#they would cry in eachother's arms once in a while | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

komotionlessqueenmm · 6 months ago

Text

Headcanon/Preference # 37

Gifs NOT mine.

Rating - SFW

Reading time (roughly) - 12 minutes

Year posted - 2025

So yeah I totally killed the reader off in this one... Wanted this one to be angsty. Enjoy.

----------------------------

• Obi-wan Kenobi •

• Obi-wan knew he shouldn't have let you join him on this particular mission.

• He knew something was off about this mission, he had sensed it in the Force.

• But he'd let you join regardless, and now you lay at his feet, bleeding out.

• He quickly dispatched of the enemy, and pulled you into his arms.

• "My love stay with me, you're going to be okay."

• He cradled your head in his free hand, trying desperately to assure you that everything will be okay.

• While also trying to fool himself into thinking you'll be able to pull through.

• As your breathing turned shallow, he kissed your forehead, smiling through the pain.

• He needed to be strong for you.

• And as your eyes fluttered closed, and your chest stilled, Obi-wan felt as if a part of himself had died with you.

• Only then did he allow himself to cry, and Obi-wan Kenobi was never the same.

• Becoming a shell of the man he once was, he eventually leaves the Jedi and roams the galaxy, feeling utterly lost without you by his side.

• Anikin Skywalker •

• Anikin thought he could protect you from anything.

• His one truest love, the one person he would have done anything for.

• This is the most dramatic turn of events for Anikin, the moment when he gave into the dark side.

• Cradling your lifeless body in his arms, Anikin screamed and cried.

• "You can't leave me (Y/n), you can't!"

• And with the aggressive flick of his wrist, he killed those that had taken you from him.

• He was merciless, unforgiving, and beyond angry.

• Anikin felt as if he'd died alongside you, and in many ways he did.

• Alone he laid you to rest.

• His once beautiful blue eyes turned to yellow as he watched you disappear from his life.

• Anikin felt as if your blood was on his hands, as if he failed to protect you.

• He also felt as if he failed you, because if you hadn't loved him as deeply as you did, maybe then you wouldn't have given your life for his.

• The day you died, was the very same day Darth Vader was born.

• Qui-Gon Jinn •

• Qui-Gon knew he shouldn't have grown attached to you, he knew it wouldn't end well.

• The rules about attachments, about love, were in place for this very reason.

• Quickly he took care of the man that had fatally wounded you, and held you close.

• Try as he might with the help of the force he attempted to heal your wounds, unable to do so he tried his best to be strong for you.

• He pecked your lips, and brushed back your hair.

• "You're going to be alright darling, just breath. That's it, just keep breathing."

• His hands shook as he placed his free hand over your wound, trying weakly to stop the bleeding.

• Again he tried using the Force to at least try to ease your pain, to make this easier for you.

• "Just relax my darling, we'll see eachother again."

• Qui-Gon promised you with a weak smile, his heart breaking at the sight of your own equally weak smile.

• His heart breaking further as he felt your breathing slow down considerably, the light in your eyes fading with every shallow breath.

• If there was anything Qui-Gon was grateful for, it was getting to hold you in his arms one last time.

• Darth Maul •

• Maul was foolish enough to think you were untouchable, that you were both untouchable.

• And his world crashed around him as you collapsed to the ground.

• Maul thought he knew pain, but all that he's been through, all that he's done. It was nothing compared to losing you.

• "You'll pay for this!"

• Maul growled at the man that was daring enough to hurt you.

• Ruthlessly he slashed at the man, cutting him limb from limb, and keeping him alive until he was satisfied.

• His rage blinded him, and only subsidied when he heard you wheezing in pain.

• "(Y/n) my star."

• Without another thought he dropped his saber, and rushed to your side, cradling you against his chest.

• He was unfazed by your blood seeping into his robes, firmly placing his hand against your wound, desperately trying to at least slow the bleeding.

• "I'll find you again my star, nothing can keep me from you, nothing."

• Maul promised as he rest his forehead against your own, the connection between you both through the Force, assuring him that he could keep that promise.

• He also swore to take down anyone and everyone that was involved in your demise, whoever that man worked for was as good as dead, and anyone else Maul deemed guilty.

• Maul will destroy worlds to avenge you if he must.

• He kept his eyes locked with yours as you slowly slipped away, his hearts thundering with heartache.

• "We will be together again."

• Maul promised before you gave your final breath, a rage filled scream escaping him as you died.

• And all who knew of Darth Maul, learned that after your demise, the Sith could be far crueler, far darker than he had been when you were still alive.

• Maul eventually turns to the traditions of the Zabrak, and finds a way to reunite with you through the magick of his people.

• It isn't enough, and it'll never be enough, because it is simply a ghost of you.

• But until his demise it is all he can manage, and he will accept that while he cannot hold you anymore, he can at least still see you and speak with you.

• Feral Opress •

• Feral is heartbroken beyond belief.

• You were the only truly good thing in his life, you were his and he was yours.

• Savage had witnessed the whole thing unfold, and for the sake of his brother, he struck down the man that dared to harm you.

• Feral wasn't sure what to do, so he acted on instinct, and laid beside you, pulling you into his arms.

• You had once said laying in his embrace was your favorite thing, the thing that brought you the most comfort.

• And he knew that's all he could do for you, comfort you as you slowly succumbed to your wounds.

• "Sh sh my sweet, just relax, I'm here, I've got you."

• He brushed your hair back in a soothing way, ignoring how much it hurt him to feel your blood painting his skin.

• He peppered kisses across your paling face, his hearts breaking with every kiss.

• You giggled in a pitiful way, coughing a moment later, blood oozed from your mouth.

• And Feral, delicately, lovingly wiped it away.

• "It's okay my sweet, look at me."

• His lip quivered a little as your glossy eyes peered into his own.

• "I love you, don't you ever forget that."

• He pecked your lips, tears escaping him when your final breath wheezed out from your lungs.

• Savage Opress •

• Savage instantly saw red, his hearts filled with rage, and regret.

• He ripped the man who hurt you limb from limb with his bare hands. The man's blood only cooling his temper a little.

• Dropping the carcass carelessly to the ground, he rushed back to your side, and as gently as he could he picked you up and cradled you against his chest.

• With you in his arms, Savage walked carefully across the tundra of the desolate planet you were on, unable, unwilling to just leave you on this wasteland of a planet.

• "Oh little one, my sweet stupid girl. You should have just let me handle him."

• He meant well, he really did. But he was hurt that you would do something so reckless, so selfless.

• You had once promised him forever.

• You giggled weakly, reaching up to caress his handsome face. And Savage melted into your touch.

• His hearts broke, knowing he couldn't save you, not this time.

• His blazing eyes locked onto your pale face, he wanted to commit your face to memory, despite the fact that he already has every part of you committed to memory.

• "I'll see you again little one, through the magick, the Force, I will see you again."

• He promised as he cradled you close, the chill of your skin finally breaking his resolve.

• Savage cried as he held you close, falling to his knees as you struggled to breathe.

• He grew darker that day, much darker. Swearing to fight to the bitter end, until he could be reunited with you once more.

• Kylo Ren •

• The moment you collapsed before his eyes, Kylo felt as if he would die alongside you.

• With a rage filled cry, Kylo cut down the man that hurt you, and threw the rest over a nearby cliff with the Force.

• He fell to his knees beside you, watching helplessly as your blood stained the snow around you.

• "Starlight what have you done?"

• He breathed out as he pulled you into his arms, tears of heartache and rage streaming down his face, his helmet long since abandoned.

• "I couldn't- couldn't let you get hurt."

• You had wheezed out, desperately clutching the deep gash at your side. Kylo's hand rest over yours, desperately hoping to stop the bleeding.

• "I can't live without you."

• Kylo whispered in a broken voice, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

• He squeezed you tighter, as you grew colder and colder in his arms.

• "Don't leave me, please, I can't go on without you."

• Kylo shook in his sorrow and rage, as your breathing became shallow.

• Despite the fact that you were literally dying, you still tried to comfort him, brushing his hair back weakly, your blood staining his pale skin.

• This only served to break his heart further, how can he possibly go on without you?

• Kylo is the most likely to rage an all out war, in hopes of getting himself killed so he could be reunited with you.

• But that's not to say he won't fight to the bitter end.

• Armitage Hux •

• It took everything in Armitage to stay standing, to not collapse and cradle you in his arms.

• If he had done so, he knew your sacrifice would have been in vain.

• But the moment the man is killed by his troopers, he's falling to his knees and pulling you into his arms.

• "GET A MEDICAL DROID NOW!"

• He barks at his men, who rush to follow out his order.

• But it's too late, your once bright eyes are dull and lifeless, having died on impact.

• That doesn't stop Armitage from deluding himself into thinking you'll be okay.

• He's crying, and begging you to wake up, but you don't respond to any of his attempts to stir you.

• "Please angel, wake up, come on."

• He's shaking you, kissing you, and eventually in his desperation he's beating on your chest in an attempt to get your heart pumping again.

• By the time a medical droid comes, he refuses to let you go. His troopers eventually have to tear him away from your body.

• He's kicking and screaming, red in the face as he fights them. But it's no good, they are to strong.

• Armitage has to control himself during your funeral, every instinct in him screaming to not let you go, to fight to bring you back.

• He is much harsher after this, starting arguments more and more with Kylo, and taking every ounce of pain when Kylo throws him across the room with the Force, as if he deserves to be punished.

• He's even trying to goad Kylo into killing him, but the man has a little more restraint than the General had thought.

• Armitage is the most likely to give into his dark depressive thoughts, and take his own life.

• His final thoughts are of you and you alone.

• General Grievous •

• You were his most prized "possession" so to speak, nothing in all of the galaxy meant as much to Grievous as you did.

• "My treasure, no you can't do this, you can't leave me I forbid it!"

• He's killed the man before you even hit the ground, where you lay for mere moments before he's cradling you in his arms.

• He's gentle with you, as he quite literally sprints you to the nearest medical bay.

• "Get out all of you!"

• He barks at the droids, not trusting them to fix what cannot be undone. Certain that he'll be able to save you.

• He's frantic in his attempts to patch you up, almost unaware of the way you gently touch his arm.

• Grievous froze in an instant when you weakly called out his name, his attention now solely on your face, cupping your hand in two of his.

• "What do you need treasure?"

• He asked in a soft voice, ignoring how his voice shook with emotion.

• You simply smiled at him, as if taking in the sight of him was all you cared about in that moment.

• "I-I lo-ve-"

• You tried croaking out, only for your breath to be stolen as you slipped away, dying before his very eyes, trying to declare your love one last time.

• The very ground shook with his scream of despair and heart retching agony.

• From that moment on he took out every ounce of pain and anger at losing you on anyone he deemed a threat.

• Sometimes even on innocent people, who would unknowingly remind him of you.

• He fought dirty and ruthlessly, uncaring if he would get himself killed, or if he would even succeed.

• Grievous also travelled far and wide across the galaxy in an attempt to find some way to bring you back to life.

• He cared not for whatever it might cost, or what he might have to do, who he would have to kill.

• If there is a way he can bring you back, he'll find a way, not matter how long it takes.

----------------------------

739 notes · View notes

arizonagreenteaaa · 2 years ago

Text

Higuruma Hiromi x reader<3 (nsfw)

hiromi likes girls (his gf) who are a little (very) mean to him. CANON I ASKED GEGE.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Higuruma stands in the doorway of your bedroom, Hes been staring at you for a good while now, even before you noticed.

Looking at how your little dress hugs your pretty body.

you wave a hand infront of his face.

“whats up with you today…freak,” you say and laugh at him, the corner of his mouth tugs a little before going back to his usual, blank face.

“i cant look at whats mine? hm?” he says smoothly and plays with a strand of your hair.

“urgh,” you roll your eyes and turn away from him. You know he loves it, when you act like a little spoiled princess.

he grabs your arm and pull you back to him softly. He looks into your eyes again, something else than adoration behind them this time.

“hirom-“

“i thought about what you said,”

huh?

you look at him in question.

He smirks a little before speaking, “you know….about my nose,”

A couple days ago he’d told you how he used to hate his nose when he was younger. You’d frowned and taken his face in your pretty manicured hands and told him it was one of your favorite things about his appearance. It had made his heart swell in his chest, and he’d hugged you so tight right after telling you to ‘shut up and stop lying’

And he’d thought about it ever since, couldnt get it out of his head. And now he knew why.

He takes your jaw in his huge hand and brings your face up to look at him,

“if you like my nose so much, why dont you sit on it princess?” he tells you, looking into your eyes and pulling you closer by your waist.

Your eyes widen, and you blush while trying to push him away.

“stop saying things like that,” you look away from his eyes and he frowns.

“look at me baby,”

You reluctantly look at him again, the way he looks at you hungrily makes you ache.

“you telling me you dont want to?” He whispers to you, and you know he would drop it as soon as you say the word.

But you stay silent, looking away from him again. And he knows youre too shy to say it. so innocent. He wants to make you cry and shake on top of him.

He sighs and goes to pull away from you, but before he can get too far you grab him by the collar, nodding your head.

“yeah?” he asks. you nod again.

he smiles widely at you, before licking his lips and speaking,

“take this off,” he says as he plays with the hem of your dress.

His eyes scan over your body while you undress, his mouth watering. And when you finally stand infront of him, looking up at him with your pretty eyes, only wearing your panties, He picks you up by your thighs suddenly, And you yelp in surprise. He takes you to the bed, laying down with you now sitting on his chest.

You stare at eachother for a while before he speaks again,

“come on….wanna drown in your little pussy,”

Hes so nasty.

“dont worry you will, im gonna shut you up for once,” you say with a look of distaste, he knows your body is betraying you, with how big the wet spot on your panties has gotten.

you sit up on your knees, sliding down your underwear slowly, teasing him.

“mmm there she is,” he groans when he sees your pussy, slick with your arousal.

“youre so annoying,”

“sit on my face baby,”

you huff and sit down again on his chest, grinding your naked pussy on him. He groans loudly.

“fuck….you want me to beg? is that it sweetheart? hm?”

He breathes heavily, a desperate look on his face, and his hips buck behind you, trying to relieve himself a little.

You nod and wait for him, and when he opens his mouth to speak, reaching out to touch your waist, you slap his hand away.

“no touching,” you say with a serious face.

he almost cries. “evil…evil little girl,” fuck why wont you just let him have you, but he knows that you know he loves this. loves his pretty girlfriend being mean to him.

you take pity on him, you tell yourself, when you sit up on your knees, moving so that your pussy is hovering over his face. But really you know you cant wait anymore, you need to ride his handsome face.

“fuck yes…please baby, sit,” He groans under you.

you place yourself right on his mouth, his nose grazing your clit. He moans loudly into you, his hand going to rub himself so he doesnt loose his mind.

He rubs his face into you, licking and sucking on your cunt. You mewl and cry over him and he looks up at you, Smirking into your pussy.

You grab his hair then, grinding yourself down on him, riding his nose.

He babbles under you, probably filthy things. But his mouth is full, so all you hear is his muffled voice speaking into your soaked pussy.

He loves when you use him like this, and the way you look on top of him, fucking his face, its too much and not enough at the same time.

“fuck…use me princess,” He manages to get out in between eating you “cum on my face…”

You whine.

“fuck….” You shake and cry over him, cumming all over his drooling mouth. He keeps licking at you, trying to get every drop of cum. He groans, pulling away from you.

He looks so fucked out, his whole face is wet and his hair is messy, a dopey smile on his face.

You almost pass out, falling off him and onto the bed. He smiles and goes to lay on top of you, cradling your face in his hands.

“i need to change my boxers,” he says.

“of course you do,”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

IDK IF I LIKE THIS UM. anyways i hope u guys like it atleast!!

i havent gotten to his intruduction in the manga yet i know nothing about this man except for that hes a lawyer and hes sexy

#hiromi higuruma #hiromi jjk #hiromi higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #higuruma smut #higuruma hiromi x reader #LET ME FUCK PLEASE.

4K notes · View notes

queenie-the-court-jester · 1 year ago

Text

you'll be back.

Yandere rockstar x reader

A/n: this was very rushed so I'll fix it later, but please enjoy! 🌺

Tw: dub con turns to non con, breeding kink, obsessive behavior, yandere ex boyfriend, very minor angst

🎸you hated him. Hated his guts, his handsome looks, the way he'd wrap his arm around your waist as if you were still dating. His spotless dark skin you were so envious of, that dumb charismatic smile. You hated it. Why did he do this to you? Always running back and begging you to let him stay for a while. And you'd let him. Why? You didn't know

🔥 Maxine knew. It's because you still loved him. He knew you did. Why else would you let him climb into your bed and hold you close? Why else would you let him kiss your lips? Why else would you let him undress you slowly with so much love

🎸he was a mess for you, no matter how many fans he had, they could never replace you. All the girls he slept with after your breakup? None of them compared. He loved you more than his love for the life he had. But if he did, why did he pick it over you?

🔥 highschool sweethearts, well, up until you both graduated and he started a band. They were small, but slowly grew in the following year. Having multiple companies reach out in hopes of striking a record deal. Soon, nightly Melodies came to be.

🎸you forgot his bandmates names, they weren't really important to you since they didn't bother trying to know their leaders lover. Good riddance you say. You never liked how that drummer kept staring at him.. not to mention his fans were psychopaths. Harassing you online and sometimes even in real life. He didn't even care after you'd complain about it

🔥you were eachother's first time, first everything. So ofcourse it hurt when you finally confronted him after he skipped your date night for the 10th time that month. He never had time for you anymore, brushing you off in favor of hanging out with his "friends"

"just calm down babe geez.. it's not that big of a deal.."

"not that big huh? Well then, if you care so little about actually being a good boyfriend, consider yourself single."

🎸you left him to stare at you in shock as you packed your bags, he tried stopping you. Begging you to stay, blocking the door, standing behind your car as you tried driving away. He promised he could change. But you knew otherwise. You were done

🔥months later, he stalks your socials and keeps sending you gifts. All until you start to crumble and let him in slowly. He knew you wouldn't last long. His reputation and band be damned. All he wanted was you.

🔞you could only stare at him, unsure as he kissed the valley between your breasts and trailed lower, hands rubbing up and down your sides. You could feel his dick press against your leg, your clothing scattered all over the bedroom floor

"there there pretty baby.. let me take care of you hm? Such a good girl.. want me to fuck this pretty pussy as a reward? Hm?"

🔞he slowly pushes the tip inside after teasing you relentlessly for what seemed like hours. Letting out Little groans as he slipped in inch by inch. Praising you for taking him so well, cutting himself off and letting out a lewd gasp after he felt you squeeze him

🔞 he starts off slow and steady, he doesn't last long as he's practically fucking you into the bed. Crying out tears of euphoria at the feeling of you sucking him in deeper, the tip bullying your cervix

"f-uuuckkk pretty ma', hah.. I don't think I can last long- a-ah!"

🔞he refuses to stop after cumming inside you once. Babbling something about knocking you up and filling you up with his children. Gathering some sense of clarity you tried begging him to stop, but he clamped a hand over your mouth. Pinning you down and angling your hips higher. Blue eyes staring down at you with manic glee

🔞drool drips down his chest as he pants and groans, he only stops until he's fully drained and each touch of his skin makes his hips spasm. Pulling you flush against him he practically purrs, nuzzling his face into your chest. You couldn't help but wince at the cold feeling of his lip piercings rub against your bare skin. Tiredly reaching a hand up to play with his dark curly hair

🔞you better hope the test comes back positive, because if it doesn't he'll just keep going every night until you're swollen with his child. This may dampen his image a bit but he couldn't care less. Staring fondly at your tummy and the ring on your finger. He was holding your hand as you both Walked into an important event, He couldn't wait to introduce you to everyone as his wife!

3K notes · View notes

starlinggirll · 1 month ago

Text

you were the most beautiful woman art has ever seen.

that was a fact from the day he met you to right now.

yet, he couldn't get hard.

it all started two months ago; obviously as a happy couple you both were, you both loved sex. quickies, long hours, giving eachother head. anything that involved making eachother feel good you both loved it. but one day...he just couldn't.

you were wearing pink lacy set, a pretty one, one he picked out for you because he knew you would look so pretty in it. but when the time came, he couldn't. he just couldn't.

he will never forget the face you made; a face of hurt. and how you tried to brush it off saying maybe next night. and again, you both tried, both as in he jerked off minutes before, and you took him in your mouth but nothing changed.

his eyes had followed you when you walked back to the restroom to change. he was a stupid husband, really; he didnt comfort you, didnt try to talk about it. as a matter of fact, neither of you brought it up.

you both spent two months without sex.

those two months were hell.

you hit the gym, thinking that you were the problem, that you weren't attractive enough for him anymore. that you weren't enough for your own husband.

and he...well he did nothing. he did go to the doctor, and he said it was normal, that all men will go through this but that its a matter of time. he didnt have time.

not when he was losing you.

and he saw it, saw everything.

the new friends you got when going to the gym, the way you laughed at what your personal trainer had said the same way you used to laugh with him. and also the way you both beraly even talked.

everything was normal between you and him, but there was less dialogue, less kisses, less hugs, less everything. he knows you're hurting, knows your self esteem is declining and fast.

but he didn't know what to do, how to fix this. he already lost you once he couldn't do it again.

"where are you going?" he whispered as you started changing. leaning against the doorway while he fidgeted with his ring. "oh, the gym." you smiled at him before pulling your hair into a low ponytail. "ah, i see." he mumbled, wanting nothing more than to just hug you, and hold you close.

he doesn't know why he's thinking about it too much. you love when he takes lead. when he manhandles you. but still.

"what time are you coming back?" he hummed, approaching you from behind, nuzzling his nose into your neck. his strong arms snaking around your waist. "the same time i always come back?" you giggled, closing your eyes at his touch.

"cant you like..." he shrugs, turning you around and hoisting you up. "not go?" you squeal, your arms wrapping around his neck. "art put me down! you're going to drop me!" "i would never drop you."

he brushes your words off, tossing you to the bed. "i just want to hold you, cant a husband not hold his beautiful.." he kisses your tummy, tugging at your leggings. "gorgeous..." his lips trail to your chest, quickly lifting your shirt along your bra to kiss your nipple.

"amazing..." his big hands cup your ass, pulling you close to him. "sexy.." by the time he gets to your face you're red, your eyes glossy and your lips trembling as you look down at him. he frowns when he sees you're close to crying.

he pulls you close, (closer than before) and kisses your forehead. "most wonderful wife." he finishes, rubbing your scalp. "im sorry.." he whispers, nuzzling his forehead against yours.

you're not crying, just sniffling.

and he's hard. touching you after being both of you distant both physically and emotionally wise, triggers something in him.

"we're not leaving this bed tonight." he whispers, his voice is soft, but it carries a commanding tone underneath it. "okay." you sniffle, wiping a stray tear before burying your face into his shoulder.

your knee brushes against his crotch, and you realize he's hard. but you dont mention it, not yet anyway. the night is long enough for you to both be babied then ruined.

#this is so bad i js needed to post something #husband art . . . ꔛ #starlinggirl 𑁍ࠬܓ #starlin ꒰ঌ #challengers #mike faist #art donaldson #art donaldson i love you #art donaldson x reader #mike faist x reader #mike faist i need you

242 notes · View notes

miniaturesuitgladiator · 7 months ago

Text

Batfam x Neglected Mortal

Kombat reader

Lucid Dreams llll ll

Notes: This is part seven of lucid dreams.

Warnings: child neglect ,child abuse. Mention of killing and blood.

___________________________________________

Sibling are supposed to be Close. Their supposed to know eachother. To share some kind of bond. If not through emotion. Then through blood.

You know that. And yet looking into the teary eyes of your brother you feel useless.

Because you know nothing....you should mean nothing to him. Especially because of how you've always treated him.

And yet his teary eyes search yours for comfort. And you want to give him that. To comfort him. To show him you care....but you don't know how?

If jason was in his place with tears in his eyes. Everything would be easier. You'd hug him. Tell him everything is going to be alright. You'd tell him that you'd revenge his mother....

But Kion is not Jason. You don't know Kion like you know Jason. You don't know the right words to comfort him. But you should.

Your his sister his blood. And yet looking into his eyes. You realize you don't even know his favorite color....

Hesitatently you make a step forward and embrace him in a hug...it's different then any hug you've ever had.

It feels right. Like your supposed to hug him. He's quick to react just like he is when he fights...

His smaller arms wrap around you tightly as if scared that to pull you'll away. You rest your head against the top of his. And you can almost feel how tight his chest is. Because he's trying not cry more.

He's trying not to look weak.

He shouldn't be holding back his tears. Atleast not while with you. Because he's supposed to be your brother. And your supposed to comfort him. But don't know how to explain what your thinking into words without it breaking the comforting silence.

But before long he's breaking the silence. And your heart clenched when you hear his voice break. Because nomatter how much you try to pretend you don't care. You do.

"Please come back......please choose me."

His words are desperately and his hold on you tightens. As if his grip will convince you. You understood what he means when he asks you to chose him. He's asking you to chose him over Jason.

But you can't.....can you?

Your heart hurts and you want to speak but you feel like you can't trust your voice. So you nod.

It's a dumb mistake. Why the hell would nod?nod? The he'll would you agree?

You don't know but you just did. And he sighs and you can tell his chest isn't as tight anymore.

He looks up at you. And his eyes are filled with pain. But also love?

Your emotions confuse you. Why would you agree to go with him? Jason needs you.

But does he? He has a loving family. Something that Kion doesn't. Kion needs you more right?

You sigh you should chose Jason. He's always been there. But then there's Kion. And you've never even given Kion a chance....

And Kion is blood...and he loves like a brother should but so does Jason....

Your head begins hurting and you don't want to think about it anymore. But you don't think about your upcoming headache for long before you see a car far in the distance with their brights on.

Kion hesitatently pulls away from you and begins speaking.

"I'll be waiting for you at the big tower. At the square until sun rise....don't keep me waiting sister........please?"

And his words are desperately as he steps back into the shadows. He knows you don't really want to go with him. He knows you love Jason.

He just hopes you love him more.....

He's gone before you can say anything. And the car that was once into the distance is now much closer. You already know who it is.

And you really don't want to get in but there already infront of you.

"Get in." They say and there voice isn't as rude as it normally is. No, now it's pleading.

You reluctantly get in because your tired and your head hurts.

Getting into the expensive black car. You buckle up and don't spare them a glance. You don't want to talk to them. And you hope they don't talk to you.

But sadly you hoping doesn't stop them from speaking up.

"Where were you planning on going?"

Bruce asks and when you look at him his blue eyes aren't as cold as they usually are. No, now they hold....warmth?

"Anywhere away from my mother and you."

You say and you watch as your words hit him. And he tries to remain stoic but you can tell your words hurt him.

Good. You want him to feel what you've felt for years on end.

Your not angry anymore ,no. You feel nothing for him or your mother anymore. You won't waste your time or emotional on them anymore.

Not when you have much bigger problems.

You can Bruce feels bad. He probably wants to redeem himself. To be a father to you. And that thought almost makes you smile. How pathetic of them to want to change now.

It's too late. And you'll show them soon.

"I'm sorry....for everything."

Bruce words ring throughout the expensive car and the make a shiver roll down your spine.

How long have you prayed to hear those words?

How long have you felt you needed those words?

Oh! but it's too late now.....

"Being sorry doesn't change anything."

Your voice is so sharp. You've never talked to him like that. You've always bowed your head. Always gave in. Always been weak.

Your words hurt him no doubt and he doesn't know what to say. And you want to laugh but that'll ruin your moment.

For once the incredible batman has nothing smart to say? Perfect.

"Fear is a powerful thing....it can make people do cruel things....like hurt a child. Ruin a child.... Neglect a child." You say and he's stunned.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. He didn't know that you knew he was afraid of you. And maybe if he'd pay more attention to you. He would have seen how good you can read people.

Even him.

"Your right....and I'm sorry I have no excuse for my actions."

He wants to say something else. Sometimes more powerful then just sorry. But he can't he doesn't know how. He doesn't know how to be your father.

And when he glances at you he can see you don't want him to be your father.

Atleast not anymore.

How long have you looked at him with such hate? How long has it been since you stopped looking at him with respect? He doesn't know.

For once he does fucking know.

You sigh you want this conversion to end. But you don't want to bow your head like a submission pet.

So you speak again.

"You always feared the wrong thing. You always thought I'd hurt someone hurt you or someone in the family.....and for a long time I was scared of myself too...but soon enough I realized that I wasn't a monster. That's just what you pictured me as."

now your words hit stronger then any punch Bruce has ever received.

No longer mister smarter pants huh? You want to say.

But you keep your mouth shut. Not wanting to ruin the sting of your words. He stays silent the whole ride home to the manor.

Finally arriving at the manor you quickly exit the car and make your way into the manor. You see everyone in the living room and they all looked relieved that your back.

For the first time ever you see them look happy to see you. You want to roll your eyes but your grandfather walks up to you with such a loving look that you don't want to seem like a brat.

Atleast not infront of him.

"Why didn't you come to me?"

His voice is quiet and you can tell he's been worried. And that makes you feel terrible. You can tell he knows what happened. He always does.

You've always came to him first. Always. So why not now?

"I just needed some time alone."

Your honest. you have no reason to lie. You could've also said that the first place they would've looked for you is with him. But he probably already knows that.

He nods and he knows he shouldn't push you farther. You can clearly see he wants to say something.

But he holds his tongue figuring its better to ask when your both alone.

You catch a glimps of jason sitting on the couch. He's bandaged up and he's looking at you clearly worried. You wonder if they've told him what happened.

What your mother did to you. Or if they just told him that you ran away.

Either way he's looking at you with the same kindness and adoration he always has. And your heart clenches.

He shouldn't be here worried about you. He should be in bed. Resting. Not worried about you at 2am.

You know that if he wasn't hurt he'd be the first one looking for you.

Your eyes don't stay him longer than a second. Because they can't bare the thought of what your about to do....of how your leaving him.

Everyone in the room is silent. And you couldn't cut the tension with the sharpest sword.

Your the first to speak.

"I'm going to bed." Your voice is strong and everyone knows better then to speak up or decline. But you can tell their shocked.

They probably figured you'd want to stay with your grandfather like you always do when your fighting with your mother.

But you can't stay with him... you know he'll convince you to stay once he figures out what your doing.....and plus you need to pack.

As you walk up the stairs you see jason try and stand as if to follow you to room but dick pushes. Him back down on the couch.

And for once your grateful for something dicks has done.

Because you know that if you were to even talk to Jason for a second you wouldn't leave...

Because nomatter how much you try and deny it...blood isn't thicker than water...

Atleast Not when it comes to Jason.

___________________________________________

Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @dhanyasri , @kore-of-the-underworld , @i-adorehannah , @plsfckmedxddy , @phoenixgurl030 @bunbunboysworld @bat1212 @skepvids @sirenetheblogger @Nervousalpacalady @118gremlin @darktrashpoetry @bitternsweet @kksmush @awawage @coffeemin @feral-childs-word @cens0r3d @sweetprincesscomputer @exactlynumberonekryptonite @rosy-myhouse34 @hebaoffside @sheep-from-rad @time-shardz @vanessa-boo @jellyedkazoo @chinxinsomnia @sillysealsies @nervousalpacalady @gwyneveire @simpingpandas

#batfamily x reader #batsis reader #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #mk x dc #mortal combat reader #batfamily x batsis reader #yandere batfam x reader #neglected reader

565 notes · View notes

y0ur-lovrr · 6 months ago

Text

-Some comfort.

A/n: Hi!! This is my first written piece and I’m sorry if it’s bad lol, any tips to write better is appreciated! <3

-no use of y/n, cs I hate that personally. I’m new to the tumblr thing so i apologize if it’s bad. Gn!reader, I don’t think I put any specific pronouns into this, but then again I didn’t proofread it, so apologies in advance.

Pairing- Chishiya shuntarou x reader <3

—“Seems like we’ve lost our partner.”

Chishiya hums,his voice calm and smooth as it always is,but you can catch the small clear glimpse of disappointment in it.

“You were too kind for a game like this, ippei.” He mumbles under his breath, staring at the body of his now dead partner on the floor of his solitary confinement cell, his head exploded off from the collar-blood all over the place. But because of his experience of being a med student, the blood didn’t really bother him-like anything bothered him, really. He was always as calm as a swimming pool.

But for you it was different. It bothered you-a whole lot. Throughout this stupid game you had grown to like ippei, having the thought that he would make it out of this game, like you and chishiya. But he didn’t.

Sniffles coming from chishiya’s side caught his attention, letting out a small hum and turning his head to look at you, hands casually shoved into the pockets of his white jacket.

There you stood beside him, eyes staring down at the scene in front of you, chest lightly heaving as your eyes are already tear filled, your bottom lip trembling as you try to not let any tears fall. His eyes analyze you, watching thoughtfully as he sees the way your fingers twitch at your sides, your eyes slightly wide and pupils slightly dilated. Clearly on the verge of having a breakdown, about to turn into a sobbing mess.

Everything sounds like it’s underwater in your ears, the voices of the other players down the hall are muffled, along with the sound of your breathing, for once even your thoughts are silent. Not even realizing how tears start to stream down your cheeks, unable to tear your eyes away from the body on the floor-the sight of his blood making you feel sick. You couldn’t help it..you knew that ippei killed himself cause he didn’t want to play anymore.

He truly was too sweet for this messed up place, you and chishiya both knew that.

“It’s unfortunate, I know.” Chishiya mumbles as he looks at you, shifting his feet to face you, slightly raising an eyebrow as you don’t move. He’s actually starting to grow concerned about you, he knew you’d cry-but not break like this, it was almost unnerving how you were just standing there.

He says your name, not once, but twice, but it’s as if you couldn’t hear him. It’s only when he lightly grasps onto your shoulder that you turn to look at him, sputtering out a ‘huh?’.

Before he can get a word out you cut him off with a small sob, your hands lifting to wipe your tears, you didn’t like crying, he knew that. He couldn’t help but notice how hard your hands were being with your face, wiping the flowing tears so hard that your cheeks are starting to turn red from the constant touching.

“I-I thought we had it under control…I thought we were all getting out of here together—“ you mutter out to chishiya between sniffles, your body starting to slightly tremble as you try to comfort yourself by wrapping one of your arms around your abdomen while the other continues to stay wiping your cheeks.

He doesn’t let you say another word, unusually bringing a hand out to you and placing it on your shoulder in a soothing manner, trying to be comforting to you. And it was working, honestly.

“He was too kind for this game, but we still have eachother, right?” He hums, just letting you cry, watching as you nod your head in reply, mumbling under your breath. He couldn’t understand your mumbling, but he doesn’t mention it.

To be honest, this was a little heartbreaking to watch. To him, you were too kind for this world to, just like ippei, even though it hasn’t screwed you over yet. He didn’t want it to either. You were too nice, too pure, too kind. He saw how you comforted other players during the game, or another game he met you in a while ago-a spades one to be exact. The same one he met Arisu, tag.

He saw how you dove towards someone else to save them from the tagger and their gun, almost getting yourself killed in the process-but the grin you flashed the lady made it worth it to you. But this was your breaking point, it seems. But he can’t blame you, who knows the amount of people you’ve seen die in these games.

“We’ll get through this. We’re smart aren’t we?” He says with a slight smirk, but it falters slightly as he sees it doesn’t work on you like it has before.

“For ippei?” He draws on, slightly raising an eyebrow at you, and huffs out a breath as he watched you lift your head and nod your head, mumbling back, finally getting your breath back.“For ippei..”

He then just lift his hand to your hair and lightly ruffles it and places it back on your shoulder, guiding you away from the scene. And you let him, knowing you both would protect eachother from now on, you both wanting to get out of this game.

#alice in borderland #alice in boderland x reader #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya x reader #chishiya x you #aib x reader #aib chishiya #nijiro murakami #arisu ryohei #fanfic #chishiya x fem!reader #chishiya smut #chishiya #shuntaro chishiya x reader #shuntaro chishiya

485 notes · View notes

2b4st4r · 7 days ago

Note

Heyo! Spot here! (^v^)/

Surprisingly, I'm not doing one of the ASL for this request. Shanks has been the one that's been in my head rent free this time.

It's just Shanks and Reader being friends in their youth. Reader is landbound, while Shanks is with the Roger Pirates. They're both rowdy kids and have a playful 'hate'-fueled competitive relationship (Poor Buggy getting caught up in their competitions, lol). Then they slowly drifted away (maybe because of having to leave further from Reader's island or because of Roger's execution, all up to you to be as specific or vague as you want), reminiscing about eachother as fond memories. And then meet up later in life with Reader helping out with Makino in Foosha Village.

I'm such a sucker for redemption of the 'one that got away' trope. It can be as angsty or fluffy as you want, and, most importantly, have fun! :3

Ties That Time Couldn’t Cut

Shanks x Reader

‧₊˚ ⛲️ ‧₊𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

ᯓ ✈︎ Words: 9,337

ᯓ ✈︎ Warnings: emotional nostalgia, alcohol, fem reader!

ᯓ ✈︎ A/N: Hey Spot! I hope you like this. I had fun writing it and may have added my own little touches, and I hope you are okay with that!

‧₊˚ ⛲️ ‧₊𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

From the moment you were a scrappy, defiant ten-year-old, full of fire and fight, Shanks exploded into your world. He swaggered into town with the boisterous Roger Pirates, all gold-toothed grins and raucous laughter, slinging tales and barrels of booze with equal abandon. You despised him instantly. Not for any particular wrong he’d committed, but for the sheer audacity of his presence. He walked off that ship barefoot and sun-kissed, a sword ridiculously oversized for his youth casually slung at his hip. That smug look, as if he'd already conquered the world and found it entirely unimpressive, was just too much. Within the hour, your foot found his shin.

"You little land leech!" he’d bellowed, hopping on one foot while Buggy shrieked with laughter, and you bolted as if the devil himself were at your heels. From that moment on, it was an unspoken war.

Whenever the Oro Jackson graced the port—sometimes once a year, sometimes twice—Shanks would return, a storm in sandals, seeking you out. There were no grand reunions, no warm embraces, no whispered "I missed you." Just the sight of that rusty mop of red hair across the street, a clear signal of the impending skirmish.

“Oi, anchor-brain!”

“Rotten seaweed!”

“You still can’t climb that cliff without crying halfway, can you?”

“You still cry when you win, crybaby!”

It was an endless war of muddy races behind the market, wrestling matches ending in triumphant howls and bruised limbs, and breath-holding contests. You even competed to see who could insult Buggy the worst—poor Buggy, you actually rather liked him, but he was never safe from your playful torment. Your clandestine meetings behind the old bell tower would end with both of you waking amidst hay, drool dampening your arms, despite sworn promises to stay awake.

Shanks pretended to be indifferent to the island, but you saw the subtle way his gaze would drift towards the hills, a hint of longing for solid ground, perhaps even for you. He’d never confess it, of course. Instead, he’d elbow you a little too hard when you grew quiet and laugh a little too loud at your jokes.

Once, just once, you confessed your own yearning for the sea. His laughter died. The way he looked at you then wasn't with pity, but as if he were etching your features into his memory, a silent farewell. “They don’t build ships for people like you,” he’d murmured, a whisper lost in the storm. You spat at his feet. “Then I’ll build one myself.” A wide grin split his face, as if you’d uttered something sacred. You’d never admit it, but in his absence, the island felt too still, the sun too muted. Nothing quite burned with the same intensity. You resented how deeply you craved the chaos he brought, and he, in turn, silently yearned for yours.

One scorching summer, the air hung heavy with heat and the scent of smoke from a burning cart in the village square. But none of it registered. Shanks had returned. He was taller now, imperceptibly so, but his shoulders had broadened. A fresh nick adorned his brow, a testament to some forgotten skirmish. His laugh, however, remained unchanged—wild and boisterous. Your chest tightened painfully at the sound.

There was no race that time. You simply walked together, climbing the cliff he always insisted you couldn’t conquer (you’d since mastered it, a silent victory). At the summit, the sea unfurled before you, a vast, living entity of blue and unknowable depths. The Roger Pirates’ ship bobbed lazily in the harbor below, sunlight glittering on the waves like scattered fire.

“You gonna join someday?” he asked, idly plucking at a loose string on his sleeve. “The sea.”

You shook your head. “Too far. Not enough coin. No ship, remember?”

He glanced at you. “I’d find a way if I were you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You turned fully to face him, and for once, the wind didn't separate you. You breathed in the salt in his hair, noticed the smattering of freckles on his nose. The words tumbled out before you could stop them: “You ever gonna stay?”

Shanks didn’t answer immediately. He picked up a rock, tossing it off the cliff's edge. You waited. “I don’t think I know how to,” he finally said. You nodded. It was the closest you’d ever come to a truly vulnerable moment. Neither of you spoke again, simply sitting with legs dangling over the precipice, watching the tide roll in as it always had.

At first, you didn’t notice the drifting. The visits grew more sporadic—months bled into years. The first time, you convinced yourself they’d simply altered their course. The second, you waited at the harbor anyway. By the third, you stopped counting. News traveled slowly, but it always found its way. Roger was ill, then dead, executed. The Pirate King, gone. You didn’t cry, but the news settled deep within you, heavy as dust on the forgotten places where you once met.

A young kid passed through your town once, chattering about the red-haired man who had now captained his own ship, forging a legend just like his predecessor. You listened from the shadows of the tavern. Red-Haired Shanks. A Yonko now, they whispered. A king in his own right. The boy you once punched for stealing your lunch.

You still walk the cliff sometimes. Not to wait—never that. Just to sit. Just to look. The wind still carries voices, and every so often, you swear you hear his, still too loud, still calling you “anchor-brain” from somewhere beyond the tide.

The years didn’t wait for you. You blossomed like fire catching dry grass—swift, brilliant, and a little dangerous. Your body matured, your bones stretching to match the sharpness of your tongue. The scrappy, dirt-smudged girl who once bit pirates for fun transformed into a woman with calloused hands and fierce ambition in her eyes. Your face, elegant and angular like your mother’s, belied a spirit that remained stubbornly untamed. No one dared tell you what to do—not the mayor, not the dock workers, not the old men in the tavern who muttered about women having no place in trade. Their whispers ceased the day your wine reached Sabaody and sold out before noon.

You named it Anchor’s Breath. A sharp, crimson red with a lingering bite. People loved the story behind it: an island girl, ship-less, who transformed grapes and grit into gold. Your barrels traveled farther than you ever had. Skypiea, Water 7, even Fish-Man Island, if the rumors held true. You built it all from the ground up: the vineyard, the cellars, the ships. You worked from sunup to sundown, meticulously tasting every batch, swatting away overly familiar dockhands, and still finding time to curse at storms that threatened your deliveries. You now wore long coats, dark lipstick, and boots that added an intimidating height. You had mastered the art of looking important, carrying yourself as if you belonged at any table, because by damn, you did. Yet, even at your grandest banquets, with nobles sipping from crystal and whispering your name like a spell, an empty space persisted. A part of you still yearned for a barefoot boy with a booming laugh and no manners to crash through your doors and liberate a bottle.

Meanwhile, Shanks bled. He drank with giants, feasted with emperors, and inadvertently ignited wars. His ship became his sanctuary, his crew his chosen family. He made the world tremble with a mere grin. You always knew he would. But with each battle, he shed a piece of his former self. A little more of that reckless boy burned away, buried beneath titles, scars, and crushing responsibilities. He still laughed just as loud, but sometimes, the mirth didn't quite reach his eyes.

The day you sold your millionth bottle, Shanks lost an arm. It made headlines in some corners of the world; in others, it was merely a whisper: “Yonko injured while saving a boy.” You read the reports once, then again, before folding the paper and tucking it beneath the counter as if it held no significance. The day your wine graced a Celestial Dragon’s gala (a fact you’d never openly advertise), Shanks faced down Kaido on a battlefield and emerged victorious. The sky cracked. The sea screamed. That night, he raised a silent toast to your health, though he’d never utter the words aloud.

Sometimes, you wondered if he remembered the cliff. The muddy races. Your laughter. You wondered if he ever thought about the girl who once bit his arm and hurled insults with her fists planted on her hips. You wondered if he knew that the label on every Anchor’s Breath bottle bore a tiny, hidden symbol: a barely visible red dot, tucked discreetly under the corner of the wax seal. Not many noticed. But Shanks would. He always did.

You didn’t dream much anymore. Too much work, too much wine, too many endless nights poring over shipment ledgers and stifling grief with corkscrews. But some nights, when the rain drummed against your windows just right and your hands were too weary to move, your mind would wander. It always found its way back there: to sun-kissed skin and the sting of saltwater; to barefoot races and dirt beneath your fingernails; to Shanks, who always vanished before you could properly say goodbye. You'd sit at the edge of your vineyard, gazing out at the sea, a glass of your own crimson vintage cradled between your fingers. Your staff knew not to disturb you during those hours—the ones where you seemed too quiet, too distant, as if the ocean itself whispered secrets only you could hear. "Bet you’re drunk off cheap rum somewhere," you’d mutter once, to no one. "Still laughing like an idiot." The wind offered no reply, but somehow, it felt like him. Loud and warm. Gone too fast.

Shanks, on the other side of the world, leaned on the railing of the Red Force, a bottle dangling from his good hand. Stars hung low over the water as his crew’s boisterous laughter and singing filled the air. But his thoughts were elsewhere. They were with you. Not on the Grand Line, or some distant battlefield, or the next port. But there, with you. At the cliffs, in the mud, in the way your voice would crack when you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. He took a long drink, letting it burn.

“Captain,” Lucky Roux said, appearing beside him with a new barrel under one arm and a wide grin. “You hear about that wine company? Anchor’s Breath?”

Shanks tilted his head. “What about it?”

“Making waves. Selling in every major port, even Mariejois, if you can believe it. The owner’s some firebrand woman out of a little island town near Loguetown. Barely lets press near her, but folks say she’s sharp as hell and built the whole thing herself. Name ring a bell?”

Shanks said nothing, simply watched the endless sea. He knew. Of course he knew. He’d seen the red dot under the wax seal years ago. The first time one of his crewmates brought a bottle aboard, he nearly choked. He hadn’t even tasted it—just stared at the logo as if it were a phantom. He never let them see his face. He told himself it was better this way. If they asked—if the world asked—he’d simply say, “Don’t know her. Must be a coincidence.” But he remembered the precise curve of your scowl. The way your hands moved when you spoke too quickly. How you used to hurl grapes at his head before you ever turned them into a business. And in his mind’s eye, you were still that sun-kissed, furious kid with scraped knees and a chip on your shoulder large enough to sink ships. You probably still were, beneath all the fine coats and polished boots. He smiled faintly to himself.

Meanwhile, in a gold-lit room above your winery’s main cellar, you were sifting through your usual stack of correspondence: orders, invitations, gala requests. You skimmed most of them until one caught your eye: a request to sponsor a diplomatic feast hosted by the Red-Haired Pirates. You stared at the name for a long, long time. The room felt unnervingly silent. You said nothing, merely folded the letter, re-sealed it, and slid it into the bottom drawer of your desk—the one you only opened when sleep eluded you. You pretended you didn’t know the name. Pretended you hadn’t whispered it once, years ago, into your pillow when the wine offered no solace and your heart ached like a fresh bruise. "Red-Haired Shanks," people called him now. But in your mind, he was still just Shanks. The one who tripped over his own sandals trying to out-climb you, the one who always lingered before returning to his ship, unwilling to stop laughing. He had outgrown you, certainly. But you had never quite outgrown him. And neither of you ever spoke a word of it.

It happened in a bustling port town on the edge of the New World—one of those places too busy to notice who walked through its streets, too old to ask questions, too perpetually drunk to remember faces. You were there for business, purely business. A Dressrosa client desired more of your summer blend, with its lighter finish and hint of stormfruit. You were impeccably dressed, your long coat sweeping the cobblestones, your boots clicking like distant gunfire. As you walked toward your ship, a ledger in one hand, a crate being carried behind you, a flash of red and blue in the crowd caught your eye. Gaudy red. Bright blue. White face paint. A booming, unmistakable laugh that you’d recognize even if you were half-deaf and buried in the sand.

You froze mid-step. "…Buggy?" you murmured.

He didn’t see you at first, too engrossed in yelling at some hapless merchant, arms flailing, nose even redder than you remembered. His voice hadn't changed—still whiny, theatrical, high-pitched when angered. The only difference was his uniform. The men surrounding him wore clown-like coats and pirate insignia, and people gave him a wide berth. You remained motionless. You hadn’t seen anyone from that era in years, not even a whisper. Shanks never showed his face in your world, not in ports like this. But Buggy? It felt like encountering a ghost in full makeup.

He finally noticed you when you didn't move out of his path. “Oi, watch where you—” he began, then his eyes landed on your face. He blinked. Once. Twice.

“…No way,” he breathed.

You raised an eyebrow. “Still yelling, I see.”

“You—YOU!” he shrieked, pointing a gloved hand, his voice shrill with disbelief. “The ankle-biter! The grape-throwing devil! You’re alive?!”

Your lips twitched. “Didn’t know I was supposed to be dead.”

Buggy clutched his chest dramatically. “You’re you! You’re her! I’ve had nightmares about you climbing the rigging and dumping mud on my bunk—how are you here?!”

You leaned against a barrel, a smirk playing on your lips. “I run a business now. Wine.”

“No—no, that’s you?” he gasped. “Anchor’s Breath is you?! I—I was blacklisted from that brand in three ports!”

“Yeah, I requested that personally,” you said smoothly.

Buggy sputtered. His men whispered amongst themselves, confused but not foolish enough to interrupt. For a moment, it was as if you were transported back to the old days, with Shanks always a step ahead, both of you using Buggy as a chew toy in your endless games. Then, a silence crept in.

“…You see him lately?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Buggy didn’t pretend to misunderstand. For all his theatrics, he wasn’t an idiot. “Not in person,” he said. “But I hear things. He’s… he’s doing well.” His voice dropped, the usual drama fading. “He doesn’t let people close anymore. Not like he used to.”

You looked down at your gloves. “That makes two of us.”

Buggy hesitated. Then, to your complete surprise, he grew serious. Truly serious. He stepped closer, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “You were the only one he used to look back for, you know?” he said. “Even when we were kids. Even when Roger was alive. Shanks never turned around. Never hesitated. Unless it was you. Then he always looked over his shoulder. Like he was waiting for you to come running after him.”

You said nothing. Couldn’t. Your throat felt impossibly tight.

Buggy shifted uncomfortably. “You didn’t hear it from me,” he muttered. “I’ve got a reputation. Don’t go ruining it.”

You offered a small, dry laugh. “Your secret’s safe.”

He paused, then glanced at you again, as if wanting to say more but unsure how. “Take care of yourself, alright?” he said, devoid of any mockery. “The world’s changed. It’s… it’s not safe for people like us anymore.”

You nodded once. “You too, Buggy.” And then he was gone, vanishing into the crowd as if he’d never been there, only a lingering memory of red and blue paint. That night, you sat on your ship with an unopened bottle, staring at the stars. And you remembered. Not the Yonko. Not the legend. Just the boy who used to call you anchor-brain and let you win when he thought you were crying. You hoped—just a little—that wherever he was, he remembered you too.

You traveled far. That was the double-edged sword of your business—your wine rode the currents of the Grand Line, and you followed. Some ports you visited for profit, others for politics. Some, like Water 7 or Alubarna, dazzled you with their beauty and gold, but they never truly captured your heart. No, your favorites were the quieter places. The ones with crooked docks and clamorous seagulls. The ones where people didn’t bow in your presence but waved as if they’d known you forever. You loved the scent of the sea and baked bread in Cocoyasi. The bright, reckless music in Mock Town (when it didn’t lead to bar fights). Even the sleepy, humid air of Ohara, before— Well. Before it was gone.

But your absolute favorite? Foosha Village. It wasn’t vast, nor particularly remarkable, but it offered a warmth your bones craved. The wind there was gentle, the grass soft even in the off-season. The bar was perpetually stocked, and the people remembered your name without needing to remember your brand. That’s where she was, too. Makino. You loved Makino.

You met her years ago, when you were just starting out. You were sweaty, short-tempered, and sunburned after a shipment mishap, and she offered you a drink and a quiet place to sit as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Since then, she became something you hadn’t realized you’d been starving for: a friend with no conditions. She never asked for discounts. She never fawned. She simply made space.

The first time you returned after a long haul, she nearly dropped the bottle she was cleaning. “Y/N?”

You flung your arms open. “Still prettier than me, I see.”

“Still dramatic as ever,” she laughed, wiping her hands on her apron and pulling you into a hug. “I thought I saw your label in town last week. You’re famous now, huh?”

“Ugh, don’t start.” You leaned against the bar. “I’m just tired and sunburned and hoping you’ll give me a drink and let me rot here for three days.”

“As long as you want,” she said with a smile, pouring you the house red—not yours. That was another thing you liked. She didn’t serve your wine unless you brought it, and even then, she treated it like any other bottle on the shelf. You sat at the bar, drinking in silence. You listened to the soft murmur of the village. You let your shoulders slump. This was the only place in the world where your title didn’t follow you. Where people simply called you by your name, not Miss Y/N or Anchor’s Lady or Wine Witch of the West Blue (thanks, Buggy).

You didn’t know that Shanks had been there, too. That sometimes, late at night, Makino would wipe the bar down and pause at the very stool you sat on—because he had once sat there too. You didn’t know that when you left, the townspeople whispered about how much you resembled that other one, the one with the wild hair and even louder laugh. And Makino didn’t tell you. Because Makino was smart. She saw the weary way you smiled when someone mentioned “the Yonko.” She saw the way your eyes drifted to the sea when the sun dipped just right. She noticed the small red dot under your cork seals when you left her a sample bottle.

So she never said, “Shanks was just here two months ago.” Or “He asks about you, sometimes, but never by name.” Or “He told me he used to know someone like you once.” Instead, she said: “There’s a new pie place down the road. You’ll love it.” Or “Your room’s still upstairs. I aired the sheets.” Or “I’ll wake you up when it’s sunset.” And you’d smile. Because you didn’t need the world in that moment. You just needed here. The bar. The village. Makino. Foosha felt like something you’d lost and accidentally rediscovered. And a part of you stayed there, even after you left.

It was late afternoon, the kind where golden sunlight spilled through the open windows, transforming dust motes into dancing magic. You were perched on your usual barstool, a glass of something local in your hand, your coat slung over the back of the seat. The breeze carried the scent of sea salt and citrus. Makino hummed nearby, a towel slung over her shoulder, stacking clean glasses. You were engrossed in conversation with a carpenter from the shipyard—a kind, sun-weathered man who profusely apologized every time he swore in your presence. You waved him off with a grin. “Trust me, I’ve heard worse. I’ve said worse.”

The door burst open with a bang and a gust of raucous laughter. Boots stomped on wood, loud voices flooded the room, and the very air seemed to shift. You didn’t look up immediately. Boisterous crews weren’t uncommon. Foosha was small, yes, but still a port town. You took a slow sip, letting the liquid slide down your throat like liquid armor.

“Oi, Makino!” someone bellowed with a voice like a storm wrapped in a grin. “You still got that ale that tastes like regret?!”

Your breath hitched. That voice. You froze. Time seemed to slow. The carpenter continued talking beside you, something about his niece, but his words dissolved into meaningless static. Because you knew that voice. Knew it deep in your bones, like a scar you never stopped touching. A voice that once shouted across a cliff, laughed as you tripped him in the mud, teased you for being “land-stuck,” and cheered when your punch actually landed.

Shanks.

You didn’t look. Not yet. Instead, you slowly set your glass down, your fingers gripping the rim a little too tightly. You heard chairs scrape, men laugh, boots thud. You heard the unmistakable weight of a king walking as if he were still a boy. Then—

“…Hey, Makino.” His voice again. Softer this time. Like he meant it.

And she answered. Calmly. Warmly. “You’re early.”

“Didn’t want to miss the sunset this time.”

You clenched your jaw. Your heart pounded in places it hadn’t in years. You still didn’t turn, staring at the bar as if it were the only thing keeping you upright. Makino’s voice floated toward you. “Shanks,” she said, casual, almost amused. “Look who’s in town.”

Silence. You felt it. That pause. The heavy weight of realization. Then his voice—closer now. “…No way.”

You turned. Slowly. There he was. Standing in the doorway as if he’d walked straight out of your memories. Same hair, longer now. Same eyes—sharp, unreadable. The scars on his face were new, but the grin was the same. Still boyish. Still too big. Still undeniably his. He didn’t say your name, merely stared at you as if trying to piece you together from the fragments of time.

You stood slowly. “You owe me,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging within.

Shanks blinked. “What for?”

“For every time I cried after you left and didn’t say goodbye.” He exhaled as if someone had punched the wind out of him. The grin faltered slightly. You crossed your arms. “And the cliff. You owe me a rematch.”

A beat passed. Then he laughed. Loud, reckless, golden. The sound punched straight through your ribs. “Still got that fire,” he said. “I was hoping you would.” You didn’t smile, not yet. But your shoulders relaxed, just enough.

“Buy me a drink,” you said, sliding back onto your stool. “Then maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”

He sat beside you, and suddenly, everything felt a little less distant. As if the years hadn’t been so long. As if you were just two rowdy kids again. But older now. Sharper. And maybe—just maybe—ready to see what came next.

It was a slow evening, the kind where the sea seemed to sigh against the docks and the sky wore the bruised peach hues of twilight. You were at the bar, in your usual spot, legs crossed, your coat neatly draped behind you. Makino had poured you something dry and bitter—just as you liked it. You’d been in Foosha for three days now, savoring the quiet. The stillness. You were mid-conversation with a visiting merchant, someone you vaguely recalled from Loguetown. He was charming in that harmless way businessmen became after too many years negotiating on uneven docks. His voice filled the space between you, calm and even.

Then— The door slammed open, and the bar exploded with noise, as if a cork had just popped off a bottle of chaos.

“MAKINO!! Tell me you’ve still got that barrel I left last time—the one that nearly blinded Lucky Roux!”

Voices burst around the room. Boots scuffed against wood, laughter bounced off the beams. A surge of wild energy rolled in behind them, as if the tide itself had followed them through the door. The room felt smaller. Hotter. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. Your fingers tightened around your glass. You knew that voice. Knew it like a scar you never stopped touching.

The man across from you continued talking, oblivious. Something about trade routes. You nodded blindly, his words drifting past your ears like smoke. Then another voice—Makino’s this time. “Oh, Y/N,” she called gently, just as she always did. “Would you mind grabbing another bottle from behind the counter?”

A pause. Then Shanks again, just behind her. Closer now. “…Y/N?”

Your name dropped into the room like an anchor through the floor. Everything stilled. You didn’t move. Didn’t look. A part of you longed to stand and storm out. Another part—the more treacherous part—wanted to turn and see that freckled-faced boy who used to trip over his own feet trying to impress you. But you knew better. That boy was long gone. He was a legend now. A Yonko. A man who could split the sky and halt wars. And you? You ran a winery and clung to memory as if it owed you something.

Still, hearing your name in his voice again cracked something open inside you. Makino, ever tactful, handed the bottle to you herself, her knuckles brushing yours in silent support. You took it. Said nothing. Behind you, you felt him shift. Felt the tension wrap around the room, coiling like a rope being pulled taut. The bar chatter resumed, but softer, as if the villagers sensed something unfolding but dared not name it.

You stood slowly. Turned. He was watching you. Standing there in his long red coat, with that damned easy smile that never seemed easy to you. His crew flanked him—giants, legends, men whose faces haunted bounty posters. But he only looked at you.

“…Hey,” he said softly.

You stared at him for a long moment. “You look the same,” you lied.

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Surprised?”

“You don’t,” he continued. “You look like you finally got what you wanted.”

You tilted your head, amused despite yourself. “And what’s that?”

He glanced around the bar—the shelves of wine, the soft light, the way the villagers nodded to you as if you belonged to the very walls—then met your eyes again. “Everything.”

The glass in your hand suddenly felt impossibly heavy. You took a long sip. Then another.

“I wasn’t sure you’d remember me,” you said finally.

Shanks took a slow step closer. “I never stopped.”

That hurt more than it should have. You set your glass down. “Then why didn’t you come back?” you asked. Not angry—just tired. “Not once. Not even to say goodbye.”

His voice was low now. “Because if I did, I wouldn’t have left again.”

You hated how honest that sounded. The silence between you was thick, unspoken things blossoming like storm clouds in your chests. Then Makino, dear Makino, behind the counter, cleared her throat, smiling lightly. “There’s stew in the back if anyone’s hungry,” she said. “And wine, of course. Plenty of wine.”

You exhaled slowly. Picked up your glass. Glanced back at Shanks one more time. “…I’ll stay for one drink,” you said.

His grin widened. “I’ll take it.”

You sat. He joined you. And for a while, nothing needed to be said. Because sometimes, after all those years and all that drifting, just sitting beside each other again was enough.

The bar settled around you like warm wool—loud enough to hide in, soft enough to breathe. You sat beside him again, after all those years. Shanks leaned an elbow on the bartop, turning his glass in his hand as if he couldn’t quite believe it wasn’t a dream. Neither could you.

You watched him from the corner of your eye. He looked older—scarred, a little more hollow around the eyes, the weight of a thousand storms etched into his posture. But he was still him. The boy who once slipped in the mud trying to chase you up a hill. The one who never looked back for anyone—except you. He was quiet for a moment, then tilted his head toward you, his voice low and warm. “You wanna meet the crew?”

You blinked. “…They don’t already know?”

He huffed a laugh through his nose. “Nah. I never told ‘em.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not even my name?”

He shook his head, a crooked smile on his face. “Didn’t have to.”

You didn’t understand what that meant—not yet. But you followed him anyway. He stood, motioning casually to the small group clustered at the back of the bar. Half of them were already halfway through dinner, laughing over a card game with a pile of Beli between them. The others were drinking, talking, relaxed in a way only men accustomed to danger could be. As soon as they saw you walking beside him, the change was immediate. No one said anything—not at first. They just… looked.

You weren’t sure what you expected. Surprise, maybe. Curiosity. But what you saw instead was something different. Something soft. Recognition. The broad man with a hat and a toothpick—the one you vaguely remembered as Lucky Roux—raised his brow as if he’d just watched a puzzle piece click into place. A few others—Yasopp, Bonk Punch, Howling Gab—exchanged knowing glances, the kind of looks people give when a secret has finally named itself aloud. One of them murmured, “So that’s her…”

You stiffened slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shanks scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I, uh… might’ve mentioned someone. Once or twice.”

The crew chuckled quietly. Nothing mean about it. Just that gentle ribbing of people who had known for a long time and were glad to see it finally true. “Captain’s ghost,” one of them said, tipping their glass in your direction. “Didn’t think you were real.”

You crossed your arms. “Depends on the wine.”

They liked that. The whole table chuckled, the tension breaking just enough for you to feel your shoulders relax. You didn’t exactly fit with them, not yet—but you didn’t feel unwelcome, either. Just… observed. Studied. Understood.

Then Lucky Roux raised his drink. “To the one who got away.”

There was a pause. You felt your heart stutter. But Shanks didn’t correct him. He didn’t deny it. He just smiled. That small, sad kind of smile—the one you remembered from the cliff, from the time you asked if he’d ever stay. You didn’t raise your glass. You just looked at him. And he looked at you.

“…I’m still here, aren’t I?” you said softly.

And something in his expression cracked—open, raw, almost boyish. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You are.”

No one spoke after that. They didn’t need to. Because they knew what he had never said aloud. That you weren’t just anyone. You were the one. The one who made him look back. The one he didn’t take with him, because if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to let go. And now you were here. A little older. A little wiser. Still stubborn. Still you. And maybe… just maybe… you weren’t getting away this time.

The air buzzed low with warmth and laughter. The rest of the crew eased back into their drinks and games, but every so often, you caught one of them sneaking a glance your way. Not nosy—just curious. Protective, maybe. They knew, now.

You and Shanks sat at a small table near the window, the sea stretching out beyond the glass like an old secret neither of you were ready to speak yet. A quiet flicker of sunlight bounced off his earring, and you hated how it made your chest twist. He leaned back in his chair with the lazy confidence of someone who knew exactly what effect he had on people.

“You still roll your eyes the same way,” he said, swirling the drink in his glass.

You didn’t even look up from your wine. “You still talk like you’re charming.”

“I am charming,” he shot back.

You glanced at him. “You’re loud, Shanks. That’s not the same thing.”

He grinned. “Loud and charming aren’t mutually exclusive. I’ve been told I have a certain… pirate appeal.”

“You’ve been lied to.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but if it gets me a smile out of you, I’ll take it.”

You gave him nothing but a blank stare. Then your lips curled. Just a little. “…Still so full of yourself,” you said, shaking your head.

“And you’re still as difficult as ever,” he replied, eyes glinting.

“Would you like me better if I wasn’t?”

“I’d be terrified.”

You laughed—genuinely this time—and he soaked it in like a man starving. The candle on the table between you flickered. A soft golden glow cast against the planes of his face, and for a moment, it wasn’t Red-Haired Shanks sitting across from you. It was just him. The boy who used to throw sea snails at your window when he got bored. The rival who always let you win, but never admitted it. The friend who left, and never quite stopped looking over his shoulder after he did.

His voice dropped a little. “You’ve changed,” he said. Not as a compliment. Not as a regret. Just… a truth.

“So have you,” you said, matching his tone.

His gaze traced your face—not in the way a man looks at a lover, but in the way someone stares at a map that used to be etched into their hands and can’t quite believe the lines are still the same. “Do you still hate me?” he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilted your head. “Sometimes.”

He nodded. “Good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

He leaned forward, lips curling. “Means I still matter.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just reached forward, picked up his glass instead of yours, and took a sip—keeping eye contact the entire time. “You’re not as important as you think,” you said, handing it back.

His smile only widened. “I’m exactly as important as I think.”

You shook your head, fighting another smile, but something stirred in you. Like a current tugging under the surface. The way he looked at you now—it was different. A little heavier. A little more careful. Like he didn’t want to scare you off. Like he wanted to stay. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

So you leaned back, crossing your legs with calculated calm. “One drink,” you reminded him.

“Yeah,” he said. “One drink.” But the way he was watching you—like he’d just caught sight of the North Star after years of fog— It didn’t feel like one drink would ever be enough.

Turned out to be more than one drink. Of course it did. One drink turned into two. Then three. Then Makino cut the rest of the crew off with a smirk and a towel to the head, but left you and Shanks untouched, two half-lit ghosts with full glasses and too many unsaid things between them. The bar emptied slowly, chairs flipped, floor swept, lanterns dimmed. You didn’t remember agreeing to stay late. You didn’t remember leaning in, either—but suddenly you were closer. Closer than you’d ever let yourself be again. He smelled like salt and old sun. A little smoke, a little citrus. Familiar in a way that made your stomach twist and your throat ache. It was dangerous—how easy it felt. How easy he made it feel.

Makino gave you a look when she came over with the keys and a quiet “lock up when you’re done.” She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to. Her eyes said it all: He hasn’t changed. But neither have you.

Once the lanterns were snuffed and the door swung closed behind you both with a soft click, you found yourselves beneath the stars, streets empty and quiet, the sea air curling through the village like breath through cupped hands. You walked side by side without saying anything for a while. Just the sound of your footsteps and the hush of waves somewhere nearby.

“Feels the same,” he murmured eventually, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The island. The air. Even the damn wind.”

You glanced at him. “You say that like you didn’t help change it.”

“I didn’t. Not really. I just passed through.”

You gave him a look. “You don’t just pass through, Shanks. You uproot.”

He chuckled, eyes squinting with the kind of laugh that pulled from deep in the chest. “That’s rich, coming from the woman who took the wine world by storm.”

You rolled your eyes, but your mouth twitched. “It wasn’t a storm. Just a breeze.”

“‘Sharp Whine,’ right?” he said, tilting his head with that grin that always meant trouble. “Still the best name I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you. It’s a pun.”

“I know. That’s why it’s brilliant.”

You kicked a pebble with your heel. “You didn’t even drink wine back then.”

He shrugged. “I do now.”

“Oh? Red or white?”

“I drink whatever reminds me of you.”

You tripped a little—just barely—but you caught yourself. “…You haven’t changed.”

“And you have,” he said, looking sideways at you. “But in the right ways.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you walked. The village slept around you in muted pastels—blue windows, pink lantern light, a few plants swaying softly on balconies. You passed the well you used to dare each other to jump over. The wall you both climbed and fell off. That tree you once carved a heart into as a joke, then scratched out just to one-up each other.

You paused beneath it now, staring up into the canopy. “…It’s still there,” he murmured behind you.

“What is?”

He reached past you, fingers brushing bark, and traced a half-faded line. “Your half.”

Your breath caught. He looked at you, soft. “I never touched mine.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. “Why?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged, but the truth was in his eyes. “Felt wrong. Like… like I was carving you out.” That shut you up for a while.

You walked again. His hand brushed yours once, twice, and neither of you moved away. You didn’t reach for him. He didn’t force it. But something hung between you now. Something warm. Tense. Old and brand-new at the same time.

When you reached the edge of the village, right where the path dipped down to the cliffs overlooking the sea, he finally stopped. You stopped with him. He looked out at the water. “Ever think about it?”

“About what?”

“If I’d stayed.”

You were silent. Then— “…No. I thought about if I’d gone with you.”

He turned toward you slowly. You didn’t look at him. “But I wouldn’t have made it. I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You were stronger than any of us,” he said, voice low.

“You don’t know that.”

He hesitated. Then—softly, almost broken: “I do. That’s why I didn’t ask.” The sea roared below you. You finally looked at him—and there it was. That same boy. The same look. A little older. A little sadder. A little more desperate to fix something that couldn’t be undone.

You whispered, “I used to hate you for that.”

“I used to hate me for that.”

You stared at each other. Neither of you moved. Until— He grinned suddenly. “Still have the ugliest laugh I’ve ever heard, though.”

You elbowed him, breath catching in your throat. “And you still flirt like a soggy sponge.”

“But it’s working,” he said, grinning wider.

You tried not to smile. And failed. God, you failed. He leaned in just a bit closer, shoulder brushing yours. “Can I see you again?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just turned toward the sea. And said, “You’re going to anyway.”

That made him laugh. Really laugh. And maybe… just maybe… you didn’t mind.

The wind had changed. You could feel it in the way your hair lifted gently off your shoulders, how the salt didn’t sting as much as it used to, how the night didn’t feel like something to hide from anymore. You stood at the edge of the cliff until your legs ached, until Shanks stopped laughing and just stood beside you in silence. His presence was so… loud even when he wasn’t saying a word. You could always feel him. That had never changed.

“Are you staying long?” you asked, your voice quiet. You didn’t look at him.

“Few days,” he replied, not looking either. “Luffy’d kill me if I didn’t show face for a while.”

You smiled faintly. “He’s gotten big. All the kids here talk about him like he’s some kind of god.”

“He kinda is,” Shanks said with a laugh. “In the same way I was your god when I beat you in every single race we ever had.”

You turned your head so slowly it made your neck crack. He was already grinning. “You cheated,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

He tilted his head dramatically. “Never. I simply used my environment wisely. Buggy was a wonderful distraction.”

You snorted. “You threw sand in my face. That’s not ‘using the environment.’ That’s just being a bastard.”

“Semantics.”

You laughed before you could stop it, covering your mouth with your hand like it might muffle the years between now and then. “Where even is Buggy these days?” you asked eventually, more to yourself.

Shanks sighed. “Oh, around. Making headlines. Still loud. Still ridiculous. Still makes a scene every time I show my face like I’m haunting him.”

You smiled to yourself. “I saw him once, you know. Years ago. In Loguetown. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.”

Shanks burst out laughing. “You are a ghost to him. He probably thought you were there to curse him.”

“I nearly did.”

He laughed harder.

You fell quiet again. The stars were shifting overhead now—slow and drowsy in their dance. The night smelled like honeysuckle and the sea. He shifted closer to you, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the pull. You didn’t move away.

“You still dream about it?” he asked suddenly. “Back then?”

You nodded, barely. “Only when I forget to lie to myself.”

He smiled—soft and sad and something else you couldn’t name. “I still see you as that girl,” he murmured. “Braids messy. Dirt on your face. Grinning at me like you’d eat me alive.”

You turned to him then. “I still see you as that boy. Too tall. Too loud. No sense of personal space.”

He leaned in just a little, voice low. “I’ve gotten worse, you know.”

“Oh, I noticed.”

You were quiet. The moon sat full and fat on the horizon, and the sea shimmered beneath it like someone had scattered silver coins across the waves.

“I should walk you back,” he said eventually. “Before Makino starts sharpening knives.”

“She already does that,” you replied with a half-smile. “For fun.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “My kind of woman.”

You raised an eyebrow. “…Not like that,” he said quickly. “I’m already dying here.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. The walk back was slower than the one before. Less aimless, more… reluctant. He stopped at the door to your inn and shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. His hair was damp from the sea breeze, and there were tiny lines by his eyes that hadn’t been there all those years ago—but they suited him. He looked like someone who’d lived. And lost. And still laughed anyway. You liked that about him.

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t know what to say.”

You leaned against the doorframe. “That’s a first.”

He chuckled, then sighed. “You gonna be here a while?”

“I might.”

“Would you tell me if you were leaving?”

You tilted your head. “Would it matter?”

He didn’t answer right away. “To me?”

Your lips parted—but no sound came. He stepped back finally, as if forcing himself to. “Goodnight, brat.”

You smirked. “Goodnight, old man.”

He walked off without another word, boots echoing on the empty road. But just before he disappeared around the corner— He turned. And gave you a smile so familiar it hurt. “Don’t run from me next time,” he called softly. “You’re not as fast as you used to be.”

You stared after him long after he was gone. And whispered to the wind, “…Neither are you.”

The door closed behind you, and you leaned against it. Your heart was racing. And somewhere, under your ribs, a flame that hadn’t burned in years crackled quietly back to life.

The morning sun spilled across Foosha Village like honey, slow and golden, warming the stone streets and glinting off the sea. Dew clung to the edges of the windowsills. Roosters crowed in the distance. Someone was already sweeping the inn’s porch, humming out of tune. You hadn’t slept much. Too many thoughts had crawled under your skin after last night. Too many memories that felt too close. Too many words that never made it out of your mouth.

You stepped out into the light, your coat thrown on over a simple top and trousers, hair still slightly damp from a quick rinse. A cup of coffee steamed in your hands. You didn’t think—you just walked. You told yourself you were going to Makino’s early. For breakfast. For something warm. You weren’t going to see him. Definitely not. But your steps shifted toward the docks anyway.

And there he was. Standing with one boot propped on a barrel, tying the laces in lazy loops, hair still windblown from the early gusts off the ocean. His long coat shifted around his legs, and his sword hung easy at his hip, like it belonged there more than anything else ever had. He was laughing at something Benn said—but the moment his eyes flicked up and found yours— He stilled. So did you. No one else noticed. His crew kept talking, loading supplies, exchanging jokes. But Shanks straightened, like something in his chest had just clicked into place. You almost turned around. Almost. Instead, you took a slow sip of your coffee and walked toward him.

“I see you’re still alive,” you said, your voice calm but dry.

Shanks gave you a crooked smile. “Surprised?”

“Disappointed.”

He grinned. “There she is.”

You stopped a few feet from him. Close enough to smell the salt on him, the faint scent of old rum and warm spice. His crew threw subtle glances your way—none daring to interrupt, but you could feel the weight of their curiosity. He scratched behind his ear. “Didn’t think I’d see you again this morning.”

“Neither did I,” you said. “But I remembered something.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You leaned forward a bit, keeping your voice low. “You still owe me a rematch. From that race. You know—the one you cheated in.”

Shanks let out a laugh, tipping his head back. “You’re holding a grudge for twenty years?”

“I’m holding a record. One I never got to settle.”

He smiled, eyes soft. “You want to settle it now? Before I sail off again?”

You looked past him at the ship. The sails were already hoisted. The breeze tugged gently at the ropes. You shook your head. “No. Not today.”

He tilted his head. “Then when?”

You met his eyes. “Next time you show your face around here.”

A pause. His gaze searched yours like he wanted to say something heavier. Something slower. But he just smiled again, softer this time. “Then I guess I’ve got a reason to come back.”

You glanced at the Red Force behind him. “You already did.”

He stepped forward just slightly, not enough to close the distance—just enough that you felt him again. The heat. The pull. He reached into his coat and held out something small between his fingers. A folded piece of paper. Simple. Worn. You raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“A letter,” he said. “From me. In case you forget me again.”

“I didn’t forget you,” you murmured.

He smiled. “Didn’t say you did.”

You took it carefully, slipping it into your coat pocket without another word. He stepped back at last. “Take care, brat.”

You smirked. “You too, pirate.”

He walked back to his crew then, the moment slipping away like foam on the shore. And as you watched the Red Force slowly drift from the docks, sails swelling in the morning wind, you pressed your hand against your pocket— And felt the weight of something old, Something real, Something that maybe, just maybe, Wasn’t finished yet.

The seasons passed in quiet turns—some loud with storms, some hushed by still tides. You returned to the sea with your wine ships, carving out more of the Grand Line under your name. The barrels carried your mark, and with time, so did the ports—fine-dressed merchants nodding with respect, rowdy sailors murmuring stories about the “sharp woman with sharper taste.” You were no pirate, but your influence drifted through the world like smoke. And still, sometimes, his voice echoed in your head. Sometimes you’d glance out at the ocean just a little too long. And sometimes—just sometimes—you’d catch wind of red sails in the distance and pretend you didn’t feel anything at all.

But letters began to show up. Always folded once. Always without a name. Left in Makino’s bar, tucked into the hem of a barrel on your ship, or pressed into the spine of a book you hadn’t opened in weeks. Simple letters. Short. Messy handwriting. Sometimes just a joke. Sometimes a complaint about Buggy. Sometimes one sentence: “I saw a place that reminded me of that cove we raced in.” Or: “I dreamt of your voice last night. Woke up angry at the sea for not sounding like you.” You never responded. But you kept every single one.

Years passed like that. Until one day, the Red Force docked in Foosha again. You weren’t there. Shanks didn’t ask Makino where you’d gone. But when he stepped into her bar, sat in that same seat from all those years ago, and saw the new wine bottle behind the bar with your crest etched into the glass— He smiled.

"She's doing alright, then?" Shanks asked, a question more than a statement.

Makino’s gaze was unsmiling. "She's tired."

Shanks looked down at his hand, then towards the door. "Do you think she's waiting?"

Makino, ever pragmatic, dried her hands on a cloth. "You should go find out."

It didn't take him long. He found you on a small, unassuming island, a quiet haven, half sabbatical, half strategic retreat. Your boots were kicked off, sleeves rolled up, hands stained with the rich, dark juice of the fruit you'd been helping to pick. He discovered you crouched in a sun-dappled grove, humming an ancient, forgotten tune. You didn't hear his approach, but you felt him—that sudden, profound stillness behind you, as if the very world had drawn a collective breath.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you," you said, your voice calm, without turning.

He chuckled softly. "Years, apparently. I'm getting slower in my old age."

You rose to your feet, brushing your palms together, a faint flush of fruit juice still clinging to your skin. Then you turned to face him. He was older, yes, with new lines etched around his eyes and a certain ruggedness that hadn't been there before. But those eyes—those damn eyes—still saw you with the fierce, unwavering clarity of a sixteen-year-old, as if you were both still running barefoot through sun-baked alleyways, pockets bulging with stolen bread and hearts brimming with too much pride.

"So," you said, a challenge in your tone. "Did you come all this way to lose another race?"

"I came to surrender," he replied, his voice unexpectedly soft.

You blinked. "What?"

Shanks stepped closer, his smile a complicated blend of hope and unwavering seriousness. "I've been running a long time," he began, his gaze steady on yours. "From people. From peace. From anything that felt permanent. And I think I finally figured it out."

You crossed your arms, a familiar defense. "Figured what out?"

"That maybe," he said, his voice dropping to a low, resonant murmur, "what I want isn't out there on the sea anymore."

You simply stared at him. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves above. Deep within your chest, you felt something shift, a long-dormant mechanism clicking into place.

"I'm not giving up my work," you stated slowly, firmly. "I still have an empire to run. Wine doesn't ship itself."

He grinned, the familiar glint in his eyes. "I'd never ask you to."

"And I won't follow you around like some lost girl from the past, Shanks."

"I wouldn't want you to," he countered, stepping forward and extending his hand. "I'd rather build something with you."

You narrowed your eyes, a hint of vulnerability in your gaze. "Like a home?"

"No," he said, his voice rich with conviction. "Like a life."

You looked at his outstretched hand, then past it, to the distant horizon. And then, with a slow, deliberate certainty, you reached out. And took it.

They say the sea itself settled for a few fleeting moments the day the Red-Haired Pirate Captain and the Wine Merchant Queen declared their quiet alliance. There was no grand wedding. No official papers. No loud, world-shaking proclamations. Just two lives, finally catching up to each other after years of independent journeys. Two hearts, weathered and wise, walking side by side, their shared past a foundation for an unexpected future. And on rare nights, when the stars burn clear and cold, and the wind is warm with the scent of distant shores—if you sit close to the docks and listen carefully—you can hear two people laughing again. Running again. Racing to see who will love harder first.

#one piece x reader #one piece #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #red haired pirates x reader #red haired pirates #red haired shanks #shanks x y/n #shanks x you #shanks x reader #shanks #reader #x y/n #y/n

204 notes · View notes

thebestsetter · 11 months ago

Text

Thinking about Megumi Fushiguro only showing his vulnerable side around you.

And it's not like he doesn't trust his friends. It just happens that he doesn't feel safe showing that side of him near them. He thinks that it makes him seem weak. And he definitely doesn't want to look weak.

He didn't even use to show his sensitive side around you at first. He never initiated cuddles, kisses or even hugs. Maybe, if you were lucky, he'd wake up feeling brave and would hold your hand. Once in a blue moon.

But bear with him! It's his first relationship, so he has zero clue about what to do in this whole dating thing. He needed a patient partner, and, luckily, you were exactly that: never forced him to do anything he didn't want to do, never initiated anything without his consent first and never complained about his lack of experience. You were perfect for him.

One day, he was on his way to Jujutsu High after a difficult mission. His whole body was aching from head to toe, his head was hurting and he had some really bad cuts that were gonna scar for sure. The fight with a special curse had taken a toll on his body, even if he wasn't alone during it. And, honestly, even though he was literally limping, he couldn't think about anything else other than you.

His favorite part of the mission was the aftermath, not only because it meant that the problem he was choosen to solve was over, but because when he came to the dorms he knew you would be there, waiting for him with your arms between your thighs and a gentle smile. The thought of you always made him smile like a lovesick fool. Perhaps he was, indeed, a good old fashioned lover boy. Maybe he had, in fact, become one of the hopeless romantics he used to despise, because, on his way back to Jujutsu High, despite feeling like he was literally being eaten from the inside out because of how much pain he was enduring, he still found the strenght to squat and pick a pretty flower he saw on a bush.

He handled it with so much care, his eyes literally sparkling with love when he looked at it. It was so beautiful. It reminded him of you. He imagined your reaction when he gave you the flower. Would you smile and smell it, looking for a vase to put it on your desk so everyone could see? Or would you laugh at him in an affectionate way and hug it close to you, smiling at how smitten he was for you? And you would be right (as you always were), because he was, indeed, smitten. He would burn down the entire world if you asked him to. He would do anything just to make sure that you were always smiling. He would rather be skinned alive than make you cry. You were his light, the one who guided him through darkness. He couldn't even remember how his life was before he met you, and he honestly didn't want to remember. You made everything so easier, his life had so much color with you in it and the sky seemed brighter. It looked like the birds were singing a soft melody made exclusively for you both, and everything was sunshine and rainbows. Life had never seemed so bright.

"Megumi? Did you even hear what we just asked you?"

"We're losing him. I bet he's thinking about his girlfriend again."

"Ugh, he's such a loser when it comes to her. It's so sweet it makes me sick."

"What happened to bros before hoes, Fushiguro?"

"I don't know what you idiots are on about" Megumi sighed after snapping out of his trace "And I was not thinking about my girlfriend." It's not like he's embarassed of you, but he didn't feel like being mocked by Nobara and Itadori just because he thinks about you once in a while. Maybe not only once in a while. Maybe he did think about you a lot. More than he'd ever admit.

"Suuuree. And that flower is for who? I bet it's not for me or Nobara." Itadori pointed to the plant on his hands

"Shut up." Fushiguro blushed, placing the pink flower (very carefully, may I add) on his pocket. Yuji and Nobara smirked at eachother, enjoying the abashed state their friend was at.

"As we were saying, we wanted to know if you're going with us to Shoko's. She probably has something to help us with our cuts. And some of these are nasty! I really hope they don't scar, because there's a really big one on my face. That will make my modeling job harder, I'm sure. But my pretty face will make up for it"

"I think the scar will be the least of your problems..." Itadori murmured

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing!" He sweatdropped and quickly changed the topic "Anyway, are you coming with us, Fushiguro?"

The black haired boy sighed.

"I don't think so. My cuts are not that bad. I just need a little rest. If they hurt, I'll go seek help."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, you guys can go without me"

"Okay then. Bye Fushiguro!"

"I still want to know what you said earlier."

"I said nothing, what do you mean?"

Hearing his friends playful chatter disappear in the distance, Megumi's thoughts drifted to you again. He was honestly so tired that he could only think about cuddling with you or laying on your lap.

He must have been really entretained by his thoughts, cause he didn't even notice he had gotten to your dorm before he literally knocked on the door.

"I'm coming!" He heard your sweet voice saying.

"Megumi! You're finally back! I missed you!"

No feeling could ever surpass the feeling of you holding him, your arms wrapped around his torso in a strong hug that made him weak. He hugged you back as quickly as possible and nuzzled his head on the crook of your neck, closing his eyes and ihnaling your scent that drove him half-insane. It was like a drug. You were like his drug.

"I missed you too" reaching for his pocket, he grabbed the flower and gave it to you, as if he was trying to show you that, even during his missions, he still thought about you constantly. "Here"

"No way. Gumi, you shouldn't have..." you said, taking the flower from his hands and sniffing it, a content smile on your face.

"But I wanted to." He returned your smile, grabbing the flower from your hands and putting it behind your ear, removing a strand of stray hair from your face in the process.

"Even though I'm absolutely loving this moment" you said, cupping his face "You stink. Please go take a shower."

Crap! He had forgotten to shower! Now you were going to think he was stinky! Ugh, how could he be so irresponsable?

He quickly grabbed a towel and some spare clothes he had in your dorm (he went there a lot. It was practically his second home or something like that. Actually, his home is wherever you are. So, it happened that your dorm felt like home, too) and took the fastest shower he had ever taken in his life. He just wanted to go back to your arms in less time as possible. He wanted to merge with you, wanted you to hold him so close that you became one.

"I'm finished" he said, going to your room. He had to put some bandage in his larger bruises, so he was still shirtless. That being said, you could literally see how big they were.

"Oh dear God! Megumi, did you go to Shoko's? These injuries look bad!"

"They're not as bad as they look" he said, laying beside you and staring at your eyes. He didn't know what came over him, but the next words he said made even him surprised "But I bet they'd get better if you cuddled with me"

It was the first time he was initiating something. You'd be a fool to let the opportunity go.

"Well, if you say so" you smirked, looking a him with a glint of playfullness. "I really hope I can help you with that. Not sure if I'm capable tho. Don't know if my cuddles are good enough"

"Don't act ridiculous, of course they are"

"Let's start with your treatment, then." You laughed. And oh, how he loved the sound of your laugh. He loved it even more because he was the cause of it.

Carefully, you slipped your arms around him, hugging him closer to you. Your legs linked together, and he buried his face on your boobs (he didn't even have any indecent thoughts behind that action. It just felt comfortable). And, just when he thought it couldn't get better, your hands found their way to his hair. You gently unraveled all the knots, one by one, while massaging his scalp. He let out a peaceful sigh and began moving his hands up and down your back, as if massaging you, and drawing random things in your exposed skin with his fingers, like little hearts or silly smiling faces. Everything was perfect at that moment. He felt safe with you, something he didn't feel with most people. He felt completely at ease. Nothing and no one could ever ruin that moment for him.

*Click*

Until something did. Or even better: some people did.

"KUGISAKI! I TOLD YOU TO TURN THE VOLUME OF THE CAMERA DOWN"

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT I DON'T KNOW HOW YOUR STONE AGE PHONE WORKS. MY GRANDPA HAS A BETTER PHONE THAN YOURS"

"What. Are you guys. Doing here." It came out more like a comand than a question. Megumi felt frustrated that they had interrupted your alone time, and, honestly, even though he loved his friends, he just wanted them to go away. When they barged him uninvited, you had stopped playing with his hair, and he just wanted to feel your hands on his head again.

"Well, Gojo-Sensei asked us to come check if you really didn't need Shoko's treatment. But it looks like you have everything under control. We'll be going now. Just pretend we were never here..." Nobara said, trying to run away as quickly as possible before Megumi got even angrier.

"Hey! Isn't that the flower he grabbed on our way back? I knew it was for her! Look how cute, she even put it on her desk!" Itadori clearly didn't get what Nobara was trying to do.

"You idiot! We need to go fast, or else he'll get mad! Let's show the photo to Gojo-Sensei! I bet he'll find it funny. We can also use it as future blackmail, but we need to go before he gets us." The brunette girl whispered, but it was loud enough for the whole building to hear

"I can hear you, you know?"

"You're right! Let's go!" Megumi was promptly ignored.

In a normal occasion, Fushiguro would probably go after them, trying to get them to delete the picture. But he was just so tired that he didn't even have the strenght to.

"Ugh, I hate them"

"No you don't" You smiled, booping his nose and resuming your hands' work on his hair "you just need sleep. You're clearly tired, and the mission made you hurt. You deserve to rest. I'll be here when you wake up"

"Thank you." Should he say it? Oh, screw it. You needed to know. "I love you"

"I love you too, Gumi"

Honestly, he couldn't be happier right now. And so, with the feeling of your skin close to his and your hands on his hair, Megumi Fushiguro drifted off to a peaceful slumber, with the sweetest dreams he ever had. Of course they were sweet. They were only about you, afterall.

You were his everything. He loved you. And you loved him back. That was something he would forever be proud of.

~ A/N: I need sleep.

Masterlist

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk #jujutsu megumi #megumi fluff #reader fluff

1K notes · View notes

daydreamerswriting · 23 days ago

Note

Can you pls do Dally x Curtis sister? Like a fic centered around Darry being strict with them and super overprotective? maybe he catches them making out or something. thankssss

Sneaking Around

Summary: Darry found out about you and your boyfriend, Dallas Winston, so now you have to sneak around

W: fem!reader, not proofread

Your worst nightmare had come true yesterday when Darry walked in on you and Dallas making-out in your room. It didn't help that he hadn't even known the two of you were together. You were surprised he didn't deck Dallas right then and there, and tell him to never even look at you again. Its not that Darry didn't like Dallas, he didn't mind him being close friends with younger siblings, but dating his baby sister? That's where he drew the line.

Or that's at least where he wanted to draw the line, but he knew deep down that forcing the two of you to stop seeing eachother would only result in you sneaking around behind his back, making your already risky relationship even more risky.

So instead, Darry said that you could keep seeing Dallas, but only under certain conditions, and he wanted to tell Dallas personally.

"If Dallas is over, your door will remain open. Your curfew when you're with Dallas is 8. No later."

"Come on, Darry! I'm not a little kid. I'm 17 for crying out loud."

"I don't want to hear it, missy!" He looks at Dallas, glaring at him. "You hurt her, you're dead."

"I'm not going to hurt her, Darry."

"Good. You better not."

An awkward silence falls over the three of you. Luckily, Soda was at work and Pony was out this friends, so they weren't having to witness your humiliation.

"I hope you're being safe. She better not get knocked up." Darry sees threatenly, his eyes boring into Dallas.

"Darry!" You cover your hands with your face, embarrassed to be discussing such topics with your brother.

Dallas doesn't even flinch, his arms still crossed, and his legs still man-spread. You honestly wished he'd sit up, maybe that'd calm Darry down just a bit.

"Of course were being safe. I ain't an idiot. Not my first rodeo." He only mumbles the last sentence as he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets.

Darry let's out a deep sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, then looks at you. "You're a smart girl, I trust you to be careful."

"So no curfew?" You ask hopefully.

"No. You're definitely still having a curfew."

It was way past your curfew, 10:36 pm to be exact, but that didn't matter, because you were already home. Snuggled into your warm bed, old shirt and panties on, eyes shut, and ready to fall asleep. But then you hear a few taps. You sit up, startled, and look over at your window. Your stomach drops when you see a figure out your window, but you quickly realize that it's Dallas, so you calm down. You get out of bed slowly, your movements sluggish from your tiredness. Once you get your window open and meet Dally's eyes, he smirks.

"What are you doing here?" You ask in a whisper.

"Wanted to see you. Move over." Dallas says as he climbs through your window, into your room.

"Darry'll kill you if he finds you in here." You warn quietly while crossing your arms.

"How would he find me? It's the middle of the night, he's sleeping."

You close your window and mutter, "I was sleeping."

"Oh, did I wake you, princess? My bad." He says teasingly, earning a glare from you. His hands find their way to your waist as steps closer to you. You lean into him and close your eyes, sleep threatening to overtake you.

"Carry me to bed." You mumble.

Dallas chuckles and wraps his arms around you. "Can't walk the 5 steps over to it?"

"No, be a gentleman and carry me."

"I'm not a gentleman." Dallas says, but he picks you up anyways, his arm going under your knees while the other supports your back. Gently, he lays you down on your bed. He then kicks off his shoes and gets in next to you. You get under the covers, then throw half the blanket over him.

Dallas looks over at you, and sees that you've already closed your eyes. This is exactly what he planned on happening when he got here. Of course he was hoping to get at least a few good, long kisses out of this visit- but falling asleep next to his girl in a comfortable bed, in a familiar place wasn't so bad.

You opened your eyes again and see Dallas watching you. You move closer to him and let him wrap his arms around you. You press a sleepy kiss against his lips.

"You better be gone before Darry gets up tomorrow." You whisper.

Dallas sighs. "Yeah."

You snuggle against him as he absentmindedly rubs his thumb in circles on your arm.

"Good night, doll."

"Good night, Dal."

"Hurry up!" You rush Dallas as he puts his shoes on. The two of you had slept in later than expected, and Darry would be up any minute now. You had quietly and quickly left your room to make sure he was sleeping, and found Soda making breakfast, but no one else was up. So, you were now rushing Dallas out your window.

You open your window and Dallas walks over to your side, evidently done putting on his shoes. You look over at him and meet his eyes, and then he pulls you into a kiss. You would've enjoyed it more if you weren't so worried about Darry walking in. He pulled back, then placed a kiss on your temple. "I'll be back once he leaves." He tells you.

You smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Ya got better food here than Buck's got."

You chuckle. "Alright. See you soon, Dal. Now go, hurry."

"See ya, baby." He exits out your window, which you quickly close behind him. Just as Dallas walks off, there's a knock at your door.

"You up, kid? Soda made bacon." Darry says from outside your room.

"I'm up. I'm coming, just a second."

You sigh in relief. You quickly wash your face and brush your teeth, then you join your brother's for breakfast. Soda's bacon is a bit burnt, so you make eggs, something you know Dallas also likes.

an: I didn't know how to end this 😭

Word count: 1k

#the outsiders x reader #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders #the outsiders 1983 #dallas winston x reader #dallas winston #dally winston #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston fluff #curtis!reader

202 notes · View notes

akaaiholic · 1 month ago

Text

Animal Crossing Talk

Kenma x GN!Reader | drabble + author’s note utc — continuance of Angel Talk

Today’s quest for Kenma was to assist you in babysitting your nephew. Lucky for him, he doesn’t swear all that much to teach a developing child how to repeat after him.

He opens the door to your place to see a toddler clinging to you while fruit sensory videos play on the TV. Kenma was surprised it wasn’t chaos the moment he stepped in, he expected a crying child or even you chasing after him because he was running around without a diaper on. You put an index fingers against you mouth, signaling your boyfriend to not startle your nephew as he was half asleep.

As you finally put your nephew down to nap, you run to your boyfriend’s arms for a hug, rubbing your head in the crook of his neck.

“Missed you, Ken.”

His face is heating up, wrapping his arms around your waist hastily.

“Missed you too… Angel.”

Soft conversations and catch-ups were exchanged quietly between you two, until you hear a shuffling noise. You two froze and looked at eachother. Kenma groans softly muttering, “Shit”know you’d have to give all your attention to your nephew once more. You slap his arm with a whisper-yell,

“Language!”

And to your surprise, your nephew had already had his eyes on you two. Seeing you hit Kenma softly made him assume that he had done something wrong to you and began babbling to Kenma, Angrily.

The whining and incoherent sentences went on for a whole two minutes, Kenma holding in his laugh because the sentences sounded like Animal Crossing language.

You couldn’t help but let out a little giggle too before intervening in a serious tone.

“Kenma! He’s right. Now why don’t you apologize to me?”

Kenma’s laugh retracted completely. The serious tone of yours caught him off guard and muttered out,

“I’m sorry.”

The toddler, now satisfied, pats Kenma’s knee and runs off with a cheeky smile. Kenma’s laughter comes back out, confusing you a little.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your nephew was telling me off— like he was speaking Animal Crossing and then patted my knee.”

“To signal he’s forgiven you.”

He shakes his head, imagine how funnier it would be to have his own kid one day that speaks in Animal Crossing as well.

“To signal his revenge against me later by talking to me in Animal Crossing.”

author’s note: i gotta stop cranking out these fics at two am… seriously…. anyways bmf ^o^ i don’t bite !! twt @/akaaiholic

#akaaiholic #1sipof—akaaihol #akaaiholic—drabbles #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #kenma x you #kenma x y/n #kenma x reader #kenma fluff #haikyuu kenma #kozume kenma #hq kenma #kenma kuzome #drabble #haikyuu fic

128 notes · View notes

buuberry00 · 5 months ago

Note

The Luka brainrot is so real aaaarrrrggghhhhh

Fic Idea :

Luka and Reader spend their last few days before they compete against eachother in Alien Stage .

When the day finally comes , Reader sacrifices herself for Luka . ( Basically fluff to angst )

Make it as canon as possible if you can , tyy

You got it, anon ! Luka x gn! reader TW: blood, mentions of sacrificial death, mentions of alien ownership + medical abuse inflicted upon Luka and reader + slight spoilers for wiege

────୨ৎ────

"I'm not ready." Luka mumbled softly, face buried into your shoulder, an arm loosely wrapped across your abdomen. He pulled you closer, closing his eyes. "I know it'll be hard, but.."

In just a few days, you and your boyfriend, Luka, would be performing against each other in front of aliens. Whoever had the best performance would live, and the other would be killed. ".. I know you can do it. It doesn't matter to me who wins, really. As long as you know I love you." Understandably so, Luka had a reputation to withhold. He was deemed popular amongst aliens, both handsome and talented. The aliens wanted him to win, yet you wanted him to live. would life really be worth living without Luka? you'd spend as much time together as you possibly could: cuddling, sleeping beside each other, talking about whatever while the two of you were alone. Hell, you'd made futile plans for the future. "When we get out of here, Luka, I wanna get married."

"we could escape the facility. change identities and move someplace new. start over, just the two of us." "we could maybe start a family, too. wouldn't that be nice, baby? you and me and a couple a' kids running around? O-Or no, if you don't want kids, we can just adopt something. Like a cat, or a dog. Maybe even a plant." why make plans for something you know isn't going to happen? The gunshot rang out over the garbled cries of the alien audience. The current score was 81-83. Your eyes widened, and when you looked down at your abdomen you saw blood seeping through your clothes. Luka caught you as you stumbled to him, quickly guiding you to lean into his chest as he brought himself to his knees. "No, no no no--" Luka cupped your face, attempting to guide your attention to him. Your breathing was uneven as you gasped for air. "baby, baby -- y/n, look at me, look at me--" you'd purposely done a shit job of a performance, ignoring the way your alien owner sent you a death glare that screamed: 'I'm disappointed in you.' You'd gotten a low score, sacrificing yourself to save the man you loved most: Luka. Fat tears rolled down the apples of his cheeks, choked sobs leaving him as he held you close, rocking the both of you back and forth. "I'm sorry," you gurgled, blood dribbling down your chin. "I-I love you, Luka. Survive, okay? For me. Go, be free. Escape and be happy." Luka held you even as your body became limp and cold in his grasp, your blood staining his clothes. He held you even as the guards attempted to pry you free from his arms.

'i feel safe in your arms, luka,' he remembered you admitting to him, once, so many years ago. so he held you against his chest, keeping you safe from the outside world.

"I'm here," he whispered, despite the fact that you couldn't hear him nor reply. "I'm here. I love you. I'm here. Don't cry, baby, it's okay. I'll protect you." Even after, he refused to let you go; to get up and walk away with his head held high.

would life really be worth living without you? ────୨ৎ──── sigh.. i love angst but GOD i hate it. anyways (◞ ⌓ ◟)

i hope you enjoyed anon !! <3 <3

-venus

#x reader #angst #alien stage x reader #luka alnst

199 notes · View notes

anglbunny · 2 months ago

Text

PLAYBOY

JJK COLLEGE!AU | CHOSO X READER

CONTENT: they both see eachother again after 2 whole years, very light angst, alcohol, smoking, frat party

Series m.list | ← →

PROLOGUE: "Who's your crush?"

You've known Choso Kamo your entire life.

He was the older boy who used to give you piggyback rides in the backyard while Yuji begged for one next. The one who let you pick the movie on Fridays, even when it was something ridiculous and animated and he was already thirteen and “too cool” for it. He snuck you both snacks from the top shelf, taught you how to play video games, and once chased away a boy who made you cry in third grade.

Back then, Choso was your hero. But also your biggest crush. It was very obvious—maybe the only person who didn’t know was Yuji himself. He almost figured it out once, but then pouted, saying that if you ever dated Choso, he’d never forgive you. You realized he said that because you were the only thing his brother couldn’t have. He thought that if you chose Choso over him, you guys would no longer be friends. You’d change. So, you never told anyone what you really felt.

Maybe Choso knew, but he never made it obvious. He was very respectful. Too respectful. You were only three years younger than him, yet he never made it seem like a big deal. He always treated you equally, like he treated all his friends.

But things change.

By the time you were in middle school, Choso was already drifting—high school, girls, parties, that deepening voice and colder stare. You stopped seeing him around the house as often. He was always out. When you and Yuji snuck into his room while he was away, you'd find empty bottles of alcohol hidden under his bed or a vape pen lying in his drawer. He stopped calling you “kid,” stopped ruffling your hair, and started treating you like a shadow.

By the time you hit your sophomore year of high school, it had been months since you'd exchanged more than a passing glance. He was in his first year of college.

Still, when Yuji asked you to come watch Choso’s basketball game—a college game now—you said yes. Of course you did. You hadn't seen him in ages. The drive was two hours long, but maybe it would be worth it.

You hadn’t been prepared for how different he looked. Taller. Broader. Tattoos you didn’t remember, ink curling down his forearms. His hair was tied back, piercings glinting under the gym lights. When he grinned after scoring a three-pointer, something in your chest twisted so tight it hurt. He didn’t even bother looking over at the bleachers—just focused on himself.

You cheered with Yuji, hoping he’d turn and see you, but that never happened. You pretended it didn’t matter. Pretended it wasn’t anything.

Until the end of the game.

He walked off the court, shirt damp with sweat, and you froze as a girl with long legs, perfect skin, perfect hair ran up to him.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Kissed her right there in front of everyone. Palmed her ass like he owned her. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, giggling into the kiss. He looked down at her and smirked at whatever she said.

Was that his type? Girls who looked like they belonged on a magazine cover?

You left early. Throat constricting and tears burning your eyes. Why did it matter? It’s not like you’d ever have a chance with him, right? Yuji didn’t notice.

That was two years ago.

Now, you're eighteen. A freshman. And fate’s cruel sense of humor has brought you to the very same college.

The week's been a blur of orientation events, class prep, dorm drama—and tonight, your first college party. A frat party, of all things. Yuji was the one who invited you. Of course he's already in it with these people; he's naturally popular, a people person. And his older brother is Choso Kamo—literally everyone on campus knows him or his name.

The place is packed, dark and loud, reeking of weed and cheap cologne. You wore a simple little black bodycon, not knowing what people usually wear to things like this. It’s not like you had any friends other than Yuji to guide you. Plus, he’s overly supportive, so even if you wore a ball gown, he'd say yes to it.

You stick close to Yuji, who chats animatedly with his teammates—oh yeah. Similar to his brother, he also joined the basketball team. While they aren't on the same team, they interact with a lot of the same people. Meaning a lot of the parties you'll attend will have Choso present somewhere. You sip from a solo cup and pretend your heart isn't beating out of your chest. You haven’t seen him yet.

Well, technically, you haven’t seen him since that game.

…Since that kiss.

You’re not even sure if he still goes here. Maybe he dropped out.

You don’t notice—too busy lost in your own world.

But he sees you.

Across the haze of bodies, Choso fucking Kamo sees you.

And he freezes. His face stays neutral, but he’s shocked. You're too far, but he remembers you—how could he not? The flashing lights and the drunk bodies keep coming in front of his view. His hands tighten around his cup of whatever.

You’re not a kid anymore.

The dress you're wearing hugs your hips. Your gloss catches the light. You've got curves now—soft in all the right places. And the moment his gaze actually lands on you, it’s like a car crash in slow motion.

He’s sitting on a couch, legs spread, two girls hanging off him, a blunt between his lips. He looks like everything your mother warned you about—and everything you used to dream about when you were younger.

He blinks. Like he's trying to make sure he's seeing right.

You haven’t noticed him yet.

But he notices you.

You laugh at something Yuji says, throwing your head back. Choso leans forward, ignoring the girl tugging on his arm. You’re glowing—happy, beautiful, grown.

And fuck. He is not ready for this.

Not ready to see the little girl who used to follow him around looking like that.

Not ready for the fact that you're here, on his turf, at his party, looking like a walking sin.

You finally look his way.

The moment your eyes meet, your smile falters.

Your stomach dips.

You know that face. That stare. The unreadable one. Choso’s always looked at people like that—cool, detached, as if the whole world bored him.

Except tonight, it feels like he's looking through you.

You turn away first.

“Yo!” Yuji bumps your shoulder. “I think they’re about to start a game.”

You nod, suddenly needing a drink a hell of a lot stronger than beer.

Minutes later, you're seated in a circle with half the party. Some sit on the ground, some on the couches. You’re on a two-seater beside Yuji, who's grinning. Choso’s across from you, arms draped over two pretty blondes. Music thumps in the background. There's a spin-the-bottle setup in the center.

Truth, Dare, or Drink.

Classic.

You try to stay invisible. Just blend in. Maybe you can sit this out.

But luck’s not on your side tonight.

Because somehow, it lands on you first.

"Truth, Dare, or Drink?" someone calls.

Choso’s watching you. You can feel it—heat prickling under your skin like a brand.

“…Truth,” you say.

A few people giggle.

The question comes fast.

“Who’s your biggest crush in this room?”

You freeze.

TBC

TL: @arwawawa2 @mihyas-dieehefrau @aaudreys (open)

a/n: next part is available on my wattpad if anyone's interested. i have it linked on the series masterlist

wc: 1.6k

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

108 notes · View notes

d3adbr3inc3lls · 1 year ago

Note

Would you mind doing a Kieran x reader where they took the terablast from terapagos for kieran and they continue fighting it? Maybe have it be from Kieran's pov? Like imagine the angst were as the fight goes on it becomes increasingly clear that the reader is in serious pain and maybe even starting to cough up blood as they give orders to their team. Once terapagos is defeated and caught they collapse to ground in agony, barely able to stay awake. The reader is rushed to the hospital and while they are there he refuses to leave their side. Maybe during the reader's recovery he not only apologizes to them but also becomes very protective of them? If you don't want to do this request it's totally fine to just ignore it!

Kieran x Reader | Drabble | Part 1/?

CW: Angst, injuries, bleeding, (lmk if I need to add anything else)

It was all a blur, really.

You were at his side one moment as he expressed his dissapointment regaurding Terapegos.

The next moment?

His arms came in contact with the rough ground.

Sharp stones came in contact with his hands and knees.

Sounds blended into eachother.

Any yells or protests from Carmine faded into the background.

His surroundings were foreign to him.

Everything felt so... unreal...

His thoughts were so loud but also so quiet...

Looking in your direction, you were laying on the ground, impacted by the tera blast the one he should've faced. He should've gotten hurt. Not you.

Running over to you, his head swirled with thoughts.

If only he hadn't obsessed with you- the power and strength you and your pokemon held.

If only he didn't attempt to capture Terapegos.

If only he didn't battle you with Terapegos...

None of this would've happened if he was a better friend.

Small tera-like crystals littered your body as he held you close to him. His hands were shaking violently as his vision began to betray him.

"I'm fine," You mumble.

You were always fine.

There was never a moment you weren't okay.

You could be on the verge of tears and still insist that you were okay.

You push yourself up off the ground, almost falling but your 'raidon emerges from its 'ball to save you from meeting the ground once more.

Your palms had red on them.

You quickly dust off any excess pebbles from your hands before shooting Kieran a comforting smile.

A 'comforting' smile that he found more creepy and painful than anything.

He knew that you were faking the smile.

Sure the smile reached your eyes but he knew that it was a simple thing for you to do.

You've done it many times before.

Terapegos's cry broke Kieran from his thoughts, suddenly remembering the 'root' of the problem.

The sparkling pokémon let out another cry, and perhaps it was teenage angst or rage, but Kieran swore that he could fistfight the stupid 'mon in that moment.

With a flick of your wrist, your Skeledirge came out of its pokéball with a fierce cry of its own, reminding Kieran of his 'mons.

Sending out his own pokémon, Kieran got into a battle ready stance.

The fight was not easy by any means.

His gaze always wondered to you as you cling onto your 'raidon before switching your Skeledirge out for a Meowscarada and later a Quaxwell.

Kieran can't deny it.

The battle was hard.

He had to switch pokémon multiple times aswell.

It didn't mean much, but it proved that Terapegos was strong, especially when two strong trainers - one of which being champion in their home region, and a school, and the other being a former champion of a school- couldn't defeat it without struggle.

It wasn't until the battle was completed and you caught the 'mon in the master ball given to you that your weak limbs gave in as you began to cough out a familiar red liquid.

Your 'raidon nuzzles your side as Kieran grabs out his rotomphone, his fingers finding their way to dial '1-1-2'.

Current / Part 2

#reader is implied to have all Paldean starters #Kieran x Reader #Pokemon Kieran x reader #Pokemon x reader #Kieran x Male Reader #Pokemon sv x reader #pokemon sv dlc x reader #x reader #canon x reader #x male reader #x m!reader #x GN!Reader #no mentions of y/n #my work #fanfiction #pokemon scarlet and violet x reader #Pkmn x reader #pokémon x reader

464 notes · View notes

kkitteny · 2 months ago

Text

WILLSHIRE ; nerd!gojo x reader

Undedited

Gojo remembers the eventful evening he first laid eyes on you as if it happened an hour ago.

Neither of you were one for parties. You hated the environment and everyone who went to those while Satoru felt like a sheep in a den of lions. He much rather preferred studying quantum physics and arguing in video game forums for hours on end anyways, he couldn’t dream of trying to fit into that lifestyle.

It was a Saturday night and the two of you were at a frat party you clearly didn’t want to go to. He had been forced by his pushy friend Shoko who could almost cry seeing one of her best friends who’s never been laid before fall deeper into his geeky hole of doom while your annoying roomate promised she’d stop littering her bras if you stopped being an overworking shut in and enjoyed at least one night out before you eventually died of boredom.

You clung to the corner of the living room in the frat house in your tight miniskirt and sparkly tube top like a sheep in wolf’s clothing, holding a fruit punch and daydreaming about your notes for the upcoming criminology test you lad later that week while Gojo sat on the couch awkwardly in his digimon shirt, attempting to drink the most likely poisonous mixture of alcoholic drinks shoko gave him.

The second he laid eyes on you he swore he found the reason for his existence. You locked eyes with him seconds later, spending several minutes eye fucking across the room as if the purple lights and blaring music didn’t exist. After a couple seconds of internal panicking you finally gained the courage to talk to him, gently sliding yourself onto the couch next to him as the two of you talked about anime and your dislike for parties.

Within ten minutes the two of you clicked, cracking jokes and flirting as if you’d known each other for ages. He knew he had to ask you out before some other man much cooler than he was could scoop you up. He knew he was interested— it would be dumb if he let his shyness miss out from your perfect legs, nice figure, beautiful hair, sense of humor, and absolutely gorgeous face.

You knew you were meant for eachother, walking around the front yard in the dark of the night giggling like sneaky teenagers while cracking jokes left and right— he was so in love he didn’t even think about sex once (even though it was kind of the entire reason shoko forced him to go out), you and your personality were everything to him.

You and him made sense.

One thing lead to another and you were in his dorm room, surrounded by anime and science posters as you guys watched a movie.

It was around 4 am ish and you sat comfortably under his arm as the two of you continued your hours long conversation. You changed into one of his shirts (a digimon shirt that went halfway past your thighs) and your purse and phone were long abandoned somewhere in the room as you discussed your lives.

He was enamored— he felt like he could see his whole future next to him and he had to do something. He couldn’t let this go. He couldn’t risk losing this absolute gem that clicked with him like a lego peice.

“I know that we’ve known each other for a couple hours but i really think i like you.” He blurted out while you were mid sentence discussing your upcoming assignment.

You paused, pursing your lips as you shifted uncomfortably. “I like you, like a lot. But i’m kind of in the middle of a confusing situation right now.”

Well he never saw that coming.

“I’ve been thinking about breaking up with Geto for a while now; He’s been really distant lately but i’m not sure what i really want to do.”

Well damn.

Geto had been dodging Gojo’s texts for a while now, so finding out that he was in a relationship was a bit unexpected.

“—But we can still hang out like this.” You smiled, nudging your head deeper into his chest.

As much as he wished he could, be couldn’t protest. You were almost too good to be true and he found himself texting you ‘my place at 7:00?’ Almost daily against his will.

He swore this isn’t him. He’s a good person and wouldn’t ever try to do such a thing to one of his own friends. He has morals and respects boundaries; but you were an exception. You alone made him drop his good nature in an instant. He only fell deeper into his hole of regrettable actions, hanging out with you nearly every day.

He often found himself praying on your breakup so that he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about pursuing his best friends girl.

But Geto barely talks to him anymore. That makes it less of a big deal, right? I mean— they’re barely even friends and haven’t spoken in about a month. In all honesty, he’d rather be able to take you on dates and buy you new romance manga than text Geto once a month and maybe run fortnite duos.

Gojo was deeply in love.

And he was fucked.

You guys were together almost every single day, FaceTiming on days that you weren’t while you completed miscellaneous tasks and flirted nonstop, even falling asleep while on the phone. It literally felt like you were dating.

You couldn’t even save his number, constantly deleting your messages to hide your blooming “friendship” from your boyfriend. Gojo would have to constantly remind you to delete full on discussions to prevent Geto from thinking the twi of you were doing things behind his back.

You once even asked Geto to bring a friend when he invited you out to an amusement park as an excuse to hang out with Gojo, practically abandoning your boyfriend while the two of you walked off giggling and sharing food.

Your conversation flowed so smoothly and easily that Geto could almost smell the chemistry between you two. Of course when he brought it up the two of you only laughed it off, and told him it was nothing making him even more jealous.

Of course none of this was intentional— but gosh, Gojo felt like he finally found what he’d longed for. In fact, he (unintentionally) began having thoughts that if he ruined the friendship it wouldn’t be a necessarily bad thing.

No— he can’t do that. You were Geto’s first. He had integrity for that. You and him had history, while Gojo was just the new man.

For the first time in a while, Geto actually tried ro be an active boyfriend.

This also meant that for the first time in a while you went days without seeing Gojo, which soon turned into weeks.

This only made his stomach churn.

He knew that you and Geto argued about him.

He knew this was wrong— no, he knew HE was wrong. He felt guilty, but not really. He was very aware of where he went wrong and where he should’ve set boundaries but of course, he let his emotions overtake his judgement.

Your absence put a genuine dent in Gojo’s life. It was pretty obvious that Geto wanted you away from him and he almost felt sick, knowing that you were with your punk ass boyfriend and not in his dorm.

He was content with life and didn’t really aspire much. There wasn’t anything he really wanted in life and he didn’t feel like he was missing anything— Except you.

When his phone flashed a notification he quickly snatched it and checked the notification. It was a habit he picked up so he could read your messages before you unsent them to keep your boyfriend from suspecting anything.

‘He’s going out of town for a week for an internship.’

He practically jumped for joy seeing your message.

He immediately cancelled all his hangouts for that week (not that he had many) and called you to invite you over. You arrived almost instantly, jumping on top of him to engulf him in a massive hug before settling on his bed.

“Where should we go?” You grinned, throwing yourself on his duvet.

“We can go to the beach— or an arcade?” He suggested. He could go almost anywhere with you. He would die with you right there if you asked him to— anything, as long as you were together.

As long as you were with him he’d be content.

The whole week you spent together felt like a romcom movie that he wished could never end. He nearly lost his shit when you couldn’t sleep over anymore because Geto finally came back. He couldn’t stand being away from you, practically begging you to lie to your boyfriend so he could see you again.

Eventually, you told Geto you were spending three days at your mom’s house. But three turned to five, and soon seven, prompting strings of angry phone calls from your boyfriend asking where the fuck you were at. You definitely weren’t at your mom’s, considering your terrible relationship and constant arguing, and you were definitely not anywhere he would approve of you being.

But you could care less, you were practically in heaven. You stayed with Gojo at his parents house baking, watching movies, doing beach trips and manicures and night swims and shopping until his wallet was begging to be put down.

In the end, you couldn’t do it. You hated the guilty feeling every time Satoru made you smile or when he hugged you so tight the entire world dissapeared around you two.

After another shopping trip, you sat in his car while the two of you shared a bag of candy. You couldn’t even look him in the eye at that point, staring into the dark of night as you chewed.

“Satoru, i’m sorry.” You mumbled, a tear dropping as you set the bag down.

“For what?” He giggled. “If you want the rest you can have it.”

“No, it’s not that— i just can’t do this anymore.”

His smile immediately dropped as he turned to you, placing his hand over yours.

“I can’t commit to ‘us’. I’m still with him.”

You couldn’t fully dedicate yourself to Gojo because you were with HIM.

Then why the fuck when you hang out it’s like he doesn’t exist?

“We can stay friends. It’s what we’ve been doing, right?” He asked in an almost pleading tone.

“We both know it’s more than that, Satoru.” You breathed, tears welling in your eyes. “You’re addictive, I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stand being away from you. When i’m with Suguru all i can think about is what you’re doing or eating or wearing and it’s too much.”

You pulled your hand away from his, wiping your eyes. “I’m so attached to you that i literally had you wait in my car while i went to dinner with him. The whole time i ate all i could think about is topics to talk about with you.”

“If you don’t want to hurt him then why are we doing this? Why did you answer all my calls and text messages and come over?” Gojo mumbled, now refusing to look at you.

“Please, Satoru.” You finally glanced at him. “We got into an argument and i told him how i felt about you. He doesn’t even look at me anymore. I don’t like this situation i just want to be done with this.

He simply nodded, starting the car and driving you back to his parents house, breaking the dead silence of the car with sniffles and coughs.

And just like that, you were done.

He couldn’t sleep a wink that night, he could only cry. He felt like he got promised the sky and was shoved into the sea.

He should’ve backed off when you said you were Suguru’s. He knew all of this was wrong and he let himself overstep so many boundaries that he would’ve never even dared crossing in the past.

No— fuck that, you were an absolute gem. The connection you had was something he’d never be able to find in a million years, this wasn’t his fault, right?

After all, the phone works two ways. YOU knew what you were doing.

You did all the sneaking around. You flirted with him when you first met like it was second nature. You don’t do shit like that when you’re in a relationship. And you knew you had a boyfriend and you continued. You weren’t innocent. Whenever he left you went straight to Gojo’s. You even met his parents and they loved you. You acted like your current relationship didn’t even exist.

No— Suguru didn’t even claim you to begin with. He never told gojo, and gojo was one of his best friends. He didn’t care about you until he saw gojo make you smile, he nearly lost his shit.

No, Satoru was in the wrong.

He spent the whole night lying awake, tears pricking in his eyes as he accepted his defeat, preparing the awkwardly silent drive home in the morning.

He hated this, he hated what you did.

And what’s worse, he couldn’t even look at you and think about bad words.

He knew he was a bad person. He didn’t mean to cause all this— it just happened. It was like all of his morals were powerless once you came into his life. You were just so endearing.

You were just too far out of reach.

This is such an old ao3 draft i wanted to publish the writing is terrible guys im sorry

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo x y/n #nerdjo #nerd gojo #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk angst #fanfic #willshire #tyler the creator #reader is a shithead

94 notes · View notes