#big green egg cabinet

[saeruth]

Outdoor Kitchen - Outdoor Kitchen

a sizable, magnificent backyard shot of a kitchen with a pergola

[ura-okitu]

Gravel - Traditional Patio Patio kitchen - large traditional backyard gravel patio kitchen idea with no cover

[zaynsource]

Traditional Patio Example of a large classic backyard stone patio kitchen design with no cover

[naturepound]

Traditional Patio - Patio

Patio kitchen: a sizable, traditional brick patio kitchen plan for the backyard without a cover

[meganlovesyou56]

Traditional Patio

Example of a large classic backyard stone patio kitchen design with no cover

[finnyprotectionsquad]

Outdoor Kitchen Outdoor Kitchen

Patio kitchen: huge, modern-day concrete patio kitchen design for the backyard without a cover

[abstraxx]

Deck - Roof Extensions Outdoor kitchen deck - large traditional backyard outdoor kitchen deck idea with a roof extension

[esteponajabonesecologicos]

Concrete Slab - Patio Inspiration for a sizable contemporary kitchen renovation in the front yard with a concrete patio

[cheeseukeikeu]

Modern Patio Example of a mid-sized minimalist backyard patio kitchen design

[hibernas]

Outdoor Kitchen in San Francisco Patio kitchen - mid-sized modern backyard patio kitchen idea

[shagtective]

Modern Patio Patio kitchen - mid-sized modern backyard patio kitchen idea

[thequeenofsand]

Concrete Slab - Patio

[bellobambino]

BECSPK

A Luigi Mangione Fic

748w

Summary: Luigi risks it all for some real fucking food.

Author's Note: yeahcanigetuhhhhhh -- lulu is hiding, planning, plotting.

November 27, 2024. Paterson, NJ

I'm cracking open yet another can of Chef Boyardee, staring at the contents. This looks like worms. And this was the most appealing option. Hunger recently has morphed into a strange dull ache and fatigue that i don’t even associate with food anymore.

I opened the cabinet where I stored the cornucopia of sadness. A whole lineup of despair in aluminum. Corn. Green Beans. Spam. Baby mushrooms. There's only so many vienna sausages a guy can eat before he ends up on the news. Squatting there, holding open the cabinet, I caught sight of my wrists. Thin. Weirdly thin. I'm starting to not recognize my own body. My usually bronzed and built, gym bro body.

And it pissed me off. I slammed the cabinet so hard it left a brief ringing in my ears. I took up my pacing route through the apartment, fists clenched. My head was swimming, and my vision was vibrating with my sudden rage. Or maybe it's the hunger. Probably both. I rubbed my eyes hard with my fists, then scratched my scalp with my fingernails just to break myself out of my sudden insanity.

Executive decision: I need to get some real food. Something made by a human being that’s warm and wasn’t sitting in a can since the Obama administration. I didn’t give a rats ass about being ‘missing’. I’m about to risk it all for a bacon, egg, and cheese.

I threw on a hoodie and jeans, grabbed twenty bucks, and left before I could reconsider. I locked  the door and then triple-checked it because paranoia is free and I’ve got it in spades.The air outside is terribly cold, stabbing through my hoodie like needles, but I don’t care. The fresh air woke me up, and it was almost… nice. I hadn’t left this dump in months, and just being out felt like stepping into Disney World.

I could see the fluorescent lights of the B&G bodega spilling out onto the cracked sidewalk, a warm yellow glow was my light at the end of the tunnel..But when I finally got there and opened the door, the warmth and smell of grease and coffee hit me like a gift from God.

The guy behind the counter barely looked up when I ordered. “Bacon, egg, and cheese, salt, pepper, ketchup on a hard roll,” He nodded, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, then wiping that on his apron. Okay, gross, but i’d be dumb to say anything. 

While he worked the grill, I wandered. The shelves were stocked with the usual bodega mix: snacks, basic pantry items, cleaning supplies, and—wait, plants? There was a whole section dedicated to houseplants under grow lights. Why? Who knows. Maybe the owner was trying to class the place up a bit. Big job for a philodendron. 

That’s when I saw it. Nestled behind the plants, lounging like a little furry king, was a cat. A gray and white tabby, all curled up under the warmth of the grow lights. I swear it looked like something out of a Christmas card. I nearly gasped. I don’t know what possessed me, but I reached out and scratched its neck. And you know what? The little guy loved me. Started rubbing against my hand, purring like a motorboat. For a moment, I forgot about everything—my hunger, my situation, the cold. Just me and this cat. “You like that, huh?” I muttered, smiling for what felt like the first time in weeks.

The ding of the register snapped me out of it. My sandwich was ready. I left the cat reluctantly and walked back to the counter. The guy handed me the foil-wrapped masterpiece, sniffling. I paid, left a tip (because I was raised right), and headed back out into the cold.

Back on the futon in the apartment, I unwrapped the sandwich like it was my birthday. The smell hit me first—bacon, eggs, cheese, all hot and gooey and perfect. I took a bite, and—oh, my god. Chef’s kiss. I actually moaned, like a girl, but I just couldn’t blame me. It was the best thing I’d eaten in months. Probably the best thing I’d ever eaten, period.

For a few minutes, I wasn’t a stalker, or a guy losing himself in some rundown apartment in Paterson. I was just Lu, sitting on a futon, eating the most perfect bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich in the history of the whole world.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[6:33 am]

(cw: parents!au, pregnant reader, "mommy" reader)

Jungwoo swears he can hear someone trying to wake him up, albeit quietly. He doesn’t hear anything for a minute and decided to nestle further into the warm sheets and fluffy pillows. Not even a minute later he feels something wet hit his cheek, then hit it again, and then, “Daddy.”

He blinks an eye open, flinching at the brightness of the dawn just creeping in. He catches sight of his daughter standing right in front of him, how he missed her face inches away from his own. She smiles all too brightly for the neon green time glowing on his night stand. She holds her pacifier in one hand, the obvious culprit for the wet feeling on his cheek. Now he had even more incentive to get rid of that damn pacifier. “My love, why are you awake?” He mumbles out, running a hand over her tangled bed head.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” she tells him.

He shushes her gently, “My love, it’s not breakfast time yet.”

She juts out her bottom lip as she lays her head beside Jungwoo’s, “Daddy, please. I’ll be quiet.”

Jungwoo sighs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and sits up. Knowing his daughter she won’t give up on this, she gets her food or she continues begging until all three- well, four- of you are awake. “Let’s go,” he tells her before he slowly slips out of bed, careful to not wake you up. You had been up late with the very toddler padding along behind Jungwoo with her blanket dragging along.

He sets her on the counter and places his hands on his hips, “Cereal?” She shakes her head, he tries again, “eggs?”

She shakes her head once more before she pulls the pacifier from her mouth, “Pancakes!”

“Baby, it’s too early for pancakes. Do you want some rice?” Jungwoo offers instead.

Your daughter pulls out the big moves, she pouts her lips and throws on her puppy dog eyes that are quickly filling with tears. Crocodile tears, Jungwoo knows, but he’s so weak to her. He curses internally, she must have inherited this look from you. He can recall countless times you pulled the very same look to get what you wanted and he fell for it every time. Now he was seeing the very same look and falling under the same spell.

He curses internally, then sighs with a finger pointed at her, “We have to be quiet.”

Her tears dry immediately as she nods fervently with a big smile. He pulled out the pancake mix and got to work. He mixed the batter, handing it off to your daughter as he turned to heat the pan. He poured the batter into the pan, quieting down his daughters excited giggles and kicks against the cabinets.

When the pancakes were all served up and cooled down, he carries his daughter to her high chair and straps her in. Her little plate of cut up pancakes was drizzled with syrup as she thanked Jungwoo and placed a wet kiss on his cheek as she tore into the food in front of her. Jungwoo couldn’t fight the amazed chuckle as he watched her eat. His daughter always ate like she was starving, which could not be further from the truth what with her protruding little belly and consistent second servings at every meal.

He slowly ate one of his own pancakes, feeling the tiredness of being up so early finally hit him again. He gets up and starts making coffee, keeping an eye on the toddler who hasn’t slowed down despite his many warnings for her to do so.

He just begins pouring himself a cup of coffee when he feels a hand on his back, “Smells good in here. Pancakes, this early?”

He pulls you into a hug, placing a hand on your barely there baby bump while he places a kiss on your temple, “Your daughter has resorted to violence when she’s hungry.”

You snort out a laugh before turning your playful glare to your daughter, “You little monster! Did you wake Daddy up for pancakes?” She laughs as you barrage her chubby cheeks with kisses in your cupped hands, “Did you hit Daddy this morning?” She shakes her head so you try again, this time she nods. You begin telling her that hitting people is not nice and explain other ways to wake Jungwoo up, “like this, you take your finger and you poke him right here!” His daughter’s laughs ring out again as you tickle her midsection as well as you can with the limited space in the high chair.

“Good morning Mama,” his daughter smiles, puckering her lips to place a big, wet kiss on your cheek. A very different wetness on your cheek compared to what Jungwoo got earlier which has him grumbling under his breath.

“Good morning my love, wanna say good morning to the baby?” You ask her after giving her her own kiss. She nods fervently again, much like the nod she gave Jungwoo earlier. You stand and pull your T-shirt over your belly and let the toddler whisper, though it’s really not a whisper, and kiss your belly as a greeting to her sibling.

A plate of pancakes slides in front of you, Jungwoo places a kiss on the crown of your head, “For Mommy and baby.”

[haveatthee83]

Under My Skin (Monkey D. Luffy/Reader) 2/7

Inspo: Under My Skin by Jukebox the Ghost

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Angst, arguing, cursing, angry Luffy, discussion of death and dead relatives, brief descriptions of violence.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You rose with the sun, kicking off your covers and rolling out your back. You peeked out of the window, the sandstorm still raged on outside. You huffed and frowned hoping it would let up soon. You had plenty of chores to do outside to set up for you leaving, animals that you needed to find care for.

You pushed those worries to the side, pushing yourself up and padding to the bathroom, quickly washing your face and brushing your teeth, speeding through your morning routine.

You then crept down one door, slipping into your bedroom, not waking the sleeping Nami before digging through your dresser for clothes for the day, quickly changing into a new cropped tank top and jean shorts before creeping back out the door and into the kitchen.

You marveled at the spotless counters and floors, seemingly scrubbed clean. You couldn’t be impressed for long though, rushing to work. You grabbed out two of your chickens’ eggs out of your fridge, heaving them onto your counter, before grabbing a large bowl out of one of your cabinets. You grabbed a knife and a whisk, washing your hands before returning to work.

You hummed to yourself as you picked up one egg, slapping your knife onto the hard shell a few times, setting the knife down and pulling the shell apart when the crack was big enough. You tossed the shell into the compost before doing the same with the second egg. The bowl was almost full as you stuck in the whisk, breaking the yolks before whisking carefully. When the eggs were thoroughly combined, you grabbed your four burner pan, setting it onto your stove and turning all of the burners on low, blowing out a little flame to light the gas.

You reached back into your fridge and just plopped a whole stick of butter from your neighbor’s cow into the rapidly heating up pan. You carefully picked up the large bowl, pouring the egg into the massive pan as soon as the butter melted. When the bowl was empty you set all your dishes into the sink, washing any egg residue off of your hands before turning back to the pan, the bottom of the eggs barely solidifying, and shook heaping servings of salt, pepper, garlic, and crushed, dried cayenne from your green house into the eggs, ‘not enough to burn’ you thought with a smile, ‘just enough to warm the mouth and soul a bit’ recalling your uncle’s seasoning mantra. ‘Clears out your sinuses’ he’d insist. Besides, you didn’t know how well these pirates could handle their spice, so reserved would have to do for now.

You grabbed a spatula and folded the eggs in the pan, keeping the eggs moving so none of it would brown or burn. When the eggs were looking like they were in a good spot, you turned on your oven and put it very low, just enough to keep food warm, helping it along with a little huff of your flames before setting the pan of cooked egg into it.

You then grabbed out two more large pans, two burners this time, and started to heat them up, moving back to your fridge, grabbing out pack after pack of bacon and breakfast sausage, setting them into their respective pans. As you let them sizzle you easily slid over and grabbed out five four slice toasters, plugging them in and setting slices of homemade sourdough bread into each slot, easily burning through a loaf, sending them down with a click. You rolled over to the pans with popping and browning breakfast meats, reaching to the side and sprinkling brown sugar over the bacon, letting it set in and cook with it. When they were both done, you opened the oven again and slid both of them into it, on the top rack. You had one more rack left to keep food warm, which made you think, should you make more?

You mulled it over, closing the oven up and looking around your kitchen, eyes landing on your massive box of quick grits. You grinned and grabbed out your other four burner pan, getting right to work, quickly boiling water, adding milk, butter and the grits as needed. You let that bubble and simmer, stirring constantly to make sure none of it stuck to the bottom or sides.

When it was ready, you heard all of the toasters pop up in a line, making you smile. You grabbed the grits and slid them into the oven as well, closing it, turning off the stove, and going back to the toast. You grabbed out a large plate, a new stick of butter, and a butter spreader. The butter was solid and cold, so you held it in your hands, gently warning them up, just enough to soften it. You got right to work, grabbing out each piece of toast, buttering it and adding it to your ever-growing stack. When all of the toast was buttered, you sliced the stack down the middle, setting it up in smaller stacks along the plate, setting it up on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, where you’d put the rest of the food when the pirates were awake, which would be soon. You knew that cook couldn’t stay asleep too long.

Next you opened your fridge and grabbed out an armful of fruit, setting it onto the counter before grabbing your favorite fruit knife and a large cutting board you’d also use to serve the fruit up on. You made quick work of the variety if fruits in front of you. You wanted to make sure the pirates got plenty of vitamins, always wary of scurvy. You sliced up Mango, oranges, melons, bananas and your island’s native fruit. No one really had a set name for it, but it tasted like if pineapples and peaches had a baby, but it looks like a cantaloupe that grows in a tree.

After the fruit was all prepared, you set it up onto the counter, turning back to your fridge and grabbing out your pitchers of orange juice and milk, setting them up as well all alongside cups, and plates with forks and spoons, none of which matched, of course. You sighed, taking in your work with a nod before taking out the food from the oven, switching it off. You looked at the clock on your mantle in the living room and sighed, why aren’t they up yet?

Frowning, you thought it over but relented to your impatience, not wanting the food to get cold. You grabbed out a wooden spoon and moved to the side of your fridge, looking right down the hallway, “WAKE UP! BREAKFAST TIME! EAT IT NOW OR GO HUNGRY!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, smacking the spoon against the side of your fridge with a smile.

You heard thumps and muttering in the rooms with the Straw-Hats, content that they were awake, so you put back your spoon and got to work washing the dishes in the sink. You heard two sets of feet eagerly sprinting down the short hallway, Zoro and Sanji being the first ones in the kitchen, bickering the whole way, “Eat up, boys. Take as much as you want.” You said, jerking your head over to the large spread of food.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, Luffy’s not up yet.” Zoro muttered, rushing to fill his plate with a little bit of everything.

Sanji looked over the spread with intrigue, “How many eggs did you use?” he asked, noting the massive portion.

You shrugged, laying the last dish on the drying rack, turning to the cook, drying off your hands with your towel, “Just two. No biggie.”

Sanji’s brain short circuited for a moment, eyes flitting between you and the fluffy eggs, “Two? How?”

You chuckled at the blond’s exasperated face, “We have giant animals on this island, remember? I talked about it during the tour. I was going to show you mine, but the sandstorm kicked that plan to the curb.” You explained, opening your fridge up and pointing to your one remaining egg, easily double the size of an ostrich egg. “I own three six-foot-tall chickens you can ride, and my neighbor has two cows the size of my house, and we’re famous for our massive wild boars! They’re huge and really mean, they’re a pain in the ass to kill, but they’re damned tasty. All that bacon and sausage wasn’t even a fraction of what came from that pig.”

Sanji’s mind whirred with possibilities, ‘That might keep up with Luffy’s massive appetite.’  He thought, obliging as you ushered him to go and eat.

Nami came in next, ready for the day, but still bleary eyed and half awake. You laughed quietly at her predicament, “Should I put on a pot of coffee?” the ginger nodded, yawning as she went to fix herself a plate.

“Damn, this looks good.” She muttered, piling her plate high. You shook your head and turned to make a quick pot of coffee, “Got any sugar for the grits?” she asked.

You nodded, grabbing two cannisters from the side of the stove, resting them on a small sliver of space you found on the counter, “This one’s white sugar, this one’s brown sugar.” You showed her, opening and closing each before turning back to your work on the coffee.

Usopp, Robin, and Chopper all filed in next, stretching and yawning. They all grabbed their plates and ushered themselves to their previously claimed seats in your living room. You glanced into the room with a smile, a warm feeling settling in your chest at having a full house again, even if it’s smaller than before. “Who wants coffee?” you chimed, noting all of their hands raised besides Chopper and nodded, “Do you think Luffy will want any?” the whole crew shook their head with quiet giggles. You took that in with a smile, grabbing out five mugs out of the cabinet, filling each with the hot coffee, leaving a bit of room for cream and sugar in each, just in case. You grabbed three in one hand and two in the other, putting them onto the coffee table with a smile before rushing back to the fridge to grab out a small pitcher of cream and your canister of sugar, setting them by the mugs.

A chorus of thank you’s and happy sighs resounded around you. “Aren’t you eating?” Robin asked, adding a spoon of sugar into her mug.

“Yeah!” you exclaimed, looking around you, “I’m just used to making sure everyone else has their plates before I do.”

Zoro snorted a laugh, biting into a sausage link, “You better cut that out with Luffy around.” He snickered. “That man could eat a whole fleet of ships and ask for ice cream after.”

The crew all snickered and giggled in agreement, Nami urging you to grab yourself a plate, “He’ll grab his soon.”

So, you got to work, piling your plate with all of your favorites, fixing up your grits and grabbing a glass and filling it with orange juice before joining Nami again on the loveseat. Right as you started to tuck in, the sound of a slow patter of feet brought all of your attention back to the kitchen. Luffy was awake.

His eyes scanned the large expanse of food in front of him, just going ahead and devouring the food that was left at the counter, making you laugh a bit. Luffy didn’t notice or care, digging into the feast with sparkles in his eyes.

“That’s what he’s usually like.” Nami whispered in your ear.

Sanji scowled, “Aren’t you going to say thank you for breakfast?” he barked, making the captain pause, swallowing the mouthful he was working on.

“Thank you, Sanji! It’s really good. You should make breakfast like this more often; I don’t know what you did different.” He chimed, digging right back into his food.

Sanji went to correct him, but you stopped him, frantically waving at him, ‘NO!’ ‘LEAVE IT!’ ‘IT’S OKAY!’

Sanji frowned deeper and shook his head, calling out to his captain, surely this would make him like you a bit, maybe help him loosen up around you, “I can’t take any credit.”

“Shut up, Sanji!” you hissed quietly, your face heating up in embarrassment, and you tried to hide your face in your hat, holding your hands over your face, your plate in your lap.

“Our beautiful host got up early and made all of this.” He said resolutely, taking another bite of the delicious food with a smile.

Luffy paused, eyes darting to where you hid, Nami trying to reassure you, and set his jaw. Of course you could cook. Of course, Luffy liked it. ‘Of course.’ He thought bitterly, resuming his eating with a frown, swearing it tasted a bit sour now that he knew.

Zoro reached over and kicked Sanji’s foot, and when the blond whirled on him, Zoro just pointed expectantly at you and Luffy, you were just coming out of your hiding place with a frown, and Luffy who was eating with a scowl. Sanji couldn’t help but feel like he deserved the kick this time, even if he was only trying to help, he thought with a wince.

“It is very good,” Robin chimed.

Chopper nodded in her lap, “Uh-huh! It’s real tasty.”

The rest of the crew offered their agreement, even if it made their captain’s eye twitch. “You guys are just being nice.” You muttered, taking a sip of your orange juice.

Nami was about to deny your statement, but she was interrupted, “Probably are.” Luffy muttered lowly, taking a swig of milk straight from the pitcher.

You shrank in your seat, no longer hungry.

“Monkey D. Luffy.” Robin set her now empty mug onto your side table with an audible thump. “You are out of line.”

“You’re being a dick.” Zoro grumbled, taking the last few bites of his food.

The other Straw-Hats nodded, but you shook your head, “It’s oka-“

“It’s not okay.” Robin chastised you before whirling back to Luffy with a stern look, “We let you have your time yesterday, but we will not allow you to treat your crew so poorly.” Luffy scrunched his brows together, and Robin noticed her slip. The other Straw-Hats tensed up a bit, eyes flitting between Robin and their captain, “She’s coming with us.”

“What do yo-“

“She’s going to be part of the crew, frankly whether you like it or not, because I intend on taking her onto the Thousand Sunny and keeping her safe, hell or high water.” Robin held her captain’s gaze with cool, calm control. “So, either get with it, or get over it. You’re too old and too good of a person to be a bully.”

Luffy puffed up like a bird, anger coursing through him, he wasn’t a bully. He wasn’t mean. You just…You were the worst. Every time he looked at you a pang of sadness, rage, or regret coursed through him at full force. You pissed him off. You got under his skin, burrowing deep, making him scratch and dig to get you out.

You rose to your feet, clattering your plate onto the coffee table, bits of your food scattering along the wood. Luffy couldn’t see your eyes beneath the brim of your hat, but he could see your mouth pinched in a wince, a stream of tears coming down your face. You clenched your fists and rushed past Luffy, and he heard you sniffle as you passed him by before you whirled into your room, slamming the door behind you.

‘Shit.’ Luffy didn’t like you, sure, but he didn’t want to make you cry. The thought that he had made his teeth grit, and he slammed his face into his hands with a groan of anguish. Luffy was acting weird. Even he knew it.

“Luffy.” Came Robin’s level anger, and all he could muster was a hum of acknowledgement, “I need you to understand something. This woman showed us around her island, gave us shelter, food, water, she let Nami sleep in her own bed. She has been nothing but kind and has been wringing herself into knots worrying about making you upset, making excuse after excuse for your behavior.” She went on, setting Chopper and her plate aside, walking to be at the opposite side of the counter from him, “Did you know today is her brother’s birthday? Did you know today is the anniversary of her entire pirate crew being slaughtered by Marines? Her entire nakama gone! Just like that! Did you know she has no one else? She was still holding onto hope that she’d find Ace because he was the only person in her life she had left, only to find out he’d been dead for two years.”

Luffy flinched at every word, shame pouring over him, “She’s possibly the only person who could understand exactly how you feel and you’re lashing out at her!” Robin’s voice lowered dangerously as she continued, “Her brother died in her arms after saving her life, killed by a Marine Admiral. When she got me alone, one of the first things she asked me is if Ace died smiling. Did you know all three of them promised that’s how they’d go? Do you realize she’s the only one left?”

Luffy’s eyes watered into his palms, the pain of being the only one left wracking a sob through him. The Straw-Hats sucked in gasps as they heard his quiet cries. “I didn’t know.” He cried, over and over again he muttered through his tears, “I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I didn’t know.” Robin moved around the counter and took him into a tight hug.

“You didn’t know,” Robin whispered as he started to calm down, “but now you do.”

Luffy’s breath caught. She was right. Luffy still held a sour taste in his mouth when he thought about you, but he knew what the right thing was to do. He had to apologize. He had to apologize and change his behavior. He was being mean.

Luffy lifted his head from Robin’s shoulder and nodded, wiping his face with is hands. “I gotta apologize.” He mumbled, turning to walk down your hallway.

“It’ll be okay.” Robin called after him, her brows knit with worry, but she returned to her crew, sitting back down with Chopper.

Luffy stood in front of your doorway, hand raised to knock, but that’s when he heard you. You were still crying, sobbing in your room. Because of Luffy.

‘Fuck.’

Luffy fought through the pull of fear in his chest, racking his knuckles against the maroon painted door. God, nothing in your house matched. Even your doors were different colors.

“Go away.” You muttered, muffled by the door. “I’m crying and it’s not pretty!”

Luffy flinched a bit, but tried the door handle, finding it turning readily. He pushed the door open slowly, trying not to startle you. You were in your bed, to the left of the door, back to Luffy. For once, your hat was on your nightstand. Your shoulders shook with your small cries, and even from behind, Luffy could tell you were holding onto something.

“Go away, Luffy.” You muttered, curling deeper into yourself.

“How did you know it was me?”

“You’re lighter on your feet than the rest.” Luffy blinked back a bit of shock and closed your door, creeping up to you quietly. Luffy hesitated, but he sat on your bed at your feet, his back to yours. “What do you want?” you whispered, the saddest little question he had ever heard, and Luffy swore it felt like a kick to the balls, knocking his breath out of him.

“I-I need to apologize.” He stammered, fiddling with the strings of his hat under his chin. “I’ve been mean.”

You sniffled, but sat up, sitting perpendicular to Luffy, and he saw what you held in your hands. It was another picture. This one was just of you and your brother, sly smiles as you tried to pose formally. You wore a white suit, with vest and gloves and hat, the full shebang, and your brother wore a sparkling red gown, glamorous makeup on and his short hair gelled into finger waves, and in the background Luffy could see a Marine ball.

“He was my best friend, you know?” you whispered, thumb stroking your brother’s face, “He and my uncle were my only family, then when I was five, and he was seven, he started talking about sailing the seas, the two of us with a band of misfits and orphans. We’d make our own family, with our own rules, and we’d be infamous.” You told the story with a melancholy smile, “We both stumbled onto our devil fruits one day and ate them immediately. We trained any second we got between chores, staying up until the sun rose just practicing. The second he saved up enough Berry for a proper ship, we only set foot on land for my uncle’s birthday, then his funeral and to get supplies. We racked up a large crew as we hit island after island. Then we started targeting Marines. We’d always hated those fuckers, and suddenly we could do something about it.” You said with a shrug. “The bounties started pouring in, mine and his climbing higher and higher than we ever expected, but we stayed on course. We knew what we wanted. We wanted to sail together and take out as many marines as we could on the way. They suppressed stories about us in the newspapers, because they didn’t want people seeing some small fry pirate crew with a triple digit kill count.”

Luffy’s eyebrows shot up in shock, “Holy shit.”

You smirked, a little glint in your eye, “We were a pretty formidable little crew. We anchored just short of the Grand Line and set up lights and music, I made a damned feast all for my brother. It was his eighteenth birthday. We did all of that before we were even adults.” You said with a grin spreading across your face. It dropped when you started talking again, “I was giving a little speech when the first cannonball hit. We didn’t know what hit us. We all got into battle stations, but they had a fleet. We stood our ground and my crew died with honor. I convinced my brother to play dead with me, we’d either get out alive or we’d have a better chance to ambush any attackers. It wasn’t hard, we were both so damned beat up. I didn’t know why, but he insisted on laying half on top of me, for realism he said. Bullshit. We both froze and pretended to be corpses as that damned Admiral came down into the guts of the ship, he was stabbing bodies through the heart to make sure they were dead.” Your expression curled into a snarl, “When he got to us, I was waiting on my brother’s cue, he needed to hop up first then I’d pop up and go crazy. He didn’t. He laid perfectly still as that sword ran him through, I just had to not flinch as it dug into my stomach a bit,” you said, pointing to your exposed stomach, a scar to the right, “I held still, I couldn’t let the Admiral know we were alive! When he left, I tried to stop the bleeding, but it would’ve never worked. He was dying. I cried and tried not to scream, and he just smiled, cracking jokes.” You scoffed, “Jokes! He made me promise to get out alive, to move on, to live my life and take down as many Marines as I could in the process.” You said, setting your jaw, glaring a hole through the picture in your hand. “He died smiling, and the Marines lit the ship on fire and left it to sink to the bottom of the sea. I took a dinghy that was left, a bit of food and some water and just rowed my way in one direction until I found an island, boat hopping my way back here. I was the only survivor, but since that Admiral had ‘checked’, everyone thought I was dead. Everyone was spooked as hell when I came home. I’ve been here, laying low between attacks on the Marines ever since.”

Luffy swallowed the lump in his throat, “Ace died taking a hit for me. An Admiral tried to ambush me, he had a magma fruit, and Ace stepped in. Punched him right through the chest. He died right there in my arms, and he did that shit too. He died smiling.” Luffy muttered, fighting back tears.

“He was a great man.” You muttered, shifting to sit next to Luffy properly, your legs dangling off the edge of the bed next to each other. “He really did talk about you all the time. You and Sabo.” You said, nudging Luffy’s knee with yours, “He-“ you huffed out a laugh, “he was convinced that you and I would fall in love, get married, the whole shebang. He even picked out names for our three kids.” You giggled.

Luffy flushed a bit, “He did not.”

“He did!” you insisted, counting off on your fingers, “Ruby Anne, River Lee, and Rocky Viper” you snickered, “He insisted he’d be their god father and that he’d spoil them all rotten. He came up with entire life plans for them after a while.”

Luffy found himself letting out a wheeze of a laugh, “What the hell?”

You nodded, “He was convinced they’d all be pirate captains, and that Ruby would take over for you when you got old as King. He always said she was the only responsible one. Said she took after me.” You chuckled at the memories. “He’d scold me for doing stupid stuff by saying stuff like, ‘Is this a story you want River to hear?’ or ‘Ruby’s gonna make fun of you for that in like thirty years!’.” You exclaimed, a poor imitation of Ace’s voice.

Luffy couldn’t drop the questions whispering at the back of his skull, “I still don’t know why he never talked about you.” You both frowned.

“I don’t either.”

Robin settled further into her seat with a sigh, the letter burning a hole in her pocket. Finally having enough, she ushered Chopper off of her lap and excused herself to the restroom, locking the door behind her. She turned on the tap for a moment so she could rip open the adhesive. Robin knew this was invasive, wrong, rude even, but she had to read it before she let her captain have it. She couldn’t risk another blow up in this tender transition period.

She hopped up and sat on the counter, taking the papers out of the envelope and began to skim over the handwritten words. It was a letter from Ace, alright. It said something about how he was glad that Luffy had found you, that he always knew you’d come together on your own. He apologized for hiding this part of his life from Luffy, and the explanation made Robin sigh in disappointment. ‘Men.’

It went on to detail some of Ace’s adventures with you and your brother, it insisted that Luffy was going to love you both, laying it on thick that you were Luffy’s age, and that you could cook.

Robin found nothing offensive in the letter, so she sighed in relief and folded the letter back up, going to stick the letter back in the envelope when she noticed something inside. She shook out the little square and held it up, an exasperated groan ripping out of her. It was a picture of you, it was from behind, you were in a small bikini, sitting on a dock, talking to someone out of frame as you put up your hair, it was longer back then. The sun was setting behind you and it frankly was a beautiful photo of you, but the note at the bottom made her glower, “She’s perfect for you, lil dude!”. Then Robin noticed the side boob and the way you could see most of your ass.

“She was a teenager!” Robin hissed, shaking the photo in her hand, but she relented, slotting the picture and the letter into the envelope, sticking the tongue of the envelope into its opening, slipping it back into her pocket.

‘MEN!’

[fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat]

Quiet My Fears (With The Touch Of Your Hand) Ch. 4

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: Robin doubles down and Steve's having nightmares, imagined and real.

Warnings: Language, Steve is extra sad in this one folks.

Word Count: 3635

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Notes: I'm back! Everyone come collect your crumbs!

Summer heat enveloped Steve as he got out of the car into the garage, hot and soft on his skin after having sat in the harsh (though definitely welcomed) blow of the air conditioning during the drive back from the grocery store. He circled to the back of the vehicle, opening the trunk and deftly weaving his forearm through the loops of as many plastic bags as he could in one go; three on his right arm, three on his left, the final bag gripped in his non-dominant hand.

It wasn’t his parents' garage, he wasn’t sure whose it was, but the detail didn’t seem to hold any importance at the moment. 

The door to the house was unlocked, the residents home, so he carefully twisted the knob and inched inside. He winced as the bag containing the dozen eggs he’d bought bumped into the doorframe rather hard. He hoped the sliced cheddar cheese had taken the brunt of the whack.

“I’m home!” he called into the house and put the bags on the kitchen counter. He heard faint commotion coming from upstairs, followed by rapid footsteps.

“Oh, thank Christ,” you responded as you revealed yourself from behind the doorway to his right. It was most certainly you, though you seemed frazzled, and maybe a tad older than he thought you should look, though again, the detail seemed irrelevant. 

“What happened?” Steve questioned, concerned.

“Donny Dino has disappeared,” you explained. Steve seemed to grasp the severity of what you’ve just said, despite how silly it might sound to an outside observer.

“Not Donny Dino,” he proclaimed, a smile on his face despite the shake of his head.

“Do not laugh, this is a life or death situation!” you exclaimed, though you seemed to be suppressing a laugh of your own.

“It is not ‘life or death.’ It’s a stuffed Brachiosaurus.”

“A stuffed Brachiosaurus that our son loves more than both of us combined!” you declared. You moved across the tile floor to the other side of the kitchen, checking underneath the table as you went. “Why can’t these kinds of crises ever happen to you, huh? I go to the store, the kid sits happy as a goddamn clam, but the moment you leave, shit hits the fan!”

“We will find Donny Dino, alright?” Steve assured you. You bent down to look underneath the sofa, probably for the fourth or fifth time. “He’s here somewhere.”

“I know, it’s fine, but he’s panicked, and that always leaves me panicked, and-” you cut yourself off, straitening up and turning to look at Steve, when a small voice called with all its might;

“I found him!”

Another bout of quick, excited footsteps followed, a small boy bounding down the steps and stopping only just before ramming himself into Steve’s knees. Looking at him, with his own big baby deer eyes and the fluffy green dinosaur held tightly in his arms, Steve felt a swell of adoration bloom in his chest

“Where was he, buddy?” you asked as you scooped him up into your arms.

“Under the bed,” the boy explained very matter-of-factly.

“What?” you asked, deflating just a touch. “You told me you already looked there, little dude!”

“I didn’t see him the first time!” 

“Or the second time, or the third time, yeah, yeah,” you said, smiling as you walked into the kitchen with Steve following behind you. 

Steve worked quickly to get the groceries put away as you and the boy sat at the table pushed up against the windows, discussing the harrowing journey poor Donny Dino had to go through before finally being rescued from “the under the bed,” as the boy put it. Steve had just opened one of the cabinets, back turned towards the kitchen table, when a loud crack of thunder sounded, seemingly coming from nowhere. 

“That’s odd. Didn’t think it was supposed to rain today,” Steve said as he turned to look out the windows. The bright, sunny sky he had been under just a few minutes ago had darkened, turning a foreboding gray, filled with fat storm clouds and crackly lightning. A pit formed in his stomach; no, that’s not right, that can’t be right. 

“Steve?” you asked from behind him, voice small and unnaturally even, like you had to think out your words very carefully. 

You were standing now, and the boy in your arms had his face tucked into your neck. Steve was about to ask you what was wrong when big, horrible vines made themselves visible from behind you, wriggling and dripping with muck as they slowly, painfully slowly, began to intertwine around your neck, your ankles, your son.

“No,” Steve breathed out. “No!”

He ran, darted towards the two of you faster than he thought was possible. Not fast enough, though, as the vines ripped you backward into a thick black void behind you, sounds of your and your sons screaming mixing together into a horrible ring as you went flying away from-

Steve flew upright in bed, back stiff as a board. Not real, not real, it wasn’t real. His breathing was coming out strangely, though he couldn’t tell if it was too fast or not fast enough. Either way, he probably wasn’t getting the right amount of oxygen. He shut his eyes again, hard, and ghosted his hand to your side of the sheets to really, finally prove to himself that you’re okay, you’re asleep right next to him, and-

His hand was met by empty sheets.

Oh, god, what if it hadn’t actually been a nightmare? What if it had been real, and he had just forgotten? He threw himself out of the bed and scrambled out into the hall.

You were sitting at the end of the kitchen counter. The linoleum was raised above the rest of the surface there, and you were perched on one of the tall bar stools with a textbook laid out in front of you. 

“Are you alright?” you asked him.

“Yeah,” Steve supplied quickly. “Sorry, yeah. Just, uh, just a bad dream.”

“Your turn this time, huh?” you joked, though Steve was still reeling and could do little more than just nod his head and trudge over to you.

All of you still had upside down nightmares, though for the most part, they had steadily been slowing down, yours and Steve’s included. Unfortunately, however, yours had come back in full force over the last few months. Your doctor said it was fairly common; hormonal changes can result in very vivid and oftentimes upsetting dreams, she had explained. You’d been waking up screaming at odd hours of the night at least once a week for the past month and a half. It made Steve feel wildly guilty.

You greeted Steve with open arms and pulled him into the tightest hug you could manage from where you were sitting. His fingertips glided ever so delicately across your bump before his whole hand planted onto it. Still there. He had to double check.

“You wanna talk about it?” you asked.

“No,” he answered.

“You sure? Might make you feel better.”

“Yes.” He pulled away from you and hopped up onto the seat next to yours. His eyes caught the time glowing on the face of the microwave. It read 5:02. “What are you doing up, anyway?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said. “Figured I might as well do something useful.”

You gestured down to the textbook on the counter. You had finals next week and, should you do as well as Steve knows you will, you would be graduating a month after that. 

“You want help?” Steve asked you. He picked up a stack of flashcards you had made.

“You should go back to bed,” you said, pulling the stack right out of Steve’s hands. It made him laugh.

“Only if you go with me, and I know you won’t, so let me help,” Steve insisted. You considered for a moment, and when Steve gave you some fantastic puppy dog eyes, you conceded.

“Fine.” You handed the stack back over to Steve, who accepted it with a dramatic flourish.

“Thank you. Okay, first question. I definitely don’t know this one,” he began. “John William Waterhouse is known for painting during which artistic movement?”

Come sunrise, you and Steve had powered through Art History, Women’s Studies, and American Literature. If the flashcards were anything to go by, you were going to pass each and every one of your finals with flying fuckin’ colors. 

Eight a.m. rolled around far too quickly for Steve’s liking, and as much as he would’ve loved to sit with you for the rest of the day, he had an opening shift he had to get to in an hour's time. 

Monday mornings at Family Video were about as dead as any store could get, but the completely full return bin kept him relatively busy once the doors were opened. Actually, if he timed the rest of the opening duties correctly, he could generally get through the day without having to do any real work at all. Usually, he would have been able to fill any extra time by chatting with Robin, but that seemed unlikely for today, if the scowl on her face from the other side of the front door told Steve anything. Keith had a matching disdainful look on his face as the pair came inside, though that wasn’t a surprise to anyone. 

Robin, of course, barrelled right past Steve into the break room without a word. He desperately wanted to follow her but knew he wouldn’t be able to say anything helpful. Keith stopped in front of him.

“I don’t know what the hell you did to her,” he remarked, voice as lifeless as ever, “but you really shat the bed on this one, huh?”

“I’m aware of that, thank you,” Steve muttered.

“Just felt like it was worth reminding you.” 

The rest of the day moved silently, and Steve was sure it would never, ever end. Three p.m. couldn’t get there fast enough. 

Keith, always on Robin’s side of any conflict (even the ones he knew absolutely nothing about), let her spend the majority of her shift doing paperwork in the office. That not only meant that Steve wasn’t able to get in a single word with her, but also that Keith was out front with him. All day long. He didn’t even get to sort through the returns like he wanted to; Keith commandeered that task pretty much immediately, leaving Steve to mindlessly walk circles around the store and pretend to look busy.

Steve spent most of the day weighing whether or not punching him in the face was worth his job.

Just past two o’clock, Robin poked her head out of the office, calling simply, “Keith! Come here for a second?” She retreated just as quickly as she had appeared.

“Watch the door,” he ordered as he rounded the desk. “And don’t touch my returns!”

Steve grumbled but did as he was told anyway. 

The pile of returns taunted him from the counter the whole time Keith was away. His organizational system didn’t even make any sense! Clearly, it wasn’t alphabetical, but it wasn’t by genre either, so-

“Harrington!” Steve jumped out of his skin at the sound of Keith calling his name, charging out of the back like a freight train. “What the hell did you do?”

“What?” Steve questioned.

“You did something!”

“And?”

“And, now I’m losing my best employee over whatever stupid bullshit you pulled!” Keith raved, slamming a piece of paper onto the counter. Steve turned his attention to it, eyes skimming across the words scribbled across the page in Robin’s chicken scratch handwriting. The only words his brain was really able to process were ‘two weeks’ notice’ and ‘last day’. 

“No, that can’t be right, she-”

“Everything was fine, and then you two got into this dumbshit fight, and you are fixing this!” Keith demanded.

“What do you want me to do?” Steve inquired. “She won’t listen to a word I say!”

“I want you to go into the office and make her stay!”

“But-”

“Office! Go!” Keith pointed towards the door.

Reluctantly, Steve left the counter and walked away. Behind him, he heard Keith call “You fucked with my tapes, didn’t you!”

Stalking through the short stockroom between rows of too-tall metal shelves, Steve felt like he was about to burst into tears. He stopped in front of the closed office door and read over Robin’s two weeks’ notice one more time before knocking on the door.

“It’s open,” Robin said through the wood. 

The office, and the stock room too, had no windows; the only light in either space came from the hissing fluorescent lights in the ceiling (it didn’t help that at least half of the bulbs had gone out, and Keith couldn’t ever remember to order more). It was always freezing back there, and the Spring heat mixed with the day’s forecast of pouring rain and dense, dark clouds, making the whole building humid to the point where there was condensation pooling on the cinder block walls. The whole back half of the place felt more like a cave than a building.

“You’re quitting?” Steve asked, holding the letter aloft. 

“The only reason I work here at all is because of you, idiot. And there’s no way you can keep working here now. I’m not gonna keep torturing myself here because of some delusional idea that you’re the same person,” Robin spat.

“What does that mean?” Steve asked. Hurt pooled behind his eyes and in his throat; he was worried he might choke on it. “I’m still me, I promise.”

“You lied to me for months.”

“And I’m sorry!” he lamented. “I should never have lied to you. I should have told you everything that was going on, from the very beginning! I was an idiot, but I was fucking scared, and-”

“I don’t really care, Steve!” Robin said. “You can be as sorry as you want to be, but that doesn’t change how much it hurts to know that you’d rather keep this shit from me than just fucking talk!”

Steve just stood there, mute.

“My last shift is next Monday. I’ll make sure Keith changes the schedule so we don’t have to see each other.” Robin stood up from the rickety old desk chair and quickly gathered up her belongings  from her locker.

“Wait, please don’t leave yet!” Steve pleaded. “Can we just talk about this?”

“Nope,” she spat out.

“Hold on, wait!” Steve chased after Robin as she darted towards the front door. Keith’s eyes followed the both of them. “Your shift doesn’t end ‘til four. Can we please just talk until then, at least?”

“Keith!” she blurted. “Can I leave early?”

“Are you still quitting?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then no,” Keith answered.

“See? Can’t leave yet,” Steve tried, desperate to get her to stay.

“Too bad,” Robin responded. She backed towards the door and called to Steve as she was pushing it open, sarcasm soaking her words, “ sure hope they don’t fire me.” 

Steve watched in silence as Robin unlocked her bike and peddled off, stormy winds whipping her hair and soaking her clothes.

“Great job,” Keith mocked. “I mean, really, that was a five star performance if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Fuck off,” Steve barked, walking passed the counter toward the stockroom door.

“Hey, you can’t talk to me like that!” Steve ignored Keith’s words as he gathered his own things to leave, his boss hot on his heels. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? You definitely don’t get to leave, I need you to cover the rest of Robin’s shift!”

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure something out,” Steve huffed, pushing the door open and stomping to his car. He sped out of the parking lot with a squeal.

Steve thought, sometimes, that he felt all of his emotions much stronger than everyone else felt theirs. He must, right? The only other person he knew who cried as much as he did was you, and that was really only because you were pregnant, so in his head, it didn’t count. 

He used to despise it when he was younger; he thought there was something wrong with him, though that line of thinking was most likely his father’s doing; Steve was always too sensitive for his dad. By the time he was in high school, he had gotten very good at pushing it all down, down, down, into the recesses of his brain, where sadness could transform into anger, anger into aggression. 

He’d grown up a lot since then, but he’d naively assumed that becoming an adult would make his feelings easier to handle. Clearly, he had been wrong, and he felt just as powerless and small in the face of his emotions as he had when he was little. It all felt far too big for him to have to face all by himself.

And he really did have to face it by himself. He had you, but it was really more like you had him. It was his job to shoulder the brunt of the weight, and god, he wished more than anything in the world that he hadn’t pushed Robin away like he did. He desperately needed her to untangle everything he was feeling, to revel in the joy and quell his incessant worry about what he (well, really you) was experiencing.

He knew that it was his own damn fault that Robin was angry, and the feeling left a physical ache in his bones. It wasn’t the baby she was mad about (he really hoped it wasn’t, at least) it was Steve’s cowardice. The lying, the sneaking, the fact that he was too much of a pussy to just tell her the fucking truth! And even in the end, she still didn’t end up hearing it from him! Every bit of vile anger that Robin threw his way felt completely deserved.

Steve had lost his mother, and now his closest friend, and if it weren’t for you, he might not have had anyone left at all. 

He had calmed down some by the time he made it back home. The sound of fat raindrops colliding with the roof of the car provided Steve with the perfect white noise to fill up his head and drown out his pathetic self-pity before he could walk through your apartment door and worry you with any of it.

Steve shut the door, turned to face it, and dropped his forehead to the wood with a thud. He shut his eyes and sighed. He could feel the condensation from his breath build up and make the paint feel sticky. So far, he had fixed exactly nothing. 

“That you?” you called through the apartment. 

Steve sucked in a sharp breath and responded, “yeah.”

You appeared in the kitchen. Steve tried his hardest to put on a convincing smile.

“How was your day?” he asked you. The absolute last thing he wanted to talk about was his own. 

“Good. Yeah, good,” you responded. You were fidgeting with the odds and ends on the counter, like you were pretending to dust. You flitted through the room. “My, uhm, my mom called.”

“What?”

“Told me they aren’t going to fly out for my graduation, so I shouldn’t bother saving them any tickets,” you stated very matter-of-factly. 

“Seriously?” Steve asked, dumbfounded.

“Yep,” you chirped. You began wiping down the countertop with a wet rag.

“Did you tell her. . .” he trailed off. He was sure you would know what he meant.

“Yeah. I did.”

“What’d she say?”

“Nothing. She just hung up.”

Steve wanted to kill your mother. He wanted to kill her for the way she treated you, and he wanted to kill your father for the way he did nothing about it. This was by no means a new desire for him, but whatever anger he had felt towards them in the past paled in comparison to how he felt hearing what you had just told him.

Your mother had reached a new level of cruelty that made his blood absolutely boil.

After the “earthquakes,” they wanted to move away, out of state, and you didn’t want to follow them. You had already turned eighteen at that point, you were an adult; they couldn’t force you to go, but your mother took it personally and your father was too much of a pushover to go against her wishes in any way.

Things just never really went back to normal after that.

“Jesus, that’s,” was all he could think to say. “That’s awful.”

“Y’know, honestly,” you began. “I think it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked. The tone of your voice, the way you told him all of this as if it was no different from any other anecdote about your daily goings on, made him think it was very much not fine. 

“I am,” you said. “They don’t get to be half in half out of my life. Either they’re here, or they’re not here. It’s all or nothing, I’m not going to force them to love me if they don’t.”

“They do love you,” Steve insisted, though you only responded with a look that read as ‘are you fucking kidding me?’. 

“All or nothing,” you reiterated. “They have chosen ‘nothing.’ No good reason to pretend like they haven’t.”

Steve made his way over to where you were standing in front of the sink with your back turned to him. His hands met your sides in a wildly delicate touch, your name a whisper on his lips as they met your left temple. You turned around in his arms and he held you tightly as you cried.

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