stsg #stsg brainrot #jjk stsg #gojo x geto #geto suguru #satosugu #stsg fanfic #one shot #gojo satoru #jjk fanfic

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idyllic-affections · 1 year ago

Text

to be quietly loved.

summary. what would dan heng be like as an older brother?

trigger & content warnings. mentions of injury and nightmares.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff, found family, very slight angst if you squint. dan heng (including il, towards the end) & younger sibling figure!reader. 1.1k words. they/them pronouns used for reader.

author's thoughts. i just remembered i have free will and can write fics about who i want to whenever i want to (/lh) so i wrote platonic dan heng content!

dan heng would be very quiet and subtle in his care. he is undoubtedly a fantastic brother! but his love language is very quiet, only noticable to those who pay close attention.

his gestures of care are quiet, and his words even moreso, but... well. it's fitting for someone like him.

he pays attention—very close attention, actually.

if his sibling seemed interested in something (perhaps their gaze lingered somewhere too long), or if they offhandedly mentioned a potential new interest to him, he would make a mental note of it.

his sibling might find the book they've been wanting to read or the cool ring they saw in a shop's window sitting in front of their door on the express a day later. <3

he's not the kind of brother to bully his younger sibling LMAO

he would rather do things for them—little acts of service to show his love in a wordless way—rather than bully them into doing things for him.

another way dan heng subtly expresses his care is in battle. he always has their blind spots covered. it's... a bit more obvious than his other displays, but really, it doesn't matter. what matters most is his sibling's safety.

and if they haven't left their room in a while? whatever the reason may be, mental health or physical health or any other reason, he's leaving meals by their door. he sends them little texts throughout the day, giving them the opportunity to seek support if that is something they need while also not forcing himself into their safe space if they just want to be alone for some time.

of course, his quiet nature does not mean he doesn't verbally express his affection. he does, but only in the soft moments in which he is alone with them.

(march would relentlessly tease him otherwise.)

late nights spent reading together in the archives, observing the stars together when everyone else is asleep or otherwise occupied... moments like that.

additionally, moments of hurt.

especially moments of hurt.

if his sibling happens to have nightmares about their own past, much like he does, he will offer them the security of his comfort and support. he'll always be there; that is one thing he can safely assure them of.

(maybe he'll live longer than they will. maybe he won't. either way, he will be there for as long as he is able.)

he offers to reassure them over text if they aren't really comfortable or ready for physical contact, but he will also offer to let them spend the night in the archives with him. whatever puts their mind at ease.

dan heng is always willing to hearing their story if they are willing to share. maybe he isn't quite ready to reciprocate that same vulnerability yet... but he does reassure them that his lack of openness is not because of them or something they did. it has nothing to do with them. they'll be the first to know when he is ready, he swears it.

or if they get physically hurt... he's there in an instant, finishing off whatever monsters dared to harm them and then rushing them back to the express to get their wounds treated, even if it really isn't that serious of a wound. he sees blood and goes into worried mode immediately.

he spends a lot of time with them while they're recovering, to the point where welt and himeko will teach him how to clean and rewrap their injury.

if it was preventable, something they could have avoided with just a little more patience and awareness, he will absolutely scold them for their lack of care, but...

he thinks they've already suffered the natural consequences of their actions, so his lecture on safety is very short.

"...Sorry, Dan Heng. I know I should have been more careful."

"You should have," he agreed, gingerly rewrapping the gauze on their arm. The gash, as a consequence of taking a rather brutal hit from a member of the Antimatter Legion, was healing well. "...I forgive you, though."

They smiled, leaning their head on his shoulder. He adjusted his position slightly for the sake of their comfort. Their weight provided a soothing reassurance that they were alive and well. He still recalled the sheer terror that had struck his chest when they cried out for him in the midst of battle.

"I mean it, [Name]. Be more careful next time. What would have happened to you if I wasn't there?"

"Probably something bad," they admitted, reaching over to his freehand and mindlessly toying with his fingers. "Thank you for being there."

Dan Heng sighed, freehand tenderly raking through their messy hair. "I will always be."

'It is the least I could do for you.'

he's very protective in that way. he genuinely doesn't know what he'd do with himself if something happened to them when he could have done something to keep them safe. he would never forgive himself, really.

he'll also teach them to fight for their own safety, if they don't already know how. if they do? he'll spar with them and help sharpen their skills.

dan heng does his best to not leave his sibling unprepared. he knows deep down inside that he cannot always be there. he wants them to be prepared to defend themselves, to be able to survive without his presence and support.

and when he does finally ackowledge and accept his past...

man.

he's even more protective, if that is even possible. it's some kind of instinct within him, like the way a mother feels inclined to protect her child, or how a lion does to its young. he feels an inexplicable pull, a need to keep them away from harm.

dragon instincts, basically.

he would literally obliterate anything that posed a threat to them fr. he also hates seeing them wounded in that form. he hates it normally, but in his vidyadhara form? it ignites some kind of deep-set anger and worry in him.

aeons forbid they were ever seriously injured.

the things dan heng would do in their defense would... not be very pretty.

on a fluffier note, i just know he gives really secure, safe hugs, especially in his vidyadhara form. if something happens to frighten them? well. his arms are always open. he's always there to comfort and reassure them, even if it happens to be something silly that scared them.

he'll also let them braid his hair in his nonhuman form if they ask nicely enough! he doesn't even try to hide the style when its done. he just walks around the express with it, even if march and stelle and himeko all giggle a little about how cute it is or how well it suits him. welt just smiles knowingly.

overall 10/10 he is a wonderful older brother <3

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion's headcanons 🌸#platonic hsr #platonic hsr x reader #hsr x reader #platonic honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x reader #platonic dan heng x reader

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rootsofdread · 2 years ago

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Some angst comfort idea now cuz we love to hurt our feelings 😔 Killer!Reader whose ability causes them a lot of pain but they have to use it to satisfy the Entity cuz otherwise a greater punishment waits for them

3 romantic (Leon, Ghostface and Jake) to 3 platonic (Amanda, Legion [again any or all how you prefer] and Sadako) ratio

This is the last one for now sorry if it's to much, take your time and know no matter what you'll write i will love it (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ

this was a super cute one to do honestly 🥺

Leon S. Kennedy:

Leon used to see this as a free opportunity to run, but when he realized you were really in pain, when other killers couldn’t really feel pain…He was shocked. He started to wonder why the Entity would do something like this, give someone powers that hurt them. It was more twisted to him than anything else when he realized it.

He encourages you to use your powers against him. He hates that it hurts you, but he knows how scared you are of the Entity. He assures you he’ll be able to get away and you won’t have to hurt him more than that, you can move on to someone else after. He’s tough and he can take it.

He gets all up in arms when he hears other survivors poking fun at your abilities hurting you. He stands up for you when you aren’t around, saying you don’t deserve bullying on top of painful powers. He may not be the most intimidating guy, but he’s convinced a few other survivors to shut their mouths about it.

He goes easy on you during trials together. It just makes him feel better to not give you a hard time, makes him feel like he’s helping you somehow.

Jake Park:

Even though Jake was afraid of you for quite a while, always seeing you in pain slowly whittled him down. Seeing you flinch when you start using your powers, and nearly keel over when they run out. It was worrisome, even for someone as terrifying as you. He knew…This was something that definitely wasn’t normal. The pain, the fear. He hadn’t seen it before in other killers…

When he knows you better and is more comfortable, he’ll quietly tail you during trials, always hanging behind you to keep an eye out for you. He’s genuinely worried that you’ll end up passing out from pain one of these days.

He isn’t scared of you anymore, and will even run up or jump up to embrace you when your powers run out. He hates seeing you in so much pain like that, and wants to take it away from you. He knows he can’t, but he still tries.

He teaches you calming breathing exercises for when he’s not around to help you, to ease the pain yourself. If it helps you even the slightest bit…It gives him so much relief to know he’s helping you.

Danny Johnson / The Ghostface:

Danny is furious with the Entity for doing such a thing to you. It’s personal with him, because he knows the Entity likes him. And to continue threatening you after cursing you with such awful power, at that…He’s angry. It’s rare to see such intense emotion from him, but you see it every time he comes to you after a trial.

After your trials, he grabs you and holds you tightly. You can feel the rage in his grip, but it's comforting at the same time, knowing he's so angry on your behalf. You try to tell him it's not his problem, but he won't hear it. It is his problem.

He never wants to let you out of his sight, because he knows that if he keeps you close, it means you're not out there hurting yourself for the Entity's sick satisfaction.

He actually attempts to tell the Entity off, since he knows her more personally than some of the other killers. It doesn't ever really work, but it makes him feel a little better doing it for you. He hopes it helps you feel a little better, too.

Amanda Young / The Pig:

Like Danny, Amanda is pretty pissed off about it, too. You've done nothing wrong — at least, nothing that would warrant a punishment or threats like this. As a woman who doles out her own punishments, it makes her blood boil seeing an innocent caught up in it.

She's never…Quite sure what to do for you. She's not much of a hugger and comforting talks aren't really her forte. She tries for you, though. She holds your hand and tells you things will be alright, and that she’ll try to make everything better for you. Because making things better is her kind of thing.

She doesn’t know how she’ll make it better, though. But she will — she knows she will, for you. She’s always thinking of what she could do to make anything better for you. Usually it’s going out of her way to find and kill survivors that were previously in your trials, because she sees them as semi-responsible for what’s happening to you.

Ultimately, even if she's not the best at comforting, she wants you to know she's always there for you, and she'll always do her best to help you and solve your problems.

Frank Morrison / The Legion:

Frank knows what it’s like, getting hurt by your powers. It’s a killer coming out of Feral Frenzy for every Legion member. Solidarity is the most valuable thing to him, being able to relate to his friends and knowing what they’re going through. So trust and believe, even if he didn’t know what you were going through, he’d damn well try.

He’s always willing to hold you if and when you need it. He normally isn’t much of a touchy-feely kind of guy, but he thinks something like this probably warrants it. He knows you feel bad enough already, there’s no sense in making you feel worse by denying you any comfort.

And he’s always willing to listen to you, too. He’ll listen to your venting about the powers you’ve been burdened with or your fears of the Entity. He may not really be able to do anything about it…But he can listen.

He tries to teach you ways to take your mind off of the pain, like he does. Focusing on the task at hand, or on something else that makes you happy. He knows it isn’t the best solution in the world, but he knows it’s better than doing nothing and suffering, too.

Sadako Yamamura / The Onryō:

Sadako is always concerned for you. She sees the pain on your face when you’re punishing the survivors, you’re her friend and…There’s something wrong with you, your powers hurt you. They shouldn’t do that. Her nensha powers don’t hurt her. It upsets her sometimes, to see you hurt like that, to see you afraid of what would happen if you don’t hurt yourself.

She hates that the Entity makes you hurt yourself to satisfy herself. She’s an angry little girl, and this doesn’t help. You have to stop her from lashing out at other killers sometimes, and make sure she calms down. She also hates making you worry about her — but she can’t help it. She feels things strongly. She knows you don’t deserve this.

She always wants hugs after one of your trials to make sure you’re okay. She knows she likes hugs when she’s upset or hurt, she figures you must too. It’d be difficult to convince her otherwise, it’s difficult enough to get her off of you as it is. Not that you mind, really, it’s just…This girl has a death grip. How much she loves you is obvious.

She protects you when she can, like taking your place in trials. She doesn’t want you to get hurt, and she’ll do whatever she can to help that. She may be small, but she's fiercely protective of you.

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lamnwar · 5 months ago

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"Come on Teppei, give me a clue here! What would genuinely make you happy?" you insist, leaning towards the tall brunette.

He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed as if your question doesn't make any sense at all. Well, it probably doesn't to him, if you have to be honest with yourself. Teppei has always been a bit odd, which, you have to admit, makes loving him awfully hard sometimes. Not feeling wise, of course – it is easy to fall in love with him. You did in a matter of days, which is quite embarrassing to admit.

You've never been a believer in love at first sight. It was cheesy and unrealistic, and you lived your whole life in the belief that anyone who said otherwise was delusional. How can you feel love – which is without a doubt the most complicated and powerful feeling a living being can feel – so quickly? Well, leave it to Teppei Kiyoshi to be the exception that proves the rule.

He didn't do anything special, just being himself, which is, naturally, already out of this world. That tall dummy, too good for his own good, always knew how to get what he wanted out of people.

And what Teppei has always desired from you, is for you to let him be your man. You can't really tell what it is exactly about him – his endless kindness, the way he always protects his loved ones, his soft chocolate eyes looking at you like ancient civilisations would look at the stars. It's probably all of him: his tall and intimidating figure that surprisingly offers the best hugs, his big hands that keep yours warm, his messy brown locks that falls in his kind eyes, his pink lips that stretch in a heartwarming smile. It's how he talks about his grandparents with so much love, and how he spends hours on the court because the most fun he'll ever have is while playing basketball.

Fuck, do you love Teppei Kiyoshi.

Of course you want to make him happy. In all the love languages possible, you're ought to let him know that he is your place of solace, the warmth of a spring sun in your heart. He's your one and only, and you have to give back for all the greatness that he is.

"Would you like a puppy, maybe? You'd look great as a pet dad" you brainstorm, trying to find something – anything – that will make him endlessly happy.

He chuckles, pulling you over his lap as you ramble.

"Should I welcome you home everyday in an apron and nothing else? No, that's too pervy. Unless..." you raise an eyebrow, seemingly considering this option in all seriousness.

The basketball player laughs, the sweet sound rumbling from the depth of his chest, and you can't help but giggle a little too. He smiles, finger twisting around a strand of your hair as he gives you a soft look. It makes you blush, he kinda looks like a dad about to teach life to his child.

"What is it, now?"

"You're cute when you ramble like that, s'all." He confesses, bringing your fingers to his lips to kiss them.

You sigh, leaning in closer as you ask him again, with unwavering intent, the question to which you have yet to get an answer.

"Teppei, I swear to god I'll lose my mind if you don't tell me what would make you happy."

"Hm? Isn't it obvious?" He tilts his head.

You're slightly pissed; no dummy, it isn't obvious! Teppei's mind never works in normal ways, so what may be a given to him is only that: a given to him only.

"Cute little thing that pouts for me" he mutters, lips taunting yours before he pulls you into a kiss.

You hum, melting in the sweet honey of his lips, the way he knows where to grab you, his touch soft and firm at the same time, while you instinctively part your lips for him. You can't even utter a thought at the way his warm tongue glides other yours; and here you are, nothing but a puddle of love for Teppei Kiyoshi.

"It's you. You're what makes me genuinely happy."

His seriousness is almost funny – Teppei has a knack for being serious in the oddest moments. But this time, you can't help the pounding in your chest at his words. Now that he says it, well yeah, it's obvious what makes him happy. You think for a moment if you should debate a bit, but you figure that it's better not to.

Teppei is smarter than you, so it's for your own good to shut up and accept it as an undeniable truth.

The thing that makes Teppei Kiyoshi endlessly happy, is you.

#happy birthday kiyoshi <333 #i love him endlessly #kiyoshi teppei #kiyoshi x reader #kiyoshi fluff #knb #kuroko no basuke #knb x reader #knb fluff

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ivoryisking · 4 months ago

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ej headcanons

Quiet, but his silence speaks vast oceans

Nothing gets past him

Pranking doesn’t usually work, but if it’s simple, it might. He looks for complexity.

He enjoys people watching

Does not like eating in front of insert, because he gives in to predatory instinct

In other words, he would likely hunt and eat them, too, if he could not restrain himself enough

Can go on rants about medical knowledge if prompted. That is the longest time he will speak. Otherwise, he’s concise and short.

Will try to teach insert basic medical knowledge and some medical terms

Nature fiend; loves wandering in nature and watching the world go by

Will not hesitate to protect insert if something arises

But it gets ugly for the other party

Bad with physical closeness, but exquisite with words

Awkward with casual hugging, initiating contact, sometimes pulls away, but it doesn’t mean he dislikes it- just doesn’t know how to respond

Can make the most tense situations defuse with a few well-chosen words

Refuses to expose insert to the darker side of his life, but doesn’t hide what he is or what he does

Will destroy a kitchen if he cooks. Don’t let him near it. Even if he’s trying to be nice. This man burns microwave macaroni and cheese. (Red flag is that he tried making it in the first place.)

Is usually okay at sharing how he feels, will conceal something if he thinks it might make insert upset

Quality time and acts of service are this man’s bread and butter.

If he misses insert, he might resort to tailing them very obviously, but not saying anything.

Loves listening to insert talk, even if it’s as mundane as how their day went.

If he’s hurt (rare) or even sick (very rare remember he’s a demon) he will go out of his way to hide it from insert

He won’t let insert take care of him if they find out he’s sick, but will baby the crap out of them if they’re sick

Mice - No. Even if he’s an apex predator, he doesn’t like them.

the drabble that comes with it can be found on any of the platforms i use; ao3, quotev, and wattpad- linktree in my bio if you find my works anywhere else, please let me know!

#eyeless jack x you #reader insert #writing #creepypasta #gender neutral reader #eyeless jack x reader #creepypasta x reader #eyeless jack #headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #eyeless jack headcanon

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 9 months ago

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Dracule Mihawk's older sister headcanons (part 2)

Dracule Mihawk x sister!reader

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

This idea was born from a conversation with @giurochedadomani, as well her amazing blog. This is part two of two, part one is here.

If you're expecting an happy ending, please go read somewhere else.

*****

🗡️ The lord dies unexpectedly, a sudden heart attack as he sleeps. Informed by his sister, Mihawk returns immediately; they haven’t seen each other in two years, and as they embrace, she marvels at how much he has grown up, how tall and strong he has become. He is still her little brother, quietly affectionate and attentive to her needs, who kisses her hand and holds her against him as if never wanting to let go, but there is a new inflexibility in him, the steel-like determination of a man who goes his own way, content with his own company and leaving everything and everyone behind him, because he respects few and has patience for even fewer. She doesn’t fully know whether this is a new facet of his personality, born of the solitude and the hardship of his life as a pirate, or something that has always been part of him, and the last two years simply brought it to the surface; what she is sure of is that she doesn’t like it.

🗡️ They take part in the lord’s funeral, standing arm in arm, both all too aware of the gossip fluttering around them. She looks straight ahead, simply but elegantly dressed, making sure to offer her condolences to the lady but otherwise avoiding small talk; she knows they are talking about her, her impoverished background, her time as a maid for the lady during which she waited on some of them, and their improved situation thanks to her brother’s piracy. She ignores them; she has nothing to be ashamed of and she knows, and why should she care for those people’s opinion when none of them ever cared for her and hers?

🗡️ Mihawk utters maybe ten words in two hours; he stands for a while in front of his old teacher’s grave, aware that the man had nothing more to teach him, but also of everything he owed the lord, who gave him the chance to become the man he is and to take care of his sister, who cared for him when no one else did. Their relationship was close but formal, he wouldn’t say he loved his master like a father or that he was loved like a son; but Mihawk mourns him, and I’ll never forget what you have done for me, he promises in the privacy of his heart. I swear I’ll make you proud.

🗡️ Mihawk should technically sleep in the master bedroom, the one that once belonged to their father, but his sister knows him and has prepared his old one - after having a bigger bed moved in. Mihawk promises to stay until her upcoming birthday; he’s happy to see her, and relieved to see her happier and more confident than two years back. She has made friends with some women in the nearby town, she excitedly tells him, and has started helping one of them who owns a photographer’s studio, having developing an interest in the art; one day, perhaps, they can formally start working together, because while it is a relief she doesn’t need to worry about the future or that her leg will prevent her from earning her living, she needs to keep herself occupied. She offers Mihawk to discuss their expenses, because she wants him to know she’s not wasting his money, but he assures him there is no need, because he has full and complete trust in her and actually would be happy to know she can now afford whatever she wants, be it a new dress, a lady’s maid (ah!) or a palanquin to ride around. That is a sort of life he could never be happy, or even just content, with, but she is, and Mihawk is proud he can now repay everything she has done for him, taking care of her as it is her duty as a brother.

🗡️ Before he leaves, she takes a picture of the two of them together, makes two copies, one the size of the pretty bedside frame she has bought recently, to keep next to their mother’s old painting of the two of them, and the other small enough to be carried around, and gives it to her brother. “I know we have no need of tangible tokens to remind us of each other, and you are not the sort of man who wears a locket, but please, keep this with yourself. And remember you can always come back, no matter where you are, no matter what you have done. I don’t care about the money, or the house; I just want to know you are safe.” He promises; he gifts her a ridiculously precious necklace for her birthday, with a gem carved in the shape of a rose, and two days later she sees him leave once more, and she misses, and fears for, him again before his little ship has disappeared beyond the horizon.

🗡️ Years pass. Mihawk’s name is now known all over the four seas and the Grand Line, and many are the swordsmen who both fear and admire him, but Mihawk’s mind is focused on two goals. The first is to find a sword worthy of him, one capable to channel his strength and power without breaking; like any swordsman worth his salt knows, though, the best swords are conquered, not simply bought, and while he wouldn’t be against killing a fellow fighter to take their sword, were it worth the effort, for the time being he resigns himself to wait for the right weapon to come his way. His second objective is to find the greatest swordsman in the world and defeat them to conquer their title and have the whole world witness his strength. His sister, while aware that ambitious outcome is well within her brother’s abilities, suggests him to wait, since he is still so young and still hasn’t found a sword worthy of him, but Mihawk is determined: his opponent, a man whose name is not spoken but whispered all around the world and who even the most veteran Marine officers fear to face, is getting on in years, and unlike what many others would do in his place, he plans on facing him before he starts losing his strength and Mihawk’s victory is devoid of any value.

🗡️ The man, mainly known by the moniker The Blue Crane, doesn’t bother to hide his whereabouts, aware that only a fool would search for him with the intent to cause trouble. Mihawk (the fool) easily finds him. He challenges the Blue Crane to a fight to the death. The man accepts. The fight is hard, brutal, bloody, several centuries-old trees felled and enough blood lost to support a whole transfusion centre, but in the end the result is the one any witness aware of the history of the two opponents would have expected…

🗡️ … Mihawk has been defeated. Soundly, unquestionably, and sustaining injuries serious enough to make the doctors doubt his survival. His sister is called, and runs to his bedside; for ten days (and nights, so much that the doctors start worrying about her) she watches over him, thinking this cannot be the end, not for him, not for them, not when he is still so young and she has barely had the time to learn to miss him while he’s gallivanting around the Grand Line. She doesn’t pray, she never has; but she talks to him, even though he remains unconscious for days and she doesn’t even know if he can hear her; she begs him to be strong, to return to her, because he has a whole life ahead of him and can’t leave her alone…

🗡️ In the end, he wakes up; the recovery is long and slow, which is frustrating for a man who has never idled a moment in his life, even more because he knows he has been lucky and he survived only because the Blue Crane thought he had already killed him and let him be. It is not the first, but it is the bitterest defeat of his life; he was able to hold his own against the strongest swordsman in the world, he should be proud of himself, but he is not and, he swears, one day he will regain his honour by killing his opponent, even if it means losing his own life in the process.

🗡️ He doesn’t share his intentions with his sister, but she has expected it ever since she was informed of what had happened; she knows how important it is for Mihawk to conquer the title of the Blue Crane, and that he would let nothing and no one stop him. She has always promised herself she would never get in the way of her brother’s dreams, because he must be free to live his life as he wishes to and she doesn’t want to clip his wings, but she is exhausted, still scared and already convinced that no matter how powerful he becomes he is destined to lose his life before he gets his first grey hair, either because of an opponent’s stroke of luck or the Marines who have sent a whole platoon to capture him (they have already tried. Thrice.) or whatever danger he may encounter in his life as a pirate.

🗡️ For the first time since he was a child, and for the same reason as the other, they fight; bitterly and loud enough the whole hospital hears. Mihawk tells his sister she doesn’t get to mollycoddle him, because he’s an adult and he will not let her stop him from achieving his full potential; she calls him a conceited egoist, who thinks being able to wield a sword gives him permission not to care about everything else and who has never matured beyond the child who was abandoned by his father. They are both hurt; they both forgive. Mihawk recovers, goes back home for a while (because he has missed his sister and does need to rest, but most of all to please her and because he knows he owes it to her) and promises that he will not challenge the Blue Crane again before he has improved sensibly. It is quite possibly the least reassuring promise he may have made; but she accepts it, and never speaks of it again.

🗡️ He has known Shanks since they were boys; Mihawk has told his sister about the red-haired pirate, and she was happy to learn her brother has something akin to a friend, but Shanks knew nothing about her until one day he found her and Mihawk’s picture, fallen from his jacket’s inside pocket. “Who is this pretty lady with you, Hawkie? Is she single?” he asks; Mihawk knows he’s merely joking, and in any case Shanks is not the sort of man who bothers women, but he glares at him with such ferocity the red-haired pirate raises his hands and swears he meant nothing by it.

🗡️ Their father dies. Neither cares.

🗡️ Mihawk’s sister starts working in her friend’s photographer’s studio; she doesn’t really need the money, but enjoys it and soon becomes good enough at it her services are requested for private events and newspapers ask to print her pictures. At a party given by her friend, she meets the hostess’s brother, a man who is as different from Mihawk as he could be: shy, a bit awkward, but friendly and openly kind and who is content with a tranquil, predictable life, with his job as an accountant and, one day, a family. Their eyes meet across the room; he smiles; she waves, but neither has the courage to approach the other until the hostess takes both out of their misery and introduces them. When at the end of the night he shyly asks for her company at dinner, she is flabbergasted: she is well beyond the usual age for women to be courted, and considering she has been called bland in the best of cases and the situation with her leg has not improved since she was twelve, she never expected someone she just met to be impressed with her. But he is; and she says yes, and this is not the sort of exciting, thwarted love story teenage girls like to read about, but it is theirs, and it is true, and it makes her happy.

🗡️ Exactly ten years after Mihawk has taken to the sea, both siblings experience a turning point. Mihawk finally finds the sword he had spent a decade waiting for; it is the fruit of the work of a famed swordmaker, an old woman who had disappeared years before and who everyone thought dead. Mihawk meets her by sheer coincidence, and immediately asks her to forge a sword for him, whatever the cost may be; the artisan replies that she cares not for money, but will only put her art at the service of a man who deserves it. She puts Mihawk to the test, some terrible endeavour that brings his strength as a man and as a fighter to their limit; still, he succeeds, and true to her word, the swordmaker gifts him a huge black swords: it is her masterpiece, that she has spent months creating a decade before, after her own master had come to her in a dream to tell her she would one day find a man worthy of it.

🗡️ The sword is beautiful, huge but light in his hands, as if it were really made for him specifically; Mihawk likes the black blade and the gemstone-ornated hilt. This is no cutthroat dagger, nor simply one of the greatswords some try to use in the hopes the length and weight make up for their lack of talent; it is precious like a jewel, beautiful to look at, but severe and forbidding, openly dangerous enough anyone would think twice before approaching it - not unlike Mihawk itself. This is his sword, and he is its wielder; a perfect match, the sort of feeling other people experience about a soulmate.

🗡️ He’s so satisfied he decides to show the sword to his sister, returning home for a surprise visit; she welcomes him with open arms, and is happier than ever to see him, and impressed by his new weapon, which is way bigger than her. “They say the best swords have names.” she points out “Any ideas?” Mihawk shrugs; he’s content with simply having conquered a weapon worthy of him, and doesn’t feel the need to name it as people do with a lapdog or a country house. He is more interested in his sister’s own news: her gentleman friend has asked for her hand, and she has accepted. “He is a good man, and he loves me very much; he treats me very well. I love him too, Mihawk, I really do; I am not asking for your permission, like you wouldn’t have to ask for mine, but it would mean the world if you approved.” The dinner during which he meets his future brother in law is slightly less tense than they all expected; Mihawk finds his sister’s fiancé a bit insipid, not to mention he is already losing his hair, but he must admit the man does seem to treasure his sister, and the research Mihawk has charged a detective to do on him, to make sure the man is not a fortune hunter or in the habit of hitting or cheating on his partners, yields reassuring results. He gives his sister his blessing; he accepts to give her away (actually, he would have been offended if she hadn’t asked) and only asks her to write a prenuptial agreement with her fiancé, to protect her interests in the event things go bad. He still thinks she deserves better; but she is happy, and so he is as well.

🗡️ They decide for a spring wedding, and the ceremony is just a month away when Mihawk receives the Marines’ proposal to join the newly created Warlords of the Sea. As they have always done when one of them is faced with an important decision to make, he asks for his sister’s opinion, but she is unsure: knowing her brother no longer has an enormous bounty on his head would reassure her (even if bounty hunters have never been a danger for Mihawk and the few who have challenged him quickly learnt that he may not be the greatest swordsman in the world yet, but he’s already too superior to be bothered by people of their sort) and the alliance would give him more leeway to pursue his business as he wants. On the other hand, joining the Warlords could do more harm than good. “They may need you, but you don’t need them; this simple fact suggests you have nothing to earn from allying with the World Government.” she points out one day as they enjoy an evening stroll, walking leisurely close to the rose garden that is her pride and joy “I know you are too strong and clever to let the Marines order you around; but why should they send you to deal with their problems?”

🗡️ As usual, even though she’s not a pirate herself, she has understood the matter perfectly, giving him valuable insight while leaving the choice to him; Mihawk doesn’t need his sister to decide for him, but he values her opinion and knows she is cleverer and more capable than her gentle disposition and reserved nature may suggest. Whatever decision he may take, he promises herself, her security will be his first priority: what if, once he joins the Warlords, the Marines look for something to use against him should he refuse to do as he is told, discover her existence, and threaten her…?

🗡️ Mihawk has always done his utmost to protect his sister, even since he was still a child, and especially after he took to the sea; the small, sleepy town she lives in is a safer place than most, and she knows better than to wander about after dark by herself, but he has hired three guards to ensure the safety of the house, and who escort her every time she travels by carriage - a precaution she deems excessive, but she has accepted for his sake. He has made good on his promise to provide her with a cane with a blade hidden inside, even though they don’t have much time to practise its use together; she makes sure to have all doors and windows bolted at night, as well as the main gate.

🗡️ All those precautions are put to the test exactly once; and they prove futile.

🗡️ Mihawk has never forgotten the promise he made to himself, as well as to his sister, to wait before challenging the Blue Crane again, and he feels the moment has come to reclaim his honour and conquer the title he has desired since he was still a child. His abilities have improved enormously since their first, disastrous fight, and he has not met an opponent worthy of him in years; almost as important, he now owns a blade capable of withstanding any attack and to channel his full strength. He is ready, he feels it in his bones, in his blood. He decides to wait until after his sister’s wedding, to make sure she is not alone in the event that the fight claims his life; once she has settled in, he will go meet his destiny, and this time he knows he will emerge victorious.

🗡️ What Mihawk doesn’t know is that the Blue Crane has also been obsessing about him, and their duel years ago. The greatest swordsman in the world is all too aware that advancing age has been sapping his strength for years; no challenger has defeated him yet, but it is simply a matter of time, and he, the man whose name has made any fighter in the world quake in their boots for decades, will be disgraced, bested not by a superior opponent but by the simple weakening of his muscles and reflexes. Nothing in his life has ever mattered but his title, and soon, maybe in a matter of months or even weeks, some callow youth who simply had the good fortune of being born a few decades after him will take it, and the Blue Crane’s name will be forgotten…

🗡️ … and then the man opens a newspaper, sees the picture of a familiar hawk-eyed man, and his heart sinks.

🗡️ No one in maybe thirty years has been as close to defeating him as that young man; no one’s ferocity and disdain for his own safety and life if it meant emerging victorious from the fight has scared him as much as his. The Blue Crane might have admired and even liked him, if that young man, that Mihawk, hadn’t forced him to use all of his strength and ability in order to win - in order to survive. The young swordsman’s strength and willpower had been like nothing he had ever seen; the Blue Crane, who in his life had defeated and killed hundreds of opponents, had known in his heart that had Mihawk been just a little more mature, just a few years more experienced, the outcome of their duel would have been very different. That thought alone had made him feel ashamed of himself, and he had made sure to kill his opponent, to avoid the risk of a more mature and fulfilled Mihawk returning to ask for a rematch.

🗡️ Or at least, he was convinced he had killed his young opponent, even though the newspaper tells a different story. How could Mihawk have survived his wounds? And why did he simply leave, without checking to make sure his opponent was actually dead? Is old age making him lose his wits, as well as his strength and speed? The Blue Crane reads of Mihawk’s exploits in the newspaper, and his fears are confirmed: the young swordsman has come into his own, becoming a feared pirate and an even formidable fighter. Why hasn’t he returned to ask for a rematch? He doesn’t seem the sort of man who would be cowed by his past defeat, and the danger of losing his life. Is Mihawk still training, aiming to further hone his skills before challenging him again? Or does the young man consider him too old now to represent a worthy opponent? The thought makes the Blue Crane seethe with anger and helplessness; but whatever the truth, he decides, he has to do something, to prevent his honour from being besmirched by that bird-eyed man. He can’t help ageing, with all the consequences the process entails, but he is the strongest swordsman in the world, and he wants to die with the title grasped in his hands, which means… that he has to kill Mihawk before Mihawk comes to kill him.

🗡️ Finding where Mihawk lives is harder than he expected, but the Blue Crane is able to call in a few favours, and to track the younger swordsman down to his old family house where, he hears, Mihawk is expected to return soon for a family wedding. He arrives at night; he makes quick work of the guards standing outside and penetrates the house, hoping to take Mihawk by surprise, and unharmed - the only way, he must admit, he is sure to win. Unfortunately Mihawk is not at home, his return having been delayed because of the bad weather; but his sister is, sitting at her desk despite the late hour and busy organising the RSVPs she has received for the wedding, her white dress hanging from the wardrobe’s shutter, ready to be worn on the next morning. She hears a noise coming from the corridor, but before she has time to reach for her cane and go check, the door opens, and an older man appears in front of her; she has never seen him, but he is holding a sword in his hands, which explains everything - or at least most of it.

🗡️ “Mihawk is not here. Whatever you want, coming here without his permission is the stupidest thing you could have done.” she calmly states “Now you need to leave; return in two days, and you can challenge him…” The Blue Crane doesn’t listen; he understands this woman, whoever she is, is trying to protect him from Mihawk’s ire, which from his point of view is so offensive it hurts physically. If the younger man really doesn’t consider him a worthy opponent anymore on account of his age, he reasons, maybe he should prove the master of the house he’s still as dangerous as he was twenty years ago, and that it would be highly unwise to take him lightly. He’s usually not the sort to harm innocent civilians, especially women, and he realises that harming a relative (or fiancé? No, it can’t be his wedding as well, the Blue Crane reasons, this woman is too old) would make Mihawk even less merciful than he normally is, but he is not afraid (really, he’s not!), and this will at least mean his opponent will take him as seriously as he had on their first fight…

🗡️ To her credit, as she realises the man intends to hurt her, maybe to send a message to her brother, Mihawk’s sister reacts quickly; she grabs a heavy paperweight from her desk and throws it towards him, hoping to distract the man at least for a moment, and then quickly reaches for her cane, at the same time filling her lungs to scream. “Help me!! Please, help…!” Neither attempt yields results; the guards are dead, and even if she could reach her weapon she is no match for the Blue Crane, for his resentment and shame and hopeless rage. He grabs her by the hair; she can feel the gelid kiss of the blade across her naked throat, and a moment later a waterfall of blood is splattering over the front of her dress. She stammers, trying to ask for help, to ask for her brother to save her like so many times he has promised to do, even if it meant dying himself; she had forgotten how helplessness felt, and being reminded like this, now, is terrifying. She knows she is being killed for something Mihawk has (or hasn’t?) done, but feels no anger or resentment towards him; only sadness, and regret, they won’t have more time to spend together, and she won’t get to marry, and be happy with her husband, and perhaps even though she’s probably too old they had been planning to have…

🗡️ It’s brutal, and excruciatingly painful, and somehow dispassionate, the man not even looking at her as he robs Mihawk’s sister of the gift of life, as if he were carrying out a task he finds no interest or pleasure in, because he doesn’t care for her, who is simply a means to an end, a message he wants to send. But at least it’s quick, and a minute later, as he cleans his blade on the skirt of her dress, the Blue Crane is contemplating whether he may as well wait for his opponent or it’s best to leave and return once he’s sure Mihawk is at home, when suddenly he’s not alone anymore. Mihawk has returned; he has been hit by a sense of foreboding the moment he stepped on land, back from one of his first raids as a member of the Seven Warlords, a full hour later than expected and inexplicably sure something terrible was about to happen, and he has run home, fearing to find out his sister had been cheated on, or even beaten, by her fiancé, or that she had had an accident.

🗡️ The truth is immensely, irremediably worse, and he is more and more worried (more and more scared) as he finds no trace of the guards patrolling the house; he enters, and the Blue Crane is looking down on him, literally since the older man is standing at the top of the long staircase leading to the upper floor where the bedrooms are, and the man is not known for his violence towards women and civilians, not to mention his sister would pose no danger to him, but Mihawk just needs to look at the older man, at his gelid and triumphant expression, to feel his legs give way under him. What have you done to her, you bastard?!, he’s about to ask, a moment before realising he doesn’t need to.

🗡️ He doesn’t ask why; he doesn’t need to, and he doesn’t care. If only I hadn’t waited, he thinks, and a moment later he has grasped his sword and launched himself towards his enemy. Not a word is uttered. Swords clash; Mihawk’s fury is terrible, merciless and bloodthirsty, and the Blue Crane has barely the time to realise how big of a mistake he has made before Mihawk kills him, not using one his most sophisticated techniques, like most swordsmen would deem appropriate when facing a worthy opponent, but with a brutal, simple lunge at the heart - and through his back. He lets the body of his opponent fall tumbling down the stairs as he runs towards his sister’s room, abandoning his sword unheedingly on the floor and hoping against hope it’s not too late, that there’s still time to save her, but there isn’t, and while her body is still warm and the blood still dripping from her wound, Mihawk knows she’s already gone. He cries, holding her in his arms and kissing her brow, and remains by her side for what feels like hours, feeling himself victim of a terrible nightmare he cannot wake from and at the same time all too aware what has happened is true, real, and is only his fault.

🗡️ He doesn’t cry at the funeral, even though he knows his broken heart will never feel whole again; part of him wishes he could, even though it wouldn’t make him feel better, so much that he looks with envy at his sister’s friends (she has so many, she who had long thought she was too shy and demure and uninteresting to be liked) who weep openly, unashamed in their pain. He has informed his sister’s fiancé of the identity of her killer, as well as the fact he has been punished, but the other man doesn’t blame him, doesn’t accuse him of being the reason of the death of the woman they both love; part of Mihawk wishes he would, and while he has never particularly liked or respected his former-future brother-in-law, he now feels a kinship between them, and when the other man says he will never stop loving her, Mihawk believes him. They mourn her together; but in his heart, Mihawk also knows he’s saying farewell to the best part of him, the one capable of kindness and compassion, and that after spending his whole life despising their father for abandoning them, he has now committed an even more unforgivable sin.

🗡️ She is buried in the rose garden, her engagement ring on her finger and her favourite necklace on her breast. Mihawk plans on closing the house as soon as he can, without putting it on sale, to make sure nothing and no one will ever disturb his sister’s sleep; he has never felt so guilty and ashamed, and most of all so alone, in his life, but he knows he deserves that pain, he accepts and even relishes in it. He has let her down, he thinks as he looks at the casket being lowered in the grave, leaving her alone when she needed him the most, and even if he could he wouldn’t ask for forgiveness because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He is now the strongest swordsman in the world, uncontested, but he feels no joy; he feels the weight of his sword on his back, thinks back to a brief conversation he had with his sister years back, and the hint of a joyless smile appears on his lips.

🗡️ There are roses on her gravestone, their beauty as eternal as her kindness and grace deserved to be, and then the date of her birth and of her death, and an epitaph Mihawk has carved himself…

Lady Dracule Yoru. Beloved sister. Wherever I go, I will carry you with me…

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Dracule Mihawk #Mihawk #Dracule Mihawk x sister!reader #Mihawk x sister!reader #Steven John Ward #Bellona's stuff

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