#gabs masterlist

[peachpitfics]

Bridgerton Masterlist

Updated as of 7/6/2024

Welcome to the Hall of Bridgerton! Something about season three has been utterly inspiring as of late and I find myself actually writing again.

These fics are written by me. If any links aren't working, please do let me know! All works are 18+, unless specified.

🥵 = Smut                          ✨ = Fluff                       🥺 = Angst

(tag list)

Penelope Featherington x Colin Bridgerton fics:

Delicate 🥵 ↳ Colin Bridgerton has finally admitted his feelings, to himself and to his future wife, Penelope Featherington. After a wild ride in the carriage on the way home from the Ball, Colin invites his love inside.

Benedict Bridgerton fics:

Guilty as sin 🥵 ↳ Benedict Bridgerton asks you to accompany him to his private studio, to show you some of the art he's been working on. You find a little more than you were expecting.

Cruel Summer 🥵 ↳ Following your romp with Benedict Bridgerton in his art studio, he asked your brother for your hand! Now you're on your honeymoon, and you're getting a little bored, posing for him. A lady must find ways to amuse herself!

Wildest Dreams 🥵 Part Two 🥵🥺 | Part Three 🥵✨ ↳ Your Father has betrothed you to his eldest, most despicable friend. You confide in your closest friend, Benedict Bridgerton, that you wish your first time could be with somebody else, somebody you liked.

Anthony Bridgerton fics:

Don't Blame Me 🥵 ↳ Daphne Bridgerton is your closest childhood friend, her eldest brother, Anthony, is the love of your life. After avoiding each other for years, you both finally lose control.

Lord Alfred Debling fics:

Out of the Woods 🥵 ↳ As Lord and Lady Debling, you are headed back to your estate to spend your time together in seclusion before your new husband has to leave for his next research endeavour.

[bakudekuficlibrary]

BakuDeku Post-War Chronicles: Teacher Midoriya Izuku & Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki

1 Series, 28 Works.

C'mon...Deku by fairykats ( T | 16,283 | 9/9 )

Izuku looks at the clock on the wall. He still has half an hour left of his lunch break. Usually, he’s joined by one of his coworkers, but they're apparently busy today, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He pulls out his phone, because he’s not about to break down in the middle of the school day. He opens YouTube and starts up what might possibly be his favorite non-quirk analysis video on the internet: “60 minutes of Pro Hero Dynamight Yelling at randoms, pt. 6."

Or: the fix-it fic you didn't know you needed after MHA's final chapter.

The In-Betweens by Mister_awesomesauce ( G | 6,355 | 1/1)

Izuku and Katsuki are (not-so) respectable twenty-five year olds making their way in the world after the war ended. Sometimes, in the in-betweens of their busy lives, they find time for each other.

( If those in-betweens tend to involve copious amounts of soju and confessions that they will both remember to forget in the morning, then they wouldn't dare change a thing about it. )

Side by Side by daniartonline ( T | 10,210 | 1/1 )

“Well,” he says at last, mumbling slightly, “You could always teach.” Izuku immediately straightens in his seat, his attention shifting purposefully back toward Katsuki as a surprised, “What?” escapes his lips. Katsuki narrows his eyes, surprised that Izuku hasn’t already thought of it himself. As if he hasn’t been following in the man’s footsteps his entire life. As if he didn’t visit his house every weekend. “Like All Might did. After he retired.”

-

Katsuki offers Izuku a much-needed lifeline, but little does he know all the sacrifices Katsuki's been making to keep him by his side.

Count to Infinity by socksasgloves ( T | 87,244 | 24/24 )

Former hero course student, Izuku Midoriya, is Quirkless once more and has adjusted to life as a U.A. teacher well. His closest relationship is with his childhood friend, Katsuki Bakugou, a well-off Pro Hero who has stuck by his side all these years. Despite both of them living comfortably, Bakugou has been keeping a big secret from his friend: his own plan to get his number one rival back in the field.

Or: What happened between Deku and Kacchan in the 8-year time gap.

You Gave Me Purpose, Kacchan by wowschreave ( T | 42,004 | 22/22 )

UA Teacher Izuku x Pro Hero Katsuki; basically a fic about the eight-year gap!

This is a journey about two heroes as they navigate their paths post-war and fall in love.

All I Need is You by lurethegalaxy ( E | 4,757 | 1/1 )

The energy in the room is absolutely electric as Kacchan's pants fall to the floor, revealing long lines of beautiful skin, all the way up to a perfectly hard and flushed—

“No underwear?” Izuku asks on a punched-out breath.

“I missed you,” is all Kacchan says in explanation, petulant and impatient.

----

In which Katsuki surprises Izuku with a visit, says he's celebrating something, but refuses to tell Izuku what. So Izuku finds a better use for that mouth, instead.

how i long for our trysts by nikkiRA ( E | 2,164 | 1/1 )

Most nights the only thing he has the energy for is crawling into bed beside Izuku and falling immediately to sleep. It’s why they’re taking such a risk and doing this here.

That and because it’s hot. Sneaking away to fuck like they were teenagers again. That and Izuku’s suit. Katsuki has a Thing for Izuku’s suit, how nicely it contours to his body, how strong he looks in it. Anytime Izuku got dressed up, all Katsuki could focus on was how much he wanted to undress him.

Eight years and counting by silverynight ( T |. 3,650 | 1/1 )

"For young Midoriya?"

All Might already knows it's for Izuku, but the question is not exactly about that and Katsuki is perfectly aware of it; he can see it in the soft smile of Izuku's mentor, he can see it in the way his blue eyes shine with knowledge.

Katsuki blushes, but he doesn't look away from the former symbol of peace. He's not that middle schooler hot-heated kid anymore. He's done hiding his feelings behind anger and he's not ashamed about what he feels for Izuku. He's pretty sure All Might knows about that, he's probably waiting for a confirmation.

Katsuki nods, blush spreading down his neck.

"It'll take years to make something like that."

"I'm aware."

"Bakugou, I know you want to kill someone with your knees, please, just not my students." by Shellrazorr ( T | 4,139 | 1/1 )

He did this out of affection, really. His teaching habits were leaning too far into “throwing caution into the wind” rather than “cool laid back teacher who was only strict if you pushed.” And he really didn’t want to get fired.

So here he was, his saving grace, Katsuki Bakugou. He was smart with kids, even if he didn’t act like it. He’d know what to do.

I really should’ve gotten my bachelors in education. I think this is totally illegal.

Or: Bakugou helps Midoriya with a class, and quickly learns his students are idiots.

Everything Stays by Melon_Cauli ( T | 34,628 | 7/7 )

They were different after the war. Everyone in Class 2-A was.

Even if they tried to pretend the opposite, slipping into old habits felt like a cheap facade, especially when the proof of their change was displayed so clearly for the world to see. Their bodies littered in darkening bruises, broken bones, and scars mapped across their skin; some worse than others, their quirks permanently impaired by jumping into battle far too soon, far too young.

There were just some questions that a 16-year-old should never have to answer: How do you deal with losing a part of yourself that had been there all your life? How do you clean off the blood on your hands paid in the price of incompetence?

— or Bakugou Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku navigate a life after the war, and a life with each other.

you're all i need by wiltedcyclamen ( M | 12,408+ | 3/? )

A walk home goes wrong.

The Blame Game by lettersinpetals ( T | 46,862 | 20/20 )

Six years after settling into his life as a teacher in U.A., Izuku’s life is upended once more when All Might gives him a superpowered suit. With the elation comes anxiety, and Izuku finds himself hesitating to return to active hero duty… so he doesn’t. Even after All Might makes the announcement to the public. Even after his friends leave eager voice messages.

And then Izuku is snowballed into accepting a ‘special role’ in a brand new reality TV show, which will star the most famous class of U.A. — theirs. For just one night, all of them will be placed in a cabin and there’s only one rule: no quirks allowed.

It will be the first time that Izuku and Katsuki will be seeing each other in six years. Surely, everything they’ve left unsaid can hold still for at least one more night, right?

Kacchan vs the Internet by palavering ( T | 34,546+ | 11/? )

Katsuki figures out he’s in love with his childhood best friend, sworn rival, and hero partner with the help of the internet.

r/AmItheAsshole • Posted by u/BoomBoomGod 8 hours ago AITA for punching my best friend for implying that I’m in love and acting like a sugar daddy to my other (childhood) best friend?

Featuring:

/HeroDeku /HeroDynamight /AITA /NoStupidQuestions /offmychest TikTok, Twitter, Discord, Texting, and Class 1-A.

Pro-hero Dynamight x Teacher Deku Works by heartpartsix ( Not Rated | 12,192+ | 6 Works )

An unsorted collection of all my Pro-Hero Dynamight x Teacher Deku works.

CURRENTLY PUBLISHED: 1. In the doorway 2. Dynamight 3. Fall into me 4. For you 5. As long as you need me 6. Waste

by the watershed by passengerside ( T | 4,940 | 1/1 )

Katsuki is the number three Pro Hero who deals with citywide emergencies on the regular, but it’s this self-sacrificial reckless little asshole that constantly has him flirting with another heart attack. Cardiac rehab kicked his ass for two years, and it still never covered how to deal with Deku. “Dynamight-san,” Izuku says slowly, "I uh, didn't call anyone in." "Yeah. I noticed."

izuku fights a battle alone, and katsuki reacts accordingly

Crazy by Exultasaurus ( M | 1,026 | 1/1 )

I actually cannot get them out of my head, so here's a cute little 1k short story about pro hero Bakugou and Midoriya Sensei the night of getting his new hero suit. Izuku gets a bit too excited about a new offer and well...you'll read the rest.

Untitled No. 430 by Cloudsu ( T | 2,548 | 1/1 )

In the grand scheme of things, this was not the way Izuku wanted his life to go. He never wanted this for himself, never saw himself from the sidelines, even when that's the only thing that seemed realistic. Despite all that, he's happy. He's got his Kacchan, got his kids, and all his amazing friends. But, one little question dropped from familiar lips makes the delicate house of cards he's been building crash down.

“Do you ever get angry, Izuku?"

bidding on love by omontz ( T | 3,320 | 1/1 )

Izuku engages in a bidding war for a special limited-edition gold Dynamight standee. Unfortunately for him, dekusdumbbf is out to ruin his life.

all my emotions feel like explosions (when you are around) by tiffaniesblews ( T | 4,207 | 1/1 )

He really could not think of a time in his life that didn’t include Midoriya Izuku.

OR: Bakugou pines for 4200 words.

Tired by ZhoRex ( T | 1,574 | 1/1 )

Izuku Midoriya was beyond tired. Not just physically tired—though that was very real given he hadn’t slept in four days—but mentally tired. He had papers to grade, lessons to prepare, villains to track down, and… his boyfriend.

Inspired by a fanart.

Bakugo is not very subtle when it comes to Izuku. Izuku is so done with him.

Also Kirishima is the best wingman.

Friends with Benefits by Multihappydayz ( E | 2,679 | 1/1 )

Izuku felt like he had a sign plastered to his back that read, "I'm sleeping with pro-hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight!"

Adult Money, Adult Problems by MJBunnyLuv ( G | 2,220 | 1/1 )

Since becoming a teacher at UA, Izuku has struggled with one thing…budgeting. In fact, he makes more money as a teacher than he did as a pro hero for those two years after graduation. And that’s a problem. Not because he can afford a nicer apartment or help out his mom – those are both good things! But because now he has extra income and it all goes to his growing collection of Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight merch.

Series Part 82 of BKDK Drabbles

Embers by UglyGreenJacket ( T | 3,078 | 1/1 )

Izuku stands in the hallway, his gaze unseeing. He’s soaked from head to toe, even though a closed umbrella is clutched in his hand, and there’s a look on his face that will haunt Katsuki well beyond that night. A look that says he’s lost something that can never be replaced.

“Izuku?” Katsuki asks in a tone far gentler than most will ever hear from him, afraid that if he speaks too loudly, Izuku might bolt.

Izuku’s eyes focus at the sound of Katsuki’s voice and his mouth opens. His jaw works like he can’t quite fathom what he’s about to say. “Kacchan,” he says, “It’s gone. T-the last of the embers…they’re–they’re gone.”

Teachers Pet by Fallendarkangel13 ( E | 5,294 | 1/1 )

TAKES PLACE AFTER MHA 430!!

Conflicting work schedules would always be the bane of Izuku’s and Katsuki’s existence. It’d been too many patrolling night shifts or early-morning class prep for either of them to find the time to care for each other as intimately as they used to. It went from hardcore, hour long lovemaking to quick touches and too short orgasms in the span of three months as Izuku returned back to teaching after the summer break and could no longer accommodate Katsuki's frantic pro-hero schedule.

Katsuki intended to change that.

--

Or: Katsuki wants his hot teacher of a boyfriend to fuck him after seeing how he reacts to being called "sensei" and dresses in his old UA uniform to make it happen

lets be still by ladyofsnails ( Not Rated | 3,490 | 1/1)

Izuku just stared at him for a second, still unable to think of anything to say. He had had so much in his head on the way over, all day today, since the very second All Might gave him that mechanical briefcase and said that “Young Bakugou” had led the fundraising efforts. But now, starting Katsuki in the eyes, standing on his front step, Izuku Midoriya was entirely speechless. It was impossible. The world he was living in was impossible.

“Izuku…,” Katsuki said slowly. “What’s up?”

Series Part 26 of snail has dkbk brainrot

The Snaps from the Same Little Breaks in Your Soul by potatopie (T | 16,078 | 1/1 )

"Seeing the way you two are with each other, it helped me realize what I was missing from my own relationship. Let’s just say you’ve raised the bar considerably. I don’t want to be with someone unless they look at me the way you both look at each other.”

She’s confused when Bakugou’s and Midoriya’s faces both pale while Shinso starts snickering and Kirishima’s eyebrows go up cartoonishly.

“I-I what do you - we’re not” Midoriya is now stammering and blushing, looking to Bakugou who just looks down silently.

Or

The one where Katsuki is such a good boyfriend to Izuku that someone sees this and is inspired to dump their own shitty boyfriend. Even though he's not actually Izuku's boyfriend.

AKA

The post-canon fic where Izuku is a teacher at U.A. and Katsuki still takes care of him.

Series Part 1 of Post-Canon BKDK

Midoriya-sensei's boyfriend by silverynight ( T | 2,106 | 1/1 )

"Midoriya-sensei?"

"Yes?"

"Is pro hero Dynamight your boyfriend?"

Izuku wishes he didn't blush that often because it makes it look like he's lying. He gets those questions a lot, but hasn't gotten used to them.

"No."

"Are you dating a pro hero?"

"No."

"Is he your husband then?"

"No." Izuku holds himself back from covering his red face with both arms like he did in high-school when he was too flustered. "Ka–I mean, Dynamight-san and I are friends. There's nothing else to it."

see you at home by marsbarrss ( T | 4,976 | 1/1 )

“Deku, you dumbass, you forgot your lunch again,” he grumbles, pushing the wrapped lunch box into his hands. The floral print flashes up at him. “Ah, Kacchan, you don’t have to make me lunch, seriously!” Izuku flounders, but he accepts the offering anyway. He sort of has to, or else Katsuki will flip his shit. “I can just eat at home…” The class immediately erupts in chatter, jumping to question both men about their relationship.

Five times Katsuki disrupted Izuku at work, and one time Izuku disrupts Katsuki at work.

Carpe Diem, Baby by NoBinoDino ( G | 6,490 | 1/1 )

Before anyone can move, an explosion is set off right next to Kouta’s head. He ducks, rolls, and then whips a hand out to pour water over the leftover flames.

“Okay, what the actual fuck is wrong with Deku-sensei?!” he hears Ueda shout from somewhere behind him.

He looks up, curious, only to be met with another explosion, this time directly in front of him.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, that’s fucking Dynamight!”

[Or: UA first year Kouta and his classmates must face off against pro hero Bakugou Katsuki. Spoiler alert; he's kind of an asshole]

I'm just a girl, and this is just our collective bakudeku brat summer. post-war duo has taken over my brain chemistry so here ya go!

(if y'all have any favorites not on here, lemme know so I can add 'em to the list!)

also, been re-formatting the blog to fix broken hyperlinks and give things a good refresh. not much will change, bUT I may be adding pages for doujinshi/zine info, merch/small artist info, bkdk song-of-the-week, etc etc (if you nerds are into that kinda thing;p)

~Gabs ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

[superstarcherrycolagirl]

my masterlist!

requests are open!! but here is what i've written recently

i write mainly fluff/angsty stuff (and potentially smut PLS send ideas) BUT WITH THAT if you are a minor dni!!

check out my about me post to see who else i can write for! then send me a request here!

smut = **

Benny Cross

rocking red

written "mine" on my upper thigh

i might as well be drunk in love

taken care of

we'll be alright

piece of you in how i dress

pretty in pink - moodboard

Julien Baker

you're losing me

Johnny Davis

sent from above

Kathy Cross

i told you so

Coriolanus Snow

it was maroon

hands**

pure as the driven snow - moodboard

Enzo Vogrincic

headcannons

in sweetness

[ephiesoularchives]

2023 Gab Smolders Masterlist

Gab carving pumpkins- Here

Gab casual vibes - Here

[gav-san]

Soul Shanked 2/4

Main Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

Soul Shanked Masterlist

Chapter Title: Screaming, Glowing, and Other Signs of Affection Length: 7.5 K+

Previous/Next

Taglist: @wontknowbetter, @sleepydang @flav1a0 @pleasantkittenpersona @heartsforseo

The call was arranged through a cautious web of intermediaries.

Neutral waters.

Strict conditions.

No ships within ten miles.

No weapons drawn.

Just a snail line.

Shanks.

Boa Hancock.

Simple. Respectful. Diplomatic.

It went to hell in less than a minute.

The snail’s eyes narrowed.

It began with Shanks, trying his best not to set fire to anything.

Shanks, leaning casually over the transponder snail. “First of all, thank you for not killing the messenger. Or the snail. Probably not in that order.”

Boa Hancock’s voice came in sharp, cold, and bore no idiots.

“You have sixty seconds.”

A nod. A title. A silence thick enough to choke a Sea King. He cleared his throat.

“I have… a respectful-”

Then Hancock tilted her head, cut him off and said, “So. You’re the reason.”

Shanks raised a brow. “Reason for what?”

“For her disgrace. For her distraction. For her embarrassment before the Rayleigh man-creature, who no women with honor should have to endure.”

He blinked. “…What?”

“You don’t deserve to know.”

“I—look, I’m not here to start a fight-.”

“She’s sighing,” Hancock snapped, voice curling with venom. “Do you know what that means?”

Shanks hesitated. “That she’s, uh… tired?”

“It means you live on borrowed time.”

Shanks fumbled. “Look, I just wanted to suggest—ask, really—if we might arrange a brief, nonviolent, non-magical meeting to discuss the soulmark situation and maybe the implications of a shared destiny and whether—”

“So you can hex her again?”

“Uh. No?” He said hopefully.

She hissed.

He pulled at his collar. “I wasn’t even trying to seduce her. I would just like to introduce myself-.”

“That’s seduction.”

“It was an observation!”

“Your mere existence cursed her.”

“I prefer the term fate-adjacent inconvenience—”

A chair was thrown. A snail near-departed the world.

Somewhere, someone screamed and dropped a fruit basket.

“If you come within five miles of Amazon Lily,” Boa Hancok threatened, voice suddenly calm in that terrifying way, “I will consider it an act of war.”

Benn Beckman lit a cigarette with the air of a man who’d seen this coming from miles away. “Well,” he muttered, “there it is.”

Shanks blinked. “Wait, really?”

“You’ll be turned to stone. Your ship will be turned to stone. Your entire crew’s bad decisions will be turned to stone.”

Benn sipped his coffee. “She’s not bluffing.”

Shanks whispered, “Yeah, but she’s kinda poetic about it, right?”

He raised his hand, forgetting no one could see him.

“Okay, okay. No visits. No Red Force docking. What about just sending her my letters—?”

“That’s what the last snail tried. I drowned it.”

“…Right.”

He inhaled slowly, then tried one last card—his most sincere, tragic, lovesick voice.

“I just want to see her. Can’t you respect that I’m actually asking? Not just taking? It’s a real show of my goodwill to not do what I want.”

Silence.

Boa Hancock’s voice came low, cold, and deeply done with this entire reality.

“You will stay far, far away.”

Another chair flew. Another snail screamed. The line cut.

The Red Force snail sagged like it had aged ten years. So did Shanks.

Benn didn’t look up. “Forty-two seconds.”

A new record.

Diplomacy, Red-Haired style. Cutting edge.

The snail shuddered. 

Benn gave it rum.

“Ya know,” Yasopp popped his head in. “She didn’t technically say no.”

Lucky Roux strolled in with snacks. “That’s a maybe.”

Benn groaned. “That’s what threats indicate!”

Yasopp clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Captain. You’ve had worse odds.”

“How romantic!” someone yelled from the hallway.

“Raise a toast!” another called. “To cursed proximity and mutual scarring!”

“Send her flowers!” Howling Gab shouted. “Or a fruit basket! No—send a plague fruit. That’s more personal.”

“Write her a poem!” Rockstar added. “A sexy one! About tattoos and destiny and… ships!”

Maybe I should write a poem,” Shanks muttered. “A love poem-”

“Then let us ghostwrite it,” Yasopp offered solemnly. “With our hearts. And zero grammar.”

Benn slumped lower in his chair.

“We could just-” Shanks mused thoughtfully. “Casually pass by. Just to say hi. Not to start a national disaster, but just-”

The crew erupted into cheers again, banging mugs on walls, stomping boots, one of them breaking out a lute.

Benn groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do none of you know what implied means?”

The snail slowly slid off the table in despair.

Hancock stood at the lookout tower, eyes locked on the distant red speck bobbing on the sea.

The Red Force.

Six miles out.

Exactly.

He was flaunting it.

That red-haired menace with the audacity—the gall—to romance her envoy. Her sweet, rational, paperwork-loving envoy. The only one she trusted not to fall for pirates, buy cursed trinkets, or accidentally spark soul bonds in foreign ports.

And now he was hovering like a lovesick plague just out of cannon range.

Her fingers curled around her glaive.

“He’s lingering like a disease.”

Behind her, Sandersonia peered through a spyglass. “He brought snacks. And a banner.”

“A banner?”

“It says, ‘Just Talk?’ There’s a heart. And glitter.”

“How-“ Hancock’s grip tightened. “He dares.”

“Also, I think the rotund one is waving at us. Politely, with meat.”

Hancock’s eye twitched.

Sandersonia cleared her throat. “The mutual subject of this siege still doesn’t know, Empress. But she’s going to see the ship at one point. And the banners.”

“Then keep her away,” Hancock snapped. “Distract her with scrolls. Put her in the archive pit. Chain her to a filing cabinet.”

“She likes the archive pit.”

“Then put snacks in there. Seal the doors.”

“She’s going to realize at some point there’s a blockade forming around her.”

Hancock’s jaw clenched. “She is too gentle. Too trusting. She doesn’t understand what it means when an Emperor starts loitering.”

Sandersonia squinted again. “He’s sending up flares now. They spell out: ‘Soulmarks Are Valid.’”

Hancock roared and kicked the spyglass off the tower.

Exactly Six Miles Offshore, The Red Force bobbed gently on the sea, anchored just beyond the invisible line of death Boa Hancock had carved into the ocean with pure reputation.

Shanks stood at the prow, wind in his hair, cloak fluttering like a dashing hero awaiting his damsel. He may have also said this thought aloud.

Eyes on the mist-veiled cliffs of Amazon Lily.

He wasn’t smiling. Not right now.

“She’s there,” he said softly. “I can feel her. The mark… It’s warmer.”

Benn Beckman didn’t even look up from his book. “You know she probably thinks that’s an allergic reaction.”

“Then I’ll bring the itch cream.”

“If you set one foot closer, the Empress will personally drop-kick you into the Calm Belt.” Benn drawled, probably wishing he had opted to stay with Rayleigh to shit-talk his captain.

Shanks grinned faintly. “She said five miles. I gave her six.”

“Magnanimous,” Benn muttered.

“Suicidal,” Lucky Roux agreed, polishing his gun.

Yasopp leaned over the rail with a spyglass. “Oho. Someone’s on the eastern ridge.”

Shanks perked up. “Is it her?”

“No. Big hair. Might be the angry one. She’s holding a cannon.”

“Ah.” He clasped his hands over his heart. “She watches over her. Fierce loyalty. Beautiful.”

“She’s aiming,” Yasopp added.

Benn flipped a page. “You should move.”

“I brought flowers this time,” Shanks said, proudly gesturing to a sad bouquet taped to a barrel. “Symbolic. Elegant.”

“It’s duct-taped. Fancy.” Yassop chimed in.

“They’re handpicked,” Shanks said proudly.

“It’s seaweed.” Benn took a long sip of rum.

“They floated toward me, Benn. That’s fate.” A warning shot blasted past the mast, shearing off a flag. “That was a love tap.” He continued to explain. “Very in line with Amazon Lily customs.”

Benn didn’t look up. “She’s angry. Which means she’s feeling cornered.”

“Howling Gab is writing your will,” Lucky Roux said.

“He left a blank space for ‘Cause of Death,’” Limejuice chimed in, “So far we’ve got: ‘shot,’ ‘stoned,’ ‘emotionally vaporized,’ and ‘hugged too hard by an oversized snake.’”

“She won’t let them kill me,” Shanks said firmly. “Boa’s got too much sense to try.”

Pause.

“…Right?” he asked, suddenly unsure.

No one answered. Even the snail turned away.

Shanks, undeterred, stood with windswept nobility and a death wish.

Somewhere behind him, someone was playing a sad violin. Possibly ironically.

“My soulmate is thinking about me,” he whispered, slightly in denial. “Probably.”

“She’s thinking about vaporizing you,” Benn corrected. “Which happens to also be my train of thought.”

Yasopp lowered his spyglass. “She’s probably looking at you. That’s half the battle.”

Lucky Roux nodded. “Eyeballs mean emotional investment.”

“Exactly,” Shanks said, emboldened. “We’ve moved from apathy to murderous intent. That’s progress.”

“Truly the language of love,” Benn muttered.

Rockstar came charging up the steps, carrying what looked like a flaming bottle. “Captain! I made you a message bottle full of poetry and highly flammable hope.”

Shanks took it with reverence. “You’re a true romantic.”

Benn blinked. “That’s lamp oil.”

“Her love will light the way,” Shanks said solemnly, shaking it slightly. It sloshed with danger.

Howling Gab raised a flag they’d painted that morning: a stick-figure drawing of a heart, a sword, and a very buff woman holding hands with a pirate.

“We’re ready to deliver your declaration of affection via cannon,” He said proudly. “Non-lethal. Probably.”

“Or a glider,” Yasopp suggested. “We could strap him to a glider. Drop him right in her courtyard like a flaming love letter.”

Benn lowered his book. “Do any of you want to survive this?”

“We believe in love, Benn,” Lucky Roux said with the serene righteousness of a man who once wooed someone with pickled fish and a smile.

Shanks turned to face his men, eyes shining. “Thank you for standing with me. For understanding that soulmarks are not a joke—they’re destiny. They’re poetry written on the body by fate itself.”

“You’re gonna die,” Benn said flatly.

Shanks nodded. “But romantically.”

The crew roared in approval.

You sat on your bed, staring at your palm, which had once again started to glow—just faintly—through wraps, salves, and what you were pretty sure had been mayonnaise at one point.

It wasn’t just heat anymore.

It was pulling.

A strange sort of tug in your chest. Longing. Recognition. Like someone had whispered your name from across the sea with pirate breath and questionable intentions.

You pressed your fingers to your chest, unsettled.

The name hadn’t faded.

Not with the cleansing herbs.

Not with the tea rituals.

Not even with the salt baths, venom rubs, or Boa’s “spiritual aura suppression treatments,” which had escalated from polite chants to full-body scroll assaults.

And now?

Now it wasn’t just glowing. It was like a living, breathing curse.. The name, the one you refused to say aloud, was blooming like a smug little sun tattooed into your soul.

And at this point, it was easier to lie and say you were “healing.” The venom baths were liable to dissolve your hand off, but you doubted they would fundamentally turn off the soul-bonding shenanigans. You’d rather not lose a hand to test it.

A bird cawed next to your window, startling you.

Then another.

Then a whole flock took off at once, wheeling into the sky like something had spooked them. The breeze shifted and carried a strange scent.

Rum.

The kind aged in oak and poor decisions.

Below, you could hear the quiet metallic shhhhink of whetstones dragging across blades. The warriors were sharpening their spears again, murmuring under their breath:

“It’s happening again.”

That was concerning.

What was more concerning was the click of your bedroom door locking.

From the outside.

You stared at it for a long moment. Then slowly turned toward the window.

“Suspicious,” you muttered.

Ten minutes later, you’d scaled the palace wall, bypassed two guards, and climbed barefoot to the cliffside above the cove—heart racing, trying to clear your head.

That was when you saw it.

The ship.

Massive. Gaudy. Flying a black flag stamped with a skull slashed three times, mounted on crossed swords.

Anchored.

Waiting.

You blinked. Rubbed your eyes.

Still there.

Lurking off the coast like a very patient, very stupidly romantic predator.

Like a lovesick shark.

“Oh no,” you whispered.

It all clicked—the breakfast tray. The oddly compelling stack of logistics reports. The suspicious silence from Hancock all morning. The sudden interest in locking you in closets.

They were distracting you.

She was stalling.

Because Hancock knew something you refused to admit. She knew the second you saw that flag, you’d start spiraling into self-sacrificing, chaotic decision-making.

Which was precisely what you did.

You bolted.

Straight down the cliffside, crashing through underbrush and startled birds, mud on your shins and panic in your throat. You burst out of the trees, barefoot and wild-eyed—

And skidded to a halt directly in front of a fully armed war council.

Dozens of warriors stood on the beach, spears ready, faces grim.

Boa Hancock didn’t look at you.

She just said, coolly, “She escaped the closet.”

One of the generals muttered, “I told you we needed two locks.”

Another sighed. “Too late now.”

Then the lookout shouted, “They’re lowering a rowboat!”

And you could already hear male laughter. Familiar. Infuriating.

The war council turned in eerie unison.

Every general, elder, and captain was already in formation, weapons gleaming and eyes narrowed—except for one warrior, who had her hands on her hips and was giving you the flat look of someone who definitely tried to lock you in that damn closet.

Boa Hancock stood in the center, resplendent and furious. Her arms were crossed, her foot tapping. “I told you to stay inside.”

“I thought there was a bird emergency!” you blurted. “And then someone lured me with spreadsheets! I thought it was a fiscal summit!”

There was a long pause. Someone coughed. Another warrior muttered, “She did look excited about the logistics…”

Behind you, the wind shifted.

The scent of salt and citrus hit first. Then the rum. Then the distant sound of a man laughing; loud, warm, and terribly familiar, like you had heard it in a dream.

Your heart stuttered. Then bloomed with an involuntary rush of warmth.

So did your hand.

You looked down. Glowing. Again.

“No,” You muttered, rubbing at it like that would help. “No, no, no—don’t you dare start glowing right now.”

It only pulsed brighter.

Across the beach, the warriors bristled. Spears lifted. Murmurs rippled through the ranks.

And at the center of it all stood Boa Hancock.

Unmoving. Immaculate. Glaive sunk into the sand like a declaration of war. Or a promise.

She didn’t look at you at first. Just stared out at the distant ship, jaw tight.

You stared too.

At the ship.

At your hand.

Back at Hancock.

She closed her eyes for one long, brittle second and exhaled through her nose like someone forcibly swallowing rage.

“…Damn it,” she said, quiet and sharp.

You stomped up beside her, heart doing awful things inside your chest.

“So that’s absolutely his ship.”

“Yes.”

You blinked furiously. “But it can’t be.”

“It is,” Hancock said flatly.

“But the reports said he was headed toward Elbaph—”

“He redirected.”

You bit your lip, hands clenched at your sides, your glowing palm betraying you like a snitch with a crush.

“So, an Emperor of the Seas is just sitting offshore and lets the pressure of a diplomatic crisis reel me in?!” You cried out. “And you didn’t tell me?”

There was a long pause.

Then Marigold, gently, “To be fair… that’s very respectful. For an Emperor of the Sea.”

“Very romantic,” Sandersonia added dreamily. “He hasn’t even fired a single cannon today.”

You whipped around to stare at them, scandalized.

“How long has he been here??? He shouldn’t be firing cannons! We’re not at war!”

Hancock didn’t move. “We will be if he sets one foot on this island.”

Nyoka chimed in, “He sent snacks. They floated over in a barrel. There was a note. It was spelled wrong but… earnest.”

You swore, pacing a trench into the sand.

“You couldn’t have told me?!”

“I’m not about to let any man, especially a Red-Haired Emperor, march in and lay claim to one of mine,” Hancock snapped, rounding on you like thunder in heels. “Least of all you.”

Another warrior jogged up, scroll in hand.

“He’s six miles offshore. Exactly. Won’t move. He’s built a fruit altar on the deck. Burned incense. Possibly praying.”

“To me?!” you croaked.

“He’s courting you via ship blockade,” Sandersonia declared proudly, as if you’d won a festival prize.

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. 

I asked you to tell me if something happened!”

“I did tell you,” Hancock said dryly. “I told you it was nonsense. Then he arrives, and that damn mark started glowing. Then you started glowing. And now he’s glowing. With emotional instability and extremely questionable poetry.”

You froze. “Oh god. He wrote poetry?”

“We intercepted a bottle,” Nyoka said with all the gravity of a funeral dirge. “It was labeled ‘Private: Feelings Inside.’”

“You read it?!”

“Of course. We’re not savages. It was terrible. But intense. He rhymed ‘eternal’ with ‘infernal.’”

You staggered. “I am being emotionally besieged by a Yonko.”

The mark on your palm flared.

Hancock’s eyes sharpened. “He’s thinking about you again.”

You spun. “How can you possibly tell?!”

“Because I want to punch a palm tree,” She hissed. “And that usually means a man is somehow involved.”

A low horn echoed across the water.

“They’re cat-calling via Den Den speaker,” someone shouted.

You turned to your Empress in horror.

“Empress Boa. Please. I cannot let him harass the whole island just because-”

“I will die on this beach before that ginger demon sets foot near you,” Hancock vowed, tightening her grip on her glaive. “And if he tries to wave another treaty shaped like a love letter, I’m setting it—and him—on fire.”

“Boa-”

“I am warning you,” she snapped. “Go. Inside. Before that sea rodent gets dramatic and sends a singing snail. ”

You blinked, breath catching. “He wouldn’t.”

A scout came sprinting up, pale and trembling. “He did. It’s rehearsing.”

You nearly sobbed.

Hancock’s expression softened. Just a hair. “I care about you. I’m protecting you. Clearly, fate wants to feed you to that man like bait. But I won’t let it.”

You stood frozen, a tragic statue of disbelief and humiliation.

“And if you don’t go inside this second,” she added, raising her voice, “I will personally drag you by your glowing hand and lock you in the archives.”

That was enough.

You nodded, half-choking on a laugh that felt far too close to a breakdown, and turned for the temple.

Behind you, someone activated the anti-longboat net launcher.

And another Kuja warrior lovingly etched the words “For Love Prevention Only” into the side of her spear.

“Scope.”

Shanks held out his hand without so much as a glance.

Lucky Roux passed the spyglass with the reverence of someone performing a sacred rite. There were no words, just understanding.

Benn Beckman stood behind them, taking a long, unimpressed sip of rum. It was his second bottle of the day.

“You sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

“She’s my soulmate,” Shanks murmured. “I haven’t even seen her up close. She ran before I set foot on shore. That’s not rejection. That’s heartbreak.”

“That’s a restraining order waiting to happen,” Benn muttered.

Shanks lifted the spyglass, scanning the shoreline with a romantic intensity that made everyone nearby deeply uncomfortable.

Sand.

Warriors.

Tall woman in purple. Boa Hancock, looking like she was about to end civilization with a swing of her glaive.

And then—

There.

Middle of the beach.

Hair wild. Pacing fast, sharp little loops in the sand like she was preparing to cast a curse. Hands flailing. Voice raised. Possibly yelling at the ocean. Possibly yelling at fate.

She screamed.

A seagull screamed too.

Both of them sounded equally offended.

She threw a hand at the sky like she was trying to banish destiny.

And somehow, across miles of sea and layers of denial, he felt it.

That tug.

That sudden, painful warmth.

The unmistakable pull of the red thread—buzzing with Haki and something worse. Something terrifying.

Hope.

Ah, so it was you.

Finally.

You rubbed your palm like it stung, oblivious to how much he could see. You were glowing.

Not just literally.

Emotionally.

Also, yes—literally.

Shanks lowered the scope slowly, like he’d just witnessed a divine moment.

“…She’s beautiful.”

“She’s actively threatening our ship,” Benn said, not looking up from his book.

Shanks smiled, soft-eyed and helpless. “She’s everything.”

“God help me,” Benn muttered, turning the page.

Lucky Roux leaned in. “She looks like she eats pirates for breakfast.”

“She does,” Yasopp chimed in, chewing dried squid. “I read about it. Headlines don’t lie.”

“I love that,” Shanks sighed, clasping the spyglass like it was a holy relic.

Benn finally looked up. “And what, exactly, is the plan?”

Shanks straightened, noble and unhinged. “I give her a token of my love. A rose. A letter. A seashell with a poorly carved limerick.”

“Then what?”

“She sees it. She reads it. She understands.”

“Understands what?”

“That we’re destiny,” Shanks said, already drifting into a sea-shanty cadence like he was narrating a tragic opera.

“You’re going to die,” Benn said flatly.

“Hopefully,” Shanks confirmed with pride. “Between her thighs.”

Roux leaned toward Yasopp. “He’s got that tone again.”

“Yup,” Yasopp nodded. “Dinghy time.”

Later that evening, Shanks stood beside what could only be described as the world’s most suspicious dinghy—small, creaky, and held together with optimism and bad decisions. He slung a rope over his shoulder like he’d done this sort of thing a hundred times.

He had not.

Benn didn’t even glance up from the flask he now drank from, like it was morphine. “You’re going to get turned to stone.”

“If I don’t fall off a cliff first,” Shanks said brightly, adjusting a rose no one told him to bring and definitely didn’t need.

Yasopp leaned over the side of the Red Force, squinting. “Or eaten by a snake. Or stabbed by a spear. Or exploded by feelings. Pretty sure she had at least three knives when she started yelling at the moon.”

“I’m begging you to stop,” Benn muttered. “You’re trespassing. Spiritually, emotionally, and frankly? Offensively.”

“I’m visiting,” Shanks replied, tucking a rose behind his ear with the self-assurance of a man who believed florals had diplomatic immunity. “Respectfully. Romantically.”

“You’re an Emperor of the Sea. That’s not visiting. That’s looming.”

“It’s not like I’m invading,” Shanks offered, shrugging one arm like that helped.

“You are. You literally count as a natural disaster on most naval charts.”

“A one-armed natural disaster,” Shanks corrected cheerfully.

“Semantics,” Benn growled. “You saw this woman for eight seconds and she screamed at the sky like God owed her rent.”

“Best eight seconds of my life,” Shanks said dreamily.

Lucky Roux gave him a thumbs-up. “If she turns you to stone, we’ll sell tickets.”

“We already printed merch,” Yasopp added. “We got merch. First batch says ‘Love Ruined My Life and All I Got Was This Shirt.”

Shanks saluted, pushing off with dramatic flair. “Tell the boys that Benn warned me, and I didn’t listen. Again.”

The dinghy groaned like it wanted no part of this.

But still, he rowed.

One glowing hand on the oar.

Flower behind his ear.

Prepared to scale cliffs, dodge spears, get hit with righteous feminine fury, and maybe—just maybe—win the heart of a woman who’d already started sharpening something in his general direction.

You couldn’t sleep.

Your hair was still damp from a bath that did nothing to soothe the burn in your palm. You sat on the balcony, brushing it out, watching the moonlight spill over the thick, lush gardens below—gardens that ended in a sheer drop into the sea.

The comb offered some comfort. Familiar. Ritual. Something drilled into you as a child.

The mark on your hand pulsed again—not painful, but alive. Buzzing faintly, like something across the sea was thinking too loudly about you.

You were just about to head back inside when you heard it.

A soft crunch in the garden below.

Your comb froze in place.

Then… a sneeze.

You crept to the edge of the balcony and looked down.

A man stood in your courtyard.

An actual man.

Shirt open, one hand resting lazily on his hip, the other raised in a casual wave. The moon hit his hair just right—brilliant red, windblown, absurd. And he was smiling. Like this was a social call.

That was red hair. His hair.

You had assumed Shanks—the Red-Haired Shanks—would be some grotesque brute. Bald. Scarred. Unpleasant.

Instead, a sun-browned pirate in a long black cloak stood in your moonlit garden like he’d stepped straight out of a bard’s fever dream. And worse—he was in sandals.

Scandalous.

You gaped.

You stared at the cliffs behind him, heart pounding.

Because there were only two ways into this garden: through the palace tunnels… or by scaling the cliff face of Amazon Lily—jagged, vertical, and lined with blades.

He had done the latter. In the dark. With one arm.

And sandals.

You nearly screamed. If you weren’t already frozen in rage and secondhand embarrassment, you would have.

He beamed up at you. “Hi.”

His voice echoed up, low and warm. The kind of deep that didn’t belong in your garden.

You flailed, dropping your comb. “This is sacred land! Men die here! Like, professionally! Do you want to die?”

“Not really,” he said, unbothered. “Just wanted to meet you. Properly.”

You ducked behind the balcony wall, hyperventilating.

Of course. 

Of course, fate gave you a soulmate who scaled cliffs like a goat, smiled like a myth, and showed up personally to ruin your peace.

“You okay up there?”

You popped back up, scowling. “Go away!”

“No.”

“I’m not emotionally stable enough for this today.”

Shanks scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly sheepish for someone who regularly punches sea gods.

“Your name showed up on me. Felt rude not to meet the person it belonged to.”

You stared at him like he’d confessed to eating cursed fruit on a dare.

“That’s not romantic. That’s a curse.”

He grinned—of course he did.

“I like curses. Especially the ones with attitude problems and dangerously pretty eyes.”

You pointed at him with the force of a divine warning.

“Back. Up. I bite when overwhelmed.”

“So do I,” he said brightly. “Should we match?”

You shrieked and hurled a potted orchid at his head.

He dodged with far too much grace for a man who’d just scaled a death cliff and trespassed into your solitude. Worse, he looked pleased about it, like he enjoyed being violently welcomed.

“How the hell did you climb that cliff? With one arm?”

He flashed a grin. The kind that made knees wobble and reputations suffer.

“Want a demonstration?”

Your jaw dropped. “You look like someone who causes problems professionally.”

He actually laughed. Loud, unbothered, sinful.

You turned on your heel, grabbed your sword—mostly for comfort—and then peeked back over your shoulder.

He was still smiling. Leaning casually on a boulder like he hadn’t just crawled up from certain death to flirt with you.

Uninvited.

Unbothered.

Unreasonably attractive.

You stared at him, sword half-raised. He winked.

“Let me get this straight,” you said, slow and flat. “You’re an Emperor of the Sea. One of the most dangerous men alive. You command a legendary crew. Your bounty is over five billion—”

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. 

 “It’s a little… performative. Marine dramatics. You know how they are.”

You stared. “Not as dramatic as scaling a cliff just to watch a woman brush her hair.”

He grinned like you'd paid him a compliment.

“I have priorities.”

“You have issues.”

He stepped forward slightly, cocking his head. “Says the woman who threw an orchid at me.”

“It was ceremonial.”

“It missed.”

“Unfortunately.”

His grin widened like you’d just given him permission to keep being a menace. The breeze caught his cloak, and his hair shimmered in the sun like firelight—because of course it did. Nature was clearly conspiring with his ego.

“Just for a minute,” he said, voice low and maddeningly sincere. “You were glowing. Felt rude not to admire the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You squinted at him, deeply unimpressed. “They said you were charming.”

He tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “Was that a compliment or a warning?”

“Warning.”

He pressed a hand to his chest like you’d wounded him. “Ouch.”

“Good.”

He smiled wider.

You hated how good it looked on him.

He stepped forward slowly, like a man approaching something wild—something that might bolt or bite.

You growled low in your throat and leveled your sword at his chest.

“I’m harmless,” he said gently, voice velvet-soft and far too dangerous. “Unless you’re paper. Or a treaty.”

“You’re trespassing.”

He raised his single hand, palm open in mock surrender. "For a good cause. I did try diplomacy first.”

You frowned. He didn’t feel like a threat.

He felt strange, like the ghost of music you hadn’t heard in years. Familiar in a way that made your grip tighten instead of ease.

“I just wanted to see you.”

You didn’t lower your sword.

But you didn’t strike, either.

And his eyes said he noticed.

He looked at you like you weren’t a prize or a trophy.

Just something rare.

Something real.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” His voice trailed off, softer now. Then a quiet smile. “So beautiful.”

You blinked.

Your hand pulsed—warm where the mark sat like a secret.

And you hated that your first thought was: He sounds sincere.

“Stop talking,” you snapped, too fast.

“Why?” he asked, brows lifting.

“Because you’re charming.”

He winced like you’d accused him of a crime. “I’m trying really hard not to be.” “Try harder.”

A beat of silence. Then, with that unmistakable glint—

“You’re staring at my hair.”

“I’m not.”

“You were.”

“It’s unnatural.”

“Most people say it’s striking.”

“Most people aren’t trained to spot pirate illusions.”

His grin widened. “Then why stare?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“You look like someone who fell into a fire at birth.”

He laughed—loud, shameless, real. The sound hit you like a warm wave. Unfair. Unwelcome. Comforting in a way it shouldn’t be.

He took another step forward.

“Want to touch it?” he asked, far too casual for someone actively being threatened with steel.

“Excuse me?”

“My hair,” he said smoothly. “Go on. Satisfy your curiosity.”

“I’m not curious.”

“You sure? Could be your only chance to ruffle an Emperor’s hair.”

You blinked. Just once. He caught it, of course he did.

“You like the color.”

“I do not.”

(You did. Obviously. You hated that you did.)

“You stared at it.”

“I stare at all dangerous things. Fires. Shipwrecks. Rabid dogs.”

He chuckled. “You’ve got excellent taste in disasters.”

Then he stepped closer—too close. Cloak rippling. Hair catching the wind like it had a flair for theater. It fell over one eye, casually criminal.

You tried not to look. You failed.

“…How is it that red?”

He smiled—slow, knowing, just short of obscene.

“Want to find out?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

“Sure you don’t want to touch it?” he coaxed, voice dropping to just above a whisper. “I’ll even stand on my tippy-toes for you.”

“No.”

“You looked at it like it owed you money.”

“That’s not how debt works—”

“Here. One touch.” He leaned in just enough, resting his elbow against the edge of the balcony, hair temptingly within reach. “Just to say you did. Brave warrior and all that.”

It wasn’t fair.

His hair looked… expensive. Like it had never known hardship. Like it was washed in melted sunsets and smugness. The kind of red silk nobles begged pirates not to steal.

It was shockingly clean for a male creature.

And worse—it looked soft.

Too soft.

Your fingers twitched.

You hated yourself a little.

One touch. Just to disprove the rumors.

You leaned in—just a little—fingers outstretched.

You brushed the tips of his hair—

Warm. Silken. Alive.

And then—

Your palm burned.

His chest lit up in response, symbols flaring like ink set aflame. You jerked back, gasping, but too late.

The marks on your skin spiraled outward, curling and fusing, mirrored between you.

Chains. Rings.

A single word, seared in fire across both your bodies:

BOUND.

.

.

.

Silence.

You stared.

He stared.

“…Well,” Shanks said softly, still breathless, eyes locked on yours. “That escalated beautifully.”

You yanked your hand back so fast you nearly toppled over the balcony.

Below, Shanks staggered a half-step, his hand pressed flat over the glowing mark on his chest. His expression wasn’t afraid. Just stunned. Like something sacred had touched him.

Like you had.

You were already gasping, heart hammering, voice rising with panic.

“What—what was that?! What did you do?! What did I do?!”

He looked up at you with a grin, but not his usual grin. This one was softer. Slower. Unarmed.

Not cocky. Not smug. Warm.

It sat wrong on his pirate face. Too sincere. Too open.

Like he’d waited years just to see if you felt exactly like this.

Wonderstruck.

You backed up a step.

Your voice cracked.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

He had the nerve to look pleased.

“It’s a harmless little side effect. Of, you know—full contact,” he said cheerfully, like you hadn’t caught fire together. “Didn’t realize it was a real thing myself. But I’m not disappointed.”

“What side effect?” you growled.

He held up two fingers, casual as ever. “One: we now match. Fashionable, right?”

You drew your sword.

He gave you a sheepish little shrug. The kind that screamed, ‘please don’t stab me, I’m cute.’

Then you took a single step back—

And a sharp tug snapped through your chest, like someone had lassoed your ribcage and yanked hard.

You gasped, hand flying to your sternum. “Ow—what the hell—?!”

“Yeah,” he winced sympathetically. “That’s the part I maybe forgot to mention.”

You stared at him. Horrified. Betrayed. Mildly nauseated.

And just as you opened your mouth to yell again—

He crouched.

And sprang.

He landed gracefully on your balcony like some unholy cross between a pirate, a cat, and a romantic liability. No rope. No warning.

This man had no respect for doors, boundaries, or your rapidly unraveling sense of reality.

“We can’t be more than ten feet apart now,” he said brightly, still holding his chest like he’d just won a prize at a festival. “Think of it as… spatially enforced bonding.”

You blinked.

Then screamed.

Not a gasp. Not a squeak. A full-body, soul-shaking scream that echoed through the trees, reverberated off the cliffs, and probably startled Neptune himself.

Birds scattered. A baby wailed. Somewhere in the distance, a goat keeled over.

Shanks flinched—not from fear. Just from sheer decibel shock.

Later, he’d describe it as “kind of adorable… in a deeply traumatized way.”

You backed away, waving your glowing hand like you could physically fling the situation off your body. “NOPE. No. No, no. Undo it. Take it back. Rewind the curse!”

“It’s not a curse,” Shanks said gently.

You jabbed a finger at the burning sigil on your palm. “THIS SAYS OTHERWISE.”

“…Okay, fair.”

Then you ran.

You bolted like the forest owed you sanctuary.

Slammed through your room, flung open the inner doors, and sprinted straight for the far wall like you could physically outrun a magical contract.

You made it twelve feet.

Then—snap.

A vicious pull ripped through your chest like a tether gone taut. You were yanked clean off your feet, flung backward like a ragdoll of denial, and hit the floor in a heap of limbs, curses, and existential despair.

You lay there, gasping. Dazed. Emotionally concussed.

And of course—of course—Shanks was already there, crouched beside you like this was just another Tuesday.

“Hey—hey, easy now. You can’t pull that hard,” he said gently, like you hadn’t just been magically body-slammed. “Ten feet. That’s the limit. Think of it like… a soul bungee cord.”

You blinked up at him, flat on your back, eyes wide with horror.

“You’re a magical anchor,” you wheezed.

He laughed—hard. Couldn’t help it. You could see it in the way his shoulders shook.

“That’s… not how most people introduce themselves to their soulmates,” he said between wheezes. “But I respect the poetry.”

You glared.

He offered a hand.

You slapped it away.

So, naturally, the idiot pivoted to drama.

He placed a hand over his chest, straightened, and gave you a half-bow so theatrical it could’ve summoned fog.

“I’m Shanks. Captain of the Red Force. Emperor of the Sea.”

He winked.

“And, apparently… yours.”

You stared at him.

Still on the floor. Still glowing. Still cursed.

“Hancock is going to kill you,” you whispered.

Shanks smiled like a man halfway through composing the sea shanty about his own death. “That’s fair.”

The doors slammed open like the wrath of heaven descending.

“WHERE IS HE?!”

There she was.

Boa Hancock. Empress. Warlord. Fury in heels.

Glaive in hand. Hair swirling despite the absolute absence of wind. Eyes locked on Shanks with the focused intent of a woman ready to obliterate his entire bloodline from existence.

She lunged.

You didn’t even have time to blink.

She was on him in a flash, striking like vengeance forged into flesh.

Shanks didn’t move.

His Haki surged—quiet, ancient, coiling. It cracked the stone beneath his feet, winding around him like a leviathan that didn’t need to scream to remind the world it ruled.

Hancock froze mid-swing.

Her glaive trembled in her grip. Her fury did not.

“You dare trespass. Touch her. Curse her with your filth?” Her voice was low. Lethal. “I will turn you to stone.”

She unleashed her power like a tidal wave.

And…

Nothing.

Hancock faltered. Just slightly.

You stared. Hancock stared. Shanks raised an eyebrow, like someone had just complimented his shoes.

“…Huh,” he muttered, glancing at his very much still-flesh hands. “Still flesh.”

“You—” Her expression twisted, fury barely contained. “You should have crumbled.”

“Sorry,” he said, scratching his head. “Guess you’re just not my type.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“You—she—you resisted her?!”

“I didn’t resist anything,” he said simply. Then looked at you. “I’m just already cursed.”

Your soulmark flared—bright and traitorous.

Hancock’s eyes narrowed. She looked between you, then back again, lip curling. “So. That’s what it is.”

“Apparently,” you muttered, utterly humiliated.

“I hate it,” she snapped. “You can’t even be turned to stone like a normal intruder.”

Shanks shrugged. “That’s the price of loyalty, I guess.”

“Loyalty?!” you barked. “You broke into my room!”

“True,” he said, with a sage nod. “But I didn’t touch anything. Not even the pillow I caught. I’m house-trained. Rayleigh made sure.”

Silence.

Complete, nuclear silence.

Even the torches dimmed, like they no longer wished to witness this plane of existence.

You slapped a hand over your face. “Oh gods…”

Hancock’s eye twitched. She looked dangerously close to achieving spiritual enlightenment through pure, concentrated fury.

Then—with the elegance of a queen and the rage of a continent—she inhaled deeply through her nose.

“I will have you physically removed,” she said coldly. “I will punt you back to your ship myself.”

Shanks gave her the most maddeningly polite smile ever committed to sin.

“I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“Why not?!” Hancock hissed.

He looked at her.

Then at you.

Then back again, resting his arm on his hip.

“Because for the first two weeks, if soulmates are forced more than ten feet apart…” He raised his brows. “We snap back together.”

A stunned beat.

Then—he added, almost delicately:

“And if one of us dies…” A faint smile curved his mouth. “We both do.”

Chaos. Utter, spiraling, gods-abandon-us chaos.

Hancock shrieked.

You screamed—again—because clearly once wasn’t enough.

Marigold hit the floor like a sack of emotional potatoes.

Sandersonia shouted, “He’s bluffing!”

But the royal scrollkeeper, pale and trembling, whispered, “Actually… that is in the old texts…”

What followed was an operatic mix of shouting, cursing, veiled threats, open threats, and Hancock attempting to vaporize Shanks with nothing but the fury in her pupils.

Eventually, after what might generously be called negotiations, a compromise was reached:

The rules:

Shanks was not to leave Amazon Lily.

You were not to be closer than nine feet to him.

The two of you would be:  • Chaperoned by the most humorless guards Hancock could assign  • Forbidden from sharing rooms, blankets, baths, or “soul-binding gazes”  • Monitored for “suspicious behavior,” especially hand-holding, hair-touching, or prolonged smiling, and definitely no shared pillows.

No soulmark glowing in front of palace staff, because it was “sending the wrong message.”

And under no circumstances was Shanks to call you “his.” Not “his soulmate,” not “his problem,” not “his little sunbeam.” Ever again.

He immediately broke that last one. Twice. With flourish.

Marigold, still woozy, swore the snake hissed in Morse code for “kill him anyway.”

Hancock paced like a war god forced to sit through a dinner party.

“I want it annulled,” she snapped. “Broken. Banished. I don’t care if we have to summon an elder sea witch—I want this bond severed.”

“Respectfully,” said the royal scrollkeeper, who had not blinked in twenty minutes, “doing so within the first cycle would, ah… implode her soul.”

“She’ll regenerate,” Hancock growled.

“I won’t,” you whispered.

Hancock narrowed her eyes at you. “You should’ve stabbed him on sight.”

“I tried!” you cried, gesturing wildly. 

The next morning, you sat in the garden, hand still glowing faintly.

Shanks sat beside you.

Nine feet away.

Hands folded politely.

He glanced at you and said, voice soft, almost reverent:

“So… this is a very romantic start, don’t you think?”

You threw a fruit at his face.

He caught it.

Still smiling.

The Den Den Mushi aboard the Red Force clicked to life, glowing softly in the moonlight as the ship bobbed six miles off the coast of Amazon Lily.

Benn Beckman answered with the sigh of a man far too old to be cleaning up another diplomatic incident. Pipe lit. Rum nearby. Resigned dread in his bones.

“Red-Hair?”

Static.

“Hey, good news. I’m not dead.”

Around the deck, the crew froze mid-motion.

The card game stopped. One of the dice rolled off the table and hit the deck with an ominous clack.

Yasopp muttered, “Oh no.”

Lucky Roux sat up slowly, eyes wide. “Oh oh hoooo!”

Benn rubbed his face with one hand. “Define ‘not dead.’”

“I’m technically alive. Emotionally? Unclear. Spiritually? Debatable.”

“Where are you?”

A pause.

“…Inside the palace.”

Benn stared at the snail. “Inside the palace. Of Amazon Lily. The one guarded by an Empress who turns men to stone.”

“Right, her,” Shanks chirped. “Funny story—”

“Shanks.”

“Yeah?”

“What did you do?”

Another pause. Then:

“…Got cursed. Bonded. Technically trespassed. Accidentally soulmated the Empress’s favorite.”

Silence.

Then—

“GOT WHAT?!” came the collective scream from the rest of the crew, echoing across the deck.

Yasopp buried his face in his hands. “This is going to be worse than the time with the nuns, isn’t it?”

“Worse than the treasure priestess,” Limejuice leaned in to say, all smiles.

Lucky Roo froze mid-bite, a meat skewer dangling from his mouth.

Benn exhaled slowly. “Okay. That’s… not bad.”

“Also,” Shanks continued, voice drifting in with just the slightest edge of guilt, “I’ll be staying here for about two weeks.”

Silence.

“YOU WHAT?”

“Are you kidnapped?!”

“Do we need to launch a rescue?!”

“Wait—are you finally getting married?!”

“Don’t tell me she actually touched you—”

“She did,” Shanks said, pure smug. “My hair. We immediately bound.”

The crew lost it.

Yasopp howled. “HE WEAPONIZED THE HAIR!”

Lucky Roux spun in a slow, delighted circle, humming something dangerously close to a wedding chant. Someone near the helm shouted, “Call the tailor!”

“Of course she likes my hair!” Shanks called over the rising din, beaming like a man personally blessed by the gods of delusion. “Who doesn’t?!”

Benn groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was physically restraining a migraine. “You soul-bonded with a woman who ran from your name, weaponized your ego, and now you’re stranded on an island full of elite warrior women who all have kill orders with your face on them. For two weeks.”

There was a heavy pause.

Then Shanks, utterly unbothered and clearly thriving, shrugged and said, “Best vacation I’ve ever had.”

Benn didn’t look up. Just took a slow drag from his pipe and asked flatly, “So how’d you convince Hancock not to split you in half and roast you over ceremonial fire?”

“Ten feet apart or we die,” Shanks chirped, like he was announcing the weather.

Benn slowly lowered his head to the table and let it rest there. “Gods save me from romantics.”

“Technically,” Yasopp added from the side, “that makes him the most successful trespasser in Amazon Lily history.”

“I’m not trespassing,” Shanks called helpfully. “I’m emotionally docked.”

Benn groaned louder.

On deck, pirates placed bets and hollered like it was festival night. Bets hit the floor. Someone pointed at the stars and swore they saw a constellation shaped like a wedding bouquet. At least three were already arguing odds on whether Hancock would personally chuck Shanks into the ocean before sunrise, or delegate it to one of her taller sisters.

Through it all, Shanks just waited.

Calm. Quiet. Still smiling like a man who’d accidentally touched a stove and decided it was fate.

Finally, Benn spoke again, lower now. Serious.

“…You good with this?”

Shanks leaned against the receiver, voice dropping into something softer. Less pirate. More man.

“You should see her, mate,” he murmured. “She’s everything.”

Benn didn’t answer right away.

He just lit another pipe, slow and heavy, like a man preparing to witness the most romantic shipwreck in history.

“…We’ll hold position. Two weeks. Maybe sail to port. Drink your funeral early.”

“Thanks, Benn.”

“Try not to die, Captain.”

“No promises.”

[littlelittlebear]

nervous young inhumans hunger games au

synopsis To survive the Games and get sponsors, you need to make yourself entertaining. No tribute has ever won the crowd by romancing their mentor before. How's that for interesting? Ellie Williams is an asshole, and the worst mentor you could ask for, but she’ll do.

femme!reader, butch!ellie, mentor!ellie, fake dating, enemies to lovers, slow burn to them, fastest burn in the west to everyone else. taking some characters from arcane because creative writing knows no bounds

series masterlist prev

3. actress (wc 4.2k)

Ekko greeted you in front of the train with a big smile, a real one. Not the flashy, overly-sparkling grin you see on the Capitolites on television. Long, platinum locks were woven together to mimic a Lion’s mane. “Woah wait, I was assigned District Seven, why am I seeing two tens?” He joked and clapped your and Sam’s backs. 

You attempted a laugh, so did Sam, but maybe your joined anxiety was obvious. “Sorry, um, you guys must be nervous. I’d be nervous too– I mean, I am. Always am. Not like I’m constantly nervous, just during Games season. Sorry about the joke! I cope that way, hah.” At Ekko’s rambling, a genuine laugh escaped you, making him smile again. “Cool! Let’s get going.” 

He, along with Joel, Ellie, three Peacekeepers, and several of their guns escorted you and Sam from the station and to a shining, high-rising building in the distance that grew nearer in the silver limousine. 

Sam and Joel whispered amongst themselves, maybe plotting Sam’s strategy. Salo squaked and droned in Ekko’s ear, who looked about ready to escape out the door. A face full of concrete out a fast moving vehicle was definitely more stomachable than a conversation with Salo. The Peacekeepers sat in a line in front of the partition, guns casually strewn over their knees. One of the barrels wouldn’t stop staring at you. You and Ellie sat on the furthest end. 

When everyone was piling in, she wordlessly pointed to the corner, looking over her shoulder, then quickly pulled you in to sit at the very end and took the spot beside you. 

Salo had aww’d, with his shoulders hanging exaggeratedly. “Save me a seat next time, Pet,” he crooned to you, clawing the air. Your nostrils flared as you forced your breakfast to stay down. 

 “Back off, man.” Said Ellie. 

Salo laughed her off. “Young love, so monogamous! I remember the days…” He’d gabbed, sickening you again, and went on chewing Ekko’s eardrums off till now. 

Joel glared at you and Ellie periodically, then at the Capitolites beside you. ‘Go on pretending now.’ His eyes said. 

That’s how you and Ellie ended up sitting the way you were. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders, the way you’d practiced on the train, and your hand had hers. Joel narrowed his stare, you knew this look well from your guitar lessons. It was a mix of “loosen up, trust your fingers,” and “you can do better.” The first one was strictly guitar-related, but your belly heated at the memory of Ellie’s fingers against your cheek– how she had trusted them to touch you, how she’d trust them inside your– stop that. See, that was a new development. 

With your first kiss gone, taken so perfectly, seamlessly, like a thief in the night, you’d begun to imagine. 

Pictures you couldn’t control flooded your mind between bouts of consuming fear of your upcoming demise. Pictures of Ellie kissing you, kissing you longer, harder, wetter. Pictures of a string of saliva tethering your glossed up lips to hers, a similar string connecting Ellie’s mouth to the pool between your legs. Heaps of guilt weighed your chest for it. Unprofessional horny dog! A halo’d version of you scolded yourself, you’re dying, hear me? Dying! Get your head in the game! Another, more devilish voice in your head shut that one down – and what do people do when they know they’re going to die? Fuck and fuck and… oh yeah! Fuck. 

Your head leaned on Ellie’s chest to hide your blush. The muscle coating her shoulder cradled you. You checked on Joel again, who nodded, satisfied, then gave his attention back to Sam.

Every breath you took had Ellie clouding it. She smelled like roasted hazelnuts, fancy fabric softener from her soft, corduroy dress shirt, and musky body odor that didn’t bother you at all. You liked it. Ellie didn’t seem like the type to smell like a damn lab-grown flower field 24/7. You liked this much better. It reminded you of her stutter, her once-bleeding eyebrow, her cigarette breath. She acted holier than thou in Seven, as snobby as Salo. So you liked this, the reminders of her humanity.

You and Ellie hadn’t talked about the kiss. Didn’t have time to, Ellie’d been smoking away until the train slowed. Plus, it wasn’t a kiss-kiss, not something real and hearty and high stakes that you needed to talk about it. No, it was practice, a prelude, for your act. 

Like now. Cuddling up, making sure Salo stays away from you, that’s Ellie being a great, mindful, sexy, ridiculously handsome mentor… or something. But that’s Devil-you talking, and you rightly locked her up with a sedative and a chastity belt. It wasn’t as though Ellie returned your sudden panting crush. Your ear was inches away from her heart, beating at a normal pace. Her chest was not flushed warm. 

You felt the weight of her head leaning on yours. It made your breathing speed up, your palms sweaty, but she was unflinching. 

“Hey, relax,” Ellie muttered from above you. Her voice was the purring stir of a motorcar. Gravely but smooth. “Just me, kid.” 

That irked you a little. She’d promised her help, yes, but gave you the cold shoulder seconds later. Then she swatted Salo away, but hadn’t spared you a word or glance. Was she always going to be this flighty?

 “Which version of you?” You whispered back, annoyed. Ellie chuckled softly. 

“Nice-me.” She took a deep breath. “But I am sorry for going off like that. Must’ve confused you.” She paused, perhaps waiting for a response, even though she didn’t phrase it like a question. Asking questions seemed to put her in a position she didn't like. You recalled the stammer when – ‘remember, before my games?’ The Bandit Williams needs nothing from nobody. A stray memory of her interview, years ago, during her victor’s tour flickered on the screen of your mind. ‘I’m no pussy, I don’t ask. I’m a taker.’ She’d said to the camera, in a slightly forced country twang and a black cowboy hat that she’s never ever worn since. Maybe that was some bullshit Joel told Ellie to say, but you think that was the real Ellie to some degree. Scared of looking scared, so she doesn’t ask.

Either way, you nod yes. She feels you against her. “Sorry about that, kid. We’re on the same team. I just needed air. I… don’t do that sort of thing. Kissing. Not for a long while.” She whispered even softer. The way she said it wasn’t out of some rue and regret, as though she were coming off heartbreak. Something darker lurked in her words, fear. It made your mind swarm with possibilities. Scared of kissing? 

“We don’t have to do that,” You muttered, hoping not to sound disappointed. 

The limo slowed. She shook her head on yours. “We should. It’s a good time to get over my bullshit.” Was all she said. Everyone started crawling out the car. You were soon taken from Ellie and her smell and her fear. You didn’t stop yourself from looking back at her, as Ekko took you and Sam–and the Peacekeepers– into the building.

“Where are Joel and Ellie going?” You asked them. 

“Joel said they’d get a head start rallying sponsors before the parade.” Said Sam. “Ekko, you’re not gonna dress me up like a tree, are you?” He asked with genuine concern. It made you smile.

Ekko laughed. “Fuck no. Man, lumbar’s had the worst luck aside from Twelve and those coal miner outfits.” The thought made you and Sam grimace.

“Every year, those poor kids.” You said. “As long as I don’t look like a four-by-four, I’m happy.”

Ekko smirked. “Just trust me, tens.”

The elevator opened up to your living quarters for the next week. Your jaw dropped. A penthouse– is what you think this is called. You’re not wholly familiar with lavish terminology. You were well off back in Seven, sure, but Capitol-rich was on a different planet compared to District-rich. Every square inch was minimal yet ornate, static yet so obviously high-tech. Sam whistled at the sight. You couldn’t ogle for long, though. Four figures, two men and two women in varying states of maximalist clothing, took you and Sam by the arms to your own bathrooms, and introduced themselves as your glam team.

You were stripped naked, to your horror. But you sucked it up quick. This won’t be the last or the worst horror you’ll face, you reasoned with yourself. The women– one named Cat with short pixie hair and tattoos all over, and the other being a literal cat-like human named Lest– doused you in stinging, perfumed cream from the neck down. Lest smeared a healthy pound of the stuff over your mons pubis and vulva, to your burning humiliation. They washed you down. 

“Whe-where’s my body hair?” You asked, staring at your bald skin in the mirror with red-brimming eyes that stung from the smell and embarrassment. The women laughed.

“Gone for months! You’re welcome.” Lest purred. You decided against asking why they needed to remove the hair from your vagina. You didn’t want to hear the answer. Quickly, you were sucker punched out of whatever bliss you’d spent the day in, so preoccupied with a girl and her kisses. Reality hit. You are bare and vulnerable, in the throes of implication that it was all for a reason. An idea as to why Ellie was scared of kissing formed in your mind. A chill blitzed your spine.

Ellie’s got a beautiful flush of hair covering her arms, her hands, her legs too, probably. The way you used to have it. You’re certain she’s protective of it, perhaps letting it grow out of spite. 

Then you were exfoliated, bleached, contoured, and other alien experiences of the cosmetic underworld. 

You looked perfect. Perfect like a one of a million, plastic trinket manufactured by a machine. You missed the layer of fluff, the zit on your chin. Once again, you understood Ellie’s poorly cut hair and wild musk. You, too, wanted to stray as far from this as possible. An ache rippled through you, you grieved the thought of dying as you were. But perhaps it is better to die in another skin,so the body you spent eighteen years in may frolick forever in Seven, feeding babies and kissing blossoms, with a lovely zit on your chin.

Robed and decent, you went out to the living room, as per Ekko’s instruction. Sam was sniffling on an arm chair, wrapped in a matching robe. Ekko stood over the longer couch that was covered with clothes in dress bags. You noticed Sam’s skin was a couple shades lighter. Just an hour ago it was darker than dusk and beautiful. That glam team. It twisted your gut further, enraging you. 

Resolve possessed you as you were reminded of your mission. Get a fuck ton of sponsors for survival. Take care of those who can’t do it themselves. Die before killing anyone. Even a career. Shove a big middle finger in the Capitol’s face: never waver in your kindness. 

Ekko looked grim, as though he knew what you’d just been through. “Glad that’s over, huh?” You, and Sam, nodded silently. Ekko sighed, running a hand through his locks. “You guys are about to head into battle.”

“Trust me, we haven’t stopped thinking about the arena,” Said Sam, solemnly.

“Not the arena.” Ekko said gravely, but with a sense of softness and awareness that comforted you. “The cameras. The people. You’re going to fight for attention. You know your roles, yes?”

You: A lover. All heart and beauty, tragically torn from your Capitol favored soulmate– a former victor, no less.

Goal: Sponsors. Make the audience believe you are too good to die. Tug the heart strings. 

Sam: Your classic Charisma Man with lethal secrets. Oh him? He's a humble toy carver. Nevermind his brilliance with a knife, and what he’s done with it.

Goal: Winning. Make the audience believe he’s dangerous enough to make it. Intrigue them with his mystery to the point that they want more from him– after the Games.

You and Sam reported your assignments like soldiers. Ekko wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t dressing up, this was strapping in armor. 

Ekko smirked. “Genius.”

He tossed you your respective garment bags. 

-

In the mirror, disgusting perfection aside, you gasped at the pure craftsmanship before you, as though you were built from scratch. What looked like a woodland nymph replaced you in your reflection. Your eyes looked ginormous and doe-like, your hair was made into long thick waves that grazed your bum. Your lips were plum and a deep berry, in a perpetual state of kissed and bitten.

And your dress. You spun, gazing down at it with endless fondness. “Ekko,” You breathed. He stood behind you, humble but proud. 

“Like it?” He asked. You beamed. Such a smile hasn’t graced your face since before your Reaping.

“I don’t feel worthy enough to wear such a thing! I’ve never seen something so beautiful.” It managed to take light captive then spin it into golden hour sunlight and a blushing glow. Your curves were all-too noticeable, but you didn’t feel on display. You felt beautiful. Sexy. 

Ekko, the magician, managed to make you feel like a true woman in the limited time you have. Swept in gratitude, you embraced him tightly. He laughed and hugged you back. 

“None of that. You’re more than worthy.” Ekko held your eyes earnestly. “I believe in you. I’m not just saying that as a member of your team. You’ve got something. You’ve got something special.” And it’s lovely to feel believed in. You loved Joel, but you’re more focused on following his instructions, you feel coached. Ellie’s got your back, but she’s never expressed what Ekko has. He checked his watch as the other hand hugged you. “I don’t wanna break your bubble, but that’s your interview dress. I put you in it to give you something to look forward to, even if it’s as miniscule as a dress.” You melted, puzzled at how such a lovely boy could have come from tbe Capitol. “Your parade dress is a little simpler–” The door opened with a squeak. 

Ellie was barely in the room for two seconds. It gave you enough time to check her out in a classic, chocolatey suit that matched her hair perfectly and–hah– a brown leather cowboy hat. Damn the Capitol for loving a brand.

She said nothing. Just a look between you and Ekko, your embrace. Something flickered in her eyes, and the door shut again. Your chest contracted. Did Ellie have bad news? Why did she look like that? Why did she leave like that?

You cleared your throat. “Classic Williams, y’know?” 

Ekko raised an eyebrow, and left the hug to hand you a smaller dress on a hanger. You took it, and went behind the modesty barrier to change, gently removing the beautiful gown and hanging it up. “Right. I really hope I didn’t make your scary girlfriend jealous. I have one of my own! You might know her, actually, she won the Games two years ago? Blue hair, long braids, bombed the place?”

“Uh huh,” You affirmed, absent mindedly as you pulled the new dress on. “Wait, girlfriend?” 

“...yeah?” Asked Ekko.

You swore under your breath, reminding yourself of Joel’s constant reminders and sharp glares.

“My bad, we just say we’re partners–” You cringe. “Not to be into the whole Bandit thing, hah! Just that it’s a better fit. Feels more grown up than girlfriends?”

Ekko’s shadow nodded through the changing wall. “Totally! My girl and I call each other partner too–” You drowned the rest out with a sigh of relief. That cannot happen again. 

-

The chariots were lined up with fifteen minutes to rolling. Finally, you could check out the competition. The careers were abominable as always. Joel pointed each pair out to you and Sam. 

“District 1, Owen and Abby, they ain’t twins, I know, shocker.” They were big, buff, blond, and staring everyone down like vipers. “District 2, and Finn and Sevika, these guys aren’t as fuckin’ psycho as they look, but stay the hell away from them either way.” They might be even burlier, and taunted the others with menacing grins and patronizing finger wags. “District 4, Dina and Manny. All skill, no charm on the silver screen. They bore the sponsors already, but they’re gonna be harsh in the arena.” Those two plotted to themselves, twirling their tridents with cut throat skill. Every pair past District 8, except District 11, were young and small and blatantly petrified. Your future throng. 

You took special note of a young boy from Twelve with a scarred, shaved head. You turned to Joel in hopes of learning his name. “No clue, Hon. Guess that’ll be one of yours to look after.”

You nodded fervently. “I’ll talk to him during those training sessions, when do they start again?”

“Tomorrow, obviously.” Ellie. 

She appeared by your side. Her hand rested on your hip without preamble. You snapped into character, circling your arms around her neck. Ellie was all over you, but looked a million miles away. 

 “Hey, are you alright?” You asked quietly. Ellie clicked her teeth.

“‘Course, babe.” She said, gruffly, looking anywhere else but you. “I thought you didn’t like boys, by the way.”

Your confusion worsened at the left turn. Immediately, you brought back to Ellie’s strange behavior in the dressing room. “Ellie–um, Love, Ekko’s got a girlfriend, you know?”

She raised an eyebrow, still refusing to look at you despite her hands on your hips. “Monogamy isn’t exactly the Capitol’s thing, remember?” You huffed.

“He spent twenty minutes going on and on about her. We’re not like that, he… did something really kind for me is all. Kind and platonic." You said. “I made a friend, that’s all.” 

Then those pretty greens were on yours again. “Okay,” She said, softly. Her hands softened on your hips, and traveled upwards to your waist. 

You huffed a laugh. “Worried about little old me?” You muttered, flushing a little. Ellie playfully rolled her eyes, then bent down to your ear. Her lips grazed your skin, not as a kiss, but as assurance only you would hear it. A secret message disguised as a lovers game.

“Maybe I just wanted to make sure my fake girlfriend doesn’t run around… word travels too fast here. We wanna sell it, remember?” 

You smiled and whispered back, getting just as up close and crowded under her cowboy hat. “Consider it sold, I’d never. We call each other partners, not girlfriends, by the way. Don’t ask.” 

She groaned. “I swear to God if it’s because of the bandit thing–”

You giggled. CLICK! A blinding flash pulled a gasp from you. A paparazzi in a snake skin jumpsuit whistled at you. Within the second, the picture travelled across massive television screens hanging above each side the crowd, who cheered. You couldn’t deny the perfection of the moment: your arms around her neck, her hands warming your waist. You giggling, nose to nose with her, her looking pleased all in all. To an outsider, it looked like you were laughing at one of Ellie’s jokes. 

“Oh wow… they’re so fast.” You said, in awe. 

Gears turned behind Ellie’s eyes. “Kiss me right now?” She was already stooping her head low. You hoped your panic was concealed– your eagerness too. “It’s a good time, kid.” She said, a hair away from your lips, eyes trained down and cloudy. Was she… teasing you? You referenced your paparazzi pictorial again, which was going another round on the screen, getting another bout of crazed applause. No. Just being great at her job. “Eyes on me,” She whispered, making you shiver. That’ll rattle in your head all night. Instead of answering, you took action. 

A kiss on her chin, shocking her. CLICK! A kiss on the corner of her mouth. CLICK! The feral cheers returned. A kiss on her jawline. CLICK! Ellie smirked. “Nice one, let me?” 

You nodded briskly. “Ye-yeah–” Your own squeak interrupted you. Ellie squeezed your hip and a fraction of your pillowy ass, almost pinching it. CLICK CLICK CLICK! And strobing flashes of camera light. Your eyes fled to the Jumbo Tron for the playback. The squeeze, her strong fingers digging into your flesh, her biting her lip roughly, you blushing – your shock was thankfully obstructed by your tossed hair. Then, Ellie took off her hat, and held the side of it against your faces, hiding you and her from the camera. You panted as she leaned in. She’s going to kiss you again. Will it be longer? Will she bite your lip? Use her tongue? A smile threatened to pull your lips aside until–

“Pretend we’re kissing.” She whispered slowly. The amount of disappointment that shot through you was shameful. Nodding, you rode your knee up the outer side of her leg, the way you’ve seen people do while kissing in paintings. You realized Ellie was panting too. Her grip tightened. “Good.” She mouthed, eyes never leaving your lips. The hat shielded you from the array of light leaving the camera. The crowd screamed. Then she released you, leaving you to stumble in your place. Looking perfectly like a teenage girl kissed the lips off of. The paparazzi quickly left you alone, as some Careers started flashing their abs and throwing ever-entertaining death threats in the general direction of other tributes. In the corner of your eye, Joel was laughing beneath his hand, and gave you a thumbs up.

Ellie clutched your hand and cleared her throat. Outside the shadow of her hat, you noticed her blush. 

“Like the dress, by the way.” She said, off handedly. 

You looked down at your lovely Ekko Original, a skin tight, wet-looking, deep brown silk dress. Classy. gorgeous, timeless. Matching Ellie’s suit exactly, you now realize. 

Her eyes lingered on your body, sending buzzes over your skin, before nodding curtly. At that, you felt flipped. Ulpside down and shaken, your shyness fell out. All bets were off, you realized. Just because Ellie was your mentor, didn’t mean there was a strict list of what you could and couldn’t do, you didn’t have to feel so limited. Besides, Ellie seemed to be your lover first, and your mentor second in the public eye. These were your final days on the planet. Ironically, would it kill you to be bold? So your back straightened, your chest and ample cleavage taking up space in the light. “Like the suit. You look hot.” You said bluntly.

Ellie coughed – on air, it seemed.

 “Right- yeah- sure, thanks.” She visibly gulped, throat bobbing, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It put her stammering to a stop. “Fucking with me now?” She teased. You shrugged, smiling slyly. A man with a clip board and an ear piece called out through a megaphone for the tributes to get to their chariots. Ellie walked you, a hand on the small of your back. Sam caught up – wearing a green, leather blazer and baggy leather pants that hung low – and climbed into the carriage. 

Ellie held you firmly to help you up. Before you could get too far, though, she tugged your hair like a damned schoolboy, making you yelp. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself,” She gazed up at you with an unreadable expression, before kissing your cheek. Her lips were light as a feather on your cheek. There must be a paparazzi nearby, you thought, but no clicks and flashes followed. “Smile, wave, look people in the eye, try to make everyone feel seen, be in character. You look phenomenal. Look grateful. Got it?” 

You blinked. ‘Phenomenal’ was smuggled goods in the array of buttoned up instruction. Boldness gets you ‘phenomenal’ and a kiss on the cheek, you noted. Something something, Pavlov’s crush, something something. And so, you looked around for someone with a camera – a young woman lugging a big one with a blinking red light, labelled LIVE STREAMING. You brought two fingers to your mouth and whistled. Her eyes – not the lens– went to you. Almost there. 

You pulled Ellie up by the collar–quickly, you caught the camerawoman swivelling the lens in your direction– and smashed your lips into hers. The crowd roared, whooped and hollered. Maybe it was stupid to do a big kiss so soon, but this crowd couldn’t get enough of it. And you’re hungry for it. She took no time to respond, almost eagerly, taking the back of your neck in your grasp. Be in character, you remembered, and you parted with a tender, lovesick look on your face. She smiled at you with the same affection, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was that look on her again – as though she were miles and miles away from here – contradicted with a sugary sweet smile. Your blood ran cold. She was acting. Wholly, 100% acting. The crowd loved it, but all you wanted was Ellie’s quips of “nice one,” “good thinking” hushed in your ear again. The rose on her cheeks. The gazing onto your lips. Nothing.

“See you, babe.” She said, loudly, so every mic could pick it up. The horses were whipped, and the parade began. 

“You good?” Sam asked, noticing the exchange. 

You nodded, too quickly. “I am.” 

He raised a brow, before his gaze softened. “Let’s talk after the parade. Loosen up right now, though. C’mon, you’re our actress.”

Your chariot began to move. Seven was up.

An endearing smile pulled your face by the strings, like a puppet in preparation.

You're our actress.

taglist!!

@toofargonetocare @bluminescent-moon @losing-it-lately @honney-bonny @nattakasuperlesbian

how was this yall!! too long?

[gguk-n]

I Wish (Andrea Kimi Antonelli x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Y/N and Kimi didn't remember a time where they didn't know each other. Kimi wondered what his life would be like without Y/N in it, since she was the one who brought all the happiness and cheer into it. Kimi found himself looking, more so staring at her as he felt his heart flutter.

His friends would tease him; Ollie took it upon himself to remind him about how obvious he was being; which made him wonder. Did Y/N know? Did she purposely ignore him and his feelings? Or was he thinking too much into it?

Kimi thought about what it would be like to date her, what they would do and where they would go. He would spend most of his free time planning elaborate dates in his head. He was preparing himself, to tell her. He could only hope that she would feel the same.

Kimi had started his first year as a Formula One driver, which meant more races and more gruelling sessions. But with Y/N beside him, he felt like he could conquer the world. He was working hard and trying to make his family and more importantly Y/N proud.

It was also during this time that Kimi started to notice how Y/N was learning Portuguese. He found her in Kick Sauber's hospitality whenever he couldn't find her. She had started to become secretive and it felt like she was hiding something from him.

Kimi couldn't focus on anything but the growing proximity between Bortoleto and Y/N. He would find himself turning green with jealousy; breaking up their conversations and disrupting them. Kimi didn't like how they looked at each other; he didn't like how Y/N looked at him.

"Andrea" Y/N called out in a sing songy tone. Kimi was going over his stats for the weekend; "here" he called out. "Guess who just asked me out?" she giggled. Kimi felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, an uneasy feeling taking over his chest. He just silently shook his head, hoping to god that he still had a chance. "Gab" she replied, "I mean Gabriel" she smiled, biting her lip. Kimi's smile faltered, "Oh" was all that he could muster. "You don't seem happy" she pouted. "No no, I am" he forced a smile.

From then on, Y/N would always be stuck to Bortoleto, even on days when Kimi had a bad race and wished he had someone by his side. He found himself staring and wondering what it would'e been like had he been the one. Every time he saw them kiss, he wished he was the one kissing her lips. Every time they hugged, he wished it was him. Every time he made her laugh, Kimi wished it was him.

"Andrea, you shouldn't have" Y/N giggled, taking the flowers from him. Kimi just shrugged, kissing her cheek. "What's today's plan?" Y/N asked. "There's this new ice cream place that opened" Kimi began. "Yes" she jumped in joy. The pair was sat enjoying the ice cream. "You got something on your" Kimi pointed at her lips but before she could do anything, he leaned in and wiped the ice cream off with a kiss. Y/N was blushing, "sorry" she stammered. "You're cute when you blush" Kimi teased her. She just shoved him. "Earth to Kimi" Ollie called out, pulling him about of his day dream. "Mate, you're embarrassing yourself" he shook his head patting his back. Ollie pulled Kimi away from his seat which had direct view to Y/N and Gabriel who were busy chatting away while Gabriel stole kisses from her.

Kimi found himself wishing, wishing it was him. "He looks at you the way that I would Does all the things I know that I could If only time could just turn back 'Cause I got three little words That I've always been dying to tell you"

[carolmunson]

the boy is mine | masterlist

an ongoing collection of ficlets and blurbs by writers of the eddie munson x reader fandom using the same prompt. if you wanna take a crack at it, the guidlines are here!

the boy is mine (luna's edition) by @abibliophobiaa the boy is mine (bluey's version) by @blueywrites the boy is mine (bug's edition) by @munson-blurbs the boy is mine (jo's edition) by @jo-harrington the boy is mine (gab's edition) by @vvitchwords the boy is mine (powder's version) by @powderblueblood the boy is mine (leah's edition) by @eiightysixbaby the boy is mine (taylor's version edition) by @superblysubpar the boy is mine (ziggy's edition) by @trashmouth-richie the boy is mine (roe's version) by @hellfire--cult the boy is mine (amy's edition) by @rehfan the boy is mine (dalia's edition) by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple the boy is mine (cheese's edition) by @br0ck-eddie the boy is mine (hannah's edition) by @writinginthetwilight the boy is mine (amy's edition) by @bangaveragewhitewine the boy is mine (claudia's edition) by @jamdoughnutmagician the boy is mine (v's version) by @lonelysatellites the boy is mine (red's version) by @corroded-hellfire the boy is mine (h's version) by @be-ready-when-i-say-go the boy is mine (the wheels edition) by @wheels-of-despair the boy is mine (emmy's edition) by @upsidedownwithsteve the boy is mine (kittie's edition) by @mrsjellymunson the boy is mine (rose's edition) by @rosebudsgarden the boy is mine (viv's version) by @vivwritescrappythings the boy is mine (z's edition) by @uglypastels

the boy is mine (shiv's version) by @justmyheart the boy is mine (iona's version) by @eddiethefreakkmunson the boy is mine (hope's version) by @hopeluna the boy is mine (eddiessluttywaist's edition) by @eddiessluttywaist the boy is mine (chloe's version) by @doomsdaybby the boy is mine (meg's version) by @courtingchaos the boy is mine (betty's edition) by @bettyfrommars the boy is mine (icallhimjoey's edition) by @icallhimjoey (rpf edition) the boy is mine (carol's edition) by @carolmunson the boy is mine (belle's edition) by @angelgirlworld222 the boy is mine (jade's edition) by @jadewritesficshere the boy is mine (hannah's edition) by @rip-quizilla the boy is mine (manda's version) by @manda-panda-monium-writes the boy is mine (desi's edition) by @lilmissdoomandgloomfics the boy is mine (hdyagimr's version) by @howdidyouallgetinmyroom the boy is mine (mar's edition) by @serasvictoria the boy is mine (sienna's version) by @belokhvostikova the boy is mine (call-me-eds edition) by @call-me-eds

[deadpcnned]

Sealed by the Storm (jj.m)

chapter one

pairing: jj maybank x reader; marriage of convenience

content warning(s): none, just angst

author's note: first chapter! i didn't expect it all to be in jj's pov lol. PLEASE read the author's note here, but i want to reiterate that this fic is canon-compliant up until season 4, ep. 5. for example, in this chapter we learn there are still a few days before the court hearing regarding the maybank property. this story will not be canon-compliant from this chapter onwards!

join the taglist | series masterlist

next chapter

JJ can feel the air in his lungs running out, and the pressure from the wind and rain around him only speeds up the process. He’ll have to stop running soon; his endurance can only last so long, but until then, he needs to run. Run away from the lighthouse that Luke is maybe still shouting from. Run away from the lies. Run away from his remaining hope for the man who raised him — if you can call it that. 

JJ’s on autopilot, not having to think about where he’ll go. He’s always known where his feet take him in these moments of desperation. The place has changed, ironically from the Chateau to the place he used to run from, but the reason has stayed the same. The people have stayed the same. Still, he can’t think straight. The pinching feeling in his chest is growing, and he knows what’s next. The pinch will get tighter until it feels like his weight has collapsed on itself, landing right on his weak heart. Usually, the pressure builds quickly. Right now, though, it’s a slow build. Those are always the worst. Sometimes, when the build is slow and sneaky, the pain doesn’t go away until the next day. 

He can’t let it stop him right now, though. Not until he’s back at the shop with the other Pogues. It’s probably not much longer before he’ll reach the boat that will take him where he wants to be, needs to be. It doesn’t ease the pressure in his chest, but it clears his mind a bit. It lets him think just a little longer about what’s next. He’ll drive it as quickly as he can and head straight to the Pogues, then tell them what happened. They’ll help him. He knows they will. 

As he steps onto the boat and starts to undock, the rain still falling steadily, he thinks of what the Pogues are probably doing right now. Wait. No, no, no. 

They’re not home, not all of them, at least. The Pogues had gone to follow the clues left behind regarding Blackbeard’s treasure, but Kiara was home. She was there alone, waiting just for him, to make sure he didn’t get in any trouble he couldn’t get out of. That should’ve been enough. Knowing Kiara would be there should’ve made his path clearer, like the break of dawn in the dark, rainy night surrounding him. Yet, it is as if his hands move without permission, turning him away from his intended path. JJ turns the boat around, buying himself time before he eventually makes it back to the surf shop. For now, he just needed to think. The solitude would do him some good, let him think about the lies Luke had just tried to sell him. JJ could handle this.

He hadn’t expected to return the next day, but whenever JJ thought he was closer to driving the boat home, he’d start to reel again. He didn’t want to go back to the Pogues at the height of his emotional turmoil, especially when what Luke said was no doubt bullshit. His friends don’t have parents who are in the running for some Parent of the Year award — well, maybe Pope— but they also don’t have Luke Maybank as a parent. Their parents could be murderers and treasure hunt junkies, but they loved their children. The worst of them still took his last breaths for his daughter. Forget loving him; Luke’s only thoughts regarding JJ were about how he could get his next crash gab. He was willing to give away his title as JJ’s dad at the first opportunity of something better. It’s embarrassing– humiliating to let them see just how unloved he is by his father. 

“JJ, where have you been?” JJ’s eyes meet Kiara’s as she stands up from where she is crouching in her garden. JJ looks away, training his gaze on the crops surrounding them. He can still remember how excited Kie was when she started the garden. She had spent an entire smoke sesh sprouting predictions about how far each crop would come within a three-year timeline. Now, he doesn’t even know if she’d be able to see the results of her hard work or if some Kooks would bulldoze the whole thing in a few weeks. JJ cringes, looking back to Kie. It’s easier to look at her than their withering dreams. 

“Long story,” He mumbles. “Where are the others?” 

“Almost here, why? What happened?” JJ suppresses his groan at her questioning. He knew his lies never got past her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still try. 

“Nothing, Kie,” His insistence is met with a deadpan look. 

“Don’t lie to me.”

“It…” JJ runs his hand through his hair, jaw clenching. This is the part of the conversation he was dreading most, admitting that Luke was back and he never even told him. Somehow, the fact that Luke didn’t find it worth telling JJ he was back on the island was worse than the lies he had spun. “Doesn’t matter. It’s just my dad.” Dad. 

“Oh shit. He’s back?”

“Yep,” JJ does his best to hide how badly this affects him. Whether it’s believable or not, he doesn’t know. “He’s been holding up at Barracuda Mike’s, I guess.”

“JJ…” 

“Don’t,” JJ says, putting a hand up. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

JJ lets the silence stretch between them, debating his next words. How can he say this without sounding like he’s gone too far off the rails this time?

“He…uh…” Kie moves closer, watching her step as she approaches JJ.

“Yeah?”

“He… told me he wasn’t my real dad,” Kiara looks at JJ for a second, which feels much too long before she smirks at him.

“You wish,” It does feel like a cruel joke, but even if it’s a lie, Luke wasn’t trying to be humorous. 

“Kie, it wasn’t a joke. Like, he was being…I don’t know what he was being, but,” JJ trails off, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out the crumpled letter he has been turning over in his hands every couple of hours since he received it. 

“I got this,” JJ mumbles, waving the letter in his trembling hands. Unfolding the letter haphazardly, JJ extends it for Kiara to take. Kiara wipes her hands against her shorts again before taking the letter.

The sound of grass crunching underfoot pulls both their gazes toward an approaching figure. You step into view, your expression calm but with the slightest arch of a brow. You hold an apple in one hand, idly passing it to the other.

“What’s that?” You ask, your gaze trained on the letter Kie has yet to read. JJ reaches out and snatches the letter back from Kie’s hands, stuffing it in his pocket again.

“Nothin’,” JJ replies, his tone clipped. Your gaze lingers on JJ’s pocket as you take a bite of your apple. In response, you simply hum and let your gaze trail back to JJ’s. Looking between the two girls,  JJ searches for a way to avoid any more discussion. “You two didn’t go with the others?” He directs the question to Kiara even though he knows she stayed behind.

“Kie said she was gonna wait for you, so I decided to stay back with her. In case she needed backup,” You shrug. 

“Backup for sitting in a garden?” 

“Backup for whatever trouble you’d inevitably bring back. Guess I called that one.” You nod your head at JJ’s pocket, your tone sharp but not necessarily unkind. Still, it’s a sharp contrast to the usual warmth you show the others. JJ feels that familiar itch of irritation crawl up his spine, igniting something raw within him. It always seems to happen when you are around him lately, like you merely exist to remind him of every single one of his shortcomings. 

 “You figure out whatever was more important than helping us?” you add. 

Two years ago, JJ couldn’t have imagined he’d feel this way about you. This tension hadn’t always existed between the two of you, not until a few months ago. You had been with Cleo and their ship captain, Terrance since you were 14, which meant that you’d been with Cleo when helping John B and Sarah try to retrieve the Royal Merchant gold in the Bahamas. When it came time to decide if their alliance would shift to something more, you’d turned to Cleo for guidance. It was Cleo who decided that you two would join the Pogues from that point onwards.  

When you and Cleo had first joined them on Poguelandia, it had been a wonder how effortlessly you fit in with their unconventional family. You and JJ may not have had the same heartfelt bond that was cultivated over years of knowing one another, but you and he had shared many laughs, just the two of you. Those laughs didn’t feel like they meant much at the time, but he would find himself clinging to those memories like a lifeline– a reminder that you didn’t always look at him with such disfavor. 

JJ always thought you were funny in a way that went under the radar – a quiet, cutting kind of humor. You’d let out a sarcastic comment under your breath or give a look that had impeccable comedic timing. JJ was often the only person to catch these little moments, and in return, he’d get a small smirk. You were still funny, still fun, but it was like any time JJ was near you, you lost the ability to pretend you didn’t hate him. Your smile would disappear when he’d try to make a joke or suggest an activity for the group to do, albeit those suggestions were usually a little reckless.  He understood that he wasn’t anyone’s favorite person right now, but he didn’t understand why it seemed like you had a personal grudge against him. Now, every look you give him feels like judgment he can’t escape, and every word seems calculated to remind him of how much he’s messed up. Can’t a man make a few mistakes without being chased with metaphorical pitchforks? Jesus. 

Since Terrance’s death, you had been reeling. Your version of reeling, at least. Turning in on yourself, withdrawing from everyone else. You had seemed like a shell of the person he had come to know. At this moment, you seem to be doing better, and JJ is relieved to see it. It didn’t matter what was happening between them; if a Pogue was in pain, JJ felt it. But he isn’t relieved enough to be glad he is at the receiving end of the anger that had started to become far too familiar. 

“Yeah,” JJ rolled his eyes, turning away from you. “Something like that.” If you were going to say something, you never got the chance because just then, the Pogues are pulling in with the Twinkie. JJ looks towards Kiara, widening his eyes as if to say ‘Keep this a secret, please?” Kiara furrows her brows, clearly not receiving the message, and looks to you to see if you understand. JJ groans and looks back at you. Seeming to get the message, you snort and roll your eyes.

“Relax. I’m going,” You say before walking towards the other Pogues as they get out of the Twinkie. 

“Can we, uh…not tell them,” JJ sighs, looking back to see if the Pogues would be able to hear him from where they are gathered. “I mean, I just don’t want them to know how far Luke would actually go. You know, to get some cash.” Kiara nods, giving him a small smile.

“Another one of our little secrets?” JJ smirks, nodding in agreement. He takes one more glance behind him before stepping closer to whisper his next words.

“A secret for the streets and a secret for the sheets,” JJ winks, causing Kiara to groan at the cliche and JJ to burst out laughing. Suddenly, a blur of blonde hair speeds past JJ and Kiara, knocking JJ’s shoulder as it goes.

“What’s wrong with Sarah?” JJ asks, turning to find Pope walking closer to him.

“Rat swarm,” Pope says, a dazed look in his eyes as he follows Sarah inside. 

Rat swarm?

“The weirdest part is other people were looking for the same thing we were looking for,” Pope’s movements are animated and his voice passionate as he recalls what he and Sarah saw in the catacomb. JJ’s trying his best to push the past twenty-four hours out of his thoughts and focus on his friends, but he keeps catching himself thinking, ‘What next?’ on a never-ending loop. 

“I hate that I missed that,” He hears Kie say, but he’s not sure what she’s referring to exactly. His absentmindedness is why he takes a minute too long to respond when John B directs a question to him. 

“Where’d you ghost off to, big guy?” John B asks, his expression a mix between expectant and worried. JJ stands up from where he’s slumped against the railing, turning to look at Kiara to make sure she’s not about to give anything away. But as he turns to look at Kie, he catches you staring at him. You’ve been looking at him oddly for the past twenty minutes that you’ve all been gathered on the patio, but he figured you were just at your wit's ends with him again. Now, your expression is suddenly intensified, and you look at him like you know something. But that’s impossible. 

Looking at you, he replies, “Oh, I was, uh… just trying to help out the team. Quick cash grab. Yeah.” His voice seems a bit lost as he explains, but he shrugs and clears his throat. “But the plan fell through ‘cause it was Barracuda Mike.” 

“As much as I’d hate to hear JJ tell us that story,” He hears you cut in, not a trace of your previous insight left for anyone to see. “We need to talk about the zoning hearing. It’s in a few days.” Was your frustration real, or were you covering for him?

“Anyone got any ideas?” Cleo asks, walking to sit next to Pope. 

“Oh, yeah, let me just study up on real estate–” Pope’s quip is silenced by a single look shot at him by Cleo. “Sorry.” 

JJ hears you chuckle at that, and he smiles as he looks at you. You’re generous with your laughs as long as JJ isn’t involved, but they’re always genuine when you’re watching Cleo and Pope interact. He remembers you once told him something was healing about watching Cleo and Pope together, but he’d never gotten the chance to ask you what that meant. 

“How about we call people,” John B suggests, ever the leader. “The whole island’s pissed about what they’ve been doing. We get everybody over there, pack the house, and rally the troops.” 

“More the merrier,” JJ nods. “I could get the surf squad out there. From the beach.” 

And just like that, the Pogues are all brainstorming how they can help and who they can call. JJ hears Kiara mention something about Rafe Cameron, but he still feels a swell of hope as he thinks about all the Pogues on the island showing up to fight for the shop. He’s mistrusting of hope because of what it inevitably leads to, but he always falls for it. That low thrum seems to course through his veins and grows with each passing moment. That feeling is like the antithesis of when he feels his heart pinch. It’s better than any drugs or alcohol that he usually uses as a mask for his darkest thoughts. It also has a worse crash down to reality than both combined. 

Unfortunately, it seems he won’t be experiencing the full high of hope because as the group disperses to handle their individual tasks, the last person he’d expect to willingly talk to him is standing in front of him.

“Um, yes?” JJ tilts his head at you, who’s bouncing slightly on your feet. That’s odd. You're a very collected person, more in control of your emotions than the average person. You’re so much like Cleo in that way which makes sense considering the upbringing you’ve had. So, to see you in obvious distress about something is far from normal. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” You nod, but as JJ makes a move to sidestep you, you step backward, blocking his exit. “JJ, I made a mistake.” Okay… but why are you coming to him?

“What happened?” You lift your hand, which he didn’t notice you were holding behind your back until now, and reveal a crumpled piece of paper. A very familiar crumpled piece of paper. JJ’s hand flies to his left pocket where he thought Wes Genrette’s letter was safely tucked away. 

“How…?” 

“Are you really asking me that?” Your eyebrow arches because everyone knows you’re neck and neck with Cleo for best pickpocket. It’s almost funny, but really it’s not. JJ clenches his jaw, snatching the letter from you. He needs to leave. 

“JJ, wait,” You block his exit again, and JJ huffs, taking multiple steps away from you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was personal.”

“You didn’t know a letter I clearly did not want you to read was personal? Really?” JJ’s just grateful that no one else is at the shop right now, and he can be as pissed as he wants. “How dare you take this from me?”

“I had to make sure.” JJ doesn’t have to ask you what you mean by that. You had to make sure it wasn’t something else he’d drop on all of your heads when they were already so far under the water. 

“Huh,” JJ gives a mirthless chuckle, shaking his head. “You had to make sure I didn’t fuck up.” You look away, but you don’t attempt to convince him otherwise. You take a moment before straightening your posture and facing him head-on. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have read it, and I should’ve trusted you enough to know what was worth sharing and what wasn’t.” He knows you mean it, that you truly are sorry. 

“Whatever,” JJ never claimed to be a mature guy. 

“Okay…” 

“Alright.” JJ waits a minute, and when he hopes the conversation is finally over, he starts to leave. But what’d he say about hope? You inevitably crash down.

“For what it’s worth,” JJ sighs, looking over his shoulder at you. “I think you should talk to him.” When JJ doesn’t respond, you clarify, “To Groff.”

JJ turns towards you, a chill running down his spine. “You do?” JJ’s compass for good ideas is in dire need of calibration, but even he feels that is obviously not a good idea.

“Yeah. You deserve to know if he’s your… or if Genrette was off base.” 

“I think we both know that he’s way off base.” JJ’s arms cross with an air of nonchalance that doesn’t suit him. “Why bother asking?” 

You purse your lips in thought like you’re debating whether to say what she’s thinking. He’s not sure what you decide because all you say before patting him on the shoulder and leaving is:

“Maybe. But whatever you decide, don’t do it alone.”

[rimunagenius]

And They Were Roomates

☙ pairing: Kate Martin x Roommate!reader

☙ word count: 2.5k words

☙ warnings: RPF!! use of y/n, not proof read.

☙ ri speaks: I need more kate martin content and i haven’t been fed the specific ones that i need so i must write them to the best of my horrendous abilities. Idek how good this will be…im sorry in advance LMFAO. also this is two thousand five hundred words but it looks a lot shorter….crying

this is also a general announcement that i will indeed be refreshing my blog, so that means new and updated master lists and posts are coming out soon so sorry if you get a spam of rimunagenius on your feed!!

Part 1

| Series Masterlist |

When you first started in Iowa, you never expected the immediate love you recieved from the people there. They were friendly, generous, and so much different from people in California. Especially your roommate, Kate Martin. You had met her shortly after your first day of Junior year. A while after, you two became roomates because you needed more space, and she needed someone to split rent with in her apartment. Sounded like a great deal to both of you.

"You don't mind?" You asked unsure. Not wanting to impose on her, possibly ruining plans with making a deal with her actual teammates.

"No! Not at all! I really like you and you're alot of fun! I'd love for you to move in with me." She beamed at you, giving you a side hug when she saw your expression change. You both were ecstatic.

Since then, you had been living with Kate for almost two years. You two had become inseparable. Always on campus together, meeting up between classes to get coffee or lunch together, sometimes with Caitlin and your other friends. It was great. You were happy with your home away from home.

You had transfered from UC Irvine and decided to pursue your degree and career in sports medicine here in Iowa City. You were one of the new athletic trainees and ocassionly a photographer; your previous major was in photography and Lisa and the administration had really loved your resume and work, so they hired you as a part time (barely) photographer, for whenever they wanted more shots than what they usually wanted or a fill in.

Currently, you were needed in the Carver stadium to help record a mic’d up practice session for the team. It was for the Iowa Hawkeye Youtube channel. You had experience because you too had a youtube channel that you started when you first transferred to Iowa. So you had told Lisa and the coaches that you’d be able to film it.

“Hey, Gabbie!” You smiled at her as you walked into the locker room, approaching Kate’s cubby to set your stuff down. Kate telling you this morning before she left that you could put your stuff with hers.

“Hey, girlie! So guess what?” You and Gabbie loved to gossip. It was so much fun and it started when you were redoing the tape on her ankles, and she looked down so you asked her about it, and since then, you both have told eachother whatever gossip you had.

“Oh my god, what?” You took your sweater out of your bag, the locker room being chilly, so you could imagine the court.

“So that boy Nick in my econ class, totally asked about you today. I didn’t want to crush his hopes and dreams but I did say you weren’t his type.” She took a seat next to where you were standing to put her shoes on.

“Wait, the boy I said would so be my type if he was a girl? That Nick?” You laughed because he was really nice and such a sweet guy but he just wasn’t a girl. Men are pretty but only to look at.

“Yes!”

“How’d he take it?” This guy has asked you out once before but you just said you weren’t looking to date. Probably should’ve elaborated on that one.

“But he asked me “Oh, who is? Does he go here?” And I was like,” she paused to reenact the face she made. “I said it too fast so I didn’t have time to say “Oh, It’s long distance or something” sooo I don’t know.” She rambled and just pulled her hair into a small ponytail.

“What do you mean? That made no sense, Gab.” You were confused. She looked guilty of something but you didn’t want to pressure her but you also really wanted to know what she had said about you to Nick.

“I kinda sorta said you had a girlfriend already, and he took that as ‘Oh, she’s dating her roommate Kate Martin’ because he said he supposedly sees you guys together everywhere.” She meant well. It really wasn’t her fault that Nick totally misread the situation.

“Oh shit.” Your jaw dropped. You thought it was awkward but now it went full fledged horrendous. You were already out, and anyone who followed your insta would’ve saw it in your stories, so you weren’t worried about that but you were worried for Kate.

“So what do we do about the fact that a random kid on campus thinks your dating Kate?”

“Ok wait, i’m actually scared. Like how do you think Kate will take it?” You were talking to Gabbie and immediately knew you fucked up by seeing the expression on her face.

“How will I take what?” Kate walked in, hair down, dressed in her practice uniform, and sat on the chair next to you. You hadn’t realized that you sat down with Gabbie. Lost in the conversation and frenzy of the new mess that could possibly affect yours and Kate’s social life dramatically.

“I’m just gonna…” Gabbie got up, and walked out, meeting the others outside on the court.

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you in a minute.” You said to the girl before turning to Kate. You had caught her up on the lore behind you and Nick, if you could even call this one sided infatuation lore. Now you just had to tell her the problem. “So Gabbie tried to tell him that I was already seeing some girl. But Nick jumped to this whole conclusion that me and you were together.”

You watched her face. Looking for any sort of negative reaction. Waiting for her to blow up on you. “Oh.”

“And when Gabbie tried to say it wasn’t you and that were just friends, and that my supposed girlfriend lives in California, he got up and left. So it may be possible that the whole Iowa college campus will assume we’re together.” You played with your fingers as you watched her some more. Still waiting for her explosion.

“I mean, I don’t mind. He sounded weird so if it keeps the guy away from you, i’m okay with being the ‘pretend’ girlfriend.” She shrugged her shoulders. Grabbing her shoes from behind you, your chair sitting right infront of the cubby that belonged to her:

“Kate. Are you sure? This is so random and so strange and I would totally get it if your uncomfortable.” You wanted it to be clear that this situation could go away if she was uncomfortable. If she was uncomfortable you’d go on a date with him and just tell him it won’t work after. It’d be bad for you if he goes around saying rude things but you couldn’t care less about people you don’t know. You just wanted to make sure Kate wasn’t the one feeling weird.

“Yeah, I mean—I don’t have to kiss you in public, right? I feel like that’s overstepping a boundary we have not thought about setting.”

“No, Kate. You do not have to kiss me in public. Wait so you’d kiss me in private?” You looked at the girl, now fully joking around as you wiggled your eyebrows and laughed.

“Oh yeah for sure.” Kate made a funny face while nodding her head before grabbing her water and standing up. You following behind to get this practice and video recording started.

“Oh, and your getting mic’d up today. I don’t know if Coach Lisa told you.” You say as you both walk onto the court.

You and Kate had showered, separately unfortunately, and sat on the couch. You had been trying to convince her the whole way home from practice to watch New Girl. She agreed after ten excruciating minutes of your nagging.

You were deciding to pick the snack you wanted, grabbing M&Ms you bought at the store yesterday, snickers, chips, and popcorn. You wanted to watch as many episodes as possible because you both started school late tomorrow and it was an off day for practice.

“What are these practices anyways? Are they like preseason workouts to get back in shape or?” You watched Kate as she picked her snacks.

“Yeah. Basically. We’re technically only allowed to goof off a little during those ones.” Kate laughed, referring to the mic’d up practice today. Coach Lisa usually wants a more focused and intimate space during the actual season. “Oh my. What if we just kill this whole tub of Neapolitan ice cream?” Kate took it out of the freezer and suddenly all your snack choices went back to the cabinets.

“Ou deal, Martin.” You grabbed two spoons before making your way to the couch. Grabbing the blanket off the backrest, and throwing it over you both. You both settled and got comfy ready to start the marathon of New Girl.

You were both sitting in silence after you decided to just do a highlight reel of episodes since you weren’t going to force Kate to watch multiple seasons. "Are you excited for this upcoming season? Your last season?" You asked as you looked to your right. Kate was seated next to you while you both decided to disregard bowls and just eat the ice cream straight from the tub. She held the tub as you both dug what you wanted out of it. She shoved more ice cream into her mouth and she smiled and nodded her head.

"I am. Just scared and sad." She said somewhat incoherently due to not having swallowed the mouthful of ice cream. You nodded your head. You had already adapted to the Kate language. When she talked while yawning, mouth full, her body language, and her facial expressions. Not many people were fluent like you, and you were actually proud to be one of the people. So you understood exactly what she meant. You saw everything else she was feeling just by the look in her eye and the shape of her lips.

But you also felt sad for her too. You’d both be a sixth-year, grad students, in a couple months. This year bigger for her more than you. This year being her last and final run in her collegiate career. This was huge. You both knew this but wanted to focus on the nicer aspects. You and the girls would support her and be her friend even if she decided to never touched a basketball again. You guys were for life.You didn’t play, so you felt there was nothing you thought you could say other than just being her friend.

"You'll be okay, sweetheart." You wrapped your arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. A small comforting hug, atleast a hug at which this position provided, and kissed the top of her head. You only used terms of endearment like this in small, comforting, intimate moments. You felt this was the right time. "I'll be here for you, and you have the girls. We’ll back you in whatever you do, outside of basketball and school. You can’t ever get rid of us if you tried. But I will give you all the support and all the ice cream you can eat right now." You smiled at the blonde. You both stared at eachother, a little too long, “We are not beating the supposed ‘girlfriend’ allegations right now, Martin.” She bursted out laughing. You not far behind.

"But seriously, thanks shortie." She said as she patted your knee, right before she lost it again and laughed out loud. You immediatey cringed at the name, and pushed her away from you.

"OH! my god! Immediately no, Kate." You laughed again, half embarassment and half amusement. "That is not funny. You sound like a frat boy." That earned another snort laugh from Kate.

"You're right. I'm sorry." You side-eyed her. Pulling the blanket a little closer to you. Scooting over the tiniest bit over to feign anger and hurt. Still managing to catch her movement through your peripheral.

"Bro, I'm not even that much shorter than you. Just short three inches." You rolled your eyes at your best friend, turning back to the episode where Jess and Nick kiss eachother for the first time. Your favorite episode.

"Yes, I know. I know how you feel about my short jokes. I almost cried when you ignored me for three and a half days." Kate chuckled as she looked to you her smile dropping, a frown forming when you still didn't acknowledge her. "Oh, come on, y/n. Don't ignore me again, please! I was kidding." She asked you while chuckling nervously, she asked you two more times, when that didn’t work she insisted on poking you for a two minutes straight.

"Okay, Kate. I forgive you. Now shush, my favorite part is coming up." You kept your eyes on the screen and tried to reach for your spoon in the tub. Your fingers reaching everywhere but your spoon. "Kate can you help me please?"

"Yes, but haven't you already seen this show like eight-billion times?" She grabbed a spoon, whichever one was closest, forgetting which one was which, and scooping a good spoonful, before bringing the spoon to your mouth. "Open." You opened your mouth and took the ice cream happily.

"Thank you, you big teddy bear. God's gift, I'm telling you." You said as you watched the best scene on sitcom TV about to unfold.

"Im just going to pretend you're talking about me and not your show." Kate whispered. "You're welcome, pretty." She said louder so you could hear.

That got your attention. It wasn’t something that you hadn’t heard come out of her mouth and directed to you before; she's called you pretty multiple times when you had asked if the outfit you were wearing out looked good or if the makeup you put on was good for this dinner a girl you were seeing on and off wanted to take you out to. But she's never once used it in this context. You got a nervous feeling in your stomach, something you recognized as butterflies for sure. Fighting the urge to smile at the compliment, a small blush creeping up on your cheeks. Fighting the thoughts you had about her.

It was something new but this one thing…this you weren't going to get used to. You guys were best friends and just roomates. You can't feel anyway about this.You decided to ignore it and take it as a compliment in the moment to make up for the short joke. It definitely wasn’t something serious as you were making.

"I was talking about both of you. The TV and you, Kit-Kate." You put your arm around her shoulder and continued to watch the show. Watching the scene you had been waiting for all night to play. “This was the best cinematic experience I have ever had.” You whispered, now reaching for the spoon again for some ice cream.

Kate beating you to it, already having got another spoonful for you, feeding it to you like she did a couple of seconds ago. You smiled and thanked her before you both decided to cut the show, and search for a movie of both your choosing this time.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just Friends: Get Ready

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

masterlist

Summary: Bucky sleeps over.

It’s giving

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You shimmy and sway before the mirror behind the polka dot skirt. It’s cute but is it date cute. Does it matter? It’s not really a date, not for you. You’re just there for moral support. Geez, isn’t Bucky a soldier? You think he could face a gorgeous sophisticated woman like Charlize. 

You don’t get how he doesn’t see how perfect they are for each other. She’s older and confident and so beautiful. And smart to boot. And he’s handsome and built and somewhat famous. They are the power couple for the ages. Quite literally with Bucky aging into his second century. 

It should be fun anyway. Dinner out can be a bit overwhelming but it isn’t so bad with friends. Heck, you’re sure they will be too busy gabbing and ditch you and your date quickly. At least, that’s what you’re hoping for. 

Your apartment buzzer goes off and makes you jump. You blanch at your reflection and pull the skirt on. You were never going to decide so you’ll just go with it. You swipe up the blouse with the eyelet collar and swoop it over your head. You leave it untucked as you slam the button to quiet the offensive noise. 

“Hey!” You call into the speaker. 

“Dreamy,” Bucky sounds angry as he growls through the crackling line. 

“What are you doing here? You should be getting ready.” 

“I am,” he snips. 

“Oh, right, well, come on up, I guess.” 

He huffs right before you let the button go. He’s been grouchy lately. You asked him if it was work. He shook his head and kept reading. You tried to keep guessing and he just groaned and told you nothing’s wrong. So, you let him mope. 

It doesn’t take him long to get to your floor. He pounds on the floor and you let him in. He doesn’t look ready. You squint and step back to look him up and down. 

“Bucky,” you reproach. 

“What? I got a tie,” he pulls his leather jacket open. “It’s just a bit... stubborn.” 

“Oh, gosh,” you tug on the crooked tie, “here.” 

He stoops to let you even out the tails and you pat it as you peer up at his floppy hair. His beard is getting long too. The tufts jut out at his chin like horns. 

“Come here,” you sneer and grab his wrist. 

He lets you drag him across the apartment and into the bathroom. You flip down the lid of the toilet and point him to it. You take your brush and sigh, shaking your head as you tut. You brush back his dark hair, strands of silver sparkling in the light. 

“You’re a mess.” 

“I tried.” 

“Sure,” you try to tame the flopping locks, “one second.” You grab your extra hold spray and press his hair back as you block his face from the aerosol blast. He shifts and you tap his boot with your toe. “Sit still.” 

“Mm, that smells good,” he stops fidgeting. 

“Coconut. It’s my favourite. And it’s expensive, so thank me for wasting it on you,” you put the bottle down and comb through his hair to give it a less stiff look. His eyes flick up and meet yours as your fingertips graze his scalp. 

“Ugh, you ever thought of getting into massage?” He chirps. 

“Har har,” you say dryly, “Bucky, what are you doing here? I told you to meet me at the restaurant.”  

You take a small comb and tidy his beard as he scrunches his nose. You finish and rinse your hands in the sink. You look at yourself. You’re still not ready. 

“Yeah, well... I couldn’t get my hair to behave.” 

“We’ll see if it holds.” You sniff. 

You tuck the blouse into your skirt and turn to him. He stares at you. You examine his collar and his slacks. They’re nice but the shirt is wrinkled. 

“Bucky, did you at least iron that?” 

“It’s new?” He shrugs. 

“It’s all covered in lines,” you cross your arms. “Take it off.” 

“What? I think the place requires shirts--” 

“Don’t be silly.” 

“Wow, if I had to guess, I’d say you’re nervous about our little date,” he stands and loosens the tie you just fixed. 

“I just... want it to be perfect. I want you to have a good time.” 

“I always have a good time with you, Dreamy,” he unbuttons his shirt. 

“Right, well, you should be worried about Charlize,” you stomp out of the bathroom and unfold the board behind the door. You plug in the iron as he comes close and tosses his shirt over it. He wears a ribbed tank beneath. “She’s so awesome. Aren’t you excited?” 

“Eh, sure,” he says noncommittally. “And what about you? You find someone?” 

“Yep, all’s sorted out. All my hard work,” you wave your hand in front of the iron as it warms, impatient for it to heat up.  

Finding a date hadn’t been as easy as you assumed. You thought when you offered free dinner, anyone would just come along for the meal. That was very much not the case but you found a workaround. 

“Don’t do that. You’re going to burn yourself,” he chides. 

“Mm, and you can blame yourself for not pressing your clothes,” you shake your head. 

“Oh, dreamy, I love it when you’re mad. It’s so cute.” 

“No teasing,” you snip, “try to be charming.” 

“What? I’m charming,” he blusters. 

You look at him, “sure.” 

He scoffs, “alright, Mrs. Polka Dot skirt.” 

“What? It’s cute.” 

“It’s not exactly date material,” he snickers. 

“Ugh, fine, you,” you point at him, “deal with your shirt and I’ll find a date outfit. Ugh.” 

You sweep around the board and stride into the bedroom. You swing the door carelessly behind you and make your way to the closet. A dress would be better, you guess. If it shuts him up, then you’ll happily wear one. Ah, that one’s cute! You forgot about it. 

You go to the bed and strip off the skirt and blouse. You stagger around before you manage to step into the peridot dress. The bows on the straps are too much. You look in the mirror and do a little dance. It fits, but it is short. 

You glance over and hesitate. The door is still slightly ajar. You flit over and as you come out, Bucky clears his throat. He puts his head down and focuses on ironing his sleeve. 

He peeks over at you and his brows furrow, “better?” You ask. 

“Uh, I guess. Green is a choice,” he smirks. 

“Okay, Calvin Klein, well, I will have to get you to help me with my closet later.” 

He chuckles and goes back to pressing the iron to the fabric. You go to the bathroom, conscious of him as you check yourself in the mirror. It feels like he’s watching you but it’s probably just that the place is so small. 

“I won’t be long, I don’t want to be late,” you assure him. 

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

A MAN OF GOD 🙏 PRIEST! AIZEN X NUN! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 11: HUMILIATION

🐙 requested by: Anonymous. Hello! I hope you're doing well! Can you write about humiliation with Aizen and female reader, please? I think it's Aizen's style. They really love each other, but in bed Aizen likes to humiliate her. And can u add domination kink from Aizen's side? ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. Aizen is a priest. Reader is a nun. YES. But please don't take this as a way of disrespecting religion. This is just fiction. HUMILIATION. slapping. shoving things into your mouth. spitting. mouth fuck. choking. 🐙 wc: 1,6k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

“Father forgive me for I have sin” ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ “Sister, confess your sins” “I’ve been having blasphemous thoughts about a man. Father Aizen, what should I do?” 

The little window of the confessional slides open; chocolate, sharp eyes appear from such tiny opening. A tuft of hair falls in between the two orbs hidden under transparent glasses, his index rests on one of his temples… Father Aizen looks more like a devil than a man devoted to the sacred. 

“A man you say, sister? How come the devil was so strong to corrupt you? aren’t you a devotee?” he asks. His tone is charged of full judgment, even with disgust. 

You look down to your hands; a rosary tangles on them, carving its beads into your skin. A life dedicated to celibacy, disrupted by complete impurity. 

“I’ve been able to stop myself every time, but the need… the urge, the lust… are eating my mind like a…”

“Like a worm? Have you experienced the need to touch your body, sister?” 

“Yes, a worm. Like a worm eating my brain and my insides, Father Aizen. But I haven’t succumbed to it… yet” 

Aizen remains silent; he hums, letting you know he is thinking of a possible solution… or rather, a punishment. 

You can hear him standing up; Father Aizen is quite a large man, and the creaks of the wooden surfaces let them know he is about to open the door that separates you from him. 

“Sister (Name)” he mutters; your stomach turns upside down, your legs underneath the black long skirt of your nun habit pressing together. 

There it is, the sinful need… father Aizen, it’s you… the man I’m lusting for is no other than you. 

“Stand up, please” he commands, smirking oh so sexily. Why, sir, are you doing this? aren’t you a man of God? 

You obey; instantly. The confessional is by far small, the air becomes scarce, your heart pumps faster, your consciousness requires your flesh to be flagellated. 

Father Aizen’s hand slides through your cheek and into the veil that covers your hair. His fingertips have gone as far as they could reach, breaking rule by rule. 

“I can tell the way your skin reacts to the touch of a man. How warm has become… what have you done, Sister? Are you lying to me? Have you stoop so low to give your body pleasure, hm?” he asks, cornering more and more against the wooden wall of the confessional, so much you can even smell the scent of incense penetrated on the surfaces. 

You try to articulate any words; you haven’t touched your body; you even fought the need to do it while bathing. But now, father Aizen… I’d give it all for you to do it. 

“No, Father! I haven’t!” you deny, shaking your head violently with eyes shut tight. 

“Show me your hands, Sister” he asks, calm but dominant. 

You do, the beads are almost drawing blood from your palms from how tight you are gabbing them. 

Aizen takes a moment to inspect them, and slowly untangles the rosary from your wrists. 

“Open your mouth, Sister”

“Yes, Father Aiz-fpmgh” 

Your can’t keep talking, as he has pushed every rose wood bead in, getting them shoved into your mouth. 

“This mouth has spoken many sinful lies already; you should only speak words of God” he grunts, pushing the rosary more and more inside your mouth. 

Tears run from your eyes and into your cheeks. You try to cough, but it’s almost impossible if you don’t want to choke. Yet your eyes, avid for more, look up at that man with more than hunger… a look proper of a possession. 

Father Aizen smirk grows bigger, he looks at you from above, with disgust and superiority. His hand then reached for your cheeks, pressing them strong and painfully making the beads inside of your mouth to carve into its inner walls. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? You seem to be possessed by some sexual impure demon, you disgusting whore” he whispers with disdain, close to your lips. 

Your smile -do the best you could do to do it- as you keep looking up at him; yes, disgusting whore… I am, indeed, a disgusting whore for wanting to fuck you, Father Aizen… 

The first slap leaves your ear ringing. The second slap, your cheek on fire. The third, your body against the wall. You have lost balance, literally and internally as well. 

And Father Aizen seems to be just starting with the “exorcism”, because you have no time to stand back up as he forces you to do it by ripping the crucifix hanging from your body. 

He turns the silver chain around until it’s closely tight around your neck; a single twist more and the blood flow from your carotids to your brain will be interrupted. 

“Do you know why we wear this, Sister? Because we don’t sin. Because we owe everything to our God… but now, whore, devil, your God is ME. And you obey and serve ME… isn’t that what you wanted? Do you really thought I didn’t realize you looked at me with eyes of lust?”  Aizen whispers into your ear, making you tremble, and so weak. 

He rips your veil off your head, allowing your hair to fall down your shoulders. Savagely garnishing your face, in such beautiful concupiscence. Oh, by the only existence of your womanhood you are making this man desperate… who’s the sinner here? 

The white collar around your neck gets ripped as well. You always thought but never proved how strong he was. 

Aizen grabs a fistful of your hair, tangling around his wrist for a better grip. Immediately after, you get shoved against the wooden wall, making you put one of your knees on the little seat. 

You only whine; it hurt… but the anticipation, the doubt… what is he gonna do next? 

Aizen pins your chest against the wooden surface, and his back against yours. Inevitably, you can feel the growing hardness of the father against your ass. His sex and the accelerated breathing on your neck, like a true demon attacking you from behind. 

“Now, let’s check how aroused you are…” he whispers; the warmth of his breath reaching your nape makes you feral. 

His hand slides with no delicacy down the long skirt and into your sex. Aizen is pleased to find only panties, absolutely dampened from desire. 

“Hmmm, too wet. You are more than possessed, you might be devil itself… what a disgusting being…” he scoffs, moving your panties to the side and sliding one of his slender fingers in between your folds. 

Covered by your honeys, his index now abandons your sex and reaches your lips. “This is how wet you are, dripping down your legs like a desperate animal...” he says, as he smears your juices all over your mouth and chin. 

“Spit the rosary, bitch” he orders, giving short slaps to your lips and waiting for it with his hand open. 

You do, letting every bead slowly fall from your mouth, imbued in saliva that also falls like drops, into his palm. Up until the last one is out, Aizen enjoys the degrading look on your face, the way you stick your tongue out when you are done and the way he pulls your head backwards from your hair to spit into your mouth right after. 

Instantly after, he turns you so that you sit down that little wooden seat. 

“Spread your legs” he commands, while he takes his belt off and lowers the zipper of his priest pants. 

You do, and with his leather shoes he proceeds to take down your panties. Aizen smirks to your cunt in display, as you instinctively lift one of your legs to spread your cunt even further. 

“What are you doing, whore? Mh? Showing me that impure cunt of yours? I will use all your holes, don’t worry…” he spits, coming closer with this dick in his hand. 

Aizen, before even fucking you, would like to fuck your mouth first. And so, by strongly grabbing your nape, he finally penetrates your lips with a merciless thrust. And then two, three, four. Endless ramming that makes you gag and tear up the more it hits your throat -and even further-. 

He sometimes pinches your nose, going in and not taking his dick out for a couple of minutes to see you turn almost blue from the lack of oxygen… it’s just that the gagging around his gland feels like a religious experience. 

And as that, it feels for you as well, who are also ordered to touch yourself until the point of squirting all over your clothes. 

But Aizen despite telling you he is your God, he is just a man… and his climax ends up with a grunt and smirk, all over your mouth and face, smeared by his hand with great pleasure. 

“Look at that, covered in cum… are you happy now, whore? You like your God ruining that sinful face of you?” “Ye-yes, Father Aizen…” 

But Aizen wasn’t over, he was just starting with the mass… and a sick, devilishly love was just about to grow stronger… I wonder how far that ungodly acts went unnoticed?  Because Father Aizen has always been a loving, soft, sacred and pure priest… his soft looks, his eyeglasses… who could say he is a corrupted man? A man that considers himself a God instead of serving one? 

Taglist of amazing babes: @awas-posts @missfuriosa @theneighbourhoodferret @cyberdazetragedy @ariesbbytings @animesnowstorm @lenablack9919

[arcane-vagabond]

Two Birds: Chapter One

Two Birds: Chapter One

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader x Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Summary: Growing up in the midwest meant that you weren't exposed to many of the dangers of the world, and it also meant that you missed out on some of what life had to offer. Taking a leap, you move to New York City with a few personal belongings and the little money you have left in your savings. You become good friends with your roommate and, by extension, the people at the club she works at. However, it isn't long until you catch the eye of not one, but two mafia bosses that rule the city with an iron grip. Will you stay out of their clutches, or will you give in and become another pawn in their wicked games? (Mafia!AU)

Content Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of guilt, Gentlemen's club (off hours), Flirting, Handsy Bradley and Jake, Pet names, no use of y/n. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 3.9k

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

A couple of weeks had passed, and you were now entering your third month of living in the city. Annie had been right, you had become fast friends after long nights spent gabbing about anything and everything, and late mornings after the previous night’s binge drinking. Your roommate was a fun, happy-go-lucky soul, and you loved her all the more for it.

Your job at one of the local bakeries near the heart of the city provided you with enough money for your portion of the rent, food, and enough to spend however you saw fit, a feat you still weren’t sure how you managed. Your boss was a lovely older woman in her mid-fifties who greeted you with a smile every morning as you clocked in for your shift. Thankfully, she preferred to do the early, early morning prep work herself along with her daughter, so you weren’t expected to walk through the doors until sometime around eight every morning.

You enjoyed the tediousness of the job, the routine giving you something to latch on to in the unfamiliarity of the big city. Annie had been coaching you diligently on how to navigate the never-ending, concrete streets and sprawling subways. Your Midwest manners were quickly stamped down by your burgeoning experience with the different crowds that inhabited the city.

“Don’t walk around at night by yourself if you can avoid it,” Annie had told you during your first week there, the two of you headed back to the apartment after you had decided to go out for dinner. “There are a bunch of crazies out here, Mousie. Me? I’m used to this place, but you got that air about you that just invites people to take advantage.”

You hummed, trotting a few paces to try and keep up with her much longer legs. She cast you a sideways glance with a grimace of an apology.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything bad by it,” she sighed, hands pushed into her pockets as she slowed slightly to give you a break. “You’ll perfect the art of the ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe before you know it, Mouse.”

And you liked to think that you had come along way in the few weeks you had spent in the city, perfecting your mean, scary face so that people wouldn’t approach you. Some still did, but the number had certainly decreased. Though, you still felt the nagging feeling of guilt every time you outright ignored someone, averting your eyes and hanging your head as you walked a little faster down the street.

Today was a day you, thankfully, had off. Though, you still rose early, your body already used to the schedule of the bakery, and as you stretched in bed, your mind wandered to the container of chocolate chip cookies that sat on the counter in the kitchen. A gift from your boss, albeit they were cookies that would have been thrown in the trash anyway due to their age of only two days.

You lay in bed for the next half hour, dozing as the light of the day streamed in past your curtains, illuminating your still plainly decorated room. Annie had offered to take you shopping for more decor, but you had insisted on earning your own money and paying for your own decor.

“It’s not like I don’t have the extra cash, babe,” she told you, lips pulled back into a grimace as she watched you flit about the apartment.

“I’m serious, Annie,” you told her, glancing over your shoulder at her as you set the mop to the side. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness either.”

“How is it taking advantage if I’m offering?” She muttered with a scoff. You had shot her a warning look before placing your hands on your hips.

“I need to prove to myself that I can do this,” you sighed, feeling your shoulders slump.

“Alright, alright,” she relented, giving you an understanding smile. “But if I give you gifts, you have to accept them. It’s a law or something.”

You smiled fondly at the memory, pulling a pillow close to your chest, one of Annie’s many “gifts” as she called them. Your eyes flickered open with a stifled yawn before you lazily rolled over on to your feet. You padded out the door and down the hall to your shared bathroom, Annie’s soft snores filtering out past her closed door. Her job often kept her up until the early morning hours, and there were days where you were headed off to work just as she was walking through the door.

You brushed your teeth and got ready for the rest of the day, settling on a pair of faded jeans, a plain, white t-shirt underneath a beige cardigan and a pair of simple sneakers. You didn’t have much planned for the day, but you had been meaning to check out one of the bookstores downtown. Your groceries were getting low too, and you knew you’d have to go and get more soon, adding a trip to the grocery store to your list of things to do that day. You settled on the couch with a cup of tea, inhaling the aromatic steam that wafted up towards you as you turned on the TV, the news popping up to greet you. A string of violent crimes plagued the city, but you had slowly become accustomed to that news as well during your time there.

Eventually, you grew bored with the news, choosing instead to turn on the latest crime documentary from Netflix, the serious tones of the detectives and witnesses filling the quiet, morning air and lulling you back to a place somewhere between sleep and awake.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when the sound of Annie’s door opening jolted you awake. You blinked, shuffling to sit up on the couch just as she trudged through the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes and looking around blearily.

“Wha’ time’s it?” She asked, voice thick with sleep as she rubbed her face. Her hair was sticking up every which way, her eyes still ringed with the tinges of last night’s makeup. You knew she must have had a particularly late night.

“Uh,” you started, glancing at the clock above the stove, “just before noon.”

“Shit!” She hollered out, eyes growing wide and panicked as she turned to sprint back into her room. You heard a commotion from her room before footsteps sounded in the hall, leading to the bathroom where the shower creaked to life, the spray hitting the tub. You sighed, hoisting yourself up off the couch to rinse your mug out in the sink. The shower didn’t run long, and soon you heard the creak of the valves turning off, soft thuds and movement coming from behind the door. Annie burst out, drying her hair furiously as she padded into her room wearing nothing but the small towel wrapped around her.

“Cannot believe I overslept,” she griped, her door closed just enough to provide herself some privacy as you waited in the kitchen.

“It’s a bit early for you to head down to the club, isn’t it?” You asked, brow furrowing. Usually, Annie didn’t head in for another couple of hours, and you heard her let out a huff as she appeared back in the kitchen dressed in a pair of jeans, fitted black top and matching heels. Even running late, she still looked immaculate.

“Bosses want us there extra early today to try out some new routines,” she explained.

“Bosses?” You frowned. “I thought your boss was Reuben?”

“He is,” she assured you, digging through her purse to make sure her keys were still inside. “But the big bosses are coming in today.”

“Who are the big bosses?” You asked, leaning over the counter. She paused, pressing her lips firmly together before giving you an uncertain look.

“No one you wanna get involved with, Mousie,” she said finally. “I mean, they’re nice enough guys, but…”

She trailed off, and the implication wasn’t lost on you. You offered her a tight smile, glancing at the stovetop clock once more before waving her off.

“You better get going before you’re even more late,” you warned, nodding to the time. She cursed again, shouting a quick “thanks” over her shoulder as she sped out the apartment, the door slamming closed behind her. You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes affectionately after her before grimacing at the apartment. Perhaps you would make it to that bookstore another time. For now, you settled on grabbing your own purse to go grocery shopping.

You had just made it back into the apartment when your phone buzzed. You settled the bags on top of the counter, your fingers aching with the strain of the multitude of bags before fishing your phone out of your bag. Annie’s name flashed across the top, and you quickly unlocked your phone before your eyes landed on the all too familiar words.

I forgot something at the apartment.

Could you grab it for me and bring it by the club pretty please? :(

You huffed out a laugh, typing out a quick response to let her know that of course you would bring whatever it was she forgot to the club for her.

You’re the best! Came her even quicker reply, and you just knew she had been pacing nervously backstage, biting her fingers in that terrible habit she had when she was nervous.

It’s a pair of silver heels and a hot pink boa. They should be on my desk chair. You can’t miss them!

You shook your head, noting how she herself missed them in her rush out the door this morning, but dutifully made your way to her room, pushing the door open as you stepped inside. Sure enough, the heels and the boa lay draped on top of the chair in question, and you quickly gathered them up in your arms to bring back into the kitchen. You grabbed your phone, firing off a quick reply.

I’ve gotta put groceries up really quick, but then I’ll head over. Give me about an hour?

Anything for you, Mouse! I owe you!

You laughed outright at that. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for your roommate, and you often found yourself making the trip down to the club to bring her something she forgot. You set your phone down and made fairly quick work of the groceries, storing the bags underneath the sink for later use. You grabbed your things before grabbing the heels and the boa, pausing to grab the box of cookies that still sat on the counter before making your way out the door and locking it behind you.

It was about a twenty-minute train ride to the neighborhood where Annie worked, and you exited the subway with a squint as your eyes readjusted to the daylight. You walked a block south, coming upon the familiar, unassuming building with a sign that read “The Hard Deck” in a pretty, pink scrawl across the top of the entrance. A man dressed in all black stood by the door, his face mean and intimidating with eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. You grinned up at him as you approached, and a hint of a smile pulled on his lips as he caught sight of you.

“Hey Tony,” you greeted, wiggling your fingers with the hand that held the heels and the boa. “How’s your day been?”

“It’s better now that you’re here, Mouse,” he chuckled, relaxing his posture somewhat. “I take it Annie forgot something again?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, rolling your eyes playfully. “Name a time she hasn’t, you know?”

He laughed at that, his head resting against the brick of the building as he rolled his shoulders out.

“She used to tear out of here like a bat from hell before you came to town, ya know,” he grinned. “Wonder what she’s gonna do when you’re not around anymore to spoil her like this.”

“Well,” you started, “hopefully that won’t be for a while yet. Now, do you want a cookie before the others eat them all?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he laughed, pushing off from the side of the building to peek into the box you held in your hand. He grabbed one, taking a bite and humming as you walked past him and into the building.

When you had first found yourself stepping into Annie’s work, you had been apprehensive, expecting a seedy, little hole in the wall with sticky floors and tacky decor. Instead, you were greeted with a clean, sultry business that Annie told you had earned a reputation of being the best in the city.

“It’s actually pretty classy,” she had told you when you first asked her about what she did for a living. “It’s a lot of high end clients that frequent there, and they tip pretty well too. It’s decent pay to begin with and the manager is a pretty good guy too.”

You had met Reuben on one of your first trips to the club, the handsome man not being at all what you expected from a manager. He was young, for one thing, hovering somewhere between mid-thirties and forty if you had to guess. He was dressed to the nines every time you saw him, a friendly smile always on his face as he greeted you. He was nowhere to be seen now as you strolled into the Hard Dark, voices filtering out from different areas of the large room and from backstage as your eyes swept the area.

There were no windows, the only lights coming from the artificial ones that hung overhead. The main color was black, a red carpet curving across the floor and red drapes hanging from off the walls with gold accents placed everywhere. It gave a feeling of old Hollywood, almost.

“There you are!”

You turned just as Annie rushed over to you, pulling you in for a tight hug. She pulled away, grabbing her heels and boa from you.

“You’re a lifesaver, Mousie!” She beamed, and you waved her off.

“I wasn’t doing much anyway,” you told her, shifting the box of cookies into your now free hand. “I brought the cookies too for everyone.”

“You’re so sweet, babe. Come hang out with us for a while,” she cooed, pulling you further towards the main stage. Familiar faces of the different staff greeted you as you walked through, several waving and others following you once they spotted the bright pink box in your hands. You often brought goodies from the bakery, making you an instant hit with the employees at the club.

“What did you bring for us today, Mouse?” Bryan, one of the bartenders called.

“Cookies!” You called back with a smile.

“You’re such a godsend, hun,” said Lindsey, one of the other dancers. “I never have time to go to this place before it closes.”

“One of the perks of being roomies with an employee there,” Annie grinned at her, swiping a cookie as you set the box down on the stage and opened the lid. Several others clambered toward the stage to snag a cookie before retreating and allowing the next wave in. You were so caught up in the conversations happening around you that you didn’t notice the figure come out from the back.

“What’s going on here?” A deep timber asked. You noticed Annie stiffen visibly beside you before turning your head to look at the newcomer. He was tall, brown hair curled against his forehead that pointed towards a pair of golden brown eyes. Scars littered the golden skin of his face, and you couldn’t help but notice the strong muscles that lay hidden beneath his dress shirt. Your lips twitched at the sight of the mustache that hung above his upper lip, but you quickly tamped it down as you took in the nervous faces around you. He swaggered over towards where you stood, the small crowd parting easily for him, and you had to tilt your head back just to meet his gaze.

“Shouldn’t you all be working?” He pointed out. His voice was light, playful even, but the underlying warning in his tone was palpable, and all but Annie and yourself hastened to get away. You swallowed slightly, shifting uneasily at the change in the atmosphere. Annie stood still next to you, not saying a word which was unlike her.

“And who might you be?” He asked, leaning against the stage with a smirk. “Think I would have remembered a pretty face like yours. You lookin’ for a job, hm?”

“She’s my roommate,” Annie replied before you could say anything. “She’s just stopping by to drop off a few things I forgot is all.”

“Is that so?” The man hummed, peeling his eyes away from you long enough to cast her an unreadable look before they shifted back to you. “So you’re the little mouse Reuben mentioned pops by from time to time, huh?”

“I guess,” you muttered, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt as you looked anywhere but at him. You felt his smirk grow as he leaned into you, his nose almost brushing yours in the process. You squeaked at the sudden proximity, eyes widening as the smell of his cologne encircled you, the scent of sandalwood, vanilla, and something woodsy ensnaring you as he spoke.

“My name’s Bradley, Mouse,” he murmured, lips curling into a sultry smile as he laced a finger through the loop of your jeans. “You gonna give me a taste?”

You had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t talking about the cookies that still sat on the stage. Without thinking, you grabbed the box, bringing it between you and Bradley, putting some distance between the two of you enough so that you could try to scramble for a coherent thought.

“Here,” you squeaked. Bradley looked stunned for a second, brown eyes wide as he looked from you, down towards the box. There was a moment of still silence before he tossed his head back with a loud laugh, one that caused several people nearby to jump. He looked back at you with a wicked grin, taking the box from your hand and putting it back on the stage with an added chuckle. He grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him and bringing a hand up to cradle your face as he leaned down, his breath fanning over you.

“I might just have to keep you, honey,” he purred, eyes hooded as he drank you in. Your face warmed at the combination of his words and his hand around your waist that slowly started to wander.

“What are you doing, Rooster?”

You jumped at the new voice, turning your head with a gasp as your eyes landed on the stranger standing next to Reuben. His square jaw was clenched in what you could only assume was annoyance, narrowed, green eyes moving from Bradley down to you. His face softened slightly, brow arching as he took you in. You thought you saw his lips twitch in the hint of a smirk before neutrality settled over his features once more.

“Hey, Mouse!” Reuben greeted, his friendly demeanor almost unnerving. He acted as if you weren’t being held captive in the arms of a strange man, instead looking from you towards where Annie stood behind you. “I didn’t know you were stopping by today.”

“Annie forgot something,” you offered weakly, breath still ragged from how close Bradley still held you.

“Rooster,” the blond man spoke up, his voice commanding attention, “you’re scaring the poor thing. Why don’t you let her go?”

Bradley grunted but let you go slowly, shooting you a wink as you backed up a couple of steps. The blond man stepped forward, hands shoved into the pockets of his expensive looking pants as a slow smirk crawled onto his lips.

“So you’re the little mouse we’ve heard so much about,” he drawled, stopping just in front of you. You shrugged, not saying anything as you averted your gaze. The man arched a brow at you, taking a hand out of his pocket to place a finger underneath your chin, lifting it so that you met his emerald gaze.

“Words, darlin’,” he purred, something twinkling in his gaze as you looked at him. You swallowed thickly.

“Yes,” you replied, earning a hum. The man’s finger traced along your jaw before his hand cupped the side of your neck gently, almost possessively.

“Good girl,” he praised, and something inside of you unexpectedly preened at the words. He leaned forward, the smell of patchouli and a hint of citrus hitting your nose at the movement. His lips brushed against your ear as he murmured, “my name is Jake.”

A shiver ran up your spine, and you felt his lips curl into a grin at your reaction.

“Shouldn’t we be getting back to business?” Bradley snapped, looking put out as Jake withdrew from you. The blond snorted with a roll of his eyes as he stepped back towards his companions.

“Since when do you give a shit?” He asked, the challenge hollow as he kept walking, Reuben quick to fall in line behind him. Bradley frowned as he watched Jake walk past, a muscle twitching in his jaw. His eyes looked back at you, lips curving in a thoughtful smile before shooting you a wink and following his two companions.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, Annie coming up behind you quickly.

“I am so sorry,” she cried, blue eyes big and sorrowful.

“Why are you sorry?” You asked with a snort, brushing your hands down your rumpled shirt. “They’re the ones who’ve never heard of personal space, apparently.”

“Babe, do you not realize who they are?” She asked, brow furrowing as she studied you, lips pursing as she shook her head.

“Of course you don’t,” she muttered, placing a hand on her forehead as she sucked in a breath. “God, I’m so fucking stupid sometimes. How could I forget to tell you one of the most basic things?”

“Annie, what are you talking about?” You asked, crossing your arms as a sinking feeling came over you. Her eyes snapped open as she looked at you with an uncharacteristically solemn expression.

“There’s a lot more to this city than you realize,” she told you. “There are groups always grabbing for power and control of it, and right now there are two who are going head to head: the Daggers and the Harpies. You just met the two men who are in charge of the Dagger syndicate, Mouse: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin and Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw. ”

Your heart sank, and your head involuntarily whipped around towards where the group of men walked off to. You spotted them sitting in one of the booths, Reuben talking animatedly about something or other, but your stomach did a flip as you realized that both Jake and Bradley were already looking at you. The blond arched a brow at you while the brunette waggled his fingers at you with a playful smirk. Annie followed your gaze, sighing before continuing.

“And it looks like you’ve gone and caught their eye.”

A/N: Still trying to figure out where to take this one ngl, but I would love to hear your thoughts about what you'd want to see!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

[kadwrites]

young love | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; a person from your past makes an appearance.

warnings ; arranged marriage!trope , fem!reader , idk what the hell is happening , SLOW burn

a/n ; i promise that i have a plot but i keep getting side tracked????

-

"what the fuck are ya doing here?" you pull the front door shut

"hello to ya too."

you look at him again , brows raised "what brought ya here hmm?"

"ya didn't even invite me to your engagement party." he looks down at you, his voice teasing

"oh i'm sorry" you let out a small outraged laugh "i didn't know that inviting your ex boyfriend was an engagement tradition."

"aren't ya glad to see me?" he gives you a sly smile

"what brought ya here?" you grit your teeth , looking up at him

"i came here for ya."

"for me?"

"to save ya."

"from what?" your patience is thinning

"well i couldn't let ya get married to someone like 'im could i?" he chuckles "not after the love we had for eachother."

"jeremy." you pinch the bridge of your nose "that was years ago," you try to not raise your voice "do ya even know who i'm marrying?"

"oh i do."

"ya do?" you laugh "and ya thought trying to convince his fiancée to run away is a good idea?"

"you're making a mistake."

you just look up at him, laughing. "jeremy, ya slept with your sister in law, i don't think you're qualified to give me any kind of guidance."

"i'm a changed man" he leans down to whisper to you

"no you're not!" you let out an angry breath , trying to compose yourself "what do ya think tommy shelby would do if he found out you're here? hmm?" you hiss at him

"i love ya." he looks at you, his eyes bore into yours , inching closer

"oh my god" you put a hand over your face, turning,

"i do, i can't let ya go" he hand touches your arm

"oh my fucking god!" your voice becomes high pitched , your eyes opened wide "why are ya still talking? do ya want to get killed?" you whisper angrily, keeping your voice down

"i can't let ya do this" he begs , he pleads

"yes ya can, ya just walk away" your hands wave at the door

"did ya not hear what 'appened to his first wife?" his nostrils flare in frustration

your jaw slacks , you feel as if your eyes would bulge out of their sockets

"do ya know what would 'appen to ya if he heard ya say this?" your voice is low.

he closes his eyes, licking his lips before speaking "look..."

"no" you raise a hand , stopping him before he could get another word in "i don't particularly like ya, but i'm telling ya this as a favor for old times sake" you point at the door "leave , and never come back"

"i'm not leaving ya."

"this isn't a joke, jeremy" you can't help the angry chuckles that keep coming out of you "this is probably the stupidest decision you've ever made."

"do ya want to marry 'im?" his eyes scan your face, studying you

"this is none of your concern." infuriated wouldn't even begin to describe what you felt, "what i do with my life is none of your fucking concern"

"i know ya , this is not something ya would do."

"ya said it yourself, you're a changed man now" you try to explain, "we're different, ya and i are so different now, we are not the same kids we used to be. this isn't what it used to be."

he doesn't say anything else in return, he walks out, shutting the door loudly behind him

you have a hand over your forehead , pacing around the living room, renee is still in her place, watching.

"you brought him here didn't you?" your mother stood in the living room with her hand on her hips, looking you up and down

"mum ... please stop." you stop in your tracks , frustrated "how would i bring 'im here? with telekinesis? i didn't even know he still lives in birmingham for fuck's sake."

she comes closer , gabbing your shoulders "we need to forget this, never speak of it in front of tommy"

"what if he comes back again?" you start to panic "what if he does something worse than this?"

she closes her eyes at the possibility, she doesn't answer.

"this is just what i fucking needed" you turn, plopping down on the sofa

"jeremy is a sweet boy... he wouldn't do anything, would he?" your mum picks at her cuticles nervously ,

you look up with a raised brow "he fucked his brother's wife while we were dating, his brother who by the way raised 'im." you rub at your temple "his moral compass is as useless as that brain of his."

"god, now i know why i always hated him."

"and yet ya wanted us to get married at 17."

"well i didn't want him to knock you up."

"so ya tried to talk me into marrying 'im?" your mother's logic made your head spin faster than it already was "ya know what, forget i asked that" you wave a hand

"what are ya going to do now?" renee finally speaks,

you and your mother look at each other, before looking at renee

"i don't know.." you mumble "i 'ave to go see 'im today, to talk about the wedding venues" you groan, the stress of it all comes back to her

"okay" renee gets up, and sits next to you "ya just act normal, ya get this done, ya forget about it for today and then tomorrow ya try thinking about solutions."

you smile when you step into his office, your hands clasped in front of you, and he's on his chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"why do ya look like that?"

"like what?"

"ya're too happy to see me."

you raise a brow "ya don't want me smiling at ya?"

"ya look possessed." he deadpanned, exhaling a cloud of smoke, his thumb scratching lightly at his lips, hiding his smile

you kiss your teeth, "i hope ya choke in your sleep." you walk up the chair and sit down

he chuckles, looking at you with his head tilted slightly "you'll miss me?"

"believe me , i won't."

"what's wrong?"

your brows pinch together "nothing is wrong"

"really?"

"yes."

"you're a very bad liar."

"i'm just ... tired" you shrugged, your voice squeaked

it's not that you're not used to lying, it's that you have a hard time lying to him

"how's your mum?"

a genuine amused smile pains over your lips, "she's good"

"who told ya?" he nods at you

"who told me what?"

"that i talked with your mother" he continues "was it your two nosy friends?"

"hey hey hey" you put a hand up "don't insult my friends"

"they are nosy, it's the truth"

-

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[cherbii]

NAH I'D WIN

Call me Gabs! I’m 18! This account is for my anime fics.

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