#I keep spacing out and Not Knowing What To Do in the middle of a task

[comatosebunny09]

and they were roommates | sylus

sum: sylus responds to an online ad for a roommate. you suddenly have this tall, well-spoken, handsome man living in the attic, playing classical music, tinkering with things he built, and humming off-key while he makes you pancakes in the morning before disappearing for weeks at a time. cw: modern au, roommate au, slice of life, mild language, mutual pining, reader implied to be shorter than sylus now playing: congratulations (piano version) - goated

The downside of having a roommate? You can’t walk around your house pantless anymore. 

The upside? You know when he’s home.

Hell, the whole neighborhood knows. 

There’s no mistaking the distinct roar of that motorcycle engine. How it echoes through the cul-de-sac, causing dogs to bark and ornery Boomers to bitch about the racket.

You peek through the blinds of your bay window like a nosy housewife. Try not to get too ahead of yourself as he sweeps into the driveway, the late afternoon sun bouncing off the sleek trace of his bike and helmet, limning his silhouette in gold like a halo. 

Your heart rabbits in your chest, throat thickening. Dry. 

Relax. 

It’s only been three weeks since you last saw Sylus, your roommate. Not like he up and left without a trace. And it’s not like he hasn’t disappeared for longer bouts of time before.

So, you try to play it cool like you didn’t halfway miss him—his stupid dad jokes, his rich bastard laugh, his sassy takes on your taste in booze—as you pry the front door open.

Clad in your hoodie, sweats, and house shoes, you bound down the steps towards him, hands shoved in your middle pocket. And man, it’s like the world stops spinning, working in his favor. Like you forget what breathing is, as the ambient sounds of your neighborhood fade into obscurity.

Because he’s cool without trying to be, donned in his black riding leathers, like something out of a dark romance novel. The real kicker comes when he tugs off his helmet, shaking out that riotous mop of white hair, and his scarlet-spun eyes crease with an untold joke when they land on you.

You watch him kick out the stand and kill the engine. Pull a long leg from over the seat, tousling his hair with slender fingers and meeting you halfway up the driveway with an easy swagger, helmet tucked beneath his pit.

He’s close. So close, the heat of the sun absorbed by his jacket—or is that just him—permeates your clothes. He has to crane his neck to look down at you, the tall bastard. You want to wipe that smug look off his face, but you’re too busy trying to remember how the English language works. 

“Miss me?” he asks in that deep gravel. So deep, so unintentionally gritty, you feel it playing up your spine like a xylophone. 

He pats your head like you’re his little admirer. You jerk away, remembering yourself, scoffing. 

Crossing your arms and hip poking out, you say, “About as much as I miss a hernia.”

Your roomie shakes with laughter. A chuckle smooth as velour streaked by sunlight. It makes you all warm and prickly, and you’re smiling for real this time, caught in this comfortable pocket of space with a man as mysterious as the depths of the ocean. 

Conveniently, the wind kicks up when his laughter dies down. It stirs the leaves on the ground, the scent of petrichor and summer, and it snatches some hair from your messy do, pushing it into your face. 

You watch his expression morph from amusement to something unreadable with bated breath. Stiffen when he tugs one of his gloves off, fingers curled loose towards his palm, knuckle brushing just beneath your waterline to sweep some hair back.

You burn where he nudges you, and his fingers linger. Hover, not really touching, but the static between skin is enough to make your pulse rocket. 

He looks like he might say something. Like he’s grappling with words he’s been keeping to himself for a while. But your quiet little reprieve is short-lived when your neighbor greets you both from across the street.

You spring apart like you touched fire, smoothing down your hoodie with sweaty palms. Remember how to breathe, blinking away that sweet little haze. Sylus keeps his eyes on you for a few beats, taking in every little feature as if he’ll never see you again, before turning to acknowledge the old man with a two-fingered salute.

He’s a Vietnam Vet, your neighbor, his telltale black cap with his ribbons settled on his head. A little rough around the edges. War-torn. Alone, but where most everyone on your street hates Sylus for the din of his bike, your neighbor loves him for stirring the shit pot. 

You wave as Sylus shoulders past you, starting towards your house. And you follow after your roomie once your neighbor hobbles back into his home, two of your steps to keep up with his one.

—

You pause at the foot of the stairs leading up to the attic. Gnaw on your lip, arms crossed, brows pensive, socked toes nudging the floor. 

The sun’s long since sought refuge behind the horizon, making way for stars littering the sky like glitter spilled over a violet tablecloth. It’s quiet, save for dogs barking somewhere far off, the errant sounds of your house settling on its foundation, an occasional car sweeping by, and Mephisto’s wings fluttering every now and again upstairs in Sylus’ room.

You didn’t want to badger him right away. Not as soon as he came back, figuring he needed some time to settle in. Unpack. Readjust to the humdrum of suburban life. 

You’re always like this when he returns—antsy, vibrating like a golden retriever, eager to yap his ear off. To see what he’s been up to, though he’s always cryptic about it.  

But he looked more exhausted than usual when he came home, eyes rimmed purple, shoulders lax. So you left him to his own devices while you scrolled through the catalogue of your mind for what to make for dinner.

Not much you can make with what little’s in the fridge—you haven’t had time to go grocery shopping with work kicking your ass. And it’s late, and you’re hungry, so you use your stomach as an excuse to bug your roomie. 

You finally work up the gumption to knock on the handrail—how you signal to him you’re around—and it’s quiet for all of five seconds before you hear footsteps, and he pokes his head from around the partition. 

He reveals himself fully at the crest of the stairs, dressed in something cozy. Something loose that doesn't detract from the power his body houses. 

Lips rucked up in a smirk, he leans against the rail, massive in the entryway, folding his arms. Cocks his head to the side, the shadows cast beneath the ceiling light glazing over chiseled features. 

“What’s up, sweetie?”

Your eye twitches. Before, the pet name used to make you cringe. But you’ve grown more accustomed to it with time, accepting it’s a part of him that’ll never go away. 

And maybe a side of him reserved just for you.

Propping your hip on the rail to mirror him, you try for cool. Casual, like your heart isn’t on a mission to leap out of your chest. 

“You hungry?”

He shrugs. “I could go for something. What’s on the menu?”

You absently scratch your cheek, looking off to the side. “It’s late. Thought about ordering out or something. I don’t know.”

He considers your offer before he nods his head. You relinquish a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“Sure.”

Sylus begins descending the stairs like he intends to join you downstairs in the kitchen. He makes it halfway before something stops him. You glance at his pocket as it vibrates. Back at him.

His expression bleeds ruefulness as he pulls out his phone and brings it to his ear. You watch his brows knit together, and he turns away, starting back up to his room, hand cupped around the mic like he’s partaking in a world-ending secret. 

You catch a familiar name on his lips before he’s out of earshot. 

Shrugging, you venture to the kitchen alone to snatch your phone up from the dining table. Cue up the DoorDash app, swiping through options for food, but not really focusing on any one thing. 

Because you’re too busy wondering who’s got Sylus on the phone, all urgent and stone-faced like Bruce when Rachel calls him with bad news. 

[delicatefury]

Oh, honey, no.

Not only is that not true, but thinking like that is just not healthy. It also creates a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Look. I’m in my mid-thirties. I don’t think like that. I can’t think like that. The last time I thought like that I was in my early twenties and in the middle of the most severe depression of my life. My body basically started to shut down, it was that bad.

You know what helped get me out of it? My niece was born. Summer that year was gorgeous. I stumbled across a stream swarming with dragonflies while on a walk. I raised a bunny. I completed a 24-hour comic that I still quite like. My parents adopted a dog. I discovered so many new songs. Despite my brain being committed to being miserable, good things kept happening. And I began to expect them.

This year, over a decade later, I hatched chicks and every weekend I visit them at my parents’ farm. The peach trees I planted 3 years ago are bearing fruit. My dogs get compliments on our walks for how well-behaved and sweet they are. The baristas at the coffee shop know my name. That same niece is competing in the junior olympics. Today rain is falling and it smells like petrichor outside. The rain will help my roses bloom.

The problem is you’re thinking too large, too big, too grand in scope. Humans aren’t made to live like that. Very few can handle it. The rest of us? We can look for the good and fix the bad within arm’s reach. We can focus on making progress and goodness where we can see and touch it. So stop worrying about far off things all the time, whether the distance is in time or in space. Doing so will just keep you miserable and prevent you from seeing what’s in front of you.

You don’t think good things will happen? It’s happening right here and right now! Go outside, stand on the sidewalk, and look at the grass by your feet. Do you see the wood sorrel blooming? The clover? Around here we get henpin and deadnettle too. You can pick their flowers from the stem and if you see a drop at the end, that’s nectar! Have a taste, it’s sweet. If you sit and watch for a few minutes you’ll see honey bees! Moths! Butterflies! Stay quiet and a few minutes more you’ll hear birdsong. Such good things outside your door.

Even if you live by a busy road, even if you think you’re surrounded by concrete and ugliness, you’ll still see and hear these things. Take a walk and look, really look, at what’s around you. You’ll see evidence of children playing, of families. You’ll spot a stray cat or a wild bunny, squirrels, pigeons and doves. Crows and ravens. There’s a small plant growing in the crack of a wall. A bird taking a bath in a puddle.

Cats’ fur is still soft and their purrs are loud. Dog tails wag so hard with love and happiness they can sprain them!

You can expect good things. You should! But you need to recalibrate where you’re looking and refocus your expectations.

And I get that it can be hard to get to that point. But there’s a song lyric that’s been sticking with me a lot lately. “We keep doing these things not because they’re guaranteed to make us feel good. But because failing to do them? Guaranteed to make us feel bad.” (Good Morning Sunshine by the Narcissist Cookbook).

So. Stop watching the news. Get off line. They make their money in negativity. And start looking out your window. Start existing where you are. Maybe you won’t start expecting good things right away, but you’ll stop expecting things to always get worse.

[inseobts]

Things I Never Said - pt.2

shanks x fem!reader (+ platonic luffy x fem!reader)

part 1

after years of running from a love too painful to face, you’re forced to confront everything you tried to bury when you meet your old little friend, luffy... and shanks

words count: 5.0k

a/n: here we aaaaaaareeeeeeee

tags: angst, past love, reunion, bittersweet

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The silence that follows is sharp.

Then footsteps. Measured. Slow. Inevitable.

You see his boots first. Then his long shadow. Then... him. Red hair. Familiar coat. That face. Those eyes.

He stops when he sees you.

Just for a second.

No smile.

No smugness.

Only something unreadable. Something heavy in his eyes. A flicker of something breaking through that confident mask.

You step out from the crates, spine straight, chin high.

“I never liked playing hide and seek with you.” you say, steady as you can manage “You always found me too fast.”

He opens his mouth but you don’t give him the chance.

“Anyway,” you add, brushing off your coat like it’s nothing, “I’m leaving now. I have nothing to do here. And you can’t stop me.”

You walk past him like your knees aren’t shaking.

Like his presence doesn’t feel like the tide pulling at your ribs.

He turns as you pass, quiet.

“…Y/N.”

You stop but you don’t look back.

“I didn’t come here for this.” he says.

“I know,” you reply “You never do.”

Then you keep walking.

One foot in front of the other.

Like if you just keep going, your heart won’t turn back.

You don’t look back but you feel him there. Still. Like a shadow behind your ribs.

The air feels thinner the farther you get, like walking out of gravity and into open space.

You tell yourself this is what freedom feels like.

You lie.

Your boots hit the ground hard as you keep walking. Past the alley. Past the crates. Away from his voice and the weight behind it.

You hear his steps, slow behind you, not chasing, not leaving either.

But then “HEY!!”

You freeze.

So does he.

That voice could only belong to one idiot.

Luffy appears around the corner like a lightning bolt with legs. His straw hat is tilted back on his head, hands on his hips, frowning at both of you like an annoyed big brother.

“You’re both so dramatic!”

You blink “Excuse me?”

He points at you “Running away.”

Then at Shanks “Brooding in doorways.”

Shanks raises a brow “I wasn’t brooding.”

“You were absolutely brooding,” Luffy says “You were doing the squint thing.”

“I don’t do a squint thing.”

“You do...” you mutter, arms crossed.

Luffy claps once, loud.

“Okay. That’s enough. I’m not letting either of you leave until we sit down and have a drink like normal people.”

“Luffy—” you start, already shaking your head.

“Nope,” he cuts in “You’re both stubborn and stupid. So I’m forcing this.”

“I don’t want a drink.” you mutter.

“I do,” Shanks says behind you “I think I deserve one after being lied to by entire towns.”

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder. He just smiles faintly.

Luffy grabs both your arms.

Not gently.

You both stumble slightly as he drags you toward a bench at the side of the restaurant, one of the little outdoor tables.

“Sit.” he says.

You hesitate.

So does Shanks.

But the look Luffy gives you is impossible to argue with.

It’s not angry. It’s not desperate.

It’s… hopeful. And that somehow hurts more.

You sit.

Shanks sits too.

You stare at the table like it just insulted your mother. He leans back like this is all just fine.

Luffy plops down across from you both, already calling out to someone inside for drinks.

“You’re both gonna thank me later” he grins.

You sigh.

Shanks chuckles.

And for one brief second it feels almost like old times.

Almost.

Three drinks in front of you now.

You haven’t touched any of them.

Shanks is nursing his, slow. Luffy already downed his and is loudly demanding meat from a passing waiter.

You keep your eyes on the middle of the table. Neutral ground.

Safe territory.

Luffy leans forward, grinning like he didn’t just drag two emotionally constipated exes into a forced reunion “So! This is fun, huh?”

You stare at him.

“Luffy,” you say flatly “This is not fun.”

“You will thank me later.” he insists, still too cheerful.

From the next table over, Zoro leans back in his chair like he’s just coincidentally resting while keeping an ear out.

Nami is pretending to polish her bracelet.

Robin is very obviously reading a book upside down.

Usopp is behind a potted plant that’s way too small to hide him.

The only one not being subtle is Sanji, who’s beside you, chin in his palm, eyes practically twinkling.

“So, Y/N-swan,” he says in that velvet-smooth tone, “what are the chances a woman like you is single for good reason and not just waiting for the wrong man to get lost at sea?”

You blink at him.

Shanks’s hand tightens a little around his glass.

“Careful, cook” he mutters.

“Oh? Did I strike a nerve, Red-Hair?”

Sanji beams.

Shanks smiles. His eye doesn’t.

You suppress a grin and finally sip your drink. Just to do something.

“You never liked lemon in your drink” Shanks says casually.

You freeze.

Just a second.

“I changed” you lie, placing the glass down like it didn’t hit the wrong part of your heart.

Shanks hums “You haven’t.”

You roll your eyes “And you still think you know everything.”

“Just the important things.”

You scoff and lean back.

Sanji offers you a lighter drink from his tray “Ignore him, mon cœur. Men like him always think they’re the center of our stories.”

Shanks stares at Sanji like he’s deciding whether to flip the table or just the cook.

“You know,” Sanji says thoughtfully, “it’s not too late to write a new chapter. With better characters.”

Shanks sets his glass down.

Firmly.

Luffy slaps both hands on the table “OKAY!! Let’s talk about something else!”

“Please” you mutter.

“Like—uh—weather!” Luffy tries “Or meat! Or—hey, Y/N, did you ever punch Shanks in the face?”

Shanks makes a sound that might be a warning.

You smirk “Once.”

“Twice,” Shanks corrects “The second time was definitely for something small.”

“You cut my braid off in my sleep.”

“…Right.”

More suppressed laughter from the surrounding eavesdroppers.

Luffy beams, completely ignoring the fire under the surface “See! Look at that! Talking! Bonding! Healing!”

You sip your drink again.

Shanks watches you over the rim of his glass.

And behind his calm eyes, you know exactly what he’s doing:

Waiting.

Waiting for you to stop dodging.

Waiting for the next crack in your walls.

And somehow, that’s more dangerous than anything he’s said out loud.

The drinks are almost warm now.

You’ve said little. Shanks has said less.

But the tension between you is loud enough that the entire table can feel it. Even Luffy’s smile has started to dim.

Then Shanks says something simple, stupid “You still talk too fast when you’re nervous.”

You bristle.

“I’m not nervous” you snap.

He lifts an eyebrow “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You always think you know everything.”

“I just know you.”

“Not anymore...” you shoot back, harder than you meant to “You don’t know me at all.”

A beat.

The crew is quiet.

Then Shanks leans back, casual voice, but the edge is sharp now “No one changes that much. Not even after years of running.”

You slam your glass down “I didn’t run—”

“You hid,” he cuts in, voice rising “You hid so well the world convinced me you didn’t exist.”

“And what would you have done if I didn’t hide?” you snap “Would you have dropped everything? Left the crew? Given up the sea for me?”

Shanks doesn’t answer.

And maybe that silence is your answer.

You nod, bitter.

“That’s what I thought.”

Then, you say it.

The line you’ve held back for years. The one you promised yourself you’d never say out loud.

“Are you enjoying the sea now that you don’t have a distraction?”

Shanks’ jaw tightens.

He looks at you like he can’t decide whether to shout or laugh or fall apart.

And then his voice cuts through the air like a blade “Are you enjoying the sea now that you run away without saying anything?”

The table goes dead silent.

Luffy blinks “Wait—wait. You left? Without telling him anything?”

You grab your glass.

“I had to,” you say, taking your first real drink since being forced into this “He pushed me to take that choice.”

Shanks’ voice cracks, just slightly “Do you have any idea how much I searched for you?”

You don’t look at him.

“Do you know what it’s like to sail into island after island—asking if someone’s seen you—and getting the same answer every time?”

You stare into your glass.

“‘I don’t know what a Y/N is’” he repeats, bitter “It was like the whole world was under some spell. Like you erased yourself.”

You finally glance up.

“I had to,” you say again, but softer “Because if I didn’t disappear… I would’ve gone back. And I knew I couldn’t survive that again.”

He swallows hard. And for once, he has nothing to say.

Luffy doesn’t speak either.

Nobody does.

Just the sound of waves brushing the edge of the island outside. The weight of everything unsaid finally spoken.

And no one is laughing anymore.

The silence stretches so long you wonder if it’s done.

But Shanks speaks again. Low. Steady.

“…It was that night, wasn’t it?”

You close your eyes.

Don’t answer.

You don’t need to. He already knows.

“That last island,” he says, “with the storm. When we fought.”

You look up “Fought?” you echo “We broke.”

“I didn’t know it was the last time I’d see you.”

“Neither did I.” you say, bitter “Until you made it clear I wasn’t part of your future.”

Shanks frowns “That’s not—”

“You said it!” you cut in “You said, ‘You knew what this was. The sea comes first’. Like I was stupid for dreaming of something else.”

Shanks’s expression hardens.

“You were talking about settling down. Leaving the crew. Staying behind.”

You laugh once, dry, sharp “Leaving the crew? Staying behind? I never said or meant that! I like being a pirate too!!"

"But that's what I understood. What was I supposed to say?”

"Something that sounded less like a goodbye.”

“I didn’t mean goodbye...” he mutters.

“But you didn’t stop me.”

That hangs there.

Heavy.

“I was angry,” you say “I was hurt. You looked at me in the eyes and said, ‘Don’t make this harder’. So I made it easy. I left.”

Shanks grips the edge of the table.

“That wasn’t what I meant. I was trying to—”

“To what?” you snap “Protect me? Spare me? Or just make sure your ship didn’t get messy?”

“That’s not fair.”

“You didn’t want me to stay,” you say, voice cracking, “you just didn’t want to feel bad that I left.”

Across the table, Luffy sits in silence, eyes wide. The rest of the crew is frozen, no longer even pretending not to listen.

You go quiet and then quietly, shakily, you say “You never asked me to belong, did you?”

That’s what broke you.

Not the sea.

Not the danger.

Not even the arguments.

It was being loved like a secret, not a home.

Shanks doesn’t speak.

Not right away.

He looks… older suddenly.

Tired.

“I was afraid” he says, barely above a whisper.

You blink “Of what?”

“That if I made you part of it, if I gave you a place on the crew and in my heart, it’d mean you’d never be safe again. I thought I was protecting you by keeping things… separate.”

He finally looks at you.

“And all I did was make you feel like you never had a place at all.”

Your throat tightens.

Something unravels in your chest, slow and aching.

“…I wanted both,” you whisper “You. The crew. The sea. I would’ve taken it all. I wanted to stay. But not if I had to keep standing on the outside.”

The wind stirs between you. And this time, there’s no one left pretending they’re not watching.

Not even Sanji.

Shanks reaches out slow, uncertain and places his hand over yours on the table.

Not to hold you.

Just to touch. Just to ask.

You don’t pull away. But you don’t squeeze back either.

The tavern is still.

Like even the wind’s holding its breath.

Shanks’s hand is still resting lightly over yours. Warm. Hesitant. Anchoring.

He leans in just a little, not too close, not anymore.

“Y/N,” he says softly “I really spent years looking for you.”

You meet his eyes. There’s no teasing in them now. No charm. Just something raw, stripped down. Real.

“Please,” he says, “don’t run away from me again. Not now.”

The ache in your throat pushes up fast.

And suddenly you’re not just the woman who’s survived all this time. You’re not the pirate, or the legend he once loved.

You’re just a heart that’s still cracked open.

You pull your hand away, enough.

“Shanks…” You shake your head “What am I supposed to do?”

He watches you carefully.

“I’m not who I was back then,” you go on “And you’re… you’re still you. Captain. Red-Hair. Yonko. You walk into places and everyone either runs or kneels.”

“I don’t want you to run” he says.

“Then what do you want?” you ask “For me to follow you again? Be the ghost in the corners of your ship? Watch you put the sea first every time and just smile through it? I did both of us a favour by leaving that day Shanks, and you know it.”

“No,” he says quickly, firmly “I want you with me.”

You laugh, bitter and small “You had me.”

His jaw tightens.

“I never stopped wanting you,” he says “Even when I thought you hated me. Even when I hated myself for letting you go.”

You look at him for a long moment. Really look. And maybe you see the regret and the love.

The years in his face that match the years carved into yours.

You shake your head slowly “I don’t even know how to be in the same room as you without feeling like I’m going to fall apart.”

Shanks gives a small smile. Not cocky. Just sad.

“Then fall apart,” he says “I’ll still be here.”

You turn away before your face cracks again.

And beside you, Luffy doesn’t speak.

But he shifts a little closer. Like he’s guarding both of you at once. Like he knows, more than anyone, what it means to love someone who never stays in one place for long.

The room hasn’t moved in minutes.

Your voice, his voice, the ache still hanging between you and then the door opens again.

A familiar voice cuts through like a tide pulling you out of the moment.

“Y/N?”

You turn quickly. Relief floods your chest before you can hide it “Kale.”

A man steps in. Tall, late thirties maybe. Soft brown hair tied low, broad shoulders, calm eyes that flick to Shanks without hesitation. A hunting knife at his belt, clothes worn but clean, a local, someone who belongs here.

He doesn’t bow. Doesn’t shrink.

He walks right to you.

“You alright?” he asks, voice low. Familiar. Like he’s said that a hundred times before “I saw the ship. Figured it was his.”

Shanks shifts slightly. His jaw is tight.

Kale looks at him again, and this time it’s not just curiosity, it’s caution. Not fear.

Protection.

You smile at him and nod “I’m okay.”

“Sure?” Kale asks again, not breaking eye contact “Because if you’re not, we can go. You don’t owe anyone anything.”

You reach out and touch his arm “I know.”

The touch isn’t flirtatious. It’s grounding. But it says enough.

Enough to make Sanji, from the corner, freeze mid-flirt.

Enough to make Shanks lean back, arms crossed, not blinking.

“I told you I could handle it.” you add gently.

“And I told you,” Kale says with a faint smirk, “that I don’t trust pirates with unfinished business.”

You laugh under your breath “You don’t trust anyone.”

“Only you.” he says.

And that... oh, that lands.

Shanks’ voice is quiet, but heavy “So… this is what you built while hiding from me?”

Kale turns to him, calm and unshaken “No. This is what she built when she healed from you.”

You step in, quick, before it escalates “Kale…”

But he looks at you again, and this time, there’s no challenge. Just care.

“I’ll wait inside. If you need me, you know how to whistle.”

Then he’s gone.

The silence after he leaves is loud.

Shanks doesn’t speak right away.

You stare at your hands.

“He knew about me?” he asks finally.

You nod “Of course he did. I told him the truth.”

Shanks tilts his head “You trust him that much?”

You look up, sharp “I trust him more than I’ve trusted anyone in years.”

He swallows.

And the jealousy is there, not in rage or possession, but in the realization that someone stepped in where he chose not to stay.

Someone didn’t ask you to stay in the shadows.

Someone just stayed.

Shanks is still staring at the door Kale just walked through.

Like his mind’s caught up in a different battle now.

He finally speaks, voice low but tight.

“So…” He glances at you “What is he to you?”

You exhale hard through your nose “Don’t.”

“Just a question.”

You spin slightly to face him, arms crossed “He’s someone who’s always had my back. Someone who never made me feel like a burden.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You narrow your eyes “I know what you meant.”

His jaw tightens.

“I’m not jealous” he lies.

You snort “You’re not even trying to sound convincing.”

He opens his mouth, but you’re already stepping back. Putting distance between you and the table. Between you and everything that hurts.

“You have no right to act jealous now,” you say sharply “It’s been years since we broke up.”

The words hang in the air, sharp as a blade.

And then, quieter, you add, “You lost that right the night you let me go.”

You take another step back. You don’t want to be here anymore. Too many eyes. Too many ghosts.

You turn.

But two hands, one on each side, stop you.

Luffy, on your left, tugs at your sleeve gently “Wait.”

Shanks, on your right, steps forward “Don’t go.”

You look between them, your face tired. Not angry, just worn down.

“What do you guys want from me?”

No one answers right away.

The silence feels heavier than any fight.

And so you go on, voice cracking just a little.

“You want me to pretend nothing happened? That I didn’t disappear from the world because I couldn’t take being near him anymore? You want me to sit here and smile and drink and forget that the reason I kept running wasn’t because I hate him—it’s because I don’t?”

Luffy’s eyes widen.

Shanks’ breath catches.

And before either of them can say anything, you finish, soft and bitter “You want the truth? Fine. There’s nothing between me and Kale. Never was. He’s not my lover. He’s not my man. He’s just the one who stayed when I couldn’t move on.”

You look at Shanks then.

Full eye contact.

And he looks like you just hit him in the ribs. But he doesn’t speak.

He can’t.

The silence is unbearable.

Their eyes are still on you, Luffy’s wide and stunned, Shanks’… broken. Like he can’t even breathe, let alone respond.

You blink hard.

Then grab the drink in front of you and toss it back, barely tasting it.

It burns. Good.

You slam the cup down and breathe in like you’re preparing for battle.

You are.

“I’m too drunk now,” you say, voice louder than it should be, “so let’s tell you aaaaall the truth.”

Sanji opens his mouth but Zoro elbows him in the ribs before he can flirt again.

You keep going, swaying slightly, but steady enough to tear your heart out in one piece.

“You wanna know why I kept running every time your ship got near? Why I changed islands like shirts?” You point a shaky finger at Shanks, who doesn’t even flinch “Because I knew... I knew that if I saw you again, it’d break me.”

You’re trembling now.

“Because I’d forget everything you ever did to hurt me. Every night I cried on a ship with no one but the stars to scream at. Every port I walked through wondering if maybe this was the place I’d finally stop missing you.”

Luffy’s lips are parted. He wants to say something, but you don’t let him.

“I knew,” you say, quieter now, “that I’d fall to my knees and go back to being the fool who would do anything... give everything... just to be near you.”

You shake your head, your voice warping, breaking “And I tried to move on. You don’t know how hard I tried. You think I didn’t want to forget you?”

Shanks takes a step forward.

You stop him with a hand raised.

“No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to comfort me now.”

He freezes.

You breathe hard through your nose and go on.

“There were men, Shanks. Dozens. Pirates, marines, doctors, farmers, some of them sweet, some of them strong enough to make the whole town quiet when they walked by. And they wanted me. Many of them. Begged me to give them a chance.”

You look straight at him. No shame. Just the truth.

“But I couldn’t. Because no matter how many stood in front of me, my mind was still full of you.”

That one lands.

You see him flinch.

Your next words are nearly a whisper.

“I never moved on. Because I never figured out how.”

You glance around the table, the room, the crew... all dead silent. Watching a shipwreck in real time.

Then back at him.

You sniff, wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, and laugh bitterly.

“So now you know.”

And then, quieter “Now you both know.”

Shanks finally speaks.

His voice is low, rough “Y/N, I—”

“No.”

You cut him off, sharp. He tries again, but your voice barrels right over his “Don’t. Please don’t.”

He steps back like you struck him. And in a way, you did.

You rake your hands through your hair, pacing a step, heart pounding.

“I’m not done. I’ve waited years to say this, and I’m not stopping now.”

Shanks watches you, silent. Guilty. Wrecked.

You point at your chest “You think this is easy for me? That I wanted this? I spent years building a life without you. Teaching myself to breathe again. Telling myself I’d be fine, that I could do it, that I was stronger now. But—”

Your voice cracks. You blink back tears. Again.

“—but now that I’ve seen you, I don’t know how to leave.”

His jaw tightens.

You gesture wildly to the door “I should’ve been gone by now. That’s how it works! You come, I go. Simple. Clean. Safe.”

You clutch the edge of the table like it’s the only thing holding you up.

“But I saw your face again. I heard your voice. I saw you smile at Luffy like that, and it hurt, Shanks. It hurts. Because I remembered what it felt like when that smile was mine.”

Everyone’s quiet.

Even Sanji.

And then…

Luffy, bless his heart, pipes up “…So, wait, does that mean you still love him?”

You stare at him.

Zoro groans into his drink. Robin sighs. Usopp tries to slide down his seat. Nami mutters “oh my god” under her breath.

Shanks doesn’t even blink, he’s staring straight at you now, waiting for the answer with his whole soul in his eyes.

You just breathe.

One, two, three shaky breaths.

Then “Yeah, Luffy. That’s exactly what it means.”

The table is silent.

Everyone is still processing your answer.

Luffy has the decency to look sheepish “…Sorry.”

You give a weak laugh and shake your head “It’s fine. You’re just being you.”

Shanks hasn’t said a word. You can feel his stare on you.

When you finally meet his eyes again, he looks… different.

Not broken. Not angry. Determined.

“Then don’t leave.”

His words hit you like a wave.

You blink “What?”

Shanks stands, slow and steady, like he’s afraid you’ll bolt if he moves too fast.

“I said don’t leave. Stay. With me.”

“Shanks—”

“I don’t have a speech,” he says, cutting you off, “because I don’t deserve to explain anything. We both know I ruined it. I let you go. I let the sea take me away from the one thing that ever felt like home.”

You freeze.

He steps closer.

“I didn’t come here to find you,” he says quietly “But now that I have—I’m not walking away.”

You shake your head, lips trembling “It’s not that easy—”

“Then make it easy.” he pleads, voice low and full of something rough and raw “Y/N… I’ll stay all the time you need. Or I’ll take you with me. I’ll build a new ship, I’ll burn mine down, I’ll steal an island—just tell me what you need me to do.”

You stare at him.

You’re not sure if your heart is breaking or healing.

Maybe both.

“I’m scared,” you admit “Because you’re Shanks. And I’m just… me. I don’t know how to trust that you won’t leave again.”

He nods once, serious “Then I’ll prove it. Every day. For as long as it takes.”

You look down and whisper, “Why now?”

He steps close enough that you can feel his warmth again “Because I could finally meet you for the first time in years… and you’re looking at me like I still have a chance.”

And maybe you are.

There’s silence again.

Shanks is still in front of you, hand out, heart in his eyes.

Your breath is shaky.

You feel the weight of everything, years of pain, love, longing, anger. All of it pressing down like the sea itself.

You want to say something, you try but nothing comes out. So you just… move.

You step forward, quick and quiet, and you hug him. Hard.

Your arms lock around his shoulders, your face hides in his neck, and for a second, he doesn’t move.

You feel his breath hitch. You hear the sound he makes, like a laugh choked in the middle of a sob.

Then his arms wrap around you, tight. Stronger than you remember. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

No one speaks.

Robin sets her glass down softly. Nami wipes at her eyes like she’s not crying. Zoro just sighs like, finally.

You don’t want to let go and you don’t.

Not until—“NOW KISS!!!”

Luffy... Of course it’s Luffy.

You break the hug just long enough to reach out and sock him right in the face.

“OW! WHAT?!” he cries, holding his cheek.

“That was a perfect moment, you absolute dumbass!” you snap.

Shanks bursts out laughing, forehead against yours now, not letting you go.

“You still hit like a storm” he murmurs.

“And you still talk too much” you whisper back.

But you’re smiling. And he’s smiling. And even if the past still stings…

This feels like the beginning of something better.

You step back, slowly pulling away from the hug. But your hand stays on his chest.

“I’m not saying yes,” you murmur, still catching your breath “Not yet.”

Shanks doesn’t flinch.

“I need time, Shanks. Real time. No promises, no pressure. You show me you still care, and then I’ll decide what to do.”

A wind passes. It’s soft. Gentle. Like even the sea is holding its breath.

Shanks smiles, not cocky, not confident. Just grateful.

“I’ll stay on this island for as long as it takes,” he says “Could be weeks. Could be years. I don’t care.”

You glance up at him, eyes searching.

“I mean it,” he says again, voice low “I’ll wait.”

Later, on the docks, the Thousand Sunny is getting ready to leave.

Luffy’s hugging you like he’s never letting go. He’s full-on bawling.

“WAAAAH!! I don’t wanna goooo! You were so cooool! And this was just getting GOOD!”

You laugh, patting his head “We’ll meet again, Captain. You’re good at finding people.”

“I am!” he sobs harder.

Nami shakes her head “Let him cry it out. He’ll be fine once we hit the next island.”

Robin smiles “You’ve made a mark on him. Not many people do.”

Sanji’s holding your hand dramatically “My lady… if you ever get bored of that red-haired pirate, remember: my kitchen is your castle.”

You snort “Goodbye, Sanji.”

Shanks casually drapes an arm over your shoulder and smirks “Careful, you’re breaking a young man’s heart there.”

Sanji cries harder “I KNOW!!!”

As the Sunny pulls away, you wave until they’re out of sight, Luffy still screaming your name over the sea breeze.

You turn to look at Shanks and say "Okay, now that Luffy isn't here... I'm going to be honest with you. Forget everything I said, I'm leaving."

His face goes pale and then you smile, "Oh I was kidding, don't cryyy!"

"YOU EVIL WOMAN!" he yells faking a pout.

"Too soon?"

"WHAT DO YOU THINK??"

Then you smile at each other and you turn to face Shanks’ crew.

A few of them freeze mid-step when they see you beside him.

Benn Beckman raises a brow “You… brought her back?”

Shanks shrugs like it’s no big deal “I’m taking a break. We’re staying here a while.”

The crew looks at each other.

Roux drops a piece of meat.

Lucky Lou whistles low “Did hell freeze over or somethin’?”

You just smile quietly and walk past them toward the town, boots crunching on sand.

Shanks watches you go. And when his crew turns to him for an explanation, he simply says “She’s the only treasure I ever lost and regretted.”

No one says anything after that.

Because they all get it now.

Tag List: @matronofthevoid - @thatanonymouschocolate - @gakkaiisnotgappy

[the-shedevil-writes]

Breathin' (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: You’ve always kept your anxiety to yourself, not wanting to burden your boyfriend, Bob, with the weight of it. The last thing you want is to be too much. But when Rooster’s birthday lands you in the middle of a loud and crowded bar, things spiral fast. Overstimulated and overwhelmed, you try to hold it together… until you can’t. WORD COUNT: 4.1k WARNINGS: Anxiety disorder. Panic attacks. Drinking. Character gets grabbed. NOTES: This is TOTALLY not based off my own anxiety disorder and panic attacks!!! Not AT ALL! Not even a little bit... (Okay maybe a little bit). Also I didn't know whether to keep it originally as my self insert character or make it X Reader. But I figured more people liked X reader... *shrug* Let me know what you think. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3

It was a combination of things over the past year that caused Y/n to develop her general anxiety. The people and flings who had destroyed her self-worth. The struggles she had with self-care that were substantiated by her full-to-the-brim schedule. And her lack of a proper diet due to time constraints surely didn’t help. It was a beautiful cacophony of ingredients to force her to recover from a period of major (and daily) panic attacks. 

So by the time she and Bob had started dating, she felt this heavy burden on her shoulders. She decided that she would do anything to keep Bob out of it. He was her boyfriend, not her therapist, and she fully lived by that idea. Especially because they had only been together for five months. She didn’t want to scare him off. 

It’s not that she kept it a secret. Bob knew. He knew that she had been seeing a therapist, but she didn’t like talking about what they discussed, so he didn’t pry. He watched her chew the ends of her sleeves to oblivion and her nails to stubs. He watched as she would forget to eat and get headaches that were difficult to manage. So he did his best to help out behind the scenes. Suggesting a new restaurant for them to try on days she didn’t eat. Filling up her water bottle. Scratching her head and shoulders when she was tense. They had to be things she didn’t notice, otherwise she’d feel this overwhelming guilt. But he held a sense of pride in being able to notice her tells and signals.

It was Rooster’s birthday, and all he asked for was for the group to go with him downtown to a new bar. Of course, she and Bob weren’t going to miss it. It had been a long day for the both of them, but Rooster was practically family at this point. He deserved to have a fun night with his friends. 

She rationalized in her head as Bob struggled to find parking. It’s just a bar. It’s gonna be just like Hard Deck, and she’s been there plenty of times. She’s been to plenty of bars before. This one would be no different. 

Bob looked over at her, practically seeing the smoke coming out of her overthinking head. He reached over, grabbed her hand, and gave it a kiss. “You excited?” He asked, testing the waters.

She nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. Excited to see Rooster drunk out of his mind tonight.” She joked.

He chuckled, finally finding a space in the very back. He backed the truck in, wrapping his arm around her headrest. His tongue stuck out slightly between his teeth as he focused. 

She sighed gently and grabbed a pocket mirror from her purse to check her makeup. Her lipstick was already cracking, so she dug in her purse for a lip gloss. Once he put the car in park, he looked over at her as she applied it. When she noticed his stare from the corner of her eye, she laughed.

“What?” She said, still checking her lips. 

“Nothing. Just admiring how pretty you are.” He said cheesily.

“Shut up.” She laughed, blushing. “Thank you.”

There was a small moment of silence as she rubbed her lips together and put her lipstick and mirror away. She looked over, surprised he wasn’t getting out of the car yet. 

“You ready?” 

He nodded, but sat there for a second before saying, “We don’t have to stay for long if you don’t want to.” He offered.

She looked at him, a little surprised and confused. “Do you not want to stay long?” 

He shrugged, “I don’t care much. But I know how you feel in new and loud places.” 

There it was. That sense of embarrassment bubbled in her chest. She didn’t wanna make him leave if he didn’t want to. And she felt that even if he was offering her an out right now, that couldn’t be his true feelings. What if he wanted to stay? What if he felt obligated to stay by her side? Bob was a good man. He would never leave her side if she so much as asked. But… she didn’t want him to feel stuck.

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a bar.”

He nodded, “Just say the word.” He said before taking the key out of the ignition and getting out of the car.

They walked down the busy downtown street. She held his hand as he led her through the crowd. Why did Rooster’s birthday have to be on an autumn Friday night? The avenue of bars was packed, and they hadn’t even made it to the bar yet. He squeezed her hand in reassurance without looking back, too focused on finding the clearest path and checking his text from Rooster that said they were outside. 

She spotted the tall mustache next to Hangman and Phoenix in line outside a big blue brick building. “Over there!” She yelled over the crowd.

Bob looked at where she pointed them out and nodded, adjusting his course that way. The three noticed them and cheered upon arrival. 

“There they are! We were getting worried!” Rooster announced.

She put on a smile, but she couldn’t help but note the tightness in her chest. Her vision felt blurred after whipping her head around the crowd so much. 

“Happy birthday, big guy.” She said, reaching up to hug him. 

Rooster hugged her, then hugged Bob after his greeting. 

“Glad you guys could make it.” He said, “Now, who’s ready to get demolished?”

They laughed, but both Bob and she knew they’d only have a few drinks. Neither of them liked to get too tipsy. Well, at least if they were going home together. They’d rather make good use of their time rather than drooling, passed out. Plus, Bob was driving; he’d have to sober up before the end of the night anyway. So he couldn’t ‘get demolished’ even if he wanted to.

As they drew closer to the door, the music was already blasting so loudly that it rumbled the sidewalk. They all made conversation, and she did her best to be part of it, but she wasn’t contributing as much as she normally would. She was so focused on trying not to seem distracted that, funnily enough, she ended up looking distracted. 

But luckily, the music was good. If the music wasn’t familiar, she’d already be a wreck. Music always grounded her in situations. And she became a mean drunk at parties with a bad playlist. 

She sang along to Mariah Carey’s ‘Fantasy’ and dramatically nodded to Bob as she sang all the words. He gently started singing along and bobbing his head as well, matching the energy. She giggled, and he looked down at her, relieved. 

Once they got their IDs checked and through the door, she looked around in the darkness. The space somehow managed to be huge and claustrophobic at the same time. With high ceilings and a crowded floor, it felt almost worse than outside. She tried to keep bobbing her head to the music and looking around at the green and pink lasers lighting the air. To the left of them was a glass bar lit up bright blue, and to their right was a retro-style arcade. Bob instantly looked at her with his jaw dropped, clearly excited to see the arcade, and she chuckled at how cute he looked. To the front of them was the dance floor that was packed with people jumping. This felt more like a nightclub than a bar, though these days there wasn’t much of a difference. But when she had heard that Rooster wanted to go to a new bar, she expected something closer to Hard Deck. She tried to keep her mind open. 

They miraculously found an open table to stand around.  

“Shots on me, for the birthday boy,” Hangman said, patting Rooster’s back, and he swatted him away jokingly. 

Shots? Was she about to take a shot? She looked over at Bob, but he was a little distracted by the spectacle of it all. Well, she could do it just this once for Rooster.

“Isn’t this place awesome?” Rooster yelled over the music.

She nodded. “It’s nice! Loud!”

They all laughed at that. 

“Sure ain’t Hard deck,” Phoenix commented.

After a few more minutes, Hangman came back, balancing a handful of shot glasses in his hands. Y/n quickly reached out, grabbing a few so they wouldn’t drop. 

“Have some faith in me, Y/n! I used to waiter.” He joked, passing out the shots.

She looked down at the liquid, unsure of what it was. “What is it?” She asked

“Just a Green Tea Shot. I was nice today.” Hangman said, and that instantly relieved her. Green Tea Shots were easy. They tasted good, and they didn’t consist of any vodka or tequila. “We gotta start out slow, then ramp our way up,” Hangman said, gesturing a ramp with his hands. 

“Remember, I’m driving, fellas. This is it for me.” Bob said.

Hangman and Rooster booed him jokingly. Though they’d never let him drink and drive, and would probably kill him before he did it with his girlfriend in the car.

“Why didn’t you get an Uber like a sane person?” Rooster asked.

Bob knew why. If something happened, he wanted to be there for her and be able to go straight home. He didn’t want the additional stress of realizing that Uber’s were forty dollars at 11 PM. It’s not like he wanted to drink anyway.

He shrugged. “I forgot-”

“Are we gonna take these shots or what?” Phoenix yelled out, making Y/n laugh as they had been holding their drinks for so long now. 

“Alright, ready?” Hangman raised his glass, “To Rooster! Happy Birthday!” 

Everybody else followed suit, yelling out ‘Happy Birthday!’. She took back the shot with ease. She used to do this all the time back in college. She used to party and go to bars every weekend. Dressing up and going out used to be her favorite thing to do. Yet now, when the bass of the speakers rocked through her whole body, she felt sick to her stomach.

After taking back the shot and a few celebratory cheers, she looked up at Bob. “Wanna look at the arcade?” She asked, already knowing his answer. 

His face lit up at that, and he nodded vigorously. He looked at the others. “We’re gonna go check out the games.” He announced.

The other three nodded. “We’re gonna drink some more. If you need to find us, we’ll probably be out dancing.” Rooster said.

Okay. That sounded like a good plan. She took Bob’s hand and they walked over to the section. It was a narrower hall, but there were much fewer people, and the speakers didn’t quite reach the area as hard. She was already sweaty, and she felt that sense of dread in her stomach, but this section of the bar felt a little better. 

She already knew what game he wanted to play first. Galaga. Bob was a secret nerd for retro games, and that was his favorite. He had an Atari 7800 plugged into his TV that he tried to hide from her during one of their first dates. He didn’t want to seem like a huge nerd, but that all faded away when they ended that date playing Pac-Man together until the early hours of the morning. 

She started leading him towards it, but Bob stopped in his tracks, pulling her back into him. She let out an “OOF” and a laugh as she bumped into his chest, looking up at him now. He smiled down at her as he cupped her face. But his expression turned serious for a second. 

“You doing okay?” He asked, brushing his thumbs over her hairline.

She took in a shaky breath. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m doing fine.” 

He tilted his head, almost unbelieving. “You sure?”

But now she was getting a little irritated. Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? Was she not doing a good enough job? Was she not being lively enough? Were people noticing?

“I’m fine, Bob. Seriously. Let’s go play some games.” She said sternly.

He looked into her eyes gently for a second, then smiled. “Okay, baby.” He said before kissing her quickly.

Bob played the first round of Galaga on his own, and she watched amused. She wasn’t even watching the screen for half the time. She just liked watching his focused face, like the one he made earlier when he was backing up the car. His lips slightly parted, and his brows furrowed down. The reflection of the pixel battleships lit up the lenses of his glasses. 

“You’re playing next.” He said, smiling mid-round. He knew that he could take a while playing this by himself, so he didn’t want to leave her out. 

“Bob!” She whined, “You know I’m the worst at this one.”

“I’ll show you.”

That’s how the next round she ended up in front of the machine, and he stood behind her. His hands overlapped hers on the joystick. She couldn’t stop the fit of giggles.

“Annnnd then you gotta go left left left left.” He said, nudging the joystick in her hands. She still did the same movements, but he could’ve totally just been the one in control. “Right right right right!” 

She laughed, so happy to just be with him. He rested his chin on her shoulder as they looked at the screen together. The little spaceship moved along with them. As the next round prepared, he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Stay focused!” She squealed, and for a moment, it was like all her anxiety had gone. Her tense heart and stomach relaxed. She didn’t feel nauseous or scared. It was the perfect distraction. 

After that round, Rooster, Hangman, and Phoenix came by a little sweatier and a little more drunk.

“What’s up, nerds?” Hangman teased as they walked up.

She smiled, and Bob laughed at their disheveled appearance.��

“Well, you guys definitely hit the dance floor,” Bob noted.

“And three more tequila shots.” Phoenix nodded with closed eyes. That’s when Rooster looked down at Y/n. “Come on, let’s get you a drink, sister. Since you’ve got a DD tonight.” 

She hesitated, and she looked up at Bob nervously, but he must have misconstrued it as asking for permission.

“If you want to, you can.” He said, and it’s not like he would’ve told her no if she was asking in the first place. “I’m staying sober now.”

“Uh- I mean- Sure?” She said to the group, and how could she say no when they all cheered her like that? She smiled, but it felt like it didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was getting harder to block out the noise, and she was getting more tired. Maybe the drink would help loosen her up?

They all made their way over to the bar. 

“Going to the bathroom,” Bob said to her as they went up to order, and she nodded with a smile. She watched him walk off, trying to find it. 

Next thing she knew, Rooster had four shots of brown liquor on the bartop.

“What are we doing?” Phoenix asked, a little gone.

“Jagerbombs,” Rooster smirked.

Huh? She had never had that before. Hangman nodded in approval, and that made her worried now. Any drink approved by Jake Seresin should be seriously reviewed. But they were already holding their glasses up, and she didn’t want to ask. She grabbed her shot glass and quickly caught up. 

“To Y/n!” Rooster cheered. Oh god, to her?

She chuckled nauseously and threw back the shot, and was met with fire. She instantly started to cough once it went down. Rooster quickly patted her back.

“You good?”

She nodded. It had tasted like cough syrup mixed with sriracha. And it was somehow fizzy. “What was that?” She asked, her chest actually hurting now.

“A Jagerbomb. It’s like liqueur with redbull!” He shouted over the music.

“Oh!” Fuck. Caffeine was the last thing she needed in her system.

It’s okay. It was only two shots. She told herself. It took seven to bring you down, Freshman year. But that was… how long ago now?

“We should dance,” Phoenix said with wide eyes now, excitedly looking at her. The thought of that crowd made her chest feel like it was concaving in on itself. And she was still recovering from the horrible shot. But Phoenix looked so excited, and Rooster and Hangman were already walking their way over there.

She nodded and followed Phoenix to the crowded dance floor. It was then that she realized that they hadn’t played a song she knew in a while. The fun 2000s pop was now replaced by hardcore rap that she didn’t recognize. She tried to weave through the crowd, awkwardly moving to the beat so she could watch and support her friend. 

But now they were near the middle of the masses. She looked back to where she came from, and could just barely see past to the bar. Her heart pounded in her ears. Why was she gonna cry right now? Nothing was happening. She took in a shaky breath and tried to dance, but it was weirdly stilted.

Then someone shoved into her, and she fell forward with a yelp, just barely catching herself in her heels. 

“Hey!” She yelled, facing back, but the people had already gone. And when she turned back around, Phoenix was gone. Oh no. She looked around frantically. Sure, Phoenix could get lost in the crowd, but Rooster and Hangman had to be tall enough to be noticed. Yet… they were nowhere to be seen. 

Now her breathing picked up. She felt this sense of dread course through her whole body as her hands started to shake. Tears pricked her eyes, and the harder she tried to suppress them, the worse her chest tightened. People were pushing and pulling her, and she struggled to maintain her balance.

Then, at the worst possible moment, a complete drunkard came up behind her and wrapped his grubby hands around her hips. She quickly screamed and pushed him off of her. She wanted to yell and cuss him out, but she froze, and he just stumbled on with his eyes half-lidded.

She started to cry. Really cry now. Her hand pressed to her chest, and she could feel her heart racing against the bass of the music. She couldn’t gain a bearing on her surroundings, as she felt like she was on a teacup ride. Everywhere just looked like a blur of people and purple darkness. Shadows danced and engulfed her as the dance floor blinked rapidly with a strobe light effect. The most intense selection they could’ve made.  

Finally, after a panicked moment, she just started moving. She needed to go somewhere, whether it was the right direction or not, didn’t matter. Getting through the crowd was difficult as people bumped into her and shoved against her, going the opposite direction. When she finally appeared on the other side of a mass, she didn’t realize that Bob had spotted her. 

He quickly ran over to her, working his way through the crowd as fast as he could. When he reached her, she finally saw clearly through her tears enough to recognize his face, and she quickly shoved her face into his chest, crying. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Bob asked, worried, over the music.

She shook her head, frozen. Her lungs were on fire, as she could barely breathe. 

“Let’s go outside. Let’s get some fresh air.” He said, wrapping his arm around her.

They made their way out of the bar. He quickly sent a text to Rooster that they had to go outside and not to bother them with his free hand. 

The second they got into a clearing outside she sucked in a sharp inhale. As if she had been holding her breath that whole time. He walked her to a low brick wall a decent bit away from everybody else, and sat her down. The bumping music was much fainter now. It was like everything else was washing away to sea. 

“Breathe, baby, breathe.” He reminded her.

She took in a shaky deep breath, just like her therapist had told her to do. Counting in her head. It was a basic exercise that everyone knew. But it sometimes managed to actually work.

“I-I’m so-” She stammered.

He tilted his head, confused.

“I’m so s-stupid.” She finally let out with a cry. Her face crumpled, and tears streamed down.

His eyes widened. “What?!” He asked, surprised, “No, you’re not. Baby, what on earth are you talking about?” “I used to be fun.” She whined, and she felt the two shots buzzing in her head. She swore she wasn’t that much of a lightweight. But she also didn’t know what the hell else was in that Jagerbomb. “Now- Now I’m just scared. Of everything. I-I don’t know what happened to me.” She sobbed.

He sat down next to her now, wrapping his arm around her. “You’re so fun.” He said softly, “You have a little anxiety, but that doesn’t mean you’re not fun.” He shushed.

She sniffled, “I got lost on the dance floor, and- and this guy like grabbed me and- It was like I couldn’t figure out where I was.”

He listened. Even though he wanted to interrogate her, find this douchebag and kill him. He just listened, scratching the back of her head. 

“And I couldn’t find anyone. And my heart hurt and my head-” She hiccuped.

“Take some more deep breaths for me.” Bob reminded her.

She nodded and listened to him. After a shivering breath, she wiped her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t even apologize. Never do for this sorta thing.” 

“But I ruined the night.”

He chuckled, and for some reason, that helped. “No, you didn’t. I got to go out and play Galaga with my girlfriend. That’s like… straight out of my dreams.”

That made her laugh, and in turn, they both loosened up. Now that the music was fainter, they could hear the nighttime crickets chirping and the soothing rush of cars on the distant freeway. A cool breeze came by, and she quickly huddled against him for warmth. He rubbed her arm, trying his best to warm her up despite them being in the sweatiest building ever ten minutes prior. 

“I didn’t want you to get roped into this.” She whispered into his shoulder.

He shook his head again, “Y/n, when I say that I want all of you. I really mean all of you. I actively want to take care of you. It’s not something I feel that I have to do.” He explained, looking down at her. He looked straight into her eyes, wanting to get the point across. “You’re my girl. I want to be there for you.” 

She looked at him, just shocked for a second, before burying her face back into his chest and sniffling. She nodded slowly, letting him know that she accepted it.

“Idea,” Bob started, squeezing her shoulder, “We go to my place. I plug the Atari into my bedroom, and we can play Pac-Man until you fall asleep.”

“But what about Rooster’s birthday?” She asked, hiccuping.

“I’ll go in and say bye for us while you sit in the car with the heater on. Need you to set up a good playlist for the drive home.” He stated this like it was a mission. “How does that sound?” 

She nodded, making eye contact again, and the sight broke his heart. Her teary eyes and red face. Her eyes were all big and droopy in an exhausted way. “That sounds good.” She said, Then suddenly her eyes widened as she lit up slightly, “Oh- and- and I left ice cream in your freezer last time.” She suggested.

He kissed her forehead. “Perfect.”

Lying in Bob’s warm sheets, she curled against Bob’s chest as they played. Her voice was still a little hoarse from all the crying and yelling, but a relaxed smile appeared on her face. Bob would look down and check on her from time to time to make sure that beautiful smile was still on. 

Once they both died, she let out an “Aw!” and put her controller down. He chuckled at her disappointment. He gently traced his fingers up the side of her arm. 

“Hey… I had a fun night tonight.” He reassured softly.

She looked up and nodded with a small smile. “Mine got better.” 

“I want you to tell me next time, okay? If you’re nervous or anxious.” He said, “I can help. Unless you really and truly don’t want it.”

She sighed and nodded. “Okay. I promise I will next time. Only if you promise to do the same.”

He chuckled. “Of course.”

[kotias]

(got quite inspired, sorry for the length)

And thus Sam offers Dean what he did back then:

Going through the motions, one hunt at a time.

Giving him some space on the day what seems like a rough night full of nightmares.

Picking him up, passed out drunk, in the interrogation room. Knowing they both know it happened, and both keeping their mouths shut.

For once, he takes on the big brother mantle and keeps Dean safe- from himself.

He pushes Dean to start writing his own Hunter's journal; to keep him into the motions, to give him something to do during the rough nights. It helps Dean, to lay things on paper for future reference.

Slowly, he watches Dean rebuilding himself around this grief leaving a deep, dark hole inside. He watches the little twitch of his lips when he doesn't want to admit a guilty pleasure. He watches the light coming back into his eyes as they pick weapons for a hunt.

It's not perfect- there are relapses, and they are gruesome. But he's getting there; slowly but surely, Dean's will to live is growing back.

Then one day, Sam opens Dean's journal to find some notes about a monster, flicks through it, and finds a portrait of Castiel. Over it, the note "Angels of the Lord", and a few key words meant to serve future hunters:

"Guard dogs with a nuke for hands"

"Angel blade - each has their own. Can use to track and kill"

"Can be trusted?"

Castiel's portrait is entirely made with black pen, except his eyes. Drawn with a light blue pen, popping in the middle of the darkness.

"If you're lucky. I was"

Under the portrait, in a tiny scribble, something is written, maybe in Enochian?

Curiosity is a bitch, and he takes a picture of it to try and translate when they're back at the bunker.

Well, turns out translating Enochian also is a bitch. Especially when he's not sure Dean himself speaks it fluently enough that he wrote it for its intended purpose.

Though the more he unearths, and the more he thinks Dean knew what he was doing.

Several layers to the words he's found, many of which seem to be related to proximity and devotion, but one sticks out to him.

He interrogates Dean when his brother comes back with his left hand bandaged, and when finally he sees why: Dean's gotten himself a discrete, thin tattoo circling around his ring finger.

When his brother finally allows him to look at it closer, he understands the words, has seen them before.

Soulbound.

thinking about a scenario shortly after defeating chuck, pre-empty rescue. dean is in full widower mode, collapsing under the weight of grief, and sam is, as usual, prodding at him to open up.

sam’s cornered him in the kitchen, where dean went for more whiskey, because alcohol is the only thing that drowns out the constant drumbeat of you could have had me, you idiot, you could have had me, running through his head.

and sam is saying “i know how you feel, dean, but—” and it’s suddenly too much. something in dean just snaps.

he turns, only halfway facing sam. “you know how i feel? you knew jess for a year and a half, sam. i had cas for twelve. and from what i remember, you didn’t want to talk to me about her back then either. so leave it.”

sam, who was about to say “we both lost a friend, i cared about cas too, and he wouldn’t want us to stop living our lives”, just freezes, mouth open in shock.

dean pushes past him out of the room, and after about five minutes of stunned silence, sam thinks to himself well, i guess that explains why the strip club didn’t work last time.

[sofreddie]

Not What You Wanted - Part 9

Summary: Y/N focuses on finishing her journals, intent to leave once complete, unaware of the dark happenings within the Bunker.

Characters: Demon!Dean/F!Fan!Reader, BloodAddict!Sam/ F!Fan!Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Canon Divergent AU, TW: Blood, Blood Drinking, Angst, Manipulation, Smut (Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Creampie), Fluff

WC: 4,813

A/N: Flying off into crazy town now. Excited about how the story is unfolding. Feedback is appreciated! : )

Series Masterlist

Part 8

Sam and Dean came banging on her door after her hasty retreat, but she refused to talk to them. When she eventually left her room, it was only for food or the bathroom, and then she would return to her self-imposed isolation once more. To their credit, Sam and Dean both gave her the space she needed, looking sheepish and ashamed every time she saw them, which painfully clenched her heart. Many times, she nearly gave in to the need to run to them and be in their arms.

While she focused on her notebooks and annotated everything she could remember, which admittedly wasn’t as much as she’d hoped, she was oblivious to the darker happenings within the Bunker.

Sam didn’t take long to develop the jitters, the demon blood working its way out of his system. It wasn’t too bad, not like when Bobby and Dean locked him in the panic room to detox. A few hours later, though, he felt awful. He was practically vibrating in his skin, unable to remain still for long. Thoughts of Dean and Y/N and everything else faded as his body made its urgent need known. 

Duffle in hand, Sam quietly moved through the halls, intent on sneaking out. His plan was simple: summon a random demon, fulfill his need, and return before anyone was the wiser.

“Where are you running off to?”

Sam turned in surprise as Dean seemed to emerge from the shadows. His black-eyed bastard of a brother grinned as he inspected Sam, his withdrawal evident. Sam froze, knowing he had been caught and unsure of what to say or do to make things better. Dean pulled forth the First Blade, which was always within his reach, and cut his forearm, letting the blood trickle to the polished floor.

Sam took a shuddering breath as his eyes locked onto the blood. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and his veins pulsed with need, his whole body singing for the demonic blood that would make the pain go away. At that moment, he hated Dean and wanted to fight him and end this. Instead, he heeded the call of the demon blood. Falling to his knees, he grasped Dean’s arm and sucked the blood from the source. 

Dean could see the effects of withdrawal taking hold in the younger man and knew exactly what he needed to feel better. He’d chase that high, just like he did before, Dean was sure of it. When Sam fell to his knees, his eyes slipping closed as he greedily devoured the blood, Dean grinned triumphantly. He believed keeping Sam addicted would stop his crusade to cure him. Witnessing his younger and bigger brother, who was always so high and mighty, now become so small, broken, and needy was an entertaining bonus.

Y/N was utterly oblivious in her isolation.

When she finally finished the last notebook, she stacked them neatly on her desk in piles, ensuring they were in order. Plan in place, she packed her backpack and a duffle and snuck through the halls in the middle of the night, intent on escaping through the garage via one of the classic vehicles until she could switch it out for something else.

She made it to the garage, but her whole plan was thwarted when Dean stood in the middle of the cavernous space, arms crossed, leaning against the side of the Impala.

“Going somewhere?”

She dropped her bags to the ground, feeling ultimately defeated. Maybe she could reason with him, and he’d let her go. Surely, the demon didn’t care about her.

“Dean, this isn’t working,” she tried. His arms dropped, and he took several steps towards her. “I couldn’t stop this from happening even though I knew it was coming,” she explained, tears built in her eyes as he stood mere inches from her. “A-and I feel guilty about being with both of you. I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I don’t want to come between you.”

Dean stood in silence, watching as she sobbed, everything she’d been holding in bubbling to the surface. He gave in to the urge to comfort her, which conflicted with his darker nature. He wanted to make her stop, but he also swore he wouldn’t hurt her. She was literally the only thing in all existence that he even remotely gave a damn about. 

It kind of pissed him off.

When she calmed down, he wiped the tears from her face and brushed her hair back. He intended to leave this place, leave her and Sam, and take off on his own. He didn’t want to be around his brother, didn’t want to be a hunter. Just wanted to live his life however he saw fit. Then he heard Y/N’s footsteps moving toward the garage, and he knew she was about to run again. While he thought he could leave her behind, being in her presence made that concept impossible.

With a sigh, he gathered her bags and tossed them in the backseat of the Impala. Without a word, he guided her into the passenger seat and closed the door before jogging to the driver’s side and climbing in, starting the car.

“What-”

“We’re leaving,” he announced. She turned her head to see that he also had bags in the back. He grinned. “I didn’t want to be here anymore,” he shrugged as he got out onto the road. “I didn’t want to leave you, but I wasn’t gonna stick around. But you wanted to leave too, so I guess it’s my lucky day.”

“But Sam-”

“You were ready to leave him just a few minutes ago. You were going to leave both of us.”

“I’m no good for you! I didn’t want to come between you or ruin Sam’s chances of curing you!”

“I don’t want to be cured,” he growled. Y/N huffed and slammed herself back into the seat, crossing her arms and glaring out the window. Dean couldn’t help but smirk at the petulance. “Look at it this way: we’ll finally get uninterrupted time together.”

-

Despite her worry, Y/N fell asleep rather quickly. The engine's purr and gentle jostling lulled her to sleep, her head against the window. Dean kept glancing over at her as he drove, his eyes never quite satisfied, wanting another look and then another. He couldn’t believe he had a soulmate. While the demon was somewhat annoyed at the tether, that little piece of the old him - the human him - needed her more than air.

He drove past many motels but decided against stopping. He didn’t need sleep and wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and Sam. They could hold up somewhere and ward themselves like she’d done before. He saw himself living free, doing whatever he wanted, with her by his side.

Pulling up to a secluded cabin, he carried her inside, laying her on the single bed in the one-room shack. It would have to do for now. He’d find something better, somewhere she would be comfortable and treated like a queen. Once she and their things were secured inside, he went outdoors several paces into the surrounding woods. Taking out his phone, he made a call, and the King of Hell appeared before him.

“Are you ready for that howl at the moon, Dean?” Crowley smirked in satisfaction, but Dean’s face was unreadable.

“You want me with you; that’s clear enough. I don’t understand why either-”

“You and I together, we’d be unstoppable,” Crowley responded, to which Dean rolled his eyes.

“Here’s the deal,” Dean began, moving closer to the demon. “I want a place, secluded but stunning, fit for a Queen.”

“So you brought along some baggage then?”

“Call her that again, and I’ll rip you to pieces with my teeth.”

“Alright, so a cozy little hideaway for the lovebirds, is it? What’s in it for me?”

“Me,” Dean responded. “You want me with you, you want my help? Help take care of her and keep Sam away, and I’ll work with you.”

Crowley mulled over the proposal before nodding, “I accept.”

“I’m not kissing you,” Dean growled, making Crowley chuckle.

“I’ll message you with the information once I have the place secured.”

He vanished instantly. Dean, seemingly satisfied, walked back into the cabin. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Y/N sleep. Brushing the hair back from her face, he studied every detail of her. A demon falling in love, what a laugh! But it was true, nonetheless. 

He knew she was a runner, and she was terrified of him. He would find a way to make her accept him just the way he was. But to do that, he needed time, and Sam had to be far away—out of sight, out of mind. She stirred slightly but remained asleep. 

Dean slowly and carefully hiked her shirt to reveal her torso, looking for how she had warded herself. His eyes immediately landed on her scars, the healed tears from the werewolf's claws. Running his fingers over them gently, he closed his eyes, letting out a long breath as he fought back the emotions trying to pierce his heart. 

It didn’t take him long to find what he was seeking, seeing a block of letters and symbols neatly inked into her ribs on the side. He was momentarily distracted by the side of her breast, just in view. He wanted to lean down and nuzzle into its softness. Resisting the urge, he instead took a picture of the tattoo with his phone, put her clothes back in place, and looked over the photo.

He walked back into the central part of the cabin, poured a whiskey, and dropped onto the dusty couch, a puff of dust wafting into the air around him. He sipped from the glass, his eyes studying the warding photo carefully. He wasn’t sure where she got this from, but he’d be sure to ask. He wanted to know everything she knew.

-

Sam woke feeling high-strung and depleted simultaneously. He couldn’t remember much beyond dropping to his knees and feasting on his brother’s warm blood. Outside of what felt like a raging hangover, Sam seemed otherwise okay. At that moment, he only wanted to see Y/N and apologize for his distance. He didn’t look forward to explaining it, but knew he needed to be honest with her.

He went through his morning routine, pouring two cups of coffee instead of just his own, intent on waking Y/N and starting the day off right. But he instantly knew something was wrong when he reached her room. He noticed the massive piles of notebooks on her desk. Setting down the coffee, he looked over the covers of several books, which showed dates from the past, present, and future.

Atop one of the many piles was an envelope addressed to him and Dean. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut as he opened and read the letter. She had left. She didn’t want to come between them or disrupt their lives. The notebooks were everything she knew and remembered about Supernatural—fifteen years' worth of information.

With the letter in hand, he ran to Dean’s room, but his heart dropped at not finding him there. Running to the garage, the absence of the Impala told him Dean was gone, too. Either with Y/N or looking for her. He dashed back to his room, grabbed his phone, and dialed Dean, surprised when he answered.

“Where are you?” Sam asked. “And where’s Y/N?”

“Ah, well, she was gonna leave, and I caught her sneaking out, so I just went with her.”

“Are you coming back?”

“Let us go, Sammy.”

The call's end click left Sam looking at the phone in confusion. He quickly redialed, but the number went straight to voicemail. He tried repeatedly, growling and throwing his phone against the wall, watching as it shattered into pieces.

Now that his withdrawal was addressed, he had to find a way to get them back home and cure Dean. He wouldn’t let himself think about what happened when he wasn’t okay again. Making his way back to Y/N’s room, he gathered all the notebooks, brought them to the library, organized them, and settled in for research, starting at her - or their - chronological beginning.

-

Y/N stirred awake. The sound of distant voices whispering roused her consciousness. Last she remembered she was in the Impala with Dean, but now she was in some dilapidated shack, a dusty and uncomfortable spring bed beneath her. Focusing on the voices, she instantly recognized the deep timbre of Dean’s voice.

Climbing from the bed, it squeaked loudly with her movement, and the voices stopped. A moment later, Dean appeared in the room.

“You’re awake,” he commented, ushering her to the main cabin. “We’re leaving soon. I’ll grab you food on the road.”

“Was someone here?” she asked, looking around and finding no one else.

“Crowley,” he commented, gathering their bags and leading her outside to the Impala.

“Crowley?” she asked, stunned. “The same Crowley who kidnapped me from my motel room and held me captive? That Crowley?” 

She grew angrier and louder with each word, her panic setting in. Was Dean still doing the whole buddy-demon arc with Crowley? Dean shrugged at her words, and she hated that he didn’t seem to care about her being upset.

“What did he want?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions,” he huffed as he started the car. “I wanted to talk to him about something,” he shrugged. “And before you ask, because I know you’re gonna, you just can’t help yourself-” he grinned over at her, “I’ve got a much nicer place for us to stay.”

“But Sam-”

“Forget about Sam, Y/N,” Dean said in a warning tone. “He’s the one who wanted to change me, to break us all apart. He’s the one who tried to keep you for himself.”

She was scared to comment further, catching the warning in Dean’s tone. He didn’t like it when she mentioned Sam, but she couldn't help but miss him. It was as if her very soul was whining like a dog missing its master. That really kind of irritated her, if she were being honest. But she did miss Sam nonetheless. She hoped he’d find her notebooks and figure something out to find them and cure Dean.

Until then, she was alone with the demon. Though, as she thought about it, he’d never really acted like a demon with her. Yes, his eyes were black, and he forced her to see that as he kissed her a few times. But she figured he was trying to ease her mind over him being a demon. It worked because she was grateful to have Dean with her, at least. The idea of being on her own again wasn’t appealing, but she was willing to do it for them. Maybe she could enjoy her time with Dean while Sam worked to catch up.

As promised, he’d fed her, stopping by a drive-thru for breakfast. He didn’t need to eat, but he knew she did and wanted her to be happy and comfortable. He’d also stopped for lunch, and as the sun went down, he grabbed dinner, promising their destination wasn’t much further.

Driving all day, music playing low in the background, and talking away about their lives, interests, and dreams was a grade-A Dean-girl fantasy. He looked normal and happy as he drummed along to the tunes. Y/N fought the clench in her heart that reminded her of Sam and their drive and chat, which was so similar and yet so very different, just like the two brothers.

But the fantasy split and shattered when they stopped for gas. As he pumped the fuel, she climbed out of the car to stretch her legs. Then, she gathered all the trash from the food, trying to clean up a bit and make herself useful.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked as he finished pumping the gas and saw her rooting through the car.

“Just getting rid of the trash,” she smiled, carrying the items to the bin beside the pump. “I know you like Baby tidy.”

He scoffed, “It’s just a car, Y/N. Get in, we’ll be there soon.”

Just a car. He had said that to Sam in the show when he’d captured his demon brother. It served to remind her that, no matter how sweet the scenario, it really wasn’t him.

She was stunned as he drove through the thick, isolated woodland, approaching a sizeable log-cabin-style mansion. It was far too large to be merely a cabin. It must have been one of Crowley’s many properties loaned to Dean. They must’ve made a deal because Crowley wouldn’t give Dean something like this without anything in return. She filed that away in the back of her mind as Dean parked and grinned over at her to gauge her reaction.

“What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” she replied honestly, climbing out of the car and standing at the bottom of the steps up to the front door. The style was inviting and warm, a place she’d consider a vacation destination under any other circumstances.

“Well, it’s ours,” Dean proudly announced as he carried their bags up the steps to the front door, opening it wide and gesturing her inside. “For as long as you want.”

“All this, just for us?” she looked at him questioningly. “How’d you manage that, Romeo?” she grinned back at him, not wanting to let on about her worry. She tried her best to bury any negative feelings or thoughts, afraid he could read her like a book through their bond. But she couldn’t help feel that this was just another gilded cage, the same as Crowley had done when he locked her away.

Dean closed the door and dropped their bags by the side, flicking on a few small lamps to illuminate the ample and dark space. “For you,” he stated, his hands finding her hips as he leaned in to peck her lips sweetly. “All for you.”

She smiled bashfully, gently stepping from his arms to explore the place. Moving up the stairs, she found her way to the master bedroom suite, Dean behind every step she took. The bedroom was large and incredible. There was a huge fluffy bed, bigger than any she’d ever seen. The large windows overlooked the yard and the wooded surroundings. A stone-encased fireplace adorned one wall, and a bathroom suite off the side held a giant tub she was anticipating.

Dean’s arms wrapped around her from behind as she glanced over the large bath, kissing her shoulder. “You want to take a bath?” he asked, releasing her. He moved to turn on the taps and check the temperature. “It has jets,” he wiggled his brows. He stepped back, kicked off his shoes, and removed his shirt.

“Oh. Together?” she asked, intensely nervous. She wasn’t expecting his advances to be so sudden.

“What?” he looked at her like she was crazy as he continued undressing, stopping when he was only in boxers. “Yeah, together. Come here.”

She blushed furiously, her face and neck instantly hot from the flush. She couldn’t help devouring his exposed flesh with her eyes, which only amped her arousal. She definitely wanted Dean, but was genuinely scared of being so vulnerable with the demon version of him. 

Dean noticed her hesitation and blush, assuming she was just shy, and chuckled as he looked her over. “Here, I’ll help,” he offered, kissing her before tugging on the hem of her shirt, slowly pulling it over her head and tossing it aside.

She was frozen, knowing she couldn’t just strip in front of him, but feeling entirely under his spell and unable to stop him as he did it for her. Before long, he had them both nude, the bath filled and ready for them. She tried not to look, but it was impossible, her eyes trailing over every inch of him. She didn’t feel so guilty when she saw him doing the same. It briefly reminded her of her first time with Sam in the shower.

He guided her into the tub first, and she sank into the water with a moan. The heat was incredible. Dean entered on the other side, and their legs stretched out beside each other as they faced one another. He reached over and pushed a few buttons, the jets starting up, making her moan again as they worked at her sore muscles.

Dean took her foot in his hand and massaged it up her calf, alternating legs. She studied him briefly as he focused on massaging and soothing her. Dean was littered with various scars like Sam, even though he wasn’t in the show. The worst of which was the fresh diamond-shaped scar in the middle of his chest. The one that killed him and allowed him to turn into a demon. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of feelings and forced herself to relax into Dean’s touch. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” he chuckled. 

“So good,” she slurred as the bath, jets, and Dean’s hands relaxed her immensely.

“Yeah?” Dean spoke, his voice deep and quiet, rumbling through her. “I know something better.”

His hands massaged up her leg, migrating to her upper thigh, his fingers just out of reach of her sensitive areas. She moaned from the massage and whined from the teasing caress, her hips bucking, seeking his touch. To her relief, he acquiesced, using one finger to part her folds and tease gently at her clit. She whined again, her eyes fluttering closed as he pressed more firmly. 

“Eyes on me, Honey,” Dean breathed, and when she met his gaze, she was grateful to be met by sparkling green. “Atta girl,” he praised, dipping a finger into her core teasingly slow.

“Dean,” she moaned, bucking her hips more as he thumbed her clit as slow as he fingered her pussy.

He moaned in approval, loving how his name sounded on her tongue, and increased his pace, finding that spot inside her. She gasped, clinging to the sides of the tub as Dean set a pace to take her apart. She came hard, more than surprised at how quickly and easily it was for Dean to coax an orgasm from her. She was more than aware of his experience and knowledge, but she hadn’t anticipated what that would be like wielded against her.

It was incredible.

“Fuck, I need you in a bed,” Dean groaned, removing his fingers from her core and licking them clean. “Come on, Honey,” he soothed, helping her from the tub and drying them off. He took his time and paid attention as he ran the cloth over every inch of her, even kneeling as he dried her lower half. It was sinfully indulgent on both their parts.

She smiled sweetly at him, though she was burning with desire after seeing him on his knees and nude before her, and he responded by kissing her deeply. While distracted by his glorious mouth, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the large bed. Crawling on its surface, he didn’t release her until she lay back on the pillows beneath him.

“Dean,” she whined, nervous and excited in equal measure, her heart racing and core dampening rapidly.

“I know you want me,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her, his thigh wedging between her slightly parted legs. “I want you too, Honey. So much.” 

As his lips found the sensitive spot on her neck, she moaned, her legs parting further, arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold him close. He moaned his approval, slotting his hips between hers and rubbing his hardened length against her wet folds. He continued kissing along her neck and chest, one hand squeezing a breast and pinching her nipple, the other traveling to her core, parting her folds and playing with her juices.

“You really do want me, don’tcha?”

“Dean,” she moaned again, his name the only thing her mind could muster, the feel of his fingers sliding into her core giving her much-needed friction. She knew she couldn’t resist him, wouldn’t dare to say no or stop him from what he was doing to her. It was a fever dream, a fantasy of Dean touching her intimately, giving her pleasure that she only read or dreamed about. “Please.”

Dean grinned like the cat who got the cream as he removed his fingers and lined up with her core, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock. She’d never felt so needy, so desperate for someone before. She wasn’t sure if it was his demonic powers, the soulmate bond, or just him that was making her feel that way, but at the moment, she couldn’t care, only wanting to feel him buried deep inside of her.

He seemed content to take his time, teasing her relentlessly. He ran his hardened cock through her folds, bumping into her clit and teasing at penetrating her before pulling back and doing it again, all the while his lips and tongue tormented every inch of flesh they could reach.

“Dean, stop teasing,” she groaned, trying to wriggle her hips and catch him at her entrance.

He just grinned once more. “Need something?” he asked before dragging his blunt teeth over her sensitive and perky nipple.

“Want you,” she breathed out, her hands on his lower back, trying to bring him closer as she continued to lift her hips.

“Yeah? You want me?” he continued teasing, sucking her other nipple harshly into his mouth, making her shout in surprise from the mix of pain and pleasure.

“Yes, Dean,” she swore, meeting his eyes. “Want you so much, wanted you forever. Please,” she kissed along his jaw and the corner of his mouth. “Please take me.”

Her words drove him insane, her want and permission making him impossibly hard. Turning his head, he kissed her harshly before thrusting hard, burying himself inside her in one stroke. Her back arched, and she screamed out. He was thick and long, stretched her deliciously, and any slight movement made her feel every thick inch.

As he began to move, she knew she was lost to his power. All she could do was feel and take what he bestowed upon her. She could feel her body responding to every one of his actions. His pace increased rapidly until he was fucking her hard, the headboard bouncing against the wall with every harsh thrust.

Her movements enraptured him, the sounds she made, the way she took his cock again and again so perfectly, so easily, like she was made for him to fuck relentlessly. It made him move harsher and faster. For a brief moment, he worried he might hurt her, but it felt too damn good for him to stop. When she screamed out her release, coming all over his cock, her walls quivering around him, he growled. Burying his face in her neck, he continued his punishing pace, driving her through her climax and reaching his own with an inhuman roar.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he removed himself, dropping on his back beside her on the bed. He took a moment to catch his breath, looking at her with a smile.

She was utterly debauched, her hair everywhere, a sheen of sweat covering her skin, her chest rising and falling as she tried to ease her harsh breathing.

“You good?” he asked, sitting up slightly to look her over, a renewed concern that he might have hurt her assaulting him.

He did not expect the wicked grin she gave him. Crawling onto all fours and into his lap, she pressed her soaked folds against his cock, which was rapidly swelling with renewed interest.

“So good,” she purred, kissing his lips. 

She sat up in his lap, grinding down against him, his hands finding her hips and encouraging her movements. As soon as he was hard again, she was sliding down his length, moaning at how deep he was. A brief thought flittered through her brain that she should have told him to pull out or wear protection, but for whatever reason, she couldn’t seem to be bothered about it, too focused on carnal pleasures.

“Greedy little girl,” he moaned, his head thrown back into the pillow as he let her take charge, taking what she needed from him.

It didn’t take long for them to fall over that edge together again. Dean rolled to the side, withdrawing from her core and laying her gently beside him, brushing her hair back from her face, and being far more tender than either of them ever expected him to be.

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[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 9, Photorealism

Masterlist Word count: 1.9k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

Author's note: It has been a while! I got sick, then was changing jobs, then got sick again. I've been through the wringer but I'm back and better than ever! Or at least I'll try to stick around until I finish this one.

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Zayne doesn't remember much about yesterday. How he got home, how he got into bed, why his arm feels so numb. None of that matters when he opens his eyes and sees you sleeping in his arms. He's not home, but he feels more than at home. He feels at peace. 

In a fleeting moment of butterflies rushing through his whole body he squeezes you a little tighter, breathing in the faint scent of paint and something uniquely you. It's a smell he notices whenever you're close but can never pinpoint. His heart swells as he revels in the feeling of having you close to him. 

That's when it all comes back to him in humiliating clarity. 

The argument, your ex, showing up at your door in the middle of the night, your help, your giggles, his need for your touch as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. That last one might still be the case. But he had meant to give you space, respect your boundaries, yet his traitorous subconscious had driven him straight to you. 

Just when he starts spiraling, you stir. 

Terrified to wake you, he freezes up. You simply nestle closer to him, sighing in comfort feeling the warmth of his embrace. And through tired lips, he hears you mumble. 

A soft, but distinguishable "Love you." 

Zayne feels his face flush. It is decided. This is his place, his spot, forevermore.  

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It is hours later when you wake. 

Zayne's body is sore, but he doesn't mind. He tried to stay still so you could rest, only moving when you moved in your sleep. His face is inches from yours when your eyes open and you can't help but smile. 

Somewhere in your mind you had feared he would leave. You know he is not the type to do that to you, but you worried he might've been embarrassed if he remembered the shower. Then again, he was barely lucid. Maybe he doesn't remember anything from last night. 

'I feel like I was uncharacteristically affectionate and needy yesterday.' His voice is low, gravely, tired, as his eyes meet yours. 

'Maybe a little bit,' you tease and move closer to plant a sleepy kiss on his lips. 'I didn't mind though.' 

Zayne goes a bright shade of red as he nods and takes a deep breath. 'We have a lot to talk about, don't we?' 

'We do, but don't you have work today?' Zayne picks up his phone from the nightstand. You had probably put it there. His battery is hanging on for dear life at thee percent as he checks the time and date. That's when it hits him. 

He had been at work for nearly seventeen hours. That would explain why he was as tired as he was. Just when he wants to check his schedule, his phone gives out. He carelessly tosses it back on the nightstand. 'Can I use your phone?' 

'Sure.' You reach back for your own phone and hand it over. Seemingly locked. 

'What's your passcode?' He sees a sliver of doubt in your eyes for a fraction of a second. In his mind, the question was merely functional but he gets that it has to do with trust. Trust that he broke. Trust that you broke as well. 

But then. 'It doesn't have a code.' 

'What?' You swipe your finger over the screen and he watches as the phone comes to life. 'That is highly irresponsible.' Care dipped in judgement. Suddenly you recognize it. A strange, but welcome, thing. 

'You think I want to type in a code when my hands are covered in paint or charcoal?' 

'Fair point.' Acceptance without argument. It makes you wonder why yesterday felt so different.  

As your eyebrows knit together in thought, Zayne drops the phone and looks in your eyes, searching for something. Something he can't seem to find. Not until you actually look at him instead of staring through him in some kind of haze. 

'I need to apologize for yesterday,' he states, as if there is no question about it. This is something he has to do and there's no talking him out of it. You start to open your mouth in protest, trying to admit that you were in the wrong too, but he does not let you. He is faster. 

'When you came by yesterday, I had already had a stressful shift. Daniel came in and started making very distasteful jokes about the nurses that I did not agree with. I was angry at him, but I realized it looked like I was angry at you. I'm sorry.' 

He looks at you expectantly, hopefully, as if you hold his faith in your next words, like the universe will stop existing if you say you don't forgive him. Truth is, you had already forgiven him the second he came to your door last night. The fact your home felt like home to him too, the trust he put in you to care for him, him not wanting to let you go even for a second. It already felt like an apology and your care and love was you forgiving him. 

But there is still something on your chest. 'I am not blameless either. I refused to talk to you and I'm sorry for that. It would've been better to talk it out there.' 

He nods in response and pulls you closer against him. Your phone, his schedule, everything outside the sheets long forgotten as a warm feeling grows between the two of you. 

It has only been a few weeks since you've started dating, but there's one thing you know for sure. 

'I love you, Zayne.' 

The three little words lay on the tip of his tongue. You made them sound so easy, so real. He's not sure if he can give himself into this feeling like you do. But for you, he'll try. 

'I love you too.' 

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Despite the hospital being the last thing on Zayne's mind, the second his phone booted up again after charging it started ringing. Greyson, a name you knew as Zayne slipped it into work stories every so often, called him about a surgery he had to be part of and who are you to keep your man here? 

What was different is that he seemed to doubt if he should go for the first time since you've started dating, but the look of guilt in his face was too much for you. You urged him to go, knowing how important his work is to him. 

You packed him some food while he took a shower. At the door he kissed you goodbye and promised to text you when he was done, but by the time he texted you were gone in your own world, in your studio. 

The music turned way up, curtains open letting in all the natural light, your body almost unconsciously swaying along as you focus on the work in front of you. You can't take your eyes off your canvass for even a second, afraid you'll forget the picture you drew in your mind. 

It has been years since you've painted a realistic portrait, but you felt inspired. No, not inspired. Possessed. Possessed by the spirit of this morning. Possessed by Zayne's beauty. Your fingers have a featherlight grip on your brush, as if the hairs guide themselves through the paint. Blending, adding, caressing the canvas and paint at will. 

Golden light starts falling through the window, illuminating the painting all new and gentle. It must've been hours since you started. You look out the window to see the sun setting and suddenly you realize you are hungry and dehydrated. 

The whole day came and went without as much as a second thought. Your body feels heavy, tired, sore in the shoulders. The canvass you worked on was huge. Big enough for you to have to take a few steps back to admire it fully.  

When you do, you bump into something and two gently hands appear on your arms to steady you. You don't have to look over your shoulder to know who it is. Instead, you lean back into his touch, but something is off. 

'Why the fuck are you painting my doctor?' The hairs on your neck stand up before you can even turn. That sneer you know all too well, and you realize the person behind you is not who you thought they were. You pull yourself away and turn around. 

'Daniel? What the fuck are you doing in my house?' 

'I still have the key,' he huffs as he looks past you at the canvas. 'Still playing with paint I see.' His voice drips with condescension and suddenly you feel very small. A response you've had to his words for a long time. You thought you grew past it, but apparently not. 

'You need to leave,' you state defensively, but you feel your breath hitch in your throat as if all the oxygen is suddenly sucked out of the room. 

Daniel smirks and takes a step closer. 'After you came all that way to visit me yesterday? I thought this was what you wanted. To have me back where I belong. On top of you.' 

Your stomach turns as you realize the predicament you are in. This is dangerous. 'I came to ask you to change your emergency contact.' 

'Sure you did.' He slips past you, standing face to face with your painting. 'You need someone to keep you from being a little whore. I mean, falling for a doctor? That's way out of your league, sweetheart.' He talks down to you like it's the one thing he's put on this earth to do. It's vile, sharp, meant. As if you are nothing more than a sexual object for him to use. 

Such a contrast between him and Zayne. It's like night and day. In the portrait you captured Zayne in the morning light, all soft edges and quiet intimacy lined with sleep. And in front of you stands Daniel who's smirk twists into something disgustingly ugly. Distain. 

'Pathetic. You'll spread your legs for any many who gives you attention, won't you?' He leans forward, the faint smell of alcohol masked by breath mints walms into your face. He's still a drunkard and a fool. 'I'll admit, trading up to a surgeon is smarter than your usual trash.' 

'Leave.' Your eyes fit over to the studio entrance. There stands Zayne and he looks pissed. You've never seen him like this before. His voice rumbles through the room like a command you can't refuse, but there's this strange calm in him. It's icy cold, steady, reliable, dangerously calm. 

Daniel laughs in disbelief. 'Oh my God, you've got him believing you actually like him? Shit, I knew you were a manipulative bitch, but this is a whole new level.' 

Zayne takes a few steps forward. 'Don't address her. Leave. You are trespassing.' 

'It's not trespassing if I have a key,' Daniel sneers back, taking Zayne's words as a challenge. He puffs up his chest, makes himself big, but Zayne is not impressed. He throws a quick look at you, checking in with you, but all you feel is shame. You did not change the locks after you broke up with Daniel because he had "lost the key." 

Suddenly, Zayne moves so fast it has you startled. One moment Daniel was puffing out his chest, the next he is pinned against the wall with Zayne's forearm bracing against his windpipe. 

'The key,' Zayne demands. Daniel wheezes, unable to breathe properly, but his eyes are full of malice as he throws the key to the floor. Zayne lets him go the second the key hits the floor. No need for useless violence. 'Now leave.' 

Daniel huffs. 'Enjoy my sloppy seconds, doctor. She's good at playing house until she gets bored.' 

The door slams closed and then there's just silence between you and Zayne. 

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[ccupidzbvnni]

ranch hand

summary: You struggle to shake your guilt about Ben. Despite a relaxing beach day, he interrupts, reminding you that he has a, quite literal, grip on your life. warnings: possessive ben!!!, language, just ben in general, petnames as always, religious themes once again word count: 2.6k authors note: okay, i modeled their ranch after the ranches near the beach where i live, i promise that the fact that reader lives on a ranch and can drive to the beach within 20 min is possible!!! also, i am so sorry, guys, james and reader are like weirdly intimate i modeled this after a friendship i had, i need some macho man tension later on in the story i am rubbing my hands together evilly

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The next morning is beautiful: birds chirping, sun kissing your skin, warm and golden.

The peace doesn’t last long. Clara bursts through your door and jumps on top of you with incredible force. The groan that escapes you is anything but ladylike.

“How’s your hangover, babe?” she giggles, flopping down next to you and brushing your hair out of your face. You can only grunt in response, not even opening your eyes. “We do gotta get those teeth brushed though,” she adds, lying fully down with you.

“Later, sleep now,” you mumble. Before she can reply, your door swings open again. James and Nick stumble in, both looking like death warmed over.

“Move over,” James mutters, nudging your arm. You scoot over, pressing closer to the middle of the bed. Clara shifts, too, making room on the other side for Nick.

The four of you have been doing this for years, sharing beds, drinks, and food without a second thought. Sleep comes quickly, all of you tangled in warmth and familiarity.

You listen to their breathing, their heartbeats, and the occasional soft snore. But your breath won’t even out. Your heart won’t slow down. Ben’s voice swims through your head: ‘Ya gettin’ all soft on me now, little girl?’

You squeeze your eyes shut, like that’ll be enough to keep him out.

Hours later, your hangovers are gone enough for you to brush your teeth and prepare food. You avoid the mirror while you get ready. Your reflection feels too loud, too revealing, like it knows what you did last night.

When you make your way down to the kitchen with your friends, Clara catches your demeanor. “Y’okay?” she asks, rubbing your back while you sit on the counter. You nod, not trusting your voice, knowing your guilt will seep its way into your words.

“Thought y’all were gonna sleep forever!” Your dad’s booming voice fills the space. He walks up to you, hugging you while you kiss his cheek, “Mornin’ bug.”

The previous quiet chatter becomes loud, your friends passing food around and joking with your dad. The noise, the love, the food; they soften the sharp edge of your guilt. You take a bite, and it almost tastes normal.

“I know you need food after last night,” Nick had whispered to you when he handed you a plate with a soft smile.

You love your friends. What would you do without people who care so deeply for you, without having to beg?

“Ben’s fixin’ to do your chores for ya’ from now on, chickabiddy,” your dad calls out casually, tugging on his boots in the foyer.

Your smile drops, and you rush to him, ignoring your friends, “What? Why?”

“I reckon I ain't sure. Kept naggin’ me for it, and I figured you’d be grateful. Now you can just rise n’ shine, go about your business.”

You force a smile, but your stomach flips. Nagging?

“Don’t go forgettin’ yer’ manners. Best thank ‘im when ya’ see ‘im,” he says, pointing at you with a grin. “Alrighty, I'm headin' to the pastures. I love ya’, holler at me what yer fixin' to do today,” your dad adds, kissing your head before walking out the door.

Your heart drops. Ben’s making sure you can’t ignore him. Not now. Not anymore. The silence your dad leaves behind is louder than any noise before.

When you walk back into the kitchen, your friends are already mid-argument: lake day or beach day.

You chime in, voting for the latter, though you’re only half listening. With your approval, dishes get scraped and tossed, batter thrown in the trash. Your friends are already racing upstairs to change.

You follow behind, not in any real hurry.

Once in your room, you dig through your bathing suits. They all feel like too much, or maybe not enough.

With a quiet groan, you slip one on anyway, keeping your eyes off the mirror. The shame creeps in as your hands linger on your sides, your stomach. All the skin that’s suddenly too loud.

You throw on an oversized t-shirt, tugging the hem down too far, like it might cover more than just your body. Then you gather your things: sunglasses, hair ties, a brush, and shorts. Just the essentials.

James calls your name from one of the guest rooms. You follow the sound, trying to focus on his voice instead of your thoughts. When you knock, he opens the door and steps aside to let you in, shutting it quietly behind you.

“You okay?” he asks, more serious than before. His hand lands gently on your shoulder. “Like, actually okay?”

You blink, head tilted, like you don’t know what he means. Maybe you really don’t.

“C’mon,” he says, arms spreading. “You got wasted last night. And... I don’t think I’ve seen you wear your cross necklace in days.”

Your stomach tightens. You look away. “I just keep forgetting,” you mumble, shrugging like it’s nothing.

But it’s not nothing, and James knows it. He doesn’t press, just watches, like he can see inside your soul. “That’s not something you forget,” he says eventually. Not accusing, merely stating a fact.

You shrug, not looking up. “I just needed some space from… all of it.”

He furrows his brow, rubbing your arms, “From what?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the slam of a door and Clara yelling from downstairs cuts in: “You guys comin’ or what? Beach waits for no one!”

You exhale, not even realizing you were holding your breath.

“You good?” James asks again, quieter this time.

“Yeah,” you lie. “I’m good.”

He doesn’t believe you, but he nods anyway. On the way downstairs, James pauses at the linen closet, grabbing as many beach towels as he can carry; he knows you and Clara never use just one.

At the truck, you help James load the towels, bags, and snacks into the backseat.

Nick and Clara toss chairs and the tent into the bed while you step away, scanning the clearing for a cooler.

Knowing James, he probably isn’t drinking today. You’re not either.

When the trees break and the clearing comes into view, you see him.

Ben stands alone, trash bag in hand, cleaning up your mess.

You step into the clearing, studying him silently.

“Don’t gotta worry ‘bout them chores today,” he says casually, brushing dirt off his hands and glancing at you, like he could tell it was you. “Got ‘em covered.”

Your throat tightens, but you nod anyway. “Thanks.”

Ben cocks his head like he didn’t quite hear you. Or like he wants to hear it again.

“Thank you,” you repeat, forcing your voice steady. “For the chores.”

He hums, his cocky smirk growing, like he knows what he’s doing to you. Like he knows exactly what you’re going through. “No need to thank me yet,” he says, stepping closer. “I’m sure you’ll return the favor.”

The tension is immediate, pressing. He’s close enough now that you can see the freckles scattered across his cheekbones. “Yeah. Totally.”

You walk past him, grab the cooler, and start wheeling it back to the truck, his eyes burning into your back the whole way.

The truck comes into view, and it’s like a weight lifts off your shoulders.

“Ice over here!” Nick calls, grabbing your attention.

The smile that sneaks onto your face comes without effort, loosening something tight in your chest. For a second, you feel okay.

You pass the cooler off to Nick, who starts loading it with ice and drinks.

Clara pipes up, insisting that the rest of what she brought last night go in too, and Nick just nods, already used to her demands.

James climbs into the driver’s seat while you slide into the passenger side.

The truck’s engine rumbles to life, James adjusting the radio to find a station you all tolerate. Clara and Nick scramble into the back seat, already huffing and puffing about some argument between them.

You roll your window down, letting the wind steal your breath for a moment. You hope it’ll take your thoughts with it, too. It doesn’t.

Before James can pull out of the driveway, Ben materializes behind the truck and taps twice on the tailgate: one, two. Like he owns it.

He walks up to your open window, voice low and casual: “Have ya’ shared yer’ plans with yer’ daddy yet, little girl?”

You turn to meet his eyes, he stares just a second too long. “I’ll let him know.”

Ben chuckles, like that was the answer he expected. “Atta girl,” he murmurs, ruffling your hair before stepping back.

You stare straight ahead, heart pounding, willing James to peel out of your property. He glances at you, but doesn’t say anything. The truck rolls forward.

You sink into your seat, tugging your phone out of your bag.

‘we settled on beach’ you type. Then, instinctively: ‘leaving now, i love you!!’

Sent.

The twenty-minute drive to the beach is filled with laughter from your friends and whatever half-decent music James finds on the radio.

When you finally pull up, James parks directly on the sand, saying it’ll be easier to clean up that way.

The beach will always be your happy place, laughter and crashing waves filling your senses. The salt air sweeps in, filling your lungs, brushing the edges of everything you’ve been holding onto. Nick dives into the ocean without sunscreen: ‘Just wingin’ it,’ he’d shrugged. You and James argue about the tent and how he’s the one setting it up wrong. Clara lounges on her towel, laughing at both of you but still siding with you in the end. When the tent is set up, you join her, sitting on your towel, knees to your chest, and close your eyes. Everything is shining in the summer.

Later, you and James wade into the ocean, the cold a shock that hits you all at once. You trail behind him, the water pulling gently at your legs, welcoming you.

For the first time in days, you feel clean.

The sun is already low by the time you’re piling back into the truck. The drive home is quiet. Gentle snores fill the truck as you nestle into James’ side, his arm heavy and warm around your shoulders. His fingers weave into your hair without thinking, gentle and sure.

When he finally pulls onto the property, close to the house, Clara and Nick stretch out. They make their way inside, unloading the bed of the truck. While they’re gone, you and James stay in this position. It could’ve been minutes or hours. You don’t check. You just stay like that, ignoring the outside world.

No words are exchanged, just subtle breaths and glances.

Before either of you can move, the passenger door swings open. Ben leans against the open door. “Did ya’ have yerself a good time today, sweetheart?” he drawls, all false sweetness.

You flinch. “What are you doing up? It’s late.”

You rise from James’s side. He gives you a worried look. You offer him a small smile, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave, though you’re not sure which of them you mean.

“Had to make sure ya’ got home safe,” Ben says, gaze locked on you. “Ain’t too sure about this kid gettin’ ya here in one piece.”

He’s too smug. You want to scream. Or disappear.

Still, you scoot closer to him on the seat before you can stop yourself, like your body doesn't get the message your brain’s shouting.

And Ben? He just waits.

You turn to James, forcing a smile. “I’ll catch up with you inside.” The knot in your stomach tightens as you slide out of his truck. When you pass Ben, he rests a hand on your lower back. Like he’s already won.

James hesitates, not quite sure if he should leave you with the older man.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, as if you could read his thoughts.

James nods, reluctantly, and disappears inside, leaving you and Ben waiting outside the truck.

“Let’s take a walk, yeah?” Ben murmurs, his hand still on your back as he nudges you forward.

You stumble, but walk away from the truck, toward the pastures.

“Ben, you don’t get to just… steal me away like this,” you say, arms crossed tight across your chest.

He chuckles, low and dismissive. “That kid ain't got a clue 'bout treatin’ ya right, baby.” Before you can respond, his hand wraps around the nape of your neck, fingers rough and familiar, tilting your face up to meet his eyes.

Your hand flies to his arm, trying to pull away. He tightens his grip in response, not hurting, just firm, keeping you in place.

“I cleaned up yer’ mess,” he says, voice low and almost gentle but edged with something sharp. “Told yer’ daddy I’d take care of ya’. And I did, didn’t I?”

Your jaw clenches. You don’t want to believe him. You swear you don’t. “Let me go,” you whisper, voice shaking, although not from fear or defiance.

Ben chuckles, amused. “I ain’t holdin’ ya’, baby. Yer’ right here all on yer’ own.” His hand trails from your neck to your jaw, squeezing hard enough for you to flinch.

“That boy think he gotta claim on ya’ now?” Ben asks, eyes narrowing. “Just ‘cause ya’ fell asleep on ‘im like a dog in the sun?”

You turn your head. “James is my friend,” you spit at him.

He laughs again, forcing your head back to meet his gaze. “I ain’t stupid, baby. That boy wants ya’, and he ain’t never gonna have ya’. Not as long as I’m here.”

He mutters the last part low, like speaking it into existence will make it true.

Your eyes sting; this is humiliating. You look away, the shame curling in your chest like smoke, thick and choking. You hadn’t meant to cry, not in front of him. But the tears come anyway, hot and quiet.

Ben’s gaze flickers, softening just enough to make it worse. Like he likes seeing this part of you, the cracked, exposed one. Like it justifies something.

You try to step back, wiping your face with the back of your hand, but he doesn’t let you go far.

He grabs the back of your head again, not roughly, but insistent, and pulls you into his chest. His other arm wraps tight around your shoulders like a net.

“None’a that, sweet girl,” he mutters into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp as your tears fall freely.

And you let him hold you.

You let him soothe you, even though you shouldn’t.

When you finally pull back, his hands move to your face, thumbs brushing away the tears like he has a right to them.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, Ben,” you admit, voice cracking on the exhale.

His smile is soft, too soft. “Ya’ ain't gotta know no more, baby. Ain't no need to think. Let me handle that for ya’.”

He kisses the top of your head like it’s a promise.

The porch light flickers on in the distance. Your head snaps toward it. Ben sighs, low, almost disappointed, but his eyes never leave you. His hands drop from your face, just for a moment.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmurs. Then his hand returns, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek with startling tenderness.

“Don’t forget who’s lookin’ out for ya,” he adds, voice just above a whisper. “Ain’t no one else gonna do it right,” he adds, like he owns you.

He lets go. And just like that, you’re left standing in the dark, conflicted.

ranch hand tag list @suckitands33 @classackles @jacklesluvr let me know if you want to be tagged when i post another chapter!!

[lozeyart]

I've been thinking of Usagi-san's perspective, especially during the early stages of his relationship with Misaki.

Anyway, I wrote from Usagi-san's point of view when he first kissed Misaki after finding out about Takahiro's engagement.

If you'd prefer to read this on archive of our own, here's the link!

(I took the dialogue from the official English translation of the manga and I tried to keep it as canon as possible. Sprinkled in some Easter Eggs for readers of the later novels)

Enjoy! (I did edit this a bit and added a tiiiiny bit more! If you read it already and wanna give it a reread, go ahead!)

---------

Takahiro was engaged. He wanted me to be the first to meet her. How wonderful, how absolutely, wonderfully cruel. Takahiro wasn’t cruel, he didn’t have a hateful bone in his body, no, never him. But I could just imagine how the universe was laughing at me now. Look at this man, how long he’s loved his best friend, how painful it’s already been! Let’s pull the final trigger, shoot him in the heart, and then watch him as he forces himself to be happy for him. That’s how I thought of it, anyway.

But before I could even register how horribly my heart had shattered, Misaki had grabbed my hand and was pulling me out of the apartment, down the street, away from all of this.

And there he was, crying his eyes out, like a pathetic brat. 

But he was crying for me. He even apologized. 

I knew he was crying for me even before I asked. Why else would he have pulled me out of Takahiro’s apartment with such a stupid lie as needing more alcohol? We had bought plenty for Takahiro’s birthday, because I knew how much he would drink. Because I knew Takahiro like the back of my hand. 

But Takahiro didn’t know me. Not really, not like I wanted him to. I knew I was showing Takahiro the more idealized version of myself, the version that I wanted him to fall in love with. But of course, he never did. As much as I loved Takahiro, and as much as he meant to me, he could never be mine. Takahiro was always honest with me, but I’ve never been honest with him in the same way. He didn’t see the bad side of me, the rotten, broken side of me. I never let him, how could I? Despite how close I was with Takahiro, I was always on edge. There was a certain stress that came with being around him. Always in the back of my mind I thought, “What if he finds out?” so I hid all of it, lived in a suspended state of absolute misery, all for Takahiro… And the worst part? I could never blame him for it. 

But Misaki saw that side, that horrible, messy side of me. I was myself around Misaki, and he was the same with me, I realized. I was comfortable around him in a way that I never was with Takahiro. From the moment I met Misaki, I was my true self. I didn’t care how Takahiro’s little brother saw me. He wasn’t Takahiro, after all, not even close. 

Not even close. 

I had thought Misaki was an idiot, especially after going over his homework and tutoring him. But now… He wasn’t stupid, not entirely. He wasn’t good at school, but he wasn’t stupid. He was loud, impulsive, annoying, naive, caring, perceptive, attentive. He cooked me dinner after seeing the state of my fridge, he made me fresh lunches every Monday to last me the week, he cleaned my condo for me, took me shopping with him so that I had proper food in my home. Misaki worked tirelessly at anything, even if he wasn’t good at it, just to prove that he could do it. Without even realizing it, Misaki had wormed his way into my life. He saw all of me, and instead of running, he shoved his way past me, stamped his foot and stubbornly refused to leave, demanding to take up space. And I let him. 

And here he was, crying and shouting in the middle of the street for my broken heart. How pathetic, how heartbreakingly beautiful. To be seen like this. To be known like this. 

“This is the first time in my life I ever felt like punching him!” Misaki sobbed into his arm, and I couldn’t help but smile. I exhaled through my nose. 

“Your weeping is revolting.” I told him, testing him, trying to confirm what I already knew. “Look at you. Your face is a mess.”

“I’m crying for you!” Misaki sobbed loudly, “You big jerk!” 

I smiled despite myself.

“And o-o-once I s-s-s-start crying, I can’t stop! Even if I want to!” 

“Is that so?” I murmured, my voice a quiet calm compared to his hysterical crying. And despite my broken heart, despite it all, I thought, oh, he’s the one… 

And so I kissed him. I kissed him because he was there, because he knew who I truly was, because I wanted to, because I was selfish. And there was this little voice inside my head, telling me that I shouldn’t betray loving Takahiro like this, especially with his little brother. How could I? After all these years? I had loved Takahiro for so long… And what would Misaki do? Would he push me away, scream at me, run and tell Takahiro everything? 

But Misaki surprised me instead. He clung to me with one hand, kissed me back, and I could feel how much he was trembling in my arms as I held him to me, and oh. Oh. How I’ve wanted this, didn’t even realize how badly I’ve been wanting this for god knows how long. His mouth against mine, his warm body, the taste of him as my tongue licked its way past his swollen lips. 

Six months I had been craving this man in my arms and I didn’t even know it. I did know it, but I refused to acknowledge it. I wanted to bite his lip, run my fingers through his hair, do things to him that required a bed and a lot less clothing. 

I could hold him here forever, I thought. Blissfully kissing this young man, tasting him, living in my own little world where it was just him and me, kissing in the snow. But I didn’t want to push my luck, and my overwhelming and conflicting emotions were threatening to swallow me whole as it was already.

I broke the kiss, Misaki’s tongue chasing after mine, and I smiled knowing that he had enjoyed the kiss just as much as I did. He was no longer crying, though his face was so red and his eyes so wide with shock that I couldn’t help but chuckle at the ridiculous look on his face. 

“Hah! You stopped.” I teased him quietly, his burning face in my hands. But my laughter was short lived. I was so tired, so unbelievably tired. I fell into him a little, my forehead resting on his shoulder. Our height difference was a bit awkward as I stooped to lean against him, but I didn’t care, I needed this more than I cared to admit. “Sorry. Just let me stay like this for a bit...” 

There was a brief silence, one where Misaki’s trembling hands clenched and unclenched my coat before his arms finally circled around me and clutched at my back. My heart pounded in my chest when he did so. I prayed he didn’t hear it. 

“U- Usagi-san?” His voice was a low, nervous whisper, “You can cry… If you want to.”

I huffed a laugh, “Don’t be stupid. You’re far too young to be talking to me that way, you brat.” I scolded him weakly, but there was no heat behind my words. I held him close to me, the warmth of his body my anchor to this whole, stupid thing. 

“I’ll only say this once, so listen up. Except for the moment of my birth, I’ve never cried in front of anyone.” I said, smiling softly as I spoke. “But I guess you’re an exception.” And there I felt them, the tears I’d been holding back, threatening to choke me. I buried my face into his shoulder, “I’d never let anyone else see me looking so pathetic, except for you.” 

It was my turn to cling to him. It was his turn to hold me. Look at me, twenty eight years old and crying on the shoulder of a boy I had only known for six months. 

I found that I didn’t care. Because for the first time in years, I felt safe to do so. Misaki wouldn’t judge me for this moment of weakness. He rested his hand on my head, tentatively, nervously, before slowly stroking my hair. I was trembling, I knew I was, but Misaki didn’t say another word, even when he started to cry again. He just held me, pulled me closer to him, and my heart ached at the tenderness that he treated me with. He cared about me in ways I’m sure he’d never admit to himself, but I saw through it all. Misaki was honest to a fault. If he didn’t feel the same way about me, he wouldn’t have brought me out here, wouldn’t be holding me like this. He wouldn’t have kissed me back. 

Could I actually have this? Have him? Could I be happy, finally, after all these years? I wanted Misaki. He was here, with me, holding me to him as I cried on his shoulder. He hadn’t even grabbed a jacket when he pulled me outside, and now it was snowing all around us. How stupid of him.

How stupid of me. 

I loved him.

[raven-6-10]

Part 5, at last!

Aka The Crazy Rich Antivans

@zombiefishgirl @lurkeymclurker @justyoureaveragespider-manfan

***

"I keep forgetting how ridiculously rich your family is," comes out of Stella's mouth when they finally, after good hour of wandering the streets, stand before their soon-to-be home. "I think, no, I know this house is bigger than some of the princely estates in this city."

"It's not that bad," Illario tries to deny insincerely.

It is that bad.

Because yes, the house is wide, even more so for Treviso where most of the buildings have much narrower facades. It's also tall, with high foundations - no doubt so the basement is not constantly at risk of flooding due to ground water - and four floors. And that's not counting the attic space that's going to be hidden under that steep roof; Illario can see the small, carefully disguised windows here and there.

There's even an actual garden in front of the house, behind a low metal fence worked into fancy shapes. Not much in the garden at the moment; only the wisteria determinedly climbing the stuccoed walls and some carefully trimmed hedges. Still, it is more than most in this city can afford.

Alright, fine, it is ridiculous! But that doesn't mean Stella has to look at him like that.

"Well then, wife," he says finally, "shall we go inside and see how much more ridiculous it can get?"

"Yes, let's," she says with a small, knowing smile in his direction. The smile turns bigger when he lets her through the gate and leads her down the paved path towards the front door. Which opens before they even get to it, proving that yes, whoever Caterina had sent to clean the house has been waiting for them.

"Welcome, señor and señora Dellamorte," says the middle-aged man in a Dellamorte livery. He steps aside to let them inside. "My name is Enrique Amapola. I have been responsible for this townhouse for the last twelve years, ever since my predecessor retired." The front hall is a hub of activity, with people coming and going in and out of rooms and up and down the grand staircase in the middle. "I must say, it will be nice to have more to do than just arranging for the gardens to be tended and the occasional repairs."

Yes, Illario can see how that might have gotten boring after a while. With the house closed up and not even a skeleton staff staying, there was no need for anything more than the very basics of upkeep. The occasional party would have hardly warranted more than the ground floor and maybe the first floor being opened for the guests.

Now though. Now, there are people with piles of old sheets in their arms, sheets that were used to cover the furniture and now need laundering to get rid of the dust. There are maids dusting every wall and chandelier in range with long feather dusters. There are servants polishing the furniture and others who are sweeping the floors and other still who are carrying all those cleaning implements further into the house. Illario thinks he can hear hammering from somewhere upstairs.

Stella takes all of this controlled chaos of the front hall in, then turns to the housekeeper.

"Señor Amapola," she starts, "would it be possible to tour the house now without us interfering with the work too much? I would like to see what we have already here, before deciding if any changes should be made.

"Especially in regards to bringing in new furniture," she adds with a smile. "No sense in packing my husband's entire villa if what we have here is perfectly acceptable." As opposed to only most of it, seeing as Illario's going to move to Treviso for the next two years.

"It will not be at all a problem, señora. If you would please follow me this way," he says as he walks towards the door to the right of the entrance, Stella and Illario after him.

What follows is a parade of rooms, big and small, in various states of readiness for habitation. There are three different public parlours on the ground floor alone, each one done in a different style and colours, and with a different arrangement of seatings on offer. There's a public office where they might conduct official business meetings. There's a dinning room for small and intimate gatherings and a banquet hall for bigger occasions, and an actual ballroom for if they ever feel the need to host dances here.

The ballroom is two stories tall and, Illario suspects, had been added to the house long after the initial construction. The ceiling is layered in moulded bronze to better reflect the light of chandeliers onto the dancefloor. The support columns half- sunk in the walls - as wide as his shoulders - are also covered in beautifully moulded metal designs of crows, feathers and foliage. The spaces in between them are decorated with actual frescoes, like the ancient elvhen used to make. Illario has no idea where Caterina found somebody actually familiar with the techniques required to paint those.

There are three pairs of doors at the far end the ballroom, leading onto a terrace, with high windows continuing above them. All made in the Orlesian style, with clear panels of float glass, so there's nothing blocking the view of the back gardens. Which will be undergoing some serious renovations, going by what he can hear of Stella's words as she speaks to the gardener that Amapola has called over for her.

The man himself is making notes in a small booklet he pulled from a pocket and has been doing so since the first room they saw.

Illario plans to let Stella do as she wishes with the garden; she knows more about plants - aesthetic and not - than he. He will only intervene if it looks like the changes interfere with the security for the back gate and the small gondola dock beyond it. Though, he doubts that it will be necessary.

Stella's voice goes silent behind him then she appears at his elbow.

"Deep thoughts?"

"Not particularly," he answers. "Do you think we could get some fruit trees?"

Stella gives him a look that says she knows he's full of bullshit but she's not going to press the point.

"I don't see any reason why not," is what she actually says. "Blood oranges should be doable, as should be lemons. The gardeners will need to coppice them so they don't grow too big, though."

Illario only hums in reply. Then they're off to continue this tour.

The next floor is only slightly less lavish than the previous one and that's because it's for their private use. Still, there's a library with comfortable armchairs and sofas, a writing desk and so many empty bookshelves. There are private offices for sensitive work and a private dining room that's just for the family. There's a drawing room where they can relax after a long day. There's a music room with a grand piano; Illario makes a note to get in a professional to look at it.

The second floor is all private suites for family. Each one comes with a small sitting room, a dressing room, an ensuite washroom and a bedroom. The bedframes are all empty so they will need to source featherbeds for them. Hopefully beddings and curtains are in a storage somewhere. Still.

"I will be bringing my own bed and the like from my current residence," says Illario when they look into the Master's suite. "This one can go into the storage."

"I will pass the instructions along, señor," says the housekeeper. And then they're off to continue the tour.

At the end of the hallway furthest from any staircases, there is a separate wing behind a closed door. Inside are what are obviously supposed to be, going by the softer colours and patterns, rooms for children.

There's a nursery, with a meadow full of animals painted on the walls and a night sky lovingly detailed on the ceiling, but no actual furniture. There are bedrooms for older children and for their nannies. There's a playroom with big windows that give a great view of the gardens. There's even what Illario tentatively thinks might be a schoolroom, going by the small chalkboard on one of the walls.

Stella requests that they all be cleaned but for nothing else to be done.

"I think we should all take a break," Illario says at that point. When they both turn to look at him, he adds, "it's almost a lunchtime. We could all use a break for some food, I think."

"You are right," says Stella. "Señor Amapola, would it be possible for us to use one of the rooms on the ground floor?" she asks their guide. "Oh, and can we borrow a few of the workers to send out for food? We will give them coin to buy enough for everyone, of course. Since they worked so hard today," she adds with the gentle smile that regularly had people bending to her whims.

Now is no different.

Within a quarter of an hour, the workers have been sent to bring food and the three of them - Stella, Illario and Señor Amapola - are seated in the dining room over a battered pot of coffee that appeared at some point. They keep going over the notes the housekeeper has made over the course of their tour. There's a lot of issues that need discussing. There are the repairs to be made and the potential renovations, and where to source all the materials, and in what order undertake them. Then there are things like bringing in soft furnishings and decorations, and arranging for regular deliveries of foodstuffs, and hiring people or moving them around from other properties to take care of it all.

Moving Illario's things and closing up the countryside villa will need to be arranged soon. Probably within this week. Stella at least has her things here in the city already. Though, Illario has no idea if she plans to move any of her more exotic plants out here. Maybe she will leave them in the laboratory she has in the de Riva building?

By the time they are through their list, the coffee pot is empty and the workers have just come back with lunch. Which seems to be three boxes of small savory pies - easily over thirty to a box, did they buy out an entire bakery? - as well as a couple of crates of blood oranges. Not the most sophisticated of meals but it is filling and, more importantly, can be eaten without any cutlery. Even if the servants insist on eating in their hall in the basement, while Illario and Stella stay in the dining room.

"So, shall we continue this tour?" Illario asks the housekeeper when all the crumbs, peels and boxes has been cleaned. "We've yet to see the orangery, after all."

"Of course, señor, señora," is the answer. "The roof entrance is through the northern staircase."

Because obviously a place this big needs more than one set of stairs for moving around. The marble staircase in the front hall only leads to the first floor. The second one could be accessed by two different staircases, in the northern and southern wings of the house, but evidently only one of those led to the rooftop.

Then there were the stairs for servants specifically, of which Illario has counted three, although only one of them - the southernmost one - leads to the bedrooms. He is willing to bet it was also the only one leading all the way from the workrooms in the basement to the servant quarters on the third floor.

Illario has a sneaking suspicion that the southern staircase in the family rooms might actually extend all the way to the attic that this house officially does not have. Even if the entrance is hidden well enough that a passing guest would never notice it.

Still, though, that is something for later, for when there aren't people crowding underfoot as they clean the entire building. He can come back later alone. Wait, no. He needs to take Stella, damn. They can come back later and check out that staircase together. Once it's properly dark and the work is done for the today.

For now, the orangery.

Which is very nicely set up, with walls that are bricked to about chest-height, then they turn into glass mounted in metal fittings. Some of those seem to be actual windows that can be opened to allow for fresh air. There are pipes mounted to the walls, with faucets at regular intervals. The pots and raised planters of various sizes and shapes are regrettably empty of any actual plants, as is the - currently dry - tiered pond. Still, he is sure Stella already has plans for all of them, going by how she is looking at everything with a calculating eye.

"Would it be possible to divide the space?" she asks.

See? Definitely planning something.

"Divide, señora?"

"Yes, divide," Stella says in a matter of fact tone. "With glass walls, preferably, so as to not obscure the light. I want a separate room for some of my more finicky plants. They cannot be kept with the rest, they need specialist care to thrive."

Considering that the orangery is taking up space over the entire northern wing, she could potentially have several different rooms in here, without it feeling cramped at all. Each of them with different humidity and temperature levels even, provided the runic arrays Illario could see on the walls were flexible enough to allow for such precision.

"I do not know, señora," Amapola finally answers her. "I would need to consult the people who maintain the orangery. They are the ones with the expertise to say."

"Please do so." Oh my, that was unusually curt. She must really want those separate rooms. "And do let them know that the door to the smaller room will need to have locks installed, so that nobody could wander in there by accident."

Illario has a feeling he knows where Stella will be moving her poison plants. That would definitely explain the need for locks. Seeing as some of those plants weren't safe to breathe near.

"In fact, once the orangery is set up, I will be taking care of it personally," his friend continues. "I do like to garden in my free time. I find it relaxing."

Yup, poison plants. Well, potentially also medicinal plants or magical plants - he knows Stella does - did? - a lot of brewing in her free time. But still, not something that just anyone could be allowed to access unsupervised.

"Yes, señora."

And that's that.

@zombiefishgirl

Here comes the promised part!

***

The pillow smells like rosemary and lavender.

That. That's not right.

Illario turns his face to take a look around the room and realises in quick succession that:

One, this is not his room in his countryside mansion. It's not even the guest room he usually stays in when imposing on Lucanis.

Two, this is in fact Stella's room with its walls of white plaster and ochre tiles, furniture made from golden brown wood and the leaf-green and berry-pink comforter and pillows. There's a very thick linen curtain - more of a sheet, really - hanging over the window, blocking most the morning sun and leaving the room pleasantly dim.

And three, Stella herself is sitting in a chemise on a stool on the other side of the room. Her curls are loosely pilled up on top of her head and pinned in place, leaving her neck bare. There are clean stockings lying on the dressing table next to her elbow and she is currently tying a garter above her left knee. The second one is already tied on her other leg.

"... good morning."

"Morning," she replies, not looking up from her leg. "There should still be warm water left if you want to have a stand-wash; not enough for a full bath, I'm afraid" - a half-turn to grab the stockings and start pulling them on her legs - "and Caterina has sent a couple of servants over with your travel chest half an hour ago. It's in the main room next to the chaise." - a quick look at him, then back to her clothing - "Do you think she had us followed or is it just the gossips at work?"

Illario valiantly marshalls his brain before he had his fill of coffee.

"Probably had a fledgling tail us." Because Maker knows she always has somebody trailing after him and Lucanis around the city whenever they're not in the Villa. Some of those tails are more stealthy than the others but that doesn't make the persistent itch of watched you are watched any less annoying. Illario will never admit it out loud but the main reason he moved out of Treviso was to escape Caterina's reach.

It's even odds if he actually managed that.

Stella makes a humming noise of acknowledgement in her throat but doesn't turn to look at him again. Instead, she stands, walks over to her wardrobe and grabs the cream-coloured shirt already hanging from a little hook on the inside of the open door.

Illario makes to dig himself out of the tangle of linen sheets - silk sheets sound nice only until you have experienced the Antivan summer - even as Stella pulls on the - loose-sleeved and very sensibly linen but for some Maker-forsaken reason still a high-collared - shirt and starts buttoning it up.

That's a lot of very tiny buttons but her fingers work them deftly.

"I should get you a ring."

It takes him a moment to realise he's the one to speak. Oh, and Stella is staring at him now. Still, though.

"We are married, so you should have a ring. I should get you one. Since we're supposed to be in love." She doesn't need to stare like that, really.

"That's a good idea, actually," she finally admits. "An heirloom one or something new?"

Illario pulls a face.

"A new one." He has no idea where his mother's ring went - maybe Alli made off with it? She did take most of their mother's jewellery with her when she had married - and, quite frankly, he doesn't care to find out. He doesn't want any reminders of his parents' marriage. "We can look around today while we're getting breakfast. And the Golden Alley is on the way to the townhouse." Technically, the alley has a different name but everyone calls it the Golden Alley, because it's full of shops offering gold jewellery and workshops of goldsmiths. He thinks there's even a weaver working with gold-cloth there.

"A ring-shopping for after breakfast, then." Stella sends him a quick smile then turns to dig through one of the drawers. Probably for a pair of breeches.

Illario finally manages to free his legs and stands up from the bed. The floor tiles are cold under his bare feet, which at least wakes him up a little. He drags a hand over his face to chase the last of sleep away and moves to the door for the main room. He needs to grab fresh clothes and a towel if he is to wash.

And his shaving kit, too. His cheeks are feeling scratchy right now.

...

He needs to write to Alli about his marriage, doesn't he? Before she learns about it from her own contacts.

Ah, fuck.

[blue-eli]

Realised it’s @khoc-week so even though I don’t have the energy to do it daily have this I did a while ago but never posted.

Arxeht my beloved. They came to me in a dream where I was a replica (of multiple people but looked most like Vidar) made by apprentice Nort/Xemnas, who was the fifteenth member of the organisation and also had my knowledge of hit video games Kingdom Hearts and kept getting randomly thrown through space and time.

[ghoul--doodle]

Struggling to get the adhd to cooperate with me at work today

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

why does everything have to be a hecking issue with my sister

[idkhowtopickausername]

I’ve really not been functioning well mentally lately 😔

[jonnywaistcoat]

I low-key love the fact that sci-fi has so conditioned us to expect to be hanging out with a bunch of cool space aliens, that legitimate, actual scientists keep proposing the most bizarre, three-blunts-into-the-rotation "theories" to explain the fact we're not.

Some of my favourites include:

Zoo Theory: What if there are loads of aliens out there, but they're not talking to us because of the Prime Directive from Star Trek? (Or because they're doing experiments on us???)

Dark Forest Theory: What if there are loads of aliens out there, but they all hate us and each other so they're all just waiting with a shotgun pointed at the door, ready to open fire on anything that moves?

Planetarium Theory: What if there's at least one alien with mastery over light and matter that's just making it seem to us that the universe is empty to us as, like, a joke?

Berserker Theory: What if there were loads of aliens, but one of them made infinite killer robots that murdered everyone and are coming for us next?!!

Like, the universe is at least 13,700,000,000 years old and 46,000,000,000 light years big. We have had the ability to transmit and receive signals for, what, 100 years, and our signals have so far travelled 200 light years?

The fact is biological life almost certainly has, does, or will develop elsewhere in the universe, and it's not impossible that a tiny amount of it has, does, or will develop in a way that we would understand as "intelligent". But, like, we're realistically never going to know because of the scale of the things involved.

So I'm proposing my own hypothesis. I call it the "Fool in a Field" hypothesis. It goes like this:

Humanity is a guy standing in the middle of a field at midnight. It's pitch black, he can't move, and he's been standing there for ages. He's just had the thought to swing his arms. He swings one of his arms, once, and does not hit another person. "Oh no!" He says. "Robots have killed them all!"

[solaceseven]

breath of fresh air

you storm out in the middle of an argument. featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - the second you stormed out, gojo was right behind you.

you heard his footsteps almost immediately, quick and determined. of course, he wasn’t going to just let you go—not without a fight.

“leave me alone, gojo,” you snapped over your shoulder, picking up your pace.

“nope.”

you groaned. “i need space.”

“i need you to not walk around alone at night,” he countered, effortlessly keeping up.

you whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “i can protect myself.”

gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know you can. you’re strong, way too strong for me, honestly—i think about it all the time, actually, how you could probably throw me into the sun if you really tried—”

“gojo.”

“right, right, focus.” he exhaled. “i know you can handle yourself. that’s not the point. i just—please, come back home.”

you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. gojo loved your stubbornness—adored it, actually. but right now, he just wished you’d listen to him.

when you didn’t say anything, he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “come on—don’t make me get on my knees.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“oh, i would. right here. in the middle of the street.”

you rolled your eyes, turning to keep walking. when you finally took in your surroundings. without even realizing it, you’d walked all the way to a 7-eleven.

gojo followed your gaze, then brightened immediately. “oh? a sign from the heavens?” he turned to you with a grin. “ramen?”

you sighed, and gojo, ever the opportunist, pressed on. “my treat.”

“you always pay,” you deadpanned.

“exactly! so, technically, i didn’t even have to say that—but i did, because i’m a generous and loving boyfriend.”

you exhaled, shaking your head. “…yeah, okay.”

gojo beamed like you had just accepted a marriage proposal. “knew you couldn’t resist me.”

you shot him a glare, but he just threw an arm around your shoulder, steering you inside like you hadn’t just been arguing minutes ago.

as he grabbed entirely too many snacks, sneaking extras into your basket with a shit-eating grin, you felt the weight in your chest ease just a little.

you weren’t done being mad at him—not completely. but as he stood beside you at the register, arms full of junk food, nudging you with his elbow like a lovesick fool, you realized—

yeah. you’d be okay.

GETO - suguru doesn’t stop you.

not because he doesn’t care—no, quite the opposite. he watches as you grab your coat, as you storm out, and he lets you go. he knows you need space, and he respects that.

but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to find you.

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking, the frustration from your argument still lingering, but eventually, you find yourself stopping by a quiet street corner. you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to steady your thoughts—

and then you hear it. a smooth, familiar voice from behind you.

“you’re really making me work for it tonight, huh?”

you whip around, only to see geto standing there, hands tucked casually into his sleeves, watching you with that unreadable expression of his.

you glare. “how did you even find me?”

he tilts his head, amused. “you’re predictable.”

you huff, crossing your arms. “if you’re here to drag me home, don’t bother.”

geto steps closer, slow and easy. “i’m not dragging you anywhere.”

you raise an eyebrow. “then what do you want?”

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “you’re upset. i get it. but you know i hate leaving things like this.” he steps beside you, hands still tucked into his sleeves. “so, i figured i’d come find you.”

you don’t answer right away, staring at the ground. then, without warning, your eyes begin to sting. you blink rapidly, willing the tears away, but it’s too late—geto sees it instantly.

his expression shifts, the tension in his shoulders vanishing in an instant. before you can turn away, he’s already in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks with the kind of gentleness that makes your chest ache.

“hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to him. “don’t cry.” his thumbs brush lightly under your eyes, catching the first traces of tears. “look at me.”

you do, even though it only makes your throat feel tighter.

his brows furrow, guilt flashing across his face. “i’m sorry, okay?” his voice is soft, sincere. “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you swallow hard, blinking up at him. “…you were being an ass.”

a small, breathy chuckle leaves him. “yeah,” he admits. “i was.”

you sniff, and he immediately wipes away another tear before it can fall, his touch warm and steady. “but i didn’t mean to be,” he continues. “you know that, right?”

you nod.

geto exhales, relief evident in his expression. his hands don’t leave your face, his thumbs still tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“come home?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you glance away, mumbling, “still mad.”

“i know.” his lips quirk into a small smile. “you can be mad at me at home, too.”

a pause. then, finally—

“okay.”

he doesn’t say anything, just lets his forehead rest lightly against yours for a moment before taking your hand in his, squeezing it once before leading you back home.

NANAMI - the argument had left a bitter weight in your chest, one that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you wanted to. the walls of your shared home felt too tight, too suffocating, so you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed your coat and walked out.

you didn’t have a destination in mind, just the simple need to move, to put some distance between you and the words that had been thrown too carelessly.

at first, you thought you were alone. but then, a few blocks in, you heard it—steady, familiar footsteps trailing behind you.

you sighed. “kento.”

a pause. “hm?”

you turned slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder. sure enough, he was there. hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, but present nonetheless. he didn’t try to walk beside you, didn’t call your name or tell you to come home—he was just there.

“you don’t have to follow me,” you muttered.

nanami exhaled slowly, adjusting his tie as he kept his pace behind you. “i know.”

and yet, he didn’t stop.

you didn’t push him away, either.

the night air was crisp, the streets quiet save for the occasional car passing by. you walked, and he followed. neither of you spoke. the argument still lingered between you, raw and unhealed, but for some reason, his quiet presence made it easier to breathe.

eventually, your feet carried you to the park. it was empty this late, just dimly lit by a few scattered streetlights. you found yourself heading toward the swing set, your steps slowing as you lowered yourself onto one of the swings. the chains creaked slightly under your weight.

nanami hesitated for only a second before taking the swing next to you. he didn’t say anything, just sat there, hands resting on his thighs, eyes fixed ahead.

the silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just… there.

after a long moment, you broke it.

“we’re going to be okay, right?” your voice was quieter than you intended, but you didn’t correct it.

nanami didn’t answer immediately. he let out a slow breath.

“yeah,” he said, firm, certain. “we’re going to be okay.”

and for the first time since the argument, you let yourself believe it.

SUKUNA - the door had barely swung shut before you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

you had barely made it down the front steps when a clawed hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you to a stop.

sukuna’s grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm—unrelenting. “where do you think you’re going?” his voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

you didn’t turn to face him. “i need to cool off.”

his fingers twitched against your skin. “tch. you can cool off inside.”

you exhaled sharply, attempting to pull away, but he didn’t let you. his grip remained steady, grounding. “i don’t want to be inside right now, sukuna.”

“and i don’t want you wandering off alone.”

you finally turned, eyes burning with frustration. “i can take care of myself.”

his expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his crimson gaze. “i know you can.” his tone softened, just barely. “that’s not the point.”

silence settled between you, tense and heavy. the night air was cool against your skin, the world around you quiet. your breathing was uneven, your heart still pounding from the argument. you wanted to be stubborn, to keep walking just to prove a point.

but sukuna didn’t let go.

for a long moment, he just looked at you. not with anger, not with amusement—just quiet, unreadable intensity. and then, after a sigh that sounded almost reluctant, his grip loosened. his hand slid down to take yours, fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt less like restraint and more like holding on.

“come back inside,” he muttered. his voice wasn’t commanding, not like before. it was something else. something almost pleading.

you hesitated, still upset, still wanting to fight. but his hand was warm, solid, there. the fight had drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

after a long pause, you sighed, giving his fingers a small squeeze before turning back toward the house.

sukuna didn’t say anything, just followed beside you, his hand never leaving yours. when you stepped inside, he made sure the door was locked behind you, his movements slow, deliberate. neither of you spoke as he guided you toward the bedroom, the silence no longer suffocating but something quieter, softer.

the argument wasn’t over. you weren’t ready to let it go. but as sukuna’s grip lingered, steady and sure, you knew—

you two were going to be okay.

TOJI - toji doesn’t follow you. at least, not right away.

he watches as you storm out, jaw clenched, arms crossed, your anger still crackling in the air like static. he lets you leave, doesn’t call after you, doesn’t chase you down. he just sits there, rubbing a hand over his face with a deep sigh.

but after a few minutes, he clicks his tongue, grabs his jacket, and heads out after you.

he knows you—knows you’re stubborn, knows you need space, but he also knows it’s late, and he’ll be damned if he lets you wander around alone.

it doesn’t take long to find you. you’re sitting on a bench at some quiet little bus stop, arms hugged around yourself, your knee bouncing impatiently. toji exhales, shoving his hands in his pockets as he makes his way over.

you glance up when he steps in front of you, glaring. “go away.”

“not happening,” he says flatly.

you scoff, turning your head. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

“good,” he deadpans. “cause i ain’t here to talk.”

you blink, caught off guard, looking at him. he just shrugs. “you needed space, so i gave it to ya. now i’m just gonna sit here and shut up.”

and with that, toji plops down onto the bench next to you, spreading his legs wide, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world.

you stare at him. “you’re kidding.”

“nah.” he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “go on. be mad.”

you are mad. but suddenly, it feels a little ridiculous.

the two of you sit there in silence, the sounds of the city buzzing faintly in the distance. the weight of the argument still lingers, but toji’s presence, solid and unshaken, makes it feel smaller. like it’s not going to swallow you whole.

after a while, he cracks an eye open, side-eyeing you. “you done sulking yet?”

you huff. “i’m not sulking.”

“yeah, yeah.” he stretches, rolling his shoulders. “c’mon. let’s go.”

you hesitate. “i dunno…”

he stands up, glancing down at you. “i’ll buy you food.”

you squint. “bribery?”

toji smirks. “call it what ya want. just get up.”

you sigh, but when he holds a hand out to you, you take it. his grip is warm, steady, and when he tugs you to your feet, he doesn’t let go.

“where are we going?” you mumble.

“dunno.” he shrugs. “we’ll figure it out.”

and somehow, that’s enough.