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munsons-melody · 1 year

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angeleyes

summary: after seeing nancy get pulled into a trance, eddie gets worried the same might happen to you and makes you a tape with your favorite song on a loop, even though you're broken up

pairing: eddie munson x female!henderson!reader

cw: bit of angst but ends with fluff

recommended songs: 'disillusion' and 'angeleyes' by ABBA

word count: 3.3k

a/n: did i start crying while writing this? yes, yes i did. also NOT PROOFREAD! also feedback is always appreciated :)

masterlist

part two of this fic called ‘your song’ can be found here

i do not consent to having any of my works republished, translated, or posted to any other site except here. if you see my works anywhere but tumblr, it has been republished without my knowledge, consent, or permission.

the two of you were together for almost a year. you were inseparable from the start but as months passed, you each kept getting busier and busier and whenever you were together, it would end in a giant screaming match with one of you crying while the other stormed off with no apologies in store till days later.

even though you knew the two of you were in a rough patch, you never expected the last fight to be your final one. you were at each others throats, a silly bicker turning into a full blown fight. you were both teary-eyed, throats sore from screaming and holding back tears, pacing all around the trailer. neither really knew what the fighting was about, but it didn't stop the screaming match that definitely caused the whole neighborhood to wake up from their peaceful slumbers

you still remember the exact moment you felt your world shatter. you stood in eddie's room, wiping the tears from your cheeks as you diverted your eyes from him to the floor, littered with his clothes and various items. you didn't want him to see you cry as hard as you were.

all you wanted was him to say anything like "i'm sorry" or "come here" and have him wrap you up in those strong arms of his, while he stroked your hair and told you he loved you and the two of you would be alright. but nothing of the sort came. the quietness deafening after the two of you stopped fighting.

"maybe we just aren't good for each other anymore," eddie muttered out, and you looked up at him with bloodshot eyes

"what? no! don't say that, please" you said, inching forward but he moved back to avoid your touch

"i think we should break up y/n" he said. it was like someone knocked all the oxygen out of your body as your heart started pounding

"eddie-" you tried but he shook his head, a couple of tears slipping down his cheeks

"y/n, please, just go" he said with anger hidden in his voice, facing away from you

"fine" you said, your blood boiling. you stormed out of his trailer and walked out into the cold evening air, using your walk home as a way to cool down and soon enough your anger turned into more sadness

once you arrived home, you couldn't help but let the tears flow freely, feeling as if your heart was broken into a million tiny little pieces

"shit are you okay?" dustin asked you as you crumpled onto the couch, not caring that you would most likely have to explain why you were crying.

"no" you muttered out, curling into a ball and putting a pillow over your face. he walked over to you, sitting on the coffee table across from you

"did you break up?" he asked and you nodded, turning your head to smush your face into the pillow, letting your tears soak into the fabric of the pillow

"shit shit you're gonna be okay i promise" dustin said with a panic

eddie's trailer was in pure chaos as everyone ripped his room apart, looking for some tape that wasn't a heavy metal song to aid nancy in freeing herself from vecna's trance

"music! we need music!" robin screamed out as you watched as she flung a handful of cassettes onto eddies bed, Eddie swiftly picking one of the iron maiden tapes up and screamed at her "this is music!"

right as you grabbed another box of tapes you heard steve yell "guys!" and all of you ran to the small living room, littered with debris surrounding the mattress that served as your 'landing pad'

you looked up to see steve holding nancy on the floor and you immediately thought the worst, your heart pounding as it skipped a beat, not prepared to see the potentiality of your best friend dead in steves arms

"she's okay! we're going to come through!" steve's voice rang out, laced with urgency. everyone nodded as they cleared the area. you watched as the two of your friends individually climbed up the makeshift rope and fall through the gate onto eddie's mattress

you saw everyone, or at least assumed everyone, swarm nancy, asking question after question of "are you alright?" and "what happened"

nancy just stayed quiet, holding her arms to herself blinking away tears, and you broke away from the group to get her some water as she slowly sat down on the couch

you moved through the all too familiar kitchen of the munson trailer, wanting to reminisce about the memories you shared with eddie in this kitchen, but refusing to do so due to the fact you a) didn't want to waste time helping nancy and b) didn't want to relive the memories that would just break your heart even more

once you handed nancy the water, you let her be, not wanting to overwhelm her or pressure her into talking about what just happened. you went back into the kitchen, not wanting to be in any ones way, and stood there with your arms crossed

this time you allowed yourself to let those memories creep back in. the early mornings where you would make pancakes for you and eddie's breakfast, and what would be wayne's dinner when he came home before he would go to sleep. the times you would teach eddie how to cook when you felt like making dinner together. the late nights you spent listening to the radio and would dance under the refrigerator light. the times you two would spend after hours of endless sex where even when you tried to have a break from each other to get some water just to end up fucking on the kitchen floor.

hell, you even smiled to yourself about the time eddie accidentally bruised his knuckles after enthusiastically waving his hands around while in conversation and smacking them on the cabinet, and you of course had to kiss them better.

you heard some shuffling and mumbling behind you and turned to the hallway just to make eye contact with eddie as you watched him drag dustin down the hall and into his room

you heard the door close and some muffled voices, but you couldn't make out the conversation

eddie shut the door and turned to dustin who stood there, confused as ever as to why he was being dragged down the hall

"what is y/n's favorite song?" he asked with urgency. dustin looked taken aback.

"excuse me?" dustin questioned, looking at eddie as if he had five heads

"your sister, y/n, what is her favorite song?" he repeated with a stern tone

"shouldn't you know?" dustin snapped with an annoyed look upon his face. even though eddie was one of his best friends and someone he looked up to, this breakup between his sister and him was so new and fresh, he didn't know how to act in this situation

"well it changes with her, like it changes all the time man... for a while it was killer queen by queen and then it changed to dreams by fleetwood mac then it changed to, i think, amoreena by elton john? ugh" he groaned

"eddie, why do you want to know? didn't you two break up like a couple of months ago?" dustin pointed out and eddie shook his head, rubbing his temple

"it was a little over a month ago but-" eddie started before dustin interrupted him

"and didn't you break up with her?" he questioned further, crossing his arms

"well technically but i-"

"'technically' my ass! you completely broke her heart and now you want to know her favorite song? why do you even care all of a sudden? you didn't seem to care when she would come home crying after seeing you at school all day. you didn't seem to care when she wanted to go to her favorite place in this goddamn town but didn’t cause she was scared she'd run into you there. you didn't seem to care when she spent all of her money to buy you those stupid concert tickets for your birthday..." dustin's voice trailed off from his originally loud tone

eddie looked down, a lump forming in his throat

"i didn't know any of that..." he admitted, moving his head up to look at dustin with glassy eyes

"what?" dustin said and eddie nodded, sniffling

"i didn't know she did any of that, especially those tickets" eddie said, his voice cracking which mirrored the cracks forming in his heart

eddie sat down on the bed putting his head in his hands, feeling completely and utterly stupid

"i am the biggest fucking idiot for breaking up with her. it was just the heat of the moment with that stupid fight- and i can't even remember what it was about! i was just tired of the fighting! and now it's been a month but i haven't even talked to her until all of this shit went down but god i love her so goddamn much and i will be damned if something happens to her- if nancy can get under his trance at random who knows if she's next" eddie ranted, standing up and putting both his hands on dustins shoulders

"please dustin, what is her favorite song?" he pleaded. dustin looked at him with sympathic eyes and sighed

"angeleyes" he muttered out and eddie stared at him with a confused look written across his face

"i think her favorite song right now is angeleyes by abba... i always hear her listening to it and singing it around the house..." dustin told him and eddie's eyes widened

he ran to the door to open it but as he did he it revealed you standing there, with your arm and fist up in a knocking position

"y/n" he breathed out and you looked into his eyes, the knots turning in your stomach reminding you of the heartbreak he succumbed you to and you blinked, looking past him at dustin standing there

"sorry, uh we're heading to max's next door, it's safer over there" you said bluntly before turning around and walking down the hallway, steve wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you headed toward the door

eddie watched you leave and made a b line into the cabinet that sat adjacent to their kitchen, opening the door and starting to rummage through the boxes

"what are you doing? didn't you hear y/n?" he heard dustin ask as he approached behind him

"i know for a fact that we have that abba song on an album somewhere" he rumaged some more before pulling out a handful of tapes by ABBA

"my mom loved them so we had a lot of their tapes," eddie explained, walking back to his room and grabbing a blank tape

he looked on the back of each tape till he saw the small words ‘angeleyes’ on the back of the voulez-vous album

he put both in his boombox, playing the song and pressing record so he was able to make a loop of the song

"eddie we need to regroup with everyone next door" dustin pleaded and eddie shook his head

"we can meet them after we get a good loop of at least 10 minutes" he said before turning back to his dresser

"we shouldn't risk being here longer than we already have, what if someone hears us or even sees us in here?" he pleaded again and eddie shook his head, being stubborn as a mule

"fine, we'll be all over there where its safe and you can be over here with the fear of being caught" dustin said with annoyance, starting to leave eddie's room when eddie walked over and stopped him

"just wait 5 more goddamn minutes" eddie told him with an angry tone

"jesus christ okay" dustin responded with his voice higher than normal

eddie heard the end of the song and quickly paused the two tapes, and rewinded before pressing the play and record buttons

he sat on his bed, listening to the song and the lyrics hit him like a train

'Sometimes when I'm lonely, I sit and think about him And it hurts to remember all the good times When I thought I could never live without him And I wonder, does it have to be the same Every time? When I see him, will it bring back all the pain? How can I forget that name?'

shit he thought to himself, continuing to listen to the lyrics of the song

'Look into his angel eyes One look and you're hypnotized He took my heart and now I pay the price Look into his angel eyes You'll think you're in paradise Then one day you'll find out he wears a disguise Don't look too deep into those angel eyes'

once the song ended, he rewinded and played it again, internalizing each word he heard from the song

he came to his senses that both of you were hurting just as much when it came to this break up and he felt guilt and resentment gnawing away at him

how in the world could i ever get her back? he questioned himself, feeling as lost as ever

he heard the song again a couple more times as it was recorded onto the blank tape, feeling like a piece of his heart was shattering with each note

he finally felt satisfied with the loop he had made, and quickly ejected the tapes from where they sat and slipped it into his walk man and shoved it into dustins bag along with a pair of headphones, and they carefully walked out of eddie's trailer and to max's trailer next door

you stood next to robin in the kitchen, the two of you hungrily snacking down a pb&j after finding your appetite now that you knew everyone was safe and was able to take a breather from the traumatizing experience you all shared

"here's one for you and nance" robin said, handing the plates to steve and he smiled before turning to nancy who was in the living room

"where's eddie and dustin?" max asked you, making a sandwich herself and you shrugged, gulping down some water

"i'm not sure, i mean i told them we were coming here and that was almost 20 minutes ago" you said, wiping your face

"should we go check to make sure they're still over there and not getting sucked back into the upside down?" robin asked and you nodded

"yeah i'll go, you two finish eating" you said, putting your plate in the sink and walking out to the front door but you noticed the two of them running across the street from eddie's trailer to max's and you switftly moved from the door as they jumped in

everyone stopped and stared at them since they were out of breath

"where were you guys?" lucas asked and dustin looked at eddie before looking at you and then back to lucas

"uh sorry we had to reattach the caution tape to the front door so it didn't look suspicious" dustin said, and everyone seemed to buy the lie, nodding to each other as everyone convened in the living room

you sat in the stolen rv in the back, looking out the window at the birds playing in the trees. it was parked on the side of the store where there was room to fit it without taking up spaces in the main lot.

you heard dustin and lucas up front near the steering wheel in some conversation when you felt the seat dip next to you.

you turned your body to see eddie sitting there looking at you.

"hey" he said softly

"hi" you said back, turning to face back to the window

you hadn't really talked to him over the past few days, not knowing what to do or say since you hadn't spoken since your breakup

"y/n can i please talk to you?" he asked sweetly, and you looked at him again, seeing his eyes in a fixed stare

you just nodded, turning to face him completely

"the reason i was late coming from my trailer earlier wasn't because dustin was fixing the caution tape" eddie started, reaching for dustins bag which was by his feet. you blinked at him, muttering an "okay?" which came out with a more annoyed tone than you intended

he pulled out a walkman from the bag, and popped the tape out

"y/n... i don't know what the hell will happen next but i know for a fact if anything happened to you and we didn't have a way to save you i-" he said, wiping a few tears from his eyes

your brows furrowed as you looked at the tape and back at him, meeting each others gaze

"i made this, uh, it's like a 20 minute loop of angeleyes by abba... dustin said it was your favorite song... after seeing nancy be put in that trance just so vecna could talk to her really freaked me out, and i don't know if he'll somehow use you as a pawn in his game, so this is for you" eddie said, fiddling with the tape before replacing it back in the walkman and handing it to you

"oh eddie..." you said, rubbing your thumb over the piece of technology

eddie's heart fluttered as he heard you say his name

"listen, nothing will happen to me, i promise" you said, grabbing his hand in yours. the fact that he was in the shittiest situation to ever occur and he was still thinking about you just made your love for him grow strong, which in turn only fed into your heartbreak because he wasn't yours to love anymore, and he had made that very clear

"yeah but if anything does, i want to- no i need to tell you... i love you y/n henderson. you were the best thing to happen to me in this godforsaken town and the fact that i messed things up will be something i will always regret. i hate that i told you i wanted to break up. i didn't- i was just so sick and tired of always fighting. i've never had someone like you in my life and i thought you were going to break up with me so i went and pulled the trigger before you could. this past month has been pure agony for me, and dustin went and rubbed salt into the wound when he told me about those tickets you got for my birthday, and jesus- im just, im sorry and i love you" eddie told you, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of your hand

you cupped his face, leaning in to kiss him, craving his lips on yours. he kissed back before you pulled away to look at him

"eddie, i don't even know what to say" you muttered out and he shook his head

"you don't need to say anything, i just needed to tell you how i felt just incase" he said and you took in a deep breath

"i've hated you so much these past few weeks for what you did, but fucking hell i love you more than words can say eds. it was very stupid of you to assume i would break up with you just because we were going through a rough patch but, maybe when all of this is over and you learn not to be an idiot, maybe we could have a picnic by lovers lake, just me and you," you said softly, and eddie smiled

"yeah?" he asked, his eyes lighting up

"yeah, maybe i can even tell you about the concert tickets i spent all my money on... it was supposed to be a surprise but i guess dustin ruined that" you joked, and eddie chuckled

"oh honey you didn't have to spend all your money on me, especially not on tickets," eddie said, brushing his fingers through your hair to push it back on your shoulder

"but you deserve it, your birthday's coming up and ozzy osbourne was going on tour and i knew you wanted to see him" you shrugged with a small smile

he kissed you passionately, and you melted into his touch, feeling the warmth of his lips on yours and you didn't realize how badly you needed him till this very moment. it was soon interrupted however as the door to the RV swung open, and you pulled apart, watching everyone clamber in yelling that we needed to go

the engine of the RV roared to life as steve sped off the premises, leading you guys onto the next part of your adventure to killing vecna

fin.

#stranger things #eddie munson #dustin henderson #munsons-melody #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x henderson!reader #steve harrington #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson hurt/comfort #hellfire club

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tomboy014 · 11 months

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Dun Dun Dunnn!!! Arkham Security Guard Danny's Epic Backstory! with Dick Grayson

I fell in love with the Arkham Guard AU by @xy-is-i and like most projects I work on, rather than starting where the story starts, I end up going backwards and delve into the backstory. And I mean waaay into the backstory.

Because while the stories might start when the Bats run into Danny and Jazz working at Arkham Asylum isn’t where they first met.

Long, long ago, through shenanigans unknown, Robin and Phantom became friends, and honestly, they both really needed it.

Dick Grayson, age 16, has been Robin for a while, but this is so early in the day that there just aren’t many teen heroes or sidekicks yet. He’s basically pioneering the field of child heroes.

For Danny, 14, Sam and Tucker are great, but there are just some parts of superhero-ing that they just don’t get when you don’t have to hide a secret identity.

Batman, for his part, does not approve of the friendship. He’s already not a fan of metas in his city, but when the two of them get together, the chaos twin energy between Dick and Danny multiplies. Worse, it brings about the pun-pocalypse, and there are only so many puns Bruce can take. And then there’s the sibling discourse…

After all the stories Danny has told about his family, Dick is desperate to have a little sibling of his own, and the two repeatedly gang up on Batman to adopt another kid. Their acting may be stilted, but the efforts are constant.

It never works. Bruce doesn’t have empty nest syndrome yet, and tiny, homicidal Dick was already more than he could handle while he was trying to figure out how to adult, but he also can’t stand that he’s disappointing Dick. Alfred isn’t helping either; he wants more grandkids.

And there’s no way in HELL that he’s adopting Phantom.

But for Robin and Phantom, they finally have someone they can talk to who gets it. They can vent about their rogues, get help with homework, bitch about balancing their vigilantism with going to school, talk about whatever TV they’ve been watching, anything and everything. It’s not uncommon to see them hanging off the Gotham gargoyles or grabbing a bite on top of the Nasty Burger.

There’s an unspoken rule between them that neither pries into the other’s personal life or secret identity, but as they get more comfortable with each other, little things slip out. Then more. Numbers are swapped, bits and pieces about their families come out.

Later on, homes and secret hideouts are visited and they know each other’s first names. It’s not a problem for Dick to go to the Fenton’s, but technically, Danny isn’t allowed in the Bat Cave or the Manor. Those visits happen behind Batman’s back, and they were almost caught when they hid in the chandelier before Danny remembered he could turn them invisible. (Alfred encourages the friendship and bakes extra cookies once when he finds out Danny is over.)

And eventually the relationship grows until they’re comfortable enough to swap full names. No more secrets.

Dick likes going over to Danny’s place since it’s a chance to feel a lot more normal, even if they have to be very careful and either stay in civilian clothes in the shared areas or stay locked in Danny’s room if they’re in uniform. Danny also goes out of his way to keep Dick from ever meeting his sister, Jazz (Danny knows he has a type). It doesn’t stop them from swapping their numbers under the door. (Jazz will unofficially be Dick’s therapist for years after this)

But being this close, Dick can also see just how stressed Danny is trying to maintain this lifestyle. Doesn’t help either he has to listen to Danny’s parents go on and on about wanting to rip their own son apart, molecule by molecule. Sure, Danny has a couple friends to help him, but he doesn’t have the same mentor or support system Dick has. For a kid his age to be anything other than a sidekick is practically unheard of in this day and age. Superheroes are still fairly few and far between, but Batman helped start a group called the Justice League a couple years ago with the idea that heroes could help each other. Maybe there’s something there…

So, Dick starts the Teen Titan. He had originally intended for Danny to join him as one of the founding members, but are you kidding? Jump City is on the opposite side of the country! He has school! and parents! (That’s the point, Danny. We’re trying to get you away from the parents that want to dissect you) He can’t just up and leave home and run halfway across the country!

So, Dick found the other iconic members and still joined the Titans, but Danny will always have an open invitation to join them and a room at the Tower, something Danny does occasionally take advantage of. Jump City doesn’t spawn as many natural portals as Gotham, but he visits whenever he can and basically haunts the tower the entire month of December to get away from his family.

Still, the distance and growing up are hard on Dick and Danny, and they grow more distant over the years, but they’ll always have each other’s backs in an emergency. Dick was there when Danny thought he was turning into a monster (it was just ghost puberty). Danny stole the Spectre Speeder so they could scour the Ghost Zone after Jason died. And Danny would eventually become godfather to Dick’s daughter, Mar’i.

But things cooled down between them… at least until a panicked Danny called because his sister just took a job at Arkham…

Next>>

#dpxdc #dp x dc #arkham guard au #arkham guard backstory #danny phantom #dick grayson

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aclowntiny · 1 year

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A Date Like No Other- Basketball Player!Mingyu x Female!Reader (College AU)

Inspired by the famous tumblr post 😄 also I’m quite tempted to do a part 2 for this one if anyone is into that hehe

Word Count: 3600 | College AU, Basketball Player!Mingyu, Humor, Fluff | Warnings: drinking mentioned, one suggestive comment, one minor swear

He was the guy on campus everyone would have sold organs to go on a date with. The sports guy. The really tall guy. Handsome, plays on the school team, movie love interest guy.

You were the weird girl hardly anyone talked to, and you just liked him because he drew on your notes with you.

History was boring you- you’d already answered the questions and they read the pages out loud at a snail’s pace, sending your eyes diving into the pages lest you want to rip your hair out and coat your long thin institutional table in it. Saving that, you reached into your backpack and pulled out a green ultra fine marker, popping the cap. You reached over and doodled a frog sitting in his funny little amphibian hunch on one of the multitudinous papers strewn about the table before the guy sitting next to you glanced over, a huge smile spreading across his face before he suppressed laughter.

"I've been frogged!" That, of course, had him almost snorting in aborted amusement.

Wait...did that mean? "Oh, sorry, those were your notes, huh?" You asked in response, hand hitting your head lightly. "I got them mixed up, sorry for defacing your property. I can get you a new sheet if you were going to turn that in-"

"Nah," your neighbor, whose name was Mingyu if you remembered from roll call, held up a hand of both restraint and reassurance, "it's fine! I'm going to keep it. I love him. I think he needs a hat, though."

"Oh, I got it." This time, it was a brown marker you grabbed, quickly outlining and filling in a tiny cowboy hat for your creation. "There we go, how's that?"

This time, a full snort. "He looks handsome to me. What's his name?" Mingyu whispered as your professor drew a tad bit closer.

"Uh, Clint Eastwood?" You shrugged, having not exactly thought that far- in fact, not at all, the whole shindig starting at full zero thoughts, head empty.

"Well, I'll take him with me to every class I have," Mingyu replied, glancing fondly at the doodled frog before taking his pencil and drawing a fly between two pieces of bread, "and feed him, too."

At that, you exhaled a quietened laugh, smiling back as wide as he'd done.

"What? Wouldn't that be what a frog eats?"

You had to admit that it would be.

From that day on, you two added one or two things onto Clint Eastwood's page every class session. He had a top hat at the ready for dressing up, a little garden of flowers, a very badly drawn horse to ride, a soccer ball to play with, and a plate of the takeout Mingyu had just really wanted that day. You didn't even know what his major was. Maybe it was just sports. Could one go to school for simply basketball? Who knew? You guys didn't really talk, just drew and whispered and laughed about your froggy little world. Either way, to your simultaneous amusement and annoyance you found yourself really able to see the hype behind the legendary Kim Mingyu. For all the popularity, he was a good guy. And you know what, he was cute. But, like, heart cute. The face cute was just a bonus.

"Hey (y/n), do you ever go to any games? I've never seen you at one," Mingyu mused as you strode out of class, backpacks loose over your shoulders.

"Well," you paused, letting your expression be cut by a half-joking, half-serious wince, "no offense, but I'm not a huge sports person? So I haven't gone because I don't have anyone to go with and it hasn't seemed worth the money. Not because of the game, just because of how much they charge for the ticke-”

"Hey, don’t worry, I get it," he laughed, "well, my little sister could use someone to go with, and the ticket would be on me. I save on buying them for myself because, well, you know."

"You're too busy slamming dunks or whatever it is basketball players do," you supplied.

"Depends on your position," Mingyu just chucklef in response, pushing the big silvery-painted fire exit-esque handle of the history building's double doors open.

"Basketball has positions?" You burst out incredulously, squinting both in confusion and at the onslaught of sunlight assaulting your eyes as you emerged past the threshold.

Another laugh. "Come and find out."

The game was made more fun by knowing a player- it gave you something to care about as your eyes followed Mingyu's run along the smooth floors, the way he leapt to toss the ball to some guy just as tall or even taller than him. He really played with passion, passion and a clear sense of fun if his remarks on the court were any indication. His sister was pretty cool, too. She looked like a fashion model straight out of Seoul, but she was fun and sassy, not afraid to tease her big brother about the shot he missed when he ran up and greeted you at the sidelines or shoot a questioning look between you two as you told him to do it for Clint Eastwood, whom Mingyu replied was his good luck charm before shuffling back off on sneakers that squeaked against the floor.

Even though you didn't actually hang out with him the whole time, just at celebratory victory ice cream after, you came to history lecture the next session feeling closer to Mingyu, and he must have felt the same as he started talking to you instantly. You rarely initiated conversation, but always welcomed it.

He thanked you for coming to the game as if he hadn’t paid for it, then asked what your major was. You told him and bounced the question back. Turns out it was business, not sports. That history lecture was just GE you both had to get out of the way. The most interesting history lessons to you weren't generic national history or war maps, but all the odd sideline stuff like how some people believed huffing toilets might have helped them during the Black Plague.

"They what?" Mingyu asked, eyes widening and mouth agape as class commenced.

Maybe that was why people didn't really talk to you.

Such reflection was inaccurate, however, as you mindlessly doodled a ridiculous-looking bug-eyed dog on the now-shared note paper and Mingyu chuckled and gave it a collar, smiling when your glance upward met his eyes.

The moment you rose from your seat after lecture, notebook shoved back into your backpack and pencil case into one of the side water bottle holsters or whatever they were called, Mingyu started talking to you again, this time about how glad he was that he didn't join a fraternity like his teammate Johnny.

"Yeah, because see, this one guy just got so drunk he didn’t know where his car was and his girlfriend lost her nose ring, then another guy was sick and they threw him outside and he woke up in the cold locked out of the house, and the houses stink, too, like they smell so bad…”

"Yeah," you muttered, taking each of your bag straps in your hands this walk, palms sliding over the rough fabric, "dude, you couldn't pay me to live in one of those."

“…they’re practically taking after those Black Plague people!” He joked, bringing a smile to both your faces as he mimed taking a sniff, waving his hands in front of his nose and bursting into laughter.

“Except they should know better,” you added, shaking your head in amusement, “they need to get smart like you and I.”

He didn’t laugh, just nodded in approval. "Right? And everyone there has already hooked up with each other. I'm so tired of all that, too. That's not the kind of date I've been looking for, you know?”

In a sense, you did not know, being that none of your classmates had even hardly made conversation let alone a risqué pass, but you got it. Being as popular as Mingyu was, you’d seen how fellow students threw themselves at him sometimes. Had to get uncomfortable, especially if his facial expression at a few of them said anything. They weren’t usually very original, either, poor guy. He was just a clear end goal, and someone who loved his sister and his little drawings and celebrated with ice cream as often as cocktails and laughed at toilets didn’t deserve that. Mingyu wasn’t an ideal, he was a real person. Someone who just needed to have some damn fun for once.

“Sure. You need some- no, you deserve some- creativity. If it was up to me, I’d take you on a date like no other,” you joked, chuckling as your gaze rose back up to his eyes.

“You would?” At the sight of Mingyu’s eyes widening, you wondered if your phrasing had inadvertently crossed a line. Sure, you were totally willing, but- “Alright, just name a time.”

“Wait, really?” This time it was your turn to gape, one hand dropping off your backpack strap to fall to your side. Your heart picked up its pace. Never in a googolplex of years would you have thought Mr. It Boy K. Basketball would want a date with you. Being his friend was surprising enough.

“Yeah, of course. I think it’d be fun,” Mingyu beamed at you, “and I trust you. My sister likes you, too. If…if you really meant it, that is.” He added that last bit as his own gaze dropped and one hand reached up to rub the back of his neck.

Giggling shyly at his sudden sheepishness as well as the situation’s sheer absurdity, you tilted your head his way, smile melting back out of the shock. “Well, thanks, that actually…really means a lot. Get ready for an epic time, then!”

He cocked a brow, turning down between a row of potted trees toward the food court. “Have something in mind already?”

Actually, you did have something you always wanted to do if you could get someone else- it would look too weird to be the only one. Why not do it with Mingyu?

“Be afraid,” you nodded, smirking in satisfaction.

“Well then, how should I dress?”

“Just casual is fine,” you shrugged and teased, “we can’t all afford black tie, Mr. Business Major.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, still giving that wide smile you’d come to anticipate seeing, “Friday night?”

“Friday night,” you repeated.

“Get ready for Friday Night Showdown!”

“Um, (y/n), this is the grocery store.”

Your lips turned upward proudly as you rotated from a fist pump into a Vanna White pose before the mart. “I know.”

“Are we…” Mingyu paused, clearly searching for words. “Fighting in here or something?”

“We are not,” you replied cryptically, looking all the more satisfied as you passed between the automatic doors, Mingyu at your side.

“Am I doing your shopping?” He looked at you with still-raised eyebrows, though amusement colored his expression.

“That would be messed up!” You denied, shaking your head. “Though admittedly funny.”

“Don’t get any ideas for date two!”

Your heart flipped at Mingyu’s easy smile, how casually he said that…the way he flushed and looked away the moment the words left his mouth. He was already thinking of your next date? Hope he likes seafood, you internally joked.

“Yeah, no shopping tonight unless you wanted some snacks. Because tonight,” you skipped over all the central aisles of kitchen supplies, soap, and dry goods, making a beeline for the meat section… well, more specifically the fish counter, “is all about the face-off.”

In a split second you caught Mingyu’s eyes dart down once more past rows of cans, bottles, jars of just about every color you could ask for, dancing over their numerical markers as if to say farewell to actual shopping. Then, his gaze was back on you, your gestures, over your shoulder to the tank at the end of the fish counter. The tank full of lobsters with big claws and small patience. His eyes met yours again. He knew. You could see it.

You nodded. “Oh yeah. Pick your champion.”

He twisted his cap around backwards, revealing his face, those big, innocent brown eyes, once more. “Uh, quick question: how do you suggest I keep mine straight from the others?”

He was asking in earnest. That was another thing you liked about Mingyu: not only did he possess childlike wonder beyond what somebody in his age and station in life probably should, he was also a bad liar in the purest, kindest of senses. He really, truly, had never had a grocery store lobster beatdown date, and he couldn’t fake interest if he tried. So now he wanted tips, advice you could give him as if you had already had loads of grocery store lobster beatdown dates. All you could do was smile back at the tall basketball player and every small kindness he’d shown you thus far. The way he’d simply seen you.

“Good question. Don’t they have different colored wristbands?”

He arched a brow, clearly fighting a snicker. “Different what?”

Pantomiming a band with one hand grabbing the other, you stuttered. “You know, the… the claw restraints! The wristbands!”

“I don’t think they have wrists, (y/n),” Mingyu teased, reaching over and ruffling your hair.

Well, of course you realize this means war. “Alright, you are on,” was all you said, eyes narrowing.

He perked up at that. “What’s the bet?”

“Winner gets to pick the next activity,” you reply, sauntering a few steps closer to the lobster tank and pointing to one with a purple band over its claws that was clearly ready to throw- well, for lack of better terminology- hands, “and I choose this one.”

“Well, in that case,” Mingyu returned to your side, arm pressed against yours as he peered into the tank, “the logical choice would be to pick the one in red in front of yours. May the best crustacean win.”

And at that, his competitive stare melted back into that boyish look as he turned to you. “…did that sound cool?”

It almost came out as a snort, you burst out laughing so violently. “That was legendary,” was all you could wheeze out.

“Ha ha! I can’t believe it!” Mingyu grinned and bobbed up from his bent tank stare like an excited puppy, pumping the fist that wasn’t holding the mart beer can he’d bought as his lobster shoved yours away in victory.

The pair of crustaceans had been locked in claw-to-claw combat, tussling very slowly over nothing in particular but their proximal frustrations, and Mingyu’s had apparently vented harder, shoving yours back after some aggressive minutes. Mingyu had gotten into the fight, nudging you when something extra exciting happened and even providing commentary on sideline fights between sips.

First drawing a fly sandwich, then that. Truly, who'd've thunk?

“Neither can I," you mock-pouted, crossing your arms, "purple always wins."

"Says who?" Asked Mingyu, who leaned down closer to you, face mere inches from yours.

"Says me," you shrugged, feeling warmth spread across your face.

"Well, you know what?"

You could feel warmth of his breath ghosting faintly over your cheeks, your lips. "Wh- what?"

"As much as I enjoy a good bar," he leaned back a bit, clapping, "I did need something else. Something new. This was fun! Wanna go play basketball in the park? I bet we'll have the court to ourselves!"

There it was again. The reason everyone liked him. Movie love interest vibes, even beneath the oddly-tinted fluorescent lights of commerce. A smile like a boy on the body of a man. Probably not something they usually imagined to see over a lobster tank. Over hoops in the park, though? That tracked, even if it was a bit of a one-eighty from his breath fanning your face.

Beside any of that, he had won the right to choose.

"Sure," you smile, "let's keep your winning streak up."

And with a hand clasped around yours, that athletic strength was tugging you out the grocery store door to a rush of evening wind and the sound of mutual laughter.

Basketball really was that man’s passion. Just about the only thing about it you knew about the sport was what a slam dunk was, but what different shots scored different points? You wanted to throw a three-pointer, but what was a three-pointer?

You learned what it was, what an assist was, that elbowing was illegal or something like that because every game had a reason to send the players to sports jail like grown-up cops and robbers.

You got the ball in the basket twice with no help, and that was achievement enough. Mingyu had ran across the court to high-five you both times as if you’d just won him a game. When you messed up the angle of another throw, he got behind you and, trying your best to focus with his chest flush against your back, you tried again and sent the ball sailing without the betrayal of the previous throw’s dramatic arc.

“So can we give Clint Eastwood a basketball now too?” Mingyu asked out of the blue, dropping to the concrete at your side, legs crossing and knees brushing.

“What,” you chuckled, “do you have him with you or something?”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled a small white square out and unfolded it to reveal the piece of lined notebook paper with margins full of marker and pencil scratch, most notably your hatted frog friend. He kept those notes in his pocket?

With the one not holding Clint, he ran a hand through his short black hair. “I do like to have him with me,” he answered with a tentative smile.

You twisted slightly, feeling your spine pop from its prior exertion, and remembered his words from the basketball game as he’d visited your seat, making you laugh with a failed attempt at spinning the ball on his finger. “As a good luck charm?”

He shook his head. “I think we’ve added something almost every time we’ve been together. He’s like a log of all the memories we share.” With that, he scooched closer to your side, his jacket falling over the folds of your own clothes slightly. “And I like our memories, Frog Girl.”

What could you say to that? “Frog Girl?” You just giggled, eyes on his.

“That’s right,” Mingyu nodded, “I can’t believe I would never have talked to you if you hadn’t drawn a frog.”

“Ah, college,” you sighed, tilting your head, “the golden years, and yet it’s so easy to ignore everyone else.”

“Well, no longer,” Mingyu shot back, gaze honing in on…well, you weren’t sure, but you liked it, “I figured out what I want to do with my victory wish.”

You smiled at the phrase ‘victory wish’, a term that was just so him. “I thought that was this.” For emphasis, you waved a hand along the court, feeling the night breeze that much more on the skin of your palm.

“Nope,” he shook his head, smirking as his eyes fell back on yours, “I didn’t say I was using it then, I just asked if you wanted to come out here and you said yes."

Well, coat you in flour and call you a biscuit. "You evil genius, you." At that, you gave a grin and a shake of your own head, unable to resist feeling a bit impressed. Man plays games, he picks up some strategy. You'd have to remember that.

"I prefer to think of myself as a nice genius," Mingyu said, and then, switching tones completely, doing another one-eighty to one sweet enough to make your heart swell, he continued, "and about my wish: can I kiss you? I can't think of a better way to end Friday Night Showdown."

Deathly afraid of saying something stupid, you answered by shifting from your crossed legs, folding them to the side as you sat up, knee resting slightly on the edge of his leg as you pressed your lips to his. The slick of his sports jacket between your fingers felt cool as you gripped it to hold both yourself and Mingyu in place as he surged forward into you. For his speed, his eagerness, his kiss was surprisingly soft, not digging too deep but just firmly holding you, treasuring you as if the feeling of your lips was about to fade. Oh, buddy, I'm not going anywhere, you murmured in your head against the feeling of his ever-so-slightly chapped lips.

And as he pulled away, separation painfully slow, deliberate, Mingyu looked you dead in the eyes, blinked at the sudden return of hazy park streetlight, and said “Wow.”

You nodded. “Wow.” Can’t believe how well those lobsters worked, you wanted to say. "You're full of surprises, Mr. Basketball."

“Mr. Basketball,” he mused, gaze briefly drifting from yours, then back. “I wasn’t sure you were going to be that into me, being so funny and smart and artistic and stuff, but I just couldn’t help myself. And boy am I glad for that,” he grinned.

For that, all you could do was kiss him again.

No more hoops were shot that night, only words tossed out with new glee as you, now wrapped in Mingyu’s jacket, pointed out lesser-known constellations, like the Dutch giraffe one or the Poop Deck. After all, you had a reputation to keep up on that date, and everyone had already seen the Big Dipper.

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu x female reader #female reader #college au #humor #fluff #let me know if y'all are into part 2 I have Ideas™ lmao

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its-time-to-write · 8 months

Note

I AM RUSHING TO GET THIS IN!!!

Friends to lovers maybe with a disabled reader?? Maybe she's someone he knew from back home who he runs into at a diner she's working at now. Maybe she feels like he abandoned her and her life fell apart when he moved away?

ANyway love you lots!!!

warning: there’s a lot of parentheses (it’s a choice) and a lot of swearing (I do what I want)

reader’s dialogue/feelings are based off my own experiences so if u read this and are like ??? don’t worry about it. i’m just projecting. the chronic illness is unspecified.

LOVE U BABE

you’ll probably date her

It’s hard enough growing up in a council estate in a shit part of Manchester (although you’d staunchly defend there’s no such thing as a shit part of Manchester) but it’s harder with fucking chronic illness. It manifests is clumsiness (joint pain), fidgeting (widespread pain), and bruising (skin problems).

Not to mention the fucking tiredness.

School is complete shit all the time, and life is complete shit all the time too.

Okay fine, not all the time, but a lot of the time.

There are bright spots in between flare ups, bright spots that consist of learning how to bake with Simon (Jamie’s stepdad) and petting Roy (Jamie’s cat) and watching horribly cheesy movies with Georgie (Jamie’s mum).

Oh, and Jamie.

You’ve known Jamie since birth, probably, when your mum brought you home and Jamie sat down on the saggy couch, aged two, and asked, “When does it open its eyes?”

He took it upon himself to look after you, magnanimous in a way he would not have been if you were actually related to him (thank god). When he starts to get tired of you, he can go back home to his own room and his own mum and hug her tight without having to share her with anyone else.

When you’re three and he’s five, you get a diagnosis. Jamie says, “That’s shit,” when your mum tells him you can’t play, and you’re told that you echo him with your first swear.

“That’s shit,” comes your tiny voice from the sofa, face down and covered in bags of frozen peas.

Your mum is too surprised by the first words you’ve said all day, that she a) doesn’t scold you and b) doesn’t catch Jamie as he slips by her into the house. He sits on the floor and starts to tell you about primary school and helps your mum when it’s time to put the peas back in the slightly-broken freezer.

It goes like that for years.

When you’re feeling well, you kick a football around with Jamie. When you’re feeling poorly, he climbs the steps to your room and tells you things, anything at all to distract you from the pain ripping through your body.

It’s nice. It makes you feel, like, someone cares, almost? Or someone understands? Or maybe the world isn’t carrying on without you, that a piece of it does stop when you do, and maybe you aren’t entirely alone.

You first realize you like Jamie (like-like) when you’re twelve and it feels like ice-cold water has been poured on your head, but not exactly in an unwelcoming way.

A shock, sure, but a soothing one.

You don’t tell him, but you think he probably knows. He’s not an idiot, he’s had girls swooning all over him since he was eight.

(And your mum knows, and she and Georgie talk, and Georgie tells Jamie to be extra nice to you and maybe a little bit careful not to be mean about it.)

He carefully slips on your small bed when you’re fifteen and he’s sixteen (almost seventeen, but it’s the one time of the year when you’re only a year apart) and balances on his side so he can look at you.

“You’ll be alright?” he asks, and you don’t have to ask what he’s talking about.

He’s going to play for Manchester (City, not United, and not the Premier League Team), and it’s all you’ve been able to think about.

You don’t say anything, so he gingerly pats your head. It messes up your hair, but it also feels like tiny electric sparks are shooting through your body (not the pain kind).

He lays there for a long time, whispering about secondary school and football and making enough money to buy houses for everyone he’s ever loved, you included.

(He promises he’ll call all the time.)

—

He does call, until he doesn’t.

Some days are good, some days are bad, and now the bad days feel like they’re your fault.

“You’re overdoing it,” your boss says, “You need to slow down or you’ll be out sick tomorrow.”

You bite back the words I’m doing my fucking best, and just nod. Fuck him, and fuck this. You can work just the same as everyone else, pain be damned. There are fucking bills to pay and yeah, this shit hurts, but what the fuck are you supposed to do. Benefits aren’t enough at the moment, and it’s been a solid two years since you’ve given up on waiting for a knight in shining armor (even if that knight is in the Premier League now, just like he always swore he’d be).

Your boss is fucking right the fucker, but you push through on Friday (it’s fucking shit) and crash on Saturday (it’s even more fucking shit).

Your mum places bags of frozen fruit on your joints, rearranging the pillows on the floor. You’ve long since outgrown the couch, instead needing more space. Your dad moved the coffee table, saying, “It’s on its last legs anyway,” and the space you called a living room now became a treatment room of sorts.

Georgie and Simon come over all the time for family dinner (potluck-style) and they are comfortable enough step over you or sit down on the floor to talk.

It sounds worse than it is, but when they’re in the flat it feels better, all warm and glowy, like things are right.

Nights are the worst, with the moving around trying to get comfortable, so you’re awake bright and early on Sunday morning. Early enough to sit on a bench in front of the estates, bundled up in your duvet and puffing cold air out into the sky.

You hear footsteps splashing down the tunnel, someone on their way home after a long night. Or maybe it’s one of the many kids who like to sneak out to play footie in hopes that they’ll be the next Jamie Tartt.

He’s not that great, you want to tell them, except you don’t even believe it yourself. He is that great, he’ll always be that great, and you should have fucking known that he was going to fuck off and fuck a gorgeous, carefree model and not you.

(Not that you want to fuck him. Well, you do, but you also want to, like, hold his hand.)

It was always going to end up this way, you should have known not to actually have real feelings for him, you should have left it at a childhood crush and not let yourself believe something could actually happen.

The footsteps pass you by, and it’s a man in a baseball hat and an awful silk-print tracksuit carrying a Gucci travel bag.

He’s out of place here, and you wonder if he’s lost. But no, he strides up to Georgie and Simon’s door like he owns the place, pulls out a key, and walks right in. It’s only after the door swings shut behind him that you realize it’s Jamie.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, clouds accompanying the words.

(You won’t admit it, but the surprise has rebooted your system a little bit, aching limbs forgotten for a moment.)

—

“This is shit,” you say as you lean on your fucking cane of all things. “It’s one thing if it’s Simon and Georgie, it’s another fucking thing if it’s Jamie fucking Tartt.”

“That’s a lot of fucking fucks,” your father says sagely, ignoring the glare you send his way and saying ow as your mum swats the back of his head.

“It’s only two fucks and one shit,” you tell him. “And I’m not going.”

“Then I’ll tell them to come over here,” your mum says placidly.

Absolutely not. Also-fucking-lutely not.

“I am going to my room,” you say with dignity, turning to go back up the stairs.

Your dad waves, the prick. “Have fun,” he says helpfully. You flip him off without looking, and you know for a fact he’s doing it back. You know he’ll be up in an hour with a plate of dinner and sneak you early desert.

There is no fucking way you’re seeing Jamie after two years like this.

The cane is a relatively new development and sure, it’s helpful with walking sometimes, but a cane? The fuck were the doctors thinking when they suggested this? You’re barely twenty, not a damn convalescent.

By the time you make it to your room, the doorbell’s ringing and voices are filling the flat. You reach for your bottle of pills and carefully tap the right amount into your hand (even though you know there is no drug on earth to calm down your traitor heart).

You lay down flat on your back with no immediate plans to move. You find your playlist and slip an earbud in, letting the music take you somewhere else. Somewhere where you don’t hurt for no reason, where you can focus like you’re supposed to, where you aren’t so damn tired all the time.

There’s a tap on your door.

“Come in,” you call to your dad, except the door opens and it’s Jamie, no longer in his stupid outfit from earlier, but in a nice jumper that you think might be Simon’s.

He smiles like he didn’t abandon you and sits down on the floor. You hand him the other earbud (it’s better than talking) and let Stevie Nicks croon in your ear.

“How’ve you been?” he asks (the prick) and you have half a mind to ignore him.

“It’s been two years,” you remind him. “Try again.”

Jamie looks stricken. “Right, yeah, I know, it’s just- I’ve been busy.”

“Yup,” you reply. “Me too.”

(The cane is leaning on the wall by the door, and you need Jamie to not notice it.)

Jamie points to the cane. “That’s new.”

“Yep,” you say because it’s not the same as yup. It has a different vowel. It’s a different word, you’re having a civil conversation, your brain is making sentences just fine.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He sounds like he means it, which is worse. “I went through some shit, you know? It don’t excuse it, but… got a new gaffer, Keeley dumped me, then I got sent back to City right when I were getting better. It’s been shit. I’ve been shit,” he corrects.

Your arm’s falling asleep so you shift, trying to stifle a groan.

Jamie’s up in a moment, all concern. “You alright?”

“Clearly,” you gasp out as savagely as possible. “Fuck off, alright? I don’t need your pity, not now, so go find some other charity case.”

Fucking flare-ups. Fucking Jamie. Fucking chronic illness and its fucking lack of a cure.

Jamie looks like he’s been slapped. To be fair, you would if you could get in the right position.

“You’re not charity,” he says, and unfortunately (and again) he sounds like he fucking means it.

“Okay,” you say. “That’s fucking mint. Thanks for staying such a good friend all these years, it’s been real fucking fun. I’ve got to lie here in discomfort, so I imagine you’ll be leaving now. Goodbye.”

Jamie stares at you a moment, then leaves.

—

It’s a good day. It’s a good day and it’s raining and you don’t even care because it’s a good day. Nothing can ruin it (this isn’t a premonition) not even stupid Jamie showing up out of nowhere.

(It’s a little bit of a premonition.)

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says when he turns up in his mum’s kitchen, an hour before he’s supposed to be home. You’re supposed to be long gone by now, but you and Simon have cheese pinwheels in the oven that aren’t done for another twenty minutes, so now you’re stuck here until then.

“Fucking mint,” you say, just like the night before. Simon freezes but Georgie just rolls her eyes.

“We’ll be in the other room, loves,” she says. “Jamie, don’t be a fucking idiot.”

You tell him, “I’m having a good day, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fucking ruin it.”

“You’re not a charity case,” he says, and you think maybe he is broken, but like a record is broken, not like a teacup.

Jamie says, “I weren’t lying about going through shit,” and you snap (like a rubber band, not a bone).

“Big fucking deal, Jamie, you’ve been going through shit since you were six years old. I’ve been going through shit too, in case you didn’t fucking notice. It’s not an excuse to be a shitty person or a shitty friend,” you burst out.

“I didn’t say it as an excuse, it’s just a fucking reason,” Jamie shouts back. “Jesus Christ, you’re not the only person with fucking problems! You’re allowed to be mad shitty sometimes, I didn’t ever complain, so why’s it fucking different for me?”

You open your mouth to tell him why it’s fucking different, except you don’t actually have a reason. How many times did you sit with him as he iced his knee, or his face, or his arm while you iced your back, or your chest, or your legs?

Pain is pain, your fucking government-issued therapist had said. And shit if she isn’t right.

“You abandoned me,” you reply, voice small. “You left me for Keeley and I wouldn’t have minded, I really wouldn’t have. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Jamie rubs his face with a sigh. “Didn’t know how to talk to you, after. I knew you liked me since we were kids and I liked you too, so it felt fucking… weird. Dunno. But, I was with her because it was what I was supposed to do and she was mad fit and fucking funny. I’ve had a crush on her for fucking… ages.”

“Right,” you say, feeling one millimeter tall, “I get that.”

Jamie shakes his head and says, “Nah, you don’t.” (The fuck does he mean? He can’t read your mind).

“You don’t get it,” he continues. “Had a crush on her, didn’t I? Not the same as you. You were proper in love with me, and I…” he trails off.

“He was proper in love with you too,” comes Georgie’s voice.

Jamie turns bright red and you do too, and it’s like you’re kids again and he’s in your bed and you’re trying not to think about how close his lips are to yours.

“That’s… well, that’s…” You try and fail to come up with the right words.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, still blushing. “Yeah, suppose I was. Couldn’t do anything about it, then. Could do something about it now. If you’ve forgiven me.” He says it casually, like he won’t mind if you tell him to go away out of his own mum’s house and never return, when in reality he’ll burn up and die if you do.

“I will. I do,” you say. “I’m sorry too, I am. I can be a prick sometimes.”

Jamie shrugs, but he’s smiling a little. “I’m a prick all the time, love. Fucking… fucked childhood or some shit.”

“Some shit,” you echo. “So, proper in love with me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says. “Proper. Wrote my first name with your last on every bit of paper I could get me hands on, didn’t I?”

“Fuck off,” you say with a grin.

“It’s true,” Simon shouts from the sofa. “Found some bits when I was cleaning one day.”

Wait. Simon didn’t move in until Jamie was a teenager. That means…

“Oh my god, were you fifteen when you were writing that? You weren’t even a kid anymore! What the fuck Jamie, you had it bad!” you tease.

“Fuck off, it was just a stupid joke,” he says defensively.

“Uh huh, sounds like,” you say as you go to wrap your arms around him. “You liked me.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, leaning down to kiss your head. He’s never going to fucking live this down.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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midnightbears · 3 months

Text

✿ tell 'em how the crowds went wild! tell 'em how i hope they shine!

⎯ in which you look back on how grateful you are for the opportunity bestowed upon you. aka: you joined the opla's cast!

#STARRING. iñaki godoy, mackenyu, jacob romero, taz skylar, emily rudd ft. fem!reader [elle fanning 4 faceclaim but u can imagine y/n anyway u wish!].

#TAGS. sfw, kind of context, a bit of smau but its tiny. mentions of covid just in case it's triggering?

#NOTE. pardon my rusty writing but i really wanted to get this out!!! i added an oc from one piece for the sake of the story but she's barely mentioned so uuuh yuh! timeline may be wrong but i work with what i'm given please bear with me. let me know if you would like more fics of this y/n??? ALSO IGNORE THE WATERMARKS ON THE PHOTOS I NEEDED TO MAKE THEM NEATER

In the past, if someone were to come up to you and tell you that you’d be a part of the One Piece Live Action main cast in the future, you would’ve probably laughed in their faces despite your wishful thinking.

At that time, you were content with your work, doing short theatre plays with companies or gaining minor roles in musicals. Everything changed when you landed the role for the one-woman show Fleabag for a limited time on London’s West End after the leading actress underwent emergency surgery for an appendectomy. You only acted as the sex-obsessed mess of a woman for about three weeks, but it was enough time for people to notice you, to really see you.

You believed your career had reached its pinnacle when you were cast as Katherine Howard in Six: The Musical in London. Your name had become somehow well-known in the musical theatre world, and you had a small but dedicated fan base who liked uploading edits of you being a dork during the Megasix on YouTube and TikTok.

Months later, you were bound to play as Fantine for Les Miserables when COVID abruptly struck, and you were dismayed that your job was ripped from you so abruptly. Your best friend, the sweetest person on earth, insisted on you moving in with her in fear that you’d be evicted from your apartment.

Months passed, and you eventually found a small way to help your friend pay rent by offering singing and acting lessons online to musical-aspiring teenagers. Since you had gained many followers from your earlier work on social media, it didn’t surprise you when the classes became sold out.

Your friend also convinced you to create a YouTube channel for you to upload videos of yourself (sometimes joined by her) where you watched and commented shitty movies, followed DIY tutorials just for the fun of it, performed covers of your favorite songs, and just generally vlogged your life (along with reactions to Taylor Swift’s (From The Vault) songs).

At first, you thought it was pretty stupid, but you were delightfully proved wrong when your videos harbored over 200k-300k views on a bad day, so you found no reason to stop as COVID-19 continued, growing to gain a little over five hundred thousand followers. Your reactions were often used for TikTok audios or clips, so you found your popularity growing and evolving during that year.

You believed yourself to be a general, simple woman. People liked you because you were elegant and levelheaded, although you could sometimes be chaotic. You also had a subtle sense of humor that many found charming. But mostly, you grew a steady fan base because your videos and presence comforted countless young adults and teenagers.

You were an optimist and a reassuring one, so during the times when COVID was so prominent, people sought refuge from the monstrosities of the world in your videos, where you seemed to connect with them even though you were on the other side of the screen.

However, everything changed somewhere in 2020-2021. That evening, your best friend got home from work with excitement practically oozing out of her every pore. You and your best friend were avid anime watchers and manga readers, so you couldn’t help the face you made when she told you that One Piece was getting a live-action.

Although you were skeptical, your friend practically insisted you send an audition tape. You grimaced at that. It was well-known that live anime actions were almost always corny and cringeworthy compared to the original work, and people never liked them. You had learned that much from Death Note and a couple of others. However, your best friend convinced you with this argument:

“If it’s that bad, then at least you’ll gain more followers out of the memes that people will make, and if it’s good, you’ll still get famous anyway!”

Eventually, you sent a video of you performing one of the lengthy monologues from Fleabag to your agency and simply hoped for the best. Your friend was practically rooting for you to get the role of Anastasia, one of the first integrants of the Straw Hat crew, joining before Sanji and after Usopp. You adored her as she greatly reminded you of your late mother, although you would be happy with any role.

Somewhere in November 2021, you remember a lot of screaming and crying. When you try to look back on it, all you remember is the happiness you felt when you received confirmation of the role of Anastasia. You were practically over the moon, and you and your friend celebrated inside your small apartment. You were entirely alone, just two drunk girls dancing and cheering, until one of the neighbors knocked on the ceiling with a broom.

liked by inakigo, emilyrudd and 574,949 others

yourusername actually lost for words and filled to the brim with gratitude...... i cannot express how excited i am to play my girl anastasia and bring her to life. from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who has supported me. your faith in me means everything. congrats to iñaki, emily, jacob, mackenyu and taz, thank you to onepiecenetflix, thank you to my best friend for convincing me to audition for the role, and thank you, oda sensei, for putting anastasia's heart in my hands. love u all <3

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November 10, 2021

y/nsfanclub.02, AAAAAAAA SO EXCITED FOR THIS I ACTUALLY CANT BELIEVE IT

⤷ starl6ighwnb, LIKE FR IM GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE THIS IS INSANE

user8392y3r927y, HELLO YOUR GRACE ANASTASIA

inakigo, Congrats!!!!!!!!

taz_skylar, 🔥🔥🔥

The One Piece fan base dearly loved the character of Anastasia, a well-mannered, bubbly, upbeat, fashion-loving duchess who always spoke in a Transatlantic accent but also had a quick wit and a bit of a sweet tooth. Anastasia’s dream was to become the most dangerous pirate to ever grace the seas and prove everyone who doubted her wrong.

Of course, with a big character came a big responsibility.

Sometimes, insecurity nearly got the better of you. You had to fill huge shoes, and there were many people to convince and impress. However, your love for this project was bigger than the gnawing uncertainty on the back of your neck, so you continued strongly until the end of Season One, finding comfort in your cast mates and the countless people who counted on you and, most importantly, believed in you.

Oda handpicked you, and that argument alone was enough to shoot any insecurities away.

Well, needless to say, people loved you!

Critics acclaimed your portrayal of the character, as well as the commendable chemistry you shared with the rest of the cast. The fans found it incredibly funny that your character was the complete opposite of how you actually acted in real life, and you often found yourself blissfully immersed in the fan base's love and praise.

Your channel and social media suddenly grew tenfold. Although you had stopped uploading videos every week due to the recording of season one, your followers were more than happy to wait for your return, and as one would expect, they were thrilled to have you back once you did upload a vlog explaining everything.

Over the course of the six months, you had been recording from time to time for a YouTube video in the set. Previously, you had asked the producers for permission to record some behind-the-scenes for your channel and your usual interactions with the rest of the cast with your personal Sony camera, as you felt it would be a nice way to bring the fans and the cast closer.

The producers gave the okay on the condition that you would wait until the first season aired on Netflix. You happily agreed and carefully began recording some scenes of your dressers and hairdressers as they prepared you, a few shots of your instructor showing you how you were supposed to use the guns that Anastasia employed... simple things.

Back in the day, you were still getting acquainted with the other cast members, and you didn't want to seem rude by forcibly making them appear on your videos, so you waited for a few weeks until you could properly call yourself companions. Then, you invited them to appear in the videos.

Iñaki, Taz, and Jacob liked to take advantage of the little free time they had between scenes they didn't appear in to innocently steal your camera and use it to their heart's content. One day, you got home only to find the memory card was completely full. It was an extensive video of them walking around the set, with Taz recording while Kiki and Jacob pointed out random stuff to the people who lived inside your camera, as Jacob liked to call them.

Mackenyu, being more reserved and introverted, mostly liked to act as a cameraman for you as you showed the props you used and other things, often making comments or turning the camera around whenever you referred to something.

Meanwhile, Emily had a natural knack for being in front of the camera. Whenever you asked her to join in, she effortlessly slipped into the co-host role, bantering with you and adding her own insights into the behind-the-scenes world of the show.

With the first season out of the way, you took the time to carefully pick what videos you wanted to use in the final tape, and it took you a little over a month and a half to properly edit it and turn it into a wonderful thirty-minute-long behind-the-scenes. You even sent it to the producers and your co-stars in case there was a scene they wanted deleted. Fortunately, they all gave you the okay.

You teased the video a bit on your Instagram before uploading it a few days later, and the support it received was out of this world. It gained over two million views and hundreds of thousands of likes.

You were kind of expecting this. While some BTS had already been uploaded on YouTube, yours was different because you were showing it from your perspective. The fans loved every second of it, and even started asking for a second or third part. You even saw new videos on YouTube of recompilations from your video with the titles being silly things like The One Piece Cast Being Chaotic for Seven Minutes.

At that moment, your life felt so full. You were getting contacted by industries who wanted you to appear on their videos and their stages, thousands of fans who loved you, and a feeling so peculiar that this would be eternal.

liked by taz_skylar, morganlogoff and 1,523,199 others

yourusername missing my wig and my gang hours ☹️

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November 10, 2023

morganlogoff, love love love you💗💗💗

curlikaqy, NO ONE KNOWS I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN

emilyrudd, GIRL I WANT TO SEE YOU COME BACK TO AMERICA

bookofjacob, missing your camera hours💔

#one piece #one piece live action #one piece la #opla #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece live action x reader #one piece live action x you #iñaki godoy #emily rudd #jacob romero gibson #jacob romero #taz skylar #mackenyu #one piece x y/n #opla x reader #opla x you #midnightbears

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harlowcomehome · 1 year

Text

Sleep away camp:

Requested by @hoodharlow!

Thank you @jackharloww for helping me brainstorm ideas!! 💜

You were trying to remain calm, but inside you were falling apart. Hazel just turned twelve and asked both you and Jack if she could go to “sleep away camp” this summer.

“Sleep away camp?” Jack scoffed as he followed you around the house, you had just finished taking the last load of laundry out of the dryer.

“I mean what even is sleep away camp?” Jack was sweating, nervous, and overwhelmed. “I’ve never heard of this shit.”

“It’s just like summer camp Harlow, if you’re going to hover over me at least fold some clothes” You pushed the laundry basket toward him as he sat next to you on the couch.

“And how long are you going to be gone?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, a nervous tic.

“I’ll be gone until the night before we have to pick Hazel up” you reminded him for what felt like the millionth time.

“How long is that again?” Jack nervously chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“It’s four days and three nights Jackman” Your lip quivered a little and he knew you were on the same page.

“Is someone putting on a brave face?” He teased, noticing your obvious distress.

“She’s not so little anymore and it’s so hard” You sat back on the couch and he held you, kissing your forehead as you both sighed in relief that you felt the same way.

“It’s hard watching her grow up, just yesterday she was our tiny newborn” Jack mumbled in your ear as he started to cry, snot bubbles and all.

“Baby, are you stressed about being here alone with Jadey?” You pulled back from him to look at his face, handing him a tissue from the coffee table.

“No, I just hate that two pieces of my heart are going to be in other places” he pouted and you kissed his pink-tinted nose.

“You’re so cute when you get emotional” you smiled and he blushed as you both finished folding the laundry.

“Aren’t the girls supposed to be back from Urb and -“Before he could finish his sentence both Hazel and Jade came running into the house still in their swimsuits.

“Did you two have fun?” You stood up giving them both a welcoming hug.

“Uncle Urb showed us how to float!” Jade was excited to share.

“I already knew how” Hazel shrugged.

“Of course you did Hazey” Jack chuckled knowing that part of her personality was all Harlow.

“Both of you go take a shower. We ordered pizza and Hazel your clothes are clean and ready to be packed” You pointed to her pile of clothes.

You finished packing your bag for your work trip as the girls got ready for dinner.

“I scheduled for that ceramics instructor to come on Tuesday at one. Clayborn already knows too ” You reminded Jack who quickly set an event in his calendar.

“She’s going to show us how to make stuff out of clay?” Jack questioned and you nodded.

••••••••••••••••••••••

The next day you, Jack, and Jade drove Hazel to her campground, you met the numerous camp counselors and felt better knowing that Urban's twin daughters were also going to be there.

Hazel saw both you and Jack's eyes begin to water, “I’ll be safe! I promise!” She gave you two and hug, saving Jades for last.

“Don’t drive daddy too crazy” Hazel whispered earning a giggle from her little sister.

Jack checked the time and you both said goodbye one more time before the three of you headed to the airport so you could board the private jet.

You said your goodbyes to Jade and Jack leaving the two of them to spend the next several days together.

“Well, looks like it’s just you and me now Jadey” Jack looked at her through the rearview mirror.

“Can we get food? I’m hungry” Jade pouted knowing that usually worked.

“I guess” he playfully rolled his eyes and laughed. “Our usual spot?”

Jade eagerly nodded and the two of them drove to a local brunch spot owned by one of Jack's close friends.

Jade ripped the paper off her straw blowing the wrapper at her dad.

“Hey!” He laughed as it poked him in the forehead.

“A wrapper on a rapper” Jade giggled, her joke was no doubt awful but made Jack laugh nonetheless.

“I see you got your amazing sense of humor from me” Jack teased before he placed both his and Jades' order.

“After we eat can we go home and watch a movie?”

“Of course! We have to get Starbucks first though girlie pop” Jack popped the “p” while mimicking a high pitch voice which made Jade uncontrollably giggle.

“Is that your way of pretending to be mommy?” Jade shook her head.

“No! Never.” He lied stifling a chuckle.

“Because mommy would want to go to Target too” she giggled.

When the food came the two of them talked about a variety of things. Eventually landing on Jack’s least favorite topic.

“So, I was thinking maybe we can get a kitty” Jade smiled wide as Jack paid for their breakfast.

“Jadey, we have a few days together let’s not bring this up on the first one” he held her hand as they walked to the car.

“Uncle Urby has a kitty” she pouted.

Jack sighed, feeling like he was definitely going to end up with a new pet by the end of the week.

“I’ll think about it okay?”

“Okay daddy! Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, you can always talk to me” he turned to face her as he had already sat in the drivers seat.

“I miss mommy and sissy but I’m glad we get to spend time together” Jade exclaimed clapping her hands together and kicking her feet.

“Me too! We need more days like this!” Jack smiled as he started the car.

“Target?”

“Target and Starbucks” Jade put her sunglasses on and Jack couldn’t help but laugh, she really was your mini.

#Jack Harlow #Jack Harlow x reader #Jack Harlow concepts #Jack Harlow fanfic #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow imagines

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sideblogforweirdshit · 11 months

Text

Whump Reference Post for Fingernail Removal Torture

Hi whump writers of Tumblr! I recently made a little introduction post in which I said I’d be making reference posts. This is one I already had typed up, because for some reason this was the first thing I thought of.

There are no images attached, but I’m putting the rest of the post under a readmore since the majority of the content is semi-graphic written description of the how-to’s and wherefore’s and such of fingernail removal torture.

To be clear: I will be going into as much depth as I possibly can without using images. The content of this post will be purely academic. There will be no artistic liberties taken. This post is meant to be as accurate to (and descriptive of) a real-life situation as possible.

I hope some part of this post eventually winds up being a helpful resource for someone!

1) Not as painful as it’s made out to be

-It's painful, but definitely not to the extent it’s shown in movies or whatnot. A lot of the "pain" comes from the shock factor of seeing your body without something it’s always had, as well as the inherent "wrongness" that comes with experiencing a part of your body being removed.

2) There is very very thin film of skin between the fingernail and the finger.

-If one is careful in removing the fingernail by peeling it back slowly, one can preserve this thin piece of skin. -If one pulls the fingernail back quickly and without taking care, this thin film will rip, and the nail will pull away with bits of flesh attached.

3) The flesh under the nail will be vertically striated.

-If one uses the peel-back method, and is careful to not let the thin film of skin between the nail and the flesh rip, the skin/flesh underneath the nail will be as visibly striated as the fingernail itself. If you look closely at your fingernail right now, you’ll see that there are many tiny grooves from the tip of your nail to the base. This is true for all human fingernails. If the nail is peeled back with sufficient care, those striations will be echoed on the skin underneath the nail.

4) The “peel entirely off” method versus the "peel back and then stop" method versus the "pull out entirely" method.

-The “peel entirely off” method is how I will refer to the method of grasping firmly the tip of the fingernail in some sort of vice (usually pliers) and then peeling it backwards, moving the pliers from the nail at the tip of the finger towards the hand itself. Using this method, the nail will remain firmly grasped in the pliers the entire time. The movement of the pliers only stops when the base of the nail is ripped entirely out of the finger. This will necessarily result in ripping out a fair bit of skin past the cuticles, as the technical base of the nail (aka “nail matrix”) is generally around half a centimeter hand-wards past the cuticles (and follows the curve of the nail, so is deeper than the cuticles as well). Due to the nature of skin, I would expect a tear reminiscent of an extremely deep hangnail that goes from the base of the cuticles to at least halfway between the first and second knuckle (and at most goes to the second knuckle). In this case, it is not guaranteed that the nail will grow back. There is a chance it’ll come back, but there is also a chance that the nail matrix is permanently damaged and will not be able to grow a new nail. Since every human is different, there’s not an exact science to determining where a person’s nail matrix is before it’s ripped out. A (very) general rule of thumb is to follow the curve of the existing fingernail, and draw a point on that curve before it hits bone. Obviously, this is extremely subjective.

-The “peel back and then stop” method is how I will refer to what is essentially the previous method, but one stops before the nail-ripping goes past the cuticle and snips off the peeled part, leaving a milimeter or so of fingernail existing on the nailbed. In this case, it is assured that the nail matrix is undisturbed, and the fingernail will grow back. This is the method I will assume is taken for the future steps

-The “pull out entirely” method is how I will refer to the situation where one grasps the protruding part of the nail firmly, and applies force away from the hand and in the direction the finger points. In this case, there’s a large chance that the nail will rip. This depends largely on the care taken with the pulling object (pliers, usually) to grab the nail exactly parallel with the sides of the pliers. If any part of the pliers digs into the nail at a singular location, this will create a point at which pressure will build up, and the nail will likely rip at this location. The strength of the individual’s nails also affects the ripping. The individual’s nail strength can vary based on nourishment as well as on a general person-to-person basis. Personally, I do not recommend this method.

-If one wants to make the removal definitely permanent, there’s the possibility of peeling it back all the way down and out, and then chemically burning where one assumes the nail matrix is. (Some serious irl hikers do this to their toenails on purpose, to reduce the chances of getting ingrown toenails from being laced into hiking boots for days on end.) Removing the nail permanently will obviously reduce the opportunity to peel it off again, but will give a permanent Horrific Aspect to the victim.

5) For the first three days, the exposed flesh will be painful.

-The entire tip of the finger will be a constant deep and throbbing pain. Any deviation from this norm will be an increase in pain, never a decrease (save medication or an ice-bath-for-full-minutes immersion to the point of numbness).

-Any contact with the exposed nailbed will increase the pain. Knocking the exposed flesh against anything, even extremely gently, will result in a visible bright red welt under the thin layer of skin (bright red on light skin only! on darker skin, the welt will still be visible, but will show as a dark red-brown). It is a visual similar to an extremely tiny, non-protruding blood blister. Knocking the nailbed against something less gently will result in fully scraping off that delicate outer layer of skin.

-Using the finger for anything will be painful (though not unbearably so), and it may even be painful to bend the finger at all.

-Any moisture on the exposed flesh (including anything from regular water to antibiotic ointment) will hurt a lot. This will intensify the throbbing at least twofold across the entire nailbed, and will also result in an amount of stinging as if one had just realized one had been stung by a bee.

6) For treatment and healing thereof (if quick healing is desired)

For those first three days, any bandaid application is inadvisable -The exposed flesh will be so tender and vulnerable that any bandaid (even the non-stick kind) will stick to the exposed flesh and rip it upon removal. I can only assume this is in part due to the curvature of the finger, which means that any wrapping-around type bandaid will inherently put pressure on the nailbed, resulting in sticking.

-To promote healing, the first three days should be without any sort of covering on the wound.

After the first three days, a scab will form. -At this point, the pain will be much less. it might be uncomfortable to bump the nailbed into objects, but it will not be the same pain as in the first three days.

-The wound will also be much less sensitive to moisture.

-When the scab starts to crack (usually a vertical crack), one should apply antibiotic ointment and a bandaid. At this point in the proess, it is desired for the scab to remain as consistently moist as possibly. This will help the scab fall off when it is ready to do so.

-At this point, the finger can be used normally (within reason) without much (if any) pain.

After two or three days with the bandaid covering, the scab will start to fall off.

-One may expedite this process if one is careful.

-At this point, the skin on the nailbed is sensitive to the touch, but not to the point of pain.

-There will be some dry, loose skin around the edges of the nailbed.

-The previously visible striation will no longer be there.

-Pressure on the exposed nailbed will not be necessarily painful, but it will feel decidedly Odd. Though not painful, It will be an extremely sensitive area.

-The nailbed will be a delicate pinkish color.

Around a week after the initial scab falls off, there will appear to be another scab. It will be a relatively thin layer of dry, dead skin.

-If the nail is allowed to grow normally, it is likely that it will cover this second scab before it has the chance to fall off.

-If the stub of the fingernail is trimmed routinely, it is possible for the scab to fall off, leaving only relatively smooth unblemished skin where the nailbed is. This skin will be roughly the same color and texture as the skin on the tip of the finger.

7) The rate at which fingernails grow back is extremely slow

-The average growth rate is about 3.5 milimeters per month. There are several factors that can cause this to vary:

-Fingernails on the dominant hand grow back faster than the nails on the non-dominant hand.

-Fingernails grow back faster than toenails.

-Nails grow back faster in warm weather than in cold weather.

-Depending on the nail and the aforementioned conditions, one can expect a total regrowth time of anywhere from three to six months (or more).

8) Life Without Fingernails

-Fingernails affect a large part of our everyday lives. We mostly use them when we’re manipulating objects with our hands, and we use them to scratch. It doesn’t seem like a lot, but it’s a lot. It’s hard to explain just how weird it is to not have fingernails to someone who’s never experienced it, but here goes:

-Fingernails are the Hard Backs used to brace our fingers against a hard shell when we manipulate something with our hands. If you pinch your fingers together right now, you’ll see a white band along the top of your fingernail. This is where the pressure from the pinching goes; it’s braced against your nail.

-Picking something up without fingernails feels extremely odd the first few hundred times you do it. It takes a long time to get used to it.

-Writing is even worse. Without the hard shell backing your fingers, the pencil tends to slip out of your grip more often. If you usually have long enough fingernails that you balance your pen/pencil on them, you’re extremely likely to have the pencil completely slip out of your grip multiple times a sentence.

-You don’t realize how much you unconsciously scratch itchy parts of your body until you no longer have the ability to do so. If you’re only missing a few nails, you have to consciously adjust your hand so that you can scratch with the existing ones. If you’re missing all of them, you have to actively find an external object to alleviate the itch.

Some places on the body one can scratch with their teeth, but for most places, one needs to either find an “itch stick,” or rub that part of their body on something scratchy. A lot of clothing is scratchy enough to work for this. One needs to learn how to vary the pressure so that one can alleviate the itch without tearing through the skin or scratching themselves.

Pros:

-Body horror

Fingernail removal is a more mentally significant mutilation than cuts or burns, if only because it draws on the "that was there and now it's not" aspect of body horror.

-Can be inflicted more than once

Since fingernails grow back, they can be removed again and again and again. Though it may take some time for the nails to regrow, it isn't even close to the type of permanent that’s chopping off a finger or a toe.

-Helplessness

Since it takes a few days for the nailbeds to heal enough to be able to use one's fingers, a complete removal of all fingernails will take away one's ability to use their hands. Even after this initial period of extreme sensitivity, the lack of fingernails is something most people aren’t prepared for. The previous section explaining how fingernails affect daily life is significant here.

Cons:

-Can’t repeat often.

Once a fingernail is off, it's not coming back for at least three months (likely longer). It doesn't have the relatively quick reset time that burns or cuts do.

-Relatively short amount of time in pain

All of the pain is in the first few days. It is inconvenient afterwards, but there is little to no pain at this time.

-Amount of care needed

One needs to be relatively careful inflicting this. Fingernails are not as resilient as you'd think, and the likelihood of them ripping before you can finish ripping them off is fairly large if you're not being careful.

If you have a short-tempered or impatient whumper, this might not be their particular wheelhouse.

Conclusion

Overall, I’d say that the effectiveness depends entirely on the desired result. The time it takes for the fingernails to regrow versus the amount of time in which the subject is in pain is not a very productive ratio, so if you’d want your whumper doing a particular torture regularly, I wouldn’t recommend this.

However, if the whumper’s goal is to appeal to the body horror aspect without permanent damage, this is a great option. The fact that it takes nails so long to regrow gives the victim a sense of horrified freakishness. It also has the added benefit of reducing the victim’s maneuverability far after the fact.

The semi-visible nature of this method of torture can be effective if one wishes to horrify characters outside the whumper/whumpee relationship. You don’t immediately look at other people’s hands when you meet them, and as such it might take a while for outside characters to notice the lack of fingernails (especially if they’re past the three day mark). But once they notice, it will be hard to look away.

#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #whump reference post #this is the post i already had typed up i hope it passes muster #i tried to be as exhaustive as possibly because i KNOW there's so many details one needs when writing a thing #investigative journalism but with injuries that's us here at sbfws #ummm i don't know what to tag this #if y'all want a trigger warning tag for this stuff please let me know?#or if y'all want to be added to a tag list also please let me know??#also also please feel free to make specific post requests if y'all want?#i don't know how timely my responses to them will be but i will FOR SURE try to get to them as soon as i can #just like #if you're a whump writer who fuckin hates having to do research into different types of injuries hit me up!#(especially the weird injuries)#(fingernails are all fine and good but i thrive on the Weird Stuff There's Barely Any Research On you know)#(I really like researching weird niche stuff)#(you'll be doing me a favor if you give me something Decidedly Odd to fixate on)#nail gore #nail whump #hand whump

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kittievampire · 1 year

Text

Kin of the Demon Prince (pt. 2)

Warnings : Cursing, Childhood Trauma, Mention of drugs, Mention of alcohol, Mention of violence, Mention of getting jumped, Angst, Thoughts of Abortion (IT DOESN'T HAPPEN THO), MC is a fuckin unit, Female MC, Pregnant MC, Single Mom MC, MC x Diavolo

Link to part 1

Link to part 3

Link to part 4

Link to part 5

Link to part 6

Link to part 7

Link to part 8

Link to part 9

Enjoy.

You felt like you could hear your heartbreak. Like a glass window slowly beginning to crack, little pieces falling out and hitting the floor with tiny clanks. Diavolo, your beloved King, he didn't want you anymore?

"W... What?" You asked softly as tears welled up in your eyes.

Solomon furrowed his brows and rubbed the back of his neck. "I... I told him... About the baby and he said that he didn't want a child with you... He said that the future king of the Devildom couldn't have some half-breed child," He said softly, not meeting your eyes. "He asked that you keep this a secret and never try to contact him again."

Your heart shattered as tears streamed down your face uncontrollably. You were frozen in your spot, to the point where you didn't even sob or cry loudly. No, there were just tears. An endless stream of them pouring from your eyes.

Solomon sat down beside you and placed his hand on your shoulder, biting his lip as he thought of what he would say next. "If... You want... I could place a cloaking spell on you and your child..." He offered quietly.

You looked over at him. "Why... Would we need that? I-If he wants n-nothing to do with me... Why would he come looking for us?" You asked, your hand being placed on your hand on your stomach, almost as if defending your baby from someone who wasn't even here.

Solomon placed his hands on his lap. "Security purposes. Now that you're someone who has... Something that could ruin his reputation—" He shifted in his seat- "He may send people to get rid of you. Of course, I may just be overthinking. I could also cast a spell that lets you know if his people are nearby. I just don't want you to get hurt again."

Your bottom lip quivered as you looked down at your stomach. You didn't want to put the baby in danger. After all, you were planning on keeping it. Hesitantly, you nodded your head.

After Solomon cast the spells and left your home, you finally buried your head in your hands and wept.

Your body racked with sobs, letting out the occasional scream as a result of the anger and sadness you felt. You ended up gripping your hair at the base and pulling at it, almost as if trying to rip your locks from your scalp as you tried to think of what you'd possibly done wrong.

Were you wrong in thinking he wanted a child?

Were the two of you supposed to break up once you left?

Were you only temporary?

"Diavolo!" You screamed, earning the sound of silence in response. Your sobbing calmed and you went silent. Sinking into the couch, you looked down at your stomach as your mind wandered.

What was the point of it then?

If your child looked like him, wouldn't that only bring you pain?

Why, then, should you be forced to live with that kind of suffering? You couldn't give up a demon child for adoption, but you could abort it.

Then, you thought about yourself when you were younger. Your living situation. That time your mother almost killed you by smashing a glass bottle over your head. How she'd abandoned you as soon as you were born, instead devoting her time and life to drugs and alcohol.

No.

You wrapped your arms around your stomach.

You can't give up your baby so easily.

You're better than that bitch who gave birth to you. You wouldn't abandon your child as she did hers. Even if Diavolo didn't want it, he didn't have a say anymore. Now, it was only you.

"Baby..." You whimpered out. "I'm so sorry," You apologized, a soft smile forming on your face. "Mama's going to do everything she can to make sure you have the best life, okay?" Your trembling hand caressed your stomach. Leaning your head back, you let out a sigh. "Even if Papa won't be a part of it."

Time had passed by so quickly. You didn't even realize when you were in your third trimester. Carrying the child of the Demon Prince was definitely no easy feat. You sometimes craved those weird foods that could only be found in the Devildom, like Super Spicy Newt Chips or Barbatos' tea. And, for whatever reason, you always gagged at the sight or smell of pickles. Your energy depleted twice as fast as the average pregnant woman. While Solomon was there to help every now and then, you accepted that this was the pain you had to go through for your baby's sake.

The day of her arrival, though, was probably the most pain you've ever felt in your entire life.

Solomon had managed to somehow get doctors to your house to help with the delivery of your daughter. He used magic to ease the pain a little, but this was the offspring of a powerful demonic bloodline you were pushing out of you! Screams filled the room as you pushed, the sides of her horns scraping your insides slightly. You thanked the heavens that her horns were curved inward, or else you'd practically bleed to death then and there. Your wails of pain were silenced as you heard the cries of your child. With blurry vision, you looked at one of the doctors who was holding your baby. They cleaned her up, tucked in her wings comfortably, swaddled her up in a red blanket, and handed her over to you.

They said something to you that you couldn't be bothered to make out. You were too busy staring in awe at your baby.

She was beautiful.

Black and gold horns with a red shading sprouted out of either side of her head, curving inward a little, a few tiny sprouts of red hair were present on the top of her head, and her golden eyes stared into yours.

Gently, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, cradling her as gently as humanly possible in your arms. "My baby... My sweet child..."

You and Diavolo had discussed the topic of baby names before. This was a pre-relationship question that came up during a game of Twenty Questions. Of course, you had to explain the game to him, as it was a human game.

Which was funny, because he had heard of the game, pitched the idea, and had no clue how to play.

So, you looked up some questions on your D.D.D., hoping to find some funny questions to ask while also being respectful to the future king of the Devildom.

"Let's see... What would the perfect day look like to you?" You ask, causing him to look up for a moment, pursing his lips as he pondered for a moment.

"Perhaps a calm and quiet day. Barbatos would make tea, there wouldn't be too many documents for myself and Lucifer to fill out, and perhaps a long bath." He looked down at you and smiled warmly. "Of course, it would be better if you were there to spend the day with me," He said, hand reaching over and gently grasping yours. "If you would allow it, a day of privacy with you would be perfect."

Your face flushed a bright shade of pink and you swallowed the lump in your throat. "Yeah... Maybe... U-Uh, anyways, it's your turn." You quickly move your hand away from his and place it on your cheek to feel just how hot they'd gotten.

Diavolo chuckled softly. "Hm—" He thought for a moment— "What makes you feel the most loved, MC?"

You blinked, cursing under your breath. Of course, he'd ask something like that. Honestly, you didn't quite know what you expected from him.

You took a moment to think carefully about your answer.

"Probably just being there," You answered quietly, making his ears perk up a bit.

"Oh? How so?"

Your teeth bit down on your bottom lip as your body tried to stop itself from answering. Thanks to the life you'd lived, you had grown quite accustomed to hiding things from people. Specifically, personal details about your feelings and your past. However, when you looked into Diavolo's eyes, you saw that you could tell him anything. He wouldn't judge you, mock you, or claim that you're overreacting. He would be there for you. That was part of what drew you closer to him.

"My family practically abandoned me when I was born. Since I had no one else to rely on, I started relying so much on myself that I just kind of... closed myself off from everyone else. I had friends, but they were never there for me when I needed them to be. One time, I got jumped just outside of school when a few friends and I were headed to the arcade. Instead of helping me, they ran. When I got home, my mother berated me for being so weak and 'putting myself in the position to be jumped.' The next day, when I confronted my friends about it, they just shrugged off my feelings and continued about their day—" You started rubbing your shoulder in an effort to comfort yourself while you remembered that day— "No one was ever there for me when I was alone... So, if someone would just be there for me, in any way, shape, or form, I would probably appreciate that more than anything."

The silence that fell upon the two of you was blatantly awkward, mainly to you. You didn't want to look up at him, worrying about his reaction.

"MC..." You heard him say softly. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that... It's infuriating to hear, I wish I could be more helpful to you."

You shook your head. "The past is the past, it won't change. Besides, I don't think I would want it to. Everything I've been through made me who I am today. That's the only thing I'm thankful for," You said, looking up at him to see a sweet smile form on his face.

"I agree wholeheartedly. Had you been a different person, I may not have fallen so hard for you, MC," He said, smiling growing only slightly wider, causing you to blush. Fumbling, you quickly grab a hold of your D.D.D. and scrolled through the questions on the screen, picking a random one in your desperation to change the topic.

"What is your favorite baby name?" You asked him, placing your D.D.D. down on the table in front of you. Immediately, you ask yourself why the fuck you would choose a question like that. Damn these awkward and slightly intimate 20-question pages. Diavolo leaned back, looking up at the ceiling while crossing his arms.

"My favorite baby name..." He repeated with a small sigh. "Well, for a boy, it'd have to either be Andras or Damien. For a girl... Hmm, that's a tough one... I do love the name, Selene." You smiled at him as you leaned forward against the table. "Any special reason?"

Diavolo laughed a little at your response. "Not really, no, I just like the names. Especially Selene."

Tag list; @lavynne , @jessiegerl , @romaissa , @krispsprite , @unlikelysublimekryptonite

Likes, comments, and reblogs are welcome and appreciated!

Weekly updates!

#Obey me angst #obey me mc x diavolo #obey me mc #obey me diavolo #diavolo x reader #diavolo x you #diavolo x female reader #diavolo x female mc #obey me diavolo angst #kin of the demon prince

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moodymisty · 1 year

Note

Wondering if you’re in the mood to write a tooth aching Crosshair fluff? Female tall reader if you’d like specifics? I think your writing of the boys is spot on, and all your Tech fluff fics are so cute!

Author's note: Am I in the mood for- of course I am! It's been a hot minute actually since i've done something for snipeyboy, so lets rip. It's as fluffy as I feel Crosshair would get, without treading into what I'd feel was too out of character (for me! everyone has their own vibe). (Also thankies for such kind compliments, I'm glad you enjoy my interpretation of the boys)

Warnings: One or two silly little lewd jokes, shooting a rifle, references to canon typical violence

"So, what's it like?" "Like shooting. What did you expect?"

"Have you always had that same rifle?" "Maybe."

"Can I see?" "No."

Crosshair was, complicated. Is, complicated; For as long as you've known him.

He fights almost every single one of your attempts to get close, and only when the lighting is perfect and the wind sings, does he leave a tiny opening for you to squeeze in.

It wouldn't be worth it, if you didn't love him and those perfect little moments in time so damn much. How his touch lingers for ages and his lips taste like fire, you can never get enough of him because for awhile, he didn't let you have enough.

But your incessant hammering on that wall of his has left cracks, enough so that he lets you close more often now; Enjoying a part of him that no one else has seen. You just needed to prove you were sticking around. And overtime, you've learned that Crosshair enjoys the type of interactions where you can both relax and just enjoy each other's presence, when he feels like no one but you is watching.

Now is one of those moments, as you lean against the wall next to where Crosshair is standing, looking down the scope of his rifle and preparing to take another shot.

You don't really know why he even entertains a range like this; It's so far underneath his skill level that it's almost laughable. Though you've learned it's more of a relaxing thing for him to keep him busy than anything. Much like some people tap their feet or chew their nails, Crosshair shoots. You'd call it a mindless gesture, but when is Crosshair ever really mindless?

You don't mind if he does this anyhow , as it's just as entertaining for you to relax here and just watch him. It's quiet and almost peaceful, the quiet noises other than the occasional shot. He's never directly asked you to leave, and while at first you might've thought it was to show off, he also seems to just like someone being around.

You run at a different pace than Crosshair, and he's become quite attached to it over time. You doubt the words will ever leave his lips, but his body and his eyes show it enough.

He fires another shot, hitting a small rock balancing off the hillock on the far end of the range.

He always makes this sort of stuff look so easy; And though you quite well know it isn't, you can't help but be curious about it all. You're always watching him intently when he shoots, and he's probably caught on, if you're being honest. But he's never let you anywhere near his beloved rifle; The closest is when you sit next to him while he cleans it.

Maybe today he just feels different; Or perhaps your curious stare has finally wore him down enough to share his passion more intimately, as he leans back and jerks his head in the opposite direction of you.

"Come here." He's staring at you, the barrel of his rifle pointed at the ground and the butt at about his hip. It takes you a second to realize what he's trying to do.

He's actually going to let you!

You almost have to contain your excitement, after so many times of just watching him. Scurrying closer he stands just behind your right side, speaking as he does something with the scope. His fingers deftly slide over a million different unknown pieces as you watch, the barrel pointed down to the dusty ground. The all move against each other in different ways, speaking a language only he knows.

"Ever shot a rifle before?"

You’ve shot normal blasters before, but not this. The toothpick between his lips flicks from one corner of his mouth to the other, looking down as his fingers brush over the dials of the scope. The base you're at is mostly dirt and dust; Hot and dry. It makes you miss Coruscant, even Kamino.

"Nope, not like this." He hums in acknowlegment. Crosshair finishes whatever he'd been doing it to ready the rifle for you and sets it in your hands, pushing the butt into your shoulder and adjusting your hands, and then your shoulders and back.

"Handling something a bit big for your first time."

He hears the way you snicker, and sighs.

"Dirty mind."

Once you're firmly holding the rifle he doesn't back away, instead just jerking his head quickly in the direction of the far end of the range and giving you a blunt:

"Shoot."

You can feel his eyes on you; They've always been so sharp that it's as if he's cutting right into you, as they glance over your body. They don't stop when you glance in his direction of a moment, before looking down the scope. You know snipers have to take into account things like gravity and the wind, and at some points even the curvature of the planet, but this is a shitty target range on some dusty no-name planet, so you just decide to wing it and see what happens.

Finger curling over the trigger you slowly tense, feeling the way the rifle kicks back into your body as you fire it. His hand against your back presses harder, as if trying to counteract it. You then instantly pull your face away from the scope, looking down the range.

It's not a perfect shot by any means, but it's a chest shot on the target. For a novice still at such long range weaponry you'll consider it a victory.

"Not bad." Crosshair says it with no undertone, lacking the snideness or venom he usually coats his words with for others. He tells you to do it again, and so you line up as best you can, adjusting before taking another shot at the same vaguely bipedal shaped target.

Better, right in the middle of the upper chest. On a person, it would've been quite close to their heart.

"Hmm. Good job." Crosshair's hand is still laying on the small of your back, and even drifts up and down once or twice, ghosting against your skin through your clothes.

You've seen glimpses of this Crosshair before; You know he's there under all of that prickliness. It's just apparently taken some quality time alone to bring it out.

"I think I still have some practicing to do, though." He looks down towards the end of the range.

"More than some." You can see he's baiting a response from you by the way his eyes are raised and his mouth is tight, trying not to smirk. It's one you know quite well, as it's the main way Crosshair gets you to do the things he might not want to say outright.

“What, are you gonna teach me?” Crosshair let’s a out a small hum. “Depends; Are you going to listen?” He watches the way your mouth curls into a sneaky little grin, with his much more reserved amused expression.

“I’ll listen at least sixty percent of the time.” Gently taking his rifle from your hands, he switches spots with you but doesn't assume a shooting position quite yet.

"That's wishful thinking. I know you don't have any patience." You roll your eyes.

"Can you just come here so I can give you a kiss? jerk." At first he doesn't, looking at you with a shit eating grin; Before he finally relents only in the slightest. You move the rest of the way, hands cupping his jaw as the tips of your fingers brushing against his hair.

His lips are warm against your own, before he pulls away and your lips part with the smallest 'pop'.

"Awfully rude to demand things from someone before insulting them." You see the rest of the Batch walking this way, so you just shrug and smile. "It works, doesn't it?" He can't disagree with it, since it's one of his main go to's.

Especially when he's being particularly bratty.

But with the rest of the group having located you both it's probably time to head out, leaving your brief little moment to end here.

"Ready to head out, you two? We have the coordinates and the ship's engines are hot." Hunter looks between the two of you, while Crosshair puts the Firepuncher in it's case. Hopefully this isn't the last time he shares it with you.

"Lets go!" You nod, before following him with Crosshair right beside.

#crosshair x reader #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #Crosshair/Reader #mywriting #the bad batch crosshair x reader #reader insert #reader

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goldeneyedgirl · 7 months

Text

TwiFicmas23 Day 8: Mary-Alice & Feral Jasper

Good evening!

Tonight we're opting for some Mary-Alice & Feral Jasper because @sonyawix deserves nice things, and these two are so cute to write. It's a soft and gentle little fic where they get to be cute and awkward together.

This is a bit of a patchwork of bits and pieces from throughout the fic, and kind of establishes some of the dynamic.

I am off to sleep for eight hours and procrastinate over tomorrow's post! I hope you enjoy this!

She watches him from the bower of the tree, as he picks his path away from his coven. She’s lucky she’s downwind; her visions show her that they won’t scent her from this perch.

And she finally gets to see him in person.

He’s very tall and lean, but he walks slightly stooped and she wonders why. He looks like he’s waiting for a blow to fall, and she doesn’t like that at all. His hair looks clean and is pulled back from his face, and his clothes are … better than hers, at least. She had to rip up a shirt into strips and knot them tightly into a belt to make her dress sit a little better, and it was filthy and torn. His are ill-fitting and worn, but they aren’t dirty.

His eyes are still black, and that worries her. She cannot think of any vampire whose eyes have remained black for so long, not even when Maria was holding hostages to get more information.

But she doesn’t know how long he was locked away, and she knows nothing about torpor. Mary-Alice has never been around a vampire that wasn’t healed up in a day or two. Or rather, they’d never kept any soldier that wasn’t healed that fast unless they had a special reason to keep them. This kind of injury is entirely foreign to her.

The girl appears from the trees in a split second, as if she’s materialised from thin air, and there’s enormous relief that he’s not imagining her, like the Cullens think, and he’s not going mad. There was someone watching him

He stares at her with unbridled fascination.

She’s so … beautiful. Wide red eyes, a pale face framed in uneven black hair with hopeful little curls. She’s tiny, she doesn’t come up to the middle of his chest, and as thin as a dancer. Her clothing is shredded and filthy, there’s blood and mud on her dress indiscriminately. She’s a new kind of vampire, not like the Cullens, and not like the kinds that he can vaguely remember from his past. There’s something wild about her, like she’s just been formed out of the trees and dirt around them, and he likes that.

The scars take a moment for him to notice. They are littering her bare arms and legs, some of them faded and worn into the fabric of her skin, some of them fresher. There’s a nasty one over her eye, and he’s suddenly intensely aware of his own scars. He remembers the pain that came with them, the suffering, and he hopes this girl hasn’t fallen victim to the same misery he only remembers in fragments of agony and rage and fear.

“Hello?” His voice is still more of a rasp; his healing is slow, and it’s embarrassing to show such weakness to her. He’s also not the one who usually speaks first, and he wonders if he should have waited. He doesn’t know. Usually, the Cullens correct him if he makes a mistake, but they aren’t here.

It took him weeks to convince them that he was well enough to go on walks alone. He’s grateful that Emmett took his side. He’s got nowhere to run to; he doesn’t understand this world and how it works, and he knows that until he heals, he probably wouldn’t survive long.

But Esme worried so much, as if the foxes and deer in the woods might be the thing that carried him off.

He’s rather tickled that only his second time out alone, and he’s found… her. Except, she just studies him with a blank look; not anger but no pleasure or joy. Just quiet consideration, and he wonders too late if she’s planning to attack him.

He looks better.

She likes that.

He’s clean and wearing new clothing, and not stooping any longer. His eyes are a funny gold-tinted colour but he’s been feeding - they’re lighter and they’re clearer now, no longer clouded over. Good, that’s good; she’s oddly grateful that the Cullens know how to help him because she had asked Maria casually about some of the injuries he’d bore, and Maria had not had the faintest clue about what she spoke of. It had made her suspicious, which had slowed down her escape exponentially.

She might still be annoyed about that. She could have been here weeks ago if Maria hadn’t decided to be difficult.

Jasper seems calm and curious as he moves closer to her; but he’s still limping. And it does frustrate her that the Cullens have let him out to roam the forest without warnings that he shouldn’t be approaching strange vampires. Anyone else might have taken his head before he realised they were even there.

Something else she’ll have to explain to him then. She’s got a mental list of things already, and she wasn’t expecting to stay that long, truly - just long enough to make sure that he was okay and safe. Then she was going to go and see what snow was like.

It looked nice in the pictures she’d seen.

He’s getting worried now, at the silence since he greeted her, and that’s her fault. She’s not used to having people to talk to - unless she was fucking them or they had a particular gift (well, at least, one that was common knowledge), Maria liked her soldiers silent.

“They’re taking good care of you,” she says abruptly and wonders when she lost the ability to converse with others normally, and not like a soldier.

“Who? The Cullens?” He stops and gives her a strange look. “Do you… know the Cullens?” The words rasp and catch in his throat, and he struggles to form the entire sentence, as if he’s trying to find and catch each word. Definitely still healing, and it sounds painful and dry when he speaks.

Perhaps she can convince him to hunt more often to try and speed up the process. There’s a town less than an hour’s run from this place, it wouldn’t be hard for him to slip away and return before the family even knew.

“Mmm. I wanted to … I wanted to make sure you were safe.” Her words are flat and short, and she can see his uncertainty.

Emmett recognises the longing in Jasper’s eyes as he stares after the small girl wading in the lake. It’s pretty much the same look that Emmett had on his own face when he woke up and saw Rosalie - properly saw her - for the first time.

Mary-Alice is really strange, but it doesn’t take rocket science to realize she’s had a bad time - even just the overlapping scars on her arms tell a story of violence and fear, but it’s in every part of her - by the way she moves, the way that she watches and stares, the way she speaks in the flat, even voice devoid of emotion, in short sentences. Wherever she came from, it wasn’t a good place, and Emmett’s oddly pleased that she’d found them - even if she was only hanging around because of Jasper like a stray cat, a thought that made him chuckle to himself - and had looked vaguely disgusted with the idea of spending time with the rest of the family.

Of course, the rest of the family still thought Mary-Alice was some kind of imaginary coping-mechanism for Jasper that they were tentatively ignoring, so maybe she was offended.

He should be grateful, actually. It’s taken a few weeks for Mary-Alice to stop glaring at him, to stop prowling around like some kind of jungle cat and freeze up, the second he appears. She’s still distant and rigid whenever Emmett appears, but she doesn’t treat him like he’s a danger anymore. And maybe he’d believe that this was trust and the path to friendship, except he’s seen her with Jasper.

When she’s focused on Jasper, there’s a gentleness in every aspect of her. She’s softer with him, patient and sweet. And she revolves around him like she’s his bodyguard against the world. She almost fusses over him, demanding to know when he’s hunted and how he’s healing. Emmett’s nearly certain he’s caught her smelling Jasper’s hair and clothing - perhaps to make sure he’s clean? Mary-Alice doesn’t seem to give much thought to her own state of cleanliness or her clothing, but Jasper’s are clearly important to her. And the way she stares up at Jasper - Mary-Alice has to be the tiniest vampire that Emmett’s ever seen, and Jasper’s only a few centimetres shorter than him - with this look that he suspects might have human feelings behind them.

Jasper would know better than him, though. But on the few attempts Emmett’s made to ask about that, Jasper’s given him a flat, stubborn look and refused to speak.

So the longing is probably reciprocated - maybe. Alice just hides it better, behind a wall of protectiveness and anti-social personality traits. Emmett honestly can’t work out why she’d be caring and smelling and fussing over his brother if she didn’t care.

But Emmett also worries; Jasper was walled up alone for so long that they’ve practically had to resocialize him. He remembered so little of human interaction that it had been a war zone at home for a while. Even now, he still had so many behaviours that Esme politely referred to as ‘quirks’ that they had to correct every day (and now Emmett’s wondering how many of the newer ‘quirks’ had been introduced or encouraged by Mary-Alice, who is practically a wild animal). The idea that Jasper is pining for a girl and all that a relationship entails…

Emmett really, really doesn’t want to have to give his new brother the sex talk. And he knows if he tries to convince either Edward or Carlisle to step in and have the world’s most uncomfortable conversation, they’re going to want toknow why and then remind Emmett that they aren’t encouraging the idea that Mary-Alice is real. And if Mary-Alice isn’t real, then Jasper doesn’t need to suffer through the indignity of a sex-talk.

It’s a mess. And Emmett’s relieved that Carlisle has decided not to introduce Jasper to the cousins yet because they all know that the sisters are incorrigible flirts, and he’s got a fifty on Jasper (and Mary-Alice) being utterly humourless about that kind of behaviour.

Emmett also knows that if he tries to push Jasper into introducing Mary-Alice to the rest of the family, it will be a complete disaster. She’ll refuse point blank and then he will be persona non grata around her and … he doesn’t want to piss her off, and he doesn’t want to piss Jasper off.

He also doesn’t want to have to refresh his brother’s memory on the mechanics of sex and why waiting to be fully healed might be the best choice …

He’s overthinking this. He should really stay out of it entirely. The thing is, he really wants this to work out for Jasper. He’s a good guy, if weird as fuck, and he deserves to have a nice home and a girlfriend that he’s madly in love with - even if the girl happens to be some scary little traumatized gremlin who Emmett can’t imagine smiling let alone being in love with someone.

He really hopes this works out.

—

#alice cullen #jasper hale #jalice #the twilight saga #ficmas #ficmas23 #my fic: shadow to light #my fic: feral jasper & mary alice #two dorks in love #when jasper is healed he's going to be the most doting and overprotective nightmare ever

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seren1tyhaze · 1 year

Text

was it ever really love

PAIRING: taeyong x afab reader

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

SUMMARY: your thousandth argument with your boyfriend sends you into a screaming match ending in decisions (mistakes?) made by both of you THANK YOU: @strwbrysunday you are the best collaborator I could ask for and our dms are between us and some higher power <3

WARNINGS: explicit smut, smoking, drinking, heavy profanity, angst, mild verbal abuse (yelling, domestic setting)

PLAYLIST: heavily inspired by "Seven" by Natalie Jane, highly recommend giving it a listen before or during reading. AVA by Natalie Jane too. but OK! is always a writing song for me too...if you can't tell

What a lie Wasted time On a feeling I wish I (I wish I) Saw the signs (saw the signs)

—

“JUST GO!” your temper is flooding out of every pore in your body, anger heating your face as you stare at him shocked that it has come to this.

“You are going to regret this,” Taeyong sneers at you, biting back the urge to spit at you, a nasty habit you’ve seen him do more than once when fighting with Johnny outside their work.

“The only thing I regret is wasting seven fucking months on this fucking bullshit,” you bite back, tears welling in your eyes, even as you rapidly blink, silently begging them to stop.

At that he turns on his heel, ripping a carton of cigarettes off the coffee table and your favorite lighter and storming out of your tiny apartment. You know your neighbors had to be hearing this but also must be relieved at hearing the break up because it means they don’t have to hear your screaming matches anymore.

Unable to move from where you stand, your fingers swipe over your phone screen, tapping on your best friend’s contact in your phone and pulling it up closer to your mouth.

“Can you come over?” you croak into your phone, unable to say more before crumpling into a ball on your bed. Exactly seven minutes later, your tall best friend has strong arms wrapped around your sobbing frame, stroking your back with large hands, whispering quietly in your ear in attempts to calm you. He fits perfectly behind you, despite your large height difference and you try to ignore that his arms feel bigger than the last time you saw him.

All Jeno can gather is that you’ve finally ended things with Taeyong and he’s terrified what he might do if he ends up running into him in the coming days. He’d been here for many nights like this, sometimes in your bed, other times in his, but each time it ended with you crawling back to someone who never knew how to respect you or treat you well.

“That piece of shit,” he mutters more to himself than to you as you slowly roll over onto your back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, tear stained cheeks puffy and red. His own face is pink too, flushed from seeing you like this, blending in with his lightly tinted pink hair, messy and long, almost in his eyes.

“What can I do?” he asks, dragging two fingers over your forehead to push your bangs to the side, letting them glide through the rest of your hair to massage your scalp like he did countless times before when you had a migraine.

“Help me forget,” you murmur, letting emotions flood in as you lean into his touch, grabbing at the back of his neck to pull his lips into yours. You wish you hadn’t thought of this hundreds of times before, you wish you hadn’t thought about it the minute Tae had started into you earlier that night, you wish you hadn’t almost moaned out his name while your now ex had been pounding into you just a few weeks before.

Jeno wishes he had been a little more surprised when you pulled him into the kiss, he wishes he hadn’t moved so quickly to change into fresh boxers when he heard your broken voice on the phone, he wishes he felt even a shred of guilt and remorse for what he was about to do.

But none of those wishes are coming true tonight as your three little words are all Jeno needs to unleash everything he’s wanted for years, to make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before, to be the best you’ve ever had, and try to heal everything Taeyong spent months breaking.

His hands are all over you slowly and suddenly all at once, eager and patient, equally dirty and soft. Before you have a chance to think about what is happening you are moaning into his mouth, grinding slowly on his cock, dragging yourself up and down his length while he clutches your face lovingly in between his warm hands.

He’s shirtless and you’re still in Taeyong’s old baseball jersey, only buttoned down to your navel, his number burning on your back as you do the exact thing you promised had never happened. He’s everything like Taeyong and nothing like him all at once, equally passionate but without any of the anger and fire you had come to expect from sex. Your brain can’t help but flick back to the countless times you had sworn up and down that there was nothing between you and the man currently sucking at your collarbone.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, baby, Jeno and I have known each other for years and he has never made a pass at me, not once!” you had pleaded one night when his jealousy had caused him to slam his hand on your small dining room table, a short rocks glass sliding off and crashing onto the floor.

You don’t know if you believed yourself then and you know for a fact that Taeyong didn’t, he never once trusted you. Maybe he shouldn’t have.

Halfway across town, Taeyong has his head tossed back in ecstasy, digging his palm into the leather seat of his motorcycle, the cool night breeze ruffling his hair and sending a shiver up his spine. Parked in the alley behind his tattoo shop, he knows Johnny might look out his window upstairs and see Taeyong getting the best head of his life, but he can’t possibly care at this moment. His anger had melted into pleasure the minute he had his hands on a slim waist clad in a leather jacket over a tight black tank, digging his hands where they had been so many times before.

“Right fucking there,” he groans out, curses falling from his lips as he digs his other hand deep in blonde hair, pushing down to thrust his throbbing cock deeper into the warm mouth pleasuring him.

“Jesus fucking- JAE,” he almost screams, gripping his hair tighter, pulling his head back violently, catching the devious eyes of the man on his knees below him.

“Watch the teeth, bitch,” Taeyong growls, words cruel and cold as he can’t help but drop a thumb to gently caress Jaehyun’s temple.

“Sorry, baby,” Jaehyun smiles, taking the tip of his cock back on his plush lips, suckling gently and letting his tongue slip out to push ever so gently against his slit.

Taeyong lets pleasure wash back over him, sighing deeply as he feels his orgasm build quickly in his core, spreading up to his chest and pushing incoherent ramblings out of his mouth. Jaehyun refuses to relent, hollowing his cheeks and digging his palms into Taeyong’s ass as his nose collides with the older man’s pelvic bone. Thick ropes of release are painting the inside of Jaehyun’s mouth suddenly and he’s smiling through the orgasm, flicking his eyes up to watch Taeyong cruelly slam his hand down on the back of his head to push him further up his dick.

Before he’s even finished releasing his cum into Jaehyun’s eager mouth, Taeyong is lighting a long cigarette, taking a deep drag and blowing it out through his nose.

Jaehyun smirks as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, taking his tongue to skin to lap up what remains there, making eye contact with Taeyong as he does so. He tucks Taeyong’s softening cock back into his briefs and jeans for him, carefully zipping the pants up before tugging on his belt loops, drawing himself closer with his lips parted.

Taeyong pushes back thoughts about how sexy that sequence of events was and rolls his eyes as he places the cigarette between waiting lips, letting Jaehyun take it and step back, leaning against the dumpster behind him.

“How long before you call me for that again? It’s been longer than ever before,” the blonde purrs. He looks devastating in the moonlight and Taeyong wants nothing more than to drag him upstairs to his small apartment he shares with three other artists and fuck him senseless, kiss every inch of his skin he can get to, and feel something.

“Who the fuck is J with a red heart? Taeyong I swear to GOD, we’ve been over this a million times before!” you had yelled at him in this very spot where Jaehyun was currently leaning.

Taeyong still had black gloves on his hands from his last client, having practically been pulled out by the scruff of his neck the minute you could get in the room. He had left his iPad at your apartment and when you went to check the battery before bringing it to him at work, you saw texts on the lock screen from “J❤️” in his notification center. You couldn’t read them without his password but anger flared up immediately, anxiety and fear rushing over you. You hadn’t been dating long enough for him to be cheating on you.

When you found out it was an old friend from baseball, you still couldn’t think of a reason he needed that emoji but listened to whatever stupid ass excuse he had anyways. And as you had done with most things in your short but tumultuous relationship (situationship? fuck.) you had let it roll off and explained it away on differences in personality, upbringing, love language.

Maybe tonight proved that you were both wrong. Maybe tonight proved that you were both right. As both of you stood in your respective bathrooms, cleaning sweat from your arms and cum from your thighs, you tried to reconcile with the fact that not even an hour had passed before you had both run to the very people you had said the other had nothing to worry about. Maybe you both were the villain in this story, maybe you were both victims.

Was it ever really love? you wondered as you lay on your back next to a lightly snoring, shirtless Jeno. You’re not sure you’re going to get the answer to that question, especially not as your phone lights up with a message with two words that shoot sparks immediately to your core.

“Baby pls”

#nct x reader #I didn’t say who the text was from tho #nct smut #taeyong smut #nct 127 smut #the smut is short but oh so hot #im kinda proud of this #jeno smut #jeno x reader #taeyong x reader

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crystalqueertea · 1 year

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Okay everyone. I’ve had an idea stuck in my brain for too long. DP X DC (what else did you expect from me look at all my reblogs) Danny and Jason. My favorite pair. My boys. Except. They don’t get their nice little happy endings that they get in most fics.

Danny finds Jason first through his ghost sense. It didn’t react the same way it would around a ghost or Vlad, so he assumes whatever this is either is just some run off ectoplasm from the zone or a highly contaminated person. BUT here’s the thing, he doesn’t approach Jason at first. No, he goes and asks Clockwork about any runoff ectoplasm humans could’ve been encountering that would damage them this much. This is how Danny finds out about the pits and how the league is throwing people in them. But, as we all know, Danny is impatient and doesn’t stay to hear the fact that the people getting thrown in are dead or dying. He just hears that people are getting thrown in.

So back to Jason he goes, ready to solve all this man’s problems by getting rid of all the ectoplasm in his body. As soon as he gets confirmation that Jason was thrown in the pits, he tell Jason he can fix him, no elaboration.

Jason, far too excited at the notion of even the possibility of getting rid of the pit and getting his family, his life back, sees this normal (mostly) kid with glowing green eyes and immediately accepts. So Danny gets right to work. He knows how to get his body to absorb ectoplasm, and when he runs into complications he assumes it’s because the ectoplasm was boiling, and that has to be bad, so he takes him to a place where he can make a makeshift lab out of his parents equipment.

With a slightly altered version of the, well, let’s be honest here, with the Edward Scissorhands esc. device Vlad of an alternate future once used to cut out his ghost, Danny has a much easier time getting the ectoplasm out. And everything is going well, Jason hasn’t complained, until they reach the last parts of ectoplasm in him. Upon contact, Jason screams.

Danny draws back to re-examine the ectoplasm he was working on, but in jolting backwards he hears a crack. Suddenly, Jason is unconscious on the table and Danny’s tool has a tiny chipped piece of what is obviously a ghosts core on the end.

Jason was in pain throughout the procedure but thought it would be worth it in the end to get rid of the pit. As it was extracted he somehow felt emptier, but also freer at the same time. It wasn’t until the excruciating pain shooting through what he knew was not his heart but felt like it that he understood where he recognized that freeing feeling.

It was what he had felt before he died. When the blood was leaving his body and he was slowly but surely less and less aware of what was going on around him but couldn’t find it in himself to care. So despite keeping quiet throughout the whole process till now, with the memories of crowbars and laughter and bombs and warehouses coursing through his memory on repeat, Jason screamed.

Danny, having been frozen looking at the ghost core piece (he’d never known a core could break, how couldn’t he have known-) eventually looks back down at Jason’s body. Now thoroughly unstable and missing a piece of his core, Jason looked dead and dying. And Danny could only think, ‘oh god, he was like me, he was a halfa, he needed ectoplasm to live-‘ but as those thoughts went through his brain, suddenly he saw himself on the table. His parents standing over him, raving about ghosts, they had talked only weeks ago about discovering that stronger ghosts had a core and how they wanted to rip one out to dissect it, the ghost can’t feel pain, not like they’ll miss it. And. Oh god. Danny’s become his parents. His worst nightmare of his parents. All those horrible nights spent thinking about what would happen if his parents caught him and he went and did it to someone else-

He has to fix this. But he doesn’t know if he can.

#dp x dc #Danny’s shit parents #the fentons #can he fix Jason???#or is Jason doomed #idk up to you #personally I think that danny should be able to fix Jason #but only with like #some horrible thing #or his own ectoplasm but that leaves them tied together somehow #idk I ship dead on main too hard to not want them to recover #and be gay #dead on main #my favorite ship #danny phantom #jason todd #angst prompt #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt

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strawhatsoraya · 2 years

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the last one (haha who am i kidding, i'm never done w. you), i promise. may i pls pls pls request an aot fic with a jealous jean x reader (i said what i said). can be angst, can be smut, can be whatever u like babey the world is ur oyster. bonus points if it includes strawberries and wine somehow. wink wink.

My love, I have had you waiting for this for like a month. I'm so sorry. Again, I don't know why time gets away from me so easily. I see your jealous!jean and I raise you an arranged relationship/contract marriage au with a jealous!jean. I had a really rough weekend so this was an attempt at distracting myself. I wanted it to be better than this!! But I don't think you would sit down for 12k of this. Maybe another time. So I limited the word count down to 4.5k lmao.

Please enjoy. Oh, yes, I included your requests for strawberries and wine *winks* You know I can't say no to you.

A Messy Inconvenience

JEAN KIRSCHTEIN X FEM READER | NSFW WORD COUNT: 4.5k CONTENT WARNING: profanity because Jean has a tiny bit of a potty mouth, lots and lots of groping, dry humping, alcohol consumption (would it be a fic I wrote if they weren't drinking to some degree??? i think not), nipple play, lots of teasing, jealous possessive jean likes to do a lot of biting and marking, even if frankly he has no right to be jealous, he is a HYPOCRITE, that should be a warning, also jean does whatever he wants then acts like he did nothing, so another warning, he throws dishes in sinks and breaks them, another warning, the man breaks every domestic law and rule, i will fight him A SUMMARY: Jean and Y/N are in a marriage of convenience, and have been for several months. There is no reason for feelings to be involved, but when someone decides to hit on Y/N at the gym--Jean has to come to terms with emotions he has no power to control.

An arrangement of convenience should always remain that: a convenience.

Four months had passed since you first walked through his door, carrying very little in your arms. When he had asked you about the rest of your possessions you had smiled—tight lipped, abashedly, almost secretive. I didn't have much to begin with, you had said. I'll just consider this a fresh start. It had always been this way. He had met you in college, as you walked down the corridor with your head in the clouds, carrying photocopies from course books you couldn't afford.

His chest was solid when you ran into him, papers scattering into the air like tinted flower petals reminding you—one by one—that you didn't belong at that school, no matter how hard you tried. He still remembers the hole on your slip on shoes, and the way the peek of the purple sock teased him. He still remembers the flush on your cheeks, the watery pathetic look in your eyes as if you had been holding back from crying all day long. He still remembers the way they laughed at your patched up backpack, and how you held your head high.

And he remembers the way it filled him with fiery rage, how it consumed him and prodded him to want to burn the whole establishment down—just like now. He watches quietly as he sits upright on the bench. His fingers curled into fists, gripping so tightly his clipped fingernails threaten to piece skin. There's a man next to you, smiling down at you with a lecherous sheen to his eyes. Jean does his best to sit still, to stretch his arms above his head and not picture himself ripping his eyeballs out. His hand touches your elbow, and Jean stands up, reasoning yelling in the back of his mind to grab his attention.

The contract flashes through his mind's eyes, taking precedence over his anger.

An arrangement of convenience should remain a convenience. Your lives were meant to be lived in privacy, without the meddling interference from each other. Those were rules strictly discussed and agreed upon. Jean's mouth twists into a scowl at the memory of his signature, neatly scribbled at the end of the paper—the same one that he kept a copy of in the drawer of his nightstand.

You had every right to entertain that idiot if you liked—even if Jean thought he looked like he couldn't count past ten. You had every right to smile back, the way you did, and laugh at whatever joke he had just said. You had every right to live a life away from him, as long as you came back home every night, to sleep in your own bed, in your own room.

He grabs a towel, and sprays sanitizer on the bench, finding cleaning his own sweat infinitesimally more productive than to focus on the bitter jealousy gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Jean knows he has no leg to stand on, no right to stride up to you and swat his hand away. He has no right to feel cheated, or uneasy—to feel like you're being tugged away from his fingers.

But he does, so he spins in place and walks towards you, feet slamming down on the gym mats—muffling his anger. He tries to think of excuses to give, something or anything that would make him sound less pathetic than he felt. He is within earshot when he hears you.

“No, I won't go with you,” you say flatly, your gaze is pointed as you blink. “I'm married,” you tell the man. Jean is surprised when he feels your hands on his bicep. The way your fingernails softly dig into his flesh remind him that this moment is real. It's not just another fantasy that plagued him at night while he laid in bed skin slick with his own sweat. This was you, standing your ground. This was you, holding on to him.

At the moment it didn't matter whether he was just an excuse for you to push away unwanted attention. Jean stares the man down who looks appropriately abashed before his mouth twists in anger. Jean feels his own mouth water. The words are cocked on his tongue but you're pulling away, leading him towards the exit and down the stairs. They fizzle and die out in smoke with every step taken.

He had hoped the heat of the shower would wash it all way. His hair sticks to his forehead under the shower head. Eyes closed, water running over his skin, he tilts his face to the ceiling in hopes that thoughts of you would evaporate from his mind and follow the steam away from his body. Instead, you envelop him in your heated cloudiness. He sees the band of your sports bra digging into the soft flesh of your torso. He can picture, in annoyingly perfect detail, the sweat that clung to the small of your back, the way drops drifted lower until they disappeared into your spandex. The same spandex that had made him uncomfortably tight in his gym shorts when he saw you bend at the knees for a squat.

Jean stays in the shower long enough for his fingers to prune. He stays until thoughts of you turn hazy, less significant. When he makes it out of the shower with wet hair, a towel around his shoulders he sees you coming out of your room, and into the kitchen. His eyes track your movements, a predatory hunger prowling inside him like a caged animal. Jean coughs into a closed fist; a sad attempt at composure. Your curls are wet, soft ringlets sticking closer to your skull than he is used to. He is used to seeing them wild, and bouncy, swaying with every move you make—but this sight isn't unappealing either.

Your pajama shorts are, frankly, a bit too short for polite company. Jean tilts his head in barely restrained admiration as you move towards the fridge and bend over to reach for something in the back. Ass cheeks taunt him as they peek out from under the legs' hemline. Your white t shirt is snug over your chest, and see through enough he can almost picture every detail on your bra.

Jean swallows thickly and drops himself on the couch—the same spot he always occupies as you cook.

It's where he can watch you the best. It's usually innocent, almost pure but tonight Jean feels filthy as he takes in your silhouette. He can't stand the sight of your hair, the way you keep brushing it away from your face with an impassive hand. He can smell your shampoo—imagine it. He had smelled it enough times when you got too close; the scent of coconut and vanilla. He is irritated at how accurately his mind can recall it, how he can recall the back of your neck and how badly he had wanted to kiss it then. Jean licks his lips.

He wanted to kiss it still. Badly.

Jean is still irate when he sits down for dinner. His body is tense from the constant clenching of muscle. His jaw hurts, but he chews anyway, not wanting to appear ungrateful. Your mouth; however, is treacherous. A sinful siren leading him to murky waters. You wrap it around each morsel, and around your fork, as if he was made of wet paper; wafer thin. Jean swallows his desires with a swig of wine. He did not often drink, much less wine, but you had insisted; another month in faux marital bliss.

You had a strange sense of humor he couldn't help but entertain. It pissed him off to no end.

The wine is sweet on his tongue, and he wonders if it's the same for you as you throw your head back, determined to get every last drop in your glass. Your tongue dips around the rim of it, throat exposed for his devious eyes to take in. Jean shakes his head, pretending his brown hair is in the way of his eyes. In reality, he's trying to shake your hold off his mind. He's trying to dislodge the imagery of that man at the gym running his tongue up the column of your throat. Jean blinks, a heat over his eyes as he finds the hollow of your neck, and fights the urge that blooms inside of him.

He wants to kiss you there, on the soft flesh that connects your shoulder and neck. He wants to follow up the trail to just under your ear, and he wants to mark you time and time again; a signature left on skin drawn with blood and teeth.

Jean bites down on his last morsel of dinner and barely misses his tongue. He is nauseated by his own desires. He thinks there might be something innately wrong with him and the way he wants to pull you up to the table and rip your clothes off, so he can fuck you before the desire kills him first.

He thinks he hears your voice saying his name in ecstasy in his ear, loud and clear, so he slaps his hand on the table in an attempt to make a louder sound. His blood rushing to his ears, beating against the walls of his sanity, threaten to drown out your voice.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, brows drawn together in confusion. Jean shakes his head, and smiles—soft laughter following his gesture.

“There was a mosquito,” he lies with ease, wiping an already clean hand with a napkin. He sees your eyes narrow, and sees doubt peek from behind the brown in them but he ignores it. Jean had bigger, bolder things to worry about—like the sudden erection in his pants. He moves his hips in the seat, trying his best to adjust himself under the table without using his hands. It doesn't work. It especially doesn't work once you have decided you're done with entree of the night and move on to dessert.

Strawberries had never seemed like a poisoned fruit before but Jean starts to question reality when your white teeth bite down on the bright red flesh of one. Juice spills over your bottom lip, a faint red that trails down your chin. You hurriedly bring up a hand, collecting the drips on the crook of your palm. Jean breathes out noisily through his nostrils, a rogue hand going to his crotch where he palms his erection. To adjust, he lies to himself, to push it down in a way that would not pain him, but the stroke of his hand only reminds him of what he is missing.

Your fingers—the ones that grasp another berry and another berry. Your lips—the ones that suck the whip cream right off the red tip of another strawberry.

His breathing is barely controlled, and he feels heat slide up his neck and face; lust filled fingers seeking to gauge his eyes out. The same eyes that refuse to let you go. They follow you as you move to carry dishes to the sink. He doesn't know when he does it, but he stands up nonetheless, as if he is tethered to you by an invisible string. He follows you into the kitchen, his own empty dishes in his hands.

“You know,” you start, placing the dishes in the sink. You're full, and content, but it wouldn't be right to finish dinner without at least bickering once with Jean before bedtime. Also, it helped to ease the tension that flooded your body at the feel of his presence. He was standing closely behind you. Too close.Enough to make your heart race. “Since I cooked dinner yet again, the least you can do is do the dishes.”

You turn around, determined to laugh your way out of this situation. Jean's arms are around you, plates clattering in the sink as he drops them in haphazardly. The noise is sharp and it fills your ears as Jean's mouth clashes against yours. There's a gasp in the back of your throat, one you swallow promptly when he pushes against your lips. The kiss is tight lipped, forceful. His hand is searing against your skin where he grips the back of your neck, thick strong fingers digging into your flesh. His free arm curls around your waist, and he pulls you in close, crushing you against his wide chest. A flush blankets you when you feel his hard on press against the softness of your belly.

Jean thinks he might suffocate. His shoulders stiffen as he keeps his mouth on yours, trying to weigh your reaction. He thinks he should wait for a sign from you, anything that will grant him access to the inside of your mouth to find the tongue that teased him time and time again earlier. He thinks he should practice patience but the scent of your breath heavy with the sweetness from the white whine threatens to intoxicate him; to strip him from whatever meager remains of inhibitions populated his mind and body.

Your eyes flutter open and close. There is heat at the pit of your belly. You're aware of this feeling making you tremble. You're aware of the embarrassing throb between your legs, the tell tale sign of rushing blood in a state of arousal. Your body wants his, and it only makes his erection all the more evident. You're not sure if you should return his kiss, but you find yourself pressing tighter against him, eager to see what would happen if you wiggle in his embrace; tease him just a tiny bit.

As you slip your hands over his chest, your lips break away. Jean slots his mouth against yours, his tongue slipping in between your sweetened lips. In a rare moment of tenderness, Jean brushes his tongue against yours, urging goosebumps to run their course over your brown skin. You gasp in his embrace, and it was all the incentive he needed. He didn't have to think anymore. He could just take.

So he claims your tongue as his—sucks on it with greed he tried to hide with pretenses and lies. His hands go rogue, they act recklessly as they smooth down your back and grasp fistfuls of the tender flesh of your ass. Jean sucks on your bottom lip, groaning as his hands keep moving. They slide over your hips, and over your belly until they find your breasts. He is nipping at the corners of your mouth, mumbling things you don't catch while he kneads your tits. You are too preoccupied by the building wetness between your legs to care about the words he's trying to say. From experience, you know it's nothing important. Jean had the innate ability to talk the most crap when you needed him to the least.

You don't respond, and it upsets him. So he pushes you against the sink. You cry out as the edge digs into your backside. Jean picks you up by the waist and places you back down on top of the edge of the sink. You mumble something about the faucet and Jean reaches around you, blindly as he is sucking on your tongue, to move the faucet around—anything so you'd stop complaining, so you'd stop interrupting him. Your taste floods his mouth; strawberries and wine, a combination he knows he'll never be able to recover from now. Your tongue marks him everywhere it touches, tattoos of memories digging into the skin of his jaw, down the column of his throat.

His fingers are tangled in your curls. Jean grunts when you bite down on his neck, tugging at sensitive skin. He pulls you close, tightly, as if that would help ease you under his skin. Your mouth is unforgiving, and Jean lets you go as you suck on the hollow of his neck, feeling his grip on you becoming elusive. He can't contain you or this heat slowly building in the kitchen. You are an arsonist and he is an abandoned building, too tempting, too lonesome and swallowed by darkness for you not to set on fire, to not stand back and watch as the flames eviscerate its foundations into dust.

So you dig your teeth into his skin, time and time again in your path for revenge. You leave a mark for every smart quip he threw your way, for every time he laughed sarcastically at something you said. His hand slams on the door of the cupboard above you. You look up, startled, eyes clouded with lust. His dark lashes obscure the flame behind his eyes, but you see the glistening saliva on his bottom lip, and the flush of his cheeks. You see his chest rising and falling, hear the rattling of his breath and in that moment you know that Jean Kirschtein is a beast barely contained.

He is a hunter seeking to be reformed but salivating at the chance of one more kill.

His body is trembling, fighting the urge. You look so decadent underneath him, trapped between him and the kitchen sink. Your neck is marred by angry teeth, and a hungry mouth. His mouth stretches into a lazy lopsided grin. That had been his doing, and he should feel no satisfaction. He had no right and no reason except that he just wanted to. Just like he just wanted to pull your shorts down, and push your panties to the side and fuck you right there and then, on the sink, with the dirty dishes behind your ass.

A newfound breath in his lungs he goes back to your mouth, a stupid moth to a burning flame. In his mind, somewhere small and dark, he knows he should stop kissing you. He knows he should end things here before they become more complicated, before you hate him in the morning. He knows this, but his body no longer belongs to him. He thinks, in agony and in lust, that maybe it belonged to you now as you slip your hands under his shirt and run your nails down his back. He hisses into your mouth, a small groan reminding him of his hardened cock. Jean thinks of pulling away but the moment his lips are not on yours, he sees that man again—that fucking ugly face smiling down at you. If your tongue is not in his mouth he thinks about him, kissing you. If his tongue is not pressed flush against the pulse of your neck, if he's not feeling your erratic heartbeat reminding him of the throbbing of his cock—he thinks of that bastard, running his hands all over your body, pulling moan after moan from you.

He groans again as he kisses you, too much teeth and tongue, too much passion to the point you cry out when he bites down too hard; he tastes blood as he licks your bottom lip in apology. He must have lost his mind, he thinks, as he licks it again and again until he can't taste copper anymore, until you grow softer, more pliable in his embrace.

His hands are under your shirt, fingers slipping under your bra. You cry out as he pinches hardened nipples. His tongue is back on your neck, and he kisses over the marks already left, and sucks where he thinks it is too light; not stark enough. He signs over them, again and again, as he twists his fingers, causing you to moan.

“Jean” you breathe out, your trembling hands going to his wrists. You hold on to them loosely, as he continues to tease your breasts. You bite down on a whimper, and almost lose your resolve when he looks down at you through his dark and thick lashes. “Why are you like this?” Suddenly, she wanted to add, but Jean's hands are relentless. His gaze is unwavering as he watches you squirm under his touch. In all honesty, he wanted to tell you. He wanted to confess the times he had thought about you this way, responding to his touch so eagerly that he'd wake up in a sweat, aroused by the ghost of your scent in his sweatshirt.

Still, he couldn't tell you. Not now. Maybe never.

“Service,” he pants out, brushing his thumbs against your nipples. You arch your back at his touch, a soft lewd song humming in the back of your mouth. “Consider it a service for you making dinner.”

He pushes his hips against yours as he curls his fingers around your throat. His hold on you is tight, almost suffocating. You gasp both at the feel of his erection, mercilessly rubbing against your heated cunt, and at the pressure he builds with his fingers. Your eyes flutter close, another soft moan filling your mouth. Jean thinks he's at his limit, but he ignores it. He pushes past it with every thrust of his hips, seeking out every sound you can give him; every moan, sigh, and whimper he can collect. He stores them in the back of his mind for later, for when his bed feels cold and empty.

A heat swirls at the pit of your stomach. It goes around in circles, tighter and tighter each time. You're familiar with the sensation, enough that it makes your toes curl in anticipation. You gasp and shout, holding on to Jean with one clammy hand. Your other shoots out behind you as you shout in surprise when one particular thrust rubs against your sensitive nub just right.

“I'm gonna cum!” you yelp as his face comes towards you. He's chuckling in your ear, and your hand moves again without you realizing it—your body's own way of trying to ground itself from the flight of ecstasy. Your fingers graze metal, and you hear the running water. Your breathing is harsh against your own ears. Jean is laughing again as you feel him reach around you. You feel something wet and cold splash against your back and you jump in his arms.

Jean pushes against you, one hand clamped tightly around one hip. “Easy, you'll fall off,” he says against your temple, a small smile stretching his swollen lips. You dig your nails into his shoulders, wanting to bring him back to the more pressing matter. You had been so close and he had slowed the speed of his hips, causing small jittery motions of your body every time your oversensitive clit received friction.

“Why did you stop?” you ask him, but his eyes are unfocused. His jaw is set, and he looks everywhere but at your eyes. You feel his gaze on your mouth, and your neck. You feel him staring at your chest. He is reaching around you, holding his hands under the running water. He brings them towards you, and slides them over your chest over and over until it soaks through your t shirt. Your bottom lip is trapped between your teeth as you watch him. He is laser focused. The sight of white teeth pushing down on a berry colored bottom lip shouldn't be so arousing. You consider suing or at the very least writing a strongly worded letter, affronted at how wet it made you; wetter even.

It was starting to become embarrassing how much you craved him at that moment. You whimper when he wets his hands again, and slides them under your shirt. They're cold against your overheated back, fingers unclasping the bra. You narrow your eyes as he expertly reaches through your sleeves, pulls down the straps with your help, and tugs the bra off from the front—as if he's done this before, many many times.

You don't want to think about it. In fact, you hate that you are, even as your nipples are erect. You bite your tongue in hopes of staving off petty jealous things you want to ask and say. You don't get to expend too much energy in that endeavor. Jean never ceases to surprise you, and he commands your attention by grasping your breasts over your t shirt.

His mouth hangs open as he watches, amazed at the sight of the brown areola peeking through the wet fabric; translucent and teasing. You feel you should say something now, while you still can but the words never make it out. His mouth is back on you, on your breasts as he sucks on the nipples through your shirt. His kisses are gentle at first, testing, exploratory His curiosity becomes hungrier, slightly feral. Jean feels himself go blind as he sucks on your nipples, teeth grazing the t shirt until his own skin prickles from the sensation.

You egg him on, thrashing in place, seeking out his hips time and time again with yours. He feels your wetness through your underwear and straight through your shorts. He groans as he sucks loudly, his hands finding your ass. He brings you closer to his hips, moves them against you, feeling sickeningly satisfied with himself. It is him that's making you unravel, and it is him that has you here in disarray, shirt soaked through with a mixture of water and his saliva.

And it is his hair, your fingers tangle up in, and it is his name you call out when you cum, time and time again.

When you come down from your high, when your hips stop moving so viciously against his throbbing cock, Jean finds the will to pull away. He stands away from you, a small amount of drool oozing down his chin. He wipes at it casually with the back of one hand. His gaze is heavy, and his face is flushed in a way that makes you self conscious of your own.

“I'm gonna rest for a bit,” he tells you as he takes another step backwards. Your eyes flit from his face, to his abused bottom lip. You can't help when it drifts lower, to the obvious bump in his sweatpants. Jean turns away from you, and starts walking away from the kitchen and down the corridor towards his bedroom.“I'll do the dishes later, so don't fucking touch them,” he says as he pauses midway to twist his torso. His finger is pointing at you. You're enthralled by the way he frowns at you, at how casually he has changed the subject, as if he wasn't desperately rubbing his cock against you seconds ago. “That's my job, okay?”

He leaves you on the sink, the water running behind you. You startle and jump to turn it off, a shaking hand grasping the metal knob tightly. You try to ignore the slick sensation between your legs, how cold the shirt felt against your hot skin. You try to ignore the sick feeling taking over your chest, and how uneasy you felt now that Jean was gone. Now that his mouth and his hands weren't goading you into orgasm, your mind felt slightly clearer.

You shouldn't have done that.

An arrangement of convenience should remain that: a convenience. Entertaining this, whatever it was, would only make this complicated; a messy inconvenience. You set your jaw, and your convictions and decide that tomorrow morning, when your mind wasn't clouded by the phantom kisses Jean had dropped on your skin, you'll have a serious talk with him.

Lines needed to be drawn clearly in the dirt, in blood, or whatever it took.

213 notes · View notes

abyssalrevenant · 2 years

Text

sfw alphabet, pt. i

disclaimers: the original list comes from the-coldest-goodbye. the reader, when mentioned, is gender neutral.

𝐚 = 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧?)

it’s no surprise that sanji is one of the most affectionate members of the mugiwara crew, but what most don’t know is how different that affection is when it’s his partner. it’s simpler, quieter, a soft touch or brief kiss. the theatrics he adopted over time melt away into a gentle compassion. he’ll cook your favorite meals, let you sleep on his shoulder, comb your hair for you if you let him.

𝐛 = 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭?)

as a best friend, sanji is equal parts a gossip monger and a ride-or-die. anything he knows, you know. anyone insults you? they’re insulting him. he’s loyal, almost to a fault, and won’t hesitate to come to your defense if he thinks it’s necessary. however, he’s also content to sit back and let you handle any violence. he’ll be your closest confidante as well; anything you tell him will go with him to the grave.

𝐜 = 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬 (𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞?)

cuddling is sanji’s favorite activity when it comes to his partner. waking up in the morning, going to sleep at night, sitting around with the crew, he always wants to have his arms around you in some capacity. he enjoys being both the big and little spoon.

𝐝 = 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 (𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠?)

sanji doesn’t really think of settling down unless it’s brought up to him. it’s not that he doesn’t want to, per se, but he has a lot on his plate between finding the one piece, helping luffy become king of the pirates, and locating the all blue. he’s not adverse to it, and he’d be an amazing househusband.

𝐞 = 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭?)

the moment sanji realizes that he and his partner are drifting apart is the moment a little part of him dies. he’s been through so much throughout his life, and knowing that someone he fully intended to spend the rest of his life with is no longer his priority (or he’s no longer a priority to them) would devastate him. he would be respectful no matter the situation, unless some sort of unfaithfulness was involved, but he would be quick. rip it off like a band-aid, as they say.

𝐟 = 𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞(𝐞) (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝?)

sanji wants to marry his partner the second that they meet. well, sort of. he treats them like he does nami and robin, declaring is love and asking for their hand at almost every opportunity. once you’re together and he’s settled down, he’d be yours for the rest of his life. marriage is a natural part of that, and he’d love nothing more than to have the ceremony on the waves of the all blue.

𝐠 = 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲, 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲?)

with his partner, sanji is so gentle that it can bring you to tears. there is so much love in him, in how he treats you, in the tiny gestures that you don’t even think he knows he’s performing for you. you wish that he could show some of that love to himself.

𝐡 = 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐬 (𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐬? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭? 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞?)

he’s touch-starved and, like cuddling, all he wants is to be close to his partner. his hugs are tight and warm, almost desperate with his desire to be loved. no matter how long you’re together, he hugs you like it’s his last chance to do so.

𝐢 = 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥-𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝?)

immediately. however, when it comes to saying it seriously and not in his usual tirade of lovesick declarations, it takes him a while to find the courage. he stumbles over it, tests the weight of it on his tongue for days once he understands what he’s feeling. when he finally admits to it, finally says i love you, it’s almost a plea.

𝐣 = 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭? 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬?)

sanji knows that he has his flaws. he knows that he’s insecure about all things regarding his relationship, at least at first, and so he tries not to let it get the best of him. he might pull you a little closer if someone is flirting with you, or kiss your temple, but he trusts you and so he lets you handle it. contrary to how he usually acts, he isn’t prone to flying off the handle over little things. it’d have to be something truly astounding for him to get properly worked up over it, and then he’s all over you and unleashing a verbal tirade on whoever it is that’s upset him.

𝐤 = 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞? 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝?)

sanji’s kisses are slow, meaningful, and full of as much love as he can pour into them. he lavishes them on your mouth, your throat, your shoulders, anywhere above the chest when you’re out in public. behind closed doors, he’s fond of your thighs and stomach. kiss his hands or his jaw if you want him to melt.

𝐥 = 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧?)

a little awkward, but well-meaning. aside from chopper and the few kids that patrons sometimes brought to the baratie, sanji doesn’t have much experience around children. he’ll usually be in the background, making them snacks or watching how the others act. if you can get him to join in on the games, he turns into a big ol’ kid himself.

𝐦 = 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦?)

mornings are a short and very precious commodity when dating sanji. he’s awake before dawn to start preparing for the day’s meals, and there’s only an hour before the rest of the crew starts to trickle into the kitchen for breakfast. so while he doesn’t need much help at all and won’t force you to get out of bed, he’s always pleased when you decide to join him. even if you’re just washing plates or drinking coffee.

𝐧 = 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦?)

like the mornings, it’s rare to get more than an hour or so with him at night. after dinner and the after-dinner snacks and the bedtime snacks, sanji cleans up whatever mess is left and takes stock of what he has so he can plan for the next day. after that’s done, it’s a shower, and then a bit of relaxation before bed at midnight. again, the easiest thing to do is to give him a hand or just sit in his company, and you can always join him in the shower if you don’t mind getting a little dirty.

𝐨 = 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 (𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬? 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲?)

sanji is an open book, or at least he believes himself to be, so he’ll answer any question his partner might have for him. the truth of his childhood—that he’s the third prince of a warring kingdom—isn’t fully revealed until after whole cake island. it’s a sore subject for him, and he’s always considered himself to be zeff’s son. his deception there isn’t intentional by any means; it’s one of those things about him that he doesn’t think to bring up at all.

𝐩 = 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲?)

unless you happen to be either a.) a certain green-haired swordsman or b.) a certain rubber captain, sanji has the patience of a saint for those on his crew, and particularly for his partner. he might get insecure, but he never lets that turn into anger where you’re concerned and would rather talk about issues than argue about them.

𝐪 = 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐞𝐬 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠?)

he remembers everything you’ve ever told him. if he thinks he’ll forget, he writes it down so he won’t. the more important the information, the higher priority it has, but he doesn’t want to miss anything at all when it comes to you.

𝐫 = 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩?)

ask him this question, and he’ll answer that it was the first time you told him that you love him. no matter what the circumstances were, hearing those words from your lips was enough to bring him to his knees and he’ll always, always hold onto and cherish that moment.

𝐬 = 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝?)

sanji is incredibly protective, although in such a way that it’s never really a burden because he also trusts his partner implicitly. he’ll stay close and make sure that you’re safe, but is content to let you handle any issues unless you ask for him to intervene. if you join him on the battlefield, you become his highest priority. that trust is still there, but it’s coupled with the desire to keep you safe and unharmed, and so he’ll do what he can to end any battles as quickly as possible. shield him from others’ mockery, tend to his wounds after a fight. he won’t ask you to do so, but it makes him love you so much more if you do.

𝐭 = 𝐭𝐫𝐲 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬?)

he puts in so much effort to make everything about his relationship perfect that you sometimes worry his heart will give out. hours can be spent looking for the perfect gift, the perfect flowers, planning the perfect meal. his childhood traumatized him, and one of the ways he copes is by giving everything his all.

𝐮 = 𝐮𝐠𝐥𝐲 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬?)

sanji smokes, which is perhaps the worst bad habit that he has. secondary to that is his penchant to flirt with any beauty that catches his eye, even if that tones down a good deal once he’s with someone. it can be hard to be with him at first, when he’s throwing heart eyes and declarations of love at nami and robin every chance that he gets, but if you can make it through that you’ll find that all of that passion turns to you.

𝐯 = 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬?)

aside from being clean and looking good for his partner, sanji doesn’t particularly care. dress him up—or undress him—pull him into the rain, go for a swim (if you aren’t a devil fruit user), get messy making pies and cakes with him. he’s more concerned with the memories the two of you make together than he is what tie he’s wearing.

𝐰 = 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 (𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?)

absolutely. this is a man who loves his nakama so much that the thousand sunny is his home, no questions asked. being apart from you would wound him in a way he wouldn’t recover from until you were back, if you could come back at all.

𝐱 = 𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 (𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦)

oda says that he smells like smoke and seafood. i say that he smells like smoke, seafood, and a bit of woodsy cologne.

𝐲 = 𝐲𝐮𝐜𝐤 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫?)

sanji hates bugs of any and all sizes. he’s not a fan of pranks either, finding most of them to be a tasteless way to have fun at someone else’s expense. as a chef, he values cleanliness; he doesn’t ask that you shave or anything like that, just that you bathe regularly and brush your teeth. making fun of someone’s cooking, particularly if they put all of their effort into it, is another thing that turns him off.

𝐳 = 𝐳𝐳𝐳 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬?)

he sleeps on his back, and snores quietly. there’s a two hour window during his usual midnight to five am schedule where even an earthquake couldn’t wake him, but other than that he’s a fairly light sleeper.

#one piece #sanji #one piece sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sfw headcanons #sfw alphabet #abyss writes

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