#now everyone's in their own separate dish

[queerstudiesnatural]

i miss my college friends :(

[iftitah]

my mom's college is sooo nostalgic 😭

[eowynstwin]

Blackbird, Fly - Three

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time. content warning for marital rape after the second break previous masterlist ao3 next

“Come,” says Hans, tugging on your arm, “let’s get you ready for the ceremony.”

Your husband-to-be leads you up the porch steps and into the house, long legs carrying him ahead so fast you must practically jog to keep up with him. You stumble when you enter the house—the interior is fantastically well-appointed, with papered walls and carved wood furniture, framed photos hanging beside paintings, pressed flowers, hunting trophies, rifles and knives and old farm equipment. The floor beneath your feet is polished and smooth, spread over in places with thick, fringed rugs. You don’t see much more of it after your initial impression; Hans pulls you along at a clip.

Even such a brief glimpse, though, proves your long-held assumptions about Hans and his livelihood; his family has done well for itself, over the years. The kitchen, dining room, and sitting room are all separate from each other, and the manor’s first floor alone is larger than the small farmhouse you grew up in. Your family always made an effort to present a comfortable, clean home, but it seems downright drab in memory now in comparison to this.

There’s a bit of a bustle going on as Hans tugs you along—you hear movement in the kitchen, punctuated by the clang of dishes moving to and fro. A rough voice grinds out something short, and a couple of cowboys emerge with covered dishes that they set on the dining table before they return back into the fray. In the sitting room, an older woman with short, sandy brown hair sits at a desk, spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She glances up at you, betrays no interest, and then ignores you.

“You’ll meet everyone at the ceremony,” Hans says. He directs you up the stairs. “Right now you need something nice to wear.”

“O-oh,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirt as you climb the steps. The fabric, purchased at a discount after you’d saved pennies and nickels for months, suddenly feels thin and insubstantial between your fingers.

Hans brings you into the main bedroom, equally well-designed with molded wood paneling and brass lanterns on the walls, where he goes to a chest at the foot of the massive bed four-poster bed. Everything you’ve seen so far in this house is much finer than what even the most well-to-do farmers back home could display; you used to imagine that wealth like this could only be within the reach of select few businessmen on the east coast. You never imagined you’d have the chance to marry into it.

“I think this should suit you,” says Hans, turning to you with a stack of clothing in one hand.

You take it from him when he proffers it—a skirt, blouse, and jacket, you find. The fabric is silky in your hands, glossy and cool to the touch and very fine. You shake out the skirt; yards of bustled fabric tumble open to reveal pleated gathers, elegant bows, and velvet trim. The paired jacket is much the same, with pearl buttons down the front, and the accompanying blouse is a weave of tight, delicate lace.

Your earlier fears are soundly confirmed; you are in no way dressed for a wedding to Hans König. Gaz had only been trying to be kind; being here, now, seeing the kind of splendor Hans lived with every day, no one could make the mistake that you could measure up on your own.

“Thank you, Hans,” you say, face warming with embarrassment.

“Think nothing of it,” says Hans, looking you up and down expectantly. “Go on.”

You blink. “Ex—excuse me?”

Hans raises his brows as if it should be obvious. “Why, let’s see you in it, dear girl.”

You blanch. Surely he isn’t suggesting…“But—well, Hans, we aren’t—we haven’t—”

“My dear, I’ve already promised to marry you. Why would I go to such expense on a wedding merely to fool you into showing me your underthings?”

You drop your gaze to the floor, cheeks burning. “It’s not proper.”

“Bah,” says Hans. He takes the clothes back from you, tosses them onto the bed, and brings his hands to the buttons down your front. “It’s not like I won’t see this again in a few hours.”

You are rooted to the spot. He unbuttons your dress with an alacrity that startles you; in a few short moments, he makes an opening wide enough to slip over your shoulders, and unceremoniously he pushes the collar open and lets the dress drop to the floor.

You blink several times. You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time; do they feel suddenly like they’ve been skinned? Does the air suddenly feel much closer, more real than it had before? You remember shearing season on a neighbor’s farm, the angular planes of shortened fleece cropped close to twitching flesh. The sheep had looked unfinished after the deed was done—like wooden figurines only partly whittled.

When you look to Hans’ face, you find him gazing at the tight space where your chemise tucks into the line of your corset. Then, as if in a dream, he reaches out with one huge hand and cups the mound of one breast.

The air vacates your lungs. It’s the first time a man has ever touched you this way.

When young ladies of a certain age gather to socialize, matters of discussion inevitably tend toward the prurient. Your peers delighted in sharing the wealth of erotic experience they’d accrued; trysts in larders, late graveyard meetings, dizzying accounts of hands and mouths in places that sent shame pumping hot and curious through your veins. You lived vicariously through their adventures; opportunities for your own, with three older brothers and a protective father, were nonexistent.

The embarrassing fact is that in matters of your marital duties, you received no practical education.

The one time your mother, a modest woman, saw fit to tutor you, she’d taken you out to the small enclosure in which the family goats were kept. The animals were useful for milk and occasionally meat, so there was always a breeding pair at hand. This occasion, they served the additional use of instruction; the male was rutting.

Your mother had made you watch as the billy mounted the nanny, and shoved its little goat prick into her hindquarters. The billy seemed mindless with want, ferocious, gyrating its hips uncomfortably, which the nanny took with what seemed like resigned patience, if it was paying attention at all. Once the billy finished, it dismounted, chewed its cud a little bit, and walked off. The nanny seemed unperturbed, rather detached from the whole thing, and similarly continued with whatever it had been doing before.

“It’s about like that,” said your mother, unable to look you in the eye.

So you have little knowledge of the matter.

And you have no idea what to do now, as your husband-to-be fondles you and stares down at you with what seems like only idle interest. Hans’ thumb brushes over the space where your nipple would be, hot even through layers of cotton and whalebone. The fine hairs on your arms raise, standing straight up.

What are you supposed to do now? Touch him back? Your stomach turns over at the thought. Even if you wanted to, you have no idea how. Hans is touching you so casually, as if you’ve been his wife for years, but you are as poor in wifely instinct as you are in everything else.

“Lovely,” he says, eyes locked on the place where your chest is rapidly rising and falling.

You inhale shakily. This is fine. He wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t—of course it’s all right, you’re to be married within the hour. It’s only your breast, and only his hand, and it’s over your clothes. It’s fine.

“May—” your voice comes out dry. You clear your throat. “May I dress now, Hans?”

He smiles. You note that he has a thin-lipped smile, and his eyes do not crinkle at the corners. “Of course.”

-

When the guests have all arrived, when the world around you is bathed in the orange-gold light of the setting sun, and when the mandolin plays the bridal chorus, you join Hans König under an archway of lupine and Indian paintbrush. Evening gives way to night as the last day of your old life comes to a close, ending as you say the words that until now you’ve only whispered in the night at your bedside.

For better—for worse—as long as you both shall live. Over and over again, until your tongue recognized the shape of them like the Lord’s Prayer. As if practicing them enough would speed the hour to you all the sooner in which their vow became real.

Hans kisses you for the second time, and then together, arm in arm, you turn to face the congregation’s applause.

Stars begin peeking white faces through the dimming sky as the band strikes up a tune, and as the reception commences, you must shake hands with the whole county. The priest John MacTavish insists upon introducing himself first—a younger man, with vivid blue eyes and an unusual haircut, gives his congratulations in a husky Scottish brogue entirely inappropriate for a man of the cloth. He’s followed by the sheriff, Simon Riley, who practically chases him off—another tall man, near to your husband’s height, and twice as broad. Curiously, he wears a bandanna across the lower half of his face. His greeting to you is gruff, short—polite in a way that seems unnatural for him.

Next is a slightly older woman, splendidly dressed in lace-trimmed taffeta. She comes over to kiss your cheeks in the French style. Hans ducks his head as she smiles at you; you can’t help but feel similar trepidation. She is terribly striking, with delicate creases on either side of her mouth and a mysterious twinkle in her eye.

“The hotel in town is my establishment,” she tells you. “The bath house, as well.”

“Oh,” you say, “how lovely.”

Her smile quirks at the corners; she looks at Hans, then back to you, and softly chucks your chin. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Madame, thank you,” your husband says quickly as your face sets to blazing. “I believe others would like to speak to us, as well, if you don’t mind.”

She gives you another enigmatic smile, tightens the light chiffon wrap around her shoulders, and leaves you to the banker and his wife, who both eagerly step up to talk your ear off.

Farmers, other ranchers, ramblers and gamblers and trappers; it seems everyone in the state has come to pay you their respects, and they all want to meet you at the exact same time. The rough voice you heard in the kitchen manifests itself in the form of a burly man with mutton chops, who introduces himself as John Price the saloon owner. A young woman with an unsmiling face named Ms. Boucher tells you your first purchase at her dry goods store will be discounted by five percent, as a welcome gift from her to you. She punctuates the statement with a narrow-eyed look at your husband, but you have no time to wonder at it before the next guests capture your attention.

A whole line of Hans’ cowboys, headed by the woman you saw working at the writing desk when you arrived, form up to tell you their names and pledge you their loyalty, still dressed in their wrangling leathers but bathed and combed and polished for the occasion nonetheless. The woman introduces herself as Kate Laswell, the foreman.

“I took care of the accounting after Anna passed,” Laswell says to you. “Tomorrow I’ll go through the books with you. It’ll be your job from now on.”

“Now, Kate, you shouldn’t discuss business at my wedding,” says Hans, politely, but somewhat terse. “And besides, that would be far too much for my new bride.”

“Hans, I told you,” you say earnestly, referencing a summer letter, “I want to be a part of things.”

He smiles genially at you—but the expression seems tight. “Of course, dear.”

“Tomorrow,” Kate says to you. Curiously, she looks you up and down. Then, “You’ll need to see the tailor, as well, I think.”

Her words are not said unkindly, but they shame you anyway, reminding you just how poorly matched as yet you are to this life. When you’d put the dress on earlier, it had been immediately clear to you that it was not made to your measurements, but you hadn’t thought it would be so obvious to anyone else. Only Hans’ cowboys proceeding to introduce themselves saves you from having to respond.

One is conspicuously absent.

Unexpectedly, it hurts. Even though it shouldn’t. Gaz had only driven you here, after all. You’ve known him less than a day. It shouldn’t disappoint you, as you keep your eyes on the moving line, that he does not come forward, but it does.

In between meeting the county folk, you manage to get a few bites of the wedding feast—prime rib, lamb chowder, baked fish, seasoned potatoes, collard greens, fried tomatoes, sourdough biscuits, and three different fruit cobblers still somehow steaming from the oven. You and Hans cut the bride’s cake, an impressive sheet of angel food and ivory buttercream that he must have procured at outrageous cost; you are not embarrassed to wolf it down in front of Hans’ guests. It’s the sweetest, softest thing you’ve ever eaten, more delicate than you ever could have imagined any food could be.

As the sky darkens overhead, the faint cloud of the milky way coalesces in the light of the waxing moon, and the band takes up a lively jig as the wedding party sallies forth to the clearing to dance arm in arm. Your husband whirls you along with them, arm around your waist, and then you’re dancing, too, and the familiar two-step lifts your flagging spirits as the cool night air runs quick, soft fingers across your burning cheeks.

So what if some cowboy hadn’t made it to your wedding? You’re dancing with your husband, after months of longing for him; everything and everyone else is inconsequential laid up against this triumph.

Faces blur in the lamplight the night falls indigo around you, and as the music changes Hans twirls you into a new set of arms in a jaunt that has everyone exchanging partners. They hold you only briefly before the music changes again, and off you bounce to another, the world spinning around you faster and faster, jubilant and surreal, and then another—

Suddenly you are in Kyle Garrick’s arms.

He catches you like lassoing a runaway horse, taking your momentum into the pillar of his body as he winds you in close. One of his hands spreads warm across your back, fingers spanning what feels like the entire breadth of your waist. His other cradles your own in his palm, long fingers folded around it like an envelope. You fit against him easily, perfectly, like a couple illustrated in a storybook.

“Mr. Garrick,” you gasp.

“Mrs. König,” he says.

Suddenly you realize you’re out of breath. You take deep gulps of air, and Gaz’s scent permeates your lungs. Lavender soap and bay rum, polished leather, sweet hay. The soft, dense curls of his hair are combed and parted a little, and the short stubble he’d greeted you with on the train platform is tonsured down flush to his jaw.

He leans in closer to you, hovers his lips near to one ear. “You changed your dress.”

He doesn’t keep pace with the other dancers, or swing you around in time with the music; he lets the world slow around you both, the music falling away as he brings the pace of your heart down with soft line of his mouth and the steady, still look in his dark eyes. His hand on your back radiates so much warmth that it cuts through the evening chill just beginning to set in, as if his palm is directly against your naked skin.

You smile meekly. “It wasn’t appropriate for a wedding.”

His dark brows pull together; his hands tighten their purchase on you. You watch him avert his eyes from you, take a great breath in through flared nostrils.

“Mr. Garrick,” you say, feeling too honest, “do you disapprove of me?”

He snaps his gaze back to you. “Why would you think that?”

You swallow. “You don’t seem very pleased, whenever we talk, is all.”

Suddenly Gaz smiles—lets out a short, sharp laugh that bares his even teeth, shows the points of his canines. “That’s not your fault. I promise you.”

“Then what is it?”

He gazes at you. Lamplight casts the angles of his face in shadow, deepens the darkness of his eyes. His shoulder is solid beneath where your hand rests, shaped hard by a life on the range; you could lay the entirety of your weight against him, you think, and he wouldn’t even sway with holding you up. There’s something very present about Kyle Garrick. Something real. It draws you in like the earth draws the moon into its orbit.

“Do you really want this?” he asks you.

You blink. “Of course I do.”

“You hardly know him.”

“I’ve known him for half a year, Mr. Garrick,” you say, somewhat unsure how much explanation you owe this cowboy. After all, you’d vowed to earn his trust, as his employer’s new wife. “I know you might have some reservations about me. I understand, really.”

“No,” says Gaz immediately, dark brows low and serious over his eyes. “Not about you.”

“Mrs. König!” an accented voice calls.

Immediately the world speeds up around you again, music crashing back into your ears, wedding guests spinning and leaping around you, and you turn to see your husband standing at the edge of the clearing.

The dancing comes to a halt at the sound of his voice; Hans outstretches one hand toward you.

“I believe it is time for us to retire,” he says.

Gaz’s hands tighten on you again. You feel the eyes of the other dancers on the two of you, tight lines of attention between you and them.

You have felt it all evening, really—the undercurrent lining every conversation, the askance looks tossed at you and your husband when no one thought you’d notice. The pervading sense of some drama playing out just outside of your comprehension.

You turn to look back at Gaz. His mouth is pressed into a hard line. The wells of his eyes are ink-dark, opaque, eclipsed by something of a shape beyond your knowing. He says nothing as he holds your gaze, only watches you with an expectation so stoic, so resigned, that you feel almost guilty for releasing him.

He lets you go as if his grasp wasn’t even tight in the first place. You turn away from him, from the stone-hard expression on his face, and go to slide your fingers into your husband’s waiting hand.

Wolf-whistles populate the night air as he smiles approvingly, nods, and leads you away. Short bursts of knowing applause behind you draw your shoulders tight together.

“Ignore them,” says Hans, tucking your hand into the crook of his arm. “They’re just fools.”

You look back over your shoulder. Gaz still stands amid the dancers, a wide berth around him. His eyes have not left you; they pierce you in the night, sharp even as the distance between you grows.

You have only one other point of reference, aside from your mother’s tutelage, for how the end of this evening might go. A topaz glimmering in the folds of your memory.

Years ago, before the shine had worn off as it usually does with older siblings, you’d worshiped your oldest brother like he was Jesus Christ returned. You’d trailed after him like a newborn pup, dogging his every step, hoping your devotion would earn you even the smallest scraps of his affection. You’d watched his comings and goings like you could divine the mysteries of God from the merest angle of his movements.

One night, far past the time when everyone should be asleep, he’d slipped out of the small three-room house your family shared. You knew, because you slept closest to the door, and by then could recognize him by the rhythm of his footsteps. Like any nosy little sibling, you’d followed him out once you were sure he couldn’t hear you behind him.

He’d made his creeping way toward the barn, his path and yours lit only by a waxing moon. You remember, sneaking along after him, noticing a dim glow emanating from the cracks in the hayloft door, and guessed that your brother had realized he’d forgotten to snuff a lantern before going to bed—and now he was going to put it out, rather than leave a hay fire to chance.

He went inside. You were about to follow (no sibling, however divine, was exempt from a good ribbing, and nearly burning down the barn was excellent blackmail fodder)—when you heard another voice.

A female voice. Soft, and sweet, and welcoming.

Very little preamble separated that revelation from the next, and what you heard in the following moments rooted you there in place; movement. Rustling. For the span of a few heartbeats, nothing except for the crickets in the fields—and then, like the moon rising on a cloudless night—a growing chorus, voices high and low, moaning together in staccato.

You’d stood there, frozen absolutely solid, as it went on. The high voice lifted higher, and higher, carried on frantic, rapid breaths, until it cut off with a shriek that muffled so fast you knew your brother had covered the girl’s mouth.

Then—quiet, shared laughter.

So you know a little more than what the goats taught you.

Hans leads you back inside the house, where the lanterns have been turned to low, orange specks of light. You fix your eyes on the nape of his neck ahead of you as the two of you climb the stairs, making your way back to the master bedroom. The cacophony of the wedding celebration is far away; he opens the door, draws you inside, and shuts it behind him.

You stand in the middle of the room, looking at him. This whole evening has felt like a dream, but as you gaze at your husband, you suddenly feel like you’re waking up. You have not been alone with Hans since you met him, not really, and you realize he hasn’t felt quite real to you because of it. You almost feel as if you can see him, for the first time, see the words that have made him up in your memory coalesce into the flesh-and-blood man standing before you.

This is him. This is Hans. This is the man you love.

Softly, you approach him. Reach up with two hands to take his face in them; press your lips, shyly, unpracticed, to his.

“Hans,” you say, more softly than you have ever said anyone’s name in your life, looking into the pale blue of his eyes.

He gazes down at you. “Let’s get undressed,” he says.

It’s the moment you expected, but it daunts you nonetheless. You nod, step away from your husband, and he sets to the task—he shucks his coat, dropping it on the floor, and unhooks his suspenders. Swiftly you turn away from him when he begins unbuttoning his shirt, face blazing—of course, you’ve seen men undress before, you have three brothers, but this—this—

The reality of what you are about to do douses you all at once, soaking you to the bone. When you bring your hands up to the buttons of your bodice, they are trembling; you can barely get the tiny pearls between your fingers to undo them. You hear more clothes land on the floor behind you as you struggle, and then nothing. Stillness.

His eyes are heavy on your back. He is silent as you finally get the jacket off, and the blouse along with it; he is silent as you push the skirt down over your hips, the garment piling on the floor.

Your whole body is shaking by the time you’re down only to your chemise, shivering like a foal on new legs as you bare your shoulders. You close your eyes. There’s no need to be afraid as you shuffle the garment down your back. It’s only your husband behind you, looking at you as you bare your buttocks, as you step out of the split shorts, as the cool night air caresses your naked belly.

“That’s enough,” Hans says behind you when your hands go to the ties on your stockings.

You go still.

“Get on the bed, now.”

-

You focus on your breathing. Long breaths, in and out, as you crawl belly-first onto the mattress, which sinks luxuriously under your weight, softer than any bed you’ve lain on in your life. Suddenly, before you have time to adjust, the mattress sinks even more under you, and an envelope of heat and weight looms over you, pressing hard onto you, bare skin and the smell of sweat and the sound of another person’s breathing over you invading your senses.

Then there’s something blunt nudging at the entrance of your sex. A hand on your hip, gripping tight. The blunt thing circles briefly, parting your folds, and then is pressing into you. Pressing in somewhere tight, somewhere that doesn’t want to open to let it in. You hold your breath. It presses harder, fighting the resistance, and then finally gets past it, just a half inch or so—and suddenly it hurts.

“Hans,” you whisper.

He hasn’t seem to have heard you. He pushes harder, just a bit further. There’s another wall of resistance, this one needling and far more solid. You gasp sharply at the dryness of it, the way his member seems to want to push your own folds up into you as it tries to get in, shoving, bludgeoning, and then, mercifully, Hans pulls away.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to suggest that maybe the two of you try this later. Clearly there is something about you that’s not ready for it—but then his hand is between your legs, smearing something slippery around, and just briefly he touches something that pulses with interest. You jolt as little sparks of pleasure dance through you but quickly burn out, and then, the blunt head of his cock is back, pushing in, much faster, much smoother, huge and hard—

Suddenly it is sharp inside you, razor sharp, paralyzing. You shriek in pain, tears welling acidic in your eyes, shocked, betrayed, and he keeps coming, an endless length of him forcing inside, making room where there is none, going somewhere it clearly must not belong—and then he groans, loud and guttural, and begins to pull out.

You don’t have enough time to mistake this for the end of it. He pulls out halfway and then rams back in, slamming against your body, punching what must be the very limit of the space he can make for himself in your body. Pain roars to life around his cock, radiating outward, a ripping and shredding that grows as he forces himself into you again, and then again, and then it’s happening for real, he’s begins thrusting so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs, slapping his hips against your backside as he grunts and groans behind you like a dumb animal. He batters some nexus of agony that sends you screaming, shrieking with every jerk of his hips, tears streaming down your face as you grip the blanket in clawed fingers.

“Please, Hans, stop, please!”you wail. “Stop, stop, stop—”

His hand grips back of your head, turning your face downward—pressing it against the bed, muffling your mouth and nose and eyes into the blanket—

He jerks against you as agony writes itself into your bone marrow. Your hands circle in on themselves so tightly you feel your fingernails bite into your palms. Any memory of laughter you ever had abandons you.

Then, suddenly, mercifully, he’s forcing himself into you as deeply as he can, groaning loud, and something warm blooms in you, squelches out warm and sticky as he pulls in and out a few more times. He stills then from his furious rutting, hanging over you, panting.

Then he pulls out. Your husband lets you go and rolls over, breathing hard on the bed. You lay absolutely dead still, shaking violently, every muscle in your body tensed up painfully tight.

“Hans,” you whimper, “Hans.”

“Mm-hm,” he hums.

“Hans.” Every nerve is vibrating with pain. “Hans, that hurt.”

There is a long silence after. So long, you start to believe that he won’t say anything; that perhaps, even, he’s fallen asleep, and your words have dropped like flies from the air between you before they reached him.

But he hasn’t fallen asleep. Your husband shuffles off the bed, lifts the linen, and shuffles back into it. The lantern light is dim in the bedroom, but light enough that you can see the nonplussed expression on his face.

“Anna got used to it,” he says finally, eyes closing. “You will too.”

And he turns on his side and says no more to you.

You lay there aching. When you drag your fingers through the slick mess between your thighs, streaks of red intermingle with the clear and the white.

Suddenly you want this day to be over. You want to close your eyes and dream that it never happened—or maybe, if you go to sleep, you’ll awaken to find that it was all a dream after all, and you’re still home, your mother cooking just outside the bedroom door. Slowly, you inch off the bed, finding the floor with your stockinged feet, and go to douse the lanterns.

The room is cold and silvery without their light. Darkness gathers in the corners, around the weak glow of moonlight failing to fully penetrate the curtains over the window. You gingerly swipe the cloth from a nearby washbasin between your legs, cleaning up the remnants of your husband’s pleasure, and then, with nowhere else to go, you return to the empty side of the bed and crawl stiffly under the covers.

He does not stir as you settle in beside him. You lay your head on the pillow next to his and fold your hands over your stomach.

Outside and far away, you think you can hear the band still merrily playing. The darkness deepens, and deepens, until you can’t tell where it ends and you begin.

-

[mochatsin]

When MC has a Cast

A small sequel to the prompt “When MC gets pushed off the stairs”. After that fiasco with those bullies, this now focuses on the short shenanigans that come with the brothers trying to take care of you after you sprained your ankle. However, not all of them are very knowledgeable when it comes to human health care. 

if you haven't read the first part, please do! As there are some parts that is a reference from it (though it doesn’t dwell too heavy on it so it can be read on its own)

Lucifer

If he was already overbearing towards his brothers, then it’s so much more towards you now that you’re hurt. He asked for less work for the time being so he can take care of you after school, a request that Diavolo is happy to grant. Lucifer knows he wouldn’t mind, especially when he says it’s part of his duties to care for the exchange student, an excuse that the royals could see through. Though everyone knows how much he truly cared about you.

He has the power to transform the house into something more handicap friendly for you. Ramps on elevated areas around the house, adhesive stickers in the bathroom so you don’t slip, handles by the walls in case you need it while walking. He was this close to buying you an expensive wheelchair from the human realm that he found online, you had to stop him from doing so since you wouldn’t need it when you’re better.

Lucifer has an hourly alarm on his phone that reminds him to check up on you. No matter what he was doing during the day, he’ll stop and take out his D.D.D. to call you. He asks if you’re feeling any better and if you’re taking any pain medication or prescription pills as needed. He hates how he has to rely on Solomon when it comes to your medicine since they’re only obtained in the human realm, so Lucifer decided to take better care of you instead to make up for the lack of human knowledge.

If you ever said you needed something, whether it would be a snack that can only be bought outside or extra pillows to cushion your leg, Lucifer will definitely make it happen. If not him, then he’s asking Mammon or any brother available to attend to your needs regardless if it’s something for your recovery or not.

“They miss that favorite drink they usually have after school so I need you to go get it before coming home.” Lucifer’s tone is commanding, and if it weren’t for the fact that it was for you then the brothers would’ve made a fuss about his attitude. “I know it’s four blocks away, but that’s what they want. See to it that you come home with it.” He leaves no room for negotiation when he abruptly ends the call, expecting his brothers to come home with your drink.

When you’re finally out of that cast, Lucifer still refuses to let you go up and down the stairs alone. As if you were no longer capable of doing so without supervision. He makes sure you’re always holding onto the rails and that the stairways are always clear so that you don’t trip. You don’t see it, but he’s been more vigilant around you just in case there are more students he needs to keep an eye out for.

Mammon

Knowing that leaving you for just a few minutes already got you in this mess, Mammon decided to be glued to you this time. It’s almost difficult to pry him away from you, and he’s miserable every time he’s separated that he’ll do whatever it takes to run back to your room. To him, he thinks that something bad might just happen to you again if he lays his eyes off you for a second. Sometimes you wake up to a three-eyed crow stationed by your window like a little guard.

Chores and assignments are done in haste, the quality is questionable but it’s honest work. Once he tried to just rush his household chores but due to how poorly done it was, he was separated from you again in order to finish it properly. Now he tries being quick about it but still somewhat passable to standards. The only thing in his mind is how he gets to hang out in your room after this was all done. 

Dishes and cutlery placed on the table where others had more spoons than the rest, the trash bags looked like they were just chucked into the garbage can outside, some clothes wasn’t sorted that Asmo got frustrated when he found his new shirt in Beel’s room where it was mistaken for a rag… Lucifer decided to assign chores that Mammon can take to your room, like laundry folding, to ease his brother’s nerves and lessen the stress he experiences on the daily. 

Mammon often steals stuff from the other brothers if he thinks it’s something that could bring you comfort. Asmo’s scent diffuser, Belphie’s blanket, even Lucifer’s mini record player to help you sleep. They would initially get mad, though they soon see a pile of all their stuff in your room, with you resting so soundly in the middle of it like it’s a nest. As annoying as it was to have their belongings stolen, the brothers let it slide for now.

“Can’t help it aight?! My hands are feelin’ extra grabby these days.” He says as he fluffs one of Beel’s burger-shaped pillows before placing it by your back for more support. Mammon then plops down by your side with a huff, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer. “That’s why ya gotta get better soon, ya hear me?”

He’s the one that refuses to let you walk around the house. Even if his brothers are there to supervise you, he claims that he’s your first demon so they should listen to him instead! Though it takes a little pout and maybe some puppy eyes from you to make Mammon yield.

Levi

At first Levi was a little agitated since taking care of you meant less time in his room. He always invited you there to hang out, but now with your cast it meant that he needs to adjust and relocate. It’s a small sacrifice if it means he gets to be with you. He’ll just switch base of operations.

Since he spends more time at home in the first place, he’s the one in charge of watching over you while everyone else is at RAD. Being a shut-in has its perks because it means he gets to hang out with you more, though it does a number on his nerves whenever he has to take care of you because he’s afraid he might make your condition worse somehow just by being next to you.

Lucifer already told him what he needs to do. Give you some medication at certain hours, assist if you need to walk or use the bathroom, and make sure you’re comfortable. It’s quite simple. They can’t risk stressing your injuries more, though that stress seems to be transmitting to Levi instead. “Hgnn… getting medication is like a fetch quest a-and assisting is like an escort mission… j-just like in the game.” Is what Levi mumbles to try and hype himself up by associating his tasks with something he loves.

Levi gets jumpy whenever you would walk, acting like you’d get hurt if you took a step with your bad leg. He’s good at keeping an eye out for you whenever you walk around the house because of his anxieties, and giving him bits of praise for taking care of you would usually do the trick of alleviating that. Eventually, he’s calmer when attending to your needs over the next few days. 

He stayed in your room more often and he started gradually moving his stuff there so he wouldn’t go upstairs too often to get something in his room. His consoles, mangas, and games are sitting idly by in the corner of your bedroom so that there’s at least something you both could do instead of laying around. Even when you sleep, Levi is still playing games by your side but with a headset or a lower volume so you wouldn’t wake up.

The brothers eventually noticed how more and more of Levi’s things are appearing in your room. The Akuzon boxes are waiting outside your door instead of his, the latest figurine he bought is displayed in your shelf than on his collection, and they find Levi putting some of his clothes in your closet instead of his. If this went on, they might find Henry 2.0 in your room. Everyone requested a week off from RAD to do some damage control like moving some of Levi’s stuff out. 

Satan

Satan stayed by your side, letting you lie down on the soft bed while he read your favorite passages. He even includes stories about the protagonist recovering from a battle, as if trying to tell you that healing from what happened is nothing to be ashamed of. You shouldn’t feel bad for resting because you need it, and Satan will see to it that you’re fully recovered with no problems.

If you were up for it, he would teach you any of the lessons you’ve missed once he’s home from RAD. He doesn’t mind giving you some of his notes and even writes it in a simpler way just for you to understand easier, even highlighting some key points so you know where to focus or what’s important. Satan wouldn’t want you to lag behind in class when you finally get back to school, but he’s only going to teach you at a pace you’re comfortable with. Your usual tutoring sessions are shorter because he wants you to focus on recovering first.

He’s got his nose glued to the human anatomy books that tackles sprains and muscles, something that Solomon provided after a lot of pestering from the demon’s end. He reads about how to treat it and the duration it would take until you’re fully better. It’s also his way of relieving his anxieties when it comes to your ankle so he can convince himself that you’re no longer suffering.

If you ever let out a grunt for whatever reason, expect Satan to suddenly be by your side asking you if you’re experiencing any of the symptoms he’s somehow memorized in his head. He’s being cautious if you might’ve accidentally aggravated your wounds and require any necessary medical attention, so he would sit you down and bombard you with questions about your condition. A brother would often have to rescue you before Satan gets halfway with his queries. 

“If I don’t know any of these, then how would I tell if you need some help? There’s power in knowledge, you know.” Satan says as he flips through the pages of the thick medical book on his lap. There’s this determined look on his face where he wants to make sure to cross out all the symptoms of any possible ailments. “Now, are you experiencing ‘explosive diarrhea’ by any chance?”

Satan is the one that makes sure that all his other brothers would be useful when it’s their turn to take care of you. He takes note of when you need your next medication, reminds them to refill your water bottles, and how they’d have to check on you for each minute if they had to. If any of them caused you problems, no matter how big or small, Satan would be ready to chase them down for doing a poor job as soon as they left your room. 

Asmo 

Asmo is treating you like an absolute damsel sometimes whenever he sees you limping around the house with your crutches. He also hates that you need to stay home for bedrest since, as he notes, you get to see him less during school days. He loves spending time with you as much as he loves staring at his reflection in the mirror.

Since you’re not around in school, Asmo is always ready to fill you in on the cheesiest gossip like he always does during lunch time or your after school walks. Now he goes straight to your room, placing his bag to the side before dramatically plopping down on your bed with more news. Weirdly enough, some of that news was about those girls that pushed you and about how they’re both fighting more recently. You even notice how big his smile is as the story progressively gets gruesome.

“Just because my darling is stuck here doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be updated to the latest scoop, right?” He says with a grin, showing you the latest tweets about the topic. “Don’t worry, you can always rely on me to give you the juiciest gossip.” This is his way of hanging out with you like how you both would at school. Whenever he wants to talk about something with you and remembers you’re not around yet, he gets a little lonely and he makes up for that feeling when he comes home.

Asmo would want to put his name on your cast once he learns that it’s something humans tend to do. It’s written all over with a pink glittery pen accompanied by little hearts on the side, maybe a little sheep doodle next to it too. The brothers were not happy to learn that he was the first one to write his name on your cast and then insisted on putting theirs next.

He insists on playing the role of ‘Nurse Asmo!’ whenever he’s trying to take care of you, complete with a play-pretend stethoscope for the role (Solomon gave it to him). Normally he wouldn’t come near someone who’s sick because he doesn’t want to catch whatever they have, that wouldn’t look so good on him. Luckily, yours isn’t contagious at all. Asmo would insist on feeding you and there’s the occasional teasing, but it’s all in good faith. 

Asmo also makes a great alert system. You once almost tripped but managed to hold onto the desk, and that was enough to make Asmo let out a high-pitched scream as he was worried your ankle must’ve gotten worse, maybe it’s not healing at all if you almost fell. It alerted every brother in the house and you not only have to deal with a worried Asmo, but now six more anxious demons as well. 

Beel

Beel feeds you foods high in nutrients. He’d even run to the stores to get you those sorts of foods if it meant you’ll heal in no time. Of course, he’s mindful of getting nutritious foods you actually like eating. He wants you to be both healthy and happy. 

“Here, Solomon said milk helps with healthy bones.” Beel says while carrying an entire box filled with jugs of milk. Clearly he means well, but you have to explain to Beel how drinking and eating things high in calcium doesn’t magically heal your ankle (it’s also worse if you were lactose intolerant). He’s a little disappointed, but he’ll understand. Beel could either drink them or give them to Luke as ingredients for his baking. 

Whenever Lucifer asks the brothers to run errands for you, whether it's something for your ankle or for your comfort, Beel is usually the first one to respond and he’s already out the door before any of the brothers could intervene. He likes hearing your gratitude when he does something for you, even if it meant he had to fly across Devildom to get you that ice cream dessert or just walk to purgatory hall to fetch something Luke made for you.

The brothers had to convince him that you wouldn’t shatter if he gave you a hug, but he wasn’t sure if he could. If the stairs already hurt you, what more for a demon like Beel who could bend metal like paper if he wanted to? He was too afraid at first to touch you, but you could see just how much he wanted to hold you. It takes only a few words and a pout from you to make the demon fold. 

If Beel would have to bulldoze everything to clear a path for you then he would. In case there was a bunch of furniture or other things all across the floor, Beel would chuck them aside to make sure you won’t have a hard time walking or risk bumping your leg onto something. Though Lucifer reprimanded him for literally shoving every couch aside just to make room for you and then forgetting to put them back properly. The house wasn’t a pleasant sight to come home to at that time.

Beel’s next solution was to help you with that ankle was to carry you around so you could get to places. You’d be in his arms bridal style while he takes you to the dining room to eat with them. He would even stop eating from the mountain of food from his plate if you needed to stand up, Beel would attend to you right away and take you wherever you needed to go. 

Belphie

Belphie is not the most reliable brother when it comes to taking care of you, not when his excessive drowsiness gets in the way of actually remembering what to do. He wouldn’t be able to wake up in time to give you your medication, or have enough energy to assist you whenever you needed to use the bathroom or just get up to walk. When you needed his help with something, at some point he forgot about your cast and told you that you can do it on your own. His older brothers definitely scolded him for that and the tasks were assigned to someone else instead.

The only role that was given to Belphie was something he can easily do, which is to make sure you’re comfortable and well-rested. None of them wants to see you walking around too much, even with your crutches, as they worry that something could happen while they’re away. They fear you might fall over and won’t be able to get back up, so Belphie is in charge of keeping you in bed and making sure you don’t move more than you need to. 

Whenever you sleep next to Belphie, you always feel so refreshed and rested afterwards no matter how long or short you slept. It’s the demon’s doing, where he makes sure you have the sweetest dreams and get enough sleep so that you’re energized. Belphie thinks that getting more energized meant that your ankle would heal faster, so he’s always trying to drag you in for naps.

For the moments that he’s actually awake, he would be ‘fixing’ your bed so that it would be more comfortable to sleep in. There are three times more than the usual number of pillows on your bed, with extra comforters and better quality blankets. Each time he comes home, he’s fixing your bed and sometimes he adds pillows on it or replaces your old ones. 

“I only have these because I was preparing a little fort for us back at school…” Belphie is a little quiet when he speaks, trying to pass it off as being too busy fluffing your pillows but in reality he just doesn’t like remembering what happened that day. “But since you’re stuck at home, it only makes sense I bring the fort over here right?” 

The only thing that upsets Belphie at this situation for now is the fact he can’t lie down on your lap like he could every time he wants to use you as a pillow. Beel had to remind him that it might hurt your ankle if he laid his head on your thighs. Even though you tried to explain that it’s not necessarily true, the twins insist on making sure nothing would hinder your healing. 

[paperultra]

candy stripes.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5,048 words Warnings: Swearing, hospital setting [A/n: Soulmate AU. :)]

sortiger (adjective): delivering prophecies of the future; having the qualities of being oracular

Nobody else can see the string but you.

You wish you didn’t. It has no texture, no weight, so you can’t understand why it can’t be invisible too. But the string demands attention with every use of your hands, seizes your eye when you wash dishes in the morning and brush your teeth at night, a garish and bloody red that matches the stripes of your uniform.

You hate your string and you hate the color red.

Miss Xinyu, the old lady in Room 30, has one too. At least, that’s what she had told you when you gained the courage to mention yours one day, not knowing what it meant and how much you would come to dread it.

“It’s your red string of fate,” she had explained. “It connects you to the person who understands you more than anyone else in the world.”

In other words, your soulmate. Your one and only.

Miss Xinyu says you’re a lucky ducky, knowing what your future holds.

Her string goes into the ground now. You don’t think being reminded of a dead person whenever you look at your pinkie is very lucky.

The biggest reason why you hate the string so much, though, is because you’ve always had a problem doing what you’re supposed to unless you want to, which causes a lot of trouble for a nine-year-old girl. You already have trouble being nice to patients who are mean to you, so how can you love and wait for someone you’ve never met? It makes you feel icky.

Why can’t you choose? How come you have to have one at all?

Your only source of comfort is that your string is very, very thin and runs out of the hospital. That means your soulmate, whoever they are, is very, very far away. You’d very much like it to stay that way.

But it doesn’t.

—

Nurse Taoh wants you to watch the patients in Room 8 while he finishes his charts. You don’t really want to, if only because it’s Nurse Taoh asking – he likes to order you around more than Dr. Gu – but you don’t want to get into trouble again, so you go.

(… And okay, you are just a little bit curious about the new inpatients. You only know three things about them: one, they were brought in together last night while you were in your room poking holes into your paper instead of correcting it; two, they’re a man and a boy, presumably father and son; and three, everyone says it’s a miracle they’re still alive.)

(Then again, you’ve seen many miracles here.)

The unit is quiet as you walk down the hallway. Quiet, but not silent, as your polished shoes squeak like little mice against the floor and you whisper the room numbers as you pass by them. Two, four, six – eight.

You stop and knock, three sharp raps against the brown wood.

“Hello?” You open the door and poke your head in. “My name is –”

The squiggly-patterned curtain that often separates patients for privacy is drawn, and you clamp your mouth shut as you realize the patient closest to you is asleep.

Shutting the door silently, you creep closer to the foot of his bed. The man underneath the sheets lies quietly; he is little more than a skeleton, eyes sunken and bones sticking out underneath blistered skin. His beard is long and scraggly, but it pales in comparison to his mustache, each side braided and sticking out to the sides.

He looks angry, even though he’s sleeping. You hope he’s not the type to wake up and yell at you as you tiptoe past to check on the boy.

You pass the curtain, catch a glimpse of the bed sheets, and see –

Red.

Your feet root themselves in place, the room suddenly devoid of air.

You stare. Blink hard, twice. Look again. Then, trembling, you look down at your hand.

Your eyes trace the string around your own finger, following down to the dip of it that barely touches the ground and back up over the blankets until it ends in a red loop around the boy’s pinkie, tied off with a little bow.

Your stomach turns.

Stumbling forward, you make your way to the visitor’s chair in the corner. You slump down into it and stare straight ahead at the curtain, refusing to look at the boy’s face.

He continues to sleep.

You don’t want him to wake up.

—

The boy does not stir during your first meeting, but that small mercy is quickly eclipsed two days later by a single bowl of chicken broth.

The look on your face is sour as you walk down the hallway again, the broth splashing up against the lid with each step. Because most of the patients in the hospital you live in are elderly, the staff have somehow gotten it into their heads that you simply must spend time with the boy in Room 8 because he is your age and you need to socialize with other kids. You very much don’t want to. Not with him, at least.

Dr. Gu is just leaving the room when you arrive. She gives you a quick smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling, and pats your head.

“So you heard that the boy woke up, huh?”

You grunt, looking away with a pout. “Can’t you give this to him, Dr. Gu?”

“Nope. I have to finish my rounds,” she says. “Go in and have a chat. His name is Sanji. You’ll like him.”

“I doubt it,” you mumble underneath your breath.

Dr. Gu probably hears you, but she doesn’t scold you, merely patting your head one last time before you enter Room 8.

The dividing curtain is drawn this time. The window curtains are pulled back, too; it’s a somewhat cloudy day outside, but bright enough to sharpen the shadows on the walls and make the boy look even paler than you remember.

His eyes are closed as you approach. A sprout of hope that he might have fallen asleep again blooms in your chest – you’ll just leave the broth on the table, you think to yourself, and go about the rest of your day. Nobody said you had to watch him drink it.

You get about five feet away, already planning to drop some books off to the other rooms, when the boy’s nose suddenly twitches.

His eyes open to thin slits. Your hope shrivels like a weed in the desert as he speaks.

“What’s that?” His voice is quiet and raspy.

Your eyebrow twitches. “It’s just chicken broth,” you say tartly, setting the tray down on the overbed table and turning it around so that it’s over his lap. You take off the lid and steam bursts from the bowl.

The boy reaches up to rub his eyes. The red string dangles from his pinkie, and you quickly look away with a scowl.

“Who are you?” he asks, scooting back to sit up more as he gradually becomes more alert.

Reluctantly, you give him your name. “Will you need help with the soup?”

He shakes his head. His gaze latches onto the contents of his bowl, and he stops, transfixed.

You scramble to stop him as he suddenly grabs the bowl and attempts to gulp it all down in one go.

“Don’t do that! You’ll throw up!” Without thinking, you seize his hands and pry the bowl away from his mouth. A few drops of broth splash over the blankets and his gown, and your irritation grows. Now you’ll have to fix that. “Drink it slowly.”

“I haven’t eaten anything for weeks,” the boy complains. “What do you know?”

“I’ve been studying medicine since I was a little kid,” you retort. “So I know a lot.”

He frowns. “You are a little kid.”

“I’m nine years old!”

“No, I’m nine! You don’t look as old as me!”

There’s no way this … this brat is the same age as you! Fuming, you let go of the bowl and jab a finger at his face. “I am nine years old and I know more than you! You can’t drink the broth like that!”

You’re met with silence. The boy’s eyes are wider than saucers. Pride wells up inside you at your ability to shut him up.

But then he puts the bowl down and seizes your hand, and your pride gives way to horror as he folds down your index finger and lifts your pinkie – the pinkie with the red string wrapped around it.

He lifts his own pinkie, the rest of his fingers folded. Your jaw clenches when you see how the string has shortened to mere inches, bridging the space between his hand and yours.

“Holy shit,” the boy says. The largest grin spreads across his face, and it’s blinding and scary and you hate it, you hate it. “It’s you! You’re my soulmate, aren’t you?!”

“No,” you reply quickly, whipping your hand behind your back and backing away. “No, I’m not!”

“But you see the string too! I knew I’d meet you some day. How come you’re”— he pushes the table away, eagerly but just gentle enough so no more of the broth spills—“how come you’re hiding it behind your back?”

“I’m not your soulmate,” you bark, panic rising in your chest. “Don’t you ever say that!”

You only catch a glimpse of the hurt that flashes across the boy’s face before you turn around and dash out of the room.

Mrs. Hong finds you in the storage closet later, curled up behind the shelves of gauze and IV tubing. She coaxes you out with a promise of rice balls and no questions asked. You wish all the adults were more like her.

—

The next day, Miss Jaylee hoists you over her shoulder like a human sacrifice and brings you to Room 8.

“I don’t want to see him! You can’t make me!”

“He’s refusing treatment and food unless he sees you,” the woman answers briskly, each of her steps jostling you up and down. “You don’t want to be responsible if Sanji dies, do you?”

“I don’t care if he dies!”

Miss Jaylee clicks her tongue and walks faster.

You flail, feeling a little guilty for your cruel words but too proud to take them back. Sanji couldn’t have heard you, anyway, and nobody here is going to let him die no matter what he does or what you say.

You hear a door swing open. Miss Jaylee walks into Room 8 and turns around, and you lift your head, glaring at Sanji as his face lights up and his cheeks turn rosy.

“[Y/n]!”

Your own cheeks burn in embarrassment at the position you’re currently in. This, you only now realize, is way worse than walking into the room voluntarily.

“How come they’re carrying you? Are you okay?” he asks.

“Let them treat you,” you snap, arms limp and dangling. “And eat your stupid food or I’ll get in trouble.”

“Okay.” You nod, opening your mouth to speak again only for him to continue, “But only if I get to talk to you afterwards.”

What is he, a prince?! What makes it so easy for him to demand such things?

“That wasn’t what you told them,” you protest, squirming, but Miss Jaylee only tightens her arm around your waist.

(“Be nice,” she warns. You growl.)

“It’s important,” Sanji stresses, looking pointedly down at his hand and then back at you.

You bite down on your tongue as the red string glimmers in the light.

Dr. Gu and Nurse Taoh stare at you expectantly. Your neck is starting to ache from craning it, and there’s a feeling that you’ll never stand on your own two feet again unless you do what he wants.

“… Fine,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Only once you promise to stay does Miss Jaylee let you slide off her shoulder. You stand to the side, arms crossed impatiently as they take Sanji’s vitals and ask him some questions. He’s only half paying attention, head turning to look at you more than once, which you merely turn up your nose at.

“All right, we’ll leave you two to chat now,” Dr. Gu says. “If you need anything, just let [Y/n] know, okay?”

“Okay,” Sanji says.

With that, the three adults leave, and you and Sanji are left alone once more.

“I’m glad you came. They were starting to get mad at me,” he says, then cuts straight to the chase. “How come you don’t want to be my soulmate?”

“Because I don’t want a soulmate,” you immediately reply.

“But why? It’s nice, isn’t it? Being special to each other?”

“You can’t be special to me. We’re not even friends.”

For the second time, Sanji looks hurt.

“…We’re not?” he asks. You shake your head. “But … you brought me food.”

You’re befuddled. “Because Dr. Gu made me,” you say, trying to ignore the disappointment on his face. “Besides, I yelled at you yesterday. Friends don’t yell at each other.”

“I thought that you were maybe just really surprised …” His voice gets smaller and smaller. “Some people get mad when they’re just surprised …”

“I wasn’t surprised. I saw it when you were still asleep.”

“Oh,” Sanji mumbles. He looks down at the sheets, scratching at the wrinkle in the thin white fabric. “Okay.”

He says nothing more. You fidget, wondering if he’s pretending to look like he’s about to cry or if he really is trying not to. You’re not good with people who start crying.

You chew on your bottom lip. Sanji tucks his hand with the string on it underneath his bed sheets, his eyes disappearing behind his tangled hair, and fine, you feel kind of bad whether he’s tricking you or not.

“I’ll only be friends with you if you don’t talk about being soulmates,” you finally tell him begrudgingly. “Not ever, okay?”

His head shoots back up. “Really?!”

“Only if you don’t talk about it! I’m serious.” You huff at Sanji’s sudden change in mood and click your tongue. “If you stay sad you might not get better.  Don’t get the wrong idea!”

He nods, grinning bigger than ever.

Oh, dear, you think as he promises that he’ll be a really, really good friend, you might have made a mistake.

—

By the fifth day, Zeff, the man who was brought in with Sanji, is awake.

You hear them arguing before you see them, pushing a cart of books for Sanji to browse through as per your agreement the day before. They’re loud, and Sanji calls the man an old shitbag right as you knock and push the door open.

“I’m here,” you announce, and the two quiet down to look at you. You give Zeff a polite smile. “Hello, sir. I’m [Y/n].”

“Hello, little miss,” Zeff says, his features softening from the angry expression he’d directed towards Sanji a moment before.

“Why are you being nice to her and not me?” Sanji pipes up from his side of the room, all puffed-out cheeks and petulantly crossed arms.

“Because she don’t make my ears ring with nonstop whining,” the man answers sharply. “Now get a book and read so I can finally have some peace and quiet.”

“You get a book and read,” Sanji grumbles.

“What was that, boy?”

You cut in before they start bickering all over again. “Do you want a book too, Mr. Zeff?”

Zeff’s gaze flicks over to you once more, and your shoulders tense. The man takes a deep, calming breath, and then he sighs, reclining back into his pillow and closing his eyes. “No, thank you, little miss,” he mutters. “Reading’s no good for my head right now.”

“Do you have a headache?” He grunts in affirmation. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

“No, no, don’t need any of that.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a headache,” Sanji accuses.

Zeff’s mustache twitches. “All you need to know is that you oughta stop yappin’ when a man wants peace and quiet!”

(Not again.)

As you give up and walk over to draw the curtains, Sanji says your name desperately. “Can we read somewhere else?” he pleads when you glance at him. “I don’t want to be stuck in here with him right now.”

Narrowing your eyes, you appraise his weak-looking frame, pointedly skimming past the red string that snakes over to you. “Can you even walk around yet?”

“Yeah,” he says defensively. He wriggles out of the bed sheets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Holding onto the side rail, he stands up and grips the IV pole for support. Though he’s a little shaky, he shuffles a few steps towards you and smiles when he manages to do so. “See?”

Well, you think, if you and Sanji stay here, you’ll need to have some light in order to read. But it will probably help Zeff if the room is as dark as possible, so if you guys go somewhere else, Sanji’s lamp won’t need to be on.

“Okay,” you agree. “Wait here. I’ll get some slippers.”

Ten minutes later, with Sanji shuffling along in his slippers, IV pole in one hand and your arm in the other, the two of you arrive at the common room and find chairs in the corner to sit down in.

“These’re mostly history books and stories for old people,” you explain as you pull out the one cooking-related book you could find from the top basket of the cart. “This was the only food one I could find.”

“That’s okay.” Sanji takes the book from you and begins to flip through it. “Oh, this one’s about seafood in the South Blue! Have you ever had any?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. I’ll try it someday, though … hey, this fish looks like a fried egg!”

Against your will, you perk up. “… Really?”

For the next half-hour, Sanji fawns over the spices used on grilled Sea King meat and how to cook wine clams and the best fish for South Blue-style sushi. And it’s … not boring. He doesn’t hog the book, and the pictures are cool, and he asks you which ones you think are the coolest or would taste the best. Looking at a book with another kid is different from reading with an adult. It feels like you’re sharing, not like you’re being tested on your comprehension or how to pronounce long words.

Hanging out with Sanji is okay when the string doesn’t sour it.

“So you want to cook all of these one day?” you ask after scanning through a full-color page of steamed Ocean Hawk feet.

“I want to cook things from all four seas,” Sanji says. His legs bounce with excitement. “That’s why I’m gonna find the All Blue.”

“What’s that?”

The boy glows.

“It’s where the North, East, South, and West Blue seas all meet. Think about it – fresh-caught fish from all over the world all in one place! I’ll be able to cook dishes no one’s ever cooked or tasted before.”

You’ve never heard of such a place. But Sanji talks about it with such conviction, such resolve, that you figure the All Blue could really exist.

“I hope you find it,” you say, and you mean it.

“I will.” Sanji closes the book. “And when I do, I’ll cook something just for you. A-As a friend.”

He peeks over at you, his eyes even brighter and bluer than before, his cheeks flushing a familiar red. And you find yourself believing him, just a little bit.

—

Sanji keeps his promise.

You know he still likes you (blech) and so does most of the staff (double blech). Nurse Taoh thinks it’s funny and teases you about your little boyfriend in Room 8 who always asks where you are. Mrs. Hong reminds you to be sensitive whenever you stop by to pick up meals. Dr. Gu tells you to tell her right away if Sanji ever does something that makes you uncomfortable.

But he never does. Sometimes his words spill out clumsily like a broken faucet and other times he blushes and stutters, leaving you to wonder what he’s going on about, but he doesn’t try to kiss you or hold your hand, and he doesn’t say a word about the red string that is very much still there. If anything, he just annoys you at times, with how nice he is to you and how sunny he gets when you eat lunch with him sometimes.

You’ve never seen somebody so happy to be in a hospital before, even if it’s just because he wants you to like him. It’s weird.

It’s on the eighth day of Zeff and Sanji’s stay that you learn not everything is how it seems.

You’d gotten in trouble the night before for digging holes in the garden – you had kept the seed from your dinner plum and wanted to see if you could make it grow, but Miss Jaylee had caught you while taking Mr. Hu out for some air – so you’re somewhat grumpy on your way to Room 8, two notebooks in hand.

One of them is blank for Sanji. He wants to record all the meals he’s gotten and write down how he would make them. The second notebook is full of your notes that you need to study for your quiz tomorrow.

Zeff is sleeping again when you enter. You move quietly across the room to where Sanji is lying with his back to the door.

“Sanji.” You can see his shoulders tense underneath the sheets, but strangely, he does not roll over to face you. “I have your notebook.”

No answer. That is even stranger.

Frowning, you walk around to the other side of the bed. Sanji moves to bury his face into his pillow, but not before you hear a very soft, wet sniffle.

“Sanji?”

“Sorry.” His voice is high and so muffled you can barely understand him. “You can just leave it on the table.”

“Why are you crying?” In the back of your head, you know it is not the most sensitive thing to ask. But for some reason, you need to know. “I won’t laugh or tell anyone.”

You hear another sniffle from the mop of blond hair. It takes a long time for Sanji to answer, but he eventually does.

“I don’t like hospitals.”

Your brow furrows. “Oh,” you say, somewhat surprised. Most people don’t like being in a hospital, you’re pretty sure of that, but you didn’t know Sanji didn’t like it this much. “Why?”

Maybe he’s tired of getting poked all the time, or the bland food, or the hospital smell. Nobody here can change that. Maybe he’s homesick. The hospital can’t fix that, either.

Sanji turns his head slightly and takes in a small, shuddering breath. “’Cause it … it makes me remember my mum … when she was sick,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear.

“… Oh.”

You had assumed, upon learning that Zeff and Sanji were not at all related, that Sanji was like you and never knew his parents. He’d never talked about having any before, only his time on the Orbit and with Zeff. But he does know them – his mother, at least. And she was sick. The memory is what’s making him so sad, and it’s yet another thing that the hospital can’t help.

You don’t want him to be sad. You did make him your friend, after all, even if he does annoy you sometimes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, standing awkwardly with his notebook still in your possession. You remember what Miss Jaylee has told other patients before. “That, um, must have been really hard for you.”

Sanji squeezes his pillow more tightly.

Should you go? Should you talk to him some more?

“Please don’t tell anybody,” he whispers before you can decide. “Especially Zeff.”

“I won’t,” you reply firmly. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry I can’t hang out today. I really wanted to, but, um …”

“It’s okay. We can do it later.”

“Okay.”

You set his notebook and a pen on the bedside table. After some thought, you refill his water and, after even more hesitation, fix the bed sheets on him a bit so they’re not as twisted up. That is the best you can do.

The red string follows you as you quietly leave Room 8, and you don’t think about it at all.

—

“How do you spell necessary?”

“N-E-S-E-S-A-R-Y.”

“That doesn’t look right. I think it’s S-S-A-R-Y.”

“Maybe you can find it in the book,” Sanji suggests, kicking his feet as he lies on his belly next to you.

“Yeah, maybe.” You flip through the pages of your textbook, searching for the correct spelling lest you get marked off again.

It is the tenth day. Sanji is doing alright, and Zeff is up and about with his new leg. Dr. Gu says they’re good to go, so they’re leaving after Zeff finishes breakfast. You’re not sure how to feel about it.

In the meantime, Sanji is helping you with your essay about scurvy. He knows quite a bit about it, which makes sense since he’s lived at sea, and you hope the perspective he’s supplying will impress Dr. Gu.

(“That’s why every ship needs a good cook,” he tells you proudly. “We make sure everyone eats right so they stay healthy.”

“That’s why you and Mr. Zeff are going to have a restaurant ship, right?”

“Mmhm.”)

Sanji rests his face in his hands, cheeks squished against his palms while you continue to scan through your textbook. You finally find the word in a photo caption and, with a triumphant noise, jot it down correctly.

Someone knocks on your door. The two of you turn to face it simultaneously.

“[Y/n]?” It’s Mrs. Guo.

“Yeah?” you call, already slightly irritated.

“Is Sanji there? It’s time for him to leave.”

A frown presses down on your lips. Sanji sighs and gets up as slowly as possible, taking his notebook with him.

“Coming,” he says.

The two of you dawdle on your way to the hospital entrance. You pet Cabby the dog when you run into him and his handler and stop by the kitchen so Sanji can thank the cooks. There’s no rush, not really, but an uneasy feeling continues to well up in your stomach anyway.

Upon arriving at your destination, Zeff waiting at the double doors with a giant bag of treasure slung over his shoulder, Sanji stops and turns to face you.

“I’m – I’m going now,” he says, as if just realizing it.

“Okay,” you say.

You and Sanji stand in silence for a moment before Sanji’s bottom lip starts to wobble.

Yours starts to wobble too. The uneasy feeling in your stomach bubbles up into your throat and behind your eyes.

“I’ll write you,” he blurts, voice cracking. “You’ll come visit, won’t you?”

“I don’t know.” You don’t know if they’ll let you. The hospital is busy and the ocean is big, bigger than you, and you don’t know it at all like Zeff and Sanji do. “But I’ll write back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You are crying now.

For the first time, your arms wrap around Sanji, and he clings back as both of you bawl. Your tears and snot stain the shoulder of his brand-new clothes. Your uniform grows damp at the collar. It doesn’t matter at all.

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again,” you croak into his shirt, face hot and eyes blurry.

His grip tightens. “You will,” Sanji replies in between sniffles. “I know it. Even if it’s when we’re really old, we’ll see each other again.”

“Okay.”

You believe him. Not because of fate, but because you want to.

—

You write to each other every single week for the next ten years. You tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

—

“You seem nervous,” Nami says. “Don’t tell me a little bribery got under your skin?”

“No, no.” You wipe your hands on your thighs and try to relax against the back of the booth. “Just … not used to places like this, that’s all.”

The Baratie is nicer than you imagined. Sanji had kept you up to date over the years, sending newspaper clippings and recipe drafts as the restaurant he and Zeff founded grew in staff members and reputation, but seeing it in person is a whole different deal. You’re telling the truth when you said you’re not used to a place like this.

But it’s not why you’re nervous.

“Hey, look!” Usopp exclaims, pointing across the room. “I think those guys are gonna fight.”

The rest of you look. Near the kitchen, two men are arguing, and the pink-haired man sitting at the table stands up when the pirate shoves his food onto the floor.

Usopp sucks his teeth. “Yikes.”

Luffy leans forward in interest. Zoro simply stares, and Nami rolls her eyes.

One of the waiters approaches them. You watch as he tries to deescalate the situation, but neither party is having it.

The pink-haired man draws a gun.

Within seconds, the gun and both would-be brawlers are on the floor.

The waiter shoves his foot into the pink-haired man’s back to keep him down, then picks up the plate of bread rolls again, stepping over both groaning bodies with the ease of one who’s done it before.

He reassures the other customers as he approaches your booth. You’re not concerned about the fight so much as you are about the way that you know.

It’s been ten years, but you just know, even before he gets close enough for you to see the red string that trails up and disappears into the black of his pants pocket. Even before you see the blue of his eyes and the annoyed set of his brow, exactly the same as you remember.

He places the rolls down onto the table, and for the first time, you wonder what you want.

“Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?”

[hyunsungies]

shhh! — hwang hyunjin

pairing: hyunjin x fem reader

genre: pure smut

word count: 1.2k

warnings: masturbation (f receiving), hyun calls reader “good girl”, lmk if i forgot something!

english is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes :)

this was the first time you were visiting hyunjin’s parents. they called you to spend a night there with jinnie since he doesn't spend much time at home with his family. it was being a very good experience since the beginning: they were super nice to you. his mother praised your hair and his father said that his son was lucky to date a beautiful girl like you.

you spent most of your time talking to them, who asked a lot about your life, your family… both seemed very interested in you. fair enough, you were dating their son.

after the shower, just before dinner, you wore a flowery dress that hyunjin had given you as a gift. he was very cute and suited you very well, despite being short. you slightly suspected that he had given you this dress because of this last point. something that proves this was the fact that he slapped your ass as soon as you left the bathroom dressed.

when you looked in his direction with a disapproving face, jinnie smiled and blinked at you maliciously. he definitely only bought this dress because of its length.

it wasn't obscene in short, it was acceptable, but that was enough to make hyunjin horny.

literally. no wonder he didn't take his hand off your leg during dinner.

hidden by the tablecloth, jinnie touched your thigh at a very indecent place, almost revealing your panties, and caressed the place while you talked, causing you goosebumps. he continued to talk to his parents normally, as if he wasn't teasing you at that very moment, as if he wasn't making you wet. his intention was not to be inconvenient, but you looked so beautiful with this dress... he couldn't control himself.

“so, how didi you two meet?”

his mother asked. with a shiver on the back of your neck caused by hyunjin's hand, you tried to respond without showing that there was something wrong, something very very wrong.

he must be such a perverted to do something like this in front of his own parents. in addition to being perverted, very brave too, after all, at any moment one of them could realize that hyunjin's hand was in you, not in a romantic way, but in a nasty way.

the caress he made on your leg was putting you in a complicated situation. you had to cross your legs, afraid that the smell of your lust would reach the nostrils of any of them. it was the most tense dinner you've ever had in your entire life.

when everyone finished eating and you took out the dishes, you thanked the heavens that torture was over. all you wanted was to be able to ask hyunjin what the hell was going through his mind for him to do what he did with you. luckily, his parents didn't let you help with the dishes, which left you both free to have this conversation. as soon as you arrived in the guest room, he closed the door. you didn't had time to say anything. when you opened your mouth to complain about his attitude, jinnie pulled you by the hand against his body and gave you a seductive kiss.

despite being a little bit mad at him, you allowed yourself to fall into his charms now that you were alone. as much as you wanted to scold him, your desire for hyunjin at that moment, the desire he himself created, was bigger than the desire to understand what he thought when he decided to put his hand on you. that said, you just forgot about the subject and kept kissing him.

“so pretty…”

he separated your mouths to say, putting his hands on your ass soon after and squeezing the place tightly. you decided to interrupt your eye contact now to kiss him once again, because that's what your body wanted. it was crazy the way he could make you needy with just a kiss. since you were already starting to get wet at that dining table, your pussy must already be dripping now by the way he sucks and nibbles your lower lip.

at one point, one of hyunjin's hands went down to your clothed core and began to massage the place over your panties. his other hand remained on your back, keeping you close to his body.

“mhm…” you moaned against his lips.

“needing me?”

once again he broke your kiss and once again you felt like shutting him up, but this time you needed to expose your desires verbally, you needed to answer it.

“definitely”

he smiled at you. looking into your eyes, he slid your panties to the side and touched your intimacy already wet with lust.

“as long as you stay quiet…”

he said and inserted one of his fingers into you, which made you sting your nails on his shoulders and held a moan. his finger went back and forth at a slow pace. hyunjin seemed to have fun with the way you concentrated so as not to make any sound, he wouldn't stop smiling at you.

after a few seconds, another finger entered your walls. now, the rhythm of his movements was a little faster. you could hear the noise of your fluids coming out of you and that turned both of you on even more.

it was getting harder and harder to hold your moans. when he punched his own fingers inside you, jinnie stared at you enjoying the view. he liked to see your expressions of pleasure, especially your moans, something he couldn't have now. silence was something important right now, his parents could hear you if you released something and that would be terrible.

as his two fingers went in and out of you, his thumb started to draw circles on your clit, making you clench and melt in his hands. your body became more and more tense every time the palm of his hand crashed into your core.

the moans you held insisted on leaving, but you couldn't let them go. in an attempt to muffle these noises, you rested your head on hyunjin's shoulder and glued your lips to his neck, depositing kisses on the spot and keeping your mouth shut. it worked perfectly.

your kisses messed with him, so he began to press your clit harder, making you border on the madness of so much pleasure. you grabbed his shoulders with all your strength in a useless attempt to relieve the tension you felt. your desire was to shout his name so that the whole neighborhood could hear it, but you needed to be obedient now.

suddenly, you felt your orgasm approaching.

“hyun, ‘m gonna…”

your sentence was not finalized, but he understood the message. in response to you, the movements of his hand increased in strength and speed. now, anyone who went close the door would hear the noise you were making since you both were leaning against it.

your spine arched and you squeezed jinnie's shoulders harder. his pace was frantic now, going in and out quickly and intensely. tou were almost there, just a few more thrusts...

suddenly, your whole body shivered and you felt it tingle. your climax had finally arrived. your tightness on jinnie's skin weakened and you were panting. looking into your eyes, hyun smiled. he seemed proud of his work.

“good girl. wanna go again?”

[c-rowlesdraws]

So my dad is a chef and Ratatouille is his favorite Pixar movie. Less for the story and more for the attention to detail they put in keeping a professional kitchen true to life. The whole "anyone can cook!" motto of the story was kind of undercut by Linguine just...not being a good cook? But there's more to a kitchen than just the head chef! A restaurant, a kitchen can't function without EVERYONE doing their jobs. Even dishwashers to keep things clean and sanitary are critically essential; the person who just chops up the vegetables is a simple job but is crucial when there's a a metric TON of onions that needs prep. And is that not cooking? Is everyone working together, cooperating, keeping people fed and happy what it's all about? Linguine wasn't a good over a stove without Remy, but we saw by the end he was a good waiter - that's important too. A great side arc while Collette learns to re-love her passion as a chef is teaching Linguine that he isn't defined by Gusteau's legacy, and not being a *chef* wouldn't mean his contributions to a restaurant aren't valuable either. It would be a great dual 'finding / refinding yourself' arc for both of them!

“The whole "anyone can cook!" motto of the story was kind of undercut by Linguine just...not being a good cook?”

YEAH OKAY like… my biggest problem with the movie was how confused the message seemed to be. Like— “anyone can cook”, that’s a great smaller message, you can be an okay home cook and not a ✨chef✨ and that’s still cooking, that’s still something to be proud of; and another interpretation of that phrase spoke to the main message of the film: “anyone can cook”/“a great artist can come from anywhere”, as in, you can have the potential to achieve your dreams no matter how humble your origins are. But all that was undercut by the film, for some reason, needing to emphasize that some people are doomed to mediocrity even with the best teaching— I remember feeling like, “wait… what?” at the end of the film when the voiceover said, “not everyone can be a great artist” as the camera focused on poor Linguini. It seemed unnecessarily mean of the movie to separate people into, as it seemed to me, people destined to be singular “great artists” and those destined to fail. After having learned more about Brad Bird and his ego, the confusion of the message makes more sense to me. But yeah—back then and especially now, with my professional bakery and kitchen experience as an adult, I don’t like how a movie about a restaurant, where teamwork from top to bottom is essential and “rockstar” chefs are usually red flags, seemed to conclude by celebrating the idea of the singular genius artist.

I feel like it’s also worth pointing out that animation studios, like restaurant kitchens, make art through an incredible amount of teamwork, so it kind of hits extra dirty for me that this army of creative people were directed to produce a story about a similar workplace, where the message wasn’t really ultimately about teamwork or valuing each person for their own skills and contributions, but about how one little special guy ascended to being the bestest specialist guy of them all.

Also YEAH like. Head chef whatever, important position, makes the Big Decisions and is very cool and etc, but good luck running service without anyone doing prep, taking out trash, or washing the dishes. Everyone, especially the head chef, knows the success of the entire damn kitchen rests on the shoulders of the guy in the dish pit.

[fanficgirl429]

Mike has feelings for you (fluff)

Prompt: During a family get together, your best friend Mike reveals that he has feelings for you

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x Reader

---

The front door slammed shut behind Abby, who was outside playing with a few kids from the neighborhood. Your best friend was standing in the doorway of the living room, leaning against the door frame. 

“Do you want to come tonight?” you ask him. 

He walks over to where you're standing and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. 

“Do I want to come where?”

“To my grandparents for dinner. It’s Sunday.”

Every Sunday, you had dinner with your extended family. Your dad’s side of the family was large and everyone was close. Mike and Abby used to come most Sunday’s but once Mike had gotten a job as a security officer at the mall, he had to work most Sunday’s. Every now and then Abby would join you but it had been a while since either of them had come. 

You enjoyed it when they both came and Mike liked to see Abby having fun with kids her own age. Abby went to school with a few of your younger cousins and she enjoyed playing with them. 

“Yea, we can come,” Mike answers. 

----

The large house was filled with your family as you, Mike, and Abby walk inside. Instantly your younger cousins spot Abby and pull her away to go play with them in the basement. Mike laces his fingers with yours as you guide him to the kitchen where you mom, grandmother, and aunt are gathered. 

They all greet you and Mike and you don’t miss the glance of your mothers eyes as she looks down at yours and Mike’s hands still laced together. 

Mike and you had been best friends since elementary school and she always said that one day you and Mike would get married. You were constantly telling her no that would never happen but over the years, your feelings for Mike had changed. When you once had seen him as your best friend, you now had fallen in love with him. You weren’t sure when your feelings had changed but they had never disappeared. The two of you were always touching each other but it had always been platonic. 

“Come on,” you say and lead Mike into the living room, where the majority of your family is. 

The two of you are greeted by everyone and it seems as if a few people are more excited to see Mike than they are to see you. Your family had always loved Mike and were always telling you to bring him with you when you visited. 

~~

After dinner was done, you and Mike went your separate ways for a bit. He went into the living room to watch football while you helped clear the table and wash the dishes. 

“So when are you and Mike going to make it official?” your cousin, Lacy, asks you. 

You let out a laugh at her question. “Um never.”

Lacy shakes her head, disappointed by your answer. “It’s going to happen.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Did you not see the way he was looking at you all through dinner? Damn, if I had someone that looked at me like that, I would never let him go!”

“He did not look at me the whole time,” you counter. 

“He did! Whenever you were talking, he was looking across the table at you and whenever you laughed, his eyes lit up. That boy is completely in love with you.” 

You look across the room at your best friend, who is currently mesmerized by the large tv screen. He must feel you looking because his brown eyes meet yours and gives you a soft smile. 

Lacy notices the interaction and whispers, “I told you,” before turning back to load the dishwasher. 

When the table is all cleared, you stay in the kitchen talking to your mom, grandmother, Lacy, and a few aunts. Occasionally you glance over at Mike to make sure he is doing is ok. Abby has been in the basement with your cousins and you know that she is not going to want to leave. Hopefully the two of them can come over most Sundays. It was a good way to get the two of them (especially Mike) out of their house. 

Two strong hands grip your shoulders and turn around to see Mike standing behind you. 

“Hey,” you greet him. 

“Hi,” he says, smiling. “Just wanted to check in with you and see how you’re doing.” 

He squeezes your shoulders while he talks to your aunts. 

When the conversation grows quiet, you stand up from the table. “Want to go outside?” you ask him quietly. 

You loved hanging out with your family but after a while, you needed a few minutes to yourself. 

“Yea.” 

Mike follows you out the front door and onto the large wrap around porch. You place your hands on the railing and look out across the large yard. A short distance away is a small pond with a dock. During the summer, the pond was home to a family of ducks and you have memories of sitting at the water's edge watching the ducklings swim across the pond.  

Mike stands next to you, his fingers grazing yours. “My family keeps telling me how glad they are that you and Abby came,” you tell him. 

Mike smiles. “I’m glad we came too.”

Its silent for a few moments and a cool breeze blows, causing goosebumps to scatter across your skin. You let out a small shiver and Mike instantly notices. He pulls off his black hoodie and hands it to you without saying a word. You pull the sweatshirt on and Mike takes a step towards you. He moves behind you and pulls you against him, his arms wrapping around your stomach. 

His body heat makes you instantly warm and you lean your back against him, relaxing your body. 

“So I was talking to Lacy,” he begins. 

“Oh god. What did she have to say?”

If it was anything like the conversation you had with your, youre not sure you want to hear what he has to say. 

“She kept asking," So when are you and Y/N going to be official?” he tells you. 

You let out a laugh and bury your face in your hands. “I had a very similar conversation with her.” 

Mike laughs. “Did you?” 

“Yes! She was like ‘Mike’s into you. He couldn’t take his eyes of you during dinner, blah blah blah.’” 

Mike sighs. “Well she's not wrong,” he says, quietly. 

You're surprised by Mike’s comment. You turn around and look at him. He doesn’t loosen his grip around your waist as his brown eyes bore into yours. 

“What are you saying?” you ask him. 

Mike moves his hand up to your cheek and gently pushes a few strands of hair behind your ear. A slight blush reddens your cheek from his gesture. 

“I’m 100% into you,” he says. 

“W-what?”

“I’m into you,” he says, slowly. 

Instead of saying anything in return, you stand on your tiptoes and press your lips against his. He tastes like the beer that he had drunk earlier as his lips move against yours. 

After a few moments, Mike pulls away but presses his forehead against yours. 

“What if we keep this between us for a few days?” he says. 

You think about his offer for a minute. “Just a few days,” you respond before pressing your lips back to his. 

[seredelgi]

Sweet Punishment

fandom: Attack On Titan/ Shingeki No Kyojin

pairing: Dom!Levi Ackerman x Sub!Fem!Reader, Levi Ackerman x You

summary: Reader's relationship with Levi is everything she could've asked for, he's very sweet and never gets mad at her. There's only one little rule she needs to follow, and when she fails to, then he'll have to punish her.

rating: Mature, 18+

warnings: dom!levi, sub!reader, smut, like a lot, fingering, sex, vaginal sex, dubious consent (she enjoys it tho, believe me), spanking, blood (just a little cut on the lip, but still), unprotected sex (don't try it at home lol), penetration, manhandling (just a tiny bit, she's totally fine) vulgar language?, oh yeah, choking (no passing out), orgasm denial, slight degradation?, idk, this man has me feral, NO SPOILERS

word count: 4.6k

a/n: alright alright, last episode is out, and I'm just in love with Levi so I went down a rabbit hole of smut before deciding to write something down. It's just a scrap, I haven't put much thought in it so keep it in mind. Also, English is not my mother tongue, so go easy on me. Thoughts are in italic

tags: @imlevisoneandonlywife

Part 2

Your boyfriend is just so very good to you that it often makes you question how in the world have you gotten so lucky.

He’s known to be a man of few words, a true soldier, the best in what he does. You’ve never seen him in action, of course, but you’ve heard the stories and the way they’re being told. His subordinates tell them with a glimpse of ecstatic excitement in their eyes, his colleagues with a blatant silent respect. It’s honestly mesmerizing to see the effect he has on people.

But it is nothing compared to the effect he has on you.

You don’t need to see him slaying Titans to know he’s the best. He carries it wherever he goes, whatever he does, he has an aura to him that just draws you in.

And even though he’s perceived by everyone to be just a grumpy man, you get to see his sweetest side. Once Levi gets someone close to his heart, he becomes so severely attached to them that it’s almost suffocating. He showers you with his love and attention, compliments, gifts, simple little signs of his undying devotion towards you. And even though infamously ruthless on the battlefield, you’ve never seen him upset in your regards. Not that you’ve ever given him any reason to be, it’s pretty simple to please him. He’s not even the jealous type, maybe ‘cause he’s way too confident for his own good.

There’s only one little thing that he won’t compromise on.

Since the first time you two have had sex, he’s firmly stated that he wanted to be the only one to pleasure you, that not even you were permitted to relieve the tension on your own. It took you aback a little, but since he’d just managed to make you see stars you agreed.

Honestly, that decision has never truly bothered you that much, he was definitely worth the wait.

But now, as you're home alone waiting for him to get back home, you can’t stop thinking about him, about how good it feels to have him slide inside of you, and pump in and out with that effortlessly relentless pace he usually reserves you so kindly.

You try to focus on each chore you’re on at the moment, but anytime you try your mind seems to wander on its own, and you find yourself aching for him, catching glimpses of the clock hanging in the kitchen, counting down the hours that separate you from seeing him again.

You must be ovulating, ‘cause you feel so damn empty just thinking about him, needing to be filled so desperately it’s almost funny.

“ Just hormones” you huff quietly as you finish washing the dishes “ breathe, y/n”

You’ve never actually considered breaking Levi’s rules, you wouldn’t like lying to him about it. But right now his request just seems so unreasonable.

You eye the door of your bedroom from afar.

He doesn’t have to know.

It’s just one little slip, one little sin to remove a bit of the tension and be able to ease your mind.

For some reason your heart’s racing as you tiptoe silently towards the bedroom, sitting on your bed and sighing as you remember what happened in it the other night. Thinking about it makes you feel incredibly hot between your legs. You can feel your juices stain the white cotton of your panties.

You bite your bottom lip, considering if maybe you should just get up and get back to your chores, maybe put something up in the oven for dinner.

But it’s impossible when all it takes is for you to close your eyes and you can see him, holding you in his arms, leaving humid kisses down your neck, whispering huskily in your ear all the things he wants to do to you.

“ Fuck it” you click your tongue in surrender and place yourself laying back on the center of the mattress.

It’s his fault honestly, for being so ridiculously hot and impossible to wait for. And anyway, he’ll never know. You’ll make it quick. It’s still an hour before he comes back. Plenty of time for you to get off even more than once.

So you lean back and relax.

You close your eyes and he’s there again, looking down at you with hungry eyes, touching you all over your naked body. And as you imagine his touch upon you it’s easy, almost like following his orders, scanning your hands upon the warm skin of your breasts, your fluttering stomach, all the way down between your thighs.

You get rid of your panties, breaths quickening as you can feel his tongue sucking on your hardened nipples. Your whole body is aching so bad just thinking about it, yearning for his hands on you so bad it’s almost bruising.

As you part your legs and gently slip your middle finger between your folds a sudden cry of arousal breaks free from your throat. You just wish it were him touching you, his fingers sliding silently inside of you as you're doing now, gathering your juices before slipping out of your entrance again to bring them toward your clit.

You’re so incredibly wet. He’d surely comment on it if he were here, mocking you for how desperate you look for him. It would be embarrassing if it didn’t turn you on even more. And now that your fingertips are finally massaging your bundle of nerves, that agonizing tension you’ve been feeling all day just gathers in your lower abdomen, ready to let loose.

You’ve been horny all day, so it figures that you’re already so close.

It’s shameful, but it’s true.

Your free hand grips your sheets so hard you think you’ll have to iron them again if you don’t want Levi to notice. But that’s not your concern now. You’re lost in your lust, eyes shut picturing your man sliding inside of you with his cock, whispering all kinds of dirty prayers into your ear. It’s almost as if he’s there.

“ What do you think you’re doing?”

You take a few instants to realize that it’s really him asking you that, flesh and blood in your room, standing by the door and looking at you with the kind of gaze that you’re sure would send any reasonable man a shiver running down their spine.

“ Fuck- Levi” you pant, your hand coming off of you in a spurt, hoping in vain that he won’t comment on it, that he’ll let it slide “ I didn’t hear you come in”

His silver-grey eyes don’t come off of you as you sit at attention, closing your legs and trying to gain some composure. Your mind spins so fast it takes your breath away, your heart stammering loudly in your chest as he clenches his jaw.

He’s standing there, mere meters away from you, his uniform still on, a severe expression darkening his beautiful features.

That’s impossible not to find hot.

“ Yeah, that much was clear” he hums, and by the tone of his voice it’s difficult to determine how actually mad he is, being it the first time you ever break that rule “ So this is what you do when you’re home alone, huh?”

“No it’s not like that, I was just-” you don’t know why you’re so fast at trying to justify yourself when you know full well you haven’t done anything wrong.

You should tell it to him straight. That he doesn’t own you. He might be the best fighter in the known world, a Captain of the Scouts Corp, but that doesn’t give him the right to exert control over your God damn body.

But the words die in your throat. It’s suddenly really hot in there, and you’re still very fucking horny. You’re ashamed to admit that you find yourself quite attracted to this side of him, one you’ve never had the pleasure to fully unravel.

“ Just what? Trying to have fun without me?” he’s finally moving, walking towards the chair in front of your bed, getting rid of his jacket and placing it tiredly upon it.

“ Just warming up for when you came home, honey” you sound so out of breath, and you’re trembling.

You don’t actually think he would do you any harm, and yet his eyes suggest otherwise, his demeanor exudes danger from every pore. If that’s just a hint of the coldness he carries himself into battle with, then it’s no wonder fucking Titans fall at his feet.

“ You know that’s not how it works” his voice is low, steady “ But maybe you need a little reminding”

A hint of mischief lightens up the tension, and he starts walking towards you, slow and lethal like the man you know he is.

“ I didn’t even finish, I swe-”

But you’re cut off by his sudden movement, a quick dash to get a hold of your face, squishing your cheeks together with a hand, he gives you the kind of look that shuts you the hell up and gets that familiar tickle go wild between your legs. You subtly squeeze your thighs together to give your pussy some kind of attention, disobeying right in front of him kind of getting you off now.

“ I’m the only one that can give you pleasure” he almost growls at you, and his hold is so strong it’s bruising you now “ Understood?”

“ Yes, Sir” it’s all you’re able to reply, mind too foggy to gather anything else.

But it looks like he likes it, ‘cause he lets you go, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Levi Ackerman doesn’t smile easily. So you guess you’ll call him that in the bedroom more often.

He sits on the edge of the bed, and you’re almost disappointed, thinking he’s already done with you.

“ Over my lap” he instructs instead “ Now”

You’re kind of confused about what exactly he’s got in mind. But it doesn’t look like a great idea to ask out loud, so you find yourself complying, crawling towards him, legs a bit shaky from the missed orgasm you almost managed to give yourself.

You get within reach of him, not sure how he wants you to position yourself.

“ How do I-”

But you’re cut off again by his hand reaching for your wrist, tugging you forward, and having you stumble upon him, ending up stomach flat against his thighs. You resist the urge to whine in protest, sensing he’s not keen on you speaking up right about now.

You feel the light fabric of your sundress being roughly lifted up your ass, revealing to him your nakedness.

He sits in appreciation of the view in front of him for a few instants, and you’re feeling every nerve-ending on your body standing at attention for what he’s gonna do next.

The first slap makes your heart skip a beat, you hold your breath and close your eyes shut, and somehow you still manage to hold in your cry of pain. It’s sudden and disconcerting, and it kind of feels wrong to stay silent while he takes such liberties with your body, and yet it makes you squirm in your place to feel more.

The stinging that comes from the second one is even better, ‘cause you’ve expected it, and the high that comes next is kind of inebriating to your drunken senses.

Oh God, you’re so down bad for this man you’ll let him treat you like a disobedient child.

With the third one you can’t help yourself, you cry out in pain as the burning sensation gets your insides in a twirl, while the aching between your legs won’t stop growing desperate by the second.

“ I told you couldn’t do it” his voice is hoarse now, the sound of lust tainting it so clearly it only makes you hornier “ Don’t I give you enough pleasure? Enough attention?” he slaps you hard, and yet it’s not hard enough for you to feel the vibrations of your thighs giving you some kind of relief from the tension you’re holding up between your legs “Are you really that needy?��

You muffle a protest, almost crying from how much you feel desperate for him to touch you, but you don’t dare ask.

Luckily it’s like he’s in your mind, ‘cause you feel his hand suddenly stopping from imparting you that sweet punishment, only to make its way between your reddened thighs, finding your liquids covering their insides, and it’s so good to hear a falter of genuine stupor in his voice as he appraises how wet you are from what he’s doing to you “ Fuck, you really are, aren’t you?” he murmurs, and you can almost feel him licking his lips as he comes to touch your hole now, finding it drenched with your juices “ You’re a fucking mess”

You really are. Your liquids are audibly enveloping his fingers as he sinks them deep into you without much effort, your walls sucking him in. You let go of a sigh of pure ecstasy as you finally feel him fill you up as you’ve longed for all day long. It’s not enough, you want his cock balls deep into you, but you don’t think you’re in the position to make any requests right now.

His desire is undeniable at this point, you can feel it poking at your stomach as he starts pumping his fingers into you, so slowly you’re sure he wants to kill you with this fake kindness. Having his erection pressing into you like that is torture too. He must know that’s what you want. Heck, he seems horny enough to give it to you now, and yet he refrains. What is he up to?

“ You’re so fucking spoiled” he comments as his fingers start pumping at a much higher pace, getting to that spot inside of you that he knows how much you like “ Can’t even wait an hour for me to get home, huh?”

You’re so undeniably turned on, and yet some kind of rebellious part of you hates to let him know so blatantly, and has you trying to refrain from making too much noise. But it’s almost impossible. It would be so much easier to say you’re sorry and have him shift back into his normal tender self, but you’re high on this, and it feels like a waste to have it stop right now.

“ What’s this?” he asks, his tone slightly irritated by your sudden attitude, and you have to put all your efforts into stopping yourself from whimpering when his hand slips out of you so suddenly it makes your whole body shiver “ The silent treatment?”

He reaches for your lips with his other hand, the one that’s not covered in your liquids, and he parts them slowly. You’re too slow to realize what he wants to do, and before you know it you’ve got his thumb inside your mouth and the rest of his fingers holding your neck, lifting you from where you lay on top of him, making you look into his dark grey eyes.

“ Apologize now, and I’ll be gentle”

You don’t want gentle. Not anymore. And neither does he. You can see it in his eyes, he’s hungry for more, he just keeps it together better than you ever could.

“ You fon’t- owm’e” your muffled words were meant to sound challenging, but your eyes, you’re sure, they’re begging for him to fuck you, and this facade of yours is practically ridiculous.

You know ‘cause his smirk is chilling, amused by your pathetic attempts at making this interesting, when really, all he wants is for you to beg him to give it to you.

“ We’ll see about that”

He shoves you back down on the mattress, slipping his thumb out of your warm mouth before getting up with his knees pressing down on the bed and going for his belt, and you can’t help your eyes from lingering on his hurried movements as he lowers his pants and boxers just enough that you can see his cock finally popping out, and it’s so hard it’s almost threatening.

You knew he was just as impatient as you were, finding you getting off on your bed with his name probably escaping your lips must’ve been a treat he wasn’t expecting to stumble upon. But seeing it made you even more eager to feel it inside.

He crawls on top of you so that he’s all you can see, but he’s all you can ever see when you’re this horny.

You lunge up towards his lips. He still hasn’t kissed you, and by now it feels natural to want to, but he dodges you, making you almost pout in response.

“ There are no kisses for bad girls”

That’s so unfair you almost give in on the spot, the apology nearly rolling off your tongue so that you can be able to taste his inside of you.

Instead, you start kissing his neck, but he takes you harshly by the throat and presses you hard into the mattress.

Fuck him, he’s playing dirty.

He presses a knee down between yours and has you part your legs so easily it’s freaking frightening. If it weren’t for the fact that he lowered himself upon the skin of your neck, pressing his cock on the center of your cunt you would be complaining to yourself about how much control he has over you. But you like it too much to really care.

He starts kissing your neck slowly, so slowly it feels like torture, and his hips start rutting against your dripping core at the same dangerous pace. He can kill you with all of this, gentle when you want hard fucking and bites and marks to last for days. And yet it’s enough pressure, enough contact to leave you on the edge, enough to feel like crying with frustration. He’s already brought you so close with his hand before, and you almost came on your own before that, you’re practically holding on for dear life at this point.

“ Levi-” you can’t help but sob in his ear, feeling his breath grazing upon your warm skin as he answers you, his voice a delicate purr:

“ Yes?”

“ Please- fuck” you beg, dignity be damned. You’re a whore for this man, who are you even kidding?

“ Please what?” his tip is slowly pushing inside of you, only to slip out again as he teases you, and you think he’s never been so damn cruel to you in bed. It’s intoxicating how much you’re liking it.

“ Please, please, Levi, fuck me” your voice is so distorted by need that it’s practically unrecognizable, and the kind of chuckle that he ghosts upon your skin when he finally decides to stop playing with you would have your blood run cold, wouldn’t it be for the hotness of being surrounded by him with so much desire.

“ As you wish” he only says, before finally sliding his whole length inside of you, one deep thrust and you’re fucking screaming into the void of the room, clinging to his back and begging to the Gods above for it to never stop.

He’s finally fucking you as you wanted, deep thrusts crashing against your aching clit, your juices dripping down on the freshly clean sheets of your bed to create a pool of delicious wetness beneath you two.

He raises, towering over you, and he’s just so damn beautiful that he looks unreal.

“ Apologize” he orders again, this time you can hear the slightest little falter in his voice as he pumps in and out of you without mercy, still holding you down against the mattress by the neck.

Heck no.

You can’t risk this stopping now that you’re finally filled with him, now that you’re so close to getting what you’ve wanted all day.

You find the strength to shake your head no.

You catch a glimpse of indignation glinting in his eyes, something so fleeting it’s gone in an instant, but it’s impossible to feel scared when every single movement of his is sending shivers down your spine, and each thrust against your clit brings you one step closer to fucking paradise.

You’re already so close, and you’re so drunk on pleasure that you’re way past feeling shameful for it. You’re a babbling mess and you just love it.

“ Don’t you dare come” he threatens. His voice rasp, his breaths quicker and you feel something twist inside of you. He can’t do this to you. He can’t play with you like this. It’s simply evil.

“ Please” you whine, your voice a whisper, your eyes teary, his hold on your neck starting to limit the amount of air being able to reach your lungs. You feel like passing out like this would be heaven on earth. But you want to cum first.

He can’t rob you of it, not after all that you’ve let him do to you today. So you’ll come and hope for dear life to be able to refrain yourself from making it obvious.

You can feel your walls clenching around his cock, any thrust of his could be the last one, before-

Fuck. He can’t be serious.

He slipped out while you were almost there.

He’s nuzzling his nose against your neck, leaving little bites on your impatient skin as you cry, only able to complain.

“ I know you too well by now, love” he murmurs silently on your skin, his hand on your throat finally coming off, making you able to breathe in properly “ I can feel when you’re close, you can’t fool me”

He raises his silver-grey eyes upon you, and they’re filled with dark intents, so dangerous that your heart skips a beat.

“ Now apologize” his voice is firm, and his tone is so low it almost feels like a threat. This time, you know, if you don’t he’ll walk away on you. And you can’t have it.

“ I’m sorry” you finally give in, tears running down your cheeks, a pathetic mess, desperate to feel your man filling you up with his cum “ I’m sorry, Levi, please”

He sighs as if annoyed by all of this.

“ Will you ever disobey me again?”

“ Never, fuck- I swear” you’re too fast to shake your head no to that, giving him up any control he wanted over you and your body “ I will never touch myself again, I promise, Captain”

Much like the ‘Sir’ you had uttered before, this too sends a proud little sparkle flying in his irises, and at that he falls apart too, kissing your neck violently and sinking inside of you again, revealing himself just as lost in his desire as you are.

“ You’re so hot when you beg me” he chants upon your skin and you shiver as he bites your neck and sucks onto your tender skin, making you moan his name so loud you’re glad you don’t have any neighbors “ I love it, fuck- I love you”

It’s not often that Levi throws those words at you, and any time he does it feels like you’re golden in his hands, like you’re the last meal for a starved man.

His pace has become relentless, and it’s breaking you apart.

You meet his eyes, and this time around there’s no more coldness in them, no more anger or attitude of any kind, his features have softened underneath the burden of pleasure, and his eyes are so full of love it makes you hold your breath and cross your legs around his waist, keeping him so close you can feel his heart beating underneath his chest.

At times like this you can’t believe he’s yours, can’t believe you get to be fucked by the best soldier humanity has ever seen. You’re blessed. So what if you can’t touch yourself? All of this is just so worth it.

“ Can I kiss you now?” you ask, breathless.

He looks down on you with a hint of stupor, as if he were surprised that right now, a step away from your orgasm, you still look for his lips. And then he crashes down upon you, kissing you as if he hadn’t in years, as if there is no one else in the world.

You’re washed over by a sense of ecstasy, it runs throughout your whole body as you chase your relief, and when you finally break apart, you start shuddering against him, crying his name in his mouth, thanking him for everything he’s making you feel.

“ That’s it” you hear him in the background of your pleasure, praising you upon your feverish skin “ my good girl”

And then he kisses you again, this time violent, ravenous.

As you slowly come down from your high a sudden pain makes you realize he’s bit your lip, and by the drops of red staining his mouth when he parts from you you think he’s cut it, his hand clasping around your neck again, his brows furrowed, his eyes upon you.

“ You’re mine, yeah?”

He asks it with a verge of doubt, a vulnerability he rarely grants himself, usually when it concerns you.

It makes your heart ache and you kiss him again, the ferrous taste of your own blood corrupting the delicious one of his lips. You find it astounding that he even feels the need to ask you this, especially after all that has just occurred, the way you’ve let him dispose of you. Whose else would you ever be?

“ Only yours, Levi Ackerman, always”

“ Fuck- I’m so close” he pants.

“ Cum inside of me” you beg him quietly, and he sets you free of the hold on your neck and crashes down on you, slipping his arms under your shoulders and keeping you so close to him he could probably break you.

“ You want it in your pretty pussy, huh?” he asks, his voice croaking with pleasure, it almost breaks from how close he is.

“ Yes, Sir”

That seems to do it, ‘cause he lets out the kind of groan you’ve learned to recognize as he holds you to him, his movements erratic, his breaths hot and heavy against your neck, through your hair. He slams a hand on the headboard to keep himself steady, and you see his face twist deliciously as he’s overcome with pleasure.

“ Fuck” he swears as you feel his hot seed springing into you, filling you up as you’ve longed for, and it’s just perfect. You love feeling him emptying inside of you, it makes you feel fulfilled. It drives you.

He towers above you for a few more instants, his heavy breaths crashing down on you, lips still red from your blood. Then he comes collapsing beside you, still dressed in his uniform, even though some of his buttons have accidentally been undone in the heat of the moment.

You lay silently for a while, the high of passion slowly taming as you both wrap your heads around whatever has just happened. You’re kind of shocked. You honestly did not think you would be into any of what’s just occurred, but he’s just too hot to be denied.

“ Maybe I should try to masturbate more often” you casually throw the words in the silence of the room, hoping to elicit a laugh from him.

Long shot.

“ Don’t you dare” he threatens instead.

[gejo333]

An Unexpected Match III

DILF/DBF Miguel O’Hara x Female Reader

Pt.1 Pt.4

Summary: Miguel finds out that you have a boyfriend after he makes a surprise visit. However, that doesn’t stop him for trying to seduce you, but you’re stubborn, and won’t be labeled a cheater despite the temptations. As weeks in the summer go by, your friendship with the O’Hara’s becomes really strong, which doesn’t help fight the urge to sleep with Miguel. But will one-heart breaking encounter break your stubborn ways?

I apologize for any grammatical mistakes I missed.

Enjoy💕

Wc: 5.5k

____________________________________________

“It’s been a while, Hermosa. I’ve missed you.”

You turn off the faucet and grab a paper towel to dry your hands. You turn your head slightly towards him.

“I never thought I would see you again.” You lightly chuckle before you turn around and look up to meet his gaze. Pressed against the sink and Miguel, you couldn’t escape. But with your heart pounding against your chest, you didn’t want to move from his hold.

Miguel brushed some of your hair from your face before he took your chin in his hand. His gaze dropped to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“Maybe we should start where we left off two years ago. I never was able to give you that goodbye kiss. But I’d say it’s more of a hello now.” He leaned down, his lips brushing your own. Before your lips touch, you turn your head, his kiss touching your cheek. Miguel raised his head, eyebrows furrowed, lips forming a frown. You lift your hand to cup his face as your thumb gently brushes his cheek.

“I can’t. I-” Before you could speak, you heard the sliding glass door open. Hearing your father’s voice, you and Miguel separate as you turn on the kitchen faucet to resume doing the dishes. Miguel helps you dry them and put the dishes away.

On walks, your father as he brings more dishes to the kitchen. “Hey, you two. I see you both getting buddy-buddy with each other.” Said your father as he came over and put more dishes next to you.

“W-what do you mean?” You felt your heart skip a beat as you looked at your father.

“Just nice to see my daughter getting along with my best friend here. I knew you two would like each other. Are you talking about science stuff?” You smile at your father’s upbeat attitude that you and Miguel were getting along. Little did he know how well you two got along.

“Y/n asked me about what projects we worked on in my department and what interns do. I was just giving her an overview of it.” Miguel said as he put away another dish you passed to him, your fingers touching his. You probably would have dropped it if it wasn’t for his grip on the plate.

“Hope he’s not boring you too much.” Your father laughs as he pats your back.

“No, not at all. I enjoy learning about these kinds of things. If I got bored of it, it wouldn’t be smart to choose a career in it.” You chuckle as your gaze briefly meets Miguel’s before returning to the dishes. Your father comes up and gently pushes you out of the way to finish the dishes.

“Dad? What-” you ask him, confused to being slightly pushed away.

“Don’t worry about finishing the dishes. There’s a surprise waiting for you in the backyard.” Your father chuckled.

“Surprise? It’s 8pm. Why show me-” You paused your words as your eyes widened. You hear everyone come inside from the backyard into the living room, where you hear a distinct male voice. You look to Miguel with slightly widened eyes, who gazes at you with concern before you leave the kitchen and into the living room.

Sitting on the couch chatting with your two brothers and Stephanie was your boyfriend of one year and a month.

“Tyler?” You say, surprised to see him. He turned to face you with a warm smile as he got up to hug you.

“Hey there, kitten. I’ve missed you.” Tyler calls you by the nickname he gives you as he brings you into his arms and leans down to kiss you. You pull away gently from the kiss as you put on a smile.

“Daddy!” Your heart dropped when you heard Gabi run into her father’s arms, who had come from the kitchen.

“Hey, missed you too.” You say to Tyler before you turn to look at Miguel. He didn’t look happy. Not with you being in another man’s arms.

Why was this bothering you so much? You had a great boyfriend. Miguel was only a weekend fling from two years ago. He shouldn’t matter to you. Yet, his gaze, voice, and touch… It made your heart glow.

“I thought I wasn’t going to see you till tomorrow?”

“Jack texted me saying you arrived early. So I decided to come see you.” You look to your older brother and send him a look that only your brothers would understand. Jack’s eyes widened when he saw you look at him with the ‘I’m so going to get you back for this’ look.

“Aww, how sweet.” You say with a big fake smile that only Stephanie and your brothers can recognize.

“Well, it’s getting late. I have to get this little one to bed.” Said Miguel as he noticed his daughter fall asleep in his arms. He also couldn't bear to see you in another man’s arms.

“Aww, they’re always so cute at that age. I miss mine being that age. But they’re all grown up now. Maybe I’ll see grandchildren running around here soon. “Your mom said as she melted at the sight of the sleeping Gabi. She looked at your brother Jack and then at you when she said the last part.

“Mom!” Whined Jack as he tried to cover his reddened cheeks.

Your father leaves the kitchen to say goodbye to Miguel at the door. You leave Tyler’s

arms as you walk to the entrance to your house, where you see Miguel and your father talking. As you stand next to your father, Miguel’s gaze briefly lands on you before looking back at your father.

“Oh, before you leave, Miguel. Are you still trying to find a new babysitter? Y/n babysat all during high school. And she’s free until she returns to college in a month.” Your eyes widen when your father makes the offer for you to babysit.

Miguel looked over at you with a mischievous gleam in his eye as he smiled. “That would be great. See you tomorrow at 3 at my house then. It was nice meeting you, y/n. Can’t wait to get to know you better.”

“S-see you tomorrow.” Your cheeks lightly flush as you smile at him before he leaves through the door.

“Wow, I’ve never seen him warm up to someone so quick. I could barely get a full conversation out of him for a week.” Your father said as he closed the door.

“It’s probably because he knows our family so well.” You tell your father as you both walk back into the family room.

After talking with everyone for a bit longer, you try to hide a yawn. The flight back, plus jet lag, was making you exhausted.

“I’m going to head to bed. I’ll see everyone in the morning.” You try to hide another yawn as you stand up from the couch. Tyler gets up with you, his hand draped around your shoulders.

“Goodnight, you two. No funny business under my roof. Just sleep.” Your father gives you both a warning look. You roll your eyes and smile.

“Don’t worry, Dad. Nothing will happen.”

You say as you walk upstairs to your bedroom, Tyler follows right behind you. As you get to your room, you are suddenly turned around as his lips capture yours. You gently push him away as you smile up at him. He frowns slightly, disappointed in your answer.

“Maybe not tonight. I really am tired from being back from Europe. Let’s just sleep tonight.”

“Fine. Good Night.” He sighed with a smile as he took off his pants and shirt and got in the bed with you.

“Goodnight.”

As you lay in your bed, you wished you shared it with a certain man instead of your boyfriend.

When you woke up the next morning, you left Tyler in your bed as you felt guilty for wishing you woke up in Miguel’s strong arms.

Since Stephanie spent the night, too, you went on a morning walk to your favorite cafe as you both talked about yesterday’s events. After talking the morning away, you walked back to your house, where you said goodbye to Stephanie before she left back to her apartment. That’s when you also said goodbye to Tyler, as he said he would meet up with his old roommates.

When you showered and got ready, it was time for you to head over to Miguel’s house to babysit Gabi. You weren’t just nervous about being in Miguel’s house the first time but you wanted Gabi to like you.

As you walk up to his house, you knock on the door. Within seconds the door opened, revealing Miguel dressed in a button-up and nice black slacks. Your breath hitched when you saw him wearing his glasses. Your core shrieked, but you were able to compose yourself as you smiled at him.

“Hi, Mr. O’Hara.”

“Hey there, Kitten.” Miguel chuckled as he stepped aside to let you inside. As you walked in, you turned around, cheeks red as you lightly hit his chest, trying to hide the smile on your face from his silly remark.

“The name’s y/n to you.”

“And it’s Miguel for you.” Miguel winked at you with a smile before he led you into the house.

Despite living on the same street, his house was way bigger than your childhood home. Nicer too. With top-of-the-line furniture and appliances. That’s probably what you get when you are the genetics department chair at Alchamex.

“You have a lovely home.” You say as he leads you into the kitchen, where Gabi sits at the kitchen counter, coloring with pencils and markers.

“Hey, Mija, Y/n is here to hang out with you.” Gabi looked up from her coloring. Her eyes brightened up when she saw you.

“Hi! I drew you a picture!” Gabi lifted the paper she was drawing as you smiled brightly and walked over to where she was sitting. She showed you her drawing; it was of you and her standing on what you assumed was a field with a soccer ball in her hands.

“I love it, Gabi. Thank you. Oh, are we wearing the Clover team jerseys?”

“Yeah! Since you said you used to play on the team. The drawing is for you.” Gabi passes you the picture as you gladly take it. “Aww, thank you. When I get home, it’s going straight on the fridge.” You gently put the drawing in your bag to make sure not to forget it.

Miguel smiled at you and Gabi getting along. She was ecstatic When he mentioned that you were coming over to babysit this morning. Despite only meeting you yesterday, his daughter seemed fond of you immediately. He briefly leaves to grab his lab coat, putting it on before returning to the kitchen, where you and Gabi chatted away. He walks to the other side of the kitchen counter and puts important paperwork and his laptop in a bag. His gaze meets yours, gesturing for you to follow him.

“Goodbye, princesa. I’ll be home for dinner.” Miguel kissed the top of her head as she turned to hug him.

He then guided you to his office, letting you in first before he closed the door. Hearing the door locked, you turned around with a smile. Miguel approached you, touching your hips as he pulled you against him.

“Maybe something quick before work?” Miguel smirked as he grabbed you by the thighs, lifting you up as he sat you on his desk.

“Miguel, we can’t. For many reasons.” You giggle as you put your hands on his chest and gently push him away. You cup his face with your hand. He puts his larger hand on top of yours as he takes it and kisses your wrist.

“Why not, cariño?” He looks at you with a lustful gaze.

“You know why. First off, Gabi is in the other room. And second, I have a boyfriend. I’m not going to be labeled a cheater. And those are just the two reasons at the top of my head.” You smiled up at him as he moved slightly away from you to let you get down from his desk.

A frown forms on your lips as you see a small pout on his face. Getting up from the desk, you walk up to him and fix his lab coat collar. “I want to kiss you, Miguel. But I can’t.”

Your last words made him smile as he brushed some of your hair behind your ear, a small loving gesture you missed so much.

Miguel unlocked the office door and grabbed his bag as he told you a bit about what Gabi likes to eat, what she can and can’t have, and that he would be back for dinner. He also gave you his phone number to call or text if anything arises. Or if you wanted to meet privately with him. He whispered to you the last part as you rolled your eyes playfully and shook your head, smiling at him before he left.

Walking back to the kitchen, you sit next to Gabi.

“Can I draw with you?”

“Sure!” Gabi smiled as she passed you a blank paper and shared her colored pencils.

“Are you excited to start kindergarten?”

“Yeah! I’m excited to make new friends. Some of my teammates are going to be in my class.”

“That’s awesome! I bet you’re going to have a lot of fun.”

“Yeah! Wow, you draw really well! Can you teach me?” Gabi looked at your drawing of randomly drawn flowers. You smiled at her interest in your drawing. You minored in visual arts just because you loved art and its calming mechanisms when stressed.

You grab two pieces of blank paper and teach her to draw a simple rose. After a few drafts, Gabi was happy with her third rose. You then taught her how to draw different flowers for most of the day.

After spending two hours drawing, you cut up a piece of fruit for the both of you to snack on before Gabi asked you to kick a soccer ball in the backyard.

After spending an hour passing the soccer ball and teaching her cool tricks to show off to her teammates, it was time for you to start making dinner.

You heard the front door open when you finished dinner for you and the two O’Haras. Miguel walked into the kitchen and smiled at seeing you making dinner with Gabi helping when she could, standing on a footstool beside you. He could get used to this site. If only he could make you his.

“Daddy!” Gabi ran up to Miguel and hugged him.

“Hey there, did you have fun today?” Miguel hugged his daughter back before she grabbed his hand and brought him to the kitchen counter.

“Look at the drawings y/n and I drew! She taught me how to draw flowers!” Gabi showed him the drawings.

“These are great, Mija. I’ll put your favorite on the fridge.” Gabi handed her favorite to him as he grabbed a magnet and hung it on the fridge door. “Looks perfect.” Miguel smiled before he gazed at you.

“Gabi, how about you go wash up for dinner.”

“Ok!” Gabi ran upstairs. Once he heard the bathroom door shut, he approached you from behind and grabbed your hips, pulling you against him.

“Miguel.” You chuckle as you finish cooking, turning off the stove as you turn your head.

“Just one kiss. Please, Hermosa. I miss your lips against mine. I miss touching you.” Miguel leaned down as his lips brushed against your neck before leaving one kiss. You turn around, cheeks flushed as you try to give him a serious look but fail. “Like I said before, we can’t.”

Miguel smirks as he takes your chin softly. “You distracted me all day today at work. I could barely get anything done.”

You smile as you take the hand on your chin and give it a loving squeeze. “Dinner is ready.”

After having a nice dinner with Miguel and Gabi, as she tells him about your day together, you decide it’s time to leave. Miguel walks you to the front door as he takes out his wallet. You put your hand over his, stopping him from taking out any money.

“I don’t need any money. Please, I don’t want it. I really loved spending time with her. She’s the sweetest thing. You have an amazing daughter, Miguel. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smile before opening the door and leaving.

Miguel stood there, brows slightly furrowed. He felt his heart skip a beat at your last words before leaving. Until now, his feelings for you have only been lustful. But now he’s beginning to feel more for you. He’s never felt this way for anyone. He groaned in slight annoyance. Now it would be even harder for him to stop his advances of making you his.

————

Two weeks have passed, and you have gotten into a routine with the O’Hara’s. You would come in the afternoon to hang out with Gabi until Miguel came home from work and had dinner with you. Sometimes you made dinner, sometimes Miguel would if he came home earlier, or he would get takeout for the three of you.

Today was a little different. Miguel had come home earlier than usual and found you and Gabi in the kitchen making homemade cookies. He found you both covered in flour and frosting, both laughing when you saw him walk in with a surprised face.

“Want to frost cookies with us?” You ask him. Miguel smiled as he rolled up his sleeves and stood on the other side of Gabi.

“Daddy, you're putting too much frosting on the cookie.” Giggled Gabi as she saw her father drown the sugar cookie in orange frosting.

“I guess I did.” He chuckled as he looked down at his daughter. He laughed when he saw his daughter’s face covered in frosting. He grabbed a napkin, kneeled down, and wiped her face. Gabi then dipped her finger in some frosting and put it on her father’s nose. Seeing Miguel’s surprised face made you and Gabi laugh.

“Oh, this is funny to you both.” Miguel then put frosting on your nose. Now making the O’Hara’s chuckle at your facial reaction.

“Very funny.” You laugh as you get a napkin and wipe your face. You then go up to Miguel and, with the napkin, wipe away the frosting from his face. Your eyes met his, and your breath hitched when you noticed a difference in his eyes. They held more than lust. His eyes held something more for you.

You looked away, breaking your gaze. “Look at us. Guess we should all get cleaned up.” You chuckle as you look at yourself, Gabi, and Miguel, all covered in flour, frosting, and sprinkles.

All three of you go upstairs as Miguel starts a bath for Gabi.

“I’ll be there in a minute, Princesa. I’m just going to show y/n where the other shower is.” He tells Gabi before he leads you down the hall into the master bedroom and straight to the master bath.

“Miguel, why are we in your bathroom? I know that you have more than two bathrooms in this house.”

Miguel smirked after turning on the shower. “My shower has the best water pressure. You can take a shower while I help Gabi wash up. Unless you want to wait a bit, we can shower together.” Miguel walked up to you as his eyes trailed up and down your body.

“Sorry, O’Hara. You’re not getting a peep show.” You smirked. Miguel chuckled as he put his hands up in surrender before leaving.

He was right. The water pressure was perfect. As you wash off the flour and frosting, your mind wonders about memories of Miguel two years ago. The hot water rushed against both your bodies as you felt his lips on your skin, his hands trailing over you, lowering one down to your sensitive lips.

You snapped back to reality as you turned the shower handle too cold to knock some sense into you.

After everyone was showered and dressed, it was time for Gabi to go to bed. Sometime during the middle of the week, Gabi asked if both you and Miguel would tuck her into bed and say good night before you left.

As you entered her room, you saw Miguel grab her favorite stuffed animal as he walked back over to the 5- year old jumping on her bed.

“Be careful, Mija. You could fall.” Miguel said as he picked up his giggling daughter and laid her on the bed, pulling the covers over her. You sat beside Miguel on the bed as you helped tuck her in. You noticed she dropped her stuffed animal on the floor, so you picked it up and put it beside her. You smiled lovingly at her as she yawned and eyes drooped.

“Goodnight, Gabi. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, y/n. Goodnight, Daddy.”

“Goodnight, princess. Sleep well.”

You both watched her fall asleep before quietly standing up and leaving her room. You both walked downstairs and grabbed your things before heading to the front door.

“You know, it’s pretty late. You could sleep here tonight.” Miguel suggested as he gave you the usual goodbye hug, which started the second night you began to come over.

“Goodnight, Miguel.” You giggled as you hugged him, but not before standing on your toes and kissing his cheek as a goodbye.

Miguel stood frozen in shock from your little kiss. Of course, you had already snuck off and left before he could come to his senses. He smiled as he touched his slightly flushed cheek where your lips once were.

————-

Another week passed, and it was family game night at your house. Of course, it wasn’t just your family but the O’Haras, Stephanie, and your boyfriend, Tyler. Since you started hanging out more at Miguel’s house. You’ve barely gone to hang out with Tyler, which has put a bit of tension in your relationship.

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the bar and watch the basketball game tomorrow?” Tyler sat beside you on the sofa, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“Sure, oh wait. I have to take a rain check. I offered to take Gabi to soccer practice and then drive her to a friend’s house for a sleepover. Maybe next time.” Your lips turned into a frown as you heard him scoff and remove his arm from around you as he sipped his beer. You rolled your eyes and turned towards him. “What?”

“You’ve been canceling plans to spend all your time with that family. I’d say you had a thing for-” You hit his chest as a warning, a groan in pain coming from him as he lightly glared at you.

“I offered to help him babysit since he is my father’s best friend. He’s a busy single father who couldn’t find anyone to help take care of his daughter. Get your head out of the clouds and from those stupid accusations.” You glared at him, fuming. Thank god you were the only two in the living room before everyone came in.

The doorbell rang, indicating the O’Haras were here. Having enough of your boyfriend, you excuse yourself as you open the door.

“Y/n!” Gabi ran over and hugged you.

“Hey there, my little bug.” You happily returned her hug before letting her enter the house to greet everyone else.

“Hi.” You smile up at Miguel, who smiles back at you as he gives you a warm side hug. He leans down and whispers, “Hi, Hermosa.” You playfully roll your eyes and return his hug before entering the living room.

Still mad at Tyler, you sit between Gabi and your brother Jack. Noticing you weren’t sitting next to him, he rolled his eyes and took another sip from his beer.

“Boyfriend troubles?” Your brother mumbled to you. “Yep.” You sigh as you steal your brother’s beer and take a sip before returning it to him.

“Hey, I don’t want your germs.” Grumbled your brother as he took a sip from his beer.

“Grow up.” You chuckle.

“Attention, everyone! It’s time to pick teams! Pick a piece of paper from the hat, whatever number you have, pair it with the people with the same number.” Said your mother as she passed the hat along. When you picked out a folded paper, you opened it and got ‘3.’

“Who got three?”

“I did!” Gabi rose, hands up in excitement.

“Me too.” Miguel smiled at you as he showed you his paper.

After the teams were made, the first game started, Pictionary.

Winner: Team O’Hara, Gabi came up with the name and said that your last name would be O’Hara for the night. A few unspeakable thoughts appeared in your head.

Next game: Trivia

Winner: Team O’Hara

The next and final game was a scavenger hunt around the house.

“Ok, next clue. What’s round and silver that whistles when hot? God, these are easy. Who wrote these clues?” Miguel chuckled as he led the way to the kitchen.

“Who do you think?” You chuckle as you walk behind him with Gabi holding your hand.

“Sam.” Miguel chuckled as he made his way to the kettle and opened up the lid, finding the next clue as he grabbed one of the slips and handed it to you. Reading it, you laugh.

“We could have done this blindfolded and still be in the lead.”

You go to the living room where your brothers and Tyler sit, trying to figure out the second clue. Walking to the fireplace, you move a log and find the paper with glitter on it, indicating you won.

“We won!” You say in excitement as you join in a group victory hug with Miguel and Gabi.

“Thats game! Team O’Hara wins game night!” Your father said, earning groans from Team Bud Light, your brothers, and Tyler’s team.

“Of course we had no chance when the geniuses were all put on one team.” Grumbled Tyler.

“You’re just jealous.” You tell him, which makes Tyler smirk as he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his lap, and gives you a kiss on the lips. You push his chest away and move off his lap, sitting next to him as you fix your hair.

“Tyler! There are other people here.” Your cheeks flushed, embarrassed by his actions. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. “I just want to tell everyone that you're my girl.” Tyler chuckled before he briefly glared at Miguel as if he was giving him a warning. Miguel grinned, not caring. As he knew who y/n truly favored.

After talking for a bit longer, Miguel noticed Gabi getting sleepy as it was getting late. He picked her up and said his goodbyes to everyone before walking back home.

“Daddy?”

“Si, Princesa.”

“I don’t like y/n’s boyfriend.”

“Why is that?” Miguel chuckled at his daughter’s words, amused.

“He took her away every time she tried to spend time with us after the game. I didn’t like it.” Gabi rubbed one of her eyes as she yawned.

“Yeah, I didn’t like it either.”

———-

It was 4pm when you arrived at the soccer field to pick up Gabi. As you parked your car and got out, you walked to the field where you saw from afar a group of 5-year-olds huddled up before they dispersed to find their parents.

“Y/n!” Gabi ran up and hugged you, which you gladly returned.

“Hey there! Are you excited for your first sleepover?”

“Yeah!” Gabi cheered as you took her hand and walked to your car.

After driving back to Miguel’s house, where he gave you a spare key, you got Gabi cleaned up and dressed before driving to her friend’s house.

Getting out of the car, you grab her sleeping bag and backpack as you walk up to the house. “Now remember, Gabi, ask Ms. Johnson to call me or your father if you need us, ok?”

“Ok!” Gabi smiled as she bounced on her feet, very excited about her first sleepover. You smiled down at her before knocking on the door. When it opened, the woman’s face grew slightly disappointed when she saw you but her emotions turned to happiness when she saw Gabi.

“Hi, Gabi darling. I’m happy to have you over. Sofia and Rachel are super excited for the sleepover. Come in.” She opens the door for both of you.

“Bye, y/n!” Gabi hugged you before going to play with her friends in their room.

“So, O’Hara likes them young, I see.” Said Ms. Johnson.

“Excuse me?” You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

“Oh, I’m just saying I didn’t know Miguel liked to date college girls.”

“Ok, first off, nice to meet you too. And second off, I’m not dating Miguel. I'm Gabi's babysitter.” You say as you narrow your eyes slightly at the woman whose eyes widen by her mistake.

“Oops, my bad. Good to know he’s still single. Those hot rich single fathers are hard to find.” The woman chuckled, which only made things more awkward and annoying for you.

“Forgot to mention I’m also a close family friend of his. I’ll make sure to mention your fondness for him. Nice meeting. Bye.” You say before leaving and getting back into your car.

God, some of these suburban housewives are insane.

After returning to your childhood home for some last-minute packing, you decided to sleep at your shared apartment with Tyler. You both moved in there together before you went off to Europe.

As soon as you unlocked the door and stepped inside, you knew something was wrong. All the hairs on your body stood up as your stomach twisted into knots. You saw two used wine glasses on the kitchen counter and clothes sprawled along the floor leading to the bedroom.

Inching your way closer, the moans from a woman could be heard coming from the other room. Your mind knew what was happening, yet you still wanted to check, a small hint of doubt forming inside you. Maybe it’s just your imagination.

As soon as you open the door to your once-shared bedroom, you see your boyfriend fucking a random woman from behind. And since they were so in the moment, they didn’t realize you walk in. Rage filled your body as you walked back out of the bedroom, slamming the door.

That got their attention as you heard Tyler swear and call out your name as he opened the door. However, you already grabbed your bag and stormed out of the apartment. You had gotten in your car when Tyler ran out of the building half-naked. But it was too late to stop you as you drove off.

The rage subsided and was replaced with pain as you felt like you were stabbed in the chest and straight through the heart. Tears were streaming down your face, making driving slightly harder as the tears blurred your vision.

You pull into the driveway as you get out of the car, walk up to the door, and knock. A few minutes passed when the door opened, revealing Miguel in sweats and a black tank top.

“Y/n? What happened?” Miguel’s eyes widened when he saw your tears as he led you into the house and closed the door. Miguel held you against his chest as you wept. Brushing your hair back from your face. He leaned down, cupping your cheeks as he tried to wipe away your tears. It pained him to see you like this.

You stopped shedding tears as the lust began to cloud them. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Miguel immediately returned your kiss as he touched your hips and pulled you closer.

“Y/n…” Miguel pulled away, coming back to reality.

“Please, Miguel. I’ve missed you.” You looked up at him with want. He knew what you were asking of him. And he was gladly going to give it to you. His gaze matched your lustful one as he picked you up by your thighs, and you wrapped them around his waist. His lips captured yours into a heated kiss. He then carried you upstairs to his bedroom, where he gently laid you on his bed.

Miguel kissed your lips down to your neck and chest as he gently removed your clothes. His lips met yours again before separating as he gazed down at you with a loving smile and brushed his hand gently over your tear-stained cheek.

“I’ll take care of you tonight, mi amor.”

————————————————————————-

Hope you enjoyed the chapter💕💕💕

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[sanjimi]

my past haunts me, but i'm forever yours.

sanji x gn!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of daddy issues, alluded abusive home, angsty but not because of sanji, reader is scared of falling in love, sort of suggestive but not too suggestive.

calloused fingers brush against the skin of your shoulder. you sit there silently, and he observes. 

sanji has gotten used to your behavior—sometimes you were distant, separated.

“is everything alright, darling?” he still asks every time, despite always getting the same answer. 

it makes your heart warm, but even now you still feel empty. you don’t want to get attached, you don’t want to trust him. trusting leads to eventual disappointment and heartbreak. you knew this well. 

nonetheless, you somehow find the energy to reply in a hum. 

“m’ fine, sanji.”

he loved the way you said his name, even when you were lying. 

sanji brushes your hair out of your face and tucks a finger under your chin, making you look up at him. 

“you hardly touched your food,” he says softly, a hint of concern in his voice. is it real concern? you do not know. “everyone’s already gone back.” 

you realize you’ve been staring into his eyes a while, and you avert your gaze, pulling away from him.

he was right. the rest of the crew had scarfed down their dinners long ago, leaving you to sit at the table alone while sanji did the dishes. they say something about slow eating and trauma response, but you try not to pay any mind to it. you were fine. you had to be. even if chopper has been giving you worried looks all week and zoro keeps a watchful eye on you when you walk down the stairs. even if usopp and luffy notice you didn’t goof off with them this morning, and nami and robin notice that you toss and turn all night. even if sanji's been asking you the same question every day for the past month.

“i’m just not very hungry. i’m sorry, the food is really good i just… i can’t eat right now.” you look up hesitantly, afraid of backlash. he doesn't yell, he doesn’t get angry. he doesn’t force you to eat. he just nods and picks up the plate, turning to the kitchen and putting it away. 

“i’ll wrap it up for you and we can eat later.”

we. he always says we.

“darling?” he repeats the sweet name he decided to call you. “sweetheart, please talk to me.”

when had anyone ever cared for you like this before you joined the crew?

“i…” you start, and he perks up to listen. “i’m fine, i promise.” you try to smile, and laugh lightly. its hard to laugh. you have a hard time getting the words out, but he drinks in everything with complete and utter patience, despite knowing you are lying to his face. had anyone ever been so patient before?

sanji’s fingers find your hand that rests atop the table. his thumb traces the knuckles on your hand. “is there anything i can do?” he asks gently, ignoring the lie. your heart hurts. 

“please don’t.” you pull away from him again. always running, always pulling away. “don’t. you don’t need to do anything.”

he sighs and turns your chair towards him. you try to get up and leave, but he grabs your hands and kneels on the floor below you. he kisses your palms, then brings them up to cup his face and holds them there. 

“please let me care for you.”

his eyes search your face. you sit there, staring at him. you want to pull your hands away, you want to run away and lock the door so you can hide. away from him. away from his prying gaze. away from how he makes your heart burn and feel hopeful because what else can you do when those warm eyes look at you and ask for permission to give you the world? 

do you really want to run away? you run your thumb across his cheekbone. do you really want to, or is that the coward inside of you telling you to push people away? 

“i- i can’t-” your voice shakes, and his hands tighten over your own. you can’t pull away, even if you tried. you suck in a breath.

“i know how this will end. you’ll leave or- or you’ll stop loving me or… or…” you trail off and finally look him in the eye. finally, you let your vulnerability show. “i don’t want to end up like them.” the sentence is said in a whisper, your voice threatening to crack if you let it grow any louder. 

who could have been the cause of this fear? of course, none other than the people who raised you and gave you your name. your parents, with their artificial love that echoed on the walls of your home and made you suffocate until you finally stepped outside. but then you realized you’re still suffocating, everywhere you go. 

you suffocate when you’re sitting alone in your bed on this pirate ship, thousands of miles away from your childhood home. you suffocate when you are at the market, when you sleep. when you eat, when you cry. even when you're around others, you feel alone. 

but why is it that when you’re with him, you can feel a release of the pressure on your throat? could he really be relieving you? or… what if he’s just going to hold you under until you suffocate to death? 

“y/n.”

his voice calling your name is what brings you back to earth. his hands on your skin, he turns his face to kiss the inside of your wrist this time. 

“i don’t ever, ever want to do that to you.” his tone is sincere, his words clear in your head. “please let me help you.” his request comes again, and you feel your heart ache once more. 

you don’t want to say yes. to agree to this outrageous request. how could he expect that of you? but then again… maybe you actually do. how nice it would be to say yes. if you said yes, would the pain go away? the fear?

your body defies you as you nod, wordlessly agreeing to his request. 

he smiles. warm and sweet like the feeling of sitting by the fireplace and drinking hot tea. 

he trails his hands to your thighs, then your waist. he kneads your skin, thumbs pressing small circles into the pain that had settled there over the years. he pulls you up to your feet, one hand now cupping your cheek and the other wrapped around your waist. he leans forward, then stops. his nose gently touching your own, you realize he’s giving you one more chance to run away. 

do you really want this? love is hard. love is breakable. love fades. it hurts. wouldn’t it be easier to just be alone? 

he presses his forehead to your own and brushes his nose on yours. one more chance. will you crawl back into your shell? 

a flash of bravery, and you close your eyes, then lean forward. suddenly, the world didn’t seem so bad. 

soft lips pressed against your own and you’re enveloped in the scent of smoke and rain and warmth—did warmth even have a scent? it must. it smells like sanji. 

kissing him is easy. suddenly all the fears of falling drift away and you’re welcomed with the feeling of something soft at your feet, in your hands, surrounding your body. his hands travel around you and are now on your back, making you arch into him. slowly, as though not to startle you, he pulls away. you chase after his lips. 

he smiles, looking into your eyes and he holds you close. a small smile forms on your lips and he kisses you again. 

you should’ve known. loving him is easier. much, much easier than pushing him away. pushing everything away. it feels like the hands on your throat pushing down have been burnt up, now replaced by lips sucking his name into your skin. 

a small sound escapes you, and you feel the curve of his smile against your throat. his fingers dance at the edge of your shirt, slipping under and pressing against your bare skin. his hands are warm as they tear you limb from limb, pulling you apart and putting you back together. 

yes. maybe loving him was easier. 

is this a cry for help? maybe. anyway, i wish we all had a sanji

[noproofread]

Ecstasy (NSFW)

it's 3am and i am high shhhh

zoro x fem!reader

angry sex, choking, dom zoro, brat reader if you squint, slight degradation but also slight praise, unprotected sex, p in v. reader loves to make zoro angry.

word count: 1,182

masterlist here

You were sitting across Zoro, a mountain of empty dishes containing only crumbs of the food that had been inhaled by your straw hat captain. You kicked Zoro under the table as everyone else was in conversations of their own. Zoro shot you a look of discontent, you annoyed him daily. You and Sanji agreed that peak entertainment came from the disgruntled green haired pirate. Sanji took to insulting him, whereas you loved to physically annoy him. Smacking the back of his head, kicking him under tables, punching his shoulder, ruffling his hair. You loved watching his face redden as he stared at you angrily. It was funny but damn, did he look good.

Something about angry Zoro excited you. He was already good looking, fit. His calm tone combined with his deep voice was enough to melt you. But when he was angry? He showed emotion, passion. Sometimes he would grab your shoulders and yell at you. You wished he would just throw you on his bed as if you were nothing but a ragdoll. You wanted him to yell and berate you as he fucked you senseless. Maybe that's why you loved irritating him. The rush you got at the mere thought of Zoro getting so mad that he has no other outlet but to use you was addicting. And here you were, yet again, kicking Zoro under the table.

He warned you with his eyes. He didn’t need to speak, you saw how angry was getting. You didn't stop. You smirked as you kicked him again, biting your bottom lip and he met your eyes again. “Fucking stop.” He whispered through gritted teeth. You shook your head no as your smirk turned into a smile. You kicked him once more before getting up to take your dishes to the sink. You glanced at Zoro behind your shoulder as you left your dishes and began walking out of the dining room. You walked down the hallway, sensing that you were being followed. You did not turn to look back, you knew exactly who it was. You smiled to yourself, feeling a heat pool at the bottom of your stomach as you approached 2 doors at the end of the hallway.

To your left was your room, to the right was Zoro’s. You turned towards your door, slowly placing a hand on the handle. You felt Zoro behind you, his body heat radiating. His hand wrapped around your wrist and you were pulled away from your room and into his. Zoro pushed you against the door, slamming it shut. His body was flushed against yours, his hand still tightly wrapped around your wrist. You were caged in. You looked into his eyes as he panted. His gaze was dark, focused on your lips. “I’m tired of your shit. Everyday you fuck with me and it’s time you learn to fucking stop.” His voice was low, it sent goosebumps down your skin. You felt your arousal pool as your face felt hot. You chuckled lightly, not knowing how to respond to that. It pissed him off. Zoro grabbed you as if you weighed nothing and threw you onto his mattress. His arms held your hands above your head as he hovered over you. “Shut the fuck up.” He growled, leaning in to kiss you desperately. A messy kiss, he bit your lip firmly and slid his tongue into your mouth. A small moan fell from your lips as he fully pressed his body against yours. You were feeling his arousal hard against your thigh. He left your mouth, leaving a trail of messy wet kisses across your neck.

He let go of one of your wrists, using his now free hand to remove the barriers you had separating him from your aching arousal. He slid his fingers up and down your slicked folds causing you to squirm under his touch. “So wet for me already?” Zoro chuckled, lowering down to your ear. “Guess we found out why you kept wanting to piss me off.” He whispered tauntingly as he slid one finger inside you without warning. A soft moan fell from your lips as Zoro pumped his finger in and out of you, his palm flat against your clit. You grabbed the back of his neck with your free hand, kissing him feverishly. Zoro inserted another finger as you moaned into his mouth. His movements intensified as you felt your orgasm build up. You knew he felt it, the way you were tightening around his fingers. He sped up slightly, pushing you to your high, you moaned loudly. Zoro’s fingers slowed down, letting you ride out your high. You attempted to catch your breath, looking up at Zoro.

He smirked at you as he removed his kimono, allowing his erection to be in full view. You sat up, motioning him to lay down. As he sat next to you, you pushed him down. You climbed on top of him, smiling down at him. “Nobody tells me to shut up” You stated, leaning down to kiss and suck on his neck. Zoro smacked your ass, earning a yelp from you. “Don’t talk back to me” He threatened, placing his hands on your bare hips and lowering you down onto his dick. He slid one of his hands down, aligning himself to your entrance. He looked up at you as you felt him stretch you in the most delicious way. He hissed through his teeth as you wrapped around him. He beckoned you to ride him. Zoro let out a low groan as you moved your hips into his. You moved back and forth, carefully sliding upwards on his dick as you moved back and grinded forward.

You threw your head back, savoring the feeling of him under and inside you. You felt him wrap a hand around your neck. “You look so fucking pretty when you're riding me.” Zoro growled. Loud moans filled the room as you continued to grind your hips against his. Using one hand to support yourself over Zoro, his hand squeezed your throat lightly as he hissed in pleasure. “Fuck, Zoro.” You moaned out onto his lips that were just centimeters away from yours. He looked into your eyes and smirked. “You're such a good slut for me huh. How good is it?” He whispered, stifling back low moans. “So good, Zoro. So good-” You whined, feeling yourself reach another orgasm. Zoro squeezed your throat a little more, feeling you clamp down around his dick. A mixture of moaning and panting filled the air as you reached your climax, riding it out onto Zoro. You heard him hiss and let out a loud moan as he reached his high. His hand gripped your ass, you felt him fill you up as you collapsed onto him. Both of you, trying to regulate your breathing. His body was sticky with sweat and your hair was a mess. You rolled off of him. Staring at the ceiling you chuckled to yourself. “Oh I am so going to piss you off more often.”

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Coffee Orders

The guys had all come to the shop tonight. Johnny led the way, his bright smile finding you first. Kyle winked, Gary waved, Simon nodded, and Price studied you.

“Hi guys, what can I get you? Gary, I know your order if you wanted to find a seat.”

You had quite a few patrons tonight, they might struggle to find a space to sit together.

“Why do you know his order bonnie?” Johnny looks from the menu to you.

“Ask him,” you smile before looking to the rest of them. “Do you know what you want to order?”

“I’ll take a large black coffee, one sugar,” John said.

“Small London Fog for me,” Kyle adds.

“Large black, one London, got it. Simon, want an Earl Grey with a splash of milk?” You glance up from the tablet to see his nod. “That leaves you, Johnny, anything pique your interest?”

“I can’t decide, why don’t you give me your favorite drink on the menu?” He looks at you.

“Can do. All one ticket tonight or separate?”

John steps up, “I got this trip.”

“Alright, go ahead and tap your card I am going to get started on these drinks for everyone.” Leaving the counter you start on their drinks.

You would normally call out their drinks and have them pick them up but you wanted to talk for a few minutes. Grabbing Gary’s ice caramel macchiato and John’s black coffee you leave the kitchen. You found the seating space rearranged. Someone had pushed together two of your smaller tables to make room for them all.

Gary’s ears reddened as you put his drink down. A general chuckle spread out from the table as the men saw his drink. Johnny elbowed Simon with an eye on the ice floating in Gary’s glass. Kyle snorted and turned to look at some art on the walls. John lifted a brow as he took his own drink from the table.

You snatched the coffee from John’s hand as it headed for his lips.

“Okay. That’s not going to fly.”

Everyone looked at you, slightly confused.

“If you want your drinks, you’re going to apologize for laughing at Gary. We don’t make fun of my friends.”

You stared at them expectantly, expertly ignoring the red rising in Gary’s ears.

When murmurs of apology drifted from each man you gave John back his drink and headed back to the kitchen for the rest. When the guys all had their drinks you nodded once and went back to the kitchen. The reaction had been extreme, and unnecessary. Gary was a grown man who worked a secret job for the government, he didn’t need you to defend him. You stayed behind the counter until closing, waving everyone out before locking the door. You set about cleaning up the seating, and tables, and sweeping and mopping the floor. You sent your cleaning playlist through the speakers that were placed around the building, blasting it so loud you couldn’t hear yourself think.

Quinn knocked at the door at his normal time. Quinn washed your dishes. Letting him in you go back to finishing your closing duties. Once you cleaned the front of house well enough for tomorrow you stepped into the kitchen. Turning the volume down you chat with Quinn for a few minutes.

When a jaw-cracking yawn overtakes you he shoos you out the door. Quinn would go out the back, taking the garbage with him. The back door locked automatically so you went out the front door and locked it after you.

Music still spilled from the bars nearby as you worked your way to your car in a parking lot a few buildings over. A large shadow peeled off one building as you got closer to your car. Keeping your pace even, you checked for anyone else on the streets. No one. Figures.

“Can I walk you to your car?”

“Fuck Simon! Don’t do that!” You slap a hand to your heart. It is still trying to beat out of your chest. “Next time if you want to walk me to my car maybe ask before you leave the shop so you don’t scare me near to death.”

His shoulder hunched as he must realize what you were thinking.

“I’ll ask next time.”

“’s too late now. Do you need a ride home too or just waiting to scare the shit out of me?”

“Told Price I would ride with you.”

Pulling teeth from a feral cat would be easier than getting information out of this man right now. Taking one deep, calming breath you straighten.

“Alright. Come on then. I am in need of a shower and my bed.”

He doesn’t say much of anything on the drive home. At least he didn’t comment on the mess of your back seat. Simon opens your door when you arrive home. He had gotten out quickly once you parked and turned back to grab your things.

“Thanks, Simon.”

He got to the front door too, following like a cat as you drifted into your room. Standing at your doorway he stared as you started to remove your jewelry and shoes.

“The drinks were good.”

“Were they? I’m glad. I’m always a bit worried that they will come out terribly and that is why my shop draws in such a small crowd.” Pulling out your hair tie you run your fingers into your scalp. It had been up too long today.

“Can’t be the coffee.” With that he slips into the dark hallway, leaving you staring at the open door.

Gently closing the door you finish your routine, sliding into bed with the curtains blocking out the light of the rising sun.

When you head out to your car next you are shocked to find a full tank of gas where you had been hovering on E the night before.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[creepswrites]

Hi there! I just recently discovered your page but I already love your writing style! Can I request a oneshot with poly Sinclair brothers (either just Bo and Vincent or all three, whichever you like better) and gn reader? Maybe the reader usually doesn't get involved when people come to Ambrose, and just stays at the house while the boys do their thing, but this time things get a bit out of control and they have to step in to help? Like prevent one of the victims from getting away or one of the boys from getting hurt?

Feel free to ignore this though, no pressure. Have a nice day! 😊

omg hiii i see you in the comments on a lot of my posts!! i'm so glad you like my writing, you're very sweet :) i loooove writing the Sinclair boys so i hope you enjoy!! sorry this took so long, lots of things kept popping up in my life

SINCLAIR BROTHERS x GN!READER (they/them)

SUMMARY: "There are people! A-A truck! Headin' towards town! They- They have guns, and, and!" Words spilled out of your mouth and you felt your heartrate skyrocketing. The idea of anything bad happening to Bo and Vincent just made you feel...

WARNING: graphic death/violence

Living in Ambrose had not been exactly your choice.

Bo had found you and a few of your friends on the side of the road and Vincent had convinced him to let him "keep" you once they had killed your friends. Not as a wax figure but as a real, living person. At first you'd kept to yourself, staying in the workshop to avoid Bo's anger and pretended you didn't hear the screams. You'd turn your back to Vincent when he worked, sitting and sobbing in the corner of the workshop with your hands over your ears to block out the sound of screams.

Now? It was perfectly normal to you.

"Hey Sweetpea!" Lester called to you, snapping you back to the present. Right, you were helping Lester this morning. Bo had tried to keep you inside to clean the house but the youngest Sinclair had begged to have you help him collect roadkill.

You liked Lester. He'd been sweet with you since the moment you'd arrived and, despite Bo and Vincent's constant arguments on the topic, you'd started a relationship with Lester before either of them. The two of you had just clicked and you'd been attached at the hip ever since. He was big on physical affection and would often make you little charms to hang in your bedroom - you had your own room, something you'd put your foot down after Bo had pitched the idea you just ocellate between sleeping in all their rooms. You wanted your own space.

Giving you choices wasn't always Bo's go-to. He'd been the toughest to wear down, always high-strung and he didn't exactly have a great role model as to what a good partner should be. Your relationship with Bo always felt rocky and unsteady. But he was sweet in his own way. He was terribly possessive of you - often to the detriment of everyone in the house - and wasn't afraid to flaunt you in front of guests. It always made your face flush hot when he did.

Vincent was the complete opposite. Shy and quiet, even after he'd insisted on you staying with them. He never tried to push you to do anything and always expressed his gratitude even for something as simple as doing the dishes. He liked to spend time with you, even if you were doing separate tasks. Vincent made you little wax figurines for your room - no people statues, you'd told him one afternoon - and they sat proudly on your windowsill beside a deer skull Lester had got you.

The term "dating" didn't really fall on any one particular brother. You were sort of "dating" all of them, in your own way. They knew this, you'd all talked about it, but it was still a relatively new shift in the dynamic.

"Gosh, you're awfully far away, huh?" Lester said with a warm chuckle and you startled a bit. He was much closer up now, dirt smudged on his cheeks and work gloves that he was careful not to touch you with.

"Sorry, yeah, must be." You trailed off, not meeting his eyes.

He tilted his head curiously and raised an eyebrow. "Good things?"

You hummed approval and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, relishing in the way he blushed. "Thinkin' 'bout you, if you can believe it."

Lester barked out a laugh. "Sometimes it still ain't feel real, Sweetpea. Flattered though, 'm always thinkin' 'bout you. But you know that."

The evening was calm, a beautiful pink-purple sunset and a cool breeze to offset the exhausting heat of the day. Cleaning the roads wasn't exactly your idea of a fun time but it beat cleaning the house for the fifth time in the past two weeks. The three weren't exactly the cleanest people but even they weren't that bad. Besides, you knew that some new "guests" were going to be coming to town in the next day or two and you wanted some time outside the town before Bo cracked down on you.

Sometimes it felt like he still didn't trust you.

You were climbing back into the truck with Lester when you both heard gunshots coming from down the road. "The hell?" He mumbled, squinting as he tried to get a good view of what was going on. "Are they headin' this way?"

A large truck was speeding towards you, bright headlights the only indication of where it was. The headlights were getting closer and you could hear people shouting as the truck picked up speed.

They were trying to hit you two.

You grabbed Lester's arm and yanked him off the road, the two of you falling over into the grass with the force of it. The people in the truck cheered and mocked you as they passed by, flinging an empty beer can at you and soaking through your shirt. It stunk but you were just glad it wasn't a glass bottle.

"Shit- Are you okay?!" Lester sat up with a wince as he rubbed his arm. You two hadn't landed gracefully, you were just happy he wasn't really hurt. "Jesus, Sweetpea, did they throw a-?"

"They're headin' towards Ambrose." You gasped, watching the blinding red taillights disappear down the road. "Bo and Vinny, they don't-!"

You both shot into action, scrambling to your feet and tossing your gloves in the back of the truck with the carcasses. It didn't matter, all that mattered was warning the twins. You winced at the stink of beer as you reached into your pocket to pull out your cell phone. It was old, something Bo stole from one of his many victims, and you only ever really used it to call Lester if you needed something at the store.

But you punched in Bo's phone number despite shaking fingers as you and Lester got in the truck. You took off after the truck, Lester's anxious fingers drumming on the wheel as you held the phone to your ear.

It felt like an eternity in between each thrum of the dial tone.

Bo picked up after the third ring.

"Hey, what's goin'-"

You cut him off. "There are people! A-A truck! Headin' towards town! They- They have guns, and, and!" Words spilled out of your mouth and you felt your heartrate skyrocketing. The idea of anything bad happening to Bo and Vincent just made you feel...

"Shit, fuck, didja see how many?"

"No! I- They sped right past, they, uh, they threw beer at me and-"

You could hear the sound of what must've been a wrench clanging to the floor. So he was in the autoshop. Okay. At least he wasn't far. "Like hell they did, I'll kick their asses when they get here!"

You swallowed around a dry throat and a tearless sob wracked your body. "Guns! They have guns, Bo."

"So do I." And he hung up before you could say anything else.

Lester could tell you were scared, reaching gingerly across the center console to over you his hand. You took it and squeezed tight, trying to hold in your anxiety and fear. "Shh, hey, it's alrigh' Sweetpea. We've done this all before, Bo'll be fine."

You just nodded, swallowing back the feeling that this felt different. More dangerous.

You wanted your boys to come out of this okay...

The truck was parked outside the entrance to town and you felt your heart sink at the sight. Lester hadn't even come to a complete stop before you were out the door and grabbing the old rusty shovel from the back of the truck. Usually, you'd never even dream of touching that thing without gloves on.

Now, you didn't even care.

You started your march towards the house, shovel tight in your hands and Lester's footsteps close behind. He must've grabbed his shotgun from the backseat since you heard him reload it. "Stay close, Sweetpea. Ain't no tellin' what those folks'll do."

"Okay," you mumbled, slowing only enough for him to catch up.

Screaming could be heard from inside the house. You and Lester shared a look before you both took off running. The front door was wide open and a dead body lay sprawled out on the porch, blood leaking from the back of it's head. You didn't even give it thought as you pushed inside.

Some guy was loading up his shotgun as Bo held a knife dangerously close to the throat of some girl, one arm around her squirming body as he shouted at the guy to drop the gun. The girl was begging the man not to shoot and you locked eyes with her for a brief, fleeting second.

Then you descended upon the man with ferocity you didn't even know you had. You slammed the shovel into the back of his head and sent him tumbling to the floor but you didn't let up. You swung over and over, the floor splattering with blood as you began to chip away at his flesh and skull. Bits of bone and brain began to splatter across the hardwood floor and you felt tears rolling down your cheeks.

With a final swing, you lodged the shovel into the guys head, his dead eyes lolling at nothing.

Both you and the girl were screaming and crying.

You fell to your knees with a heavy thud, sobbing openly over the dead body. You'd never had to kill anyone before, the brothers never made you, and you felt horrified with how angry you were. How afraid you'd felt at the idea of the man firing on Bo.

And, more importantly, how you didn't even regret killing him.

"Sh, shhh, it's okay," Lester's words washed over you as he wrapped an arm around your back. You sobbed into his chest as he rubbed your back, trying to soothe as best he could. Your ears were ringing and everything felt as though it were underwater.

Footsteps bounded up the stairs and you looked up to see Vincent. He was kneeling between you and the body, looking you over as though expecting to find injuries.

When Vincent helped you stand up, you could finally process the rest of the house.

The place was in shambles, the pool table flipped over as some poor attempt at cover and a few picture frames had fallen and broken. Glass scattered across the rug and a few more bodies littered the downstairs. Bo must've shot most of them and Vincent may have chased down the others.

You felt silly, in retrospect. Obviously they could handle themselves. But you'd just felt so scared. There'd never been an ambush before, nothing like this. Or, at least, not while you'd been living there.

Vincent and Lester helped you stand, your feet crunching in glass. Without hesitation, you slumped forwards and wrapped your arms around Vincent in a tight hug, hiding away your face as you tried to steady your breathing. His fingers traced gentle patterns on the back of your shirt that helped to steady you.

Bo had knocked the girl out, her limp body laying across the floor inelegantly. You suspected you'd see a polaroid or two of her on Bo's basement walls in the next few days, when he'd had his fun torturing her.

"Hey, doll," Bo's voice was close and you lifted your eyes to see him. He looked concerned but there was pride there. "Got 'em real good, huh?"

You gave a glance down at the man with a shovel lodged in his head and shrugged. "I was... worried."

"Well, shit, if that's what you do when yer worried, remind me to never miss yer calls." Lester huffed with a playful grin. Vincent grabbed his hat and smacked him with it, making the younger brother laugh.

Bo rolled his eyes and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Awful sweet of ya to come protect us, doll." He said as Vincent and Lester bickered. "I do appreciate it."

You hugged him and felt yourself finally relax. The bickering, the soft affection, everything seemed to be back to normal. Perfect.

Though it seems like you'll need to be cleaning the house again this week...

[thatonebrazilian]

Tolerate it

Summary: Everyone assumed you were fine, but what would they do if you just... broke free?

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader; undertones of Carol Danvers x Reader; Platonic Clint Barton x Reader; mentions of platonic Wanda Maximoff x Reader.

Word count: Around 6K

TW: Deep angst, assassination attempt, betrayal of trust, suicidal thoughts, dealing with grief, self sacrifices.

A/N: I've been in the mood for angst, apparently. And I actually wasn't planning on writing anything (I shouldn't have, I was short for time as it was), but I was listening to Taytay and the fic just came to me. This will probably hurt a lot. Just hurt, not much comfort. Let there be pain.

You didn't know what you did wrong. You didn't know how you could fix this. You didn't know if it even could be fixed.

All you did, all you could do, was just sit there and watch her. She was reading, her head low, almost as if she was trying to keep a barrier between you two.

You sat in the corner of the room, watching her as she immersed herself in reports. The soft glow of the lamp cast a delicate halo around her, illuminating her beautiful, beautiful features. And yet, on that night, as on many before, the light seemed unable to reach her eyes. 

You knew she was struggling, you were too. Everyone was. The Blip had taken many from their families, and the toll it took on those who stayed made many more lose their loved ones. The remaining Avengers lost Clint to his own darkness, and you lost the love of your life to what you could only describe as self-isolation.

Natasha had always had an unhealthy work-life balance, yet you always managed to counter that… But not anymore.

You had been together for what felt like an eternity, intertwined in a love that once knew no bounds. Now, though, there was a growing chasm separating the two of you. Natasha would only engage in conversations that revolved around missions and saving the world, and none of those came from you.

You used to be an Avenger too, with powers so astronomical that you never learned to control them. Bruce and Tony had to create some sort of inhibitor for you, lest you destroy the world by mistake.

You were probably one of the most powerful beings out there, but having no control whatsoever of your powers would only bring destruction, so you learned to live without them, the bracelet Tony made never leaving your wrist.

Being a somewhat powerless avenger was hard, but it was worth it. You saved people, you helped your friends.

But since the Blip things have changed. 

After watching Wanda, one of your best friends, disappear right in front of your eyes; after seeing Clint's descent into darkness, you didn't feel like fighting anymore. So you decided to stop, you stopped so you could take care of yourself, take care of Natasha.

They were small, the things you did for her, but meaningful nonetheless. You'd wait by the door every day to greet her like a god-damned war hero, to show her some love and comfort after a hard day at work; you'd make her favorite dishes, lay the table with your best cutlery; you even took upon painting as it seemed to ease your mind, and you'd use your best colors for her portraits (and there were many)... And yet, all Natasha gave back were lukewarm smiles; hums, and nods in acknowledgment of your attempts at conversation, and a lackluster "thanks". 

She seemed to simply… Tolerate it.

~

You woke up in the wee hours of the morning, the sun hadn't risen yet, and the moonlight shone through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Your gaze fell upon Natasha, who lay beside you sleeping lightly. The rise and fall of her chest matched the rhythm of her breathing, a calming sight that used to bring you comfort.

But then, as you watched her, you noticed a subtle alteration in her breathing patterns, something that would go unnoticed by anyone else. The steady rhythm became irregular, interrupted by moments of slightly shallower breaths and the briefest of pauses. There was a tension in her muscles that hadn't been there a second ago, almost as if a silent battle was being waged beneath her immaculate skin.

Natasha's eyes remained closed, her face serene as if she was lost in the most peaceful of dreams. But you knew the truth. She was pretending to be asleep. It felt like she didn't want to wake up beside you, like she simply tolerated your presence, but now even that tolerance seemed to be waning.

You wanted to reach out, to offer her solace, to take all the pain away, but the invisible barrier between you seemed impossible to break through. The distance that had grown between you now felt like a vast expanse, impossible to bridge. Her closed eyes spoke volumes, a silent plea for space, for time, for avoidance.

Your heart ached with the weight of unspoken words, your eyes burned with the sting of unshed tears. You missed Clint, he'd know how to deal with this, he'd help her, but he'd help you, too. He'd hug you and tell you that everything was gonna be ok, he'd make sure it'd turn out that way. You missed Wanda, she'd take you out to eat ice cream, watch silly sitcoms with you, tell you the stupidest jokes just to see you crack a smile, she'd even threaten Natasha if she imagined the other redhead was hurting you in any way, shape or form.

You missed your life, your old life, before the Blip.

You turned away from her, not wanting her to see the tears in your eyes in case she opened hers.

~

As it turns out, the first time Natasha had a semblance of a real conversation with you in… You don't even know how many weeks… Was to ask you to join a team to take down whatever new evil had shown up.

You didn't even think twice about it, you took the job, you'd do anything to get closer to her again.

The team consisted of you, Steve, and Carol, who was visiting Earth. You didn't even know where you were headed or who you were facing, you just wanted to come back with an excuse to actually talk to your fianceé. 

As you prepared to get into the jet, you saw her there, giving off directions before everyone boarded. You wrestled with conflicting emotions, torn between respecting Natasha's need for distance and the overwhelming desire to break through the walls she had erected. 

You felt a hand on your shoulder then, too warm to be Nat's, and you immediately felt the comfort she radiated.

Carol wasn't the most sentimental person, she wouldn't tell you that everything would be fine, she wouldn't offer comforting words, but she'd be there, a warm unwavering presence amidst the chaos (even if you rarely saw each other in person). She was the one good thing that the Blip brought you.

"Don't think too much about it," the blonde said, already knowing what was on your mind. "Keep your head in the game, I don't want you getting hurt out there, ok?"

You nodded while managing to keep to yourself the strong urge to hug her, to seek comfort in that friendly and familiar warmth of hers.

She nodded back, turned and boarded the jet, having already reviewed with Natasha her role in the mission.

You looked at your fianceé only to find her eyes already on you. You didn't think too much into it, though, she was probably just reviewing in her head the role you'd have for this mission.

Once again you found yourself wanting to go to her, but the fear of rejection loomed over you, a haunting presence that whispered of the potential pain that awaited if you ventured too close.

You turned away and stepped in the jet.

~

You stumbled into the Avengers' compound, a dull ache radiating from your wounded shoulder, the bloodstained clothes doing nothing to give you comfort.

The mission had taken an unexpected turn, and both you and Steve got shot. Multiple times.

As soon as you stepped through the quinjet's door Natasha was there, the worry in her eyes making you question if you were hallucinating. She walked to you, her eyes never leaving yours, it was almost as if you could feel her again, the old Natasha, your Natasha.

"What the fuck happened? You weren't supposed to get hurt!" she exclaimed in a mix of anger, desperation and concern. She ran her hands through her unkempt hair. It was an uncommon sight, indeed, to see her so disheveled.

You knew she had been worried, the moment Steve reported back you could hear her pacing back and forth through the comms, you just didn't know it would affect her this much. You didn't think she cared anymore.

Almost as if sensing your thoughts, Natasha took a hesitant step closer and reached for your hands. "You got me really worried." She said, her eyes looking deep into yours, her hands soothingly cold to the touch. 

You could see she wanted to say something else, but almost as if she was waging a silent war against herself, she shook her head, released your hands and sighed. "Go to the med bay. I'll meet you there."

You nodded weakly, too tired from blood loss to argue. Too tired in general.

As you made your way to the medical facilities, the pain in your shoulder intensifying with each step, you couldn't help but think of all the times Clint saved your ass from stupid bullet wounds like these, or how Wanda would literally create a shield around you whenever you faced danger.

You missed them, you missed Wanda so much, and you couldn't help but wish it was you and not her. And Clint, god, you hated what he became, you hated the Ronin, you hated that he wasn't there to heal by your side, to heal with Natasha, but you still missed him so much.

As you entered the med bay, you were greeted by a warmth that made you question how she could have gotten there first.

"Bold move, jumping in front of a sea of bullets like that" Carol said, there was no warmth in her voice though. You closed your eyes.

"I couldn't let them shoot that child," you said, sitting on a cot and looking apologetically at her.

Carol gritted her teeth, her eyes scanning your wounded shoulder, the part of you that got the most hits, with a mix of worry and anger written across her face.

"So you just deemed your life less valuable than hers and decided to throw it away?" She clenched her fists.

"That's not it and you know it," you said in a small voice. It was worse, but no, she didn't know it. She didn't need to. You didn't want to burden her too.

Carol's eyes softened, she took a couple steps towards you and touched your uninjured shoulder. "I just worry about you, sweet girl." She said and sighed, "Look, I know you don't have much to live for right now, but you're one of my best friends, I wouldn't be able to deal with it if something ever happened to you. And by the looks of it neither would Natasha, despite all the shit she's been pulling."

It was amazing how Carol, just like Wanda before her, was able to fill you with lightness. With them, as well as with Clint, you felt cherished, cared for. You could never be more thankful for the blonde in front of you. Without Clint and Wanda here to support your near Natasha-less life, Carol was the one thing keeping you sane.

You just wished being sane was enough.

You managed a weak smile, though, and even if felt forced, it still seemed to have convinced Carol that you were ok. "I'll be fine, Carebear. Just a flesh wound. I know I haven't been in the field for a while, but it's nothing I can't handle."

Carol fought off a smirk. "Promise me you won't pull shit like that again, at least".

You saluted her, a mocking smile on your face, despite the ache you felt inside. "Aye, aye, Captain!"

She chuckled and shook her head, "You're the worst".

"But you love it!" Your answering smile was more genuine this time.

Her smile grew bigger, and you wished you could see it in person more often.

"I actually do." She said, shaking her head once more and turning away to leave the med bay.

It didn't take long for a nurse to come to tend to you. There were many bullet wounds around your body, although most were superficial. The worst was indeed your shoulder, having been hit four times.

You bitterly wondered how you could still be alive with all of these bullet holes around your body.

The minutes passed by, and yet there was no sign of Natasha, so after all your wounds have been treated and dressed you decided to go look for the redhead.

It was a bad idea. As you located her, your heart sank. There she was, tending to Steve's wounds, her focus solely on him. Even though there was nothing romantic about the situation, the sight of them together stirred a mix of emotions within you. Jealousy, longing, confusion. Betrayal. You wondered if there was something more between Natasha and Steve, a connection that surpassed friendship. You wondered why she would deem him deserving of having his wounds treated personally by her while you were sent to a nameless nurse.

Your mind raced, struggling with the whirlwind of emotions that engulfed you. Doubts crept in, and you questioned the very nature of your relationship with Natasha. Did she even love you still? Has she ever? Where was that woman who threw blankets over your barbed wire, leaving you just soft enough for all your other friends to approach? Why has she left you behind in her pursuit to build this new world instead of taking you along with her? The uncertainty gnawed at you, intensifying the ache in your shoulder. You made her your temple, your mural, your sky, but now you were left begging for footnotes in the story of her life.

As you stood there, watching her tend to his injuries, a deep sense of loneliness washed over you. The weight of the lack of acknowledgment you've been getting from her grew heavier, casting a shadow over the bond you once shared. The pain in your shoulder felt insignificant compared to the ache in your soul.

At that moment, you realized you couldn't take it anymore. You loved Natasha, you would probably love her till the end of your days, but you knew your love should be celebrated, and yet all she did was tolerate it.

~

You never thought about what she would do if you broke free, leaving the two of you in ruins. But that's what you did, you took the chains that bound you to Natasha and broke them.

You still longed for her, though, the neverending love you held for the woman felt like a dagger piercing your heart, a constant reminder of what you craved for, of what you once had. You wanted to remove it, to see it clatter to the ground as you bled out.

It was weird to gain the weight of her then lose it, but you needed to do it, you had to.

You were doing it for her as much as for yourself. Natasha had lost so, so much, but there was one person who could still come back, so you went to look for him, more in hopes of helping her than fulfilling your own desire of seeing him again.

Even if she didn't love you (which was the impression you got when you told her you'd be gone, looking for Clint, only to get a blank stare in response), you still loved her, you still wanted her to be as happy as she could, and you knew Clint was the person to make that happen, he was her best friend as much as he was yours.

You needed to help her heal somehow.

"She's been a mess since you left," Carol had said once during a video call, the vast expansion of the universe now looming right behind her, "don't ever tell her I said that, though." The grimace on her face told you she wasn't kidding.

"Steve's been trying to help more, even I am; I've been to earth since you left more times than I've been throughout my whole life. I'm afraid that if I stay gone too long, she won't be there when I come back… Since you left she barely takes care of herself. The place's a mess, she hasn't been eating much, and, again, don't ever tell her I said this, but I thought I'd never see her cry, and yet…"

You wondered if it had been all in your head, the way she seemed to avoid you, the way she seemed to take you for granted, the way she seemed to merely tolerate you.

In the midst of a turbulent storm of emotions, a newfound sense of urgency propelled your every step. You needed to find Clint, you needed to find him so you could go back to her, to see if she was really deteriorating that much, to ask her if it was all in your head, if you got it wrong somehow, if she actually loved you.

Time seemed to both crawl and fly, leaving you with moments of self-reflection in the solitude of your journey. Doubts and insecurities waged war within you, tearing at the fabric of your clarity. What if you discovered that Natasha's love had been genuine, but she had struggled to express it? What if she was simply too freshly traumatized to express it, and you had abandoned her at her worst moment?

You needed to go back to her, even if it was just to figure it out. But you wouldn't go back without Clint, you couldn't.

So you searched, and searched, and searched. And as you finally stood before Clint, his weathered face bearing the marks of his own battles, you found yourself engulfed in a deep ache. Two of the people you loved the most were immersed in pain, and you could do nothing to help.

"I can't believe you traveled so far, came all the way here for this," Clint spat, his voice filled with anger, his eyes filled with tears. "To ask me to come back so I can help her. Do you even worry about me? Did you ever stop to think that I lost my family? My wife's gone, Y/N! I lost my kids! Do you really think that I'm not dealing with my own shit right now?"

You shook your head, tears welled up in your eyes too, matching the anguish in your voice. "Fuck you, Clint! I'm not here just for her and you know that! You're my best friend, goddamnit, and you've been gone for years! I know you're hurting, but you gotta know that what you're doing is wrong, and it's not gonna bring Laura and the kids back." You shook your head, remembering the way the kids would all call you auntie Y/N/N. You sighed and shook your head in disappointment. "They would actually be ashamed of what you became."

You knew it was a low blow, but it was the truth, and he needed to hear it 

The moment he seemed to register those words, Clint's eyes became full of this sort of anger that you've never seen your friend display. But again, this wasn't Hawkeye, this was Ronin. 

Clint advanced upon you with rage in his eyes, his hand went to your throat, a dagger suddenly pressing against your ribs.

"Take that back." He said through gritted teeth, and you felt your eyes filling with tears once again.

Of course he wasn't above hurting you like this. He, too, didn't care about your own pain. 

You were tired, you were so fucking tired.

"Do it." You said, your voice devoid of emotions, the hollowness you now felt was all it conveyed. "It's not gonna make any difference if I'm gone, anyway."

You'd be just another death on his account, just a wisp of a memory in Natasha's mind.

Clint's brows furrowed, but his grip was unrelenting. You took your hands to his, the one holding the dagger, and pulled it up, so it wasn't resting above your ribs anymore, but right at your heart.

"Please," you said with a wavering voice, looking him deep in the eyes, trying to appeal no more to your friend, but to Ronin, "do it. Please."

The dagger clattered to the ground, Clint took a step away, looking at his hand as if it had personally offended him. He then looked at you, but you didn't meet his eyes, you were too absorbed looking at the dagger on the ground, feeling the brisk sense of freedom evading you as it finally stopped moving.

You then felt his arms around you, your head suddenly tucked into his neck.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice sounding desperate "I'm so sorry, Y/N, I'm so sorry," he kept repeating, and repeating, and repeating. 

You shook your head, your own desperation making you cling to him "Why didn't you do it? Why couldn't you just kill me?!"

His arms tightened around you as you both fell to your knees.

"I'm sorry," he just repeated, "I'm sorry I took this path, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry I wasn't a good friend."

You wished that he being sorry was enough.

~

When you came back, there was a talk about fucking time travel. The Ant-guy was back, and so was Tony, Thor, and even Bruce. Everything seemed to be falling into place, so why did you still feel so…. broken?

But, somehow, as you and Clint stepped foot inside the Avengers compound, the familiar surroundings embraced you like a long-lost home. The tension that has seemed to permeate your very bones during the journey began to ease, replaced by a cautious hope for what awaited you.

You knew things wouldn’t instantly fix themselves up; Natasha wouldn’t just come to you and apologize for all she’s done (no, that wasn’t like her at all); your heart wouldn’t suddenly be mended, even if she did; your mind wouldn't let you forget the pain, the deep ache the past five years inflicted upon you.

And yet, there was hope.

There was the possibility of bringing Wanda back, of having Carol around more often, of doing something good for humanity. Of making Natasha happy again.

The moment the doors opened you saw her. She was talking to the Ant-guy and to Bruce, her brows furrowed as she nodded along.

And then she turned her head and caught sight of you, and of who was by your side. Her eyes widened in disbelief when she saw Clint standing there, and a glimmer of something flickered within them, something akin to hope, but also akin to sorrow. Without a second thought, she started walking in your direction, coming faster and faster until she was running. 

When Natasha reached Clint, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a long-awaited embrace. Tears pooled in her eyes, slowly streaming down her cheeks as she closed them. 

There was a little lightness in your heart as you saw them hug, some sort of knowing that she'd be ok even if you weren't around anymore. She wouldn't starve herself, she wouldn't push everyone away, she wouldn't shut down. She'd survive, and then she'd move on.

In that moment, as Natasha clung to Clint, her teary eyes slowly opened. There, through the blur of her emotions, she looked right at you. And the gratitude that radiated from her gaze was palpable, as if a thousand unspoken words were contained within that single look. 

Her hold on Clint loosened slightly as her eyes locked onto yours, lingering for a brief, intense moment. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time as the weight of her gaze met yours.  It felt as if the universe held its very breath, waiting for the next chapter to unfold. 

You wished you could say you could feel her love through that gaze, but you didn't know if you could use that word to describe what Natasha felt for you. Maybe she regretted what she did; maybe you became her anchor, even if unbeknownst to you, and she felt like she needed you to function; maybe she felt like she owed you something for bringing Clint back. You didn't know what it was, but you couldn't shake the feeling that the word love would be the wrong one to describe her feelings for you. Gratitude, thankfulness, maybe, but not love.

You smiled a sad smile, and nodded your head in acknowledgment to the gratitude in her eyes. 

Natasha furrowed her brows and pulled away from Clint as she saw you walking away from her, but before she could come after you, Clint caught her hand and walked towards the opposite direction. He wanted a conversation in private.

You just knew he was going to tear her a new one for what she did to you. During your journey back he had apologized more times than you could count, his words still engraved in your mind.

"I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust," he had vowed, his voice filled with determination. "I'll prove to you day after day that I care, that I value our friendship above all else. What happened the other day… it'll never happen again, I promise you that. I was too absorbed in my own pain, so much so that I hurt you, but I would never do that intentionally, Y/N. You're like a sister to me, I'd never willingly hurt you. I love you too much for that."

Maybe his love was real, but you didn't have it in yourself to just forgive and forget.

Maybe one day the gods would deem you worthy of love. True love, not the kind that hurts you.

~

"A soul for a soul" the Redskull said, turning the vast expense of cosmic beauty before you into something bleak, final. "You must sacrifice that which you love."

Your eyes wandered, drinking in the breathtaking scenery, the towering cliffs and cascading waterfalls; it seemed like a paradise carved from dreams. 

But the words hanging in the air casted a somber shadow over the planet's beauty, and as you stood near its vibrant precipice, the weight of what had to be done pressed upon the three of you. 

Destiny had brought you here, demanding a sacrifice.

It was a curse and a blessing all at once.

"If we don't get that stone, billions of people stay dead," Natasha stated, her voice tinged with determination, almost as if she was trying to keep herself strong.

Of course she'd want to be sacrificed, the selfless fool that she was.

Clint's gaze met hers, his eyes filled with a mixture of conflict and resignation. "Then I guess we both know who it's got to be," he replied, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. They didn't spare a single glance your way, it was almost as if they had mutually decided that you were to live.

A subtle sadness washed over Natasha's features as she nodded in agreement. "I guess we do."

You closed your eyes. You had been wanting this for so long, you had craved the peace I'd bring, you had fantasized about it, about closing your eyes and never opening them again.

And yet… you found yourself wanting to cling to life with an unwavering grip.

As Clint and Natasha looked at each other, you found yourself wanting to greet Laura, Lila, Coop and Nate when they came back, you found yourself wanting to have a nice day out with Yelena. You found yourself wanting to embrace Wanda and never let her go.

It hurt to know you wouldn't be able to do any of that.

"I'm starting to think we mean different people here, Natasha." Clint said then, his voice wavering slightly.

For a moment, Natasha's gaze lingered on Clint, her eyes reflecting the depth of her conviction. "For the last five years, I've been trying to do one thing: get to right here," she confessed. "That's all it's been about. Bringing everybody back."

She looked at you then, her eyes brimming with tears "I was so focused on it that I drove away the one person I had promised myself never to hurt.",

You couldn't look her in the eye, you couldn't let her see your decision through your gaze.

Clint's shoulders seemed to sag, you could see the self-blame he felt right through his eyes, even if they were focused on Nat. "And that's why it gotta be me. You spent all this time trying to help what was left of the world. Me… you know what I've done. You know what I've become." He shook his head, his eyes turning to you as well "If you haven't gotten to me, I'd still be killing an untold number of people without a care for who it'd hurt."

"Well," you said, shrugging, trying to lighten the mood a little "I don't judge people on their worst mistakes." There was no point in holding grudges anymore.

"Neither do I." Natasha said, looking at him. Her eyes turned to you then, full of sadness, longing , and regret. "I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

You walked towards her and pulled her in by the hand, your forehead resting against hers.

"I love you, Nat. You've been forgiven since day one." You said.

Natasha's tears streamed down her cheeks as she buried her face in the crook of your neck.

You saw from the corner of your eye Clint taking a step back, as if to go to the cliff. You extended your hand to him as well. He stopped in his tracks and took a couple steps in your direction, taking your hand in his.

He smiled a sad smile, his eyes red. "Tell my family I love them" he said, and tried to pull his hand away, but you gripped it with all the strength you had.

"Tell them yourself," Natasha said, pulling away from you as well.

You sighed, your eyes burning with unshed tears. You didn't want to die anymore. You wanted to live.

But you couldn't let them sacrifice themselves.

You ripped the bracelet Tony made from your wrist. It clattered on the ground. Natasha and Clint's eyes widened, almost as if they hadn't even thought of the possibility of you being the one to jump.

You felt an unbearable heat rising up from inside out, your lungs burned, your chest, your torso, your whole body. 

"Y/N what the hell are you doing?!?" Natasha yelled out, trying to get to the bracelet on the floor, but the burning winds that seemed to suddenly emanate from you wouldn't let her get closer.

"Take care of each other. And of Wanda and Carol. That 's all I ask." You said, your voice no longer solely yours.

You saw a rising shadow on the ground, signaling the presence of wings on your back. Blood red wings engulfed in flames. The Phoenix's wings.

Clint was rooted to the ground, your power vicious enough to paralyze those of weaker minds.

Natasha, though? She was fighting to get to you, the winds clearly burning her skin, yet she didn't give up. You turned away from her, not wanting to see her struggle.

It was a short walk to the edge of the cliff, you didn't want to look back. If you said goodbye it'd make it feel more real. So you just jumped.

And then you felt her hand on your wrist, the searing heat making her skin burn, and yet, she didn't let go.

"No, please. Not you." She cried, and even with tear stained cheeks she was the most beautiful woman you've ever seen "I can't lose you like this. The world can't lose you. You're the only one of us that really deserves to live life to its full potential."

And then, as if her touch made your power purr in her presence, Clint broke free, running to where you were dangling and taking your other wrist in his hands.

This was hurting them, both physically and mentally, you saw the skin on their hands blistering, you saw the redness in their arms, the tears in their eyes not just from the pain.

"Let me go," you said with a sad smile. They had their families, they had their jobs, their missions; their homes. 

You had nothing, all you did was take up too much space or time. They deserved to live, even if you left them in ruins.

"It's not gonna work!" Natasha shouted in desperation, her expression one of pure anguish "I don't love you! It's not gonna work!"

You smiled sadly at her. She really didn't love you, did she? She just tolerated you.

"It 's ok, Natty. It'll work. You may not love me, but Clint does " you said, smiling at her through your own tears. 

"Y/N, please, don't do this," Clint begged too, sobbing as he held onto you with all his strength.

"It's ok," you repeated, and if it was to calm them or yourself , you didn't know, "it's gonna be ok".

You used whatever little control you had over your powers to push them away. As your body tumbled to the ground the last thing you remembered was the way Natasha used to laugh at your jokes, enjoy your food, take you out on dates. The last thing you remembered was how she used to love your presence, and not just tolerate it.

Maybe one day someone would be enough to have their love celebrated by her.

~

When Natasha and Clint woke up not much later in a galaxy colored lake, she clutched the stone that had appeared in her hands, wishing with all her might that it turned out different, that the last words she said to you weren't "I don't love you."

She loved you. Always did. Always would.

~

Wanda sat in front of your gravestone, her hair disheveled, her eyes red shot, her cheeks tear stained. She hugged her knees as she sobbed, longing for the presence of who could no longer be by her side. She had lost her parents, then Pietro, Vision, and now you.

She sobbed more and more, the pitiful sound getting louder.

She felt a hand on her shoulder then, and she looked up to see red shot brown eyes.

Carol sat beside her, taking her hand and squeezing it a little. 

She understood what Wanda was going through, she was grieving you as well, and even though Wanda and Vision were planning on starting a life together, the witch suspected the Captain wouldn't have said no if you'd asked the same thing from her. So she, too, lost her love, even if she never got the courage to confess it.

It was a hot day, the sunlight shone perpendicular through the clearing where your grave has been put, creating a magical scenery all around the place.

And yes, the day was hot, but was it supposed to be this hot? 

Wanda shook her head, her brows starting to sweat.

And then the sunlight vanished, as if something gigantic was blocking its path. She and Carol looked up, but all they could see were the trees blocking the sky from view.

The animalistic cry they heard didn't come from the trees, though.

Neither did the blood red feather falling through the leaves, its tip engulfed in fire.

Wanda and Carol looked at each other, and for the first time in weeks, they smiled.

Natasha Romanoff Taglist: @strangegardentaco, @madamevirgo, @Lovelyy-moonlight, @agent99galanzo, @red1culous

[natsukishinomiyaswife]

⋆⁺₊⋆ Looking to escape the heat? Longing for some fun?

Get ready to experience a whole new world at Iago’s Paradise, the pool you’ve been wishing for! ⋆⁺₊⋆

A Twisted Wonderland Fanmade Event, based on my Scarabia Lifeguard AU ♡

DISCLAIMER: I have been working on this event for a while now, and ask that everyone please read this post before participating (stay safe everyone! 🫶)

⋆⁺₊⋆ Event Summary:

A family friend of the Asim's invites Kalim and Jamil to attend the grand opening of their new pool, Iago's Paradise. Named after its parrot mascot, the pool is inspired by the Scalding Sands, and made to look like a desert oasis. Excited, Kalim invites some of their classmates to join them, only to arrive and discover... the pool is short staffed!

Not wanting the grand opening to be cancelled, you agree to work at Iago's Paradise, helping to make the best grand opening possible!

⋆⁺₊⋆ About the Pool:

Iago's Paradise has a desert theme, and is meant to look like an oasis, with sand on the ground and palm trees scattered throughout

The pool's mascot is a red parrot named Iago

There are multiple pools, separated by depth (including one specifically for infants) and a slide at the deep end

There are ramps and stairs to make entering the pool more accessible, along with paths without sand for easier mobility

There is an ice cream stand inside the pool area called the Cave of Wonders, that has it's own mascot (a tiger)

There is a food truck called Prince Ali's parked outside the pool area, specializing in dishes from the Scalding Sands

There is a picnic area, with tables and chairs for people to use. Each table has an umbrella, to provide shade from the sun

⋆⁺₊⋆ Event Rules:

Anyone can participate! Feel free to include your OC, your Yuusona, a canon character, etc ♡

You can participate by writing fics, making art, creating edits, etc

Please use the tag #iagosparadise and credit/tag me in the post (I would love to see what you make!! ♡)

No NSFW please! I want everyone to be able to participate! ♡

This event has no deadline! So feel free to join at any time ♡

⋆⁺₊⋆ Outfits:

While this event was made with swimwear/poolwear in mind, feel free to use a summer outfit, if swimwear isn't your thing ♡

While there is no dress code at Iago's Paradise, all employees must wear one of these colors (and it has to be the primary color of their outfit):

Red

Blue

Yellow

Gold

All lifeguards must wear a whistle around their neck.

⋆⁺₊⋆ Jobs:

Don't wanna be a lifeguard? Here's some ideas for what your character could be doing to help out the pool! ♡

Admissions - You work at the entrance, ringing people up and giving them wristbands so they can enter the pool area

Ice Cream Stand - Working at the Cave of Wonders, there's a bunch of jobs to choose from! Running the register, making the ice creams, handing out free samples, etc

Food Truck - Prince Ali's collaborates with Iago's to provide food options for their visitors, and you would be the middle man. Informing visitors about the truck, handing out menus, taking orders at the picnic area (for those who want their food delivered), etc

First Aid - While all lifeguards should know first aid, there's a first aid tent to provide care for any visitors injured on the property. You would provide care to those who are injured, and if someone is seriously injured, calling for assistance (like an ambulance)

Swimming Lessons - Not all pools may provide swimming lessons, but Iago's does! You would be working with a small class of people, helping them learn the basics of swimming. Iago's provides swimming lessons for people of any age, but keeps them separate, having a class for children and a class for adults

⋆⁺₊⋆ Backgrounds:

I have created three different backgrounds you can choose from, and give examples of how they look depending on the rarity!

Please note: these backgrounds were made using in game backgrounds (from Book 4) that I edited

⋆⁺₊⋆ Staff:

Iyad Aubert (groovy here) - @rini-rambles

Silas Sanderson - @theolivetree123

Nadira Kader - @cheerleaderman

Raj Amani (voice lines here) - @readsrandomstuff67 Raj Amani (groovy by @lostonesart) - @readsrandomstuff67

Levi Clado - @the-trinket-witch

Cecil Uriel - @lostonesart

Finn Clearcove (Fic here) - @thehollowwriter

Sidney Gonzalez - @babyghoul138

Elias Miel - @theolivetree123

Kiyuu - @skriblee-ksk

Deuce Spade - @spade-12

Kalle Brunne - @offorestsongs

Kumo Starwing - @fumikomiyasaki

⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾! ♡