#silly peril moments!

[boilompiz]

When you draw the absolute silly creature ever

Yes I gave her the funny haha sans eye flames who’s gonna stop me? The EYE police??

Anywhenejemejj had fun drawing this at 3-4 am teehee ❤️❤️ okaye bkehgc byebye

[cj-kenobi]

Anakin just walked in on something he Wishes He Hadn't

reference under the cut!

[abimee]

by the powers that exist i swear to god i will be in a better situation like overally by this time next year so help me. ill actually have a full-time job and a decent living situation and will not sound on the brink of death i promise you all that

[moogghost]

i need to get used to drawing w new laptop so take a peril

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism x Reader: Boyfriend Moments

G/N. Fluffy scenes. Yes, this bitch delulu. Sammy, Vin, Goo, Jake, Ryuhei, Gun. Masterlists

Samuel Seo

"Try this," you offer to Samuel your tea.

That is delicious, by the way. And the way he pulls a face at the milky concoction mildly offends you.

You continue to wave the cup in your boyfriend's face, straw close to being shoved up his nose, drink splashing perilously against the lid.

He gives in. Because your dedication for annoying shit like this knows no bounds.

Steadying your hand and leaning forward, he takes a gulp from your drink. It's actually not bad. Better than he thought but-

"Too sweet," Samuel says, straightening and pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"Suit yourself," you shrug, appeased that at least Sammy has given it a go and you take a sip yourself. Then, with a grin- "It's like we just kissed."

He arches an eyebrow at you pointing at the straw, can't help rolling his eyes even as he chuckles at your silliness.

"Here,"  Samuel leans down again and kisses you. Tasting the tea on your lips except this time it is much much nicer. Delicious even. "Now we've actually kissed."

.

.

Vin Jin

Vin is undeniably cringe, according to Mary. And also a simp, according to-

Everyone, actually.

But he reasons that everyone must be jealous because if they found someone like you, they would also be all over them too.

Much like Vin is.

He's a lot more PG-13 than you expected though, less handsy. Even with his reputation, cool and cocky and honestly a bit of an asshole, Vin loves simply holding your hand, your fingers intertwined with his. Walking down the street and everyone knowing you're together.

Maybe it's a bit childish to like this one simple gesture so much. But he doesn't care. Sometimes he likes to just look at your hand in his, comparing sizes, touching your palm against his, and feeling the softness of your skin.

It doesn't stop there though.

He gives you loud obnoxious smooches on the cheek, rests his chin on your head, forces you to share a seat, squished together with your legs draping over his.

Vin wants you close by all the time. And he used to be annoyed when Mary would call him embarrassing, tell him to get a room. 

Has tried to keep a little distance at first yet continues to be drawn to you like a magnet. In the end, he has stopped caring. Besides, he thinks having you by his side automatically makes him a lot cooler.

.

.

Goo Kim

Goo knows what comes out of his mouth is gold, it’s just a shame that other people don't.

Gun tells him to shut up frequently, Crystal's eyes glaze over as she hums politely, and he knows Kouji tunes him out.

He takes it as a challenge sometimes, to see how long he can keep talking before he makes them awkward and uncomfortable, wasting their time, hoping to drive them insane.

It hasn't happened yet, but he's proud to say he's been close.

"And then what happened?" you ask Goo, leaning forward eagerly to hear the end of his story.

His brows knit together, puzzled. "Huh?"

"You can't stop there. What happened next?!"

Goo blinks. This (or 10 minutes ago) was usually when everyone told him to shut up. "You actually wanna hear the rest of it?"

You give a look to say 'duh' and nod.

Huh. Goo feels himself tearing up, dramatically thumps his hand against his heart and tells you you're the best.

"I know. Now finish the story."

.

.

Jake Kim

Jerry can recite all your key facts. Where you were born, your date of birth, blood type, horoscope.

Jason sometimes corrects him on the MBTI though.

Brad knows your favourite foods and favourite drinks, Lineman your favourite clothes and brands.

Lua knows that you prefer colder weather, although there's nothing like a sunny day to brighten up your mood. Or hiding somewhere warm and cosy when the rain pitter patters outside.

Sinu can recite your's and Jake's anniversary off by heart. The gifts that you have bought him, and what he has bought for you. He also knows what Jake was considering buying for you but decided not to in the end, for one reason or another.

Fact of the matter is, Jake slips you into all his conversations with everyone. It's a bit of a talent, to be honest. Even if the conversation isn't remotely related to you, Jake still finds something to mention that involves you.

It was a headache, at first. Jake derailed discussions and Big Deal meetings with anecdotes and tidbits when you first got together. Over time it became barely noticeable, only off hand comments or throw away remarks here and there.

This worked out well for the crew, because no one had the heart to tell Jake to shut up. How could they when his face lights up, eyes soft and crinkling. and he smiles so sweetly talking about you.

.

.

Ryuhei Kuroda

"Hey," you murmur, kissing Ryuhei on the cheek as his eyes flutter open.

He's looking at you bleary eyed, smile spreading as he comes to. You both sport matching pillowcase wrinkles on your face, and Ryuhei's cowlick is even more outrageous than usual.

"That was good," he says, stretching his hands overhead, elongating his limbs and arching his foot.

"The best nap," you agree.

Intimacy used to mean sex to Ryuhei. All physical.

Now, well it still means that because it is Ryuhei after all. But it also means deep conversations into the night with you. Sharing opinions and thoughts and vulnerability. Having another half (a better half, if you asked him) to be with, share experiences with.

And one of his favourite experiences that he recently discovered, is napping with you.

Ryuhei had expected his favourite experiences to be all manners of lewd and explicit things. But nothing can beat the soft domesticity of him curled around your back, both your breaths starting to deepen as you drift to sleep in his arms and he follows closely behind.

.

.

Gun Park

You wouldn't say Gun is a feeder, but the fact that he cooks and feeds you so well came as a surprise.

"Nutrition is important," he would tell you, prepping in a frilly apron that you bought for him as a joke but wore anyway because why wouldn't he? It's from you.

You also don't understand what role nutrition plays when he prepares the food in cutest ways. Carrots in the shape of flowers, octopus cut sausages, onigiri with faces made from nori.

Tonight, you peer down at your katsu curry, with a bear shaped out of rice lounging in it.

You can't help the burst of laughter, thinking of your boyfriend - the fearful Gun Park, the Shiro Oni, in the kitchen cooking this for you.

"What?" Gun asks, seated across the table, a spoonful halfway to his mouth.

"It's too cute," You grin at the black eyed menace, the guy that was supposed to be all about fighting but has a terribly soft spot for you.

You glance down at the bear again, in an adorably relaxed position with steam rising around it reminiscent of an onsen. It seems almost a shame to eat it. "I can't believe you made this."

Gun gives you a matter of fact answer, "You like it more when it's cute." 

Oh.

The fact he goes to all this effort, just because you like it more, makes him the cutest of all.

[definitelynotshouting]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward�� and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now." 

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

[jeonggukieverse]

Number One Fan

Pairing: Writer Y/N x Yandere Jungkook 

Genre: Yandere/Horror Fic 

Warnings: This is gonna be a pretty dark one, so I’m going to put content warnings and disclaimers each chapter. There aren’t any in this one :)

Word count: 1.5k

Synopsis - After a serious car crash, novelist Y/N is rescued by former nurse Jeon Jungkook, who claims to be her biggest fan. Jungkook brings her to his remote cabin to recover, where his obsession takes a dark turn when he discovers Y/N is killing off his favourite character from her novels. As Y/N devises plans for escape, Jungkook grows increasingly controlling.

- Ryeon <3

Teaser

Your feet were aching. The torn-up flesh on the souls of your bare feet pound on the mossy patches of the forest floor. The foul mixture of half melted snow and mud seeped into your wounds. It hurts. But you don’t care. 

Your lungs feel as though they would shrivel up at any moment. Each inhale feels like fie and acid pooling in your chest. Your poor heart is doing all that it can to keep going. As are you. 

Your skin was damp with sweat. The once warm perspiration that seeped out of you now clung to your clothes, making you cold. You felt as though you had been running for hours.

But you couldn’t stop. You mustn’t stop running. You had to get away from him. 

You only had one chance to escape and this was it. 

You knew that if he caught you, that would be the end of the game. And you will have lost.  

A game. 

That’s what this was. 

That’s what everything in your life was and always had been. 

And you’d always lost. Cause you never paid attention. 

Even now, as your life is in peril, you couldn’t help but think back to a moment in your past. Where distraction had gotten you in trouble. 

You couldn’t have been any older than thirteen. 

You must have been. Because your teacher was Mr. Kim. The teacher whose breath smelled like coffee and Newport cigarettes. A vile combination. 

You remembered so distinctly because in this particular instance, this breath blew into your face as his was about 10 centimeters away from yours.

He was scolding you, pretty severely, because you had been caught jotting down stories while in his math class. 

You were always doing that. Always doing the wrong thing at the wrong times. Always going left when everyone else was going right. And it almost always got you in trouble, but this time was different. This time was worse. 

Mr. Kim was adamant that you had done this one too many times. You remember he had said: 

“Y/N get your nose out of your book. Writing these silly little stories is going to get you nowhere. You need to learn to pay attention, young lady. Since you aren’t taking my warnings seriously, it may be time to escalate the matter”.

Your palms began to clam up, as you knew what this meant.

“I’ll need to contact your mother” 

At that moment everything seemed to move in slow motion. Panic began to set in as you knew a phone call to mother would be a step beyond a death sentence. 

“Take this note to the principal’s office, I shall be in shortly so we can organize a discussion with your mother” 

Your mother was not a nice woman. Not nice at all.

Nothing good would come of this and you knew what fate awaited you in the grim future. 

So, you did the only thing you knew how to do. You ran. You ran as fast as your little legs could carry you. 

Mr. Kim handed you the note and as soon as the door closed, you were off. 

You ran to the only place you knew solace. A woodland area behind your school. 

Your school was built in 1898. The old girl had seen some things. Horrific things. 

Back in the 1900s these woods were used as a hunting grounds. The older students would come out here and hunt deer and rabbits. Now, it was just a place where the older girls would come out here and smoke cigarettes at lunchtimes. The ones that were brave enough, that is. 

There was something dark about these woods. There was nothing about the woodlands that looked outwardly abnormal, there was just too much of it. Like a smile with too many teeth. Not to you though, to you it was freedom. Solace. Peace. 

Maybe you were just drawn to dark things. 

You ran deep into the coppices. Past the brook and beyond the abandoned mill. You perched yourself under the large oak tree. Inhaling and exhaling hard as the running mixed with the panic had your heartrate going a million miles per hour. But now you could rest at lease for a while. 

It’s funny really. Even when your life was in danger your mind wondered away. You guess Mr. Kim had every right to be concerned. 

“Y/N! Why Are you running, baby?!” 

Fuck. His voice sounded so close. Too close. 

His footsteps hammering on the same crushed, now blood-soaked, snow, leaves and moss-covered ground. 

“You know I’m going to catch up with you. Why are you doing this?! I thought you were happy with me!”

Christ. Why was he doing this?

“Look Y/N. I’m sorry if you weren’t comfortable, we can make changes baby just please come back.”

Through the trees you can make out a light ahead of you. Not much further to go. 

“Baby, we don’t have to tie you to the bed anymore! Please, Y/N, you’re still injured! It’s not safe for you to be running when your feet haven’t healed properly”

‘Because of you, you sick fuck’ you screamed inside your head. You wanted to scream at him but all your focus needed to be on running. 

“Just stop now and your punishment won’t be too bad” 

Oh god. He sounded just like her.

The earth and muck beneath your feet had changed to concrete. A road! You’ve don’t it, you reached the road. 

You try to take another step onto the cold wet asphalt but your feet fail you. True to his word, your feet hadn’t heeled yet and the adrenaline keeping your pain at bay had worn off. 

You collapsed on the floor, the dull pain in your ankles paralyzing you. 

You hear his footsteps and his heavy panting behind. In horror, you drag yourself further onto the road. You can’t give up; this can’t be the end. 

“I will say Y/N, I admire your spirit” his slightly exasperated voice still sounded sickly sweet. 

“I’ve always admired that about you. You never give up on anything. But yet you gave up on us. I don’t think that’s very fair, do you, my love?” he walks towards you, at a petrifyingly slow pace.  

This is it. You’ve lost. Certain this was your last moments; you close your eyes. A tear, you hadn’t released had been at bay rolled down your cheek. 

You listed to the birds in the distance and the soft patter of rain and you couldn’t help but think back again. You couldn’t help but think back to how you got here. How it came to be that you would die like this. 

At the hands of Jeon Jungkook. Your number one fan. 

This is gonna be a wild ride! Im so happy to be back writing again~ Hope you all enjoy!

This fic is loosely based on one of my favourite movies: ‘Misery’

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list 🤍

[bubble-leaves]

Could you write out some reth headcanons please? I don't care what it's about, I just want more content about the silly little soup man. Have a good day!

who doesn't want more of this adorable rascal?! ❤️

Reth . . .

- thinks all about you during his shift at the bar

- often checks the distant windows to see if you just so happen to pass by the inn

- is unafraid of physical affection; he's all yours, and he'll let you know

- is a touchy-feely guy himself, so prepare!

- often rambles to Zeki and Ashura about you, just literally anything about you (Ashura thinks it's endearing, but Zeki can't stand the sap)

- is usually sleep deprived but tries to maintain his energy for you

- falls asleep in literal minutes if he lays down with you, ESPECIALLY if he's in your arms

- always knows what will fluster you and catch you off guard; is a suave and occasionally smug flirt

- LOVES making you blush and speechless, it's practically the life in his lungs

- loves making you breakfast. And yes, he makes more than just soup; he loves using the pancake recipe that's in the baking cookbook you gifted him around the time you were beginning to know each other

- is always taken aback when you do acts of service for him or reciprocate his thoughtfulness; his face always becomes pinker, but he tries to keep his cool

- wants nothing more than to fall apart in your arms after a long day

- loves quietly discussing his day with you as you hold him and caress his back. He shows a different, deeply hidden part of himself when you're both like this; he's hushed, genuine, and totally encapsulated in the moment

- secretly chats with Jel and Tish about you

- doesn't like to get drunk, at least, not REALLY drunk, despite working at the bar

- is a laughing/crying emotional drunk

- melts on the inside when you bring him meals during his shift

- LOVES LOVES LOVES when you come to visit him during his break in his storeroom; you're his favorite source of energy recharging

- is lowkey (highkey honestly) protective of you and worries about your safety often, especially when you're on perilous quests

- bakes small cakes or a batch of cookies for you when you're feeling blue

- is overrall a sly dog and sweet boyfriend that's *obsessed* with everything about you

[elizabethsnuts]

5 y/o y/n hears the saying 'step on a crack, break your mother's back' and one day when she's playing she steps on a crack on the side walk, the thing is Natasha's on a mission, and Y/N's convinced she just killed Natasha lol

Cracked Concrete

WinterWidow x Daughter!Reader

Summary: A rhyme you had overheard at preschool sent you to believe that you had hurt Natasha when you stepped on a crack playing outside.

———

It was a quiet morning, you were dressed in your favourite superhero pyjamas, ready to start your day. Bucky sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee while keeping an eye on you. Natasha had left early that morning for a mission, leaving a kiss on both your and Bucky's foreheads before she slipped out silently.

Your day began with the usual routine: breakfast, a bit of morning cartoons, and then some playtime outside. Outside the Avengers Compound had become your personal playground. You loved hopping, skipping, and drawing chalk masterpieces on the concrete canvas.

As you played, you remembered a rhyme you'd heard at preschool: "Step on a crack, break your mother's back." It had sounded silly at the time, a fun thing to chant while skipping along the pavement. As you played hopscotch, your focus wavered and your little foot landed squarely on a crack in the pavement.

For a moment, you froze, the rhyme echoing in your mind. Your imagination, as vivid as a 5-year-old's is, conjured images of Natasha in peril. Your heart began to race, and tears welled up in your eyes as the panic began to set in. The thought of your mother being hurt because of a silly rhyme was too much for you to bear. “Mama!” You cried.

Without another thought, you turned on your heel and sprinted back into the compound, your small sneakers pounding against the pavement as your tiny legs carried you as fast as they could. You burst through the door, your face streaked with tears, calling out for your father. "Daddy! Daddy!" You cried, your voice shaking.

Bucky was still sitting at the kitchen table with his cup of coffee, he jumped up at the sound of your distress. He quickly knelt down to your level, concern etched on his face. "Baby doll, what's wrong?" He asked, wrapping his arms around your trembling form.

"Daddy, I stepped on a crack!" You wailed, tears streaming down your rosy cheeks. "I broke Mama's back! I broke it, and now she's... she's..."

Bucky gently cupped your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. "Y/N, sweetie, listen to me," He said softly but firmly. "That's just a silly rhyme. It’s not real. Mama's going to be just fine."

"But what if she's not?" You hiccuped, your eyes wide with fear.

Bucky's heart ached at seeing you so distressed. He scooped you up into his arms, holding you close. "I promise you, Mama is strong and nothing like that could ever hurt her," He reassured you. "She's on a mission right now, being the brave superhero she always is. She’ll be home soon, safe and sound."

You sniffled, burying your face in your father’s shoulder. "Really?" You mumbled.

"Really," Bucky affirmed, his voice gentle and soothing. "Now, how about we call her together and see how she's doing?"

You nodded, your tears beginning to subside. Though you wouldn’t be at full peace until you heard Natasha’s voice. Bucky pulled out his phone and dialled Natasha's number. After a few rings, Natasha’s familiar voice came through the speaker.

"Hey, Bucky," Natasha said, her tone bright despite the distance.

"Hi, Mama!" You piped up, your voice still a bit shaky but you had calmed down much more hearing Nat’s voice.

"Hey, Malyshka!" Natasha replied warmly. "What's going on?"

You took a deep breath, "I stepped on a crack, and I thought I hurt you," You confessed.

Natasha chuckled softly. "Oh, N/N, I'm perfectly fine. You don’t need to worry about me. Cracks can’t hurt me, I promise."

"Really?"

"Really," Natasha assured you. "I’ll be home soon, and I can’t wait to see you. I love you so much, Y/N."

"I love you too, Mama," You said, a smile finally breaking through your tears.

Bucky ended the call and kissed the top of your head. "See? Mama's okay."

You nodded, your fear replaced by relief. "Okay, Daddy. Thank you."

Bucky hugged you tightly, grateful that the immediate crisis had been averted. "Of course, baby doll. Now, let’s go back outside and play. I'll make sure no more cracks sneak up on you."

You giggled loudly, the sound like music to Bucky's ears. “Sneaky cracks! Tell Uncle Tony to fix ‘em!”

Bucky laughed and took your hand, leading you back outside. “Yeah, we’ll tell Uncle Tony, he needs to get on top of these things.”

Hand in hand, You headed back out into the sunshine. Bucky made sure to steer you away from the cracks as the two of you played some hopscotch.

[mononijikayu]

"the good life is just ahead of us." — gojo satoru.

Why he insisted on being the one to marry you, and not someone else, was a question that plagued your thoughts. After all, he had an uncle who could have fulfilled the role just as easily. The Gojo name alone would have been enough to shield you from the Zenin clan's influence. 

GENRE: post hidden - inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: endless love - the myth by luyifei

NOTE: feeling a little bit better, no more fever. but im still longing for satoru. thank you for still reading my works and healing with me. it's really healing to just take time and see him be the silly man he is. i love him so much, guys. so so much!!!

masterlist

u s and t h e m

THIS WAS NOT WHAT YOU WERE EXPECTING FOR YOURSELF. But you supposed here you were, a wife. The soft glow of paper lanterns illuminated the room, casting a warm, serene light over the two of you. You sat side by side, still adorned in your wedding kimonos, the delicate fabric rustling softly with each movement. 

The faint scent of incense lingered in the air, a reminder of the ceremonies that had just concluded. The traditional wedding had been beautiful, a blend of solemnity and joy that now left you in a quiet, reflective mood.

You never expected to marry, not even as once an heir to the Zenin. The idea of marriage seemed distant and inconsequential, especially given your upbringing in the rigid traditions of the sorcerer clans. But fate had a way of surprising you, and you found yourself facing a future you never anticipated. And to make it even more unexpected, you were marrying someone younger than you, your kouhai, Gojo Satoru. 

The age gap of just three years seemed trivial in the grand scheme of things, yet it was enough to raise eyebrows among the conservative circles of the jujutsu world. But age was just a number, and both of you were of age, mature enough to understand the implications of your union.

It wasn't a marriage born out of love, at least not in the conventional sense. Instead, it was a pragmatic decision, a calculated move to protect yourself from the suffocating grip of the Zenin clan.

As you stole a glance at Satoru, you couldn't help but marvel at the stoicism that seemed to define him. Despite his youth, there was a wisdom and resolve in his gaze that belied his years. He carried himself with a confidence and grace that commanded respect, a stark contrast to the uncertainty that gnawed at your own heart.

Why he insisted on being the one to marry you, and not someone else, was a question that plagued your thoughts. After all, he had an uncle who could have fulfilled the role just as easily. The Gojo name alone would have been enough to shield you from the Zenin clan's influence. 

But Satoru was adamant, his determination unwavering. He saw something in you, something worth protecting, and he wasn't about to let you face your fate alone. His loyalty and selflessness were qualities you admire, even as you grappled with the weight of his decision. And so, with a mixture of apprehension and gratitude, you embarked on this unexpected journey, unsure of where it would lead but determined to face it together, hand in hand.

Life as a Jujutsu sorcerer was a tumultuous journey, fraught with uncertainties and dangers lurking at every turn. From the moment you embarked on this path, you knew that your existence would be defined by battles against cursed spirits, the constant threat of death looming over you like a dark shadow. In such a perilous world, thoughts of marriage seemed like distant fantasies, unattainable dreams reserved for those fortunate enough to live outside the confines of the jujutsu society.

As you navigated the treacherous waters of sorcerer life, you couldn't help but envy the love story that your parents had shared. Theirs was a romance that had transcended the boundaries of clan politics and societal expectations, a testament to the power of love in the face of adversity. But such tales of enduring love felt like distant echoes in your own reality, overshadowed by the ever-present specter of clan obligations and duty.

Over the years, you had watched as your peers found love and companionship, forging meaningful connections amidst the chaos of their lives as sorcerers. Yet for you, the prospect of marriage remained an elusive dream, a distant star shimmering on the horizon but forever out of reach. Clan politics and the weight of tradition cast a long shadow over your hopes for a happy ending, leaving you resigned to the belief that such joys were simply not meant for someone like you.

With each passing year, your hope for finding a partner dwindled, replaced by a sense of resignation and acceptance of your solitary fate. The idea of experiencing the kind of love that your parents had shared felt like an unattainable fantasy, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been but never was. And so, you resigned yourself to a life devoid of romantic love, finding solace instead in the company of your fellow sorcerers and the shared purpose that bound you together in the fight against darkness.

There was no reason to settle down, to have that sort of normal that most people do. Not even when Kaiko was alive, not even when you were your father’s heir to the Zenin. And so, you lived your life as you always have — chasing after curses and killing them. Listening to the voices in your head. Let Kaiko haunt you in your dreams. Rinse and repeat. You were alright with that. You were more than satisfied with what you have. 

You’d taken a break from doing missions a year ago. You had a breakdown a year ago, when Suguru left. And you didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of it. You didn’t want to see anyone. Not even your own mother. Yet your grandfather, Zenin Naobito, had visited you one day. And your whole world started to spin. You were forced to return to the Zenin clan against your will and an ultimatum was forced.

The prospect of being wed to your uncle Naoya to secure your position as Fushiguro Megumi's guardian had been a nightmare. You had always hated him, as much as you did every member of your father’s clan. But you understood why it was Naoya. All your other uncles were already married. Jinichi was not one to take another wife after he had brutalized the other with deadly childbirths. Naoya was seen as grandfather’s heir by the clan elders. And you knew that it was only a matter of time before they sprung up a trap.

You sat in the grand hall of the Zenin estate, the tension in the air palpable. Your grandfather, Zenin Naobito, was seated across from you, his stern gaze fixed on you with the weight of his authority. The room was silent, save for the occasional rustle of the traditional paper screens and the faint sound of the wind outside. This was a meeting you had been dreading, but it was inevitable.

Naobito's eyes bore into yours as he finally spoke, his voice cold and commanding. "You know why you're here," he began, each word carefully measured. "There are matters that need to be resolved, and you are at the center of them."

You nodded, already anticipating the ultimatum that was about to be laid out before you. "I understand, Grandfather."

He leaned forward slightly, his expression hardening. "Your duty is clear. Marry Naoya and solidify our clan's future. In return, I will let you have  the responsibility to take care of Toji's children.”

Your mouth felt dried. “And if I refuse?”

“If you refuse, well it is a simple matter. Jinichi will take over their guardianship. Considering Tsumiki is his daughter and Megumi is Toji's son, he has every right to them."

Your heart sank at his words. The idea of marrying your uncle Naoya was repulsive, but the thought of losing Megumi and Tsumiki to Jinichi's care was unbearable. He was brutal. Children had no need to be around such a man like him.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "And if I agree to marry Naoya, I will be allowed to take care of Megumi and Tsumiki?"

Naobito nodded curtly. "Yes, that is the arrangement. Fulfill your duty, and the children will be yours to care for. Refuse, and you will have no say in their upbringing."

You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your emotions in check. "Grandfather, Naoya is not a suitable match for me. He is—"

"Megumi Fushiguro is the future of this clan, but he needs guidance." Naobito interrupted sharply. "Naoya will be his mentor. You will marry him and fulfill your role. This is not a matter of personal preference, but of duty and honor."

You looked down, feeling the weight of his expectations pressing down on you. "But what about the children? Naoya may be their biological relative, but he does not care for them. He sees them as nothing more than tools for the clan's power."

Naobito's eyes narrowed. "That is not your concern. Naoya will raise them according to the clan's traditions. Your concern should be with your duty to this family and help him in doing that duty."

You felt a surge of anger and frustration. "My duty is also to those children. They deserve a loving home, not to be treated as pawns in a power struggle."

Naobito's expression softened, but only slightly. "You have always been headstrong. As much as your father. But understand this: the clan's future depends on this marriage. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "And what about my happiness? What about the children's happiness?"

He sighed, as if the question was a nuisance. "Happiness is a luxury we cannot afford. This is the way of the Zenin clan. You were born into this family, and with that comes responsibility."

You looked into your grandfather's eyes, searching for any sign of empathy or understanding. There was none. Only cold, unyielding resolve.

"Grandfather," you said quietly, "I cannot marry Naoya. I will not subject myself or the children to a life of misery."

Naobito's eyes flashed with anger. "You dare defy me?"

You straightened your back, meeting his gaze with determination. "I will do whatever it takes to protect Megumi and Tsumiki. Even if it means defying you."

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then Naobito spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "You will regret this decision. You are turning your back on your family, on your duty. And the consequences will be severe."

You stood up, your resolve unwavering. "I accept whatever consequences come my way. But I will not let those children suffer because of the Zenin clan's ambition."

And for that you were imprisoned, a room which was made to restrict your power. You consistently refused, no matter what brutalizing, backhanded thing they do to you. You even refused to eat, refused to drink. You refused everything — if they weren’t going to be fair to you and just let you care for Toji’s children. 

It was then that Gojo Satoru had intervened and did what he did best—forcing the higher-ups' hands and rescuing you from a fate you dreaded. Satoru's intervention was nothing short of a masterstroke, a bold and daring move that sent shockwaves through the higher echelons of the jujutsu world. 

It was after all within the Zenin’s rights to do as they pleased with one of their own. A Gojo intervening in the matter of another clan was downright disrespectful. A harmful prospect at that — which sets precedence.

But he could hardly give a chance to care. With his unparalleled charisma and influence, he wielded his power like a weapon, manipulating the strings of fate to orchestrate your liberation from the clutches of Zenin Manor.

His actions were swift and decisive, catching even the most astute observers off guard. With a calculated precision, he leveraged his connections and resources to launch a daring rescue mission, breaching the formidable defenses of Zenin Manor with ease.

For Satoru, there was no obstacle too great, no challenge too daunting. He moved with a sense of purpose and determination, fueled by his unwavering commitment to your well-being.

With each step he took, he drew closer to his goal, his resolve unyielding in the face of adversity.And when he finally emerged victorious, cradling you in his arms as he carried you to safety, it was a moment of triumph unlike any other. The weight of your freedom hung heavy in the air.

When he finally laid eyes on you after a year apart, locked inside the oppressive confines of Zenin Manor, his heart shattered at the sight before him. He looked towards Zenin Naobito. He had never been more furious with the old geezer than he was at that moment. He knew that the Zenin were cruel, but to do this to you? He was just too angry. Too angry to control himself.

You, once vibrant and full of life, were now a mere shadow of your former self, your spirit broken and your body bearing the scars of untold suffering. The time in captivity had taken their toll, leaving you gaunt and hollow-eyed, a mere shell of the person he remembered. 

For Satoru, seeing you in such a sorry state was a gut-wrenching experience. His heart ached with a pain he had never known as he took in the sight of you, imprisoned within the walls of Zenin Manor, your once-bright eyes now dulled with resignation. 

With a surge of raw emotion coursing through him, Satoru's cursed energy went haywire, crackling and sparking with unrestrained fury. In that moment, all he could think of was freeing you from this prison, tearing down the walls that held you captive and whisking you away to safety. 

Without a second thought, he gathered you into his arms, his embrace a lifeline in the suffocating darkness of Zenin Manor. His heart pounded with a fierce determination as he vowed to protect you, to shield you from any further harm. 

In that moment, as he held you close, Satoru knew that he would stop at nothing to ensure your safety and well-being. For you were not just his senpai, but the person, besides Suguru, that cared about him most. And as he carried you out of Zenin Manor — all he could do was stare at you. Hoping your lilac eyes would meet his.

There was little chance he would let you return there. Not ever in his life would he let you set foot in Zenin manor again. He had taken you to your maternal home, Mikoto manor. Your aunt Arisu was there to welcome you, her face contorted to a mixture of relief and worry. She had ordered servants to call for healers. 

Satoru whispered things to you as you lay there in his arms. But you were too weak to register everything. The stress and exhaustion had taken their toll, and it had taken a few days for you to get some rest, to gather your strength. The dark shadows under your eyes had slowly begun to fade, and the tight knot of anxiety in your chest had started to loosen. 

When you finally awoke from the haze of exhaustion, the first sight that greeted you was Satoru, sitting by your bedside. His usual playful demeanor was replaced by an expression of deep concern, his cerulean eyes full of layers of worry and tenderness.

"You’re awake," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your weary soul. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "How do you feel?"

You blinked, still disoriented, but the warmth in his gaze anchored you."Satoru? What?....”

“Shhhh, how are you feeling?”

“I feel... better.” You whisper to him. “It seems….you got me out of Zenin manor. Thank you."

He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Good. You made us all worried."

You tried to sit up, but he gently pressed you back down. "Easy. You need to rest."

"I know," you said, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "But I feel like I've slept for days."

"You have," Satoru replied, his smile widening a bit. "But you needed it. You’ve been through a lot."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his concern. "Thank you, Satoru. For everything. I don't know what I would have done without you."

His expression softened, and he took your hand in his, squeezing it gently. "You don’t have to thank me. I’d do anything for you."

For a moment, you were silent, just soaking in his presence. The warmth of his hand, the steady reassurance in his eyes. It was a stark contrast to the cold, calculating environment of the Zenin estate.

“How is—”

“I found them.” Satoru says to you, as though trying to reassure you. “They’re okay. Don’t worry about it.”

Your eyes reflected in relief. “Oh.”

“Yeah, made sure to hide them in a safe house, y’know?” He smiles at you. “Don’t worry too much, Genmei–senpai.”

You hadn’t heard him call you senpai in a while. You haven’t seen him in a while either. But the sound was refreshing. To hear him talk to you a little with relief. When he called you senpai then, it was because he wanted to play with you. Gojo Satoru was quite a brat. Granted, he’s still bashful about it. Still, you were surprised he was using it more respectfully. You sighed, letting your body release the tension. 

"I was so scared," you admitted quietly. "I thought... I thought I was going to lose Megumi and Tsumiki. I thought I was going to lose everything there."

Satoru’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes blazing with determination. "You won’t lose them, senpai. I won’t let that happen. I’ll protect you. We’ll protect them together."

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. "Together."

Just then, the door to your room creaked open, and your aunt Arisu peeked in, a relieved smile on her face. "Oh, you’re awake! How are you feeling, dear?"

You smiled back at her. "Much better, Aunt Arisu. Thank you for taking care of me."

She walked in, her steps light and graceful. "Nonsense, darling. It’s what family is for. Your mother is on her way, and she’s been worried sick about you."

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for causing your family so much worry. "I know. I’m sorry."

Arisu shook her head, coming to sit on the other side of your bed. "Don’t apologize. You did what you had to do. And now, you’re safe."

You glanced at Satoru, who gave you a reassuring nod. "Yes," you agreed. "Now I’m safe."

From then on, you just let yourself have time to recover from what you endured in Zenin manor. Satoru would be on his regular missions every other day, but he would make time to see you. He brings new sweets he finds and likes at times. You didn’t like sweets. But the more he brought to you, the more you felt in tune with him in liking them. Sometimes he and you would just take a stroll around the manor gardens, losing your minds to the mundane sound of birds chirping. 

As he and Suguru used to do, he’d rest his head on your lap and just take some much needed rest he couldn’t. He’s too overstimulated most days, you know that much. He was always using his powers around everyone and everything.

Here with you, he seems to find some peace. Some relief. There was no need for Infinity around you. There was no need to be around walls between you. He could just be himself around you. And you wouldn’t judge him. 

There was a day you couldn’t get out of bed. The pain on your lower back was too much. Jinichi was too rough with his brute force when you were back in Zenin manor. And so you just stayed in your room, gathering your strength.Satoru kept you company, with some conversation and for a while, that had led you to ignore the pain.

Your mother had finally arrived, her face etched with worry but also relief at seeing you safe. Aunt Arisu hovered nearby, her usual grace and composure a comforting presence. You both looked at your mother and aunt. Satoru looked at you as your face contorted with concern. You could tell that if it was the two of them, it was unbearable news. His hand still holding yours, his cerulean eyes filled with unwavering resolve to protect you. 

"Now that we’re all here," Aunt Arisu began, her tone gentle but firm, "we need to discuss the next steps.”

“For what?” Your face contorted into confusion.

“We can’t let you go back to the Zenin clan, and we need to find a way to secure Megumi and Tsumiki’s guardianship."

Your mother nodded, her eyes reflecting the same determination. "Arisu is right. We need a permanent solution, one that will protect you and the children."

“Yes, I know.” You retorted back. “That’s why we’re thinking about what to do.”

“We already have a solution to suggest.” Your mother whispers, looking at you softly.

You looked between them, confusion and apprehension swirling in your mind. "What do you mean?"

Arisu exchanged a glance with your mother and then with Satoru. "We think you should get married."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Married?"

"Yes," your mother continued. "To Satoru. It would remove your status as a Zenin and give you a new standing. With Satoru’s influence, he could pressure the higher-ups to let you take guardianship of Megumi and Tsumiki. You’re their aunt, and Satoru would be their uncle by marriage. It would make things much easier."

You felt a wave of apprehension wash over you. "But… I’m three years older than Satoru. I don’t want to force him into this. It’s not fair to him."

Satoru’s grip on your hand suddenly tightened, and he leaned closer, his bright blue eyes locking onto your lilac orbs with an intensity that took your breath away. "It’s fine," he said softly but firmly. "I want to do this. Not just to protect you, but because I care about you. This isn’t just a duty for me."

You searched his eyes, seeing the sincerity and determination in them. "Satoru, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to tie yourself to me just because of this situation."

He chuckled, a soft, genuine sound that made your heart swell. "You think this is just about duty? I’ve wanted to protect you for so long, senpai. Before all this happened. I care about you…..so. I don’t think this would be an issue, senpai.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to his words. "But… are you sure? This is a big decision."

"I’m sure," Satoru said, his voice steady. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I want to marry you, and I want to protect Megumi and Tsumiki. We can do this together."

Your mother and Aunt Arisu watched the exchange with hopeful expressions. "It’s the best solution," your mother said gently. "And it’s clear that you two care deeply for each other."

“You don’t have to love each other now.” Arisu says to both of you, smiling. “But well….that grows with time. It’s enough to care now.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision settling over you. But as you looked into Satoru’s eyes, you felt a sense of peace and certainty. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He says to you, his smile ever so tender.

 "Alright," you said softly. "Let’s do it. Let’s get married."

Aunt Arisu smiled, her eyes shining with approval. "Good. We’ll make the arrangements. It will be a small ceremony, just family. You only need witnesses, after all.”

Satoru squeezed your hand, his eyes reflecting his relief and happiness. "Thank you," he whispered. "For trusting me."

You smiled back at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thank you, Satoru. For everything."

Satoru broke the silence first, his voice soft but laced with his usual confidence. "So, what do you think? Not exactly the wedding you imagined, huh?"

You glanced at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "It's not the wedding I imagined, no. Well….I didn’t expect one. But it's for a good thing. Thank you, Satoru, for everything."

He reached out, taking your hand in his. The simple gesture was grounding, a reminder of the bond that had brought you to this moment. "I couldn't let them force you into that marriage. With Naoya? Not a chance, senpai! You deserve better than that."

"Hm...all for the best. For Tsumiki and Megumi too."

He grinned. "Exactly! Tsumiki and Megumi deserve a guardian who genuinely cares about them, y’know? Not someone using ‘em for power."

You nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude and affection for the man beside you. "I never expected to marry at all, let alone under these circumstances. But I'm glad it's you. I know we'll make this work, no matter what."

Satoru's cerulean eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. "We'll figure it out together. This marriage, it's not just about duty or obligation. It's about us, and what we want for our future."

A silence settled between you, comfortable and filled with unspoken promises. The magnitude of what lay ahead was daunting, but with Satoru by your side, it felt manageable. 

“You know you don’t have to call me senpai anymore, right?”

He blinks at you. “But aren’t you still my senpai?”

“....I am your wife now, aren’t I?” You felt your ears turn red at those words. You look at him shyly. “You…you can call me Genmei. Or….or whatever you prefer.”

“Then, I’lll just call you wife!”

“S-satoru—”

"So… wife!" Satoru said after a moment, a mischievous glint in his eyes against his dark glasses. "What do you think this marriage is going to be like? Any rules you want to set right away?"

You felt yourself turn redder than before. "You want to go with that right away?"

He grinned, leaning in closer. "Absolutely. We need to set the ground rules. Like, I get the right side of the bed, and you’re responsible for all the snacks during movie nights."

You looked at him stupefied but then you laughed softly, the sound breaking the tension and filling the room with warmth.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your smile. "Oh, really? Well, in that case, I get control of the remote, and you’re on dish duty for the rest of the year."

Satoru feigned shock, clutching his chest dramatically. "Harsh! But fair. Deal. And one more thing – you have to kiss me goodnight every single night."

Your mouth opened agape as you shook your head, blushing. "Absolutely not!"

"Eh! Why not? Are my lips not kissable?"

"T-that's not what—"

"I'm a good kisser, y'know! You'll waste my talents if you deny me."

"You drive a hard bargain, Gojo Satoru." You grumbled at him. "....Only in the cheek."

"But I want it to be on my lips!"

"Well that's not what I want!"

Satoru sighed dramatically. "But I want more than that."

"Well too bad, that's all you're getting from me."

He smirked, winking at you. "Well, you can't blame a husband for trying. You'll say yes one day!"

"You wish." You grumbled.

"Anything else?" His dark rimmes glasses lowered as he leaned close to you. "Anything my sugars wants?"

"S-sugars.....Satoru, really?"

"Hey, its either that or wife."

"Oh whatever." You gave into him. You looked at him. "What do you expect from the marriage?"

He looked back at you. "Well, what do you expect from me?"

You shake your head at him. “I just…..there should be no rules. Let's be honest with each other. And let's take things one day at a time.”

“I agree,” He nodded at you. “There’s still so much more I have to know about you, y’know?”

“I’ll tell you everything you wanna know.”

“Same here.” He grins at you. “Just ask first, ‘kay? So I’ll know what to say.”

“And if you wanna see other women, I’m fine with that—”

He suddenly frowns at your words. He looked almost like a child about to throw a tantrum. “Why would I wanna see other women? I’m married to you! I said my vows and everything!”

“It’s not like we’re in love, Satoru!” You rubbed the small of your neck, feeling your face warm at his words. You purse your lips at him.

Satoru leaned back, a playful smirk still dancing on his lips. "Yet," he said with a wink. "Who knows? We might just surprise ourselves."

You hit his hand lightly, turning away as you grew into scarlet. “You’re unbearable.”

“Well, I am an optimist. One man can dream, y’know?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't suppress a small smile. "Always the optimist, huh?"

"Of course," he replied, his tone shifting to something more sincere. "Besides, love or not, we're a team now. And I'll do whatever it takes to protect you and the kids."

Your heart softened at his words, and you felt a rush of gratitude and affection for him. "Thank you, Satoru. I just... I don't want you to feel trapped."

He reached out, gently cupping your cheek. "Hey, if anyone's going to be trapped, I couldn't think of anyone better to be stuck with. Besides, this isn't just about duty. It's about making sure you, Megumi, and Tsumiki are safe and happy. And if that means playing house and pretending to be a perfect husband, well, I'm up for the challenge."

You laughed, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders. "Alright then, husband. Let's see if you can live up to that title."

Satoru grinned, leaning in to press a light kiss to your forehead. "Challenge accepted, wife. Now, about those snacks..."

You shake your head at him.

But a smile echoes on your lips.

You were stuck with this man for life.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The good life is just ahead of you both.

epilogue

Years later, the house was filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter as you, Satoru, Megumi, and Tsumiki tackled the task of spring cleaning. It was a rare day when all of you were together, now that Satoru rarely has days off. So, on his rare day off, he was happy to clean with you guys.

So far, you can say that the atmosphere was light and joyful. Today’s task for you to clean was the attic. You were tasked with rummaging through old boxes, so you do — but that’s when Tsumiki stumbled upon an old photo album.

"Hey, what's this?" Tsumiki asked, pulling the dusty album from a box labeled "Memories."

Satoru's cerulean eyes lit up as he recognized it. "Oh, that's our wedding album! We haven't looked at that in ages."

With curiosity piqued, everyone gathered around as Tsumiki opened the album with genuine care. The first photo was a beautiful, traditional shot of you and Satoru in your wedding kimonos. You looked serene and elegant, while Satoru wore a proud grin. You were relatively tall, but Satoru was just even taller. And bigger, even when he looked that slim.

"Aww, you both look so lovely!" Tsumiki swooned, her eyes sparkling.

Megumi, on the other hand, looked mildly horrified. "Do we have to do this?"

Ignoring Megumi’s grumbling, Tsumiki flipped to the next page. The following photos were less formal: Satoru making silly faces during the ceremony, you playfully swatting him with your fan, and the two of you attempting to feed each other cake, which resulted in frosting smearing across Satoru's face.

Tsumiki burst into laughter. "Oh my gosh, Satoru-san, you look ridiculous!"

Satoru chuckled, unabashed. "What can I say? I like to keep things interesting."

Megumi cringed as he saw a photo of Satoru posing dramatically with a bouquet, striking a superhero pose. "This is so embarrassing," he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. 

Tsumiki, flipping through the album, came across a photo of Satoru mid-dance, his kimono flaring out around him, and you were laughing so hard you were bent over. "This one is my favorite," she declared. "You both look so happy."

"That was a fun moment," you reminisced, leaning into Satoru. "We were trying to do a traditional dance, but Satoru kept improvising."

"Improvising?" Satoru protested playfully. "I was enhancing the dance!"

Megumi rolled his eyes. "I can’t believe we’re related to you."

"Oh, come on, Megumi," Satoru said, ruffling the boy's hair. "You know you love me."

Megumi sighed but didn’t move away. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

As you continued flipping through the album, the laughter and stories flowed, filling the room with warmth. It was a reminder of how far you had all come as a family, through the challenges and the joys. Even in the midst of your duties as jujutsu sorcerers, moments like these were precious.

In the end, it wasn’t just the silly wedding photos that made the day special. It was the shared memories, the love and support that bound you all together. And as you closed the album and set it aside, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together—just as you always had.

[callsign-rogueone]

deja vu - b.d.

Bodhi Durran x reader part of Bodhi and Darling's story 💗 words: 2.9k 🏷: set in the year before Fourth Wing (Bodhi’s first year). one tiny book spoiler but it’s not stated explicitly, hurt/comfort, anxiety, imagined character death (in a nightmare). mild dissociation, anxiety, nausea, fighting (challenge match), one very small injury, canon-typical peril and danger.

“I love you,” Bodhi rasps, closing his eyes. “I’m so… sorry…”

“No, no, hey, look at me,” you beg, hot tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re gonna be okay, we’re getting you help, but you have to keep looking at me, okay?”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move or make any indication that he can hear you. He’s silent, perfectly still — he isn’t breathing. 

“Bodhi,” you cry, “Bodhi, please don’t leave me. Wake up, please.”

His heart has stopped beating. The love of your life, the man who had sworn to protect you, who you had sworn to love in sickness and in health and through the test of time, until the end of your days, is dead.

You feel like the air has been squeezed from your lungs, your breaths coming in choked sobs. 

“Wake, child,” someone interrupts — Sìoda. “It’s just a dream. It’s not real.”

You shake yourself awake, panting like you’d been running for miles. You look down at your palms, illuminated by the gentle moonlight filtering into the room -- they’re clean; not streaked with Bodhi’s blood. It was just a dream. Just a terrible dream, likely a product of the overactive imagination you’ve had your whole life, and your anxiety about the dragonkind exam you have tomorrow that you’re convinced you’re going to fail, despite spending all evening studying. 

“Your mate, and all of your brothers and sisters are safe in their beds,” she soothes, “as are mine.”

Oh. You still aren’t any good at shielding, so she’s been getting all of your emotions through the bond — you’d likely woken her up with your distress.

“I’m sorry,” you say in a guilt-ridden whisper. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Don’t apologize, my child. Just breathe.”

You mop up your tears with the sleeve of your pajama shirt, and focus on deepening your breaths, trying to relax your racing heart.

“There are still a few hours until formation,” she says gently. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

You lay back down, gazing at the wall of gray stone beside you, counting the bricks and trying to find patterns in the texture until the exhaustion overtakes you, and you fall back asleep.

Thankfully, your subconscious doesn’t torment you with any more cruel sights. You wake up to gentle November sunlight warming your skin and birds chirping — last month, a pair of doves had made a nest in the tiny alcove by your window.

You get dressed quickly, sorting out your hair and straightening your uniform. You’re in the middle of lacing your boots when there’s a knock at your door, the familiar rhythm that you know can only be Bodhi; like clockwork, he comes down the hall to get you every morning so you can walk to breakfast together.

You unlock the door with your mind, something you’ve been able to do for the last week, breathing a sigh of relief when he walks into the room unharmed and smiling. You hug him extra tightly, tucking your head into his neck and holding him a moment longer than usual, comforted by the steadiness of his breathing.

“You okay, Darling?” he asks, sounding concerned.

You hum in contentment. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

You don’t mention the dream, because nobody wants to hear about their own death, and it would be silly to bother him with something you’ve already gotten over — though you know the image of Bodhi bleeding out in your arms on the floor of that empty classroom will likely be burned into your brain forever.

He gives you an easy smile, shouldering your bookbag and gesturing for you to head out the door.

You’re comforted by the normalcy of the day. It’s almost too easy, too smooth.

Everyone is present and accounted for at breakfast, in good spirits — as good as they can be, in your current situation. Battle brief passes quickly, with no reports of catastrophe, though you know that they likely aren’t giving you all the information they have. The dragonkind test you’d been so worried about is much easier than you’d expected, and you have the rest of the afternoon off until dinner.

You don’t object as your squadmates suggest you use one of the empty common rooms to study in — the same one you’d seen in your dream. 

What would you even say? Sorry, guys, but can we pick somewhere else to be, because I had a nightmare last night that Bodhi died in this room? 

You shake it off, repeating Sìodha’s words in your mind as you crack open your textbook: It’s just a dream. It’s not real.

But then every word of the conversation going on around you starts to sound very familiar, like you’ve heard it before — like they’re reciting lines for a stage play.

It’s just a dream. It’s not real.

But this can’t be a coincidence. There’s too many similarities for comfort; the location, the timing — the sun is just starting to set — the exact page that each boy’s book is open to… you remember that, remember Sawyer’s book being open to a page with that same illustration.

“Have you done number four yet? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Let me see.”

You predict their replies with nearly perfect accuracy — because you’ve heard this exact conversation before.

What if it is real? What if you’re trapped in an endless loop like in one of the novels you’d read, where the leading lady has to live the worst day of her life over and over until she figures out how to change it? 

You could hardly bear to watch the light leave Bodhi’s eyes in that dream, and so help you gods, you are not going to see it ever again; you’re going to do something about it.

You’d read some theory in a philosophy book once that the flap of a butterfly’s wings can set off a chain of events that cause a hurricane. Would it be safer to stop this exact moment as it happens, or to interrupt now? Or was that dream really just a dream, and today will just be a normal day, or Basgiath’s version of normal, and you’re worrying over nothing?

“I don’t think that’s it. I think that’s the answer to number five, though.”

Those are the words. You’d almost missed them, too concerned about what’s going to happen in the next five seconds, but you should have just enough time if you act now. Sìodha seems to think so too, sending you a flood of urgency and panic.

You tackle Bodhi to the ground, wrapping an arm around his waist and putting a hand behind his head to cushion his fall as you both hit the floor. Your knuckles split on the impact, pain ripping through your hand, but all you can focus on is Bodhi underneath you — his eyes wide with shock, but still blinking up at you, his lips parted in a gasp, but not slick with blood, his heart racing, but not stopping. 

There’s a shout from beside you, the clatter of metal against stone, and the sounds of a brief struggle. Dain has the would-be assassin pinned in a matter of seconds, Sawyer helping him restrain her and haul her away, leaving you and Bodhi alone, still tangled up in one another on the floor, his eyes locked with yours.

He finally manages to form words, but not a complete sentence, still stunned. “What… How did you… What?”

“I saw this in a dream last night,” you answer, your voice wavering. “I saw you sitting right here with me, talking to Sawyer. You said that same sentence, and then there was a knife in your chest.” 

You look to your right, where it lays on the floor a few feet away — the exact shape and length as the one you’d dreamed of. “That knife.”

Bodhi’s eyes widen even further as he puts it together.  “I think that was your signet,” he breathes. “You’re a visionary.”

You finally let go of him, moving to sit by his side on the cold stone of the floor and staring blankly at the dagger. It had missed either of you by at least three feet, but had you acted a second later, or not at all… That doesn’t matter, you suppose. What matters is that Bodhi is alive; that you’d been able to save him, because you’d known what was going to happen and you altered course at the last second. 

You should be proud of yourself, but all you can think about is his words to you, and the implications thereof. If this is truly your signet, then you’ll have to watch this kind of thing happen over and over, and likely not just to Bodhi, but to the rest of your friends, too. But what if you can’t stop it next time? What if you see something happen to the twins? They’re a two-hour flight away, and you can’t abandon your post just because you had a dream that something bad happened to them. 

Will any of your dreams be just dreams anymore, or are you going to see all manner of terrible things every night for the rest of your life? How are you supposed to distinguish between dreams and reality, between the sleepy inventions of your subconscious, or the magic of your signet?

“I’m sorry, child. It is a powerful gift to have, but it can be quite cruel.”

You can hear Bodhi speaking, likely a thank you and some soft reassurances, but you don’t process the words. You don’t respond to either of them, still not fully convinced that this isn’t another dream.

The warmth of his hand on your arm starts to pull you out of that numbness. “Talk to me, darling.”

“I watched you die,” you whisper. “There was nothing I could do. I just had to hold you, until… I thought it was just a nightmare, but then it started happening in reality, and...”

You shake your head, eyes welling with tears that you try to blink away. You tell yourself that there’s no reason to be crying, no use when he’s standing in front of you, alive, breathing and talking and holding your hand, but you can’t stop the flood of emotion; confusion and relief and horror and several other things you can’t put a name to right now.

“Hey,” he coaxes, “look at me.”

You focus your gaze on him, on those soft brown eyes that still blink at you, the rise and fall of his chest.

“I’m okay,” he says softly, wrapping your hand around his wrist, mindful of your scraped knuckles. He positions your fingertips over his pulse, pressing them into the skin so you can feel the gentle beat of his heart. “I’m alive, because you saved me.”

You nod silently, warm tears slipping down your cheeks. 

He gathers you into a warm embrace, rubbing your back in soft, soothing motions. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, my darling girl. But the next time something like that happens, you tell me, okay? I don’t care if you wake me up at three in the morning, I want to be there for you.”

“Okay,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Good.”

You stay like this for a moment, just sitting with him and finding comfort in the warmth of his touch and the steadiness of his breathing.

“Do you want to go to the healers for your hand, or do you want me to wrap it up for you?”

“Want you to do it,” you answer softly, still feeling a little fragile. You don’t want to be away from him, even for a moment; you might work up the courage to ask if you can sleep in his bed tonight.

“Okay.” He presses a kiss to your temple, getting up to pack your bags.

Dain and Sawyer haven’t returned, likely still in Varrish’s office with the unbonded girl. You scribble a quick note to thank them, and to say that you’re done studying for the afternoon, leaving it on top of Dain’s book.

Bodhi picks up your bag, shouldering it along with his own.

He stops to pick up the dagger, sheathing it at his side, and you blink at him, confused. “You’re keeping it?”

“Of course I’m keeping it. It’s a memento of my first assassination attempt.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Only you could be so proud about someone wanting to kill you.”

He pulls you in closer, tucking you under his arm. “Not nearly as proud as I am of you. You should have seen it. I’ve never seen you move that fast in my life.”

Your cheeks warm in embarrassment, suddenly shy. “I was worried I’d lose you,” you say softly.

“You won’t ever lose me,” he soothes. “We made each other a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

“So do I,” you say quietly. “So do I.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t have any more terrible dreams -- visions -- for the rest of the week, just a generalized sense of anxiety and insomnia, waiting for the next one and wondering what it’ll be, what terrible fate may befall one of your friends.

Each day that passes simultaneously soothes your anxiety and stokes it. If you aren’t dreaming of any terrible things, then they won’t happen, but what if you don’t dream them? What if you can’t see harm coming to them in advance, and thus can’t prevent it?

As soon as you enter the gym for Emeterrio’s class, it hits you again; that incredibly strong sense that something very bad is going to happen, very soon.

Bodhi sees your posture change, your normal relaxed and graceful presence tightening uncomfortably, and puts it together immediately, looking at you with concern.

“I have that feeling again,” you manage, forcing down the acid rising in your throat. “But this time, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“It’ll be okay,” he soothes.

“You don’t know that,” you reply, still looking around, surveying the gym for anyone that could pose a threat to you or any of your friends, which happens to be every single person in the room. 

He takes your hand, and the feeling stops; vanishes completely, as if it was never there. Bodhi’s presence and his gentle touch have always been a comfort to you, often the only comfort you have, but nothing like that has ever happened before, a relief so intense and sudden.

Your gaze snaps to him, eyes widening. “How did you…”

He lets go, and the anxiety and nausea comes back in a tidal wave that nearly knocks you over. He lays a hand on your back to steady you, worried you’ll collapse, and the feeling dissipates again in the blink of an eye. Definitely not a coincidence.

“I think you turned it off,” you whisper. “When you let go, it came back.”

He blinks at you for a few seconds, processing. “Do you think that’s…”

“Laurent and Daneel,” Emeterrio calls.

Oh. That’s what you’re supposed to be worried about.

“Deep breath,” Bodhi prompts.

You inhale as deeply as you can before he moves his hand off of your back, and you aren’t hit with another tidal wave, just a normal, manageable level of anxiety appropriate for someone about to start a challenge match.

But as you step onto the mat, the anxiety fades into… something new. Confidence, like nothing you’ve ever felt before -- like you know you’re going to win this fight, without question, like it’s already been written down in the professor’s gradebook, and carved into history. 

Interesting.

You lower your head to your opponent in respectful acknowledgement, getting a snarl in response. Well, then. Maybe this will be harder than you’d thought -- but you still have that unshakeable feeling that you’re going to come out on top.

She makes the first move, a punch that you’re able to dodge easily. She tries again -- and you step to the side without thinking, avoiding the blow by a few inches.

You continue dodging and blocking, reacting naturally, almost subconsciously, not even thinking about your movements. 

You feel the same strange feeling you’d felt during the conversation leading up to Bodhi’s would-be assassination; you’d known all the words, knew what was going to happen because you’d seen it in a dream -- only you don’t remember dreaming any of this at all. It had been a total surprise that your name would be called with hers, the intense anxiety you’d felt being the only indicator, and even then, you’d been worried that it would be one of your friends in danger, not yourself.

Very interesting.

A slow smile spreads across your face as you realize exactly what is happening -- this is your signet at work, that familiar hum of power through your veins as you move, keeping you a few seconds ahead of everyone else in the room.

“You’ve had your fun,” Sìoda nudges, sounding amused. “Now end this, and end it well.”

The girl agrees. “Come on, you filthy fucking traitor! Fight me already!”

There’s a collective intake of breath from the quadrant as they wait for you to respond -- every eye in the gym is watching you, even the other cadets that are supposed to be fighting across the room, but you don’t move, don’t react to the comment, preparing for what’s going to happen next.

She hurls a dagger at you, enraged by your lack of engagement in this fight -- and your hand flies up to catch it, your fingers wrapping around the hilt and stopping it in midair.

Silence. Absolute dead silence.

You examine it for a second before you tuck it into your belt, looking back up at her. “Let’s fight, then.”

[roseblog-rog]

Dog of War Changed My Life For the Better

Okay, I know a smut fic doing that sounds silly, but trust me this post is really important.

I wanna take a moment to talk about Mindcrank’s HDG fic Dog of War. Now I could go on and on about how well it’s written, how engaging the story is, how…hot it gets 😵‍💫…but that’s not what I’m here to do. No, I want to talk about the part that really helped me come to an important realization: Princess’ plurality.

//spoilers ahead for DoW up to the end of chapter 33

While not the center of the story, Princess’ plurality is an integral part of their character, being explored and explained throughout the fic. They were, as the fic has said, “two parts of one whole.” Now, to cut to the chase, the specific moment that woke me the fuck up was towards the end of chapter 31, where Princess and her other half “cut themselves in two.” The moment itself sent me into hysterics, prompting a full on panic attack and spiral. I was not only scared for Princess, actually having to contact a friend who had already read the whole thing to confirm her other half would come back, but also for myself.

Because you see, what made this moment so raw and powerful for me is that I too am plural. It’s a fairly recent realization, one that I am only just coming to terms with after reading this, but I did much of the same thing as Princess did. My alter, Skye, is the conglomeration and personification of years and years’ worth of repressed and stifled feelings. Emotions I hated having and experiencing, pushing them away in fears I would hurt someone. Being pushed down and getting cramped together for so long resulted in a fairly recent personification of these repressed emotions. It was terrifying, making it all the more likely I completely lose myself in the feelings, quite literally losing control of myself. Despite the personification, as well as the few times they fronted being almost completely non-harmful, I continued to push them away, down and down until I couldn’t feel their presence at all. I believed I hated them and everything they stood for, having intense trauma towards the feelings of anger and numbness that originally sparked Skye’s formation.

But when I read the moment where that same thing happens to Princess, seeing that split secondhand and not knowing if her other half would ever come back, I screamed out in pain. I realized I didn’t want to lose Skye, that we too were “two parts of one whole.“ I didn’t want to lose them, I don’t want to lose them. I was SCARED. When that breakdown ended, I finally realized that I couldn’t push my other half away anymore.

It will still be an arduous process of healing for the both of us, and it will definitely take a long time before they’re right up at the front with me, side by side, but it’s a start. And when Princess’ own other half came back, saying “we don't truly exist without both reflections, we can't be apart for long”, I couldn’t help but feel the same about myself. Or, I guess, my selves.

Long-winded ramble aside, I wanted to thank @magicalgirlmindcrank for not only producing an absolutely beautiful and incomprehensibly hot story, but also for helping me realize that I’ve been pushing my other half away for far too long. Words cannot describe how grateful I am.

And if anyone reading this is also plural, or going through a crisis of realization or something else of the sort, know that you are not alone. While the journey will be perilous, know that you too will find peace with your selves.

Thanks for listening, I really appreciate it.

[rustedhearts]

my funny valentine (steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: the hand-written evidence of an affair between high school sweethearts, displaced and reunited after war.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the library

♡ the record store

tags: “darling” used as reader insert name; infidelity; mention of war/violence; darling + steve are 35 at the time these letters are written. the time skip signifies lost letters (as they might, in actuality, get lost over the years)

"you make me smile with my heart...stay little valentine, please stay. each day is valentine's day."

— my funny valentine, ella fitzgerald

May 22nd, 1961

My Darling,

Please excuse this intrusion….I got your address from a neighbor. It was so lovely to see you today. I just couldn’t stand the thought of going one more moment without speaking more to you.

I couldn’t believe you thought me lost to you. Though, I cannot blame you for this train of thought. I was gone so long. It was silly to believe you would have waited all your life. Two years was long enough….I don’t blame you for moving on. But did you need to move to London? My Darling, it’s so far from home. I can excuse the new husband given my absence and its circumstance, but the distance will not do.

Nevertheless, I’m rambling. What I truly wanted to say, what I have longed to say since I boarded that train, and what I have wanted to say all day since seeing you on that wet little park bench in your fur coat….I still love you with all my heart. Is there any chance you still love me, too?

Yours,

Steve Harrington

May 24th, 1961

Sweet Steve,

Of course I still love you. You can imagine how confusing a feeling this is to me. Given the circumstance of a loving, successful husband found after such a long mourning period in which I now ponder the merit of….how could I still love you? It goes against all good graces which that of Almighty God intends for me.

But it doesn’t change the way my heart soars for you. The way it did when I saw you approach from across the pond in that tattered coat you’re still clinging to. Your hair is longer. I find it handsome.

I feel a sting of wrongdoing course through me as I etch these words down. Though I love you, Steve, we must not continue to write. Please tell me once what you endured, and then never more. I must have the answers I went so long without. I am allowing myself this selfishness.

However, when the tale is done, I cannot allow myself the selfishness of going on. My life has altered greatly since our time together, and my duties and responsibilities now lie elsewhere. I hope you can understand.

Sincerely,

Darling

May 30th, 1961

Darling girl,

I will begin first by disregarding the words that pierced me so. I will find it difficult to post this letter and think of it as the last of mine that you will ever read. Perhaps, by the end of it, you will have changed your mind.

When I left for Germany, it was as though we were thrown to the wolves. Peril and anguish and torment were all we knew. Myself, the men boys I fought with. We were all so young. Eighteen, twenty, the youngest seventeen. I cannot explain to you the horror of watching a young man’s arm blown off.

But you do not want to hear this. You want to hear of matters obtaining to you, of course. Answers you asked for and answers you shall retain. You’ve waited long enough.

When I returned to America two months after D-Day, I was bodily unscathed but no longer the man you knew. I found myself bound to fits of emotional and physical violence. Days of hysteria and madness that alarmed even my hostess. I was in no fit state to see you. I was, as well, thousands of miles away in California. So, when we were told to board for our way home, I did not go.

California was far enough that you could not find me and the man I had become.

My Darling, I wish I had sweeter excuses than these. I wish I could scrawl something of manly note, but…I owe you honesty. This, my sweet dear, is the honest truth. I was a hollow shell of the man you once knew. And I was afraid to return home to you.

Time in California fell like a whirlpool. A year had passed, and then two. By the time I had some handle on my fits, had worked through my madness and set home for you, you were gone. Your mother said ‘off to London,‘ and with a new beau to accompany you. A husband.

Something I was supposed to be.

Where I failed, I suppose he thrived. I hope you are happy, sweet girl.

Please, feel obliged to reply.

Yours still,

Steve

June 12th, 1961

Steve,

You always knew just how to sweeten the bitterness of goodbye. So much sweetness that I grow too sick to move through with it. Alas, that is why I’ve picked up my pen to write again. Curse you, Steve Harrington. You have such hold over me.

Now, I think it only right that I answer the questions you have not asked, but that I know you are curious of. Reggie is my husband, and we met two summers after the end of the war. I went so long pale and sick with grief, thinking I lost you to Heaven. I had come to terms with this, buried any idea that you might come home.

Reggie was a businessman, in town for dealings. He hails from London, which is the swift explanation for my immigration here. Our love was quick and easy, and when he asked me to marry him on our fifth date, I had no reason not to say yes. You were, in the mind of a young girl engaged to a soldier that did not come home, gone. There was no vow or promise being broken.

I would, however, be breaking all promises of honesty under God if I were to say I have not thought of you in these past years.

I feel an indescribable ache for your suffering, and all the suffering of young men in a similar state to yours. I take your words as oath, as I promised to do so many years ago...which is why I can assure that my heart weeps for you so. Not just for your suffering, but for your company. I think it always might.

Might we allow ourselves one more act of selfishness? An act in the park, Sunday afternoon?

Please return soon.

Darling

June 14th, 1961 Darling,

I would be happy to oblige you in the park on Sunday. Will 2:00 do? Though, you were always an admirer of early morning strolls. Perhaps 10? You always did love a bird call.

Every post from you makes my heart soar, Darling. Did you know? The prospect of keeping your company for even a few hours has me yearning for a busy week, if only to keep the impatience at bay. I meant it truly when I wished your happiness. Fondly, Steve

June 15th, 1961

Steve,

Yes, 10:00 will do. I will be there, wearing my fur coat.

Eagerly awaiting,

Darling

June 20th, 1961 My Darling, Oh I cannot scrub my mind free of this torment. Our act of selfishness I knew to be tempting, but now I am delirious. If I thought my need for you was strong before, it is insufferably so now. You were so beautiful in your coat, in your plum dress. The color compliments your skin so well. I have not seen your eyes that closely in years. Only in photographs, that I horde and selfishly admire in the depths of dark nights, have I seen those eyes of late. And now here they were, staring up at me. With such blatant love as they did once before. Yes, my Darling, I saw all of it there. Are we to go on lying to ourselves, saying we're better off? Our time has passed, it has been so long, yes. Yes, I know it. But I know also that I cannot go another day without making up for the time lost between. Darling girl, please be selfish with me. Please live our days selfishly for as long as we might have. Yours, Steve

June 22nd, 1961

Steve,

I pride myself for honesty, so I will satisfy you with my brief agreement. My heart thumped so wildly in the park on Sunday that I thought it might break free from my body. Would you catch it in your hands if it had? Would you crush it? Oh, Steve, it has always belonged to your hands. The love you detected was not an illusion. It never died, not even across the sea.

Yet, what of Reggie? I love him dearly, as well, though maybe never quite like I did you. He is, nevertheless, my husband. We have grown to live such a wonderful life. And yes, we cannot have children, but we are finding ways to fill this void. The void will only grow, I fear, if I continue to be selfish with you. I will find new gaps and black holes in our life together, and I cannot be unhappy in a marriage that is sufficiently content.

Please do not ask this of me. My heart cannot bear to say no.

Yours,

Darling

June 24th, 1961 Darling, I know you are frightened, but might our love be stronger than this fear? Please do not deny me, I might break entirely apart. Do you not see the predicament we are in? To lose so many years, yet find each other in a completely different part of the world from where we were born. Is it not an act of God stringing us together again? One night, my sweet Darling. If not an eternity as we once intended, one night will suffice. Please do not say no. Yours waiting, Steve

June 27th, 1961

Sweet Steve,

I have been awake for days, ailing over your proposal. Know I do not intend to make any decision without a full realization of every consequence. To deny you would leave me with an ache like no other forever plagued on my heart. To accept, I would part ways with the very peace of mind that my marriage is pure of all faults as it is now, and was before you.

Attach the address of your hotel.

Yours,

Darling

June 29th, 1961 Oh my Darling, I believe I read over your words so frequently and at such a swift pace that my eyes are still sore. Attached is the address of my stay, and know I will be waiting no matter the hour. Come as you please, whenever you wish. I will be at the door. To hold you in my arms again is all I can live for in the hours between. Yours, Steve

July 3rd, 1961

Steve,

The loveliest of nights has passed between us, and yet I feel sick with the wrongness of our sheer audacity. Entangled in your arms, wrapped in those cotton sheets just feeling your breath and your flesh as it always was...I cannot think of a better mercy. For our suffering, for our loss. But will I obtain God's forgiveness when the day is to come? For what I have done to Reggie, I think this always a stain on my conscience.

Yet, some sort of delirium has come over me since that night. I seem incapable of clear thinking. If it is stained, let it be stained.

Please write to the attached P.O box from now on. I cannot risk interception, but I cannot risk a silence from you.

My darling Steve, will you stay?

Yours entirely,

Darling

July 5th, 1961 Darling, You cannot fathom how long I have waited to hear these words. Yes, I will stay. Yes, I will be yours, if you shall be mine. The hours allowed to us are the brightest of my days. I will find permanent residence somewhere in traveling distance so long as it allows me proximity to your love. Please come soon. I miss you terribly. Love, Steve

September 19th, 1961 Darling, You were upset last we parted, and my wish to quell your ailing grows stronger by the hour. I have grown to know your marriage and your Reggie as you have told, and I know now he cannot make you happy. I could make you happy, delightfully happy. The children you have always wanted are in our future, I know this is true. Please, change your mind and say yes, and we can have it. The future you crave, the future you deserve. Adventure, and intrigue, and passion that he cannot fathom. I have stared into the depths of your soul, and have bared all parts of my own. Can you say the same of him? Please, my Darling girl. I only think of you. Yours, Steve

September 22nd, 1961

Steve,

It is with aching eyes and a sore, sinking heart that I have prepared this for you. Know the walk to post it felt like a march to the death. In some way, this is death. Part of me, sealed away by your sweet kisses, and tender touches, and all those long hours whispering secrets in the dark. Part of me will always live in these moments, and that part of me has died.

I cannot leave Reggie, and your request of such leaves nowhere for our selfishness to go. We must not go on like this. Not if we are to live full and fulfilling lives without secret and pain. It is too much for one heart to bear. Were we to go on, it would kill me entirely. I must sacrifice a small part to save the whole. Oh, my love, I hope you understand. I hope you can forgive me.

Yours, now and always,

Darling

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kelly Link's "Book of Love"

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/13/the-kissing-song/#wrack-and-roll

Kelly Link is one of science fiction's most important writers, a master of the short story to rank with the likes of Ted Chiang. For a decade, Kelly's friends have traded whispers that she was working on a novel – a giant novel – and the rumors were true and the novel is glorious and you will love it:

https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/book-of-love-9781804548455/

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/239722/the-book-of-love-by-kelly-link/

It's called The Book of Love and it's massive – 650 pages! It is glorious. It is tricky.

If you've read Link's short stories (which honestly, you must read), you know her signature move: a bone-dry witty delivery, used to spin tales of deceptive whimsy and quirkiness, disarming you with daffiness while she sets the hook and yanks. That's the unmistakeable, inimitable texture of a Kelly Link story: deft literary brushstrokes, painting a picture so charming and silly that you don't even notice when she cuts you without mercy.

Turns out that she can quite handily do this for hundreds of pages, and the effect only gets better when it's given space to unfold.

Hard to tell you about this one without spoilers! But I'll tell you this much. It's a story about three teenaged friends who return from death and find themselves in the music room at their high school, face to face with their mild-mannered music teacher, Mr Anabin. Anabin explains what's happened in frustratingly cryptic – and very emphatic – terms, but is interrupted when a sinister shape-shifting wolf enters the music room.

This is Bogomil, and whenever he speaks, Mr Anabin turns his back – and vice versa. Anabin and Bogomil appear to be rivals, and Bogomil may or may not have been the keeper of the land of the dead from which the three have escaped. There's also a forth, a tattered shade who's been dead so long they don't remember who they are or anything about themselves. Bogomil would like to take the four back to the deadlands, but Anabin proposes a contest and Bogomil agrees – but no one explains the contest or its rules (or even its stakes) to the four dead teenagers.

That's the wind up. The pitch that follows is flawless, a long and twisting mystery about friendship, love, queerness, rock-and-roll, stardom, parenthood, loyalty, lust and duty. There's a terrifying elder god of Lovecraftian proportions. There are ghosts upon ghosts. There are ancient grudges. There are sudden revelations that come from unexpected angles but are, in retrospect, perfectly set up.

More than anything, there are characters. It's impossible not to love Link's characters, despite (because of) their self-destructive choices and their impossible dilemmas. They are so sweet, but they are also by turns mean and spiteful and resentful, like the pinch of salt that transforms a caramel from inedible spun sugar into something that bites even as it delights.

These characters, so very likable, are often dead or at death's door, and that peril propels the story like an unstoppable locomotive. From the very start, it's clear that some of them can't survive to the end, and Link is merciless in making you root for all of them, even though this means rooting against them all. This, in turn, creates moments of toe-curling, sublime horror.

Link has built a complex machine with more moving parts than anyone has any business being able to keep track of. And yet, each of these parts meshes flawlessly with all the others. The book ends with such triumphant perfection that it lingers long after you put it down. I can't wait to read this one again.

[kombuuuu]

yo could you do some domestic spot fluff???? asking for a friend (lie)

Spotty dog?

Spot x Gen!Reader

“This feels demeaning.” “It’s not! Look he’s cute!”

hes so adorable h my god. 101 dalmatian coded fr

June 28th — Your lovers birthday, and two days away. You woke this morning with a determination you knew both you and him held. To out-do your your last gift. Last Christmas, you had thought you'd won. Showing up to your shared home with a pair of matching shirts — reading "I ♡ My Boyfriend" and one equally matching for him.

Along with a multitude of other small things — all sentimental to your relationship. Like the mug that said "No.1 Bad Guy." or a card detailing how he would never just be the "Villain of the week."

But when he'd pulled out matching crocs, with Jibbitz of a goofy looking Dalmatian for him and a cute Bunny for you?

You had resigned as Loser for the months to come. Not without a cheering victory from your Spotty lover. Now though? A thought had been brewing for months— one that would never make you loser of the gifts ever again. What could possibly out-do a man willing to wear crocs branded with a staple of you on them? And a goofy looking bucket hat with your silly matching shirts?

A dog.

Something he's wanted for a while now, something to take care of. He'd lost everything, his friends, his family. With that much gone, he'd clung to you like a lost child. Mourning the losses he'd faced while cherishing his moments with you — feeling a constant sense of peril when faced with the fact that he *could just lose you too. He wouldn't, though. You would never do that to him. You loved him too dearly to cause him that pain.

—

You watched him slip on a blue coat over his "totally regular civilian" clothes. The complaint leaving his mouth going on deaf ears. He slipped on his left shoe, jumping a bit and tripping over himself before steadying himself on a coffee table. "Do we really have to go out today?—" His face-spot downturned, like a sad puppy.

",—Can't we just sit in and cuddle? We could watch Mean Girls and i'll make the hot chocolate you really like!" "Baby." He whined, Spot rolling into a displeased frown. "Where are we even—" "—Ask one more time." He snorted, pulling his last shoe on and tucking in the laces, then going up to you and leaning down to give your forehead a kiss. "Ready?"

He right about swooned at your domestic tone, admiring the way the softened gold lights highlighted your features. You were everything to him, and just the knowledge you loved him back had him tripping over himself. Falling through spots at the sight of you. "Yeah."

—

Jonn swayed as the bus came to a stop, avidly ignoring the curious glances given by other patrons, and focusing more on holding onto you.

"I'm gonna fall over!" "Maybe if you held the bar, and not me." He looked up at you from his waist bent position, arms wrapped securely around your abdomen, clinging onto you like you were the only person there.

"I don't need another lover baby, you're right here." "It's a pole, John." "And I am a faithful man." You giggled lightly at him and wrapped your free arm around him tighter.

—

"Just step off." "It's high!" John stuttered out his reply, dipping his foot down like he was testing pool water. 'I'll just—" He turned around, opening a spot and crawling through it and popping up again next to you. The bus driver gawked at you, paler than the villain walking Brighton's street.

You mouthed a 'sorry' to the poor lady, and grabbed your boyfriends hand, dragging him towards the street of your subject.

"You gonna tell me where we're going yet?" He trailed behind you, getting pulled by his left hand, and tripping over his own feet. Moving in that clumsy kind of dorkiness. 'Nuh uh."

His spot slanted at you, deadpanning. "You're being mysterious— I don't like it."

You side-eyed him, grinning in a glare. "I think it's part of the charm." He dragged his spindly legs farther forward, stepping in front of you and gathering your joined hand against his chest. He walked backwards with you, and his spot widened again. You smiled up at him, continuing on with walking, and waited for him to complain once more.

You hadn't have to wait long. "Are you sure you can't—" "We're here." He stopped walking when you did, spot slanting when he surveyed the shops and stalls around him, trying to read the signs. "a café date?—," He chuckled lightly, chest heaving lightly "'—You know you could have—"

"Not there, baby." You flexed your hands into his, he let one of his drop, and linked your fingers with his— squeezing your palm in interest.

You turned towards the animal rescue centre, giving your lover a mischievous grin and stepped beside him to open the door.

—

The spotted dalmatian looked up at you, glossy and doe eyed.

You cooed at it through the glass, the puppy wagging it's tail at the high pitched voice you were giving him.

"How come you never talk to me like that?" Your boyfriend had his hands on your shoulders, leaning on your crouched form and looking down at the small dog below him.

"Do you want me to?" You watched his reflection through the glass as he contemplated, spot shifting forms until it settled on a stretched thin line. "No." You snorted and continued sweet talking the puppy.

The dog-keeper smiled happily at the interaction between you and the small puppy.

"Would you like to take him outside?"

You turned your head towards her and nodded your head, sounding a pretty please — you put your hands on your knees and pushed up, standing straight again.

You turned to your lover, standing up on your toes, you smoothed your hands over his cheeks and giving his nose a little kiss.

"This feels demeaning." He pouted at you, hands grabbing at your coat.

You giggled lightly, resting the side of your face on his chest.

"It's not!," you gestured to the adorable puppy ",Look he's cute!"

John considered the tiny dog, slacking a bit under you, and conceding. "Yeah, yeah— whatever." You jumped up and gave his jaw a quick peck. "Exactly!"

You ran towards the back door, leading to the puppy playground.

Your lover called out to you— "I better still be your favourite Spot!"

"My number one, baby!" You called back.

He huffed despite his spot melting into a heart.

—

Two days later, when he woke up to a plethora of silly gifts, topped with adoption papers and a pink bow — He begrudgingly gave away his title.

—

+ bonus!!!

"You're just the most handsome spotty boy, aren't 'ya!" A squealing voice followed by a small 'ruff' caught your attention. You closed the door softly, and sneakily dropped your keys in the bowl, and snuck into your living room.

The sight of your loving husband cradling the puppy to his chest as he danced to an unheard tune greeted you. You smiled to yourself, biting your finger and watching him for a moment.

He spun slowly, and when his sight landed on you, he froze. He quickly, albeit gently, placed the small thing back onto the couch. The puppy rolling over and smiling up at you.

John cleared his throat, a closed fist to his throat, and after putting his hands on his hips to "act cool", he spoke.

"His name is The Dot."

You giggled behind your hand, going up and kissing his cheek, not before you pet Dot in passing. "Next time we're adopting a kid."

His spot widened and slid into a heart, blush coating his cheeks.

"And you're not naming them."

He laughed.

[matchadobo]

KIDD; festival confession

wc: 1639 summary: kidd and name spend the summer matsuri together and confessions were made. warning/s: fem reader, nooooneee very fluff

"if you take that goddamn long we'll leave you." kidd grumbled by the wooden seat that was too small for him. he was munching on some candy apples killer gave him while waiting for you to get ready. but you know he didn't mean that, like hell he'd leave you when he couldn't keep his hands off you at random parts of the day.

"go ahead, you'll miss me." you replied, trying to figure out where to snag the ornamental hairpin that somehow got tangled with your locks. "one more second, okay? this stupid fucking thing got my hair in a bust!" you tried prying it off your head. it was the last thing you needed to fix before you finally get ready for the festival.

"i'm comin' in." kidd was, of course, too impatient to wait for you. so when he swept the curtains open and ducked down to get in the narrow compartment of a room, his world had fucking stopped for you again.

when he saw you in that bright red yukata adorned with white flowers. he knew you picked the red one because you knew he'd like it. a smile slowly made its way to his lips, you look the same kind of beautiful just as the day he met you.

you look a little silly with the tangled ornament, he snorted and sighed, giving your cheek a little pinch before taking the ornament by his hands. "you shouldn't have tried-"

"shut it." you cut him off, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. kidd was impatient, and eager, and always annoyed. but never with you, he was surprisingly patient and earnest. he even goes an extra mile to craft pretty little trinkets for you. so despite the maddening task that is your hair, he managed to get the knot out of your locks. he was quite literally towering over you so he can clearly see what's going on. you two spend quite a bit of time in there annoyed at that thing.

once it was all gone, you almost discarded the ornament away when kidd yanked it out your hand. "turn around. i'll do it." you took a couple of seconds to look at him, how uncharacteristic of him. "come on," he turned you around himself because his ears were turning red at your gaze.

his fingers combed through your locks, lightly brushing the strands of your hair as he gathered them all in a bun. you shivered lightly each time his knuckles or the tip of his fingers touches the back of your neck. but he wasn't innocent either, the sight of your bare neck and shoulders had him in a chokehold. the honest and strong urge to just grab you by the neck and kiss the spaces that lacked his lip marks. this was a different kind of intimate that you two were too scared of breaking the tension on.

"there." he gave his craft one last look. his human arm reached over from behind and raised your chin so you can look at yourself at the mirror inside the fitting room. "that's how you do it."

you two took your time memorizing and engraving the sight of the both of you in the mirror. kidd and you in a yukata in the absence of bloodshed that is your everyday, devoid of the peril that awaits your lives.

"kidd! name! the fireworks are gonna start soon!" the others called out, both of you snapping back to reality. a bit sad that the moment was cut off short. but this was the reason why you insisted on visiting a festival, you wanted to watch the fireworks with the crew.

"sorry you didn't get to experience the other stuff in the festival before the fireworks started." you nudged him a little, hands behind your back as you two strolled by the cobbled stairs.

"i got to experience something waaay better, don't worry." he replied, catching your eye as you looked back and saw the light tint on his cheeks. he avoided your gaze, pretending he wasn't looking at you.

"kidd i," just before you could finish, the fireworks started and surprised you. as you both descended the stairs, you two stayed at the bottom and admired the dancing lights by the sky. you gazed above as the colors captivated your full attention while you captivated his.

"hm?" he replied, silently observing and committing to memory how you look like tonight. how your eyes glisten with the pirouetting hues of the evening sky, how you perk up and point at the animals and figures the fireworks made, how your cheeks puff up each time you smile at every light that grazed the sky.

"a-ah nothing," you suddenly grew shy, locking glances with him. now dawning at you that he was looking at you the whole time. "just wanted to say thank you, for letting me have this night." you smiled at him, pressing your lips afterward and fiddling with your fingers.

he suddenly took a long, deep breath, avoiding your gaze as you catch his ears reddening. he wanted to say something; something he had been keeping for a long time. but as eustass kidd himself, pride is a much bigger hurdle to overcome. but he might be willing to do it just for you. he said he wouldn't fold first, he said it's you who'll be chasing because apparently 'you're crazy about him', it's you who'll keep dreaming about what life would be like if you two'd tie the knot, and it's you who'd be confessing.

so he himself doesn't know why he reached over for your hand as he pulled you closer. and once he had you in his grasp, his hand ghosted the skin of your neck and held onto your cheek. his fingers spanning the lower side of your neck while his thumb rubbed by your cheek and his palm held your jaw. this was one of the rare moments where he wasn't scowling and he held all the love for you in his eyes.

"then i'd like to say thank you for making the last five years of my life tolerable. i had someone to look forward to everyday. i learned to love and what it feels to be loved. i have my tireless cheerleader by my side at all times, bugging the shit out of me. i have someone to hold close to each sleepless night. i have one delicate treasure in my life i pledge to protect, your smile; i have to keep ya smilin', aye? if the day ever comes where i do the opposite, please fuckin' kill the living shit out of me. 'cuz goddamnit, i finally had one fuckin' weakness. i finally found someone to spend my life with." he couldn't stop the tears streaming down his face. you could tell that he was holding this back a lot for a long, long time. you stayed quiet because it all felt like a dream.

kidd wasn't a very vocal nor a person of words, he always expressed everything through actions or not even at all. but the way you look tonight, he doesn't want to lose that sight of you nor forget the words he wanted to say. eustass kidd was no coward, but when it comes to love and you, he suddenly is nothing but a shell. but he doesn't plan on living like that, nor does he plan to continue to lie to you.

"you broke my goddamn walls, name. from the day you first butted heads with me, from every insult you returned each time i push you away, from each ounce of patience you gave me and hoped for the best in me, from the way you look at me differently, from the times we fought side by side; those always did a number on me, from the warmth you engulf me each cold night the phantom pain haunts me, to the way you smile at me and cheered me on to my dream, our dream. i fucking love you." he choked out a sob, laughing stupidly at himself as if a montage of you appeared on his head.

at his last sentence, the grand finale of the fireworks concluded. your heart will absolutely implode out of your chest. you reached over to hold his hand, removing it from your cheeks and cupping his big fist with both of your hands. "i tamed the beast, huh?" you reached over to wipe the tears on the corner of his eyes, pulling him down by the neck gently. "i always knew you're a little sweetheart inside."

"pft. the pirate king shouldn't be so warm and fuzzy." he pressed foreheads with you, later pressing a kiss on your forehead.

"i do that to you, huh, captain?" you teased him, hug becoming tighter. "say, if you love me that much, why don't you take me out on a date? it's a festival after all." you tilted your head in amusement, poking at his nose. he blinked at you twice, pale at your words. he legit wasn't ready for this.

receiving no response, you leaned in to his ear and whispered. "i'll give you a kiss after."

"why not do it now?" he fixed you in place with a firm grasp on your lower back. "don't make your captain wait." he said in a low tone, leaning back a little so he could raise your chin. he got a good look at how all the blood in your face rose. so he took matters in his own hands and planted a kiss on your lips, under the bright moonlight and the surrounding festival music across town. killer and the others figured kidd finally confessed from the evident red in his ears and cheeks when you two got back.