#and i want you.. more than i’ve ever wanted anyone in my life

[shy-writer-999]

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly regret oversharing, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

divider courtesy of @cafekitsune tag list @eggrollforyou

[estrellami-1]

Stay for Dinner (Stay Forever)

ao3 link

Steve had never been more scared in his life.

He’d been through some things, he thought. Things that changed you as a person, probably. But now he understands why humans are apex predators.

Because he’s being hunted.

He’d started following Steve a few blocks back. He doesn’t have anything on him, pepper spray or a knife. He has keys and fear on his side.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he chastises himself, blinking tears away and speeding up the tiniest bit. He sees, in the reflection of shop windows across the street, he’s matching Steve’s pace.

Fuck.

He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know who to ask for help, when he suddenly sees someone.

He’s an Alpha, Steve can tell right away, even though he’s not as strong-looking as other Alphas. He’s intimidating enough, all leather and chains and wild hair and tattoos, and Steve doesn’t know much about this punk kind of community, but he knows it’s a community, knows this is the safest person he’s gonna find.

He speeds up the tiniest bit more, is practically jogging when he reaches the man. “Baby!” He exclaims, throwing his arms around the man.

The man startles, but seems to catch on quickly, wrapping his own arms around Steve’s waist. “Hey, darlin’,” he says happily, loud enough it carries. “How was your day?”

“Alright,” Steve admits, letting out a little chuckle full of stress.

“Yeah? What made it just alright?” He questions, stepping back to wrap his arm loosely around Steve’s waist, the barest hint of pressure to suggest they keep walking the direction Steve was heading.

Steve thinks, silently, he could fall in love with this man. He’s halfway there based on scent alone.

“Oh, you know.” He keeps his tone light, pretends to look at the man holding him. Actually looks past him, to more shop windows. The man who was following him disappears down a side street, and Steve feels so relieved he nearly collapses.

“Oh, hell,” he breathes out, stepping back and gusting out a sigh. “I’m so sorry, fuck, he was- he was following me, and I wasn’t sure what to do-”

The alpha shushes him. “Hey, hey, hey, you’re okay. I get it, I saw him, and hey, I’ve definitely been in worse situations than a pretty omega throwing themself at me.” His eyes twinkle, inviting Steve in on the joke.

He chuckles a little. “Seriously, thank you so much.” He puts a hand on his chest. His hand is still shaking. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared.”

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “I don’t know that either of us want you going anywhere alone right now, though. Do you have someone you can call? I’m sure we can pop into any of these places and you could ask to use their phone.”

Steve feels a whine build in his throat. “I don’t- don’t have anyone, I’m new here, my roommate is my absolute best friend in the world but she’s busy, and anyways she’s half an hour away, and-” his breath catches on the whine, brings it out on the exhale.

“Hey, you’re okay,” he promises. “Would it be okay if I came with you? Or is there a different designation or gender you’d rather escort you? I’m sure we could find someone.”

“No, it’s-” Steve takes a couple of deep breaths. Wills his voice to stop shaking. “It’s fine, you can- if you’re not busy-”

“I’m not,” he confirms. “And I’d love to walk you wherever you’re going.” He pulls back and extends a hand, grinning. “I’m Eddie.”

“Steve,” he gusts out, grasping Eddie’s hand and shaking it. “Seriously, you don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie promises. “My best friend in the entire world is an omega. She’s used me to get away from Alpha creeps so many times, I’ve lost count.” He puts a hand on his chest, bows his head. “And I’d like to formally apologize on behalf of Alphas everywhere. I promise we’re not all creepy knotheads.”

Steve giggles. “I believe you,” he promises. “Thank you. Again. And… thank you for making me feel like it’s okay.”

“It is okay,” Eddie tells him immediately. “That guy’s a real creep, and if I ever see him again, I’m probably just gonna punch him in the face. No words, not a hey, how’re you doing, just bam! Right in the schnoz.”

Steve giggles again. “I’d pay to see that.”

Eddie pouts at him, offers his arm as they continue walking. “You don’t think I could take him? I know I’m scrawny but I’m hiding some muscle, okay, I- well, I was gonna say I work out, but that would be a lie. The most working out I do is moving amps, setting up for a show.”

“You work for a band? Or- a venue, or something?”

“You could say that,” Eddie agrees, letting go of Steve to hop a couple steps in front of him and bow. “You are looking at the frontman of heavy metal band Corroded Coffin.”

“Oh,” Steve says, nonplussed, “I thought you were punk.”

“Punk?” Eddie exclaims. “An affront to my culture! An affront to metalheads everywhere! An affront to me!” He mimes stabbing himself in the heart, dropping in a heap to the pavement.

It makes Steve laugh as he nudges Eddie’s knee with his toe. “Eddie? Oh no, he’s dead. Guess I’ll have to go on alone, with no one to protect me.”

“And I’m revived!” Eddie exclaims, jumping to his feet. His hair falls in his face, and he spits it out of his mouth as he swipes wildly at it.

Steve laughs, moves in closer to help. He meticulously separates Eddie’s bangs from the rest of his hair, then steps back with a light flush dusting his cheeks, realizing how close they were. “There,” he murmurs.

“My hero,” Eddie intones, sweeping low into a bow again before standing straight up and once again offering Steve his arm.

He accepts, and they walk on together.

His apartment isn’t too far, only about fifteen minutes, and it seems much shorter than usual because of the easy conversation flowing. When they get to Steve’s apartment, he sees Robin’s car and grins at Eddie, motioning him inside. “Rob,” he calls, “I brought my boyfriend!”

She bursts out of her room. “Steve!” She yells, pulling him into a hug. She pulls back to study them. “You’ve never met this man before, you slut,” she tells him affectionately. “Hi, Robin Buckley, who are you?” She thrusts a hand Eddie’s direction.

He grins and shakes. “Eddie Munson, at your service.”

“Hi,” she agrees, then taps Steve rapidly on his shoulder. “Explain. Why do you scent stressed?” She presses her nose into his neck. “It’s old but still there. What happened, Dingus?”

“I was being followed,” he tells her.

“A creepy knothead variety of our designation,” Eddie explains.

“I saw Eddie and he was the first person who looked… safe.”

“He jumped me,” Eddie agrees, smirking at Steve. “Not really beating the slut allegation, sweetheart.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve tells him, laughing.

“I noticed what was happening,” Eddie continues. “Played along. Creep Alpha left, but-”

“I didn’t want to be alone,” Steve admits. “And I knew you were busy, and way far out, and we don’t know anyone else in this godforsaken city.”

“Now you do,” Eddie tells him.

“Now I do,” Steve agrees softly.

“Eddie Munson,” Robin murmurs, studying him with narrowed eyes. “Why do I know that name?”

“Um,” Eddie says, “are you into metal? I’m in a band.”

Robin snaps her fingers at him, expression brightening. “Corroded Coffin!”

Eddie’s eyes sparkle. “Holy shit, yes! Have you seen us?”

“Oh, no,” Robin laughs. “Not really my scene. But there’s this pup we knows who’s absolutely obsessed. Never shuts up about you.”

Steve frowns. “Dustin?”

“Yeah, Dingus.”

“But I thought he was always going on about the other band.”

“Ah, yes, because as we all know, you can only ever like one band at a time.” She hits him with an extremely judgy expression. “Do you listen when your child talks?”

“Hey, if he’s mine he’s yours, and you know I don’t.”

“Um,” Eddie says, “child?”

“Not actually mine,” Steve reiterates. “But also basically yeah. And yes, he’s obsessed.”

A slow grin creeps across Eddie’s face. “In that case, do you want to do the funniest thing ever?”

Steve’s eyes spark as a manic grin makes its way onto Robin’s lips. “Oh, hell yeah,” Steve agrees.

They work out the plan: invite Dustin over, have Eddie be the one to open the door.

“Hey, little dude,” Steve says into the phone. “You busy for the next little bit?”

“Uh,” Dustin says, sounding distracted, “yeah? I’ve got a test due tonight, a paper due Friday, and then it’s prep for finals. Why?”

“Just, uh. Wanted to see if you wanted to come over,” Steve says weakly. “But if you’re busy-”

“Rain check,” Dustin decides. “Three weeks from Friday?”

Eddie, who’s standing close enough to hear, shrugs and nods at Steve’s questioning look. “Sure, bud,” Steve tells him. “Three weeks from Friday.”

“Okay, great,” Dustin says. “See you!” And hangs up.

Steve pouts at the phone for a second. “No respect,” he sighs.

“Aw, Stevie,” Eddie playfully pouts, “I’m sure your pup loves you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes, but smiles at Eddie.

“What does the rest of your day look like?”

“I do believe the rest of my day depends entirely on what you’re planning with me.” He leans against the wall, shoulders curved toward Steve, who smiles rather bashfully.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Back in her room, Robin calls, “would you like to stay forever?”

Steve instantly blushes firetruck red. “Feel free to ignore her,” he tells Eddie. “She likes to quote movies at the absolute worst time.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Eddie murmurs. His cheeks are dusted pink. “I dunno about forever, not yet, but I certainly wouldn’t mind staying for dinner.”

“Okay,” Steve murmurs. “Chicken work for you?”

“Chicken,” Eddie murmurs back. “Sure.”

Neither of them look away from each other.

The days turn into weeks. That first day—first night, really—Eddie was there, they’d exchanged numbers.

Steve talks to Eddie on the phone most nights. The nights he doesn’t, he’s with Eddie.

At first they’re just friendly. Friends. But there’s something deeper and they both sense it. Eddie’s rosemary-and-walnut scent mixes perfectly with Steve’s lemon-basil. Robin complains about getting hungry around them, and they just laugh, knowing she’s teasing.

Still, that something deeper is there, is entirely present, and Steve knows, and Eddie knows, and he knows Eddie knows he knows. They’re both inching toward a free fall.

There’s one night they’re in Eddie’s apartment. What Corroded Coffin sales don’t cover—which is most of it, Eddie had explained—his shifts at the mechanic shop do. He gets home, weary and grease-covered, and Steve had already let himself in, was making dinner for the two of them.

“Stevie,” Eddie groans, the second he steps foot in the door.

Steve clenches his thighs at the bolt of want that spears through him.

He laughs it off, halfway turns to meet Eddie’s gaze. “Yeah?”

“Fuck, smells amazing,” he breathes. “I’m so hungry I could eat a dragon. Do you know how big those are? And I mean a whole dragon, too, an adult, not a tiny baby one.”

“You’re hungry,” Steve summarizes.

“Starving,” Eddie agrees, brushing a kiss on his cheek before moving off to his bedroom to change.

Steve freezes. Hears the moment Eddie realizes what he’s done.

He’s got a choice to make, he knows. He could pretend like nothing happened. Things would be awkward, for a minute, but they’d get past it.

He could address it. Eddie might get nervous or defensive. Might not react well. Worse yet, he might say he didn’t mean to.

Or…

He sends out a happy, pleased scent, more honey-lemon than usual, and continues cooking.

He hears Eddie walk tentatively out of his bedroom. Hears the moment his feet hit kitchen tile and he smells Steve. “Oh,” Eddie whispers.

“Go change,” Steve murmurs lightly. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Yeah,” Eddie responds. Steve can hear the smile. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he parrots.

He plates the food, and Eddie comes out just as he’s putting the plates on the table, wrapping him up in a hug. His nose dips closer to his scent gland than is strictly friendly, and Steve sends out more of the happy honey scent.

“Baby,” Eddie murmurs. “Yeah?”

Steve leans back into him, lets him support his weight. “Yeah,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s, around his waist.

He gets Eddie’s happy scent for his efforts, woodsmoke and petrichor filling his nostrils as he inhales.

They talk during dinner. About what they’re feeling, what they’re looking for. “Sweetheart,” Eddie tells him. He’s liberal with the terms of endearment, which Steve definitely likes. “I liked you the minute you threw yourself at me, trying to get away from that creep.” He inches his hands over the table, grabbing Steve’s. “But I fell for you the minute you laughed.”

Steve blinks. “The minute I laughed?”

“Mhm,” Eddie nods. “I believe I was apologizing on behalf all Alphas everywhere, who aren’t raging knotheads. You giggled, and you said I made you feel safe, and I looked in your eyes and fell in.” He shrugs. “And, I mean, you know our scents are compatible.”

“More than that,” Steve murmurs.

Eddie nods. “Exactly! And I-” he gusts out a breath. “Hell, Steve, I’m terrified. I don’t know how to be in love. But if it means a future with you? I’d do anything.”

“Love?” Steve asks, scarcely able to breathe.

Eddie bites his lip, grips Steve’s fingers a little bit harder. “Yeah.”

Steve abandons his food, rounding the table and collapsing onto Eddie’s lap. “I love you too,” he whispers. “I know it’s really early, but…”

“No take-backs.” Eddie smiles, pokes his side. “‘S not too early if we both feel it. ��S just right.”

“Just right,” Steve murmurs, a wondering smile on his face. Suddenly, it turns teasing. “Which one of us is Goldilocks, then?”

Eddie snickers. “Obviously you, you’ve got the hair. My hair’s more like one of the three bears.”

Steve laughs, tugs teasingly on a curl. “Yeah, but I like your hair.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. ‘S metal.”

“Oh, baby,” Eddie rumbles. “You tryin’a start somethin’?”

Steve hums, pulls back. “No, sorry. Just wanna be near you right now.” He looks up at Eddie. “Is that okay?”

“Perfect, baby,” Eddie agrees. He shifts, drags Steve’s plate closer. “Finish your food,” he suggests. “Then we can go watch a movie. Or call Robin, if I know you the way I think I do, this conversation isn’t going to be able to wait until you get home.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “it probably can’t wait till tomorrow.”

Careful eyes watch Eddie’s reaction. He smiles, nuzzles the side of Steve’s head. “Definitely not,” he says. “That would be a complete violation of best friend code.” He pokes Steve’s thigh. “Can we call Chrissy after? Can she come over? She hasn’t met you yet.”

Steve narrows his eyes in thought. “Chrissy’s your omega friend, right?”

“She is.”

“And does she like women?”

Eddie laughs. “I like the way you think, baby! Call Robin first, get her over here, Chrissy lives closer than you two do. I’ll call her as soon as you’re off the phone with Robin, okay?”

Steve grins. “Sounds great.” He shovels the rest of his food in his mouth, as fast as he can, then runs to the phone.

Eddie’s not any slower. He doesn’t even finish, excitement pulling any remaining hunger away, and he ends up behind Steve, pulling him into a hug as he talks to Robin.

They hang up after only a couple of minutes, and Eddie dials Chrissy’s number. “Hey,” he says, barreling on before she can even say hi back. “You’ve got ten minutes to get over here if you wanna meet my omega.” He winks at Steve, who beams back at him. Honey and woodsmoke permeate the space, dancing around and melting into each other, creating a soothing blend of scents.

He gets off the phone and turns Steve to face him fully. “Hi,” he murmurs.

Steve giggles. “Hi.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Steve’s eyes widen, and his inhale turns into a gasp. “Please,” he breathes, and Eddie does.

They’re still kissing, just little pecks, by the time there’s a knock on the door, signifying Chrissy’s arrival.

They part just long enough for Eddie to open the door and hug Chrissy. Steve scoots in under Eddie’s arm, leans into him as he greets her. Strawberry pastries bloom as she grins. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Steve giggles, shakes her proffered hand. “I agree. I’ve heard good things about you.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “And you don’t think it’s weird that he’s such good friends with an omega?”

Steve grins. “My Alpha best friend is on her way over as we speak. I’d argue I’m one of the few who really understands.”

“Then I’m sure we’ll be just fine,” Chrissy nods, walking into the kitchen and fetching herself a drink.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “That’s Chrissy.”

“I heard that!” She calls.

Steve giggles. “I really don’t think you two can be worse than me and Robin.”

“That sounds like a challenge, baby.”

“It wasn’t,” Steve protests, laughing. “Not everything has to be a competition.”

“It doesn’t have to, but it’s more fun if it is.”

Steve snorts, rolls his eyes, shakes his head. “C’mon.” He motions to the kitchen, and Eddie walks with him.

“So, Steve,” Chrissy says, sitting on the counter. “How did you two meet?”

Steve grimaces. “It’s not a very happy story.”

She sighs. “What did he do?”

Steve blinks, then laughs. “Oh, no, he was great. It wasn’t him at all.”

“C’mon, Chris,” Eddie complains. “You should know me better than that by now.”

“I do know you and that’s exactly why I thought it was you,” she fires back, before looking back at Steve with a little nod.

“I, uh. Robin and I are new here, so I don’t really know anybody yet. I guess I do now, but I didn’t. I was walking and I saw this Alpha following me. And I even tried turning, to see if he was actually following me? And he was. And I didn’t- I had keys, I guess, if it came down to it, but I really didn’t want it to come down to it.” He grimaces, realizes the air is rank with rotted greens. He grimaces again, apologizes. Smiles when Eddie grumbles, pulls him in tighter, and presses a kiss to his temple.

“Want me to continue?”

Steve shakes his head, relaxes in Eddie’s hold. “I can. Just… got overwhelmed for a second.”

“It’s alright, baby. Take all the time you need.”

“I mostly understand anyways,” Chrissy says softly. “If you’d rather skip all that.”

Steve sighs. “He didn’t touch me, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he tells Chrissy. “I saw Eddie standing there, in front of me a little, and he was the first person who looked safe. So I just… pretended. I ran up to him and hugged him, and called him baby, loud enough the guy following me could hear. And thankfully Eddie caught on quickly. He jumped in, no hesitation, and the guy left, but… I was still rattled from it, y’know?”

“Definitely,” Chrissy nodded.

“So he walked me home, came in and met Robin, and… stayed for dinner.”

Eddie snickers. “I think I did what Robin asked, though. I’m staying forever.”

Steve rolls his eyes through his grin. “She’s gonna be insufferable about that.”

“That’s your best friend, baby.”

“Yes, I know,” Steve grouses. He’s still smiling.

Just then there’s another knock on the door, and Steve sprints to open it. “Robin!”

“Steve!” She greets him. He gives her a hug and pulls her into the kitchen. “Robin, meet Chrissy, Eddie’s best friend.”

Robin blinks. “Uh,” she says. “Hi.”

“Hi!” Chrissy says. “It’s really nice to meet you. Steve said you’re like me and Eddie! That’s cool!”

“Yeah,” Robin says, “except we were here first.” She immediately blanches. “Oh, fuck, sorry, no, that implies that what you have isn’t the same as what we have, which means I think you’re a liar, except I don’t think you’re a liar, I swear, I just-”

Aside to Eddie, Steve whispers, “should we give them the room?”

In lieu of an answer, Eddie wraps his arm around Steve and quietly walks them out of the kitchen.

In the living room, sounds are a little muffled, but Steve hears Robin’s ramblings broken up by a softer, higher voice—Chrissy—and soon they’re both talking, a low murmur that works as the background to the steady thump-thump of Eddie’s heart against his ear where his head is pillowed on Eddie’s chest. He yawns, curls in a little. “I could fall asleep like this.”

“I’m here if you want to,” Eddie murmurs, running a hand down Steve’s back. “I’ll be here. Take you to bed, if you want.”

Steve shakes his head. “I wanna stay out here. But if they stay in there for much longer, I’m gonna fall asleep. Especially if you keep that up.”

Eddie chuckles lightly, keeps rubbing his back. “You do that, baby.”

Steve does.

He wakes up slowly, later, in a way he hasn’t in so long. He’s used to his alarm blaring, shocking him awake, and the rare days he gets off he wakes up in a rush thinking he’s late for work. He rarely wakes up slowly like this, pushing his legs out to stretch, tilting his head up, humming when it puts his nose in contact with Eddie’s scent gland. Rosemary and woodsmoke seep into his nostrils, permeates every inch of his brain. He knows, distantly, he’s pumping out the honey again, but it’s unintentional, and he nearly falls back asleep. He drifts for a while, laying in that twilight of sleep, before Eddie shifts, waking up.

He puts a hand on Steve’s back, and Steve wakes up more, purrs. Eddie rumbles out an Alpha purr back. “Mornin’, baby,” he mumbles. Steve just hums again, and Eddie chuckles. “Not awake yet?”

Another hum. “Almost.”

“Take your time, sweetheart.” He rubs his hand down Steve’s back. “I’ll be here.”

Another hum. “When’id Robbie n’ Chrissy leave?”

“They didn’t stay for too long. They left at the same time, and Robin triple-checked that you’d be spending the night here.”

Steve nods sleepily. “‘S good.”

Eddie chuckles. “Yeah. You wanna wake up or go back to sleep, baby?”

“‘M awake.”

“Wasn’t really my question, but I think that might’ve answered it anyways.” He dips his head to press a kiss to Steve’s temple, and Steve purrs again. Or more. He’s not sure he ever stopped in the first place.

His purring is interrupted by a yawn. He opens his eyes with he finishes, blinks in the dim light of Eddie’s room. “Food?”

“I can make some,” Eddie agrees. “How’s eggs and toast sound?”

“And coffee?”

“And coffee,” Eddie chuckles. “You gonna let me up? Or are you planning on becoming a limpet in your next life and you’re getting a head-start now?”

“Wanna go with you.”

“You can, but that doesn’t negate the fact that we’ve still gotta get up.”

Steve huffs out a dramatic breath, rolls out of bed and onto his feet. Stretches, then realizes he’s in boxers. No pants. He squints at his bare legs, then at Eddie, who smiles. “I didn’t want you wearing jeans in bed, sweetheart, I know how uncomfortable that is. I can give you some pajama pants if you want.”

“Yes, please. And thank you.”

“You,” Eddie says, “are most welcome.” He rolls out of bed and strides to his dresser, tossing Steve a pair of red-and-black plaid sleep pants.

He dons his own, blue with pink polka-dots. Snickers when Steve looks between the two of them.

“You wanna know why I put these on? Instead of giving them to you?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “You know I like those better.”

“I put them on,” he pauses for a taffy kiss, sweet and stretched-out, “so you can take them home with you tonight and put them in your nest.”

“Fuck, I love you,” Steve breathes.

Eddie pushes in for another kiss, this one impatient, hot and searing, licking across the seam of Steve’s mouth, pressing between his lips, bullying his way past Steve’s teeth until he can taste him, and it should be gross because neither of them have brushed their teeth yet but instead it’s just good in a way that makes his Alpha light up. “Love you,” he mutters against Steve’s lips, pulling back to tap Steve’s hand, still holding the plaid pants. “Get dressed, baby. I’ll start on breakfast.”

“No, wait for me!” Steve whines, frantically pushing his foot into the half-folded leg of the pants.

Eddie waits, so Steve slows down a little, letting the pants unfold before he shoves his legs through the holes.

They pad out to the kitchen together, where Steve sits on the counter while Eddie pops bread in the toaster and fries some eggs.

Eating is a quiet affair, Eddie hooking his ankle around Steve’s as soon as they sit down, just wanting to keep that touch.

Eventually Steve has to go get ready for work, so he heads home and nearly bumps into Chrissy as she’s walking down the steps of his apartment building. He grins at her. “Hello,” he says, “sleep well?”

She flushes, but winks at him, and he laughs.

He continues on, up to his apartment, where Robin’s waiting for him. She’s in the kitchen, nursing her second cup of coffee. Steve knows it’s her second because she always downs the first the moment it’s no longer scalding. “Well hello there,” she says, lecherous grin on her face. “And what did you get up to all night, might I ask?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “We literally just slept, Robs, I didn’t wake up until this morning. I did pass Chrissy on my way in, though.”

She nearly chokes on her coffee, blush staining her cheeks pink. She tries to wave him away, goes for the sappy comment. “I’ve never known you to fall asleep on someone you’ve only known a few weeks. It takes longer than that for you to be willing to invite someone into your pack.”

Steve flushes, holds up the pants Eddie had on. “Um,” he says, “surprise?”

Her mouth drops open. “You bitch!” She delightedly shrieks.

He giggles. “Guess you were right about me being a slut, huh?”

“You should know by now that I’m always right. And I thought you said you didn’t have sex?”

“Yeah, but I can still be a slut without having sex.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “That’s not how that works, at all, but also yes. You can. And only you, I think.” She shrugs, turns away to head to her room, bumping his arm with her shoulder. “You’re one of a kind.”

“Hell yeah I am.”

“I never said that was a good thing.” She disappears into her room, leaving Steve to stare after her.

To think she called him a bitch.

The week continues as it had gone before; he and Eddie still talk on the phone nightly, except now those are few and far between; they’re usually at an apartment, either bothering Robin or enjoying solitude with each other in Eddie’s apartment. On the nights when Steve doesn’t work the next day, he’ll stay over at Eddie’s.

He doesn’t entirely know what they’re waiting for. Why they haven’t had sex yet. They both want to, but it’s like there’s a lot whisper in the air, something murmuring not yet, it’s not time now, but soon. And honestly? Steve really enjoys the change of pace.

About a week later is the third Friday, the day Dustin’s coming over. Eddie gets there around noon, because when Dustin says six p.m., what he really means is whenever he feels like it.

That’s why, at a quarter after three, there’s a knock on the door.

Eddie slides in his socked feet over the hardwood, nearly running into the door and saving it at the last moment. Steve snorts.

Eddie throws open the door. “Ah, hello! You must be Dustin!”

“Oh holy shit,” Dustin says, blinking wide-eyed at Eddie. “You- you’re-”

“Wow,” Steve says, coming up to Eddie, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him speechless before.” He pats Eddie’s shoulder. “Good job.”

Eddie snorts. “Thanks?” He hip-checks Steve, sending a warm smile his way.

Steve grins back, moves to the kitchen. “In or out, Henderson, and close your mouth ‘fore you start catching flies like that Mona Lisa of yours.”

Dustin scurries inside. Eddie frowns. “Mona Lisa?”

“Yeah, he’s got one of those…” Steve waves a hand. “Plants that eat bugs.”

“Venus fly trap,” Dustin says. “You’re Eddie Munson.”

“I am.”

“And you’re in Steve’s apartment.”

“I am.”

Dustin pauses. “Why in the hell-”

Eddie wraps an arm around Dustin’s shoulders. “Ah, to be young and carefree, to know not the trap of a heart given to another-”

“He’s got a girlfriend,” Steve says, crossing his arms. “Trap?”

Eddie freezes. “Not trap. Uh… fuck, I wrote myself into a corner.” He releases Dustin, bounds up to Steve. Ducks his head and looks up at him. “Forgive me?”

Steve chuckles. “Dramatic dork,” he says, but presses a chaste kiss to Eddie’s lips.

“What the fuck?” Dustin screeches.

Steve winces. “Dude, language and volume, c’mon. Christ, it’s like you’ve never seen two people kiss before.”

“But you!” Dustin says emphatically. “Him! How?”

Steve exchanges a glance with Eddie, then sighs and tells Dustin how they met. “He escorted me home, met Robin, stayed for dinner…”

“Stayed forever,” Eddie mumbles in Steve’s ear.

Steve chuckles. “Even if I thought you were punk when I first met you?”

“You what?” Dustin hisses. They both ignore him.

“Even then,” Eddie promises. “Especially then, actually, as soon as people know I’m in a band they act different. You didn’t. Just kept talking to me like a normal dude.”

“Oh,” Dustin says suddenly. “Really?”

Eddie offers him a crooked smile. “Don’t sweat it, man, according to Robin you’re an actual, genuine fan. Already worlds ahead of the people who didn’t give me the time of day until they thought I could give them popularity.”

Dustin nods. “That makes sense,” he says. “Still. It sucks that people are like that.”

Eddie shrugs. “I feel sorry for ‘em. Chasing everything they can to get an inch closer to the top. What’re they gonna see once they get there? A whole lotta nothing. Plus,” he smiles at Steve, “it means we’re here, now.”

Steve leans against him. Eddie wraps his arms around his waist. “Together,” Steve agrees.

“Together,” Eddie parrots.

“Oh,” Dustin murmurs again. “You guys, like, actually love each other, don’t you?”

Steve tilts his head. “How’d you know?”

“The way you looked at each other,” he says honestly. “Like it belongs in a movie or something.”

“Oh,” Steve murmurs. Eddie’s arms tighten around his waist.

“You’re right,” Eddie tells Dustin. “We do.”

Steve snickers. “We do belong in a movie?”

Eddie laughs, dislodges Steve, swats at him until Steve swats back.

“Wow,” Dustin says, deadpan, “you two really do deserve each other. You’re both children.”

Steve exchanges a look with Eddie. They both charge Dustin, who chants, “Shit, shit, shit!” as he runs for the living room.

Eddie catches him around the waist, throws them both onto the couch, where they lay, giggling and panting.

Steve laughs, sitting on the chair to the left of the couch. “Speaking of children,” he asks Dustin, “do you want to call the rest of the Party?”

Dustin’s eyes gleam. “Holy shit, yes, wait, I brought-” he scrambles up, sending an elbow into Eddie’s gut in his hurry. Eddie squawks and grabs at the back of Dustin’s shirt, but Dustin’s out of reach, and doesn’t notice what he just caused. He digs around his backpack for a minute. “Ha!” He yells, holding up a walkie-talkie. “Okay, hang on, lemme-” he depresses the button. “This is Dustin calling a code yellow, everybody come in! I repeat, code yellow, come in!”

“This had better be good, shit-for-brains,” Max warns him.

“That’s what a code yellow means, Max. And you’ve gotta say over. Over.”

“Fuck you, how ‘bout that?”

“Christ,” Steve murmurs to Eddie. “Meet my feral children.”

Eddie grins back. “They sound like fun.”

“Okay,” Will chimes in. “I’m here. Dustin, don’t answer Max, she’s just gonna have an even worse comeback. Save yourself the pain. And us. Over.”

“El and I are here,” Mike says. “Over.”

“How about Lucas? Over.”

“Here,” Lucas says wearily. “What’s this about? Over.”

“I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.”

“You didn’t know him until today, shithead,” Steve tells him.

“Is that Steve? Hi Steve!” El calls. “What’s the news?”

He grabs the walkie out of Dustin’s hand, sends him a look when he tries to take it back. “The news is,” he looks at Eddie, who nods encouragingly, smiling. “my Alpha.”

He hands the walkie to Eddie. “Hey, guys!” He says. “My name is Eddie Munson. It’s nice to sort-of meet you!”

“Dustin,” Will says, low and controlled. “Tell me this isn’t a prank of some sort.”

Dustin steals the walkie back. “Dude, I nearly died,” he swears to Will. “It’s him. It’s really him.”

The walkie explodes with noise.

“Who?” Max asks.

“I’ll educate her,” Lucas promises, and then they’re both gone.

Then Mike, El and Will take turns pinging in. During a lull, Eddie swipes the walkie. “I’ve got a question,” he says. “Why do you guys calls yourselves the Party?”

“Oh, shit,” Steve murmurs. “I’m gonna lose you to them.”

“Never,” Eddie promises him.

“Uh,” Will says hesitantly. “We play D&D. It’s how most of us met, we were all interested in playing in school, and we kind of just… bonded.”

“No shit?” Eddie asks. “That’s super cool! Who’s your DM?”

“I am.”

Eddie laughs. “Dude, that’s great! I’ll have to pick your brain for storylines. Maybe we could swap our favorites? Do you have any homebrew or are they all canon?”

“They’re all canon,” Will admits. “But I did add my own twists to a few.”

“Man, that’s awesome! When I first started I was terrified I was gonna mess up. Had to do everything by the book. But then I got more confident and I started adding some of my own stuff in, and then I got even more confident and decided to write my own campaign.”

“And it was good?”

Eddie snorts. “Actually? It was complete shit. But I had good friends who didn’t tell me that, they encouraged me to keep trying, and I did, and now I’m actually good at whipping up a homebrew.”

“Wow,” Will breathes. “Could we- not now, obviously, but-”

Eddie chuckles. “I’d love to talk shop with you, Will.”

“Stealing you from me,” Steve murmurs. Eddie rubs a soothing hand on his thigh, passes the radio back to Dustin. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you really feel that way?”

Steve shrugs, tips his head down. “‘M just… feeling weird, I guess. It’s not your fault. You don’t have to coddle me.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Eddie agrees, bringing Steve’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. “Tell me how I can fix it?”

Steve shrugs miserably. “I don’t know.”

“You’re just feeling some kinda way?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s alright, baby. Wanna come sit over here with me?”

Steve considers it, then nods and moves from his chair to the couch, next to Eddie, close enough they’re touching all the way down and Eddie can comfortably get an arm around his shoulders. “There we go, sweetness. That better?”

Steve sighs, tucks his face into Eddie’s neck, and goes boneless. “Yeah.”

“See what I mean?” Dustin says, and that’s when they both realize he’d broadcasted their exchange to the rest of the Party.

“There’s something deeply wrong with you, little man,” Max drawls.

Dustin squawks. “Just because you’re taller than me!”

“Yeah, yeah. Yada yada. They’re sweet, is what they are, and maybe if you ever got your head outta your ass where your precious Suzie-poo is concerned-”

“Oh, fuck you, Maxine, and what if your guy hadn’t lived in the same town as you, huh?”

“I’d still be doing better than you!”

“Christ,” Steve mutters, curling a hand into Eddie’s shirt. “Make it stop.”

Eddie ducks down to press a kiss to Steve’s temple. “You bein’ funny or serious?”

“Both,” Steve admits. “But mostly serious.”

Eddie chuckles, then plucks the walkie from Dustin’s grasp. “Alright!” He says. “That’s enough. This is Eddie, Steve, and Dustin, signing off. Over and out.” He twists the knob to turn the walkie off, then tosses it back to Dustin. “Put that away, please,” he says softly.

Dustin turns sad eyes up to Steve. “Did we cause a migraine?” He whispers.

Steve smiles, reaches out to grab Dustin’s shoulder. “Only a little one,” he admits. “Rain check on the rest of today?”

Dustin nods immediately, shoving the walkie into his bag and scent-marking Steve, accepting the same back, and then turning to Eddie with a questioning look.

“Sure, kid,” Eddie chuckles, reaching out and accepting the same. “It was really good to meet you.”

“You too.” He smiles. “I’ve got a key, so don’t worry about locking me out. I’ll get it.”

“Why didn’t you let yourself in?” Steve wonders.

“You told me to knock.”

“When have you ever done something I told you to.”

“…and the key was in my bag and I didn’t want to have to find it.”

“There it is.” Steve sighs fondly, shaking his head. “Never change, Dustin.”

“Never,” Dustin agrees, fishing the key out of his bag and brandishing it at them with a grin. “Call me?”

“I will.”

“M’kay. Bye, Steve. Bye, Eddie.”

“Bye, Dustin,” they tell him, and then the door is closed. Eddie listens for the snik of the lock before he moves himself and Steve to lay down on the couch. “You wanna take a little nap, baby?”

Steve hums. “Should go in my room,” he murmurs. “And… need water first.”

Eddie carefully sits them up, helps Steve stand. “Go to your room, baby. I’ll get you water.”

Steve hums, leans into Eddie for a second. “Thank you, Alpha.”

“Omega,” Eddie softly rumbles. “Love you.”

“Love you.” He pushes off Eddie and walks down the hall. Eddie watches him until he’s in his room, then moves to get his water.

The weeks continue. Eddie meets the rest of the Party. He and Max hit it off like a house on fire. Will has a much quieter, though no less sincere, appreciation for him. Steve teases him relentlessly about Mike’s obvious crush on him. “No!” Eddie cries. “He’s a child!”

The weeks continue. Steve is at Eddie’s apartment more than his own now. Robin’s taken to waving a white handkerchief whenever he leaves, like he doesn’t know she’ll be calling Chrissy the moment he’s gone.

The four of them get together fairly often; mandatory Friday movie nights, at the very least, though more often than not they’ll all just congregate at an apartment and stay until it’s far too late.

Steve and Robin’s lease is up soon. And because he tracks his heats, he knows his next one is due right around when their lease is up. “Just move in with Eddie,” Robin tells him. “Chrissy’s lease ends a month after ours. I’ll renew it, and a month in she’ll come live with me.”

“Maybe,” Steve hedges. “I’ll have to talk to Eddie about it.”

She scoffs, rolls her eyes. “Like he’d ever tell you no.”

Steve blushes, because she’s right and he loves it. “I’ll talk to him,” he promises.

“You’d better,” she threatens.

He does. He’s relaxing on the couch with Eddie after dinner when he looks up at him and asks, “Eddie?”

Eddie smiles down at him. “Yeah, baby?”

Steve works his lip. “What do you think of me, maybe, moving in with you?”

Woodsmoke blooms. “How would you feel about it?”

“I really want to,” Steve whispers.

Eddie kisses him. “I do, too,” he whispers back.

“There’s one more thing.”

“Okay.”

“Um. The timing is… really not great. And I don’t know exactly when it’ll be, so it could be before or after mine and Robin’s lease is up, or it could hit, like, the day the lease expires, but.” He takes a breath. “Would you help me through my heat?”

“Baby,” Eddie rumbles, dipping to kiss his gland. “It would be my absolute honor.”

[itstobias149]

Hey everyone! I just wanted to take a moment to express how much I’ve genuinely enjoyed our conversations. It’s always such a pleasure talking with you all—whether we’re discussing OCs, throwing around ideas, or just having casual chats. There’s a real sense of creativity and camaraderie here that I appreciate more than I can put into words.

One of my favorite things has been seeing all the unique Punch-Out!! OCs people create. The amount of thought, personality, and detail that goes into them is incredible, and I love how passionate everyone is about their characters. It’s inspiring to see how much love people pour into their ideas, and it makes me even more excited to share and discuss my own. Seeing people build on each other’s ideas, develop stories, and bring their characters to life is one of the things that makes this community so special to me.

I also really enjoy making and sharing whiteboards, whether it’s for fun doodles, brainstorming sessions, or just a space for everyone to collaborate. But sometimes, I worry that I might be annoying people by sending the links too often. The last thing I want is to feel like I’m bothering anyone, so if you ever want to join in on a whiteboard, just let me know! I’d love to create more fun, collaborative spaces where we can share ideas and art together.

At the end of the day, I just want to say how grateful I am for the community I’ve met so far. The kindness, creativity, and enthusiasm here make it such a welcoming and enjoyable space. I’ve had such a great time interacting with all of you, and I truly appreciate the friendships and discussions that have come from it. So, thank you for being so awesome—I can’t wait for more fun conversations, new ideas, and shared creativity in the future!

[fabbyf1]

Hi Besties! 

I know I sort of just... disappeared, and I’m very sorry for worrying you.

To everyone who sent me an ask or dm checking on me: I really appreciate you. I'm not going to publish them, because I don’t think you sent them to me so that I would publish them, but thank you so much for caring about me and taking the time to send me a note of love and support. 

It means a lot to me to know that so many of you think about me and notice when I'm not around. I think we can all agree that that’s a really nice feeling. It says a lot about who you are as people and confirms the fact that we have built such a lovely little corner of the internet together. I'm a firm believer in the fact tumblr, and any other fan space or social media website, should always bring joy and positivity to your life. And if it's not, you should do something else. 

Nobody is getting paid to be here. We all choose to spend our free time here to relax, and unwind, and share a laugh with other people who share our weird little interests. I'm so grateful that my blog, and everyone who follows and interacts with me, has always kept it a light-hearted, supportive place. I know a lot of other big blogs can’t say the same thing, and they are constantly receiving hate and rude people in their inboxes. So thank you for helping me keep this a safe space where we can giggle and gossip and support each other.

Let’s address the elephant in the room. 

I disappeared from the internet for a lot of reasons, but mostly because... I am feeling very guilty and overwhelmed about my lack of writing. It's easier for me to disappear and avoid it altogether than to feel like I’m disappointing anyone. 

But let me be clear: these feelings are totally and 100% my own. Nobody is making me feel this way. Nobody is sending me anon hate, or demanding updates, or telling me that I've let them down. This is an expectation and standard I have put on myself, and I feel like I am failing myself when it comes to writing.

And that’s just something I have to deal with. 

Writing fanfiction has been a major part of my life since I was 12 years old (albeit, very bad fanfiction at 12 years old.) It’s a hobby that I will never move on from. And honestly, the older I get, the more I fall in love with it. I think fanfiction gets a lot of hate from people who don’t understand it or have never read it, but fanfiction is an important part of fan culture and brings so many people together. 

Some of the most powerful, impacting, and lasting words I’ve ever read were all from fanfiction. The words that haunt me, or that I think about over and over again are all from fanfiction. And I think that’s why I put so much pressure on myself when it comes to writing. 

I don’t want to publish something that is not my best work. I don’t want to update something just to update it; I want it to be exactly the way I envisioned it, if not better. I want it to mean something to you. I want you to love it, or laugh at it, or cry to it, or whatever that fic or that chapter is supposed to bring out of you. 

I haven’t opened my google docs for more than 5 minutes in... months. 

Just thinking about it overwhelms me because I feel like I’ve backed myself into a corner that I don’t want to be in. It’s silly and not as dramatic as I’m making it seem, but I wish I could go back and delete a few paragraphs at the end of the last chapter of the mastermind fic, so that the next chapter could be something... different. 

And I know that I technically could do that, but that doesn’t seem right either, because it would be confusing to everyone who is current with the fic and especially those who have read it multiple times and are expecting the next chapter to be something. 

Silly, right? 

But I feel very trapped by my wip right now.

When I wrote my other long fics like Long Live or Vapor, I didn’t post them as wips and I could go back and completely change the course of the story if I wanted to. But you can’t really do that with a wip. (Again, I know I technically could, but it would be very confusing.) I had this entire story mapped out in a timeline of how I wanted things to go, and so far have followed that, but I’m feeling very... trapped by it now. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it. 

I’m going to find a way out of this writing slump I’m in. I promise you will. I have to. The fic, the characters, you, and I deserve this fic to continue and to grow into what I know they should be. I’m just struggling a lot with the idea of writing this next chapter because I wish it could be something different. 

I’m not sure any of that makes sense, but maybe you get it. 

I’m sorry I disappeared. 

When my fight or flight kicks in, I always choose flight.

I’m going to try and be better. 

Thank you all for loving me. 

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 43

Chapter 43 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Eddie begins to work through his internalized homophobia with Bosko, unsure what if he can go home. He doesn’t know how. Buck is trying to keep Chris’s spirits up as they wait for him to find peace with himself and find his way back. To just talk to Buck again.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: internalized homophobia, insecurity

~~~

Chapter 43: The First Step Is Admitting It

Bosko sits with Eddie as he cries for the life he wants and partially has, but that was never his to keep. It feels like he’s crying for hours. His head hurts and his eyes are aching and puffy. It’s very not charming and he’s glad he doesn’t have to go into work tomorrow, because he’s not sure how to explain the traces of tears that are bound to still be visible then.

She softly tells him that it’s okay, that he is allowed to love Buck, that he’s not failing him or anything else he’s internalized.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, because I didn’t think so either, but you’re going to be okay. You’re good too. You’re allowed to feel all the things people told you you’re not supposed to. You’re allowed to exist, Eddie. You’re allowed to be you,” she says intently as she shakes him lightly to make her sure her words sink in.

It’s the first time anyone has ever told him that so bluntly, he thinks. Buck made him feel like that, Chris too, but no one else ever did. Papi doesn’t like who he is, mom certainly doesn’t and he’s pretty sure Shannon stopped liking him the moment she got to know him better, but by then it was already too late.

Eddie has felt shame for as long as he can remember. It clings to him like a second skin and trying to believe what Bosko is saying, feels like skinning himself.

He’s a mess.

At some point, he stops crying, just retreats into himself. Bosko leads him to the couch and he curls into himself, while she makes them some tea. Mayo still hates his fucking guts (and he can’t blame her), but Butter nudges his arm until he lets him sit on his lap, cuddling into him as he mindlessly buries his hands in his fur.

Bosko comes back with two mugs, handing one to Eddie, before plopping down next to him on the couch. He takes it with a mumbled thanks, feeling a bit embarrassed about his breakdown. She must notice, because she says: “If it makes you feel any better, I cried all over Ronnie and he’s my Captain.”

Eddie shudders at the thought of ever letting Bobby see more than a glimpse of this side of him. He could have gone to the others maybe, but Chimney truly can’t keep a secret to save his life and Hen… Well, she’s nice and he trusts her. Maybe he could have gone to Hen, but she would have tried to help and he couldn’t have accepted that. Plus, she is just as nosy as Chimney is. They all are, honestly.

He loves them, but this would not have stayed personal. The only person he would have trusted is Buck and he can’t exactly go to Buck about this, now can he?

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, suddenly overcome by gratitude. “I know I’ve been a dick, so thanks for still being here.”

“Yeah, you are a bit of a dick, but I like you anyway,” Bosko says with a smile. “And Butter likes you, so you’ve been vouched for.”

“Mayo hates me, though,” Eddie points out, though he feels slightly better about it anyway.

“Mayo hates everybody,” Bosko laughs and Eddie manages to laugh too.

They drink their tea in silence, both letting the comfortable moment wash over them. After a while, Bosko breaks the silence by asking: “So, I know bits and pieces, but how did you come to marry Buck when you’ve only just realized you love him and kind of spiraled about it? Wouldn’t you have spiraled before?”

“I mean, I guess I should have, but it was never like that,” Eddie sighs. “I always swatted the thought away, because it wasn’t like that, I wasn’t like that. People who commented didn’t have the whole story anyway and I’m not homophobic, why should I care what people think even if they’re wrong, you know?”

Bosko snorts, then says: “Sorry, too soon?”

Somehow, it’s kind of comforting, so he grins: “Nah, not too soon.”

“Good, because that is hilarious, Diaz,” Bosko laughs.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh at my pain,” Eddie faux-complains.

“I’m allowed, I put up with your shit,” she informs him happily. “Anyway, you never answered the first part. How did you two end up married? With a kid, no less.”

And Eddie just tells her. He’s been struggling with thinking about how the two of them came together, didn’t even want to hear about it, but now it comes pouring out. He’s let himself look his past in the eyes, openly and honestly, has let himself think about Buck and has acknowledged that he loves him. He said it out loud and there has only been kindness in return, even if it’s mixed in with Bosko laughing at him.

So, he tells her about a young teen desperate to prove something, though he never knew why. How that got a girl pregnant and how that girl always knew he didn’t love her and how he ran instead of trying to love her, because on some level he knew that too. How they divorced and how she moved on and how he was secretly glad, but also didn’t want to face it, until he was forced to face it, because she ran just like he did.

He tells her how he came face to face with Buck and for the first time, how it felt like someone believed in him, like he knew what he was doing. How Buck is his first friend, his first actual friend. One, who stayed by his side and didn’t run when it would have been easier. How he only got closer and closer, until Eddie didn’t know how to live without him.

As he talks, Bosko listens closely, nodding along and making noises to show she’s still listening.

The mood drops as he finishes off: “So, yeah, uhm, that’s how we got here. And now I fucked it up and he probably hates me and I’d be lucky if he even wants to be my coworker anymore. I’m gonna have to leave the 118 when he is good to work again. Think the 136 wants me back?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Bosko says, swatting at him lightly.

“What?” Eddie exclaims. “I’m not being an idiot. Didn’t you hear what I just told you? I’ve been creepily in love with him and forcing him to stay married to me for years and now I’ve abandoned him for weeks. Of course he hates me now.”

“He didn’t want to divorce you, dumbass. The two of you literally fought because he didn’t want to divorce you and he’s picked you over and over again. Didn’t you just say he always stayed by your side and didn’t run even if it would have been easier?” she reminds him. “You’ve been going through something, figuring yourself out is fucking hard. If you tell him, he’ll get it. You two can work through this.”

“Then I have to tell him, I can never do that,” Eddie immediately says.

“Because then he’ll know you were ‘creepily in love with him and forcing him to stay married to you’?” she checks, looking mightily unimpressed.

“Yeah! Exactly.”

“Eddie, it is homophobic to say that.”

“No, it’s not,” Eddie frowns. “It’s true that it’s creepy to be close to someone when you have a crush on them and think things about them while they don’t know.”

Bosko pinches her nose and curses under her breath, before straightening herself back out and looking at Eddie again. “Okay, let me phrase it like this; was it creepy for Chimney to befriend Maddie, even though he liked her?”

“I mean, I guess not, but that’s different, he didn’t marry her.”

“Forget about the being married for a second,” Bosko groans. “You and Buck are friends, right?” He nods. “You got married as friends and you’ve only ever acted as friends, correct?” He nods again. “And you’ve never made an advance on Buck that was unwelcome, just thought about how great he was and how you wanted to kiss him and shit.”

“Don’t say it like that.” Eddie blushes heavily. “And of course not! I don’t want to do anything he doesn’t want me to.”

“Then pray tell, how it is creepy that you are friends with a guy, who wants to be your friend, by the way, and how that is any different from Chimney and Maddie?” Bosko asks.

Eddie thinks about it for a moment, then realization dawns on him: “Oh my god, it was homophobic.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Bosko repeats, this time less ‘I told you so’ about it. “Homophobia is a bitch, internalized homophobia especially. It’s gonna take a while until you can stop that.”

“Internalized homophobia?” Eddie says confused. She used the term before, but he’d been focused on other things then. Now, it registers and he has no clue what she means by it.

“Oh shit, you truly are a baby-baby gay,” Bosko says, slightly horrified. Eddie also doesn’t know what that means, so she spends some time explaining both terms to him, as well as expanding on internalized homophobia with some examples about her own life.

Eddie feels uncomfortably seen by her and it begins to settle in what it means for him, now that he has accepted he loves Buck. Now that he’s no longer running. The things he has to get used to and work through.

“I don’t think I’m ready to go home yet,” he confesses softly. “I- I can’t- I need to process all this, before I can face him.”

“Okay,” Bosko nods simply.

“Okay?” Eddie repeats, unsure if he heard right. He expected her to push back, push him to face Buck like she’s done for most of the evening.

“Yeah, okay,” she confirms. “Processing all this can be a lot and with your complicated mess of feelings and life, I’m not going to force you to live a domestic life with your crush when doing that pushed you to start punching people. You can stay on my couch until you’re ready.”

“Thank you so much,” Eddie says gratefully, so relieved she is going to let him stay.

She hold up her finger, then says: “But, only if you call him. You got to at least tell him that you’re okay and working through stuff. You don’t have to specify what, but talk to him.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” A phone call still feels impossible, but Buck deserves more from Eddie. He deserves to have Eddie try. For them. For their family.

He can break his own heart to let Buck go, but he can’t let himself break Chris’s. Chris deserves to have his daddy and his papi in his life. He isn’t going to fuck that up. He can be a good father. He can be… gay and a good father.

Bosko looks at the clock and says: “Though maybe not tonight. It’s already 2:00 AM. Are you not exhausted? How long have you been awake?”

“Uh, around lunch,” Eddie replies, starting to feel the exhaustion now that she mentions it.

“Bedtime it is then. Get your ass off this couch so I can put some bedding on it. Do you want to borrow a shirt to sleep in? No offense, but you kind of reek.”

“That would be nice,” Eddie says sheepishly. He came her straight after that fight and never changed or showered. It is pretty disgusting.

Bosko ends up herding him into her bathroom, lending him some of her boxers and a shirt, before telling him to not use her conditioner, because it’s expensive. Eddie has never used conditioner in his life, so that’s easy enough.

While he showers, she makes up the couch into a makeshift bed. It’s not as comfortable as his own couch, but it will have to do. So he thanks her before they bid each other goodnight.

He tosses and turns the whole night, trying to figure out what to say tomorrow, until he finally falls into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, his own nerves wake him. Again, Bosko is still asleep and he is glad for that as he sneaks onto the balcony. Butter follows him, settling on his lap when he takes a seat. His purrs soothe Eddie as he gets out his phone with shaky hands, before pressing call.

“Eddie? Oh my god, are you okay? Where are you?” Buck greets him as he picks up, sounding relieved, but also like he doesn’t fully believe it’s real.

Guilt floods Eddie’s system at the words. He should have never doubted Buck’s ability to be worried about him. “I’m okay. I’m at Bosko’s place,” he answers quietly, subdued.

“Bosko’s place?” Buck repeats, a weird tinge to his voice.

“Uh, yeah, I worked with her at the 136? You met her at the shield ceremony,” Eddie reminds him.

“I know who she is,” Buck snaps, the anger he is right to feel coming through now. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s so important about going there that you couldn’t come home or even pick up your fucking phone.”

Eddie winces, he deserves that. “I’ve been running, kind of.”

“Running? From what? Should I be worried here?” Buck asks, still pissed off, but now more in the worried territory again and slightly more calm.

“Uhm, I- I don’t think so? I just-” Eddie makes a frustrated noise. This is not how he wanted this conversation to go. “I’ve been working through some things. Well, I need to work through some things, because I had been working through them, but not in a great way and-”

“Eddie, slow down,” Buck cuts him off. He’s been so relieved Eddie called, then worried, then pissed off and now he’s worried once more. Eddie isn’t the rambler, Buck is. Right now, Buck needs to know what’s happening, needs to know what the problem is, so he can fix it. So, he needs Eddie to be calm and focus. “Tell me slowly; what’s been going on,” he instructs. Over the line, he can hear Eddie take a deep breath.

Butter is purring loudly with how nice Eddie’s stressed petting is. It’s nice, makes him feel like he’s not as much of a monster as he thinks. That helps him swallows his nerves, before he confesses: “I’ve been street fighting.”

“What,” Buck chokes. Out of everything, this was pretty low on his list of possibilities, so low, it wasn’t even on there to begin with.

“It was just a friendly thing at first to cope with the stress, but, uhm, then it got out of hand and it- it got bad, Buck. I was scared to go home,” his voice is small and he’s ashamed of it, but here, alone on this balcony with only Buck to hear, he lets himself feel scared and small. He’s safe. Buck might be mad at him, but he knew the second he heard his voice that he was safe.

Indeed, Buck doesn’t disappoint, asking: “And are you okay where you are now?”

“Yeah, Bosko caught me at one of my fights, I- I realized I fucked up. She offered up her couch while I sort myself out. I’m quitting, so I, uh- I’m kind of staying here now. While I do that.”

“You’re not coming home?” Buck asks and Eddie wants to crawl into the feeling he gets when Buck says the word ‘home’ and stay there forever, but also crawl out of his own skin at the disappointment in Buck’s voice.

“Not yet, no. I’m sorry. I- I know I should have been home, I know I haven’t been, but I- I don’t know how to be home right now.” To his horror tears start to form in his eyes. His first instinct is to push them down, but then he remembers where that got him, so he lets them flow. Silently, they drip down his face.

“Do you- do you know when you’re going to be ready to be home again?” There is something fragile in Buck’s voice too.

“Uhm, no,” Eddie says, because he doesn’t. It feels like the wrong answer, it feels like he should be going home right now and embracing Buck and begging on his knees to be forgiven, to be loved, but that is exactly what he can’t do. He’s ruined enough, he can’t ruin it more by dumping this all on Buck before he figures himself out. Before he’s safe.

“Chris misses you,” Buck tells him and it doesn’t feel like a change of topic, but like an attempt to persuade him.

“Yeah, I- I heard your voicemail,” Eddie replies, voice thick. He feels horrible about not seeing Chris, about abandoning him too.

“Oh…” Buck is quiet for a moment. “Can you not see Chris or can you just not come home?” The underlying ‘can you just not see me’ hangs unspoken in the air between them. “Maybe you can pick him up for school tomorrow? Before your shift.”

Eddie is still scared about doing something to hurt either of them, but it also feels like he released some of the pressure by talking about it. Butter isn’t scared of him. He hasn’t hurt this fragile creature. He’s been gentle. Besides, he’s no longer angry, he’s just exhausted. Exhausted and confused and not ready. He’s just not ready.

However, just being not ready isn’t a good enough excuse. He’s never been ready to care for Chris and he has already failed so many times, but by god has he always tried and like hell is he going to stop trying now. So with a hoarse voice, he says: “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Good, good. He’ll be thrilled to hear that,” Buck says and Eddie can picture the wobbly smile that’s on his face. He wishes he could make it better, but he doesn’t know how. Buck is the one who is good at fixing things, Eddie only breaks them. “Want me to wake him so you can talk to him?”

“No. Uhm, no, it’s okay. He needs his rest and I- I’ll see him tomorrow,” Eddie says. He feels like a mess, he doesn’t want Chris to see this part of him. He needs time to pull himself back together.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Buck agrees, while clearly disagreeing. “What do you want me to tell him? He needs some sort of explanation, he knows you’re not working.”

They talk a little more about the logistics of it all. It’s stilted and uncomfortable, a lot is unspoken between them. Eddie feels a longing to say more, but he can’t bring himself to do so and Buck probably knows that there is more. It’s like there is glass between them. Eddie hates feeling so distant from Buck, but he doesn’t know how to bridge it.

When he hangs up, he feels vaguely hollow. He knows he did the right thing by calling and that it worked out in the end, but a small selfish part of him wished Buck had been more angry, instead of this quiet, sad understanding that Eddie doesn’t fully grasp. It feels uncomfortable to not understand him, he’s always understood Buck. It’s one of the many things he has broken.

He has no clue how he’s going to come back, if he can even come back to this family he had, the one with Chris and Buck. But that is something for him to figure out. It feels like a new start and he doesn’t know of what yet. It’s scary, but also a little exciting.

The following two weeks continue on in this weird limbo.

Buck explains to Chris that Eddie is helping out his friend, like Buck had to help out tía Maddie, so he can’t be home as much as they want him to. Chris is clearly not very pleased with it, but he lights up when Buck tells him Eddie will be bringing him to school.

He doesn’t see Eddie when that happens, since he’s in the kitchen, while Chris goes to meet Eddie at the door. It absolutely sucks to know Eddie is so close, but not being able to see him or talk to him. Not being able to assess what’s wrong.

Eddie needs space for figure himself out. Space away from Buck. It’s tearing him up inside, but he puts on a brave face and manages. Eddie is clearly going through something, he heard that much in his voice, and it’s something Buck can’t help him with. It’s going to be something he has to get used to when this all ends, might as well start now, even if his heart tears itself apart over it.

Hen texts him asking if it all worked out and he texts her that it’s all okay, Eddie just had a flat tire and they’re good now. Neither of them feel like letting the team in on this. Buck might not have all the details, but it feels private, sensitive. He understands not wanting the 118 nosing about while having to work with them each day. Buck is even a little glad he’s not back at work yet now that this is looming over him.

So, yeah, Buck manages. He hands the phone over to Chris at night so daddy can be there for bedtime and stays in the kitchen when Eddie drops Chris off or comes to pick him up.

Meanwhile, Eddie is trying to figure himself out. To create a place for himself where he is at peace with who he is and where he stands in the world. Not fighting people is hard, but he and Bosko spar one time and it doesn’t feel out of control. It feels just nice. Like a work out would. Not like anything special.

Eddie goes to a gay club, kisses a guy and it feels great and like he wants to throw up. It’s right, but it’s wrong. He wants to do it again, feel something close to what he felt. But the guy is okay looking, yet not attractive to him. Not really. Not like Buck is…

He learns a bunch of new terms, like demisexual, which makes him feel at home. And he meets a bunch of queer people from all walks of life. Listens to stories that resonate deeply, allowing him to lose a bit of that anger and the shame. Allows him to let go of the idea that these feelings are something he has to control, something he has to beat into submission.

Beyond that, he briefly gets to meet Heather and Kelsy when they drop of Tubs and he and Bosko spend all night analyzing what their interactions were like and if they have faith in the relationship while Eddie falls in love with Tubs.

He finds peace with himself, releases the pressure that had been building inside him in different, healthier ways, until the urge to punch someone has dissipated. Until he feels safe again. Both for himself and for others.

However, finding peace with himself, doesn’t mean an answer to the Buck conundrum appears before him.

The time spend away from him only confirms what Eddie already knows; he is deeply in love with Buck and it’s not a fleeting thing. It’s not going to go away, not anytime soon at least. It lingers in every quiet moment and fills the space between his organs until it is everywhere and he doesn’t know how to be himself without it.

Bosko tells him he should just rip the band aid off and tell Buck, face the rejection or embrace the possibility that Buck might love him back. But Eddie isn’t so sure.

Having the rejection might help him move on, but it’s also too painful to even think about. If he never tells, Buck never has to know and maybe he can fix this and go back to how they used to be, learn to live with the torch he carries for Buck silently. Keep him close and never let him go.

It’s an utterly selfish thing to do and he knows it, but he wants to. He wants to keep Buck. Wants to keep his friend. His person. If he just gives himself more time, maybe he can work out a way to be forgiven. To make it right.

The idea that Buck might love him back is too ludicrous to Eddie to even consider.

As the second weekend comes closer, it becomes clear that Eddie isn’t coming home soon. Chris returns with a good grade for his project and Eddie congratulated him in the car much like Buck did when Chris got home. However, Chris doesn’t seem happy with it.

While the two of them eat dinner, Buck asks: “What’s wrong, Superman? An A might not be an A+ like you hoped, but it’s still incredible. You did really well. What got you so down?”

Chris shrugs and pushes the food on his plate around. “I thought that if I did well, daddy would come home to celebrate, but he’s working this weekend and staying with his friend.”

Buck’s heart breaks for Chris, but there isn’t much he can do. Eddie is working through something and that’s important too. Not to mention that he’s actually working, not running like before. He can’t change that for Chris, even if he wants to.

“That does suck, buddy, but we can still celebrate,” he says, trying to inject enough cheer to convince Chris. “What do you think about the two of us going to check out the pier this weekend? We can try to win some cool prizes, maybe win a big one to make daddy jealous for missing it.”

It’s not perfect, but Chris lights up at the idea. “Can we, papi?”

“Of course,” Buck smiles back. He might not be able to fix what is going on with Eddie, but he can fix this. Going to the pier together sounds like a great idea. A bit of fun, it’s just what they all need to get their minds off everything.

~~

A/N:

wave emoji, wave emoji xp

Y’all I have discovered the glee of subjecting everyone to this, people calling me evil in the comments is fueling me >:3

[pinksugarberries]

🪷 could I rq a nam-gyu x reader where he’s your toxic, annoying ex trying to win u back :33

Obsessed? nah.

nam-gyu being a shitty ex towards fem!reader

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﹒　૮꒰◞ ◟ ꒱ა　⸝　new upload!　❜

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　⸝⸝　　◦　　tags: toxicity, female reader intended, jerking off, manipulation, slight mentions of cheating, nam-gyu being annoying, stalking?, mentions of sex, drug use (i’ve never used a drug in my life so i just tried to describe it the best i can)

　⸝⸝　　◦　　a/n: HI NOONIE!!! i hope i did this like how you requested, i apologize for being slightly late, i was feeling a bit like a BUM!!!! if this wasn’t what you wanted, you should msg me and critique me lol

not proofread… pt.2?

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you hated him, as you should’ve. he was extreme controlling, possessive, and overlay friend to any other girl!

going through his phone during the night and finding nudes from other girls was NOT what u expected.

as anyone would, you broke up with him and he.. well… freaked the fuck out.

after you leave you shared apartment, , changing the lease so it’s only in his name, he didn’t realize how fucked he was.

a couple hours after you leave, or even days he would continue to text you.

“wtf did i do to you?” “baby talk to me” “hello? are you gonna keep fucking ignoring me?” “all i’ve ever done was love you, but you never cared.” “was i not enough for you?” “who r u fucking now?”

after he realized you were gone, he didn’t decide to remise on what he did that was bad. why would he do that? instead, he started doing harder drugs and going to more clubs than he did while you to were dating.

while he was leaving one of the clubs he visits 6 out of the 7 days of the weeks, he sees you walking out.

he walked towards you with a cheeky smirk as he tapped your shoulder.

“hello—“ you said, cutting yourself off as you saw nam-gyu, he looked ever more of a mess. you shoved his hand off your shoulder and looking at him with an annoyed face. “nam-gyu what do you want?”

he looked at your with his completely stoned eyes as the hung low. he still had that shitty ass smirk on his face you wanted to slap off.

“well, what happened babygirl..?” he said, his speech slurred from all the drugs and alcohol he’s consumed in the last few days. “you know you can talk to me.”

you simply said “you know what you did.” and walked away.

he was too drugged and drunk to chase after you, so he just got in a rental car, which he used to follow you around without you knowing.

as he continued to follow you, he found your new apartment complex, writing it down in his notes app and driving back to the apartment he used to share with you.

as he went home, he crashed on the couch and had an idea.

he opened his phone, going on instagram, making a new account and immediately searching your username up.

he took his pants off, now them lying somewhere in the trashed apartment, opening your photos.

i’m sure you know how this went.

he started to jack himself off, imaging it was your hand. even though he “hates your guts”, he would like to have sex with you again.

when he finished, he finished directly on his phone, holding it tightly in his other hand as he looked up at the celling.

he put his phone down as he reached for a pill bottle, his duck still out.

he reached for the ecstasy , popping a few pills as he looked at all of the nut on his phone.

[mintyys-blog]

Bucky Barnes x Princess! Reader: The King’s Betrayal

WARNINGS: character death, betrayal, SMUT, violence

MINORS DNI

In the grand halls of the palace, with walls adorned with tapestries and portraits of ancestors long gone, Princess Y/N was about to make a decision that would change her life forever. The kingdom had long awaited the reign of a new ruler, and that ruler would be her. Her father, King Johann, had ruled for decades, but his age was beginning to show, and soon the mantle of leadership would fall to her.

But there was one thing that she had yet to do before assuming her rightful place: she needed a husband.

The thought weighed heavily on her, for the responsibilities of ruling would be difficult enough without the added weight of a union. Yet, as a princess, her choice of spouse was not entirely her own. The suitors her father had introduced were wealthy and noble, but none of them made her heart race with the excitement she yearned for.

That all changed one fateful afternoon when she was out for a ride through the kingdom’s village. A group of petty thieves had ambushed her carriage, demanding gold and valuables. But before anyone could react, a figure appeared from the shadows. He moved with such speed and precision that the thieves were taken down before they even had time to raise their weapons.

The figure was none other than Bucky Barnes, a man who had served in the kingdom’s army but had long since retired from active duty. His reputation for bravery and strength was known across the land, and now, Y/N had witnessed it firsthand.

She was captivated by the way he moved—strong, swift, and brutal when necessary. There was a power within him, something untamable, that stirred something deep within her. When the thieves had been dispatched and the danger had passed, he simply looked at her with those stormy eyes of his, a slight smirk on his lips as though he hadn’t just saved her life.

“Are you hurt, Princess?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

“No,” she said, breathless from both the fear and the overwhelming feeling she couldn’t quite explain. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my duty,” he said with a nod before turning to leave.

But Y/N’s thoughts were far from the rest of the world. She found herself thinking about him constantly, about the way his strength had made her feel safe. The more she thought of him, the more she realized that what she felt for him wasn’t just admiration—it was something deeper. Something that could easily grow into love.

She began seeking out ways to meet him again, sneaking away to the grounds where he often trained. She watched him fight, his movements fierce and powerful, and her heart fluttered with an intensity that she hadn’t known was possible. She felt a pull toward him, an unexplainable force that she couldn’t deny.

Soon, their encounters became more frequent. She found excuses to speak with him, to steal glances at him when he wasn’t looking. And it wasn’t long before she gathered the courage to speak the words she had been too afraid to say.

“Bucky,” she said one night as he snuck into her chambers to visit her, the moonlight filtering through the windows and casting a soft glow on his face. “I want you to know… you are the one I wish to marry.”

His brow furrowed in surprise. “Princess, I—”

“You’ve saved my life, and you have the strength I admire,” she said, stepping closer to him. “But it’s not just that. It’s the way you make me feel—safe, cherished. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.”

His gaze softened, though a hint of hesitation remained in his eyes. “Are you sure about this?”

Y/N took his hand, holding it firmly. “Yes. I’m sure. I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

After that night, things moved quickly. Bucky was introduced to her father, and although King Johann was initially skeptical about the unconventional match, he soon agreed. A wedding was set, and within a month, Princess Y/N and Bucky Barnes would be married.

The day of their wedding arrived, and the air was thick with joy. The kingdom celebrated as the two were united under the golden arch of the palace gardens. The ceremony was beautiful, the vows spoken were heartfelt, and when they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, Y/N’s heart soared.

When they made it back to her— their, chambers, he was fighting to get her corset off. All the layers of her skirts pushed out of the way as he kissed her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, in pure bliss. He took off more of her layers, until she was completely naked beneath him. She was slightly shy, as he eyed her with such hunger. She covered her chest, he shook his head, pinning her wrist above her head with one hand. He leaned in, “no,no. There is no need for that, my beautiful bride.” He kisses her neck, and she tilted her head back, spreading her legs for him. He unpinned her wrists, however she made no move to change her position.

He stripped himself of his clothes, showing how muscular his body was. She was in shock as she admired his body. He trailed kisses down her neck to her breast, then in between her legs, taking note how wet she was. “Someone’s excited,” he states with a chuckle, she slaps his with her leg, “stop teasing me!”

He kissed her inner thigh, “but it’s so much funnier teasing you,” right when she was about to reply he pushed his tongue right into her warmth. She threw her head back, gripping at his hair as he sucked on her clit. He hummed against her, sending vibrations throughout her body. She moaned and panted, getting louder when he added his fingers to the mix, loving the sounds she was making. For him, only for him.

She came with a cry, and he leaned over her again, kissing her cheek. “Are you ready, my bride?” She nods, but that wasn’t enough for him. “Words, sweetheart, use your words”

She bit her lip, “yes, I am ready.. my husband”

He smiles at that, slowly sinking into her warmth. He watched her reactions how she was battling with the stretch and pain. He stayed perfectly still, waiting for her permission to continue.

When she gave the okay, he continued to thrust in her, slow and delicate. She moaned and he kissed her again. He throws her legs on his shoulders, putting her in a mating press and thrusting deeper. Her moans echoed throughout the large room. The bed shaking with the intensity of his thrusts. He brought a hand down to play with her clit— rubbing in fast circles.

She felt a knot in her stomach, her body drenched in a thin layer of sweat. She tried to hold back, but the pleasure was too much. She came again, this time on his cock. He finished inside shortly after, pumping lazily a few more times before pulling out. Watching the clear white goo leek out of her. He falls beside her, kissing her head and telling her how good she did.

She turns to him, kissing his lips, “I love you, Bucky” he smiles softly, “I love you, too”

The sun was beginning to set, casting long, soft shadows over the royal gardens, and the delicate scent of flowers filled the air. Bucky and Y/N had stolen away from the palace for a rare moment of privacy. The hustle of the kingdom seemed far away in this quiet corner of the world, and for a brief moment, they were just two people in love, without the weight of responsibility looming over them.

Y/N sat on a marble bench, her fingers absentmindedly running over the petals of a nearby rose. She had been asking Bucky about his past, trying to understand the man who had saved her life, the man she had married.

“Come on, Bucky,” she said with a teasing grin. “I’ve heard enough about the battles you’ve fought. But what about… well, you? Who are you, really?”

Bucky chuckled softly, looking at her with a fondness that made her heart flutter. His blue eyes were warm in the soft glow of the setting sun. He leaned against the stone railing, crossing his arms.

“Me?” He smirked, but there was a hint of something darker beneath the surface. “You know more about me than anyone.”

Y/N tilted her head, her expression playful but thoughtful. “Oh, I don’t know. You’ve got a lot of secrets, Bucky Barnes. You’ve been to places I can’t even imagine, and fought battles that would make anyone shiver.”

She let out a small laugh, then added with a teasing tone, “But there’s one thing I don’t get… You’ve killed so many people, but I can’t help but wonder—are you really capable of killing me, too?”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and Bucky’s smile faltered, just for a brief second. He blinked, almost as though the question had caught him off guard.

Y/N noticed the shift, and quickly added, “I mean, not that I’m planning on giving you a reason to, of course.” She laughed again, her voice light. “You wouldn’t dare, right? I’m your princess, after all.”

But Bucky didn’t laugh. Instead, he looked at her, his eyes searching her face. There was a tightness in his jaw, a tension that hadn’t been there a moment before. For a moment, he seemed like he was lost in his thoughts, far away from her in a place she couldn’t reach.

“Of course I wouldn’t,” he said, his voice low and steady. His words were meant to reassure her, but they only added to the weight of the silence that had fallen between them.

Y/N, sensing the shift, reached out and touched his hand gently. “Hey, I was just kidding. I know you’re not like that. But I still don’t know what you’ve seen out there… and that’s okay. Just promise me one thing?”

Bucky gave her a faint, amused smile, though there was still an edge to his gaze. “What’s that?”

“Promise me that no matter what happens, no matter who you’ve fought or what you’ve done,” she said softly, “you’ll never become someone who could hurt me. Not the way you’ve hurt others.”

For a moment, the world around them seemed to freeze. Bucky stared at her with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. The air between them crackled with an unspoken understanding—an understanding that neither of them could ignore.

He cleared his throat, and the tension in his expression melted, replaced with a forced smile. “I promise,” he said, a bit too quickly. “I could never hurt you, Y/N.”

She smiled, satisfied, but deep down, there was a strange feeling gnawing at her, a sense that something was off, that his promise might not mean what it seemed to.

“Good,” she replied, not entirely convinced but willing to trust him, for now.

Bucky leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his breath soft against her skin. “You have nothing to worry about,” he whispered, but in his mind, something darker began to stir. A shadow from his past that he couldn’t escape.

As he pulled back, their eyes met once more, and Y/N’s smile softened. But Bucky couldn’t help but feel the weight of her words hanging in the air, a premonition of something to come.

Her joking comment, her casual mention of death, had unwittingly set the stage for a tragedy neither of them could have foreseen.

“You’re my everything,” he said softly, almost as if trying to convince himself as much as her.

But Y/N, with her heart full of love and trust, didn’t notice the small crack in his voice, the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. She laughed again, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“I know, Bucky. I know.”

For a week, their lives were blissful. They spent their days together, their nights filled with quiet conversations and stolen moments of intimacy. It seemed that everything was finally falling into place for Y/N, that she had found her love, her soulmate.

But peace in the kingdom was fleeting.

One dark night, as the palace slept, flames lit up the sky. The walls of the kingdom were under siege. Rebels had gathered, intent on overthrowing the monarchy. The palace was thrown into chaos, and Y/N’s heart raced with fear.

She ran through the corridors, her mind frantic as she searched for Bucky. The palace was burning, and there was no time to waste. She found him at the end of a hallway, his eyes steely and determined, his armor stained with ash from the fire that raged outside.

“Bucky, we need to leave. The rebels are here!” she cried, grabbing his arm. “We can’t stay. We need to get to safety.”

Bucky looked at her, but there was something in his gaze that she couldn’t understand. For a moment, he didn’t move. His eyes, once full of warmth, were now cold—distant.

“Bucky?” she whispered, fear creeping into her voice.

Before she could react, he moved with terrifying speed, his hand wrapping around her throat and slamming her against the wall. The air was knocked from her lungs, and she gasped, trying to free herself from his grip.

“Bucky,” she choked out, her hands clawing at his arm in desperation. “Why… why are you doing this?”

His gaze never wavered, his expression unreadable. And then, in a movement so swift it was almost inhuman, he kissed her—his lips cold and unfeeling, as though he had no connection to the woman he had just married.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against her lips, his voice barely audible. And then, with a flash of steel, the cold, sharp pain of a dagger buried deep in her chest stole the breath from her.

Y/N’s vision blurred as she sank to the ground, the warmth of her own blood soaking her gown. Her fingers trembled, reaching for him, even as her life slipped away.

“Please…” she whispered, her voice barely a sound. “Please stay… I don’t want to die alone.”

For the briefest of moments, Bucky paused. His eyes flickered with something that resembled regret. He looked down at her, as though torn between what he had done and what he still felt. But in the end, he simply turned and walked away, leaving her there in the cold, dark hallway.

His final glance over his shoulder was all she would ever get—a fleeting moment before he disappeared into the smoke and flames.

And then, she was alone.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her final breath a whisper of his name, the last trace of warmth fading from her fingertips as the world around her dimmed.

The night air grew colder, the thick smoke from the burning palace walls curling around Y/N’s body as she lay motionless on the stone floor. The pain in her chest, the warmth of her blood seeping through her gown, seemed to stretch on endlessly. Her mind was a haze, her vision fading in and out as the darkness crept closer.

The silence was unbearable, save for the distant crackling of flames. Her heartbeat, slow and heavy, echoed in her ears. Every breath felt like it could be her last, but somehow, she clung to life. Her body was betraying her, but her mind refused to let go.

She wasn’t alone yet.

The sound of footsteps—slow, cautious—reached her ears. Her eyes fluttered open, the blurred figure above her becoming clearer. It was a guard, a familiar face from the palace, Steve Rogers, who had been with her through many royal events. His face was a mask of fear as he saw her, bloodied and broken, sprawled on the floor.

“Princess,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Oh gods, no…”

His hands were gentle as he cradled her head, trying to lift her in his arms, but she weakly shook her head, a small, silent plea for him to leave her be. She wasn’t sure how long she had left, but the thought of someone else being here as she died was almost too much to bear. She wanted her husband— the same one that had done this to her. To be the one to console her, to tell her it’ll be okay, that he didn’t mean it.

“Please… go,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracked. She coughed, and blood stained her lips.

But Steve refused to leave, his eyes filled with desperation as he looked around, his expression frantic. “We need to get you out of here! You can’t die like this. The king—”

“Father… he’s gone,” Y/N murmured, a tear slipping from her eye, her chest tightening. “The rebels… they’ve taken everything.”

Her mind began to fog once more, the overwhelming realization of the chaos around her starting to pull her under. She had failed. She had failed the kingdom, and she had failed herself by trusting Bucky.

And yet, a part of her clung to him, to the fleeting hope that maybe he wasn’t truly lost—that somehow, he would return. But deep down, Y/N knew the truth. Bucky had made his choice. She was just another casualty of the war, of whatever he had been hiding all along.

The guard’s voice snapped her back to reality. “We need to leave now. Come on, Your Highness, stay with me.”

She tried to focus on his words, but it was difficult. She could feel her body growing weaker by the second, her vision narrowing as the edges of her consciousness began to slip away. The guard continued to speak to her, his tone frantic, but his words became distant, almost like an echo.

Her thoughts wandered back to Bucky. To their wedding, to the happiness they had shared for those few fleeting days. She remembered the warmth of his touch, the way he had looked at her with such tenderness… and then the betrayal, the coldness in his eyes as he killed her.

Was he always this person? Was the man she had loved just a mask he had worn for her, or had he been consumed by something darker that she couldn’t understand?

The questions swirled in her mind, but she couldn’t find the answers. All she could feel now was the overwhelming pain, the sense of loss, and the cold emptiness where love once bloomed.

And then, just as the darkness began to claim her for good, a voice—his voice—haunted her thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” it whispered, barely audible, like a soft breeze through the trees.

Bucky’s face, tormented and regretful, flashed before her eyes, but this time, it wasn’t the man who had betrayed her. It was a man torn by the weight of his own choices, a man who didn’t want to lose her, who had never meant to hurt her. But it was too late. He had already made his decision, and the damage had been done.

Her body went limp in the guard’s arms, the final breath escaping her lips. The last of her strength ebbed away, and all that remained was the cold embrace of death, wrapping her in its sorrowful, unyielding grip.

Somewhere in the distance, the flames continued to burn, the remnants of a kingdom torn apart by rebellion, a betrayal, and a love that had never stood a chance.

Bucky stood in the shadows, his eyes scanning the ruins of the palace, watching as it crumbled beneath the weight of the rebel attack. His heart was heavy, his chest tight with the remnants of what he had done.

He had walked away from her, his princess, his wife—leaving her behind as her life slipped away.

But the voice had come to him. Her voice, weak and broken, echoing in his mind, asking him to stay. He had hesitated, but in the end, he had left her. His mind was a battlefield of conflicting emotions, guilt gnawing at his insides like a ravenous beast.

He had done it because he had to. Because it was part of a greater plan. The kingdom was collapsing, and there was no place for love in a world torn apart by war. He had no place beside her, not when the rebellion was closing in, not when the truth of his past would destroy everything they had built.

But the weight of her words, the plea to stay, still lingered in the corners of his mind, like a constant reminder of the life he had just destroyed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the winds, his voice trembling with the rawness of his regret. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

But there was no one to hear him. No one to forgive him.

And Bucky knew, deep down, that he would carry this guilt for the rest of his life. He had chosen the path of the soldier, the assassin—the path that led him away from love, away from her.

And in the end, it was that choice that had destroyed everything.

The rebel camp was filled with laughter and crude jokes, the triumphant mood of a successful raid heavy in the air. Their victory over the royal family had been swift, the palace’s flames still flickering in the distance. They had taken the kingdom by force, burning the heart of the monarchy to the ground. Their leaders had made sure to break the people’s spirit, and tonight, the spoils of their victory were being celebrated in a dingy tavern, far from the sight of any nobility.

Bucky stood in the shadows outside the tavern, his face unreadable, his heart heavier with each passing second. The sounds of revelry and drunken singing drifted to him, but they couldn’t drown out the guilt, the regret, the anger that had been festering inside him ever since he’d walked away from her.

He shouldn’t have left her. But he had.

The cold steel of the wedding band pressed against his skin, the only thing left of the woman he had once loved. Y/N. His wife. His princess. The woman he had promised himself to protect, only to betray her with a single, horrifying act.

He had killed her.

The thought was unbearable, yet he could not escape it. His mind replayed the moment over and over again—her body falling limp in his arms, her eyes pleading for him to stay. But he had left her, just as he had been ordered to. He had to, for the sake of his mission, for the greater cause. And now, it was too late to undo the damage. She was gone.

Bucky’s fingers curled around the ring as if he could somehow crush the weight of his actions by tightening his grip. But no matter how hard he squeezed, the memories wouldn’t disappear. The guilt wouldn’t vanish.

A voice from inside the tavern cut through his reverie, causing him to stop in his tracks. A familiar, drunken voice broke the otherwise celebratory noise.

“It’s a damn shame about the princess,” the man said with a loud, lewd chuckle. “Such a beautiful body, too. Could’ve had a hell of a time with her before she went.”

The words hung in the air like poison, seeping into Bucky’s skin, boiling his blood. He could hear the others laugh, hoot and holler, clearly drunk on their victory.

But Bucky couldn’t stand it. He could no longer hold back the rage that had been building inside him. He moved, almost too quickly for the eye to follow, his fist slamming into the door and sending it flying open with a crash. The rebels inside looked up in confusion, their laughter faltering as they took in the sight of the man who had once been their ally—the man they had seen fighting beside them, now standing there, fury in his eyes.

Without a word, Bucky strode into the room, his focus fixed on the man who had spoken. The one who dared speak of Y/N like that. The one who had disrespected her memory, who had sullied everything she had been.

The rebel laughed again, oblivious to the danger in Bucky’s gaze. “Didn’t think a royal’s dog would care about a little—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Bucky’s hand shot out, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming his head into the table with a sickening crack. The sound of the rebel’s skull hitting the wood was drowned out by the sudden silence that overtook the room.

The other rebels stood frozen, unsure of what to do, as Bucky held the man’s neck with one hand, his face inches from his, his breath steady and controlled despite the violence in his eyes.

“You don’t ever speak of her like that again,” Bucky growled, his voice low, dangerous. “You don’t get to dishonor her memory. Do you understand?”

The rebel was unconscious, his body slumping onto the table, but Bucky didn’t let go. He gripped him a little longer, just to ensure that the man wouldn’t get up again.

When he was satisfied, Bucky released his grip, and the body fell limply to the floor. He wiped his hands on his coat, as if trying to rid himself of the filth he had just touched.

The others in the tavern looked at him warily, but no one dared speak. Bucky turned on his heel, walking toward the door without sparing another glance. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched, and his heart was still pounding in his chest.

Outside, the cool night air greeted him, but it didn’t bring him relief. The guilt, the loss, the pain—nothing had changed. He still had the ring, the only thing that remained of her. He looked at it again, the faint gleam of gold catching the moonlight. His wedding band. The symbol of his broken promises. Of what he had done to her.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He hadn’t meant for it to come to this. But in the end, Bucky had done what he thought was necessary. He had followed orders. He had killed her to protect the kingdom, to ensure that the rebellion would succeed, and that the royal bloodline would be extinguished.

But now, all he had was this damn ring, a constant reminder of the woman he had loved and destroyed. He couldn’t bear to take it off, not yet. Maybe never.

He had killed her. And no matter what reason he had given himself, the truth was simpler than that. He had chosen duty over love, and it had cost him everything.

Bucky walked away from the tavern, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a mountain. He had done what he had to do, even if it meant killing the love of his life. Even if it meant living with the knowledge that her blood would forever stain his hands.

As he disappeared into the darkness of the night, he couldn’t escape the truth.

He had killed her.

And now, he had to live with it.

[airandyeah]

Gimme Gimme Gimme (God!Sukuna X Reader) Pt.2

My Masterlist Series Masterlist The nightmare is a lil scary... creeped myself out cause I was also listening to The Mind Electric. Sometimes Sukuna sounds a little suggestive but it's honestly him just trying to drop hints about something secret, and he wants you to figure it out on your own. Keep in mind this is a slowburn, so it does get better, and by the end of it, there will be love and sweetness, and puppies and rainbows!

The wind had shifted again, tugging at the edges of your robes as you stepped into the forest. The shrine was still quiet, still untouched by anyone other than you. And Sukuna, of course.

It had been three weeks since he arrived—since he claimed your family’s shrine as his domain, his amusement. At first, you’d tried to ignore him. Tried to pretend this was just another strange, terrifying chapter of your life that you could survive like you’d survived the rest. But as the days passed, the weight of his presence settled deeper into the minka, and it seemed that every corner of your life had been touched by him.

This morning, you had tried to escape him, just for a little while. The shrine, though still neglected by visitors, felt like the only place you could find any semblance of peace. The moss-covered stone walls had begun to feel like old friends, their coolness against your fingertips almost comforting. You didn’t dare sit on the tatami mats in the minka anymore—not with Sukuna always sprawled across them, his strange eyes always following you. You couldn’t think when he was watching. It felt like he was searching for cracks in your calm demeanor.

You reached the shrine entrance, the familiar scent of cedar trees mingling with the earth. The lanterns, though a little dim, still flickered with that soft, warm light. You went to the stone basin at the front and began to rinse your hands, the cool water soothing your nerves as it ran over your fingers.

But then you felt it—the weight of Sukuna’s gaze. His presence was like a shadow falling over you, though you hadn’t heard him approach. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was there.

"You seem to be avoiding me, little human," his voice was low, almost a whisper, but you could hear the teasing edge in it. "Do you really think you can escape what you’ve started? What we’ve started?"

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking in a slow breath before turning to face him. He was leaning casually against the pillar of the torii gate, his arms folded, the tattoos on his skin shifting in the faint light. His eyes gleamed with that unsettling mix of amusement and something darker—something that you couldn’t quite place, but that always made your heart race.

"I’m not avoiding you," you said, though the words came out a little too quickly, too stiff. "I’m just… trying to focus. Trying to tend to the shrine like I should."

Sukuna chuckled softly, a sound that made the air around you feel even heavier. "Ah, yes. The shrine." His eyes glinted with a strange hunger. "You think you can simply tend to it? As though it’s just some humble, forgotten place?"

His gaze sharpened. “I was once a god, little one. A god of destruction, yes, but still a god. This shrine is more than your little offerings and cleanings. And I’ve already told you—I don’t want just respect from you. I want something more.”

His grin grew wider, impossibly so. The smile was both predatory and expectant. "You’ve started something that can’t be undone. You’ve awakened me, and I’ve been waiting for you to understand what that means."

You flinched at his words, the pit of your stomach turning. "I don’t understand," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "I don’t understand what you want from me."

His eyes softened—well, as much as Sukuna’s eyes ever softened—and he tilted his head slightly to one side, as though considering you. "Curiosity is dangerous for mortals," he said. "But you’re not entirely a mortal anymore, are you?"

You froze. What did he mean by that? You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know.

"Why don’t you ask me what I truly desire, little one?" Sukuna continued, his voice deceptively gentle, as though coaxing you into asking. "But be careful. The truth comes at a cost."

You felt something shift in the air, a pressure that squeezed your chest and made it hard to breathe. You didn’t know what he was asking, but something in you wanted to ask him anyway.

You took a tentative step forward, your voice barely a whisper. "What do you want?"

Sukuna’s grin returned in full force. "Ah, good. Curiosity. It suits you." His gaze darkened. "I want everything you have to offer, mortal. Your time. Your life. Your devotion. And the part of you that hasn’t yet bent to me. The part that still believes she has a choice."

You swallowed, the words burning in your throat. There was no escape from him, not now. But the way he spoke of you—like a puzzle to be solved—stirred something inside you. You weren’t sure if it was anger, fear, or something else entirely.

"What do you expect me to do?" you asked, your voice trembling despite yourself. "How can I give you something I don’t even understand?"

Sukuna straightened, his posture growing more imposing, and in that moment, you saw the god in him once again. The creature who had once stood before you, larger than life, wrapped in his own dangerous energy.

"You’ll learn," he said, his voice like a rumble in the earth. "And in the end, you will give it all to me. Everything you have, and everything you are."

His gaze softened again, but this time, there was something darker beneath it. "And I’ll enjoy watching you realize that there is no way out."

The words settled in the air between you like a curse, thick and suffocating. You stood there, rooted to the spot, the faint breeze stirring the leaves of the cedar trees, yet the world around you seemed to freeze. Sukuna’s presence loomed large, filling every space with that oppressive, magnetic energy of his. You wanted to step back, to run, but something—maybe that spark of defiance—kept you rooted in place.

For a moment, the silence stretched, broken only by the faint trickle of water in the stone basin. You thought you might choke on the weight of the unspoken truth that hung in the air between you.

“I won’t… give you everything,” you whispered, though the words felt like a lie as soon as you said them. Could you really refuse him? Could you stand your ground when he spoke with such certainty, such power?

Sukuna tilted his head again, his gaze never leaving you. The amusement was still there, but now there was something colder beneath it, something almost predatory, as if he could sense your uncertainty. His smile curved wider.

“You say that now,” he murmured. “But I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. The way you tremble in my presence. You don’t have to say anything. Your body betrays you.”

You clenched your fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms. You couldn’t let him get inside your head like this. Not now. Not when everything inside you screamed to get away, to find some semblance of peace again.

Sukuna’s eyes flickered, sensing your internal struggle. “You’re stronger than you think, little human. You have that fire in you.” His gaze darkened, almost affectionate in its intensity. “But strength is never enough when you’re up against a god. And I’ve been alive long enough to know how to break even the strongest.”

You wanted to spit out something—anything—to challenge him, but the words got caught in your throat. Every time you tried to speak, it felt like the very air was constricting around you, making it impossible to breathe, to think clearly.

“Tell me something,” Sukuna’s voice was suddenly a low murmur, the teasing edge gone for the moment. It was strange, almost intimate. “Do you remember the first time you called my name? You offered me a piece of yourself without even realizing it.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” you said, the words coming out shaky but defiant. “I didn’t understand what you were. What you still are. I won’t let you control me,” you said, the last of your resolve hardening into something sharp.

Sukuna’s eyes darkened, that familiar glint of hunger flashing behind them. “Control? No. I don’t need to control you, little one. You already want to surrender. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

You shook your head, backing up a step, your pulse quickening. “You’re wrong. I won’t bend to you.”

Sukuna’s grin only widened. “We’ll see.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you in a single stride. His eyes were fierce, not angry, but filled with something older, something deeper. He reached out, his hand hovering near your cheek, not quite touching. You could feel the heat radiating from him, but there was no warmth in it—just the quiet promise of something far more dangerous.

“You don’t understand yet,” he whispered, his voice low and caressing. “But you will.”

And as he stepped back, that pressure in the air thickened, turning suffocating. His presence lingered, but the silence between you felt heavier now, more palpable.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to fight. But a part of you—the part you couldn’t deny—was scared of what would happen if you did. And the other part? The part that felt lost, confused, and desperate for some kind of direction? That part, deep down, wanted to understand. Wanted to know what Sukuna could offer.

But at what cost?

With one last lingering glance, Sukuna turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving you standing alone in the quiet of the shrine, the weight of his words settling like a shadow over your every thought.

You couldn’t stay here. Not anymore. The shrine felt suffocating, the air too thick with his presence, his promises.

But where else could you go?

The world outside felt even colder now. Even more uncertain.

You glanced down at the stone basin, your hands still wet from the water, your fingers trembling. Something had changed between you and Sukuna today. Something irreversible. Something that would follow you, no matter how far you tried to run. ~~~ You blink, and the world shifts, like a fog lifting to reveal a new landscape. The shrine is gone. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of cedar—but there’s no sky. No sun, no moon. Just endless twilight, a heavy shade of purple that presses in from all sides. You stand, but the ground beneath your feet feels soft, like sand, and yet there’s no wind, no movement. The trees that once surrounded the shrine are now twisted, contorted shapes, their trunks like gnarled fingers clawing at the air, reaching for something you can’t see.

A voice—a familiar, guttural sound—echoes around you, though you can’t tell where it’s coming from.

“Did you think you could escape me so easily?”

You turn, but there’s nothing. The trees bend, whispering in languages you don’t understand, shadows darting in and out of your peripheral vision. A shape forms at the edge of your sight—first a flicker, then a clear outline, one that chills you straight through. It’s Sukuna. But… not the Sukuna you know. This version of him is larger, more distorted, his form constantly shifting like liquid shadows that defy the shape of his human body.

“You are mine, little one. Every part of you belongs to me now.”

The words coil around you, thick like smoke. You want to run, but your legs won’t move. Your heart races, pounding against your ribcage as though it’s trying to escape itself. The air around you grows colder, sharper, and you feel the weight of something intangible pressing against your chest—an invisible hand, suffocating and relentless. It’s like the world itself is holding you in place, refusing to let you breathe, let you think, let you escape.

“You’ve already given me something, haven’t you?”

You close your eyes, but the pressure only intensifies. The voices grow louder, overlapping, warping into one another—yours and his, mingling together, like a song of madness that doesn’t stop.

Suddenly, a feeling washes over you, not unlike the moment just before you fall asleep, when the edges of your reality blur. You find yourself standing at the altar of the shrine once again, the tatami mats beneath your feet, the air thick with incense smoke, and the faint flicker of lantern light casting long shadows. But something’s wrong. The shrine feels… alive. The walls pulse, breathing in time with your own heartbeat. The stone beneath your fingers trembles.

“You can’t hide from what you’ve awakened,” Sukuna’s voice says again, but now it sounds… softer. Almost… familiar? You glance around, but everything is warped, the space spinning as though it’s being seen through the wrong side of a lens.

Your breath catches.

In the reflection of the water basin, you see him. But it’s not Sukuna. It’s you. Or someone that looks like you, your face pale, your eyes shadowed, your expression hollow. “What have you become?” the reflection whispers, and for a moment, you can’t tell if it’s your voice or his.

“I see the fire in you,” the reflection continues, “But it’s fading, isn’t it? How long before you burn out?”

The world sways, and then… silence.

The pressure is gone. You’re standing in a vast, empty void. The feeling of being watched is palpable, suffocating, and yet there’s no one here. The floor is cracked, shattered into pieces that float in a seemingly endless abyss. A door appears in front of you—ancient, covered in the same tattoos that snake across Sukuna’s skin. You reach for it, your hand trembling, the desire to understand, to know, pulling you forward.

“You will open it.” The voice is still Sukuna’s, but now it’s distant, fragmented, like a whisper through broken glass. “You will open it, and you will understand what I want from you. What I’ve always wanted.”

The door creaks open, slowly, agonizingly so. A flash of light—blinding, pure—floods your vision, and for a moment, you think you hear a soft chuckle, low and amused, echoing through the void.

But when your eyes adjust, you realize what’s on the other side is not a world, but a reflection. You. In a way you’ve never seen before.

“I’ll enjoy watching you learn,” Sukuna’s voice drifts through the light, and it’s not teasing anymore. It’s something else. Something darker, more final. “You will become a part of me. Whether you want to or not.”

And then, the light swallows you whole. ~~~ You wake to find none other than Sukuna above you, his eyebrows scrunched in worry. You shoot up, your vision becoming blurry as you're still dazed from the haze of sleep.

“Foolish.” His voice is low, rough with a touch of irritation, though there’s an edge to it that you can’t quite place. "You wake up like that, and this is how you look? Pathetic."

You blink, trying to clear your head, but his eyes never leave you, his stare cutting into you like a blade.

"You were dreaming, weren't you?" The question is casual, like it doesn’t matter to him, but his gaze softens ever so slightly, just enough for you to notice. He doesn't wait for a response, but the silence between you two speaks volumes.

You try to steady your breath, but it's hard. That nightmare had felt so real, too real. The lingering dread still clings to you, making your heart pound.

"Get a grip," he mutters, but there's an almost imperceptible shift in his posture. Not sympathy, not exactly — but maybe a hint of something… more. His hands stay at his sides, yet you swear you feel the slightest tension, as if he's resisting the urge to reach out.

Sukuna leans closer, his gaze dropping just briefly to your chest where your rapid heartbeat is evident. "It's just a dream. Nothing more. You’re pathetic if you let it bother you."

He straightens, and for a split second, his lips twitch — almost like he’s about to say something more, something different — but he stops himself.

"Don't let it happen again."

With that, his figure vanishes into the shadows, leaving you with his cryptic, distant comfort that somehow feels more like a command than care.

Taglist: @rinkomei , @sleepycrybbylaiah Taglist is always open for anyone!

[caden-qt]

” I’m happy that I finally heard you say you loved me and that you wanted to be my boyfriend… it means a lot to me and I love you more than anyone would and or can. “ San hugged Finn and kissed him back. “ Listen to me… you are the most beautiful boy I’ve ever met in my life besides myself. “ He laughed and then pulled Finn into his lap. San ran a hand through Finn’s curly hair. “ You have nice hair… wish my hair was this nice.. and it’s soft too… “

Two Weirdos - @caden-qt - Finn x San *CLOSED RP*

[text]: Sounds good to me, just let yourself in, the doors unlocked. He then sent a photo of himself but it was dim since he only had one small lamp on, but it wasn't too bad. After he sent the photo he plugged his phone in to charge and went to make himself something to eat, he had snacks but couldn't wait to eat those. He made himself a quick meal, he had skipped lunch and never had dinner so this was a good time to sneak it in. He made a quick sandwich and leaned on the counter eating, he got a call and groaned going to answer it, but he kept eating while on the phone "Hello?......yes this is him...no....no...I can't tonight...why?...it's obvious why! It's new Year's eve and I have plans. Fuck off. You can't need someone dead this fucking late in the year, just call me in a week or do it yourself" he hung up the phone and then ate the last bite of his sandwich. He slipped on his coat and shoes and headed downstairs and outside to have a cigarette, he figured he could do that and when San got there they could go inside together.

[honeypleasejustkillme]

i’m trying my hardest to not act how i feel

[thelilylav]

I’ve gotta admit as much as I know Darabella is a flawed ship (and some of the ppl who are anti for it have legit criticisms I love y’all for pointing it out cause it frustrates the hell out of me too trust) they’ll always just kind of be it for me.

Because as much as it was an “I can fix him” trope, as much as Rosabella could be selfish and Daring’s flaws got cranked up to 1000, she was also the first person to look at him after his destiny, the thing he dedicated his life to, failed, when people were questioning him as a prince and putting pressure on his and Apple’s relationship and tell him that, like, maybe it would be alright? Maybe this wasn’t his destiny, and maybe that was okay.

And the part that really gets me? She’s the first person after this happens to tell him that it doesn’t matter what’s on the outside, which as much as you can like other Daring ships or him whatever he desperately needed to hear. Not even cause he was selfish, that’s not what I’m saying, but bc he placed his whole identity on this image that people concocted for him based on him appearing the perfect prince. He was handsome, he was talented, and he was handsome! So who cares about him as a person?

Idk man. You spend four seasons (I watch the specials on Netflix so that’s why four idk if it’s three to some ppl or whatever tho) watching him be praised for his looks, watching girls fawn over him, and of course he enjoys it so nobody really questions how much he enjoys it. And then you get this girl, this girl who owes him nothing, this girl who (contrary to popular belief apparently) has a life of her own and people she cares about outside of him, and she’s nice to him. And she’s the first person after everything happens to just be nice to him, for the sake of being nice. Something about that will always hit different for me

[zorosdimples]

knowing i should take a step back from tumblr for my own wellbeing vs. being emotionally attached to this app and the people on it

[seventh-district]

.

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[rosicheeks]

I hope your days aren't as heavy and dark, I am sending all the positive thoughts your way. You deserve the best, fairy princess. <3

😭

[hobisexually]

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