#they could have had the worst day of their life

[yieldtotemptation]

ALWAYS ft. Hanni

hanni x male reader smut

9k words

This used to be your least favourite part of the day.

Waking up alone, to nothing but an alarm that’s far too loud, a bed that’s way too firm, a dorm room that mocks your financial instability with its harsh coldness. 

And that somehow, was the best-case scenario.

Beating getting kicked out of a library after passing out face first in a textbook, or booted off your best friend’s mouldy couch when his girlfriend wanted some alone time.

Or even, in your worst moment, getting yelled at by some stranger when you’re discovered on their bathroom floor in a pool of what you prayed to God was your own vomit.

All things of the past, since her.

Since Hanni—waking up was everything.

-

It starts, like it always does, in a tangle of limbs.

Most mornings, with Hanni’s face buried in your chest, cradled in your embrace, small puffs of breath tickling your neck. Others, with her back to you; pulling your arms around her, using the heat of your body like her coziest blanket.

One time on top of you; an exhausted smile plastered on her face, still basking in the afterglow of the night before.

She wrapped herself around you, refused to let go. Like there was a possibility that if she held you tight enough, she could bring you into her dreams.

That was the first day you truly saw her.

You talked about your pasts, your futures, shared your deepest vulnerabilities, made a million quiet confessions.

And when Hanni whispered: “I never want to go back.”

You pulled her closer, kissed her, and answered: “You’ll never have to.”

Since then, every morning always started with you holding her. Feeling her softness, her warmth, the calm rise and fall of her chest, as her exhales became your inhales and your breaths mixed together and synchronised.

This is how it had to be—how you both needed it to be.

So—now:

Nights and mornings since that promise; the sound of a guitar slipping into your ears.

It’s a recording she made for you, setting it as your alarm to make waking up a little more pleasant, to make sure the first thing you thought of when you opened your eyes was her.

Unnecessary, ultimately, seeing as the first thing you see when you wake up is her. Or, to be precise, her arm poking out from under the blankets, flailing about blindly.

“Off,” Hanni mumbles, fumbling around the bed, the nightstand, your face, seeking the offending device.

You stretch over her, a blanket on top of her blanket, and hunt down the invisible enemy that dared to interrupt your girlfriend’s peaceful slumber.

A muffled “thanks”, and she takes the opportunity to snuggle even closer.

There’s the smile quirking at the corner of her lips. Her nose, nuzzling closer into your chest, searching for your heartbeat. That pleased hum she’s making, letting you know there’s no place she’d rather be, like she’s completely content to stay all cozied up and warm for as long as you’ll let her (forever, if possible, please).

It’s hardly a tough sell—face the cold shower, the crowded buses and trains, the boring lectures that the rest of the day holds.

Or, stay wrapped up in the sanctuary of your (Hanni’s) bed. In fitted silk sheets, weighted duvets, plush pillows. Wrapped up in Hanni; in her very soft, very warm, very naked body.

It’s a no-brainer, really.

The rest of you, the more honest part of you that’s resting somewhere between her belly button and her thighs, seems to agree. It’s got a mind of its own, stirring to life, responding to the heat of her skin and the gentle pressure of her body; the familiar lines of her curves and the lavender scent of her hair.

She notices, of course.

It’s hard not to feel it, nudging against her, steadily growing with each passing beat, saying, ‘Hey, remember me?’

A kiss over your heart, a giggle into your sternum, and she’s up—sort of. She rolls onto her side, still in your embrace, but enough so that you can see the wry smile gracing her face, her sleepy eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

Chalk it up to whatever you want—relationship goggles, the honeymoon phase, or just the sheer joy of finding someone who actually cares about you—but when Hanni's looking like this, it's hard to believe you’re not dreaming.

The morning light kissing her rosy cheeks. The gentle pink of her full lips. Midnight silk hair curtaining her face. Her eyes.

A sweet, completely innocent question: “Having a good morning?”

She shifts, slightly.

An oh-so-incidental move that has the blanket sliding off her shoulder, down to her waist. It’s an invitation that you take, a proper wake-up call, from her collarbone to the curve of her hip. Softness and warmth, a stark contrast to the cold that whispers from the edges of the bed.

Hanni—your Hanni—leaving you with the implication: ‘Can I make it better?’

“Classes,” is all you say, because you have to at least acknowledge the responsibility, play the farce that you would actually abandon your (again—very warm, very naked) girlfriend for the sake of academia.

“It’s cold outside,” is her astute observation.

“Mhm.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“Right,” you nod.

“So,” she starts, bringing her hand up to your cheek, walking you through the incredibly simple, blatantly obvious logic. “Do you need any other reason?”

“Are you offering me one?”

Lips purse then pouts in that endearingly cute, Hanni way. “Does it help that I’m naked?”

“One would think that more clothes would be appropriate, considering the weather,” you posit, like you weren't already convinced long before she even opened her mouth. But, it’s still fun to pretend that her persistence doesn’t melt you every time. 

“One would be wrong.” Hanni edges closer, her bare skin gliding over yours, so you can properly assess the merits of her argument. The tip of her nose brushing against your own, the softness of her breasts passing along your chest, and her hand at your cheek, then your neck, your stomach, and moving lower, and lower. “Body heat, you know?”

Her hand gets lower still. You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Like when it’s freezing and people get lost in a snowstorm.” She finds you, reaches into the waistband of your sweatpants, wraps her fingers around you, wakes you up.

“Or when girlfriends are trying to convince their boyfriends to stay in bed all day long,” you groan out. “Again.”

“Exactly,” Hanni says, a breezy air of finality, proud of herself for making you see reason—or rather, feel it.

You kiss her forehead, conceding the victory to her, and she scrunches her nose; preens. It’s a subtle movement, the kind that you’ve come to recognise as her victory dance. She squeezes your body closer to hers, her cheek squishing into your chest, her other hand wrapping around your neck, her legs curling up around your calves. It’s like she’s absorbing your affection, turning it into warmth she’ll keep with her for the rest of the day.

Her hand winds up and down, these long, lazy motions. Smooth and tender, stroking the length of you, her thumb tracing the vein that pulses along the side. She’s not in a hurry; not anymore anyway. Just, enjoying the moment, enjoying being with you, enjoying how obvious you are with your sighs and shivers.

“‘sides,” Hanni adds, taking a break to kiss around your jawline, your neck, your shoulder. “You deserve it. A perfect day of nothing.” She sounds so hopeful, so earnest, and there’s a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the friction of her hand on your skin. “We can order junk food, watch awful horror movies, and…”

“Just us.” A finger under her chin to tilt her head up, to capture those half-moon eyes with yours, to kiss her sweetly, deeply, remind her that she’s all you need to make a perfect day. “I wonder what I’ve done to earn this.”

“Not what you’ve done,” Hanni says in the breaths between your kisses. “What you’re going to do.” 

With that, she uses all her weight to push you, rolling you onto your back, climbing over you with a grace that leaves you breathless.

She straddles you, legs draped over your hips, small breasts bouncing just a little with the motion. There’s mischief lighting up her eyes, that playful glint that precedes all good things. The blankets fall completely off her with a dramatic flourish, leaving her bare and exposed for your eyes to drink in.

A pause to appreciate her—to really look at her. From her flushed cheeks to the tips of her toes. Every curve, every darkened freckle, every soft, sweet inch of her—yours to adore, to touch, to explore.

And then, she winks.

You can’t help but laugh.

Hanni joins you, giggling in uncontrollable fits.

It’s the ridiculousness of it all, of Hanni—the girl who blushes when you hold her hand in public—straddling you with a wink and a promise of a day of pure carnal indulgence.

You both laugh until your cheeks hurt, until the tension breaks and you’re just two people in the cozy bubble of her bed, sharing a stupid, silly moment.

It takes a beat, but you both somehow recover, gasping for air between giggles. She settles herself, placing her hands on either side of your face, looking down at you with all the adoration in the world. Her touch grounds you, brings you back to the present.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” You ask, when you’re finally able to speak. “This is what you really want to do all day?”

“Well…” Hanni muses, sinking down to your waist, running her fingers over your t-shirt, stopping when she has the hem in her clutches. “A bit of this.”

She starts rolling your shirt up, sliding the cotton over your stomach. The cold air of the room kisses your skin before the warmth of her mouth replaces it. Her soft, plump lips meet your body, the small indent of your belly button.

Simple, innocent, playful. Hanni.

“A bit of that,” she continues, her hands keep moving, lifting the shirt higher, tugging it up and up, exposing your chest to her eyes, her lips.

She finds her target, a tongue over your nipple, paying you back for what you’re no doubt going to be doing to her later; flicking over your chest to make you hiss.

“A bit of me,” she adds, words vibrating against your chest, leaving goosebumps as she rises higher.

You lift your arms, allowing her to pull your shirt off your body, trapping you for a moment so she can suck at your neck, mark you as hers, and hers only. As if you didn’t already wear it on your face whenever she’s around.

“Doing a lot of you.”

Her eyes rake over you—your chest, your stomach, your abs. Lingering a touch too long, making her cheeks warm; colouring them with a soft blush that spreads from her neck up to her ears, hinting at the thoughts racing through her mind.

And then you're kissing her.

It’s gentle (your kisses always are) but that doesn’t make it any less passionate, any less intense.

She kisses you back, lips sliding over yours, the softness of her tongue tracing the line of your teeth, moaning your name in short stutters into your mouth.

It feels so right, so natural. The way she fits against you, feels on top of you, the perfect puzzle piece you’ve been desperate to find in a world full of mismatches.

It’s far too early to say it, but you know it—have known it.

You love her. Love how she lives in the moment; how even when you’re worried about the future, about deadlines and tomorrows, she can bring you back to the present and make things simple. In the least selfish way possible, she makes it about her.

(And that’s all you need).

It builds and builds; these slow, dragging kisses, these admissions of things that you’re not quite ready to say. Until you’re both well and truly needy for a touch more heat, as much of each other as you can possibly get.

You can’t hold it anymore, so you don’t bother trying.

With a firm grasp, you take Hanni’s hips in your hands, your thumbs pressing into vanilla skin as you pull her upward. It’s strategic, pull the best parts of her (which could be any part, really) closer, prove her earlier guess right by introducing her breast to your lips, her nipple to your tongue.

A million times you’ve repeated it and it won’t be enough—she’s so soft. Melting at your touch already, so responsive, letting you know she’s feeling it with every hushed gasp and shiver of her tight body.

One hand is filled by her other breast, a supple handful, spilling between your fingers, carelessly massaging as your mouth latches onto its twin. Her heart races, hammers against your palm, quickening with every passing flick, with each chaste suck between your lips.

Your other hand snakes lower, caressing the smooth plane of her stomach. You drag your fingertips over the ridges and valleys of her abs, down towards the juncture of her thighs.

She squirms.

Moans a little louder.

Scrapes the back of your scalp and pulls you in.

You’re insistent, your touch feather light as it grazes over the whispers of hair; trailing all the way down, down, where you ghost over her mound, tease her clit to make her gasp.

“Like that,” Hanni moans her approval, answers you with hips rocking against your hand. “So, so… nice.”

Your hand dips down further, parting her folds, sliding through her slick, greeted with the warmth and wetness of her opening. Soaking your hand, inviting you to delve deeper.

“Hanni,” you mouth around her nipple, “you’re so wet.”

“O-of course,” she manages, shuddering as you dare to ease a finger inside, pushing into her and pushing out a cry that fills the room. “It’s you.”

“It definitely is,” you confirm, stroking her walls with slow, deliberate care, feeling her tense around you with each movement. “And I’m just getting started.”

Her body arches, curves into you, tilting her head back and feeding you more of her; her breast into your mouth, her pussy on your fingers. You look up at her, feel her, memorise every little noise she makes, every twitch of her body as you touch her. Her breath skips as you start to move your finger in and out, a quiet pace to make her hips dance.

“This is a good idea.“ You’re pushing in deeper, adding a second digit to the mix, stretching her just so. She’s tight around you, always so tight, enveloping you in her heat, and there’s the urge to go even slower, to savour every moment. “Staying in all day. Making you feel good.”

Her legs tense, toned thighs flex as you curl your fingers up, pulling towards you just right to hit that spot that makes her mouth hang open, that makes her whine. There’s a plea in there, a silent request for more, for everything.

And you give it to her, because it’s what she deserves, because it’s what she’s asking for, because she’s yours.

She’s getting tighter around you, walls squeezing in. A prelude to something beautiful, something only you know how to give her, a skill you’ve picked up in this very same bed.

“God,” Hanni’s breaths are turning into short gasps, she’s so needy for it, for you. A slight tug of your hair, pulling you off her breast, forcing her nipple to ‘pop’ from your lips. She sinks down, further down onto your hand, her breasts dragging against your chest, her skin sticking to yours. “You’re such a tease.”

Her lips hang in front of yours, pillowy cushions begging for its partner—needing you to kiss her, now. You claim her mouth, let her be as loud as she wants on your lips; these delightful sounds when your hand moves faster, more insistent.

Arms hold you, wrap around your back, hugging you tighter, needing you to be as close as humanly possible. Hands everywhere—massaging your back, gripping in your shoulders, tangled in your hair, grabbing at your biceps—no matter how much of you she has, it’s just not enough.

Pliant is the other word to describe Hanni; so easy in your hands, like clay waiting for your touch. Waiting for you to mould her into whatever you want, even though you prefer her as she just is—all her perfect imperfections, beautifully flawed, wonderfully Hanni.

Another finger pushes into her; three now, moving in a steady rhythm, that slow, cautious manoeuvre that’s become so familiar. Sure, you could do it with your eyes closed, bring her to the brink and back with touch alone, but you’d miss the way she looks at you—the tears at the corners of her eyes, the tremble in her lips; like you’re her saviour, her everything.

“Hanni, you’re so—” you can’t put it into exact words—gorgeous, pretty, lovely—you test them out, but they all fall short, leaving you hanging until—

“Yours,” Hanni finishes, and that’s all you need, all you need to hear to make a vow to do everything in your power to keep her happy, to keep her here, to keep her—“always yours.”

She’s rocking on your fingers now, taking charge of her own pleasure, setting the pace that you so willingly match. It’s a give and take, and you take the chance to kiss at her neck, to nibble on the shell of her ear, to whisper to her all the things that create these little tremors in her thighs, that make her grip you tighter and tighter with each stroke.

She feels so good, so warm, so wet. Your hand is soaked, knuckles coated in her, making these noises. The muffled pop of skin on skin; the soft, sticky sound of wetness being parted; that satisfying squelch as you go in deep.

Hanni’s so close. So, so close.

Unwinding, melting in your palm; and that look. The way she smiles when she’s on that edge, because she’s so happy to be there, so happy that it's you that has her to be feeling this good.

But then—it’s the suddenness that gets you—she goes rigid, stops moving, begs, “Wait, wait, wait.”

It’s so unexpected, but you still do stop, fingers lodged inside her, pulsating with the urgency of her orgasm that’s just a heartbeat away.

She needs to hang onto you, to hold onto something as the world starts to spin again. Her pupils are blown wide, her cheeks a rosy pink that makes her look like she’s been running a marathon, sweat glistening over her, bathing her in this glow.

You look up at her, a soothing kiss on her cheek. “Problem?”

“No,” Hanni manages a gasp, reassuring you with a shaky smile, still doing her best to catch her breath. “I mean yes. I mean… It feels too good.”

You tilt your head. You smirk. “That’s a problem?”

“You always do this, you know?” Hanni chooses her words carefully, trying to break out of the haze of having almost been there, so she can properly articulate. “Make it about me when it’s supposed to be about you.”

You stifle your laughter against her neck, letting it vibrate through her skin. It’s her earnestness, really, that gets you sometimes; her concern for you, even now is too much, almost comical.

“I’m serious!” Hanni protests, though she’s betrayed by the wobble in her voice, that part of her begging to just let you do your thing and push her past the precipice. Her eyes flutter shut as she breathes in deep, trying to compose herself. “I want to make you feel as good as you always make me feel.”

Logic that you can’t argue with, not when it’s wrapped up in that sweet, sweet smile. You still attempt, though, “Hanni, making you feel good—”

“Makes me feel good—yeah, I know how it goes,” she finishes the line for you. “But, just. We have all day, so—"

There’s a point that’s finished by her kiss, specific in its tenderness, stealing whatever witty reply you had ready from your mouth.

“Let me start by taking care of you.”

It’s like you said—Hanni Pham, making it all about her, in the least selfish way possible.

You relent, bowing out to her whims.

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” Hanni nods, satisfied with your compliance. She takes your wrists into her hands, guides them away from her body to keep them at your sides. “Just relax.”

It’s a strange feeling, letting go, letting her be the one to dictate the pace, the rhythm of your morning. You watch her, watch the way her eyes wander over you. She’s fascinated, like she can’t make up her mind of where to start.

But she does, eventually.

Her gaze settles on your arousal, standing proud and waiting underneath your sweatpants.

“How about I start—” a light kiss on your lips, and she’s slinking down to your waist, tugging at the string of your pants, “right here?”

A kiss on your stomach, just above your navel, her fingers slipping between your waistband and your skin. They pull at the fabric, dragging it down with care until it’s pooled around your thighs. Your cock springs free, and there’s this gasp she makes—like she hasn’t seen it a hundred times before.

“You’re so big.” Hanni’s in awe, her voice hushed, reverent almost. It’s always been something she says, something that makes you blush—swells the ego that you like to pretend you don’t have. “I still have no idea how this fits inside me.”

“It fits perfectly, remember?”

“Mm, I know, but—" she can’t find the words, so she settles for the next best thing, “damn.”

She’s smiling—always smiling—and you can feel her breath on you, light and sugary, these little pulses of anticipation tingling through your skin.

You hold your breath, waiting for her touch, waiting for her lips, waiting for her to finally take you in.

But she doesn’t. She’s just looking.

“Hanni,” you say, giving your cock a teasing flex, brushing it against her cheek. It’s a light prod to break the spell, to remind her of the task at hand.

“Oh!”

It’s getting unbearable, your cock just inches from her mouth, straining to reach her lips. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Good.“ She presses another kiss to your skin, a little nibble to your inner thigh that makes you jolt. Her hands skim over your legs, pushing your sweatpants down further and further, down your thighs, over your knees right until it’s stuck at your ankles, thwarting her attempted sensual seduction.

She makes this frustrated 'argh!’ at the minor struggle. Very cute. Also a little ridiculous.

"Help, please?” She looks up at you, expectantly.

You acquiesce.

“Aha!” Hanni cheers, slightly louder than she may have intended, having won her battle against your pants. She catches herself, blushing, flashing a cheeky smile.

God, you’re going to fall in love with her all over again.

“Oh right. I mean, are you ready?”

So casual in how she says it, covering for her fumble. It makes you want to laugh—except you can’t, because before you can even open your mouth, she’s already leaned in, pressing her plush lips against the tip of your cock.

Lightly, so light it makes your hairs stand on end. A calculated tease, right hand around your cock, stroking your length. Her left reaches up, laces her fingers with yours. A squeeze, a preview of what’s to come.

You can’t help but twitch under her.

It's her lips, mapping a trail of kisses down your shaft, leaving a warm, sticky mess of pre-cum that she’s quick to lick away. It’s how she’s looking at you—so focused, like she’s been learning, been studying you, creating a personal database of everything that makes you tick.

But above all else it’s just the simple fact that she’s doing this for you, because she cares about you. Because she wants to make you feel good.

It’s all of it and it’s working.

“This is much nicer, isn’t it?” She asks, not really expecting an answer, because she knows it’ll be a resounding yes.

She’s playing with you, not giving you exactly what you want, but just enough. Her hand wrapped around the base of your cock, stroking you from root to tip, thumb circling your head with enough pressure to drive you insane.

It’s pain and pleasure wrapped up into one perfect package, and you’re not sure which one you prefer.

You let her know as such: “Actually quite torturous, to be honest.”

“But it’s the good kind of torture, right?”

“There’s a good kind?”

“We’ve got all day to find out,” Hanni teases, taking a fistful of her own hair in her hand, looping it into a tight, messy bun; preparing herself—giving you a final chance to do the same.

Hanni takes you into her mouth.

It’s not a sudden plunge, not a surprise attack bringing you straight to the back of her throat—it’s a slow, slow descent that has you gritting your teeth and biting back a groan.

It’s hot. Wet. Heavenly. You can feel every inch of your cock being coated in her saliva, her tongue dancing around your shaft, her cheeks hollowing out, her lips creating the most exquisite suction.

When she reaches as far as she can go, fills her mouth with as much of you as she can take, she starts to move back up. Slowly, so you can feel every little bump of her tongue, every little drag of her teeth.

Her hand joins in, moving in tandem with her mouth, stroking the parts of you she can’t reach. She’s trying to find the perfect balance, trying to find that sweet spot between too much and not enough.

Hanni’s no pro at this, her technique is in no way perfect—but she’s so willing, so keen to please. She takes her time, getting used to the feel of you in her mouth, her eyes peeking up at you every so often to gauge your reaction; studying your face for any sign that she’s doing it right, that she’s doing it well.

It’s adorable, really.

And oh, so hot.

You give it to her again, reassure her, “So good, baby,” because it is—your hips buck involuntarily, pushing deeper into her mouth.

It takes her off guard, but she does her best to adapt; she’s trying not to gag, trying to take it all in. She’s a fast learner, your Hanni.

Your compliment serves its purpose—she’s getting more confident now, her tongue gliding along the underside of your cock, tentative, exploratory. It’s clumsy, yes, but it’s cute, and most importantly—it feels good.

She’s concentrating, her attention entirely on your cock; her lips sealed tight. Each time her head bobs down, she takes you in deeper, millimetres, but still, deeper and deeper.

And it’s the sound of her sucking you in, getting sloppier, filling the room with those noises, the soundtrack to your morning. She’s getting bolder, finding her rhythm, building her pace. It’s not precise in any way, shape or form—sometimes she’s a little too rough, sometimes she misses the beat—but the effort.

A harsh suck has your cock popping out of Hanni’s lips, strings of her saliva still connecting her mouth to you. She looks up at you, wanting to check in, still needing that hit of validation, “Is this—is this good?"

You stroke her hair, let her lean into your touch. "Unbelievably. You’re doing great.”

“But I can make it even better, can’t I?” She asks, the determination setting in her features, and she’s staring straight into your eyes, hopeful, “Tell me. Tell me how you want it.”

It’s not a demand—it’s a question, a plea for guidance; she’ll do whatever it takes (whatever you want) to get you there. And it’s the sight of her, straddling your thighs, kneeling before you; those full lips hovering just about your cock, her hand lazily pumping away, keeping you there.

Somehow, you manage to get the words out, a rough whisper, “Take me deep, Hanni. As far as you can go. Take me all in. Show me how much you want it.”

It’s the instruction she’s been waiting for; she’s nodding before you’ve finished, so willing to oblige. It’s that part of her that you’ve discovered, the part she might not even know herself. But it explains so much.

(Hanni: the teacher’s pet, always needing to excel. Competitive, desperate for the highest grades in school, the top evaluations in training; desperate for you to tell her that it’s her and only her.

That’s what makes her successful. That’s what makes her eager.

And now that you’ve put the challenge before her, she can’t wait to prove herself.)

She takes a deep breath, swirls her tongue around the tip of your cock, dipping her toe into the water before she dives right in. It’s like she’s playing it out in her head, memorising the taste of you, the smell of you, the feel of you; mapping out the best way to take you all the way in right before she breaks you.

“Ready?”

“Always.”

And she goes for it.

Her mouth opens wide, eyes locked on yours, and she takes you in again.

Deeper, throat tighter.

Her eyes water a little, and she coughs, retreating. But she’s unfazed—still smiling, still eager.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s okay.”

You stroke her cheek, act like it’s not already far more than you can handle. “Take your time, baby. No need to rush.”

A deep inhale, and she's trying again.

It’s a process, her getting used to you, your size, your taste, the way you make her throat bulge. She’s slow, tentative, but with every stroke, with every gulp, she’s getting closer. Her cheeks hollow out more, her eyes water a little less, and she moans.

You can feel the anticipation building in your chest, your balls, the sweet ache of your orgasm just around the corner. And she can feel it too, your body tensing under hers, your breaths turning shorter, sharper.

The fifth time, she hits the back of her throat, and she stops—holds herself there, panting. It’s a moment of victory, a declaration that she’s got it right, that she can take all of you, just like you asked. Your cock is nestled at the back of her throat, there’s more tears now, but she’s smiling with her eyes, looking up at you through her lashes.

It’s so intense. You groan. Your hips jerk. “Good, baby, so good—don’t move.”

The look on her face, the satisfaction, the pride.  

She swallows around you, working the muscles in her throat, pressing her tongue flat against the underside of your cock; it’s too much.

“Ha-Hanni—keep doing that—keep swallowing—it’s perfect—so perfect—”

It’s a struggle, but she does it, takes it all in, holds it there—just for you.

Her hands are at your thighs, grasping—not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know she’s there, that she’s with you. She coughs, gags, sputters bits of drool down your cock, but she keeps going.

And then, she pulls herself up, needing the air, pulling back with a long gasp; leaving a mess. Your cock slides out of her mouth, springing from her lips; her cheeks a vivid shade of red, glistening with lines of tears—beautiful, just indescribably beautiful.

“Was I good?” She’s asking out of courtesy, really. You’re sure whatever dumb look you’re wearing on your face is more than enough to confirm it.

But you nod and choke a ’Yes’ anyway, because you’re a gentleman, and words of affirmation are just as sweet as the act itself.

“I can do better.”

And before your mind can even catch up to what she’s saying, she’s sucking you back into her mouth. Now that she’s proven herself, she just has to push it even further, show you just what she’s capable of.

This time, she’s more assured, more confident. Her hands are at your hips now, holding you still, like she’s worried you’ll get away.

You won’t, of course. You couldn’t even if you tried.

Hanni’s bobbing her head; these long, deep sucks that have your fingers tangling in her hair, have you urging your hips to meet her mouth. Her eyes are watering more, she’s gagging more often than not, but she doesn’t stop, she just keeps moaning around you, keeps going and going.

She takes her hands off your hips, sliding one down to the base of your cock, holding it steady as she works you over and over. The other finds your balls, balancing them on her fingertips, rolling them around her palm. She’s figuring it out, figuring you out far too quickly, and it nearly has you coming undone.

And through it all, she’s grinning.

It’s a twisted, slightly pained grin, but it’s a grin nonetheless. She’s found her new favourite hobby, and she’s determined to show you just how much she enjoys it.

“I love this,” Hanni slurs against your cock, not really to you, not really to herself, just saying it out loud because it’s true. “I love being able to do this to you, making you feel so good.”

She’s saying these things, these simple words like they’re not dangerous at all, like whispering them against your cock is so harmless, like they don’t have the power to completely destroy your resolve.

“I love that it’s me,” Hanni keeps going, even when her tongue is occupied with licking you, lapping up your balls, the underside of your shaft. “I love that I’m the one who makes you feel this way.”

Gone is the shyness—she’s so smug now, so proud of herself, so in love with the fact that she has you exactly where she wants you: in her mouth, at her mercy.

It’s in the way she’s sucking you, her eyes closing, her hums of pleasure every time she takes you in—as deep as she can. She’s getting hotter on top of you, just from having you in her mouth, from taking you into her lips again and again.

Grinding herself into the mattress, needing a bit of friction, needing more. And that’s when she pulls away, panting for breath.

“Hanni?” You ask, finding your voice, letting go of a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“It’s too much,” she admits, breathless, her hand still wrapped around your cock, stroking you gently, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s too much.”

There’s a shift in the air—in Hanni. Usually, typically, soft. Now wild, desperate.

She’s climbing up you, back on your hips, her wetness smearing onto your skin, her thighs trembling on either side of yours.

"I need it, I can’t wait anymore. I just can’t.”

The suddenness, the urgency in her voice (in her body). Hanni, flushed, practically shaking with need.

“I need you—now.”

It’s so tempting—you could give in easily. And yet, there’s something in how she’s asking you, how she’s using innuendo in place of propriety, dancing around saying what she really wants in plain, explicit terms.

It’s not enough.

She’s already got you on the edge, so close you can almost taste it. But you need to hear it from her. Your sweet, adorable girlfriend, saying something so dirty it’ll make your knees buckle.

So, you sit up, shifting slightly so she’s still straddling you, face to face. Cradling her cheek with one hand, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes; so you can look at her—take in all the tiny beautiful inflections that make her your Hanni.

“What do you need?”

Always with the blushes, but she holds your gaze, not breaking it even when you run your hand back down south, reaching to slip a finger through her folds, finding her still so wet and swollen. She gasps, but she doesn’t look away.

“Tell me, Hanni,” you coax, your finger moving in gentle circles, watching her face, watching the way her pupils dilate, the way her breath catches.

Hanni stutters, “You—I want you—need you—". But you just chuckle, slow down the pace of your finger, giving her a taste of the frustration she’s unintentionally been dishing out.

“Not quite specific enough. What part of me do you want?”

She’s biting her lip, squirming under your touch—she’s not used to this. Not used to anything outside of the usual playfulness, the sweetness; the gentle strokes and soft whispers. But something has you feeling different today.

Maybe it’s the excitement of trying something new. Maybe it’s how unusually forward she’s being. Or maybe, just maybe, part of you has always wanted to hear her beg.

She blurts it out: “Your—your cock!”

“And what do you want me to do with it?” You press, stroking her clit now; her chest heaving, these tiny whines escaping her, and the way she’s looking at you. Like she’s getting ready to pounce.

“Please—just—please, I need—”

“Need me to slide it in slow?” You suggest, kissing her neck, her perfect, porcelain skin. “Give it to you nice and deep?“

Hanni’s rolling her hips on you, grinding herself against your hand, trying to get through to your cock, trying to will it to enter her.

“Go ahead, be honest.”

She’s bothered. Annoyed—almost angry, if that’s even possible for her. Like how could you? How could her kind, loving boyfriend go out of his way to put her in such agony.

“Tell me, baby. What does Hanni want?”

“I—I need your cock inside me—I want you to—” Hanni swallows takes a deep breath.

A final push: “Say it.”

“Fuck me, hold me and fuck me. Deep, hard, slow—however you want just fuck me now.”

The words come out in a rush, spilling out of her lips. Even she’s surprised as she’s saying them, in disbelief that she’s even capable of saying something so filthy out loud.

But she’s not taking it back, she’s not apologising.

No, she’s taking hold of your hand, moving it out from between her legs, and replacing it with your cock, daring you to stop her.

Like you could ever.

You push in, inch by delicious inch, watching her face contort, features twist, feeling her stretch around you.

It’s the same every time—it feels like the first time all over again.

Her eyes squeeze shut, mouth parted in a wordless plea, and you’re moving so slow. So slow that she’s whimpering, begging, hips trying to push you deeper. But you keep it steady, setting the tempo, let her get used to the feeling of being made whole by you again.

“Oh, oh, oh—” Hanni pants, trying to keep her voice down, but it’s pointless. She’s failing already, loosening a strained 'fuck' when you bottom out, when your cock is finally, completely inside her.

You hold her like that; your arms around her, hugging her tight, her breasts squished against your chest. She’s so small in your arms, so soft, so warm; her pulse racing against your own, lapping it twice over.

“You okay?” You ask, placing a kiss on her shoulder.

“More than okay,” she sighs, holding onto you, moulding her body onto yours. “More than okay—just need a minute to adjust. Don’t worry about me—you can—you can make me feel good.”

So, you do.

Lifting her body off you, unsheathing your cock from her warm embrace, until only the tip is trapped in her wetness. Then: guiding her back down, a touch quicker, harder, deeper. And there’s that gasp as she takes you back in, as you fill her.

You’re moving with purpose now, her walls tight and wet and hot around you, clenching and releasing in time with your slow, deliberate thrusts.

Hanni’s breasts bounce in front of you, up and down with every pump, small peaks begging for attention. You’re kissing them again, sucking one into your mouth, suckling on the pink tips.

“So beautiful,” you’re repeating it, speaking it into her skin, because it’s all that’s on your mind as she takes you in. “You’re so beautiful, baby.”

And she looks it too, even though she’s not even trying; with her hair falling out of her bun, sticking to her face with sweat and saliva, her mouth hanging open, swollen and red from your kisses, her body writhing and jerking with every thrust.

Yet she remains focused, eyes glued to yours, like she’s afraid if she looks away she’ll miss something. Like if she doesn’t keep watching, she’ll wake up and find out it’s all been a dream.

But it’s not.

It’s you and her, in this bed, the sun peeking through the curtains, her naked body riding yours, hotter and hotter with each pass.

It’s you and her, together, wrapped up in each other making love like the world outside doesn’t exist.

It’s you and her, and it’s—

“So perfect—you feel so perfect,” Hanni finishes your thought for you, finishes each of your thrusts with her own hips; opening her body up to you, welcoming you in deeper with each stroke. “I think I’m gonna cry it feels so good.”

Her legs lock around your back, heels digging into your spine, until you’re fully seated inside her; so deep it feels like you’re a part of her. With a whine that’s half pleasure, half need, Hanni braces herself on you, rolling her hips on your cock, grinding down, taking as much of you as she can.

You grip her tight, one hand around her back, the other under her ass, fingers squeezing into the soft, tender flesh. Bouncing her up and down, watching her face as she takes you, as she keeps repeating ‘so perfect’.

And you know, you know she’s not just talking about the physical—that’s definitely there. It’s how you’re making her feel, it’s the connection. The way you’re looking at her, the way you’re holding her, the way you’re loving her that has her floating.

“I-I think I’m ready,” Hanni whimpers, “I can take it—you don’t need to—don’t hold back anymore.”

With a grunt, a nod, and a choked ‘Hanni’, you’re sweeping her up, keeping your cock buried deep inside her as you lift her. Your hand cushions the back of her head as you lay her down on the bed beneath you, her legs spreading wide on their own to accept you.

A moment to steady herself, to prepare.

A smile. A kiss on her forehead.

And then you’re in, all the way, again. Completing her pussy with your cock; one swift motion that knocks the wind out of her in the sound of your name.

“God—Hanni—”

It shouldn’t be like this—it should be impossible to be this much hotter, this much wetter, this tight.

But she is.

She’s squeezing herself around you, muscles, thighs flexing. Eyes shut, mouth wide open because there’s no way to stop from crying out; and her body, her lovely, perfect body, arching up to meet your every thrust.

You give it to her.

You’re building up speed, stretching her wide, hips moving in that perfect rhythm you’ve discovered together—the one that makes your name echo off the bedroom walls.

Hanni’s whimpering, mewling, whining, “Tell me—tell me how good it feels.”

You tell her everything—how tight, how wet, how perfect she is. You praise her, shower her with very compliment that comes to mind. She eats them up; her lips leaving marks on your neck, your shoulder, her fingers on your back, her hips swallowing you whole.

But Hanni still needs more, needs to hear more. Not just that she’s good, not even that she’s perfect. She needs to hear that she’s only yours.

“Like heaven, Hanni,” you manage, your voice hoarse, strained. “So perfect for me. Only me.”

“Really?” Hopeful. Ecstatic. So turned on.

“Always,” you repeat, the truth echoing in your voice and across her skin. “Always so perfect.”

“Mmm,” Hanni moans, nodding along, soaking in every word that flows freely from your lips.

“You’re so beautiful, Hanni. Your pussy is so perfect.” You kiss her again, a little harder this time, a little more possessive. “I love how you fit around me.”

Her breath catches in her throat, there’s that spark in her eyes, and she’s taking you deeper, urging you on. “Oh-oh. Keep talking—please—keep talking.”

“Made for me, aren’t you Hanni?” You continue, the steady stream of praise and admiration, caressing her as surely as your cock in her pussy. You can’t get enough, can’t get over how perfect she feels, how right it is to be inside her. “Like a perfect glove around me.”

Her eyes meet yours, her smile shy as she whispers your name. Whispers it like it’s a prayer, like it’s the only word she knows (like it’s the only thing that can give her peace).

She’s so close, getting there, it’s in how she’s pulling you closer; with her arms and her pussy. How she’s saying please, with a little quiver in her voice, alternating it with your name when you hit that spot just right.

“This feels so good, but-but-I think—” Hanni’s voice cracks, even now, still so shy, so adorable. She’s gasping, out of breath, trying her best to string the words together. “C-can I? Can I please cum?”

It’s all you need to hear. You kiss her, hard and deep, push into her. “Of course, baby,” you say, “Do it. Do it for me. I want you to cum for me.”

The effect it has on her—how it ripples across her face. She’s so thankful. So, so thankful for your permission, for what you’re doing to her. “Then please—please don’t stop.”

Harder, faster, deeper now—making her unravel beneath you. Hands holding her in place, feeling her, feeling her tense, quake around you.

Keep going, because she’s almost there, because she’s repeating it, that desperate ‘please’, over and over again.

‘Please-please-please’—with every thrust, saying it without saying it, with every clench of her walls, with every little gasp she lets slip.

Because that’s what she is—who she is—at her most honest, her most vulnerable. Pleases and thank yous on her lips, a constant stream of gratitude for you, for being here with her, for making her feel so much.

“Thank you,” Hanni manages, words almost a moan. “Thank you for making me feel like this, for making me feel so—”

But she can’t finish the sentence, can’t find the words to explain the storm that’s building inside her. So she just says it again, rising in pitch each time as the pressure builds. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you—’

Her nails dig into your shoulders, the first time she’s ever inflicted anything close to pain on you; begging you to stay in place, to not move, to not pull out. You feel her need, feel it in your bones, feel it from the heat of her pussy.

“Feels so—” Hanni’s crying, sobbing now, trembling uncontrollably. You’re holding onto her, deep inside her, giving all the time she needs to let it out. “—so good, so deep, so, so much—”

She gasps. She tightens. She screams.

Hanni’s voice breaks off into a keening wail as it all comes crashing over her; and you don’t stop, can’t stop, can’t do anything but keep her tethered to you as she loses herself to her climax.

“Please—don’t pull out—please—don’t stop—please—please—please—”

She shudders, clenches around you, pussy tightening in the sweetest way possible. It’s that look on her face, saying everything she can’t manage to say, everything she can’t put into words—how much she loves you, how much you complete her, how much she needs this.

It’s a wave, pulling you under, and you let it take you, let it sweep you away until you’re drowning in the feeling of her coming apart around you, under the heat of her eyes and the grip of her body.

Her juices all over your cock, her pussy spasming around you, that blissful agony on her face. Hanni’s so sweet when she cums, so damn gorgeous, it just takes your breath away. She’s perfect, so perfect it hurts.

And as she comes down, as she rides out her orgasm and kisses your name into your lips, she begs of you, once last time: “Your turn.”

With strength you didn’t know she still had, her legs pull you in, anchoring you to her. Her walls pulse, her body begs for you to follow.

And you do.

“Give it to me, please, cum for me, love—”

You let go. Let the tension in your body melt away as you thrust into her one, two, three more times. Until you’re releasing, until you’re cumming, until everything’s white-hot pleasure and Hanni on your tongue.

Load after load inside her, a hot, deep stream that leaves you groaning, that leaves her sighing, panting, joyful. Filling her up until she’s complete, until she’s overflowing.

You cum hard and fast, and Hanni tries her best to keep up, tries to take it all, and she’s smiling—laughing even, the joy of making you feel this good lighting up her features.

“H-Hanni—” you try, your cock twitching inside her, your cum spilling out of her and onto the bed, onto your thighs.

She’s kissing you, kissing your neck, letting you make your mess; your glorious mess of cum and sweat and saliva and her.

It feels so good, everything feels so good about her, everything she’s doing. She’s holding you so tight, so greedily, shivering with every throb of your cock inside her, savouring every moment of your release.

There’s a moment of silence, where you just lay there, bodies entangled, hearts racing, breaths mingling. Just looking at each other, basking in the thickness of sex and satisfaction.

And Hanni smiles, so wide it could split her face in two, a smile that says she’s never been happier.

Then, with a sigh, she relaxes, her legs loosening, ankles unlocking behind you. You roll onto your side, pulling her with you, keeping her close. She’s still with you, still keeping your cock inside her, and you can’t help but feel like this is it.

This is home.

“Best. Morning. Ever.”

She laughs. “I don’t want to get up. Don’t ever want to leave this bed.”

“I don’t think I can get up,” you admit somewhere into her hair.

And then it hits you. Something in the air, something in the light hitting her naked body, something in that blissful expression on her face.

It spills out of you before you can stop it: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes widen a fraction, and she pulls back just enough to look at you, to read your face. “Careful, we’ve got all day for that kind of talk.”

But she doesn’t protest as you hold her tighter, feel the warmth of her body, the smell of the skin, the way she nests into your side. Fitting perfectly—like she’s always been there.

So yeah, you may have said it too early, but whatever.

Today’s the day for breaking normal rules and codes of conduct.

For breaking routines. For her.

For the promise of a long day filled with nothing but lazy kisses, whispered secrets, the sweet taste of her skin.

For staying in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, forgetting the outside world.

For more of this. Of Hanni. Of this perfect, perfect feeling.

So, you stay there. Not moving, not speaking. Just holding onto the moment, as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky.

And as your eyes start to drift close, as you sink into the comfort of the mattress, with her in your arms and on your mind, and you’re thinking this day couldn’t get any better, Hanni whispers:

“Idiot. I’ve always been in love with you.”

[no-144444]

family fights- o.piastri

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summary: you and oscar were never meant to be together, lando made that clear. one night changes everything, then another changes it again.

pairing: oscar piastr x fem! norris! reader

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He’d done it again. Another win. Oscar Piastri was a two-time GP winner. 

And no one could ever take this one away from him. 

Over the past few weekends, he’d been pretty down about everything. Hungary, the whole ‘papaya rules’ bullshit, and how everyone had something to say about Monza. He’s a fucking racecar driver, and he wasn’t a second driver. It’s in his goddamn contract, thanks to Mark. And anyways, why would he pull over and let Lando take points from him, when he’s so close to P3 in the Driver’s standings? Charles is slowly but surely trying to build a gap, and Oscar is not planning on making it easy for him. It’s his season fucking season of F1, and he’s matching his teammate. Is that not something to be proud of? 

Apparently not, in Lando’s fan girls’ eyes. It’s pathetic really, the memes were funny a while ago, and now it’s all getting to be too much. 

And then there’s you. Lando’s sweet little sister who loved Oscar more than life itself. You’d gotten him through the lows of the past few weeks, with just a smile his way.

But Lando wouldn't let you two be together. It was a ‘betrayal’, in his mind. 

It was bullshit. Lando liked having something over him, and you were the ‘thing’ in this scenario. You’d liked Oscar for ages, and you started in secret, too scared to tell Lando. You continued like that for a whole year, somehow hiding it seamlessly. It was the best relationship either of you had ever been in. You matched each other perfectly, and you got to see him everyday, since Lando had brought you on as his physio. Stolen kisses behind closed doors was a-ok with you two, until Lando had to walk into something he wasn’t supposed to. It was your anniversary night and yes, maybe you should’ve checked that the door was properly locked, but when he was kissing you like that? Who would be able to find it in themselves to care? For some reason, Lando walked into your apartment, ready to tell you off for not locking your door, and he found you and Oscar asleep in your bed, 1 year anniversary cards on the counter, and a bottle of wine beside the sink. On the drying rack there were 2 clean plates, two sets of cutlery, two glasses, one bowl, and two spoons. He was so angry. He just stormed in and started screaming at the two of you, telling you that you’d betrayed him for a whole year, making accusations left and right, and generally just ruining your perfect night. 

Then he gave the both of you an ultimatum. Date and lose him as a brother and a friend, or break up and he’d never speak about it again. You two could be friends, but always at a healthy distance. 

It took you both a week to make the decision. You were both crying when you called him to tell him you’d broken up. His response? Good. 

He barely talked to either of you for a month, and you truly feared the worst for your relationship with him. But, in true Lando fashion, one day he just started to be normal again, and everything was ok. 

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Oscar still remembered the way you looked when he'd made the choice to go behind Lando's back. You were wearing your favourite dress, you hair styled perfectly, your nails done, your makeup done, everything. It was for some boring gala that Oscar didn't want to sit through, and neither did you. Though nevertheless you went as the dutiful sister you were and made polite conversation with the gross old dudes who wouldn't leave you alone, and Oscar (he hoped he wasn't grouped in with them).

"Do you want to get some air?" he offered as you finished up a conversation with Christian Horner.

"I'd love to," you nodded, somehow keeping the soft smile on your face.

You burst out of the hall laughing, having run away from Lando. You got on well with Oscar. He was lovely, honestly. "He's going to kill us," you laughed, grabbing ahold of his shoulder to steady yourself.

"Worth it," he smirked.

You two spent some time outside, eventually ending up outside in the cold French air. You two somehow ended up intertwined on a bench outside the venue.

"I really enjoyed sneaking off with you," you beamed at him.

"I really enjoyed it too," he blushed. "We should do it again some time."

You laughed. "I think Lando will kill us if we pull that again-"

You stopped talking because he'd started kissing you, and you didn't want him to stop.

"I like you," he pulled back. "A lot."

It was so juvenile you almost laughed. Yet, you found yourself answering with; "I like you too."

And thus began your year-long love.

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To be honest, Oscar hated clubs. He hated the sweaty air, the suffocating closeness of everyone, and the heavy drinking. Oscar didn’t drink much, mainly a glass of wine with dinner, or a celebration drink every now and then. He wasn’t a huge fan of feeling out of control. Despite all of that, he’d somehow been convinced by Lando to go ‘out on the town’. He didn’t want to go out on the town. He wanted to stay home, or bump into you in the cinema near your shared apartment building. You two had been doing that a lot lately, bumping into each other there. You’d sit together, or a few chairs apart, but it’d always feel a bit like before you’d broken up. It felt good. You missed him dearly, as did he. He knew you were going to see a special midnight showing of Psycho, yet he couldn’t even go because Lando dragged him out. 

“Mate!” Lando shouted from the other side of the VIP booth. 

“What?” Oscar asked, walking up to him. 

“I have someone I want you to meet,” Lando, being the prick he is, signalled to a girl in the middle of the dance floor that looked nothing like you. “Look, she’s nothing like Y/n! It’s perfect!” 

Oscar felt his blood boil, and finally spill over. “Fuck off Lando. That’s not fair-”

“What’s not fair was the fact that you dated my little sister behind my back!” He shot back. 

Oscar grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him out of the club, into the humid Monaco air. This back alley was usually used for a smoke break, but tonight it would be used a fucking ring. 

“I’m not expecting you to understand anything I'm going to say, but fuck you Lando. I loved Y/n- I love Y/n, and you took that all away from me because of what?! You felt betrayed? You felt bad? It was overwhelming? We’ve proven that we’re not awkward if we break up, we’re actually ridiculously civil, all for your sake! You’re the one being unfair here. Yes, maybe we should’ve told you earlier. Yes, maybe it was wrong to keep it from you, but for fuck’s sake man! She’s your little sister, I’m your friend, it’s not like you don’t know us! I’d never do anything to hurt her, and she’d never use me, or whatever bullshit excuse you gave me. Now, I know you don’t fucking understand this, but I love her. More than anything in the entire fucking world. More than racing, more than anything. She’s what gets me through the shitty days and even shittier races. Knowing that, once I get out of the car, she’ll be standing there with a smile, or a hug on the occasions where you don’t watch us like a fucking hawk, makes it all fucking worth it for me. You took that away from me, and you took it away from her. It ate at her the entire year we were together that she couldn’t tell you, because well, of course it would! You are her older brother, her best friend. She should’ve been able to tell you about her boyfriend. She questioned herself after every day we spent together, every date we went on, about whether or not what we were doing was right. She felt so guilty. I felt so guilty. But at the end of the day when I saw her waiting for me in my driver’s room, or my apartment, or at the foot of the podium, I knew that what I felt was right. And it wasn’t just me feeling it Lan, she loved me back,” he sniffled, trying to hold back tears. “So no, I don’t want to meet someone at a club, I want Y/n. My Y/n. And I don’t give a fuck if you’re upset by that, because I’ve given you every reason to trust me Lando, and I promise you, I’ll never try to hurt her. I’ll keep her safe, and above all, I’ll love her.” 

Lando was taken aback. He was a lot more sober now. He’d never seen Oscar show so much emotion. He’d never seen Oscar show much emotion, point blank. Yet here he was, standing in front of him, crying over his little sister. “Mate, what do you mean?”

“I means you’re a fucking asshole Lando, and I don’t give a shit if you don’t want me to date Y/n. It means I’m going to ask her out again, and if she says yes I won’t stop just because you’re a dickhead who can’t stomach the fact that she loves me, and I love her.” 

Lando was again, taken aback. He’d never really had a reason as to why he didn’t like you and Oscar dating, it just felt… weird to him. Then, with about a moment's worth of self-reflection, he realised. He didn’t want to be second to Oscar. All his life, you’d been his biggest supporter, you two were always together, always there for each other, always his little sister. From cradle, to karting, coffin, he thought he’d be the only driver you supported and cared about. Then, in came Oscar, being everything he wanted to be; cool, calm, collected, talented, unprideful, gracious, and kind. Everything he worked to be. It had taken Lando 6 years to get a win, Oscar did it in his first year. It took Lando 2 years to get a podium, Oscar did it in his debut season.  “Well it’s just not right,” Lando shot back. “She’s my little sister, and I’m not being second to you with her! That’s not fair. She doesn’t get to choose you over me!” 

“She chose you! She broke up with me because you asked her to! I don’t know what the fuck you think is going to happen if we start dating again, but it’s not like we’ll just abandon you Lando! She’s your sister, and she loves you more than life itself! For fuck’s sake, if this was all about being scared that she’d pick me over you, we could’ve sorted this out weeks ago!” 

“I have to be second place to a fucking rookie! Do you know how that feels? Bad, Oscar, it feels bad. And now you want to come here and tell me that I’m second place to that same rookie, in my sister’s opinion? Y’know how that feels? Worse!” Lando was crying now, unable to control it. “I’ve been second to someone my whole fucking life, and Y/n was the one person who understood me! And now you want to take her away!” 

“I’m not taking her away, Lando! We’re both still going to be here for you!” Oscar took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t take your frustrations on the track out on her, she’s the one suffering for it. You’re suffering for it too, and so am I. Lando, she loves you no matter what, you know that.” “I’m scared alright?” He groaned. “I’m scared that one day I’ll turn around after an interview and see her celebrating you winning over me! I’m scared that she’ll see I’m not as good as you! I’m scared.” 

“You can be scared all you want, but she isn’t like that, Lando. Talk to her about this, she’ll reassure you-”

“And how the fuck would you know? You barely know her-”

“I know her a lot better than you do if this is what you think of her,” Oscar’s words cut through the tension in the warm air. Lando flinched like he’d been hit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me from this shitty night out, I’m going to go find your sister and tell her how I feel. Goodbye Lando.”

Oscar didn’t even bother going back inside to grab his coat, he just started walking. Jimmy’s was a 30 minute walk from your regular cinema, and if his calculations were correct, you’d be getting out of the screening just then. 

As he walked he thought about everything Lando had said. It was pathetic, honestly, why couldn’t Lando have just told you how he felt instead of ruining the incredible thing you and Oscar had going with his own insecurities. Maybe he didn’t understand it, maybe Lando just hadn’t experienced what you two had. 

“Oscar?” you walked up to him, smiling. 

“Hi,” he answered, stopping in his tracks.

“How are you?” you asked, awkward tension filling the air.

“I’m… I’m alright. I wanted to talk to you,” he explained. 

“Talk away,” you smiled. 

“Well… Lando and I had this big blowout argument, and I made a choice. I don’t care what he wants anymore, and if he has a problem with me loving you, then it’s his problem, not ours. I want you back Y/n, more than anything. I miss you every fucking day. And if the only reason we’re not together is because of him, then I’m forgetting how he feels. I want you back if you’ll have me.”

You stood there, shocked. It had been 4 months since you and Oscar had broken up. You loved him, but you loved your brother too. You couldn’t put your relationship with your brother at risk for Oscar, could you? Lando had been for you throughout your childhood, a constant. You wouldn’t be able to handle him not being there, would you? “Oscar, when did you two argue-?” “30 minutes ago?” he shrugged, a soft smile on his lips. 

“I-oh wow. Osc, you know I love you, but Lando’s my brother and… I can’t betray him, can I?”

“Is it betrayal?” Oscar questioned. 

You’d been trying to figure out for the past 4 months why it was betrayal, yet you came up blank every time. Lando had dated friends of yours, and broken their hearts, why shouldn’t you return the favour? “But he said it was. He’s my brother Osc… I can’t just… ruin our relationship-”

“He ruined ours!” he sighed, exasperated. “All because he’s a insecure prick, no offence-” “None taken-” “And he was scared you’d stop picking him over me, which I understand but like, for fuck’s sake, he could’ve just spoken to you about it!” 

You thought for a moment. What did you want? Oscar. Always. You woke up thinking about him, fell asleep thinking about him, dreamt of him. He was everything you’d ever wanted.  “Are we really going to do this Osc?” you whispered into the darkness of the night. 

His lips turned into a smile, and then they were on yours. He’d gotten the girl, he’d gotten the win, and he didn’t care what anyone else said.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Bro... how would Stanley/Stanford deal with their s/o (y/n) having a stalker? (As someone who has been a victim of stalking, it's terrifying)

They are afraid to go outside to do things such as check the mail, gets harassed online through text/emails, and overall just terrified 24/7, constantly paranoid with the fear of the worst happening to them if they let their guard down :(

Stan will wholeheartedly stay with you, just so he could use Ford’s crossbow because how dare some creepy fuck make you feel unsafe inside and outside the house.

He’ll fist fight them if he must, also he’ll use this as an excuse to teach you kickboxing.

If he ever find out where this stalker lives, best believe that he’ll make sure they’ll be the one scared to come out of their one house by sending letters depicting threats of what he’d do should they step a toe out of their own home, and it’s in excruciating detail.

However if the stalker try to send the letter into the police, the police can’t seem to trace who sent the letter…Stan is too good at what he does it’s almost terrifying but it works out for you as the stalker is scared as shit that someone will set throw a Molotov cocktail at them while getting the mail…or depants them when they least expect it.

‘Don’t you think this is a bit much?’ You asked.

‘Where they’re threatening my baby? Never, I could’ve done way worse for you.’ Stan said as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, keeping you close to his side as you both snuggled up together while watching television, feeling the safest you ever been in a long while.

Stan then proceeds to run the bastard over in his car ❤️

Ford will probably have some sort of surveillance cameras set up that he would check now and then for any and all abnormal activity regarding your stalker.

He doesn’t take this kindly as Bill had a tendency to watch him closely, so much so to the point that every time he was out in the woods he felts as though he was being watched, surveyed and observed like he was nothing sort of a experiment.

Gives you his crossbow to shot the bastard between the eyes because the was legal right? Well it is in certain dimensions and he’ll be damned if he didn’t give you something to protect yourself with if something bad were to happen.

He doesn’t trust the police, he thinks their incompetent and can’t do their jobs for shit. So he’ll take justice into his own hands by digging up as much dirt as he could on the person by enlisting some help from his most trusted friends.

But most importantly Ford makes sure you’re okay, makes you reassured and doesn’t make you feel shit for feeling like you were being watched, stalked and harassed online by someone who doesn’t know their boundaries. He’s still recovering rom his own experience with a psychopath (bill), and will make sure that you learn to heal and move on together by being a constant and reassuring presence within your life. A positive force that kept you safe and made sure you were okay at the beginning and end of every day.

He wants you to live your life freely, not scared of the outside.

If he sees that your being harassed online, Ford will make sure that the stalkers details are leaked to the public by whatever means necessary along with the creepy tendencies they have been known for but punished far too lightly for by the system that protects these creeps.

(Ford may sick the gnomes on the twat, claiming he had found them the perfect gnome royalty for them and see how they like it.)

[luveline]

jade!! i saw you were willing to add emily to your 46 fics and i have a request!! i think about your emily x single mom!reader everyday and i was wondering if you’d write more in that universe? maybe emily has to drop readers kid off at their first day of pre-k or preschool (i have no clue what you call it in the uk) because reader has a work emergency or something??

thanks so much for requesting! fem, 1.1k

“It’ll be fun,” Emily says. 

Jane is looking at Emily like she’s grown a second head. “No.” 

Emily tries again. Swallows her nerves, and readjusts herself where she’s on her knees. “Mommy was gonna drop you off herself, but it's her very first day back at work and they needed her super early, so it’s me. But mom will be the one who picks you up again.” 

Jane just squints. 

“I have to go to work, too,” Emily says. 

“I’m com’n with you,” Jane says, nodding. 

Emily looks behind Jane at the baby gated corral of little kids. It’s possibly the worst adjustment in the world for your work to decide the day-of that you’d have to go early. You didn’t have time to prepare Jane for her own first day, and Emily isn’t good at this bit yet. 

“No,” Emily says, holding Jane by both arms, “I have to go work too, and it’s too boring for you. You’re gonna have way more fun here meeting your new friends.” 

Jane had already met one of the daycare workers, incidentally called Janet, a few days ago to try and ease the new phase of her life, but it’s a common fact that the majority of kids cry on their first day here. Why wouldn’t she? Jane has spent the majority of her growing life with you. This is a horrible adjustment, but better she does it now. 

Emily’s just waiting for tears.

“Em-wy…” 

“It’ll be fun, okay? There’s so much to do! Colouring, painting, dancing, nap time. They’ll make you lunch, and your new friends will have games to play–” She strokes Jane’s arm. “Sound fun?” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“I’ll miss you…” Jane mumbles, her eyes finally growing shiny. 

Emily’s honestly not expecting it. “Well, I’ll miss you more. But mommy will pick you up soon,” —you aren’t working the full day— “and you’ll see me at dinner time, okie dokie?” 

“I’m not…” Jane looks lost for what to say. She’s very, very little. Emily isn’t surprised. 

“I know it’s different, but it’s not bad.” Emily tilts her head to the side, giving Jane her gentlest smile. She’s learned all her motherly tricks from you. It’s easy to fall into that tone of voice, that same affection, because Emily adores Jane. 

“Em-wy,” Jane mumbles again. 

“Janie,” she says, copying Jane’s warbling voice. “Baby, I swear it will be great, and then mommy will pick you up and I will buy you whatever big girl dinner you want. We could have McDonald’s.” 

She whispers the last part. 

Jane smiles slowly. “Okie dokie.”

Emily should’ve guessed that Jane wouldn’t cry. She’s a funny little kid, quiet and sweet and a teeny bit slow to understand. Perhaps she’ll cry once Emily’s already gone. 

“Okay. Do you want a cuddle before I leave?” 

Jane nods, tucking her face into Emily’s front. Emily wraps her arms around her and breathes in the smell of the lavender conditioner you’d run through her hair last night. “Love you, babe,” Emily whispers. 

“Love you too.”

—

Emily thankfully gets home. Hotch laughs at her eagerness to not work, remarking that somehow you’d made a family of a woman determined not to be tied down. He had a point —Emily didn’t realise she wanted a wife until she met you. Didn’t realise she wanted a daughter until she met Jane, though she’s had her whims and whiles about it. 

This is real. 

You hear the door and hurry to it. Emily’s barely out of her shoes when you find her, in your smart clothes yourself, a chocolate smudge on your cheek. 

“Where’s the fire?” Emily asks. 

“Thank you for this morning,” you say, taking her hands. 

Emily softens as you rub her fingers. “You’re welcome. Did she– was she okay? She looked extremely worried for a baby.” 

“She’s not a baby.” You lean forward and to one side, just touching her. “Emily, you– I was so worried, I thought she’d take it hard but you really pulled a magic trick. She didn’t even cry when I picked her up. When I asked how her day was, she told me you promised it would be fun… and that you were going to get her McDonald’s.” 

“I will get her McDonald’s.” 

You take a swift, soft kiss. “My hero. She told me she missed me, but guess who she mentioned first?” 

Emily raises her eyebrows. 

“Mm-hm,” you hum, pulling her to the kitchen. “Em-wy, of course.”

Emily squeezes your hand as you both enter the kitchen to find the source of your kissed cheek. Jane sits at the table in lavender pyjamas to match the smell of her hair. She’s eating chocolate covered strawberries and celery with peanut butter, spread on her hands and lips, but less on her cheeks than her mom. 

“Baby, look! Guess who’s home?” 

Jane finds Emily with her gaze and gasps happily, clapping, a strawberry falling in the gap of her chest and table. “You’re back!”

“I’m back! You’re home, too! Did you have fun?” 

There’s a suspicion in Jane’s expression that she’s too young for, as though she’s guessed this whole daycare business is permanent, but she shrugs it off. “I miss you,” she says. 

“I’m back,” Emily reminds her. “I can see where mommy got her kiss from, that looks yummy.” 

You wipe your cheeks with two palms and bring them down to find chocolate melted against your fingers. “Thanks for telling me.” 

“I had plans to help you eventually.” Emily rounds the table and chair to tip Jane’s head back gently, looking her over. “You okay? Did you have a good day?” 

“Good day,” she echoes. 

“You’re happy?” Emily asks. 

She’d realised how nervous she was for your girl the second she left the daycare building. What if Jane hates it, and she cries the whole day and makes her eyes sore? Emily hadn’t enjoyed thinking about it, deciding she’d get her more than McDonald’s. 

“I’m glad you had a good day,” Emily says. 

“I fed Sergio!” Jane tells her. 

Sir-joe must be a pretty happy cat. “Thank you, babe, you’re the bestest.” 

You aren’t jealous but eager as you slide into Emily’s side and under her arm. You smile as you rest your face on her shoulder, a little cat-like yourself as your breathing evens. “She saved the day.” 

Jane looks up at you both, but her eyes meet Emily’s as she smiles. “Missed you, mommy,” she says. 

Emily’s heart skips a beat, wondering, just for a moment, if Jane was talking to her. Emily wouldn’t mind it. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

You nab a strawberry from Jane’s plate. Emily’s expecting it, but she’s still too happy to talk as you kiss her cheek. “Got you back.”

[sailor-aviator]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Twelve

Fool's Fare: Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Content Warning: Talks of death, Lots of anxiety, Reader has a mental breakdown kind of, Abandonment issues surface hardcore, Talk of curses, Talk of magic, Major angst, Sea shanty, Feelings of hopelessness, Davy Jones reveal! I think that's everything, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4.2k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

The port of St. Augustine was much like any other port you had found yourself in. The marketplace bustled with activity, the sellers promoting their wears as others scurried about to and fro on the streets. The sun beat down, casting a fog of humidity that threatened to choke the air from your lungs.

It had been two weeks since the serpent’s attack, and the crew of the Hangman had been stranded in the large port, sequestering themselves to one of the local pubs until repairs to the broken mast were finished.

Jake had been in a foul mood since the encounter, the looming deadline heavy on his mind, and on more than one occasion you had woken up to the sound of his distressed murmurs as he slept beside you. He had flat out refused to leave your side for longer than a few minutes since the attack, anxiety and distress coloring his features every time you looked at him. You knew he feared losing you, you could feel it in the way he held you these days, the end drawing nearer with each passing of the sun across the horizon. But wasn’t it you who should be afraid of losing him? You weren’t the one in danger of falling victim to a curse.

A bothersome fly pulled you from your thoughts, the whining of its movement sparking irritation in your chest. It was too damn hot for the pesky thing to be bothering you. You pulled your hand out from under your chin, swatting at the insect as it flew just out of your reach. It zoomed back towards you, wings fluttering in your face as if to taunt you. An exasperated exhale escaped your lips as you glared daggers at the offending beast.

“You look miserable.”

You turned to see Nat approaching you slowly, a wry smile on her lips as you gave her a tight-lipped smile—an attempt you were sure came out as more of a grimace than an actual smile. You wiped the sweat drenched strand of hair out of your face, offering her a shrug as you turned your attention back to the street outside. She sighed, coming up to sit at the sill beside you. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the different groups of people as they flitted about the street. The silence grew more tense as the time dragged on, and you could tell that Natasha wanted to say something to you. Glancing at her from the corner of your eye, you saw her chewing on her bottom lip, deep in thought.

“How’s Mickey today?” You asked her. His screams of agony were still fresh in your mind, the scarlet on his clothes vivid in your mind as he writhed on the decks of the ship. Javy had been the one to stop the blood flow, securing the bandage around Mickey’s thigh tight enough to put a temporary fix to the problem without causing more damage. You watched as Javy and Reuben picked Mickey up on either end, carrying him towards the cabins. Mickey had already passed out, a layer of sweat coating his pallid skin. Nausea roiled in your stomach, your breathing coming out in quick spurts.

You jumped as Jake came up behind you, brushing your hand with his fingertips. Your eyes darted towards him, unease settled deep in your bones.

“Is he going to be okay?” You whispered, looking at the captain for any kind of answer. Jake sucked in a breath, and it occurred to you that you had never seen him look so at a loss.

“I don’t know,” he answered, hanging his head. His hands flexed at his side before balling them into tight fists. You looked from him back towards the sea. The serpent and the British ship were already out of sight as the Hangman limped towards shore. You were sure the men on the other ship were all dead, the serpent’s hunger sated until the next unsuspecting ship made its way into the waters.

“Those men,” you continued, brow furrowing in thought. “The one’s the serpent-”

You stopped yourself from finishing the sentence, pressing your lips into a thin line as Jake glanced at you, waiting.

“Are they dead?” You asked, looking back at him. You didn’t know how the curse worked in cases like this. Yes, they could be hurt. You knew that much. But would something like what had just occurred be enough to kill them?

Jake sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening as he dared to look back towards the water.

“I hope so.”

You had reached the port of St. Augustine early the next morning, the cold light of dawn at your backs as each crew member heaved a weary sigh. Reuben had departed the ship as soon as the gangway was in place, running to find a doctor to see after Mickey. The rest of the crew waited around anxiously, some busying themselves with tasks around the ship as everyone waited for news on Mickey’s condition.

“He’s doing a lot better today,” Nat told you, a tired grunt leaving her lips as she settled further back against the wall. You nodded, closing your eyes in a bid to ignore the heat that threatened to swallow you whole.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you still look miserable,” she prodded, earning a less than enthused grunt from you. You sighed, leaning up and stretching out your shoulders.

“I suppose I could be doing better,” you admitted, finally turning your full attention to her. She pressed her lips together, humming in agreement.

“The deadline is only a few days away,” she said, and your heart jumped at the reminder before curling in on itself. Her words were the exact reason you had been keeping to yourself the past week, dread filling you down to your very soul as the days loomed and the dreaded deadline approached faster and faster. The anxiety kept you awake well into the night, clawing at your mind until it was all you could think about. You hadn’t known sleep in days.

“Jake’s been awfully tense,” she pressed. “Rightfully so, I guess. Javy won’t show it, but I know he’s worried too. I can see it in the way he holds his shoulders. He fidgets more than usual too when he’s nervous. I do my best to soothe his worries, and I think he forgets for a little while, but…”

Her voice drifts off to silence, an air of uncertainty surrounding her. You understood what she was feeling. The moments of sleep Jake could get were spent in fitful movements as even his unconscious mind was unable to find peace amongst the chaos. You would curl up closer to him in those moments, resting your head against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. Fingers would glide up and down his arm, and your presence seemed to calm him enough that he would still, if only for a little while. You asked him early on what he dreamed of in those moments, but his eyes would glaze over as his lips pressed firm, a faraway look in his eyes before he would shake his head and walk away, shoulders hunched as if in defeat.

Bradley didn’t fare much better when you tried talking to him. The usually playful, happy-go-lucky man you knew and loved had all but disappeared. All that was left was a shell of a man who looked and sounded like your brother, but seemed to be a complete stranger to you now in these past days. You had tried talking to him, to get a sense of where his head was at, but much like your captain, no words would leave his lips. He would only stare at you, almost looking through you before turning and walking away.

You felt like you would lose your mind, like the concern and anxiety was building up so completely within you. It reminded you of how your mother once was when your father would leave for his voyages.

She’d pace around the house, busying herself with as many tasks as she could—sometimes repeating them two or three times in a bid to keep her hands busy and mind from drifting towards thoughts of the unimaginable. On more than one occasion, you’d come home to find her staring out towards the water, a faraway look in her eye. You always wondered what she was thinking about in those moments, but now you were sure you knew.

“I don’t think it’s possible to forget the ocean’s secrets,” you replied, focusing once more on the busy street outside. “The ocean will always remind you why it’s not to be crossed.”

Natasha didn’t respond, only looked at you. You didn’t acknowledge her, letting your mind wander to thoughts of what would happen if you all were to fail. Would the curse turn them into mindless monsters? Would the change be immediate? Or would you lose those you hold most dear slowly as their unslaked desire coursed through their veins for eternity?

Your friend heaved a heavy sigh before standing. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but must have thought better of it before turning on her heels and walking away. You wished you could provide her with some kind of comfort, some certainty that things would be okay. But, you could hardly convince yourself of it, let alone another.

The afternoon passed slowly, your vigil by the window continuing on even as the pub filled with sailors and your own crew. Mickey had managed to heal enough to walk, though his usually golden skin still seemed somewhat dull after his experience. The crew drank as if there were no tomorrow, and you supposed there might not be. Locals took up space by the piano, different jigs and tunes ringing out amongst the crowd as several people joined in with lyrics. You wished you could join in the merriment, bring yourself to forget for just one moment that a mere guess wouldn’t decide your fate.

Jake, Bradley, and the rest of your friends sat hunched around one of the tables across from where you sat, none of them able to meet your gaze, and a mixture of anger and loneliness filled you. Is this what your days would look like? Would they go off and leave you behind to face a life of solitude? Would they expect you to forget them?

For another moment, you were reminded once again of your mother, only this time you remembered her as she waited for that last voyage. You could tell that something was different that time, the air more tense as she paced around your home. The song she would hum under her breath the only sound she would make for days. You thought of that song, how lonely and full of despair the words sounded. You thought of how sad your mother always sounded every time she would sing it, and before you even realized, the words were leaving your lips quietly, slowly building to be heard above the hum of conversation filling the room.

“I thought I heard the Old Man say: ‘Leave her, Johnny, leave her.’ Tomorrow you will get your pay, and it's time for us to leave her.”

Several heads turned towards you as you sang, your voice clear as you felt the emotion you had worked so hard to keep tamped down swirl within you.

“Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow And it's time for us to leave her.”

The conversation died down now, and you supposed you would feel self conscious under normal circumstances, but something within you longed to break free and be heard. You had long stayed quiet in fear of upsetting those around you with your own feelings. Of course, you had had your few moments where you couldn’t keep the worries and feelings within you, your fears bursting forth and out of you over the past few months on sea.

“Oh, the wind was foul and the sea ran high. ‘Leave her, Johnny, leave her!’ She shipped it green and none went by. And it's time for us to leave her.”

The conversation had stopped completely at this point, but you were only vaguely aware of your audience. The words themselves haunted you, and you knew how your mother had felt all those years ago. You wondered if she felt the exact moment she had lost your father to the sea.

“Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow And it's time for us to leave her.”

Had your father been scared in his final moments? Did the waves tower over him life in the song you now sang? Had he faced the towering waves head on in the way he faced everything in life? Or had looking death in the face been too much for him? Did he think of you? Your mother? Bradley? Or did he lament the things he hadn’t done, the things he had failed to do?

“I hate to sail on this rotten tub. ‘Leave her, Johnny, leave her!’ No grog allowed and rotten grub. And it's time for us to leave her.”

Several people within the pub now joined in your singing, voices ringing out in unison. For the first time since you started, you dared a look over at the table where the others sat. Remorse colored both Jake and Bradley’s faces, the whisper of tears in their eyes as they watched you. Your heart squeezed so tight, you wondered for a moment if it would burst. You hadn’t meant for the tears to flow, and you were shocked when a cool, night breeze blew in from outside, cooling the trickle that streamed down your cheeks.

“Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow And it's time for us to leave her.”

You choked on the words, unable to continue as those around you continued on. Your world would change in a few days, and there was nothing you could do about it. For the first time, hope seemed too far out of reach, slipping through your grasp as the realization that you would truly be alone for the first time gripped you tightly, refusing to let go.

“We swear by rote for want of more. ‘Leave her, Johnny, leave her!’ But now we're through so we'll go on shore. And it's time for us to leave her.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow And it's time for us to leave her.”

You let out a quiet sob as you pushed off from your seat, practically running out of the pub. The door banged against the wall with a loud crack, the echo of laughter and conversation chasing after you into the dark street. Another tune started up, a jollier shanty than the one you had led everyone in, but the joy and merriment found in the pub did not reach you in that moment, despair digging its claws into you as you stalked down the street with no mind to where you were heading.

The world swam around you, blurred by your tears. Your chest and head hurt from how hard you sobbed, your arms wrapped around your middle in an attempt keep yourself together, to keep yourself whole.

You staggered, coming to a stop next to building, leaning your weight against the sturdy structure as you fought to gain back your composure. A hand landed on your shoulder, ripping you out of your breakdown. You looked up with wet, wide eyes to meet a sea of concerned green.

Jake didn’t hesitate to try and pull you close, moving to wrap his arms around you in a soothing gesture, but you shook your head, pressing a hand to his chest to keep him away. His brow furrowed in confusion, thumb reaching up absentmindedly to wipe away your tears. You jerked away from him, shaking your head more vigorously.

“No,” you croaked, another sob wracking through you.

“Guppy,” he started, taking a step closer to you, but you shoved at him this time.

“No,” you stated more firmly, shooting him an angry, wild look that had him balking. “I don’t want your pity, or your comfort, or anything else you’re trying to bestow upon me. Not when it’ll all be for nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” He sighed out, an edge to his tone. You sniffled, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand as you attempted to stand tall.

“I can’t keep relying on you,” you uttered. “Not when this time in only four days, I won’t have you anymore. I’ll be alone. I’ll have no one except maybe Nat, but even that’s not a guarantee. In a few days' time, you’ll face Davy Jones, and not knowing how that will end, terrifies me.”

Jake didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there and watched you with an indiscernible expression. Finally, he set his jaw and stepped close, pulling you into his arms. A large hand cradled your face, pulling your face up towards his.

“I’m not leaving you, sweet girl,” he said, thumb stroking across your cheek. You squeezed your eyes shut as a new wave of tears threatened to spill over.

“You don’t know that,” you whispered in return.

“I do though,” he retorted. “I know everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. Even if I’m doomed to live a cursed life, a life where I will never know peace or satisfaction again, it would be a far worse fate to not have you by my side.”

You couldn’t stop the sob that shook you, choosing instead to hide your face against his chest. Jake let out a low hum, smoothing his hand over the back of your head as he rocked you gently until the sobs died down once more.

“Trust me, Guppy,” he murmured, moving his hand to dig something out of his coat. “This will buy us our freedom.”

You turned your head to see him holding up the Soul of Polaris, the gem seeming to glow in the moonlight. You swallowed thickly, watching as it rotated slowly in his hold.

“What does it show you?” You asked quietly, gripping his shirt a little harder in your hands.

“What?” Jake asked, sounding perplexed.

“When I first saw it,” you explained, “the man who had it said that it guided a person to what it was they needed most.”

You turned your head to gaze up at him. “So, what is it that it shows you?”

Jake looked at you for a moment, eyes wide in surprise before he shifted his focus towards the gem. His brow furrowed once more as he pressed his lips together, pondering what he should say.

“We should head back,” he said finally, pocketing the gem once more as he guided you back down the street.

Four days later, the newly repaired Hangman rocked in the ocean waves as it headed up the coast towards North Carolina. The air aboard the ship had grown thick with mounting tension and anxiety, the air so thick you swore you could cut it with one of Bob’s kitchen knives.

The fog that surrounded the waters didn’t help matters, setting a decidedly somber mood as the crew waited for their fates to be decided. Sunset was approaching, something you could tell despite the blanket of fog that hid the sun from view. Jake hadn’t stopped pacing the length of the deck for two hours, and just watching him had you on edge. He had already snapped at three crew members for, admittedly, small infractions, and you were starting to wonder if he’d keep his sanity long enough to see Davy Jones at this point.

“Captain,” Javy called from the helm, face tight with his own anxiety, though his tells were less obvious compared to everyone else’s. Jake’s head snapped up to look at him, back rigid as he paused mid-step.

“We’re here,” Javy announced, dipping his head at his best friend. Jake sucked in a breath, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek. After a moment, he blew out, nodding his head as he swallowed thickly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, nodding more determinedly. “Yeah, alright. Bradshaw, Guppy. You’re with me. Everyone else, stay put until I get back.”

You were shocked that he picked you and Bradley, certain he would have chosen Javy or Natasha. You didn’t say anything as you followed him and Bradley towards one of the lifeboats. Natasha already stood by the railing, waiting for the captain to approach.

“You’re leaving me behind?” She challenged as you all approached, Javy descending the stairs at the same time. Jake raised his chin at her, a grimace pulling on his lips.

“I trust you and Javy to look after the ship while I’m away,” he explained. “But, I still need people I can trust with me—people I can depend on if this goes south. Bradshaw will act as my muscle, and we’ve seen how things react around Guppy.”

Natasha mulled over his words for a moment before nodding in agreement.

“Be careful out there,” she implored. “We’ve already had one crew member mangled by something magical.”

Jake shot her a grateful look before turning his attention to Javy who had saddled up behind her. The two shared a silent exchange before clasping their forearms and pulling each other in for a one-armed hug. The two pulled away at the same time, and Javy offered the captain a nod.

“Good luck,” he said. Jake nodded back at him before turning back towards the lifeboat. He let out a long, weary sigh before stepping forward with you and Bradley not far behind.

The fog clung to your skin, giving you the feeling of walking through water as the sand shifted beneath your feet. Jake and Bradley had hauled the boat up out of the water and further onto the beach before the three of you set out to find the spot where Davy Jones would be waiting.

The wind whipped around you, ruffling your clothes and sending a chill down your spine. You ignored it, knowing what lay ahead of you already had a frigid feeling coursing through your veins as the sky began to grow darker. Jake’s pace began to increase as the clock counted down, his hands clenching and unclenching as the three of you continued on.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Bradley asked, peering at the captain from the corner of his eye. Jake’s frown deepened as he shot the brunette a sharp look.

“Yes,” he snapped, stopping suddenly. “This is the place.”

You looked around, noting the cliffs that hung just above your head, the grass swaying in the wind as the waves crashed against the rocky shore. Bradley looked around as Jake stared down at his feet. You perched atop one of the rocks, bringing your knees up to your chin as your attention flickered between the two men.

“Did we miss him?” Bradley prodded, hands in his pockets as he walked around in a circle. “Shouldn’t he be here already?”

“I don’t know Bradshaw,” Jake snapped once more, an irritated glint in his eye. “We didn’t exactly exchange letters on what time to meet.”

A familiar hum prickled at the back of your neck, your back straightening as a knowing feeling overcame you. You twisted your neck to the right, looking down the beach towards the opposite way you came. In the growing shadows and through the fog, a tall figure began to emerge, their coat billowing behind them.

“Look!” You exclaimed, scrambling to your feet as you pointed a finger at the figure. Jake and Bradley turned to where you gestured, postures alert and on guard as they spotted the figure too. The humming grew in intensity as the figure drew closer, but there was no sense of danger that accompanied it like there had been with Thetis, the sirens, and the serpent. No, in place of danger, there was only the sense of familiarity, and confusion tickled at the back of your mind.

The fog and shadows obscured the figure as it stopped by some rocks a few yards away. You squinted, trying to make out any discernable features, but you couldn’t help but feel you knew the person who stood in front of you. A soft scratch sounded as the figure struck a match, the small flame illuminating his face as he lit the pipe that hung at his lips. Shock coursed through you as you recognized the blue eyes and weathered face that stared back at your group, the embers of tobacco letting out a puff of smoke as he exhaled.

You blinked, not quite believing what you were seeing, and you knew Bradley’s expression must have mirrored your own in that moment.

“Tom?”

A/N: Wooooooooow! I can't believe it's finally here, y'all! What do we think? How are we feeling? What on earth is going to happen next???

It feels so good to finally get this one off my chest, I've been sitting on it for sooooooo long! Like...the amount of times I almost slipped up and told y'all everything is embarrassing, quite frankly.

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @sailoraviator-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[devil-in-hiding]

estranged childhood best friend Simon said he’d always be there if you truly needed him. And he meant it. As he got older though, and he became more dangerous, and more of a target, he knew for your sake that he had to cut ties.

Simon Riley died, all that was left was Ghost. And so of course he did to you what his name would suggest, he ghosts you. He cuts off all contact, he makes a vow to himself that he’ll never speak to you again, you’ll never see him again, and hopefully you’ll forget about him.

But you don’t. He never gave you a reason for his absence, and you assume the worst. You’re left believing that he KIA, that he’s gone for good. Simon loves you, he’d never cut you off. You still text him, every single day and night.

He didn’t block your number, he just never answers you. When Simon died and Ghost clawed his way out of the ashes, he got rid of everything from his old life he could. Except for one old, cracked phone. The only number left on it is yours. Even years after you assume he’s dead you keep texting him. You say good morning and good night everyday without fail, you tell him everything that happens in your life, even the smallest details. And he reads all the texts. He wants so badly to type back, to respond, but he just can’t do it. He knows he’s a dangerous man, a bad person, and you deserve better than him.

You could never move on. You could never make new friends, and you could never open yourself up to dating. Without Simon you have nothing left. Your life starts to fall apart, slowly but surely. Ghost has to watch in horror and dismay as the things you text him about shift from everyday life, to the horrible things that’s happening. When you text him about the dangerous people you owe money to though, telling him you’re going to see him soon, it’s the last straw.

“I’ll always be there, if ya really need it luv.”

well, you really need it. You need him. He didn’t want it to come to this but he knew if he didn’t help you now it would be too late. He thought he was helping you by cutting you off, but instead he may have gotten you killed.

He rushes to you, praying to a god he long since thought abandoned him. When gets to your house there’s black vans cars lined outside, the door left ajar. All sane thoughts have left his head, he just knows that you’re inside, with dangerous people, and he has to get there. And just like when he’s on the battlefield, a sense of clarity washes through him. As he makes his way through the house, slaughtering the people in his path, the people who want to hurt you, he doesn’t give them a second thought. When he finds you in the kitchen, tears staining your cheeks and blood splattered on your shirt as you lay terrified on the floor, he falls to his knees before you. He caresses your cheek softly, not caring about the blood soaking his hands.

“please… don’t hurt me.” You whimper softly, and he can’t help but laugh softly as he takes off the mask.

“I’d never hurt you luv. S’okay.” You whispers, watching the realization flash before your eyes.

“Si- Simon?” You ask, sitting up to get a better look at him. His face may be disfigured with all the scars, but you can tell it’s him.

“Not anymore.”

-🫧

i am so in love with you and your brain

you have no idea what your thoughts do to me

like

you are a work of art to me

[redocity]

Can I get a request with Buck and a reader with a mischievous cat who somehow keeps breaking into Bucks place so he has to keep calling the number on its tag and you (his neighbor) has to keep coming round to take the cat back? And both of you are crushing on each other hard and one day you tie a note to your cats collar asking him on a date?

FURRY FRIEND INTRUDER — E.BUCKLEY

your cat has an affinity for crashing bucks apartment. he doesn’t mind, it means he gets to speak to you again.

evan buckley x gn!reader | 1.0k | fluff | masterlist.

a/n — this is the cutest thing ever, thanks for the request, lovely 🫶

Buck had gotten used to many things in his life—chaos, fires, rescues—but the one thing he hadn’t expected to get used to was the soft sound of paws padding across his floor at the crack of dawn. Again.

He blinked awake, groggy, and looked over at the foot of his bed where the intruder sat; Your cat, Winston. The black and white ball of trouble was staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes, tail flicking back and forth. This was the third time this week.

With a groan, Buck sat up and rubbed his face. “Winston, how do you keep getting in here?” he asked, but the cat only blinked lazily and jumped down, padding toward the kitchen as if he owned the place.

Buck sighed and grabbed his phone. He’d memorized your number by now, not that he’d ever admit it.

Every time Winston showed up, Buck found himself torn between frustration and the absurd excitement of getting to see you again.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world—having an excuse to call you—but he wondered if you’d think he was incompetent at keeping his windows shut.

He shot off a quick text.

Winston's here again, I think he’s plotting something, should I be worried?

It only took a minute for your reply to pop up.

Haha, he’s got a taste for adventure

I’ll come get him, you’re sure you’re not letting him in in your sleep?

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. There was something easy about texting you. He couldn’t help the way his heart sped up at the idea of seeing you, even if it was just because of your sneaky cat.

Ten minutes later, there was a soft knock at his door. Buck opened it, finding you standing there with an amused smile and a slight flush on your cheeks. You had that look again—the one that made Buck feel like he could melt right there on the spot.

“Sorry about Winston,” you said, stepping inside. “He only ever seems to do this with you. Maybe he likes your vibe?”

Buck laughed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “Well, if Winston’s got good taste, I can’t argue with that.”

You laughed softly, and Buck couldn’t help but grin wider. God, you were gorgeous.

He tried to play it cool, but the truth was, he was crushing on you, hard. It didn’t help that every time you came by to pick up your cat, you were always so sweet and flustered about it, and he couldn’t stop imagining what it’d be like to spend more time with you.

Outside of these bizarre cat-retrieval encounters, of course.

Buck’s heart did a funny little flip as Winston wandered over, rubbing against your leg as if he wasn’t causing all this trouble on purpose.

“Do you want some coffee before you take him back?” Buck asked, half-hoping you’d say yes.

You smiled, and for a second, he thought you might stay, but you gave a soft laugh. “Thanks, but I’ve gotta dash to work. Maybe next time?”

“Next time,” Buck repeated, feeling oddly hopeful. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You grinned and scooped up Winston, waving as you left, leaving Buck with an odd sense of longing that lingered long after you were gone.

—

It happened again the next day. And the day after that. It was almost like clockwork: Winston showing up in Buck’s apartment, and you coming to fetch him. The more it happened, the more Buck found himself looking forward to your visits, no matter how brief.

But today, something different happened.

Buck had just gotten back from a long shift when he heard the familiar sound of Winston’s paws padding across his kitchen counter, the familiar ball of fluff yawning in what almost felt like a joke on his own tiredness. He let out a small laugh, already reaching for his phone.

As Buck scratched Winston’s chin, he noticed a small piece of paper tied around his collar. Frowning, he untied it and unfolded the note.

So, since Winston keeps bringing us together, how about we make it official? Would you like to have dinner with me?

Buck stared at the note for a moment, his mind racing. Did this mean what he thought it meant? A wide grin spread across his face as he grabbed his phone, his fingers quickly typing out a message.

I think Winston’s trying to tell me something. I’d love to go to dinner with you, you free Friday night? 6?

He didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

Friday sounds perfect! I’ll keep Winston out of your hair until then

Buck smiles down at his phone screen. Then another message pops up.

Maybe :)

He laughed, looking down at the cat who was now purring contently under his hand. “Looks like you’re a little matchmaker, huh?” he said, scratching behind Winston’s ears.

Winston just purred louder, and Buck couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement for Friday night. Maybe having a mischievous cat as a neighbor wasn’t so bad after all.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Little Sister Version)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @redbird-tf

Synopsis: you have nightmares of dying like Mary, and you start to get really clingy with Dean.

It started out in a subtle way. Your first nightmare had been vague, and though it had jarred you, it wasn’t enough to curb your day-to-day activities…much.

“I’m going for a supply run.” Dean’s words had you looking up from the homework you’d been working on. “We’re out of beer…and food.”

“I’ll come.” You were on your feet before the words even left your mouth.

“It’s just a quick run,” Dean argued. “Don’t you have homework?”

“It can wait,” you insisted, already on your way to the Impala. “Let’s go!”

Of course it would be Dean—it had always been Dean. Sure, he had his anger issues and his bad moments. He drank too much and he isolated himself when he was upset. But he always came back; when Sam was at Stanford, when dad disappeared, it was always you and Dean.

So when you started having nightmares about burning on the ceiling, Dean was who you turned to.

Scary things shouldn’t phase you anymore, not after all you’d seen. But this was different. Your whole life you’d heard “what happened to mom.” Never any specifics—it was always, “the demon killed mom,” or “what the demon did to Mary.” Nobody ever gave you any details; they always said you didn’t need to know.

So when you snuck into Dean’s room in the bunker and stole dad’s journal, you were in for a surprise.

The pages you’d read had been stuck together—it didn’t look like anyone had read them—and it took you a moment to peel them apart.

I went to visit a shrink today—I thought he might be a vampire. I went in undercover, booked myself an appointment. I figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t a monster, but I didn’t leave. It sounds stupid, but I actually talked to him. Told him about Mary. Well, as much as I could tell, which is more than I’ve told anyone. Point is, he told me to write down what happened to her. Every detail I could remember. I don’t like thinking about her…but maybe he was right. Little Sammy asked about Mary just the other day, and I yelled at him. I still feel bad…it’s not his fault, he’s just a kid. Maybe this is the only way I’ll be able to talk about her, but maybe that’ll be enough to keep me from going off on the kids. So here goes…

And John had laid out every gory detail of that night, and you’d read the whole thing. You’d always thought it would be better knowing; that it would somehow bring you some extra closure to know how your mother’s final moments went. You were wrong.

And so came the nightmares. The first one was fuzzy and indistinct; a fire, the sound of screaming. But it was enough to have you going with Dean whenever he left the bunker.

The second one was more vivid. It was also when you realized that it wasn’t your mother you were dreaming about—it was you.

It was so real—you felt the demon’s powers slashing open your stomach, you felt your body lifting off the floor…

But the worst part was the heat. It stung your eyes and sizzled against your blood and seared your skin. You tried to scream, but the smoke choked you and stopped your voice. You struggled to inhale, coughing on the smoke and crying at the pain that lit up every nerve ending.

The bright light of the fire left first, then slowly afterwards the pain. But you were still choking and gasping for breath when you sat up in your bed.

“Dean,” you whimpered, the lone word echoing through your empty room. You weren’t quite used to the bunker yet—you were so used to the motels, where your brothers were right next to you at all times. Most of the time it was annoying, but right now…

You threw your covers off you, finally getting a hold of your runaway breathing as you padded barefoot towards your door. You couldn’t stay in this room—it was this room that you’d dreamt of, this ceiling that you’d burned on.

You flung your door open and started down the hall, but you only got halfway to Dean’s room before you stopped. You couldn’t go to him like this, a tear-streaked mess in the middle of the night; he would know something was wrong, and then you’d have to talk about it.

You couldn’t talk about it.

A bang from the kitchen stole your attention and your breath, your mind wandering towards images of a yellow-eyed intruder. You tip-toed to the kitchen, peaking around the corner and breathing easily when you saw Dean rummaging in the fridge for a beer.

You slipped into the kitchen, heading straight for Dean.

“You’re up early,” he greeted, stiffening in surprise when you wrapped your arms around him. “Hey, something wrong?”

“No,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Good morning,” you added lamely as you pulled away, as if the greeting would explain away the hug.

“Yeah, mornin.” Dean shrugged, choosing to ignore your strange behavior. “Couldn’t sleep? It’s only 5.”

It was later than you’d thought.

“Not really,” you said. “Can we make breakfast?” You weren’t hungry, but you’d take any excuse to keep Dean close.

“Only if you get the bacon,” Dean said with a grin.

“I think we’re out,” you answered.

“Unacceptable,” Dean decided. “You start on the pancakes, I’ll make a run.”

“Wait! Um…” you wracked your brain for an excuse. “Um, the pancakes can wait, I’ll go with you.”

Dean squinted ever so slightly as he stared you down—that was twice in a week that you wanted to go with him to the store without a good reason.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked.

“Yeah, just…I want some fresh air.”

“Alright.” You both knew he didn’t believe you, but neither of you brought it up again.

You felt pathetic as you trailed behind Dean, but the idea of sitting around the empty bunker alone until he got back or Sam woke up…

You just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own home, without Dean around.

You sat just a little closer to Dean than you normally would once you got into the Impala, sitting towards the middle of the seat even though the right side was empty. You felt Dean watching you from the corner of his eye, but to your relief he didn’t say anything.

…

“Ok, so how many pounds do we want?” You held a brand of bacon in each hand, eyeing them both. When Dean didn’t respond to your question, you turned around to find the cart there, but no Dean. “Dean?” You glanced up and down the aisle, but he wasn’t in sight. You threw both bacon packages into the cart and ran down the aisle, going down the row and looking frantically down every aisle you passed. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

You rubbed a hand against your chest when your next breath wouldn’t go through your tightened wind pipe. You tried to take deep breaths, but each one was less satisfying than the last. Once you reached the last aisle with still no Dean, you turned around and started back the way you came, hoping that he was down an aisle on the other side of the store.

“Dean? Dean!” You were calling his name, but you could barely even hear your winded and squeaky voice in the vast emptiness of the store, so you knew there was no way Dean could.

You passed the aisle with your cart and kept going, looking down the first, then the second…

“Dean!” You rushed forward, flinging yourself into Dean’s surprised embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Dean was stiff and alert, whipping his head around to see what had spooked you.

“I couldn’t find you,” you whimpered, tightening your arms around Dean’s midsection. “I-I didn’t know where you went. Don’t do that to me!”

“Ok, ok hey I’m sorry,” Dean soothed, pulling away and kneeling down, brushing your hair out of your face so he could see you. “C’mon, what’s going on with you? What’s got you so spooked?”

You didn’t answer—you just launched yourself forwards and wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, burrowing your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held you closely, rubbing your back. “Ok I’m right here kiddo. Let’s get out of here, ok? Let’s go home.”

…

You held Dean’s hand in vice grip on the way out to the car, but he didn’t comment on it. He waited until you were safely bundled into the Impala to speak again.

“Kid, you need to tell me what’s going on here.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean glanced at you, but he didn’t speak again.

…

You were feeling lucky for most of the day—Sam and Dean spent the morning going through books in the library, so you were able to do your homework right next to Dean without warranting worry or attention.

“Check this out.” Sam’s words to Dean had you looking up curiously while Sam turned his computer around. “Looks like a case in town.”

Your heart dropped to your toes—you were too young to hunt, so a hunt in town meant that you sat in the bunker while the boys were out.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking about the case before they got ready to head out. Dean was throwing guns in a bag in his room when you went to find him.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Dean promised. “But if we find the thing that’s killing these people, it might not be until late, so don’t wait up ok?”

“Can’t I come?” Your tug on Dean’s sleeve stopped his movements.

“You know you can’t,” he said. “What’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing, because I know something’s wrong.”

“I just don’t want you to go,” you said. “Please De? Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked.

You shook your head.

“Then I have no choice.” Dean sighed. “People are dying, and you can’t come. I have to go.” Dean zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Dean—“ you reached out for your big brother, but in one stride he was out of your reach, then to the door, then he was gone.

…

You were trying to read the same page over and over, but the words were swimming around the page, blurred by the tears in your eyes and the shaking in your hands that had the pages fluttering. You looked up for the millionth time, a deep pit in your stomach convincing you each time that the yellow eyes demon would be standing in your doorway, waiting to kill you.

You dropped the book on your desk with a thud, finally giving up on homework—you wouldn’t get anything done until Dean was home, you just couldn’t focus.

You picked up your headphones and slipped them over your head, but you found that not being able to hear your surroundings made your anxiety even worse, and the soothing notes of your favorite song did nothing to help for once. You tried turning on the tv, but you found that you couldn’t look away from the door for more than a few seconds before you started to get scared again.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore—you closed your room door, your bathroom, and even your closet; open doors just had your imagination running away with images of yellow eyes coming to kill you.

You burrowed yourself under the covers and tried to force yourself to sleep. Hour after hour you convinced yourself that you’d just never be able to sleep, but you didn’t have anything else to do but keep trying, so you didn’t move.

You were still laying there when the door opened.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean greeted. You smiled at him, and he smiled back for a second before the smile faded. “Me and Sammy have another case—we’re gonna be gone a while, ok?”

“No, wait!” You tried to get up to stop Dean, but you couldn’t move. “Dean, don’t go! Dean don’t leave!”

He was already out the door, and in his place stood Azazel, pale yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Dean!” You screamed, but it was too late; your pajamas were already soaked in blood coming from a painful gash across your stomach. You whimpered, finally able to move as you wrapped your arms around the wound as if you could protect yourself. You couldn’t.

You were sobbing as your body lifted off the ground, your stomach lurching as you went from wall to ceiling. There was no warning spark, or small flame—you were just suddenly and completely engulfed in flames, your hair burning and your skin scorched. You were still screaming when Dean came running back into the room.

“Dean,” you whimpered. “Dean no!”

Yellow eyes had a knife in his hand, and he turned it on your big brother in an instant. As the fire burned around you, you watched as Dean got stabbed again and again and again…

You woke up screaming. The fire was gone, and so was the pain, but you couldn’t even tell. Your eyes couldn’t take in a single detail of the room—they were blurry and unfocused from sleep. Your brain couldn’t decipher what parts of your dream were real and what weren’t. You sobbed out short and shaky breaths, and your cries were just starting to fade into whimpers when you heard it; the loud thunk of the bunker door closing.

Your fears and your crying returned full force, and you were gasping for breath as you felt around for any kind of weapon.

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming he’s coming…

It was like all you could see was Azazel as you heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. You wanted to do what Dean always did—push his fear down, throw away his emotions, and just fight—but you couldn’t. You couldn’t catch your breath, you couldn’t stop sobbing, and you couldn’t find your gun.

When your door handle started to turn, you thought you were going to pass out. Your already-unsatisfying breath caught in your throat, and with the lack of breath came black spots at the edges of your vision.

You forced a single deep breath in and out—you couldn’t be unconscious when the demon came to kill you, you couldn’t be that helpless. You had to fight, even though you would lose.

The door swung open, and you were still gasping for breath and grappling for any kind of weapon when—

When Dean walked in.

“Dean!” You were off the bed and in your brother’s arms before he had a chance to speak.

“Hey, hey what’s going on?” Dean’s arms tightened around you when he heard you sobbing and felt you shaking. “Baby what happened?”

“Don’t leave me,” you begged between sobs. “Don’t leave me De, don’t leave me.”

“Ok, ok I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promised. “N/N I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?” Sam walked into the room, staring at his siblings with concern.

“I…I think we’re ok here,” Dean decided, carrying you to your bed. “You should go bandage that cut, I’ve got her.” When Sam hesitated, Dean assured him, “I’ve got her Sam.”

Sam finally left, and Dean climbed up on your bed, settling you into his lap when you wouldn’t let your vice grip around his neck go.

“I need you to talk to me,” Dean pleaded. “I need to know what’s going on, what this is.”

“There was fire,” you whimpered, your tears soaking Dean’s shirt. “There was fire, and it burned everywhere, and I was bleeding and I was on the ceiling, and-and yellow eyes stabbed you, and—“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Dean started to rock you back and forth subconsciously. “Hey, how do you know about all that stuff.”

“I’m sorry.” You were sobbing again. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I read his journal and he wrote down everything and I thought it would help but…but now I can’t stop dreaming about it. I’m so—I’m so scared, De. All the time.”

“Shh, shh you’re ok,” Dean soothed, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’m right here. Listen,” Dean tried to pull away so he could look at you, but you just tightened your grip. “Ok. I used to have nightmares about mom, too. All the time. I still get them sometimes.”

“You do?” You sniffled. “What do you do about them?”

“Well now it’s easier, because we killed yellow eyes. He’s gone, N/N. Nobody’s ever gonna die like mom did again, especially not you. You know that, right?”

“The dreams feel so real,” you answered.

“I know, I know they do. But they’re not. And I’m gonna help you through this, but kiddo, I can’t be around all the time, you know that. I’ve got a job to do.”

“O—ok,” you sniffled. “I can do better.”

“But I’m still gonna be here when you need me. I promise.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you right now.”

Dean’s arms squeezed impossibly tighter around you.

“Then I’m here for you.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[fandomxo00]

imagine if…reader is Logans daughter in a different universe but he dies when she’s very young and becomes the next wolverine at like 14 or something. And Wade being Wade brings her the “worst” wolverine and they have like a emotional reunion together 🥹🥹 (maybe dogpool can have a little cameo lol)

note: Writing about Laura cause I love her sm all she wanted was to be with logan just wanna protect her and not really writing in the pov of Laura but the reader but hope you enjoy 💕

Laura had been devastated at Logan's passing. She hadn't even know the man long but there this sense of understanding that she had with him. They were made as monsters. You were a much younger version of her mother, when they met in the void when she was only 14, she looked up to you and you protected her the best you could. You tried to give her the life she deserved but it was rough when you were both exiled from your timelines.

But when Laura looked at you she saw her eyes reflected back in your own and she felt safe. You raised her the best you could, you knew that missed her father and everything that their relationship could have been. Little did you know that a random guy in a red suit and an annoying voice would Logan back into her life.

Though Laura explained that this version of Logan was grumpier than hers. He drank a lot more and complained a lot for someone who was living for free on your couch. Laura was now 19, she worked at the diner with you. If Logan didn't find a job in the next week, he could find somewhere else to stay. Though you don't think Laura will allow that. You have a rather weird relationship with Logan.

You had gotten pregnant and had Laura in your world, endured the torture of being there and having your daughter taken away with you. You never met Logan but you had his child. Sadly, you also had to feel the loss of your Laura when Piece killed her right in front of you with adamantium bullet before shooting you. Luckily, they hadnt shot you with an adamantium bullet, because Laura's blood had been in your DNA since you first got pregnant with hers. You were able to heal but she wasn't.

You had wished every day for years that it was you instead but you were fortunate enough. But then you found her again and you swore with your life that you would do anything for her. Even let her deadbeat dad lay on the couch, no matter how many times he walked around shirtless or smiled over at you didn't mean anything. You watched Logan's walls crumble as his daughter slowly tore the through the rumble and started bonding with the man. Even getting him to bake with her, you had smiled getting a picture of the two.

Then one night she had a date, he was surprised when he saw a young mutant who was nonbinary. Laura glowed as she looked at them, Logan tried to do the whole scary dad thing, but wound up just nodding and letting them go. The two of you sat at the couch, a joint passed between you as you spoke lightly into the night. Opening up about your past as your inhibitions lowered and the two moved closer to each other.

At some point his lips wound up yours his hands on your waist while he cradled your head in his hand. Your lips slotted with his, as your hands gripped his shirt. The two of you pulled away breathless before taking it back to your room.

A week later, Logan got a job, he also started sleeping in your bed. The three of you grew close as a family and you've never felt more full in your life. But eventually Laura wanted to spread her wings and wound up moving into the X-Mansion. She came to visit the two of you frequently and always came to hang out with her younger siblings.

tags:@ohtobemare @jessjessmarvelandhp @chronicallybubbly @delicateholland @bubblegumholland @mega-kittyglitter-1

[shybluebirdninja]

Logan vs. The Cooking Show

Summary: You convince Logan to participate in a local cooking show, thinking his rugged charm will win over the audience. But when he gets confused by the fancy ingredients and modern cooking techniques, hilarity ensues. From mixing up salt and sugar to accidentally using his claws to slice vegetables, it’s a disaster. But as the chaos unfolds, his genuine determination to impress you makes it all the more endearing.

Pairing             : Wolverine!Logan Howlett x Female!Human-reader

Genre              : Fluff

It was just another Saturday morning when you stumbled across the flyer. The local cooking show was holding auditions, and they were looking for “unique personalities” to compete. You couldn’t help but picture Logan strutting around the kitchen, his rugged charm mixed with culinary chaos.

“Logan, you gotta do this,” you said, waving the flyer in his face as he grunted in response, trying to sip his coffee like he wasn’t about to face the biggest disaster of his life.

“Hell no. I don’t do cooking shows,” he replied, glaring at you over the rim of his mug. His eyes narrowed, as if you had just suggested a cage fight with a grizzly bear.

“But think about it! You could totally win this thing! Just imagine the viewers swooning over the tough guy who can cook.” You leaned in, your excitement bubbling over. “They’ll eat it up! Literally!”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, I can barely boil water without blowin’ it up. I’m not about to set foot in a kitchen with cameras.”

You smirked, leaning closer. “But I’d be there. I’d help. And you know you wanna show off for me.”

He hesitated, his resolve faltering. “Show off? For you? Please.” But the slightest twitch at the corner of his lips told you he was already halfway in.

“C’mon! What’s the worst that could happen? It’ll be fun!”

Logan grumbled under his breath, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to shake off the impending doom. “Fine. But if I end up in the hospital because I burn something, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal!” You grinned, fist-pumping in victory.

The day of the cooking show arrived, and Logan looked like he was gearing up for a battle rather than a cooking competition. He wore his usual plaid shirt, but somehow, he managed to look even grumpier than usual.

The kitchen was set up with an array of ingredients and utensils that Logan clearly had never seen in his life. You stood beside him, trying to ignore the fact that the cameras were rolling, capturing every moment of Logan’s impending culinary disaster.

“Okay, Logan,” you said, pointing to a table full of fancy ingredients. “What do you want to make?”

He frowned, his gaze darting around like he was on a treasure hunt for something he recognized. “What the hell is ‘quinoa’? Is that some kinda birdseed?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, it’s a grain. It’s healthy!”

“Healthy, huh? Yeah, I’d rather have a steak,” he muttered, scowling as if the very thought of quinoa was an insult to his manliness.

As the show host introduced the challenge—a gourmet take on classic comfort food—Logan stared at the ingredients with a mixture of confusion and determination.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, grabbing a knife.

You watched in horror as he picked up the knife, not quite realizing how he was gripping it. “Logan, you might wanna be careful with—”

Slash!

The knife went flying, landing with a clatter on the floor. Logan blinked, eyes wide. “Shit! I didn’t mean to do that.”

You snorted, trying not to laugh. “It’s just a knife, Logan. Don’t go all Wolverine on it.”

He glared at you, muttering something under his breath. “Can’t believe I’m doing this…”

As the challenge progressed, it became clear that Logan had zero clue how to handle any of the ingredients. He picked up a jar labeled “sea salt” and held it like it was a grenade.

“Wait—what’s the difference between salt and sugar?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.

You facepalmed. “Logan, seriously? Just taste it. You know what salt is!”

He unscrewed the cap and took a whiff, immediately making a face like he’d just bitten into a lemon. “Goddamn! This stuff smells like the ocean.”

“You’re supposed to sprinkle it in the dish, not huff it,” you said, laughing.

As he tried to sprinkle it over his mix of questionable ingredients, he accidentally poured half the jar into the bowl. You winced, anticipating the explosion of flavor that was about to hit everyone’s taste buds.

“Too much?” he asked, watching the white crystals pile up like a snowstorm.

“Uh, yeah. Just a tad,” you said, biting back laughter. “You might want to add a little bit of everything, not a whole freakin’ mountain.”

“Whatever. It’s all goin’ in,” he grunted, throwing in a handful of something else—was it cilantro?—and mixing it all together with an enthusiasm that was borderline terrifying.

When it came time to chop vegetables, the real fun began. Logan, who usually sliced through enemies like a hot knife through butter, was clearly out of his element. He tried to use his claws, only for you to shout, “No! Use the knife!”

“Fine! But if I end up slicing my hand off, I swear to God…”

“Just focus!” You could barely contain your laughter as he awkwardly maneuvered the knife, managing to barely chop a tomato without sending it flying across the kitchen.

“You know, I should’ve just brought a steak and called it a day,” he muttered, glaring at the tomatoes like they had personally offended him.

“Or you could make a steak with the tomatoes as a side. Just think of it as... ‘Logan’s Special’,” you suggested, grinning.

He shot you a look that said he’d rather face a hundred Sentinels than create a culinary masterpiece, but he sighed and went back to chopping, albeit a bit more carefully this time.

As the clock ticked down, the chaos reached new heights. Logan, sweating bullets, was trying to juggle too many things at once. He’d put the quinoa on to boil but had completely forgotten about it.

“Crap! The quinoa!” he yelled, running to the stove.

The pot was bubbling over, and steam was shooting out like a geyser. Logan slapped the lid on it, but not before a little bit of the grain spilled over the counter.

“Great. Just great. I’m gonna be cleaning this shit up for weeks,” he grumbled, glancing at the camera crew, who were barely containing their laughter.

“Just breathe, Logan. You’ve got this!” you encouraged, fighting back your own giggles.

“Yeah, I got this. Just me, a million ingredients I don’t understand, and a kitchen that’s about to explode,” he shot back, his hands moving in a way that clearly demonstrated his rising panic.

Finally, with only minutes left on the clock, Logan frantically assembled his “gourmet” dish. You couldn’t help but notice the sheer determination in his eyes, even as he nearly dumped an entire bottle of balsamic vinegar over everything.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you shouted, rushing over.

“It said to drizzle!” he protested, shaking the bottle like it was a ketchup dispenser.

“Drizzle, not drown! You’re gonna ruin it!”

He paused, a sheepish grin breaking through his frustration. “Guess I’m a little too enthusiastic, huh?”

“Just a bit,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes but appreciating his effort. “Just finish up, we’ve got seconds left.”

With one final flurry of chaos, he plated his “masterpiece.” It looked like a mess, but you could see the glimmer of pride in his eyes.

“Ta-da!” he exclaimed, holding up the plate like it was the Holy Grail.

You clapped your hands, genuinely impressed. “Not bad, tough guy. Not bad at all.”

“Yeah, well, if it sucks, I’m blaming you,” he said, crossing his arms, though you could tell he was trying to hide a smile.

The judges took their first bites, and you held your breath, half-expecting them to spit it out. But as they chewed, their eyes widened, and one of them exclaimed, “Wow! This is... surprisingly good!”

Logan blinked, clearly shocked. “Wait, what? Seriously?”

“Yeah! The flavors are... interesting. It’s like you combined everything perfectly!” another judge chimed in.

Logan’s face was a mix of disbelief and pride. “No way. You’re messin’ with me, right?”

“Honestly, you’ve got talent!” one judge said, smiling brightly.

You could hardly contain your laughter. “Told you so, Wolverine! Who knew you had hidden culinary skills?”

“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to make this a habit. I still prefer rare meat,” he replied, scratching his head. But there was a glimmer of triumph in his eyes.

As the show wrapped up, Logan was still riding high on the unexpected praise. “I can’t believe I didn’t burn the place down,” he said, shaking his head.

“You did great! I mean, apart from almost turning the kitchen into a disaster zone,” you teased.

“Whatever. I think I might’ve actually surprised myself,” he admitted, a genuine smile creeping onto his face.

“And me!” you added, nudging him playfully. “You might just have a future in the culinary world.”

“Only if it involves steaks and beer,” he said, shooting you a wink.

You leaned in closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “Hey, if you ever want to cook for me again, I’m totally down for it. Just maybe stick to simpler recipes next time?”

“Deal. But you’re doing the prep work,” he smirked, wrapping an arm around you. As you walked out together, the warmth of his embrace felt just right. You chuckled, thinking about the day’s chaos, and how it had only brought you closer. In the midst of cooking disasters and laughter, you found a little more of Logan’s soft side than you ever expected.

[hoesluvjude]

In Your Arms

Word count:1k

Genre:fluff

Summary:Y/n comforting jude because his injured

Author's note:I know he is not injured anymore but I wrote a long time ago 😭I just didn't post it

Masterlist

Jude sat on the edge of the couch, his lower right leg propped up on a stack of pillows, a heavy bandage wrapped tightly around his calf. The pain was dull now, more of a persistent ache than the sharp stab he had felt during training earlier that day, but it still throbbed with every small movement. He stared at his leg in frustration, a deep sigh escaping him as the reality of his injury began to sink in.

He hated this. He hated the feeling of being sidelined, of watching his teammates carry on without him. Football was everything to him—it was his passion, his career, his life. And now, because of one wrong step, he was stuck here on the couch, unable to move without a limp, unable to train, and worst of all, unsure of how long it would take to heal.

his jaw clenched in frustration. He had been pushing himself hard in training, maybe too hard. He knew that. But he always gave everything, always pushed himself to the limit. It was just his nature. And now, he was paying the price for it.

The sound of soft footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Y/n entering the living room, her face full of concern as she approached him. She had been in the kitchen, making tea, but he could tell by the way she was looking at him that she had been worried ever since he came home from training.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, setting the cup of tea on the table beside him before sitting down next to him on the couch. Her hand reached for his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Jude exhaled slowly, trying to shake off his frustration. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the tension in his voice made it clear he was anything but. “It’s just... annoying.”

Y/n’s eyes softened as she shifted closer to him, her fingers tracing gentle circles on the back of his hand. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re going to heal. It’s just going to take some time.”

Jude knew she was right, but the words didn’t do much to ease the irritation gnawing at him. He wasn’t used to being helpless, to sitting around doing nothing while everyone else kept moving forward. Football had always been his escape, his outlet. And now, without it, he felt like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He glanced over at Y/n, her comforting presence helping to ground him. She was always there for him, always knew what to say, even when he was in the worst of moods. And right now, more than anything, he just wanted her close.

Without thinking, Jude reached out and pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the familiar scent of her skin, letting it calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

Y/n seemed a little surprised at first by how clingy he was being—he wasn’t usually this physically needy—but she didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him in return, holding him just as tightly. She shifted on the couch so that she was sitting right beside him, letting him rest his head on her shoulder as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Jude mumbled against her neck, his voice muffled by the way he was pressed against her. “I’m being grumpy.”

Y/n chuckled softly, her fingers never stopping their gentle movement through his hair. “You’re not grumpy. You’re hurt, and you’re allowed to feel frustrated. But you don’t have to apologize for it.”

He sighed again, his body sinking deeper into her embrace. Her words were kind, as they always were, but it didn’t take away the gnawing irritation that came with being injured. Still, having her close helped. It always did.

For a long while, neither of them said anything. Jude just held her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his head resting on her chest as he listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing. Her presence was like a balm to his restless mind, soothing the frustration that had been building inside him since the injury.

Y/n ran her fingers along his back in slow, comforting strokes, her voice soft when she finally spoke. “You know,” she murmured, “you don’t always have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to be upset.”

Jude closed his eyes, her words sinking in. She knew him better than anyone. She knew that he had a tendency to bottle things up, to try and push through without acknowledging how he was really feeling. And she was right. He didn’t always have to be the strong one. Not with her.

“I just hate this,” he admitted quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I hate not being able to do anything. I hate sitting here, feeling useless.”

“You’re not useless,” Y/n said firmly, pulling back slightly so she could look at him. Her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against his skin. “You’re hurt, Jude. That doesn’t make you useless. It just means you need time to heal.”

Jude met her gaze, the sincerity in her eyes making it hard to argue. He knew she was right, but it was hard to let go of the frustration that had been building inside him since the injury. Football was more than just a job to him—it was his identity, his purpose. And being forced to step back from it, even temporarily, made him feel like he was losing a part of himself.

But as he looked at Y/n, her eyes filled with nothing but love and understanding, he realized that maybe it was okay to lean on her, to let her be strong for him this time. He didn’t always have to carry everything on his own.

“I just want to hold you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Can we just... stay like this for a while?”

Y/n’s expression softened, and she nodded, her fingers gently brushing through his hair once more. “Of course,” she murmured. “We can stay like this as long as you want.”

Jude tightened his arms around her, pulling her even closer. He buried his face in her shoulder, the warmth of her body against his soothing the ache in his leg and the tension in his chest. For the first time since the injury, he felt like he could breathe a little easier.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the evening outside and the steady beat of Y/n’s heart beneath his ear. Jude closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in the comfort of her embrace. The world outside, with all its noise and pressure, faded away, and all that mattered in this moment was the feeling of her arms around him.

It wasn’t often that Jude let himself be vulnerable like this, but with Y/n, it felt safe. She had seen him at his highest and his lowest, and she loved him all the same. And right now, when he felt frustrated and out of control, her presence was the only thing that brought him any sense of peace.

“I love you,” he mumbled against her skin, the words coming out softer than he had intended, but full of sincerity. He didn’t say it as often as he probably should, but in moments like this, he needed her to know.

Y/n’s arms tightened around him, her lips brushing lightly against his forehead. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth. “And I’m here. Always.”

Jude let out a slow breath, the weight on his chest lifting just a little bit more. He didn’t know how long it would take for his leg to heal, or when he’d be able to get back to the pitch, but he knew one thing for sure—no matter what, Y/N would be by his side.

And in this moment, that was enough.

As the minutes stretched into hours, they stayed like that—Jude wrapped around Y/n,her comforting presence easing the frustration that had been gnawing at him. For now, he allowed himself to be vulnerable, to let her take care of him, to hold onto her as if she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

And in a way, she was.

[diminuel]

Considering Crocodile likes the finer things life has to offer. I imagine he's a good cook (he's also paranoid enough to not trust many people to cook his food without poisoning him), but also if he's gonna eat it will taste good. I also see him as someone who has problems not being good or excellent at things, so naturally he at one point in time went on a whole hyper fixation induce time period where he got really good at cooking. Regardless eventually cooking becomes a nice relaxing part of his day, to destress and listen to music and he learns to love cooking. (He'd probably hate the monstrous appetite Monkey D's have though).

But when the kids get older, cooking becomes a time when they either sit/help their Baba in the kitchen. They talk about their days and work and anything else. If they had homework (do Crocodile and Dragon actually teach them or send them to school? Or they forever wild jungle kids?) they could do it then. Eventually when they are teens, I feel Crocodile makes it his mission to teach his children at least the basics of cooking. No child of his will not know how to season whatever they catch with spices or at the very least know when meat is cooked, what you can eat raw safely, and which mushrooms are the best.

This probably has varying degrees of effect. Ace probably has a tendency to overcook things by cooking them to hot or too fast. Sabo is fine. If Merry (Baby 2) is a thing (depending on AU) she might be the best or the worst. Luffy probably is okay maybe was taught some self restrain to cook one or two more complicated dishes that are his favorites Baba makes...I feel Luffy would have more restrain if cooking for others, by himself he'd just roast meat likely.

But imagine Sanji gets sick or hurt. The other strawhats are debating who should cook now, and without being asked or really thinking much about it, Luffy steps up and cooks for his crew, as his crew argues about who should cook. Luffy makes that one dish his Baba taught, that Luffy likes to cook. Maybe it's curry or something using those Alabasta spices as it's what Baba always liked to use or a simple stew to help Sanji feel better. But Luffy stepping up because he can and as Captain it's his responsibility to help his crew and Sanji shouldn't worry about the crew eating when he's not well. I don't know how the strawhats actually react to their captain doing this, but I feel it would be amusing.

Dragon should probably be banned from the kitchen. Burns everything. He can cook meat over a campfire, and that's it. The man burns his toast no matter what. Poor guy.

Oooh, I love it!

He does love to cook, but preparing Monkey D. appropriate meals is probably quite a bit harder due to the sheer quantity they consume.

I love the idea of cooking time being family time too (and yes, I do imagine that the kids get sent to school. Maybe Dragon wouldn't be too fussed about it but the jungle can't teach them everything they need to know so Crocodile would insist on school.) and that the kids would learn to cook.

And yes! Luffy cooking for his crew when Sanji can't is so good and I do think they'd be rather shocked about it because he never lifts a finger to cook otherwise so they just assumed he couldn't do more than put meat over a fire (which is generally the thing with Luffy, also in this AU I think. He doesn't share information that isn't relevant or do things that aren't necessary - why cook if they have a cook, why navigate if they have a navigator, etc etc).

Dragon's banned from the kitchen for more than one reason. Not only does he seem to be cursed to always burn his toast (maybe he actually IS cursed *lol* Garp has probably made enough enemies for one of the other curse aimed at his bloodline or firstborn to stick) but the curse will infect Crocodile too! (It's not because Dragon is so distracting, with wandering hands and kisses pressed against his neck~) If the kids don't want burnt food they have to get Dad out of the kitchen *lol*

(When it's Dragon's turn to watch the kids on his own they all know it's time to go hunt for food and cook it over a campfire X'D If they need something else they can go to Makino *lol*)

[wexhappyxfew]

in this light

(a/n): AHHHH HI, HELLO, AND SURPRISE!!!!! me managing to get a piece of writing out during the WEEK?!?!!? during the SCHOOL? WEEK? who am i. i don't know. but here we are. and i promise.....to my annie x brady girlies....PLEASE ENJOY. this has been a long time coming and something i've been carving and building out for months at this point. and i am so incredibly proud to have gotten to this point. so please, truly, enjoy! <333333

Annie Bradshaw was convinced that the greatest emotion a Bradshaw was capable of both withholding and expressing was guilt.

Guilt for a life that would never be lived.

Guilt for leaving the one you had put your roots down on across an ocean.

Guilt for the people who would never see that same person they saw shutting the door that day she had left.

The guilt she felt now, her family's letter curled into a ball in her pocket as she stared up at the moon shining through the sliver of window glass at the top of the bunkhouse doors.

Guilt made her feel that she had left her family behind for the sheer fact that she thought she could do something better in this world than harvest crops and take care of the chickens and the eggs they laid.

Guilt made her feel that flying in a plane that no longer had its original commanding pilot was something that was nearly scornful - something to regret.

Guilt made her feel that everything that had led up to now was her fault - the reason they were all trapped here, stuck here, frozen in time - even if it weren't.

To feel too much hurt.

"Psst." Annie craned her head over her shoulder and found a darkened figured approaching out of the darkness of the dimly lit hallway of the bunkhouse, "That you, Annie?"

Leave it to John Brady to find her in the midst of the night, even if it meant crawling out of the warmth of his bunk to try and seek her out. There was nothing more in this world that was beyond the presence of John Brady in her life. Despite the lives they now lived day to day in this camp, he had made it infinitely more tolerable in every way imaginable.

"It's me." Annie said quietly, watching the moonlight slowly pour upon his face and his beautiful eyes that settled onto her once he had stepped into the brighter light.

The smile on his face was enough for her to offer a small one back and it was only a matter of a second before he was evaluating her there. He always seemed to know right from wrong and in that instance, that something was bothering her.

"You okay?" he asked her, stepping forward and almost instantaneously wrapping an arm around her shoulder, "You looked….distracted earlier. I hope you don't mind that I followed you out here." Annie smiled slightly and bashfully glanced up at him, his warm arm around her shoulders hugging her into his comfortable side, stabilizing her there against his large form, his hand slowly rubbing up and down the length of her arm.

A person in her life had never been so stable, so firm, so present - so willing to be there even if the worst of circumstances.

Even with where they were now.

John Brady had been the ever-present person he was - the constant.

"Not if it's you." Annie said quietly with a nod and she watched his smile grow fonder, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a soft way that would be indescribable by morning.

In the moment, she could see it all now, but when she would wake, she'd be watching him from across the room, fighting to remember the feel of his arm around her, his eyes on her. It wasn't until moments where they were side by side did she truly let her heart feel the way it did about him - he let her lead, he let her stand on her own, be the command pilot she was and still is.

But he would hold her in the middle of the night, kissing her forehead, letting her nestle away into the crook of the warmth of his neck, praying to disappear into the presence that was himself.

He'd whisper the sweetest remarks, the softest words that made her smile and laugh. He was more than just a friend, but in anyway possible, she didn't know how to get past that feeling - of knowing there was more, but that death was always a willing option to follow. Annie wanted to protect every bit there was of the John Brady that was stood beside her right now in anyway she could.

Whenever she loved too much, she always fell to that - how could she protect a person so lovely from who she really was?

How could she protect them from the world?

But Annie knew it was fruitless. The world would march on around them, she'd peel back her layers and show who she was - and the world would still spin. How would she make it stop for those few seconds to truly show who she was to him? What he meant to her?

"I see your back at it with the moon, huh?" he asked her quietly, his grip around her shoulders tightening a bit and she leaned into his side more, cheek pressed up against the colder, outer exterior of his coat, molding herself into the side of him. Her eyes drew themselves to the moon again.

"Yeah." she said quietly, "First clear night in weeks. Figured I would go applaud the sky for that one." Brady managed a small chuckle and she could sense that he was glancing down at her again.

"You doing okay?" he asked. She took a moment to collect herself before pulling her head from his side and looking upwards at him warily.

"Fine…for the most part." she said with a convincing nod, offering him a smile again as she looked at him.

"How about yourself?" she asked, reaching forward to brush his longer strands of loose hair from his forehead and out of his eyes, "You look tired." And she knew it. She could see the exhaustion displayed on his face that he was hurriedly trying to cover up with those smiles and tender looks.

John Brady was someone that knew her far too well - and who she knew far too well, too. His presence didn't go unnoticed, his fight, his want to stay alive just like the rest of them. But that wearing on him stayed just as ever-present as anything else in this life.

"Nah," Brady said softly, as she continued to softly run her fingers back through hair, "not too tired. I think I'll always be tired."

"John…." Annie said quietly watching as he quirked out a smile at her, "I'm serious."

"Even if I'm tired, I wanted to make sure you were alright," Brady said quietly, before smirking, "especially if it means it's just you and me right now." Annie looked up at him, her cheeks warming the slightest bit. The whisper of his voice tickling her ears and her skin, that soft look in his eyes enough to make her knees shakes.

"Well, you got me." Annie said, rather boldly looking up at him, attempting to maintain what composure was left in her as he watched her. If there was anything, she'd never feel guilty about the way John Brady looked at her and treated her. She felt like the only person in the room sometimes when she'd catch his gaze.

"That I do." Annie's cheek heated more.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked him quietly, her hand stopping in his hair a bit, her eyes wandering towards his, her free hand itching to grab his own.

"Ask away, Bradshaw." he said, tilting his head to the side, those stubborn strands of hair hanging in his eyes again, to which Annie reached forward to brush back again.

"If I'm mistaken, one night, you….Mr. John Brady, whispered something that's been in my mind for a bit too long." she said quietly, watching as his smirk grew, the moonlight making his face and eyes glow even in the darkness. Her palms grew sweaty as she retreated her hands and crossed her arms in front of her, the large presence of Brady in front of her seeming to swallow her whole.

"What was that?" he asked her, voice lower this time as his eyes roamed her face, before settling on her lips - this time, lingering longer than was needed - before traveling back up to her eyes.

"Well," Annie said clearing her throat, fighting the smile on her face, "if you could focus your gaze on my eyes, maybe I'd tell you, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am." Annie was damn-near sure every emotion was about to burst at the moment, but she managed to hold it together in front of him - how she even did that was a miracle in it of itself. Annie took a step closer, looking up towards him, her eyes staring deeply up into his and smiled slightly.

"Someone wanted me back at Thorpe Abbotts, in nothing but his A2 jacket. All by ourselves." she whispered quietly. And watching the recognition in his eyes had to be her favorite part of standing there, inches from his face, the tiny realization clicking across his face until the tops of his own cheeks were dusted red.

"Didn't know you felt that way about me, John Brady." she said quietly, watching him swallow nervously - seeing him suddenly almost out-of-place made her heart wobble. There it was again - that want to shield him from the world, protect him, keep him at the peace in which they'd manage to maintain in a place like this.

God, what was he doing to her?

"Didn't think you'd hear that." he managed out, but she could tell he was just trying to get words out of his mouth. She'd managed to stun him it seemed in anyway that was possible to stun John Brady. And in this light, where it was just the two of them, inches from each other, where it almost felt like they were the most vulnerable that they'd been, she managed a small smile.

"I'm only teasing you." Annie managed out, her nerves getting the best of her as she watched his face continue to flush crimson - even if the moonlit darkness, her own cheeks were nearly hot to the touch and his presence there across those inches between them was enough to warm her entire body up.

"I thought you'd been asleep. When I'd said that." he managed out again and Annie couldn't help but nervously look away from his gaze and towards his lips there in front of her before trailing her eyes upwards again.

"Oh." she said quietly, unsure of what words to conjure up next that would make sense. He thought she was asleep - but he'd still said it. He'd still said those words and she'd been thinking about it ever since.

"Did you mean it?" she asked him, holding her gaze on his. How she hadn't turned away yet, she'd never know.

"Every word of it." Brady said, his voice filled with nerves, but equally confident that he'd meant it. That'd he meant every word he'd ever said to her since he'd helped her up into the back of Bucky Egan's jeep.

For a moment, as his words rang in her ears, she stood there staring up at him.

Every word of it. Every word of it. Every word of it.

She would never feel guilty about what she did next.

Slowly, she reached forward, placing her hands on his broad, built shoulders, before letting them travel up his neck towards his cheek bones, which felt like they were practically on fire. God what was she even doing?

She let herself step forward, right up against his body, tilting her head upwards as Brady slowly looked down towards her, those inches between them suffocating as she stared into his persistent gaze. He seemed frozen there in front of her - almost like he couldn't believe what was happening, though neither could she.

"Annie…." Brady whispered, his voice tight, like it was caught in his throat, fighting for a way out. She watched him, looking up through he lashes towards his beautiful face that had never looked more safe, warm and protected right where they were. He had never looked more like himself than in this moment.

"You can touch me." she whispered - the boldness was more than a surprise to her it felt, from both of them, as he reached forward, wrapping his arms rightly around her waist, underneath her jacket, large hands splayed across her back as they each seemed to breathe in shaky breaths of air, mixed between them.

His eyes had never been more locked onto hers as she slowly moved her left hand from his cheek up into his hair, watching as his eyes flickered and he swallowed, maintaining what composure the two of them had left.

The stillness around them almost made her retreat all the sudden - them, the two of them - stood in the hallway of the bunkhouse in the middle of the night, the strobes of the moon shining right into the bunkhouse as best as they could, onto the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms.

But the second she came to focus on his eyes again, those eyes, she was gone.

And for a moment, her eyes fluttered close and she envisioned the touch of his hands on her back, what it meant to just be held so close to him, after everything he'd done for her and with her. Holding onto her like his life depended on it. Her hand up into his hair, her other on his cheek - enough for when a small noise escaped his lips, did she shut her eyes fully for a moment.

Life had always been about Annie Bradshaw getting close to everything she had wanted, but having it ripped away from her in a matter of seconds.

Right before all the good things would happen.

Right before things would finally change.

Everything was always gone in seconds, even if it had taken years to get where she had gotten.

But now?

Stood with John Brady inches from her face, she had everything she had ever wanted. Right. Here. Right in front of her.

"John-"

Before she could even finish his name, her entire body became pressed to the front of himself and his lips had pressed right onto her own, a small gasp at the back of her throat dying at his touch. And soon his hands were exploring the length of her back, her own touch feeling its way up into his hair, the small groans from his lips making her a little crazy on the inside. Everything about John Brady made her feel a little crazy though - how he looked at her, treated her, talked about her….touched her. With intent and purpose and meaning.

Everything meant something when it came to the two of them.

Even when they had only thought it to be nothing more than friendship. It had always meant something more. They stumbled a bit of feet and toes as her back pressed against the wooden wall beside the door, his kisses intoxicating and dizzying in more ways than one.

And John Brady?

He knew how to kiss.

For all his mannerisms and politeness and gentlemanly way of affairs - she had never been kissed like the way John Brady kissed. His hands had made their way to her neck, the large palms pressed against the hot skin of her cheeks, fingers dancing towards her jawline and hair, his lips persistent and deepening.

There was something natural about being pressed up against the wall, John Brady kissing her, her mind spinning in circles as his tongue pressed against her bottom lip.

And before she knew it, they pulled away for a brief moment, gasping for short bits of air between them - along with the sudden realization that she was sweating all over.

Annie met Brady's gaze and found him already watching her, with one of the most dazed looks she'd ever seen on the man. She didn't have words for what it meant to be standing there like this in front of him, watching his gaze linger on hers longer and longer. There were no words to describe this feeling - she could only let herself feel what feeling this actually was. Love.

"I should've asked to kiss you, but I couldn't-"

"John." Annie whispered quietly, cutting him off as she inhaled a deep breath, "You didn't have to ask." He watched her and slowly nodded. Then he smiled.

"I mean every word I said," he whispered with a small grin, "so…..may I kiss you? Again?" Annie looked up at him, grinning like he was almost innocent and let out a small laugh, her cheeks warm, his own cheeks red, their eyes glowing, bodies inches from one another there in the darkness.

"Please do." Annie whispered, and the small laugh that left Brady's lips, that smirk on his face, made her lose her mind as he pressed his lips deeply and slowly, enough to make her eyes shut.

Brady moaning into her mouth did something to her insides as she pressed herself closer to his body, her hands traveling into that lush hair of his that her fingertips had been begging to touch for days by this point after that look across the bunk room, that longing look, the way his eyes had turned nearly insane as he had watched her, the urge to reach out and have him slam her against the wall previously overwhelming.

But now, they were here and he was kissing her, and she was kissing back with just as much urgency, the two of them falling apart in each other's embraces.

For a brief moment, they separated, their lips still inches from one another as they took in soft breaths of air, eyes shut, simply holding onto one another in the silence of the night.

Annie had almost expected to feel crazed. She had expected to feel suddenly all over the place and overwhelmed and unsure of what to do next. But with Brady, she felt the farthest from that. She'd never felt more calm and safe and protected and content than in this moment of time. With him.

Then, she heard Brady let out a small chuckle, before gently pressing his lips to hers before pulling back again. This time, she did open her eyes and look upwards towards him. She smiled. He was smiling that gorgeous grin.

"What?" Annie whispered.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that." Brady said quietly. Annie watched him with a quiet gaze - his words seemed to strike her somewhere deep inside her heart. To hear those words. He'd waited.

Any memory that she had seemed to share with him before this moment flashed through her mind.

She remembered all those early mornings sharing coffee with the rising sun, the soft breeze, the shared quiet gazes. Those dances at the flying club, the times he'd offer his hand and spin her on the floor and then they'd go back to those quiet glances and small smiles. All those times he'd come to find her and check on her, all those moments before missions, when death could undoubtedly become imminent. Who'd made her feel both comfortable and confident and more herself than she'd ever been. And she'd never had another person who could do such a thing to her.

Annie slowly reached forward and without any second thought, wrapped her arms around the center of his form, hands clawing up the back underneath his jacket as she snuggled her head against his chest.

All her life, all she had wanted was to be able to let her guard down around someone else without being judged, torn apart, or told off for it. Someone who wouldn't let her get lost in the darkness, who would willingly hold out their hand towards her and take it head-on with her. Someone like John Brady.

Slowly, Brady wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her head there in the silent darkness before resting his cheek atop her head. And she could sense him smiling there, just the slightest shift in his grin.

"I've waited a while, too." she whispered softly and he let out a quiet laugh to which she couldn't help but grin. Brady chuckled quietly again.

"How about you stay the night?" he whispered quietly. Annie pulled back, looking up at him with her arms still wrapped around his center and smirked.

"Almost like we're not in the middle of a P.O.W. camp." she said and watched as he smirked at her words and shook his head.

"I just want to know you're right there next to me when I go to sleep," he whispered quietly and his eyes grew serious as he watched her, "especially here." Annie managed a tender smile and reached up onto her tip-toes to kiss his lips softly.

"You got me." she whispered against his lips, before grinning and fluttering her eyes close, 'No funny business though." Brady laughed.

"No funny business?" Brady asked her quietly, his hand sliding up under her sweater to her warm skin, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean." Annie said quietly.

"Do I?" he whispered back and her cheeks warmed. Did she? Annie met his gaze again and watched his eyes trail across her face. Pressing forward, she put her lips to his ear and grinned.

"How about you stay the night in mine?" she whispered, before unlatching from his warmth and turning away down the creaky, dimly lit hallway. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him watching her from the moonlight, that wide grin on his face. She smirked as she disappeared into the bunk room - she was sure she could see that smile in every universe and know, more than anything - that it was him. She'd never feel guilty for loving someone like him despite the world and the war.

She'd do it all again to see that smile - to see him.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 37

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 34, part 35, part 36

The house is quiet when Dustin wakes up. Which isn’t unusual here. With how big the house is, and how little people lived in it, it was always somewhat quiet. But there were more people here than normal, so he was expecting it to be louder.

They must all still be asleep.

He wanders out of the guest bedroom that he claimed for when he stayed over. Down the hall to the guest bathroom. Hearing the gentle snores from Steve’s bedroom. Letting Dustin know that he’s still there.

Wayne bumps into him when Dustin leaves the bathroom. Softly apologizing before shutting the door. The shower starting to run.

Dustin goes to the kitchen. Thinking he could eat some of the cereal that he likes but his mom doesn’t buy that much. A box of it always in Steve’s pantry.

The kitchen’s not empty when Dustin walks in. Nancy sitting at the island, drinking coffee while reading a book.

“I didn’t know you were still here,” he says. Digging through the pantry to find the cereal.

“Me and Robin stayed over last night.”

Dustin’s used to Nancy being a part of his life. He was his best friend’s sister, after all. But that was like a completely different section. Tied to certain places in his life. This was the different sect of his life. Steve and Robin, until spring break, were one half. The party was the other. Now they seem to be coming together a lot more.

Not that he’s complaining. He likes it when the people he loves get along. Act as one big group instead of tiny separate ones. It takes some getting used to.

Robin comes down the stairs when the cereal in Dustin’s bowl gets soggy. Immediately beelining for the coffee pot and pours herself a cup. Making it to her liking. Not saying anything until half of it’s drained.

“The fact that you look that good this early in the morning should be a crime,” she says toward Nancy’s direction.

Nancy who was completely dressed, hair pulled back with some clips. Carefully composed like she always is. While Robin stands in what Dustin’s sure is one of Steve’s old t-shirts and a pair of shorts with the drawstring taken out. Hair tangled and puffy.

“Not my fault you are the worst morning person.”

The minute those words are said, Wayne comes down the stairs, gets himself a cup of coffee, and immediately walks back out again. Nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement.

“I can’t be worse than that,” Robin jokes.  

Robin sets her coffee down, going to root around in the pantry before emerging with a pack of strawberry pop-tarts.

“You are not.” Nancy finishes her coffee. Going over to the sink to wash out the mug. “Is Steve still asleep, he’s normally up by now.”

“He was when I left,” Robin mutters over a mouthful of a pop-tart. Too impatient to wait for them both to be toasted. One in the toaster while she eats the other one dry.

Dustin’s stopped questioning why Robin and Steve share a bed sometimes a long time ago. They have some weird friendship that he will never understand.

“I saw him take some migraine pills last night,” she continues. “I think another big one is coming.”

Nancy sighs. “It has been like a month since the last one.”

“Yeah, I just thought it would start getting better again. Like last time.”

“Well last time he wasn’t strangled twice and had to get a blood transfusion.”

Dustin doesn’t always know what’s going on with Steve’s health. Always kept in the dark for longer than he should. Definitely longer than he wants to be. It was something, if he had the direct control over, he would learn about immediately. So he could track it. Know when to chill down and ask someone else for a ride.

But instead, he’s none the wiser about Steve’s migraines. Always missing “the big one” that apparently happens every month. Because no one ever tells him about it until Steve is MIA for a few days. Called off work to sit in his bedroom, alone. No one but Robin coming over to make sure that he doesn’t die.

Which sure, that one makes sense, he guesses. Who else, other than Robin, would do that? Or who would Steve feel comfortable with doing that?

It would just make Dustin feel better if he knew about them. So he wasn’t so out of loop. He wasn’t some dumb kid anymore who saw Steve as this badass figure higher than everyone else. He knew that there were debilitating cracks under the surface. Knows that sometimes, Steve can’t be the one to fight.

And that was ok. Someone else could take the load for a while. Watch over everyone. It didn’t need to just be Steve’s job. It could be someone else’s job for a while.

A door creaks open down the hall. Thuds of crutches echoing through. Before a second door opens and shuts.

Eddie was awake. Out of the hospital. Here. It still didn’t feel real.

Dustin finally gets up to pour the tinted milk down the drain and wash out his bowl. Adding it to the dish rack, but not leaving the kitchen. Waiting to see Eddie. Proof that he’s really here.

A few minutes later, Eddie comes down the hall. Wincing slightly with every step. “Morning,” he says with a grunt. Sliding onto one of the barstools.

“Morning,” Nancy replies. “Can I get you anything?”

“Coffee,” Eddie says almost immediately. “And probably some water, so I can take my meds. Has Wayne been down yet, I’m pretty sure he still has all of them.”

Nancy sets a cup of coffee in front of Eddie. With a small container of sugar and the creamer.

“I can go ask him,” Dustin suggests. Happy to help. Already moving out of the kitchen before anyone can stop him.

Lucky for him, Wayne isn’t hard to find. Halfway down the stairs in different clothes. “You need something?”

“Yeah, Eddie was looking for his meds.”

Wayne nods, turning around and heading back up the stairs. He comes back down with a few brown paper bags, each one with a different slip of paper stapled to the outside. They walk back to the kitchen.

“You need to eat something before you take these,” Wayne cuts to the chase. “Coffee won’t cut it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Hands shaking slightly as lifts the mug to his lips. “What do you have?” he asks in the direction of Nancy and Robin.

“Pop-tarts, cereal, I think some bagels, if not that then toast, fancy jams,” Robin rattles off, the list getting longer.

“Some toast is fine.”

Robin nods. Grabbing some bread from the bag on the counter and popping it in the toaster.

Steve finally makes his way downstairs. Dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie. He looks miserable. He bypasses the group of people in his kitchen, heading straight to the cabinet for a glass. Filling it with water and pulling a pill bottle from his pocket.

Robin gets close to him. Bumping her shoulder against his. Steve shakes his head, slowly. She nods and goes to close the kitchen blinds.

Eddie stares at Steve like he isn’t allowed to look. A mix of concern and confusion in his expression. Only interrupted when Nancy slides the plate of toast to him, asking if he wanted anything on it.

“Robin said there were fancy jams?”

Something reminiscent of a scoff comes from Steve. “They’re not that fancy,” he slurs.

Robin snorts. “It’s not generic. Therefore fancy.”

Nancy pulls out a raspberry jam from the fridge. “My family uses the same kind. It’s not fancy.”

Everyone keeps looking over at Steve. Waiting for him to move. He just stands there, white knuckling the countertop. Robin tries to touch his arm, but he shrugs it off.

“Give it a second,” he mutters under his breath.

She nods again. Pulling more bread out of the bag and sticking it in the toaster. The setting lighter than he normally likes it.

The only sound that happens in the next few minutes is the slight crunch of Eddie eating, and the pop of the toaster. Robin gets some butter out of the fridge and puts some on each slice. Careful not to rip through the pieces.

With a deep exhale, Steve turns around. Leaning against the counter behind him and grabbing the plate she hands him. Ripping apart the toast into small bites.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks Eddie.

Eddie looks surprised that he asked him anything. “Good. Much better than a hospital bed. Bigger too, that was nice.”

“Sorry I didn’t have anything better for breakfast. I was planning on making something, but-.” He trails off. The obvious staying unsaid.

“That’s fine. I don’t eat much in the morning’s anyway.”

Steve nods. Placing his plate on the counter. About a half a slice of the toast left. “I won’t be around that much to help you get settled in. I was supposed to close tonight, but I’ll probably end up calling out.”

“If you’re about to apologize for that, don’t.” Eddie stares at Steve with an expression that Dustin can’t quite read. “You don’t have to apologize for things that aren’t your fault.”

Steve pauses. Taking a second to stop himself, reset what he was going to say. “If you need anything, Rob should know where it is. And if not, I’ll just be in my room.”

All Eddie does is reply with a small nod. Then Steve is walking out of the kitchen with Robin in tow.

(i forgot to post yesterday because i got fixated on a new knitting project, no joke i worked on it for like six hours straight)

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[googleitlol]

Here's one of the two PoM LMK oneshots I wanted to post!

It ended up being 7000+ words help

Dove Masterlist:

Amnesia Rules

How on earth did things end up like this?

You can’t say that it’s often you get to join your friends on these sort of missions. Out of everyone in your little found family, it’s you who usually misses out on all the antics. However, after the Lady Bone Demon took over the city, you didn’t have much of a choice other than to be dragged along.

Though, maybe that isn’t the best way to put it. You would love to join your friends in their hijinks and adventures more often. Hearing about how your friends raced a hot-tempered demon or saved the weather station after the fact always has you feeling a twinge of jealousy, but you never really have the time or get the chance to be a part of those moments. Or rather, you often get held back from doing so. Why? Because of a certain irritatingly cold Monkey King.

Sun Wukong may as well be the greatest enigma in your life, one that continues to leave you perplexed. When the Monkey King first took on your accident-prone friend, MK, to be his successor, the Great Sage mostly kept to himself. Only MK ever saw him– not that you expected this centuries-old demon to integrate into your friend group all that much. You didn’t take him as someone that would leave his island paradise too often.

If you do ever get the chance to see him, the sage was often cold towards you. You’re not sure whether you did something to upset him, or if he just has a stick up his ass, but everytime Monkey King saw you, he’d just become irritated. He usually tenses up and turns away from you, and if he doesn’t flat-out ignore you, he– you’re not even sure what to call it aside from pulling unfunny pranks. Sometimes you would be planning to go visit the others on Sandy’s boat when you’d receive an unexpected call from your boss asking if you could cover someone’s shift. Other times, you’d have to rush home to deal with something broken and leaking in your apartment, leaving MK and the others in the process. It took a little while before learning the reason behind your string of misfortunes was a stone monkey with nothing better to do than waste your time. 

The worst he’s done before was leave you stranded on Flower Fruit Mountain. You were surprised when the Monkey King showed up to your apartment (you’re not even sure how he knew your address), asking for your help in taking care of a sick monkey in Water Curtain Cave. If you knew that the only ones who could let people in or out of the cave were Monkey King and MK, you would have been much more sceptical about his insistence that you were needed there. Why did Monkey King think it would be funny to leave you there while he went on his so-called ‘vacation’? The answer eludes you still. You were stuck living off his half-filled pantry solely made up of peach chips and the stone fruit itself for a week before MK and Tang stopped by for an unrelated reason about some giant dumpling.

You do admit that the break from work was nice, though. Being a paramedic is a stressful line of work, so spending a week void of the usual sirens and severely injured citizens did a lot to help clear your head. If Monkey King wasn’t so difficult to get along with, you could see yourself visiting more often for that peaceful little paradise. You really do wish you could get along with him, MK always made their training sessions sound like so much fun. One day while you were stuck on his island, you came across some origami he had done and in the moment, you thought of how nice it’d be to learn how to do it yourself. Monkey King seemed good at the art, he had an origami character for each of his old companions from the Journey to the West– though there was also a bird character, too. You still aren’t too sure who that could have been.

If you wanted to learn origami though, Monkey King likely wouldn’t be so keen on helping you learn. Not with how much apparent-fun he has in disrupting your day with stunts like that. It has gotten to the point where you barely get to spend much time with your friends. Gah– why does he hate you so much? Does he really have to go out of his way to make you drift from MK and the others? At least he can’t push you away this time, not when that would have meant leaving you to freeze over in the city. None of your friends would have let him do that.

It was pretty evident to everyone that Monkey King was annoyed to have you join them on the quest for the Samadhi Rings. Even his usually starry-eyed pupil felt the need to ask his mentor why your presence put him in such an irritated mood, but the infamous Sun Wukong has never been known for his straight-forward answers. It ticks you off how he dances around questions, especially concerning his apparent hate-boner for you. It isn’t like having you brought along has slowed down the group by any means– if anything, you’ve been great to have around! You have medical training the others don’t, and your years as a paramedic have prepared you for dealing with violent confrontations– running into the middle of a fight is an everyday sort of thing for you.

Even with Monkey King’s cold shoulder he so often gives you, things have been going well for the group as a whole (it also helped that your #1 hater is in the middle of some mystic meditation). That is, until you lost MK, Sandy, and Mei. The second you all realised they were no longer in the van, you pulled over by a cliff to figure out where they might have been left, and that only made things worse. Your group had only been stopped for a minute before a demon charged the van.

You, Tang, Pigsy, Mo, and a vegetable of a Monkey King are boxed in by whatever the hell is outside, scrambling to find a way out of this mess when the noodle chef gets the bright idea to wake up the sleeping sage with a pepper. You aren’t entirely sure how a pepper might wake up the Monkey King when the noise the demon outside is making has done virtually nothing, but then you see the damn thing! The light emanating from it is nearly as bright as the light that bursts from the Great Sage after he wakes up.

He wakes with a shout, jumping out of his seated position he’s spent the last few days in with a cocky grin. “Stand back, Master! Sun Wukong will handle this demon.” He declares loudly before knocking down the back door of the van.

You, Tang, and Pigsy all share a worried look as the Monkey King hops out of the van. Ignoring whatever the hell he just said, it’s a little vexing that he had to kick down the door to the van, though at least now the sage is awake to help take care of whoever is trying to attack you all.

The three of you (plus Mo) follow Monkey King out as he scopes out the area for the demon that was threatening your lives just moments prior. Strangely enough, nobody is there. “Master, it’s safe to come out. You too, Piglet.”

“Master?”

“Piglet?!”

You can’t help the snort that escapes you at Pigsy’s offended look. Monkey King hasn’t necessarily been extremely friendly to anyone during this trip, but calling Pigsy Piglet? That was so unexpected, it was funny. Did that pepper give the Monkey King a sense of humour?

At your reaction, Monkey King stiffens and whips his head over to you. The way his gaze zeroes in on you makes you freeze, especially with how he tenses up. You can’t help but frown a bit at the way he looks at you, worry now taking centre-stage in your mind. What, do you have something on your face? Does he not like the way you laugh now? The way he’s just– staring into your soul– what, did you offend him somehow?? Ugh, he can be so annoying in how he acts sometimes, you don’t understand how that–

“Dove?” Huh?

Monkey King’s voice is suddenly soft, just barely a whisper. With unsure steps, he moves toward you. He’s slow and careful in his movements, like he was approaching some shy woodland creature that would dash into the bushes if he moved too quickly. You share a confused look with your friends, looking between Tang and Pigsy, then down to Mo before returning your worried gaze to the Monkey King. “I’m sorry?”

“Is it really…” He reaches out to hold your face, and you almost swat his hand away. The only thing that makes you hesitate are the tears that start to build in his eyes. His hand is warm, and the strange intimacy of his thumb brushing over your cheek makes them flush a little… What is happening?

Monkey King lets out a breathy laugh, and one of the tears roll down his cheek. “Is it really you??” His smile widens, and all you can do is ponder his question with confusion. What sort of question is that–?

You don’t get  a moment to finish your thought before you’re pulled into a hug so tight, the air pushes out from your lungs. Monkey King holds you close in his arms, his head resting over your shoulder as he sighs with more emotion than you've ever heard from him before. “I don’t understand! How did you– hah, I don’t even care. You’re safe, thank goodness you’re safe.”

The entire time he’s rambling, you look to Pigsy and Tang just to find your own confusion reflected in their eyes. What the hell did that pepper do to him? Give him a new personality?! You feel so taken aback by his sudden new behaviour, you’re not exactly sure how you’re meant to respond to it. “Uh… yeah. I’m safe, I think you scared that demon away–”

You cut yourself off and let out a surprised squeak when the Monkey King starts to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. Red bursts over your face at the sudden physical affection– seriously, what is going on here?! Is this some dream?? Are you on drugs??! Or did you eat that pepper instead of him by accident? Who the hell is this Dove person that Monkey King thinks you are?! You’ve never seen him act this way with anyone before. Hell, you didn’t even take him as much of a touchy guy to begin with! Then again, it isn’t as though you spend enough time with him to really know that.

At this point, Pigsy speaks up. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” He huffs and steps over to break the two of you up. The second he does, Wukong shoots him a look that makes him step back. In a heartbeat, you’re pulled into a closer embrace that puts your face smack-dab in the middle of his chest. How much closer does he want you to be?!

“How long did the two of you know she was okay?! Do you know how much I– gah!” Monkey King looks between Pigsy and Tang, and the hurt in his voice makes you pause in your panic for just a moment, and you feel one of his hands over your head, holding you close. “If you got hurt because of me, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

A chill goes down your spine when he says that. This weird feeling pangs in your chest at those words and a hint of understanding takes over. Carefully, you push yourself away from the sage to give yourself space to breathe. “…Monkey King, who do you think they are?”

The King laughs a little at your question. “Monkey King? What happened to Peaches?”

“Peaches?” You frown, only feeling your confusion grow as the Monkey King mirrors your expression.

Monkey King observes you for a moment, his frown deepening as he grabs you by your shoulders and starts to shake you a little. “Don’t tell me… can you not remember anything?!” Ugh, what does he take you for, a maraca?? You swat the Monkey King off of you to get the shaking to stop and shoot the monkey demon a scowl. This is just great, a pepper broke the Monkey King!

“Your head must’ve gotten hurt when you got hit. I’m so sorry, Dove.” He looks down before taking your hands in his own. “I promise you, I will do whatever it takes to get your memories back.” He declares, and again you find yourself taken aback by his sincerity. You feel so used to Monkey King’s cold demeanour, all of this sudden kindness feels almost overwhelming.

Tang groans to himself a little ways away with Pigsy. “This is why you don’t wake someone up from a transcendental meditation, we broke him!” He stresses to Pigsy, grabbing ahold of his shirt to shake him in a similar fashion as Wukong did to you.

“I’m fine, Master. I haven’t felt this relieved in a while.” Monkey King brushes off Tang’s words before looking back at you. His voice gets low for a moment as he flashes you a smile. “And don’t worry about a thing, Dove, I’m sure we can find some way to jog your memory.” Ha, yup, this is getting out of hand. What, is he flirting now?? From the blush that blooms over your face in reaction to his words, one might think it was working, too.

Before you can let yourself spiral over that any longer, something in your head clicks. “Actually, I think it’s coming back all on its own.” You smile politely at the sage, stepping back a bit to give yourself some space.

His eyes light up at your words. “Really?!”

“Mhm!” You nod, though your smile feels a little strained as you gesture over to Pigsy and Tang. “That’s your companion, Zhu Bajie, and that’s your master, Tang Sanzang, right?”

Monkey King lets out a sigh of relief over that. “Yes! It’s coming back to you.”

Okay… “And, uh, I am…”

“My one and only, Love-Dove.” HUH–??

You choke on air in response to his answer. Okay, that confirms why he’s being like this. He thinks you’re some old girlfriend or something he had during the journey– but what is that godawful nickname?! It takes you a moment to recover from the mental damage that name does to your psyche. “Mmhmm, I think I remember it all now.”

“Thank goodness.” He sighs as he looks down at you with half-lidded eyes. Never did you think you’d ever see the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, look so smitten. You admit, your heart stirs a little being under his gaze, but knowing this is the same person that can’t seem to stand you normally, it just feels weird.

Before you know it, he leans in for a kiss and you slip out of his hands before his lips can make contact with your own. “Hahahahaha, anyway, uh… I think I need to ask good ol’ Sanzang a question.” Like what are you supposed to do with him now?? He won’t stay like this forever, will he? What, did that pepper wipe the last five hundred years of his life from his brain?! Oh god, MK is gonna come back from wherever he was left and he’s going to witness his mentor being all mushy with you– you can’t traumatise the poor guy like that!

Sure, you’ll admit that not getting the usual silent treatment from the king is a nice change. Plus it would be hard to deny that the way his voice dropped earlier… it definitely did something for you. And the way he snuggled up into your neck before��� but it’s so vastly different from his usual demeanour! The sudden change gives you whiplash.

You’ll be honest with yourself, the very first time you met Sun Wukong, there were definitely some stirred feelings. The moment you saw his eyes, you felt your breath catch in your throat– though the feeling was short-lived after he completely ignored you. It’s a struggle to even think of the two of you as acquaintances, so this sudden change in his behaviour towards you feels so weird!

Leaving Monkey King to huddle up with Tang and Pigsy, you try and figure out what to do with him. Pigsy is the first to start suggesting solutions. “Maybe we handle this like amnesia rules, huh? We just gotta bonk him on his dumb head, and he’ll get back to normal.”

“Or giving him head trauma makes him worse.” You deadpan. “If this is what post-journey Monkey King is like, I don’t wanna know what happens if we accidentally bring back the Sun Wukong that thought he could challenge Buddha.”

Pigsy sighs with a shake of his head. “What, do you got any better ideas? ‘Cause I’m not hearing them.”

“Let’s just not rush into full-on assault, okay?!” You frown, and the noodle chef scoffs.

“Are ya sure you don’t just like him like this? ‘Cause it sure looks like he likes you.” Pigsy crosses his arms with his accusation, raising a brow of suspicion when your face flushes.

You look back at the Monkey King, who’s in the middle of looking for something to use as his staff. Yeah, maybe this version of Wukong is nicer than his usual self, but that doesn’t mean you want him to stay like this! “I– don’t know what I’m feeling at the moment, but I know I’m not damaging MK’s psyche further with this love-sick version of his mentor!”

“Okay, guys,” Tang raises his hands up defensively, “let’s just take a second to calm dOWAHHHHH–” Before the noodle-enthusiast can finish, a clawed hand pulls him back in a sharp motion. Your eyes go wide as your friend gives a panicked shout as he’s pulled up and over the cliff. The demon from before, it never left!

“Master!” Monkey King shouts, as Tang is dragged away by the demon.

Pigsy looks up in shock before turning to you and Monkey King. “We gotta do something!”

“Exactly.” The Monkey King grins with a nod. With a large branch he found in his hand, he looks over to you. “Hop on, Dove.” With his staff/branch, he taps his shoulder and gives you an expectant look.

All you can do is frown as you try to work out what he wants in your head. What, does he want you to sit on him? “…Where?” There’s no way you are balancing on his shoulders.

Monkey King only laughs over your confusion, and he gives you this cute lopsided smile. “Aw, I guess you forgot about your transformation, too. That’s alright!” Without waiting, Monkey King scoops you into his arms and grabs Pigsy with his tail before racing off in the direction the demon took Tang. You’re quick to wrap your arms around his neck for support, and together the three of you bound off.

Huh, for once, Monkey King is carrying you off towards a fight. That’s a new one.

~~~~

By the time you rescue Tang from the demon who took him, Sun Wukong isn’t any closer to remembering anything. Pigsy and Tang wanted to discuss how to get him back to normal without the Monkey King present, and since he’s been sticking to you like glue, you decide to keep him out of the van so they can plan their next move in private.

Seeing this side of him, it feels so bizarre to you. When Monkey King doesn’t hate you, he gives a lot of physical affection, which isn’t something you’re used to coming from him. He’s kept you close during the whole rescue mission and his tail is always on you somewhere, be that hanging lightly around your wrist and sometimes your waist. He even had it coiled around your leg at one point on the walk back to the van while he held your hand.

Monkey King seems so passionate about whoever this person he thinks you are, it makes you wonder why you’ve never heard of this Dove person before. Do you really resemble her enough for Monkey King to mistake you for her? It’s not that hard to see why he thinks Pigsy is Zhu Bajie, and it’s possible that Tang looks similar to the Great Sage’s master, but what are the chances that you also look like an old companion of his?

Well, maybe you could call this Dove person more than an old companion… not with the way he talks about her, at least. Well, the way he talks to you. It’s difficult to believe this is the same Monkey King that’s been so irritated by you this whole time.

“Something on your mind, Dove?” Monkey King pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to face him with a slightly worried look.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m great.” You smile, moving to sit against the rocky cliffside the van is parked by. “Just, uh… tired. We’ve been up all night and I’m pretty tuckered out.”

The sage frowns a bit as you sit, and he becomes uncharacteristically quiet. “I guess sometimes I forget how much rest you need when you’re mortal.” His voice is strangely soft as he joins you in sitting against the cliff. As he sits, he takes your hand in his and brings it up to his lips to place a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.

Having him like this for the last few hours has done enough to help you adjust to having all this affection come from Sun Wukong, but you still can’t help the blush that forms when he does small things like that. You honestly find it adorable… and so not like the Monkey King you know.

As nice as this sweeter Monkey King is, you can’t help but frown when you see his expression fall a bit. “…I really thought you had died during the separation. I messed up and you paid for it, again.” There’s a sharp pang in your heart as he speaks. The regret in his voice… it makes it hard for you to look him in the eyes, and it’s hard not to feel sorry for the Monkey King. Sure, he’s relieved now because he thinks you– well, this Dove person is okay now… but that’s not you. Whoever this Dove person is, she must have really…

He looks to the ground, his eyes sombre. “It’s like I always find some way to hurt you without realising it. First it was the peaches, now this…” A heavy weight drops in your stomach, and you can’t help feeling horrible for Sun Wukong. It seems like he really loved her. Losing that sort of love can’t be easy for anyone, especially when they seem to blame themself for it the way Wukong seems to do.

Your hand is still in his, so you give it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey.” You smile and tilt your head a bit to the side and wait for him to meet your gaze. “If I really thought all my bad luck came from you, I would have gone running a while ago. But I’m still here, aren’t I? You can’t blame yourself for every bad thing that happens to me.”

You’re not really sure what you’re saying, it just comes out like an impulse. Despite his usual attitude, you can’t help but want to comfort him. You suppose this amnesia-Wukong has been nothing but sweet to you, and you’ve never seen him open up like this before.

His frown only deepens at your response, and he leans back against the cliff with a sigh, his eyes towards the dawn. “How can I not? Every time you get hurt, it’s because I took away your chance at immortality. If you die, it will be because I was stupid and impulsive and ruined your life before I even met you.”

Oh. Oh, shit.

Okay, so there’s a lot more to this than you thought. You’re quiet for a little, and sit back to watch the sunrise with Wukong as you think of what to say. The way he talks, it’s like he carries so much guilt over this person. How can you act as though you need to take on so much responsibility for someone like that? Though, if what he says is true, you find it a little hard to believe this ‘Dove’ could put whatever anger they held for Wukong aside. She apparently did more than put that anger aside, seeing how he acts around you.

Maybe that’s it, then. “I’m not sure you’re right about that.” You hum, bumping your shoulder against his lightly. “I mean, I don’t think I’d be calling anybody something as cute as Peaches if I thought they ruined my life.” You can feel his eyes on you as you continue.

“Maybe things started out messy, but where are we now?” You look back at him, barely able to even notice your hand sliding up to hold the side of his cheek until you’ve done it. “Does Dove– I mean, do I love you, Sun Wukong?”

It’s hard to read his face when you do that. His brows furrow and lips part slightly, on the verge of saying something that never leaves his mouth. It takes a second before his expression softens and he looks down with a small scoff. A smile worms its way onto his face as he leans into your touch and raises his hand to curl over your wrist. He gently moves your hand down to rest over his lips, where he places a kiss on the centre of your palm. “Yes, you do.”

His voice gets low as he answers, and you feel your cheeks flushing for the nth time since this entire amnesia-mess started. Whoo, you shouldn’t feel this hot when the sun isn’t fully risen yet. Flustered, you quickly pull your hand away and let out a quiet, albeit awkward, laugh. “Then how could my life be such a mess when someone I love is in it?” You shrug, looking anywhere but his direction as he goes quiet again.

Just as you’re thinking of some way to shift the conversation to something less personal and relationship-focused, Sun Wukong lets out a long sigh. “Jeez, Dove, you can’t just say stuff like that to me.” You can hear the grin in his voice, and before you know it, hands wrap around your waist and pull you onto Wukong’s lap.

“Master wouldn’t mind if we leave for a bit, right?” Wukong hums against the back of your neck, the touch pushing your heart to beat out of your chest. He presses a kiss against your collarbone and your breath hitches. “We could go for a little flight on our own for a bit…”

Never in your life have you jumped up to stand so quickly. “Hah! I don’t think that’s so, um…” The tingly heat from your cheeks has engulfed your face at this point. “…we probably shouldn’t– y’know… wow, it’s a little hot this morning, isn’t it?”

The entire time you struggle to find your words, Wukong has the biggest smirk on his face. “You’re right, it is kind of hot.” He agrees, joining you in standing up before untying the blue scarf that sits around his neck. “I’ve gotta find some way to cool down.”

Before you know it, the mischievous mystic monkey is slipping off his shirt. In an instant, the article of clothing is dramatically thrown to the side for Sun Wukong to show off his exposed torso. The ironically peach-shaped area of fur on the upper centre of his chest catches your eyes first, but that doesn’t last too long before your gaze begins to wander. The baggy sleeves of his shirt seem to hide his well-defined arms, his chest is broad and his stomach looks soft. It doesn’t take much for you to imagine how it’d feel to lay down with him and rest your head over him– nO, no no no! Don’t, no! The last thing you should be thinking about is cuddling up with this stupid flirty amnesiac!

It doesn’t help that the sage isn’t too shy about showing off, flexing his muscles while shooting you with a wide grin. “Wukong!” You look at him with wide eyes, unable to turn away. Never, never did you think you’d see the day where Monkey King would rip his shirt off in front of you to– what do you even call this?! Some birds of paradise mating ritual he decided to start doing?!

Wukong wiggles his eyebrows a bit, the look on his face shows that he knows exactly what he’s doing, but his voice remains innocent. “What, like what you see?” He prods, and you can’t stop the giggles that start erupting as he continues his little ‘gun show’. Jeez, this is so ridiculous! What is he thinking?!

You finally manage to turn away and bury your face into your hands. It’s impossible to stop the grin that’s wormed its way onto your face now, but you can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his little stunt is affecting you. You aren’t used to this, was he always this much of a flirt with Dove? Part of you wonders how she managed to keep herself together, you can barely keep a straight face with the way Wukong is acting now.

The moment he notices your averted gaze, you can hear him laugh. “No, no, no, no, don’t hide. I’m putting on a show for you!” He exclaims, and you jump a little when you feel his hands over your wrists.

Wukong pulls your hands away from your eyes, giving you full-view of his chest in your face. Just like that, you’re reduced to a flustered mess, tugging desperately at your arms to get away from this immovable flirt. The bashful smile on your face refuses to leave, no matter how much you want to hide it from him. “Oh my gosh, stop it!”

“You’re looking a little flushed there, Dove. Need any help cooling off?” Wukong pulls you closer while leaning in, his half-lidded eyes brimming in mischief. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s loving every second of it. Both of your laughter fills the air as you shoot one another a playful look, and just for a moment, you find yourself wishing Sun Wukong could always be like this. Fun and teasing, warm and loving.

But you doubt Monkey King will be like this when he gets his memories back, so you might as well enjoy this while it lasts. “If anyone needs cooling off, it’s you.”

“Are you saying I should take off more–”

“No!”

Gah, it’s like he wants you to be reduced to a puddle! You shake your head as quickly as you can, and Wukong huffs out a laugh. “Nope, not at all. Keep your clothes on, Wukong.” As you call him by his name, his expression drops a little, and you quickly backtrack. “I mean, Peaches.”

It’s cute to see how quickly he perks up over your use of the nickname, his smile like a sunbeam so warm it wakes the butterflies in your stomach.

Wukong pulls you into his arms, and you can’t help but melt into the hug as you return it. His skin is warm to the touch, the fur over his back and the tuft on his chest is as soft as what you imagine his somersault cloud to be. It takes every ounce of your being not to overthink how you’re against his bare chest, but dammit it’s nice! You can be sued for liking it, you don’t care.

Sun Wukong hums with content. ���Ever since the day you returned my feelings, I’ve started each morning with a lighter heart.” Your eyes widen a bit at his words, and your head rests on him while he continues “Having you with me has made even my darkest days bright. Whether you use your gift or not, all I have to do is look into your eyes to put my worries to rest.”

Gift? Is he talking about your healing touch? But he thinks you're this Dove person, doesn’t he? There’s no way she could have had the same soothing abilities that you have… right?

Your thoughts aren’t given the chance to wander as Wukong continues, and a finger hooks under your chin to guide your gaze up to his own. “I can’t know how the future will unfold or what it holds, but what I can be certain of is that I want you in it. A thousand and one lifetimes is not enough to spend with you, My Dove.”

Your heart skips a beat at those words, his eyes never leaving yours the entire time he pours out his love to you. Since when could Sun Wukong be this eloquent?? What, did he have that prepared?! It’s not hard for you to see why this Dove person loved him so much, every other thing he’s done since eating that pepper has made you want to swoon. Wukong… he really loved this person. More than you ever could have guessed.

His mention of her gift nags at your mind, and you can’t help it when your brows furrow. What are the chances this person that was so close to Sun Wukong in the past had the same abilities as you. Not only that, but you’re similar enough for a Monkey King-amnesiac to mistake you for–

“What the hell is going on out here?!”

The microsecond you hear Pigsy’s voice is the moment you launch yourself away from Monkey King. Standing just outside of the van is Pigsy and Tang, and your face– that had just started to return to its normal shade– bursts into flame again. It suddenly feels like you’ve been caught red-handed, cuddling up with the Monkey King. How long have they been there?! “We weren’t doing anything!”

Sun Wukong lets out an annoyed sigh at the interruption and rests his hands on his sides. “Not anymore, we’re not. You sure you don’t wanna find somewhere more private, Dove?”

“Private?!” Tang looks between the two of you with wide eyes while Pigsy’s arms cross, and the desire to burn into a crisp from embarrassment grows with every second that passes.

The noodle chef pauses for a moment when he looks over at the topless Wukong. “Where did your shirt go?!” “We’ve gotta get him back to normal, fast!” Tang panics before making a mad dash away. “I’ll get the boulder.”

That snaps you out of your embarrassment. “Boulder?”

“It’s nothing, but I better go and help him.” Pigsy sighs before running after the scholar.

You guess they’re going with their head trauma plan after all. There isn’t much else you can think of to bring Monkey King’s memories back, and you suppose getting hit in the head can’t do too much damage to someone who’s already immortal. Still, if this works, this might be the last time you see him like this.

Turning your attention back to Wukong, you offer the sage a small smile. “Um… I just wanna say, uh, I’m glad you’re here, Peaches. It’s nice knowing you’re here with me.”

Wukong returns your smile and takes a step towards you to hold your hands in his. “It would take another one of Buddha’s mountains to tear me away from you.” His words make your heart flutter, never have you heard him so sincere in the time you’ve known him. The way his eyes look into your own do little to help, those golden irises taking in every feature of your face.

It takes you a minute to pry your gaze from his, and you let go of his hands to quickly step away to clear your throat. It feels like you could get lost in those eyes if you look into them long enough. “Anyway, we should really focus on the task at hand. We’ll need to find the others before we keep looking for the three Samadhi Rings.”

“Four rings.”

“Huh?” Four? What does he mean, four?

Before you can get your answer, a falling boulder crushes Sun Wukong, shaking the ground as it collides with the king. You jump back with a start before looking up to the top of the cliff where Pigsy and Tang look over its edge. Jeez, what is with their horrible timing?! It’s one thing for them to walk in on you hugging a shirtless Monkey King, but what the hell was he saying before they crushed him?? Was he confused? What did he mean by four rings?!

You aren’t given the chance to spiral before the boulder cracks open, and out jumps the Great Sage with a shout. The Monkey King looks up with wide eyes and a burst of flames erupts from his mouth. By the time the fire stops, the sage looks around in confusion before his eyes land on you. The second your eyes make contact, his gaze hardens. Guess that means he’s really back.

Monkey King looks down to his exposed chest, and his frown deepens. You can only just notice a dust of pink over his cheeks as he looks back up at you. “…Where’s my shirt?”

His voice is indifferent, and it takes you a minute before answering. “Uh, I think you threw it over there.” You point over to where the shirt lays, discarded on the ground.

“Thanks.” He turns away rather quickly, moving to retrieve the garment and slip it back on. His back faces you as he finds his scarf and begins tying it back on while your two friends make it back down the cliff.

Pigsy seems relieved to find a fully clothed Monkey King once they get back to you, though Tang stays cautious. “Did it work?”

You don’t turn to look at your friends to answer them, your gaze focused on the Monkey King as he finishes tying the scarf around his neck. That cold air you feel so accustomed to has returned. You try not to sound too deflated in your response. “…Yep, it worked.”

After Pigsy and Tang inform Monkey King of the eventful events of the night, you all find yourself in the van on the move once more. You still have your friends to find, on top of the Samadhi Rings– however many there are. You have an itch that wants to confront Monkey King on that, though you aren’t sure he would give you a straight answer anymore.

Pigsy is driving with Tang in the passenger’s seat up front, leaving you in the back with Mo in your lap and Monkey King sitting in the middle of the van, reading over one of MK’s books he made about his mentor and his adventures. An awkward air hangs between the two of you again, and you can’t help but hate it. Seeing this side of him again is so jarring after spending the last few hours with such a sweeter and caring Sun Wukong.

After a while, it’s hard to sit in this cold air any longer. Setting Mo down, you get up to walk over to the king. His head snaps up as you approach, and you almost flinch at his narrowed gaze. Despite the ‘subtle’ undertone of annoyance in his eyes, you gesture down to the book. “I don’t think MK ever wrote down any stories that had Dove in them.” As you speak, you crouch down to sit with him.

“What?” The name makes his frown deepen, and you try your best to give him a friendly smile.

“It’s what you were calling me.” You explain, the Monkey King’s frown fading when you do. Instead, his face twists with something akin to cringe. You barely catch the pained look in his eyes before he looks away.

His hand raises up to his temple with a groan. “I’m sorry, that must’ve been– uggh.” He grumbles under his breath, and you feel bad for bringing up the name at all. Monkey King’s posture stiffens as his other hand reaches up to support his head, he looks uncomfortable now. You didn’t mean to make him feel bad in any way.

Your hands shoot up to wave in defence. “It’s okay! It was kind of cute, if I’m being honest.” The words sort of fall from your mouth, you don’t know what else to say when Wukong… he just looks in pain. His eyes are focused on the book in his lap, so concentrated, you’re surprised his laser-eyes haven't burned through it yet. “…Maybe it’s just me, but I think whoever she was, she was lucky to have someone like you by her side.”

That gets him to give you a sharp scoff. “You’re right, maybe it is just you.”

His tone takes you aback, and your surprise is quickly replaced with a frustrated huff as you rise back to your feet. “Sure, maybe it is.” You just wanted to make him feel better, to try and move past that sour attitude he only has with you. You turn to walk away, if he doesn’t want you around, you won’t bother him anymore.

“Wait.” You stop as he calls after you, something urgent in his voice makes you freeze. When you look back at him, his hands are in his lap, clenched into fists. His eyes can’t meet yours, still focused on the book under him. “I’m sorry, that was rude.” You look down at the Monkey King, your brows furrowed as you observe him, still as stone. Even without him meeting your gaze, you can recognise the hurt in his expression.

Looking at him now, it feels as though there’s a new perspective for all of Monkey King’s past actions against you. His words from this morning echo in your mind. His declaration of love, regrets over whatever… however this Dove met her end. “I don’t know what happened. But whatever it is you’re blaming yourself for, I don’t think she’d hold it against you, Peaches.”

The name slips before you can catch it, and Monkey King’s eyes shoot up to yours before you can correct yourself. “I mean, Monkey King. Sorry.” You look away quickly– he’s obviously hurting, why would you say that right now?!

“I don’t…” You barely catch his mumbling, and you slowly look back to see his eyes looking to the side. There’s a light blush over his face as he coughs into his arm. “I don’t mind being called Peaches.”

Something deep in your chest stirs, you’re not sure you’ve seen Wukong look… flustered? It makes you smile a little, and when he catches your gaze, he smiles back.

He’s okay with the nickname, you’ll have to keep that in mind.

[wannabepoeticischiya]

ao3: for affection, for acceptance pairing: nagumo x f!reader genre: romance wc: 1.6k status: one shot

Everyone in the JAA knew you as the doll.

The living, breathing, epitome of a doll.

A cold-blooded killer.

The executioner without mercy.

A human born with no emotion.

Life hasn’t always been easy for you. To be born in a family of importance meant that you had to grow into somebody worthy enough to be important. To be recognized meant to have a hundred thousand impossible feats under your belt. To be accepted meant that you had to give up all that you were, change every angle, every vision, so you could fit into their ideals. To have been all of that at the same time meant that it left no room for anything else.

No room for sadness, nor happiness.

No room for affection, nor adoration.

No room for warmth, nor love.

No room for you.

So, who does this guy think he was? To shamelessly flaunt his undermining achievement in front of your face as though he held the world in the palm of his hand. Brazen that he was, given that he could easily boast about something you could do with your eyes closed with hands tied behind your back. That he could smile so freely like he did not just brutally murder ten people with nothing but a tiny Swiss knife.

He rose the ranks quickly, far too fast for your liking given that he was a transfer from those wimpy spy department kids. And each time he got closer to where you stand, his smile would glow brighter and brighter… until one day, it shone far more brilliantly than the sun itself.

And you hated that, more so than when your boss would rush you to get the job done a day earlier.

It didn’t deter him in his advances. Why would he relent when he knew you from when your family and his were neighbors? When he would pull at your hair and stare curiously at how your face would never contort to anything beyond that blank slate. Or from when he’d lick your ice cream to see if it tasted different from his despite it being the same flavor. When he’d barge into your room so early in the morning and demand to play with him.

He was a child. An annoyingly obnoxious entitled child.

Even now, as you transcend past a decade and a half into your lives, he remained that same child.

Unrelenting. Motivated in the best way, a pest in the worst.

You swore that he made it his vow to have a reminder of his existence for your every waking moment. That you wouldn’t spend a day without saying his name or cursing it to the wind.

He never left, serving as the sole reminder of all that you’ve forsaken to reach where you are now. Yoichi, the fiend. Yoichi, your neighbor. Yoichi, your first friend.

Many times did he push you to the edge. If he asked you where you were, you’d say you’re at the end of your limit. If he asked you where you live, you’d say in the state of annoyance. If he asked if you how you were, you’d say you’re better off knowing he’d hit the grave early.

Then one day, he asked… if you felt anything for him.

And for the first time in nearly twenty long years of getting on each other’s throats, you found no words to say.  

If he asked you about your feelings, what would you say? How would you look at him? Show him the puzzle of words that you yourself found difficulty piecing together.

Many times did he provoke you into doing something, whether it would be through aggravating you to assault, or by giving you these vague questions that leave you pondering them over for days without ever knowing the correct answer.

You wanted to believe you were smart, that your intellectual capabilities were above average—or better, above his. Yet here, in this space between annoyance and familiarity, a sickeningly fragrant flower had begun to bloom… and you didn’t know what to do.

Raised to assassinate, trained to kill. That’s what you were: a killer. There was nothing more.

Was that so wrong? To live life like a machine. It seemed like common sense to you. Because no one ever taught you otherwise. No one gave you a different way to live, showed you a new path to take. Breaking your heart for every life you took looked right. Killing your happiness for the sake of others seemed noble. Giving it all up for the greater good was for the best, wasn’t it?

There was nothing beyond you except for the eyes of a murderer. There was nothing more. So why does he look at you like that? Like you were trapped and drowning, and he wanted to get you out. Like there was an entire world waiting for you behind this wall of ice. Why does Yoichi look at you like that?

You wanted to ask him. Desperately so… why? Why do you look at me, as though you could love me?

And for that one rare moment, you snapped.

Why? You’d say, letting the years of pent-up frustration and sadness fall in rivers of silver. You didn’t understand... yet, in your heart, there was no denying it.

From way back to when you were children, Yoichi had already reached his hand out for you to take. He never left because he knew, even back then… that he was the only one you had. That you’d be lost if one more thing was going to leave you, that you’d drown and never come back if you had to give up another thing for the sake of another. If you had to choose from two equally important things: your happiness or the world?

Perhaps he wanted you to be a little more selfish. To put yourself first for a change. Because you’d spent so long asking others what they want… he wanted you to ask yourself what you want. And he’d be there to pick up the pieces of a world in ruin if he gets to see you smile.

And it unnerved you so, that it took you over a score to see him. To look to him in a different light. All that he did for you, and all that you did to him when all he ever wanted was for you to see yourself. To have you love your soul… and if he was lucky, maybe you could learn to love him, too.

The universe answered his life-long wish, so it seemed.

---

You had the biggest crush on him.

Him. Nagumo Yoichi. Your next-door neighbor from your childhood days. The one who egged you into aggravated assault. The guy who'd take a thousand bullets for you. The one who'd shamelessly dress up as a girl to get you out of infiltration missions. The one who had all the patience in the world. All the happiness in the universe could offer.

Nagumo who could have had anything in the world, anyone he wanted, all at the snap of his fingers... yet he chose to stay beside you.

You had the biggest crush on Nagumo Yoichi, your husband.

Now, there was a big difference in loving someone, and having a crush on him.

Six years you've been together. Six long years, and even still, you find yourself staring at him when he's across the room. Trailing your eyes in the fiery warmth of his wake. Feeling like a thousand fireworks are exploding in your stomach, the rhythm of your heart going a beat faster, the songs they sing submerged in saturated adoration that it leaves you blushing like a high school girl.

He makes you giddy and nervous that it leaves you looking back and forth to your reflection in any shiny surface to see if you look alright.

Whenever you go out, whether it's for official business or a date, you'd struggle to find the right outfit—the perfect choice of clothes because you want to look your best for him, to have him think that you're pretty. And if you could, you'd spend forever styling your hair until every strand will never dare to go out of place ever again.

If the phone rings, the small flickering fire of hope burns into a blazing inferno, lighting up the sky with the hopes that it's him who's calling you, that it's him who's texting you.

When he's close enough to touch, near enough to hold, you just want him to lean in and kiss you.

There was no denying it, you have a crush on your husband.

And when he meets your stare, and he smiles, like there was nothing that could ever compare to you, you’d think to yourself that you’re at the luckiest you’ve ever been. Because you had him, and he had you. He loves you… and you love him.

Even now, as he sits so boyishly on the sofa, with his legs spread out so far it leaves no room for anyone else, you just can't stop staring at him.

Thinking to yourself that out of every soul in this infinite universe, you get to be his wife.

You married that guy.

Yoichi who’d dive to the depths of the sea to save you. Travel to the ends of the universe if you asked him to. Tie a lasso around the stars and bring them all to you. Count the grains of sand, tally every heartbeat that has echoed since the dawn of time, and even then, it wouldn’t be enough to tell you how much he loves you.

You married him. Yoichi… your husband, the man at the center of your planet-sized crush. You married him. He’s your husband.

They love us, you said to him back then at the day of your wedding.

Yet he simply looked to you, I love you.

And there was nothing in this world that could ever be greater than that.

it's short bcz i'm so stressed, 11 quizzes in a span of 4 days is so... evil 😭 I legitimately do not know what kind of turn this took but it's there. the banners will come when I find the time to edit them🙏