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tetsuskei · 6 months ago

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⟣ tartaglia

notes: based off the fact that i am indeed a sleepy drunk, and also inspired by diluc’s lore with firewater, also childe lore. he can smell when something is done cooking?

warnings: self indulgent, childe is referred to by his birth name, russian pet names, suggestive themes, fluff

it’s always a beautiful sight to see your boyfriend, ajax, when he cooks in the kitchen.

second to the battlefield, this place is his domain. the sound of soft music plays in the background, and he’s completely in his element. the ginger moves his hips to the rhythm, swaying ever so gracefully while mumbling the lyrics to the current song under his breath. he’s always been a great dancer, so you’re not surprised. it makes you wonder if there’s anything he’s not good at.

you always adore seeing him in atmospheres such as this one, especially with how much he loves to cook. his lips are pursed in concentration, a cute crinkle to his nose on display from the small frown on his face. all of his movements are skilled and dexterous. his knife abilities—albeit ignoring the fact that he’s a harbinger—are precise and quick, almost like everything he’s doing is a second thought.

it may be the alcohol you had talking, or the everlasting love you have for him—or maybe both that gets you feeling extremely soft. the urge to kiss away the expression on his face is high, but you hold back on distracting him and starting something else entirely.

and speaking of distractions, your handsome boyfriend is sporting a v-neck crew shirt and some sweatpants. much different from his sharp work attire. and although loose, the material of his clothes are still somewhat form fitting. his back muscles had been flexing every so often in a way that makes it hard to peel your eyes away. you silently curse his lean muscular self for looking so soft and domestic. just really, how shameless—

“hey! you’re supposed to be helping, not slacking off!” ajax scolds, pointing a wooden spoon at you in a chastising way. but the playful lit to his tone suggests otherwise as he cocks his head, smiling. “mila, what are you daydreaming about from over there?”

you giggle, “sorry, i’m just admiring the view.”

he hums, his smile growing. “and is the view to your liking?”

“it’s likely.” you answering padding over to him.

“i hope so. i don’t look this good for nothing.”

once in his radius, he pulls you into his side, swaying you both as he stirs the food. he quietly tells you it’s his mother’s recipe and his favorite thing to make.

“may i try some?” you ask.

wordlessly, your boyfriend holds out a spoonful for you, and you happily eat off of the utensil. the juices and flavors evade your mouth, beating the rich aroma you’ve succumbed to long ago.

you close your eyes in bliss, blinking them open happily. “wow! it’s delicious, ‘jax!”

“it’s not done yet.” he explains, humbly. “almost, but not quite.”

“okay, perfectionist.” you laugh, going back for more. “still good enough to me.”

he pushes your hand back. “you’ll spoil your appetite.” he warns, frowning.

“i promise i don’t want a lot. just a smidge more. please?” you look up at him with the biggest doe eyes you can muster, and he falters, trying to look away and focus back on what he’s doing.

as uncharacteristic as it may seem, ajax does not put up very much of a fight. not that he could ever say no to you anyways.

he sighs, “alright…fine.”

while you sit and eat (after clearly giving up on helping), your boyfriend starts to ramble about some theater performance he wants to take you to in fontaine.

“so what do you think?”

you hum quietly in response, your cheek on your hand. “mmh that sounds nice…”

ajax glances over at you, concerned. you had grown awfully quiet.

“are you alright?” he asks, inspecting the rest of you for any strange signs. “we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“i want to, yes!” your thoughts are jumbled. “and m’fine. why?” you add to reassure him, “just tired.”

‘tired? you were fine just fifteen minutes ago. so full of energy, actually’ he thinks, watching the way your eyes are suddenly drooping.

“well don’t worry, i’m almost done.” ajax assures.

“hey. did you put this in the food?” you hold up the open bottle of white wine, and some of the contents spill out. however, your boyfriend is quick to grab it once seeing how you’re swaying.

suddenly it all clicks in his brain. “ahh, i might’ve put in too much.” he chuckles, now noting the smell of the food a little bit different than usual. stronger and sharper like the wine. “that explains things. plus the firewater we had from earlier.” he recalls you taking an impressive amount of shots, trying to out beat him.

“didn’t you once say something about sharing firewater with someone in the cold makes them trustworthy? i’ve done half the battle!” you say with pride, albeit wobbling a little. “let’s go sit outside later! we’ll see who freezes first!”

ajax stares at you in awe before laughing—loudly.

“milaya, you always surprise me with just how cute you can be.” he pinches your cheeks before moving his hand to your lower back, steering you towards the couch. “now come on, sit down. you’re going to fall over at this rate.”

“‘kay.” you mumble, letting him guide you. you don’t really feel yourself moving until the plush cushion under you meets your bottom.

“i’m just going to clean up and i’ll be right back. i promise.” he reassures, squeezing your hand before releasing it.

you jump back up eagerly, “i’ll help!”

“no, you’ll stay here.” he pushes you back down gently before standing up himself. there’s a stern look on his face as he says, “you’ve had too much to drink. that’s my fault.”

a small huff leaves your mouth and you pout. your eyes start to water. “then…at least sit with me!”

“the kitchen has to be cleaned up, lisichka.” he reminds gently.

your eyes grow wetter. “the kitchen is more important than me?”

he gives you a look. “nothing could ever be more important than you. you know that.”

“then…you’ll stay. it is your fault after all.”

he laughs, scratching the back of his head, “alright then. but only for a little bit.”

the minute he sits down, you promptly slide yourself onto his lap, wordlessly making yourself comfortable.

“oh? what’s this?” his heart swells. you’re usually too shy to initiate something like this, often leading him to pulling you onto him.

there’s a confused look on your face. “you said to sit down and stay here, so i’m doing that.” you blink slowly, head tilting. “did i sit wrong?”

“no, of course not.” he answers, kissing your forehead. thankfully you’re too out of it to tease him, or he’d never hear the end of it.

he shifts you so your legs straddle his lap. your face is buried in his neck, breathing in the smell of his aftershave and the pinewood scent of him. one hand reaches up towards his soft locks and mindlessly plays with it.

ajax feels his entire being burning with exhilaration. while he knows how to handle his alcohol way better than you do, he is not immune to your touches. he could get intoxicated and drunk on any little thing you do.

a satisfied exhale leaves the man and he closes his eyes for moment, his nose nuzzling your cheek. the feeling of your warm palms sliding across his face pull him out of the moment before your eyes meet.

you hum, staring at him closely. “have your eyes always looked like this?” you ask.

he blinks. “like what? and why?”

“they’re so blue. i’ve never seen eyes like yours before.”

“no, they haven’t.” he answers honestly. he tries to avert his attention away from you, but your hands grab his face again.

“they’re so pretty…like the ocean…” you breathe, now poking at his freckles. “you’re so pretty…”

the man is pretty sure he’s blushing right now when you speak, rambling and comparing him like the sea. of the comforting warmth and unpredictability of the weather, all comparable to his nature—which you love.

you must be trying to kill him, because what he doesn’t expect next is for you to kiss him on the nose, and then his cheeks.

by the time he’s chasing your lips with his own, you’re pulling back, giggling quietly.

“hey, you can’t just tease like that—“ you slump against him, and he freezes, eyes widening.

“milaya?”

“…”

pulling your face back from his chest, he notes that you’ve passed out.

ajax tugs you tight in his hold, tucking your face in the crook of his neck. the smell of your hair makes his heart grow even bigger and fonder.

“by the tsaritsa, my cute girlfriend can’t hold her alcohol well,” he laughs to himself, absently tracing shapes into your lower back, “i’m sure glad this happened at home, or god knows what would happen out in public.”

he doesn’t really know if he’d be more worried about your own safety, or the things he’d do if someone dared to take advantage of you.

either way, his endless vow to protect you couldn’t be broken anyway anyhow. not even in death. he’d be loyal to you for a thousand life times.

bonus:

waking up groggily, you rub your eyes, shield them from from the unavoidable brightness of the sun.

while warm light hits your face, it only makes you feel hot and cold all at the same time. a feeling that should be welcoming only suffocates you instead as an ache converges the nerve points in your head.

“rise and shine sleeping beauty.”

you turn limply, eyes widening at the sight of ajax standing in the doorway.

“i was really hoping on you waking up soon.” he says pushing the door open further. he holds a tray of food in his hands. padding over to you he nods to the water and ibuprofen on the bedside table. “once you eat some, you should really take that.”

maybe its the sleep in your eyes or the fact that you’re not fully awake yet, but you tear up. “you’re always taking care of me.”

“yep, that is my job.” he places the food down, leaning over to kiss away any stray tears.

“thank you.”

he clicks his tongue. “what did i tell you about thanking me for things like this?”

you roll your eyes. such a stubborn man.

you quietly tell him that your brain is foggy, and while you partially don’t want to know, wish that he recall what last happened when you were awake.

“you should’ve seen how cute you were while drunk. i don’t think i could ever forget it.” he laughs once he’s done recapping.

blood rushes to your cheeks, your face aflame. “i’m not going to be able to live this down, am i?”

ajax laughs again, “don’t think so! although, being passed out for pretty much the whole day is alarming, so i don’t think we will be letting you near any alcohol anytime soon.”

your shoulders droop, “i guess that’s fair…”

“don’t be so sad! here, let me feed you!” he moves behind you, sitting down on the bed so his legs are on either side of you. his chest presses into your backside as he reaches for the food.

“‘jax i can feed myself just fine.” you say, going for the spoon, but his reflexes are faster.

“please?” he looks down at you, hoping his ocean hues favor him.

you sigh. “fine.”

the two of you sit in comfortable silence as he feeds you, and you being hungrier than you realize, finish everything quickly.

“i almost forgot! you owe me something.” he says coyly.

you frown, “huh?”

“after all that teasing yesterday…you left me high and dry…” he sniffs.

you blink, and suddenly it’s clear what he’s insinuating. “a kiss?”

“so you remember?” he asks.

you shrug, “just barely…”

“well, now that you’re aware—“ he scoots towards you, knees bumping your own before he’s pulling you towards him.

a yelp leaves you. “b-but i just ate food! and…and i need to brush my teeth!” you protest, but he’s still hovering close over you.

“so?”

there’s no use, because the minute you open your mouth to reply, ajax swoops down, kissing you wordlessly and hungrily. his tongue brief swipes over yours before he soon pulls back.

there’s a mild grimace on his face, “yeah, go brush your teeth.”

you shove him back on the bed, making him holler with laughter, “i told you!”

“it was still worth it, mila!” he shouts after you.

“fuck you.” you spit.

“with pleasure.” he smiles.

notes: my mom added too much white wine to food she made, so she’s the running inspiration for this. shout out to her!

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin fluff

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heart2beom · 2 years ago

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call you later

pairing: beomgyu x f!reader

synopsis: beomgyu swears women fall at his feet and he's in fact, single by choice—what better way to prove this to you than collecting the numbers of random people on the street?

you're in on the little fun too, until you manage to get soobin's number. because suddenly, beomgyu's a debbie downer—for whatever reason.

genre: comedy, fluff, best friends to lovers

a/n: late beomgyu bday fic...and its cheesy as hell 😭😭 anyways, nobody understands how happy i got after finding these icons, its literally perfect. this is exactly how he looks in the fic !!!! also lol this is practically me gushing over beomgyu while writing, its so self indulgent

You don't know how this became topic of conversation for the hundredth time this week. After the events of the failed attempt of trying to get your upperclassman's number, Yeonjun—Beomgyu has been talking nonstop on how he's the most qualified person in your life that could hand you flirting tips, completely dismissing the fact that he's been single for the past two years.

He stops walking when you remind him that very necessary piece of information he seems to forget a little too often. "It's by choice! I'm single by choice!" you hear him yell. You don't pay him any mind, scrolling through your phone as you continue to walk.

He catches up to you rather quickly, hands in pockets as he walks backwards facing you, brown hair prickling his eyes because of the wind. "Do you seriously believe I can't get dates?"

You shove your phone back in your pocket, providing him with your full attention.

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" you enjoy how his hand shoot up to go over his chest, fauxing hurt with a huge pout—you've been telling him he'd do well majoring in theatre arts.

"You've lost your charm Choi, your age's getting to you."

He cracks a smile of disbelief, before continuing on, "I'm twenty-one not eighty-one knucklehead."

Beomgyu turns from facing you, walking by your side again. He clicks his tongue before saying, "You'd think that the closest people to Beomgyu would know him by now."

"Oh no, you're speaking in third person again." you whine.

He'd do this entire thing of narrating his life when he deems it necessary—which really should be never. It's also another reason why you're convinced theatre is his second calling—second to his very dramatic declaration of love to music.

"Yeah, because my best friend in the entire world thinks I'm a loser!"

He wasn't too far off. "Okay, I'll be honest. I do think you're a loser—"

"You're a loser." he retaliates.

"I was just about to compliment you!"

"How was I supposed to know? You don't follow an insult with a compliment, that's like, against the rules of socializing!"

You opt to narrow your eyes at Beomgyu instead of replying, taking the silence route. Beomgyu returns your glare, before huffing.

A few steps without anyone speaking until, "The compliment..." he mutters around a fake cough.

You snap your head to the brunette, lips slightly parted at his shameless attempt of getting a compliment. You punch his shoulder lightly before laughing a little in disbelief but also in a familiar knowing way—Beomgyu's always been like this.

When he gives you a shrug paired with childish pout as to say 'it wouldn't hurt', you give in, sighing. "I was about to say that I think you're handsome but you ruined that dipshit."

It's quiet again, and usually, you'd look to your side, trying to relish in your friend's reaction — it's always so reactive, animated in a way that makes the receiving end feel happy despite the context — but you don't, instead, your eyes were focused on the path you were walking on. It was wide, the greenery of spring occupying both sides, aftermath of the disastrous, lonely winter completely dissolved.

"You do?"

You almost laugh before his tone set on you a little more; his voice was lower, and you felt his eyes hesitantly looking at you, almost like he's genuinely looking for your affirmation.

You choose to look back at him, pursing your lips as you pretend to study the features you've grown accustomed to for the past five years.

You do think he's handsome—it's a given, even now, his bare skin devoid of any noticeable acne scars, lively and clear, his lashes—though a contrast to his boyish charm—so pretty and long you often find yourself feel a little envious whenever your finger would brush over them in awe. And god, if you could even begin to describe the way his lips—

He scoffs, turning away from your stare, pulling you out of your own thoughts. You blink a few times, before also tearing your eyes from the man walking beside you.

You went on too long without saying anything, how embarrassing. Clearing your throat you say, "I do."

He sighs. "You took too long to say that, I don't believe you."

You roll your eyes—you know what he wants. "I think you're handsome, Beomgyu."

You're not taken by surprise when he throws his arm over your shoulders, a teasing smile annoyingly plastered on his face as he shoves it a little too close, forcing you to look at him — you wouldn't complain anyway. "Awe, is little Y/N realizing Beomgyu's the love of her life, her soulmate, her beloved—"

"You're pushing it," you whine trying to push his face away, though the smile on your face is hard to hide. "I just called you handsome, it's not like I'm blind."

To the wanderers around you, the ones sitting on benches enjoying the view of cherry blossoms, they'd assume Beomgyu was your boyfriend with the way he had his arm comfortably laying off your shoulder.

"I'm not just a pretty face Y/N. In fact, I'm so cool that I could get the number of the first girl that passes me."

"No, no you couldn't."

Beomgyu naturally takes this as a challenge when he scoffs, finally removing his arm from you, "Watch me."

That's how it started. The ten minute stroll to get the park's infamous ice cream turning into something way bigger than it originally was.

"Her." you say, one hand on the rough bark of the tree you both were hiding behind, another used to discreetly point at the woman who had a child on her lap, clearly busy as she yelled on the phone.

Beomgyu was directly behind you, his head over yours, as he tries to get a good look of who you were pointing at.

"Are you crazy? She has a kid!" he whisper shouts, though the situation really didn't call for it. The woman was at the least three yards away from the tree you guys were behind.

"I thought love knows no bounds."

That seems to get him, using his beloved philosophy against him.

"It—it does if she's married!"

"You're so traditional. People can raise their kids on their own."

When he doesn't budge, unconvinced of taking such a chance, you turn to face him. Which is a mistake because now you realize how close he was. You clear your throat, dismissing the way the proximity was weirdly effecting you. "You lost. Bet's done."

"What? No! I have seventeen numbers and you have like...five. You lost, fair and square."

"This isn't fair! You made me ask an old man for his number, I had to stay there for twenty entire minutes just so he could type it in!"

"I'm not going Y/N, nothing you can do can convince me." he says, eyes shut as he childishly crosses his arms, head turned to the side, chin up high.

You glare at him before shoving your hand down your jeans pocket for spare change—surprisingly feeling paper. When you pull out the mysterious object, your eyes widen at seeing a twenty dollar bill. You've never gotten this lucky before!

It was too late to shove it back in because Beomgyu opens an eye to peek at what you were doing, noticing the bill you had in your hand.

You look at the boy, who was wide-eyed, then back to your very lucky money. "Fuck..." you groan, slapping the bill on his palm, internally mourning the loss of your money.

"You work miracles Y/N." he says cheekily. You deadpan, which gets the man holding up his hands as defense, flashing the money he just got out of you, with a teasing smile before he proudly turns to approach the woman.

Was that even worth your money?

Chewing slightly on your bottom lip, you observe through narrowed eyes—you can't really make out what he's saying, but the woman's brows were furrowed. Not a good sign.

A smirk makes way on your face as you lean against the tree, arms crossed.

Beomgyu still wears a smile, saying something again. You think that's the end of it, he apologized for bothering her and failed— but that isn't what happens.

Your smirk slowly falls when you see him typing something in his phone.

There's no way.

Before leaving, he gives the kid on the woman's lap a high five.

No way.

"You got her number?!" you shout in disbelief when he's finally in front of you.

"Keep it down!"

You're impatient, waiting for his response to your question, but with the way he had his chin raised proudly, hands in pocket, you got the answer.

You blink a few times, trying to piece your shock together. "But how? She's married! She—"

He gasps before pointing an accusatory finger at you. "I knew you saw that ring! You were trying to embarrass me!" you don't reply, instead just crossing your arms, huffing. "But see who came out on top? This guy." he turns his finger from you to himself, a smile of accomplishment spread on his face.

"Okay, I get it. But is she seriously cheating on her spouse while having a kid? That's fucking messed up."

"I just asked her where I could get the best cakes. She said BonBon's Bakery, which is, like, thirty minutes away."

You narrow your eyes, mouth wide—he can't just do this! "You didn't get her number! You—you tricked me!"

"Yes I did, and I'm proud." He says, walking to go behind you again, searching for your next victim.

You sigh, "Why'd you ask that anyway?"

"What, the cake? Because my birthday's soon idiot."

Oh yeah, his birthday.

"Go up to... the the blonde one! Wait, no, nevermind."

You furrow your brows, "Why'd you just take that back?"

He's quick to reply, "No reason. Oh! Go up to him."

You don't bother to look at who he was pointing at now, instead focusing your attention on the blonde Beomgyu had previously pointed at.

He had a pair of sony headphones, walking, eyes glued to his phone. "Soobin." the name slips out your lips absentmindedly as your eyes follow his figure.

"The random guy I'm pointing at is Soobin?" Beomgyu asks scratching his head, playing dumb.

No, the random guy he's pointing at is a middle aged man with a bald spot. You get into action, quickly walking at the direction of Soobin, who was by now, very far.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Beomgyu's hand is on your wrist, making you turn your head back to him. You tilt your head. "Going up to Soobin and getting his number?"

He breaks into an uneasy smile. "But you know him. That's an unfair advantage."

"I don't know him, you know him. I'm playing on fair grounds." you say, a little confused on why he was caring about advantages anyway—Beomgyu had double the numbers you had, he was winning.

When he doesn't let go, you decide to just shake his loose hold on you, chuckling awkwardly, giving him one last look before trying to catch up to the blonde.

Beomgyu never felt so much nervousness as he waited behind the tree, watching the scene unfold between you and his other best friend, Soobin.

His eyes fall down to see the scattered dandelions in the grass. He gulps before quickly bending down to pluck one out. It's a little childish—the way he holds the flower close to his lips, blowing air with all his force, making sure the dandelion is devoid of any white fluff. Wishing that your beyond terrible flirting skills would be so unflattering that Soobin would reject you.

Which is not the case.

When Soobin bashfully waves, a small smile on his face as he turns away from you, walking away—Beomgyu finds out at the age of twenty-one, that wishing upon a dandelion was a hoax. It's further rubbed in his face when you skip towards him, a wide smile on your face.

He drops the dead flower, pursing his lips as he steps on it.

"Guess who just got a number." you sing-song, waving your phone at him.

"Haha, congrats." he manages to smile, rolling his eyes.

"I'm going to catch up to you and win, be scared." you threaten though, your tone a little too excited, full of pride. Was this how Beomgyu felt on an hour basis? Because god, does it feel great.

"I think we should stop here for today."

You snap your head to Beomgyu, brows furrowed. "What? No!"

"We've been here for more than two hours, my legs are tired." he whines with a pout.

You take notice of your surroundings— the once blue sky was now a deep shade of orange, the park was a lot more empty, only a couple people walking down the path.

Yeah, you should definitely go home now.

"We're ending this formally tomorrow, 6PM sharp. Whoever has the most numbers gets fifty from the loser."

He nods before holding out his hand. "Deal."

You shake it, "Deal."

Though you smiled, you couldn't help but feel as if Beomgyu's mood had taken a complete 180.

You dismiss it—he probably is just tired.

Movie Sundays—epitome of the typical movie nerd enthusiasts gathering around one TV screen on a specific day, in a specific time and binging 70's shit that is no longer relevant in today's society.

When you open your door, it's typical Beomgyu with his plaid shirt over his plain white one, barging into your apartment like he was your roommate and comfortably following through his usual routine.

"Take off your shoes you hooligan." It's a little ridiculous how often you have to remind him, but that seems to be apart of the routine too.

"It's literally just crocs."

"Yeah, crocs that stepped in dog shit on the way here."

"You're so dramatic." he mumbles, but still takes them off anyway. You would've shot back with a 'funny coming from you' but routine calls, so, you let him go.

You go to your bedroom, fetching a couple pillows before going back to the couch.

Movie Sundays often ended with both of you losing track of time, slipping into deep sleep the moment the clock struck midnight.

It was never your intention to make this movie ordeal into a sleepover on your couch, but that's usually what ended up happening, so preparing for it is always a good idea. Waking up with sore necks proved to be the official worst way to start a day—you'd know.

It's also the reason why Movie Sundays are now held on Saturdays—the change being made around three years ago. It's ridiculous, some would think that by now, you'd call it Movie Saturdays but Beomgyu said that it'd 'take away the magic' if you did — whatever that meant.

"Did you run out of water bottles?" he yells from the kitchen.

"I don't know, check the fridge!"

Beomgyu was tasked with getting the snacks and some water, you didn't have to do much compared to him but he seemed to enjoy getting the autonomy so nobody minded.

"Your fridge is so dystopian." Beomgyu comments, plopping beside you on the couch, throwing you a packet of cheespuffs.

"Wow, how incredibly nice of you to say as a guest."

"I'm being serious though, you have ten rows of mountain dew and ...one egg carton? You're like the stereotypical college student"

You're focused on finding something to watch instead of paying any mind to Beomgyu's rambles—who really tended to say anything. Like right now, when he pinches your cheek seemingly out of nowhere.

"You're so cute." he coos like you were a newborn baby—it truly felt as if Beomgyu was experiencing effects of anesthesia during the process of you finding a movie. You send him a death glare but that only spurs him on as he whines, "See? That was so cute"

You ignore him, finally making the decision of what movie could start off your move marathon. You nudge his shoulder, tearing his attention from his phone. "Hey, how about this one?"

The good thing about picking Beomgyu for your movie ventures was that you guys had similar tastes.

Romcoms. The classic cliched genre that is filled with the worlds cheesiest tropes.

"Yeah, that's good."

Usually it'd start off with Beomgyu making comments every few minutes, but then they'd die down after the third movie which is exactly why you leave the best movies for last—his yelling would've destroyed your watching experience.

Beomgyu tended to be the one laying his head on the armrest so it didn't take long for his leg to be sprawled on top of your lap—serving as a blanket for you.

You don't mind, focused on the scene playing until the buzz of your phone catches your attention. You hesitantly look at your phone, then Beomgyu, then your phone.

It was like an established rule to be off phones when Move Sundays was in motion, it's just that nobody had decided to say it aloud. But the whines that would come from one person when the other was busy on their phone during a movie served as enough reminder that using your phone was frowned upon.

But you couldn't help it. You've been expecting a call from Soobin for the past week, the day you got his number long over. Any notification from your phone tempted you. Foolishly you'd think it was finally Soobin, but that was never the case.

You were starting to believe that he didn't straight up reject you because of his politeness—which really just felt like shit. Were you seriously that pitiful?

Those thoughts dissipate into nothingness when you see the text notification on your lock screen. Texts from someone you've been readily expecting for the entire week.

[soobin, now]: hi :)

[soobin, now]: sorry for not calling or texting you i was just...

When you click on the notification, you expect to see that the end of the text is 'busy' or something of the sort but instead it's...nervous.

Sorry for not texting you I was just nervous? Why would he be nervous?

You can't help but snort, the ends of your lips curling up at the text.

Before you could quickly come up with a response, Beomgyu's face is right next to yours, narrowing his eyes at your phone screen.

"Who're you texting?"

"Fuck!" you shout, instinctively throwing your phone in shock. Thankfully, the phone lands on a chair instead of the floor, and your breathing is back.

You snap your head to Beomgyu to give him a piece of your mind but then... you remember you technically were the one breaking the unsaid rules of Movie Sundays. You collect your anger, sighing before you hold up a tight lipped smile, "It was an emergency."

When he quirks an eyebrow, you further continue to add onto your lie as you go to get your phone. "My grandpa got a heart attack, it's insane."

He rolls his eyes. "You have a grandpa named Soobin?"

Of course he was fast enough to read the contact name.

"Why'd you even ask if you knew?" you ask, sitting on the couch with your phone in hand.

He ignores your question, eyes focused on the TV. "Just put your phone away, you can text him back later."

You give him a look before shutting off your phone and crossing your arms as you tune back into the movie. Or at least somewhat. You're not sure what's up with Beomgyu and the mention of Soobin—at first, you think it's because they had a fight, but you saw them hanging out just fine the other day.

It was weird, but you shake your head out of your own thoughts, dismissing the boy's crankiness as something you really just made up in your head.

That is, until you decide to check your phone again while he goes through a catalog of movies.

"Are you guys dating?"

The sudden question paired with a dry laugh of his own makes you furrow your eyebrows, clicking on your phone to close it. "Hey, what's your problem?"

"What do you mean what's my problem? I don't have any problems."

You roll your eyes, groaning a little. "Did you guys fight or something?"

"No."

You peer at him for a second, urging him to add something more. It works, as his eyes look at you for a second before going back to the TV. He shrugs, "I don't know, it's just weird."

"What is?"

"You getting close to Soobin."

You're even more confused now...wouldn't someone want their best friends to get along? And be friends?

"I don't get it..." you mumble, still looking at him as he avoids any sort of eye contact. "How's that weird?"

He sighs, shoulders slumping. "He likes you."

When you don't respond, he continues, feeling his mouth dry the more he says it, "Like, like-likes you. He says it's love at first sight."

Ever since his best friend had personally confided in him that he might have the biggest crush on his other best friend, A.K.A the love of his life, Beomgyu had done everything in his power to keep you from formally meeting the blonde. Which included a lot of running and a lot of excuses he had to keep up with.

One, because Soobin was totally your type—Beomgyu would know. Two, because he doesn't think he can survive you falling in love with his best friend. It'd be the ultimate awkward situation. Third wheeling would be his daily routine, and it sends him shuddering at the thought.

You laugh, still trying to piece the information together. "What? Wait. How—why is that weird? I mean, okay. He likes me, so what?"

Beomgyu snaps his head to you, almost as if to tell you 'you should know why!' but he quickly controls his facial expressions because you don't know why. Instead he just opts to pout as he tries to explain. "It's weird because—because, like...um..."

"You're—you're going to hurt his feelings just because of a stupid challenge, that's very cruel Y/N." he says, childishly crossing his arms.

"I'm not going to hurt him...you know I'd never do that!"

"Well, you don't feel the same way he does. It'd be like you're leading him on."

"I mean...I can feel the same way he does, if time allows. I think he's pretty cool, seriously." You try to reassure him, but it has the opposite effect. Beomgyu's eyes droop, almost resembling one of a puppy as he looks up at you.

"You—you like him?"

"I said I think he's cool dummy. And that I think I can learn to like him."

"That's not how liking people works."

You barely control the urge to roll your eyes as your phone was above your face, scrolling through your social media mindlessly. "Sure it does. Taking the time to know someone is basically learning to like them."

It's silent as Beomgyu finally picks a movie, the familiar soundtrack giving you the hint that it's West Side Story.

"Well, maybe you could learn to like me too." It was barely audible over the movie playing but you still heard it, the quiet mumble from Beomgyu, concealed with a slight pout.

Your mouth parts a little snapping your attention from your phone to the brunette next to you, "Huh?"

"Huh?" he returns your gaze with wide eyes, fauxing innocence.

"Beomgyu, you just said something. Say it again." You sit up straight, your posture a little more fixed.

"I didn't say anything, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Beomgyu!" you yell flailing your arms around, with your brows furrowed, and that makes him jump a little, flinching. "Repeat what you said!"

"No!"

You pull out the pillow behind you and threaten to hit him by raising it over his head which gets him talking. "Okay! Okay, hold on!"

"First, put that down!" he yells dramatically referring to the pillow—arm shielding his face.

You reluctantly oblige, slowly lowering your pillow.

When both of your breathing starts to steady, Beomgyu speaks up. "This is not how I planned on telling you—"

"Just say it Beomgyu."

"Okay, look—" he takes a deep breath in, "Imagine there's a totally different dimension. You've known this friend for five years or so—"

"So... you."

"Not me! Just, just imagine someone else." you roll your eyes, trying your hardest to keep your urge to smile down, you've watched enough romcoms to know where this was going.

He continues. "And that friend tells you that 'haha, I'm totally in love with you'. How would you respond? Like, rhetorically."

You sigh, deciding to go along with him. "Rhetorically..." his ears perk up, you could either crush his dreams or—

"...I would reject that friend."

"Oh..oh! Oh yeah, totally. That makes sense—"

"Because they're someone else, not you."

It falls quiet as Beomgyu blinks a few times, processing what you just told him. "What?"

You give him a smile before turning to the TV screen, "I like you too."

He also turns to face the TV, lips parted ever so slightly before he just breaks into a smile, biting down on his bottom lip, trying to contain his squeals.

It was so intune with your friendship for both of you to just sit there after confessing your love for the other, watching the movie you've both watched a hundred times before, in silence as the clock almost struck midnight.

It wasn't anything dramatic, just two people silently enjoying the tragic love story between Maria and Tony while snacking.

Beomgyu thinks you don't notice, but your eyes still catch how his fingers slowly 'walked' to yours, nearing them inch by inch and finally holding them. You laugh a little at how how silly it was, and he does too in reaction—contrasting to the scene currently playing, the death of multiple beloved characters finally occuring.

Your eyes lazily look over at your clock, then you smile looking at the boy next to you. "What's your wish? It's almost your birthday," you manage to say, fighting through your sleep.

Beomgyu is also clearly on the same wavelength as his voice is hoarse, barely hearable, "My wish..."

"Kissing you?"

Your smile grows bigger— god, he was so cheesy. "Come here you big baby."

"That's so unsexy... don't call me big baby when I'm about to give you the best french of your life..."

You laugh, hitting his chest lightly. "Okay, okay I promise I won't."

When he nears your face, the movie in the background playing lines you both could recite by heart, he cups your cheeks, breathing a little unsteady, before smiling. "What?" you whisper.

"I don't think this is a dream."

You look into his eyes for second before deciding to go in first, catching his lips with yours. It's like a small peck, soft and slow as your hand find themselves tangled in his hair. You pull away for a second, looking at his lips then his face, "Yeah, I don't think it is either."

ending a/n: you finished!! i didn't do the usual and ask you to reblog in the beginning, but i'll do it here hehe, reblogging [the little sign by the heart button] helps push this fic!

it's like the main thing that helps me out and its what tumblr's algorithm picks up on!! that said, i'd love to hear your thoughts on this, i love writing best friend!gyu ><

#txt x reader #beomgyu fic #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu imgaines #beomgyu drabbles #beomgyu x reader #txt fic #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt fluff #txt fanfic #txt drabbles #txt series

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iwritefandomimagines · 11 months ago

Text

BLIND DATE — JAMIE TARTT

masterlist

pairing: jamie tartt x reader

description: you and jamie never saw eye to eye. when keeley offers to set you up on a blind date and it’s him that turns up, you’re irritated. but you’re soon to find out that maybe she’s right… maybe he has changed.

warnings: enemies to lovers if you squint bc there’s not much angsty content it’s more implied, swearing, alcohol consumption, fluff at the end because that’s my mf baby

author’s note: i live and breathe enemies to lovers jamie tartt content so this is sooo self indulgent and fluffy ish at the end.

———

“You have got to be fuckin’ kidding me?”

You’d already been reluctant when Keeley Jones begged you to let her set you up with someone she knew.

Your best friend had been going on at you about needing to ‘get yourself out there’ for ages now — and the only reason you had given in to her request was so that she’d back off a bit.

But now, as the one and only Jamie fucking Tartt approached your table, your dress felt especially clingy and your palms felt especially sweaty.

“Y/N,” Jamie smirked, having always enjoyed getting under your skin, “You look fucking stunnin’, and really fucking happy to see me.”

You rolled your eyes as he sat down, “Why the hell would Keeley set me up with you of all people?”

Jamie pushed his hair out of his face, and you couldn’t help but take his whole look in as he removed his jacket and adjusted his shirt.

Okay, he may have been a massive prick — but not even you could deny that he wasn’t exactly a chore to look at. Just a chore to listen to.

“See, Y/N, I hear ya voice complaining,” he quipped, leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm as his other hand waved over a waiter, “But you’re still checking me out. Like what you see, eh?”

Before you had a chance to snap back at the walking irritant in front of you, the waiter was at your table taking your drinks orders.

A large glass of wine to cool your nerves would do nicely was what you had decided before he’d arrived — but now a bottle seemed more appropriate.

Of course, when you asked for this Jamie just smiled smugly, “Yeah, you know what? Me ‘n the lady will share. Bring us your most expensive bottle of Pinot Grigio, yeah?”

You tried not to cringe at his mispronunciation.

You sighed, sipping at the table water you’d already been brought as the waiter nodded and rushed away.

“Now where were we, love?”

“You were being arrogant, I was still trying to figure out how I’ve ended up sat opposite you… Just like old times.”

Jamie scoffed, “Oh no, I was simply observin’ that you checked me out. Don’t worry, love, I was checking you out too. Like I said, you’re stunnin’.”

You hated that he could so obviously see his words had affected you — a crimson blush immediately staining your cheeks as he quirked his eyebrow in acknowledgement.

“I can think that you’re attractive and still think you’re a prick, Jamie,” you shrugged, a small smile on your lips as he screwed up his face, “I do have eyes.”

He licked his lips, “See, makin’ progress already. Never admitted you fancy me before, but if it helps, love, I fancy you too.”

You scoffed again, “I said you’re attractive, not that I fancy you.”

“Same thing,” he shrugged, leaning further forward, “Look, I know you think I’m a twat, but I’ve been working on how not to be.”

You looked at him for a moment, not sure what to make of his words.

He’d always been an egotistical arse, always convinced he was God’s gift to earth, and his shameless flirting whilst also being an arsehole had always just grated on you.

You’d had some semblance of a crush on him once, almost admiring his confidence (and of course how gorgeous he was) but his attitude had led you to a prickling disdain for the man instead.

He knew he got under your skin, so he would flirt outrageously and nitpick at things you did and said to piss you off and rile you up.

Keeley had insisted he took the whole childhood ‘if they’re mean to you they like you’ bollocks all too seriously, but you’d brushed that off considering the fact that he was still very much lapping up any and all female attention he received elsewhere.

Given that you only attended events as Keeley’s friend, it hadn’t been hard to avoid him since — deciding that it wasn’t worth letting him get to you.

“So Keeley’s been saying,” you narrowed your eyes, “I know you flirt with, like, anything that breathes, but I’m surprised you’re not more disappointed by her decision to set us up.”

It was Jamie’s turn to scoff now, his eyes never leaving yours as you felt suddenly shy under his close watch.

“She didn’t set us up, I asked her to.”

You furrowed your brows, confused as to why the fuck he’d do that. Sure, he’d flirted with you before but you were certain it was just to piss you off.

“What?”

“I knew you didn’t like me, ‘cos you only know the old Jamie Tartt,” he pouted, and you fought the urge to chuckle, “So I asked her to pretend it was just some mate of hers she wanted to send you on a blind date with. Just to see if you’d give me a chance, ya know?”

You were almost touched by his words, but still remained wary about his intentions, “Why— what made you that determined for a date with me?”

He laughed, a big loud laugh that drew the attention of many surrounding tables.

The waiter returned now, interrupting you again.

He poured you both a glass of wine and placed down the wine cooler as you and Jamie thanked him whilst never looking away from each other.

“For the third time tonight, you’re fuckin’ stunning Y/N. And I like that you never took my shit back then. Just figured it was time to try me luck and see if ya’d change your mind about me,” if you didn’t know him better, you’d think he was nervous, “‘S why Keeley’s been talkin’ me up to you so much. She’s known I’ve had a thing for you for, like, ages.”

You were gobsmacked — not only by his confession, but the sincerity his voice held.

“Why’ve you not reached out sooner, then? I haven’t seen you in months, not since the last charity gala,” you bit your lip.

You remembered that night very well, given that you’d almost shared a drunken kiss with him until you came to your senses and left the party.

He only smirked again, “You remember the exact last time we saw each other, huh?”

“Jamie…”

“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands in defeat, “I was gutted you didn’t kiss me at that party, even though it’s fair that you didn’t. Keeley told me you deserved better than how I’d been treating you, but that she knew if I got me shit together we’d make a good couple. So I waited ‘til me shit was, well, together. And now here we are. With my shit sorta together.”

You were almost speechless, “Jamie— that’s, well, that’s actually really sweet.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile, “Glad ya think so, love. Been hard as fuck and I’ve almost called you a fuck load of times, too, but Keeley and Roy have been really good with helping and that.”

Now you were really surprised, “Roy’s been helping you work on yourself? Fuckin’ hell, things must have changed since I last saw you!”

Jamie laughed, pursing his lips as he shrugged and let out a breathy sigh, “He won’t admit it but we’re, like, friends now. Don’t tell him I said that though. He’d go fuckin’ mental.”

“Oh I know,” you chuckled, “But I hope you’ve been doing this for yourself as well, not just trying to change to make other people happy.

The smile on his face spread warmth through your chest, and you could feel the walls you’d built up to protect yourself from Jamie’s old self beginning to crumble.

Your face was lit with a smile now, a wide and sincere smile that you could tell boosted his confidence about this whole elaborate plan.

“Nah, it’s been good,” he nodded, “And you’ve never smiled at me like that, not even when we first met and you were trying to be nice before I fucked things by being all Jamie Tartt. So I’d say it’s, like, more than worth it, to be fair.”

Your smile only widened at that, and his matched it almost exactly.

“I don’t even know what to say at this point, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not actually glad I’m here now,” you bit your lip, maintaining steady eye contact with him and placing your hand on the table.

He was quick to place his own hand atop yours, “‘M really glad to hear it, Y/N. Can we treat this like a fresh start or whatever? Like a real blind date? Want to show you I’ve changed properly, that I’m a new Jamie.”

You giggled, poking your thumb out to rub the back of his hand with it, “Sure. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, and it’s nice to meet you. Sorry if this is forward but you look really good tonight, stranger.”

He beamed like a proud child at those words, “Jamie Tartt. You look fuckin’ phenomenal, Y/N. Since we’ve like, never met, this might be weird,” you rolled your eyes with a laugh at how seriously he was taking the starting over thing, “But I hope this ain’t our only date.”

“Play your cards right, Jamie Tartt, and it won’t be,” you smiled, standing up and leaning over to press a soft kiss to his cheekbone.

“Because, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I hope it isn’t either.”

———

eeeee i hope you enjoyed that, i love jamie tartt a ridiculous amount so couldn’t help myself ! here’s my masterlist if you want to read more of my jamie fics or any of my other stuff!

also kinda feeling a part two where you’re secretly dating and turn up to a richmond squad event with him? let me know if u would like that!!!

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt fluff #soft jamie tartt #ted lasso imagines #ted lasso imagine

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 10 months ago

Text

“If You Don’t Look Good, We Don’t Look Good” - Dean x Reader

Rating Explicit

Dean x Reader

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Humor, Shameless Smut (I got carried away), Cameo Appearance by Soft!Dom Dean, Unprotected Sex

Word Count: 4200

You and Sam had decided on a code to use in the most grievous, world-shattering of situations.

Full Dean Meltdown

Neither one of you have had to use it – until you get a text from Sam. A case has gone all kinds of awful for Dean. You are not ready for the version of Dean you have to face in the aftermath.

Notes: This is total self-indulgence because I miss This Dean.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Hair Pulling" square.

Image created in Canva (links for photos used - found on Google: Jensen Ackles, Liverpool Comic Con, 2023; Jensen Ackles Photo Shoot

You stare, mid-muffin chew, at Sam’s text.

“Fuck me.” A few stray crumbs and a rogue blueberry land on a page of lore you should probably be more careful with. But you can’t be bothered with MOL reference handling procedures at the moment.

This is Red Alert. Defcon 5. Designated Survivor Mode Activated.

You and Sam had decided on a code to use in the most grievous, world-shattering of situations.

Full Dean Meltdown

“Fuck.” There’s no point in continuing to curse to yourself. “Fuck.” But you can’t help it. Neither one of you has ever had to use it before. You’d come close a few times.

The book is forgotten, pushed to the side on the table surface. Your fingers glide over the phone’s keyboard.

Is he alright?!? What happened? Please, tell me this is a joke?

I wouldn’t joke about this. Sam’s words bubble up, line by line. Well, I made the mistake of joking right after it happened. It’s gotten progressively worse the entire drive back. He hasn’t said a single word since we got in the car. IDK what’s gonna happen.

“Fuck.”

Should I evacuate? How much time do I have?

Just pulled into the garage.

Shit, Sam! Do you not understand how a code word for disaster preparedness works? One needs enough time to actually prepare for the disaster!

You wait. More bubbles. Then nothing. Maybe Sam didn’t make it out alive. Maybe you should make a run for it through the war room and up the stairs. Save yourself.

I received some communication. He’s headed straight for the showers. Meet you in the lab.

“A what?”

“Musca.” Sam sighs. “Ever seen ‘The Fly’?”

“On cable years ago, filtered through my fingers.”

Sam continues. “They secrete this sticky goo to build a nest.” His mouth crinkles. “Dean landed in it.”

“The nest?” you ask.

“The goo. A puddle of the stuff. Monster fluids freak him out.”

You shiver in disgust at the thought. “Fuck creature feature fluids. 100% in agreement.”

“So, we tracked the musca to its hideout in an abandoned factory. We split up when we got inside…”

“Why do you always split up?” you ask, following it with a frustrated groan.

Sam purses his lips and then proceeds. “When I found him, he was basically glued to this massive conveyor belt holding the goo like it was a kiddie pool. I had to cut him out of most of his clothes to free him.”

The thought of a half-naked Dean has you shiver for other reasons. “Poor guy,” you add in an effort to express sympathy over your dirty thoughts.

Sam chuckles.

You straighten with worry Sam has figured out your crush on his brother. Ready to dispute any yearnings, you add a grumbly edge to your voice and the question. “What was funny about any of that?”

Sam fists long strands on the right side of his scalp high in the air. “Even his hair got stuck to the belt. I had to hack half of it off.” He fingers his bangs back into effortless waves. “Once we killed it, Dean mumbled, ‘Vidal Sassoon you ain’t, fucker.’”

You shrug, confused. “Well, I mean, I get the trauma from the nasty gnat excretions. But that doesn’t explain why you had to warn of a possible Dean disaster.”

Sam’s gaze tears from yours to stare at the floor by his boots.

“Sam?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I might have said something like, ‘We can’t all be masterful hunters with glorious locks.’”

You frown. “Sam…”

Sam raises a hand in defense. “Hey, maybe now he’ll finally shut up about my hair being a liability. I mean, hello, I’ve still got mine.”

The temptation to knock on Dean’s bedroom door is great. But you refrain, hiding away in yours instead. He’ll be better in the morning, you decide. Especially if you fry up some bacon.

A light rap of knuckles against mahogany distracts you from the latest show binge on your laptop. You pause the action. “Yeah?”

“Got a minute?” Even with the question, Dean’s tone sounds like a command.

You gulp. “Sure.” Rotating in the seat, your hand grips the top of the backrest. You’ll try to hold the line against the Dean Winchester Offensive.

The door swings slowly on its hinges. Dean slinks into your space. It’s the opposite of his usual bluster and humorous bellows that lead to inevitable laughter on your end. His slippers shuffle along the tile. He’s wearing roomy sweats and a dark t-shirt that hugs his torso. A folded towel is wedged into the crook of his arm.

Your brain locks onto two things that appear off about Dean. The first thing totally out of place on the masterpiece before you is the baseball cap.

In the next second, you remember why he’s wearing it. It’s not because he’s undercover as a delivery driver or Fish and Wildlife Game Warden.

Dean does not want you to see his hair in its current state.

The second thing makes your pulse quicken. His beard is… gone. You can’t remember the last time you saw him even close to clean-shaven. You forgot what that sharp jawline used to do to your insides.

“Hey.” You don your best don’t-let-on-to-anything smile.

Dean scrutinizes you as if you are a witness in his rapid-fire way and then huffs. “Son of a bitch told you, didn’t he?”

You decide not to remind Dean he and Sam share the same mother. “He did. I’m sorry. You okay?”

The door clicks shut. “I’ll live. Sam might not see the light of day, though.”

You ignore the murder threat, instead focusing on a new scent in the air. You sniff, nostrils flaring with the deep inhale. Dean smells like he’s working on an amazing beach tan.

He nods at your reaction. “Coconut Oil. I had to use all that was in the kitchen for…” He circles his lower body with a finger and eventually points to the baseball cap.

“Did it do the trick?”

“Better than I hoped. I even got all that nasty shit out of my hair.” His weight shifts from one foot to the other. “But I need a favor.”

“At your disposal.” Still seated, you somersault your hand as if addressing royalty.

That at least cracks a tiny smile into his serious veneer. “I had to take a razor to my hair and cut it pretty short. Can you clean me up in the back?”

You clutch your chest and gasp in the most dramatic fashion you can muster. “You trust me to touch your hair?”

“I trust you with my life, wiseass.” Dean smirks. “Can the sass and help a guy out, would ya?”

A warmth blossoms in your heart at Dean’s words. The heat spreads to your skin. You wave a hand at the towel and clear your throat. “Those the accouterments?”

Dean quirks a brow and grins. “Croutons?”

“And you call me the wiseass.” You sigh.

He shrugs with a nod in agreement. He drops the towel on the desk and lifts one of the corners to reveal the electric razor inside.

“Okay. Here’s as good a place as any, I suppose.” You rise from your seat, close the laptop, and move it to your dresser.

“You sure? We can go to the bathroom.” He thumbs at the door.

You wave a hand at the chair you vacated, now standing behind it. “Here’s good.”

Dean sits. The wooden chair creaks.

“Towel.”

Dean grabs the razor before passing the towel. You flap the fabric, channel your inner toreador, and let it billow over Dean’s frame like a sail. When it settles, you wrap and tuck it into the back of the collar.

Moments like this are pure indulgence. Getting within close proximity of Dean years ago left your brain unable to process the simplest tasks. Breathing. Blinking. Talking. Eventually, you got a handle on your senses. Now, you could treat yourself to the experience of him on occasion in a myriad of ways. No one had to be the wiser that the mundane helped create many fantasies.

“Razor.”

Dean chuckles, presenting you with the razor over his shoulder. “It’s not surgery.”

“Hey, appreciate the seriousness with which I’m embracing this endeavor.” You step to his left. “Dean?”

He lifts his head to peer up from under the brim of his cap. “Yeah?” His blinks emphasize the question.

All that does is force you to focus on his pretty lashes and the eye color he’s daring you to try and describe in your head. The cheekbones and the manicured five o’clock shadow aren’t helping matters either. You swallow and remember what’s supposed to happen next. “Can’t do much with that hat on your head.”

“Oh. Right.” He sighs. “Just, no laughing, alright?”

You place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze softly in confirmation. “No laughing. Promise.”

Dean exhales. You suck in your lips and hold your breath. He closes his eyes and peels the cap off.

You stare dumbfounded.

“Say whatever you gotta say,” Dean mumbles with scrunched features and shut lids.

Your vision clouds. Heart races. “It’s…”

“Awful,” he interrupts.

“Perfect,” you whisper.

Eyes open at the word. His gaze shoots up to meet yours. “Huh?”

Gone are the 90s dreamboat bangs he’s been growing out and tending to since 2020. In their place are a couple of directionless inches that need gel after the scrubbing, clipping, and hat matting. The Musca goo must have done most of its damage around the sides and back. In those areas, he’s shaved it short and close, done his best to fashion a fade that you imagine was muscle memory for him even after all these years. You eye the spot at the base of his skull that needs to be cleaned and tapered.

You’re blinking, fighting back tears, utterly speechless.

Dean stares, total confusion lining his face. “Are you crying? Why the hell are you crying?” He taps the top of his head. “Shit… is it that fucking of a fiasco?”

“No.” You cover your mouth at the possibility a nervous laugh might spill out, which will only irritate him further. Moments pass as you struggle to steady your breath.

“Well, what the hell is it then?”

Dropping the hand covering your mouth, you beam down at him. “It’s you.” You could care less about what you were supposed to do with the razor in your hand. Instead, you perch your ass against the desk so you can lean back and take him in.

Dean’s eyes widen. You’ve seen that look of concern many times. “Yeeaaah. It’s me. Who else would it be? Do I need to get Sam?”

Your head shakes in amazement at the vision. “I haven’t seen this Dean since… damn, since before the pandemic. Since you and Sam made that bet, remember?”

“Gonna have to be a little more specific. Sam and I make lots of bets.”

“The one about you being unable to resist the temptation to take a razor to your hair during lockdown. I don’t even remember what the stakes were.”

Dean contemplates. “Hm. I haven’t got a clue. That was like, what, four years ago.” His lids shade the dark green of his irises. “This Dean?”

You nod. Your breath hitches at the swell of emotions rising. “The guy I first met.”

Dean shifts in the chair and leans forward. Every furrow and crinkle on his face melts away. His eyes appear to double in size as he waits for you to continue.

“My hero.” The whisper is a physical manifestation of how vulnerable and exposed you feel at Dean’s silent interrogation method. You press on. “The one that risked his life to save me… forever ago.”

He lifts one side of his mouth in a lopsided grin. “Sam was there, too, you know.”

You laugh. Cheeks warm at the adorably smug reaction. “Yes, you’re right. He was.”

Dean shakes his head. “Sam’s had the exact same haircut for years. I don’t see you crying every time you lay eyes on him. He’s a walking reminder of the guy you first met.”

“But he’s not you.” In your haste to provide an explanation, you realize you’ve said too much.

Dean’s mouth opens a fraction. His brows downturn. He’s working it out in his head in real-time.

You’re terrified.

A new smile forms. You think you spot a blush on his cheeks. “What else do you remember about this Dean?”

You shrug and tear your gaze from his. You don’t want your words to betray you again.

“Hm.” Dean rambles off a laundry list. “A lot of brooding back then, wasn’t there? I was a really good brooder. Hard to figure out? Distant, too, right? Definitely knew what was best for everybody. Stubborn jackass.”

You remain silent.

“Okay, still a stubborn jackass.”

You giggle. He joins in with a chuckle. Your anxiety eases and you find courage to look at him again.

“We’ve all changed in different ways, I guess. You, for example.” Dean gestures in your direction.

You stiffen. This could go many ways. You aren’t ready for any of them.

“You don’t take any of my shit, for one.” He raises a finger. “You're confident. You speak your mind. You have a life outside of these bunker walls.” Four fingers are on display for a while. He smiles and elongates his thumb. “But you still make this your home.”

“Every second of the life I’m able to live is because of you guys. I owe you everything. I’m lucky you let me make this my home.” You reason.

Dean’s smile drops. The open palm clenches into a fist and rests on his thigh. “You don’t owe us anything.”

“You and Sam did all that for me without batting an eye. You didn’t expect anything in return. You and Sam gave me so much more than I could ever repay. You gave me a second chance. You gave me a home.” You shrug and smile. “You became my home.”

He studies the floor and smirks, stating more to himself, “Not the only long-standing bet I’ve lost to Sam today.” Dean inhales and sits tall, focusing back on you. He nods, slow and calculated. “So, perfect, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get a big head.”

“A little late for that.” He grins and reclines back. “Would you go so far as to say this Dean” – he sweeps his hands in front of his figure in a dramatic gesture – “is irresistible?”

You exhale. “I don’t know if I’d say irresistible.”

He licks his lips. “Whew. Well, that’s good. I mean, otherwise, you’d have the same problem I have.”

You drop the razor on the desk and cross your hands over your chest. “What problem would that be?”

A heated gaze, beginning at your socked feet, rakes over you with his answer. “How much I find every fucking thing about you irresistible. You could shave your head and wear a potato sack, and I’d still have to keep my feelings in check.” You're practically on fire by the time his eyes lock with yours. “Every goddamn second of every day I’m around you.”

“This would be one of those times I don’t take any of your shit,” you scoff and squint back.

It’s his turn to clutch his hand to his chest. “You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’re having a little too much fun at the expense of my soul-baring.”

“Wanna bet?”

Dean’s voiced that question countless times. Tonight, though, certainty laces his words.

He seems to take your silence as the only needed response. “Kiss me.”

“Wh-hat?”

“If you think you can resist, kiss me, and it’s a one-and-done.” His brows lift. “But if you can��t… Well, I might not leave this room anytime soon.”

“That doesn’t sound like a wager. More like a dare.” You straighten your stance. “Besides, you’re assuming…”

He grumbles out an interruption, “Sounds like somebody’s stalling.”

Your mouth snaps shut.

“Maybe we both take the armor off for a night. Take a chance on something that could be awesome.” Dean posits. His hands rub the cloth atop his thighs. “I can make it awesome.” The tone is low and promising. “If it helps, I’m this Dean tonight. We can worry about that Dean tomorrow.” He smiles, reaches a hand out to you, and nods in encouragement.

He’s struggling to play it cool, keep his emotions in check. You’ve seen this Dean before. He’s inhaling and exhaling fast through his nose. His jaw clenches and it cracks your resolve even further.

You drop your shield and let this Dean win you over.

You melt, wrapping your fingers over his. This Dean’s touch electrifies every cell and awakens every dormant hope you had put to rest. He tugs you into his space. His lead forces the parting of your legs in order for his thigh to slot between. You hover. Your chin drops to your chest while his chin tips up high to hold your gaze. His body heat pulses off him like a vibrational energy. “Kiss me.” It’s the sweetest and softest request you’ve ever heard this Dean utter.

Your fingers trace along the freshly shaved hair over his right ear. It’s slippery and smooth in one direction, scritch-scratchy in the other. You can study every battle scar on this handsome canvas. No bangs of curtains or overgrown beard can hide them from you now.

His lips part and release a deep sigh. Your fingers slip down his neck. Warm hands rest on the curve of your hips.

“I won’t be able to resist you,” you whisper.

“Good,” he hums. He’s guiding you with a firm grip to straddle his thigh. Then, there’s an encouraging push with a large palm and splayed fingers against the middle of your back. The sweet smell of coconut hits. Your gaze zones onto that bowed top lip. The way the plump bottom one parts from it to grant entrance.

Dean huffs an impatient groan you are all too familiar with. “You don’t kiss me in the next five seconds, I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?” you tease.

“More like a warning.” His voice is gruff and deep.

You hold back a moan at the sound, then dip down and do as you’re told.

Everything about the kiss is eager and rushed. Together you’re a tangle of limbs and fever pitch need. You’re pressed tight and right to his body - all muscle-tense and trigger-ready. His lips respond in kind to your every brush, swipe, and nudge for more and more.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he murmurs through the kiss.

You gasp in satisfaction at the intention.

His lips skim to your jaw, under your ear, then down your neck. “I gotta know that’s what you want.”

“Yes, Dean.”

Another hum thrums against your skin. You shiver as fingers creep under the hem of your t-shirt. His nose nuzzles along the frayed v-neck collar. He cups your breasts under the fabric. A thumb and finger twists one of your nipples even more erect. Teeth scraping and tongue lapping over the other fabric-covered nipple draw a strained moan out of your throat.

Soon the shirt is tugged hastily over your head for removal. Then you feel his mouth and hands all over your breasts again, unencumbered.

You’re a panting, heaving mess riding his thigh like you’re on an X-rated carousel. You arch your chest into his face. He’s slurping and sucking your nerve endings into the stratosphere. He pops a tit out of his mouth long enough to order, “Yeah, come for me so I can fuck that nice wet pussy.”

Dean staring at you, commanding you to come for him, is the tipping point you need to orgasm hard and fast.

“Yeah.” He grabs a fistful of your hair and clamps his mouth to yours. “Gonna feel so good around my cock.” He steals every gasp of air you expel with his inhales.

You’re tingling all over. He peels you off his thigh to sandwich his standing body to yours. He towers over you. He’s stiff and erect in his sweats, pressed into your lower tummy. His hands sweep up and down the channel of your spine.

“This Dean’s got a lot to make up for.” His tongue licks at your lips. “But I gotta be inside you right now.”

You nod. “You got five seconds to get me naked and on that bed.”

Never let it be said that Dean Winchester is not up for a challenge.

The chair behind him is now careening towards the bedroom door on all four legs. You scream-giggle as he lifts you into the air while he twirls, then tosses you onto the mattress, bouncing at the impact.

The sound of the chair crashing and toppling into a corner does nothing to distract you from watching Dean tunnel out of his t-shirt, kick off his slippers, and hopscotch out of his pants and boxers. His hard, thick cock springs to attention.

Fuck. You want every inch of that deep inside you.

He hooks his fingers onto the hem of your pants and manages to pull your socks off along with them. Kneeing onto the bed, he croons, “Been wanting you for so long, baby.”

Your head falls back into the cushion of the mattress, woozy from Dean’s actions and confession. “Probably been wanting you longer.”

Your panties are off and tossed over his shoulder next. “You don’t gotta wait anymore.” He grips under your knees and drags you to him. He slides over the wet heat of your folds and hisses, “Wanna fuck you without a condom.”

You whimper, “Just fuck me already.”

He smiles, grabs his cock – that must be fitted with a pussy homing device – and pistons into your entrance without any further mother fucking ado.

You gasp at the searing heat and sharp pain of him stretching you open. But he doesn’t stop fucking you. He’s minding how your facial features accept the brunt of each thrust and the agonizing slow release of his cock. Over and over. His descent is just as slow as he fucks. But eventually, your legs clamp around his waist and he wraps you in an embrace. Chests plastered together, moaning into each other’s mouths.

Your fingers inch into what remains of his bangs. You pull at the hair and Dean groans out, “Yeah.”

It’s lovely and languid for however long you both have the patience. The feel of him everywhere and inside is something you don’t ever want to end. But there’s a second orgasm building. The thought of Dean spilling into you has your walls clench in impatience around his cock.

“Fuck,” he grunts, face tucked along your neck. You lift your head up to enjoy the view of his undulating back and curvy ass clenching and raising as his fucking gains momentum. You pull at his hair again. “Fuuuck.”

He stills, turns to stone, and you feel his cock pulse and warmth spill inside. Moments later, a hand wedges between your bodies to thumb your clit and trigger your second orgasm.

You cry out his name.

“I got you, baby,” Dean whispers into your ear. And he does. Not letting go and practically swaddling you with his body. The sexiest weighted blanket on the planet.

You smile and stroke – instead of pulling – at his hair. “Who’s got me exactly? This Dean or That Dean?”

He sighs, sounding winded. “You get all the versions. Whether you like it or not.”

“I’d like that very much.”

He leans back to stare at you. “Yeah?” He’s red and flushed and the happiest you’ve ever seen him. “Even if I grow my hair out again?”

You nod. “Yeah. More for me to pull.”

Dean groans and flops to his back beside you, chuckling.

You listen to the rhythm of your collective breathing slow down and regulate. His fingers brush along the flesh of your thigh. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Earlier, you said something about losing two bets to Sam today. What was the other one?”

“Asshole told me you had a thing for me years ago. Let’s hold off on telling him he was right, or I’m doing his laundry for an entire year.”

“I don’t think we have to tell him anything, Dean. I’m pretty sure he heard everything.”

“Hm. You’re right.” He’s up on an elbow, staring down at you. “Maybe text him that code thing? That might get him out of the bunker for a while.”

You blink. “Code?”

“Don’t play coy now.” Dean shakes his head. “But what’s the ‘66’ mean?”

You bite your lip.

He waits.

“It was Sam’s idea.”

He waits.

“The 66 Seals.”

Dean cringes.

You shrug. “Too soon?”

“And he says I have a twisted sense of humor.” Dean yawns. He finds the edge of the comforter you both are lying atop and tosses it over your naked bodies. “So, will you still clean me up in the back? Maybe wait until morning, though?”

“Absolutely.” You snuggle into his chest, secure that Dean will wake up next to you in the morning. “If you don’t look good, we don’t look good.”

It takes a beat before Dean responds with a teasing smack to the back of your head, followed by a kiss on your forehead. “Wiseass.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester fan fiction #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural #spn #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic

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syd-djarin · 1 year ago

Text

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter one: the new neighbors

*18+ Minors DNI*

Word count: ~2000+

Warnings: FLUFF, nervous reader, a hint of masturbation (f & m), neighbor!joel needs a warning, eventual smut

reader has hair that she fidgets with, "grows warm" /"cheeks burning" but not necessarily blushing, with embarrassment - minor edits to make this more inclusive for my readers <3

Author/s Notes: this is my first fic, so ofc I had to write Joel, and I have a weakness for neighbor!Joel.

this will be a series and I'm so excited to share this :) this is super self-indulgent, making reader based off myself so shameless self-insert kinda? lol

a huge thank you & ily to my babe @katiexpunk for helping me make edits/bouncing ideas and encouraging me to dive into writing <3

Tags: no outbreak AU, neighbor!joel, reader is sweetie pie, age gap (reader is mid-late 20's, joel is late 30's-early 40's in this), dilf!joel, gratuitous descriptions of joel being strong & sexy, f & m masturbation, eventual smut, fluff

AUSTIN, TX OCT 2005

You’ve lived in this neighborhood for the majority of your life, with the exception of your time in college.

Now that you’ve finished your undergrad, your parents, now retired and living in Maine, have graciously offered for you to stay in your childhood home. It wouldn’t be forever, you think, just until something comes through for you to use your degree on.

The neighborhood hasn’t changed that much through the years; some of the houses got renovations or additions, although many of the homes were the same that they have always been. Many of the people living in the cul-de-sac had known you since you were just a baby, and like to remind you of that more often than you’d like.

Occasionally a home would go up for sale, and it just so happened that the house directly across the street from yours was one of them – a classic blue Ranch style home, well maintained, albeit a bit outdated, but full of potential. The previous owners lived there for nearly four decades, and the entire neighborhood is antsy to solve the mystery of who’ll move in next.

You had assumed that the next tenants would be another nuclear family type – the stereotypical, American family - husband, wife, two kids, the works. Much to your surprise, a single father and his daughter were the succeeding residents of the house. A ruggedly handsome single father, at that.

+++

Move in day came for your new neighbors and just like everyone else who resided here, you couldn’t help but to be nosy, curiosity getting the best of you.

You discreetly parted your living room blinds, your curiosity at its peak, as your new neighbors began unloading the hefty boxes from their U-Haul and settling into their new abode. You even went to check the mail to get a closer peek, despite having already checked it earlier in the day when it arrived.

You couldn’t help but ogle at the broad-shouldered man lifting boxes as if they weigh nothing. His dark gray t-shirt clings to his biceps for dear life and you feel your pussy involuntarily throb every time he lifts up the bottom of it, bringing it to his forehead to wipe the sweat collecting there, each time revealing his soft tummy and the dark hair that trailed down from his belly button.

You imagine yourself holding onto those brawny arms, while he pounds-

Oh my god, get a grip, you internally chastise yourself. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten laid, defending yourself for conjuring up dirty fantasies of a man whose name you didn’t even know.

You decided you’d go introduce yourself once it appeared that they’d finished unloading the moving truck, not wanting to disrupt or cause an intrusion.

Baking being one of your love languages, you decide to make your new neighbors your grandma's famous cookies – snickerdoodles and chocolate chip. The recipes don’t call for much, but your grandma swears it’s the love that goes into them that makes them as good as they are. She had taught you to bake at a young age; ensuring you knew the fundamentals, techniques, and the importance of quality ingredients. She also taught you that the best gift you could give is a dessert, one that requires your time and attention.

Besides wanting to be a welcoming neighbor, baking provides you with a necessary distraction to your nefarious thoughts about the new neighborhood DILF. Were these cookies for him, sure, but it proved to be quite a successful deterrent from your naughty thoughts, allowing you the space to fully engross yourself in the task of making the dough, folding in the chocolate chips, rolling the batches into little balls, and spacing them out evenly on the tray before popping them in the oven.

After a couple of hours, the cookies now cool, and the warm autumn sun begins to set. Your home smells of warm sugar, a nostalgia that brings a smile to your face. You peek out the window and notice the moving truck is now gone, and figure now was as good a time as any to introduce yourself.

You neatly package the goodies into their designated container, draw on your oversized flannel and shoes, and begin your brief trek across the street. As you begin walking down your porch steps you’re hit with a wave of nervousness, your stomach does backflips and your heart beats faster. Get it together. You take several deep breaths and hold onto the cookie container a little tighter before continuing on your mission. Why are you such a nervous wreck? I mean, it’s just some guy, you (unsuccessfully) try to reason with yourself.

Reaching the front door, you knock– tap, tap, tap. A brief moment passes, and the door opens, leaving only the space of the doorframe between you and a young girl with wide, curious eyes and beautiful curly brown hair staring back at you.

“Hi there, I’m your neighbor across the street,” you say, gesturing towards your own home, “I wanted to introduce myself – I brought you some cookies, just a little something to say welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Cookies! Ah sweet, I love cookies - what kind?” she asks, not at all trying to hide her fairly obvious interest for them and less in you.

“There’s chocolate chip and a few snickerdoodles,” you reply, giving her an amused smile.

Her father, the devastatingly handsome one, makes his way up behind her and stands in the doorframe, halfway inside and halfway onto the porch where you stand. He was a sight to behold up close: dark hair that had a loose curls and a beard, both lightly dusted with some grays, chocolate brown eyes you could drown in, a mustache that perched atop plush lips.

He’s muscled in the shoulders and arms, which act as a nice compliment to his soft torso. He had the kind of physique that came from hard labor, which only fuels your attraction to him more.

If this were a cartoon, you were sure your eyes would be bulging out of their sockets in the shape of hearts.

“Oh, uh–hi,” you say, perhaps an octave too loud. “I was telling your daughter here that I brought over some cookies, you know, as a welcome gift,” you pause, realizing you hadn’t even introduced yourself. “I’m your neighbor, I live just across the way,” you say, nodding to your house. You turn back to face him and fidget with your hair. Through a nervy smile, you manage to give him your name.

“I’m Joel, this here’s Sarah,” he says, voice gruff and smooth at the same time. He holds out his hand to shake yours. You hope he wouldn’t notice how sweaty your hand is; maybe it’s the nerves, or the still-sticky Texan air, despite it being October. Probably both.

His palm is warm; worn and calloused in some places, but firm and inviting. You couldn’t help but gawk at how small he made your hand feel in his. He releases your grip; bringing you out of your brief trance, and your eyes once again meet.

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Joel and Sarah,” you smile and hold out the container of cookies for Joel to take. Before he can even reach up to grab them, Sarah already has her hands on them and has run back into the house, murmuring something that sounds like thanks as she does.

He had just met you, but Joel couldn’t deny how much he likes hearing you saying his name in your gentle, nectarous voice.

Your hands now empty, you nervously interlace your fingers and twirl your thumbs, unsure of what to say next. Joel’s eyes take note of the smudge of flour on your cheek – cute. He also notices the flour in the cleft of your cleavage, but he tries not to make that fact obvious. The flour between your breasts stares back at him, but he collects his composure, averting his gaze back to you. He should point it out to you, he thinks, but you seem shy and he doesn’t want to embarrass you, or scare you away from wanting to come over again.

“‘Preciate the cookies, sweetheart,” he says, voice low. His eyes stay glued to your face. You avert your eyes downwards and cross your arms, buckling under the weight of his gaze. You felt your cheeks and chest grow hot at his use of sweetheart.

“I’m just – uh,” you trip over your words, nervous, “I’m just across the street if you need me,” you offer, giggling at the suggestive way that sounds, “you know, like a cup of sugar or anything like that,” you add.

Joel nods in reply, edges of his mouth coming up in a smirk as if to acknowledge your kindness, being careful not to full on grin in amusement of his apparent effect on you.

“Same to you,” he says before closing the door, perhaps eyeing you a moment too long as you walk away. He turns to enter the house, only to find Sarah staring at him, cookie in hand, and a knowing grin on her face.

“Why didn’t you tell her she had flour all over herself?” she asks, teasing, like she could already tell he was embarrassed to admit the truth.

“Did she? Hmm, didn’t seem to notice,” he says, trying to hide the lie behind a weak cough, before walking away, cheeks obviously flushed.

Back in the safety of your own home, you come to a still with your hand pressing on the door, reeling from your interaction with Joel. You were wired up, buzzing with arousal and nerves.

And God, the way he called you sweetheart.

You replay the moment over and over in your head, not wanting to forget his Texan twang or the way he looked at you when he said it. You could have died, right then and there. You let your mind run wild, thinking of all the things you wanted to do with him, what you wanted to do to him.

Needing to relieve the throbbing ache in between your legs, you decide a shower is in order. When stepping into your bathroom, you catch yourself in the mirror. You were mortified at the discovery of the flour on your face and chest. You had been so engrossed with baking the cookies and too anxious about taking them over to Joel’s that you failed to give yourself a once-over in the mirror before heading out the door. The arousal you felt temporarily held precedent, you’d process your embarrassment later.

You step into the steamy shower and touch yourself, thinking of Joel. You shove two fingers inside your pussy, imagining they were Joel’s long, thick, dexterous fingers.

Little did you know Joel was having his own feelings about your little introduction.

Several of his new neighbors come to introduce themselves in the coming days, under the guise of welcoming him and his daughter, but in reality, they wanted to get scoop on who they were. Where had they moved from, what prompted the move, we’re they planning on staying short-term, what did he do for a living, was there a Mrs. Joel Miller? And once they found out he was a contractor, there were a whole other set of questions of “would you mind taking a look at my ____”.

He liked the neighborhood, and while the people were nice and seemingly mean well, Joel begins to feel irritation at the consistently prying questions, annoyed that people felt like they were entitled answers to begin with.

But you.

He was not expecting you.

Beautiful, endearing, kind eyes, a smile he thought could end wars. You had been sweet and respectful, and didn't appear to have ulterior motives. It made his heart palpitate and sent blood rushing somewhere he knew it shouldn’t. You were young, too young and sweet, too sweet for a man like him.

Then he saw how you stared at his hands, grew warm and shy when his gaze had lingered too long on you.

That night, with Sarah tucked into bed, he grabs one of the snickerdoodle cookies, Sarah insisting that he save all of the chocolate chip ones for her, but he doesn’t mind; snickerdoodles are his favorite.

He bites into the soft cookie, his eyes fluttering shut as he does, an involuntary reaction to the sweet, perfectly soft texture. He lets out a moan, the kind that is elicited when tasting something delicious.

And the fact that you made them? The thought sends blood straight to his dick.

Joel, in inner turmoil, was trying to resist the temptation to touch himself to the thought of you. God, if your cookies were this good, so sweet and fluffy, how good would you taste.

The thought consumes him, the temptation too strong.

He polishes off more than three of the cookies, before heading to shower. That night he takes his cock in his fist to the thought of you, and your stupidly delicious fucking cookies.

Joel was a gentleman, sure, but he was also a man.

And the best way to get to a man’s heart?

Through his stomach.

THE END

#joel x f!reader #joel miller #neighbor!joel x f!reader #first fanfic #joel fic #joel x reader #joel miller is babygirl #joel fanfic #reader insert #fluff #smut

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madame-fear · 7 months ago

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𐙚 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒.

part one | part two.

ೀ amira speaks! : pretty much self-indulgent. kinda based on the song “shameless” by camila cabello. for some reason,, i adore the idea of older brother!Matías being your emotional support coach AHSHDJK ˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : jealousy can terribly fog your clarity, becoming oblivious to the way your best friend — who also happens to be your crush — feels about you. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 2.3k.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : friends to lovers, fluff, a bit of oblivious mutual pining. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Francisco Romero x Recalt!Reader. ( this part is mostly about Matías encouraging you to talk to Fran about your feelings lmao )

If there was one particular thing you were undoubtedly good at, was at gnawing your own mind continously with jealousy.

Jealousy was the worst of your enemies— one you knew well, and dreaded the most. With the sappy feelings that appeared the moment you had a new crush, along came the bitterness jealousy and insecurity. At the slightest situation where you felt as if you were about to lose an opportunity with your new crush, jealousy immediatly took a toll on you.

It didn’t feel easy to deal with it, leading you to avoid every situation that could potentially be overwhelming— but sometimes, it was inevitable to be faced with those situations that piqued the familiar sensation of bitterness.

Gods, now you wondered why you had decided to go to a big party with Fran instead of doing something else together? But it wasn’t like you could be in control of every single situation surrounding both of you, or even control your own emotions, anyways.

You met Fran the very first time you went to visit your older brother, Matías, in the filming set of “La Sociedad de la Nieve”. You had met all of your brother’s cast mates, but the blonde haired Argentine was the one you clicked the most with— his endearing, loving & charismatic personality was captivating, and it didn’t take long until he became your closest best friend... And your crush, too.

Everyone around you noticed the intense crush you had on Fran. Matías particularly always teased you by mentioning that you were quite blatant with your feelings, and while you tried to dismiss his sayings, it was true— it was as if you nearly had heart eyes for the blonde, giggling and smiling to yourself at the slightest glimpse you caught of him.

Your brother insisted that Fran felt the same way towards you, that it was more than obvious he was enamoured with you, but you vehemently denied it. The idea of him reciprocating your feelings seemed impossible, and with each passing day, the thought of it was even more farfetched.

Now, you felt at the brink of losing your shit. The only thing that constantly replayed on your mind was the — practically abrupt — showcase of emotions you had after seeing Fran talking closely and laughing with another girl at a party you both attended, only to then lie about not feeling quite well, and dragging him out of there with you.

Ever since, you couldn’t get the image of him and another girl out of your mind, and you had barely texted him. The rational portion of your mind argued that the interaction between them meant nothing; it was just a friendly, casual conversation. Besides, Fran could befriend and talk with whomever he desired— you shouldn’t even be getting in the way.

But the irrational portion of your mind, which seemed to win a greater part of your thoughts, overwhelmed you with the idea of him fancying someone else, feeling as if the slight opportunity you had to be with him slipped away from your hands.

Faint breeze constantly hit against your features. Quietly, you sat on a chair you placed in the balcony of your apartment, having fixed your gaze on the sky that contained a rich orange tone mixed with a rosy haze. The silence of the moment while you drowned in your own thoughts was suddenly interrupted when you heard your phone ringing on your pocket.

Taking the phone out of your pocket, staring quickly at the screen, you saw your brother calling you. Most of the time you texted each other, only calling or getting called if there was an emergency, or anything urgent at all. “Yes?” you picked up the call, awaiting him to speak— you supposed something must’ve happened for him to call you out of nowhere.

Brief silence loomed from the other side of the line.

“Code Blondie,” for some reason, you could almost hear him smiling while speaking. Code Blondie was the code you both agreed you’d use to start a conversation about Fran, or refer to him discreetly in public. It was a silly little thing you had always done with your brother, as he was the one you gushed about your crushes with, and the one you vented to about your heartbreaks.

Inhaling deeply,, you then released a loud sigh. The bitter, almost poisonous feeling of your own thoughts dreadfully consumming you had returned, after fading away for several seconds. The mere mention of anything related to him bought you back to how you had been feelings the previous days, and at the current moment. You furrowed your eyebrows, and before you could even respond, he continued.

“Somebody’s been asking for you,” Matías was definitely smiling to himself while talking from the other side of the line. “Your boyfriend seemed almost desperate. He said he was concerned about you.” you placed your arm on the armholder of the chair, using your fist to hold your face.

You thought you had been behaving as normal as you could with Fran, because for some reason, you could barely be with, or talk to him without remembering what you saw, or even getting your toxic feelings hauntingly coming back to you. You weren’t mad at Fran, were you? You didn’t even know why you would be mad at him... You should be mad at yourself for acting this way. One thing you knew, was that you felt confused about everything.

“What... What do you mean, concerned about me?” you inquired, remaining with your eyebrows furrowed. “Matías, what did he tell you?” a scoff was heard coming from your brother. You felt that awaiting for his response was an eternity— the moment itself felt like an eternity.

While you were still troubled yourself at the hands of your own bitter jealousy, you did feel worried about having accidentally made Fran feel bad without him even knowing what he did for you to react this way. Perhaps you hadn’t been so discreet, after all.

“Fran told me, he was afraid you might be angry at him and asked how you had been doing... For some reason?” instead of having been debating to yourself whether or not to tell your brother about this, you should’ve done it straight away, and you would surely have avoided yourself a great deal of this upcoming conversation. You always told Matías literally everything, but you hadn’t told him about this moment.

“Now I need to know, what the fuck happened between the two of you? I didn’t even know what to answer him!” he asked in a teasing manner, “You didn’t tell me about this one, sis.” no, you hadn’t. All you could do, was pinch the bridge of your nose as you closed your eyes. Sooner or later, you would have to get your shit together and toss your own emotions through the window as well.

You wouldn’t have expected Fran to ask your brother about you, and to think you were angry at him. If anything, you were only angry at yourself for acting in such a childish way. Not only you dragged him out of that party with the excuse that you weren’t feeling well, but also fell practically silent the entire ride back to your home, and dismissed any help he offered. Fuck— jealousy ruined you.

“No, I didn’t. I’ve been gnawing my own mind with stupid little thoughts and forgot to tell you.” you replied honestly, rubbing your face out of frustration, before allowing the weight of your head to fall against your palm. “Oh God, this situation is so stupid— but remember the other day, that I told you that I was going out with him to a party?” Matías hummed in response, allowing you to continue.

“Well... To summarise it, I lost him amidst the crowd at one moment, and when I found him, he was talking closely and laughing with another girl...” your words drifted off for a second, “I got jealous, so I told him that I wanted to go home because I wasn’t feeling well and dragged him away with me,” now that you told Mati about the situation, you felt slightly embarrassed about your abrupt display of emotions over something so small and silly.

“I kind of fell silent the entire ride back home, and... barely spoke to him ever since, because I can’t help but constantly think about him being with another girl.” as soon as you finished explaining, you nibbled your lower lip anxiously. No matter how silly the situation was, you found comfort everytime you remembered that your brother was sort of your emotional support coach.

Matías scoffed after you finished talking. Gods, you were oblivious.

“Sos re boluda mal, vos.” you were used to having Matías call you like that playfully. You teasingly called him “boludo” and “pelotudo”, and instead, he called you the same way. In response, you rolled your eyes. “Seriously, how oblivious can you be about it?” his tone seemed a bit more serious, making you attentively listen to him, curiously.

“Can’t you see how enamoured he is for you? Woman, he stares at you with heart eyes— and you got jealous because he spoke with another girl for a short while?” you shook your head, muttering a soft “no” under your breath. Perhaps Matías was trying to make you feel less bad, but the idea of Fran reciprocating your feelings didn’t fit in your head— you were in a vehement denial.

“Mati, no. I don’t think Fran sees me that way—” before you could continue objecting against his statements, Matías interrupted you. “My God, you are blind. EVERYONE from the set knows, and can see, that he looks like a little schoolgirl in love whenever you’re around.” you fell silent, as a rosy haze spread across your cheeks. “We tease him all the time about you. Somehow, Fran manages to bring you up in every possible conversation topic we have with him.”

The only thing you could do, was remain silent as he spoke. Matías never lied to you about a single thing— and you doubted he would be lying to you about this particular situation, which was something you knew you were wholeheartedly serious about. Besides, he knew what he was talking about. Hearing him talk about this felt enlightening, in a way— the mental fog blinding your clarity fading away.

“Ask any of the other boys about this, and they will tell you the exact same thing I’m telling you now.” he continued, “The man smiles to himself and becomes flustered at the slightest mention about you, or glimpse of you!” it truly was unbelievable how oblivious you were to the situation.

“Besides, can’t you see how painfully clingy Fran is witu you? I once teased him by telling him that I would kick his ass if he tried anything funny with you. He’s an idiot who won’t stop talking about you, and fixes his stare on you whenever you’re near.” Matías scoffed, making you helplessly smile to yourself.

“You nearly had him crawling on his hands and knees, all afraid of having made you upset— and you are beating yourself wondering if he feels the same?” maybe your brother was right. Your brain had a thing to make obvious things escape from you. A sigh of relief spurred from your lips, feeling a burden on your back immediatly disappear. “I think you might be right, Mati. But what do I even do now?”

“Of course I’m right. I always am.” a cocky piece of shit, he was— but a good emotional coach, and brother, for sure. “What you’re going to do now, is you are going to hang up on me, and you will send Fran a message immediatly telling him you want to see him.” you sighed, shaking your head. How would you do that? It felt terribly awkward to send him a message out of nowhere, telling him you wanted to see him.

“And say what, exactly? “Sorry for being distant, I felt jealous because you slightly paid attention to another girl that wasn’t me?””

“Yes.”

“No! Matías, I can’t do that—”

“Shut up, yes you can. Say it just like that, or find a polite way of doing it, whatever.” you wished you could be as shameless as your brother was. “Don’t fret too much, Fran will probably find it endearing.” before being able to protest about anything, he continued to speak. “Anyways, I already told him to send you a message because you were free today and wanted to meet with him, so he surely beat you to it already.”

“You fucking did what?!—”

“Yeah, I did. Bye, good luck, and let me know how it goes!” the phone clicked. He hung up before you could threaten to strangle him.

As a soft click sound was heard from the phone line, you took your device off your ear. You adored your brother to no end, he always knew how to motivate you to do things you were afraid of doing— but this time, you felt as if you had been pushed right into confronting Fran about your feelings.

The phone vibrated on your hand. You had new text messages.

Unlocking your phone, you scrolled downwards on the screen to check all the notifications you had. And just like Matías had predicted, you had three new messages from Fran. The pounding of your heartbeat increased abruptly, almost as if you could spit your heart right out from your mouth.

Frani 🧚‍♂️💗: gooordiiiis Frani 🧚‍♂️💗: are you free right now? Frani 🧚‍♂️💗: Mati said you were, and I would like to spend some time with you 💘

Fuck. If you could teletransport to where youe brother was, you would repeatedly, and very violently, hit him in the face with at least a pillow for pushing you into this situation. You couldn’t avoid the blonde haired Argentine for ever, and why were you avoiding him for something related to your own feelings, anyways?

But, considering all the things your brother had just told you, and him being the person you trusted the most— perhaps, this was your opportunity to free yourself from all the things picking on your mind. And hopefully, they would go as planned.

◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` taglist .ᐟ

@luceracastro @castawaycherry @creative-heart @cyliarys-starlight @deepinsideyourbeing @chiquititamia @koiibiito @lastflowrr

#彡 ꒰ ✒ amira writes ; francisco romero.── ꒱#francisco romero fluff #fran romero x reader #fran romero fluff #fran romero one shot #francisco romero one shot #lsdln cast #lsdln x reader #matias recalt x reader #francisco romero x reader

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projectbluearcadia · 5 months ago

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[P2] Heart of Blue

NSFW Lucifer x GN!MC Spice Rating - 4/4 ; BDSM Rating - 0/3

[ Part One ] [ Part Two ]

soft!Lucifer really can't express how much he loves you. With words, I mean.

CW - Unprotected sex I guess.

Wordcount - 1892

smutty notes (consult if you haven’t read my smut before.)

“Mm… ignore it,” Lucifer mumbles as he kisses your neck softly, rubbing your stomach as he watches you fill a nonogram over your shoulder. Classical music pervades his room quietly, something by some composer he probably gassed on about for hours without realizing you stopped listening. You weren’t really sure why or how most of his records could be “cursed” when they sounded so nice most of the time (there were exceptions).

“It’s kind of hard not to notice,” you chortle, turning to look back at him a little, and he takes the opportunity to peck your cheek. You decide you made the right call when you said you wanted to cuddle in his room, all considered.

“I believe in you,” he chuckled back, kissing your shoulder. “Don’t want to spoil the moment.” Like that would spoil anything. I know that’s part of how you show love for me, and shame on you for thinking otherwise.

“You’re not spoiling anything, Lucifer,” you reply as you turn off your D.D.D. and turn around to face him, surprising him in the process. You cup his cheeks in your hands, purposely rubbing against his hardened length. “I love every part of you, and that includes this part.” You kiss his neck. “Especially this part,” you add, nibbling on his skin a little, and he pulls you closer.

“Even when you’re not in the mood?” he murmurs, running his hand through your hair and sending pleasant prickles against your skull, a little tingly in the upper portion of your spine. I could stay like this forever, you catch yourself thinking as Lucifer’s gentle touch reveres you, his body warm and comfortable as it presses tight against yours.

“Someone is awfully insecure today,” you chuckle, kissing his lips briefly. “Yes, honey. Even if I argue with you because of it, I still love sex with you.” He kisses you instead this time, much longer, gently prodding at your mouth as he does so. You let him in almost automatically, only later thinking you could have teased him a little more.

Lucifer’s hands rub your sides up and down as you rub his shoulder and his face, your tongues lazily playing sumo as you take turns exploring each other’s mouths. Memorizing every little twitch, every little sound, every squeeze as if you both might disappear in the next instant. The soft, squishy noise of the deep kisses you share feel louder than the music or your heavier breathing. There’s no rush in his movements, and yet as he strokes your butt, languorously squeezing it, you find yourself feeling more and more ready…

Your fingers settle onto Lucifer’s third button down, the first one to be closed, and you push it through. The fourth, the fifth, and Lucifer’s hand wanders under the back of your shirt, tracing up and down your spinal column, making you shiver in delight.

“Love you,” Lucifer mumbles against your lips, and you softly giggle between kisses.

“Sappy…mn…Love you too.” You brush his shirt off his arms, taking your time to rub and stroke his chest, raising your arms as Lucifer stripped your upper half and paused in kissing you to lay his head against your sternum.

“Mm… cute,” he mumbles, and you mess your hands into his hair, letting yourself enjoy the silken feel of it.

“No, you,” your reply playfully, and Lucifer lightly rolls his eyes before he lifts his head up, tracing his thumbs against your sides.

“You’re not going to win this battle, honey,” he snickers, even as you swat his fingers when he makes as if to tickle you. He looks up at you, wounded, and for the moment your guard slips, he briefly tortures you until you squirm, making you laugh.

“Stop it!” you squeal, and he smirks in his silly triumph.

“See? You’re the cute o—” he manages to get out before you make him gasp in surprise before a pleased groan leaves his mouth as you reach down to stroke his bulge with your hand.

“Sure about that?” you ask, a little too cocky, and Lucifer gives you that stupid smile that says he’s up to no good. You’re soon proven right as your attempt to embarrass him is rewarded with his hand in your own trousers, his mouth right next to your ear.

“Two can play that game,” he whispers, stroking your sex lovingly and making you gasp and twitch at the intrusion. In revenge, you open up his belt, then his trousers, letting out soft sounds in the process as he strokes you faster like he’s trying to see when you’ll lose your focus (He was getting close to that point). It only occurs to you that he still has the upper hand as you stroke him properly; his lips are still right next to your ear. And, ergh, his soft, low moans are killing you.

“Fuck you,” you rasp, panting as he brings you closer and closer. So close! Please! Please don’t stop!

“Aw, do you want to be on top today so you can fulfill that promise?” Lucifer coos at you, and although he’s a little condescending about it, it’s not hard to tell that it’s a genuine question.

“Ah, hah,” you gasp out, clutching his shoulder and his dick harder as his hand moves faster to finish you off. “Luci… Lucifer.” He groans, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck, bucking his hips against your hand in his own need.

“What’s…” His breath stammers against your ear, and you feel his eyelashes flutter against the side of your head. “...wrong, MC? Can’t tell me whether you want to be on top or not?”

You, of course, can’t really reply because you’re in the process of orgasming, and a little too busy groaning and panting as you make a mess on Lucifer’s hand and the inside of your underwear. Fortunately, you’re not the only one, because Lucifer isn’t far behind as he moans your name. Yes, just like that, say it like that, you naughty demon…

“Ah!” you cry in surprise as his blazing hot seed hits your lower belly, running down into the opening in your pants created by his hand. Your pants, too, now have his milky white seed sinking into the fabric. He came a lot… you think, feeling your face warm at the sight before you glance back at Lucifer’s somewhat embarrassed expression.

“Sorry. I’ll clean your pants later,” he mumbles, as he retrieves his wet hand from your pants, not seeming to notice that he’s still dribbling little pearls from the head of his reddened penis. I don’t even know whether that’s hot or cu— you think before you watch him slide his tongue against his fingers slowly, closing his eyes as if he were savoring every drop of your release. And he probably is, which just serves to turn you on even harder.

“Lucifer,” you say shakily, trying to stop yourself from, from… well, possibly assaulting him in a fit of cuteness aggression or going down on him or biting him or something. “Please… Please just hurry up; I don’t care who’s on top. I want to be connected to you.”

“Mm…” He leans his head against your forehead, closing his eyes. “Does tasting you more count?” Dammit, don’t tempt me.

“No,” you rasp, and he gently chuckles as he stands you up, taking off your trousers as you almost viciously shove his down his waist, leaving both of you naked. In another second, he has you scooped up with his arms circled around your thighs as he kisses you. He always makes me taste myself, I swear to… you think, trying not to laugh while you cringe a little.

“Did I already say I love you?” Lucifer asks as he kindly sets you down onto the bed, lightly pushing you down as he pulls himself on top of you. He cups your cheek, circling his thumb against your cheekbone, and you reach up to take his face into your hands.

“Yes, darling, and I’m holding the world in my hands, you cute thing.” Despite the fact that it’s cheesy, Lucifer blushes all the same as you peck his lips again, as he leans into your touch, and before you can tell him to hurry up, he slides the hand on your cheek down your body, his fingers capturing his seed in the process as he drags them down, down to your stroke your sex. He mixes his release with yours, kissing your cheek as he tenderly rubs his fingers into your hole, stretching you carefully before he guides his cock inside you.

“MC…” he sighs against your neck as he bottoms out, and you wrap your arms and legs around him like a sloth. He lightly rocks his body against yours, leaving you tingling as you press against each other. “I want to stay like this forever…”

“Me too,” you agree, squeezing him in your arms, and you do remain in that position, slowly breathing and enjoying each others’ presence. He really is something else when he starts getting sentimental… you find yourself thinking with a smile as you nudge his hips with yours, coaxing him into moving.

“So impatient,” he chortles as he brings his head up from the crook of your neck. Though, he doesn’t seem that bothered as he starts to leisurely thrust into you like he doesn’t feel needy at all as his soft pants and grunts rush against your lips. Your hips match his, meeting each and every jolt, both of your lips parting as eager moans slip out of your mouths.

“Lucifer,” you groan, and he snaps one hand over yours, pinning it to the bed, his other hand squeezing your hip as your bodies rock against the bed. Your breaths grow shorter, shorter, your voice letting out shaky cries of your lover’s name. “Lucifer, Lucifer… ugh, Lucifer!” And you’re not the only one.

“MC, MC, MCMCMCMC,” he practically babbles out desperately. “Fuck, I’m going to… don’t want to yet. J-Just a little longer…”

“Mn, no,” you whine. “Now, please. I can’t…Lucifer!” You blink stars out of your eyes as Lucifer slams into you even faster until you have no choice but to scream his name while you come undone. “LUCIFER!”

“MC!” A string of curses spill from his lips as he climaxes through your orgasm, panting and dropping his head before he covers your face in kisses. You can feel his warm release leaking around his length, but he doesn’t seem inclined to remove himself from you. “Fuck, I really wanted to get two orgasms out of you before I came,” he grumbles a little, and you snort as you pat his back with the hand he's not holding.

“It’s not a competition.” Although I suppose with the Avatar of Pride, everything is a competition, you think dryly.

“No, but I wanted to focus on you more…” he mumbles. I stand corrected.

“Well…” you muse, reaching your hand up to fluff his hair, and he hums at the contact. “The night is still young.” Lucifer smiles sweetly as he takes hold of the hand in his hair and kisses your palm, staring at you with fond eyes. It’s not fair for you to be adorable and sexy at the same time.

“Indeed, it is,” he remarks pleasantly, “Indeed, it is.”

#this will be the night he cries #out of happiness #obey me lucifer #obey me shall we date #fanfiction #obey me!#shameless self indulgence #obey me #lucifer brainrot #obey me lucifer smut #lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me fluff #soft lucifer

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i-can-read-to-him · 2 months ago

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The Wesper Fic Club's Author Spotlight is a post series that aims to feature two to three fic authors a month, randomly selected from a pool of names put forth on our server. The authors are then asked to answer three interview questions, select up to five of their fics for us to feature, and finally, recommend three fics by others in the fandom.

(Note: Our spotlighted fics are not limited to Wesper, though they tend to be a central pairing in most of our authors' featured works.)

This week, we are putting a spotlight on Blackpearl's writing!

Socials: @magicandpizza (Tumblr) | Blackpearl (AO3)

❀

Part One: Author Interview

Q: When did you first start writing? What keeps you going today?

A: I honestly don’t remember when I started writing, but I was very young. I have vague memories of writing some little stories inspired by Beatrix Potter, and at one point I was convinced I was going to write the fifth Harry Potter book. I don’t recall anything else about that one apart from the title - Harry Potter and the Silver Snitch. What was the plot? Who knows. My first serious fandom was Pirates of the Caribbean, followed by Spooks and BBC Sherlock. I had some of those fanfics published on AO3, but they’ve long since been orphaned. I then didn’t write anything for years and years until I fell into the Six of Crows fandom. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Q: Have you had a chance to interact with the SAB cast? Tell us about your experience(s)?

A: I’ve been lucky enough to meet Jack Wolfe a few times by stage-dooring at Next to Normal, once at the Donmar and three times at Wyndhams. He’s such a genuine, down-to-earth person who really loves his fans. And his eyelashes? Rude. I also met Kit Young after his show Influence. It was about two days after the cancellation announcement and we had a chat about that, as well as what had drawn him to doing a magic show. He was very kind and generous with his time. I’m attending Into The Fold 2 next year - it’ll be my first ever convention so I’m excited for that and the opportunity to meet some more of the cast!

Q: What’s something you wish you could write, but don’t think you ever will?

A: I really wish I was one of those authors who could craft incredible and intricate plot lines, but I never have been and I don’t think I ever will be. I’d love to be able to write a heist or something complicated like that, but all my attempts are half-hearted at best. I should probably just stick to what I do best: fluff and smut.

❀

Part Two: Selected Works

Don't Do Sadness

Mature | 3.1K (Complete) | Wesper 5+1, Wylan Van Eck and his trauma, Violence, Extremely dubious consent (not Wesper)

Blackpearl says: Mind the tags on this one. I really wanted to explore Wylan’s trauma at different ages and how he might cope with it, and also take a step away from the usual stuff I write. I’m very pleased with how this one turned out.

Sky Full of Stars

Explicit | 10.2K (Complete) | Wesper Famous/celebrity AU, Wylan is a musician, Jesper is an actor, mixed media fic

Blackpearl says: This was an idea I had percolating for a while, and I wanted to play around with writing different kinds of media. I feel this one is a bit under-appreciated but that’s fine, I had fun writing it.

We Keep This Dream Together

Mature | 33.1K (Complete) | Wesper Coffee shop/university AU, Loosely based on the UK education system, Wesper-centric featuring background Helnik and Kanej, Found Family

Blackpearl says: Who doesn’t love a coffee shop AU? This was very self-indulgent, but I had so much fun with it I’m working on a sequel!

Folding

Teen | 2.6K (Complete) | Wesper Jesper’s gambling addiction, Post-canon, Hurt/comfort

Blackpearl says: I don’t think Jesper’s gambling addiction gets addressed enough, and I wanted to explore what it might look like post-canon.

Tie Me Up

Explicit | 1.7K (Complete) | Wesper Shameless smut, Light bondage, Light dom/sub, bottom!Wylan, top!Jesper

Blackpearl says: It wouldn’t be me without a smut fic, and this is one of my favourites. Featuring slightly subby Jesper and slightly mean Wylan and a tie that neither of them will ever look at the same again.

❀

Part Three: Author's Recs

i’d marry you with paper rings by MaudeAlise

Teen | 11.3K (Complete) | Wesper, Helnik, Kanej Fluff, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Marriage Proposal

Blackpearl says: Just 11k words of Wylan and Jesper being stupidly in love and wanting to marry each other. This fic makes me grin like an idiot every time I love it. Also just a general shout out to everything that MaudeAlise writes. I’m obsessed with them.

Obvious Lovebirds by perculiarjuliar

Teen | 11.6K (Complete) | Wesper, Helnik, minor Kanej POV Multiple, Fluff, Heartbeats, Holding Hands, Hickeys, Kissing

Blackpearl says: Six different outsider perspectives of Wylan and Jesper’s relationship. I love fics like this, and this author did such a great job of getting into the heads of the different characters.

Keep You Safe by @aphroditestummyrolls

Mature | 42.3K (Complete) | Wesper, Helnik, Kanej, Crows & Colm Post-Canon, Book & Show, Canon Divergence, Protective Crows

Blackpearl says: Six months post-canon in an alternate universe where Jesper took the jurda parem, and Matthias lives. Colm Fahey comes looking for his son. This fic is so so so good and made me feel so many things. I love the deep dive in Jesper and Colm’s relationship, as well as Jesper and Wylan’s. Just perfect.

❀

Please support our authors by commenting and leaving kudos on any stories of theirs you read and enjoy! Don't forget to also reblog this post and check back soon for our next author spotlight to come.

Interested in joining our server and getting to know our community? Feel free to request an invite via the @i-can-read-to-him ask box.

#magicandpizza #shadow and bone #six of crows #wesper #wesper fic club #author spotlight #wfc author spotlight #fanfiction #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #fic recs

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themculibrary · 16 days ago

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Irondad 100k+ Fics Masterlist

A Dysfunctional Senior Year (ao3) - ApolloLoki97 T, 177k

Summary: The chronicles of Peter Parker’s eventful Senior Year.

After moving in with the Avengers due to an unfortunate passing of Aunt May, Peter is living with a dysfunctional crew who he can’t help but love.

However, someone is threatening the Avengers and the safety of the world and those within it. It’s up to Peter and the rest of the team to figure out how to save the world, but most importantly, themselves.

How will this all play out?

A Parent Apparent (ao3) - happyaspie mj/peter T, 528k

Summary: In which the author indulges herself in some shameless Irondad/Spiderson with fluff, angst and everything in between because she needs more of that in her life.

Just another one of those, oh so overdone, fanfics where Tony and Peter’s relationship grows into more of a father/son relationship after an accident involving Aunt May (who lives)

Bend The Definition Of Fate (ao3) - Ashleyparker2815 N/R, 122k

Summary: Peter Parker is de-aged and goes to Tony Stark for help. Tony doesn’t know what to do at first but he eventually learns, with a few bumps along the way.

built from scraps (ao3) - peterstank pepper/tony T, 138k

Summary: “Everybody needs someone. That’s what you said, right?” Pepper meets his eyes and he’s struck by the way she’s almost pleading. “We both lost. We can help each other.”

Her hand, palm up and open, stretches into the space between them.

Peter hesitates.

Then he takes it.

or: the one where tony was dusted instead of peter, so he and pepper try to figure out the whole ‘family’ thing together.

(oh, and it turns out that the man who died in peter’s arms on an alien planet is his biological father. who knew, right?)

darkness will be rewritten (ao3) - princessironspider natasha/tony N/R, 109k

Summary: Peter is Tony's biological child.

Natasha Romanoff has been married to Tony Stark secretly for years.

What would the movies be like if this were the case?

From Now On (ao3) - buckleyirondad pepper/tony T, 201k

Summary: The Parker Family worked alongside the Starks since the creation of the company.

Following a tragic accident that leaves Peter Parker without a family, Tony goes against the pleas of the people closest to him and decides to adopt Peter. The duo fight against unpredictable odds as they enter a universe bigger than they truly understand. [Pre-Iron Man through to Endgame]

Identity Theft (ao3) - KitCat992 pepper/tony T, 244k

Summary: (Or: The Avengers welcome Peter into their crazy superhero family and will do anything to protect him.)

Shameless Peter whump and Protective Tony Stark.

Intern Spider (ao3) - Emily_F6 pepper/tony G, 126k

Summary: Penny Parker applied to the pilot Stark Industries internship program before she got her powers. But when Mr. Stark becomes her personal and superhero mentor, she’ll have to get creative to keep the two identities separate…and secret.

I Will Carry You (Always) (ao3) - TheStarvingWriter T, 163k

Summary: When Aunt May tragically dies in a car accident, not only is Peter crushed, but he blames himself for it as well. Luckily, there’s someone there to pick up the pieces, and just maybe, put them back together again. Featuring a self-deprecating yet fatherly Tony and a soft, scared Peter.

Lights To Guide You Home (ao3) - JolinarJackson M, 185k

Summary: Tony becomes Peter’s guardian after May dies unexpectedly and over the course of a year, they learn to become a family.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind (ao3) - Safari43271 p T, 171k

Summary: Peter coming back from the snap to find out Tony has his own kid really made him insecure about spending time with him and his old bad habits come back full force in order to cope with the changes. Even though he was excited to go visit him at the cabin for the weekend, the last thing he wants is to be a burden and take time away from Morgan.. after all he is her real dad.

Things didn’t turn out the way Peter or Tony had hoped for that weekend when one mistake on Tony’s part almost cost Peter his life.

*** When Happy finally spoke up his voice was sharp and panicked. “Tony, please, please for the love of god tell me that you have Peter with you! Or at least tell me he is somewhere in this building! Please just tell me that you have him!” Happy yelled as he clasped his hands together like he was praying. ***

Raise Me Up (ao3) - LBIGreyhound13 pepper/tony T, 124k

Summary: Takes place 10 months after Spider-Man: Homecoming. After Aunt May suddenly dies, Peter has nowhere to go. Luckily, there’s a certain mentor of his, who comes in to save him…in more ways than one.

Still Here, Still There (ao3) - ArwenP steve/tony N/R, 281k

Summary: Tony and Steve never think about having a child- until they do. They have their son, Peter, and then... everything goes to hell.

Now that they decided to keep their son away... what will happen to all of them?

The Guardian (ao3) - Emily_F6 pepper/tony T, 234k

Summary: Guardian: a person who guards, protects, or preserves.

When a terrible accident claims the life of May Parker, Tony Stark steps up as Peter’s guardian. But it’s not just a traumatized super-teen he’ll have to worry about when he receives a transmission from Thor.

The Puzzle that is Peter Parker (ao3) - Neuropsyche pepper/tony T, 279k

Summary: Peter is reeling from the after-effects of the spider bite and seeks out Tony Stark. If anyone can teach him how to be a superhero, it’s Ironman, right? Tony isn’t impressed at being stalked by an eight year old

The Third Option (ao3) - Uncertainty_Principle M, 220k

Summary: Homecoming A/U.

Ben and May divorced before Peter’s parents died, so when Ben is murdered Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway.

So he leaves.

Simple.

Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help. Peter isn’t about to turn down an opportunity to fight alongside Tony Freaking Stark, but he also isn’t going to let his hero know that his recruit is a fifteen-year-old homeless dropout. So they strike a deal. Peter will help Tony. In return, the mask stays on.

And that’s when things get complicated.

Time Will Tell (ao3) - TonyStarkissist pepper/tony T, 166k

Summary: So… some weird stuff is going on. First the dreams, then Peter calls him Dad, and now everyone is convinced Peter is his illegitimate son. What a day.

If only things could get even crazier… oh wait…

Walking The Wire (ao3) - emquin pepper/tony, steve/tony, mary/tony T, 372k

Summary: It was a one night stand and Tony had a lot of them, but this one changed everything. Tony always knew Peter Parker existed. He had no idea that Peter would become Spider-Man, but he kept tabs on his son, even when he couldn't meet him. Peter Parker grew up unaware of his superhero father, admiring Iron Man from afar and unaware that one day he would too become a super-hero - an Avenger. Spanning the entirety of the MCU , this fic covers a canonical view of what it would be like if Peter was Tony's biological son dwelving heavily into the canon. AU post-Infinity War with an AU version of Endgame and with a Stony endgame.

We’re Gonna Have to do This Together (ao3) - edibna T, 156k

Summary: Being a superhero sometimes means you forget about the small dangers in the world, like disease. For Peter, this means he loses May to natural causes, not something he could ever save her from.

Unknown to him, May left custody of Peter in the hands of Tony Stark, who, even though he wants kids, has no idea how to actually raise one. With a grieving superhero teenager on his hands, Tony is going to have to figure it out quick, if he wants Peter to ever be able to move on and be happy.

When I Am On Your Shoulders (ao3) - Lady_Blackwater steve/bucky, peter/johnny storm M, 165k

Summary: Peter didn’t want to think that this year was the worst of his life given he’s only sixteen— things could be much worse than his fathers getting a divorce. He can (kinda) deal with the two most important men in his life splitting up, but he hadn’t counted on living with his dad Steve, and his new boyfriend for the summer.

#themculibrary #marvel #mcu #masterlists #irondad #irondad masterlist #peter parker #tony stark #friendship #family

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soleilnomoon · 2 years ago

Text

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･titled — “lady(bug) killer.”

9k words (shh i know i know), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; angst city, there’s fluff somewhere somehow i think, smut obviously; shanks is a bully and an ass but that’s why we love him, reader has no self-preservation (when has she ever lbr); feat. cute stuff like making out, alcohol, some smoking, oral (f receiving), biting, reader being shameless; shanks is mean when he’s jealous and reader is equally as ridiculous, also benn beckman, yasopp, and lucky roux make a tiny cameo. anyway this was 1000% self-indulgent, but idc.

this is for @strawhatsoraya, and even though it’s *calculates* 7? months late ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ lmaooo i finished bb, a labor of love for u because i’m absurd and u enable me. don’t blame me for nothin, i did what i could!!! (if u see typos/grammatical errors no u didn’t.)

DELUSION X IS X INEVITABLE

the seas are not, and never have been, kind — nor are they patient. weakness is rarely tolerated, so to combat that, to give yourself some semblance of strength, you tell yourself stories in the hopes of extracting a bit of courage. there’s one in particular that you like to tell yourself when things get to be a little too much.

it’s about the impossible love between the sun and the moon — the two seemingly trapped in an endless cycle of cat and mouse, chasing one another across the skies for eternity.

golden-hued, dazzling, brilliant; a deity above all others with a kingdom as expansive as its reach — grand and all encompassing. the sun is a powerful, overwhelming force of nature, able to disrupt the earth as he sees fit, his heat infiltrating any crevice it can find with each new day. the stars serve as reluctant guides, leaving behind crumbs for the sun to follow. they’re much too quick, twinkle out of sight, and the moon is nowhere to be seen. she’s a shadow, a mirage, an entity that’s completely out of the sun’s reach no matter what he does.

the moon, in contrast, is serene when in rest, shimmering proudly in the dark sky — illuminating the seas for wayward sailors, dreams, and the like. calm, the epitome of grace, yet unyielding; forever dictating the tides as she sees fit. there’s a sharpness to her beauty; it’s cold and unapproachable — a single rare flower that blooms nightly in the sky, her spores a sweet poison that serves to ensnare unsuspecting stargazers, adding yet another devoted follower to her massive collection. a hopeless romantic deep down, admiring the blazing trail that the sun leaves behind. fear forces the moon to hesitate, never to embrace the sun’s brilliance and warmth.

despite being the biggest star hanging in the sky, the sun remains out of the moon’s reach; and despite priding herself on her uncanny ability to pluck the truth from anyone, she conveniently evades revealing her own dark truths.

the ocean is a reluctant playground, her mirror of truth; if the moon looks hard enough, she can see the golden light from the sun touching the water. if she hangs back, then maybe she might be able to grab onto some of that warmth. she’s always so cold. it’s evident in how she approaches life. her rage is frigid, hidden, forbidden from ever coming out; a stated beauty from afar, breathtaking and life changing up close.

everyone is too afraid to approach her; no one wants to risk her wrath — except the sun.

where the sun chases away his own shadows, the moon welcomes them. there’s poetry in the dance they do; a ballet in several parts — steps light and well-rehearsed, as the stars play a sweet, melancholic melody. it’s indescribable; a work of art fit to inspire the masses.

ascending along the expansive sky, the sun begins his rhythmic march, reveling in the sparkling remnants of light that moon has left behind. it’s always been said that the sun lusts after the moon, but it’s not quite as simple as that. the moon leads the dance — measured, practiced, perfect; while the sun clumsily follows along, sure-footed, and honest. a never-ending cycle of what ifs and maybes; a love affair that is in a deadly, hypnotic loop.

yours is a story about love, about life, and about losing bits of yourself in someone else.

shanks has always been fond of the sun, of its power, its size, and its impact on life; he’s always reached his arms out every morning, soaking up as much of the warmth and heat as he can, forever rejuvenated by its light. you have always favored the moon — its eerie silence, the way life seems to hold its breath for it, how you can gaze at it without consequence.

both of you are fueled by the whims of their love — the former a frenetic storm, hounding islands and ships, dangerous when provoked; the latter a frozen lake, one step and the ice cracks on the shallow surface, pulling bright-eyed victims deep under, freezing them from head to toe.

in stories of antiquity, the two never truly meet, but somehow in this story, you and shanks experience what may be considered the most difficult sort of love to bear. potentially ill-fated and destined to fail, you delude yourself into thinking that you can have the entirety of his heart and not suffer any consequences. there’s no greater love than the one you desperately want to attain and can’t; it’s an addicting cycle that neither of you want to break.

PASSION X NOT X PAIN

from your father you learn obstinance; it’s carefully woven into your daily routines, each stitch tighter than the last, the thread unbelievably strong even as it’s pulled taut underneath your skin. by the time it reaches your bones, you’re already well into adulthood, fragility and naivety carelessly discarded, the remains intentionally desiccated, crumbling underneath your feet as you navigate through life. a never-ending labyrinth of torment and desire, a hunger for the unknown gnawing continuously in the pit of your stomach.

from your mother you learn humility; a tradition, she tells you, but adds as an afterthought: an eternal obligation. it sits on your shoulders, weighing you down, making you question every decision and thought. you never say what you truly mean, never ask for the things you want; resentment lines the crevices of your teeth, dictating your tone and choice of words. your tongue a maestro, pushing out each phrase with purpose; every word pinpricks your skin — a dull, cumbersome pain chipping away at your sanity.

you become obsessed with spontaneity, rejecting routines, and deviating from the norm. they can never keep you indoors long enough; you’re usually climbing something, running somewhere — enticed by the possibility of adventure. you leave your hometown to travel across the grand line, staying on various islands for months at a time — to learn about regional dishes and cultivate your skills.

your heart, unfortunately, has always been a flighty thing — falling in and out of love, leading you down a treacherous path, one that leaves a deep scar you can’t seem to heal no matter what you do. still, you fortify yourself any way you can; it’s not permanent, but it does the job somewhat effectively.

like clockwork, you find yourself in the middle of a busy street, perusing the market. you look over a round, shiny apple before buying a few to take home. unbeknownst to you, your day will quickly derail, bringing about impossibly rash decisions on your part.

as usual, it takes forever to dock the ship; he doesn’t even bother yelling t the new recruits, because he’s trying to ignore the hangover that’s kicking his ass right now. yasopp is cackling off to his right, tears flowing freely as he recants drunken tales from last night. he’d love to join his friend in all that revelry, but there’s a pounding in his head that won’t quite go away.

shanks downs another cool glass of water before loudly announcing that they need to find provisions before heading to their next destination.

the island isn’t hard to navigate, so they wander until they reach the lively town. it’s when you’re fussing with a vendor over the outrageous price for a small bottle of seasoning, that shanks notices you for the first time. as someone who takes pride in swallowing a great deal of pain without complaint, he’s finding it very difficult to not rub his chest — to somehow calm down that foolish heart of his.

it’s doing things it’s never done before; beating much too loudly, making his thoughts scatter around — it’s bothersome and he doubts he has time to deal with it. he almost voices that very sentiment out loud, but is distracted by your smile, which makes him take another step forward. then you’re laughing, another ordeal for him to suffer through — your voice melodic and hypnotizing.

shanks rubs his eyes repeatedly, blinking away any residual fatigue; surely it’s the fault of the bourbon they drank, because he must be dreaming. it wouldn’t be the first time he’s mistaken a dream for reality, although this strangely feels real to him. he’s not sure if it’s the shape of your jaw, or the roundness of your cheeks, but there’s something wholly familiar about you. he frowns at that, brings his hand to his chest to rub the ache away. it’s beckman who catches up with him first, dark eyes landing on shanks for a moment before following his line of sight.

throat dry, head a little fuzzy, shanks asks, “do you see her?”

the question is absurd, but he has to know; and even though it takes a moment, beckman finally answers him. “yes,” he says, voice low but certain, “she’s real, captain.”

he has no need to shop for vegetables, but winds up at the same stall as you. if he wasn’t so damn obvious, you probably wouldn’t have said anything — except, he’s crowding your space a little too much; but when you turn to tell him off, you hesitate. there’s no reason for him to be that tall, no reason for his ruggedness to add to his overall attractiveness — enough to incite irritation, that makes your face burn and siphons all your logic. his voice is doubly offensive — deep, husky, and gravelly, touching parts of you that you don’t want to think about.

what starts as a friendly conversation — of him asking about local cuisine, of you giving him recommendations on dishes to try — somehow morphs into shanks teasing you as if he’s known you for much longer than ten minutes. you’re not normally this social, preferring to keep to your own so that you won’t be bothered by people in general. the townspeople are more than friendly, and a little too overwhelming to be around; yet you don’t mind talking to him and find that it’s nearly impossible to pull yourself away.

fear — of vulnerability and intimacy — threads itself around your fingers, makes your hands shake as you hold onto your bags.

eventually, you give in and grace him with your name. he says it a few times, mostly to himself and you dislike the way you stand there, listening to him — caught in a thick net, completely unaware that the fortress you’ve built over the years has completely fallen apart. a terrifying feat, you think; one that makes you want to run until your legs give out. intrigued by your stubbornness and insatiable curiosity, shanks decides to stay on the island a little longer. his crew doesn’t mind, they like the break. yasopp tries to pry for more information, but shanks simply says he wants to relax for a bit.

it doesn’t take long for them to chisel away at your reluctance, a friendship that buds and transforms quickly. against your better judgment, you grow fond of them — with their rowdiness and frank manner of speech, with their crude jokes and ability to turn any gathering into a large party. adventurers and treasure fiends, a group with monstrous strength, not the sort of people your parents would’ve expected you to hang around.

and maybe that’s why you hardly resist their charm — or, his charm, you should say. because that’s what it really is, much to your disapproval.

you offer to cook for them one night, and after the first bite shanks asks you to join his crew. your initial refusal is met with a frown on his part; he insists that you join them — one can never have too many chefs on board, and lucky roux has already taken a liking to you. still, you refuse; and when shanks asks you the following morning, you refuse again.

there’s no real reason why you keep saying no. it’s mostly because you like seeing how frustrated he gets, where he huffs about it all damn day, claiming you’ve broken his heart for the fiftieth time that week. the best part is how his crew mates make fun of him for being rejected by you again.

he takes it all in stride, though — laughing along with everyone else, ordering another round of drinks. as wary as the townspeople were by shanks’ presence initially, they’ve come to appreciate his generous patronage. it’s not often that pirates settle in a specific area for longer than a few days, but shanks is determined not to leave without you. he’s not exactly sure why he feels compelled to take you along, and while a few of his crew mates have some sound theories as to why that is, he ignores them completely.

it's beckman who manages to convince you after eating a third lemon square; he’s impressed by your talent for creating delicate and delicious pastries, even more so by the fact that shanks to enjoy eating them more than he should.

“he doesn’t really care for sweets,” beckman says carefully, sipping his tea slowly, enjoying the warmth wafting from the hot drink.

you know better than to ask, but the question rolls off your tongue anyway. “who doesn’t?” you feign ignorance, fuss with a stray curl, tugging and playing with it while he eyes you critically.

the vice-captain reminds you that you can only travel so far along the grand line alone; and he’s right, you came to terms with that a while ago. it’s an opportunity for adventure, and a chance to hone your skills.

“fine,” you say, while crossing your arms, leaning forward on your chair. “how much?” not that you really care about the money, but they’re pirates — notorious ones, at that — you won’t risk your life sailing with them if the reward isn’t worth it.

a small smile works its way onto his lips as he motions for you to scoot closer. you oblige without hesitation but end up hopping out of your seat when he whispers the amount in your ear.

“that’s a lot of fucking money.” you almost don’t believe it, but beckman isn’t the childish sort, nor does he lie for the sake of lying. you swallow hard and don’t bother acting coy. “when do we leave?” it’s not exactly the sort of job you’d place on a resume, but you can’t say you aren’t excited to traverse across the ocean.

shanks offers more gold than necessary, but you’re not one to complain, nor do you care about bleeding a pirate dry of his stolen treasure. he decides to spend one final night on the island, so naturally his crew throws a large feast in celebration. you doubt you’ll ever get tired of their impromptu parties, or the raucous way they laugh and sing, voices carrying out into the sleepy streets. the energy is addictive and hard to escape; you soak it all up, allow it to loosen your bones. you laugh and drink with the others but keep your distance from a certain red-haired captain. you’re not sure how to be around him, especially now that you’ve accepted his invitation after fighting him for so long about it.

it’s completely by chance that you spot shanks near the bonfire; you think you’re being subtle when you watch him from afar, admiring the way his throat bobs when he tilts his head back to down a full glass of liquor. the fire emits a deep glow, one that extracts a memory from the back of your mind — oranges and yellows draping over him, an enigma that will always remain out of your reach no matter how hard you try.

the truth of it sits on your tongue — raw and distressing — so you down a shot of whiskey and maneuver through the crowd of people to find a place to sit and rest.

yassop and lucky roux tease shanks mercilessly throughout the day, so much that he ends up smoking more than he means to. a light haze clouds his rationality, and he mumbles under his breath, which only makes them laugh louder, pointing out his plight for all to hear. no matter how much he denies it, or how much he tells them that they’re full of shit, the story remains the same: boss has fallen in love. it’s annoying, to say the least. just because he feels calmer whenever you’re around, and just because his heart continues to beat louder — heavy, relentless, and unsettling — doesn’t mean that he’s fallen in love with you.

if anything, it means he needs to get off this damn island quickly. “it’s probably something in the water,” he tells himself. no need to stay long enough to carry it with him elsewhere.

a few hours later, nearly everyone is passed out, either from drinking or eating or both — and shanks, unfortunately, can’t seem to sleep. neither can you. he finds you walking alone on the beach, sandals in hand, humming something soft and familiar. before he can even make his presence known, you look over at him and a smile tugs on your lips. you’re not sure what compels you, but the sight of him standing there, watching you like you’re some sight to behold — and if anyone asked him at that exact moment, he would say that yes, you are — invites a small warmth to circle around your chest. an irresistible flame that grows hotter the closer he gets.

OBSESSED X & X IRRITABLE

what starts as subtle flirting rife with teasing jokes and lingering touches, turns into something frighteningly intense. shanks routinely teases you in front of everyone, and while you’re embarrassed by it sometimes, you actually like it. there’s a push and pull, where you also have him backed into a corner that he can’t escape from with his sanity intact.

shanks starts being more bold when he touches you, kissing you randomly in hallways when no one’s looking, his hand roaming down to your ass and squeezing it playfully. the rush makes everything worth it; he likes the way you push him away, and you like the way he chases you. if he knew that you’d fallen in love some time ago, he’d never let you live it down. his touches make your skin hot and your head fuzzy, leaving you light-headed and wanting for more. after a few months, though, he’s still given you no indication on whether this is a casual thing or something more.

you’re too afraid to ask at this point, always losing your nerve when he sweet talks you late at night. you swallow back your questions, but they pile up eventually, until you can’t take it anymore. after that stunt he pulled in that pub, he drunkenly tells yasopp to make up a shirt for you that says “angry when wet” on the front. your face burns, both in anger and in embarrassment when you receive the gift, and shanks laughs loudly when you throw the shirt at his face. he confesses that he forgot he even asked for yasopp to do that, which only makes him laugh harder.

in a fit of fury, you tell shanks that you refuse to have sex with him and that he has to keep his hands to himself. for a month, at least. he figures you’re all talk and only agrees to it because you’re so determined and cute when you’re angry like that. when the others find out about the ban, they ridicule their captain mercilessly. he tries to act unaffected, but something about the way you insist on seeing this ban through rubs him the wrong way.

it’s been twenty-two — no, twenty-three — days, and you’re barely keeping it together. shanks thinks it’s hilarious that you believe he’ll cave before you do; and you’re determined to make him suffer. now granted, you are to blame for the predicament you found yourself in just a month prior — even now, you still suffer from that embarrassment — when shanks fucked you in the back of that dingy pub.

they’ve all taken to calling you ladybug — bug, for short; something shanks thought up in the moment, spurned by yasopp’s laughter at the matter. and despite fighting against it initially, the nickname grows on you. shanks appears every bit as unaffected as he always does, still flirting with you whenever he can, but respecting your wishes all the same. regardless of that, he still finds ways to get under your skin. it’s your hope that holding out will make shanks realize that he wants you in a deeper way than just physical intimacy.

you should just let him go and move on, but you can’t. he always pulls you back, always finds a way to make you smile — the warmth from his presence is enough to burn you alive most days — and you find yourself wrapped up in him without realizing. incidentally, shanks also can’t let you go, and never intends to anyway. he’s a selfish creature by nature, not cognizant enough to recognize his own role in that.

on a sleepy morning, you take your time and carefully bake pastries for the crew. last night you promised them something tasty and sweet — your specialty, really — and they’ve given you room to work without interruption. as a chef for the red-hair pirates, you take pride in your work; in feeding the crew, in ensuring that they eat well-balanced meals that give them strength and energy. shanks has always been in awe of your talent — your hands are delicate and exact, skilled laborers that make brilliant works of art whenever you’re in the kitchen.

you’re humming a nameless tune to yourself, cutting up strawberries neatly, as another person silently invades your small sanctuary. while you wash your hands in the sink, shanks approaches you and a sudden awareness makes you freeze. his body barely touches yours, but he reaches over you to crab a cup out of the cabinet above your head. given the difference in your height, it always seems like he’s crowding you without trying. although in this instance, he’s intentionally doing so.

a groan rolls out of your mouth, frustration eating away at the remainder of your patience. you’ve been giving him short answers lately, barely looking at him — although, that isn’t exactly true; you’ve stolen more glances than you can count over the past month — so whenever he can, he finds ways to tease you mercilessly.

“oops,” his hand lowers so he can rinse out the cup, “didn’t mean to interrupt you, doll.”

teeth sinking into your bottom lip, you count to ten, breathe out of your nose and smile tightly. “uh huh,” his body is still much too close for your liking, “just make it fast.”

a sly grin, one that you can’t see, drifts onto his lips. “you know i can never turn down a quick fuck.”

you slap his hand, make him drop the cup into the sink, and spin around to face him. your face burns painfully, the flush a permanent fixture now that he’s moved on from light teasing, to full out being insufferable around you. “shanks, enough.” you shove his chest, much to his amusement, his eyes gleaming with mischief, but you can’t exactly look at him properly, can you? and when you manage to get over a bit of your embarrassment, manage to look up at him through your thick, dark lashes, you struck by his stupidly handsome face. despite his rugged exterior, you know there’s a gentleness that periodically comes out when the two of you are together.

an unexpected ache plagues your chest and you ignore it; but you miss touching his scars, miss kissing him and being kissed by him. he already smells like smoke and bourbon, a scent that you’ve come to covet over the past few weeks.

belatedly, shanks realizes that he miscalculated; your beauty still takes his breath away, especially when you’re this close to him. his eyes drift along your soft, round features, linger on your plump lips — where he’s suddenly overcome with the desire to trace your cupid’s bow with his fingers — and stare a little too hard at your neck that’s been blemish free for a while. a shame, really, as he likes when your neck shows proof of his affection for you. if he’s not careful, he’ll get sucked back into your orbit; as always, your brown eyes — intense, unyielding, a fusion of dulce de leche and tree bark — keep him rooted in place. your dark, curly hair continues to remind him of a storm that he desperately wants to navigate alone.

caught in a daze, he almost forgets that you’re mad at him, until you roll your eyes and push past him. he watches you languidly, completely smitten with you all over again, eyes transfixed on your retreating form — round ass and thick, curvy hips captivating him entirely.

you stomp away and leave the pastries to their own devices, reeling over the fact that shanks had the audacity to say that to you. but as you keep walking, the brisk morning air whipping around you, you realize you’re not upset because he said it. you’re upset because he didn’t actually try to fuck you in the kitchen.

a shame, you know, but you can’t help the thought.

it’s becoming more and more apparent now that you might be the only one suffering from this ban. you decide you need a better plan, one that is strong enough to withstand shanks’ careless attitude, one that might just push him to the edge.

a childish impulse strikes you, and you opt to give him the silent treatment, which only further amuses him. he watches you lazily, grinning each time you turn your nose up and stomp past him. you make it so easy he doesn’t even have to try riling you up. you ignoring him isn’t much of a big deal — so he tells himself — but when he sees just how friendly the crew is with you, something sinister builds inside the pit of his abdomen and works its way up to his chest. when you head back to finish working in the kitchen, he tells his crew that he’s implementing a new rule.

“no one,” he says, after gathering everyone else, surveying his crew mates critically, eyes particularly landing on yasopp and benn beckman, “touches ladybug. understood?”

they all agree, although beckman, lucky roux, and yasopp pull him aside to ask what this new rule is all about. shanks being shanks, playfully waves them off and starts drinking instead. beckman exchanges wary glances with the others, but they don’t push the issue. every time you try to get closer to someone — whether it’s a crew mate, or an overly friendly resident of a sea faring town — he finds a way to sabotage, laughing as you eye him angrily, hands balled into small fists, which only makes him laugh more.

THREE’S X A X CROWD

part of your duties is to accompany the crew as they go into town to scope out any local fruits and vegetables that you want to try. you like talking with the townspeople, like getting their insight on their regional dishes. you just live for the thrill of creating new, exciting meals and want your crew mates to feel the love that you pour into everything you make for them.

on a particular island, the ship is docked far enough away to not attract too much attention. there aren’t any major navy bases nearby, but one can’t be too careful in the new world, can they? there’s a festival in town, one that they keep advertising for. you catch wind and want to go, but shanks decrees that only a portion of the crew is allowed to disembark, while the others stand by on the ship. too many pirates traversing through the island will set off alarms; thankfully, the island is partial to the patronage of pirates, so they aren’t too upset that shanks’ crew has docked there.

somehow, you’re part of the group designated to stay on the ship, much to your annoyance. you try to plead with beckman, even go as far as pouting your lips, but he doesn’t budge. “captain’s orders,” which seems to be the norm these days. and when he sees the way your shoulders drop, he says, a little quietly, “sorry bug.” you know they’re just going to drink and act foolish on land, so you wait and take your time dressing up. you have an actual reason for wanting to go into town; you need ingredients and don’t trust the others to shop properly for you, so you take matters into your own hands.

no one dares to stop you as you make your way off the ship; you tell the others you’ll be right back, and of course they believe you — why would you lie to them?

and you’re not lying, per se, you do want to get ingredients — although that isn’t your primary focus at the moment.

the festival is loud and seemingly merry with alcohol and food everywhere. thankfully the music makes the shitty alcohol taste better. shanks sits at a large table with the others, drinking, smoking, laughing as various people fawn over him and feed him cut up pieces of fruit. flirtatious by nature, he doesn’t even blink when they allow their delicate fingers to linger on his lips, or when they whisper things in his ear, or when they take turns to perch themselves on his lap.

for some reason, despite knowing that he should, he isn’t exactly stopping their advances.

guilt eats away at his crew mates at the sight of shanks on his usual path of self-destruction; yasopp tries to get him to see reason, beckman too, but he waves them off, saying he can do as he pleases. which only tells him that he’s still annoyed about you not talking to him properly these days. and, despite him not openly saying it, he’s suffering too.

you have fun watching the fireworks for a while, mesmerized by the loud explosions of color decorating the sky; before long, you find yourself in the middle of all the festivities, humming to yourself as you scope out the stalls. you get swept up into a small crowd of people and get turned around when you slip away. as you try to catch your bearings, you hear a familiar laugh and, on instinct, follow the sound of his voice.

while standing off to the side, you watch shanks and the others, heart beating far too loud for comfort. your hands ball into fists all over again, and you sink your nails into your palms when another woman drapes herself over shanks, giddy and tipsy, blushing every time he smiles her way. you know he’s just doing this because he’s pissed off at you, and rather than get sad, you decide to head to the pub and drink.

three drinks later, you saunter back out into the night and join the festival. you enjoy the way the music thrums underneath your skin, the beat thumping in your veins; a cool breeze travels nearby, making you feel light-headed. you forgot how freeing it is to be on your own — without a group of people to worry about, and a selfish captain who tramples over your heart and feelings repeatedly with his blasé attitude. maybe it would be better to just leave? but, the more you think about it, the more your head hurts, so you decide you’d rather enjoy yourself for a bit before heading back to the ship.

the alcohol makes you bolder than usual, and you’re all smiles with flushed cheeks when the vice-captain runs into you on his way to get more food. an incredibly foolish, petty idea crawls into your mind — it barely sits long enough before you act impulsively again.

“what are you doing here, bug?”

you simply shrug, as if you’ve embarked on an innocent expedition and didn’t expect to see him. beckman doesn’t buy the act one bit and pulls you into a nearby alley to talk with you privately. sighing loudly, he fixes you with a steely glare. “you’re suppose to be on the ship,” he says carefully, “d’you know how much trouble you’ll be in if shanks sees you here?” there’s no reason for him to tell you that, but you can’t fault him for trying to be nice. still, the idea of shanks thinking he can just dictate how you live your life, pushes you closer to the edge with your sanity barely intact.

and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “i am not a child,” you say angrily; your annoyance has reached the point of no return, so you let the irritation flow freely and allow it to fuel your pettiness. beckman pauses for a moment before chuckling darkly, shaking his head at your antics. from the determination on your face, and the way you don’t seem to want to budge on the issue, he can understand why shanks is so smitten with you — in fact, everyone on their crew understands — so he relents.

“fine, i’ll accompany you, then.”

you hadn’t expected him to offer, and you feel the tension leave your body slowly. maybe you were overreacting a bit, and maybe you just need to relax and enjoy the night like everyone else. you visit several stalls and shop around for a bit; you like the vice-captain’s company as he doesn’t say much, nor does he complain when you make him try various sweets to see which ones you should recreate. and while you might not intend to, you can’t help but flirt with him a little — touching his arm, laughing at his dry humor, standing much closer than necessary. beckman knows what you’re doing, but he doesn’t stop you; maybe shanks will get his act together if he thinks he has competition. you doubt he will, but it’s always worth a try, right?

DIAMOND X IN THE X ROUGH

after a while, the merriment feels stale; shanks’ laughter is hollow, forced, and unbecoming. and while on the surface it looks like he’s soaking up all the attention that’s being given to him, he’s not happy about it at all. a small frown works its way onto his lips as he tries to work out the cause of his unhappiness, completely ignoring his role in all of this. he’s not sure what’s missing — or, rather, he’s sure, but he just doesn’t want to say it out loud. that would make it real, and while he doesn’t want to make a habit out of it, shanks has been lying to himself for some time now. he knows that if he’d let you come with them, he’d be having much more fun — that thought alone makes him reconsider how he’s handled everything between you two.

the universe, it seems, has a cruel sense of humor. as his thoughts continue to berate him, he spots you walking with beckman. he narrows his eyes at you both but offers a smile — one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes — once you approach the table.

jaw clenched, shanks manages to greet you without fail. “hey there, lovebug.” there’s tension in his shoulders, and that amiable demeanor of his is shed, which makes the women near him a little reluctant as they squirm awkwardly in their seats. “thought i told you to stay on the ship,” he says lightly, as if this is the most casual conversation in the world. beckman sighs, knowing that shanks will most likely read into the situation incorrectly; but before he can explain himself, he sits back down in his seat and pours himself a drink.

“you don’t own me,” you say with a slight huff, glancing over at shanks from the corners of your eyes, “i’m allowed to go where i please.”

shanks almost laughs at that, but keeps it inside; he wants to tell you that you’re wrong, but he knows that this isn’t the right time or place for that sort of discussion. lucky roux offers to make some room for you, but you smile sweetly and announce that there’s no need. they all look at you, confused and a little intrigued, and before lucky roux insists again, you say, “i have a seat already.”

without warning, you gently perch your round ass on top of beckman’s lap, effectively silencing the group around you. it suddenly feels as if time has slowed down for shanks, who shifts in his chair as he watches you and beckman.

the vice-captain sighs again and playfully pinches your side, a move that does not go unnoticed by shanks, of course. you let out a small shriek, cheeks burning, and swat his hand before scooting up higher on his lap. the move alone nearly sends shanks and beckman into an early grave, for different reasons, obviously. meanwhile you’re smiling like a cat — mischievous and proud, as if you’ve cornered your prey and you’re ready to pounce.

you look so damn smug and shanks wants to fuck your mouth for all of that insolence.

beckman holds onto your hip as you cross your legs, revealing the deep slit in your skirt. your legs are on display, catching the eyes of everyone at the table and the random party goers passing by. shanks clenches his jaw so tightly, it’s a miracle he hasn’t cracked his teeth. he knows that you’re provoking him into acting out, and while he doesn’t want to feed into it, his jealousy knows no bounds right now. especially since he knows you’re not wearing any panties — it’s why you chose that particular skirt.

you really only wanted to tease shanks a little, so you’re on cloud-nine when you notice how bothered he is over your little act.

it takes an inordinate amount of strength, on shanks’ part, to not split beckman’s face in two for his complicit behavior. he’s being unfair, he knows that — but he doesn’t really care. yasopp and lucky roux try to diffuse the situation with lighthearted banter and jokes — they also tell their guests to leave, because knowing shanks this might not end well.

beckman leans forward, lips ghosting along the shell of your ear, making your body warmer than necessary. “settle down, bug, we don’t want to cause a scene, do we?” you shake your head at that and swallow back whatever complaints you want to say when you see the hardened look on shanks’ face. you’ve only ever seen him that serious when his anger reaches a certain point — so you know you’ve fucked up pretty badly. you have the decency to act ashamed as you slide off beckman’s lap and grab your bags. you should probably say something to shanks, but you don’t bother looking back at him and instead head back to the ship.

you’re absolutely furious right now and so is shanks.

beckman rubs the back of his neck before leaning forward. “i told you, captain,” he keeps his tone friendly, yet firm, “if you’re not careful, one of us will take bug away.” at that, shanks casts a sharp glance at the other crew members seated at the table — the intensity behind his gaze forces them to turn away and look at other things. shanks motions for one of them to slide the bottle of vodka his way, and beckman groans audibly.

“not again, shanks, let—”

as shanks isn’t in a negotiating mood, he cuts his first mate off quickly — maliciously, even — with venom sifting along his tongue, the layer thick enough he almost chokes on it. his voice is much too hoarse, but he spits out, “drink.”

it’s not a game that the red-hair pirates ever like to play with shanks, and he knows it; which is why he keeps insisting, and why his best friend keeps refusing. shanks’ anger reaches a tipping point; it transforms into a fire that steadily burns along the back of his neck, hot enough to make impulsive thoughts gather around him. the idea of extinguishing it never crosses his mind, although he knows that eventually he’ll need to face it head-on. and as he grips the bottle of alcohol tightly, a sharp moment of clarity hits him.

it’s by chance that he swallows it back, not wanting to make this even messier than it already is.

beckman shifts in his seat, a disapproving frown settling comfortably on his face. “it won’t be fair, i’m practically drunk already.”

“spare me the bullshit,” shanks says with a smile that serves as a small warning; he places a glass in front of beckman. “drink.” beckman pinches the space bridge of his nose and exhales a bit of his irritation. but when he picks up the glass, he recoils from the strong scent.

“this is practically rubbing alcohol.”

shanks only hums while shrugging lazily, before knocking back the drink; the burn revitalizes him, the pain reminds him that he’s alive. in a game of endurance, shanks always comes out on top. so it’s no wonder that beckman taps out after two shots.

“i value my liver, unlike you.”

this time, shanks’ laughter is genuine; he hops out of his chair and claps a hand on beckman’s back. “you’re forgiven,” he says when he leans down. as an afterthought, he adds, “this time.”

you’ve done a good job derailing his night — not that he can really blame you, he was being absolutely shameless in the worse way — so he’s decided he’s had enough. somehow, he’s rationalized that you’re the only childish and ridiculous person in this situation because he intends on stamping that attitude out.

SUN X STARS X MOON

you peruse shanks’ room while sipping from the bottle of rum you found. although you count tonight as a small victory against shanks, you didn’t think he’d get that mad. was all the teasing worth it, in the end? you leave the rum on the nightstand before climbing onto his bed and enjoy the softness of the mattress. maybe you overreacted, or maybe it’s all his fault. the guilt sits with you, until shanks enters his room.

“the hell are you doing back so soon?”

it’s not a proper greeting in the least, but you’re not exactly ready to deal with him just yet. but, since he’s already here, you might as well have it out. shanks closes the door and leans against it, partially obscured in the shadows as the moon bathes you in its light through the window.

“in case you’ve forgotten, this is my room and that’s my bed that you’re lounging comfortably on.”

he’s got you there. you roll your eyes in response, which draws out a chuckle from him once he pushes away from the door and goes to sit near you on the bed.

your emotions swell inside of you and become too heavy for you to keep hidden. “fine, whatever, i’ll leave.” you hop off the bed but then turn around. “you’re an asshole, you know that? you string me along for months and then anytime anyone else wants to talk to me you suddenly intervene.” the words tumble out of your mouth fluidly, you’re surprised your tongue could keep up. blinking back tears — because you refuse let him see you this vulnerable. “you piss me off so much, i… can’t do this anymore.”

it’s the first time that you’ve properly articulated how you’ve felt about this whole stupid situation. you feel a bit lighter but then sense of dread overcomes you, gnaws at your stomach — twisting and creating knots that make you want to run away forever. shanks takes a moment and mulls over your words, but his long silence is all the confirmation you need. you’re halfway to the door when he calls out to you.

“wait, come here.”

against your better judgment, you turn around and head back to his side. he sits on the edge of the bed, pulls you in between his legs, and warms an arm around you. “i hear you, bug, i really do.”

this is the first time he’s ever willingly said anything to make him vulnerable like that, so you relent, soften in his hold, allow your shattered heart to repair itself piece by piece. you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him softly. he’s normally much hastier with you — being a pirate captain, he barely has time to himself, so whenever he does get a moment to touch you, he’s always in a rush.

but tonight — the moon full and pink, hanging heavy in the sky, stars shimmering brilliantly around it — he opts to slow down. shanks takes his time memorizing the shape of your lips, tongue gently caressing yours as you sigh against his lips. he kisses you like he has all the time in the world, like he’s afraid you’ll leave him if he doesn’t. you’re certainly in no hurry to finish anytime soon. by the time you’re done kissing, you’re a little breathless and can barely hold it together. shanks, unsurprisingly, is in a similar predicament, as his cock hasn’t given him a day of peace since your ban started.

but he decides to let go and mumbles, “thirty days is a long fucking time,” and you laugh, surprised at his words.

you climb onto the bed with him, laughing as he drops playful kisses along your neck, and straddle him once he lies down on his back. you rub your ass against his stiff length, forcing him to groan audibly. he’s always more vocal when he’s tipsy, and the rum has you feeling bolder as the minutes pass by. before you can do it again, shanks slaps your ass hard and you let out an involuntary shriek.

he laughs at you, laughs at the way you’re suddenly acting demure, as if you weren’t the one who started this. “i thought you didn’t want anyone to hear you?” he gives you a knowing look and a sly smile crawls onto his face. heat travels along your skin, making your cheeks burn in the worst way; you place a hand over his mouth on impulse.

“shut up, what is wrong with you?”

you hate the way you’re suddenly embarrassed about all of this. shanks, however, takes it all in stride, laughing behind your hand and mumbling something unintelligible against your palm. he knows he needs to act quickly before she makes him cum in his pants without trying. so when you pull your hand back, he says, “come on, put your pretty pussy on my mouth.” you stare at him wide-eyed, but he doesn’t relent. you mumble something about possibly being too heavy, which makes him laugh at your ridiculous excuse.

“how many times do i need to show you?” his strength, he means.

before he can do anything too rash, you pull your skirt up and position yourself over his face, pussy already slick with your arousal. shanks runs his tongue along your folds, slipping it inside to give you a firm lick; he takes his time to eat you out, his pace tortuous but electrifying. you can barely keep quiet and moan louder than you mean to as you shamelessly ride his face. holding onto the headboard, a whirlwind whips about inside of your lower abdomen as he slurps your pussy sloppily. he pulls you closer, and your arousal drips down his lips and onto his chin. your pussy is always so eager for him, so naturally he wants to treat her right.

you lose a bit of your sanity when his tongue slips inside your hole, thrusting in and out, your whimpers and moans circling around him — the best sort of lullaby he could ask for. he flicks his tongue against your clit and you buck your hips, feverishly grinding your pussy on his tongue. he likes it when you let go like this — when you’re uncaring and free. you place so many barriers in front of your own happiness, so he’s determined to knock them all down while he can. you know it’s reckless to give in to your inhibitions like this, to fly this closely to this personified version of the sun. although, you do feel a surge of power, seeing him underneath you like that, in between your thick thighs.

if shanks is apollo, then you are a nymph with ties to the moon and the sea.

it’s when shanks swirls his tongue around your clit, mercilessly stroking it, sending tiny jolts through your thighs, making you tremble above him. the orgasm is transformative — you have tears in your eyes as you whimper pathetically, your pussy puffy and sensitive; but he doesn’t care. he licks your arousal off his lips, thinking you look divine and goddess-like in the interim following your orgasm.

time slows for you both, and maybe you’re imaging it, but your heartbeat matches his once you climb off of him. of course, as usual, shanks is smug and proud of himself, but when you start taking off your clothes and tossing them onto the floor, he follows suit. pre-cum drips slowly from the tip of his cock, and when you rub your wet pussy up and down his length, you let out a breathy moan. shanks watches you with lowered eyes, inhaling sharply once you sink down onto his cock.

your pussy swallows his girth with a slow descent, and he’s losing whatever sliver of control he thinks he has over himself when it comes to you. when his cock hits a particular spot, you shudder and moan his name; he could cum from that alone, he realizes, and it shocks the hell out of him. in retaliation, shanks thrusts into you once, then twice, as you claw at his chest and cry out for more. your pace quickens as you bounce on his cock, thighs trembling as you try to keep strong; the orgasm weakened you, but rather than give in, you keep going, rolling your hips against him, hypnotizing him without completely meaning to. he won’t last much longer at this rate, which is completely your fault, he reasons.

you ride him as long as you can, before frowning and slowing down. shanks looks at you slyly, unable to stop teasing you. “need some help?”

it’s your pride that doesn’t want you to ask for help, but you know that if you don’t, shanks will edge you until you’re on your knees in tears. “please.” if he wasn’t already teetering on the edge, your desperation would make him tease you more. he rolls so that he’s on top of you and leans forward to place kisses along your jaw and neck, loving how smooth and soft your skin is. because he’s obnoxious, he sucks and bites, leaving behind bruising marks on your neck and chest. he’s burning you alive, but you want more.

you drape your leg over his shoulder, and he kisses the inside of your thigh before flicking his tongue against your skin, enjoying the way you squirm underneath him, your heart beating much too fast in your chest, making you think seemingly impossible things. shanks slips his cock back inside of you, burying it completely, letting out a shaky breath at the way your plush walls suffocate him. the angle makes you buck your hips off the bed; he laughs darkly at your enthusiasm, but doesn’t move. the frustration alone could kill you; you want him to fuck you hard enough to shake your doubts, to combat all the warmth that keeps sliding through the cracks around your heart.

he moves his hips at his own leisure, giving you broad, powerful strokes — hard enough, that his balls slap against you, pussy squelching as he powers into you repeatedly. you should be embarrassed from the sounds alone — your pussy is wet enough for him to drown, but thankfully he’s got enough stamina to handle it.

each time his cock sinks deeper into your pussy, he feels reborn; like the sea — tumultuous, dizzying, captivating, and greedy — you suck him back in each time he tries pulling out. eventually, you wrap your arms around your thighs and he feels like you’re squeezing the remnants of his soul out of him. shanks rocks his hips against yours, rough and determined, sweat gliding along his skin. when he moans your name, your heart expands faster than you thought it would. shanks keeps his hips closer to yours, giving you short, quick thrusts, fucking you to remind you that he has no intention of letting you go. his breath is warm against your skin and you kiss him again, giving him ardent, sloppy tongue kisses that do nothing to calm you down. he swallows your moans as another orgasm grips you by the throat and nearly claims your life.

your pussy clenches around him tightly, so he takes that as a challenge and fucks you harder, giving you brutal, punishing strokes — frenetic and dizzying, making your mind spin too fast for you to keep up.

“shanks, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

whatever else you say after that is lost on you, incoherent babbling that makes him laugh at you again. it’s out of adoration, you know it is, even if he won’t openly say it. shanks e works you through your orgasm, hips jerking against yours, before his own pushes him completely over the edge. after giving you a few lazy thrusts, he cums inside of you, messy but satisfying. shanks slows down and tries to catch his breath, as you push your curls away from your face. he doesn’t leave your side after he pulls out, instead he pulls you close to him, his hand rubbing up and down your back, his subsequent kisses intense and possessive.

you don’t exactly know what will happen tomorrow, but for now you’ll cherish this moment and commit it to memory. with everything that’s happened, he doesn’t want to see you in the arms of another, and you don’t want to keep pushing him away. you’re sure something’s shifted fundamentally between you two, especially when you lay on top of him and listen to the steady, powerful beats of his heart. you suppose you can give him a little leeway, but you won’t tell him that right away. there’s a warmth that cloaks itself all over you, keeping you moored to him for the rest of the night; he enjoys the silence that accompanies your presence, and decides that he’s going to keep you for as long as he can.

#it's finally done jfc #fic request #one piece imagine #one piece angst #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #shanks angst #shanks smut #shanks x reader #shanks x y/n #*washes hands*#‘i can change him’ 🥴#no tf i can’t!!! am i kidding?!#also… beckman… ur day will come don’t worry

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ziipzeepzop-eez · 1 year ago

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leoichi as adoptive parents hcs! | platonic, found family, two goobers and a 'baby'.

they're just dumb and in love. both with each other, and you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

𝒂/𝒏: this is just pure brainrot tbh. shameless self indulgence of these dorks. word vomit that I definitely tried to format in a someday coherent way. ridiculous amount of fluff imho. the embodiment of spongebob's house when it got sucked dry by all them sea worms......whatever tf they were: yeah that's my brain being reduced to mush after FINALLYYYYY getting it all out. /lhj

Say it with me, now. *raises hands like a maestro* Blaaaaaaaame the brainnnnwoorrrrmmmss. 🐛💥🧠

anyway enjoy your ✨fruitbowl parents✨ agenda. ᡣ𐭩

leo 🫐

such. a mother.

always fretting over your health and safety :(( he just wants you to be safe !! happy !! healthy !! always.

big hugger/cuddler: i’m talking big ol’ bear hugs, snuggles, smothering your face in kisses, play-fighting (he makes sure not to hurt you!), head rubs/pats, the whole shabang.

of course, if you’re not comfortable with physical touch– he doesn’t overstep your boundaries!

there are so many different ways he showcases his love and affection to you; he’s a very caring parent.

very protective over you.

not in the prohibiting/constrictive sense, but in the best way that you know he’s always got your back.

both him and yui are fairly protective over you– and both of them always got your back– dgmw, but leo will throw down if your reputation/safety is on the line.

teaches you boundaries (in all aspects including others and yourself) and how to enforce them. gets a bit violent when protecting yours in the moments your boundaries are crossed.

you're his baby and nobody’s allowed to mess w his babies >:((

don’t get me started ✋🏼 on if it’s a.... *speaks cautiously* bullying situation.

NONEEEE OF Y’ALL ARE LEAVING THAT DINGY SCHOOL OFFICE WITHOUT JUSTICE BEING SERVED LMAOOAOOOO

as much as he clowns the aspect of them, leo can be a bit of a karen himself when it comes to your reputation/safety!

(& truthfully i think yui would play peacekeeper of sorts, especially if leo starts getting really heated but that's only if it escalates really badly. but tbh he can be just as intense. they're both always ready to throw down for you, anywhere, anytime.)

real talk: it's not so much the child as it will be the parents leo snarks at. he’s knowledgeable in the fact that behaviors are learned. taught.

while intolerant to any behavioral that bring you discomfort, he's glaring holes into the parental figures/guardians, hackles raised, and Lord above is it more. than enough.

leo – for all the jokester that he is – knows how to hunker down and get serious and boy oh boy does that man get serious when his beloveds are involved.

he is very good at reading people. he has a sharp judge of character. and he'll take up any business with whoever is responsible for your offender's-in-question wellbeing; if their behaviors reflect the hostilities you were met with.... well, there's not really much else to say, is there?

he'll throw down with the parents and he'll throw down wITH THE KID(S) TOO HE DOES NOT GIVE A FRESH DAMN.

girl fu them kids and fu you too energy. /hj

everybody’s getting schooled on this day and it ain’t gonna be by the teachers. 💥💥💥

takes you out for food and sweet treats after such a harrowing ordeal 😮‍💨 is probably still ranting long after they've picked you up from school and has to he calmed down by yui lol. and if you don’t like sweets, he’ll get you a cute little gift from the shops! :)

he just wants to see you smile, man. 💔 anything for you.

later on, back home, he sits you down and speaks to you in a warm, lovely tone. he inquires about anything else that might've gone down, any icky thoughts in that little head of yours..?

reassures you that none of it was your fault. comforts you in every way possible because like i said, leo is very good at reading people. how much more would he get to know you— his child? he knows how to make you feel better. no matter what.

but on the chance that you may have started something.... mmmm.

his parental patented scolding techniques come in. probs the "I'm not mad, just Disappointed." type. AND IT HURTTTTTS EVERY SINGLE TIME.

(but this is Very Rare seeing as he'd raise you with manners and good behavior he don't play none of that mess.)

you don't have to say anything. you can say something, deny it. affirm it. if it bothered you, genuinely, he'll know. if it didn't — he'll know it too.

either way, he ruffles your head and smiles that smile down at you. "you're everything to me. you know that, right?"

you do.

calls you by the cutest endearments in spanish !! the most common are: mijo/a, mi tesoro, mi vida, burbuja/burbujita, and cielo. mi is always a constant at the front of them :')) he's just so proud that you're his kid.

speakin’ of which– if you speak Spanish/pick it up from him, he gets so smiley and giddy :(( and y’all just have convos of silly jokes and sweet nothings that seem like not much out the ordinary in the moment but it's memories in the making and you look back on them and and, he just looks at you with so much fondness and :((( i am so SAD.

sings to you a lot. especially by means of comfort. sure, he'll burst into an impromptu dance and song number that's so ridiculous, so silly, but so entertaining that it's bound to put a smile on your face (his ulterior motives all along muahahahaaa!).

he also sings you lullabies. especially when you have a nightmare that's shaken you badly enough to tears. he's by your side in an instant, shushing you gently, wiping your face and reassuring you that he's there and that he won't let anything hurt you, ever.

movie night cuddles! if you and yui fall asleep before him, he'll adjust so you're all in one big cuddle pile. in the following morning he'll lightheartedly complain about it, but trust me. it's his favorite thing ever. (being curled up and cozy and safe with the two biggest centers of his universe.)

takes you to see your favorite uncles, aunties, and grampa splinter! sometimes he'll sit back and just watch you interact with them, his Proud Dad™ aura threatening to soften him and everyone in his closest vicinity to mush, and only snaps out of it when met with a teasing quip from one of his siblings.

casey is the cool nomad older brother/uncle figure who visits every so often and he's just, so exceedingly cool to you. he brings you souvenirs from his travels and spends a lot of quality time with you - y'all's relationship is lighthearted and fun loving!

—and leo cries because his kids omg his- their kids are so stinkin cute and wholesome and yui yui,,they really built themselves their castle on the hill didn't they omgomgomgomg guaaaaueueueuueue *cue rabbit paw shoulder pats of support*

because of leo's insomnia, he's your constant nighttime company. on the nights where sleep just doesn't come so easily, you can count to find him lounging about in the house somewhere. he'll fret gently if he sees you awake at an ungodly hour, but ultimately welcomes you with open arms.

▹▹ p. s. his chest is a prime cuddle-hug-back-to-sleep haven. with his deep churrs, one large hand rubbing comfortingly over your back, the warmth that creates coupled with the natural coolness from his body - it'll have you out like a light. worked when you were younger, works now. always will.

always the jokester, sooososo many jokes and lighthearted teasing with this guy. of course we know his jokes are insufferably constant (what? he's a dad now! he can ACTUALLY USE DAD JOKES AND THEY'LL ACTUALLY HIT HOME!!), but get this: the teasing - while good-natured - comes with the afterthought of teaching you subconsciously to hold your ground. it's his way of "raising you tough."

howbeit: if you're naturally sensitive, leo will protect it with all he's got. reassures you that sensitivity does not equal weakness and gets his esteemed example to deepen those teachings!

(( "look at uncle angie!! he cried over the fact that snakes don't have any arms yesterday. (/ref + /lh) and he's one of the strongest in our hamato-usagi battalion!"

"why would you say tone indicators out loud, papa?" ))

it's just— the world can be a dark and unforgiving place, with even darker and more unforgiving people.

as much as it pains him, he knows him and yuichi aren't always going to be there to protect you from every little thing. forever seems like it right now, but you still have so much growing to do.

he wants to make sure you'll be able to hold your own. not only physically, but emotionally/verbally.

the principles and lessons he teaches you are tidbits of gold that shape your mind and future and you carry them with you for a long time to come, whether you know it or not.

to conclude this- trust. you definitely know how to fight. at the very most defend yourself and others if need be !! i mean c'mon: you're the heir to a ninja and a samurai ! you know how to throw a punch just as well as you can parry it.

while they teach you the core value of never starting the fight and walking away to deescalate, they also teach you to kick names and take ass. (/ref) ain't nobody messin' with you, champ. 😎

—and if they do? they have a wholeeee clan to deal with now. because anyone who has a problem with you has a problem with all of your family — both sides.

in living out their motto, anata wo hitori janai, with you — he seems to relearn it in a special way each and every time.

and he wouldn't have it any other way. <3

yuichi 🍇

doesn’t always use pet names, but he says your name so fondly all the time – just beholds you like you’re the absolute treasure of his life (which you basically are tbh) – it feels like an endearment all its own.

your gentle force: he’s the one you turn to when everything gets too loud, too harsh, too overwhelming, too much.

y’all are mad in tune; all it takes is one look (not specifically in the eyes).

he’d pull you close. his fur is warm, soft, smells like tea leaves and incense and home.

given the situation – if you wanted silence, that’s what he’d give you.

if you needed something other than the ringing in your ears, something other than your mind, he hums.

he hums, pets your head, rocks you back and forth – right there in his lap. (you’ll never be too big, too old, for them to hold you.)

if you don't prefer being held, he'll give you your space. rest assured, he's respectful just like leo and doesn't ever want to make you uncomfortable. but he does stay close. if you ever need him, he'll always be close by.

even if you guys don't talk, it's just reassuring having his presence close by. to know you're not (and never will be) alone.

he holds you .... in a different way. 🥹

if you need words, he tells you every little thing he loves about you. tells you why you’re his.

he tells you how he admires you– not only as his child, but as an individual.

he reminds you that you will always have a place in his heart, nestled right between leo.

for all his harebrained-ness (see what i did there? *wheeze, knee slap*) – there’s no second-guessing his intense fondness for you. alongside leo, you're his heart and he moves in it every single day.

his friends are all your godparents.

now hear me out: yes, they could all be your aunties/uncles, and in a way they are!!

i mean, that's what you call them sometimes too! but gen, chisa and kitsune are his platonic soulmates. they just... locked in. 🔐🫂

so they're all just that little bit closer than your standard "auntie" and "uncle." ❤️‍🩹

they're your favorite babysitters. on yuichi's side of the family, anyway!

yui is a bit of a klutz, but somehow. he always. manages. to catch you. before you fall. before you even have the chance to trip up!

chalk it up to his samurai honed skills, his training paying off, his newfound parental instincts, a whirlwind of all three! he will gladly fall ass over kettle because he'll be damned if you're at risk to gain a scratch or two on his watch.

onlookers would suspect that leo is the more "involved" parent between them both, but that's a load of crock.

be it because yui's aura isn't as imposing as his beloved turtle counterpart that leads to this train of thought or not, it couldn't be farther from the truth! yui is the one who's constantly hovering (/pos).

he moves seamlessly, as natural as air, through the movements of your life that sometimes... it can almost seem like he isn't there. but like air, you know he's there, and you reap the benefits every single day.

cuddles with him are supreme as well! he's fluffy and warm. his embrace just speaks volumes of safety and familiarity.

every time you're near him you feel a little sleepy because it's so warm and safe :(( especially if you're not feeling too good! when you're feeling under the weather, he's the first you subconsciously seek out :'((((((

makes sure you're getting your food groups every single day. fruit and veggie platters, afternoons spent in the garden outside of your home, sunshine and the smell of fresh soil and sliced cucumbers are what made your childhood summers just that more magical.

scolds leo if he feeds you too much junk loll.

yuichi is like your vitamin, both figuratively and literally. he's learned so much from growing up on the farm with his grandmother, natural remedies are his forte.

in this additional sense, he teaches you farm work. four times out of ten, it ends in disaster, maybe or maybe not including a massacred watermelon grove, but through trial and error, you've managed to keep a good portion of accurate agriculture and gardening knowledge ingrained in the long-term area of your brain. 🙏🏼

gets nervous when you go out :(( he's of course happy that you get your freedom, but he can't help but to feel antsy whenever you're out of he and leo's sights; it's not that he doesn't trust you, he's just a worrywart /aff.

so! without fail, each time: before you go out, he'll kneel down to gently bonk foreheads with you, closes his eyes, and speaks an old Japanese blessing of safety and wellbeing over you. something he learned from his grandmother.

whereas leo is ecstatic to teach you the way of the sword (and is methodical with it too dw), yuichi may as well faint himself into a coma each time.

he gets much better when you're older, of course, even teaches you himself. but when you were younger? heeeheesh.... nobody. will forget the incident at the 6th Birthday Party Swordsmanship Knighthood Round Table Esk Extravaganza.

(fake blood was involved. a lighthearted prank gone wrong amidst the already electric atmosphere of cake and fun. a prank gone hard hearted, if you will. yuichi fainted twice, vomited once, and catapulted leo out of a window. the pigs got out of the pen. the koi fish were fished out of the pond. law enforcement was contacted. donnie's confetti canons backfired at one point. you guys are still finding glitter in random spots in the house to this day. it was madness.)

takes you on hikes and new adventures! you guys are always getting into something, whether it's discovering a new shadow dancing group in town's square or accidentally liberating a herd of cattle from a neighboring farmhouse auction, these make the best memories with him. because he exuded glee and held you close the entire time.

in calm moments, yui would recount tales of his ancestors to you. especially that of his great great grandfather (?? how many greats were there I'm sorry ajshdjd) - while you look up at him in wonder.

and in moments when you're not looking- he looks at you in wonder too. a wonder that only a parent could hold for their beloved child.

—

your dads sing to you. they both do that a lot, actually.

i imagine you get so used to hearing a little croon here, a gentle hum there … so much so that pure radio silence settles discomfort in your bones. there was always something.

even the little things that nudge you a reminder in the subconscious voices of your parents: you're here, you're alive, we're here for you, we'll always be here for you, i love you.

their songs make your outlook on life a little lighter. something more melodic. like the songs they sing you.

home becomes a song to you, unconsciously.

if someone were to ask you to define home to you . . .

it’s the bone-crushing hugs of your turtle dad. the deep, all-encompassing warmth. the smell of tea leaves, incense, bamboo wood – the sound of soft laughter, sing-songy words, horrendous dad jokes and endless puns. the constant words of affirmation that pick you up in your lowest moments and raise you even higher at your best. the gentle forehead bonks. both: sci-fi comics series and legends of samurai and ninja alike as wondrous bedtime stories. warm eyes, even warmer hands grasping yours. reassurance. safety. the love of your family.

love incarnate.

storge.

home is love. love is home.

—

with parents like them,

you will never go hungry.

you will never cry nor be alone.

you will never fight with nobody by your side.

you will never be unwanted.

you will never sing songs of your sorrow without it being sunrisen by joy.

you will never, ever go unloved.

you're the brightest light in their lives and they make sure you know it, every single day! 🌟