Slow Burn - Blog Posts

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 13 - Objection Overruled

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

an: Phew…. How we feeling? SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 12} ; {next}

taglist: @giasssslife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The dining room of the Nanami estate was a picture of refinement—high ceilings, a crystal chandelier casting soft golden light, the long mahogany table set with fine china and gleaming silverware. The quiet hum of classical music played in the background, nearly drowned out by the voices of the two families engaged in discussion.

Nanami sat at the far end of the table, his posture rigid but practiced. His father, seated at the head, was deep in conversation with Mr. Takahashi about upcoming business mergers and legal strategies. It was a familiar setting, one he had been raised in, where every conversation had a purpose, every alliance a calculated move.

“The key to a successful firm,” Mr. Takahashi was saying, “is knowing which cases to take and which to leave alone. Not every battle is worth fighting.”

Nanami’s father nodded approvingly. “Exactly. Some lawyers waste their careers chasing ideals instead of securing real power. At the end of the day, reputation is everything.”

Nanami’s mother took a delicate sip of her wine. “It’s like that upcoming case involving the [Your Last Name] family. They always involve themselves in causes that are… questionable, don’t you think?”

Mrs. Takahashi smirked. “Oh, absolutely. I heard they’re throwing yet another charity event soon. Always parading themselves around as if that’s the same as real influence. Honestly, I wonder what they even gain from it.”

Nanami remained silent, his fingers tightening around his fork. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral, even as irritation twisted in his chest. They spoke about you and your family so casually, as if you were nothing more than a misguided idealist playing at generosity.

He wanted to correct them. Wanted to tell them they were wrong about you. But he knew better.

His father was already displeased about his association with you. Speaking up now would only draw more scrutiny—scrutiny he couldn’t afford.

So, he stayed quiet.

Across from him, Ayaka Takahashi, their daughter, turned to him with a charming smile. “You’re awfully quiet tonight, Nanami. Is dinner not to your liking?”

He met her gaze, giving a polite nod. “The food is fine.”

“You always seem so serious,” she mused, resting her chin on her palm. “Maybe you just need the right company to loosen up.”

Nanami didn’t react, but his father did.

“Ayaka is an exceptional young woman,” his father said smoothly, cutting into his steak. “She comes from a family with strong values, and she’s already making a name for herself in the legal world. Kento, you should take the time to get to know her better.”

Nanami kept his expression unreadable. “I spoke with her at the conference. She’s impressive.”

Ayaka smiled. “You think so? That’s nice to hear. Maybe we should have dinner sometime—just the two of us.”

Before he could reply, Mrs. Takahashi chuckled. “Oh, I agree. They would make such a perfect match.”

Nanami’s mother hummed in approval. “We’ve always wanted Kento to be with someone who understands our world. Someone with the same drive, the same ambitions.”

His father nodded, his gaze sharp. “Ayaka is a smart choice, Kento. A relationship should be built on more than just fleeting emotions. It should be built on stability, power, and strategy. You would do well to remember that.”

Nanami didn’t respond immediately. He was used to this—his life planned out in careful steps, his future mapped by decisions he was barely given a say in. He was used to expectations.

But for the first time in a long time, he felt like resisting.

And he knew exactly why.

The dinner at the Nanami estate was perfect, by every standard that mattered to his parents. The company was prestigious, the conversation strategic, and the atmosphere calculated.

But for Nanami, it had never felt more suffocating.

As he listened to Ayaka laugh beside him, as his father spoke of futures he was expected to walk into, all he could think about was you.

And the truth he hadn’t wanted to admit.

That no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he didn’t want the life his parents had planned for him.

And he didn’t want her.

He wanted you.

But he wasn’t sure if it even mattered anymore.

The campus cafeteria was a buzzing mess of students chatting between classes, the smell of coffee and fried food lingering in the air. You sat with Shoko and Toji’s reader, idly stirring your drink as you waited for Gojo’s reader to arrive. The day had been dragging, and for once, you weren’t sure you were looking forward to this meetup.

Shoko exhaled a lazy puff of smoke before putting out her cigarette. “Saw Nanami last night, by the way.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “Oh?”

She leaned back in her chair, looking entirely unbothered. “Yeah. Looked like he was on a date.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

Toji’s reader raised a brow. “With who?”

“Some rich girl,” Shoko said, waving a hand dismissively. “Ayaka Takahashi. You know, her family’s loaded. I saw them at this fancy restaurant—real expensive place. They looked cozy.”

Your fingers tightened around your cup. Nanami on a date. With another girl.

You felt something you didn’t want to name twist in your chest. He had been pushing you away for days, ignoring your texts, acting cold and distant. And now you were hearing that he had been out with someone else?

You weren’t sure what hurt more—the fact that he had gone on a date, or the fact that he hadn’t even bothered to tell you.

You opened your mouth, but before you could react, a voice interrupted.

“Hey, sorry I’m late!”

Gojo’s reader slid into the seat beside you, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

You forced a smile, pushing everything down. “No worries. We were just catching up.”

But even as you tried to focus on the conversation, your mind was elsewhere.

On him. On the way he had shut you out.

And on the realization that maybe you had been foolish to think you were ever different to him.

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Introduction

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

tropes: Fake Dating, Opposites Attract, Hurt Comfort, Reluctant Allies, Found Family, Slow Burn Romance

an: I hereby welcome you to my third SMAU in this Universe! (Yay?). I hinted at this one in Chapter 14 of Toji’s SMAU if any of you noticed hehe. I really hope you enjoy this story because I’ve had so much fun writing it so far LMAOOOO. Let me know what you think! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{next}

taglist: OPEN!

Main Cast:

Everything changed in third year. It really should have been insignificant in the grander scheme of things. Magic was real, Harry was the Boy Who Lived, and He Who Must Not be Named was back. There were so many more important things to think about. So why was Harry so hung up on the fact that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were in love? Or how Harry accidentally fell in love with Draco Malfoy. (And it might have been the best thing that ever happened to him ... or the worst)

Chapter 4: I see you

Content Warnings for Chapter 4:

Child Abuse (Physical and Emotional)

Neglect and Abandonment

Drug Abuse Mention

Domestic Violence

Mentions of Poverty and Financial S

trugglesTrauma and PTSD

 ThemesMental Health Struggles (Insanity/Breakdowns)

Graphic Descriptions of Injury/AbuseDissociation and Psychological Distress

viewer discretion is advised ⚠️

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My footsteps echoed softly through the unfamiliar halls, each step carrying me closer to a classroom I had never entered before. There was no sense of certainty about what awaited me beyond its door, only a quiet apprehension that lingered in my chest. After signing a consent form handed to me at the entrance, something unexpected happened—the paper itself shimmered faintly, folding and twisting until it transformed into a mask resting delicately in my hands.

I recognized its shape almost instantly, though only from the books I had devoured back at the facility. It was a kitsune mask, a relic often associated with spirits and tricksters from old tales. Traditionally, these masks covered the entire face, which struck me as suffocating and isolating—perhaps a personal bias formed from my own sensory sensitivities. To my relief, however, this mask was only a half-mask, designed to shield my eyes rather than my whole face. A practical adjustment, I assumed, meant to make it less overwhelming to wear.

Ms. Tess, who had been silently observing my reaction, stepped forward and explained the mask's true purpose. It was not simply an ornament or a ceremonial object—it was a tool. A containment device meant to dampen the constant flood of visions and fractured moments that relentlessly played across my mind like a broken film reel. With the mask in place, the overwhelming torrent of future flashes would ease, granting me at least a fleeting sense of normalcy.

She also gently suggested that I visit her every Friday—a standing invitation to what she called 'sensory moments.' These were designed to ground me, a time dedicated to unraveling the tension knotted inside my mind. Apparently, my powers were not only fueled by external triggers but also amplified by my own relentless overthinking, the constant hum of unease I carried with me. It was this internal chaos, she explained, that kept my abilities flaring wildly out of control, leaving me drained and vulnerable.

Those fleeting thoughts, fragile as fallen leaves beneath my feet, crumbled the moment I stood before the door. Room 206—a name so ordinary for a place that felt anything but.

My knuckles rapped softly against the wood, and with a breath caught between hesitation and resolve, I pushed the door open.

"As predicted, here she is."

The voice belonged to the professor, whose gaze flickered toward me with the faintest trace of expectation. I lifted my eyes to meet theirs, offering a plain, almost weightless, "Good morning," before stepping fully into the room—a presence without fanfare, yet not without gravity.

My gaze drifted over the room, tracing each unfamiliar face. Eleven students. Only eleven.

So, they weren't exaggerating after all. Those who walk the uncertain paths tied to time itself—our kind—are rare as cracks in the sky.  From what I see, they all have unique different objects they wear to help them control their powers, which is quite amazing to think that there's this one girl who have her eyes blindfolded.

"Please introduce yourself." The professor said as I nodded. "Good morning. I am Tachibana Hagarin..."

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Curious gazes devoured my presence the moment I settled into my seat. I suppose I couldn't blame them—a new face in a room so small was bound to attract attention. The silence that followed pressed against my skin like a second atmosphere, thick and unrelenting.

"For the continuation of our lesson," the professor's voice cut through the hush like a knife against glass, "we begin at Chapter 5."

A pause—deliberate, heavy.

"Dark Triad."

The words slithered into the air, curling like smoke around the edges of my mind.

"The Dark Triad refers to Narcissism, Machiavellianism, and Psychopathy—three personality traits bound together by manipulation, absence of empathy, and an insatiable hunger for control."

The professor's voice echoed within the hollow of my thoughts, and for once, the clarity of it felt almost indulgent. My mind had been left unclouded for days, all thanks to the mask resting against my face — a fragile shield between my sanity and the endless unraveling of time.

Even so, I couldn't help but wonder why we were treading the waters of psychology in the first place.

This was supposed to be a class for those who twist time itself — so why did this feel like an autopsy for the mind? 

When the class ended after 2 hours, I finally reached the schedule of vacant time. I was quietly thinking of what to do with the given 2 hours of vacant but suddenly...

A pen rolled near my shoe, its faint clatter against the cold floor somehow louder than it should have been. I leaned forward, fingers poised to grasp it—

"No!"

The word cracked like a whip through the air, sharp enough to slice through my hesitation. I looked up to see a girl, panic carved into every step she took as she nearly stumbled toward me, her shoe sending the pen skittering across the room.

"You shouldn't touch it," she whispered, her voice low and urgent, as if the walls themselves had ears.

I followed the flicker of her gaze to a boy slouched near the back, his grin stitched too wide across his face, a glint in his eye that spoke of cruelty reserved for those who knew no limits.

"Why?" My voice was calm, but curiosity curled beneath it like smoke.

"That pen," Clara murmured, fingers trembling as they curled into her sleeves, "has been laced with someone's twisted magic. If you touched it, you would've been swallowed whole — into a room stitched from riddles and silence. A place where you could scream until your voice breaks, and still no one would hear you."

Her words tasted like truth, bitter and lingering.

"But you kicked it," I pointed out, my voice softer now. "Wouldn't that count as contact?"

She shook her head, strands of hair sticking to the sweat gathering at her temple. "No... It needs skin. It craves warmth. Bone, flesh, the pulse beneath your fingertips. Shoes are just leather and rubber. They hold no soul."

Her eyes drifted back to the boy — the architect of this sick game — who merely offered a laugh that sounded more like something choking on itself.

"Just be careful," Clara said, voice dipping lower. "You're new. You don't want to end up... you know... a plaything."

I offered a nod, the weight of her words settling across my shoulders like a damp cloak. "Thank you for the warning."

There was silence, then her hand stretched toward me, trembling just slightly. "I'm Clara."

I took her hand — cold skin against mine — and held it for a breath longer than I meant to. "Hagarin."

A pause, then: "Can I ask... more about this place? This department?"

Clara sighed, her expression caught somewhere between pity and exhaustion, before she sank into the seat beside me.

"I'll tell you everything I can," she said, her voice no louder than a prayer, "in hopes it makes you feel a little less like prey."

When Clara settled beside me, I let my gaze linger on her — a habit born from survival rather than curiosity. Her hair, a shade too soft for this place, was braided into a bun plait, too delicate for a room that reeked of fear. The strands twisted like a noose, and at its center, her monocle gleamed like an artificial eye — an elegant restraint to a power I knew she could barely hold back.

"Where would you like to start?" Her voice cut through my observation like a scalpel, precise and clinical.

I averted my gaze, as though looking too long would unravel me. "I suppose... we could start with the culture here. What do people do in a place like this?"

Clara's smile was thin, barely there, like a ghost caught between walls. "Culture," she repeated, as though the word was foreign, a relic long buried beneath dust and rot.

She folded her hands in her lap, knuckles pale. "This building breathes silence. Not by design, but by consequence. We are few — a species on the verge of extinction, clinging to corridors stained with the mistakes of those who came before us. But we all share the same disease."

Her voice dropped into something brittle. "The disease of seeing too much."

I felt my stomach twist. "And the subjects you study?"

"Psychology, History, Philosophy, Sociology, Politics," she listed them like names on gravestones.

"Why?" I asked, though I already knew the answer would taste bitter.

"Because if you lose your mind, your power will devour you." Her words carried the weight of a funeral prayer. "This place is a coffin for those who couldn't hold their own sanity together — their powers grew wild, untethered, until they swallowed them whole. If you can't control your mind, you can't control the time."

Clara scratched at her temple, the skin red and irritated, as though her own thoughts were a splinter beneath the flesh.

"These subjects aren't about learning — they're about survival. You study history so you don't repeat your own mistakes. You study psychology so you understand the voices crawling inside your head. Philosophy teaches you to question your reality before it eats you alive. Sociology reminds you that you aren't the only monster walking these halls. And politics..."

She trailed off, but another voice filled the void.

"Politics teaches you the rules of power. Knowing when to kneel — and when to slit a throat."

The footsteps were soft, measured, each one deliberate like the ticking of a clock. A boy stood before us, the air around him heavy with calculation. His uniform was too neat, his posture too perfect, like he belonged in a portrait rather than this crumbling room.

His smile was polite, but his eyes were scalpel-sharp, stripping me bare in a single glance. "Sanity is currency here," he said. "If you lose it, your power consumes you from the inside out. So, we sharpen our minds until they're blades — because the only way to survive this place is to cut first."

The room felt colder.

The boy offered no introduction but just a polite smile. "Right, no need to sound like a walking thesis just to make us feel stupid, Clarence," Clara shot back, her voice light, but her eyes rolling with enough force to tilt the earth off its axis.

Clarence chuckled — a low, deliberate sound that somehow felt like it belonged to someone who knew exactly how and when you would die. "Just doing my civic duty. Our new little time anomaly deserves the full orientation package, doesn't she?" His gaze flickered to me, sharp but amused.

I rested my chin in my palm, already exhausted. "If we're supposed to be trained into functional, sane people, why's that guy..." —my finger lazily pointed at the slumped figure drooling onto his desk, the one who rolled the pen towards me— "acting like he's escaped from a psychological horror film?"

Clara snorted. "Oh, him? That's Ezra. He's new, like you. Except he skipped the 'gradual breakdown' part and just speed ran straight into 'hopelessly unhinged.'"

Clarence leaned against the desk, his expression darkening into something more serious — the kind of look you'd wear at a eulogy. "He's a walking cautionary tale. His sanity wasn't just fractured — it was pried apart, piece by piece, until the light itself showed him everything he couldn't bear to see."

He paused, his fingers tracing patterns on the desk absentmindedly. "You see, for some of us, the power doesn't break us. It shows us how broken we already were. And once the mind is exposed to too much truth, it shatters like glass."

I didn't respond. There wasn't much to say when someone described a fate you could practically feel breathing down your neck.

Clara, mercifully, broke the silence. "Anyway!" she clapped her hands together, trying to inject some life back into the room. "Moral of the story — don't touch random objects, don't stare too long at the void, and for god's sake, never trust the vending machine on the third floor."

"Why the vending machine?" I blinked, confused by the sudden shift.

Clarence just smiled. "It eats more than your money."

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Several days have passed, and I suppose I've begun to adapt to the peculiar rhythm of this place. The atmosphere here is unlike the main building, which was constantly alive with noise and bustling students. In stark contrast, this department feels almost isolated, its silence only interrupted by the occasional conversation or the faint hum of distant footsteps.

Throughout these days, I've found myself gravitating toward Clara and Clarence. They seem to have taken it upon themselves to ensure I don't entirely lose my mind in this strange environment. When they're occupied, however, Ezra tends to appear — often without warning. His presence alone is unnerving, considering our first encounter involved him casually rolling a cursed pen in my direction. A pen, mind you, capable of trapping me within a labyrinth of riddles until I somehow managed to solve my way out. To put it lightly, Ezra's existence leaves me with an enduring sense of wariness.

At the moment, our class is gathered in the gymnasium. Today's exercise focuses on building connections — not through casual conversation, but through direct access to each other's memories. The process is simple in theory: remove any object that dampens our abilities, select a partner, and lock eyes until the walls around their past begin to collapse, allowing us a glimpse into their personal history. It is, apparently, a foundational technique for understanding time travel. For some reason, the moment I removed my mask, nothing happened. No sudden flood of memories, no overwhelming rush of visions — just the ordinary sight of the gymnasium and my classmates. It was almost unsettling how quiet my mind remained, like a static screen where chaos should have been.

Perhaps it's this building itself — designed to keep us on edge, to suppress what we rely on most. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of subtle tricks they embedded into these walls. A spell? A mechanism? Or maybe something much simpler, like the weight of constant observation. Whatever it was, the absence of noise in my head felt louder than any commotion ever could.

"I'll be assigning partners," our proctor announced, glancing down at the clipboard in his hands. A collective groan rippled through the room, though none of us were particularly surprised. Of course, we couldn't choose for ourselves — not here.

"Hagarin and Ezra."

Ah, yes. The radiant beacon of my existence. How fortunate I am.

From behind me, I heard the unmistakable twin reactions of Clara and Clarence — a synchronized oh that carried both sympathy and amusement. I turned to them, silently pleading for some form of rescue, but all they offered in return were sheepish smiles and helpless shrugs.

Before I could plot my escape, a hand clamped down on my shoulder, spinning me around with unnecessary enthusiasm. "Aren't you the luckiest? Partnered with me!" Ezra's grin stretched ear to ear, radiating the kind of chaotic energy that could set off a fire alarm just by existing.

"More like a curse," I replied, shaking my head. "You cling like a wasp that refuses to die."

"And you," he said, utterly unfazed, "are the honey — all sweet and easy to mess with."

"Dear god..." I muttered with a cringed reaction etched on my face, turning to walk away, only for him to seize my wrist and pull me back into his orbit, cackling like a villain in a low-budget play.

He's going to be the death of me someday — that much I'm certain of.

The proctor continued announcing the other pairs, though his voice felt distant, like a soft hum beneath the weight of my own thoughts. Soon enough, it was time to begin.

We were instructed to sit across from our assigned partners, knees barely apart, eyes locked. No masks, no objects to soften the edges of our abilities. Just direct eye contact, until the world around us dissolved into memory.

The rules were clear, spoken with the sternness of someone who had undoubtedly witnessed the consequences of disobedience: Do not touch anything. Do not move anything. Do not allow yourself to be seen. Do not speak to anyone. Observe, nothing more. A quiet ghost in the river of time.

I met his gaze, and for a brief moment, I forgot how to breathe.

His eyes — mismatched and striking — were a story in themselves. One a rich amber, warm like sunlight spilling through ancient windows; the other a deep, stormy blue, like the sky moments before thunder shatters the silence. They pulled me in, gently at first, then all at once, like falling into a trance where the edges between past and present began to blur.

Somehow, without meaning to, I found myself wondering — if eyes could hold someone's entire history, what kind of story would his tell me?

A blur crawled into my mind, cold and relentless — like fingers dragging me under the surface of a frozen lake.

The flood of memories didn't arrive gently, nor did it feel like a tender unveiling of his past. It was violence wrapped in silence, the kind of silence that pulses against your ears when screams are too hoarse to escape. Whispers slithered through the cracks in my consciousness, fragmented mutterings, desperate pleas, the sound of skin hitting skin, the begging — oh god, the begging to live.

And that is the story of Ezra.

A boy born into the middle ground — not poor enough to be pitied, not wealthy enough to be spared. His life was average in the cruelest sense, hovering just above ruin, surrounded by people too broken to love him properly. Those smiles and bursts of manic energy were a carefully crafted mask, because the truth was too ugly to show.

Deliberately ignored by the very hands meant to protect him, Ezra learned survival the hard way. His mother — the woman meant to fill his stomach and soothe his fears — turned to drugs instead, letting substances take the place of responsibility. The house became a prison, the walls soaked with the stench of neglect. And when she wasn't a ghost, she was a monster.

She made sure his body bore the weight of her frustrations. Bruises blooming like rotting flowers, bones learning to break before they could fully grow. There were nights he couldn't walk, mornings he woke up wondering if his legs would ever carry him again.

And yet, here he sits — bright-eyed, loud-mouthed, and relentlessly alive.

But now I know the truth.

Every smile is a desperate defiance. Every laugh is a scream buried under his tongue. Every careless act of chaos is a child daring the world to break him again.

And in this flood of someone else's pain, I realized: some people aren't born survivors — they're made into them.

I wanted to help him.

It wasn't a fleeting thought, nor some heroic impulse — it was instinct, primal and unforgiving. My bones screamed at me to reach out, to shatter the rules, to tear through the veil that separated my reality from his.

But I couldn't.

Because the rules are absolute.

Do not touch. Remain unseen. Just watch.

So I watched. I watched as he collapsed onto the cold, filthy ground, limbs trembling from the weight of bruises layered over bones too fragile for this kind of life. His breathing was shallow, the kind of breath that doesn't expect to last.

And when I thought that was the end — that this was where his story would end in a puddle of blood and neglect — she came.

An old woman with shaking hands and kindness carved into every line on her face. She scooped him up like he was something fragile and precious, like broken things were meant to be cared for, not discarded.

She gave him warmth, food, and clothes that didn't hang off him like skin he was waiting to shed. She gave him a home, not just a house. And for the first time, he tasted love. Real love — the kind without conditions, without fists hiding behind smiles.

"What's a wife?" young Ezra asked one day, small fingers tugging at her sleeve as they sat by a hearth that crackled softly — the only sound that didn't hurt his ears.

The old woman smiled, gentle and sad. "A wife is someone you'll love — someone you'll never turn your back on. She's like a seed you plant, one that grows into something beautiful if you care for it properly. Promise me, Ezra. When you find someone, treat her right. Be the kind of man your father never was."

And for a while, it seemed like fate would be kinder to him.

But trauma doesn't disappear — it festers. It finds ways to seep into every crack, even when you think you've sealed them shut.

So Ezra grew up with kindness in his heart, but madness wrapped around his mind like a second skin.

He became a man who laughed too loudly and too often, because silence was where the ghosts lived. He turned himself into a living spectacle — an insane clown wearing tragedy like face paint. But beneath the chaos, beneath the theatrics, he was still that little boy asking what love was, praying someone would show him how not to break it.

Ezra is a good man.

Just one who was built from broken things. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 3,743 words

Next Chapter

i have such a love hate relationship with being committed to a really good but really long slow burn fic bc it’s like wearing a smut chastity belt bc you know that waiting patiently for the actual get together part is gonna make the scene so much more impactful and you don’t want to cheapen the moment but like at the same time sometimes you need SOMETHING other than longing stares every few chapters :((

Rewatched one of the Tom and Jerry movies called Tom and Jerry: The Lost Dragon, and it just seemed funny that Tom was considered the Mama throughout the film since he was the first person the Puffy saw when they were born.

And i joked around that Tom would look good as “The Mother of Dragons”, some type of Game of Thrones jokes was what i was toying with the film about

Though that was when i decided to start planning on making an AU about Jerry being a bartender and coming across Tom who’s the “Mother of Dragons”

Planning on writing a Slowburn fanfic, but i wanna make 1st Person POV & 3rd Person POV. Yet I also want to gain readers but I know some people don’t prefer the other

I think it should be more normal to give book recommendations like Ao3 recommendations

WHAT IS YOUR OPINION ON SLOWBURN!!!

also another question (you can answer either) what do you think of sick fics?

these are like my favorite things ever i wanna know what you think :3

I LOVEEEE slowburn SOSOSO MUCH!!! ITS MY FAV!!! I especially love angsty miscommunication slowburn sm!! GOD GOD GOD ONE OF MY FAVVVV EVER IS COLLEGE ROOMATES SLOWBURN BECAUSE LIKE. IT JUST MAKES ME INSANE. I especially love when like one character is just super obviously flirting and way into the other one but the other character is like 'theres NO WAY. Theyre like that with everyone for sure'

I've actually never read a sick fic, mostly because I'm not a huge fan, but I have one in my drafts right now so that's fun!!

He takes to the streets, clothed in darkness and itching for a fight, and Peter finds it. Again, and again, and again. He’s quiet this time, his voice too hoarse from tears to speak, too enraged to do anything other than scream. So the only sounds that fill the warehouses are the dull pangs of fists and blood splatters. Knuckles hitting flesh, and screams echoing off of stained walls.

One day, when the nights calm, Peter will be disgusted by the monster who stalked the streets, for once his knuckles red from another man’s ichor. Today, he feels righteous.

OR

When Spider-Man loses it all, will a deal with Deadpool save them both?

Kissed By The Baddest Villain Masterlist ⋆｡°✩

Synopsis: At the behest of your Uncle Kagero, you agree to be a member of the League Of Villains, loaning out your quirk to aid in their cause. Everything seems to be going as planned--until the guys all start acting weird. Why do they bicker every time you're in a room? How are you going to get used to all this attention?

And who are you going to decide to give it back to?

●Mature Themes ●Explicit Language ●Sexual Implications ●Suggestive Themes ●Smut

Hey everyone! Here is the masterlist for my current fic in progress, a LOV x fem! reader fic where you shamelessly flirt with the League Of Villains guys who are pining hard over you. It's rated Explicit as of Chapter 5, so this is a fic for those who are 18 or over! I do not go easy on the smut, my fics become filth with substance, I cannot stress this enough that it is for adult readers only!

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it ♡

Ch1 Dibs

Ch2 Getting To Know You

Ch3 Hail To The Queen

Ch4 So Kiss Me

Ch5 Practice Makes Perfect

Ch6 I Want You To Want Me

Ch7 Good Boy

Ch 8 If He's Rex Harrison, You're Audrey Hepburn

Ch 9 Ready Player Two

Ch 10 How Lucky

released ch5 of inspiral from its cage 😌 at long last:

In which Ron is consulted on his opinions on aesthetics for some reason,,,,,,

comedic highlights in this post! this is the most sitcom-y chapter so far, and can honestly be read alone if you rlly like the trio + nev + patil twins and their chaotic friendship! also for chess players, hairstyling enjoyers, and lee jordan appreciators

ch4 of inspiral is up!!

yes the chapter title is a shitty pun😌 now, onwards!

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something terrible is happening within my psyche rn as i realize this song fits with this goddamn chap

they DO have REPUTATIONS ooooohhhhh my goddddddd my shaylaasssssss 😭😭😭😭😭

so bye i'm gonna go finish crying to this now

y'all alr know the dron tag hates to see me coming [steeples hands for a transaction] but here i am again with a new chapter !!

here's ch3 in screenshots bc i can't promise it's all comedy this time:

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y'all alr know the dron tag hates to see me coming [steeples hands for a transaction] but here i am again with a new chapter !!

here's ch3 in screenshots bc i can't promise it's all comedy this time:

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comedic snippets from the freshly posted ch2 of inspiral!!

here's the summarizing line:

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snape my absolute king shines bright this chap:

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mkay dron nation, i present to you: the fic that stemmed entirely from the offhand thought "Ron would have more emotional intelligence than this" while reading a random mention of the sectumsempra scene™ and then summarily took over my entire life.

inspiral

[in which Sirius lives, Harry chills out (relatively), and Ron is forced (by absolutely no one) to pick up the Malfoy-stalking slack.

. . .

Ron was growing weary of Harry and Malfoy circling each other like a pair of feral street cats gearing up for a fight. It reminded him of Mr. Mittens, the raggedy cat Ginny had smuggled home once, and his . . . friend. He sometimes worried that this all might end up like that, what with Harry throwing around wild accusations and Malfoy sneering cryptic shite at them in response. It was ridiculous, but Ron suspected whatever Mr. Mittens had going on back then wasn’t very rational either, and they’d still ended up with a cat, a corpse, and a bloody living room floor.

. . .

Ron paused with his hand reaching for the bathroom door, debating turning back-- back to dinner and his friends and pretending he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

it's. long. this thing. so weekly updates, with ch1 up now💞

He drew in a breath before easing it open. The sound of sobbing -- choking, heaving, desperate -- was no longer muffled by the heavy wood. A high, whiny voice crooned empty platitudes like backing vocals for the world’s most depressing song, and it was with a creeping horror that Ron realized Myrtle wasn’t the one crying.

. . .]

onto the ch1 highlight reel!!

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finally posted it you guys!!!

powering thru a filler chapter rn, so here are some small funny bits released from fic-jail bc they made me laugh as i wrote

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i outdo myself, honestly:

powering thru a filler chapter rn, so here are some small funny bits released from fic-jail bc they made me laugh as i wrote

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powering thru a filler chapter rn (for inspiral), so here are some small funny bits released from fic-jail bc they made me laugh as i wrote

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wanted to play the Last Line Game i've seen floating around, so had to take it into my own hands and tag myself lmao, bc i have no friends here (yet!)

currently writing chapter 4 of my 6th year Dron fic, Inspiral!!

(ask me literally anything abt it pls pls i will rant abt them forever)

Not Your Hero (an original work of mine)

There are plenty of words a mother could use to describe her son. Dashing, witty, handsome or strong. If someone were to ask Ximena Armstrong, however, only one of her boys would be introduced in such a proud light. If they asked about the other one, they would receive a strained compilation of complaints that he is vile, twisted, or a hateful beast. There are two sides to every story, though. What made a mother turn her back so quickly?

No one has ever gotten close enough to either party to ask for their side. One thing is for certain, Griffin Emiliano is a dangerous man, and Ximena Armstrong is a pathological liar.

Yet on an uneventful day in Betrothal, a group set out to find the answers to all the possible questions anyone could ask. When they find two boys, an anklet and a pile of bodies, there are too many questions to ask and not enough time for the answers before the doors are busted in and everyone is a suspect.

Chapter 1

“I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but if you run any slower, the snails will escape before we do!” A bellowing voice echoes through the halls of the underground chambers. Clambering behind him, a much softer voice rang out. “I’m sorry! This is my first time performing illegal acts, so sorry I can’t keep up with your vigilante lifestyle!” Turning on his heel, Gryffin casts a stone cold glare to his brother. “Don’t forget why we’re in this mess. You thought it would be a good idea to find the anklet, now three guards are dead and the blood is on your hands, kid.” Looking to the floor, Axel shrinks into himself; “I didn’t mean to…” “doesn’t matter the intention. It is the result that everyone will see. Remember that in everything you do.” Before another word was said, a loud crash brings the brothers out of their tension and drives their attention back to the situation at hand. Escaping certain death and bringing the anklet home to their mother, the smartest archeologist in their village. The winding chambers seemed to be getting slimmer and turning into simple tunnels, but with that, the duo noticed that the end of a tunnel was in sight. With reinforcements hot on their trail, Gryffin roars “Ximena will kill us if she finds out people died for that thing.” “Can you just call her mom?” “Not when she won’t call me her son.” “Well maybe if you-” Axel’s voice is cut off with another crash, the barrels in front of them breaking, causing whatever fruits and vegetables to scatter across the floors and stain their shoes more than the mud could. “Not another step, thief. Such a shame that I’ll have to tear such a pretty face to shreds” A masked man with a gentle but firm voice says, backing his words with a sword pointed to Axel’s face. The mask was unsettling at best, sporting a crooked smile with red teeth and white eyes, it’s a wonder the man could see through it. Though unsettling, he was right about Axel’s face. Unlike his brother, his face was pristine and untouched, his pale skin was a perfect target for a sadistic man such as the one in front of him. Questions hung on the tip of the blade as well as the tip of his tongue he realized it was getting closer, but he hadn’t taken a step. “If I can’t take another step, why can you?” “If I can’t take the anklet, why can you?” Comes the quick retort. “Well, technically you could, you just didn’t take that leap that you needed in order to actually grasp it.” With his sharp words and the tension rising, Gryffin grabbed Axel and made a mad dash for the light they witnessed moments earlier. Axel thrashed wildly, kicking the boxes of fruits and vegetables down to make more of a mess for the masked men to clean up later on. “I’m going to drop you if you keep doing that.” He warns with a scowl. “Right, sorry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was nothing fancy about the village the boys lived in. Past every market on the left there was an alley that the homeless would find themselves digging through, praying to whoever was out there to spare a little mercy for one more day as they cling onto what little humanity they hold. For the homeless that couldn’t fight their way through, the market’s right side would hold the bodies. It seemed everywhere one turned there was another person riddled by disease and famine. When the people in command were brought to the village to speak their grievances, they were brushed off, laughed at and then given one day’s worth of food for the women and children. Proving that they were simply sitting with another government that couldn't care less for the people under their control, but gave the bare minimum so there were still people able to BE controlled. Griffin hated everything about the village. He could never wrap his head around why so many people still lived in such a ghost town. The people were reduced to nothing more than beggars and thieves with nothing to live for, but had the fight and the iron will of soldiers with the world to lose. Under heavy lids, he drags himself into a makeshift shack, calling it a house for them to stay in as the night ticks by. Axel stared at the ceiling, wondering how long it had been since he saw his brother. His once soft features now hardened with the years of war and murder, tanned skin now scarred and hands calloused. Those green eyes that once shined like stars now cut like emeralds that were thrown to the ground by a child throwing a fit. Black hair that was once short and well taken care of has now grown unkempt and matted. “What is going on in that head of yours?” The man in question growled out. “How old are you now, Grif?” “Twenty three, but you didn’t answer my question. What is the issue?” Axel shakes his head quickly. “I was just wondering what went wrong with us… Why did our family fall apart the way it did? Why did you leave? Why-” Griffin cuts him off swiftly “You ask too many questions, Ax. That will be your downfall.” A deep silence settles across the room after Axel nods “mom says that too.” Griffin lets out a heavy sigh after a while and asks something that he sounds like he has been dreading for a long time. “Where is dad?” Axel stands with a speed like no other and starts for the door. “Ax-” “If you can call that monster our dad but can’t call her our mother then you are no brother of mine.” Confused, angry and a little hurt, Griffin throws the closest object at his younger brother’s feet. “Are you gonna tell me what happened or are you going to let me believe that he was a good man and she was the monster, kid?”

Is This Love?

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

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

Thump thump thump thump

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

Thump thump thump thump

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

THUMP

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“..Thanks?” Could be a compliment.

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

____________________

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

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

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

“Promise?”

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

“Shi shi shi.” So cute!

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

“Wha- Why only me!?” Too bad.

__________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thump thump

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

Meanwhile

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thump thump

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

Next

Is This Love?

Luffy x Male Reader. Angst. Post Jinbe. 1919 words. Slow-ish burn. Part two, Part three, Part four

Desc: You confess to Luffy then go through the aftermath of what you did.

Late at night, under the stars, and sleep deprived.

“Luffy?”

“Hm?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

That is how this started. A sudden confession under these conditions while Luffy was on watch duty and you stayed with him since you couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the tiredness you felt that made you spill it, or the inability to keep it inside any longer; or maybe it was both. That doesn’t matter too much now.

“...” Luffy is silent, brain processing what happened while he stares at you. “You love me?” He asks.

“In love with you. Like a lover loves their lover.” Laying it out there so even he couldn’t misunderstand is how you continue. He continues to stare, examining you before looking back up at the stars and resting his chin on his knees.

“Weird.” The captain states, “You’re being weird, (Y/n).” not in a cruel way. Just an observation, something to point out like you ate bananas with ketchup. What is he supposed to say to that? It was so random to him, so he stays silent. Your head drops a bit, he wasn’t cruel, not on purpose, but the nonchalant rejection hurts in a different way. Then again, you didn’t expect much. He’s never shown interest in those things on his own. You almost want to apologize, but choose silence, it’s better to let things pass now. You rest your hands on the floor beside you. The stars and moon shine brightly tonight, as if they shined brighter than usual just to comfort you through this.

——————————

Things didn’t change, Luffy is still your captain and you his crewmate. He doesn’t mention what you said nor does he act differently around you. At first.

“...” Quiet. He’s staring, you can feel it. You look up and the two of you meet eyes. He doesn’t break contact though and you end up just going back to what you were doing. No smiles, no laughter. Maybe this did ruin something, but it’s not like you can take it back.

_________________

Again, during snack time, he acts off. Staring then slowly reaching a hand over to your food while keeping his eyes on you. It’s making you anxious, you feel like a wild animal being approached. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he is thinking anything, while he does this. However, you gently push his hand away. The action makes him frown, looking almost… confused. Then, he speaks.

“I thought you were in love with me.” Luffy says and you freeze along with the other shocked crewmembers around.

“Luffy!?” You’re shocked as well, he just said it, just put your feelings out there.

“You’re in love with me, but I can’t have some?” He asks with a tilt of his head, is that why he was staring at you? That gets more people frozen, except for Robin, who frowns a bit after a second.

“L-Luffy-” Usopp manages to start before you stand up, tossing the snack on Luffy’s lap and entering the Sunny. Maybe they’re speaking about you, about what just happened, but you can’t hear it right now. You go into the men’s quarters and sit on your bed, putting your head in your hands. You had thought he’d forget about it, and even if he didn’t that he wouldn’t mention it, but he did. You should’ve told him to keep it secret, but once again it’s too late. This sucks, you should’ve just beared with keeping it in.

(Luffy’s POV)

Luffy looks down at the snack on his lap, then up at his crewmates. Nami clenches her teeth before yelling. “Luffy you IDIOT! Why did you say that?” The captain tilts his head in confusion again.

“But he does, he said it.”

“That’s not the point…” The navigator says with a sigh before turning around and rubbing her temples. “Gods, I’m getting a headache.” Jinbe shakes his head in disapproval.

“What you did was insensitive, Luffy.” The fishman explains while Robin nods. He doesn’t get what he did. You love him, why would you keep it secret? It’s not like he’s gross enough that you should be ashamed of loving him, right? Yet you were silent no matter how much Luffy stared at you, no blushes or shyness, no signs of love. You didn’t even let him have your snack until you left.

‘Hammock cooked and gave me stuff all the time…’ He thinks to himself, yet he was rejected your snack and is now admonished for being confused. You don’t act like Sanji fawning over women or Hancock fawning over him. “I don’t get it.” Everyone lets out a collective sigh. Why did you have to fall for this idiot? They consider scolding him more but stop when Luffy looks down at the snack, he’s thinking. He isn’t taking this as lightly as they thought at first. “I love all you guys and I’m not like that.”

“Not everyone wants to let out their love so openly.” Jinbe takes the role of explaining to the captain. “Romantic feelings cause more anxiousness as well.” Anxiousness.. would he feel anxious if he was in love with someone like that? He takes a bite of the snack and reaches for his hat, putting it on his head for comfort. Why’s it so complicated? Plus, you’re a guy, but you got.. shy? Was it shy? He thinks back on his brothers, of all the men he grew up with, were they ever… shy? Because of romantic love for someone? He’s starting to get a headache of his own, lost in thought as he hums. Luffy cares about you so much, he wants to understand, but he doesn’t know. He can’t gatling his way out of this.

“Luffy.” Robin’s smooth voice gently breaks him from his thoughts, looking down at him. “Imagine if you told me you were hiding snacks somewhere, and wanted to have a picnic with just us two with them, but I refused. Then later I suddenly mentioned where you hid your food and now everyone knows where it is. You didn’t get the picnic, and I told everyone what you told me.”

“He didn’t tell me to keep it a secret though.” He points out and Robin shakes her head softly.

“That he may have messed up on, but even so it’s common sense to someone that it’d be a secret. Even if you forgot to tell me not to reveal your hiding spot you’d still be upset, wouldn't you?” The archeologist continues to explain. The metaphor is helping, though Luffy wouldn’t know why he’d want to have a picnic with just Robin and not everyone else; but he would dislike it if she refused and snitched. He continues to rack his untrained brain, then flops onto his side and shoves the rest of the snack into his mouth. It doesn’t taste as good anymore. The Strawhats stare at their captain. How pitiful for the both of you.

(Your POV)

That night, you sleep outside. The men’s quarters house every guy, including Luffy, so it would just feel too awkward to be in there. It’s worth the sacrifice of being a bit more uncomfortable outside than trying to get some shut-eye directly after what happened. It’s still cold though, and windy, maybe it’ll be better in the crow’s nest. You go up to the crow’s nest and find Zoro training, he does sleep rather late. You don’t bother to announce your presence, he already knows. “The idiot keeping you up?” He asks while swinging a large metal bar with weights attached.

“Not.. sound wise.” You mumble, hopping onto the wooden floor. It’s not windy in here, better.

“I know. It’s not like I'm a love expert but I know enough not to blurt out someone else’s feelings in front of a crowd of people, even if they’re other friends.” He puts the bar down and grabs a cloth to wipe his forehead with.

“Common sense just isn’t common with him, unfortunately. Don’t know how I didn’t think of having to tell him not to blurt it out. My fault, really.” You talk while grabbing a weight. Pretty heavy.

“This one should be better” He says before stuffing another into your hands. It’s even heavier. “Though it depends on what type of workout you’re doing.”

“Late to be doing a full workout.” It’s way past dark out.

“Late for you to be awake despite not being on nightwatch. It’s 2am.” The swordsman points out while motioning with his head to the clock. He makes a good argument. You grab another heavy one and place it onto a bench press bar. “Starting out strong, stretch first.” You shake your head, you’ll be fine. You just need to get your stress out. Zoro sighs and walks over to spot you while you lay down. You lift the bar up off the hooks and slowly bring it down, then back up.

One

Is it really your fault? For not telling Luffy to keep it secret? He should’ve known, but maybe it was a mistake to tell him at all.

Two

You acknowledged before, during, and after telling him that he’d never shown that kind of interest in anyone, much less a man; yet you still did it. Even clarified so you had no way to weasel your way out of it.

Three

Then again, you haven’t known him for his entire life. He could’ve had a crush when he was younger. A nice girl, or boy, or book character. He doesn’t have any books in the Sunny library but someone could’ve read to him when he was little.

Four

He knows Shanks, said it was when he was little. Shanks is pretty popular. Did Shanks ever tell him about love? Was there ever a chance for you? Even a semblance of one?

…Five

It could be that you’re the dumbass that confessed to someone that could never be interested. You’re not even the best bachelor around. Plus, Luffy thinks of you as a friend.

Six, seven, eight

Thought of you as one. You’re the asshole that took a friendship and tried to turn it into something it’s not. You betrayed his trust. Good crewmate, you aren’t even a good friend.

Nine, ten, eleven

“You’re going too fast.”

You fucked it all up. Everything. It’s never going to be the same. You’re going to be known as the loser on the crew that confessed and got rejected by the captain like nothing forever.

Twelve, thirteen

Slip

“Ah.” You lost your grip. Before the bar can fall on you it’s caught by a strong hand.

“I told you you were going too fast. It doesn’t even help at that speed.” Zoro places the bar back onto the hooks. “You’re just hurting yourself at that point. Stop thinking so much.” You sit up, shaking your arms a bit. You were thinking too much. You’re thinking too much about everything, you doubt Luffy is even thinking so much about this and he’s the one you forced a confession on. Though he is Luffy, not thinking is pretty much what he’s known for besides being so effortlessly good. You sit up and roll your shoulders. You can already feel you’re going to be sore. Even if it wasn’t a lot, going so fast from attempting to sleep to benching heavy; and with no stretching; is gonna mess you up. You look down at your hands while Zoro puts the weights away.

“Dumbass.” You messed up.

Don't freak out! This isn't ending on a cliffhanger. This is gonna be a multi part series since I felt like it, kinda weird how both my multiparts (for now) have ended up being Luffy but he is my fav character tbf. I already have the second chapter partially written. Don't know when i'll finish it though, my new class is kinda rough. Still, I have a good grasp on it and I honestly do the best creating media when avoiding doing other things so this may be a blessing in disguise. Anyway hope you enjoyed.

Part two

romance as a subplot is SOOOOO GOODDDDD because 98% of the time it's an intense slowburn that develops over several chapters. the story focuses on the plot or character development more but somehow it makes the romance SO MUCH BETTER!!! idk how to explain it it's just so good...like when an author's focus is more on characters and plot it gives you as the reader a deeper connection to the characters which makes the romantic/platonic aspect so much better

yearning is such a beautiful thing. what i love about yearning and slowburn is that while the romance progresses, you can get to know the characters better, which makes the audience see how deep the bond in the relationship is. all the small moments have meaning. every interaction, every thought, and every glance means something and is a way to emphasize how much love (platonic or romantic) the characters have for one another. there is something so beautiful about yearning because it's so human to want something so badly, but you have a part of you that is afraid you'll never get it. romantic or not, i love watching/reading characters find their person and learning all about each other, becoming so close and connected that it's hard to imagine life without the other. yearning to know more, yearning to be closer. it's so beautiful to me!

The amount of porn blogs that keep following me....and I keep blocking,is mildly alarming considering I just post sfw selfies and gush over a fictional vampire.... Like what is even happening here.

Anyway, guess who got off their lazy ass and posted a new chapter to folie a Toi!! I did :)) if your following me,go read it!

I'd love love love feed back :))

That moment where you scrolling thru Pinterest and suddenly remember a fanfic that you haven't read in years.

Actually pls help it was a MHA fanfic, it was a slowburn with background hawks x dabi and main ship being Natsuo and Shigaraki. Natsuo was cornered and shit and the ending was a sunset I remember that much. Please help I need to reread it bc it's now stuck in my mind.

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000 Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Characters: Roboute Guilliman, Angron (Warhammer 40.000), Ultramarines Legion (Warhammer 40.000), World Eaters Legion (Warhammer 40.000), Emperor of Mankind (Warhammer 40.000), Malcador (Warhammer 40.000), Lost Primarches Additional Tags: longfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Body Horror, Dialogue Heavy, Hurt/Comfort, Gross, Chaptered, Heresy AU, Alternate Heresy (Warhammer 40.000), Pre-Horus Heresy Civil War (Warhammer 40.000), The Great Crusade Era (Warhammer 40.000), Slow Burn Summary:

The Imperium of Man is nearing the end of the Great Crusade. Languishing on Terra, Roboute Guilliman has some suspicions about what’s really going on with his brothers. Forced into an unlikely alliance with Angron, he seeks to investigate the Emperor’s true intentions for his sons.