#even pulling my face out of my scarf the first time just hurt! that first gasp of unfiltered air... phew

[xcqmsr]

you sunshine, you temptress

pairings harry styles x fem!reader

warnings arguing, crying, tiny angst, established relationship, harry calls reader his sunshine, kissing, having kids, english isn’t my first language!

wc 5.4k

Unbelievably quiet day in London. A silence that rarely graced the ever-humming city had fallen like a woolen blanket over the streets. Clouds hung low, heavy and gray, but the air was oddly still—just the occasional lazy breeze that wandered between buildings, shuffling leaves and nudging scarves. That same breeze played mischievously with Harry’s curls, tugging at them like a child seeking attention. He gave an irritated huff, trying to smooth the mess with one hand.

Failing, he pulled his dark blue beanie down over his ears, tucking away the disobedient locks. The beanie was old, the hem stretched and soft from use, but comforting—like armor against the day. His nose, red from the cold, sniffled once as he turned the corner and stepped into Rosie’s Blooms, the familiar bell above the door tinkling softly.

The warmth inside wrapped around him instantly. The sharp but pleasant scent of freshly cut stems, damp earth, and perfume greeted him like a memory. A small heater buzzed faintly from under the counter. Behind it stood Rosie, her face blooming like one of her roses the moment she saw him. Her silvery-white hair was swept into a loose bun, and she wore her usual floral apron covered in smudges of green and pink.

“Oh my sweet child!” she cried, stepping forward slightly, her voice a melodic blend of scolding and affection. “You’ll catch cold wandering out like that with half a scarf and that ridiculous hat. Come now—tea?”

“No, no tea today,” Harry mumbled, offering her a crooked smile. His green eyes, wide and warm even in his embarrassment, met hers for only a moment. “Just… the usual. Please.”

Rosie gave him a knowing look. Her hands were already moving, selecting stems with the grace of a violinist tuning her instrument.

“A fight. Again.”

The words came out barely above a whisper, as if saying them louder would give them more power than he could handle. He looked down at his hands, the cuticles chewed, the fingers still trembling slightly with leftover frustration.

“Mmm,” Rosie murmured, gently snipping a stem. “Same one as last time?”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell again, broken only by the snip of scissors, the soft rustle of petals.

“She thinks I don’t listen. That I disappear into my own head when she needs me present. And maybe she’s right.”

He let out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I get overwhelmed, you know? She says something small and it echoes in my head, gets louder, warps into something else. Then I panic, shut down, say something stupid. Something I don’t mean.”

Rosie looked up from the bouquet and gave him a soft glance, eyes filled with more understanding than words could hold.

“Love’s not easy, Harry. It’s messy. It digs up the worst parts of us, the scared little bits we try to hide. But if it’s real, if it’s worth it—” she tucked a sprig of eucalyptus between the dahlias “—then we fight for it. Not just with flowers, mind you.

He nodded, taking her words like medicine. He remembered the fight in flashes..

Her voice cracking as she said she felt alone, even when he was right there. His silence, colder than any insult. Her walking out of the room, not slamming the door, just quietly closing it. Somehow that hurt more. He hadn’t followed. Not then. Just sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, cursing himself.

And now here he was. Again.

“She likes white tulips,” Harry said suddenly, watching Rosie adjust the arrangement.

“I remember,” Rosie replied with a gentle smile. “Means forgiveness. Good choice.”

He watched as she added three tall tulips, crisp and elegant, among the blooms. There were soft blush roses too—her absolute favorite—and the purple lisianthus she once said reminded her of childhood summers. Rosie’s fingers moved like a weaver, binding not just flowers, but hope.

“You always remember what she likes,” Harry said softly.

“Because you always come back for her.”

He looked at her then. Really looked. She wasn’t just a florist. Not to him. She had become something like a confessor, a constant, someone who understood that flowers weren’t just decoration—they were language, apology, offering.

She wrapped the bouquet in cream paper, tied with a thin lavender ribbon.

“You’ll tell her what’s in your heart this time?”

Harry hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m ready to stop being afraid of being known.”

Rosie passed the bouquet over the counter. “Good. Because I think she’s ready to hear it.”

He left the shop, the cold air brushing his cheeks like a warning, or a push. The weight of the bouquet in his arms felt like carrying something fragile but essential. He decided to take a train. The drive to her flat wasn’t long, but he took his time. With every station, he rehearsed what he’d say—not a perfect speech, just the truth. That he was sorry. That he was trying. That he loved her. When he reached the door, he stood there for a moment. Breathing. The sound of distant traffic hummed behind him, but in his chest, it was quiet. He lifted his hand and knocked. The knock was soft. Too soft. Harry stood there for a second longer, then cleared his throat and raised his hand again, this time letting his knuckles land a little more firmly against the wood. The cold bit at his ears, even under the beanie, but his palms were sweating.

He could hear faint movement inside. A shifting floorboard. A pause. Then the sound of a lock turning. The door opened slowly, no more than a few inches at first. And then there she was.

She didn’t speak. Just stood there in her oversized cardigan—his cardigan, actually, the navy one he always left draped over the arm of the couch. Her hair was pulled back in a loose, tired knot. No makeup, no pretense. Just her.

His Sunshine.

Her gaze dropped to the bouquet in his hands, and something in her expression softened, though her mouth stayed in a line. She stepped back without a word, holding the door wider, a quiet invitation. Harry entered slowly. The hallway smelled like her. Like honey and vanilla and the old wooden floors she refused to replace because she said they had “personality.” He moved past the framed photos, all memories he was a part of: a blurry polaroid of them eating ice cream in winter, a beach trip where the wind had caught her hair just right. A snapshot of her hugging him from behind, his eyes squinting, mid-laugh.

She closed the door behind them. Didn’t speak.

“I brought your favorites,” he said quietly, holding out the bouquet like an offering. His voice cracked.

She took the flowers wordlessly, fingers brushing his for a fleeting second. That single touch nearly buckled his knees.

He followed her into the kitchen, where the kettle was already whistling on the stove. She poured them both a cup without asking—black for him, chamomile for her—and slid one mug across the counter.

Only then did she finally look at him properly.

“So.” Her voice was quiet, but not cold.

Harry blinked. His throat closed for a moment. “So,” he echoed, lamely.

She leaned against the counter, holding the mug close to her chest. “You walked out in the middle of me telling you how I felt.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s not the first time, Harry.”

“I know.”

He put his mug down, untouched. “I panicked. I always panic. It’s not an excuse, I’m just—trying to explain. It’s like I get so scared of saying the wrong thing that I just say nothing. And then that becomes the wrong thing. And I know how it hurts you. I see it. I see your face, and I hate myself for it.”

Her eyes didn’t leave his. “You looked right through me. Like I wasn’t even there.”

His chest ached. “You are always there. You’re the only thing that’s always there. You’re the only thing I look for when everything else is noise.”

Silence.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Carefully, he unfolded it, revealing a messy scrawl of handwriting.

“I wrote this on the train back. I don’t… I’m not good at saying what I mean. But I thought, maybe, if I write it—”

She took the paper gently. Her fingers trembled slightly as she read. It wasn’t long. It didn’t need to be.

“Sunshine,

You deserve someone who doesn’t shut down every time it gets hard. You deserve someone who listens the first time, not after the third fight. I’m not always that person. But I want to be.

I love you. More than I know how to say. I’ll keep trying to be better. I promise I’ll keep trying.

Don’t give up on me yet.

Yours, H.”

When she finished reading, her wide eyes met his again. “I love you too, you idiot,” she said, her voice cracking for the first time. “That’s the problem. That’s why it hurts so much.”

Harry stepped forward. “Can I—?”

She nodded before he could finish the question. He wrapped his arms around her and held her like something precious. She melted into him, arms looping around his waist, face pressed into his chest. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed her in, like oxygen. “I’m scared,” he whispered. “So am I.”

“I’m going to mess up again.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But maybe you’ll mess up a little better next time.” They both laughed, just a little. She pulled back and looked up at him.

“Sit with me?”

“Always.”

They moved to the living room. She curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, and he sat close enough that their knees touched. The bouquet sat in a vase nearby, already looking like it belonged. She toyed with the edge of her sleeve. “You used to call me your Sunshine all the time.” “I still do.” “You haven’t lately.”

He reached out and gently took her hand. “I stopped saying it out loud, but I didn’t stop thinking it. Not for a second.”

She didn’t respond right away. But her hand didn’t pull away either. She squeezed his fingers.

“Tell me why,” she said finally. “Tell me why you love me.”

He blinked, surprised. “You want me to—”

“Yes. Just��� say it. Not in your head. Not on paper.”

So he did.

“I love the way you take your tea like it’s a ritual. The way you can’t pass a dog without greeting it like an old friend. I love that you cry during commercials. I love how you remember birthdays—not just mine, but Rosie’s, and my cousin’s, and that grumpy neighbor from three flats down.”

She was smiling now, eyes wide and wet.

“I love the way your hands shake when you’re angry. I love that you always pick the ugliest wrapping paper because you say ‘no one wants a gift to look intimidating.’ I love how your laugh sounds when you’re not trying to hide it.”

He leaned in. “I love that even when you’re mad at me—even when I deserve it—you still make me tea. You still wait for me to come home.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and he wiped one away with his thumb.

“You’re my Sunshine,” he whispered. “Even when I’m the storm.”

She didn’t say anything, not for a long time. She just looked at him like she was trying to memorize the moment.

Then she kissed him.

Soft. Long. Forgiving.

When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his.

“You’re not easy to love,” she said gently. “But neither am I. So maybe we make it work by not giving up on each other.”

Harry nodded. “Deal.”

She got up and fetched a blanket from the armchair, then returned to the couch and nestled into his side, pulling the blanket over them both. He wrapped his arms around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder. They sat there in the hush of their little flat, the city muffled outside, the bouquet fresh and full on the table. The tea cooled. The silence no longer felt like a punishment, but a peace.

Eventually, she spoke again. “You’re staying tonight.” It wasn’t a question. He kissed the top of her head. “I never wanted to leave.” She smiled, eyes closed. “Then don’t.”

It had been eleven months and thirteen days since Harry had knocked on her door with a bouquet in hand and fear in his chest. Since then, he had knocked in many other ways—small gestures, gentle questions, staying when it was easier to leave. And she had opened the door every time.

They had learned each other’s silences.

They had also learned that love didn’t mean never raising your voice. It meant raising it and still sitting down to dinner after. It meant apologizing—not just once, but every time it mattered.

Now, the quiet between them was safe. It didn’t carry weight. It allowed space.

On an early Sunday morning, with sunlight leaking across the bedroom floor like spilled honey, Harry woke before her. He always did, now. She liked to sleep in, curled around one of the throw pillows, her breathing deep and even. He had once told her she looked like a painting then—untouchable, timeless—and she had laughed, then kissed his forehead and said, “Stop being poetic and bring me coffee.”

Today, he didn’t bring coffee.

He just watched her. Her hair spread out on the pillow. That little line between her brows that always softened when she dreamed. Her wide eyes were closed, but he could still see every memory they held.

They had moved in together in April, after weeks of casually forgetting to leave each other’s flats. A plant here. A sweater there. Eventually, Harry had brought over his books and said, “So, should I just… stop pretending I live somewhere else?”

She’d only nodded and handed him a drawer.

———

Now, their flat was filled with mismatched mugs, framed movie posters, and soft blankets she insisted he didn’t need but secretly loved. The coffee table still had that dent from the time they tried to assemble a bookshelf while drinking wine. Neither of them had the heart to replace it.

He shifted slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. She stirred.

“Mm. What time is it?”

“Too early for real humans.”

“Mmmph,” she muttered, burrowing into the pillow. “You’re a menace.”

He smiled. “I know. Want coffee?”

“Only if you deliver it with a kiss.”

“I was planning to do that anyway.”

Later, after breakfast—eggs slightly overcooked, toast a bit burnt but enthusiastically buttered—they sat on the fire escape with their mugs. The city moved gently around them, like a cat stretching in sun. Pigeons waddled across the roof nearby. A child laughed somewhere down the block.

Harry nudged her foot with his.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous,” she teased, sipping her coffee.

He grinned. “Yeah. Still. I’ve been thinking… we’re good, right?”

She looked at him, really looked. Not just at his face, but into it. His eyes still held the same green warmth, the same flicker of self-doubt. But there was something steadier now, too.

“We’re better than good,” she said softly.

“I still think about that night.”

She nodded. “Me too.”

“I think about how close I came to screwing it all up.”

“You did screw it up,” she said with a smile. “But you fixed it.”

“I’m going to mess up again. Eventually.”

“I know,” she said. “So will I.”

There was a pause, not awkward but sacred.

“I’m not scared like I used to be,” he added. “Of being known.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “That’s what love does. It drags you into the light.”

They stayed there a while, the city humming gently around them.

———

But of course, life isn’t just lazy Sundays and kisses over toast. Three months later, they fought again. It was stupid. It always was. A forgotten dinner plan. A careless joke. A tired comment. This time, it hit differently. He had been working late. She had been waiting. And when he came home, phone dead, her face was pale and furious.

“You said you’d be home by eight.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I lost track of time—”

“You always lose track of time, Harry. You lose track of me.”

That did it. Something flared inside him, old and defensive.

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is sitting at a table for an hour, checking my phone every five minutes like an idiot.”

Her voice broke at the end, and it felt like being stabbed with a spoon: dull but deep. He wanted to defend himself. To tell her she was overreacting. That he had work. That he was trying. But instead, he took a breath. A slow, painful breath.

“I should’ve called,” he said. “Even just a text. I’m sorry.”

She blinked. Surprised.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he added. “You waited for me, and I didn’t show up. I get it. That sucks.” The anger in her face melted into hurt, then into something softer.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For not making me feel crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” he said. “You’re just in love with someone who sometimes disappears in his own head.” She walked over and wrapped her arms around him, forehead pressed to his chest.

“Don’t disappear,” she whispered.

“I won’t. Not again.” They held each other. No one said anything for a long time. Eventually, he pulled back and looked at her.

“I’ve got something,” he said, fumbling in his pocket. She raised an eyebrow. “If this is a snack, I forgive you forever.”

He laughed nervously.

It wasn’t a snack.

It was a small box.

Not velvet. Not perfect. But very, very Harry.

Her wide eyes locked onto his, and suddenly the air went still.

“I’m not asking now,” he said quickly. “I just… I wanted to show you. That I’m thinking about it. That I’m not going anywhere.” She stared at the box, then at him. Her mouth parted slightly, and her eyes shimmered.

“You’re serious?”

“I’ve never been more.”

She took the box, didn’t open it. Just held it close.

“Okay,” she said, voice shaking.

“Okay?”

She smiled. “Ask me when it’s raining. You know I love the rain.”

“Deal,” he whispered.

And just like that, they were them again.

———

It was raining on a Tuesday. Not the kind of soft drizzle that painted windows, but the full-hearted kind that danced on rooftops and overflowed gutters. Sunshine had always said it was her favorite weather—“the world washing itself clean,” she once called it. Harry stood under the awning of their corner café, holding a paper bag with two still-warm pastries and a takeaway coffee that was already beginning to cool in his hand. He watched the raindrops splatter against the sidewalk, his thumb running over the edge of the small box in his coat pocket. She was late. Not unusually so—she got distracted by bookstores, pigeons, buskers. Life itself. That’s what he loved about her. He didn’t plan to do it today. He had imagined candles or a violinist. Maybe even a beach trip. But now, watching the storm rage on and feeling that ache in his chest, he couldn’t wait anymore. She came into view through the blur of falling water. Hair drenched, cardigan clinging to her frame, cheeks flushed. She ran the last few feet and ducked under the awning with a breathless laugh.

“You’re soaked,” Harry said.

“So are you.”

“Not as beautifully.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop flirting with me, I’m a taken woman.”

“Are you?”

She looked up. Confused, then curious.

Harry pulled the box from his pocket and got down on one knee—still under the awning, but the wetness of the rain found his knees anyway.

She gasped. Hands to her face. Tears already mixing with raindrops on her cheeks.

“I love you in every storm,” he said. “Every fight, every silence, every morning-after. I love you in the quiet. I love you in the thunder. And I want to love you for every tomorrow I’m lucky enough to get.”

He opened the box.

“So,” he whispered. “Will you be my forever Sunshine?”

She couldn’t speak at first. Just nodded. And then, “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

He slid the ring on her finger, and she tackled him in a hug so forceful they both ended up in the rain, soaked to the skin and laughing. He kissed her like they hadn’t already lived a hundred lifetimes together. And in that kiss, they wrote the first word of their forever.

___

Mornings in the house were loud before they were bright.

It usually started with Theo—now seven—thudding down the hall like a boy with very important missions. Today, it was “rescuing” his stuffed astronaut from under the couch, where it had fallen during a daring space mission the night before. Rowan, five and full of opinions, followed closely behind with a superhero cape and a suspiciously sticky face. He believed in dragons, didn’t trust cucumbers, and routinely tried to convince June to call him “Captain Danger. June, now two, was the chaos personified. A tiny hurricane in mismatched socks, she could destroy a bookshelf in 30 seconds and had the most angelic laugh doing it. Her vocabulary included “no,” “mine,” and “more toast,” with equal intensity. Harry stood in the kitchen, hair messy, making pancakes with one hand and pouring orange juice with the other. Sunshine leaned against the counter, sipping coffee, smiling at the controlled madness. The radio played quietly in the background, some old jazz tune that Harry swore they danced to once in Paris.

“Dad, Rowan said I can’t be on the moon crew!” Theo shouted from the living room.

“You ate the moon, Theo!” Rowan shouted back.

“I was hungry!”

His sunshine sighed into her mug. “You get Theo, I’ll get Rowan.”

“Deal.”

They moved through their morning choreography with a grace that only came from years of repetition and love. Breakfast, lost socks, forgotten library books. Kisses on foreheads. Hairbrushes wrestling with curls. Juice spills. Laughter. Screams. Apologies. Do-overs. Sometimes, Harry stood in the hallway and just watched it all—like a man seeing color for the first time. Later that day, while June napped and the boys built a fort out of blankets and ambition, Sunshine found Harry on the back steps, sketching in a notebook.

He looked up. “I drew the house again.”

“You always draw the house.”

“I like drawing what I never thought I’d have.”

She sat beside him, legs tucked under herself. “It’s messy.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

They didn’t speak for a while. The sun dipped low, and the shadows of the trees danced across the yard. Inside, the boys’ fort collapsed, followed by laughter. June stirred on the baby monitor, murmuring nonsense in her sleep.

Sunshine smiled. “We did okay, didn’t we?”

Harry looked at her. At the lines by her eyes that hadn’t been there ten years ago. At the strength in her. The grace.

“We did better than okay,” he said. “We made a universe.”

———

Years passed.

The boys grew taller. Their shoes got bigger. Theo became quiet and thoughtful, always with a book or sketchpad in hand. Rowan stayed bold and loud, but grew gentler in the way he held his little sister’s hand when she was scared. June grew up fast. Too fast. She wore her mother’s old cardigans, her father’s smile. She sang to herself in the garden and kept a diary full of little poems.

And then one day, the house was quiet again.

Theo left first—for university, then a gap year in Japan. Rowan went a year later, chasing music and something wild in his bones. June lingered, the last flicker of childhood in the halls, before she, too, packed a suitcase and kissed them both goodbye at the train station. Harry and Sunshine stood on the platform holding hands, watching their youngest daughter wave from the window. When the train disappeared around the bend, Sunshine whispered, “It’s quiet again.” Harry kissed her temple. “But not empty.”

———

They bought the cottage a year later.

Tucked in the countryside, it had ivy on the walls and windows that caught the golden light just right. The garden was overgrown when they moved in, but Sunshine loved the wildness of it. “It feels honest,” she said. Inside, it smelled of lavender and old wood. The fireplace crackled in the evenings, and the bookshelves groaned with their history. Every corner was filled with something from their life together—a framed drawing Theo made at ten, Rowan’s first guitar, one of June’s early poems scrawled in blue ink and pinned to the fridge. There was a bench out front, just under the tree that bloomed too early each spring. Harry sat there most mornings with his coffee, wrapped in a sweater Sunshine had knitted years ago. She would join him soon after, bringing a second mug and a knowing smile. One morning, he looked over at her as she read her book, feet tucked under her, glasses sliding down her nose.

“Do you remember the rainy day?”

She looked up. “Which one?”

“The one with the pastries. The one where I finally asked.”

She laughed softly. “You were so nervous.”

“I still am.”

She reached out and took his hand.

“You don’t need to ask anymore,” she whispered. “You already have everything you need.”

They sat in silence for a while. Birds chirped. A breeze rustled the leaves.

Eventually, she rested her head on his shoulder.

“You know,” she said sleepily, “one day the kids will bring their kids here. This house is going to hold so many more stories.”

Harry smiled, eyes wet.

“I hope they find the love in the walls.”

“They will,” she whispered. “It’s in everything.”

———

When the world slowed even more, when days passed with the rhythm of the wind and evenings melted into starlight, Harry and Sunshine stayed side by side—just as they always had. He never stopped calling her Sunshine. And even in the quietest moments, when no one else was around, he would still reach for her hand and whisper,

“You’re still my favorite forever.”

And she would answer, always,

“I was yours before you even asked.”

[writereleaserepeat]

Took a walk out in the -10F (around -30F with windchill) and got so many whumpy ideas... frostbite and hypothermia my beloved.

[dcxdpdabbles]

So I had an idea for a snippet series if your interested🫣

Danny is actually Bruce's brother, but nobody knows until they meet him, when he comes to Gotham to create music videos for his song series EPIC. (Through a combination of his Space obsession and his mentoring with Pandora Danny gets hyper fixated on Greek mythology) (I can see him going throughout the DCU for each Saga and Gotham would definitely be the Underworlds Saga)(They only know about him because Diana becomes interested)

Btw ABSOLUTELY LOVE your stories, they make slogging through my Christmas MET at work SO much easier. 🫶🏻

That man has his mother's face.

It's an odd thought to have about a stranger, but Bruce has it all the same. He spotted him after noticing the other man setting up some recording equipment, checking the camera with the same smile his mother used to make whenever she was writing songs at her piano.

It was the kind of smile that hid a smirk in the corners of her lip. Like she already knew that she captured Bruce's and Thomas' attention simply by approaching the piano bench. It was her special talent that she was willing to gift to them, one they loved dearly and she knew it.

Martha Wayne wasn't known for her musical talent, not in the way she was known for her charities or her horrific death. People always talked about her in those two ways, or sometimes, they reduced her to just Thomas Wayne's wife.

None of them knew of the hours she spent writing up songs about her life. The way she told stories with lyrics, and how Bruce knew how his parents met, their first date, their first kiss, and the feeling of their first dance, all within one of his first lullabies. She hummed mindlessly throughout her day, so much so that Bruce often figured out her mood by the way she raised or lowered her hums.

It was her own piece of theme music. Her little touch of love echoed throughout the manor. When she died, Bruce realized how loud silence could actually be. It felt like drowning, that silence, and no amount filter noise could ever save him from it.

It wasn't until he took in Dick, who has a habit of beating his hands against items in makeshift drums, did his drowning finally end. Even if his son is tune deaf.

In fact, none of his kids are talented in singing, not even Damian. It wasn't a bad thing, but sometimes he wished one of the children could join him in his mother's duets. The ones she wrote for Thomas (his father wasn't the best singer around but Mom always had a way of masking that with her melodies) , and the ones she wrote for Bruce.

She even wrote some songs she wanted to sing at Bruce's wedding, always talking about it, never being too early to have the perfect song for his perfect dance. They were all half finished, because she got distracted and figured she would have time before Bruce actually needed them.

He kept her songs and her music sheets, tucked away in his office behind a fire proof vault. Sometimes he would pull them out and attempt to sing them.

Bruce knows he has an amazing voice, has had multiple people burst into tears after hearing him, but he could never bring himself to partake too long in each song. It hurt too much to think of his mother.

How she sounded better them him, and how he could not remember her speaking voice, but at least her singing lived on in his memories.

The man finishes setting up, moving to stand in front of the camera. He offers the curious crowd a slight wave- he's behind some ropes with a permit hanging off of it, permitting his shoot. The official setup and the strange outfit- robes and a white sheer clothe around his eyes- has gotten the attention of walkbyers. It's why Bruce had looked as well.

He shakes his whole body, before he taps the microphone he has on his scarf. It's adjusted so it's hidden behind cloth, before the man climbs onto the rock statues that are designed to resemble a human skull, it was one of Gotham's oldest and most famous works of art. He sits inside the hole of the skull's left eye, draping himself dramatically on the ledge of it while dangling a leg and facing away from the cameras.

A murmur goes through the crowd, mostly appreciative of his pose and physique. A couple of teenage girls beside him giggle helplessly as the music feels the air.

It's a soft pick up of strings, piano, and it blends well with the man's voice as he gracefully moves his hand through the air, speaking about a prophet giving a warning of a future.

Bruce is mesmerized as the man's voice rises and falls, swaying in the skull. He carefully tilts his head towards the camera, his singing voice rising as the more emotions carefully blend into his warning.

By the chorus, the singer lets himself fall gracefully out of the skull, walking slowly towards the camera, speaking now of a castle in red, and his face slowly gaining more urgency.

Just as he leans into the camera, he spins on his heel repeating the same prophecy, a gripping tragedy of overcoming trails and still failing. It's ends with the man leaping back into his eye, slowly untying his blindfold to reveal glowing green eyes staring and reaching as if the sky was the future he spoke off.

It must be contacts, and yet, Bruce feels like someone kicked him in the chest. Those were his mother's eyes, the same shape and the same color, even if they had a special effect. The song ends with a choir of people singing as he bows his head but Bruce doesn't hear anything over the sound of blood rushing his ears.

The crowd goes wild, clapping and cheering as the man breaks character to grin and smile at everyone, taking some cheeky bows. His mother's hidden kiss and sparkling eyes dancing with the warmth he remembers her by.

Without really realizing it, Bruce steps over the rope, walking towards the stranger as if in a trance. The singer spots him, smiling, dropping as Bruce gets near, "Hey, I rented this area for recording. You have to get behind the rope-"

"Who are you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Who are you. Why do you look like her?" Bruce breaths more then asks as he pulls out a photo of his mother from his pocket. The man's glowing green eyes- and now that he's close enough, Bruce can tell they are contacts, can see the slight ring around his pupils- blink slowly.

"Wow, she's a female version of me." The man gasps, touching his own face as if he could feel the similarities through his fingers. Holding out the picture makes this so much more uncanny, because the man's effeminate features and age almost makes it seem like Martha Wayne has come back to life.

"She was my mother." Bruce realized with a jolt that they are both at the age his mother died, and it makes something cold settle in his chest as the man blinks up at him.

"Were you ever adopted? My birth parents gave me up when I was born because of some twin superstition. At least that's what my adoptive parents said. I never bothered looking for them. All I know was that her first name was Martha."

Bruce steals some hair to confirm it but he knows deep in his heart the answer long before Danny Fenton, inspiring musical writer, test results come back.

This is his twin his parents gave up.

It takes months of investigation before he finds a centuries-old contract. The Wayne's had long ago promised the Court of Owls the spare of any twin born into the family, and to protect Danny from such a fate, Martha and Thomas faked his death and gave him away the day he was born.

His mother's song, "My lost little song," finally makes sense. She always cried when she sang that song.

[queenendless]

YOU FOUND ME

A/n: THNX U ALL FOR GETTING THIS SIDE BLOG TO OVER 800 FOLLOWERS! ♥︎

Credit to @livviespixels for these graphics. I need banners, art, fanart, fanfics, and MORE for our beloved Shadow Lord PRONTO PEOPLE!

I adore this man. So damn much. But I've been all over the place. GlimmerFics but imma take a break from writing there especially cause I get emotionally crying over Jinwoo for weeks now, moody over ZZZ gacha troubles and now that's P5X. So sorry for being gone for over a month and if this fic ain't that good for my Shadowlord's greatness.

CW: Self awareness AU brief/implied. Personal issues I've dealt with this past month like emotional depression, gut pains, etc. Tickle fluff, a bit of angst, hurt/comfort.

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGARIZE, EDIT, TRANSLATE AND/OR USE FOR AI. Rather reblog, like and follow thnx u very much.

Another insomnia fueled night.

Grinding through the newest hit game that everyone has been raving about.

On your laptop, resting on the kitchen chair, as you lay on your family living room couch, earphones plugged in as you toiled away the dead of night while the rest of your relatives sleep.

Despite having made many friends and some hateful choices along the way, your selfish bias had you pining for one character in particular.

Whether as a horned skulled creature composed of human and animal bones and shadows or as a emo human twink with a passion for the role, you adore this entity. This cool dork. Your beloved Shadow Lord; Skips Shadley.

Besides, the voice sold you on the character. That particular range, richness, versatility, whether gruff and theatrical or gentle and soothing.

Unbeknownst to you, the metas this game has pulled is about to take another big leap. So you thought it was all just a dream, believing you had conked out on the couch in the midst of playing.

Betty was used to your night owl habits so she still missed you sleeping at night with her like the old days. But she appreciated it when you return to her as you sleep through the day.

You could have sought out Farya; the first aid expert might be able to treat your flared up nerve damaged limbs that could involve improving your circulation. But you doubted it, your own personal ailments being incurable.

Gaia was understanding of how you kept coming to the corner of the house most of all to see the evident shadow beneath her stand, but is appreciative of you eventually befriending her, even more because she in a sense kept watch over your favorite house dweller.

Despite the Dateviators technically being on to allow you to be able to interact with these dateable objects and concepts, you didn't feel anything on your face as you were endearingly wrapped up in the familiar cozy darkness. The sight of your chosen lover appears out of the endless dark of his domain, making himself quite visible.

"Welcome back, my dear —!" He cut himself off as he looked at you like he's seeing you for the first time. His charcoal pupils lost in a daze. His glowing yellow blush dusting his face. "You ... you're here."

That's when he noticed the emotional distress on your face as your hands press to your chest and belly, pain evident, snapping him out of it. "Penumbra? What's wrong? What happened?!"

His panic and concern layered with tenderness as he hurries over makes your heart flutter, his misty back length hair sentient as he curtains both sides of you, his moonlight glowing hands carefully raking over your form to find any sorts of physical injuries on you.

"My chest, my stomach, my gut - especially my gut - dull flares of pain! I've been emotionally overwhelmed for weeks now. Am I eating too much? Been drinking coffee a lot too. They say bad sleep can cause gut issues. Or is it just that I'm getting older now? I don't fucking know anymore!" Your blubbering puffy self, wallowing in misery, crumbled apart in Skips' startled, anxious grasp.

"Please don't cry. Pretty please?" Your sniffles smother his chest, his smoky gray scarf he uses to dab your face with, not minding it getting soiled, easily able to clean them out since his attire is composed out of darkness itself. He pat and rubbed your back in gentle circular motions, letting you get out all those pent up emotions, nuzzling his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. "There there, angel~ I've got you."

"I'd rather be a shadow at this rate!" The sudden mood shift created from your moody words had Skips looking downtrodden, his eyes hidden underneath his wispy hair, reminding him of his failed ritual in reconfiguring you. You're the one panicked now. "I'm sorry beloved. I didn't mean to — !"

"Oh really now?" That ominous tone he took gave you goosebumps; that mischievous gleam in his eyes peeking out between his wisps. "Such a particular choice of words there, my dark ally~"

His shadows envelop you as he laid you down on plush comfy padding on his floor. He morphs into his alternate monster form. His towering frame envelops your sensitive teary-eyed self, his gruff rough voice seeped with mischief. "Hmm, perhaps I can remedy this dastardly situation."

The gentle yet thorough examination his giant clawed hands gives your vulnerable body leaves you feeling giddy as you giggle and squirm in his hold. "Nohoho stahahahp~! I'm so ticklihihish~!"

"That's the whole point, love. My punishment for your choice of words is most merciful, most bountiful, and most enjoyable~! Fwa hah haha!" His gravelly, wicked cackling only adds to his tickling more.

Pinned in between his arms, he keeps you caged between the puffy floor and his boney shadow form. Squeezing and pinching your hips, kneading and rubbing both sides of your folded belly, wiggling his lone curled claw along your neck and underneath your chin.

His careful tender touch leaves your heart quaking and your nerves firing. Your upper body quakes and your legs kick out underneath him as your laughs raise a pitch higher.

“That's it, my cute penumbra. Let all your unbridled energies spill out. Become untethered and enter the void~!" His spooky drawl got a watery chortle out of you amidst your squeamish state as his boney snout nuzzles your flushed smiling face.

Despite the predicament you're currently in, you hadn't remembered the last time you laughed. Days came and went in depressing sobbing episodes. It felt so long since you last felt elated. Could that be why he's doing this?

"To bare witness to the sight of you in the flesh ... your adorable real self~ I'm honored." His deep voice rumbles richly, his crinkled eyes sockets bore into your squeezed shut eyelids, his curling grin with boney teeth grows to match your own.

His words are nearly lost on you through the tingling, overwhelming high. All of him gets to you. His attention, his touch, both sides to him, you thrived off it all.

He releases you after a bit longer, letting you breathe, ghostly tickles still racking your curled up form as tired giggles slip out of you. His form reverted back to his human coil, brushing your hair away from your face, cradling your bright warm cheek, doting pecks on the tip of your nose, in between your brows, your forehead.

"I enjoy tickling your heart quite fiercely, my dear human. Especially if it helps you smile again." His shadows returned, this time however, to massage and caress your abdomen, your hips, your chest. Working out the stiff kinks. "To think this is how I'm actually seeing you for the first time."

You finally had your head clear from the ticklish overlay, finally able to ask about it between your pleased sighs and thankful hums. "What are you talking about?"

"I've always seen you on the other side of the screen whenever you play the game. So how ... how are you are here? Then again, lots of weirder shit goes on in this house so this shouldn't be so surprising. But even so," His yellow blushed paired with his lovesick smile made your toes curl and your heart race. "I'm actually meeting you face to face. And you're lovely."

You flush bashfully as he cradles you in his arms now, having you draped over his lap as you play with his scarf and his long shadowy hairlocks tickle your face when you decide to get it all off your chest.

"I'm so tired, Skips. Of feeling all this pain. Of being alone. Of not having anything worth living for back home. I don't want this to be a dream. I don't want to go back either. I want to stay here. I want you. If I have to Realize you to make you human so we can be together, I'll do it." Your rambled words seep with worry, anxiety, hope and need.

"I'm all too familiar with the negative nosedives." His own face nuzzles yours, his arms embrace you, holding onto you, both of you serving as each other's anchor. "You've accepted my true self. You chose me ... all of me. How could I not accept all of you in return?"

His whole being envelop you, submerging you in that tingly cozy warmth that soothes away the cramps, the dull aches within, and the emotional weight that pooled in your mind and your heart. "I'd be honored if you do Realize me. Being human with you, seeing this world for ourselves, or even just staying here in this house together, I want to be with you too, more than anything."

His shadows formed pillows and comfy bedding, laying you down with him joining you, facing you, but keeping you in his arms still. "Until then, you can sleep during the day and I'll watch over you until we can hang out at night. I'll make sure the silverfish don't bother you when you're sleeping."

Your eyes ripple up at him, swelling with hope. "Really?"

He blushed harder, smile dopey like, as his nose brushes yours. "You're a denizen of my realm now. And the Shadow Lord treats his darling penumbra with the most endearment."

You melt in his grasp, taking in his scent, relishing being in his grasp. "Thank you." His darkness made you feel so safe, easing down your sleep anxieties, nuzzling his chest in response to that. "I'll think of you always throughout my days." When you sleep through the daytime, dreaming of seeing him again.

"And I of you, through and beyond my nights." He followed you up, repeating your love lines to each other, humming deeply at how perfect. "Is it alright if I call you by your real name too?" Your sweet nod, your gentle whispering close to his face, made it all the more sweeter when he spoke your name at last with his cute smile. "Y/n L/n. You've made me the happiest I've been in a long time."

"And so have you." Your arms hugged his slim waist, your knees brush his peeking through his ripped tight pants, and your feet brushed his black boots. You just can't get enough of him. He is really truly yours.

"I love you, my beloved dummy."

"I love you too, my angelic dork."

And you're his. You're the Shadow Lord's now. Sharing a kiss or two ... or many pecks and hips and smooches as his shadows keep you both comfy as you two curled up together, intimacy setting the mood.

You'd take his loving darkness over the lonely light, always.

[poutysprouty]

Best Friend!Gojo

He inherited an empire built on power, wealth, and success, but you were always his crown—his greatest treasure. From the moment you became friends, he knew you were the only thing that made it all worth it. Nothing meant anything to him without you by his side. — In which reader has been Gojo's other half since high school.

warnings: Tooth rotting fluff. Gojo is now, and always has been, a menace.

a/n: Loosely inspired by all of the Nerdjo & College JJK AU's I've been seeing and consuming like they're the last food I'll ever eat in my life. I have ideas for some Sukuna ones next <3

Best Friend!Gojo who you’ve known since high school. Appropriately nicknamed “The Chaos Twins”, the two of you were always feeding off each other’s energy, causing trouble just because you could. 

Best Friend!Gojo who was the de-facto ringleader of your little duo, but everyone knew that you were the true mastermind—and the only one who could knock him down a peg when needed. Much to Geto and Nanami’s eternal suffering.

Best Friend!Gojo who realized in Junior year that he had a little crush on you. Watching you giggle, eyes alight with mischief as he helped you set up a prank for Yaga, he suddenly saw you in a different light—beautiful, brilliant, and so effortlessly you. Perfect for him in every way.

Best Friend!Gojo who felt his heart drop out of his ass when, in Senior year, you listed the colleges you were applying to, not a single one matching the Ivy League he had already been accepted into. The same one his father and grandfather had attended, the one he had assumed you’d be right there with him at.

Best Friend!Gojo who quite literally dropped to his knees and hugged your legs, dramatically begging you to apply to his school, only for you to sigh and murmur, “I won’t get in even if I tried.” It was one of the few times he’d ever heard you sound defeated, your fingers brushing through his hair like you already knew the outcome.

Best Friend!Gojo who refused to accept that, who convinced you to apply anyway, helping you with the entire process, flashing that smug grin and saying, “It doesn’t hurt to try.”

Best Friend!Gojo who was the first person you told when the acceptance letter arrived, who pulled you into the tightest hug, grinning like a fool, promising to take you out to celebrate.

Best Friend!Gojo who had a stupid, lovedrunk smile on his face, watching you scarf down fries in the passenger seat of his expensive sports car in the parking lot of some random fast food place that you loved, utterly satisfied while half-listening to you ramble on and on about how excited you were, because he’d made sure to pull some strings to make sure you got in, no matter what. Your place was beside him, always.

Best Friend!Gojo who made it his mission to be in all your classes in college, flashing that smug grin as he slid into the seat next to you like it was his birthright. In his mind, it was.

Best Friend!Gojo who was in your dorm more often than he was in his own, to the point you suggested the two of you look into student housing off campus together once you were eligible.

Best Friend!Gojo who dragged you to every party, claiming it was networking while you side-eyed him over your drink.

Best Friend!Gojo who had plenty of girls fawning over him, ready to do whatever he asked, but he only had eyes for you. And any time the two of you separated and another guy came up to chat with you? He was always reappearing by your side, as if he could sense some terrible disturbance in the world, scaring the poor guy off with a steely glare you had never seen him use on anybody else.

Best Friend!Gojo who helped you cram for exams, bribing you with your favorite snacks, only to fall asleep on your notes while you actually studied.

Best Friend!Gojo who, one late night in your dorm, finally blurted out, “I like you. Like, like you.” His usual confidence wavered just slightly, eyes searching yours for any hint of rejection.

Best Friend!Gojo who barely had a second to process before you smacked his arm, exasperated. “It took you long enough!”

Best Friend!Gojo who blinked, then laughed, bright and unfiltered, pulling you in by the waist and kissing you like he should have years ago.

Best Friend!Gojo who spent the rest of college by your side, making sure everyone knew exactly who you belonged to.

Best Friend!Gojo who swore up and down that you had to graduate together, refusing to let you slack off or fall behind—not that you would have anyway. He made it his personal mission to match your efforts, pushing himself just as hard as he pushed you.

Best Friend!Gojo who grinned ear to ear when your names were called, the two of you standing at the very top of your class, like he always knew you would.

Best Friend!Gojo who, the moment he got his diploma, grabbed you right there on stage, dipping you dramatically before crashing his lips against yours in front of everyone. The crowd went wild. The professors sighed. 

Best Friend!Gojo who only pulled away to smirk and say, “Had to make it official, sweets.” As if it weren't already official enough.

Best Friend!Gojo who, two years after college, dragged you on a spontaneous trip to Santorini, claiming he just needed a break from corporate nonsense; but you had a feeling something was up.

Best Friend!Gojo who, at sunset, stood with you on the beach overlooking the sea, fidgeting with something in his pocket, uncharacteristically quiet for once.

Best Friend!Gojo who suddenly dropped to one knee, pulling out a ring that sparkled almost as much as his eyes did when he looked at you.

Best Friend!Gojo who grinned up at you and said, “Took me long enough, huh?”

Best Friend!Gojo who barely got a chance to hear your answer before you tackled him into the sand, kissing him breathlessly, murmuring “About damn time.”

Best Friend!Gojo who planned the most extravagant wedding imaginable—but the only part that mattered to him was you, standing at the altar, saying yes.

Best Friend!Gojo who dipped you just like he did at graduation, kissing you like the world was watching.

Best Friend!Gojo who, years later, would still introduced you as “my wife” with the biggest, cockiest grin, like he had won the ultimate prize. And to him, he had.

Best Friend!Gojo who, only 3 years after he married you, sat at the head of his father’s company, grinning like he owned the world—because, well, he practically did.

Best Friend!Gojo who made damn sure you were right there with him, offering you a top position without hesitation. None of it mattered to him without you.

Best Friend!Gojo who strolled into your office, hands in his pockets, tilting his head as he smirked. “Told you we’d rule the world together.”

[h0useslut]

my little dove, why do you cry? ⋆.˚

requests | masterlist

pairing : spencer reid x fem! bau! reader

w/c : 1,7k

warnings : grief, death of a major character (will lamontagne), 18x03 spoilers, funeral scene, hurt/comfort, crying, implied past abandonment, mention of migraines, mild angst with comfort

summary : spencer returns for will’s funeral, seeing reader at her most vulnerable. grief has its cracks. and maybe, he’s ready to stay with her this time.

a/n : i missed spencer reid. therefore, i wrote another angsty fic!

The funeral had a brutality of its own. The entire scene of Will dying was surreal to most of you - let alone JJ.

You tried to stay strong because you shouldn’t have been the one to break, cry, and mourn someone you weren’t that close to. Being there for JJ came first.

But seeing your friend shattered, crying when she gave the eulogy… The tears you’d swallowed down were making it hard for you to breathe.

Spencer watched you, from the corner of his eye— struggling to look composed, and serious. He knew you all too well.

You hadn’t been long with the BAU when Spencer left the team. It was a sabbatical first, then another… and then he was gone. No proper goodbye, nothing. Just a vague promise to keep in touch that faded before it even began.

Something between you had sparked. You weren’t delusional. The quiet conversations in the break room, eyes that lingered too long… You reminded him of himself in some way - quietly observant, always watching the room instead of taking up space in it. And he just couldn’t stay away.

You understood why he didn’t keep in touch. You did. You didn’t blame him, or hold any grudges against him. But it still hurt, it still made your chest ache when you thought of what could’ve been.

Now, watching your closest friend sobbing over her loss - over a love she lost, you couldn’t help but wonder if your grief had roots deeper than death.

You could feel him behind you, feel his eyes digging holes into you. You knew better than to hold back in front of him.

The service blurred around you, faces and voices melting into static. Your head throbbed with the ongoing migraine you had, making it harder to focus on what was happening. Grief has a way of finding all the cracks in you and widening them.

You slipped out as soon as it ended. You needed air.

The hallway was empty, quiet. A moment of stillness after the storm. You barely heard the footsteps behind you, until his large frame came into your sight.

Spencer.

He hadn’t aged at all. His eyes had the same soft look, his brown hair still tousled like he’d just woken up. The purple scarf around his neck made you feel nostalgic— like a glimpse into a version of him you hadn’t seen in years.

Your chest hurt too much.

“Hey,” He said softly.

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed with confusion? hurt? Even he couldn’t decipher it. But he definitely knew you were hurting.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Are any of us, really?” you said in a broken voice. He knew you’d say this.

Spencer knew you had a habit of deflecting your pain, of minimising it so you could stay strong for the others. You didn’t have to stay strong for him, though.

He didn’t answer you at first. Instead, he glanced around, and without a word, he guided you into a small, empty room off the main hall. A quiet and sunlit place that smelled faintly of old flowers and wood polish.

“I know you think you have to be strong all the time. But you don’t have to be. Especially not in front of me, sweetheart” He spoke, gently and kindly. Just like he always spoke to you.

The endearment did it for you. The tears you’d struggled to hide made your vision blurry, and you hid your face in your hands.

He didn’t say anything else right away. He simply stepped closer, and when you didn’t pull away he brought you into his arms. Carefully, like you were something delicate.

You sank into him without hesitation.

The feeling of being wrapped around him— his warmth, his scent… It was all familiar. Maybe too familiar. It made everything crack at once.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there” He whispered, his hand coming to card through your hair. “I should’ve… I should’ve said goodbye. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Your throat felt too tight to answer. You stayed in his arms, body trembling with suppressed sobs. Instead, your hands came to grip the lapel of his coat, clutching at the fabric right where that familiar scarf rested, the one you’d spent far too many nights missing.

“Shh, I’ve got you” he murmured, gently rocking you. Like it was second nature. Like he’d done this before. Or more correctly, like he wished he had done this more often.

You felt it in the way his chin dipped against your temple, the way his hands moved in slow, steady circles across your back. He didn’t flinch when your sobs grew messier. He held you through it, every broken sound met with silence and softness.

His lips grazed your forehead, lingering there before pressing a soothing kiss. In his arms, you felt small—like all the overwhelming sensations from the day were crashing down on you.

When you calmed down a little, Spencer pulled back slightly, just enough so he could hold your face in his hands. His fingers wiped leftover tears from your eyes, handling you with the utmost care.

“Let’s get you home, okay sweetheart?”

You barely nodded, just needing to rest for a moment. He guided you out of the room, his hand resting on your lower back as he led you down the quiet hallway. Outside, the cool air hit your face, but Spencer’s presence was the warmth you clung to.

His car was parked just a few steps away, and without a word, he opened the passenger door for you, waiting till you were settled to slip into the driver's seat. The silence between you wasn’t empty - it was filled with unspoken words, memories, and feelings too heavy to voice just yet.

As he started the engine, he couldn’t help but glance at you every once in a while, his hand finding yours and threading your fingers easily. You looked over to meet his gaze, silent tears falling down your cheeks.

For a moment, the world outside disappeared.

The car pulled up in front of your apartment, and Spencer turned off the engine, breaking the silence softly. “Come on” he murmured, opening the door and helping you out. Your legs felt heavy, crumbling down under your weight. But Spencer held you, his grip steady and firm every time you stumbled a little.

Inside, the warmth of your apartment wrapped around you, but it was nothing compared to the comfort in Spencer’s eyes. He guided you gently to the couch, his hand still holding yours.

“I’ll get you some water,” he said, moving towards the kitchen. You watched him intently, curling up on the couch while you waited.

He returned quickly, handing you a glass. You took it with shaky hands, and he sat beside you, close enough to offer warmth but also give you space.

You didn’t need space right now. You needed his presence. Needed to feel his arms wrapping around your frame again.

Without warning, Spencer reached out to tuck a loose strand behind your ear, thumb brushing against your cheek. His eyes searched for yours, full of care and something deeper. Something vulnerable.

Then slowly, he leaned in, lips brushing against yours in a tender, slow kiss. When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his voice was a soft whisper, full of emotion.

A small tear had slipped down your cheek, this time not from sadness. He wiped it, pressing another kiss right below the spot where your tear had fallen.

“My little dove, why do you cry?”

You didn’t have to answer. The question hung between you, filled with the pain and the hope you both felt. And in that moment, it felt like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to face it alone.

“Missed you”

His eyes softened even more at your whisper. “Missed you”. The words felt like a confession and a surrender. Spencer received them both with the reverence they deserved.

“I missed you too, my angel,” he said, almost breathless. His hand found yours again, fingers intertwining like they belonged there. “Everyday”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye” He repeated, breath hitching. “You deserved more than that”

You nodded slightly, your voice small when you spoke. “I kept thinking for a long time that- that I didn’t matter”

He stayed silent, waiting for you to finish your thoughts.

“That maybe it was all in my head. The way you looked at me. The way I felt”

Spencer’s heart twisted. He hated that his silence made you question your worth.

“No, no baby. It was never in your head. I’m so sorry I made you feel like that.” He shushed you, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“You did matter. And you matter now.” He said, his words holding weight. “I thought about you every single day. But once I left… I didn’t know how to come back after walking away”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and saw the weight he still carried behind his eyes. Regret, guilt, longing. All of it right there, exposed.

“I would’ve forgiven you” you whispered.

“I know that now,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “But I didn’t think I deserved it back then”

A beat of silence passed between you, his scent filling your nostrils. He lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of your fingers.

“I’m here now” he whispered. “I want to stay.” A beat of silence passed between you, his scent filling your nostrils. He lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of your fingers.Let me make it up to you. If you’ll let me”

Your breath caught, but you nodded, the answer evident in your eyes.

He leaned in again, this time slower - capturing your lips in a deep kiss, filled with tenderness. It told you everything you needed to hear. That you were wanted, cherished, and certainly not forgotten. Never forgotten.

When the kiss broke, his lips hovered just above yours, breath fanning over you as he murmured,

“I’ve got you, dove. I’ve got you”

The storm hadn’t passed, not fully—but in the eye of it, there was him. And with him, there was peace.

[pazzi5351]

1,119 miles for you

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 1.3k

AN: based on this prompt!! Hope yall like🙀

————————————————————————————

Paige was laying on her bedroom floor in Minnesota, scrolling through TikTok with the kind of boredom only summer break could bring. The warm breeze of late afternoon flowed through her open window. She was just about to send a stupid TikTok to Azzi when her phone buzzed with a text.

Katie Fudd [1 New Message]

Weird. Paige sat up straighter.

Hey sweetie. Just wanted you to hear it from me. Azzi tore her ACL playing pickup tonight. We’re on the way to the ER now.

Everything stopped. Paige’s stomach dropped. Her vision blurred for a second before she was hitting the FaceTime button with shaking hands. Katie answered almost immediately.

“Hi, Paige,” she said gently.

“Wait—wait, what? No, no, no. She tore it? Are you sure? That can’t happen to Azzi. No. Are you sure?” Paige was already crying, tears brimming her eyes like she was the one hurt. “Katie, is she okay? Like, really okay?”

Katie gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Physically, she’ll be fine eventually. Emotionally… she’s gonna need some time. You know how much basketball means to her.”

Paige nodded, swiping tears off her cheeks. “Can I—would it be okay if I came? Like, to stay with you guys? Just for a week or something. I just—I don’t want her to feel alone after surgery.”

Katie’s expression softened even more. “Of course, Paige. I think she’d really like that.”

Paige didn’t even say goodbye. She dropped her phone onto the bed, the FaceTime call still open, and sprinted down the stairs.

“Dad!” she called breathlessly, already fumbling on her words. “Dad, Azzi—Azzi tore her ACL, she’s in the hospital, and I really wanna go see her, can I fly to Virginia, please?”

Her dad blinked at her from behind his laptop. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down, kiddo.”

She exhaled hard and started again, voice trembling but steady enough. “Azzi got hurt. She tore her ACL. I want to be there. Just for a week. I’ll do all my summer workouts when I get back. But I need to see her. Please let me go see her.”

He hesitated. “You’d be flying alone.”

“I don’t care,” she said, snapping slightly, voice suddenly fierce. “I don’t care if it’s scary. I just need to be with her.”

There was a pause. Then, a sigh.

“Alright,” he said finally, pulling up flight information. “I’ll book you a flight. Two days from now.”

Paige nearly tackled him in a hug, then bolted back upstairs, spewing a series of ‘thank you’s. “Katie!” she gasped into the phone, which was somehow still connected. “I’m coming in two days—I’m booking the flight right now. Gotta pack—bye!!”

The airport was still a blur in Paige’s mind. She’d somehow survived security, found her gate, and now sat in a window seat with her hoodie pulled over half her face. Her leg bounced nonstop. She couldn’t stop refreshing her texts, even though Azzi hadn’t messaged her in hours. Even though it was on purpose.

Because Paige had put her phone on Do Not Disturb.

Because she was trying to surprise her.

She almost threw up from nerves.

“First time flying alone?” a gentle voice asked beside her.

Paige turned to find a woman in her mid-sixties settling into the aisle seat, her floral scarf bright against her sweater. She had a travel pillow around her neck and a kind, weathered smile was plastered on her face.

“Uh… yeah,” Paige admitted.

The woman gave her a nod of understanding. “I still get nervous, and I’ve flown dozens of times. Deep breaths help.”

Paige smiled a little. “I’m not really nervous about the plane, I guess. Just… everything else.”

“Oh?” the woman asked, sliding a paperback into her seat pocket. “Something, or someone waiting for you at the other end?”

Paige hesitated. Then she nodded. “My best friend. Azzi. She uh… she tore her ACL a couple days ago. She doesn’t know I’m flying out to see her.”

“Oh honey,” the woman said, her voice laced with sympathy. “That’s tough. Knee injuries can take what feels like forever to heal.”

Paige’s throat tightened and her chest ached. “Yeah. She’s… taking it really hard. Basketball is her whole life.”

There was a pause, then the woman tilted her head, studying Paige. “And you’re going just to cheer her up?”

Paige nodded quickly, almost defensively. “Yeah. I just wanna be there for her. You know, help her feel a little better.”

The woman smiled knowingly. “She must be a very special young lady.”

That stopped Paige cold.

She glanced down at her hands, cheeks pink. “She is.”

“You love her?”

Paige blinked, startled by the question. Her voice came out quieter. “What? I— I mean, I dunno. Maybe. Probably.”

The woman chuckled, but it was gentle, not teasing. “You remind me of my granddaughter. She flew across the country once for a girl, too. You’re doing the right thing.”

Paige let herself smile, warm and shy. “Thanks.”

The woman leaned back in her seat. “Just wait until you see her face. That’ll be the moment worth every bit of turbulence.”

Paige pressed her forehead to the window, heart fluttering. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I hope so.”

Tim picked her up at the arrivals gate, waving casually. “Hey, Bueckers.”

“Hey, Mr. Fudd,” she said, pulling her suitcase along.

“We didn’t tell Azzi you were coming,” he said as they headed to the car.

Paige froze. “Wait, really?”

Tim just smirked. “Thought it’d be a good surprise. Plus, you’ll love her reaction.”

Paige grinned to herself, lightly whispering. “I’d thought you guys would’ve told her.”

Halfway to the house, Paige turned to him nervously. “Would it be okay if we stopped to get her Nutella and strawberries? Y’know— cause it’s her favorite. And maybe flowers? Those little yellow ones she likes.”

Tim gave her a side-eye smile. “You’re something else, kid. Of course.”

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Paige shyly picked out sun-colored daisies and grinned when she found heart-shaped strawberries. She even checked expiration dates on the Nutella jar like it mattered.

Tim teased her just a little on the ride back. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were really into my daughter.”

Paige turned beet red. “I—uh—I mean—she’s just—um—important to me.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, laughing quietly.

—

The house was warm and familiar. Paige stepped quietly behind Tim as they walked in.

From the living room, Azzi’s voice carried.

“I don’t know, Mom. Maybe she’s mad at me or something. Her phone’s been on Do Not Disturb for two days, and her location’s off. She’s never like that.”

Katie murmured something back, but Azzi kept rambling.

“I mean, she didn’t even send any TikToks today. That’s how I know it’s bad.”

Paige smirked from the hallway. “Wow. Two days without TikToks and I’m suddenly a villain.”

Azzi’s head whipped around so fast it startled Katie. “PAIGE?”

Paige stepped into view, arms full of daisies, strawberries, and Nutella. “Hey,” she said softly.

Azzi blinked like she couldn’t believe it, then gasped. “You’re actually here? You came?”

“Course I did,” Paige said, setting the things down and walking over slowly, careful of Azzi’s knee. She leaned in for a hug, holding her tight. “You think I’d leave you alone to be all sad and dramatic without me?”

Azzi laughed, already tearing up. “Shut up. I’m gonna cry.”

Katie and Tim stood in the kitchen doorway, watching them with quiet smiles, sharing a knowing look.

That night, the girls were curled up on Azzi’s bed. They’d talked about everything—basketball, rehab, Paige’s awful flight snack—and now they were quiet, the quiet of the room wrapping around them.

Azzi turned slightly toward her. “Paige?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you came here.”

Paige smiled, her heart aching, but in a warm, full way. “I’m really glad I came here too.”

Their eyes met, soft and sleepy, and before either of them could talk themselves out of it, they leaned in—slow and certain. The kiss was gentle, a little shy, but perfect. When they pulled back, Azzi was smiling, cheeks pink. Paige tucked her face into Azzi’s neck.

They fell asleep like that, limbs tangled carefully, holding on like they never wanted to let go.

[arkaiveofurown]

Hii! How are you

So I'm new here, idk if you take requests, but if you do, could you please write something about katakuri? Like big mom arranges Katakuri's secret lover's marriage with oven or cracker. But katakuri speaks up (for the first time) against his mom.

Braver Than Silence

Pairing: Charlotte Katakuri x Reader

He was raised to hide everything soft and vulnerable—his mouth, his thoughts, his love. But in your light, Katakuri found something he never thought he deserved: freedom. And when Big Mom threatens to take you away, he learns that some truths must be spoken, even if it means defiance.

Word Count: ~2,900 words

tag: fluff, secret relationship, family conflict

my masterlist here ♡

——

a/n: this is such a nice request——thank you so much! it’s my first time writing about katakuri and i really hope i did him justice (⸝⸝╸-╺⸝⸝)

——

Katakuri doesn’t speak much.

He watches. He calculates. He acts only when necessary.

But you know more.

You know how his eyes soften when you smile. How his shoulders relax when you brush his hand. How his scarf sometimes slips when you’re alone and he doesn’t rush to pull it back.

He doesn’t say, I love you.

He doesn’t have to.

Because when you sit together on the cliffs just outside Totto Land’s borders, you rest your head against his shoulder, and he lets the silence hold the meaning.

“Do you think she’ll ever know?” you ask softly, referring to Big Mom.

Katakuri is still. “If she finds out, she’ll take you away.”

You nod.

And neither of you say what you both feel—because even in your secret, the danger is real.

Still, he brushes your pinkie with his, letting it curl around yours.

He’ll protect you.

Even if he never says it.

⸻

It happens at a banquet.

The room is filled with laughter and sweet, dripping wine. Crackers crunch under feet and the table overflows with frosting, pastries, and fresh meat.

You’re helping Smoothie with the seating arrangements when Big Mom’s voice cuts across the room:

“I’ve decided it’s time. You’ll marry into the family officially.”

You freeze.

“I’ve chosen Cracker,” she continues, smiling wide. “He’ll treat you well. You’ve been around long enough to be trusted. This is good for Totto Land.”

The room goes quiet—except for Cracker, who gives you a smug little grin.

You feel Katakuri’s stare before you even look.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Of course he doesn’t.

Of course he will always put the Charlotte Family first. He upholds their pride and status above all else. That’s how he was raised. That’s who he’s always been.

Of course it’s them over anyone else.

Even over you.

Even over himself.

⸻

You don’t cry—not until you’re alone.

When Katakuri finds you that night, he says nothing at first. He just closes the door behind him, the click of the lock soft, heavy.

You face away from him, staring at the cold mirror in your room.

“I can’t marry him,” you whisper. “I can’t even pretend to want it.”

He steps closer, and you feel the heat of his body behind yours.

“It’s not your fault,” he says quietly.

“It’s yours?” you snap. “For not saying anything? For always hiding me like I’m a shameful secret?”

The air thickens.

“If I told her, she’d hurt you,” he says. “You know she would.”

“So what?” Your voice breaks. “I’m just something you visit in the dark while your mother decides my future?”

He flinches—but doesn’t move.

“I love you,” you say finally, trembling. “But I won’t survive this if I’m treated like nothing.”

Silence.

Then, low:

“You’re not nothing,” he says.

You turn your face halfway toward him.

“Then why are you always quiet when it matters?”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then:

“I wasn’t afraid she’d say no.”

You look at him.

“I was afraid she’d say yes.”

He steps around you slowly, enough for you to see his eyes. Not just shadowed by his scarf, but guarded. Worn.

“I’m afraid of what she’d do if she knew.”

You stare at him.

“To her, love isn’t sacred. It’s… strategy,” he says, voice rough. “Everything personal is a tool. If she knew how much I loved you, you wouldn’t be safe. You wouldn’t be yours anymore. You’d stop being someone I chose—and become someone she controls.”

He looks away, jaw tight.

“She’d use you against me. Or worse—decide to ‘correct’ me by handing you to someone she could command more easily. Someone obedient. Someone like Cracker, just so she could show her dominance.”

You blink hard, something cold crawling down your spine.

“She wouldn’t be giving you a place in the family,” Katakuri says. “She’d be taking you from me.”

You stay quiet.

He lowers his voice even further. “That’s why I never said anything. Not because I’m ashamed. Not because I doubt you. But because the moment you’re exposed, you’re no longer mine. You’re Mama’s… ”

His eyes lift to meet yours again—something raw flickering in them now.

“I didn’t want to lose you to her.”

⸻

Katakuri doesn’t sleep that night.

He stands on the balcony, arms crossed, scarf pushed down. The moon reflects off his sharp features, jaw tight with thought.

Brûlée appears behind him.

“You’re thinking about her.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Brûlée sighs. “You always protected your siblings. Even when you hated them. But this—this is different.”

Katakuri doesn’t answer.

“Are you going to let her go?” she asks softly.

And his jaw clenches.

“No,” he says. “Not this time.”

⸻

It’s rare for Katakuri to speak in front of the family.

Even rarer to challenge Big Mom.

The room is full again—this time for a wedding announcement feast.

You’re standing beside Cracker, your face numb, hands clenched behind your dress. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but the cold weight of the moment makes it hard to breathe.

Katakuri enters late, his scarf half-lowered, his mouth visible.

Gasps echo as he speaks.

“She’s not marrying Cracker.”

Big Mom’s grin falters, eyes narrowing.

“What was that, Katakuri?”

“She’s not marrying anyone,” he repeats, his voice like steel. “She’s mine.”

The room goes dead silent.

Then chaos.

Cracker shouts. Smoothie drops her drink. Perospero starts laughing.

And Big Mom stands, her towering figure looming over the room.

“You went behind my back?” she roars.

“I protected her from you,” Katakuri replies, his voice calm but unwavering. “Because I knew what you’d do if you found out.”

Big Mom’s eyes flare with rage.

“And you thought I wouldn’t control you?” she spits, her voice dripping with venom.

Katakuri takes a step forward, his presence growing more intense. He stands taller now, his usual reserve slipping away for the first time in years.

“I’m not your soldier anymore,” he says, his tone full of finality.

The tension in the room is suffocating—everyone watches, breath held.

Big Mom’s eyes narrow dangerously. “You think you can just defy me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

“I’ve spent my life protecting this family, but this time… I won’t let you control her,” Katakuri says, his voice softer now, but no less fierce. He’s speaking from the heart. “I’m done letting you decide who belongs to who. She isn’t a pawn in your game.”

He pauses, his eyes now searching for yours, as if he draws strength from you.

“And she’s never been a pawn,” he continues, voice thick with emotion. “She’s the one who’s always accepted me—all of me. My flaws, my imperfections, the things I’m not proud of. She loves me for who I am. Not because of the family name, not because of what I represent, but because she sees me. For the first time in my life, someone sees me for who I am, and that is what I won’t let you take from me.”

You stand there, stunned by his words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest despite the storm that rages around you. But it’s the way he looks at you that holds your attention the most—the quiet, raw tenderness beneath all his resolve.

Big Mom’s face contorts with rage and disbelief. “This is the son I raised? A traitor who chooses his love over his family?”

Katakuri doesn’t flinch. “I choose her because she’s made me see something you never let me have—freedom. I choose her because I finally know what it means to be myself, not just the thing you made me into.”

Big Mom’s fists clench, shaking with fury. “You are my son. My right hand. You owe everything to this family. And you—”

Katakuri interrupts her, his voice finally cracking the surface of his usual calm. “I don’t owe everything to you. I owe my loyalty to the family, yes. But I owe my heart to her.”

The silence is deafening now.

Katakuri steps closer to you, his hand reaching out for yours. “Come here,” he says, his voice quieter now but full of an undeniable pull.

You move before you think, your feet carrying you to him instinctively. His hand takes yours, fingers firm and grounding, as though they’re the only solid thing in the room. His grip tells you everything—you’re not a secret. You’re not something to be hidden anymore. He’s done hiding.

And for the first time, you see fear in Big Mom’s eyes.

Because she’s losing control.

Of him.

⸻

You’re sitting beside him in his private quarters, the storm long passed.

He didn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

You rest your head on his shoulder now, feeling the way his heartbeat finally begins to slow.

“Do you regret it?” you whisper.

“No.”

A pause.

“I should have told her long ago,” he murmurs. “But I was afraid.”

“You’re not afraid of anything.”

“I’m afraid of losing you.”

You tilt your face up to him.

“And you didn’t,” you whisper.

He pulls his scarf down completely.

And kisses you.

Not in secret. Not in shadow.

But in light.

Braver.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Tags: Angst, Found Family, Dark Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy Drama, Unreliable Narrators.

Warnings: Body Horror, Mentions of Emotional Neglect, Pregnancy Complications, Nightmare Imagery.

A/N: The mystery Hunk is finally here! We’re diving headfirst into the start of an alternate ending I had previously intended for this fic mid first scene, so buckle up. I promised this chapter wouldn’t have funny bits, but apparently, Mystery Hunk had other plans. Also, the husbands will be getting an earful of their own shit. If you’re here for cursed energy-infused pregnancy drama and Mystery Hunk stealing hearts with his black cat husband energy while side-eyeing Karens, you’re in the right place, and yes, he’s stealing the spotlight unapologetically. Let me know in the comments: Is he the best worst fake husband ever?

Previous Chapter 4 - The Gravity of Running (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 5 - Something Soft, Something Sharp

You didn’t even have time to react before his hand snaked around your leg. The two of them dragged you out of your hiding spot, your thrashing limbs no match for their combined strength.

They had found you.

“Running away doesn’t suit you,” Gojo said, his tone mocking, dangerous.

You glared at him, removing the scarf from your mouth, your movements jerky, your hands trembling as you shoved both their hands off you. “Don’t touch me.” You tried to stand.

The effort was futile—your legs buckled, and you sank back down. Pain radiated from your swollen belly, grotesque.

Their gazes dropped to your stomach, the sheer size of it impossible to ignore, finally noticing what you’d been trying to hide.

Even at just five and a half months, your uterus had already distended to a grotesque parody of its former shape. The two tornadoes brewing inside you made you look eight months pregnant, their relentless growth stretching your abdominal wall to its limits. Your stomach bulged outward, a taut and swollen orb that seemed to strain against the confines of your skin, as if the very fabric of your body was being slowly, inexorably torn apart from the inside out.

Nanami’s eyes widened. “You’re…”

Gojo’s expression cracked, his six eyes glowing faintly as they locked onto your swollen stomach. “You’re pregnant.”

The twins squirmed beneath their stares, sending sharp jolts of pain through your abdomen. You bit your lip, refusing to show weakness, to clutch your belly, even as your body betrayed you.

You didn’t dignify their obvious revelation with a response, focusing instead on pulling yourself upright. Every attempt to rise felt monumental, the strain making your head swim, but you managed to straighten up, your breathing ragged. Their awkward, hesitant hands reached toward you, only for you to glare them down.

They stood there, helpless, as you hobbled past them toward the living room. Each step felt like dragging yourself uphill in a storm, the strain making your vision blur. By the time you reached the couch, you were shaking so badly that you had to clutch the back of a chair for balance. Lowering yourself onto the cushions was its own Herculean task, the pain so intense you had to bite back a scream. Your hand moved instinctively to your belly, rubbing slow, trembling circles over the taut, aching skin.

You spoke low but firm, “Leave.”

“We’re not leaving,” Nanami replied, his voice firm but strained, his face a storm of conflict. “You’re pregnant, my love. You didn’t even tell us.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and humorless. “What’s there to tell? It’s just a medical condition, right?”

“At least lie better,” Gojo said, his tone mocking as his eyes lingered on your stomach, then continued, “Although I thought you had had a hysterectomy?”

Nanami’s hand twitched; his jaw tightened at Gojo’s casual demeanor. “Don’t.”

Your anger flared, the months of humiliation and abandonment clawing their way to the surface. “Don’t what? Diminish it? You mean like you two diminished me?”

You had deduced earlier that Gojo’s RCT might have detected your lack of a uterus and classified it as an error, then corrected the said error. Or perhaps it was Nanami’s RCT’s doing, considering he could now heal himself and was immune to attacks like fire since becoming a special grade. Although as far as you knew they couldn’t heal people but it might have changed when they would have been inside you. You didn’t care to find out any more, and you certainly wouldn’t let them in on it.

The words hit like a slap, the air between you crackling with tension.

“It’s none of your business,” you spat, your voice shaking with rage.

“None of our business?” Nanami’s voice was low, his usual calm cracking. “We’re your—”

“You’re nothing to me anymore,” you interrupted, your tone icy. “You made sure of that.”

“That’s not true,” Gojo flinched as if struck, his voice breaking in a way like it was about him, making you hate him more. “We—”

“You abandoned me!” The words tore from your chest before you could stop them. “You left me alone for months! You laughed, you fucked each other, then posted all your OMG-I’m-so-in-love photos online for my employees to stare at and give me looks of sympathy. While... while I sat there and died inside!”

“You left without telling us!” Gojo’s voice rose, desperation creeping into his tone.

“And you didn’t notice for six weeks!” You yelled, your voice breaking. “You were too busy fucking each other to even see me! I could have been tortured, raped, killed and buried long ago with evidence wiped, but you both were too busy fucking each other to see me!”

Gojo’s expression twisted, the pain in his eyes cutting deeper than any accusation. “We didn’t know how to reach you. We thought you needed space.”

“Space?” You laughed again, the sound hollow. “You gave me space to suffocate. 

Nanami visibly recoiled, guilt carving deep lines into his face. “We made a mistake—”

“Mistake?” You cut him off, your voice cracking under the weight of your fury. “Mistakes don’t last for months. Mistakes don’t make someone feel so invisible they disappear. Mistakes don’t force someone to flee halfway across the world just to fucking breathe! You think I’ll forgive you just because you decided to find me now?” You huffed and continued, “Well, guess what? I learned to live without you two a long time before I left, so why don’t you both go fuck each other some more and leave me alone!”

Gojo spoke softly, inching to touch you. “We’re here. We care about you.”

“Care?” You laughed bitterly, tears spilling down your cheeks. “You humiliated me. Your stunt at my office nearly destroyed everything I’ve built. Do you think anyone respects a CEO whose husbands storm her building and beat up her employees?”

Nanami’s gaze dropped to the floor, his fists clenching at his sides. Gojo opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“And let’s not forget the internet is a circus, and you’re the clowns.,” you hissed, your voice shaking, ears burning with humiliation. “I’m being dragged into the spotlight for something I never wanted public. All because of you. They’re calling me a sexual deviant and undermining everything I have ever done while simultaneously thirsting over you two, because, of course, men don’t get the same treatment. #TwoHolesForAReason is still trending. What the actual fuck, Nanami? You too?”

Your voice trembled with a mix of anger and despair, and your breathing grew heavier, each word feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest. The injustice of it all clawed at you, the betrayal stinging sharper than any physical wound. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly powerless as the world turned your life into a spectacle, and the very people you loved were at the center of it.

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a mix of anger and sorrow. “We were wrong. We should have been there for you. We should have…” He trailed off, unable to find the words.”

You could see the guilt etched on their faces, the way they shifted uncomfortably, as if your words were a physical weight pressing down on them.

“Tell me,” you said, your voice low and trembling, “did you even think about me when you were together? Did I ever cross your minds?”

Gojo opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he looked at Nanami, a silent plea for understanding passing between them, but Nanami kept staring at your stomach. The moment stretched, and you could feel the desperation radiating from them, but it only fueled your anger.

“Don’t look at him,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “You both made this choice together. You both decided I was expendable.” The image of Gojo grabbing Nanami’s pecks mid-fight at your company came to your mind, and you resisted the urge to bash his head in.

Nanami’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him. “We were selfish,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. 

Gojocut him off, his hands trembling like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “We love you.”

“You love each other,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, breaking. “And I was just... there. An afterthought. An inconvenience.”

Silence.

Nanami stepped closer, his hand reaching out instinctively, but you shrank further. “Please,” he said softly. “Let us help.”

Gojo stepped forward, his hands outstretched, but you recoiled, the instinct to protect yourself overwhelming. “Don’t,” you warned, your voice trembling. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

The hurt in his eyes was almost unbearable, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel sympathy. Not now. Not when the wounds were still fresh, still bleeding.

“Just go,” you said, your voice breaking. “Just leave me alone.”

Nanami’s face fell, the weight of your words crashing down on him. “We can’t just walk away,” he said, desperation creeping into his tone. “We love you. We want to be here for you. And the babies.”

You wrapped your arms protectively around your belly, your body trembling from the effort of holding yourself upright, the weight of their presence suffocating. “I don’t need you. We don’t need you.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, betraying the pain you’d tried so hard to hide.

The finality of your words made them both freeze, their faces pale and stricken.

You turned your face away, unwilling to look at them any longer. The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing.

(alt ending 1.1)

“You heard her.”

The voice from the doorway made you freeze.

Sukuna leaned against the frame, arms crossed, his tattoos stark against his pale skin. His grin was sharp, dangerous, and entirely out of place in your tiny apartment.

“And who the hell are you?” Gojo snapped, his six eyes narrowing as he turned to face the intruder.

Sukuna’s smirk widened. “None of your concern. But unlike you two, I don’t barge into her life uninvited.”

Nanami stepped forward, his gaze calculating. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does when you’re upsetting her,” Sukuna said, his tone light but edged with menace. His crimson eyes flicked to you, softening slightly. “You good, princess?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m fine. Just… please get them out of here, Ryo.”

The way you said his name weakly made Sukuna straighten, his grin turning feral as he rolled his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. “You heard her. Time to go.”

Gojo stepped toward Sukuna, his grin tight, his energy shifting. “You think you can just waltz in here and—”

Sukuna cut him off by closing the gap in a single step, towering over him. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Try me, pretty boy.”

Nanami's shoulders squared, his gaze calculating. “Leave. This doesn’t concern you.”

Sukuna’s eyes flicked between them, his lips quirking into a smirk. “I’m here because she wants you out. Seems like it’s very much my concern.”

Gojo rolled his shoulders, the first hints of tension seeping into his movements. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, pal. She’s our wife. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Both your wife. Eww, Sukuna grimaced.

Before Sukuna could continue berating them, Nanami moved. His fist lashed out, aimed for Sukuna’s jaw.

Sukuna caught it with an open palm, the force reverberating through the room.

“Oh, we’re doing this,” Sukuna said, voice maniacal, before pushing Nanami’s fist just enough to force him to step back.

Gojo lunged, his speed almost imperceptible, but Sukuna sidestepped him lazily, his movements fluid. “Do you two always resort to fists first?”

“Do you always waltz into someone else’s business uninvited?” Nanami countered, already throwing another strike.

You tried to rise, your voice strained. “Stop—”

Your attempt was cut off by a sharp, tearing pain in your abdomen. A cry escaped your lips as your hands instinctively cradled your belly.

Nanami faltered mid-punch, his head snapping toward you. “She’s in pain. Gojo, stop!”

Gojo hesitated, his fists lowering as he glanced back at you. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

You couldn’t answer, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Sukuna moved before either of them could, crossing the room in a few steps. He knelt in front of you, his large hand resting gently on your knee.

“May I?” He asked, his voice calm.

You nodded weakly, unable to muster the energy to speak.

Sukuna’s hand moved to your belly, his palm warm against the strained skin. A faint glow surrounded his fingers as his RCT began to work. The relief was almost immediate, the tightness easing as the twins’ restless movements stilled.

Nanami stepped towards you, his fists clenched. “Get your hands off her.”

Sukuna didn’t look up, his focus entirely on you. “She needs this. Or would you rather let her suffer while you two throw tantrums?”

Gojo bristled, his hands twitching at his sides. “I don’t trust you.”

“Good,” Sukuna replied smoothly, his tone almost mocking. “I wouldn’t trust me either. But I’m not the one who left her to deal with this alone.”

That struck a nerve.

You let out a shaky breath, your body finally relaxing as Sukuna pulled his hand away. “Better?” he asked, his gaze meeting yours.

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes.

Sukuna stood, his movements unhurried as he turned to face the two men. “She’s carrying enough weight without you two adding to it. If you really care about her, prove it by doing something useful. Like fucking off.”

The tension in the room was palpable as Gojo and Nanami glared at him, their fists tightening at their sides.

Before Gojo could move, Nanami placed a hand on Gojo’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Enough. This isn’t good for her.”

Gojo’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t resist.

“We’ll be back,” Nanami said, his gaze steady as it locked onto yours. His voice was low, carrying both regret and resolve.

Sukuna snorted. “Not if I can help it.”

Without another word, they turned and left.

Once the door clicked shut, the silence rushed in, oppressive and heavy.

Sukuna turned back to you, his expression softening. “You need to rest.”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Stay?”

He smiled faintly, taking a seat next to you on the couch with respectable space between you two.

Your head swam, a sudden wave of dizziness taking hold. They were coming more frequently now, spells that left you breathless and trembling.

But before you could fall off the couch on your head, Sukuna was there, one of his large, calloused hands wrapping securely around your upper arm. The heat of his touch grounded you as he guided you carefully to the other side of the couch.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble. The sharp edge was still there, but muted, like a blade sheathed. “You don’t need to waste energy on those idiots.”

A weak laugh slipped past your lips as you wiped your eyes, though it sounded more like a gasp. “They’re not idiots. They’re just… pain in my ass.”

His eyebrow arched, he chuckled, the sound warm. “Could’ve fooled me. Barging in here like they own the damn place. If it were me—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, shaking your head even as your hand trembled against the couch cushion. “I don’t need more madness, Sukuna.”

His grin softened, though it didn’t lose its devil-may-care quality. “Fair enough. But you’ve gotta be smarter about this. They’re not going to stop just because you want them to.”

“I know,” you whispered, barely audible, as your hands cradled your belly. The motion was protective, almost subconscious, as you rubbed soothing circles on it.

His sharp crimson eyes followed the movement, narrowing as they settled on the curve of your stomach. “You gonna tell me the truth now?”

Your throat tightened, the walls closing in as panic tried to claw its way to the surface. “I—”

“Relax.” His voice dropped lower, almost a purr, as he leaned back against the couch. “I’m not here to judge. Just saying, if you need someone to run interference, I’m your guy.”

You blinked at him, your heart hammering as you searched his expression. “Why are you helping me?” You asked, the words trembling in the air.

His grin returned, sly and self-assured as always. “Because it pisses them off. And because I like you, princess. Not in a ‘love thy neighbor’ way, but in a ‘let me take you on a date’ way. You’ve got guts.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, shaky and wet with leftover tears but real nonetheless. “Thanks, Sukuna.”

“Anytime.” He shifted, his arm draping casually over the back of the couch, though the movement seemed deliberate, protective. “Now, what’s the plan? Because those two aren’t going to stop sniffing around just because I scared them off.”

You let your head fall back, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, heavier than ever. “I don’t know. I just need... time.”

“Then time’s what we’ll give you,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Let me handle the sorcerer boy band.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt a small flicker of hope.

-

Sukuna didn’t waste time. The same night, after Gojo and Nanami showed up, he had you telling him what you wanted packed. His demeanor calm, though his crimson eyes burned with quiet determination.

“We’ll leave at midnight,” he said, tossing your suitcase onto the bed. “New place, new names.”

You hesitated. “Sukuna, this is… too much.”

He glanced over his shoulder, his grin not unkind. “It’s not. They’re sorcerers, princess. And the strongest too, but not stronger than me.” His tone was laced with a smug confidence. “If you want to stay hidden, you don’t half-ass it.”

By dawn, you were in another country; your new apartment was upscale and screamed money, but it was cozy too. The marble floors, high ceilings, and soft leather couches were a far cry from your tiny space.

Sukuna waved off your questions about how he’d managed it all so quickly, his smirk the only answer you’d get. He had taken care of everything—paperwork, flights, even a fake backstory in case anyone asked too many questions.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he said, tossing you the keys. “Welcome to your new life, and just enjoy the upgrade.” He lounged on your new couch, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

He refused to leave your side, and you didn’t argue. It was a relief to have him there, especially since you were certain they would show up eventually. Also, you needed someone around, not just for protection but also because you weren’t exactly the icon of flexpertise right now. The morning sickness and dizzy spells had become a regular part of your day, making even simple tasks feel daunting. Plus, he could help pick things up from the floor and assist you when you needed it. His RCT would also come in handy if you got sick.

The following days blurred into one another, Sukuna taking charge in ways that left you both grateful and unsettled. He was relentless, managing everything from your meals to your prenatal vitamins.

One day he dragged you somewhere the sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets as Sukuna pulled you along, his grip firm yet gentle around your arm. You could feel the heat radiating from the pavement, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers and street food. It was a stark contrast to the anxiety swirling in your chest.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked, glancing around nervously. The last thing you wanted was to run into someone who recognized you from the controversy that had followed you like a shadow. The thought of being exposed made your stomach churn, the twins inside you shifting restlessly in response to your unease.

Sukuna paused, turning to face you, his crimson eyes piercing yet reassuring. “Trust me. No one will recognize you here.” He flashed a grin, the kind that made your heart race despite the worry gnawing at you. “Besides, I’ll be your husband today. No one will question us.”

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping in. “Husband? What if someone asks questions?”

“Then I’ll just tell them I’m the luckiest man alive,” he replied smoothly, his tone playful. “And you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And if anyone gets too nosy, they’ll be disposed off.”

You thought he was just joking at the last bit, but little did you know he was serious.

You couldn’t help but smile at his bravado, even as a flutter of anxiety twisted in your stomach. “You really think this is a good idea?”

“Absolutely,” he said, resuming his pace, his hand still firmly guiding you by the arm. “You need to get out, meet other birthgivers, and enjoy this experience. It’s good for you and the brats.”

As you approached the community center, the sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the soft strumming of a guitar. The vibrant colors of the decorations and the cheerful atmosphere were infectious, but your nerves still danced beneath the surface.

Sukuna opened the door for you, his demeanor shifting to one of quiet authority as he ushered you inside. The room was filled with expectant mothers, some cradling their bellies, others bouncing babies in their arms, some even with their partners. You felt a pang of envy at their ease, their confidence radiating like the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“See? Just regular people,” Sukuna said, his voice low and steady as he scanned the room. “You’ll fit right in.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “What if someone recognizes me?”

“Your mask won’t let them. And if someone does recognize you, I’ll tell them you just look like the CEO, but you have been my wife and have never been to Japan,” he replied, his tone light but firm. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll make sure they forget they ever saw you.”

His confidence was infectious, and you found yourself relaxing slightly as he led you to a circle. He settled beside you, his presence a comforting weight. As the instructor began to speak, you felt Sukuna’s hand rest on your knee, a grounding touch that eased the tension in your body.

After a brief round of introductions, the instructor clapped her hands, her voice that chipper mix of optimism and oblivion. “Alright, everyone, before we start our poses, let’s share a bit about our experiences as parents! Who’d like to go first?”

Sukuna leaned back, arms draped lazily over his knees, his smirk sharp enough to slice through the tension. “I’ll go,” he said, his tone dripping with casual confidence. “So there we were—me and my lovely wife—on a little trip to the beach. You know, just a casual day in the sun.”

The other mothers leaned in, their eyes sparkling with interest, while their husbands shot daggers at Sukuna, their expressions a mix of envy and irritation. He was tall, muscular, and exuded an effortless charm that made him the center of attention. You could practically feel the heat radiating from the glares directed at him, but Sukuna seemed unfazed, basking in the admiration like a cat in a sunbeam.

“Of course, I had to carry her to the water,” he continued, gesturing dramatically. “She was so heavy with those twins, I thought I might need a forklift!” Laughter erupted from the mothers, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Turning back to you, his expression triumphant. “So, I heroically carried her through the waves, and she screamed like a banshee when the water hit her feet.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation washing over you. “I did not scream like a banshee!” you protested, but the laughter bubbling up made it hard to keep a straight face.

“Sure you did,” he teased, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I was the brave knight saving you from the evil ocean.”

“Look at him,” one mother whispered to her friend, her eyes sparkling. “He’s like a model or something!”

“Right? And he’s so sweet with her,” her friend replied, glancing at you with a mix of admiration and envy.

Soft giggles bubbled through the room, accompanied by fluttering lashes and whispers. Sukuna exuded a kind of dangerous magnetism.

One mom whispered too loudly, “He’s like... a walking romance novel,” her husband coughing pointedly beside her.

Sukuna caught the comment and scowled. “Eyes up front, lady,” he muttered under his breath, annoyed but not surprised. When another woman blatantly winked, he leaned closer to you, slipping an arm around your waist with exaggerated intimacy. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” he cooed, voice low enough for only you to hear. “These vultures are giving me a headache.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved him off.

The instructor spoke. “Okay! Let’s get into couples’ poses. First, the trust fall!”

Sukuna stood, cracking his neck like he was prepping for a fight. You shot him a warning glance. “Don’t drop me.”

He smirked. “No promises.”

As you leaned back, trusting his arms to catch you, another mom muttered something about his “strong, capable hands.” Sukuna sighed, catching you effortlessly before twirling you upright with unnecessary flair. “Keep staring, and I might start charging admission,” he called out, his voice a mix of annoyance and smugness.

“I got one more.” He didn’t wait for approval, because, of course, he didn’t. “So there we were, me and my beloved wife”—his crimson eyes flicked to you with a smirk that screamed chaos—“on a romantic hike in the wilderness. Out of nowhere, she decides to wrestle a goat because it wouldn’t let her pet it.”

The room froze. A couple of moms paused mid-stretch, their jaws dropping like they’d just heard the start of a soap opera. The dads exchanged side-eyes that translated roughly to, Who the hell is this guy?

“And, naturally,” Sukuna continued, his voice syrupy with faux affection, “I couldn’t let her handle it alone. She’s fearless, sure, but not exactly built for a one-on-one with livestock.”

“Oh my god,” you hissed under your breath, digging your nails into your mat. “Stop lying.”

Sukuna ignored you, gesturing dramatically like he was recounting a battle for survival. “So I stepped in, took down the goat, and carried her—my delicate, fragile wife—back to safety.” His grin widened, exposing sharp canines. “All in a day’s work.”

A collective sigh swept through the room, a mix of disbelief and blatant swooning. One mom muttered, “That’s so... romantic.” Another just stared, eyes tracing the veins in his forearms like she was drafting fan fiction in real time.

The dads? All glaring, but none of them dared to say a word. Sukuna, at 6’6” with biceps that looked capable of cracking skulls, radiated the kind of energy that said, Try me. I dare you.

“Alright, Romeo,” you muttered, elbowing him. “Enough.”

Before he could retort, a woman in leopard print, Karen—yes, she had the haircut and everything—stood up, arms crossed and nose wrinkled like she smelled bullshit.

“Excuse me,” she said, voice whiney, “but that story sounds ridiculous. And frankly, this is a yoga class, not open mic night.”

Sukuna turned his head slowly, like a predator catching the scent of fresh prey. “Oh? Didn’t realize we had a fact-checker in the room.”

Karen puffed up, undeterred. “I just think it’s important to set a good example for our kids. You’re just trying to make yourself look good in front of all these women. What kind of husband are you, anyway? And lying—”

“Lying?” Sukuna interrupted, his tone dangerously sweet. “I don’t lie, sweetheart. Some of us just have a sense of humor. You want proof? I’ll take you hiking. Maybe you’ll end up wrestling a goat too.”

Karen crossed her arms with a smug smile on her face and leaned in with a condescending tone. “So, what exactly makes you think you’re qualified to be a husband? I mean, can you even handle a simple pregnancy without making a joke out of it?”

Sukuna’s voice dripped with mock sincerity. “You’re absolutely right. I’m a terrible husband. I should’ve let her handle the goat alone, huh? Really prove her mettle.” His smile dropped as he deadpanned, “Maybe next time, I’ll wrestle your husband instead.”

The room went silent, save for a muffled snort from someone in the back. Karen’s husband, who had been trying to become one with the floor, suddenly found the need to tie his shoelaces.

“Well, no real husband would let his wife wrestle a goat. And clearly, this yoga class is for serious parents, not... posers. Some of us treat the miracle of life with the respect it deserves. I mean, she probably got pregnant out of wedlock, and you’re probably the chump who got stuck with it,” she spat, her eyes narrowing as she regarded you with open disdain.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Sukuna stood up, towering over her with an intimidating presence. The air crackled with tension as he leaned in slightly, his voice low and menacing.

“For the final time, I. AM. HER. HUSBAND. The kind who’s here to support his wife, unlike some people,” he said, his tone dripping with a dangerous edge. The room fell silent, the other husbands shifting uncomfortably, their glares intensifying as they sensed the storm brewing.

“Back off, lady,” one of the husbands muttered, clearly not wanting to get involved but unable to resist the urge to defend his pregnant wife.

Karen’s husband made a strangled noise, somewhere between a cough and a plea for help. Sukuna glanced at him, sizing him up like he was calculating the time it’d take to fold him into a yoga block. “You good over there, champ?”

The instructor, visibly sweating, clapped her hands again. “Okay, time for the next pose, the Partner Downward Dog! Let’s channel all that energy into our health!”

Sukuna groaned, muttering under his breath, “This woman and her yoga cult...” He shot a glance at you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “You good to do this, or do I have to carry you like the delicate little penguin you are?”

“I’m fine,” you shot back, already struggling to maneuver your cumbersome body into position. Your stomach felt stretched beyond reason, and every movement brought a new kind of discomfort.

Sukuna was behind you in an instant, his large hands steadying your hips. His touch was firm but not rough, a quiet kind of reassurance he’d never acknowledge. “Alright, lean forward. I’ve got you.”

You could feel his gaze linger—not on the curve of your belly but lower. “Are you ogling my ass?”

“Shut up and focus on not falling,” he grumbled, though his smirk gave him away.

The instructor clapped again, her forced cheerfulness grating. “Great job, everyone! Now, onto the partner wheelbarrow pose.” 

You groaned, already dreading it. Sukuna, however, was unfazed. He easily lifted your legs, holding you steady as you awkwardly braced your arms on the mat.

Karen, the reigning queen of unsolicited advice, determined to assert dominance. “You’re supposed to engage your core more,” she said, her voice cutting through the room like nails on a chalkboard.

Sukuna didn’t even glance at her. “You’re supposed to shut up, Karen.”

She gasped. “My name is not…How dare you—”

“Don’t care.” Sukuna set you down and stood, cracking his knuckles. “Focus on your own yoga or let’s take this outside, or are you gonna send your husband?”

Karen sputtered, her face turning red as her husband tugged nervously at her sleeve. Now actively sweating. “Uh, babe, maybe let it go.”

Karen turned on him. “Are you scared of him?!”

“...Yes.”

“Don’t you start!” She snapped on him.

“...Okay.” He shrank back, clearly regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.

Meanwhile, the instructor was frantically flipping through her clipboard. “Uh, next pose! Let’s try... uh, partner flying boat!”

Sukuna raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “Flying what now?”

“Just lift me,” you muttered, too tired to argue.

With an exaggerated sigh, he grabbed your hands and hoisted you into the air. The ease with which he balanced you on his feet was almost insulting. He looked up at you, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “See? I’m a natural.”

“You’re a show-off,” you grumbled, though the slight flutter in your chest betrayed you.

Behind you, Karen tripped over her mat again because her husband was clumsy, landing face-first with a muffled shriek.

Sukuna grinned, all teeth. “Careful, Karen. Wouldn’t want your husband to have to wrestle me over that.”

Her husband? Already halfway out the door.

He didn’t stop there. With unnecessary flair, he spun you around, earning gasps from the other moms. “He’s so strong,” one whispered, her voice tinged with awe.

“I can hear you,” Sukuna said sharply, his glare cutting through the room like a knife. “Eyes off.”

The mom in question flushed, looking away quickly. Even Karen seemed momentarily stunned into silence.

When Sukuna finally set you down, his hands lingered on your arms, steadying you. “Alright, you’re done for today,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you protested weakly, already too exhausted to stand.

“I just did,” he shot back, his voice softer than usual as he guided you to sit. His attention was back on you, the rest of the room forgotten. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, leaning against him. Despite his gruffness, you couldn’t deny the safety his presence brought.

Throughout the class, Sukuna was incredibly attentive, fetching water for you whenever you needed it and ensuring you stayed focused. You found yourself laughing openly after months, his unhinged stories and sassy comments bringing a lightness to the atmosphere. He reminded you of Megumi’s dad from years ago, the way he openly showed affection to Megumi’s mom. You couldn’t help but wonder how they were doing after his father passed away long before you reconnected with Megumi in college. The last you heard, his father had left a substantial sum to his mom to start their security solutions business, which Megumi had been managing while also pursuing his psychology degree.

He was quite a few years younger than you, and despite the years of no contact, he had come through for you when you needed him. But you couldn’t reach him now; he had a knack for tracking people down like his father. You remembered Megumi’s frustration when you had to leave your home country to marry the two men. He had been openly against your decision ever since he met them—he could warm up to Nanami, but Gojo? Marrying two men? That was a different story entirely. A wave of nostalgia washed over you as you realized how much you missed your college friends.

As you watched Sukuna’s antics, a swell of gratitude filled your heart. His unwavering support was a comforting presence, even as the reality of your situation loomed in the background.

After the class, as you stepped outside into the warm sunlight, Sukuna turned to you, a satisfied grin on his face. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You shook your head, a smile breaking through your earlier anxiety. “No, it was actually… nice.”

“Good. We’ll keep doing this,” he said, his tone resolute. “You need to enjoy this time, and I’ll make sure you do.”

As you walked back, the warmth of the sun on your skin and Sukuna’s presence beside you, you felt better. Maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to navigate this new life, one day at a time.

A couple of days later, the hum of your laptop was the only sound in the room, save for the occasional clack of your nails on the keyboard. Deadlines loomed, projects needed greenlighting, and your inbox was a battlefield of investors, board members, and department heads vying for your attention. You weren’t just the CEO of your company—you were the company. And even now, with your back aching and your feet swollen beyond recognition, you were determined to stay on top of it all.

Then, of course, Sukuna had to barge in.

“Are you seriously still working?” he drawled, leaning an arm against the door frame with that maddeningly smug look on his face.

You didn’t bother looking up. “I’m busy.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“And?”

“And you’re about to take a damn break,” he said, stalking into the room like a cat ready to knock something valuable off the table.

You scoffed, glancing at him over the rim of your blue lens glasses. “I can’t just stop working. This company doesn’t run itself.”

“Funny, I thought you hired executives for that,” he shot back, his crimson eyes narrowing.

“They still need me.”

Sukuna crossed the room in two strides, towering over you like a thundercloud. Before you could react, he reached down and unplugged your laptop with a decisive click.

“Hey!” you protested, scrambling to grab the cord, but he was faster. With infuriating ease, he tossed the power adapter onto a high shelf you had no hope of reaching in your current penguin state.

“What the hell, Sukuna?”

“Watch me,” he said, smirking. “Your job is to grow those little gremlins, not work yourself into the ground.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. The exhaustion hit like a freight train, your body sagging into the chair as if it finally realized it had permission to rest. Your glare softened, replaced by a quiet sigh of defeat. “I can’t just... stop,” you muttered, weaker now.

“You can,” he countered, crouching to meet your eye level. His voice was softer this time, the sharp edges smoothed out. “The company will survive without you for a few months. You? Not so much if you keep this up.”

He had a point, damn him.

“I still need to make arrangements,” you mumbled, leaning back and pressing a hand to your belly. The twins kicked in response, as if to echo his sentiment.

“Then make them,” Sukuna said, standing up and pulling your ergonomic gaming chair—he had gotten you one in your fav color—away from the desk with a gentle tug. “But from the couch. And only after you’ve eaten something.”

You wanted to argue, but the idea of sinking into the cushions and delegating for once was too tempting. “Fine,” you relented, glaring half-heartedly as you stood. “But only because you’re being annoying.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, penguin.” His smirk widened as he helped you waddle toward the couch, ignoring your threats of retaliation.

And maybe, just maybe, you felt a little lighter knowing he was right there to catch you when you needed to let go.

The pregnancy itself felt alien. Your body, once familiar, now seemed foreign, stretched to the limits of what it could endure. Veins stood out like rivers on a map, and your skin itched with a ferocity that no cream could soothe. At night, under dim lights, you swore you saw the twins moving just beneath the surface, shapes pressing against your belly as if testing the boundaries of their world.

But when you spoke to them, the chaos stilled. Your voice, soft and uncertain, seemed to reach them in a way nothing else could. “You’re being good today,” you murmured one evening, your hand rubbing olive oil on the tight curve of your stomach. The twins stirred beneath your touch, a gentle nudge pressing against your palm as though answering your unspoken thoughts. Tears welled in your eyes as a fragile smile tugged at your lips. You blinked them away.

From the doorway, Sukuna watched, arms crossed and face unreadable. His presence was always imposing, even when he wasn’t trying to be, but tonight there was something almost tentative about the way he lingered.

“They listen to you,” he said finally, his tone an odd mix of observation and something softer, almost vulnerable.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The moment felt too delicate to break with words.

Sukuna pushed off the doorframe, his steps heavy but measured as he crossed the room. He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the chair, shaking it out with a flick of his wrist before tucking it carefully over you. His hands moved with an ease that belied his usual brashness, adjusting the pregnancy pillows he’d insisted on buying—three of them, because one wasn’t enough, apparently.

You watched him as he worked, the sharp lines of his face softened by the dim light. He paused when he caught you staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

He snorted, clearly not buying it, but didn’t press. Instead, he stepped back, as if retreating to a safe distance.

“Sukuna,” you said suddenly, your voice breaking the quiet.

He stopped, half-turned toward the door.

“Do you want to feel them?” You gestured to your belly, your voice laced with genuine curiosity.

His reaction was instant and comically transparent. His shoulders stiffened, and his crimson eyes darted to your stomach like it might explode. “What? No. Why would I want to do that?”

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. “Because they’re your kids, oh faux husband?”

“They’re your kids,” he shot back, his voice gruff, but the tips of his ears betrayed him, turning a faint shade of pink.

You laughed, low and amused. “You’re scared.”

“Am not,” he snapped, but the defensive edge in his tone only confirmed it.

You pressed, grinning now. “Big bad Sukuna, terrified of a couple of unborn gremlins?”

He glared, sulking. “I’m not scared. I just... don’t see the point.”

“Right.” You patted the space next to you on the bed. “Come on. They won’t bite.”

He hesitated, looking like you’d asked him to stick his hand into a nest of vipers. But after a moment, he moved closer, his movements awkward and deliberate, like he was approaching a wild animal.

“Here,” you said, taking his hand and placing it gently on your ginormous stomach. His palm was warm and rough against your skin, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

Soon, a tiny kick met his hand, tentative but unmistakable.

Sukuna froze. His eyes widened just a fraction, the briefest flicker of something raw and unguarded crossing his face.

“They’re saying hi,” you teased, your voice soft.

He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned, stuffing it into his pocket and muttering, “Yeah, well, tell them to keep it down.”

You laughed again, a sound that filled the room and made his scowl deepen. But there was no mistaking the way his gaze lingered on you, softer now, as if the weight of the moment had settled somewhere he desperately wanted to acknowledge.

After ensuring you were comfortable, he retreated to his usual spot in the next room. You heard the creak of his bed as he settled in, close enough to hear you if you called out. The bed wasn’t weak; he was just a giant sequoia tree.

Later that night, when the nightmares came—vivid and merciless—you woke trembling; the images of Gojo’s cold eyes and Nanami’s unforgiving hands lingered, still fresh in your mind, as though they were still in the room. Sukuna was there before you could fully sit up, his hands steady on your shoulders.

“Breathe,” he commanded, his voice firm but not unkind.

When your breaths came shallow and quick, he didn’t leave. Instead, he sat with you, his presence solid and grounding as the panic ebbed.

“You’re fine,” he said, his tone gruff but edged with a care he’d never admit. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. Even when his hands trembled just the faintest bit from exhaustion, you knew he wouldn’t let go. You noticed his long nails were filed down now.

His care was relentless, though not without its abrasive edges. He harassed you to eat, to drink water, to rest. When you tried to push back, his response was always the same: “Argue all you want, princess, but I’m not going anywhere.”

And he didn’t. You felt a sense of comfort in that. Your actual husbands, the fathers of your babies, had abandoned you months ago, while this man—who had no obligations to you—loved you as easily as breathing. You could see it in the way he ensured everything was always within reach for you, even when he wasn’t around. If you asked him for water fifteen times in a night, he’d fetch it for you every single time, despite his fatigue. He’d grumble and yell, but he’d still bring it to you without fail.

He hadn’t even mentioned the date he wanted since that day; he gave you the space you needed until you were ready. He did all of this for you without asking for anything in return. Even when you felt like a human submarine, he found ways to compliment you in his own unique manner, while your husbands had long ignored your existence, even before your pregnancy. You felt desirable, but right now, you simply didn’t have the energy to reciprocate anything.

One day the air in the apartment was stifling, even with the ocean breeze teasing the edges of the balcony curtains. You leaned against the railing, letting the salt-tinged wind kiss your skin. Sukuna was out, and for a few minutes, you allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the ocean breeze, to imagine a life where your past couldn’t find you.

Then you saw them.

Gojo’s stark white hair caught the light first, gleaming like a ghost under the streetlamp’s glow. His figure was impossible to miss, a beacon of anarchy, while Nanami’s shoulders were squared, his sharp gaze cutting through the night like a blade, locking onto you with unrelenting sharpness. His arm rose, a silent gesture to Gojo, and together they moved, their silhouettes bleeding from the street into your sanctuary like shadows with intent.

You immediately grabbed your phone.

Ryo: Please come home fast.

The knock was more a warning than a courtesy. Gojo didn’t wait for permission; the door swung open with an ease that felt invasive, wrong. They stepped inside, their presence heavy, oppressive, as if the air itself recoiled from their arrival.

“You’ve been busy,” Gojo said, his voice unnervingly calm. The cocky lilt you knew so well was gone, replaced by something jagged, something that cut.

Nanami’s eyes drifted downward, catching the curve of your stomach. His brows furrowed, confusion twisting into something darker as a ripple moved beneath your skin. It wasn’t subtle—an inhuman and ugly stretch, limbs pressing outward like trapped spirits testing the walls of their cage. You cursed yourself for wearing a crop top, but nothing else fit you these days, and it was too warm here in Schelles. His gaze snapped back to your face, but the damage was done. You saw it: the revulsion, the disbelief.

The air between the three of you crackled, silent but electric. Gojo’s eyes were locked onto yours, an ocean of emotions churning beneath the surface—rage, fear, something almost resembling grief.

“What’s going on?” Nanami finally asked, his voice tight, controlled, but teetering on the edge.

Your throat burned as you swallowed, the words threatening to choke you. Still, you forced yourself to stand straighter, your nails digging crescents into your palms. “Fine. You want the truth?” Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it. “They’re Sukuna’s. I’m pregnant with his twins, and since he’s half a curse, so are they.”

The room plunged into a suffocating silence.

Gojo’s grin faltered, the carefully constructed mask he wore slipping. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. Nanami’s face was a study in restraint, but the tightness of his jaw betrayed him.

“You’re lying,” Gojo said, his voice low and icy.

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Why would I lie? You ignored me. You left me in a country where I didn’t even understand the language. Sukuna didn’t. He took care of me when you didn’t even notice I was breaking.”

“Disgusting,” Gojo spat, his words venomous.

Your vision blurred, but you refused to break. Not in front of them. Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the counter, the only thing keeping you upright. “Then leave. And don’t come back.”

Nanami flinched—a small, almost imperceptible movement, but enough to make your chest tighten with anger. “You expect us to believe that you… cheated?”

“I expect you to believe whatever lets you sleep at night,” you snapped, your voice trembling but resolute. “Because the truth doesn’t matter to either of you. It never did.”

Gojo’s hands shook now, the façade of control crumbling. “You think this is about us? Do you know what I’ve been through? What we’ve been through? I had to kill my best friend. Suguru—” His voice cracked.

“I don’t even know who that is,” you hissed, your anger flaring. “You’ve never mentioned him before. I don’t understand why you’d react like this over killing some long-lost friend I’ve never even heard of. You’ve spent years with Nanami—more time than you ever did with whoever that is, so for all intents and purposes, he should be your best friend. And even if you were so sad over your so-called best friend, why am I the one left to bear the brunt of your grief? What did I do to deserve this?”

You aggressively wiped the single tear that rolled down your cheek and continued, “I begged you—both of you—for any semblance of affection. I told you I was drowning, and you just... left me. You fucked each other for months while I cried myself to sleep in a corner of your penthouse, wondering why I was even there.”

Nanami stepped forward, his voice steady but strained. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?” Your voice was a blade, sharp and unforgiving. “When I came back to confront you, you were sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms. Like I didn’t exist. Like I wasn’t your wife.”

The words landed like physical blows. Neither of them moved.

“I’m sorry,” Gojo whispered, the words fragile, brittle.

You shook your head, tears burning tracks down your cheeks. “Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t erase what you did. You don’t deserve forgiveness. And even if I could forgive you, I will never forget the night I became an intruder in my own marriage.”

Nanami reached out, his hand hovering near your arm, but you recoiled, crossing your arms protectively over your stomach. “Don’t. You don’t get to touch me!”

Gojo’s voice dropped, desperation leaking through the cracks. “We didn’t know you were pregnant.”

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice shaking with fury. “You didn’t care enough to notice. Even with your six eyes and your oh-so-great curse signature reading abilities you always bragged about, you didn’t.”

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet but unyielding. “Leave. Sukuna will send over the divorce papers. Sign them and don’t come back.”

They hesitated, their expressions unreadable, but when you pointed toward the door, they obeyed. The sound of it slamming shut echoed through the apartment, leaving you trembling in its wake.

It had to be this way if you were to keep your babies safe, away from the dangers of the sorcery world. You needed to ensure that no one could take them from you.

A few minutes later, Sukuna returned. Finding the front lock broken, he rushed inside, his presence filling the space with a warmth you hadn’t realized you needed until now. He took one look at your tear-streaked face and the shattered pieces of your resolve and said nothing. Instead, he crossed the room, his arms enveloping you in a hug, firm and grounding.

“They were here,” he stated, not asked.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “I told them the twins are yours; I’m sorry nothing came to mind.”

He tilted his head, his crimson eyes studying you. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of them when they come back.”

“They won’t,” you said, your voice hardening. “They don’t deserve to know them. Or me.”

Sukuna smirked, but it wasn’t mocking. “Good.”

And when he sighed, content, for the first time in a long time, you truly felt that you were safe.

You peered up at him.

Sukuna smirked, his arms still holding you close. “Told you I’d take care of you, princess.”

But even as you closed your eyes, the weight of your choices pressed down on you, heavier than ever.

-

The hum of the plane’s engines was a constant, hollow noise, drowning out the world outside. The cabin was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a reading light over Nanami’s seat. He stared blankly at the leather-bound hardcover of The Myth of Sisyphus in his lap, its pages untouched. Beside him, Gojo leaned against the window, his long legs stretched out in the aisle, his eyes obscured by the darkened lenses of his sunglasses.

Neither of them had spoken since takeoff. The silence between them was heavy, a chasm filled with unspoken truths and raw, festering wounds.

“She’s lying,” Gojo said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, like speaking it aloud would make it more real. “The twins… they’re ours.”

Nanami didn’t respond immediately. He flipped the book closed and placed it on the tray table in front of him, his movements deliberate, mechanical. “I know.”

Gojo let out a hollow laugh, pressing his knuckles against his lips. “She doesn’t understand these things because she can’t see them. Those… those legs under her skin.” His voice cracked, and he turned his head toward the window, the faint reflection of his face pale and gaunt. “That’s not Sukuna’s cursed energy. One of them is mine, and one is yours.”

Nanami’s hands gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white. “It doesn’t matter.”

Gojo turned to look at him, his sunglasses sliding down his nose enough to reveal his bloodshot eyes. “How can you say that? They’re our kids, Kento. She—she’s going to raise them with him.”

Nanami closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, as if releasing the air from his lungs could somehow ease the ache in his chest. The weight of his thoughts pressed down on him, a suffocating reminder of the choices they had made and the consequences that followed. “And what would we offer them, Satoru? A life filled with curses? A life of blood and death?” His voice trembled slightly, betraying the turmoil within. “She’s better off with him, away from us.”

He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the seat in front of him, as if the fabric could somehow absorb his pain. “I’ve looked into him—he abandoned sorcery long ago and holds no loyalty to its hierarchy. He’s free from the chains that bind us, free from the expectations and the endless cycle of violence that defines our lives. He will prioritize her, unlike us, always off on missions with no guarantee of return.” The bitterness in his tone deepened, each word laced with regret. “He will be there for her, keeping her and the kids safe.”

Nanami’s mind raced with images of what could have been—a life untainted by the darkness of their world, where laughter replaced the echoes of sorrow and love flourished without the shadow of fear. He could almost see you smile, the warmth of your presence, and the innocence of their children, untouched by the burdens they carried. But that vision felt like a distant dream, slipping further away with each passing moment.

“Do you think we could have given them that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the thought aloud would make it more real. “A chance at a normal life, free from the horrors we’ve faced? We’ve only ever known how to fight, how to survive. What kind of future is that for them?”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken truths and the haunting realization that they had failed not just you, but the very lives they had hoped to protect. Nanami’s heart ached with the knowledge that their choices had led them to this moment, a crossroads where love and duty collided, leaving only fragments of what could have been.

Gojo slammed a fist against the armrest, the sound startling in the quiet cabin. “We didn’t even fight for her. Not once. We just… let her slip away. What the hell is wrong with us?”

 The weight of Nanami's eyes settling heavily on Gojo. “We broke her, Satoru. Piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the woman we claimed to love.” His voice was steady, but his words were sharp enough to cut. “And now she’s gone.”

Gojo’s head dropped into his hands, his shoulders trembling. “I thought… I thought I was doing what I had to. After Suguru, after everything, I just—” He choked on his words, his breath hitching. “I couldn’t lose you too. And I did. I lost both of you.”

Nanami’s gaze dropped to the floor, his voice quieter now. “She begged us to see her. To hear her. And we didn’t.”

Gojo dragged a hand down his face, the stubble on his jaw rasping against his palm. “She looked at me like I was a stranger, Kento. Like I wasn’t even human. Like she was scared of me.”

“She had every right to,” Nanami said, his voice carrying a weight of finality. “We left her alone. We left her angry, grieving, and drowning; we made her feel like she didn’t belong in her own home. Then we chased her relentlessly from one country to another. Any woman, pregnant or not, would be scared.”

Gojo’s laugh was bitter, devoid of humor.

The silence returned, heavier now, punctuated only by the muffled sound of Gojo’s uneven breathing. Nanami sat motionless, his hands resting limply on his lap; he looked utterly shattered.

“Do you think she’ll forgive us?” Gojo asked, his voice barely audible.

Nanami didn’t answer immediately. He stared out at the endless expanse of clouds outside the window, his expression unreadable. “I don’t think it matters.”

Gojo’s breath hitched again, and he leaned back in his seat, tilting his head to the ceiling as if he could somehow escape the crushing weight of his own guilt. He murmured. “We could’ve—”

“Could’ve doesn’t change anything,” Nanami interrupted, his voice harsh. “She’s gone, Satoru. And she’s not coming back.”

The finality of those words settled between them, cold and unrelenting. Gojo turned his head toward the window, the light from the wing of the plane catching on the tears that slipped from beneath his sunglasses. Nanami sat motionless beside him, his gaze fixed on the book in front of him.

Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the flight. The weight of what they had lost, what they had destroyed, was louder than any words could ever be.

-

The days after their visit felt heavier than anything you’d endured. The lie sat like a stone in your chest, each passing moment adding to its weight. You told yourself it was necessary, that it was for your children. But it didn’t stop the nightmares that came in fragments, jagged and disjointed, like shards of a shattered mirror slicing into your subconscious.

You stood in a darkened room, the walls pulsing faintly as if alive. A sickly red light seeped through the cracks, casting terrifying shadows that writhed and twisted. Your breath fogged in the cold air, the chill sinking into your bones.

Gojo was there first, his white hair glowing unnaturally in the dim light. His face was obscured, his features blurred as if smudged by unseen hands. But his voice was clear, cutting through the oppressive silence like a knife.

“You’re disgusting.”

The words echoed, multiplying, each iteration louder than the last until it became a deafening chant. His silhouette loomed larger, his hands outstretched, fingers impossibly long and claw-like. They reached for you, dragging through the air, each swipe leaving behind trails of darkness that spread like ink.

You tried to move, but your feet were rooted to the ground. When you looked down, black tendrils coiled around your ankles, slithering up your legs. They were cold and wet, like the touch of something ancient and decayed.

Behind him, Nanami appeared, his back to you. His suit was untouched by the darkness that surrounded you both. You called his name, your voice trembling and weak, but he didn’t turn.

“Ken!” you screamed, desperation clawing at your throat.

When he finally moved, it was slow, deliberate. His head tilted slightly, just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile. His lips parted, but no sound came. Instead, his skin cracked, fine lines spreading across his face like a porcelain doll dropped from a great height. From the fissures seeped black ichor, thick and oozing, dripping down to pool at his feet.

He turned fully then, and you wished he hadn’t. His eyes were empty voids, twin abysses that seemed to pull you in. His expression was blank, his mouth set in a line of quiet condemnation.

“Why did you lie?” His voice was soft but burrowed into your mind like a parasite.

“I had to,” you whispered, though your words felt small, swallowed by the growing shadows.

“Did you?” he pressed, his figure growing distant even as he stood still.

The tendrils tightened, pulling you downward. You clawed at them, your nails splitting as you tried to free yourself. But they only tightened, dragging you into the floor that had become a gaping maw, teeth lining the edges of the pit.

As you sank, Gojo and Nanami stood above you, unmoving. Their faces blurred together, features melding and twisting until they became something monstrous. Gojo’s laughter echoed, sharp and cruel, as Nanami’s voice droned in an endless loop:

“You should’ve told the truth.”

The last thing you saw before the darkness swallowed you whole was the faint ripple of movement beneath your skin, something inside you fighting against the pull. But even that wasn’t going to be enough.

You woke gasping, your hand clutching your stomach as though to protect the life within. The room was quiet, the shadows still. But their voices lingered, whispering accusations in the corners of your mind.

Sukuna was always there in an instant, holding you as you fought through the panic attack. He rubbed circles on your back and forced you to count and breathe.

A/N: So, mystery hunk (™) is officially in the chat, and yes, he’s soft for our girl in his own chaotic way. Also, the part about Nanami reading Camus? That wasn’t just for flavor text—yes, I went there. If you’ve ever wanted to cry about The Myth of Sisyphus and think about how life is just a series of rolling boulders uphill, congratulations—this chapter’s for you! What do you think Sukuna’s Ryo-side would say to Nanami’s Sisyphus-side? Also, people who are grumbling about Sukuna being our guy, I have my reasons; hear me out: Gojo and Nanami are both special grades in this fic, so you need someone stronk who can proteck and attack you/for you. I will write more fics in the future where you'll have your fav guys as your saviors, so in the meantime, if you have ideas or just want to yell at me, send them on my asks. I’m curious: do you think Gojo’s breakdown was justified, or was he being selfish again? Let’s talk about it! Oh, and if you had to wrestle a goat, which JJK character would you pick to help you? (Sukuna’s banned. Too OP.)

Also this is your manz -

And this is what you married -

Even the stable one is weird -

Chapter 8 (alt ending 1.2) - Veiled Realities (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy

Disclaimer - I found these memes randomly on Pinterest, so lmk the creators if you know so that I can tag them.

[just-wrting]

Feeling Fangs

Title: Feeling Fangs

Pairing: Charlotte Katakuri x Wife!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: You find out what your husband has been hiding from you after he loses against Straw Hat, but you find yourself fixating on how pretty he is without his scarf.

Master List Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

A/N: My bf won't let me read about this man because I'm not far enough in the anime so I'll just write about him instead. And read about him but my bf doesn't have to know that part yet. He's worried about spoilers but what spoilers am I gonna get from all that smut? Also I just like men with fangs.

You didn't particularly care who one this little war that broke out, as long as your husband is fine. There's no doubt in your mind that he'll survive, you just don't want to see him hurt. Sure, the two of you have never really been romantic or anything, your marriage was somewhat political, but you've grown fond of him. So when his little sister is kneeling on the street saying he lost, your heart drops.

"Brulee, get me in there," you hiss in her ear. "I need to make sure he's okay."

There's tears in her eyes as she looks at you quizzically. "How did you get here?"

"This isn't the time for that. Let me in the mirror dimension."

She nods quickly and lets you through. Her steps are hesitant as she follows behind you. You make note of the chefs slumped against a wall, curious as to who killed them. It doesn't matter to you as you stumble closer to your husband.

It's the first time you've seen him like this. Even when it's time to sleep, he's still awake, sitting up in bed doing who knows what as you drift off. Right now, he's asleep on his back with a hat on his face. You quickly locate his scarf next to a group of people, ignoring them.

You've never seen him without his scarf, but you figure out that everyone here has. The chefs must've seen him without it, so he's the one who killed them. Everyone else must've passed out from something in the battle, but they've all seen him too.

"Brulee, tie up everyone here. It doesn't matter who they are, I want them unable to leave," you say in a low voice. "If you fail to do this, I won't forgive you."

While she follows your orders, you crouch down to rewrap his scarf. You make sure to hide his face from view as you carefully lift the hat. Biting your lip in anticipation, you do your best to not wake him. As you unveil his full face, you feel yourself get flustered.

Poking out from his lips are four shiny fangs. You do your best to not reach out and touch them, wondering how sharp they are. You expected something frightening under the scarf, but Katakuri is actually just as pretty as you thought he was. You don't know how you lucked out to get him, but you'll think about that later.

You make quick work with his scarf, noticing he's missing his jacket. You'll have to look for it later, your focus needs to be on finding Pudding. It doesn't matter that she's rude to you, what matters is her ability. You had overheard it in passing, but her ability to manipulate memories is what makes her the key.

"Let's go, I need to find Pudding."

Thankfully, you can see her hiding on the other side of the mirror you came in. It might take a moment to run and get her, but you'll put yourself through whatever you need to. The most important thing to you is wiping everyone's memory of what Katakuri looks like.

You dash through the fight, weaving your way through both enemies and the Big Mom pirates. Ducking down next to Pudding, you catch your breath for just a moment while she stares starry eyed at someone.

"Sanji..." she mumbles before glaring at you. "What do you want?"

"I need you to alter some memories for me."

She gives you an evil smile. "Why would I do that? Just because you're my big brother's wife doesn't mean I'll help you."

You frown. "I won't tell anyone that you've fallen in love with Sanji and most likely helped him escape."

"What?! You have no proof!"

You pull her up and start dragging her behind you. "I may not have concrete proof, but I'm not stupid. Besides, your reaction is my proof."

She grumbles something about you being an ass, but she follows you.

"You also need to wipe some of Brulee's memory.  If you tell anyone what you saw in them, I'll tell everyone that you helped Sanji escape. Do you understand?"

She nods. "Alright, I understand. Why what did they see?"

You set your jaw. "At the very least, they saw Katakuri without his scarf. I'm not sure what else they saw."

You watch over her shoulder as she shoves her hand into people's memories. It's a little gross, but it'll get the job done. It's better to threaten one person over a dozen.

There's a moment where Luffy slips and falls, gaining a large wound in his stomach due to being numbed. After finding out why, you watch Katakuri stab himself and pull off his scarf. It's nice to see a pirate try to have a fair fight, giving you a bit more insight as to what your husband is actually like.

"I guess it's a bit weird that he didn't want help if he couldn't defeat Straw Hat, but it doesn't make him lame. Those idiots don't realize they're the lame ones," Pudding grumbles. "Do you think Sanji has the same idea?"

You shrug. "It seems like his captain does at least so probably. Do I look like Sanji?"

Pudding scowls. "Shut up. Let me do this."

You don't miss the days when you'd have mood swings about men. That's the one good thing about having an arranged marriage, you don't have to worry about your feelings for other people.

"Mirrors, are any of you in an intact room? One with a big bed and access to water."

One a little ways away responds, and you look back at your passed out husband. You don't know how you're getting him there. Maybe you should've thought about that ahead of time, but it doesn't matter now. You can figure it out, you always do.

—-

It's been at least one day since you dragged him into bed, and Katakuri has yet to wake up. You can feel yourself dozing off every time you sit down, so you do your best to stay occupied. You prepare food, make sure you have enough water to wipe him down and let him drink, and constantly rearranging things. On one hand you want him to wake up so you know he's not in a coma, on the other hand you want him to get as much rest as he needs.

What you want doesn't matter, as you hear him wake up suddenly with a gasp. In your shock, you drop the plate you were holding.

"There's no need to wake up so aggressively, Katakuri. You're safe," you reassure as you pick up the bigger pieces of the plate. "How are you feeling?"

"How did I end up here? What did you see?" His voice is low, almost threatening.

You dump the bigger pieces in the trash and start sweeping. "We can talk about that later. You should have some water and eat. Then you should go back to sleep. I patched you up as well as I can, but I'm not a doctor."

He starts to pull the covers off, giving you a harsh look. "What did you-"

You dump the dustpan's contents into the trash before setting the broom to the side. "Like I said, it can wait. No offense, but you don't particularly scare me when you're ripping open your wounds."

His face goes a bit red as you tell him off. You want him to feel better before you deal with any other matters. That includes the talk of whether he'll choose to kill you for seeing his face.

"I made you some food, so just sit up."

Thankfully, he obeys. Katakuri doesn't even protest as you feed him. You make sure to avert your eyes, just for his comfort. He seems to be extremely hungry, eating all the food you've made. By the time it's all gone, he looks tired again.

"Get some more sleep, I'll lock the door. I wanted to be awake when you woke up, but now that that has happened, I can sleep."

He watches as you turn the lock and slide the broom handle through the loops of the door handles. You do the same with the window, shoving a fire poker through the handle before closing the curtains once more. Giving each of them a tug, you feel satisfied when nothing clatters to the ground.

"When did you sleep?" Katakuri asks, watching you intently. "You look..."

"Terrible, I know. I don't think I've slept since before the tea party, though. I'd have to think about it."

You crawl into the other side of the bed. It's a bit small, but leaning against him makes it a bit more comfortable. Despite your efforts, you find yourself dozing off before making sure he sleeps. There's no way he's getting out of the bed though, you've managed to lay on his arm.

—-

By the time you wake up, Katakuri is fast asleep. For what must be the first time ever, he's got his arm around you, holding you close. You watch him for just a moment, admiring how pretty he is. You want to reach up and play with his hair, but you ignore that feeling and try to wiggle from his grasp.

Even with how battered he is, you find it difficult to free yourself. You knew he was strong, ridiculously so, but you didn't realize he's just this strong. After freeing yourself, you feel exhausted again.

Thankfully, Pudding has left another basket of food for you, complete with an angry note about how she's not your delivery girl and if she's going to bring you stuff you need to be there. You roll your eyes and throw away the note. If she had important things to say, she can say them to your face.

You help yourself to an apple, crunching away as you try to figure out what to make. It would be nice if you could access a bigger kitchen with more ingredients, but this will have to do. Hopefully it's enough food, you've seen the size of  the food he eats.

With a sigh, you give up. Exhaustion still flows through you, so you focus on things that don't require a lot of thought. So you eat and wash the dishes, making sure to be as quiet as possible. It's better for him to wake up naturally, not due to you being a jerk.

Once there's nothing more to do, you make your way to the bed. You check the wounds, letting the smaller and scabbed ones breathe. Almost all of his injuries have stopped bleeding, you just can't check the one you're most worried about. He needs to wake up for you to take a look.

As you reach towards his head, his hand shoots up and grabs your wrist tightly. You wince in pain, surprised at how tight his grip is.

"What are you doing?"

You tug on his fingers. "Checking the scrape on your forehead. I want to make sure it closed up."

He cautiously releases you. "Don't do anything else."

You click your tongue against your teeth. "Have some more faith in me, Katakuri. I'm your wife, I have no ill intentions."

"We need to talk."

You start unwrapping the dressing. "What do you want to know?"

Katakuri breaks eye contact with you. "What happened after I lost?"

"Well, we lost. I dragged you out of here with some help."

"What about the others in the mirror dimension? What happened to them?"

The blood that makes up the scab also goes into his hairline, so you make a note to bathe with him so it doesn't open. "Those chefs are dead. Your little sister and her stupid fan club on the other hand are alive."

"Where are they now?" he asks, furrowing his brow. "What about the cam-snails?"

"I have no idea where they went after they woke up. I collected the cam-snails though, they're in a bag here."

His hand makes its way to your thigh, holding you down. "What did you see? What did you do?"

"I put your scarf on, tied everyone up, and made Pudding alter their memories. Straw Hat knows, but based on how I found you, I don't think that matters."

"How did you-"

You give a small smirk. "Poor little Pudding was so against marriage, but she ended up falling in love with that Sanji boy. I told her that I would keep it a secret if she kept yours. I'm telling you in case you choose to... you know."

His other hand pulls down his scarf. "So you know. And you're still here?"

Satisfied with the head scrape, you pull back a bit. "Of course. You're injured, where else would I be?"

"Aren't you afraid?" He pulls his face into a scowl. "Don't you think-"

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean forward and kiss him. It's nothing romantic, just a quick press of your lips on his, but you pull away flustered.

"Why did you do that?" His eyes are wide.

You blink in surprise. "Why did I do that?"

"How would I know, I'm not-"

You lean forward and kiss him again. His lips are soft, and when you lick your own after pulling away, you find them sweet.

"What are you-" You cut him off again with a kiss.

"This plan isn't-" Even after a fourth kiss, you can't stop.

Before he says anymore, he grabs your face in both hands. "Stop whatever nonsense this is. What are you trying to do?"

You've never seen Katakuri look like this. His face is flushed and his eyes are wide.

"I just really wanted to do that."

It’s now his turn to blink in shock. “Why?”

“You’re just…” You look away, knowing that your face is burning up. “Katakuri, you’re so pretty.”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you intensely. You’re worried he’s upset, you did just keep interrupting him with kisses, but that thought is dashed within seconds as he pulls you into a kiss.

His tongue pushes past your bottom lip, pressing into your mouth. Even when you try to take control of the kiss, it takes him no effort to keep you in place. His tongue overpowering yours and exploring your mouth, filling your taste buds with sweetness.

Due to the size difference, his tongue fills your mouth, eagerly searching every part of your mouth. You can’t help the dirty thoughts that start to fill your mind, thinking of other ways he could use his tongue. All you can focus on is how sweet he tastes and how much you enjoy kissing him.

You’re completely breathless once he pulls away, panting as you try to breathe. Through half lidded eyes, you watch him recover. His face is somehow even more flushed and he’s looking at your lips. Without thinking, you blurt out the first thing to come to mind.

“Katakuri, can you bite me? Please?”

His thumb brushes softly against your cheek. “Are you sure you want that?”

You rub your cheek into his palm, letting out a soft hum. “Please?”

Titling your head to the side, you expose your neck. You have no idea why you want him to bite you so badly, you just do. If he tells you no, you won’t ask again, you just want to experience it this once.

The hand on your other cheek slides down to your shoulder. You feel his warm breath on your neck, and you bite your lip in anticipation. At first, he just presses a soft kiss to your neck, carefully holding you like you might break. Then, without warning, you feel his teeth sink into your neck.

You let out a gasp, and your hand grips his shoulder. It’s not a harsh bite, just the very tips of his fangs. The only pain you feel is the initial breaking of your skin, but once that passes, you feel flushed and warm. It’s really doing something for you, and you don’t want him to stop.

“Did that hurt?” Katakuri asks, pulling away at your gasp.

You draw a shaky breath as he licks the marks on your skin. “You drew blood. That’ll always hurt, but I’m fine.”

He hums softly as he makes sure you’re not bleeding anymore. His touch is gentle and light, and you let out a groan as he traces invisible patterns into your skin. You want more, and you lace your hand in his hair.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. You pull away from Katakuri, adjusting your shirt to cover the mark. You wait for him to pull his scarf back up straight under his nose. There’s still a dusting of pink across the tips of his ears, but he doesn’t look as flustered with his scarf up.

He nods, and you open the door. Pudding stands there with her arms crossed, pouting. She pushes past you, dumping a bunch of stuff on table.

“Here’s everything you asked for, don’t ask me for stuff again. You can start getting it yourself!” She puts her hands on her hips. “I’ve done what you wanted for the past three days. I’m done!”

Katakuri moves to get out of the bed, but you wave him down. Both of the siblings deserve their rest. That’s the only thing you should focus on.

“Thank you Pudding. Go get some rest, we’ll be okay.”

She looks surprised, before huffing. “Of course I’m going to get rest. I deserve it.”

She gives you another dirty look before storming out. It’s like a whirlwind came in, scolded you, and left. You don’t really care. She did her best to help you, so you can cut her some slack.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that.”

You close the door and lock it once more. “It’s fine. Everyone is under stress right now, including you. You should get some more sleep if you can.”

Katakuri tugs his scarf off, letting it rest on the floor. You want to go fluster him again, but you just stay still. Seeing him like this, battered and bruised, makes your heart ache.

“Are you going to sleep as well?”

You give him a soft smile. “Do you want me to come and get more sleep?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes as he answers. “It’s your choice.”

You walk over and place your hand on his cheeks, making him look at you. “Do you need me next to you for you to sleep?”

Unfortunately, you seem to have pushed him just far enough to annoy him. He gives you a stern look as he wraps his arms around you. Even though he’s annoyed, he’s gentle as he pulls you on top of him.

You squirm slightly in a halfhearted attempt to get him to let you go. His grip is iron tight, and he has no intention of letting you go. This is the first time he’s ever insisted on having you sleep next to him, and it makes you feel warm inside.

Once you stop moving, his grip looses just enough for you to get a bit more comfortable. You lay your head on his chest, closing your eyes to listen to his heart beat. It’s relaxing, and you feel yourself get drowsy. You know it’s all over, when he starts to rub your back.

There’s the sound of his saying something, but you fail to catch it as you fall asleep. You don’t even notice the soft kiss he presses to your head while you drift off.

[b3ach-bunn7]

FORWARDS BECKON REBOUND

You find Dabi bleeding out on your front porch. Despite recognising his face from the five o'clock news, you take him in.

angst, villain dabi, quirkless reader, Dabi POV

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

He should’ve killed you the minute he’d woken up. 

Left your house burning blue with you inside of it, before you even had a chance to run. But it had been Dabi who’d passed out outside your house, and it had been you who lugged him inside, lanky bones and all, so he felt some obligation not to do it. He was barely conscious, just awake enough to hear you mumbling curses under your breath as you scrounged through your cupboards for a first aid kit. 

It wasn’t a nice way to go, bleeding out on a random street. It was embarrassing, the famed cremation villain dying to a knife wound that hit a little too deep. He’d killed the man who’d stabbed him, of course, but that fact that he would kill Dabi was what had him praying to a God he didn’t believe in that he’d live. Maybe it was a fitting death. A person like him, bleeding out with the dirt of a flower bed slipping down his shirt, only the sounds of the night echoing in his ears. 

And then you appeared.

Wearing scrubs that fit too loosely over your body, a puffer jacket and a scarf covering the lower half of your face. He had enough energy to wonder why someone like you, someone that looked down at him with so much worry etched on your face, was in a neighbourhood like this, one where people like him lurked. You dropped your bags, abandoned the scarf and the coat and dropped to your knees. He’d watched your scrubs soak with blood as your hands hesitated in front of him.

“God. Fuck. What do I- Fuck.”  You grabbed your scarf and wrapped it tightly around his chest and then you slipped your arms under his, groaning at his dead weight. 

“This is my good deed for the day.” You huffed, starting the slow drag towards your home.

And he’d passed out after that, he thinks. Everything is very jumbled up but he supposed that’s what happens when you’re bleeding to death.

And when he woke up he thought he might be in heaven. A heaven that was very cluttered and full of way too many pictures hung up on the walls. His head was killing him, and his chest fucking hurt.  He was sprawled on a couch too small for him and his legs were touching the floor. He tries to rise and he stops, immediately, cursing at the shot of pain that spreads through his body.

“Oh no, don’t get up! The stitches will pull.” 

He turned his head to the source of the voice and it's you.

On your knees, scrubbing at the blood stains on your floor. The sleeves of your hoodie were pulled up past your forearms and you were wearing shorts that rode up your thighs. He would’ve made an inappropriate comment about the sight of your legs but he has no idea who the fuck you are.

“I- I’m a nurse so don’t worry, the stitches are done right. That’s for you, too. You should drink it, you lost a lot of blood.” You laughed nervously, pointing at the coffee table.

There was a juice box waiting for him. He didn’t grab it though. Just kept staring at you, silent.

“Uh. I’m Y/N, by the way.” You hand twitched like you’re about to offer it to him, but you decided against it.

There’s no way you don’t know who he is. Dabi’s face has been plastered on the news more times than he can remember, and his face isn’t one you can forget. He watches you now, your eyes flitting from his face to his chest. You sit back on your knees, rubbing at your face with your clean hand.

“I- I can make you some food. If you think you can stomach it.” 

What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t you know what he could do to you? How quickly he could kill you?

He moved to stand again and you got up that time, moving towards him. “Look, seriously, you can’t move. The stitches will open and I can’t deal with any more blood today.” You said.

Dabi cursed. You flinch at the deep gravel of his voice.

“I know you probably think I’m crazy. I just- You can stay, until you can move again. It’s fine. I just don’t want you dying in my house, please. Or on my driveway.” You breathed out, taking another step back.

Dabi looked at you again. You looked like he could take you out now, stitches and all. He’s sure if you were going to call the police, you’d have done it by now. And he can’t remember the last time somebody actually doted on him. So he made the incredibly stupid move of listening to you. 

He reached forward and snatched up the juice. He popped it open with his thumb, downing it in one go, squeezing the carton to get it all out. Dabi threw the empty carton on the floor when he was finished. He leant his head back on the couch, and drifted off quickly into sleep.

The first few days are spent in and out of consciousness. The times he is awake, he doesn’t speak to you, not unless he has to. When you ask him what size clothes he wears, when you ask if he has any allergies. It doesn’t stop you from talking though. It’s all you do, whether to a friend on the phone or just to yourself. 

The couch has become the place he spends most of the days. He doesn't move unless it’s for the toilet or to let you change his bandages. The one time he’d actually gotten up for longer than five minutes was so you could clean the couch, silently mourning the fact you’d have to get a new one once he was gone. His blood still stains your carpet though, faint but there, and he feels something he can’t describe at the fact a part of him will always exist between your walls.

The first time he does speak to you, he doesn’t even mean to.

“God, the lady at the pharmacy definitely thinks I’m a serial killer. I'm there for bandages and painkillers like, four times a week.” 

You sigh and drop the shopping bags on the floor. You’re in your scrubs again, blue this time, as opposed to the green ones he’d stained with his blood. You run to the kitchen to grab a wet cloth and the antiseptic, and Dabi sits up gingerly on the couch.

He isn’t exactly healed, but you’d assured him once he could be conscious for longer than an hour that the cut wasn’t as deep as it seemed. It still hurt like a bitch, though, and his stitches still stung as he pushed himself up. YYou kneel in front of him, carefully unwrapping the bandages around his chest. You keep your distance, just close enough so that you can reach him. The bandages stick to his skin and you make quick work of cleaning it, dabbing it with antiseptic. 

Dabi notices that you won’t ever look him in the eyes. Always darting around his face but never at him. You always linger on the scarred skin around his body, the staples hastily holding them together. You’re looking at them now, absentmindedly as you search through the bags for the bandages.

“My skin gross you out, lady?”

Your eyes do look up at him then, and Dabi feels like he should definitely talk to you more if you’re going to look at him like that. You laugh nervously and he tilts his head, blue eyes boring into yours.

“No, I just. Ha, no, I just haven't seen anything like it. The staples-” 

Your hand touches one gingerly and before you can move it away he grabs it with his own. He lets his hand heat up, not enough to hurt you but enough to let that lick of fear inch up your face, and he grins. Your hand is soft against the calloused, scarred skin of his, and he rubs his thumb up and down the back of it, watching the shiver you try and hide from him.

“Did I say you could touch?” He raises his eyebrows and you snatch your hand back. You turn away, inching just that little bit away from him.

“You didn’t complain about my touching when I dragged you from off my front porch.” You mumble under your breath.

His grin widens at that. “You got a mouth on you. But it’s okay, you can touch me anywhere you want, baby.”

Oh, that look. You were cute, he’d admit. He loved those shorts you were always wearing. Made your ass look amazing.

Your cheeks turn a delicious red. “I- Shut up. Let me finish.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you finish.”

“My god. Are you twelve?” You huff, placing the dressing over the stitches.

Dabi just watches you. He enjoys the way you squirm under his gaze. “You’re brave, sweetheart. You know who you’re talking to?”

You don't respond for a few seconds. “Of course. I’m not stupid.”

“Really? I’d say housing a villain in your house is pretty stupid.”

You say nothing, just gesture for him to sit up from the couch, where he was leaning against it. Like this, him sitting up and you still kneeling in front of the couch, he towers over you. It’s a compromising position, you fit in between his spread legs. Dabi can imagine you like this in another situation, maybe without the bandages and without that shirt you’ve got on.

You wrap the bandages around his chest silently. You finish, pinning it down so it doesn't come loose. You look back up at him. “It’s nearly been two weeks. If you wanted to kill me you would’ve.”

“Maybe I’m waiting until I’m all healed up. Really take my time with you.” He lets his voice drop, a low drawl.

You swallow. “I hope not. Would be a waste of my time if you did.”

Dabi scoffs. Your eyes trail back to his staples. He tugs at one and you wince. “Does- Does it not hurt?”

“Nah. Lost feeling a while ago. These staples are the least of my worries.” 

After that little encounter, Dabi takes to annoying you anytime he can. You’re avoiding him, he can tell, and it’s pissing him off. You spend every day holed up in your room while he has to sit on the couch like a fucking idiot and just wait. Maybe for you to call the cops on him, maybe for him to commit some heinous crime because he’s so fucking bored.

It’s why he starts trying to piss you off. Purposefully loosening his bandages, whining about the pain. You don’t complain, just dutifully bring him water, bring him whatever stupid request he asks of you. You’re being too kind, and he knows it’s fake. He wants to see how long it takes until you break, until that pretty polite smile you throw at him turns into that delicious anger from before. He wants your real emotions. Not this fake shit that makes him want to set the couch on fire.

Maybe it’s fake, or maybe Dabi can’t accept anything from anyone, not without them expecting something in return. And until he figures out what that is he doesn’t give a shit what you think of him.

It comes quicker than he thought. Only three days later, after he spent the entirety of your work phone call turning the TV higher and higher, until the show he was paying no mind was so loud you had to walk out the room. You’d come back out twenty minutes later and there it was, that frown he was missing.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You snap, snatching the remote off the coffee table to turn the TV off. Dabi just watches you, a small amused smile on his face.

You shake your head. “Don’t just fucking sit there. You’ve been trying to piss me off for the past few days and here, I’m giving it to you. Happy?” You yell.

You rub your eyes furiously. “I just- I don’t get it. I’m- I’m helping you, I kept you from dying. Why are you being suc-“

“Why?”  

His voice is enough to silence you completely and he likes what little control he has over you. 

“Why what?”

“Why the fuck are you helping me? I don’t understand you.” He says, watching you pace across the living room.

“Some fucking nobody in the middle of a shitty town in an even shittier apartment housing me. Why? Makes no sense to me, and I don’t like things that don’t make sense.”  

You stop. You flalter slightly. He catches it, the way your hands twist in the hem of your shirt.

“What, you expected me to let you die?” 

“Yeah. I do it a lot.”

“Yeah, well not everyone is a sick sadistic psycho like you are.” You snarl.

You seem to regret the words the second they leave your mouth. Dabi grins and you cross your arms and look away.

“Aw, don’t get all shy on me. I love that bratty mouth of yours.” You grimace at his words.

“Shut up.” You in breathe once. Purposeful and unsteady.

“I don’t know- Well I do know what you’re like. I guess all of Japan does. But I wasn’t going to let you just die on me like that. I don’t give a fuck who you are. Nobody deserves that.” You speak purposefully, trying hard to hide your emotion.

“And what are you expecting back?”

You look at him, then. And he sees something shift in your expression and you scoff.

“I don’t want anything back. I just did a good thing. I know that might be a foreign concept to you, but to us normal people it isn’t.”  

So bratty. He’d shut you up if he could move without popping a stitch. 

“Just.” You rub your eyes again. “Just stop trying to piss me off all the time. It’s working and it’s so fucking annoying.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to listen to you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the fact you’ve been living in my house for two week?”

“I don’t fucking understand you.”

“I don’t understand you. I mean, how much time and money have I spent on you? It took me ages to get all the blood out my carpet and my toilet. And you still fucked up my couch, even though I covered it up. You think I can afford a new couch? One not covered in blood? I just-“

You pause. Take another deep breath.

“I don’t really know why I’m doing this either. I feel weirdly obligated to. As a nurse, and all. And- I don’t want the hassle, and the attention that would’ve been brought at my door if i had called the ambulance. And I’m sure you wouldn’t have either. So just do me a favour and stop making it so difficult.” 

He stares at you. The slump of your shoulders and he thinks the emotion he’s feeling is pity, or something similar. He doesn’t really know and he doesn’t really care.

But he still wants the healing, and he wants that really good ramen you made the other day. So he shrugs.

“Whatever.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Fucking hell.”  You mumble, stalking off into the kitchen.

Things change after that. You slowly start to spend more time with Dabi. Which might be an overstatement. You sit on the loveseat beside him. Usually reading or catching up with work or throwing too much commentary at a show he’s watching. You catch him staring at your book once and you hold up the cover to him. The title reads, ‘The truth behind the Commission’.

“Quite the problematic read.” He nods and you smile slightly.

“I guess. I like this author. He doesn’t bullshit.”

“You hate heroes, then?”

You shake your head quickly. “‘No. Well. I don’t hate them, I just. There’s a lot of things wrong with hero society. A lot. And I think a lot of heroes get away with shit they shouldn’t because of that title. I don’t know. It’s all fucked, and I’m not gonna sit here praising them just because they do good things. Doesn’t make them good people.” 

He doesn’t reply that quickly and you look sheepish. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

He makes a noise. “Nah, I loved your little anti-hero rant. The league could use a girl like you.”

Your face pales and he barks out a laugh. “Don’t say that!”

After that you start leaving books on the coffee table for him. He doesn’t thank you for it. 

The second time Dabi decides he’ll trust you happens quickly. There’s a box of pizza in front of the two of you, and you’re both not paying much attention to the TV. He’s more looking at you, the way you twirl a strand of hair around and around your finger, bite at your top lip when you’re thinking. Then your face frowns.

“Ew. Pass me the remote.” You hold your hand out to him.

He looks at the TV, and there’s daddy dearest. It’s a documentary, he thinks. Some stupid shit that praises the worst man in the world because he’s a ‘good hero’. He’s got his reason to hate him. But the look of disgust on your face is more delightful than it is confusing. 

“What? Not a fan of our number two hero?” The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth but the look on your face washes it away.

“Fuck no. There’s something about him I don’t trust. I don’t fucking like that guy.” You frown, quickly changing the channel. “I miss All Might.” 

He doesn’t reply to that. He doesn’t know what he’d say if he did.

And then Dabi realises he actually likes being around you. Especially when you’re always staring at him when you think he doesn’t notice.

“You know, I bought you shirts, too.” You speak the words quickly and without making direct eye contact.

Dabi had taken to not wearing any, despite the fact you had bought him some. He only wore  different sweats you’d bought him, slung low on his hips. He always ran hot anyway, and you never complained until now.

He grins. “Aw, this ain’t a pretty sight for you?”

“No, of course not!” 

You face flushes and Dabi leans a little further down on the couch, letting his sweats drift a little lower. Dabi knows he’s fit, and he knows the distinct shape of his V line is what’s making you avoid his form on the couch entirely. He’s not stupid, he’s caught you looking before.

“Right, I didn't mean that. I was just wondering. You know?” 

“Right, right. Don’t worry, baby, I wouldn’t wanna make you uncomfortable. Be a doll and pass me that shirt, yeah?”

You nod. So obedient, he thinks. He grabs the shirt from your hand, letting his fingers drift against yours. You hand twitches slightly and Dabi smiles, sickly sweet.

“Thanks.” 

“S’fine.” 

When you give Dabi the green light to get up and move, he waits for you to go to work so he can thoroughly snoop around your house. He walks his way around the living room that he's grown too accustomed to. He doesn’t care about the kitchen or the toilet he’s been to a million times. Where he really wants to explore is your bedroom.

You’re so stupid. Letting a villain like him in your house. His hand trails over your dresser, the souvenirs and trinkets from holidays and birthdays. There’s even more pictures in here and you’re so loved he can feel it through the paper. You’re always smiling, teeth shining and impossibly bright and for a split second he wonders what you’d look like smiling at him like that.

Your room is quite messy and it doesn’t surprise him. Clothes littered all over the floor, books and a makeup bag scattered over your desk. Your bed is hastily made and your sheets are a soft pink. And he can see you on it begging for him so prettily, so obedient like you always are for him. 

He opens your bedside tables drawers, searches through the junk for something. He doesn’t even know what. There’s old movie stubs and receipts held together with a bobby pin. A postcard from someone called ‘Becky’ in Italy. Some empty lip gloss tubes and a candle burned down to the bottom. Then he sees a small rock. Hidden beneath the postcard and a letter telling you to go to the opticians. Shiny and blue just like his eyes, his flames. He turns it in his hand for a second, the smooth surface cool on his skin, before pocketing it swiftly. 

You don’t notice when you get home. If you do, you don’t say anything. 

You only get bolder in your approach with him after that. You start sitting on the couch with him. You ask him stupid small talk questions. What’s his favourite colour, his favourite food. And if you see how incredibly weird the whole situation is you don’t comment on it, so neither does he. Dabi feels more like a roommate than a patient now. You both don’t bring up the fact he’s healed enough to leave. You tell him he needs a few more days and he lets you lie.

“It’s nice having someone else in the house.” You say one day.

The two of you were on the couch, just that bit closer than the time before. Dabi’s arm rests on the back of the couch, and if he moved just a little to the left he’d be touching you. 

“What?” 

You shrug. “I get lonely, you know? All my friends live miles away, and the same with my family. I don’t know anyone around here.” 

You turn to him then, and shoot him a small smile. 

“It’s nice having company. Makes my house feel lived in.”

“Even if it’s a big old villain?”

You roll your eyes. “Haven’t been very villainous though, have you?”

“It’s never too late, baby.”

It’s the beginning of the end when he starts to do stuff for you.

It’s nothing crazy at first. He sees dishes in the sink so he puts them in the dishwasher. There’s a load of washing in the washer so he puts it in the dryer. He's just bored. He hasn’t left this house in weeks now, and while he likes the stress-free environment, he’s starting to feel antsy. 

And then he saw your face once, looking at the empty washer like he’d given you a diamond ring. And it felt good that he put it there. And Dabi decided it couldn’t hurt to pull his weight a little more around the house. If you’d look at him like that again he’d do anything you asked for.

You come home at three in the morning one night. Stupidly, he thinks. The area you live in is not a safe one, but it’s hardly his problem if you get kidnapped on your way back. When you walk through the door, the lights are all low and you stumble, mumbling curses under your breath. You turn them on and Dabi thinks you look perfect. Cheeks red from the cold, the dress you’re wearing slowly slipping up your thighs. The top is cut enough to make your tits look great, and you brush a strand of your hair out your face as you bend down to take your shoes off. He shouldn’t look, but really it’s all your fault for inviting a villain into your house. What did you expect?

You look up and your face lights up when you see him.

“Dabi! Oh my gosh, hey! I did- I thought you’d be sleeping.” You say the last word in a whisper.

And if that wasn’t tell enough that you were drunk, the way you almost fall walking to the kitchen is. You grab a water from the fridge, and Dabi watches as you down the whole thing in one go, drops of it dripping down your chin and your neck. You breathe heavily, chest heaving up and down as slump against the counter.

“God, I'm so thirsty. The drinks, I mean we had drinks. Of course! Mimosas and like, they were all pink and glittery. Can you tell I’ve been drinking?”

“Oh, not at all.” 

You grin. “Okay! Good! And then, this guy kept buying me drinks. So many drinks. The pink ones again. And I drank them. They were good, though.” 

You walk over to the couch and plop yourself next to him. Your bare thigh presses into his and Dabi lets it. He’s more focused on this little friend of yours buying you so many drinks than anything else.

“What guy?”

“Dunno. Some freak. I think- He was hitting on me. That's what my friend said to me.”

Dabi nods. “Mhm. You didn’t like him?”

You grimace, shaking your head.  “Ew, no way. He’s- He was so blond. And like, preppy. It was gross. He was gross.”

Dabi snorts a laugh. You grin at the sight of it. “Blond and preppy not your type?”

“No. No. I like.” You turn to face him. You cross your legs on the couch, tugging your dress down as it hikes up. You look at him quizzically before nodding your head, like you’ve figured something out.

“Actually, you are my type.” 

Dabi thinks he needs to get you drunk more. He likes the way you’re looking at him.

“Really?”

“Oh for sure. I like- You know like, emos.”

Never fucking mind. 

“I’m not emo, what the fuck?”

You laugh, loud and boisterous. “You so are! The black hair and, and the staples are like piercings. I bet you listen to heavy metal. Do you?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

You giggle, leaning over to rest your head on the couch. Your eyes travel down to his torso, exposed in the vest he was wearing. You reach a hand up, tracing it down the lines of his muscles, over the scarred skin. 

“Love your arms. So big. Can’t even wrap my hand around them.” You mumble. You demonstrate, taking a deep breath when your finger can't meet at the other side. 

“And. I like your voice. So raspy. It’s hot as fuck. And your eyes. So blue. Like the ocean. Like hat billie eilish song.”

He huffs a laugh. You look up at him, eyes shining from the light of the TV. You smile softly, hand still burning a hole on his arm. 

“Thanks if- for not killing me. And going all villain on me.”

Dabi hums. Sees your eyes trail down to his lips and back up to his face. 

“Never say never.”

“Shut up. Don’t say that. You’d never kill me. I’m too loveable.” 

“Too fucking full of yourself.”

“Wish I was full of you.” 

Your hands cover your mouth the second you say the words and you sit up suddenly. Dabi barks a laugh, and you whine, covering your face with your hands.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so drunk. Oh my god.” You groan.

“Don’t worry, baby. We can make your dreams come true.” He smirks.

“Stop. Now. Before I die of embarrassment.” 

Dabi pats your shoulder. “S’fine, baby.” 

You slump a little, yawning loudly. You glance down at his hand that still hasn’t left your shoulder. “You're so warm.”

“It’s almost as if I have a quirk that produces fire.”

You roll your eyes. You turn slightly and lean against Dabi. He stiffens slightly as you adjust yourself, pulling one of your throw blankets down over your body. 

“The fuck are you doing?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“Go sleep in your bed, you idiot.”

“No. Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“The fuck?” 

You don’t say anything. Dabi looks down and your eyes are shut. He can feel your bare skin on his body. It’s so cool in comparison to his. That’s why he lets you stay there. He’s warming you up and you’re cooling him down. And you just stay there, sleep soundly like he isn’t a murderer, like he isn’t worth the same as the dirt on your shoes.

The next morning you don’t speak of it. Just rush yourself to the bathroom because, like an idiot, you went out on a Wednesday night like you didn’t have work the next day. 

Dabi realises he needs to leave when you almost kiss him.

You’re not drunk this time. He wishes you were. Wishes he could blame it on the alcohol coursing through your veins and not something else. This time, you aren’t both sitting on the couch like you usually are. You both stand at the big window in your living room, Dabi smoking a cigarette and you looking at the stars. It’s late, but it’s a weekend, so you don’t have anywhere to be. You’ve been talking and he’s been listening. The occasional response. He’s more focused on you, on the way the moonlight streaks across your face, the way you’re wearing one of the shirts you bought him. It dips down past your waist and he feels like you're his.

“Oh my god! You’ll never guess who came into work yesterday.” You turn to him excitedly.

“Who?”

“Remember I was telling you about that guy who kept buying me drinks?”

Dabi nods. “The blond one who’s not your type?”

You nod frantically. “Yes. He came in because he had to get tested for an STD! Can you believe that?”

Dabi scoffs. “Yes. Any guy buying pretty girls drinks is a guy that sleeps around.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” You coo.

“Gorgeous.” It’s meant to be sarcastic, but it comes out much more real than he’d hoped.

“Well, it’s no matter. I wouldn’t have gotten with him, drinks or not. I'm safe from any STD’s.”

Dabi takes another drag of his cigarette. “So harsh. It’s what’s on the inside that counts, I thought.”

“Not when it comes to a hookup. And not when there’s literally some-“ You cut yourself off. 

“When there’s what?”

“Nothing. Shut up.” 

Dabi rolls his eyes. He turns so he’s facing out the window completely, resting his elbows on the windowsill. He presses the cigarette into the wall beneath it. 

“Well, desperate times, baby. You wouldn’t believe some of the girls I’ve hooked up with.”

“I find it hard to believe you struggle to hook up with people.” 

Dabi barks a laugh at that. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. “You're hot. Isn’t that all guys need to hookup?”

“The whole ‘wanted villain’ thing scares people off. Usually.” He gives you a pointed look. “That, and the scars.”

You look at him and gesture at him to face you. You’re looking at him so intensely he feels nervous. Dabi, a serial killer with more kills under his belt than you can imagine, is nervous because of a silly little civilian.

“What’s wrong with them?”

“What’s right with them? They’re ugly, and they’re being held onto my face with fucking staples. Freaks people out.” He shrugs.

You furrow your brows. You look at his face, his arms, his chest. Where yes, he isn’t wearing a shirt again. The scar across it from a knife wound that feels years away.

“Shut up. Do you actually think that?”

Dabi tilts his head. “You don’t?”

“Of fucking course I don’t. They- You’re hot as fuck! I don’t understand why your scars would change that?” You splutter. And you look angry for him and Dabi feels his chest tighten.

“It’s alright, baby. I don’t care. My dick still gets wet when I need it to.” 

You wince. “Ew, Dabi. That’s gross.” 

“You’re gross for having a crush on a villain.”

You blush. “Shut up. I don’t have a crush on you.”

“Sure, sure.” 

Dabi can hear the sound of cars a few streets down. The breeze is light, and he can feel it rustling with his hair. He wonders if you notice the white of his roots peeking through. If you look enough to notice. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he feels your hand on his arm. Trailing up and around the divide of skin and scars. Your fingers trace over the staples. You touch him so gently. So softly. He wants to rip your hands off and lean into them all at once.

“Did I say you could touch?” He speaks quietly. You smile slightly, looking up at him for a second.

“I don’t hear any complaints.” 

You brush against the panes of his chest. Dance across the scar that will only ever remind him of you. Dabi thinks he leans into you. He wonders if you notice. You move up the sharp lines of his collarbone, the curve of his Adam’s Apple. And then your hands rest on his face. And they’re softer than his will ever be, free of the marks of his childhood and his days burning to quieten the noise in his head. Your hand curves against his cheek and he wonders if you can feel his heart beating as heavily as it is. 

Your fingers brush under his eyes. The small patch of purple skin that rounds them, like ever present eye bags. 

“Your eyelashes are so pretty. So long. I’m jealous.” You murmur.

Dabi doesn’t reply. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. 

And then you look at his lips again. Then back up at his eyes. And you look at him with so much emotion that he wants to gouge his own eyes out so he never has to think about it again. Never has to see you looking at him so tenderly. And when you lean forward, just that bit more, hand still on his face, he takes a breath. 

And then your phone rings, and the moment is shattered. You curse under your breath, fumbling around for your phone. You smile sheepishly as you brandish it at him.

“I’m sorry. It’s my mum. Give me a second.”

The two of you don’t meet at the window again. Dabi falls asleep to the sound of your voice in the next room.

He wishes you were horrible. Wishes you were annoying, or ugly, or maybe Endeavour’s number one fan. Instead you’re not. You’re funny and you’re a good cook. You’re fucking stupid for letting him into your life. You’re so kind. You start bookmarking the parts you think he’d like in the books you leave him and he wants to turn the pages to kindling. You talk to him like you actually give a shit what he has to say. Like you give a shit about him.

Dabi wants to leave a mark on you like you’ve left one on him. Because he’s seen the pictures hung around your house and you’re loved. You have your people, you have a place. You don’t need him. But Dabi? He hadn’t been to the league in however many weeks, and he hadn’t heard a peep. Nobody cares about him. Nobody has his picture up in their room. Dabi could’ve bled out in your driveway all that time ago and nobody would give two shits. 

He wants someone to give two shits about him. He wants you to give two shits about him. And it’s a thought that keeps Dabi up every night. Legs still impossibly too long for the couch, as all he can think about is how you’ve ruined him. You’re too fucking good for him. And he knows you’ll soon realise that. 

That’s why he leaves.

Dabi doesn’t know what you expected. That he’d stay? That you’d live together like this forever? He’s fucking realistic. He knows this goes nowhere. There’s a blue collar prick working in some construction site you’ll end up with one day. A man who you can introduce to your parents, one who won’t stain your carpets with his blood, who you can hang up on your walls.

Dabi takes nothing except for the clothes on his back. He waits until he knows you're asleep on those ugly pink sheets and he slips out silently. And he doesn’t look back as he walks away, as the sounds of life hit him properly for the first time in forever. He doesn’t look down at the front porch where he’d almost died, not at the flowers he’d destroyed when he’d collapsed on top of them.

He leaves before he can destroy everything else. Before he destroys you. You and your soft hands and your piercing gaze. He hates you. He hates you so fucking much he feels flames licking at his clothes at just the thought of you.

When he makes his way back to the league, nobody says much of anything. He stalks his way back to his own room. There’s no pictures hung up on the walls. It’s unbearingly small and it feels so lifeless. He lays down on a bed that fits him perfectly. Digs in his pockets for your stupid fucking rock, the same colour as his eyes, that you had hidden in that drawer. 

Dabi throws it across the room. He watches it hit the wall, skid under his dresser. He leaves it there.

——————————————————————-

yo ah really thought u could fix him 🤣🤣 I’ve been too nice to u guys recently so I had to mix in some angst 🙏 this is much longer than usual so I hope u like!

btw recently every title of the fic is based on the song I listen to while I write it so I highly recommend listening to it while u read these :P

I have been posting an INSANE. Amount. Like I think I posted once a day all last week and it’s all been about Dabi 😭😭 I’m very busy this week, so I fear my streak might be lost

lemme know if u want a pt 2!

[targaryenluvs]

HIS POWER / TIM BRADFORD

PAIRINGS: Dark!Tim Bradford x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: After providing a statement to an officer about a robbery, he seems to be everywhere. Even after you start avoiding him.

WARNINGS: Obsession, stalking, abuse of power, breaking and entering, suggestive content

WORDCOUNT: 3.3K Words

A/N: Just started watching the rookie and I’m in love!!🥰

Gif not mine, credits to the owner!

It’d been a normal day at first.

You wanted to run errands through your Monday since you’d been working pretty hard through the last week. But being higher up in the company meant you were able to take days off to work from home when wanted.

You’d been in the confectionary isle since you were throwing a watch party of Harry Potter with all of your friends. As silly as it seemed, you were in the mood for a night of childhood friends and fun.

You had finished up shopping, and as you were making your way up to the register when you heard it.

“Get on the ground, now!”

It was as if time has frozen as you noticed everyone drop to the floor. Luckily your body followed suit and dropped down as well. But you were a minute too late as one of the men noticed you. “Didn’t I say to get down bitch?”

The word sounded foreign in your ears, to the point where you didn’t even realise he was talking to you, until he came over to you.

He pulled you up by your hair as he waved the gun around, “You ain’t talking now huh?” His grip on your hair tightened as you clenched your eyes shut. When you opened them you noticed someone reaching for their phone. You may as well try to buy her time.

You looked over at her as she mouthed, “911.” You acknowledged her by closing your eyes before talking, “What do you want me to say?” You could hear him chuckle, “Now you’re chatty.”

You shuffled until you were able to turn around to face him, taking his attention away from the woman calling the police. “Please, just take the money and go.” One of the other men came back from behind, seeming to have a mass of purses, most likely from the employees.

“I just want to talk to you baby.” Whether it was the nickname or his demeanour, you sure as hell didn’t want to talk to him anymore. So you took a risk.

Kicking him in the crotch.

You could hear him groan before falling to the floor, his gun slipping out of his hands as you grabbed it. You quickly slid it to the woman on the phone with the police before kicking him in the stomach. “You b—,” before he could continue you kicked him in the face.

You remembered there were only two others that had entered the store. One in the back and the other across the store. So you took the time to tie the man up using someone’s scarf, then stuffing his mouth with plastic bags. You had two other shoppers guard him as you took the gun back.

There were four men in your view, you quickly waved them over before making a plan.

“She’s having her baby! Someone help!”

Footsteps echoed through the place as the other man ran to the woman shouting, Sierra, “Who is it?” This man was seemingly calmer than the other you’d dealt with, “Here!” And as he turned you bashed his face with the end of your gun, and as he fell one of the shoppers took his gun. “Good job Jack, two down and one to go.”

“Bad idea, not taking me out first.” The last robber left standing had his firearm to Sierras head, with an arm around her neck. You and Jack immediately raised your guns in his directions, “Go ahead, shoot. Wonder what this pretty girls head’ll look like across the floor. Got nothing left to loose.”

Your saving grace came not only in the sirens outside.

“Put your guns down, slowly.” You and Jack hesitated, which proved to be a mistake as he aimed towards one of the other hostages, aiming and shooting at her leg. As she screamed out you folded, “Okay! Just don’t hurt anyone else.” Jack followed your lead as you put your guns down. The second you did he pushed her to the side, coming for you.

“You ruined my plan. For what? To be a hero?” His breath was heavy against your cheek, spite filled and hot. You shook your head immediately. “Well because of that, you can help me get out of here.”

He had you pick up the guns and stuff them into his duffel bag before leading you to the back at gun point. “Might just have some fun with you while we’re here.” He laughed as he opened the door.

“Hope you’re ready for some fun in prison.” As the two of you exited the store you were met with four cops, the one speaking standing in front of you. As he was momentarily distracted by being caught you turned to push him to the floor before running into the cops arms.

His partner rushed forwards to cuff him whilst reciting his rights. You clung onto the man as he held you, “You’re okay, I’ve got you.” You buried your face into his chest, taking a second to breathe before stepping back.

You read his badge, Bradford.

“Thank you, Officer Bradford.” Your smile was small, but more than enough for him. “Call me Tim.” His partner, which you learned was Lucy, eyed him up. It wasn’t everyday the grumpiest guy she knew allowed his first name to be used by a stranger.

“Let’s get you down to the station huh?” You nodded as he directed you to the back of his car. Lucy rose an eyebrow, “Couldn’t we have taken her statement here?” Tim aimed a pointed look her way, which screamed ‘shut up’. “She was actively involved, taken hostage and helped to disable every robber. Her account is more serious than the others and she might need to get checked up on. It’ll be a long statement so we’ll interview her at the station. Anything else boot?”

Lucy shook her head, “Good, now get in.”

You’d been waiting for someone to enter the room, luckily it was Tim. “I’m going to be taking your statement okay? I need you to detail everything that happened since the start of your day. Don’t leaving anything out.” You nodded along as he sat down, offering you a smile.

“Let’s begin.” You didn’t leave anything out as he asked you not to. Tim was nodding along, jotting down key bits of information as you spoke. It felt like time had passed by quickly talking to him, even if you were doing most of the talking. It’d been over an hour already.

“Alright, hang tight in here. You’ll be home in no time, probably best to take some time to yourself to recuperate. No friends.” He stood up, tucking his notepad and pen away before offering you a nice smile as you returned it. “Thank you, for not being rude and actually listening.” Tim stopped in the doorway, turning back around to you. He raised his eyebrow, waiting for more. “Why would I be rude?”

“Just, lately I’ve been seeing about a million horror story cop interactions. And I was scared to be interviewed. But you were really nice, so thanks. If there’s anything I can do, or tell you then let me know.” Before he could respond someone walked past and asked if he’d gotten your information.

“She’s free to go if you have.” You felt a weight lift off of your chest, as much as you liked being across from the gorgeous cop Tim was, you wanted nothing more than to sleep. He nodded as she left, turning his attention back to you. “Well, you’ve done more than enough regarding information. As for something you can do,” You straightened up in your chair.

“You could buy me a drink tomorrow.”

The bar was packed, but apparently Tim was a regular to the point where he had a seat waiting for him. Being the kind person he was, he let you sit on the seat. But the place was crowded so he ended practically between your legs. “So what’re you having Officer?” Tim scoffed at the title, “I’ll have what ever you’re having.” You giggled, “You want a martini?” He cringed at the words.

“Maybe I won’t have what you’re having.” You waved down the bartender, before ordering for the both of you. Whilst ordering you could feel his eyes on you, staring intently, “Is there something on my face?” He shook his head, “You’re just so gorgeous.”

You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks, “Don’t.” He swiped away the hair that fell in front of your face, “Why not, you are. I always tell the truth.” Your drinks were slid over as you both grabbed your respective drinks. Taking a sip, he stared at you as he drank his beer.

The night progressed quickly, the two of you getting lost in easily flowing conversation. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom.” You held your thumbs up to him as he walked away, weaving through the sea of people.

Taking a sip of your fourth drink, you noticed that he’d left behind his phone on the counter. You didn’t mean to pry, but your hand had a mind of its own as it swooped his phone up. You wish you hadn’t. His wallpaper was somehow a photo of you and you’d only known him for two days.

If there was one thing you didn’t think you were, it was stupid.

You swiftly swung your purse over your shoulder before making your way out of the bar and outside. It was then that you realised the fact that Tim had picked you up. “There you are.” His voice was quieter than before, now outside and not interrupted by others.

“It was getting stuffy in there, needed to breathe. I’m feeling pretty tired, you mind if we call it a night?” He shook his head, “Not at all, I’ll drop you off.” You smiled before making your way to his car.

“Doesn’t someone need to pay?” You were praying he’d take the bait and leave you to flag down a cab or call an uber. “I’ve got good credit here, we’ll be fine.”

You just needed to get home. That was all. Once you were home you could avoid him and not see him ever again. Just get home Y/n.

The ride home was filled mostly with Tim talking at you and your short replies. You didn’t want to seem suspicious but you were too scared to have a proper conversation with him. All you could see was the wallpaper burned into your mind.

As he pulled up to your apartment you felt a tiny spark of relief, you’d made it home. “You okay?” His hand rested on your thigh, “Yeah I’m alright, just tired.” You pressed your lips into a tight line, you hadn’t looked at him yet.

You wished you hadn’t, he looked pissed.

His hand tightened, “You’re lying. Did you meet someone else at the bar?” Your face scrunched up in confusion, “What? No! You were gone for minutes. How the hell am I striking up a conversation with someone and liking them in that time? I need to go.” You were met with a locked door.

You turned back to him with an awkward smile, you wrapped your hand around his in an attempt to calm him down. “Tim, I promise. Nothing happened. Please let me go inside, you can walk me to the door. I want you to.” Your lie seemed to take, as he retracted his hand to open the door. You grounded yourself by clutching onto your purse, leaving crescent indents in the leather.

His hand came around your waist, holding on tightly as you made your way into the apartment building. You quickly pressed for the third floor, not your own. “Goodnight Tim, I had a good time.” You turned to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before running into the elevator. As the doors closed you could see him, momentarily stunned at the kiss.

You exhaled the second the doors closed. If you were lucky, you wouldn’t be seeing him after this. You’d survived the night, as well as him.

The next few days had been normal, thankfully. You’d been paranoid to a fault, and rightfully so.

Tim Bradford is a cop.

Which meant he had access to so much more than any regular person. He not only knew where you lived from the information he’d collected, but he could search you up. He could find out so much about your life with just a few clicks of a button.

And he did. He utilised his resources to find out as much about you as he could over the week or so since your date. When you’d gone to the bathroom, he’d accessed your phone and was now successfully tracking you. Never leave your stuff with an obsessed cop, am I right?

After the robbery, he couldn’t risk your safety.

But the biggest mystery of all in Tim’s eyes was why you hadn’t called him yet. You’d been working a lot recently, early days and late nights. You needed a break from work. The only places you went which weren’t your workplace or home was your gym.

You were done for the day.

The sweat that you were covered in made you shine in the fluorescent lights of the gym. You couldn’t wait to take a shower, but the gym was currently repairing their facilities so you’d have to wait until home.

If you’d been paying attention to your surroundings rather than yourself you would’ve noticed Tim hovering in the background. You grabbed your waterbottle and made your way to the locker rooms. Patting yourself down with your towel before changing your sweaty clothes into normal clothes. The more laundry the better?

You walked out to your car, blissfully unaware of the shadow following you. As you fiddled with your Airpod case you accidentally let your keys slip through your hands. Sighing in annoyance before bending down to grab them from underneath your car. Not expecting to be met with him once you got up.

“You scared me Tim.” Your hand clutched onto your shirt, over your heart as you rested against your car.

“Sorry. just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am, thank you for asking. I just… I feel like I’m seeing you everywhere. Like I’ve gone crazy.”

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

“For what?”

“To go out with me? Tonight?” You awkwardly laughed, holding onto the back of your neck. “As much as I’d love to, I’m not really in the market for a partner. I’m sorry. And I’m already going out with friends tonight.” His smile was wide, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No need to apologise, just figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. We had such a nice night last time. You looked amazing.”

You felt bad for turning him down, but again, you couldn’t help but think. He never showed up before, but you see him once and now hes everywhere? It didn’t seem right to you. You chuckled dryly, “Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself. And yeah, I meant it as a friendly outing.” As you opened your door, it slammed in front of you.

Tim stood closer than before, and his nice smile and sweet voice seemed so far away. His hand rested on your door, having shut it. “You sure as hell didn’t dress like it was a friendly outing. Go out with me Y/n/n.” Your eyes squinted at his use of your nickname, which you hadn’t told him to use.

“I’m sorry, I just— Oh god.” Your eyes widened behind Tim as his head whipped behind, “What is it?” The door quickly slammed shut as you sat in the drivers seat. Tim turned back, you tricked him. He tried to open the door but you quickly pressed the lock.

“Open the door.”

His voice was low, it was a threat.

You pressed the button to start your car up, not daring to look his way. God knows what you’d be met with. You quickly pulled out of the gyms parking lot, mustering up the courage to look into your rear view mirror.

He wasn’t there.

You couldn’t tell if him not being there was more frightening than comforting. But you did need to put as many miles between you and Tim as possible. A night out with friends would help take your mind off it.

As you came home, you couldn’t help but sigh. The night had been totally exhausting as well as exhilarating. It’d been a while since you’d seen your friends, since your marathon had been cancelled after the attempted robbery. And you had also subconsciously taken Tims advice to not have any friends over.

As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. It was nice to take some time to recuperate and understand what happened before seeing friends. The millions of questions they threw at you tonight were even worse than when they were over the phone.

‘Are you okay?’

‘We don’t have to go out tonight!’

‘We can stay in, order some food?’

‘If you need to talk, I’m here.’

You were definitely grateful to have so many friends that cared about you after something pretty traumatic, but all you wanted was to drink, dance and forget. Which was partially successful. But he wouldn’t leave your mind.

Tim had basically infiltrated your life since you first met him that afternoon. And you had no clue what about you screamed to him, enticed him.

You wracked your brain trying to think about any time you would’ve given him any sort of signal to needing him. To inviting him into your life. And you couldn’t come up with a single sign. Maybe he was just insane?

How could you even get rid of him?

He was a literal cop. When at the station, you couldn’t help but notice how often people talked about him. Whether it was how amazing he was, or how reckless. The overall consensus was that he was a good guy, just a bit odd or impulsive. You couldn’t help but feel bad as well. He’d literally saved you from being hurt, or worse. And when you’d talked to him, he seemed so sweet.

Tim Bradford was respected, and you were just a civilian.

But to Tim? You were so much more. Having you in his arms, fully reliant on him to help save you. He knew you needed him, you just didn’t realise it yet. But he’d help you realise, there was no need to worry. He’d keep you safe, you’d never be in such a situation ever again. He wouldn’t fail you like he failed his ex.

“Had a nice night?”

Your blood ran cold and your bubble of bliss from the night out had effectively been popped. He was in your home. How did he know where you— he’s a cop. He probably knew more about you than you knew. “I did.” Tim stood from your couch, making his way to you.

“Meet anyone?” You shook your head adamantly, “No one Tim.” You needed to play your cards right if you were going to get away from this psycho alive. God knows what he wanted to do or what he was after.

By the time he was in front of you he had you pinned to the wall, right by the hallway. His hands came around your hips, fingers digging in. He smelled your neck, savouring the sweet perfume. “You smell amazing, and you look…” He was practically undressing you with his eyes. “Bet you danced a lot tonight, should take a shower.” Of course you’d love that. Which is what you wanted to say, but with his eyes burning into you?

You couldn’t respond. Not when his hands began to roam, and tug on the strings of your dress. Not when he led you into your bathroom, and let the bath fill up or when he undressed you and himself.

You were practically frozen as he bathed you.

He acted as if it was where he belonged, as if this was a daily occurrence for you and him. You knew you couldn’t get away now,

You were too late and scared of his power.

[lieslab]

The warmth in me is you

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Changbin X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend decides to wake you up in the coldest way possible.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.4K

A/N: I'm sorry for not updating a ton lately. I took some time off of writing because I just finished writing my full-length Hyunjin fic a few days ago. This one is shorter, but I'm going to go back to writing a little longer stuff and your requests soon <3

_ _ _

Hyunjin disappeared two nights ago. Booking a trip to another country for a brand deal, Changbin had the dorm alone. At least, he did until he invited you over to spend the weekend with him. 

In the comfort of his room, the tranquility of the fan humming on low. He couldn’t sleep without the white noise. You hated the cold, but you put up with it for him and for him alone. When he pushed the blankets aside, you dove in head first. 

Tucking yourself beneath the tangled warmth, you basked in his presence; the scent of spiced herbs and something alluding to pine. After balling yourself into the blankets and scooting to get comfortable, you’d curl up next to his body. He’d grumble about your warmth, but you’d shush him. Insisting he enjoyed your sudden presence, he’d huff and roll his eyes, but he did. 

He wouldn’t admit it. He put up this fake act for far too long. On the outside, it looked like he wasn’t thrilled about your presence, but you knew he loved it deep down. Why else would he wrap his arm around your body and pull you closer? Warm or not, he loved the evenings just as much as you did. 

Before eight in the morning, he left you alone. Without his body, you tossed and turned in the bed. Your arms outstretched and your limbs spread in every direction. Whether it was on your stomach and turned diagonal on the king-sized bed or upside down, your body changed directions all the time. Unaware and sound asleep, your limbs had a mind of their own. 

Outside, winter weather clouded the skies. Today? A chance of flurries. You complained about it last night during the winter storm. Hours slipped by and as they did, more and more snow built up outside. 

A blanket of white covered the dead grass. Silent and large flakes drifted. The added gusts of wind sent it in every direction. People tucked in the safety of their vehicles struggled to see. Forecasters sent out warnings. Your phone vibrated every so often with new announcements. 

The entire time, you complained. The freezing cold air, dry nasal cavities, the chapped lips, you hated all of it. Winter wonderland left you grumpy and unhappy. Changbin tried to get you to enjoy bits and pieces of it, but it didn’t really work. 

Your hands and feet grew sensitive to the temperature as you aged. As silly as it sounded, you swore your body aged faster than others. In such cold weather, your joints ached and your back hurt. No matter how many layers you bundled up in, you couldn’t stay warm. Most days, you avoided the outdoors and wicked weather when you could. 

Changbin, on the other hand, found nostalgia in snow. It reminded him of being a kid again. Back when his mom forced him into a snowsuit, thick gloves, a protective hat, and a scarf. He chased after his older sister, nearly falling over the thick insulated neon pants built into his snowsuit. 

When he fell victim to his snow boots and tripped, he hit the snow hard.  Face first, he’d jerk upright with red cheeks and wide eyes. Snow dusted his eyebrows and clung to his eyelashes. His sister pointed and laughed. In the distance, his mother would tell him to get up and brush off the snow. Amusement laced her voice and she could never stop herself from pulling out the digital camera to capture the moments. 

Those memories sat back at home. Perched on his mother’s bookshelf, leather bound album-after-album sat with photos of the family. From elementary school days to high school graduation and beyond, his mother took photos of everything. 

Changbin disappeared outside to peek at the snow. It took him a few moments to shove open the front door. Last night, the wind pushed a large snow drift against it. When he pushed open the door, he gasped at all the snow before him. 

Clad in a black t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, a hand flew to his mouth. His head jerked back to the hall, the direction of his bedroom where you slept. His eyes went back to the snow. Part of him wanted to keep the peace, but mischief bumped at his hip. 

He finally slowly shut the door and worked quickly. He grabbed his winter boots and yours. Back in the bedroom, he wiggled your sleeping form into your winter boots and squirmed into his own. When you jerked awake, no doubt you’d be pissed off, but he couldn’t help it. 

You looked so cute when you grew upset. Your eyebrows furrowed and your lips poked out. Your glare would be as cold as the winter weather, but he’d manage. Your forgiveness could be swayed with warm cuddles and soup. 

Sound asleep, you remained unaware of the icy horror awaiting you. As quietly as he could, Changbin scooped his burly arms beneath your warm body. Further and further, he took you from your warmth and headed outside. 

In the safety of the white weather, he stepped from the dorm, walked a few feet outside, picked the largest snowbank, and let go of your body. A cheesy grin filled his face, he held his breath, and then- 

“AH!” 

You shrieked and jerked upright. Cold snow soaked your pants and your t-shirt. Your legs kicked and your arms scrambled. Snow sat in every direction. Changbin’s mischievous giggle filled your ears from behind. 

Soaking through your skin, the cold weather hit your bones instantly. You scrambled to get up, arms flinging in every direction. The stinging snow painted you freezing. Your body jerked upright and you pushed yourself to unsteady feet. 

“Seo Changbin!” 

“Uh-oh.” 

“I’m going to kill you!” 

“Nuh-uh! You love me too much for that.” He cooed and pressed his thumb and index finger into a heart. Desperate aeygo shot your way, but it did nothing to settle the anger building in your bones. His cheeks poked out, his finger pressed against the side of his face. As cringy as it was, it softened your heart, but not today. 

His cuteness ended with a handful of splattered snow to his face. Between the sudden silence and shock, more laughter filled the air. He cried out and pawed at his face. The past and present collided. The difference between fifteen years flicked between boyhood and growing into a man. 

“That was mean!” 

“You started it!” 

He grabbed a fist full of snow and whirled it your way. You shrieked and dodged, falling into another pile of snow in the process. The quiet morning shattered with bickering and cries from cold snow. 

When the two of you finished antagonizing one another five minutes later, you couldn’t breathe. Your lungs ached and compressed from the cold. The warmth of your skin faded. Bright red discoloration smeared along your cheeks and the tip of your nose. Across from you, Changbin’s face matched. 

“I-” You sucked in a deep breath. “I give up. It’s t-too cold to continue and I-” 

“I can’t feel my fingers.” 

“Me neither.” 

“Let’s go!” He hurried over, grabbed your waist, and hauled you over his shoulders. You shrieked and he giggled again. No matter the time or the place, he loved to show off. 

Picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder with ease, it was his favorite thing to do. Showing off his strength felt so special to him. Not everyone could carry their significant other with ease. Usually, you’d beg for him to put you down, but today you didn’t. 

Your body fell over his shoulder, limp and defeated. The cold air frosts your lungs. Puffs of warm air drifted into the sky and blended into the snow. 

Back inside, he stomped his feet on the inside rug. Chunks of snow fell off his boots. As he kicked off his, you shoved your feet together and kicked yours off, too. Your boots hit the ground and bounced in two different directions. Once they were off, your head slumped over his shoulder. 

“I’m never going to be warm again,” you mumbled. 

“Oh, you poor thing. Binnie’s got you, don’t worry. We’re going to go take a hot shower. When we’re finished, I’ll make you hot chocolate.” 

“Can I cuddle you?” 

“If it’ll make you feel better, yeah.” 

“I’m going to crawl into your muscles and live there forever.” 

“Do not.” 

“You can’t stop me.” 

“I’ll throw you in the snow again.” 

“Seo Changbin!” 

“Hey, don’t test me!” 

The two of you bickered all the way to the shower; despite the freezing cold feeling lacing your body, he still made your heart feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght

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Ko-fi

[deadassonthesunny]

💔~ ONE PIECE Boys reaction to almost losing you~💔

pairing: Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Usopp, Ace, Law and Sabo x reader

warning: Angst, sadness

Disclaimer: not my gif

Zoro

The air reeked of smoke and scorched earth.

The battle on the isolated marine outpost had ended, but the victory was hollow in Zoro’s ears.

He stood among the rubble, swords sheathed at his side, his green coat torn at the shoulder. Blood stained the ground where Y/N had last stood. A massive explosion had torn through the watchtower while she was still inside — volunteering to hold off reinforcements so the others could escape.

He’d told her to stay behind him.

He begged her not to play the hero.

But she’d smiled. That damn smile. “You taught me to never run from a fight, Zoro.”

And now…

His grip on Wado Ichimonji trembled as he stood before the smoldering wreckage.

“Oi! Don’t just stand there!” Sanji shouted from a distance, limping toward the scene. “Tell me you saw her get out. She�� She was right behind you, right?!”

Zoro didn’t answer.

Because he hadn’t seen her get out.

Because she wasn’t behind him.

Because he’d looked back — and the tower was gone.

The firelight flickered in his eyes. His jaw clenched so tight it ached. He didn’t cry. Not in front of the others. But something in his chest tore violently — something primal and silent and devastating.

He’d sworn to protect her. Sworn it the day she’d first stood back-to-back with him in a fight, blade in hand and no fear in her eyes. He wasn’t good with words, but she didn’t need them. She always knew.

Now there was only the crackling of flames and the whisper of the wind through ash.

Then—

A cough. A choked, gasping cough.

Zoro’s eyes snapped toward the sound.

From beneath a broken wooden beam, smeared with soot and bruised from head to toe, a hand reached out. Weak. Trembling.

His heart stopped.

“...Zoro...?”

He didn’t remember running — only that one second he was frozen, and the next he was tearing through debris with bare hands, flinging wreckage aside like a madman until—

There she was.

Bloody. Burned. Alive.

“You idiot,” he breathed, kneeling beside her, pulling her up into his arms with a grip so tight it almost hurt. “You absolute—fucking—idiot.”

Her body sagged against his chest, too tired to respond. But her hand found his scarf, clinging weakly.

“You were supposed to let me protect you,” he muttered, his voice thick and raw. “You promised me.”

She gave a ghost of a smile. “...You’re crying.”

He wasn’t.

Not really.

Just sweat.

From the heat.

Right?

Zoro buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of smoke and ash and her. Alive. Real.

And for the first time in years, his whole world stopped spinning.

Sanji

The wind howled across the cliffside.

The Germa coat Sanji usually hated was now wrapped tightly around his shoulders, not out of pride — but because hers was gone. Left behind. Torn and bloodied at the base of the rocks.

She had fallen.

She had fallen trying to save him.

The enemy had aimed for his blind spot, and she’d thrown herself between them. He’d screamed her name as the ground gave way — and then she was gone. No trace but blood on stone.

No one could’ve survived that fall.

He didn’t cook that night.

Didn’t smoke, either. The cigarette dangled unlit between his lips, forgotten.

In the dim candlelight of the galley, Sanji sat hunched over the prep counter, staring at the cutting board where she used to sneak pieces of fruit. The knife she liked to “borrow” was still there. Her apron. Her teacup, half full.

“She was right behind me…” he whispered, fingers trembling as they curled around the edge of the counter. “I told her to stay close…”

The others had tried to console him. Luffy even offered to dive off the cliff to check. But Sanji had stopped him with a shaking hand.

“There’s nothing down there but jagged rocks,” he said, voice hollow.

Truthfully, the part that killed him most wasn’t that she’d died protecting him.

It was that he didn’t get to say goodbye.

He’d fought with her earlier that day — over nothing, over everything — and now it echoed like poison in his skull.

“I don’t need you to throw yourself into every fight, you reckless woman!”

“And I don’t need a babysitter!”

He would’ve given anything to take those words back.

Then—

The galley door creaked.

He didn’t look up.

Probably Luffy. Or Usopp. Or some shadow come to remind him again of what he lost.

“...Sanji?”

His cigarette hit the floor.

His head snapped up.

There, wrapped in Nami’s coat, face battered and hair soaked from rain, stood Y/N — shivering, leaning on the doorframe.

Alive.

He stood so fast his stool crashed behind him.

For a moment he didn’t move. Just stared. His breath caught in his throat, and something broke inside his chest so suddenly he thought he might collapse.

Then he was across the room.

Hands cupping her face, touching every inch of her — her jaw, her cheeks, her hair — as if she might disappear again.

“You’re real,” he breathed, voice cracking. “You’re actually— mon dieu—how?!”

She gave a crooked smile. “Caught a ledge. Swam around the base. It took hours.”

“You—" He choked, drawing her into him, pressing her against his chest with shaking hands. "You could’ve died. You should’ve died.”

“But I didn’t.”

She felt him exhale like he’d been holding his breath since she fell.

“I didn’t even get to apologize,” he whispered. “I was such a bastard to you.”

“I’m still mad,” she replied, her voice muffled against his shirt.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, kissing the top of her head over and over. “With every dish. Every morning. Every night. I’ll cook for you until you forgive me.”

Her arms slid around his waist.

“I already do.”

Luffy

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Not on a nameless island, not in a battle no one would remember, not with the rain soaking the earth where she fell.

Luffy didn’t understand how it happened.

One second she was beside him, laughing as she helped him knock out a wave of marines. The next—

A cannon blast from the ship behind them.

She shoved him.

Took the full force of the explosion.

When he turned around… she was already buried in smoke and rubble.

The ground was crumbled. The rocks split. The cliffside obliterated.

There was no sign of her.

He dug.

With his hands. With broken fingernails and bleeding knuckles. Chopper and Jinbei had to pull him back before he crushed his own bones trying to claw through a landslide of debris.

“She’s not there, Luffy,” Chopper had said, sobbing. “There’s no body. But… no one could’ve survived that.”

“No,” Luffy said flatly, his voice unlike his own.

He didn’t scream. Didn’t cry.

He just stopped.

Stopped laughing. Stopped smiling. Stopped eating.

For three days, he didn’t touch a single bite of meat.

The crew was shaken. No one had seen their captain like this — shoulders slumped, eyes empty, hat pulled low like it was trying to hide the loss.

“She said we’d always be together…” he mumbled once, more to himself than anyone. “She promised.”

The rain didn’t let up for days.

And Luffy refused to leave the island.

On the fourth day, the crew prepared to sail.

He stood at the edge of the shore, wind tugging at his red jacket, fists clenched at his sides.

He didn’t want to go. Not without her.

Not without the one who always held onto his vest when she laughed too hard. Who poked his cheek when he pouted. Who made the sea feel even bigger because she believed in him like it was religion.

Then—

“Oi, captain…”

He blinked.

His heart stopped.

Because the voice… was hers.

Turning slowly, breath caught in his chest, he saw her. Limping. Bandaged. Leaning against Franky for support. Soaked from head to toe. Cuts along her arms. Clothes torn.

But smiling.

“...I hate climbing cliffs,” she wheezed.

The world tilted.

Luffy ran.

He crashed into her with the force of a storm, arms wrapping tight, burying his face in her shoulder as her fingers clutched his back.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said, voice shaking. “Don’t ever leave me like that.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered.

“I couldn’t even eat.”

She laughed — wet, cracked, tired. “Then I really must’ve scared you.”

“I thought you were gone forever,” he admitted, clinging to her. “I can’t do this without you.”

“You’re not doing anything without me,” she said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re stuck with me, Pirate King.”

And when he laughed — really laughed — for the first time in days…

The sky finally cleared.

Usopp

She was gone.

She had to be.

The avalanche had hit too fast, triggered by the enemy's collapsing weapon vault deep in the mountainside. The entire ridge had crumbled — and Y/N had been on the far side, trying to help a local family escape.

Usopp had seen it happen. Heard her shout, saw her wave—

Then nothing but roaring snow and crashing boulders.

The others had pulled him back. He’d tried to run in after her, cross the broken path and climb down, but the snow kept coming. The earth had swallowed everything.

“Stop!” Zoro had barked, grabbing him. “You’ll die too!”

“She’s still in there!” Usopp had screamed, voice cracking. “She was—she waved! She—she knew it was gonna fall!”

And she had.

She’d known and still stayed behind to help.

And now she was gone.

That night, the Straw Hats set up camp in silence. They didn’t speak her name. Not because they didn’t care — but because they did. Too much.

Usopp sat away from the fire.

Hunched. Silent. His goggles pushed up into his hair. His fingers fiddling with the broken strap of her pack — the only thing they’d found in the snow.

He could lie.

He wanted to lie.

Wanted to say she had wings and flew away just in time, or that she could turn invisible and was already halfway back to the Sunny.

But his mouth couldn’t form the words.

Because for the first time in his life, lying hurt more than the truth.

“If I was a real hero,” he whispered to no one, “I would’ve saved her.”

He wiped at his eyes. It didn’t help. The tears kept falling.

“I always said I’d protect everyone,” he choked. “But I just watched. I watched.”

His voice broke completely.

And then—

Footsteps.

Crunching through snow.

He froze.

Hallucination? Guilt? Hope playing tricks?

“Usopp?”

His head whipped around so fast it hurt.

There she was. Leaning on a broken branch, bleeding and dirty and smiling like hell.

“...You—” His voice cracked. “That’s not funny.”

“I climbed out. Got stuck. Took hours.”

He stumbled toward her, blinking rapidly, snow crunching under his boots as he ran, his breath a mess.

“Y-You—idiot! You’re supposed to yell for help or—or shoot a flare or something—!”

“I did! You just suck at noticing,” she grinned.

When she swayed on her feet, he caught her instantly, arms wrapping around her like she was the last treasure on earth.

“You’re alive,” he whispered into her hair.

“Yeah.”

“I thought I lost you. I—I thought I was gonna have to tell everyone back home that I let you—” His voice cracked again. “I was scared.”

“I know,” she whispered, leaning into his chest.

“But I’m never lying about you again. Not even to make myself feel better. No more fake hero stories. Just real ones. Just you.”

She smiled, eyes soft.

“That’s the bravest thing you’ve ever said, Usopp.”

He laughed shakily, holding her tighter.

“Yeah. And this time it’s true.”

Ace

Rain fell hard.

The battlefield was quiet now — smoke curling into the clouds, bodies lying still. The Whitebeard pirates had won… but at a cost that burned deeper than any wound.

Ace knelt in the mud, his fists buried in the earth where she had fallen.

The blast had come from the rear — a stray marine ship that fired directly into their flank. She saw it. Moved faster than anyone else. Shoved him out of the way.

He’d turned around just in time to see the explosion hit her.

No scream.

No time.

Just fire and ash.

And now, only this — a blackened crater and a singed scrap of the red scarf she always wore, curled like a whisper in the mud.

Ace didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t speak.

His fire had stopped burning the second she did.

“You’re stronger than me,” he said, voice raw, broken. “And smarter. And better. But you still gave your life for me.”

The others stayed back.

No one dared approach him — not even Marco. Because they all knew.

Ace could lose a hundred battles, but he’d never survive losing her.

“I promised I’d protect you,” he whispered, hands shaking in the mud. “And now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

He looked up at the storm.

“I should have died instead.”

Then—

A groan. Soft. Weak. Muffled by debris.

His head snapped around.

At first, he thought he imagined it.

But then—

Another sound. Choking. Coughing.

And from the side of the crater, barely visible beneath collapsed stone and scorched dirt—

Her hand.

Bloodied. Trembling.

“Y/N?!” he roared, scrambling forward.

He dug like a madman. Tore through the rubble with bare hands, fire lighting up in violent bursts as he hurled rock after rock aside.

Then she gasped—air, real air—and he pulled her free.

She was bruised. Burned. Barely conscious. But alive.

She collapsed against him, and he held her so tightly it nearly crushed her ribs.

“You idiot,” he choked out. “You absolute idiot. Why would you do that?”

“...Didn’t want to lose you,” she croaked, coughing.

“You almost lost yourself!”

He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes squeezed shut.

“I can’t—I can’t lose you. Ever. Not again.”

She touched his cheek, gentle despite her broken fingers.

“You didn’t. I’m here.”

He let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, as his flames lit softly again, curling like a blanket around them to keep her warm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he murmured.

“Don’t ever almost die in front of me again,” she shot back weakly.

“Deal,” he said, holding her like she was the only thing keeping him alive now.

And maybe she was.

Law

The battlefield was still.

Too still.

Smoke hung heavy in the air like ghosts refusing to leave. The Heart Pirates had secured the base. The enemy was gone. And Law stood in the middle of it all, blood dripping from his blade, breath ragged.

But all he could see was the empty space where Y/N had fallen.

He’d told her to stay back. That she wasn’t ready for this fight. That he couldn’t lose another person.

But she’d gone in anyway. She always did — stubborn, brave, brilliant.

And when the explosion from the enemy’s last desperate attack tore through the fortress, she was at the center.

“CAPTAIN!” Penguin had shouted, pointing at the wreckage. “She was still in there!”

Law hadn’t answered.

He couldn’t.

He simply walked — wordless, hollow — to the ruins, stepping over debris, his heartbeat louder than the crumbling stone around him.

He scanned the mess. His eyes caught a piece of her shirt, torn and soaked in blood. A fragment of her earpiece. A streak of blood along the wall.

His breath hitched.

His fingers curled.

No body. No sign of life.

He activated Room, reaching for anything — a heartbeat, a voice, a movement.

Nothing.

His powers failed him.

For the first time in years… he felt helpless.

Completely.

“I shouldn’t have let you fight,” he said aloud, voice flat. “I shouldn’t have let you near me.”

He stood there for what felt like hours, soaked in rain and silence, until Shachi tried to speak.

“Captain, we have to—”

“Don’t,” Law snapped, voice dangerously low. “Don’t talk to me right now.”

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Could only see her face — the way she smiled when she patched him up, the way she’d lean on the wall with crossed arms and quietly flirt just to make him flustered.

She was the first person to make him want to be soft again.

And now she was gone.

He sank to his knees.

Eyes burning. Throat dry.

“She said she’d stay,” he whispered. “She promised.”

Then—

A cough.

Soft. Weak. Raspy.

His heart stopped.

He turned his head so slowly it felt like it took a lifetime.

And there — half-buried beneath a collapsed wall, bloodied and bruised — was her hand.

“Y/N—!” His voice cracked as he leapt forward, using Shambles to rip apart the stone in seconds. “Y/N!”

She blinked up at him, dazed, bleeding from her forehead.

“You look like hell,” she rasped.

His hands were already on her — checking for injuries, stabilizing her ribs, pulsing Room around her body with trembling fingers.

“You idiot,” he muttered, voice shaking. “You absolute idiot. You were supposed to stay behind me.”

She gave the smallest smirk. “You’d miss me too much if I did.”

He pulled her into his lap, hand pressed to her back, gripping her like she might slip away again.

“I thought I lost you,” he admitted in a breathless whisper.

“You didn’t.”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“You scared me worse,” she whispered back. “You looked like you were going to break.”

He didn’t reply.

Just leaned his forehead against hers.

And held her in silence — like if he let go now, she'd become just another ghost in his story.

Sabo

The revolution didn’t feel like a victory today.

The marines had fled. The weapon facility had been destroyed. Civilians saved. But none of it mattered.

Not when she hadn’t come out of the building before it collapsed.

Not when they couldn’t find her.

Sabo stood at the edge of the ruins, cloak torn, blood still running from a wound on his temple. His hands were black with soot. His pipe dragged along the dirt beside him as if he’d forgotten it was there.

“Where is she?” he whispered, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

Koala stood a few feet away, her own eyes red and swollen. “We don’t know. They said she was in the west wing—”

“That part of the building’s gone,” someone else said behind them. “She wouldn’t have—”

“Don’t say it.” Sabo’s voice cut like steel.

The air around him heated — not from his flames, but from the rising fury barely being held back.

She was everything that kept him human in this war.

She was the one who reminded him to eat, to sleep, to laugh. The one who sat beside him during meetings and nudged his leg under the table when he got too serious. Who kissed the corner of his mouth when he forgot how to smile.

And now she was gone.

Just like that.

“I shouldn’t have let her go in alone,” he whispered. “She said she could handle it, but—” He swallowed hard. “I knew something felt wrong.”

He stepped forward, ignoring Koala’s hand on his arm, and knelt in the wreckage.

Picked up a piece of fabric.

Her scarf.

Still warm.

Still smelling like her.

He knelt there for a long time, shoulders shaking.

The Dragon’s Flame of the Revolutionary Army, the boy who survived the Celestial Dragons, the man who stood against tyrants—

Was silent.

Until—

“...Sabo?”

He froze.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

He whipped around so fast the world blurred—and there she was, limping through smoke and rubble, half-buried under fallen metal beams, bleeding but alive.

He was at her side in seconds.

She collapsed into his arms before she could speak.

“Y/N,” he whispered, voice cracking for the first time in years. “You’re—You—God.”

She clutched his coat. “Tried to crawl out. Got stuck.”

“Don’t move.” His hands were trembling as he swept them over her body, checking, scanning, brushing blood from her cheek. “You’re okay now. You’re okay.”

She blinked at him, dazed. “You’re crying.”

“No,” he said — too fast, too defensive.

But his tears dropped onto her cheek anyway.

He didn’t hide it anymore. Just pulled her in tighter, burying his face in her shoulder, holding her like he’d never let go again.

“I can’t lose you,” he said quietly. “I can’t. I’ll burn this whole world down before I do.”

“You didn’t lose me,” she whispered back. “I promised I’d come back.”

And she had.

And this time, he believed her.

[male-readerwriter]

Johnny Storm x Male Reader

Title: BURNING LOVE!!

WARNING'S: Language, FLUFF, brief sexual thoughts, headcanons for Johnny Storm falling in love with male reader in the void, Romance

M/N= Male Reader Name/ Male Name.

First and third person POV

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

You were sent to the void after being caught stealing a rare diamond from a museum worth 35 million dollars, it wasn't the first time you've gotten in trouble for stealing- this was more like the 100th or 200th.

You were an international thief, you alone were able to pull off some of the most infamous and greatest robbery's ever. You were constantly in and out of prison but after this well- turns out they were sick of you breaking into places and stealing things so they ended up sending you to the void leaving you to rot with everything else they deemed trash.

You had heard of this place while in prison so you kinda knew it was only sooner or later until you were sent here but you never expected it to be this bad , things were constantly after you as if it wasn't bad enough that there was basically no food in this shit hole you had to deal with monsters, people, and animals chasing you trying to either kill or kidnap you to take you to some women named Cassandra Nova - who the fuck was that?

After a rough day of being chased by people and monsters alike you were getting exhausted and STARVING and you were suddenly getting very dizzy and you could have sworn you saw a man covered in flames flying through the sky fighting off the things chasing you, next thing you know you passed out.

You woke up to the smell of food and when you looked around and it was suddenly night time and you were in a place you didn't recognize, it looked like some type of hideout but nobody was their at least you thought. After rushing over to the food scarfing it down almost immediately a man's voice from behind you laughed saying "look's like someone's hungry".

Who the hell could that be? And what did he want, did he want to hurt me? Dropping the food out of my hand I turned around to see a muscular man in a blue shirt with a 4 on it, my heart skipped a beat. I was still terrified thinking of what he could do to me but damn was he sexy. He took a few steps towards me with his hand outstretched and a warm smile on his face- he seems friendly.

"Hey, I'm johnny. Nice to meet you" I allow him to take my hand, shaking it in a greeting manner "I'm M/N, sorry I was hungry" I respond. Something about this guy intimidated him in a good way.

"No, help yourself we got plenty" he giggles as he lets go of my hand, the smile this guy has is so warming it's lighting up my heart. My heart is beating out of my chest "how did I get here?" I ask taking a bite out of a big turkey leg.

He tells me how he found me and fought off the things after me then took me to his hideout, he says he stays here with a few friends he met who I soon meet named Elektra, Blade, X-23, and Gambit who was my personal favorite other than Johnny. After introducing themselves they all went off doing their own thing not wanting to overwhelm me, I continue eating more food still starving but Johnny stays by my side the entire time still chatting away. There's something about this guy that I immediately wanna cling to and he's not bad looking he can definitely manhandle me any time he pleases the- sorry got off track there, he's just that good looking.

We end up talking for 3 hours straight and I realize my dumb ass has already fallen in love with this man (even though I just met him) there was something about him and he was hot literally. I found out he was able to set his entire body in flames and he could fly all he had to do was say two little words "flame on".

He ended up showing me at a later time, he and his friends explained pretty much everything I need to know about the void then they told me I could stay with them but there was one little problem...

I had to share a bed with Mr. Johnny Storm.

I had no problem with that in any way shape or form neither did Johnny it seemed, though he had kept blushing the first couple of nights I shared a bed with him, after that he started acting a little awkward he'd start smiling everytime I came around, and he started playfully flirting I assumed. After a little while I started flirting back and every time I did he'd start blushing like crazy, which was really confusing considering the way he usually acted before he started flirting with me.

His behavior screamed fuckboy yet he wasn't a bad guy, he never acted like a pig he - seemed like a typical straight guy fuck boy. But he was the most perfect guy you'd ever met and it only made you fall for him more and more.

You assumed he was straight at least but one day when you were walking back into the hideout you heard everyone talking about you so you decided to stay hidden and listen. Somehow they figured out you had feelings for Johnny and before you could even be shocked by that Elektra commented how she knew Johnny had feelings for you as well.

You were flabbergasted, he felt the same way you did and yet he never knew the things you did, everytime he asked how you got sent to the void you changed the subject.

That's when you decided to tell him the truth, you were expecting judgment but surprisingly he was completely fine with it and he didn't care what you did saying you were still a good person at heart. After telling him that you found that it was much easier to open up to him and in no time you both confessed you have feelings for one another.

You were outside going for a walk with him playfully flirting with each other as usually when suddenly Johnny became quite. "Hey, what's on your mind?" You asked and before he could come up with some lame excuse he found himself saying "I have something important to tell you". That's when he told you he had feelings for you, he didn't just have feelings for you, he loved you.

"I'm in love with you M/N, I've been in love with you since the moment I first saw you're fine ass" he said giving your ass a nice smack, and that was the fuckboy part of him coming out but you still couldn't have been happier.

He asked you to be his boyfriend and you said yes, jumping at the opportunity to be in a relationship with Johnny. You were never this kind of guy to rush into some relationship all willy nilly but Johnny was different from any guy you'd ever met before, it was hard to explain -

He was just special, he was Johnny.

The others pretty much ended up finding out we were in a relationship immediately, even though we discussed not telling them at first but it was apparently way to hard for Johnny to keep his hands off me and keep his dirty jokes to himself. So everyone found out awkwardly standing around because Johnny was bad at keep secrets.

It happened I the morning-

He was the last to wake up and the first thing he did was wrap his arms around my waist and shove his head in the crook of my neck mumbling "Mornin babe" just loud enough for everyone to hear it and look over at us shocked we actually got together.

But after about a minute they got over the shock and congratulated us saying things like "about time" or Gambit trying to be sexual and make dirty jokes about the relationship but Johnny is always able to match his freak and make the same type of jokes back. Their banter is always fun to watch.

We all stuck together when we went out incase we had a run in with Cassandra Nova and her gang (I learned she was someone not to be messed with- she's professor X's brother and she's incredibly powerful so I'm the void that basically made her the HBIC and everyone feared her) Johnny liked to act like he wasn't scared of her and he had no problem voicing his hatred for her but I know him- if he had a one on one run in with her he'd most likely end up pissing himself.

There was never much to do in the void but he still tried to do special things for you, like date nights or a walking hand in hand at night when not many people were around to bother you both.

He seems like some typical fuck boy but you knew he was so much more, he was romantic and loved the attention you gave him literally any type of attention you gave him put a big smile on his face and a pink tint to his cheeks, he's such a dork.

He loves cuddles and so do you, it's both of your favorite thing to do to pass the time, well that and sex! you both are pretty wild in the bedroom, and luckily Johnny has a lot of stamina.

Whenever your together it's like time just stops and the only thing either of you care about is each other (you're so wrapped up in each other's little bubble, it's like you were made for each other) he never judged you for who you were even tho you were pretty much polar opposites and he's a hero and you used to be a villain -kinda- but that all changed after going to the void.

In this place you never know how much time you have like you can literally all die at any second, but it doesn't matter as long as you have him by your side you'd happily live in the moment and don't even think about what tomorrow could possibly bring.

He is my world, my human torch....

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Oop.

Literally had no idea how to end this so that's why the ending is so abrupt sorry- also sorry for any spelling errors I didn't proof read.

Hope it was at least a little enjoyable, I'll be better in the future I haven't written in a bit sorry- 🤣 FEM READERS, AND MINORS DNI! go away-

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

A destiny encounter where unmasked Vessel (still sour and hurt by his past relationship) meet a nice person (younger but mature) at a music shop. Slowly they get close with each other and develop romantic feelings. When its time for them to confess their feelings, Vessel decided to tell his secret about who he is. Turns out his lover is a big fan of Sleep Token e Vessel have this big grin on his face while his significant other babble about how amazing his music is.

Bye~ and sorry 🫠🫢

Healing hearts

Vessel had decided that was it. No more. No more relationships. No more commitment. He wasn’t gonna ever open himself up. He was too damaged. Too hurt. Too scared of ever giving any piece of himself to anyone else again. But life worked in funny ways. When he first met you he thought nothing of it. He had just come back from a tour. Tired and drained all he had wanted was to come back to his usual routines. One of them was visiting random music shops, shit that has opened while they had been away.

Vessel rarely paid others peace of mind. He didn’t want to be approached so equally he didn’t want others to think he was all up in their space. But his eyes instantly found you. As if by a pull from the moment he stepped into a store. He wasn’t sure what drew him in. From a first glance, you looked like every other girl. Big fluffy scarf. Hair pulled up in a messy bun. Concentrated on digging through the vinyl records.

“Wouldn’t buy them here if I was you”, for a moment Vessel was almost confused himself that he had said anything at all. Until your head turned to him. “Sorry?”, you quickly reached for your airpods pulling them out. And it’s when your eyes hit him that Vessel realized how truly mesmerizing you were. His mouth closed and fell open a couple of times before he reached out for the shelf. “The records are overpriced here”, he repeated, clearing his throat. “Oh, I… thank you?! I was just…”, you stuttered, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m new to the area”. Vessel nodded quickly, “There’s a spot just down the corner. Same stuff half the price”. A slight smile softened your face even more, “Thank you, I’ve been missing music in my apartment”.

“A musician?”, Vessel asked making you quickly shake your head, “Just an enthusiast”, you chuckled, “Y/n by the way”. And here it is the moment that usually has him running for the hills. Because from this point you would no longer be strangers. “Vess”, he extended his much bigger palm to you. “Tea?”, you asked, “For saving my wallet for unnecessary purchases”, you chuckled and Vessel couldn’t help but smile himself, “Wouldn’t this be an unnecessary purchase?”, “Nope, feels like an investment”, you shrugged. A feeling Vessel hasn’t felt in a while sparks deep within as he let himself watch you for a minute. Something deep urging him to try this one more time, “Sure”, he mused, “Lead the way”.