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borkunlimited · 18 hours ago

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Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 9

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Angst, Predator/Prey

Chapter Summary: Do dragons dream of wandering deer?

Author's Note: There is a reason why I wrote him falling asleep at the end of Chapter 8 hehe

I realized I work well during night. Very very fun sewing (and working) because no one bothers me so sometimes I stop and write when inspiration hits. Also, they are selling White Rabbit Milk Tea Sea Salt here and its very very good drink.

Enjoy reading! As always, thank you everyone for the support and because of this fanfic, I found a friend I can yap about lots of stuff!

Tagging: @phisen @wrimaira

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9

9: My Dearest, Awaiting

“What do you think?”

A brief giggle escaped your lips while you watched your reflection in front of the mirror, raising a branch with snow crocus blooms tied around it on the top of your head.

Daisy gazed at your reflections, the small chirp coming from it echoed across the small bathroom. In its feet are used bandages and medical supplies you used to clean up the wound left by your remaining antler shedding.

It shook its head, shifting through the branches with flowers tied on them laid in front of you then dragged a branch of red camellias to you, the same choice it always proposes to you every day.

“I am starting to think these are your favorite.”

It tilted its head, watching you inspect the petals and it let out a beep, pleased, when you tied the red good luck ribbon around it and then taped the branch on your head.

It is as if you never shedded your sole antler at all.

“What do you think?”

Your crow friend did a spin, letting out a caw then resting on your shoulders. It tried to perch on your ‘temporary antler’ as you called it once but it can never hold its weight so it settled on the next best spot.

“Let’s go check on him before we start the day,” you said, closing the bathroom door behind you and walking through the winding halls of your dragon’s many homes. Your steps are easy now, and sometimes you skip towards one of the many interesting things on display but careful enough to avoid spilling the tub of water with you.

A rare vinyl record.

(You ask if you can listen to it and the twins said it would be better if it is the boss who will put it on for you when he finally wakes up.)

An empty flower pot with an intricate design.

(Your crow friend scolded the twins before when they pretended to bump on it while they were showing you around.)

A snow globe.

(The little dragon doesn’t seem to mind the snow falling on its scales, asleep on top of the blanket of white powder.)

They said that your dragon is dormant.

It is a very kind term to use for someone who has been asleep ever since the beginning of early winter, for over half a month, and even the best doctors that the twins and everyone in Onychinus managed to find only shook their heads, his kind already a rarity making them difficult to study but their theories are almost the same after hearing what happened-

-His body was so exhausted that it decided to put him in a deep slumber.

Were you terrified? At first, before the doctors came in, especially when he had not woken up even when a day had already passed by.

Are you still terrified? It bothers you when you don’t see him that your father had you take a vacation, taking over the full operations of the shop after hiring temporary help.

Even then, you still find yourself sewing, to pass time while waiting.

“Good morning, Mister Dragon,” you greeted softly, opening the door to where your dragon is fast asleep, then announcing your name, “Your tailor in a holiday break is here.”

It took you five strides to reach his bedside and Daisy perched on top of the headboard, watching you set down the basin at the side table before pulling your chair quietly.

It is routine at this point, waking up, getting ready, checking if he is still fast asleep, and then doing chores before returning to his side when the sun sets.

“You must be having a wonderful dream,” you spoke softly, dabbing the warm cloth on his head, cleaning him up. Every now and then, he would stir and you noticed stray droplets bother him so you make sure to squeeze excess water from the cloth harder first, “I hope you remember them when you wake up so you can tell me.”

Of course, you never expect an answer from him but you were told speaking to him would help and from there, you and the twins explore creative ways to interact with him, hoping your words will reach your dragon soaring through the wide skies of his colorful dreams.

How many vinyl records have you put on?

You are almost through the first box but more are waiting to be played at the foot of his bed.

How many tapes of films have you watched?

Too many, sometimes you fall asleep halfway through and sometimes you don’t, pointing at the clothes of the characters you love to him.

How many times have you winded up your music box?

More than ten, every morning and evening and you wonder if he is also in the same field of red wildflowers, gazing at the blue horizon after a tiring flight.

“Are you having a long journey there?”, you continued, and you smiled when water clung on his hair and on his eyelashes, “I am sure you have many friends there. Dragons just like you.”

He never gave away his dreams, only soft breathing escaping his lips, sometimes a smile and then his slumber continues.

You always made sure to change the bandages wrapped around his shattered horn after, setting the used ones beside the small flower pot in the bedside table where you planted the antler you have shed but you haven’t quite decided yet which flower to grow beside it.

If you had enough time, you believe you would have been able to salvage those pots with your and your father’s antlers before the fire of your old shop.

Those plants would be taller by now and they would have been very lovely to look at once work day ends, towers of greens and colorful blooms thriving together with your old antlers.

Once your dragon wakes up, you will give him the choice which seed you should plant for this one.

A tradition among deer hybrids commonly reserved for close family and-

Just the thought of calling him your mate is making you blush.

“You should wake up before spring, at least,” you hummed, a lopsided smile on your face from your earlier silly thought while making sure the new bandages are secured and then fixing the good luck ribbon tied around his remaining horn, “Every creature wakes up when winter ends.”

The morning routine ends with you pressing a kiss on his forehead after brushing his hair and you make sure he is covered by his blankets and the curtains are closed before leaving with Daisy to continue your work.

The twins and a few people from Onychinus are too kind when they give you a room where you can continue projects you have brought with you, ones where your clients are very specific that you should be the one making and not the temporary help your father hired.

You always start working on the request of the man you had always held close to your heart, his form always hidden from the shadows.

Mr. Sylus.

He has been very clear from the start that he wanted you to be the one tailoring his clothes when he requests a set from your shop and of course, you still abide by it.

Saying his name with an honorific sounds strange.

It was supposed to be a shot in the dark, a guess where your favorite visitor will just laugh off and pinch your cheek after.

“You should consider being a comedian, sweetie.”

Those are the words you were expecting to hear from him but even then, the red good luck ribbon that tied the wreath said otherwise, as if it was intentionally left there.

A clue.

A hint.

An answer already spelled out.

The man you clothed to shape the image he wants with your own hands.

(He is always the man of the hour in every party, your clients recount.)

The man who answered your notes with gifts, all wrapped in perfect bows.

(He doesn’t spare a single penny, does he?, a voice in your head whispers while you pull the ribbon to reveal the latest surprise.)

The man who sat beside you until the late afternoons, holding the spool while you gathered the yarn that Daisy accidentally toppled over.

(His lips seemed to always quirk slightly in amusement every time you called him ‘Skye’.)

The game is nearing its end and you can still recall your reflection on the mirror of your small vanity table the morning after your little adventure in the museum when you hang the crown of flowers together with all your trinkets.

Curiosity.

Surprise.

Finally, realization.

The last piece of the puzzle to complete the picture.

The events after confirmed everything. How every hybrid in Onychinus tended to him, tended to you .

A bodyguard wouldn’t get that much special treatment.

Sylus.

Two syllables. Easy to say, easy to remember. A sharp inhale for the first and a continuous release for the last, a decrescendo, a dropping beat. Sy-lus: A soft sigh ending with a hiss, reminiscent of a kiss, and of a postponed promise. Foreign to your tongue, yet rolls quickly for the rest. A name for a face, a name to be unique, a face to recollect.

To others, he had always been Sylus.

Over his business meetings and the coat on his shoulders barely moved by the cold breeze, on the dotted line, an elusive creature that will show its face when called by its name and even then his appearance is a gamble, he will always be Sylus, distant, watchful, untouchable.

To you, he had always been Skye.

Over his visits and his sleeves rolled up, his coat left hanging on the armchair, he is simply Skye, under the warm sodium lights of each sentries by the road that herald his come and go that reached your little paradise through the windows, your antlers grazing against his horns, he has always been Mister Dragon and you will always be his Miss Deer.

His real name ricochets through every four walls of every building you have stepped inside and even in this room where it is just you and your crow friend putting together clothes, his true name stayed, your mind repeating it, trying to overwrite the one syllable into two and every attempt, never a success, only one question stood.

Why?

“Oh, I didn’t realize-”, you blinked, the urgent beep coupled with the flapping of wings from your crow friend cut your thoughts short and you noticed that the bobbin had already been refilled.

Your gaze moved at the fabrics, already cut, waiting to be joined together and become a suit for the incoming Spring Festival that your dragon will attend but maybe, today is not the day their wish will be granted.

It's not good to use Mister Sewing Machine if your mind is wandering.

“How about we just do our wolf plushies today, Daisy?”, you suggested and you picked up the basket where your project is waiting and that’s how your day went, your crow friend plucking the polyester filling for you while you rolled it in your hands, the two wolf puppies finally taking shape.

“Do you think he will wake up soon?”, you asked the twins when you set the two wolf plushies near your sleeping dragon.

It was already evening when they have arrived back to check on you and the boss and even with your gentle smile, they always caught the scent of sadness-

-Of longing.

Slightly wilted wildflowers, waiting for the sun, for the rain, and of cotton gathering dust.

“He probably gobbled up so many bad humans that he needs to sleep to digest them,” Luke joked and that earned him a slap in the arm by his brother and a sharp peck from Daisy.

“I think we just need to give him more time,” Kieran answered, and if you ask him, the boss does stay up for days, perhaps this is also his body’s way of forcing him to rest, “He will be fine, miss.”

A warm embrace, and the two of them sit near your legs while you knit scarves for all of them until one by one, you all have closed your eyes, drifting off until only the embers of the fireplace and the sound of the vinyl player remain in the dragon’s chamber containing all of his dreams he is keeping for himself.

On Sylus’ bedside, his odd family awaits.

────────────────────

He was a very lonely dragon.

A sudden crash through the forest, ungraceful, and maybe that is because of the arrows and spears that managed to lodge themselves between his scales that he is very wary of every forest creature that tries to approach him, snapping at them, all of them cowering back in fear.

As they should, everyone does with his sharp teeth.

“Mister Dragon, that’s not a nice way to make friends,” a voice came in, gentle and polite, and his eyes immediately landed at you.

The only thought that came in his mind back then were three words.

“You are beautiful.”

A soft laughter escaped your lips, a sound he wanted to hear more, and he realized he might have blurted it out loud when he noticed the used to be frightened forest creatures giggling, whispering among themselves that this mean dragon isn’t so mean at all, making his large tail swished in annoyance, and maybe slight embarrassment.

It was an unlikely friendship.

You who almost look like a human but not really, not with antlers growing on your head, your soft deer ears and short tail, and he relished how you leaned against his body during your afternoon naps, after sewing little clothes for those forest creatures.

A cat wearing a bow tie.

A fox with a cape around its neck.

A goose with a bandana on.

These forest friends of yours frolicking about in human clothing.

“How can we make you friendly, Mister Dragon?”

It was a question you asked him once during those lazy afternoons and his snout pressed against the side of your neck, sighing softly as he took in the scent of cotton and wildflowers, before he answered.

“Are you saying I look hideous, little doe?”

Sylus does enjoy teasing you and you always misinterpret his words as you are quick to apologize, kissing his snout and he knows it is a very underhanded but effective tactic because you always grant him these little gestures.

“I think you are very good-looking.”

If you leaned closer, his body grew extra warmer on your words and he only chuckled at your compliment then you continued.

“Yet, I think a crown would be fitting for a magnificent dragon who worked hard in protecting our forest.”

“Precious metals would only weigh heavy in my head, sweetheart. It will make the knights who always mistake you for a missing princess more determined to cut my head off.”

“Oh, I have a different idea in mind.”

A flower crown worthy of his name, as you said.

Every forest creature brought the best flower across the land to your forest after you announced your plan, all of them unique, and you braid the wreath with him, day and night.

It is almost done with one flower remaining to be picked and only him can bring it back to you.

“Take care, Mister Dragon.”

“I’ll be back before the first flower blooms, little doe.”

His wings shook the trees, the flowers that spread across the grove as he pierced the skies with the air gradually getting thinner, the region becoming colder and colder but he is one to always push through all odds.

Relentless.

Determined.

Unwavering.

The flight was only half of his journey and Sylus had finally landed on the highest peaks of the harsh mountain ranges of this land. With his claws, he had scaled through the rough terrain and his sense of smell is useless for this particular flower native only to this land but his vision is certainly helpful, his eyes darting back and forth looking for the bloom his precious deer described to him before he left.

“Woolly, like a sheep,” you said, and you held up a sheep wandering close to you for him to see and the lamb let out an indignant huff before you let her go then you pointed at the twinkling night sky and the moon, “And silver, like the stars.”

The star of the glacier.

The lion’s foot.

The mountain flower, Edelweiss.

It was fragile, small, and when he was about to slowly uproot it with his large claws, he was met with blinding light and a surprise.

In place of his claws are hands.

Human hands.

The same hands he used to quickly check his face and then his body.

He is not very impressed with this prank but at least his horns and tail stayed, even when they seemed to also shrink to accommodate this new form and oddly enough one thought came to his head even if he should be certainly alarmed at the fact the journey back to your forest will be more perilous and longer.

You and him are almost the same.

With these arms, he can pull you closer.

With these legs, he can tangle them with yours every time both of you call it a day under the night sky in your endless field of red wildflowers.

With these hands, he can hold your face and brush his nose against yours.

A window of opportunity.

He can do so much with this body and with the flower he put inside a makeshift pot he had crafted from the rocks nearby he only then made his descent, his thoughts filled with you and him, dancing together, rolling on the grass together, and-

-He had to stop himself from his train of thought after a particular image came to mind, not when it drifted to the shape of your lips when you laugh, not when he remember the many times humans who passed by your forest often pressing theirs together under the cover of the tall trees when they thought they are alone.

Greed.

Sylus is all too familiar with what greed is and he knows he is one when his desire was also to do the same to you especially when he found out you do those gestures to people close to you.

Surely, you wouldn’t mind if he asks nicely, right?

He is already reciting his question, revising it many times while he follows the path down the cold mountain and the travel that should take him a week or maybe longer was cut in half, not when he is too eager to see you soon.

“Sweetie, we should do what the humans do.”

(No, that doesn’t sound polite.)

“I am home and I brought it back, sweetheart. Can I have a reward?”

(Not that one either. He doesn’t want it to look like he does these little favors just so he can get a treat after.)

“Your kisses always land on the wrong spots, little doe.”

(That will just make you confused. Not like you can directly kiss him before when he was a dragon.)

His thoughts were cut short when he heard a sound nearby. It was faint, and he can say that he is fortunate he was able to keep his sharp senses because he can clearly recognize the sound a few distant away from the foot of the mountain he is currently standing.

He should have turned away but he chose not to, not when he heard barks, laughter and-

-Music.

You love those and since you do, he also loves it as well.

It should have been a quick look, just to see what the ruckus is all about only to be met by the most surreal sight.

If he looked closely, did the sky above him have a ceiling with a faint fracture?

Two wolf cubs, each covered with a white blanket and their pointed ears and tails poking out. Whoever made these little alterations, they kept in mind that the fabric will not drag to the ground every time these two rowdy cubs run around chasing butterflies or walk by the lake to take in the scent of freshwater and paw at unsuspecting fishes.

These two wolf cubs, running around, playfully snapping at each other’s tails, and-

-A wooden box with a spinning large disc on top and a golden horn that produces a pleasant sound yet, a voice, certainly his, points to him it is called a vinyl player.

Why does he know what it is called?

“Hey, what are you looking at?!”, one of the wolf cubs barked at him, his tail puffed upon noticing his presence.

“Mind your own business, mister! We found this first!”, the other cub exclaimed, and Sylus doesn’t need to see what is under the blanket to know they are baring their teeth at him.

Luke and Kieran.

Why did those names come to mind when he gaze at these annoying wolf cubs who accused him of stealing their loot?

Sylus doesn’t need that wooden box with a spinning disc (The same prideful voice corrects him again that it is called a vinyl player which he ignores) when you love his singing voice anyways.

“You can keep your box,” he answered and he turned around, a clear sign that is supposed to mean that his curiosity is satiated and he is done with the conversation but the two wolf cubs said otherwise.

“Hey, why do you look like that, mister?”

“That’s not how good and cool boys ask questions, Luke.”

“Right, Kieran. Hey, where did you get those horns and tails, mister?”

“That’s better,” the other wolf cub responded and Sylus doesn’t have to check that these two, who oddly wear the same names that came to his head, is following him-

-No, stalking him.

��Did no one teach both of you manners?”, Sylus answered, and one of his eyes twitched when one of the wolf cubs tried to snap at his tail, the sharp teeth almost grazing his scales.

“Manners? What’s that?”, the more energetic of the two asked and Sylus shot that one a glare when he noticed he was midway on biting his tail again.

“Oh, I know that one, Mister,” the calmer of the two replied, and he seemed to get the hint that the odd human is not pleased with his brother’s antics so he gently shove his body against his twin chasing the tip of Sylus’ tail, “Those are set of rules good and cool boys follow.”

Why are these two very set on becoming something they don’t even exactly know how to be?

Sylus chose not to answer, his eyes forward and that should have been a clear indicator that he wanted to be on his way alone but these two wolf cubs have decided that he is more interesting over the wooden box they found earlier.

“So, mister, what brings you here?”

“Did you also come here to see the miss’ dragon?”

“We have been waiting for him down here but it looks like he is taking his sweet time up there.”

“We are planning to ask him if he can teach us to be good and cool boys!”, Kieran piped and every time they say those last words, their goal, Sylus noticed both of them seemed to vibrate in excitement just at the thought of becoming one, their tails wagging harder.

“Go find another teacher,” he said instead, making his strides longer but that didn't seem to deter the two despite their short legs who somehow managed to catch up on him.

“Hey mister this isn’t a contest. I am sure he can teach all three of us,” Luke huffed, keeping up with him.

“Yeah, no need to be so selfish,” Kieran added, who was panting as Sylus increased his walking speed.

“Teach the two of you,” Sylus corrected them both, rolling his eyes, “I don’t take students.”

He doesn’t have time for that, not when he has the entire forest to look after that needs him back as soon as possible, not when he has a lovely deer who he will devote his remaining free time to.

That made the two wolf cubs halt and they both looked at each other at this odd human with horns and tail of a dragon carrying a flower.

He was about to sigh in relief when he heard them bursted into laughter behind him.

“What’s so funny?”, Sylus asked, annoyed and his eyes narrowed at the two wolf cubs now rolling on the ground, their laughter mixed with barks.

“Just because you have horns and a tail doesn’t make you the miss’ dragon!”

“Yeah, who are you trying to fool here, weird human?”

“You aren’t her dragon. We’ve seen him!”

“Liar!”, they both said in unison.

Liar.

That word shouldn’t hurt as much but it did.

It certainly did when your face was the first that came to mind, your delicate hands with a bandage around one of your fingers, and your clothes rustling, the soft orange light bathing you in a room filled with the humming of machines and colorful fabrics.

“What brings you here today-”

Skye.

Why are you calling him by a different name?

“I am her dragon,” Sylus said, each word punctuated with his stride and he picked up one of the wolf cubs by the scruff of the neck gentle but firm, “I have never lied to anyone and never will so take that back.”

“Hey, put him down!”, the one still on the ground said, pawing at his leg and if he isn’t holding a flower, he would have lifted this one too just so they both get the point.

“T-the blanket!”, the one in the air exclaimed, horrified when the white blanket slowly slipped away, and his paws reached up to cover his snout, anything that would reveal his face.

“We take it back!”, the other twin cried together with his brother, “We take it back! We believe you!”

Scars.

Clearly inflicted by someone with something sharp.

Wounds that never healed, hidden by white blankets so both of them will still be identical.

Maybe he has been too harsh at these two wolf cubs without a pack.

“Now, Mister Dragon, don’t forget, we have small friends living here too.”

Your soft reprimand echoed in his mind when he accidentally toppled over a rabbit, breaking their leg by accident during a brief scuffle with bandits who thought they could come into your home and take you away.

Right, you wouldn’t be too happy when you see him being too harsh with these wolf cubs.

Sylus put down the sniffling wolf cub beside his twin, the two were quick to lick each other’s tears, and just so they understand that he is sorry , he tugged the blanket and made sure it covered the face the twin was so ashamed to show.

“Go home,” Sylus sighed, and he gave their ears a scratch, hesitant, trying to mimic what you do to your forest friends who end up crying over the simplest things.

“But we don’t have a home.”

“We just followed you here.”

Would you leave them here?

No, he doesn’t think so, not when you welcome every animal that finds your forest, no matter how fearsome they are, with open arms.

“I don’t want to hear you two complaining on my way back,” Sylus answered and their ears perked up, their tails wagging and suddenly, the little incident earlier is forgotten at the fact that the dragon turned odd human is letting them tag along.

“Really?!”, Luke asked, he and his twin back on their feet, “Does that mean you will teach us too?”

“No.”

“If you won’t teach us, then we will be your henchmen, boss,” Kieran piped in, matching his stride. “Learn on the job!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Come on, boss, we’re really good at a lot of stuff! Sniffing, biting, you name it!”, Luke added and his brother joined in, listing down their other abilities (Peculiar ones too. Fixing burnt rice?)

Perhaps Sylus is wrong.

This journey is going to be more than long.

────────────────────

“This is really difficult to do.”

Luke complained and you chuckled softly when he let you take a look at his progress, his brother hard at work beside him, focused on knitting the cuff of the sock he is working on.

“It doesn’t look promising at first but it will all come together,” you smiled, adjusting the slight gaps between his stitches before handing it back to him who eagerly examined your fix before picking where he left off.

It is getting colder, the neck scarves that the twins used to wear for you are now replaced by red woolen scarves you have knitted yourself, the fabric tied around their necks like a bow and every person who dare tell them they look silly always earn a good shower of threats from them, not when it was you who put it on to them before they leave during the mornings.

You watch over Luke and Kieran huddled together, sitting on the floor by the foot of the bed where your dragon is currently sleeping, all three of you opting to come closer to the fireplace to have a better view of your little projects.

The usual energy they brought with them becomes more tamed when they are focused, only speaking when exchanging notes over their progress or asking for your help. Maybe, winter has a special effect on hybrids like you with all of you being at your most docile self, conserving energy once spring arrives.

The red yarn you are using stretches through the entire mattress, moving by a centimeter every time you put one loop through your knitting needles and then repeat. There is still one last scarf you are working on and its owner is right beside you, still in a deep slumber.

Every now and then, the chimes you and the twins hang on his bedpost sway gently, making faint little notes and earlier, it was an orchestra with Daisy pulling all of them in rapid succession, a little mischief recently it does believing your dragon would wake up due to annoyance.

Anything, just to wake him up before spring arrives.

“Feeling sleepy, Daisy?”, you asked, noticing that your crow friend is huddling near the plushies lined up on the other side of your favorite visitor, and if it stayed still, it is almost similar to the crow plushie it is sitting next to.

It only lets out a beep and perhaps mechanical crows also need to rest when its eyes slowly close but you watch it stand up, fixing the yarn for you and you know it doesn’t want to miss out on anything especially when the twins are around.

“That’s right, fall asleep so all the kisses supposed to be yours will go to us, bird.”

“All the pats, all the hugs, hey-”

Your odd little crow was quick to retaliate, their words waking it up and it tried to peck at them, chastising them and the twins ran around, ducking across all the furniture and jumping over boxes scattered inside the room while you clap, cheering for both sides, the projects you are working on set aside.

Does your laughter reach him in his dreams?

The list of your questions grows as day turns into night, the twins making themselves comfortable at the foot of the bed, tired, all curled up and you set aside the socks they are working on in your basket of yarn.

“Perhaps we should make yours longer,” you mumbled, still awake even when the rest is already asleep, wrapping the scarf around his neck to check.

This silly, silly liar.

This silly, silly dragon.

This silly, silly hero.

Making plans with you, bringing maelstrom upon those who hurt you, and then falling into a deep slumber, here but not quite.

“You lie so gently,” you laughed softly, brushing your nose against his and your tears began to fall into his cheek that you are quick to remove, remembering stray droplets of water bothers him, your fingers grazing his cheek.

Nice and friendly dragons don’t lie yet maybe they do, if that is what it takes to be held close, to be loved and maybe it was greed, selfishness, that drove him to wear such a flimsy mask that took you time to see through.

“Wake up soon,” you said, and this time, perhaps it is longing, a sadness, that you nuzzled your nose against his hair, taking in the scent of fresh blankets and faint cinder.

“I’ll forgive all of your silly, white lies.”

Your soft sobs slowly quiet down, all of you falling asleep at any space around him and you hold the almost finished scarf close to your chest and it might be a cause for celebration but everyone has fallen asleep at this point, failing to notice the subtle sign that the dragon soaring through the skies has finally heard your voices all the way down.

Still unconscious, Sylus’ finger gently hooked itself around the thin red thread of the yarn.

On Sylus’ bedside, his odd family awaits.

────────────────────

He was a very lonely dragon.

At least, that was before and this journey isn’t so bad with two little wolf cubs following you around, making interesting observations and watching them come up with different ways to entertain themselves is something he is looking forward to telling you when he sees you again.

“I spy with my little eye,” Luke hummed, his gaze roaming up towards the sky and then added, “A sheepie!”

“But I don’t smell one right now,” Kieran answered, his snout raised up in the air to take in the scent of the forest.

Good noses.

These two have ridiculously good noses that actually impressed him.

They also make for good compasses, being in this form made Sylus realized that the terrain is much more different on the ground than up in the air and there are many times he almost made a wrong turn but the two are quick to steer him back to the right direction.

“Hey boss, that way is going to the desert.”

“The world is a bit different now that you aren’t flying, huh?”

“I’ll map everything out once I get back,” Sylus answered, giving them a brief nod and their tails wagged faster because of the acknowledgement, the game they were playing earlier now forgotten.

“Can we help?”

“We will carry your things for you!”

He doubts those small bodies can take on much weight and again, you wouldn’t be too happy when you see two wolf cubs used as horses.

If anything, he had a foresight that these two will always be at your side any chance they get.

“Come on, boss, say yes,” Kieran said and the two started to do this tactic again where they would weave between his legs.

“We’re very strong.”

“You’re still way stronger than us though.”

There they are again with this self-promotion that would have worked if they weren't unintentionally making him trip and he secured the flower pot on his arms closer to him, the woolly petals still vibrant despite the long journey, its color brighter under the sunlight passing the leaves of the tall trees scattered on the borders of your forest.

Every now and then, small creatures pass by, barely making a sound, and even the breathing of larger ones are overwhelmed by the rustle of the fallen leaves carried by the gentle breeze, the chorus of birds, all familiar except a particular faint sound.

No, collection of sounds, resounding.

If he looked closely, did the sky above him have a ceiling with a growing fracture?

“Hey boss, that’s not the right way,” Luke pointed out, noticing Sylus turning in a different direction but they followed him, curious why the dragon who is very insistent on getting to you as soon as possible is deviating from the road where you are waiting.

Sylus just had to check, every unfamiliar sound is a cause for action. A ringing, tinkling, even harmonious as it could be, means swords being sharpened from a distance.

Did those humans think they could come for you just because he isn’t around?

Only, he is met with the strangest sight.

Chimes, hanging on every branch, and they all grow in number as they venture deeper, the road leading to a cliff and at the edge, a small belfry.

Of course, the two wolf cubs did not find this odd at all when they are sounding each chime they can reach one by one and with all this ruckus, he is sure that all the forest creatures are making their way to you already to file a complaint, even if they have to take a long journey to the heart of the forest.

“Must you two ring every single one of them?”, he asked, slightly exasperated, and two wolf cubs wagged their tails, the wet snowflakes from the trees’ branches falling on his cheeks but faded away just as fast.

“Not really, but they make the nicest sound!”, Luke said, jumping over his brother’s back to pull the rope of a chime hanging on a particularly higher branch.

“You should ring the ones you can reach, boss,” Kieran suggested, and this time, he rang one of the chimes beside him, “We might get a prize!”

Then, he knew that the small belfry certainly is the most enticing among all of them because the two immediately went for it, running towards it and he had to put the flower pot aside just so he could hold both of them under his arms.

“Oh, we get it!”

“You want to ring the most important looking of them all!”

“All yours, boss!”, they said in unison.

Sylus rolled his eyes but it only took him a few strides until he was standing in front of the small belfry and while turning away is indeed an option, he knows the twins would pester him with all their might.

“I wonder what that bell would have sounded if you rang it.”

Your possible words echoed in his head if he recounts this story to you after his return and he would hate to disappoint that one of his stories doesn’t have a definite conclusion.

“Fine, let’s see if this one will get you both a prize,” he sighed and he reached out to ring the lone bell by the edge of the cliff.

If this grove of chimes is an ensemble, then this bell is certainly the conductor because the rest stop making a sound, the toll of this one resonating across the trees and further beyond the boundaries of your forest.

It continues its solo, the clapper hitting the lip in an equal interval until finally, it comes into a halt.

Then, silence.

“Where’s the prize?”, Luke asked.

“Maybe the prize is the friends we make along the way-”, Kieran replied only for his words to be cut off, the ground shaking, and Sylus stepped back further from the small belfry, closer to where he left the flower pot.

Might as well see this until the end.

A rumble, the finale of the bell’s overture, and then-

-A loud aria akin to a songbird.

The singer perched by the edge of the cliff, a giant crow carrying a red thread on its beak that it dropped to caw at them loudly, certainly annoyed at being summoned.

“Since when did Mephisto grow so large?”

The same prideful voice, certainly his, mused in his head (and thoroughly finding the strange sight hilarious) and the crow tilted its head side to side, studying him and the two wolf cubs before letting out a loud caw once again, shaking the trees and sounding all the chimes at the same time, as if telling them it is clearly busy and if they need anything, they should get on with it.

“See, I told you!”, Kieran exclaimed, wagging his tail and still under Sylus’ arm.

“I never thought I would see such a large chicken,” Luke said, awed and Sylus had to take another step back because clearly, Luke’s way of inspecting new discoveries is by snapping his teeth at them.

The crow let out a series of beeps and caws that oddly enough, Sylus managed to piece together, begrudgingly telling them if they need a ride to the home of the deer and her dragon living in this forest, then it will give them just that.

“She is clearly busy knitting a scarf for her beloved but if you want to disturb her like the rest, then go ahead.”

Yet, those words lingered in Sylus’ mind and his eyes landed on the red thread that the giant crow was carrying.

It was helping you put together the scarf you are making for him, expecting him to indeed return before spring, at least in the last days of winter.

“I am her beloved,” Sylus corrected the crow, letting the two wolf cubs hang on his shoulders while he picked up the flower pot, the mountain flower swaying gently against the cold breeze, “And I intend to fulfill my words to her.”

The giant crow just cackled, letting Sylus hold on to its feet before picking up the red thread on its beak.

“Right, odd human, try telling that in front of her dragon.”

With its large wings that almost covered the winter sun, it took flight and the two wolf cubs hanging on his shoulders huddled closer to him for warmth against the cold breeze, howling in excitement.

This journey is finally nearing its end.

────────────────────

“Sylus.”

How many times have you repeated his name in front of the bathroom mirror of this home only to end up blushing?

Addressing him without the honorific sounds impolite despite you and him spending so much time together.

You mostly do these little ‘practices’ as you called it by the balcony, not by his bed because it would be embarrassing for your favorite visitor to wake up and see you using the deer puppet to talk to the dragon puppet acting as his stand-in.

There were already hints, breadcrumbs left behind just for you.

Expensive watches with various designs.

Leather shoes crafted by artisans.

Vehicles with sleek exterior imported from other countries.

Every visit, they change, all of them unique but you always pass them off, convinced that Mr. Sylus is an extremely generous employer and an understanding one too because there are many times that your favorite visitor stayed longer than he should inside your studio.

“You’re a funny man, Mr. Sylus,” you sighed, gazing at the dragon puppet sitting on a chair across from you then you shook your head, correcting yourself, “I mean, Sylus.”

The two syllables tumbled out of your mouth haphazardly, not when a lopsided smile is forming in your face every time you say his real name.

His intentions had always been pure, his actions are clear and you can never harbor anger towards the man who started this charade.

Mr. Sylus’ life has been foreign to you but you are aware he is a very powerful man and he could have everything in the world and more, his tower of treasures reaching the heavens yet your simple question of ‘why’ is much complex.

Why choose an ordinary seamstress?

(You only know how to sew clothes. The fabric scissors are a tool to cut through clothes, not enemies. The needle to repair tears, not inflict pain.)

Why did he lie?

(Afraid. Perhaps predator hybrids are all too familiar with all kinds of fear, the fear of rejection always so common, and he, the strongest of them all, is most likely expecting you to flee if you know his real name.)

Why is he afraid?

(He has always been brave in your eyes but his request, no, a plea, for you to close your eyes on that fateful day says differently.)

“Miss Deer, we’re back!”

Luke’s voice carried all the way to the balcony from the entrance hall and you stood up, brushing your apron and then pointing your puppet at the dragon puppet.

“Let’s talk more later,” you said and then you added, the syllables as always, a little lopsided, “Sylus.”

You picked up the dragon puppet, removing yours and walking towards the living room to find the twins setting down all the shopping they have brought with him the usual stack of papers pending your dragon’s signature, the pile growing larger as each day passes by in his deep slumber.

“Your husband is still asleep?” Louis greeted you and you immediately grew red, covering your face with the two puppets and looking away.

Aside from the twins, a few select members of Onychinus, the doctors, Louis, and the older lion hybrid are the only people allowed to come by and visit this place, dropping off important items, often for him, but sometimes for you.

“Now, Louis, Mr. Sylus wouldn’t be too happy if you are the one making the miss blush and not him,” the older lion hybrid chided the young male deer hybrid who only rolled his eyes, and your eyes darted at the familiar package he left at the counter.

That package is certainly from your favorite bakery and you are also sure your father had them sent it to you on his behalf.

“What do you think the two of them are doing when alone in her studio?”, Louis pointed out while you slowly inch closer to check the contents of the box, recognizing the scent of strawberries, not minding his remarks.

“Hey, our boss is nothing but a gentleman!”, Luke exclaimed.

“They talk, that's what they do!”, Kieran added and Daisy also beeped in agreement.

“Right and oddly enough they both carry each other’s scents,” Louis replied and then you only halt your step when he turns his attention to you.

Maybe you should retract your newest impression of him because you are finding him quite rude.

The male deer hybrid had been counting days, of course, and while N109 zone is still in the same state (A state of chaos that’s its default by now) several of the prey hybrids expressed concerns to him that Sylus laying dormant means a temporary power vacuum and while everyone is still cowering on the dark, he is sure they will step out one by one and fight over his empire.

That dragon really had to wake up soon because all of his allies can only handle so much.

“You,” Louis said, looking at you as if you hold the key to this current dilemma.

“Me?”, you asked, tilting your head.

“Yes, you,” Louis started, frowning, “Who else? Anyways, have you exhausted all of the possible options of waking your husband up?”

Why does he keep referring to your favorite visitor as your husband? You can’t even call him by his real name yet.

“I-”, you opened your mouth but the twins were quick to intervene.

“She talks to him day and night if that’s what satisfies you.”

“She’s taking care of him and even the doctors said to wait it out.”

“Louis, you are putting unnecessary pressure over the miss here,” the older lion hybrid added, standing at your side but the male deer hybrid shook his head, in thought.

Talk. These two are claiming you talk to Sylus but he believes that the dragon hybrid might need a more potent medicine than that.

“I also sing to him,” you said softly, looking down on your feet and your ears drooping slightly.

Perhaps there are other options you haven't tried but your favorite visitor’s room is overflowing with trinkets at this point with the number of ideas you and the twins are coming up with.

“Hear that?”, the lion hybrid chuckled when he saw Louis sighed in frustration while the twins comforted you, telling you to not mind the grumpy deer, “Everyone is doing their best. The next step lies with Sylus.”

These people throw around his real name so easily it is making you slightly envious and your eyes lingered at the package with a handwritten note clearly from your father.

Once your favorite visitor wakes up, you and him should have tea and cake just like you always do.

“If all options fail, perhaps you should take a page of how fairy tales are written,” Louis grumbled, setting the rest of the boxes with your name in it on top of the counter, clearly gifts from your neighbors.

“Fairy tales?”

“I think the boss misses your voice. It is time for his evening music anyways,” Kieran is quick to cut, shooting a glare towards the male deer hybrid before he and his brother guided you gently towards the room where your dragon is sleeping.

Your eyes lingered at the pastry box but followed them anyway and you hope they don’t forget to put it in the refrigerator later or else the icing might not be as good if left out overnight.

“Don’t mind him,” Kieran said when you stepped inside the room, always very diligent as he already pulled the usual chair for you to sit, “You shouldn’t be forced to take unnecessary measures.”

“We can still handle it even without the boss,” Luke added.

They don’t need to tell you but you count the number of tears their clothes have every time they return here, steadily increasing, how their sleeps are deeper, how they stayed longer than usual inside the bathroom fixing their wounds, and you know that the N109 zone will need more than two wolf boys to keep everything at bay.

“You’re nice boys,” you smiled, your hands reaching up to pat their heads. “Both of you have always been.”

Their tails wagged in delight, stooping slightly so you wouldn’t strain yourself.

Your approval is more than enough for them to keep going.

“You think so?”

“I think so.”

You scratched their pointed ears and they hugged you tight around your waist, their tails wagging faster and your eyes wandered to your sleeping dragon.

His eyes still closed, yet every now and then it flutters.

His remaining horn, pointed as ever, and you look forward where you and his grows back.

His forehead, his cheeks, places where you have gifted him many kisses hoping he will receive it in his field of dreams.

And then, his lips,-

-You have finally understood Louis’ suggestion.

Naive as you can be, you know there are kisses that shouldn’t be granted without the other person’s permission.

In Sylus’ bedside, his odd family awaits.

────────────────────

He was a very lonely dragon.

Hitching a ride with a giant crow certainly cut his journey short and in the distance, he caught a glimpse of the clearing, the endless field of red wildflowers now covered with a thin layer of snow.

An oasis, a paradise and ahead is his precious deer, always so patient.

Dealing with the two wolf cubs was bearable but a bird who constantly pokes fun of his identity? If they weren’t so high up and if it wasn’t helping you knit, he will certainly show this bird he is indeed your dragon who went on a journey.

All Sylus wants to do now is to hand you the mountain flower, take a long rest with you in his arms, and-

-Right, the question .

These three have been bothering him that he hasn’t even been able to reword his request, aware that he can’t hold your face and press his lips against yours.

He is a fiend but he is better than that.

“You live here, boss?”

“There are so many new things I don’t know which one to sniff first!”

The moment they landed, the two wolf cubs already had their snouts pressed against the ground, taking in the new scents and it is not difficult to miss them even when they are wearing white blankets because of their dark tails poking above the snow.

The giant crow cawed at him for one last time, snobbish before it wagged its tail feathers in a flourish, before picking up the red thread it was carrying, looking for you.

Even with the different surroundings, Sylus knows where to look for you and with the mountain flower but perhaps the long red thread of the scarf you are knitting for him helped.

That scarf could have been a blanket now considering he isn’t technically a dragon anymore.

Snowflakes clung on his hair, his lashes and those that fall into his cheeks melt quickly and it is home.

Home is where the red wildflowers grow.

Home is where you and him stand in the field of flowers, listening to the voices of this land.

Home is where your soul is.

There you are, huddled against your forest friends, bears, deer, foxes, and even that giant crow managed to beat him on finding you first, your arms already wrapped around it.

Your deer ears flick the falling snow, and your breathing was easy.

The sacred deer of the forest, waiting, always waiting, for her dearest to return from a far-off land.

He is home.

His hand, his human hand, reached out to brush the small braid you always wear by the side of your face and you stirred, leaning against the warmth of his palm.

Then, he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours before pulling back, gazing at you fondly as you slowly opened your eyes.

There was a moment of silence, your eyes studying his face and you smiled.

“Now, why are you going around with a new face without telling me?”

“You are the one person who is yet to call me your false dragon, little doe.”

His eyes lingered on the shape of your lips when you laugh, soft and careful not to awaken your friends as he helped you stand up, on your hands is a scarf certainly for him.

“You came home just as you promised.”

Of course he did, and he reached out to hold your hand while you walked through your grove. From a distance, he can hear the two wolf cubs running around, barking happily.

Contented.

Secured.

Safe.

He has always been at peace here and yet-

-The sky above him has a ceiling and slowly, the fissure grows larger.

Was the horizon always like that?

Yet, you were so calm as you examined the mountain flower he had given to you, your delicate hands brushing against the petals.

“Darling.”

He called out softly, and his eyes did not move from you when you tuck the bloom, the prize he had brought all the way from the mountains, behind his ear.

“Yes?”

It was your voice, he is certain and yet when you wrap the thick scarf that pooled on his feet around his neck, your hands lack the certain familiarity when you guide his hand when cutting the fabric.

No words formed, not when he is slowly coming into terms that this is but a distant dream, one of the many, longer than usual and he had overstayed.

All the fragments, his wishes, his desires, his emotions, always converge in one place and in his mind, they always take form of-

You.

“I always have to remind you many times that I am not her.”

You held both of his hands, laughing softly and even with the realization, hearing such a sound always brings a smile on his lips.

“You can’t blame me for that, sweetie, you always make the wait difficult sometimes.”

“You have told me several times.”

“Even then, I can never be angry at you. Not when I am too selfish to end the game.”

“You have always been scared that I would look at you differently if you do.”

A pause.

A hope.

A longing for reassurance.

“Would you?”

“You simply need to hear my answer.”

He was never the guardian of this forest.

Yet this dream, this dream is the most pleasant he has that it convinced him so well, so well of the role he never took and then, perhaps it was the long journey that when you lead him back to the rest of your forest friends, still asleep, he knew he only had a few moments to say goodbye.

The wolf cubs, tired from playing, finally have friends.

The giant crow, content, rests its body beside you.

The dreaming dragon, on your lap, is now ready to return to his true home.

For the finale of his dream, a pleasant awakening awaits.

────────────────────

Was it that Sylus always longs for?

You have never been in his bed, you have never stepped foot on any of his many houses, yet the scent of cotton and wildflowers had always followed him, subtle, gentle, comforting.

When he opened his eyes, everything almost overwhelmed him.

The colors, the sounds, and the scents, all blending together that he had to close his eyes to steady his breath and his heart racing too fast, not when your scent had taken reign among the rest.

“Sy-”

He froze.

“Sy-”

It was a second attempt, trembling but he will always recognize the gentle pitch belonging only to one very special person.

“Sy. Lus.”

A third attempt and he turned around to the source of voice who is once again, trying to pronounce his name, to be more continuous this time.

There you are, sitting by his bedside, clearly aware now that he is awake and you are holding on your apron too hard.

The red dusting your cheeks has always been a wonderful color on you.

His precious deer, too sweet, always trying her best, and his sunrise, the light above your head like a halo.

“There’s my darling.”

Perhaps he had held on your arm too hard, only wanting to look at you closely and maybe brush his nose against yours, just to check if this is the waking world but you stumbled towards him, your chair falling against the floor and were you always this light? Yes, you have always been and only the sense of parting with you, even for just a few hours, have made everything too heavy, too hard to let go.

Here you are, finally taking the place he had reserved just for you.

You were quick to lift the hem of your apron near your face, not when he is too close, hovering above you and the first thing you have thought about is you certainly have not practiced for this outcome with the puppet.

Yes, Sylus is certain this is real and even with his mind still hazy, he knows he still owes you an appointment.

“You sounded almost confident there, sweetie,” he laughed, his voice slightly hoarse, and he rested his forehead against yours, “Let’s try again.”

“Sy-”

You paused, looking at the chimes above his head and lowering your apron.

Your lips have never been this inviting.

“Come on.”

He gently coaxed, his tail flicking in excitement and his smile grew.

“Sylus.”

You said softly and you gasped when he pulled you close, hugging you tight and perhaps his laugh was so infectious that you can’t help but do the same, both of you rolling against the white blankets.

There are many things you want to say, questions you want to ask but with him wide awake, all you want to do is also make sure he is here, talking, laughing.

“Mister Dragon?”

He didn’t say anything, playfully smiling at you as he took your wrist, taking in that familiar scent and the warm touch, making sure this isn’t one of his too pleasant dreams.

“Sylus?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Will it be too much to ask if you keep your eyes open for a bit longer today?”

“Was I asleep for that long?”, he asked but he doesn’t need a confirmation, not when the clock by the bed already answered it for him.

Midnight.

Here you are, still clinging to the waking world, not wanting to miss a moment if he wakes up.

It was a weak nod but Sylus knew you have been waiting patiently, and the many trinkets scattered in the room finally explained the odd elements of his long dream.

“I’ll keep them open for you, little doe.”

“Thank you. I would like that very much.”

“Are there any requests my precious deer wants to ask from me?”

Your deer ears perked up upon realizing you might be imposing on him especially he just woke up but maybe, there is nothing wrong being selfish for once, just for a little favor.

“Will you keep them open even if I fall asleep?”, you asked slowly, trying to keep your eyes wide open, “I am afraid you might take a long nap again.”

“You’re so silly, sweetheart. I had a long rest. I’ll be awake before you”

“But why?”

“Well, I can’t have a guest in my home starving when she wakes up,” he answered, pulling the thick blanket above your heads, “She might not come back anymore to an inhospitable dragon.”

“Oh-”

How could you forget? He was asleep for so long that you haven’t thought that he might be hungry right now.

His eyes widened, watching you slowly unbutton your blouse.

“Now-”, he chuckled, strained when he held your wrist gently to stop you and his gaze may have lingered at the slope of your exposed neck and then at the strap of your bra barely covered by fabric of your blouse, “You don’t need to offer yourself up to me, sweetie. I feel just fine.”

He carefully buttoned your blouse again, taking one last look at the fading mark he had left on that fateful night.

Even with your clothes slightly crumpled, you were true to your word and he has a suspicion you dress up nicely everyday, waiting at his side.

“Are you sure?”

��I have never been sure.”

You hummed in thought and he pressed a kiss on top of your head, chuckling softly.

“You can rest easy now, sweetie.”

“Then you will still be here?”

“I couldn’t fall asleep now, not when you are here beside me, little doe.”

The soft exchange, the little reassurances that he won’t be taking a long nap anytime soon, and all it took was a pinky promise sealed with a kiss when your eyes drooped slowly, tired from your vigil.

His thumb brushes against your bottom lip but that is the closest he can have for now.

When you wake up, it might be his turn to be a little selfish in the morning.

Afterall, would it be too much to ask you to repeat his name a couple more times?

In Sylus' bedside, his family waits no more.

────────────────────

Author's Note: I honestly wanted to write a dream sequence ever since with a mix of surreal undertones (You know how trippy dreams can be.) and I wanted those parts to also be a reflection of Sylus' perspective of this odd game of charade he started between our Miss Deer and him. Did lots of foreshadowing prior to this and here we are!

I am now off playing BG3!

As always, see you in the next update!

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #hybrid au #lads hybrid au #lads #lads sylus

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sturnsblogs · 15 hours ago

Text

VOICEMAIL FROM CHRIS. PART 2.

As soon as you heard that voicemail, you couldn’t help but giggle at some parts—Chris always had a way of making you laugh, even when he wasn’t trying. But then there were the other parts, the ones that made your heart flutter, and the ones that made it ache. He sounded so desperate, so raw, and even though you hated to admit it, you felt every word he said.

You stared at your phone for a moment, debating what to do. Should you call him back? Would it be a mistake? Maybe… but you couldn’t stop yourself. Before you could overthink it, your thumb was already pressing the FaceTime button.

The familiar ringtone rang through the quiet room, each second that passed making your stomach twist a little more. Just as you started to think he might not pick up, the screen flickered—and then there he was.

Chris’s face filled the screen, his brows slightly furrowed, lips parted in surprise. His voice was soft, almost like he didn’t believe it.

“Y/N… you answered.”

You rolled your eyes slightly, settling back against your pillows. “Yeah, don’t make it a big deal.”

Chris let out a breath, shaking his head with a slight smile. “Too late. This is a big deal. You never call me first anymore.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “Maybe I just felt bad for you after that voicemail. You sounded miserable, Chris.”

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “God, don’t remind me. I was just… I don’t know. I meant everything I said, though.”

Your heart clenched slightly, but you ignored it. “You always say things, Chris.”

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “And I always mean them, mama.”

You hated the way that name made you feel. Warm. Soft. Nostalgic.

Shaking off the feeling, you changed the subject. “Anyway… how was your day?”

Chris gave you a small smirk, but he let the shift happen. “Boring. I skated for a bit, but it wasn’t the same. Everything kinda sucks without you, if I’m being honest.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being real,” he shot back, leaning closer to the screen. “You know what would make it better?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“If you’d hang out with me.”

You blinked. “Chris…”

“C’mon, baby,” he whined, his voice dipping into something dangerously persuasive. “One night. Just us. We can get food, maybe drive around, do something chill. I just wanna see you.”

You hesitated. Hanging out with Chris was never just hanging out. It was always something more—always toeing the line between dangerous and familiar.

“Chris, that sounds like a date,” you pointed out, narrowing your eyes.

His lips curled into a smirk, shaking his head. “It won’t be a date. It’ll just be the two of us… hanging out.”

You deadpanned. “That’s literally the definition of a date.”

Chris grinned now, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Yeah, but if we don’t call it that, you might actually say yes.”

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

You shook your head, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“I’ll think about it.”

Chris’s expression softened slightly, his voice quieter now. “That’s all I’m asking for, mama. Just think about it.”

The Conversation Shifts

Chris rested his chin in his palm, watching you. “So, what did you do today? I feel like I don’t even know what’s going on with you anymore.”

You stretched slightly, getting comfortable. “Not much. Just ran some errands, went to the mall, got coffee…”

Chris nodded, looking interested. “Oh yeah? Did you go alone?”

You hesitated for half a second. Not because you were hiding anything, but because you already knew where this was going to go.

“Yeah, I was alone. But…” You trailed off, debating if you should even bring it up.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “But what?”

You sighed, already regretting saying anything. “Some guy asked for my number.”

The second the words left your mouth, Chris’s expression shifted. His relaxed posture stiffened, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Oh.”

You could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He was trying to act unbothered, but you knew him too well.

“Relax,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t give it to him.”

Chris blinked. “Wait… you didn’t?”

You scoffed. “No, Chris. I didn’t.”

Instead of answering, he just stared at you. And then, without a word, his screen went black.

“Chris.” You frowned, knowing exactly what just happened.

He turned his camera off. Like a little pouty baby.

You sighed, shaking your head as you tried not to smile. “Oh my god, are you serious?”

Nothing.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, baby. Turn your camera back on. Wanna see your cute face.”

There was a pause, then a dramatic sigh through the speaker. “You really know how to play with my emotions, huh?”

And then, finally, the camera turned back on. Chris was leaning back now, arms crossed, his lips in a slight pout.

“You had me stressing for no reason,” he grumbled.

You smirked. “You did that to yourself.”

He squinted at you. “You paused before you said you didn’t give him your number. I had, like, a whole mental breakdown in two seconds.”

You laughed. “Maybe I did that on purpose.”

Chris groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Evil. You’re actually evil.”

You shrugged playfully. “You’ll survive.”

Chris narrowed his eyes, still pouting slightly, but then his lips quirked up into a small, reluctant smile.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, mama. Just… don’t go breaking my heart like that again.”

Your smile softened just a little. “No promises.”

Hours Later

What started as a quick conversation stretched into the entire night. The sky outside had darkened, and you were curled up in bed, still talking to Chris like no time had passed at all. He made you laugh more times than you wanted to admit, and despite yourself, you felt that warm familiarity settle between you both.

Chris yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Damn… we really just talked all night, huh?”

You glanced at the time, surprised. “Yeah… guess we did.”

He smiled, something softer now. “Almost feels like old times.”

Your chest tightened slightly, but you just nodded. “Yeah… almost.”

Chris hummed, watching you. “You getting sleepy, baby?”

“I do not get soft when I’m tired.”

Chris chuckled. “Sure, mama. Keep lying to yourself.”

You yawned, and he smirked.

“Alright, goodnight, baby,” he murmured. “Sweet dreams, yeah?”

“Goodnight, Chris.”

Just as you were about to hang up, he grinned. “Mwah.”

You groaned. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you love it.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling as the call ended. Your heart was racing, and you hated that it was because of him.

A/N- I actually enjoy this very much

Divider credits- @bernardsbendystraws

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @jimmasterflashh @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys s @ribbonlovergirl

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolos #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturiolo fanfic #sturniolo #chris sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris x reader #touchy chris #chriz #chris #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets fic

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belit0 · 1 day ago

Note

Hello! How are you? I hope you're okay

I want to make a request. What about all Uchiha men (+ Indra) with a reader who is sweet and caring, she seems dumb and isn't a ninja.

BUT, she's super smart and an incredible strategist, she doesn't show it very much to avoid drama and attention over her.

Thanks ❤️‍🩹 I love your writing

Thank u love!

Indra

The candlelight flickers against the maps strewn across the table, his fingers tracing the path of the river that marks the battlefield’s edge. His mind is deep in calculation, weighing every possibility. And yet—

-That won’t work.

His hand stills.

Indra looks up. (Y/N) is sitting on the other side of the room, curled up on a cushion, absentmindedly stitching a tear in his sleeve. Her tone is light, almost absentminded, as if she isn’t aware of the weight of her words.

-What did you say?- His voice is cool, measured.

She doesn’t even glance up, threading the needle through the fabric. -You’re leaving the right flank exposed. If the enemy scouts find that clearing first, they’ll use it to flank you before your reinforcements can even cross the river.-

He watches her, silent. Slowly, he looks back at the map. The right flank— his jaw tightens. She’s right.

-How did you see that?

(Y/N) finally lifts her head, blinking at him as if surprised he’s even asking. She tilts her head, smiling softly. -It was obvious, wasn’t it?-

Indra exhales slowly, staring at her for a long moment. He leans back, arms crossed over his chest, a quiet smirk curving his lips.

-You hide it well.

(Y/N) only hums, returning to her stitching. -It’s easier that way.-

Madara

-Madara, no.

He stops mid-sentence, narrowing his eyes. -No?-

(Y/N) stands beside him, looking down at the strategy he’s just spent the last two hours explaining. The one that, in his mind, is flawless. But she’s shaking her head, biting her lip, eyes skimming over the details.

-They’ll expect this,- she murmurs, tapping the map. -You always attack head-on, so they’ll fortify this side before you even get there. But… if you move the main force here— she drags her finger across the page, pointing to a narrow ridge —and keep a small decoy unit here, they’ll take the bait. You’ll catch them from behind before they can react.-

Silence.

Madara stares at her, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

-And when, exactly, did you decide to become a strategist?- His voice is unreadable, hovering between amusement and scrutiny.

(Y/N) shrugs, offering an innocent smile. -I didn’t. But you’re predictable. They know you. That’s your biggest weakness.-

A slow chuckle leaves his lips, deep and knowing.

-You’re dangerous, little one.

Izuna

-That’s a bad idea.

Izuna freezes mid-motion, the game piece hovering above the board. His eyes flick up to (Y/N), who’s watching him with the same warm, wide-eyed gaze she always wears—except this time, there’s a sharpness in her expression.

-What?

(Y/N) leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. -You’re putting all your trust in that formation,- she nods toward the arrangement of wooden tokens. -If one thing goes wrong, the whole strategy falls apart.-

Izuna scoffs, clicking the piece into place. -It’s not going to fall apart. I’ve been planning this for—

-You’ll lose in five moves.

He stops. His fingers twitch.

-You’re bluffing.

(Y/N) simply smiles. -Go on, then.-

Izuna narrows his eyes and resumes the game. Five moves later, he stares at the board, stunned into silence.

A soft giggle escapes her lips. -Told you.-

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before looking up at her with something unreadable in his gaze. Slowly, a grin spreads across his face.

-You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?

Obito

-Wait, what?

Obito stares at her, completely thrown.

(Y/N) looks up from his battle plans, lips pressed together, clearly holding back laughter. -You’re doing it all wrong.-

He splutters. -Excuse me? I worked on that all night! What do you mean wrong?-

(Y/N) sighs, stepping closer to the table and flipping one of the papers upside down. -You’ve got your numbers mixed up. If you station your units here, they’ll be cut off before reinforcements can reach them.-

Obito blinks. He looks at the map again. Then back at her.

-Oh.

(Y/N) giggles, patting his shoulder. -You’re cute when you’re confused.-

He groans, dropping his face into his hands. -I’m never going to live this down, am I?-

Shisui

Shisui watches as (Y/N) absently swirls a cup of tea in her hands, eyes flicking over the battlefield map he left open on the table. He’s waiting, counting the seconds.

One, two, three—

-You should change this position,- she murmurs, pointing at a specific marking.

There it is.

He smirks. -Why?-

She hesitates. -It’s just… it’s too easy to counter.-

Shisui leans in, grinning. -And what would you do instead?-

(Y/N) bites her lip, clearly debating whether or not to answer. But then she sighs, reaching out and shifting a few pieces around. -If you put the first formation here instead, it’ll give them more room to maneuver. And if they retreat this way, you can trap them between the cliffs.-

Silence.

Shisui grins. -You’re a little genius, aren’t you?-

(Y/N) huffs, playfully pushing his shoulder. -Don’t make a big deal out of it.-

-Oh, I’m absolutely making a big deal out of it.

Itachi

Itachi notices it the first time he explains a strategy aloud. The way (Y/N)’s eyes shift ever so slightly, the way her lips press together as if holding back a response. But she says nothing, simply nodding along.

So, the next time, he leaves a flaw. Subtle. Deliberate. And then he waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

-That formation won’t work.

His eyes flicker toward her. She doesn’t realize she’s been caught yet, too focused on the map.

-Why?- he asks, testing her.

(Y/N) hesitates before sighing. -Because you’re spreading your forces too thin,- she gestures. -If they break through the left side, you won’t be able to recover in time.-

A beat of silence.

-I see.

Itachi’s expression doesn’t change, but inside? He’s impressed.

(Y/N) fidgets under his gaze. -You’re not mad, are you?-

Itachi simply hums, rolling the thought over in his mind. Then, at last—

-Not at all. I think I’d like to hear more of your thoughts from now on.

(Y/N) blinks. And then, slowly—she smiles.

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1chaerry · 9 hours ago

Text

somewhere in the past pt.3

summary: The world moves forward, but ghosts never rest. A familiar ship on the horizon. A name she has not spoken in years. A storm long overdue. Some things were meant to stay buried. Some things refuse to be forgotten.

c.w. : MAJOR SPOILERS for One Piece Film: Red, angst, mentions of violence, plot-centric, mentions of death,

Disclaimer: Reader is called "Saram" meaning "Human/Person"

Part 1 | Part 2

Flour dusted the countertop in a soft cloud, and bowls of ingredients sat neatly on the counter, waiting to be mixed. Gab was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a bemused smile on his face as he watched the two of them. Saram, barely five years old, perched on the counter with her legs dangling, her bare feet kicking the cabinets beneath her. Her eyes were wide, gleaming with excitement, watching Lucky carefully as he worked.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Saram asked, her voice high-pitched and full of innocence, like she was seeking reassurance.

Lucky chuckled, turning the bowl in his hands and gently stirring the butter and sugar together. "Of course it will. You trust me, don’t you?" His voice was warm, comforting, and there was something soft about his grin that made Saram giggle, even though she had no real reason to doubt him.

Saram nodded eagerly, her small hands gripping the edge of the counter as she leaned forward. "I do! I do! But... how do you know it’s gonna taste like the cookies we always get at the market?" She tilted her head, scrunching her face up with the kind of curiosity that only children have—open, unfiltered, unafraid to ask the same question a hundred times over.

Lucky grinned, his eyes sparkling with a quiet confidence. "Well, kiddo," he said, "there's a secret ingredient. You see, it’s not just the chocolate chips... It’s the love you put into it. And that’s something you can’t find at any market." He winked at her, as if revealing some great mystery.

Saram’s eyes widened, the weight of those words sinking in slowly. Love? She repeated the word to herself, almost tasting it on her tongue. Love. It made her smile without even knowing why, like she had just learned a very important secret.

"And... and we’ll eat them right after they’re baked?" Saram asked, her voice breathless, full of anticipation. She could already feel the warmth of the cookies in her hands, the soft gooey chocolate chips melting against her tongue.

"Of course." Lucky added a bit more flour to the mixture, his hands deftly working. "Warm cookies straight out of the oven, just like we used to."

Gab chuckled softly from the doorway, watching the two of them with a fondness that softened his usually stoic expression. "You know, she’s gonna eat all of them, right?"

Lucky shot a playful glance at Gab. "No problem. We can make more tomorrow."

Saram gasped, her small face lighting up. "Tomorrow? We can make cookies every day?"

Lucky shrugged, an exaggerated shrug that made his shoulders roll up comically. "If you help me, we can make cookies every day."

Saram's laughter rang out like a bell, sweet and clear. "I’ll help! I’ll help!"

Gab shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I’m pretty sure you’re gonna end up eating more than you help, kid."

Saram stuck her tongue out at Gab, but her eyes shone with pure joy. She could barely contain herself as she watched Lucky scoop the dough onto the baking tray, her fingers twitching with excitement. "Can I try? Can I do it?" Her voice was full of eagerness, her little body practically vibrating with energy.

Lucky laughed and handed her a spoonful of dough. "Alright, kiddo. But just one. We don’t want to spoil dinner."

Saram took the spoonful and popped the dough straight into her mouth. The sweetness of the raw dough melted instantly on her tongue, rich and buttery, with just the right amount of chocolatey goodness. She closed her eyes and let out a small sigh, savoring the moment. "This tastes so good, Lucky! I’m gonna be the best cookie maker ever!"

Gab raised an eyebrow, his voice teasing as he said, "Well, then you’ll have to teach us your secret recipe, right?"

Saram blinked at him, her small face scrunching up in deep thought. "My secret recipe... is chocolate chips and sugar and love!" She giggled at her own simplicity, her joy contagious.

Lucky placed the tray in the oven, the soft click of the door closing signaling the start of the wait. He turned back to Saram, his eyes warm. "Now we wait. And when they’re ready, we get to eat every last one of them. Deal?"

"Deal!" Saram said, her voice loud and clear, her excitement radiating out of her like a little sunbeam. She hopped down from the counter, her tiny feet padding across the kitchen floor as she wandered over to the window, peeking outside at the moonlit ocean. The salty air wafted in through the window, mixing with the smell of cookies and making her feel warm all over.

"Can you smell that?" she asked, her voice soft now, as she stared out at the ocean.

Gab stepped up beside her, glancing out at the waves. "Yeah. Smells like the sea."

"No," Saram said, shaking her head. "It smells like... something nice." Her small voice was so sincere, so full of that childlike certainty, that it made Lucky and Gab both pause and look at her. "The sea, and the cookies, and all the things we get to do together..." She twirled around, her arms outstretched as if the entire world could fit inside that simple, perfect moment.

Lucky smiled, his heart swelling with something soft and tender, something he rarely let himself feel. "You’re right," he said quietly. "It smells nice."

"You're a good kid, Saram," Lucky said, his voice gentle but sincere. "You remind me that it’s the little things that make the world feel good." He fixed his goggles, leaning back and glancing at Gab with a small, almost shy smile. "I don’t think we tell you enough."

Gab raised an eyebrow, his arms still crossed. He stood taller, leaning against the doorframe, but there was a softness in his gaze that matched the light in the kitchen. "Takes a lot to remind us, doesn’t it?" His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. "The way things get crazy out there, it's easy to forget."

Saram stopped spinning for a moment and looked up at them, her face serious and curious all at once. "What do you mean?" Her voice was small, but she still had a way of making the question feel big.

Gab’s expression softened. He stepped closer to the window, staring out at the night for a moment before answering, his tone a little distant. "I mean... sometimes, we forget that moments like these—quiet, peaceful ones—are important. We get caught up in other things. Things that make us forget why we care about what we’re doing, who we’re with."

Lucky nodded, running his hands through the flour-dusted countertop. "Life gets noisy, kiddo. But it’s the quiet moments that let us reset. That let us remember what we’re really working for. And it’s not just for survival, or for fighting the next battle." He gave her a playful wink. "Sometimes, it’s for cookies."

Saram’s eyes brightened. "Cookies are important," she agreed, a tone of seriousness in her voice that only a five-year-old could muster. She turned back to the window, her fingers trailing across the cool glass. She could still taste the sweetness of the dough on her tongue, warm and rich. It made her smile.

The sound of the oven timer suddenly rang through the kitchen, sharp and sudden, breaking the stillness. Saram’s whole body tensed with excitement. "It’s time!" She scrambled over to the oven, jumping up and down as she tried to peer over the counter.

Gab chuckled softly, his hands slipping into his pockets as he watched her. "I think someone’s ready to eat."

Lucky moved past Saram, his large hands reaching for the oven mitts. "Alright, alright, kid, step back. Let me do it so you don’t burn yourself." He slid the tray out, the warm, golden brown cookies now fully formed, each one with a perfect, slightly crinkled top, the chocolate chips melted just enough to glisten.

The smell hit them immediately—chocolate, butter, and a touch of vanilla, mingling with the salty sea breeze. It was the smell of comfort, of home, of simplicity. Lucky placed the tray down on the counter, and Saram bounced up and down, barely able to contain herself.

"They’re perfect!" she squealed, her voice a high pitch of joy as she grabbed a cookie, biting into it before it had even fully cooled.

"Hey, don’t burn your mouth," Lucky said with a laugh, but Saram only shrugged, the warm cookie in her hand already half gone.

"They taste like the best thing ever," she declared, her face lighting up with pure delight.

Gab watched her for a moment, his gaze a little distant, but his lips curled into a faint smile. There was something about the way Saram’s joy filled up the space around them, how she had this ability to make everything feel lighter, even in the quiet of the night. He couldn’t help but feel a quiet ache in his chest, a yearning for these moments to last, for the world outside to just... stay still for a little longer.

Lucky slid a couple more cookies onto the counter, a teasing glint in his eye. "Alright, kid. Now that we’ve got our cookies, what do we do with them?"

Saram, already on her third cookie, looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "We eat them all!" she declared, as if there could be no other answer. Her mouth was full, but she spoke with absolute certainty.

Lucky and Gab exchanged a glance, both shaking their heads in amused disbelief. "Guess we’re in for a cookie feast, then," Lucky said, laughing.

The three of them settled down around the kitchen table, the warm glow from the oven lighting their faces, the sound of the waves outside soothing the quiet of the night. Gab finally uncrossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, his eyes softening as he reached for another cookie.

"Guess we should start making plans for tomorrow’s batch," Lucky said with a grin, as he wiped a little chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Saram’s eyes sparkled. "And we can eat them right away too?"

"You bet," Lucky said, throwing her a wink. "And this time, we can eat even more."

Saram giggled, the sound filling the kitchen like music. For that brief moment, with the smell of cookies in the air and the sea softly calling them from beyond the windows, everything felt perfect. The worries of the world seemed so far away, lost in the warmth of the kitchen and the love they shared.

For Saram, this—this was what happiness tasted like.

Saram wondered if this is what silence tasted like.

The silence between them felt like a living thing, breathing and shifting with every quiet motion.

Saram tilted her head slightly, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her lips—a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, the kind that was just a shadow of something long gone. Something lost.

"You tell me, Beckman. You’re the vice, right?" she asked, her voice soft, even. Too even. Too calm. Her hands were tucked into her pockets now, her fingers clenched around the vial there, as if it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. The only thing that kept her from slipping into the storm that churned inside her chest.

Beckman’s eyes never left her. He’d seen that look before. He’d seen that cold calm, the way she moved with an eerie quiet precision, like everything was a calculation and nothing was out of her control. The same way the crew moved when things were serious. When the stakes were high.

Saram was no stranger to battle. She carried the weight of it in her stance, in her eyes. And it was too much like them.

"Vice," Beckman echoed, the word hanging between them. He didn’t need to answer her directly. He already knew what she was asking. But Shanks—Shanks was watching her differently. The weight of his one hand shifting as he shifted his posture, the subtle pull of his body where once there had been two hands. The soft sound of his breath moving in and out, like a man caught between two worlds: the one where he was father and the one where he had abandoned a part of himself.

Shanks swallowed thickly. His eyes burned, not with anger, but with the weariness of twelve long years.

"You think you’ve got me figured out, Saram?" he asked, voice rough, like something scraped raw.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t move. The smile stayed there, small and bitter, like a piece of old fruit left too long in the sun.

"I think," she said slowly, her voice sliding between them like oil on water, smooth but heavy, "you have more in common with me than you’re willing to admit."

Beckman shifted ever so slightly, catching the faintest glint in Shanks' eyes. He was walking on a tightrope now, balancing between the past and the present. Between the crew he had built and the daughter he had left behind. The wind outside shifted in rhythm with their breaths, the scent of salt and old wood mixing with the faint burning of Beckman’s cigarette. The smoke curling lazily around them like a veil, just thick enough to blur the sharp edges of everything they were saying but not thick enough to hide the truth that lingered in the room.

Shanks opened his mouth to speak again, but Saram interrupted, her tone cutting, sharp as glass.

"You don’t need to say it," she said, almost lazily, as if she were bored with the conversation. "You think you’re so different. You and the crew. You all think you’re so different, but in the end, you're just the same. You run, you hide, you leave your problems behind, until one day—" She paused, her gaze flickering between them, a cold flame that didn’t burn but froze instead. "One day, you come back, and expect everything to be... fixed. To be easy. You want to pick up where you left off, like you never vanished."

The words cut through the air. Beckman could see the flicker in Shanks’ eye, the way it softened despite himself, how he felt it. How they both felt it.

"We’re not the same," Shanks muttered, but the words felt hollow, even to him.

Saram’s smile widened, bitter and soft, like something both broken and sharp. She was a blade hidden in the skin of someone else’s memory, a shadow of what could have been.

"You’re right," she agreed with a mocking tilt of her head. "You’re not the same. You’re worse."

Beckman exhaled sharply, flicking the ash from his cigarette. He could feel the tension building in the room, the pressure of the unspoken things piling up, heavier and heavier with each passing second.

But he stayed silent. He knew how this played out. He had seen it before—in her eyes. The same eyes he had seen on the crew when things had gotten real, when they had been backed into corners, when they were forced to face themselves. The crew had learned to live with that tension, the constant dance between their hearts and the things they had to leave behind. He saw it in her—saw the echo of the same fire in the crew that had once been lit by the same flame.

"Tell me, Shanks," Saram continued, her voice smooth but laced with something darker now. "Do you even know who I am anymore? Or are you just looking for the little girl who used to follow you around, pretending that everything was okay?"

Shanks’ breath hitched. Her words were so sharp, so true, that he almost couldn’t breathe.

"Saram," he whispered, voice raw. "I never—"

She cut him off with a sharp laugh. The sound was empty, like something snapping.

"I don't need your guilt."

Her hands were clenched tightly around the fabric of her coat. Her fingers, pale and tight with restraint, were the only thing holding her together now. The tightness of her grip was the only thing that kept her from falling apart into a thousand pieces.

Shanks took a step forward. His eyes locked with hers, and for the first time in twelve years, Saram let herself feel something.

Something more than the coldness she had worn like armor.

She didn’t back down.

"I didn’t leave you because I thought I was done with you," Shanks said, his voice strained, heavy with the weight of everything he had buried.

Beckman’s eyes softened as he watched Saram, the way she stood there, unwavering, the same way the crew stood when they were serious. When they were facing something they could no longer outrun. He exhaled a long breath, the smoke curling around him like a cloak.

"You still haven’t told me," she said, her voice low now, calm, though there was a quiet rage beneath it. "What now, Beckman? You’re the vice. You lead this ship with Shanks. What now?"

The question hung in the air, but Beckman didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned to Shanks, the weight of the past between them, like two ghosts standing side by side.

Shanks looked back at him, his expression a mixture of regret and something deeper. His hand flexed at his side, as though he was still adjusting to its absence. But he didn’t show it. Not to her. Not now.

The room felt too small. Too thick with the smell of the ocean, the smoke, the salt in the air that carried a thousand things neither of them wanted to face.

Finally, Beckman spoke, his voice low, almost tired.

"It’s not about what’s easy. It’s about what you can live with," he said, flicking the ash from his cigarette, watching the tiny specks float away into the silence.

Saram stared at him for a moment, her eyes flickering with something too complex to name. And then, quietly, her lips curled again.

"You’re all the same."

"You’ve all remained the same," Saram murmured, her voice soft but sharp like a blade concealed beneath velvet. "Older, stronger... but the same." Her gaze flickered between them, cool and detached, yet there was something beneath her calm demeanor—something brittle, hidden deep.

The little girl inside her cried, and for a split second, the warmth of that childhood memory, the innocence of days that should have been, clawed at her heart. It was fleeting, a flicker of light too brief to hold. She could feel it in the space behind her ribs, echoing with her thoughts. Words she had buried long ago: Why didn’t you come back for me?

She could hear it, the cry of that abandoned girl—fragile and lost, begging for someone to pick her up and tell her it would be okay. But Saram smothered it. She had learned to smother things long ago.

Her fingers tightened around the vial in her pocket, a small movement that gave her something to hold onto. Something to anchor herself. The vial was cold, the glass biting against her skin. Her thumb traced its edges absently as she stood there, still as stone, not trusting herself to move too much. Not trusting herself to feel anything too deeply.

Shanks and Beckman exchanged a glance. There was something in their eyes—something unspoken, something they had both recognized in her. Something dangerous.

"You think we’re the same?" Shanks asked, his voice quiet, the weight of his words settling between them. "We’ve changed, Saram. We’ve all changed."

Her lips curled up into something faintly reminiscent of a smile—though it was hollow, nothing but an empty curve.

"Changed," she echoed. "You think I haven’t?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper, but there was weight in every syllable. "You think I haven’t changed? You think I haven’t learned how to survive without you?"

Beckman stepped forward, his presence filling the room with a quiet intensity. He was older, sharper than he had been when they last met, and he had seen far too much of the world to let Saram slip past him unnoticed. He watched her closely, his gaze steady but not unkind.

"Survival doesn’t make you stronger," Beckman said, his voice steady but lined with something close to sadness. "It makes you... harder."

She let out a small, derisive laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her heart remained a frozen thing, too encased in bitterness to thaw. "Harder," she repeated, like it was a word that didn’t quite fit. "I’m fine with that."

Shanks stepped closer, but this time, his approach wasn’t threatening. His eyes softened, like he was searching for something behind the wall Saram had built around herself. "You’ve always been good at hiding what you feel, haven’t you?" he said quietly. His voice was low, but it carried something deeper—an unspoken understanding, one forged from years of seeing others hide their truths behind masks.

Saram’s expression flickered, just for a moment. A fleeting break in the wall she had so carefully constructed around herself. But it was gone before either of them could reach it. She was calm again, just as cold, just as collected. "It’s not hiding if no one’s looking," she said, her voice a razor.

Shanks’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t push further. Not yet. He could see the walls, the way Saram had built them so high, so thick that no one could break through. She didn’t want anyone to reach her. She didn’t want their pity, their regret, their apologies.

She just wanted... something else. Something she couldn’t put into words.

"And you’re still here," Beckman said, his voice breaking through the quiet tension, an almost imperceptible shift in his stance. "Still aboard this ship. After all this time."

Saram’s fingers curled tighter around the vial, the glass pressing harshly against her palm. She didn’t loosen her grip. Didn’t let go. The cold bite of it was grounding, something tangible amidst the swirl of emotions she refused to acknowledge.

She exhaled slowly, tilting her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “And?”

Beckman’s gaze didn’t waver. “That means something.”

Saram huffed softly, amused in that distant, empty way she always was. “Does it?”

Shanks took another step forward, slow and careful, like he was approaching something fragile. Something breakable.

“You didn’t have to come back,” he said, his voice quiet. “You didn’t have to step onto this ship again.”

Saram lifted her chin, her eyes sharp. “And you think that means I want to be here?”

Shanks studied her. “I think if you really didn’t, you wouldn’t be.”

Her jaw tightened.

Beckman crossed his arms, exhaling through his nose. “Twelve years, and you still can’t be honest with yourself, huh?”

Saram’s lips curled, her teeth flashing in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Honest? About what?”

Shanks watched her closely. “That you’re angry.”

She went still.

A beat of silence passed, thick and suffocating.

Then she laughed—low, quiet, but sharp enough to cut. “Angry?” She shook her head, her fingers flexing at her sides. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Her voice didn’t rise, didn’t waver. It was steady, sharp, honed like a blade.

“I spent years waiting,” she said, each word deliberate, measured, like she was carefully unraveling a truth she had long since buried. “Years wondering if I had just imagined it all. If I had imagined you. If I had made up every memory, every promise, every stupid, childish hope that one day—one day—you’d come back.”

She took a step closer, and for the first time, the calm in her voice wavered. Cracked.

“But you didn’t.”

Shanks’ throat bobbed, but he didn’t interrupt. He let her speak.

Saram let out a slow breath, shaking her head. “So no, I’m not angry.” Her voice dropped lower, quieter. “I was angry. A long time ago.”

Her fingers curled again, her nails digging into her palm. “Now I just don’t care.”

She saw the way Shanks’ expression shifted, saw the way Beckman inhaled sharply, but she didn’t let it affect her.

Because it was true. Wasn’t it?

She had spent years learning how not to care. How to be untouchable. Unreachable.

Shanks studied her, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t believe that.”

Saram met his gaze, unwavering. “That’s not my problem.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The ship rocked gently beneath them, the lanterns flickering with the movement.

Then Shanks sighed, running a hand over his face.

“I can’t change the past,” he said, and his voice was quieter now, heavier. “I can’t take back what happened. I can’t fix what’s already broken.”

Saram watched him, her expression still carefully composed.

“But,” he continued, looking at her fully now, “that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Saram’s breath hitched.

For just a second—just a second—her grip on the vial faltered.

She swallowed, forcing herself to breathe evenly, to keep her mask in place.

Shanks took a step closer. “And it doesn’t mean I won’t try to be better now.”

Her jaw clenched. “You’re twelve years too late.”

“I know.”

Silence.

“…But I’m still here.”

The room felt smaller than it should have, the scent of aged wood and salt thick in the air. The lanterns swayed gently with the ship’s motion, casting flickering shadows against the walls. Saram stood in the middle of it, her frame steady, her expression unreadable save for the slight curve of her lips—a blank, hollow thing that did not reach her eyes.

Shanks was watching her, his gaze dark, searching. Beckman leaned against the wall, arms crossed, but his grip was tight, fingers pressing into his sleeves. The weight of her words sat heavy between them, like an anchor sinking into the depths.

“I need you to understand,” Saram said, voice even, quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the thick silence, “that I can't keep chasing after you and the crew.” Her fingers flexed at her sides, her thumb brushing over the edge of the vial again, grounding herself in its cold bite. “I will die your daughter, dad. I will die as the daughter of the Red-Haired Pirates—but I can't live as her. Not anymore.”

Shanks inhaled, a slow, deliberate breath, but he didn’t speak. Not yet. Beckman’s eyes flickered between them, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Saram tilted her head, watching Shanks with something unreadable. “I was nine when you told me you wished I was easier, dad.” The words left her lips like a knife unsheathed, smooth and gleaming, waiting to strike.

Shanks flinched, and it was the first real reaction she had seen from him.

“I was twelve when you left me to burn away in that country,” she continued, her voice calm, measured, but every syllable carried the weight of years lost. “You couldn’t accept me as yours, but you wouldn’t let me go either.”

Shanks’ breath hitched. His fists curled at his sides, and he took a step closer, his boots scuffing against the wooden floor, but she didn’t move. Didn’t give him an inch.

“Saram,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, like he had been trying to find the right words for years and still came up empty.

She smiled then. A small, brittle thing, like a crack running through glass. “Do you understand how cruel you have been?” Her head tilted slightly, her gaze piercing. “How cruel you all have been?”

Beckman’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t look away.

Saram’s fingers twitched. “You all found me a chore and Uta a melody.”

The words settled like a storm rolling in, thick with static, humming with something inevitable.

Shanks inhaled sharply, his entire frame going rigid. “That’s not true.”

Saram let out a soft breath of laughter, but it wasn’t amused. “Isn’t it?”

His jaw tightened. “I never—”

“You never what?” she cut in smoothly, arching a brow. “Never compared us? Never found me difficult? Never left me behind?”

Shanks’ silence was louder than words.

Beckman exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly, the wood creaking beneath his weight. “Saram—”

She turned to him then, eyes sharp. “You, too, Beck.”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his gaze.

“You told me I was stubborn, that I needed to be more like Uta.” Her voice was quieter now, but no less cutting. “That I needed to stop questioning everything. That I needed to listen more.” She shook her head slightly. “You never realized I was listening.”

Beckman exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. He had no excuses to offer. None that would change anything.

Shanks stepped forward again, close enough that she could see the tension in his shoulders, the regret in his gaze. “Saram,” he said, softer this time. “I never wanted to leave you.”

She smiled again, empty and cold. “But you did.”

His breath caught.

Beckman’s voice was quieter now. “You have every right to hate us.”

Saram huffed, her fingers twitching. “I don’t hate you.”

She saw the brief flicker of relief cross Shanks’ face before she spoke again.

“I did.”

His relief shattered.

“But hate takes too much,” she murmured, voice quieter now, more distant. “It burns you from the inside out.” She tilted her head, the lantern light catching the faint scars along her collar, disappearing beneath the fabric of her hood. “I already burned once. I’m not doing it again.”

Shanks swallowed thickly, his shoulders sinking.

Silence settled again, the kind that stretched and cracked at the seams.

Saram inhaled slowly, steadying herself. “I don’t need your guilt,” she said finally, turning away. “And I don’t need your apologies.”

The creak of the ship beneath them felt distant, like a sound from another world—one Saram no longer belonged to. The scent of aged wood filled her lungs, but it was the weight in the room, the unspoken tension pressing against her ribs, that nearly stole her breath.

She could hear Shanks inhale behind her, the way he shifted his weight, uncertain, like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t know how. Like he thought if he touched her, she might disappear.

“Saram,” his voice was quieter now, cautious, hesitant. He had never spoken to her like that before. Not even when she was a child. “Then what do you need?”

She could feel his gaze on her back, burning, waiting. Beckman hadn’t moved from his place against the wall, but she could sense the way his arms had tightened, the way his breath had slowed, preparing for whatever she might say.

Saram turned back to them then, slowly, her face shadowed by the hood, her expression as unreadable as ever. But when she spoke, her voice was clear. Steady.

“I need you to understand,” she said, tilting her head slightly, her blank smile still in place, “that your daughter—that—that twelve-year-old you left in those ruins—is dead.”

Shanks stiffened, his eyes widening slightly, his breath catching in his throat.

“She is gone, Dad,” Saram continued, voice calm, as if she were stating an irrefutable fact. “She is dead, okay?”

Shanks’ lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Beckman shifted, his expression darkening just slightly.

Saram exhaled softly through her nose, tilting her head. “Did you know the look you all had whenever you looked at me?” She let the words settle between them for a moment, her gaze flickering between them, watching. Waiting. “Do you know, Beckman?”

His jaw clenched, and for the first time that night, Beckman looked away.

“You made one mistake in your youth, and you all punished me a lifetime for it.”

Her words sank into the space between them, reverberating in the quiet air. The salty tang of the sea seemed to thicken, like it, too, absorbing the gravity of her statement. She could feel the faint sting of the wind against her skin, the coldness of the ship's wood beneath her boots, but none of it reached her. She was numb—beyond the reach of any sensation, beyond the reach of them.

Shanks let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. His fingers trembled slightly as they dragged through the red strands. “That’s not—” His voice faltered. “That’s not how it was, Saram.”

She let out a quiet laugh, but it was hollow, empty. “No?”

Shanks’ hands curled into fists at his sides. “You were never a mistake.”

Saram’s smile didn’t falter, but something behind her eyes dimmed. “I wasn’t?”

Shanks exhaled sharply. “I loved you.”

She stared at him for a long moment. And then, finally, she spoke.

“You left me.”

The words weren’t loud. They weren’t angry. They weren’t even accusatory. They were just... there. Sitting between them like an open wound.

Beckman swallowed, his throat tight.

Shanks took a step forward, but Saram didn’t move, didn’t waver.

“Saram—”

“I was twelve when you left me to burn.”

Shanks shook his head, stepping closer, his movements stiff. “I thought you were—”

“Dead?” she finished for him, and for the first time, the smile dropped from her lips. Her face was blank now, colder than it had been before. “Yes. You did.”

Beckman’s grip on his sleeve tightened. The tension in the room was suffocating now, pressing against all of them.

Shanks’ hands trembled. “Saram, I—”

She took a slow step forward, closing the space between them just slightly, tilting her head. “If I had died,” she murmured, “would you have ever known?”

Shanks’ breath caught.

Beckman inhaled sharply, but he said nothing.

Saram’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. “Would you have even looked?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Shanks swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, but no words came. None that would make a difference. None that would make any of this right.

Saram exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “That’s what I thought.”

Saram's gaze held Shanks’ for a moment longer, the weight of her words settling in the space between them, thick and suffocating. The room seemed to press in on all sides, the only sound the distant crash of waves against the ship’s hull, the faint creak of the floorboards beneath their feet.

She took a step back, her eyes flickering between Shanks and Beckman. Her fingers loosened, the fists at her sides unclenching slowly, but the tension in her body remained. Her smile—blank, empty, distant—never quite reached her eyes.

“I’m gonna go check on Uta,” she said, her voice soft but final.

Shanks opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to say something—anything—that would make this moment easier, something to erase the years of silence, of hurt—but no words came. There was nothing he could say.

Saram turned without another word, the soft rustle of her boots against the floor the only sound as she moved toward the door. Her hand brushed against the cold metal of the doorknob, the faint metallic taste of it lingering on her fingers as she grasped it.

Behind her, Beckman shifted slightly, but remained silent. His gaze never wavered from Saram’s retreating figure, his thoughts a swirling mess of regret and understanding.

Saram paused at the door, her back still turned to them. For a moment, it seemed like she might say something more—some final declaration, some last word—but instead, she simply exhaled, the sound low and barely audible.

She opened the door, the soft creak of it sounding like the final exhale of a long-held breath. She stepped through, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

The room was left in silence, the space between Shanks and Beckman as heavy as the words they had not spoken. Shanks stood still, his hand still reaching out as if trying to pull her back, but knowing—knowing that she was gone. Not physically, but emotionally.

Beckman remained where he was, arms crossed, watching Shanks with a heavy, unreadable expression. The silence lingered, thick and unyielding, until Shanks finally exhaled, the sound full of defeat.

“I didn’t…” His voice faltered, and he stopped, unable to finish. What was there left to say? How could he undo the years that had passed? How could he fix what he had broken?

Beckman glanced at him, his expression softened by years of knowing how this felt. He didn’t speak, but there was understanding in his gaze. He didn’t need to say it—Shanks already knew.

Saram felt like her feet were lead, they felt almost stuck to the wooden floors of the ship’s inner hallways as she walked, mind still reeling from the conversations of a while ago with Shanks and Beckman. Everyone else, she could handle, everyone else she could ward off but not them.

Never them.

They had always been different. No matter how much time passed, no matter how much she hardened herself, no matter how much she told herself that it no longer mattered, they could still shake her. Not because they deserved to—not because she wanted them to—but because there was a part of her, buried deep beneath everything, that had once loved them.

“Well, if you sit here all quiet like that, the sea’s gonna think you’re lonely and try to steal you away.”

“Maybe it should.”

“Nah, we’d steal you right back.”

Shanks was a liar and Saram was the fool who believed him every time. Who believed every sweet lie Shanks said, who believed every bitter condolence that Beckman gave her. A foolish, naive child who had looked up at them with wide, hopeful eyes and had believed—truly believed—that they would always be there.

She had clung to the edges of their world, small hands gripping the fabric of their cloaks, trailing behind them like a shadow, had memorized their voices, the cadence of their laughter, the way their footsteps sounded on deck. She had thought—had known—that she was safe with them.

They were hers. And she was theirs.

Until they were neither.

At times like these she wonders if things were different, could they have been a family? What if she wasn’t Saram? What if she had been someone else—someone easier to love, someone they didn’t have to leave behind? Could they have been a proper father and daughter? She hated that. Hated that even now, a small part of her still wondered—

— if things were different, if she wasn’t Saram, if Shanks wasn’t Shanks, could they have been a family?

Her younger self would have wanted that.

She could see it if she closed her eyes—see that little girl with wild hair and wide eyes, always chasing after Shanks with bare feet against the deck, laughing. A girl who still believed in things like warmth, in things like home. A girl who hadn’t yet learned that love could be conditional.

Could Shanks have loved her? Truly?

She didn’t know.

The twenty-four year slowly, quietly slipped into the infirmary and walked over to the lone figure lying on the second last bed, half covered by the curtains around on top of it. Her boots barely made any sound as she walked over to the bed, pushing the curtain away and standing by the side of the bed, staring down at the young girl lying there, tubes supplying her with medication.

Saram knelt down on the ground, beside the bed, her hands holding onto the hand of Uta which had no tubes or needles. She leaned her cheek against her skin and stared at the younger girl, Saram would never say it verbally but Uta was her sister, her younger sister, despite what Shanks did, despite what the crew did, despite what the world didn't do for her, Uta has and always would be her sister. Not of blood, it's fine, blood meant nothing, Saram had first handed experienced it, blood was nothing, if you loved someone, you would love them.

Saram’s body seemed to fold in on itself as she sat beside Uta’s bed, the quiet hum of the ship’s engines lulling her into an exhausted daze. The weight of the day, of the conversations she had been forced to endure, slowly crushed her, and she let her body lean against the bed. The warmth of Uta’s hand in her grip was a small comfort in the midst of everything else.

“I talked to him.” Saram said quietly, “Beckman was there, too. I couldn't be angry, you know? You'd probably be angry.” She chuckled, “You always did say that you'd give them a piece of your mind if they tried to confront me. How funny, how small you are and how reckless you are.”

Saram had spent years in silence.

Not the kind that came with peace, but the kind that settled like dust in the corners of an empty home, like the one that settled in one's bones and rotted away the structure. Rot, right. Saram had rotted away way before she even burned those flames, her childish dreams trampled in slowness.

Her mind was a wasteland, long stripped of warmth. She barely remembered the last time she had truly felt something—something beyond exhaustion, beyond this dull, quiet emptiness that gnawed at her.

Saram chuckled softly, the sound barely above a whisper. “You always said you’d scream at them for me.” Her voice was distant, as if she were speaking to a ghost. “You always had more fire in you than me, Uta. More rage, more belief that the world could be fair if we just fought hard enough.”

She didn’t have that. Not anymore. Because the fire around her had burned away more than skin, more than her flesh and blood, it had taken her fears, her anger, her pain - it had ruined her. Saram had been ruined for eternity.

Maybe, that was her price to pay for existing; for even being alive, for being born. A child no one wanted in a world that no one reached out for her hand, no one standing as her wall, no one hiding her from hot sunny days, no one there as assurance to save her if she drowned, no one there to willingly love her, and not out of obligation,

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, into the hollow space where memories lay buried, where her soul lay buried.

The sound of burning wood snapping, the heat searing her skin.

The suffocating weight of smoke in her lungs.

The overwhelming silence that followed.

She had cried once after the fall. A long time ago. Alone in Elegia, curled up in an empty room where no one could hear, no one could see. She had cried so hard that her chest ached for days after, silent sobs wracking through her small, fragile frame. But then the tears had dried, and after that—nothing.

No more crying.

No more longing.

No more hoping.

She had built herself up from those ashes, forged herself into something that could not be broken. But sitting here now, beside Uta, she felt the weight of it all pressing down again. Like phantom hands around her throat, like the ghost of a past she thought she had buried beneath steel and silence.

Shanks' voice echoed in her head. “You were never a mistake.”

Wasn't she?

Then why had she spent her life trying to change?

Or had she just hollowed herself out so thoroughly that there was nothing left to change?

Her grip tightened, barely perceptible, around Uta’s hand.

“…I can’t be angry,” she repeated, softer now. The words felt foreign in her mouth, as if she were trying to convince herself more than anything else. “Maybe because I don’t have it in me anymore.”

She blinked for a moment, eyes going over the younger’s face and her eyes closed, too, hand shifting, holding it to her forehead now with both hands, praying, of sorts. She had always been like this with Uta—protective, almost motherly, though neither of them ever said it.

No words needed to be spoken when Uta’s soft breath was the only thing that filled the silence between them. She could hear the quiet beeping of the machines keeping Uta alive, the soft shuffle of footsteps down the hallway outside the infirmary, but it all felt distant. Her heart, heavy with so many things—things she had said and things she had kept silent—felt lighter in this room.

Here, with Uta, there was no pretending. There were no walls to hide behind. No need to put up the mask.

“Wake up already, you troublesome kid.”

Her eyelids felt heavy, the exhaustion of everything from the past days creeping up on her. Saram fell asleep there, hand holding onto Uta’s, head beside her hand as she sat on the ground, eyes closing slowly but surely. She had no idea when her body finally gave in to the need for rest, but by the time the first soft rays of dawn peeked through the small window in the infirmary, Saram was asleep, off to sleep beside Uta—her head resting gently on Uta’s hand, their fingers still intertwined.

Every time I plan to finish this series, the storyline gets longer. I listened to die your daughter on repeat which led to even more angsty dialogues. A one-shot turned into parts, lemme know what you think! mwah!

taglist: @thebunnednun @acesdiary @chizu001 @nagislemontea @v1ennie @74zix47 @meerpea @nayshel @whore-of-many-hot-men

#one piece #one piece x reader #akagami no shanks #akagami no shanks x reader #shanks x reader #hongo #lime juice #uta #one piece spoilers #one piece film red #red haired pirates #red haired shanks #Akagami Kaizoku #fic: sitp #benn beckman #shanks #bonk punch #lucky roux #op x reader

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sunflowersonatas · 13 hours ago

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not a date: oneshot (hogmarch 2025!)

bsf!sirius black x f!reader / fluff / romantic tension

part of @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch 2025 challenge!!

summary: you insist it’s not a date, and sirius lets it slide. but the idea lingers, quiet and persistent, in the way his fingers brush your sleeve, in the way he walks just a little closer than he needs to. if it’s not a date, then why does it feel like something he doesn’t want to end?

a/n: so i originally wrote this before hogmarch but it was already a hogsmeade trip lol so i've been sitting on this a while, i haven't read this in a week honestly so i hope it's good, xoxo sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 1282

The trip to Hogsmeade wasn’t planned—not like this. You and Sirius had simply found yourselves with a free afternoon; James happened to be occupied with Quidditch practice and Remus with prefect obligations, Peter off doing god knows what. Going together had been the natural choice.

But apparently, none of your classmates saw it that way.

As you make your way down the winding path, you notice the glances. Students nudge each other, whisper behind scarves, and smirk in your direction. It’s subtle, but not enough to ignore.

You elbow Sirius lightly, voice teasing. “We’re being watched.”

He barely looks up. “Not surprised, love. Happens when you’re seen with someone as devastatingly handsome as me.”

You scoff. “No, I mean—really watched. People are looking at us like we’re…” You trail off, waiting for him to take the bait.

He does, smirking. “Like we’re what?”

You glance at a group of younger students giggling behind their hands, then back at him. “Like I’m your girlfriend.”

His heart stumbles. His smirk, a moment ago so confident and assured, falters. Girlfriend.

The word embeds itself in his chest like a splinter, sharp and intrusive. It doesn’t belong to him—not really. Relationships, commitment—those things belong to people with futures untainted by their family name, people who aren’t constantly running from expectations. He’s always laughed it off, dismissed the idea of belonging to someone, but now—

Would it be so bad? Would it be impossible?

He tamps down the thought, smoothing over the disruption as quickly as it came.

“Good thing you’re not,” he mutters, but there’s a new edge to his voice, something he doesn’t seem to have much control over. “Otherwise, I’d have to start walking you to class, carrying your books… kissing you goodbye—“

The words slip out too easily. Too carelessly. The second they land, he realizes his mistake.

Your breath catches—so subtle, so quick, but he notices. It crackles in the space between you, shifts something delicate and unspoken. Your fingers clutch the fabric of your cloak just a little tighter, your gaze flicking—so briefly—to his mouth before you force yourself to look away.

You laugh, but it’s thinner now, barely there. “Yeah. Good thing.”

Sirius should smirk, should play it off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches you, something unnameable settling in his chest. And for perhaps the first time in his life, he wishes he didn’t make everything sound like a joke.

By the time you reach Hogsmeade, he’s still thinking about it. Still pretending he isn’t. Which is why he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing—

Holding the door open for you without hesitation, like it’s second nature. Paying for your drink before you can reach for your coins, like the idea of you paying for yourself never even crossed his mind. Guiding you through the crowd with ease, his hand finding the small of your back—not demanding, just there, just steady. Like he’s done it a thousand times before. Instinct.

You take the Butterbeer from his hand, watching him over the rim of your mug after you’d found a vacant booth to occupy. “You’re making this very date-like, you know.”

He scoffs, but warmth pools beneath his ribs. “I’m just playing my part as a gentleman.”

“Right. Gentleman.” You tilt your head. “Buying my drink, walking me through the street like we’re—”

“Don’t say it,” he warns, but there’s no real bite to it. He already knows what you’re going to say, and the worst part is, he doesn’t hate the thought.

But you press on anyway, watching his ears pink just slightly. “Like we’re on a date.”

Sirius exhales, shaking his head, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans in, voice low, something dangerous curling at the edges.

“Careful, darling,” he nearly whispers, “keep letting me take care of you like this, and I might start thinking you like it.”

Your pulse jumps. You hate that he’s observant, that he clearly knows. Your fingers tighten around your mug, and for a moment, your mind blanks. Because he’s right.

Sirius sees it happen—that tiny, fleeting break in your composure, the way your eyes flick to his lips before you catch yourself. And that’s when he knows he’s won—because for the first time today, he’s the one making you flustered.

He watches you recover, fingers tapping against your mug like you’re thinking through something you won’t say. Then, after a beat—

“Do you—” he hesitates, clears his throat, feigning nonchalance. “Do you want this to be a date?” His tone is strangely soft, more genuine than you’ve ever heard him.

You pause. For once, he can’t read you immediately, and it almost makes him nervous. Almost.

Because you want to say yes. You want to say yes so badly it makes your breath catch, makes your fingers tremble slightly against the worn wood of the table. It’s right there, caught in the way he looks at you—like he wouldn’t mind your answer, like he wants this as much as you do.

But to say yes would be to shatter something fragile, to step off the safe, familiar path of friendship and into something uncertain. And that terrifies you.

So you force a breath, steady yourself, and shake your head.

“No, that would be weird.”

The lie is bitter, but it’s easier. Safer.

It lingers between you, a spark hanging in the air, unburned but not extinguished. His gaze sharpens, not playful now, not teasing. Something else entirely.

Your throat tightens. It’s too much—this moment, this ache. If you reach for it, you might never let go. If you acknowledge it, you might never come back from it.

You let out a quiet chuckle, something awkward, something small. You glance away, as if that might somehow ease the tension thrumming between you, but it doesn’t. And when you look back, you both smile—small, knowing. A silent agreement neither of you have the courage to name.

Sirius exhales, the corner of his mouth twitching—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. Something softer, something real. And when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, deliberate, like he’s offering you a secret.

“Alright then,” he murmurs, gaze never leaving yours. “It’s not a date.”

Yet there's an understanding now. An inevitability.

When you leave the pub, the air is sharp, crisp with the fading light. The cobbled streets are slick with melted snow, lanterns flickering to life above shop windows. Sirius falls into step beside you, and without thinking, he drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Neither of you acknowledge it.

Not when he tugs you out of the way of a passing group, not when your hand brushes against his jacket, not even when you glance up and catch the way his lips curl, as if he's holding back something dangerous.

As you near the castle, you tilt your head. “Let me know if you ever want another not-date.” You pause, grinning. “That was fun.”

Sirius hums, gaze flicking to you, unreadable. Then, with the faintest squeeze of his arm around you, he smirks. “Careful, love. Keep talking like that and I might start planning a whole series of not-dates.”

It’s too easy again, almost a joke, almost nothing.

But the way his fingers trace absently over your shoulder as he lets you go says otherwise. Like he’s memorizing the feeling, tucking it away for later.

As you step through the portrait hole, tossing him one last teasing smile, he shakes his head, muttering under his breath, “Not a date.”

But that affirmation does nothing to quell the stirring in his chest every time you smile at him like that.

☀️🌻 masterlist

#sirius black x reader #sirius black #marauders #marauders fic #fanfic #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #sirius orion black #sirius black x y/n #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x oc #sirius black x you #mauraders #the marauders #the maruaders #marauders headcanon #hogmarch2025

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deezee112 · 3 days ago

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The worst ending 27 : A Halloween Without You

The worst ending 25 | The good ending

Yandere!Skully J. Graves x GN!Reader

A/N : Everyone!!! Finally, we’re about to read the good ending! Thank you all for following along until the end of Season 1!

Warnings : psychological horror , possessiveness , obsession , emotional distress , and character death. Graphic descriptions of violence , suffocation , and grief are present.

Tags :

@iris-arcadia @yuu-twisted

If you want me to tag you please tell me.

English is not my first language.

A small, bony hand clutched the hem of your sleeve.

You looked down at him. He was small, pale, and his eyes those wide, hollow eyes stared up at you in silence.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t make a sound.

Just watched.

You knelt beside him, brushing away the messy strands of hair covering his face. " You need a name.. " you murmured.

His head tilted slightly.

" How about Skully? "

He blinked.

For a moment, nothing.

Then, slowly, a smile crept onto his face not a big one, just a slight upturn of his lips.

Not a word was spoken, but the way he clung to you, the way his fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your sleeve

That was enough.

Skully adored Halloween.

No, adored wasn’t strong enough. He lived for it.

From the moment he could speak, his first real excitement came in October.

The first time he understood what Halloween was, he became obsessed.

He would spend weeks planning costumes, decorating the house, watching horror movies ( even the ones too scary for kids. )

And the moment October arrived

" IT'S IS HALLOWEEN! "

Your eyes shot open as something heavy landed on your chest.

"Skully—"

He beamed at you, his small hands shaking you excitedly. " Wake up! Wake up! It’s Halloween now! "

You groaned, reaching blindly for your blanket and pulling it over his face. " It’s literally midnight... "

" But it’s is Halloween! "

" It’s October first... "

" Same thing! "

A muffled giggle came from under the blanket, followed by the sound of his tiny feet kicking against the mattress in excitement.

This happened every year.

Every single year.

And every single year, you would grumble and push his excited little self away, only for him to sneak back and shake you until you relented.

He was impossible.

And you loved him for it.

As the years passed, Skully’s obsession with Halloween never faded.

But there was something else, something darker, that grew with him.

His attachment to you.

He didn’t like people getting too close. Didn’t like when you paid attention to anyone else.

And though he was small, frail even, there was an intensity in him that made others uneasy.

You didn’t notice it at first.

Not until the day someone tried to scare you at a haunted house, and Skully’s entire expression changed.

The playful, giddy excitement in his face vanished in an instant.

His small hand found yours, gripping it tight.

The actor jumped out again only for Skully to lunge.

" Skully! " You grabbed him before he could do anything.

He didn’t speak.

Just glared at the person in the mask, his tiny fingers curled into fists.

It took a lot to calm him down after that.

But even after you walked away, his grip on you never loosened.

Like he was afraid to let go.

Halloween was always his favorite day.

The house was decorated. Candy was ready. Costumes were set.

And Skully?

Skully was practically vibrating with excitement.

He refused to leave your side the entire night, dragging you through the streets as he admired all the decorations, the costumes, the masks.

It should have been perfect.

But something changed.

Somewhere between the candy and the laughter, something snapped.

You weren’t sure what started it.

A careless remark? A joke taken too far?

One moment, he was clinging to you, happy, laughing

The next, his hands were around your throat.

At first, you thought he was just being playful.

Then he squeezed And then punch it.

He punched you over and over again until both your face and his shirt were stained with blood.

" S-Skully—! "

His hollow eyes stared into yours, his face unreadable.

You gasped, struggling, pushing at his small hands, but

Too strong.

He was too strong.

Your vision blurred. Your chest burned.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard his breath hitch like he had just realized what he was doing.

But it was too late.

You didn’t hear his frantic apologies.

Didn’t feel his shaking hands trying to wake you up.

Didn’t see the horror on his face as reality set in.

By the time he finally screamed for help, you were already gone.

Skully ran.

Blood on his hands, on his face, staining his Halloween costume.

He ran through the streets, stumbling, shaking.

He needed to find help. Needed to fix this.

He couldn’t let you be gone.

Not you.

But the streets were filled with people. People in masks. People laughing.

And when he grabbed them desperate, sobbing, begging

They just laughed.

" Whoa, that’s such a good costume! " " The blood looks so real! " " Kid, you’re amazing at acting where’d you learn to fake cry like that? "

No one helped.

No one believed him.

He fell to his knees in the middle of the street, shaking, crying, screaming

And all they did was clap.

All they did was praise him.

All they did was watch.

And as the night carried on, as the laughter surrounded him, as the echoes of Halloween cheer filled the air

Skully realized.

No one was coming.

No one would help.

The one person who ever understood him, the only one who ever loved him

Was never coming back.

And for the first time in his life, Halloween was no longer his favorite day.

It was the day he lost you.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #Yandere Skully J. Graves x GN Reader #Yandere Skully J. Graves #au doll #He got first place in the Halloween show.

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semisutopia · 13 hours ago

Text

idiots in love

oikawa x fem! reader (1.4k words)

it wasn’t often that your roommate took a break and actually went outside, but after lots of persuasion, you finally got oikawa to leave your room and go to the park.

as you walked around, you held onto his arm, observing the people around you, the flowers in the ground, and the chesnut-haired man beside you.

“better?”, you asked as you rest your cheek against his shoulder. oikawa sighed and turned his head to face you. “yeah, a little. i guess you were right. i did need a break”, he said, keeping his fingers intertwined with yours. you smiled and replied, “good.”

the two of you walked around for a while until stopping in front of the lake with your hand in his and your chin resting on his shoulder. “hm…”

he raised a brow at the noise you made, resting his head against yours. “what are you hmm-ing about?”, he asked, softer than usual. you shrugged. “i’m always hmm-ing about something or the other”. “well, what are you hmm-ing about now?”, he asked.

“hm…you.”

“me?”, he echoed and turned to face you. “what about me are you hmm-ing about, huh?”. “stop making that sound”, you countered. “what sound?”. “hmm-ing”. your roommate chuckled, feigning innocence. “why? you annoyed by it or something?”. “very annoyed by it, yes”.

oikawa feigned hurt at your words and placed a hand over his chest. “you wound me! and here i thought you loved everything about me”. you grimaced and tilted your head. “mm, very debatable”. “debatable, huh?”, he jokingly asked, though a hint of vulnerability remained in his gaze. you nodded and tightened your grip on his arm. “mhm.”

he looked down at your arms around his longer one and teased, “are you trying to make me feel better?”. “for what?”, you asked. “oh, i don’t know. maybe for the fact that you just wounded my delicate ego?”, he remarked. you chuckled and replied, “you can handle it”.

he let out a huff of laughter. “yeah, i guess i can. but it’s still nice to hear a little boost to my ego once in a while”. “once in a while? i’m your biggest booster. i’m practically your personal booster club”. he bumped his shoulder with yours. “damn right you are.” you nodded and smiled. “yeah…”

oikawa studied your face for a moment, taking in the genuine smile on your face before turning back to you and placing his hands on your arms, his voice turning more serious and soft. “hey..”. “mhm?”. he chewed on his lower lip, nervously before continuing. “i, uh, i just wanted to say…i do appreciate you, y’know. your…praise. your confidence in me. even when my ego’s hurting, it means a lot. so…thanks.”.

you take in his information before grinning, devilishly and stepping closer. “my, are you trying to be sincere, my dear?”. he scoffed and rolled his eyes as his hands went down to your waist. “oh, shut up”. your arms moved to wrap around his neck in turn and grinned again. “make me”.

he took your invitation well as a wolfish grin spread across his face, bringing his lips down to meet yours, softly. you go on your toes to kiss him properly, cupping his cheek as one of his hands go to your jawline, cupping your jaw, gently. his grin softened into a genuine smile as your lips moved softly together for a few seconds before he pulled away for breath.

“you’re dangerous, you know”, he murmured softly, resting his forehead against yours. you chuckle breathlessly. “am i?”. he nodded and nips your bottom lip gently before moving his hand down from your jawline to the side of your neck, sending tingles down your spine.

“very dangerous. you make it hard to stay composed”, he replied. the feeling of his fingers on your skin makes you laugh and try to push him off. “stop that-!”. he continues mapping out the contours of your neck with his fingertips. “what, this?”, he asked, innocently. you giggle at the feeling again. “tooru...~”. “yes, angel?”. you smile at the nickname and tilt your head up to slot your lips against his again.

you could feel him sigh against your lips, pulling you closer by the small of your back as his other hand tangles itself in your hair. you smile into the kiss, moving your lips slowly against his.

“you’re going to be the death of me, you know?”, he asked after pulling away. you pouted at his words. “don’t say that…i don’t want you dying”. he chuckles and reassured you. “it was just a figure of speech”, before adding, “though, in moments like these, i wouldn’t mind dying if it meant drowning in you”.

you soften at his words, not having heard such sweet and sincere words from him before. “tooru…”. he smiled and planted a soft kiss on your forehead. “what? it’s true”. “even still…”.

he smiled and rested his chin on top of your head, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. “you worry too much, you know”. you sigh and wrap your arms around him in turn. “i worry enough”. “i suppose so…but you don’t have to worry about me, y’know. i can handle myself just fine”. you snorted in response. “i beg to differ”.

he huffed in mock offense, pulling away enough to glare at you. “you have absolutely no faith in me, do you?”, he asked, pouting. “nope”, you replied, popping the ‘p’ to make a point. “you’re so rude. i’m wounded.” “uh-huh…”. he shocked his head, feigning disapproval. “no faith in me. no sympathy for my pain. you’re heartless, angel”. “mhm, yeah, i bet”.

“a devil woman who has no sympathy for her poor, lovesick boyfriend”, he pouted. “boyfriend, huh?”, you inquired. he stopped his dramatics and lowered his voice a bit. “yeah, that’s what i said”. you softly smiled up at him. “yeah? you wanna be my boyfriend?”.

he took a small step closer and cupped your cheek. “do you…want me to be?”, he asked quietly, showing more vulnerability than before. you smiled and copied his action, cupping his cheek in turn. “yeah…i think i do”.

he grinned and nodded, his gaze visibly softening at your words. “then i’m your boyfriend”. you nodded and kissed him again for a few seconds before he pulled away, furrowing his brows. “are you..sure you want this? you want me?”. your heart clenched at his words and cupped both his cheeks now. “i think there’s a very good chance that i’ll be continue to be just as infatuated with you as i was when we first met”.

oikawa couldn’t help but smile at your confession, but decided to tease you anyhow. “infatuated, huh? and here i thought you found me annoying back then”. “oh, i absolutely did”, you replied without missing a beat. he chuckled at your honesty and cupped your jaw, gently. “and what changed?”.

you softly smiled at him and caressed his cheek with your thumb. “…nothing”.

not understanding what you meant, he huffed and moped at your words, lowering his head. “you’re too harsh”. you chuckled a bit and tried to follow his gaze. “no, that’s not what i meant. i’m trying to be romantic”. he cracked a small smile at your laugh and looked back at you to make you continue. “i’m trying to say that i was in love with you back then, too”.

his expression softened. “you…you were?”. “of course, i was”.

his chestnut hair blew in the wind as it kicked up and he was momentarily speechless at your admission. “you never said anything…”, he mumbled after a few seconds and you chuckled. “well, neither did you”. he conceded, “fair point”. you chuckled and he smiled at the sound of your laughter as if it was the light of his life.

“for the record”, he began again, cupping both your cheeks, gently, “i was in love with you back then, too”. he lowered his head and captured your lips in his, softly for a few seconds. you smiled into the kiss and pulled away for breath. “for the record, i already knew. but it’s nice to hear you say it”.

oikawa softly laughed at your words and bumped his nose against yours as a display of affection. “i guess we’re both terrible at expressing our feelings”, he declared, forming a lopsided smile on his face. you smiled back and nodded. “guess so”.

“we’re idiots, you know”. “then, we’re idiots in love”.

all rights go to @semisutopia on tumblr. please don't copy or plagiarise my work. that's really lame of you.

tag list: @mariaace @kitorin @rewh0re @7surugi @satoruluvies @nanaslutt @nyxypoo @stunie @ryescapades @powchakko @osamucide @leftcrowlung @kajibunny @heartkaji @mooomuzan @kissagii @suguwu @yukioos @aeruia @kurooangel @seumyo

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consciousexe · 11 months ago

Text

Alpha 5 shaded like how Lethal Company procedurally generates its game shaders!!!

#so how Lethal Company generates its shaders*: 860x520 game res*> realistic shaded layer>dupe of that layer w/ posterisation>light layer>#dupe layer w/ posterisation(bloom w/ lowish opacity)>edge detection to outline objects and folds at close range(5-7ft radius?)>#low opacity fog layer(?)>radial fog layer>weather effects>model layer*>colour correction>game res correction to 1920x1080 #*1 this is all from memory from a video Acerola made on the graphics(go check it out pleaase)#*2 this is how the game looks so low quality; it is low quality #*2a its not faked w/ a filter; adds warp to the screen which adds to the vibe somehow #*3 the camera view is actually in the helmet so thats how that works. thats how the cracks on the glass have shading when you move #I love alpha 5 #heart emoji #best boy ever #my baby boy #he is so cute look at him #his little head tilts are always going to make me giggle #i love him #pixelart #pixelartist #alpha 5 #power rangers #fanart #show fanart #bustshot #shaded #experimental shading style #lethal company mention #consciousexeart

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satoruxx · 9 months ago

Text

normally toji prides himself on being the perfect guard dog—not that he would ever tell you that. but you never have to worry about guys coming up to you when your hulking monster of a boyfriend remains at your side, continuously glaring down his nose at everyone he sees.

this usually works pretty well.

on adults.

but now, as you and him wait in line at the counter of the grocery store, he can only let out a huff of irritation as he watches the little brat in front of you both stare over his mother’s shoulder—big wide eyes locked on you.

at first you don’t really notice, too busy blabbering about something silly as you look around the store. but when you finally lock eyes with the child, you notice the way he seems to go shy, pressing his cheek deeper into his mom’s shoulder. his eyes flick away from your face for just a second, before timidly looking back. as soon as he does, you break into the sweetest, most giddy smile.

(toji would move mountains for a glimpse of that smile—and yet here this kid is just getting it without a shred of work.)

you tilt your head, raising a hand to gently wave at the boy, who flushes further under your attention, but lifts his cheek a little more. chubby fingers come up to meekly wave back, and you hold back a silent coo of affection, eyes filled with honey-like sweetness. with every little giggle and silly face you make at the boy, he seems to get more and more comfortable—toji watches you melt.

the unlucky little brat then quickly peeks at the giant man looming beside you, and toji can’t resist. his face pulls into a evil smile, teeth on full display as he wiggles his fingers sinisterly. the expression has its desired effect—the kid recoils, eyes going wide before burying his face into his mother’s neck. in a few minutes, the boy and his mom are heading out the store and you and toji start loading the groceries onto the belt.

“i saw that, you know?”

toji glances up, seeing your semi disapproving frown, and he cocks his head in faux innocence. “saw what?”

“you’re mean,” you shake your head, crossing your arms. “scaring little kids like that. quite literally the object of their nightmares.”

“ah, he’ll be alright,” toji grunts, taking the bags from the cashier in one hand and reaching for your palm with the other. “it’ll build his character.”

you snort. “he’ll have trauma.”

“like i said,” he grins, a canine display. “character.”

you roll your eyes as he tugs you out of the store—your grip on him unwilling to falter.

toji lives just like this, successful in scaring off any other person who considers giving you attention, whether that’s an adult or a little kid. and despite your exasperated complaints to at least lay off the children (they’re harmless), toji has known for a long time that he can be nothing but selfish when it comes to you.

so forgive him, if he quickly turns to this evil little tactic to scare away kids—it’s all he can really do. besides, it always works.

until now.

you’re sitting under a tree at a small park, working on some dumb assignment for one of your lectures. toji lays on his back next to you, arm draped over his eyes in a momentary respite from the normal danger of his life—eerily content.

the peace is broken by the rustling of tiny footsteps in the grass.

“here you go.”

toji pulls his arm away to peer at the owner of the voice. a boy stands there, hair tousled as he waits in front of you with his arm outstretched—in between his chubby fingers is a singular dandelion.

your eyes widen, cheeks splitting into a wide smile as you coo out your affection. “aw for me?”

the boy nods mutely, cheeks flushed as he thrusts the flower further into your view. you delicately pluck it from his hands, inhaling the fragrance with a grateful smile. “well thank you. it’s beautiful.”

he shyly kicks at a spot of grass, lips pulling up into a giddy smile under your sweet praise. “just like you,” he mumbles under his breath and you squeal softly, giggling at how adorable this kid truly is.

toji sits up before you can say anything else, lips pulled into a displeased frown as he crosses his bulky arms across his chest. “hey.” his voice comes out low and tense, even as he stares down his nose at the boy. “what are you doing?”

you turn to look at your boyfriend, at the exaggerated sneer that normally works wonders in scaring kids away, and you hold back an exasperated sigh. “toji—“

“who are you?” the boy frowns, sass appearing out of thin air as he looks toji up and down like he’s nothing but dirt under his colorful sneakers. you gape at him, eyes darting back and forth between the two as a smile threatens to make its way into your face. toji’s lips part in surprise, a tingle of heat crawling up his neck as he hears your hushed gasp of held back laughter.

“her boyfriend,” he grunts back, eyes narrowed in a way that’s oddly similar to the expression on the kid’s face.

“no way!” the boy huffs, pouting indignantly. his cheeks flush as he glares at toji—unfazed.

“uh, yes way.” toji realizes how petty he sounds, but he’s adamant—unwilling to stand down in anything that involves you.

the boy crosses his arms, mirroring toji’s pose. he rolls his eyes emphatically, lip curling as he sneers down his nose.

“isn’t she too pretty for you?” he asks bluntly. you smother another disbelieving gasp, and toji suddenly feels an unfamiliar thrill rush through his veins—this kid had guts.

“what do you know, brat?” there’s a smirk evident in toji’s voice now, and he uncrosses his arms to lean back on his palms, eyes shining with feral mirth.

“i have eyes,” the boy snaps back, putting both hands on his hips to appear more intimidating—it doesn’t work, he just looks cuter. “i can see her.”

“well quit it,” toji huffs in return. “not yours to look at.”

the kid narrows his eyes. “you’re mean!”

“and you’re nosy!”

“how am i nosy?”

“you’re comin’ over here and givin’ my girl flowers!”

“she deserves flowers!”

“of course she does! from me, you little brat!”

“you suck, old man!”

“what did you just call me?!”

a shout from across the park disrupts the heated bickering, and you all turn to see an older woman waving the boy over. he looks down at you, a sweet smile washing over his face as he tilts his head innocently. “that’s my mom. i have to go home now.”

“heh, sure thing. get home safe, okay?” you shoot toji an amused glance as you speak, and he sends a displeased glare back as he stubbornly crosses his arms again.

the boy nods, beaming at you. “okay! see you later!” he chirps. but just as he’s about to leave he turns back, eyes fixated on toji. “i hope your boyfriend learns how to be nice!”

and then he runs off.

you snort out another laugh, which only gets louder when you catch a glimpse of the way toji is practically sulking in the corner—scowling at the kid’s back with narrowed eyes.

the whole thing is so unbelievably endearing, and you can’t stop grinning as you pack up your things and stand up.

“let’s go home, toji.” you hold your palm out for him, and you’re rewarded with a pointed glance—he takes your hand anyway. even as you both exit the park, toji has an unamused pout on his face, glaring ahead.

you can’t resist.

“don’t tell me you actually feel threatened now,” you giggle, grabbing his bicep and pressing close. toji glances at you from the corner of his eyes, unamused—which only seems to make you laugh harder. “oh come on! he was so cute!”

“little brat,” he grumbles in return. “couldn’t take a hint.”

“you’re mad because the eight year old kid at the park didn’t want to believe you were my boyfriend?”

“the fuck do you think? of course i am. what do i look like if not your fucking boyfriend?”

you chortle, practically falling on him with the weight of your amusement. he sighs, disgruntled.

“it’s not funny, kid.” toji rolls his eyes at you—internally, he’s trying not to grin.

“it’s so funny, toji.” you straighten up, smiling at him with stars in your eyes. “you’re ridiculous and it’s so cute.”

he scoffs, giving you a sidelong glance before reaching up to tug at your cheek. “i’m definitely not the cute one.” he murmurs offhandedly before internally smirking at the way you seem to be caught off guard by his statement.

“whatever,” you mumble, holding his arm as you both continue walking home in relative silence. from the corner of your eye you can see toji’s expression as he mutely stares ahead, deep in thought. you decide not to disturb him, content on just feeling his warmth bleeding into your palm—always at your side.

toji replays the incident in his head multiple times as you head home. the bickering, the sass, and the unfiltered adoration that little brat seemed to have for you.

something clicks.

as you’re pushing open the door of your apartment, you hear toji quietly chuckle from behind you, and you turn to look at him over you shoulder. “what?”

he shakes his head slowly, eyes shut even as an uncharacteristically soft smile tugs at his lips. “just thinking…”

“about what?” you ask curiously.

toji grins at you, cocking his head fondly. “when we have a kid, i want the little brat to be just like that.”

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cloutoru · 6 months ago

Text

“juuuust like that baby, you’re doing so good,” gojo satoru sighed, his brows furrowed as another deep sigh starts leaving his lips the second he feels your hands work just the way he loves.

“yeah? like that baby?” you ask, watching his hands move up to his face as a low groan escapes him. his body tenses up as you keep on going, thighs flexing unintentionally beneath you.

he nods in response, his eyes closed and lips slightly parted as you lick your own in concentration.

though, you sigh, “toru, you need to relax for me if you want me to release all this tension in your thigh.”

he nods once more, “yeah, sorry baby.”

a moment later you’re done with the massage you had promised him, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you start to realize how all of this was actually sounding. “god, satoru.. all of this could be so taken out of context,” you laugh, watching him open his eyes as a sly smile curls into his lips.

the silhouette of the sorcerer is laid out in front of you in just his boxers. his sculptured back against the headboard of your bed, strong thighs beneath your hands and a body that looks like it’s carved by the gods themselves.

“i’ve got no idea what you’re talking about sweetheart.”

a hum slips past his lips as he grabs you by your forearms and pulls you up to his lap with ease.

“you hands just work wonders,” he says with a smile, his own hands moving to the plush of your hips, giving them a nice squeeze as you lean down to his level.

your lips are dangerously close to his as you giggle softly in reply, “they’re just always eager to make you feel good.”

your hands trail from his shoulders down his abs, your nails grazing his skin, feeling chills run down his body as a breathy chuckle escapes him. “i know they are baby, mine are feeling juuust the same..”

and a second later you feel the flat surface of his hand hit your ass roughly and sharply.

you let out a breathy moan as you shoot forward a little, a scoff leaving your lips after as you give him a pointed look, the corners of your lips curling up, “really?”

he shows off his stupidly pretty smile and nods, squeezing the flesh of your hips once again as he leans towards you the slightest bit, “you complaining?”

you shake your head softly, tilting your head the opposite of his as your lips just barely touch. “oh i wouldn’t dare.”

“mhmm, good. now c’mon, gimme a kiss.”

and of course, you give him what he asks for.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #jjk gojo x reader #jjk gojo satoru #jjk x you #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #gojo smut #jjk reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you

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nochepsicodelica · 7 months ago

Text

Toji who leaves hickeys all over you so often that you have to push him away when you start looking like you fought an octopus.

"Toji, you know these aren't always gonna be so small. They're gonna end up looking like bruises. Just look at the ones you already left."

"Mhm," he hums, already leaving another one on your shoulder blade, releasing your skin with a wet smack of his lips. He rubs his spit into the mark like it's some sort of salve that'll make it last longer.

"I'm fine with these," you say, looking at all the one's he left on your chest and below. "but my neck... i'm running out of makeup, baby. I won't be able to cover them if you keep this up."

"Then don't." He would just love that. Despite how nonchalant he sounds about it, it's a highly recommended suggestion. He would genuinely love it if you walked around with his marks all over your neck. People will automatically know that you already have someone you get freaky with.

"I have to go to work sometime. I wouldn't be able to take having my neck stared at by everyone I talk to. No more neck hickeys."

He nears your neck, again. The second you say he can't put another mark on it, he spots a clear area and leans in, lightly pressing his lips against it.

"Tojiii," you whine, leaning forward, away from him. "Leave it alone."

"But, it's clear. It's lonely without being marked like the rest of your neck." He scoots forward again, putting his enormous hands on your waist to pull you close. "I'll be quick. Just-"

"Mm-mm. No," you interrupt, brushing his hands off of you.

"I might just die if you don't let me do this, ma."

"Really?" You raise your brows in disbelief.

"Really," he responds, so confidently.

You scoff. "You're so dramatic. You won't die if you don't get to suck on my neck."

"Who knows? I might spontaneously collapse because of it. Weirder, more unexplainable things have happened."

He's so dumb sometimes. Your hunk is absolutely ridiculous, and yet you find yourself weighing towards his point in this.

"Would marking up that blank space actually cure you?" You feel as silly as him for asking the question.

"Who's to say?"

You tilt your head and deadpan. "Right. I guess i'll take my chances and just keep the random patch of unmarked skin on my neck."

"Hey, that doesn't mean we can't try. Come on, now."

You groan and roll your eyes before making your way back to him. He cups your cheeks, smirking as he looks into your eyes, before turning your head to expose the blank area on your neck.

"It's a reaaally good spot, doll. I think i'm gonna make it."

You huff, unable to look at him because of the way your head is turned. You feel his tongue slide over your neck, the gesture transitioning to his lips kissing the area and then it feels sharp. His lips leave a stinging sensation with every second that they stay on you.

"Ow, fuck, you vampire. It feels like you're actually trying to suck the blood out of me." You wince. "Are you done?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm done." He admires his masterpiece and smirks with pride. You have an entire collar of hickeys that he put on you, and the newest one looks mean.

"You look pretty. Could eat you up, mama." He swipes at the new mark with his thumb, looking at the color that will remain on your skin for the next few days.

"I can tell. You already devoured me. You're insane. Just look at all of this," you say, running your hand over your kiss stained neck.

"I was just nibbling on you," he speaks, into your jaw, before smoothly laying you down, onto the bed. "Just wanted a little taste," he says, taking your hands in his and pinning them above your head. "Am I really insane for that?"

"Um..." you laugh, making your flustered state obvious. "Yes?"

"Damn." He gives you a long, deep kiss, that makes you forget what you were talking about. "You think i'm crazy?" You hum, and he does it again.

"Haven't you played with me enough? I feel like i'm some chew toy for you." You giggle, feeling his lips on your cheek, trailing towards your jaw.

He hums, dismissively. "Found more blank space."

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norrisjpg · 3 months ago

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only angel - ʟɴ⁴

the one where lando's best friend finally admits she's not the most experienced in the bedroom - and that's all it takes to flip their innocent dynamic.

contains; fluff, soft dom!lando, nsfw, smut; clitoral stimulation, implied masturbation, implied squirting, praise kink, mentions of fingering; inexperienced!femoc, talks of loss of virginity, swearing.

...

angelic rays of sunlight beamed in through the open windows of a monaco apartment, illuminating the body splayed out on the tangled white sheets of a large bed. it was summer, the air smelt of salt and ice cream, the clouds were nowhere to be seen, and the gentle breeze floated through the crisp air like a melody.

the softest of groans escaped her lips as she rolled away from the very thing that had woken her, and in her slightly hungover state, she had failed to notice how close she was to the edge of her moderately high bed.

thud!

"fuck," lily groaned, laying on the floor in a puddle of last night's carelessly discarded clothes.

footsteps echoed around the apartment, sounding like they were getting closer but she couldn't tell if it was just her throbbing head making things up. lily took a moment to glance downward, feeling a little cold at the loss of her duvet. she was wearing a bra - ew, why had she slept in a bra? - and her underwear was still on, albeit a little lower than what would be considered modest.

she gently pulled them up and managed to drag herself to her feet, and of course, this is when her door swung open. there he was - the reason for her hungover state - in all his glory, looking too good for this time in the morning.

"i heard a bang, are you okay?" lando asked, tilting his head at the girl, who looked a little dishevelled and very tired.

"fell out of bed." she murmured. "i hate you."

"how is it my fault that you fell out of bed?" he retorted, scrunching his face up in the same way he always did.

"because you got me drunk, and now i'm hungover, you twat." she huffed, picking up the clothes on the floor and tossing them into her laundry basket, not bothered by her lack of clothing in front of him.

"oh, get over yourself." lando rolled his eyes with a playful grin.

her response was a grumpy middle finger and she shooed him out of her bedroom, mumbling something about a beauty sleep and how men are so annoying - so lando just left her to it.

in all honesty, his mind had been running at a million miles an hour all morning - reeling from something lily had so casually mentioned last night.

"hey, i'm not a slut!" she slurred, in the cutest way possible.

a joking comment had been made by one of her closest friends, alexandra, about how her dress was a little slutty, and in all honesty it was. alex knew she could say these things to lily because well, they had been best friends before lily even knew who lando was... so a long time.

"if anything, i'm the opposite of a slut." lily giggled softly, leaning back into lando, his arm was draped over her shoulders. "harry and i never had sex anyway and-"

before she could elaborate, their friends returned with the next round of drinks, and the topic of conversation switched rapidly.

surely not.

harry and lily had dated for five years, from when she was sixteen, until she was twenty-one. their relationship was great, until new years' eve of twenty-nineteen came around. lily was well aware that harry was growing impatient with her. harry wanted sex, lily didn't feel she was ready yet. it's not that she felt pressured, but that she wanted to please him, so here she was. to cut a long and slightly traumatic story short, lily had gotten scared as harry was unzipping his jeans - and literally ran away.

somehow, the couple didn't break up for another two years - but the real reason behind that was that once harry realised he wasn't going to be - in his words - 'hitting it' any time soon, he found release in the grasp of some girl he went to college with in maranello. he cheated on lily for two years, and she didn't suspect a thing until he came to visit her after the covid lockdown.

they'd gone out for lunch, and harry had let it slip that he'd had to buy plan b pills recently - and well, that was the end of that.

now, it was news to lando that she and harry hadn't ever gotten intimate with each other - and well, he knew she hadn't brought anyone back to their apartment in time they'd been living together, but surely she'd been getting laid elsewhere.

it would make sense in some ways though. he always noticed how she'd flush a pretty pink colour when ever his hand lingered on her waist, how she'd look undoubtedly flustered whenever his gaze was trained on her, and how she'd become increasingly uncomfortable when a sex scene played in a movie they were watching.

surely not though, right?

lando's dangerous train of thought was interrupted by the soft thudding of footsteps travelling to his ears. his head snapped up to the girl rubbing her eyes, stood groggily behind the couch he was sat on.

"i thought you were having your beauty sleep?" lando teased, raising his eyebrows at the brunette girl, now dressed in the quadrant rugby shirt he had exclusively gifted her in january.

"couldn't sleep, my head hurts too bad." she mumbled, rolling her eyes at his teasing comment. "why do i let you get me drunk?"

"because you love me, duh." he responded, somewhat sassily, making a quiet laugh tumble from her lips.

"whatever, norris." she breathed out, walking over to the kitchen and grabbing some aspirin out of the cupboard below the sink.

she downed two pills along with a cold glass of water, wincing as she felt the cold liquid travel down to her stomach. lando's gaze was lingering, like it usually did - the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the way she squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw as the pills were taken down in her pretty mouth - she was just so... enticing.

"come here." lando beckoned softly, gesturing for her to come lay with him. "you can nap here if you want."

"please." she groaned softly, plopping down on the couch next to me and immediately resting her head on his lap.

he noticed the goosebumps rippling across her skin, wondering whether he was causing them, or it was because she was cold. he went with the latter, and pulled the wool blanket on the armrest over her body.

"thankyou." lily murmured, reaching up for his hand to hold, innocently craving some physical touch.

he gently entwined their fingers, caressing her hand with his large thumb. within about three or four minutes, lily had drifted off into a sweet slumber, snuggling into lando's warmth.

...

it had been driving lando quite literally insane all day.

he didn't have the courage to straight up ask her if she was a virgin or not, so here he was, dancing around the question like a fucking tap dancer.

"so you and harry?" lando said quietly, almost praying that she wouldn't hear him.

her head snapped up from her phone, eyebrows knitted together in a confused frown. "yes?"

"well, i mean you never really told about why he's made you not want to date anyone." lando shrugged, his tone seeming a little apprehensive, not wanting to strike a nerve. "like i know he cheated on you, but was that the only thing?"

"um..." she pursed her lips, a little gobsmacked that he was even bringing up the subject of harry, a typically sore topic for her - but she answered nonetheless. "he always pushed me for sex, and... i wasn't ready back then."

"he didn't... did he?" the pause in lando's words made it clear what he meant.

"oh god, no, nothing like that, don't worry." lily shook her head quickly. "but we were like so close to doing it once, and i got scared - then he kind of just... never tried again."

"oh." oh? ask her the question, dumbass. "so... you didn't lose your virginity to him then?"

"no," the brunette shook her head softly.

"when did you lose it then?" lando said quickly, the words falling from his mouth before he even registered the question.

lily went what only can be described as crimson. it's not that she was embarrassed - well, actually she was. lily thought it was a bad thing - she was a literal model, and at the grand age of twenty-three, she still hadn't lost her v-card.

she hesitated, before murmuring, "i- uh... i haven't."

"oh." do you really not have anything better to say, dipshit?

"yeah." she pursed her lips once more, averting her gaze to an inanimate object somewhere in the room.

"do you want to?" lando himself now had no idea where this was going, he was kind of just rolling with whatever fell out of his mouth now.

"of course i do." she huffed. "it's just... i don't want to lose it to some random guy i meet on raya or some shit. and i feel like it's going to put people off, like they're going to think something is wrong with me."

a soft frown made its way onto lando's face, and he shook his head.

"nothing is wrong with you, lily." the brit reassured her. "don't ever think that there's something wrong with you because you weren't ready for sex when someone pushed you for it."

she fell quiet, taking in his words gratefully, looking down at her hands in her lap.

"anyway, i'd rather have some experience before i launch myself into dating again." she admitted, glancing up at lando to gage his reaction - she wasn't really sure what she was suggesting, but she wanted to see what lando thought of it. "but i just... don't know where to get said experience."

lando contemplated, trying to decide whether he should just offer himself up on a platter or not. in all honesty, the thought of her dating anyone else made him feel physically nauseous, let alone the new knowledge that she'd be letting someone else be her first - that made him want to die in a puddle of his own tears.

"well..." he began, his words trailing off. "i could always um... help you out."

she slowly lifted her head up, looking at him with a dazed expression, not sure if she'd heard him right. "what?"

"i wouldn't mind uh.. helping you gain some experience." lando repeated, a little more confident from seeing the dazed look in her eyes. "teach you what us guys like, teach you what you like."

lily blinked at her best friend, furrowing her eyebrows. "really?"

"if you'd be up for it, yeah." he nodded, leaning back against the couch a little more. "and we'd go slow, promise. we can take it at whatever pace you'd like, sweetheart."

the way he called her 'sweetheart' made her inner thighs tingle and heat pool in her lower tummy. she simply nodded, too in shock from this agreement they'd just made - was she really going to fuck her best friend in the somewhat near future?

"words, come on." he said slowly, gesturing for her to come to him on the other side of the couch.

"yeah, yeah." she breathed out, getting up and walking to him. "i want that."

"sit." he patted his lap, and she just stared, doe-eyed.

he chuckled softly, leaning up and grabbing her hips, pulling her down on his lap so she was straddling him, her face now at a level height with him.

"is this okay?" he murmured softly, pushing her hair behind her shoulder, mapping out all the places he wanted to kiss her.

"yeah," she breathed out. "i'll tell you if it's not."

"atta' girl." he praised softly, and could have whined at his words.

okay, so lando hadn't even touched her and he'd already discovered she had a praise kink - a good start.

instead of whining, her breath hitched and her cheeks flushed once again, earning a soft smirk from lando as he traced his index finger over her jawline.

"can i kiss you, pretty girl?" lando asked softly, now cupping her jaw with one hand, and drawing circles on her tummy with the other.

it's like her whole world stopped, that sentence was like music to her ears.

"yeah." she breathed out, eyes flicking over the drop-dead gorgeous features on his tanned face.

usually, lando was a sucker for rough sex, fast and hard. but, while he knew he had to be gentle with her - something else about her just made him want to treat her like glass. he wanted her to fall apart in his arms, but in the most loving and delicate way possible.

so, he leant in, his head a little tilted, briefly brushing their noses together before softly connecting their lips. her breath hitched and he could feel her body melting into his, the delicious weight of her feather-light body deepening into his lap. and that wasn't the only thing changing in his lap.

his cock was hard, painfully hard already. he was pathetic, he had literally only just kissed the girl and he was about ready to cum in his boxers.

the kisses were soft and delicate, tongue involved but it wasn't like he was about to devour her whole. he gently pried her legs apart a little further with his free hand, the one previously tracing circles onto her abdomen.

the most angelic of moans left her lips, and she seemed a little shocked, the movement of her lips faltering briefly. he opened his eyes, tilting her head back with the hand on her jaw, beginning his toe-curling attack on her neck. he nipped at the sensitive skin gently, soothing the area with his lips shortly after - repeating those actions had her a wet mess in his lap within minutes.

she was whining, whimpering, pleading with him to just do something, anything, everything.

lily's pretty pink lips were parted as soft, airy moans tumbled from her lips, her head still tilted back as he peppered kisses across all the right spots. his fingers were toying at the edge of her underwear in between her legs, relishing in the dampness coating his fingertips - she was soaked, the warm liquid coating the crease of her inner thighs.

he pulled his head away from her neck briefly, gazing at her for permission, earning a needy yes from the angel on top of him.

"wanna hear you, okay?" he told her gently, knowing that as this was her first time, she'd be more likely to hold back her pretty noises.

she nodded, biting her lower lip as her breathing turned a little more rapid and a little more shallow.

"good girl." he praised once more, and the heat rolled up her body once more.

lando slid his fingers underneath her panties, bunching them and pushing them to the side. her hips jolted a little as his knuckles brushed over her dripping folds, and he could have groaned at how sensitive the girl was.

"relax." he murmured softly, flicking his stare back up at her face.

he slid his index finger in between her folds, coating his thick fingers with her sweet juices. his jaw fell a little agape as he gaged just how wet she was.

"fucking hell," he murmured, but it fell on deaf ears, lily too focused on relaxing - her lower lip pulled between her teeth and her eyes fluttered closed.

he slid his ring finger beside his index, parting her folds and dragging his middle finger up and down her sensitive cunt.

the urge to just slip his fingers inside of her and make her cum until she couldn't speak was almost irresistible, almost.

he let her get used to the feeling, before switching his singular middle finger for the pad of his thumb, which he pressed directly against her clit.

"fuuuuck-" she moaned out, eyebrows arching as she tossed her head back. "so good- shit-"

lando just admired her as he slowly traced circles and figures of eights on her sensitive bundle of nerves - the most needy moans now falling from her lips frequently, the volume increasing in tandem with the speed of his thumb.

he increased the pressure and she doubled over into his body, pressing her head into his shoulder and biting down on his skin gently - earning a soft noise from him.

"lando- god-" she whined, moaning out his name like a fucking prayer.

he rubbed her back soothingly with his free hand, while increasing the speed of his thumb once more. her entire body was buzzing, bubbling with anticipation of the rapidly incoming orgasm. her lower abdomen was coiled tight, ready to snap at any moment now.

one particularly rough flick of her clit sent her spiralling, her thighs beginning to shake softly around him as she came, hard. sweet liquid gushed all over his hand as she moaned and whimpered his name loudly, coating his fingers as he slowed his movements to coax her through her intense orgasm. it was pure fucking bliss.

lily panted slowly into his neck, her head reeling from the best thing she'd ever felt in her entire life.

"you okay, baby?" lando asked quietly, pressing a soft kiss to her neck.

"fucking hell." she breathed out. "yeah, i'm good, so good."

he chuckled softly, looking at the seemingly-spent girl in his arms. he didn't want to push her any further today, she looked like she was going to fall asleep right there and then.

"come on, let's get you to bed." lando cooed softly, lifting her up from the couch and walking lily to her bedroom.

fuck, he was going to need a cold shower after that.

...

hello! this is my first official series, and i'm super excited about it! i don't have a name for it so feel free to suggest, and any comments in general are appreciated :)

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #fanfiction #f1 2024 #lando norris #lando norris one shot #lando norris smut #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #whorelandonorris

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