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admiringlove · 1 day ago

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[22:11] . . .

“shit, fushiguro, what the hell are you doing?”

you freeze, the words spilling out before you can stop them, startled by the sight of him at your window. he’s drenched, rain clinging to him like a second skin, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, beads of water tracing paths down his jaw. his hands are raised in mock surrender, like some guilty criminal caught mid-act. but there’s no malice in his eyes—just exhaustion and something raw, something unspoken that makes your chest ache.

you clutch the swiss knife in your hand, your grip tight and absurd now that you realize it’s him. fushiguro megumi, of all people, standing on your fire escape in the middle of a storm. he’s balancing on the slick metal, a miserable silhouette against the downpour, and you don’t know whether to laugh or yell.

“can you help me up?” he asks, voice flat but edged with something fragile, like he knows he has no right to be here. his fingers curl tighter on the windowsill, knuckles pale in the dim light. “i’m getting soaked.”

you narrow your eyes, refusing to make this easy for him. “you do realize you could’ve knocked on my door like a normal person instead of playing spider-man in a monsoon? you look like a wet cat.”

his lips twitch—almost a smirk, but it doesn’t quite land. “can you help me up or not?” he asks again, sharper this time, his patience eroding as his grip shifts.

you sigh, loud and deliberate, setting the knife down on your bedside table. “i don’t know. i’m still mad at you.”

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” he groans, tilting his head back, rain streaking down his face. “not right now. just help me up, and we can talk.”

your arms cross over your chest, a barrier you refuse to lower. “you were mean,” you say, voice clipped. “i don’t know if i want to talk to you.”

he exhales, slow and heavy, the sound caught somewhere between irritation and resignation. “this is exactly why i didn’t come through the door like a normal person,” he mutters, half to himself.

your brows shoot up, sharp. “what was that?”

“i said,” he repeats, slower this time, each word dripping with sarcasm, “this is exactly why i didn’t come through the door like a normal person.”

“oh, so now you’re blaming me?” you throw your hands up, frustration spilling over. “this is exactly what i mean, megumi. first, you shut everyone out, acting all pissy and brooding like it’s your full-time job. and when someone tries to love you—god forbid—you get all pissy and sarcastic. and then, when you do screw up, instead of apologizing like a human being, you double down and make everything worse. every. single. time.”

his fingers slip slightly, and his grip tightens, his eyes narrowing. “so you’re saying i make you miserable,” he cuts in, voice low and biting, “while i’m hanging onto your window for dear fucking life? i could break, like, seven bones if i fall.”

“you’ll be fine,” you shoot back, waving him off. “your 'big feelings' will catch you.”

“that’s not fair,” he says, his tone skating dangerously close to a whine. “i didn’t mean it, okay? you’re not clingy, and i still love you.”

you stare at him, deadpan, unimpressed. “you say that every time, fushiguro. i’m not falling for it anymore.” a pause, and then you go for the jugular. “even gojo-sensei’s better at this emotional stuff.”

his expression twists, caught between offense and disbelief. “you’re comparing me to that idiot?”

“well, he did raise you. and look how you turned out.” you shrug, arms still crossed, daring him to make it worse.

he huffs, a sharp, humorless laugh breaking from his chest. “does that say more about him or me?”

oh. well, now, he has you stumped. you falter, the words catching in your throat. his response hangs there, heavy with a weight you didn’t expect. rain drums against the fire escape, and in the silence between you, it feels like the air shifts.

you notice, finally, how his shoulders slump under the weight of soaked fabric, how his usual sharpness is dulled into something quieter, something fragile. his hands tremble slightly, and you wonder if it’s from the cold or the effort of holding on. it’s hard to stay angry when he looks like this—half-drowned, half-contrite, wholly vulnerable.

you sigh again, softer this time, and extend your hand. “come inside before you catch pneumonia.”

his lips curve into the faintest smile, a flicker of relief breaking through the storm in his eyes as he reaches for you. the rain keeps falling, relentless and loud, but between you, the storm begins to still.

"and stand still!" you call out, the words sharper than you intend, a half-smile curving on your lips despite yourself. "i don’t want to mop up my entire dorm because of you."

there’s a pause, and megumi doesn’t respond. he doesn’t need to. he knows better than to argue. he just stands there, damp and dripping, his expression unreadable. he doesn’t move as you walk past him, head bent as you search through your closet, the air in the room thick with unspoken things. you pull out a cardboard box, old and battered, and set it down on the bed with a huff, the quiet sound of cardboard scraping against fabric the only noise in the room.

you begin to rummage through it, pulling out a white t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and a towel—his towel, the one you kept because it always smelled like him. you don’t meet his eyes as you hand him the towel, the fabric soft between your fingers, a strangely intimate reminder of him. he looks at you, wordlessly waiting for an explanation that you don’t offer. instead, you simply sit down on the bed, your back against the wall, eyes closed, pretending not to notice the weight of his gaze.

“i won’t look,” you murmur, your voice softer now, tinged with something like exhaustion. “just�� dry off and wear these before you get sick.”

“okay,” he says, his voice quieter than usual, and you hear him shift, the sound of wet fabric against skin as he changes. he doesn’t say anything else, and you don’t open your eyes, focusing on the gentle movement of your thumbs, the small, almost rhythmic action that calms you. the silence in the room is filled with so much that words would only ruin it.

you hear him fumbling with the towel, the dry fabric against his damp hair, and something about the ordinary intimacy of it pulls at you. it’s strange, being here like this—on opposite ends of the room, with so much space between you both. but still… so close.

“why are all my things in this box?” his voice finally breaks the quiet, sharp with curiosity, tinged with something you can’t place.

you exhale softly, the weight of your own thoughts pressing heavy against your ribs. you keep your eyes closed, your lips tight. “i’m giving it back to you,” you say, your voice strangely calm. “you’re the one who said i take too much of your ‘shit,’ and try to smother you. so take all your ‘shit,’ megumi. keep it. keep your space. away from me.”

there’s a soft rustle of fabric as he finishes changing, and for a moment, neither of you speak. you can feel the shift in the air, the subtle way things have changed, irreversibly, between you. you know he’s looking at the box. you know what he’s seeing.

he picks up the first frame, the edges worn from years of handling. the photo inside catches his eye, and for a moment, you almost want to stop him. but you don’t. you keep your eyes shut, your heart a hollow thrum beneath your ribs.

it’s a photo of the three of you. megumi, you, and gojo—your faces frozen in time from a day you’d all spent together. the sunlight was soft then, filtering through the trees, and you were perched on gojo’s shoulders, hands tangled in his messy hair, laughing so freely you thought you might burst. megumi, of course, had been on gojo’s other shoulder, scowling in the way he always did, a lollipop stuck between his lips to silence the world’s noise as he tried to make sense of the chaos around him.

the smile on your face was as wide as the horizon, and even now, you can still remember the way you’d felt—so effortlessly happy, so full of life, in a way that doesn’t seem possible now.

he stares at the photo for a long time, his fingers brushing the glass gently, almost reverently, as if trying to hold onto something that’s slipping away.

there are more pictures, more reminders of you both—of everything you’ve shared. letters, birthday cards, books you’d both laughed over, and others that felt more personal, more like promises you never got the chance to keep. the box, once full of mundane things, is now filled with the soft evidence of what had been, of what he’s going to lose.

he looks up from the box, and his gaze drifts toward the wall next to your bed, the empty space where the pictures once hung. the space you’d cleared, and it’s so painfully obvious now why you’d done it. you’d taken them down because of him, because of what you felt, or rather, what you didn’t feel anymore. he doesn’t need to ask why.

“you were right,” he says softly, his voice hesitant, like he’s testing the waters, unsure of how far he can go. “i made you feel like i didn’t love you anymore.”

you don’t say anything for a long time, the weight of his words hanging between you both. there’s a tenderness in his tone, something unspoken but clear as day. it’s hard to breathe with the words lingering in the space, but you finally open your eyes. you meet his gaze, and in that moment, everything shifts, just slightly, as though the tension that has stretched between you both is finally beginning to unravel.

“it wasn’t your fault,” you murmur, the words slow but steady, as if you’re reminding yourself more than him. “it's okay if you don't want me around anymore. just don't be mean about it, and i'll catch on.”

he doesn’t speak. he just looks at you—his gaze searching, like he’s trying to find the pieces of what was broken, wondering if they can ever fit back together. and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t look away.

you let the silence stretch, comfortable and heavy, and you don’t need words to know that it’s not over. not yet. you’re both still standing in the wreckage, but maybe, just maybe, there’s room to rebuild something here.

"i didn’t say i don’t want you around," he tries, his voice faltering, unsure of how to bridge the gap between the words he wished he could take back and the ones that had already left him. it’s all he can do now—say something, anything, to make the air less heavy, less unbearable. but as his words hang there, your laughter cuts through it, incredulous. you look at him, eyes narrowed, disbelief clouding your features.

"if i remember correctly, that’s exactly what you said."

he freezes, the words bouncing off you, back into the space between you both, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the silence and the bitter sting of what’s been said. he opens his mouth to protest, but the words crumble before they can even form.

"no, i didn’t!" he protests, his tone rising a little, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. "you kept saying things about me, about how i fight like it’s my last time, about me being mean to gojo-sensei—"

you scoff, a humorless laugh slipping out before you can stop it. "you do fight like it’s your last time, megumi. every single time. and you are mean to gojo-sensei. telling him he's not your father when he's the one who raised you was downright horrible," your eyes narrow at him, each word a slow burn, a careful sharpening of the edge you thought you’d put down. "what exactly are you trying to get at here?"

his gaze drops, hands running through his wet hair in frustration, the action almost mechanical. he sighs, the sound heavy, like it carries more weight than it should. "i’m just saying… you kept saying things about me that i didn’t want to admit were true." his voice cracks, just barely, and for a moment, you see the flicker of vulnerability that he’s so often quick to hide. "and that… that made me mad. so i said things i didn’t mean."

there’s a long pause, the tension thick, and you stare at him, your pulse quickening. your gaze softens, but only just. "you’re old enough to control your tongue, even if you're hurt," you say, your voice firm but with an underlying quiet that’s a strange kind of soothing. "i was trying to help you, fushiguro. you had a gash on your stomach, and i was stitching it. what else was i supposed to say? 'go kill yourself'? 'go crazy, go stupid'?"

his breath catches, a ragged sound as if your words have hit somewhere he wasn’t ready to confront. "that’s not what i—" he cuts himself off with a frustrated exhale, the words not coming out right. he’s tired, you can hear it in his voice, tired of explaining, tired of fighting against the truth that both of you already know.

his gaze lifts, meeting yours with something softer this time—familiar, almost desperate. "i'm sorry," he murmurs, the apology thick with everything unsaid, everything he’s never been able to voice. and there it is. the fragile thread between you, stretching, fraying at the edges, but still holding on.

you don’t say anything for a long while, just looking at him—really looking at him—as if seeing him for the first time. you know what he’s trying to say, what he’s trying to admit. it’s not about the words. it’s never really been about the words. it’s about the space between them.

"you’re not alone in this," you finally whisper, your voice steady, but there’s a warmth in it now. "i know you. i’ve always known you. so has sensei."

"yeah, but you judge me for it," he says, his voice raw, steady, like he's finally gathered the courage to say what he’s been holding back. he locks his gaze with yours, and for the first time, there’s no avoiding it—the weight of the words hanging between you. "you judge me for liking it. you judge me for wanting to fight."

you blink, trying to catch your breath, a sharp edge of disbelief cutting through the knot in your chest. "where exactly are you getting this bullshit information?" you ask, the words coming out harsher than you intended. "i don’t judge you for wanting to do things you’re good at. i judge you when you get hurt." your voice falters slightly, a tremor that betrays the calm you’re trying to hold onto. "do you know how scared i was when gojo-sensei called me and told me you were hurt? i couldn't fucking breathe, megumi! i thought... i thought i was the one who was gonna die."

the air seems to shift, a pause between you that carries more weight than the silence should. his pupils widen just slightly, like he's seeing you for the first time, or maybe like he’s never seen you quite this way before. his lips part, but no words come out. he takes a slow step forward, and for some reason, you don’t pull away. there’s no barrier left between you now—not physically, at least.

he sits down next to you, his body close, his back leaning against the wall, and for a moment, you’re both frozen in the quiet. his shoulder brushes yours, and the contact feels more real than anything has in a long time. your heart beats a little faster in your chest, like it’s reminding you it’s still there, still alive, still holding on. you let out a long breath, heavy with everything unspoken.

"i don't ever want to lose you," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. and when they do, they feel like a confession—like a weight you hadn’t even known you were carrying. "even if you don't love me."

his face softens, and you feel him shift, his presence growing heavier in the space between you. he doesn't speak immediately, and you wonder if you’ve gone too far, if you’ve revealed too much, but then he says it. softly, like a prayer.

"i do love you," he says, and there’s a quiet certainty in the way his voice cracks. he closes his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall, as if the admission is a weight he’s been carrying too. "i’m never gonna stop."

you scoff, though it’s a hollow sound, more resigned than mocking. "you sure have a funny way of showing it," you murmur, the words barely a whisper, like they’re too fragile to be said out loud.

he turns to you then, his eyes meeting yours with a depth that stops you in your tracks. there’s no barrier anymore, nothing between you. not even the past. his gaze softens, and for the first time, you realize that what’s in his eyes is something you never expected to see: regret, apology, but most of all, love.

you don’t say anything. there’s too much left unsaid, and maybe that’s all you can give him now. silence, and the space to understand. the air between you is thick with it—unsaid words and all the things you’ve never been able to express, not fully. you sit there, avoiding his gaze, eyes lowered, fingers twisting in your lap. it’s as if you’re scared—scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of the way you might break if you say too much.

but he sees you. truly sees you.

he reaches for your hand then, tentative, like he's unsure whether you’ll pull away. when you don’t, he intertwines his fingers with yours, gentle, the touch almost shy in its sincerity. "i’m sorry i have a shitty way of showing i love you," he murmurs, the apology thick with the weight of everything he can’t put into words.

you don’t reply immediately, not trusting yourself to speak without cracking. instead, you sit there—just breathing, just being. the moments stretch out between you, heavy with everything both of you have been holding back. and you realize, then, that maybe this, right here, is enough. just this moment of him holding your hand, just this one step closer, is enough.

because all he wants now is to make sure you’re still there. make sure you won’t leave his side.

and you... you don’t want to leave either.

you lean your head against his shoulder, the weight of it feeling more like a promise than an accident. it’s as if, for just a moment, all the tension in your body can dissipate, settling into the rhythm of his breath, the quiet hum of the world outside. the room feels smaller, but in a way that makes it safer, like this tiny bubble where the rest of everything—everything that’s hurt, everything that’s unsaid—can stay out. there’s a warmth to the touch of his body against yours, something real and solid in a world that’s felt too fragmented for too long. his thumb brushes over the back of your hand, gentle, almost absentminded, but it’s the kind of touch that says everything: i’m here.

you feel it in the way his body shifts ever so slightly, like he’s anchoring you in a way only he knows how to. and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself rest in that comfort, in that certainty, no matter how fleeting it might be. the air around you is thick with everything unspoken, but the space between you feels like it’s been bridged, like the distance that once seemed so insurmountable isn’t as wide anymore. the quiet stretches on, peaceful, before you finally speak, your voice soft and a little uncertain, like it’s unsure how to follow the fragile peace between you two.

"you should apologize to gojo-sensei, too," you murmur, your words carrying more weight than they should, like it’s the last piece of a puzzle you need to solve before you can both move forward. "he doesn't deserve that. he's pretty much our dad."

he’s quiet for a beat, the sound of his thumb still grazing the skin of your hand, before he shifts slightly, a breath of a laugh escaping his lips. it’s light, but there’s something heavy beneath it, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

"yeah?" he asks, and when he tilts his head against yours, the movement feels almost like a surrender, like he’s finally letting himself be vulnerable in a way he hasn’t in a long time. you feel the shift in him, a softening that pulls you closer, that makes you realize just how long you’ve both been carrying things you shouldn’t have been. "it’s gonna hurt my ego..." his voice trails off, a little teasing, but it’s also real, like he’s letting you see the part of him that he doesn’t usually show—the one that’s afraid of admitting when he’s wrong. you look up at him, your gaze catching his, and you can’t help the slight raise of your eyebrows, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"oh, i’m sure it will," you reply, the words laced with a quiet affection, a softness that you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in so long. you pause for a moment, before adding, "but you’ll do it, right?"

he exhales slowly, like he’s letting go of something deep inside of him, the exhale almost as long as the silence that lingers between you. and then, with a faint, almost reluctant chuckle, he says, "but i’ll do it."

you breathe a sigh of relief at the simplicity of it all, at how easy it feels to give and take forgiveness, even when it’s hard. maybe that’s the trick—maybe it’s not about having all the answers or solving everything right away. maybe it’s just about taking the first step, even if it’s a small one. you can feel the change in him, in the way he doesn’t just say the words but lives them in that moment. he means it.

"you better," you say softly, a teasing edge to your words, but the sincerity is unmistakable. and you find yourself leaning into him more, if only just a little, as if the distance between you shrinks just a bit more, as if the space between the two of you is finally filling with something warm and real.

and as you rest there, nestled against him, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, it’ll all be okay. the thought lingers, soft like the gentle brush of his thumb across your skin. because sometimes, it’s not about fixing everything all at once. sometimes, it’s just about being here, in this moment, with him, and knowing that even if the world outside is still uncertain, you’ve found a way to stay close. and that, you think, is enough for now.

a/n: once read this fic by @sttoru and i really wanted to write smth about it from gumi's perspective. so here it is. it's been sitting in my drafts for a very, very long time.

#fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x you #fushiguro megumi fluff #fushiguro megumi angst #megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fushiguro fluff #megumi fushiguro angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk fluff #gojo satoru

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lemon-slushie · 3 days ago

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YAYY REDESIGNS idk what happened to gingerbrave on the bottom lol

But yay new age ancient redesigns

Rough draft story undercut

Warning it is not great!! 😭 I’m not a writer and it probably has crazy plot holes and is lacking in places but I just wanted to get the idea down

The ancients have temporarily beat the beasts and sealed them away but they all know that they are still extremely powerful and won’t stay gone long, especially with the help of dark enchantress. Though the beasts are sealed away they are now awake and still have their powers, which is seeping from their prisons and attempting to effect the soul jams from the inside, which could cause the ancients decent into insanity like the beasts. All of the ancients know this is an extremely dire issue and can only ward off the beasts for so long.

After a lot of contemplation Pure vanilla figures there is only one option. They must remove the soul jams, giving them to someone else, and hiding them away in an old secluded area while they devise a plan. The ancients are some of the only people who can find a way to beat the beasts but if they are plagued by infected soul jams it could cause the beasts to take over and send the world into chaos. Giving the soul jams to another person is inhumane but if they removed them and left them unattended it could be more risky, if the soul jams are attached to another person it could also allow the ancients to see and study the changes of the person if the beasts do manage to start infecting the soul jams. Though if the soul jams do get infected this too could be dangerous. Pure vanilla recognizes this and creates 5 coffins similar to the one white lily was kept in, this would keep the replacements asleep and trapped. This would cause the infection to slow down and prevent the replacements from acting out or doing anything.

Pure vanilla feels guilty for whoever the replacements will be but ultimately decides there is no other way, if him and the other ancients are gone everything would be doomed. After finding a hidden spot far from any kingdoms and leads to where they could be, Pure vanilla needs help to prepare the coffins. He goes to white lily for help and explains the plan, she thinks for a moment but ultimately agrees with pure vanilla and helps him with the preparation. Together they call for a meeting with the other ancients at his castle. He explains the plan to them and hollyberry and dark cacao are the most against it, believing it to be cruel and unfair. Golden Cheese, though a bit hesitant, agree with pure vanilla as she cannot bare the thought of what’s left of her kingdom getting turned to ruins again and helps to persuade a reluctant hollyberry and cacao into agreeing.

They discuss who the soul jams should go to, believing it must go to someone trustworthy and understanding. Pure vanilla chooses clotted cream, as he believes clotted cream proved himself worthy during the odyssey. Dark cacao decides on dark choco, he feels incredibly guilty at the thought of seeking him away but rationalizes it with telling himself that dark choco would understand and could use it to prove himself as a true hero for helping against a great evil. Hollyberry considered pitaya but consider them to be too strong of an ally to seel away. Eventually she decides on her granddaughter, Princess. Princess is courageous and strong and hollyberry thinks she too would understand the weight of the situation the best. Golden cheese picks black raisin, as she connected with her deeply about loss and pushing foward after they dragged her out of the digital world, Golden believes black raisins selflessness would help her be understanding of why she must risk sacrificing herself. Finally, white lily decides on gingerbrave. All the other ancients are put off on her choosing a young kid but she truly believes that gingerbrave is one of the only people who can truly understand the light of freedom and is willing to do anything for his friends. (Also he’s the main character and always has to be involved)

After deciding on their replacements Pure vanilla calls them all to his castle for various different mundane reason as too not stire anything up and will explain to them why they are there after they have arrived. Once there pure vanilla will give them the “true” reason they were called there. (Dark choco has to be found and personal brought in by dark cacao cuz he’s currently living off the grid in the dark cacao forest, this will lead to developments in their relationship as their first encounter is awkward but heartfelt). He will explain that they were called to become the new ancients, as they have all long outgrown their positions and it is time for someone new to step up. The other ancients deeply disagreed with pure vanilla lying to the others but he stood firm on the decision, he feared if he was truthful they would reject and word would spread and send people into hysteria as the regular people who knew about the beasts are currently under the assumption they have been seeped away for good. After a while of convincing they all agree as they believe there is truly no other way.

The replacements arrive and gladly join Pure vanilla and the others in the meeting room. A few others have also come to the vanilla kingdom this being, financier to guard clotted cream as she always does, madeleine as he saw the two leaving and after questioning them decided to tag along (much to their dismay) to visit espresso, and wildberry to accompany Princess and also check in on Hollyberry as she’s been very hush hush and he feels something is going on behind the scenes. This is a bit inconvenient to the ancients as they can’t have any possible leads to what is happening but they decide they will just have to tag along on the mission as they can’t have them leaving, this also applies to current vanilla kingdom residents (espresso, strawberry crepe, and the raisin villagers). There can be no trace of the ancients or anyone involved, they must stay hidden as much as possible to avoid any attacks.

Pure vanillas gives them the lie and after a bit of shock and questioning they agree as it is a great honor. All except dark choco, he’s extremely hesitant and expresses that he is in no way fit for the soul jam after all that he’s done. Dark cacao disagrees with him after the vision he had with mystic flour and hearing about how he had help the milk village from the flour plague. He assures dark choco that he whole heartedly believes he has finally found himself and is truly ready for the role and will make a great leader. Dark Choco hesitates once more but with the encouragement of his father he agrees. Black raisin feels a bit nervous about the responsibility but completely trusts pure vanilla after all that they’ve been through and thinks it’ll be a great way to give back to him and care for her villagers. Princess is excited and proud to take after hollyberry and go on grand adventures as she did. Gingerbrave too feels nervous but is excited to help and become as great as the other ancients, he also believes this could help defeat dark enchantress, though since he’s a child he doesn’t completely understand the weight and reap of it all so he’s more excited than nervous. They remove the soul jams and hand them over, all of the soul jams connect to the new person except for one, clotted cream. The light of truth refuses to connect with clotted cream, the soul jam speaks to pure vanilla, refusing to go as it believes clotted cream will use the soul jam for personal benefits instead of a greater cause (like he planned to do in the odyssey as he clearly values his own republic more than anything). This does not sit well with the soul jam and it refuses clotted cream. This leads to an awkward stand still as Pure vanilla did not expect this and is unsure what to do. Clotted cream is extremely disappointed and embarrassed but comes up with a solution, offering up madeleine to use. Madeleine is high status in the republic but still under clotted cream and listens to his say, if madeleine wields the soul jam then it still gives clotted cream room to worm his way in and attempt to persuade madeleine in using it for the advancement of the republic. Pure vanilla agrees as he doesn’t have much of an option and madeleine is called in. The situation is explained and madeleine quickly declines, much to the surprise of clotted and financier. Madeleine comes up with a half assed explanation that his family is a generation of knight commanders and he can’t bring himself to break it. Though truthfully he doesn’t believe he could handle a role, he’s very full of himself but this is a front as is seen multiple times he’s very insecure and can be unsure of himself. Pure vanilla, getting a bit frustrated with the sudden change in plans continues to tell Madeleine that this is for the greater good along with clotted cream pressing him about how much this could help the republic to be better. Madeleine gives under the pressure and agrees. The soul jam connects with him (because he has crazy light blessing and doesn’t monopolize off of other people’s works) and they all get super cool transformations to awesome outfits and accessories (like when pure vanilla and hollyberry reconnected with their soul jams in story).

Pure vanilla then explains that they all must leave to “begin training and teaching the replacements how to harness and use the magic of the soul jams” but it’s a ploy to lead them far away from everything where they will be hidden away. He also makes up some excuse as to why even the people without soul jams must attend as the training and powers will also be useful for them to know once they return to their homes so they can help the new ancients if an attack occurs (they will not be returning home)

Once they all arrive to the hidden area (idfk know where it is there’s not really any abandoned places we know about so it’s gotta be unspecified unfortunately) the ancients begin training the replacements as they do not need to be seeker away immediately due to no effects from the beasts yet. Though the training is short and vague as the ancients spend most times trying to figure out how to defeat the beasts. The training though only tends to make the ancients feel worse as they connect with their replacements. This is particularly hard on dark cacao as he finally reconnects with his son and feels as if he’s making up for lost time but he constantly has a lump in his throat as the guilt eats at him for what he’s done and will have to do. This feeling only gets worse for dark cacao as dark choco begins opening up to him more. The replacements seem to be mostly adjusting well with some occasional anxiety of the new responsibility, particularly in madeleine who is struggling most with fear of failure and stains on his image along with clotted constantly in his ear about how important this all is for the republic putting more stress on him. Watching the training and seeing the replacements befriending each-other and trusting the ancients so greatly truly breaks his heart but he stays strong, constantly telling himself they’d understand if they knew. Black raisin is the one who quickly notices the odd shift in the ancients behavior, and while she becomes skeptical she tries to have faith in pure vanilla but she can’t shake a bad feeling. Princess is mostly happy to be spending time with her grandma and hear of all her adventures she had missed. And ginger brave is also there doing the main character stuff he does you know how it is.

Eventually the ancients notice the replacements begin to complain of feeling odd and random changes in behavior which means it’s time for them to go. They bring them to the coffins and it’s a disaster, the replacements are obviously horrified and deeply hurt causing them to act out more and panic which leads to them fighting back against the ancients. Along with family angst and betrayal and what not, but they haven’t fully gotten used to their power and lose to the ancients and are put away to sleep for whoever knows how long.

#crk #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk fanart #cookierun kingdom #madeleine cookie #my art #art #dark choco cookie #princess cookie #black raisin cookie #gingerbrave cookie #pure vanilla cookie #dark cacao cookie #white lily cookie #golden cheese cookie #hollyberry cookie

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zerocoded · 1 day ago

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summary: you both share the past of being human experiments and when his nightmares start to become frequent again is the time you can comfort caleb the most.

authors note: guess who's back with another caleb work??? give me a man in a military uniform and i'll make it my personality for the next three months. so yeah, here is us comforting caleb then kissing him right after because he can't get enough of us hehe. CREDITS TO THE AMAZING ARTIST WHO MADE THIS DRAWING THAT I'M IN LOVE WITH (thank you who helped me find it!).

warnings: slightly suggestive • hurt/comfort • not much hurt actually • sfw content • ptsd symptoms

word count: 1.2k

the room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the stars outside the ship's viewport. caleb sat on the edge of the narrow cot, his broad shoulders hunched, the pale light catching the contours of his bionic arm. his flesh hand, calloused and warm, trembled slightly as it rested on his knee. you sat beside him, the silence between you thick with unspoken words, heavy but not suffocating. it was the kind of silence that held space for both of you to breathe.

his breathing was uneven, shallow. he hadn’t spoken much since waking up in a cold sweat, jolted out of the nightmare that had gripped him. you knew better than to press him. instead, you let your presence speak for itself, your hand brushing lightly against his. a small gesture, but it was enough to draw his gaze to you.

“it was the lab again,” he murmured finally, his voice hoarse, as though the dream had clawed its way up his throat. he didn’t meet your eyes. instead, his gaze was fixed on the floor, on the faint scuff marks of boots against the metal. “the restraints, the lights…” his words trailed off, his jaw tightening.

“you don’t have to talk about it,” you said softly, though your heart ached to share the weight of his pain. “not if you’re not ready.”

he shook his head, his bionic fingers flexing involuntarily, the faint whirr of servos breaking the quiet. “it’s not… it’s not the memories. it’s what they make me feel. like i’m still there. like i’ll never really leave.” his voice broke on the last word, and he exhaled sharply, a frustrated sound, his flesh hand running through his sweat-dampened hair.

you shifted closer, the mattress dipping slightly under your combined weight. reaching out, you let your fingers graze the cool metal of his arm before moving to his human hand, your touch deliberate and steady. “you’re here now,” you said, your tone quiet but firm. “you’re here with me. that place doesn’t own you anymore.”

at times like these, you felt guilty for not having memories of the lab. your nightmares consisted of visions of people that suffered from guilt, not this. caleb suffered from nightmares almost every night, having to become dependent on drugs to keep his consciousness at bay at night.

he finally looked at you, his pale blue eyes glassy but searching, like he was looking for something to hold onto in the vast expanse of everything he’d been through. “i don’t deserve you,” he said after a moment, his voice barely audible. “not after… everything i’ve done. everything i—”

“stop,” you interrupted gently, your hand tightening around his. “we’ve both done things we’re not proud of. but that doesn’t change what’s here, now.” you raised your free hand to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble along his jaw. “you don’t have to be perfect, caleb. you just have to let your mind rest for a bit.”

his eyes closed at your touch, his breath evening out, a small, shaky exhale escaping him as he leaned into your palm. “you’re too good at this,” he muttered, a faint, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“someone has to be,” you replied softly, unable to resist a wry smile of your own. the thin blanket draped over your legs had slipped during the night, leaving your shoulders bare, your skin cool in the artificial air of the ship. your nightshirt—more for modesty than warmth—hung loosely on your frame, slipping off one shoulder, the hem barely grazing mid-thigh. the stark contrast between the unyielding metal floor and the intimacy of this moment made it feel all the more fragile, like a secret shared in the dark.

his gaze flickered downward as his smile faded into something more tender. his dog tag caught the dim light, the worn metal etched with his name and the faint outline of an apple painted in red. it dangled against his chest, just above where the soft fabric of his sleep shirt clung to his torso, slightly damp with sweat. the chain swayed faintly as he shifted, the sound faint but unmistakable in the quiet room.

“you’re freezing,” he murmured, his hand—flesh, warm, and calloused—skimming over your exposed shoulder. the touch was light at first, almost hesitant, before his fingers splayed, tracing a line down the curve of your arm. his bionic hand rested in his lap, motionless for now, but the faint hum of its servos was a constant reminder of his reality.

“i’m fine,” you assured him, though your body leaned instinctively into his touch. it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver, but the way his fingers lingered, reverent yet grounding, like he was memorizing the texture of your skin.

his thumb brushed the edge of your collarbone, following the faint rise and fall of your breaths. “you always say that,” he said, his voice low, a hint of vulnerability threading through it. “but what if you’re not?”

“then i have you,” you replied simply, your words so certain they made his chest tighten. his lips parted as if to respond, but whatever he was about to say dissolved in favor of something else entirely.

he leaned forward, his breath warm against your neck as his lips ghosted over your skin, pressing the softest of kisses there. it was tentative, almost unsure, as if testing the boundary between solace and something deeper. but when you didn’t pull away, when your hand moved to thread gently through his hair, his resolve seemed to shift.

the next kiss was firmer, placed just beneath your jawline, his lips brushing against the delicate pulse there. his hand had moved now, splayed across your back, pulling you closer. “you make every little mistake i made worth it,” he whispered against your skin, the words barely audible, as if saying them louder would shatter the moment.

your breath caught, your hand trailing down from his hair to rest against his chest, just above where the necklace rested. the cool metal was a stark contrast to the heat of his skin, the faint thrum of his heartbeat steady beneath your palm. “you are human, caleb,” you said softly, your voice laced with something between insistence and yearning. “we all make mistakes.”

he closed his eyes again, his forehead resting against yours now. his bionic arm moved, finally, the whirring sound almost imperceptible as the cool fingers brushed along the curve of your hip, grounding him further. the dichotomy of his touch—metal and flesh, strength and vulnerability—felt uniquely him.

as his lips found yours, the kiss was unhurried but no less consuming, a slow melding of need and comfort. it wasn’t about passion or urgency but connection, the quiet reminder that neither of you had to face the shadows alone. when he pulled back, his hand lingered on your waist, his thumb brushing idly against your skin as if afraid to let go.

“stay,” he murmured, though the word wasn’t a plea. it was a promise, one you’d already made and had no intention of breaking.

you pressed another kiss to his lips, softer this time, your fingers brushing the edge of his collarbone before settling over his heart. “always,” you whispered back, the word filling the small space between you, wrapping itself around the both of you like a second skin.

author's note: and the crowd went... silent? pls tell what you think about this post in your reblogs or comments, i love to read them all ♡ yes i have some more caleb content in my drafts and can't wait to post them. hope you enjoyed! xx. send me a request • my masterpost

#love and deepspace #caleb x you #caleb fluff #caleb x mc #lads caleb #caleb lnds #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x reader

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crescenthistory · 10 hours ago

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Haunt Me, Then

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Synopsis: The Hunger Games AU; After your best friend miraculously won his games, you were never to see him again – until your last Reaping as an eligible citizen ends catastrophically for you and another one of your friends.

Words: 6.1k

Warnings/tags: fem!reader, us of y/n, Hunger Games typical warnings, grief, implied loss, heavy hurt/comfort, talk of death and poverty, Capitol Citizen!Bellatrix Lestrange, same for barty sorry, angst, some fluff, childhood best friends (to lovers), physical affection, unwanted physical touches, creepy Capitol behaviour, heavy disassociation, strategically used characters, background bsf!marylene, implied that sirius got the finnick odair treatment, nb! it's a thg au but not thg canon compliant (aka i make the rules here)

A/N: this is sooooo exciting to me. your district is only implied (district 7) in this one and there are a lot of purposefully unresolved threads 🌝 there's more to come, if you want it. and yes – the title is from the wuthering heights quote "you said i killed you – haunt me, then"

You hated Reaping day for more reasons than most.

While no person, whether they are of eligible age or not, enjoyed being in that town square annually, watching the Capitol representatives clown away on stage as your heart and ears thundered with anticipatory fear, you were left with the biting pain of the past, present and future all at the same time.

Stood in a sea of people, feeling both as if you were drowning and had a spotlight shining on you, you feared for yourself. You writhed beneath the thought of how many times your name had gone into that bowl in an attempt at keeping your loved ones safe, you winced at the knowledge that it would be just the perfect karmic timing for you to have everything taken from you this one last time.

Clutching onto Mary’s trembling fingers with one hand and Marlene’s little sister Mabel with the other, you feared for your loved ones. Your makeshift found family now consisted of the McKinnons, the McDonalds, the Pettigrews and you – and you could not bear the thought of how many of you were jammed into the plaza today. Marlene and her older siblings had aged out, but you, Mary and Peter were still in for your last year. Your mouth ran dry at the thought of how many years Mabel and the McKinnon and Pettigrew boys had left. Children. They were all just children – the very reason why you all kept consistently placing your own name in over and over again, to keep them safe. While you could never decide if you trusted the legitimacy of the arrangement that you could covertly buy someone’s immunity by placing your name in more times, you also could never help but try each year.

Thus far, it had worked. Mabel had at least never been picked.

But then again, you knew of at least one person who was picked despite their supposed immunity. Odd how the guilt always forced your hand regardless; the risk was worth the potential reward.

You could feel her breaths grow shuddering beside you, but could not bring yourself to look down at her. You just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and shoved away the doomsday feelings brewing within your chest.

You felt guilty for even fearing for yourself, because you knew well how out of everyone, your name was in there probably the least amount of times. Apart from buying the immunity of one of your friends’ siblings, you had never needed to buy anything with tickets of your name. You had been financially looked out for to a much larger degree than most could dream, and not had your hand forced. At first, the help came through the direct acts of kindness from your best friend, and then later, you would somehow just always find exactly what you needed. Whenever the Capitol increased ridiculous taxes that felt as if they were specifically designed to wring you dry, there would be a freshly opened position for you to apply for, a wad of cash found in one of the boxes you looked through, even a charity basket by your door that you would always pass on to the rowdy McKinnon home.

Part of you could hear his whispered promise to you whenever these blessings seemingly fell into your lap, but you always pushed it down. It couldn’t be.

“I will always take care of you, princess”.

Above all else, being in the town square tore up your heart because you could only ever think of him. Of Sirius.

Of that day 5 years ago, when you had just started breathing normally after they called some girl’s name you did not know in the Reaping, only for your lungs to be ripped from you permanently at the sound of the reaped boy.

The second “Regulus Black” boomed through the scratching speakers, your heart was shattered into a million pieces, because it was immediately followed up by: “I volunteer.”

When your head whipped to the side to witness your best friend in the whole world march towards his inevitable death, you had found his sad grey eyes already fixed on you through the massive sea of bodies. You have no recollection of the sounds after that, but you know you were crying, trashing even, in the firm grip of Marlene as she forced you into a bear hug to stop you from trying to be a human shield for the one person you could not stomach losing. The sight of Sirius kissing Regulus’ head and squeezing Peter's arm before taking to the stage, shoulders squared and jaw lifted, already looking every bit like a child warrior was burned into your retinas.

It took years before it was not the first image you saw whenever you closed your eyes. It still sometimes was.

That day, you had been certain your best friend was lost. When they let his loved ones bid him a quick goodbye in a solitary room after the ceremony, you had stood to the back with your hiccuping sobs, allowing Regulus the space you knew he needed. Marlene and Mary passed through, so did Peter, until it was just you left.

His parents did not show up.

While Sirius had kept up the facade with the others, his face crumbled when it met yours in your momentary privacy – save the Peacekeepers by the door. You had been hugging your front to keep from falling apart, but the second he slumped back against the desk and opened his arms for you, you were wrapped up in them.

At just 13 and 14 you were each other’s worlds. Grown up as neighbors, surviving just about everything together.

And it was because he was just 14 that you had no belief he could survive the games – at that point, no 14 year old had, and no matter how strong Sirius Black was, it took more than strength to break through that harrowing cycle.

Sirius had let his first few tears slip and fall into your hair, holding onto you for dear life. You can’t remember what you said anymore, just the way he smelled, just the way he held you and the murmurs he whispered into your skin as he swayed you.

“I’m sorry, I had to. You’re wonderful. I love you. You’ll be okay. I love you.”

You hoped to the gods you had said it back.

Though you did not know that then, you had been correct. Your best friend was lost that day – but he survived his games.

It had been a torturous few months, forced to see him paraded around like a piece of meat only to suffer through one of the longest games anyone had seen. You had sworn you would not watch it, but could not resist taking a peek at a small screen you snuck into your bedroom, crying as you caressed his face that looked so void of the Sirius you knew. Sometimes he would find a nearby camera and stare into it as he fell asleep, almost as if he could actually see you, feel your touch. You hoped it comforted him; that thought had you returning to the screen almost every night. The only nights you didn’t were the ones where you and Regulus slept in the same bed to keep each other sane, tethered.

When you two eventually woke up to the news that he managed to outlast the final tribute overnight, you cried until you laughed only to laugh until you cried.

On the day of Sirius’ return, you had made everything ready; dusted his room, bought the ingredients for his favourite dessert, orchestrated for his parents to be elsewhere, planned what to say with Regulus, who was equally as teary. Except when the Capitol Carriage swept up by the entrance and you ran out to greet him, only Peacekeepers exited the carriage, forcing you to step back. The blinds were shut.

You stumbled, entirely bewildered by the situation, sharing deeply concerned looks with Regulus. You had tried shouting for Sirius, you had tried asking the Peacekeepers, but you were left with nothing but silence.

While you were dumbfounded, Regulus grew agitated. With months worth of guilt piling up, it was easy work for them to bubble over into anger; he pushed past the Peacekeepers to try and bang on the wall of the carriage, yanking on the locked door handle. His screams of Sirius' name were cut off in an instant when the Head Peacekeeper slammed the back of his rifle against Regulus' neck. He lurched, tried to regain his footing, before he crumbled to the ground.

Acting more on instinct than anything else, you dragged him off to the side and held him tight to your chest, as if that would protect him. With an unconscious Regulus in your lap, you were forced to watch them carry down all of Sirius’ belongings, packed haphazardly in bags, and shove them into the back of the carriage.

It drove off without you ever even catching a glimpse of Sirius.

The next time you saw him was a few days later, on a broadcasted interview where he announced his permanent move to the Capitol. Clad in shining black clothes that could have fed the entirety of Districts 11 and 12, he had taken on the persona of the Casanova of the Capitol, the goading gladiator, the wicked victor.

The day after that, Regulus disappeared without any warning or trace.

All you had was a seemingly private note slipped beneath your pillow that said “Don’t go looking” – you never told anyone about it. In the meantime, you were left completely and utterly alone.

Grief settled into your veins, and you did the only thing you could: you settled into routine. Sweet, hard-working routine to keep your storms at bay until you had made some sort of life for yourself. With one job as a wooden toy carver and another as a wood sculptures, not to mention the dinner rotation at the McKinnons and the Pettigrews, you kept busy. You could pretend to forget.

Until you couldn’t. Each year when you were forced into that town square, the memories haunted you viciously, cruelly – taunting you with how little you understood, how much time had passed. Beneath it all, there was a simmering of the one emotion you never could get rid of in the grief and confusion; love. It was the singular thing that powered all within you, ranging from the determination to the resentment. Oh, how you loathed how much you loved and missed your Black brothers.

You felt Mabel jump beside you at the crackle of the sound system, as the new Capitol representatives got ready to commence the Reaping. You shared a quick glance with Mary, acknowledging how the younger girl had to be your priority right now.

“It’s alright, Bel,” you whispered, shifting to hold her tighter against your side. “That sound means it’s almost over. Soon we’re done.”

Mary squeezed your own hand in return, almost as if to say take your own advice. You smiled meekly at her, and she rewarded you for your efforts by momentarily placing her forehead on your shoulder.

The younger girl just buried herself into you and you sighed to make yourself softer. It was her second Reaping, which meant it was far from her last. You understood her fear well, but still, you wanted to quell it.

The further the representatives got into their speeches, the longer the same old video droned on for, the more you disappeared from the current moment. It was hard to differentiate between past and present in these few heavy minutes, so you preferred to be in neither, to float up and out of your body. The only thing grounding you was your two friends pressed up against you, and that was all you needed. Nothing they could say up there was of any meaning to you.

Sirius never attended the Reapings the way some of the other victors did. They would line up at the front, on occasion even make speeches themselves, but never Sirius. He had yet to be a mentor, but you knew that victors were supposed to have a meeting of sorts before each game, where one of them was selected for the year. You often found yourself wondering where that meeting took place, if it was at the Capitol or nearby, if you unknowingly were standing just a couple hundred metres from him where he waited backstage or on the train.

A part of you hoped to never find out. A part of you hoped to never be near him again.

Most of you knew that was a poisonous lie.

These were thoughts you promptly pushed away. They did you no good – it had been made clear to you that you were not to think of the noble victor Sirius Black anymore.

The muscles in your back tensed more and more, shoulders hiking higher and higher the longer into the speeches the Capitol representatives got. Knowing that a name was soon to be pulled, yet you kept yourself disconnected.

Almost over, almost over.

The sudden outburst of sound and emotion around you – cries of relief, gasps of shock, whispered reactions– alerted you to the fact that a name had been called.

However, it was Mary’s loud sob and her face turning towards yours with nothing short of horror written over it that told you it was someone you knew.

One glance up into her grieving eyes told you that no, it was– it was you.

After so many years of just barely dodging it, you had been reaped. You were reaped. You were reaped. If your thoughts mere moments before had been a cloud, dragging you up above the crowd, they now became an anchor, cementing your feet to the ground.

“Mary…” you began, but were cut off by a static crackle.

“Y/N L/N? Come now love, don’t be scared.” The glee and excitement in the Capitol woman’s voice was nauseating, but it did kick you into action – and everyone else around you too, as the crowd seemed to separate to form a physical beacon on where the three of you stood, pressed together.

Your body moved on instinct; it was as if you were possessed by Sirius’ memory, pulling Mabel's crying form against you and kissing her head much like he had done with Regulus, squeezing Mary’s shoulder with a tight-lipped smile much like he had done with Peter. Ignoring your heart and mind screaming through sobs and anger as you released yourself from both of their grips to walk down the metaphorical red carpet leading up towards the stage. Chin tilted up, face schooled into nothingness. Eyes burning at the lights that suddenly shone upon you, but yet fighting to keep from squinting. Forcing the tremble away from your fingers by balling them up into fists as you began to ascend the steps to the stage.

“There we are, darling,” the male Capitol representative, who you had yet to bother learning the name of, essentially cooed at you, reaching out a hand for you to take.

You walked past it and assumed the position to the right of them both, staring emptily into the air.

He chuckled in a low, menacingly lilting tone. “Okay, well, we can see what kind of tribute we just selected, can’t we, Bella?”

“We sure can, Barty,” the woman, Bella, replied with a gleaming smile. “As for her comrade in arms…” she trailed off for dramatic effect before dipping her fingers with their ridiculously long and sharp nails down into the pot.

From a distance, it was easier to distort the sounds of their voices. Now up close, you couldn’t help but hear every word passing between the two representatives, no matter how loud the screaming in your own head was.

No. No, no, no, no.

“... Peter Pettigrew!” Bella shouted cheerily, with a screeching joy that all but punctured your eardrums.

No.

You squeezed your eyes shut from the first syllable, fighting the shaking taking over your body. Heavily, your shoulders slumped and your face began to fall at the revelation, before you scrambled for any and every piece of strength in your body to square up once again and face the literal sound of the music.

Deep breaths.

In the corner of your eye, you saw him climb the stairs to stand beside you. For only a brief second, you dared glance over, only to see the pure terror written all over Peter’s face, only to immediately regret it and whip your face forward again. You knew in your heart that you were not making it out of these games – and unlike with Sirius, the feeling settled like wings on your shoulders instead of rocks. If you were honest, you knew Peter would likely not either, but you could at least fight for him, in the hope that he would.

The man Bella had called Barty came up behind you both and placed a strikingly cold hand on your shoulders, twisting you to face one another. It was custom to shake hands with your fellow tribute, but for the Capitol representatives to lay hands on you like this was certainly not. You fought back the urge to shake it off.

“Now if the tributes may shake hands,” Barty said with a wicked grin, speaking loudly enough for the microphone a metre away to pick up on it – thus too loudly. “And may the odds be ever in your favour.”

Peter’s hand was trembling with such force that he could barely move it away from his body. With a quick sideway glance at the cameras, you reached forward to grab it, steadying it even as you shook it. Peter could not meet your gaze, and not a single part of you could hold it against him; you merely squeezed his hand reassuringly. That had to be enough for now.

As soon as you let go, Bella closed the Reaping Ceremony with a flourish.

You kept your chin elevated and your gaze empty as you began to move, lest it meet any of your friends and family in the many separated crowds. You weren’t sure if you would be able to keep it up if your eyes locked with Mary’s parents, with Peter’s brothers he just had to leave. Instead, you walked behind the walls with a pin straight back and let the Peacekeepers lead you through the townhouse, room after room, keeping all your emotions balled up. You signed some papers in one room, received a bag with a uniform in another. Finally you walked into the very same room that broke your heart 5 years ago, where your friends and family were already waiting.

The goodbyes were a flurry. Nothing felt real.

You hugged every one of the McKinnon siblings goodbye and nodded weakly when they begged that you would come back home to them, unable to make false promises verbally. The eldest, your Marlene, was the only one who did not plead; she grabbed each side of your face with a determined look and forced you to meet her eyes. “You will come home, Y/N. You will. I am not giving you a choice, you are making it back to us. Do you hear me?”

Even her, you could only spare a nod. But you listened and held her gaze through every word she spoke to make up for it, which seemed to be enough for now. Her hug was even more crushing now than when she kept you from running after Sirius and getting gunned down during his Reaping.

Mary had been silently crying through it all. When she hugged you, your collar was instantly wettened, and you could not help but wonder if this was how it felt for Sirius when you cried into him. You hoped it wasn’t, even as you knew it was.

When every cheek was kissed and every I love you uttered, you sized them up with a resolved gaze. You let it drag carefully over them all, committing them to memory, one last time.

Marlene could see what you were doing. With minimal movement, she shook her head – not admonishingly, but the correction was clear nonetheless. You will come back. You gave her a tight-lipped smile, and gave them all a final nod before exiting, allowing Peter to enter for his own goodbyes.

You stopped to say something to him, to hug him or give any reaction, but he scurried past you before you could. Even as you kept walking, your heart was sinking.

There was only one Peacekeeper waiting for you in the hallway. “Where do I go now?” You hated how weak your voice sounded, but at least there were no cameras here to catch it this time.

“Mrs. Lestrange is waiting for you around the corner. She will take you to meet your mentor on the train.” Even in your shock, you were baffled by the extreme lack of emotion in his voice. It was almost like talking to a robot, except it had distinctly human eyes. You supposed that was something to get used to.

“Thank you,” you replied, unsure if that was a common custom with Peacekeepers.

You heard Bella before you saw her, she was excitedly recapping the entire Reaping process to Barty, as if it did not just end and he wasn’t there for the whole thing. He didn't seem to mind; he was twirling around himself, as if your metaphorical dead body was his favourite meadow to frolic through. Her clapping hands and screeching voice made you sick to your stomach, but her eyes might as well be cameras in the court of public opinion, so you picked your facade back up.

“I was told you would take me to the train.” You interrupted one of her tirades, and when her head snapped towards you, there was a second of blazing fire in her expression before she realised that it was you – a new plaything. The glee set back into her within a second.

“Oh, this was the part I was the most excited about.” She smacked a kiss to Barty's cheek before grabbing your elbow to drag you away with her. You had to clench your teeth not to rip it away from her – these Capitol people were handsy. “It’s about time for a reunion, don’t ya’ think?”

You weren’t sure what she was saying most of the time, though you rarely were with Capitol people. Yet the pinching feeling in your stomach did not recede to make space for confusion, nor did your shoulders lower even a fraction.

There was a special entrance to the train that you could access through the townhouse, so that you would not be too swamped by onlookers. Bella was explaining the whole ordeal to you somehow, but as the metallic train came into view through the windows, the blood rushing through your head got louder and louder, even more so than her pitchy voice.

With this entrance, you only had to walk a meter unsheltered in the transition between the townhouse and the train. Shortly after the first gust of wind hit you was it again shut away as you stepped onto the metallic floorboards.

“Where are we going?” You found yourself asking Bella, unsure if she had already answered this or even if she was in the middle of a sentence.

She looked at you as if you were dumb, but it did not lessen her unnerving smile even a fraction nor stop her quick strides through the many corridors of the train. “Well, to meet your loverboy, duh.”

You stopped in the middle of a step, staring at her incredulously, unsure if you heard her correctly. A frustrated groan escaped her when she had to stop too, looking at you as if you were quite tedious. You knew who she must be referring to, but you had no idea why she would. At least like that.

“Am I not to meet with my potential mentors?” You tried to force any emotion out of your sentence.

“You’re being so silly, did you know that?” Bella took your arm once more, jostling you along with her. “Your mentor has already been decided, stupid. He’s waiting just over there, come on.”

You stumbled slightly in your step from how forcefully she dragged you. You were unsure if she even knew that she was gripping you as hard as she was, or if there was some serious disconnect between her mind and body.

She only let you go in favour of ripping open a rather large oak door and releasing an unnecessarily loud “ta dah!”.

The back you were met with was one you would have recognised in every life.

He stood hunched over a table, hands splayed out so wide they were shaking, black curls hanging messily in his face, breathing ragged. At the sound of Bella’s entrance and you being ushered in, he whipped around.

It was Sirius. Of course it was. Your heart wanted to say it was your Sirius, but you could clearly see that he wasn’t.

Though he looked different than he had on the occasional glance you stole of him onscreen, he still didn’t look the way you remembered either. No longer was he the scrawny boy you grew up with, the one you messed around in fields with, the one you read books with, the one you cried with and slept beside and walked beside and lived beside. Before you stood a weathered man, sharp in his handsomeness, pointed in every one of his features, guarded by an army of layers yet wearing more emotions than suited him. He had a few tattoos creeping up the side of his neck, the onyx ink shining in contrast to his pale skin.

The one thing that remained the same was the utter heartbreak spelled out in his eyes. It was the same as when he saw you last, only perhaps worse.

No, it was decidedly worse. When the stormy greys landed on your face, flitting about so rapidly that you were unsure how he could even see, lips parting ever so slightly, whatever tormented him settled in deeper. He looked inconsolable.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. As if he didn’t know what to say, as if there were no words.

His attention was abruptly shifted over to Bella when she clapped her hands together in mirth. “Isn’t this exciting!” she exclaimed, looking back and forth between you. “Aren’t you going to hug in greeting? Aren’t you going to ki–”

“Bellatrix.” Sirius spoke through gritted teeth, all of his pain schooled away in favour of a burning fire when he faced her. His voice was so much deeper than you remembered, so much hoarser. “Get lost. This is a meeting between mentor and tribute.”

“Oh, this is hardly a meeting or classified in any way, Siri. Just–”

He cut her off once more. “I won’t tell you again.” He eyed her with a severe glare. “Leave us. Now.”

It looked like Bellatrix wanted to fight him on it, but after looking between you three more times, she evidently decided she had gotten enough out of this endeavour. “You’re too serious, Black,” she said with a giggle. “Don’t bite her face off, you dog, she needs it for the interviews.”

She seemed to all but float out of the room, but closed the door behind her with a loud bang. You kept your head craned sideways, eyes burning a hole through the door where she left, leering.

The silence in the room felt more deafening than the volume of the plaza had. You had no idea what to say – this was nothing like what you could have imagined.

You and Sirius, alone in a room. Something you had craved more than words could explain, but that you now backed away from with every fibre of your being.

“Princess.” Sirius breathed the word out like he had been choking on it. Before you had the time to turn your head fully back towards him, he had swept you up into a bone-crushing hug. “Y/N,” he whispered into your neck, almost reverently.

A minute ago you were walking down the hallways with an awful stranger, and now you were embraced by someone who, despite everything, was painfully known to you. It did not compute in your mind, everything was whirring and screeching, and unlike what he once could, Sirius did not quiet the noises.

He almost did, though. Just almost. With his arms around your back, fingers splaying around your ribs, with your nose shoved against his neck as he cradled you, his scent taking over your senses, you could almost fall into it. Could almost fall into him. Your Sirius.

He smelled the same.

You reared backwards out of his touch, back hitting the wall as you stumbled. Your eyes felt wide, almost like a cornered animal, your lips parted as you stared at him. You realised you were breathing heavily. If he was startled by you ripping away from him, his face didn’t show it.

Studying his face now gave you a wave of deja vu so strong, it almost made you dizzy. There was no way you could communicate anything effectively at the minute.

“Sirius, what the fuck?!”

You hadn’t meant for your voice to be so loud, but not even that drew a reaction from him. Kicking yourself off the wall, you walked past him – leaving a large amount of space between you – dragging your fingers through your hair as you did so. You began a sentence multiple times, but no coherent word came out. “Why are you here? What just happened?” you ended up whispering, feeling pathetic at how close to a whimper it was. “Who–” You stopped. That was a sentence you did not have it in you to complete.

Who are you?

When you turned around to face him, you found that he had followed after you, keeping a respectable distance but still within arm’s reach, as if he couldn’t allow you to get further than that. For the first time since you stepped into the town square, tears began to fight to well in your eyes. Sirius didn’t look away from them.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was barely a whisper, insistent and imploring. “Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“For what?” You choked out, wrapping your arms around your stomach, not much unlike you had during his Reaping. Sirius’ gaze flitted down to your arms before moving back up, and it was as if you could see the memory playing across his irises.

He heaved a deep breath before rubbing his hands up and down his own face. When he lowered them, he gave you a look of defeat.

“I– let’s start over again,” he said then. He gave you a rueful smile. “Hi, princess.”

You looked at him, uncertain of whether you should start crying or laughing. You settled on a scowl in between. “I’m not sure you get to call me that anymore.” You looked away from his face as you said it, unwilling to see his reaction. “But sure. Hi, Sirius.”

When you dared a glance at him, he had his lips pressed together and a look of remorse in his eyes. You hated that you could still read him like this, for more than one reason.

“I was roughhoused onto the train last night. Told that I was to be the mentor of these games, whether I’d like to or not, no more information.” He said, as if that explained anything.

You couldn’t help the bite in your reply. “Am I meant to feel sorry for you? I was just given a death sentence. And now I have to face my ex best friend who I haven't seen in five years. This is some awful joke.”

This time you didn’t avert your gaze, the simmer within you for once bursting into a flame, however short-lived, and you got to witness how his face jerked backwards as if you had slapped him. In some way, you kind of had.

Your anger was not mirrored in his expression, but a form of determination took over his face as he spoke. “You weren’t. You weren’t.”

“What?” you asked dumbly, yet uncaring of sounding it.

Sirius stepped towards you, gingerly taking your hands into his own. His touch burned, the new awkwardness of the gesture burned. “You weren’t given a death sentence. I wasn’t and you weren’t. I bloody swear to you, Y/N, you will make it through these games.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from his touch, but you managed to at least not lean into it. There was a dangerous gloss coated over his grey eyes when you met them with your own, and for a second you got lost in them. Your voice cracked as you asked, “Why?”

Sirius let out a humourless laugh and suddenly brought you back into a hug, as if he just couldn’t help himself. Your hands were trapped between you in an embrace with one of his, but he rested his forehead against your temple and seemingly breathed you in.

“I am so, so sorry you have to ask that, princess. I’m so sorry, but I had to go.”

You shivered in his hold. These were words that you dreamed of – but had they not been nightmares? You shook your head but made no other move to remove yourself.

"It's been five years, you know? I'm not sure we even know each other at this point."

Sirius' answer was immediate. "I know you." He pressed his forehead firmer against you. "I know you."

The emotion in his voice rendered you speechless.

He pulled backwards without releasing you from the embrace, leaning away just enough to catch your gaze with his. It felt like the floor was giving way beneath you. His hand on your back travelled up to your cheek. “I'm sorry for it all. Always. And I’m sorry for calling you princess when you just asked me not to,” he added with a hint of the sheepish smile you once loved.

You opened and closed your mouth, absolutely dumbfounded, and he just stared at you patiently. Warmly. Desperately.

“Sirius–”

You were cut off by the door swinging open once more, causing Sirius to physically spring away from you, suddenly putting multiple metres between you at the sign of new guests. You almost stumbled at the change in positions, and you saw his hand twitch when he cast a glance your way, as if it ached to steady you.

“Now that the lovers have had their private greeting, maybe it’s time to include the other tribute in your strategies, Siri? Or are we just going to let itty bitty Peter die at the cornucopia?”

Bellatrix’s high pitched voice pierced through your ears, and you felt a mountain of guilt fall on top of you when your eyes fell on Peter cowering behind her, his eyes flitting wildly between you and Sirius. In your whirlwind of emotion, you had almost forgotten that he was as doomed as you were.

One glance to your right showed you that Sirius had no idea Peter had been reaped too. His brows furrowed and his lips fell into a decidedly downturned frown. “What– no, Pete,” he breathed out, arms falling to his sides.

“Hi, Sirius,” Peter squeaked, seemingly uncertain about what their dynamic was now, but relieved at at least being acknowledged.

Sirius stepped forward and physically nudged Bellatrix to the side as he pulled Peter in for his own hug. The sight stung in a way you couldn't communicate.

Over Sirius’ back, Bellatrix was grinning at you wickedly.

“Seems like you three have a conundrum or two to work through for us, don’t you?” Barty said cheerily as he emerged from behind Peter, clapping his hands down on his shoulders and making the younger boy jump in fear.

Bellatrix laughed as if that was just the funniest joke, and all but skipped up to you to tug at your cheek while turning to look at Sirius’ face that became increasingly stony at the sight of Bellatrix’s hands on you.

“Don’t you, Siri?” she pushed, giggling in a nearly maniacal manner. “Luckily, the Capitol is still far off. Gives you just loads of time to catch up, yeah?”

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rdr2enjoyer · 1 day ago

Note

aftercare hcs?

I've been wanting to make some sweeter headcanons lately so-

Long so I'm putting it beneath the cut

Arthur- Arthur tends to feel a little guilty after sex. A strange, vague guilt that he can't quit put a name to no doubt related to his poor self-image. His hands start to itch with the need to help, to work, to serve. So after sex, he starts by gently cleaning wiping you down with a wet (warm if he can get it) cloth. Not just where the mess is, but all over. After the impromptu sponge bath he'll offer water, food, pull the blanket over you and ask if you want him to stay because it just doesn't come naturally to him that yes, of course you do.

Charles- Charles gets so lazy after sex. he falls down next to or ontop of you, not at all bothered by the mess between you. He just wants to hold you against him, listen to you breathe, tell you how incredible you are and how you're the brightest light in his life. But eventually, he does start to clean you two up. He runs wet clothes over the mess between you and gets right back into bed, tugging the blanket up around your shoulders to fall asleep with you.

John- John is also, very lazy after sex and doesn't mind the mess of sweat and cum. He'd probably even amuse himself by being extra clingy with you, laughing at the way you push him off in disgust and gripe about hm being too sticky and sweaty to be touching you all over. After amusing himself long enough he's give in. "When did you become such a princess?" But if your highness is so concered then fine, he'll get the water and he'll clean you both down. After you're both clean he becomes surprisingly clingy. He loves to feel your hands in his hair as you drift off together.

Dutch- Dutch knows the abuse he tends to put you through requires just as much aftercare, and he's surprisingly generous with it. The second you two are finish all those degrading and demanding words are replaced with praise and cajoling. You took everything he gave you so well, and now it's time to reward you. If you don't have acess to a bath, he'll give you a relaxing spongebath instead. He kisses your shoulders and your head as he cleans you, whispering sweet words into your ear. then it's off to bed with you, but he usually doesn't join you unless it's late. He has a gang to run.

Javier- Javier does not need to be told what to do when it's time to clean up and get comfy. He's likely already set the stage before hand, maybe even requested a bath be drawn "Around 40 minutes from now, please," so everythings ready when you are. He does not like to be sticky and sweaty for long after sex, but loves to cuddle afer. So you'll share a romantic bath before getting back into bed.

Sean- Sean is too busy basking in the afterglow, the pride, the feeling of conquest from bedding you (even if it's for the hundredth time) to think about aftercare, for the most part. He'll jokingly lament as you wipe his cum from your body; something about thinking you look better with it on. He's clingy too, so clingy you have to force him off of you if you don't wanna be strangled by sweaty, gangly limbs, to which he'll lament dramatically about being scorned by his lover.

Kieran- Clingy, cuddly, seeks and gives affirmation generously. He can ramble for so long about how incredible that was, how lucky he is, how amazing you are, that he forgets you're both covered in mess and sweat and need to clean off. He doesn't even care too, really. He just wants to bask in this-in you. Maybe if he's lucky it will glue you together and you'll never have to be apart.

Micah- The most aftercare you're gonna get from Micah is a pat on the ass and a cigarette, if he happens to have extra. He'll be smug, telling you all about how loud you were. "Musta been damn good to get you squealin like that, weren't it doll?"

#arthur morgan #john marston #charles smith #kieran duffy #sean macguire #javier escuella #dutch van der linde #micah bell #headcanons #rdr2 #rdr2 smut #rdr2 headcanons #rdr2 nsft #asks

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ragingbookdragon · 1 day ago

Text

Blame It On The Beach, Grown Men Don't Cry

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: Someone on TT said "What if Hangman lost his wingman?" in response to Rooster's "The only place you'll lead anyone is an early grave." ...enjoy :')

**********************************************************************

Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.

He lay in his bed, replaying the words over and over again, guilt and shame swirling in his gut as he remembered the way everyone looked on with pity when the words left Rooster’s mouth. He hid the immediate reaction behind an amused smile, but inside, turmoil was eating away at his rib cage. Before he knew what he was doing, he thumbed through his contacts and pressed the call button under her name. It rang and rang until the voicemail answered.

Hey, hey! Can’t come to the phone right now, I’m busy flying high! Leave your name and message and I’ll hit you up when I can!

He frowned as he pulled the phone away from his ear and set it down on the nightstand before he rubbed the back of his palms to his eyes, hard enough that he saw stars glinting in them. He debated getting some shut eye, but maybe a run around the flight line would burn off some of the emotion he felt. It’s what he always did when things got to heavy to handle.

The shrill notes of Zach Bryan’s “I Remember Everything” startled him and he quickly grabbed his phone, swiping it before he put it to his ear.

“Hey Jake,” she greeted over the line. “Sorry, I was brushing my teeth and didn’t hear my phone.”

He smiled tightly even though she couldn’t see it. “Nah, don’t worry, it’s fine. I just…wanted to talk.”

“Ooo, are we having girl problems again?” she teased and this time, his grin widened.

“No, no girl problems today,” he answered. “Just…wanted to hear your voice.”

The line went silent for a moment then she asked, “You okay, Jake? You sound upset about something.”

Even hundreds of miles apart and over a telephone line, she could still read him so well.

“It’s nothing major,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“C’mon, pretty boy, lay it on me. What’s up?”

Jake’s jaw clenched and he sighed quietly before saying, “You remember Rooster?”

“Rooster…” he could imagine the pinching of her expression as she desperately tried to recall the name and face.

“Bradley Bradshaw?”

“Ah, Rooster! Yeah, I remember him. Overly cautious and rather quiet if I recall.”

“Yeah…” he murmured. “He…said something today at the Hard Deck that got to me.”

She hummed. “I also don’t recall Rooster being the type to antagonize anyone unless provoked. What’d you do?”

“How do you know I did anything?” he retorted with an irritated expression.

“Because your big head likes provoking for shits and giggles. C’mon, Jake, what’d you do?”

“It’s…about the mission we’ve been recalled for.”

“Yeah, I remember you were saying you were recalled back to Top Gun. What’d you say at the bar?”

Jake made a nose in his throat akin to annoyance. “Again, not everything is my fault.” He defended but her snort had him smiling, and then he frowned and murmured, “I made some dick comment about the others following me as team leader.”

“Okay, so you being you?” she responded confused. “And I’m assuming that’s where Rooster comes in?”

He didn’t respond for a moment.

“Jake?”

He clenched his jaw, “Rooster said…he said…” Jake let out a sigh and muttered, “He said the only place I’d lead anyone is an early grave.” He heard her intake of breath, and he continued, “And then everyone got real quiet and I…”

“Jake, it wasn’t your fault.”

He shut his eyes. “It was.”

“Jake,” she murmured. “It was an accident.”

“It doesn’t make me feel any less guilty,” he said softly. “I…I left you behind, my wingman, and you—”

“Jake, I got shot down by a bogey. Not you. You didn’t do anything wrong. You upheld the mission standards.”

“I fucking paralyzed you!” he hissed. “And got you medically discharged! I did that!”

“Jake, I’m not mad at you. When are you going to let it go? I’m not angry. I let it go.” She hummed softly. “Jake, just because I’m not in the Navy or in a jet anymore, doesn’t mean I’m not still enjoying my life. Honey, there’s more to life than flying and service.”

“But you wanted to be an admiral…and teach at Top Gun,” he said softly.

“Jake, honey, you’ve gotta let it go,” she murmured. “My life now is not your failure.”

He felt the sting burning hot in his eyes as he shut them. “I can’t forgive myself for what I did. For what I did to you.”

“Oh, Jake Seresin. Such a contrast to be so cocky yet so soft and caring.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he whispered.

“I’m not. But you have to admit, it hurts to hide that bleeding heart you’ve got behind that big ego of yours.”

“…maybe a little,” he muttered.

“Jake?” she asked softly.

“Yeah?”

“You gotta start letting it go, honey. I’m not mad and depressed with life anymore. Honey, I’m happy. I work a good job, I have a good home and good friends. I help other veterans like me. Jake, I’m okay.”

Jake’s throat tightened impossibly. “…you sure?”

“I’m sure, honey,” she answered. “I’m right as rain and go for lift-off.”

“Yeah?” he asked through the tears.

“Yeah, Jake, I’m good.” She shuffled around on the other side of the line. “Now, if I know you, you’re gonna go take a run to burn off all this unknown emotion called ‘feeling.’”

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I am. I’m hilarious.” She laughed on the other end of the line. “And remember, Jake, never be a stranger, okay? Working pelvis and legs or not, I’m still your wingman.”

“Floating like a butterfly?”

“And stinging like a bee,” she answered with a smile. “Love you, Jake. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, you too,” he murmured, hanging up. “I love you too.”

He set his phone back down on the nightstand and looked at the ceiling with a tired expression, then he turned out the light and rolled over, closing his eyes.

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tanpl-if · 2 days ago

Text

In the summer of 1984 you get a letter informing you of your mother's death.

The first and only letter you get in ten years since you left your hometown.

You stand in the middle of the old, tiny room that you can barely afford to rent and read it over and over again until the buzz at the back of your head quiets down. Until your hands stop shaking.

You think of what it means for you.

I hope you arrive soon. You know Marrowbone will always have a place for you.

The words spin in your head and you think of Marrowbone then—a secret, lonely place, standing at the edge of everything, surrounded by forests and fields, barely acknowledged on the maps.

But it is home.

And whether you like it or not, you are coming back.

There are no people left is an 18+ horror inerractive fiction game for language, themes and potential explicit content

• choose between 3 preset personalities for MC that will open different paths in the story

• reconnect with your old friends and make new connections

• explore your hometown

• remember why you left

DEMO: TBA

Olya - Aside from working the bar left to her care by her parents, she isn't up to much of anything, the days passing by her seamlessly. You watch her work - pale fingers gripping the glass she is cleaning a bit too tight, lips pressed into a frown - and think how much she has changed since you last saw her.

She looks older. More tired too, but more than anything angry. With life perhaps. With you - for sure. The tension hangs between you, threads through every conversation, follows with every touch.

A decade of silence will do that, you think, almost guilty. You wonder if there was ever a chance of putting the fragile pieces back into place.

You wonder if the only thing left for you is to mourn.

Timur - Head held low, he keeps to himself most of the time. You remember him a sickly thing - his parents never letting him out to play, hiding him away in fear for his poor health. You remember sneaking into his room - muted laughter and hushed whispers, when you kept him company.

The memories taste bitter now, after all those years.

He seems more shut off now, and as much as you expected him to forget you, you're even more surprised when he gives you the same smile that reminds you of a sweet little boy that used to be your neighbor.

In the midst of half-forgotten faces and unwelcome memories, he still feels the same as when you were kids.

You're not sure if it brings you comfort or not.

The Doctor - He does his work well, and that's what matters, the doctor says, not in the most friendly fashion.

His face is lined with age, gray temples vivid among the black, as he runs his fingers through his hair, looking at another report with pursed lips and tired eyes.

You don't remember seeing him before, a hard thing to achieve for one of the few doctors of Marrowbone - a surprise and a revelation at the same time.

You know he is local, and your mind burns with questions. You can't imagine anyone in their right mind coming back here if they ever managed to leave - not by choice anyway - but you hold your tongue. It's not your place to intrude.

And it's definitely not your place to judge.

The Gravekeeper - As frail as she appears to be, she manages to be just as cheerful.

The keeper's granddaughter spends her days taking care of the dead - keeping them company, she says - the hem of her dress brushing against gray stone, as she moves around, steps light.

She is all sweet smiles when she talks to you, dimples catching your eye. And though you never saw her before, there is Marrowbone etched into her in a way you can't explain - dark eyes and a knowing pull of her lips - there is no doubt she has always been a part of this town.

The Widow - There is a rumor about her, almost a tale, nurtured by years of boredom from the residents of small town - not much to do in Marrowbone aside from gossiping about your neighbors - about a woman on the hill, lonesome in her manor, a number of husbands lying dead in the small graveyard in front of her home. About a woman always wearing black, forever in mourning. Some believe her cursed, though a more cynical crowd would call her much meaner names - a gold-digger with an exceptional streak of luck.

A witch.

You see her there, standing at the top of the hill - her dress swaying in the wind, black veil covering her face. And though you can't make out a single detail behind it, somehow you know - her eyes are on you.

Sonya - Your mother. You don't know what happened to her.

asks are welcome and and appreciated <3

tags: @interact-if

#interactive fiction #twine #there are no people left

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short-honey-badger · 1 day ago

Note

It's okay may I request yandere headcanons for shanks from one piece

Absolutely it is! I LOVE some yandere Shanks. It's one of my personal favorites! Hope you enjoy! Sorry it's a little short I'm still getting the hang of headcanons ❤️

Shanks simply adores you, and he isn't shy in letting you or anyone else know it. He doesn't care about PDA or if you are getting embarrassed at his behavior. Shanks would show you how much you meant to him at any time of day. Holding you tight to his chest, that muscular arm wrapped around your waist to make sure you can't go too far. Lips always a hairsbreath away from you, ready to smother you with kisses at any point.

He is everything that you have ever wanted, as long as you are loyal to him and he doesn't catch you talking with anyone outside of his crew. Shanks doesn't trust easily, so he definitely didn't trust outsiders. So if he's a little mean when he herds you away from the group of girls you've been cutting up with, well. That's just for your own good.

"You don't need to talk to them, baby. Not when I'm right here. You don't want me to be lonely, do you?"

He isn't above making you feel guilty if he wants something either. You don't want to wear the outfit he picked out specifically for you? Well, you just don't care about what he wants anymore. You end up wearing what he wants, even if it's not something you're totally comfortable with.

And don't get him started when he catches another man speaking with his sweetheart. That lighthearted, loving attitude is replaced with something dark and dangerous. The entire island will feel the change in Shanks when he slowly stands from his seat and stands behind you at the bar from where you'd gone to get drinks.

"This guy bothering you, doll? You need me to take care of him for you?"

But afterward, Shanks will make sure you know who you belong to. How much you love him and how you would never ever leave him while he takes you apart piece by piece. His hand and mouth map you out like it's the first time he had you all over again. He covers you with his lean body, making sure that you can't feel or see or sense anything other than him.

But despite how softly he handles you, his words are aggressive, mad, and possessive all at once and all for you. You are his, damn it, and Shanks didn't think he could live in a world where he couldn't be with you. He needs you to understand how much you own him, how much Shanks needs you like he needed oxygen.

"You should have known better than to talk to another man, baby. You know that I'm yours right, so it's only fair that you be mine. Where you just trying to make me jealous, sweetheart?"

#reader insert #one piece #shanks x reader #shanks headcanons #one piece x reader #yandere x reader #yandere shanks

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urinarythreatinfection · 2 days ago

Text

Is This Love?

Luffy x Male Reader. Fluff. 2119 words. Part one, Part two, Part three

Desc: Luffy doesn't know what's going on but he does know that he enjoys eating fish.

Thump thump thump thump

Luffy bursts into the men’s quarters and flops onto his bed, putting his hand on his still thumping heart, “Hah… Hah…”

Thump thump thump thump

What’s going on? Is he having a poisonous reaction? But neither Chopper nor Sanji said anything. “Nnn…” No, it can’t be that, because it happened when you hugged him. That’s it! He’s just excited from being hugged by you after a whole week! He scratches at his heart… this doesn’t feel like excitement though. A scary thought pops into his mind as he starts to vibrate. ‘Am I dying!?’ If he’s dying why did he run away? He could’ve gone to Chopper but it was like everything in him told him to run, to get away. Like he just got caught trying to snag food while Sanji’s cooking or ate a week’s rations. “Uuuu..” He rolls onto his back and takes a big breath, letting it out to calm himself down. It’s okay, he isn’t dying and there’s no enemies, he isn’t in trouble either. It was just a hug from you. You used to do that all the time. You hugged him because you loved what he did. You loved it, you love him. Love.

THUMP

Dizziness starts to take over his mind again, as he shakes harder. Nonono. He wraps himself in his blanket hoping he’s cold but he feels too hot, kicking it off. Too excited, too dizzy, too much! He takes a giant breath and rolls back onto his stomach, letting it out and floating slightly before falling back onto the mattress. This is a mess, this is the worst. Then, a knock at the door.

“Hey, Luf, you in there?” Luffy flinches, it’s you. The door is unlocked, he was too panicked to lock it, but you knocked anyway to be nice. You aren’t sure why the captain ran off, after all. “Did you change your mind about giving me the fish? You didn’t have to run away, you can just tell me.” You’ve misunderstood, thinking Luffy ran because he wanted the fish but left to control the urges. But so has he, even if your voice is making him feel weirder. “You can still eat it, we can’t finish it all anyway.” On cue his stomach grumbles, fish does sound good right now. The captain looks down at his chest, he’s calmed down. That’s it, he’s just hungry, but what a weird type of hunger. Flip flops hit the floor as Luffy walks over, opening the door. “Oh, there you are. What happened?”

“I’m hungry.” He states, though his cheeks are still a bit flushed.

“...You sure? You look a little red, I mean you can eat anyway if you’re sick. You end up healing faster when you eat.” That’s true, but feels a little bad, not wanting to go back on his word. Especially when it’s for you.

“I caught it for you, though.” Luffy mumbles while he shifts in place. You think for a moment before replying.

“Okay. We’ll do this. I’ll eat as much as I can with the others, then you can have all the rest. Sounds good?” This brightens him up. That means he’s technically not breaking his word. He puts a hand over his chest, no quick thumping.

“Better.” He whispers, then he looks up at you and gives you a big hug, catching you off guard. It’s a little embarrassing but you did tell yourself you’d try to act normal again, so you hug back. He buries his face in your chest and everything’s normal.. until you hear him take a big sniff.

“???” You look down at him. “Did you just sniff me?” He looks up, resting his chest on your chest.

“You smell strong.” Weird, but if this put you off then you’d not have fallen in love with Luffy.

“..Thanks?” Could be a compliment.

“Mhm!” ..It was. Sanji was right. “Okay! Now let’s go!” Luffy hops up on your shoulders then points towards the deck. Cute. You run in the direction and he laughs before hitting his head on the top of the doorway. “Ack!” Oops.

____________________

Drool pools in Luffy’s mouth as he watches you eat. Intense, and it’s making you feel guilty for keeping food from him. “You don’t have to wait in here, you know. I can just call you when I'm full.”

“What if someone eats my food?” He’s nervous, staring intently at the fish on your plate.

“I’ll defend it.” Your tone is determined and his eyes meet yours.

“Promise?”

“Yeah.” You hold in your urge to hug him, your heart can’t take it right now, so you settle with petting his head. His eyes widen for a second before he smiles at you.

“Shi shi shi.” So cute!

‘Resist resist resist.’ You clench your jaw to hold it in, but it doesn’t matter since Luffy ends up giving you a quick hug before leaving the kitchen anyway. “Dammit..” You clench your fist on the table. When you look back at the others you notice everyone staring at you. It’s so obvious what they’re thinking, it pisses you off a bit so you take it out on Usopp. He gasps at your fork stabs into his food and shoves it in your mouth.

“Wha- Why only me!?” Too bad.

__________________

You pat your stomach with a content sigh. You’ve eaten a little less fish than being full to then save as much as you can for Luffy, but you’re still content. You want to spoil him, especially when he seemed excited about it. Enough to be upset and run away. “Hrm..” You hope he’s okay being kept from eating. Hopefully the variety of food will make it better. Grilled fish, fish soup, fish cake, sushi, lots of dishes that you can enjoy amazingly if you don't inhale it. You go outside and call for Luffy but there’s no answer. “Luffy!” You call again, now you hear the sound of hurried flip flops before he jumps on you.

“The smell was making me hungrier.” He had to go far so he couldn’t smell it. You chuckle a little then lead him back into the kitchen, setting him down once inside. His eyes widen with sparkles at all the food left. Here he’d thought there would only be a little, but you left so much for him. You smile when he looks at you gratefully.

“Hey, Sanji’s the one who made it, I just left what I couldn't eat for you.” To be honest there’s still some stored away, but you won’t say that for the chef’s sake.

“I’ll thank him later!” The captain yells and quickly stretches his arms to grab the pot of fish soup, immediately dropping it when it hurts. “HOT!” It’s falling! You run over and manage to catch it, wincing when the metal burns your hand. Still, you hold it and set it back onto the table.

“Here, be more careful.” You tell Luffy and give him cloths to use in order to hold the pot safely. He nods and uses them, tilting the soup into his open gullet happily. While he’s demolishing the soup you put your burnt hand under the sink, running cold water onto it. A minute passes and you hear Luffy put the empty pot down, grabbing sushi and putting it in his mouth before he finally notices what you’re doing. ‘Whar happefed” His speech is muffled by the food as he walks over to you.

“Burned my hand catching the pot, but it would’ve dropped otherwise.” You explain with a sigh. Fast reflexes but you wish you’d grabbed a cloth. Now your hand is burnt and you’ll have to go to Chopper later. The captain swallows the sushi in his mouth and stares at your burnt hand, then his safe ones. He’s fine because he let go immediately, but now you’re hurt because of it. He should’ve been the one to put it back on the table, but he wasn’t, and now you’re injured. He stretches his hand to grab a piece of sushi and puts it to your mouth. “Luffy I’m fu-mmphh”

“Get better.” He states and you chew it. It’s good, made by an excellent chef, but you really don’t want to eat more. Still, you can’t disobey your love so you swallow it. “.. ‘m sorry for dropping it.” Wow, he apologized. Maybe because you actually got hurt because of it. He sounds guilty too.

“It’s okay, the soup is good and I didn’t want you to miss it.” You tell him and go back to your hand. “I knew you’d love it.”

Thump thump

Luffy flinches and puts a hand on his heart, it feels weird again. He scratches at it as you sigh. You’ll have to go to Chopper but it’ll burn worse once you take your hand out of the water. Still, you take a deep breath and bite the bullet. “I’m gonna go to Chopper, enjoy the food!” You say quickly and hurry to leave the kitchen before the pain gets worse, not noticing the rubber man watching you every step of the way. Once you’re gone he shifts around uncomfortably. He did love the soup, you’re right. He loved it a lot, but now his chest feels weird. ..Maybe it’s just heartburn. Luffy gulps down a glass of water and gets back to eating, trying to ignore what’s happening. The food tastes duller.

Meanwhile

“Owww…” You’ve made it to Chopper and he’s started patching you up. The ointment being put on is good for you but it burns so bad. You have to grit your teeth when the reindeer gauzes up your hand after.

“You should’ve just let it fall!” He’s upset you hurt yourself over some soup. The doctor would get it if Luffy, maybe even Sanji, burned themselves to catch a pot of food; but not you! The door suddenly opens, it’s rubber boy. He’s holding fish cakes in his arms.

“What’re you doing here?” You ask him but he just takes a bite of the fishcake, chewing and swallowing before a content smile forms on his face.

“Tastes better!” He states happily, casually squeezing himself on your other side.

‘aaaaaaaaaa’ He leans against you. So close, basically on your lap. To be honest you're not complaining but why is he so close?

“Luffy be more careful! And don’t eat in here. You’ll get crumbs on the bed.” Chopper scolds him but the captain just rests his head on your arm, tilting it up to look at you with a small frown. Dammit, he’s too adorable. What’s worse is ever since you confessed you’ve become even more sensitive to his presence instead of less. There’s crumbs on his lips and he licks them to get it off.

“I don’t wanna, my food doesn’t taste as good without (Y/n).” He likes you!? Wait, that could just mean he doesn’t like eating alone, makes more sense. He continues to stare at you and puts a fishcake in his mouth. “Wanna shtay.” His face is so close, the other side of the fish cake is pressing against your lips and he’s only getting closer. It's not long before you have to open your mouth to avoid making a mess, biting into it as he looks into your eyes. Before anything else happens a small voice speaks.

“Um..” Chopper is still sitting there, now rather awkwardly. Even if he doesn't understand what you two are doing he does understand that you’re both getting crumbs on the bed.. and while ignoring him. Once you become aware of his presence you inhale and start to choke on the fishcake, pulling back to cough. It makes the reindeer panic as he turns into his human form to squeeze your stomach til you hack out a piece of fishcake onto the ground. Gross.

‘What a waste…’ Luffy stares at the discarded fishcake.

“Luffy don’t even think about eating that! And get out!” The doctor has had enough, picking the captain up and kicking him out of the office to tend to you properly. Once outside Luffy pops the rest of the fishcake in his mouth.

“Weird.” He doesn’t understand why he was getting so close to you. He just felt like it was right for some reason. In fact, he felt like the fishcake was in the way. That it was stopping him from looking at you properly. He wants to look at you more, see all of the expressions on your face. His mind wanders to the one where you look a little embarrassed. That one is his favorite. Yes, he needs to see that one more often.

Thump thump

This is taking more chapters than I thought.. hope you don't mind. At this point I don't actually know if this is going to be slow burn or average burn. I was planning on putting more romance into this chapter but it just felt.. wrong. So I scrapped and rewrote it. This isn't really my best work either. I feel like i could write this better, make the flow better, but I keep writing these when I'm tired and I'm too impatient to just wait to post it and proofread it again when I'm well rested. Sorry about that.

#one piece #anime only #one piece x reader #fanfiction #fluff #luffy x reader #slowburn #slow burn #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy x male reader #male reader #multi chapter

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fallen-w1ngs · 2 days ago

Text

" HUSBAND HAWKS ,,

|| pairings: hawks x gn!reader / keigo takami x gn!reader

|| word count: 0.6k

|| this is really short, mb chat, finals are gonna kick my ass

|| you and keigo had been married for... let's say around 2.5 years, yeah? you're not exactly one for publicity, in fact you actively avoid being seen out with your husband since that'll end in a bajillion photos and questions. However, there are photos and interviews that cycle through the internet about you two...

|| thankfully, you and keigo live a semi-peaceful life. i say semi because there are still days where keigo comes home late all bloody and bruised. of course, you knew what was going to happen when you married him, but your worry for him.. let's just say you get high blood pressure.

|| however, we're not here for the angst we're here for the cutsie comfort and fluff.

|| your everday life was simple! you'd wake up, keigo on occassion, wasn't there due to early patrol but you learned not to let it get to you. you wake up, get ready for the day, and! do literally whatever you want, because ever since keigo married you, he convinced you to be a stay at home spouse cause he can't have his darling work! you should be spoiled rotten!

|| honestly though, it works in your favour! because, who actually wants to work? not me. so you spend your day tending to the penthouse, to the plants and pets that you two potentially get. and everyday, you visit keigo's agency to bring food for him and his sidekicks sometimes!

|| everyone at the agency absolutely adores you, and that makes keigo fall for you EVEN MORE. you bring small treats, or big meals for everyone in the agency (sometimes other heroes come visit just to have some food). of course, you treat your husband the most, but you treat the others. when tokoyami comes along as an intern, oh my god he's like your son!

|| you dote on him and keigo, making sure neither of them are overworking themselves. whether it be hero work or school work, you scold both of them when you come by the agency at lunch and see them both tired as fuck.

|| anyways! back to hawks! how does he treat you as a spouse? oh he is head over HEELS! he absolutely adores yoy every waking (and dreaming) moment. he will call you gorgeous, pretty, handsome, beautiful! whatever you want! he'll kiss your knuckles, your forehead, your lips, your jaw. everything! as if he's a starving man and you're a delicious meal.

|| as much as you spoil him with food, a clean house, affection, and in home dates, he spoils you with extravagent dates, gifts, and again, affection. he will shower you in gifts, that you don't know what to do with! it's absolutely amazing.

|| on days when keigo comes in late, he feels so bad. he feels so guilty, because he sees you on the couch, your phone in hand with both your messages opened, probably waiting for him to text back. the tv's still playing and the dinner at the dining tables gotten cold. he puts the dinner away, he'll eat later. he turns the tv off, it's just the news anyways. and picks you up and brings you to both of your bedroom.

|| he's so gentle when he places you in bed, of couese you shift in your sleep, but don't wake up. he changes into some pj's and cuddles up to you.

|| he wraps his wings around you like a protective cocoon and, no he doesn't sleep right away. he just stares at you. admiring you, god you're gorgeous, he thinks. admiring every part of your face as if trying to memorize it.

|| anyways, that's all i have! there's husband keigo for ya, i might add more/make more but yeah!

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dykecubes · 10 hours ago

Note

I was a hardcore dream fan up until the point the initial grooming accusations (the stuff in from the “The Truth” video).

I think a lot of people call Dream fans a cult kind of like,,,,, either insultingly or hyperbolically. Like they aren’t really thinking that the group is cult-like, and are saying it just because of the extreme devotion to dream through controversies. As a former fan tho, my experience genuinely does feel somewhat cult-like to me (I don’t want to downplay real cults, but I don’t have another word).

Cults often target people who are lonely and vulnerable and offer them community in return for not questioning things. I joined the dream fan community a couple months into the pandemic. I was very lonely. I had depression that I had just started getting treatment for (literally one session and I was still unmedicated) at my college, before getting ripped away from my hope things were going to get better. I wasn’t out to my parents, so living at home again meant getting constantly misgendered.

in short, I wasn’t feeling great. And Dream- you have to understand how much of his fan community (at least on tumblr) is into the idea that he loves his fans, and he loves his friends. And getting to watch those friendships felt like living vicariously. And having someone tell me they loved me, even if I knew I was just another fan helped. For a long time during the pandemic, the dream team were the literal highlight of my day. They were often the reason I got out of bed. I knew even then that that wasn’t healthy, but I was having trouble figuring out how else to get through things.

even after going back to college after the first vaccine had come out, Dream (watching and re-watching videos, interacting with the community) remained a pillar of my mental health. Less so, but if I needed to calm down, I watched a dream video. A lot of my free time was spent in fan spaces. I really, really put him on a pedestal.

I cannot describe to you how anxious I was when the grooming allegations came out. I genuinely started feeling nauseous all the time. I was checking my phone obsessively. I’m not going back to look at these, but I remember that dream had some initial responses (long Reddit post and whatnot). There wasn’t enough there to really make anything clear/disproven and the girls looked like they had a lot of evidence, so I was still anxious and sick and feeling like I was waiting in limbo to find out what was really going on. Trying to prep myself to accept that things might not be what I hoped, as much as I didn’t want to believe it.

when I logged on, the vibe in my tumblr circle was… very different. A lot of people (except for a few that ended up leaving with me) were acting like everything was disproven and it was all good and we could go back to normal times, with a few posts about how disgusting it was that someone would fake something like that. My first response was, honestly, confusion. I thought that I must have been being stupid and missed something or not understood something. So I politely sent an ask to a big name in the community that I trusted to be smart and explain things well, saying that I wasn’t sure we had enough evidence to really dismiss the accusations and asking why she thought that everything was disproven. She gave me exactly the same information that I already knew, while calling me stupid and saying that if I didn’t believe dream that I should just get the fuck out.

I felt suddenly, unpleasantly woken up. I wasn’t being stupid or missing evidence that would fully exonerate dream (maybe there was evidence like that in “the truth”. I never watched it, couldn’t). They just wanted to believe Dream wasn’t guilty, so they did, and twisted things until that made sense. Because they wanted to feel excited and loved again, instead of the crushing anxiety and dread I was in. And I thought about my own reactions, and I knew that I had been so fucking anxious over someone I didn’t even know because secretly I also wanted Dream to be exonerated. I wanted to bury my head in the sand and pretend that it simply wasn’t true because of what being a dream fan gave to me: bits of happiness and community.

And I was really scared of myself. Because I wanted to not believe those girls, not because I thought I had evidence otherwise, but because it would make me feel better. And I knew that was really, really shitty, and that that was something I had to stop in its tracks. And that I NEEDED to not be as obsessive or put anyone on a pedestal as much again. Because I would do the same thing- wanting to make excuses to keep my own happiness. And that’s not ok.

I stopped following almost everyone overnight and stopped watching anything Dream-related cold turkey (<—I realize this probably sounds stupid but I genuinely watched so much dream stuff it was an actual change in my life). I’m still in the mcyt space, mostly hermitcraft, but I make sure that I never put anyone on a pedestal like that again, and I have a way healthier internet to real life ratio.

Coming out of that space genuinely felt like something I was grieving. The intensity of my emotions, both in it and coming out, wasn’t healthy, and I’m really glad I left. if I wasn’t faced with a situation where someone was potentially materially being hurt, I don’t know if it could have happened, I was so embroiled. For obvious reasons tho, that crossed a line and luckily on the other side I had people that were kind to me when I was still kinda reeling.

anyway, tldr, my hot take with this situation is that more dream fans wake up and realize he’s a piece of shit, and get grace and kindness while doing so. Sorry for how long this is- hopefully I get my point across that I genuinely believe that at least some dream fan spaces are intensely unhealthy, more than some people outside of them might consciously think

anon if I’m being honest with you this whole situation has me thinking a lot about this post from a while ago and at the moment, yes, it is frustrating seeing his fans deny the evidence right in front of them but I really can’t help but hold a level of sympathy for them

I was never really a hardcore dream stan but I was very adjacent to that community back when I still had Twitter and TikTok and spent a lot of time defending dream and his community whenever criticisms of him came up, I very much disliked the idea of calling dream stans a cult because I spent probably about 5 years or so of my life in stan communities on Twitter and I’m very much of the opinion that they get a bad rap, but it was around the time of his grooming allegations that I stopped defending him as well and came to understand what people meant when they called his community a cult

while I still don’t fully like using that word to describe his community because I know people who are survivors of cults and don’t want to downplay their severity, I will also say it’s alarming how easy it is to apply the BITE method to dream’s fanbase, especially information and thought control

that being said, even if it technically is not a cult it’s still a very intense community and it’s still difficult to get out of (speaking specifically on the way former dream stans are often bullied for leaving) and obviously the connection you’d have to such an intense community like that is going to be a serious emotional one so I understand why a lot of them might still be holding on

so I agree, I hope if fans of dream choose to leave his community they’re treated with grace and kindness

thank you for sharing, anon, I hope you’re doing well <3

#also I wanted to say but I didn’t have anywhere to fit it in with the rest of this post but I don’t think the cold turkey comment sounds #stupid I think it makes sense #you dedicated a lot of your time to his content and it became a major part of your life it makes sense that it would be a major change to #stop watching his content #hope I worded this well #mailbox #dream situation #long post

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pentrologram · 2 days ago

Text

What Normal People Do - 9

Feelings bubble over.

sjdkfjkslfk before we get into the good stuff, i js wanna say thank you to everyone who's left a comment so far <3 it truly keeps me going when i have dry spells of writing during school!! i love reading them and the only thing stopping me from printing them out and pinning them on a wall on my room is social norms lmaoo

ao3!

poly!ghoap/gn!reader

Not Shy of a Spark

You’re skittish now.

It’s the first thing Johnny realises when he returns to your flat. He had gone under the guise of returning a jumper you had left that Halloween night.

“Hi, bonnie,” he says, his voice nearly as soft as the cotton in his hands. He’s anxiously trying not to scare you, not keen to invoke the firey anger you had reigned on them the other day. You warily glance at the fabric in Johnny’s hands before hesitantly taking it.

“Um, thanks, Johnny,” you say shyly. “Uh, I’ve got to go now. Bye.” You shut the door on him, making him droop and drag his feet on his way back to his flat.

“Any luck?” Simon asks from where he is on the couch, Riley draped across his legs like a sort of blanket while he watches footie.

“No. Barely got anythin’ outta them,” Johnny says glumly, planting himself by Simon, and petting the top of Riley’s head.

"'S alright. Still got those reservations, don't we?"

"Well, yeah, but I dinnae want them to be mad at us," Johnny says, a pronounced frown on his lips.

"I don' think they're mad at us, love. Jus' confused, is all."

"What they said abo' the statue..."

"They wouldn't've done it on purpose, I'm sure. You saw 'em before, right, and they were half hammered," Simon says, scratching Riley's belly.

"I ken. They sounded bleedin' guilty t' other day, too," he remarks quietly.

"Probably beating themselves up abo' it right now. Ought to give 'em the reservations soon, mm?"

"Yeh." Johnny slumps further into the couch at the memory of you just minutes earlier, all meek and nervous.

"Johnny, love, 's gonna be fine. Things'll work out," he reassures, leaning over to kiss the top of Johnny's head. "You'll see." Johnny's dejected. For the first time in his life, someone that he likes an awful lot, seems... scared of him. And it scares him. He's not sure how Simon's so calm about it, so confident. Typically their roles are reversed- it's usually Johnny diving in headfirst to everything, ensuring the safety of Simon's prized personal space, his bubble.

The next day, Simon reaches out to you. Like all his prior texts, he's blunt.

Today 6:33 PM

- The Springfields, Manchester

- 8 PM tomorrow.

- ??

- wtf???

- See you then.

"What the fuck?" You repeat aloud to yourself as you lay on your bed, wallowing in self-pity after work. You'd been ignoring your neighbours for the better half of a week now and then... Simon springs a reservation to Ivy Springfields. The nicest place you've been to since you started work was a P.F. Changs once. But Ivy Springfields is a serious place- like, with a sort of unofficial, unannounced, unspoken-dress-code-serious, which makes you panic internally. You panic and dig through your closet, attempting to put something together that's loosely 'smart casual'- it's like looking for a needle in your piles of scrubs, jeans and soft, worn-out band tees. Eventually, you come across something that's acceptable, and as you go to steam it, you begin to reason why your neighbours would invite you out to dinner after a series of strictly casual and within the building dinners.

Perhaps they were going to put a hit on you- but that didn't really make sense. If they wanted to dispose of you they probably would've taken you to a McDonald's. Maybe they were going to put you down gently, then, explain that they've actually been secretly married for half their lives and just never told you- which seems a lot more likely, actually. You hadn't gotten your hopes up, thankfully, and hadn't deluded yourself into thinking that there might've been a chance that they liked you back. You didn't hate yourself, after all.

You sleep a little easier that night, knowing you had figured out their motives for taking you out to dinner- for wasting a perfectly fine Friday night on you.

Thankfully, Ivy Springfields isn't as fancy as you dreaded it being. It's intimate, sure, but it still felt casual. Seeing couples in jeans made you feel a little overdressed and suddenly a lot stupid- maybe dressing fancy would send the wrong message to Simon and Johnny? Maybe they'd think you were expecting better of them? You're panicking internally while a server takes you to the table Simon and Johnny reserved, wishing you could shapeshift to suddenly be more comfortable or better yet, more confident. Right now you felt like a bag of open nerves.

And-

Simon and Johnny don't look more casual than you. It eases you slightly. At least you were in the same boat together, you think to yourself, trying to maintain some degree of optimism. Johnny brightens and smiles as he sees you round the corner, and you wave awkwardly. It's a booth on the rooftop, and you're canopied by an arch of vines with a candle-lit lantern hanging over the rounded table. There's a quiet hum of other people talking at the tables around, but it's not obnoxious, just comforting.

"Hi," you say shyly as you sit down, a menu in front of you. You're prepared, mentally bracing yourself for the blow you know is coming within the next 30-45 minutes.

"Hey, love," Simon murmurs from your left.

"Hi, bon," Johnny says from your right.

They keep the conversation light, on purpose, you think, until the food comes. Johnny catches you off guard mid-bite.

"Bon, about the other day. The statue... We're not mad abo' it," he says gently. "Ye were a lil' tipsy an' all. Worse could'a happen." You look up at him, blinking.

"...Oh. Um, thank you. I really am sorry. I tried to throw it at the guy, but... Well."

"'S alright." Johnny soothes. He squeezes your shoulder before biting into his pasta.

"I feel really bad about it," you admit softly.

"Don't. Stuff happened and it wasn't the worst thing that happened then, wasn't it?" Simon says as he cuts a bite-sized piece of his ribeye.

"No, I guess not," Simon grunts in approval, and you let dinner go on almost silently. You feel like you're awkwardly existing with their peaceful dinner date, there only to spectate.

It's not a bad dinner. Just not-

-optimal. Maybe if the lighting was brighter and there wasn't a couple next to your table canoodling you'd feel better about it. Maybe if you weren't overly self-conscious about how you acted around the boys, desperate to make sure they didn't think you a freak, desperate to stay in their good graces, you'd be able to enjoy being at such a posh place. It's just fine. And that unnerves you. You were expecting fire and brimstone from them, all hell reigning on your back, expecting admonishment and social banishment from your apartment building. Not tagging along like a lost puppy to their date, but that was just how the cards fell, it seems.

At the end of the very awkward dinner, some couple dozen half-laughs and small, nearly-there smiles later, they offer to drive you home. You had Uber'ed there with the intention to Uber back, but if they were offering you a free ride home, well, who were you to say no?

You take the backseat which makes Simon look slightly miffed. He doesn't talk about it so neither do you, though. You're silent the whole way back to the flat complex, letting their soft conversations wash over you and lull you to sleep as Johnny drives. The food was good, your stomach was full, you were warm and the car's gentle rocking was soothing. Somewhere during the drive you fell asleep, and it wasn't until the car pulled into the apartment's parking lot did you wake up. Your cheek was smushed against the window, crust in your eyes and a bitter taste in your throat. You take a moment, picking through your memory before you remember where-

...and you panic a little bit because you had just passed out in the backseat of two grown men who probably had a little vendetta against you. And you're still panicking when you hear Simon get up from the passenger's side and go around to your end, and you're not thinking clearly when you pretend to still be asleep as he opens the door you were leaning on ever so hesitantly before scooping you up. You have enough sense to not go rigid in his arms, but it's a narrow thing.

Johnny fishes in your bag for your keys while Simon keeps you safely cradled within his grasp. They open the door to your apartment and Simon sets you down in your bed, leaving you there before taking off your shoes and coat. Then you hear a pen against parchment, and then Johnny's quiet "g'night, bon," and the warm feeling of his lips against your forehead.

You bolt up the second you hear them leave, mortified, your hand tracing over where Johnny had kissed you in a daze. It was-

It was confusing. You thought they hated you. You thought they thought you were a creep. Instead, Johnny's kiss- even if he hadn't meant for you to have known that it happened- seemed like a reciprocation. Right? It's hard to platonically kiss someone's forehead, after all.

It gives you the jitters because now you're even more confused than you were before. There was comfort in knowing that Johnny and Simon for sure hated you and were internally condemning you. The possibility that maybe they didn't hate you- on the contrary, rather liked you- was terrifying and you considered yourself terrified. You nursed yourself a cup of tea before relenting to bed.

The next morning, you read Johnny's note:

Hi bon,

you keep on faling asleep when you hang out with us! no hard feelings, tho, it's ok. we put your keys back in your bag. hope you slept okay!!!!!

Simon and Johnny xxxxxxxx

You silently stash it next to the other note Johnny had left for you.

Now, Simon and Johnny were plotting again, because their first try at goading you into realizing that they liked you back wasn't successful.

"A museum?" Johnny suggests as he scratches Riley behind the ears.

"No, we'll be whispering the entire time," Simon grumbles. "It needs to be more intimate. A cafe?" Johnny shakes his head.

"Canne hug from across a table. Maybe a wine tastin', then? New winery opened on Mosley last week, Ah think." You leave your apartment when the words leave his lips, right as Simon nods in approval.

"Right on."

This time, it's Johnny who reaches out to you first.

Today 11:43 AM

- Hi bonn!!!

- Simon and I were thinkinbg of going to a wine tasting on saterday.

- Salut Wines

- Youre invited :)

You stare at the text in suspicion while on your lunch break. The workweek had just started and you were just out with them. But still, the offer sounded nice and well-meaning enough.

Today 12:01 PM

- okay, will be there!

- what time?

- 1pm ok?

- okay! it's a date.

(On the other side of the screen, Johnny giggles, showing Simon his phone, shoving the piece of metal in front of the book Simon had been peacefully reading.

"'S a date," he echos happily. "Oooh, it's gon' be good, Si, I j's know it.)

You're savouring this week. Sure, it's a full week of work right at the start of November, but it's comforting. The calm before the holidays storm, you suppose. You deal with tots with runny noses, showing new moms how to use baby powder, taking temperatures and running diagnostics. Clean the arm, inject the arm and soothe the baby- you've got your work down to a formula, at this point, and the security of it soothes you. But time flies when you're having fun, and before you know it, it's Saturday and you're getting ready to go next door so the boys could drive you.

"Hey," you say as Simon knocks on your door, moving back to let you step out and lock it behind you.

"Hey. Johnny's in the car already." You walk in a comforting silence with him, not feeling pressured to talk like how you usually are when at work. When you reach the parking garage, Johnny looks up from his phone and grins at you from the backseat.

"Hi, bonnie," he chirps.

"Oh- hi, Johnny, I can sit in the back," you say nearly immediately, but he shakes his head, a mischievous look on his face.

"Nae, it's okay, Ah can sit back here tonight."

"Are you sure?" You ask nervously. "I would hate to impose, it's okay, I don't mind."

"It's just a bloody seat, love," Simon grunts as he gets into the car, having to bend forward to fit. Too anxious to do much else, you take the front seat, awkwardly avoiding Simon's eye as he gets onto the road.

"Put the radio on," Johnny whines from the backseat, not satisfied until Simon complies. You're unsure if it's on purpose but Johnny immediately begins to sing along poorly to the first pop song that comes on, and you watch Simon sigh.

"Does he do this often?" You ask curiously.

"Every damn time we're in the car, love. You were asleep for the last one."

"Oh." You both wince in tandem as his voice cracks. "Is it okay if-"

"Just say it."

"Is he bad... on purpose?" You ask, dropping your voice to a whisper, grateful for the space between shotgun and the backseat. You're rewarded with Simon laughing, a full-on belly laugh that sets butterflies ablaze in your stomach.

"Ha, no, I don't reckon he is."

The wine tasting is lovely and you thoroughly enjoy your company for real this time; no longer feeling like a third wheel the way you had at the beginning of the week. Maybe it's the alcohol emboldening you, but you find the courage to apologise for your whole outburst on Halloween, making Johnny's expression soften.

"Nae, it's okay, bonnie, we ken you go' a hard job, with all the wee ones. 'S only fair that ye get to scream ev'ry now an' again." He says like he had figured it out a long time before your apology. Simon just shrugs.

"'S really alright. And, y'know, you brought up some good points." He says calmly, casually, staring at you. You go rigid, immediately terrified.

"Um... really?" You ask weakly.

"Yeah," Johnny says, reaching across the table for your hand. You're immediately grateful that you had chosen a table closest to the back of the winery, the most secluded area, because you would hate for a stranger to watch you get put down gently. "C'mon." He nudges you up to your feet, taking your hand and leading you outside to the vineyard, Simon following silently behind you, eventually showing up again to your left.

"When ye said ye loved us," Johnny starts gently. "Did ye mean that?"

"U-um, well, I don't think I was in the right state of mind when I said that," you stutter out, immediately defensive. "I- uh, had a hard day of work. I think- Um, no, I didn't mean it, I was just angry and looking into stuff too much."

"Oh." Johnny seems to deflate, "well-" but he's cut off by Simon.

"That's shite and you know it," Simon says, staring daggers into you, making you stop in your tracks and subsequentially Johnny, too.

"Huh?"

"Tell me honestly right now that you don't love us."

"Well... Ah. Um, I don't?"

"Bonnie," Johnny pleads from behind you. "Say ye want this. Please." You swallow thickly, an uncomfortable mixture of nerves and nausea rising up your throat. "It's OK if ye don't, o' course, but don't lie. Please." Johnny's eyes are akin to a puppy's, big and pathetic and you feel a bit mean for lying earlier.

"Well..." You mumble, not realizing that Simon had stepped closer to you as your back was turned on him. "Well. I want this," you say, and no sooner than the words are out your mouth does Johnny pounce on you, your lips firmly against his own. Simon's arms wrap around your waist and rest on Johnny's hip, creating a comfortable sandwich.

Johnny's all smiles when he pulls away from you, and you can't help but smile a little back, tentatively, heart running a mile a minute. Simon presses a kiss to the top of your head, making you peer your head up at him.

"Thank you," he rumbles, content.

A feeling rises in your chest, one so powerful and all-encompassing that you can't feel your nausea anymore. It's still as scary as it had been in the Uber how many nights ago, but now it feels weaker. Conquerable.

And maybe you wouldn't hate yourself if you let it slip, just a tiny whisper, lost in the mass of their forms bracketing your own, but still there nonetheless:

"I love you."

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