#also the full lyric for the title is

[archonsbane]

AND I TRY TO TALK REFINED

The one time Il Dottore speaks to you in another language, the one time he speaks to someone else in another language, and the one time you give him a taste of his own medicine.

pairing. dottore x reader

tags & content warnings. gn!reader. reader is the tsaritsa's child. reader is referred to by they/them. there's one (1) mildly suggestive sentence (and it's in a different language lol).

word count. 2.9k

author's note. so. i'm back from the dead. i have two fics for pantalone and one for diluc, around 8k+ words. (none of them are finished LMFAO) but of course i drop everything for this stupid ass man. the reader here is my tsaritsa’schild!reader, though this takes place before beauty is terror. this is set in the early days of their relationship and the start of dottore’s involvement in the fatui. reader's backstory is also implied here, but not outright stated. also i got inspiration from @fatuismooches lovely headcanons, though i strayed a bit far HAHA. thank you for letting me write this! and thank you to my two lovely delulu friends (you know who you are) bc i suddenly got into the mood to write because of them.  also, what is heavily implied to be the script of khaenri'ah in-game is based on latin, so i headcanon that latin is the language of khaenri'ah. also i had to sneak in a tsh reference lmfao it was too perfect not to. i promise i don't include it in all my fics it just so happens to be perfect for certain situations huhu. also i hope you guys catch all the little details i put in! reader and dottore have always been like this lol the title is from 'talk' by hozier.

You are undoubtedly the worst teacher Dottore has ever had, bar none. 

Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye, leaving him dumbfounded. Your teaching sessions, if they could be called that, are filled with constant interrogations of his life and large infusions of food. Half the time you aren’t even teaching him, you’re simply rambling about whatever it is you ramble about (he’s learned to tune you out, partly because he doesn’t care and partly because he can’t understand what you’re saying). He is truly reconsidering forgoing learning Snezhnayan — at the pace you're going, he might as well take his chances and learn by himself.  

“But Mother said,” you remind him, petulantly, like a small child. Yes, the Tsaritsa commanded him to learn Snezhnayan, and commanded you to teach him, but he is greatly tempted to ask her to send another teacher. It has only been two weeks since your lessons begun and he might truly go mad. Sometimes he thinks this might be the worst thing a divine being has ever inflicted on him.

In truth, he already knows Snezhnayan, but only enough to hold a polite conversation. It is his least favorite of the languages he learned from his teachers in the Akademiya, and anyway, he never quite had a deftness for tongues. He is always most at home working with his hands, destroying and creating physical matter, covered in dust and soot, cracking open the world’s secrets like an egg. But the Tsartisa willed him to learn, and he is nothing if not a scholar. 

“But Mother said,” he mocks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He��s learned that you have no convictions about his personality. If anything, you seemed to embrace it. Whereas he dons a respectful — as respectful as he can conjure, anyways — mask with the Jester and the Tsaritsa, it’s… looser, with you. Still, he is careful not to cross the line. He is only allowed this because he amuses you. You've been treating him like some sort of pet to be played with whenever you desire since his coming here. “Your mother also said to teach me how to speak Snezhnayan, but this is the third time you’ve called for snacks in three hours.” 

You flash a lazy glare at him and go back to eating your beloved pastilas. “You require a tremendous amount of effort to teach.” You’ve switched back to speaking the common tongue, obviously for his sake. “You’re a horrible student.” 

“You’re a horrible teacher!” 

You sniff and take another bite of your pastry. “You’re just really bad at learning.” 

For that, you get a glance heavenward. He is tempted to simply throttle you and be done with it. Treason seems like a fair price to pay for shutting you up. But he considers his options and decides that he would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s wrath — it’s too fucking cold here already. Still, greatly offended by this statement, he vents out his anger by cursing at you.

In the language of Sumeru. 

He does not really think of it; his use of his mother tongue has greatly decreased since coming here, but even then, it simply rolls off his tongue as naturally as water flows from a river's mouth.

Your brows shoot up. You open your mouth, pause, and for a moment he fears he is in danger of being exiled or thrown in the dungeon. But then you cock your head to the side. “What does that mean?” You ask. 

An idea unravels in his mind, sparkling with mischief. “It means you’re bad at teaching.” 

You frown. “For some reason, I feel like you’re lying.” 

He curses at you again. Your frown deepens. There is something so satisfying about the way those frustrated lines burrow into your face. When he does it a third time, you actually put down the pastila. 

“What does it mean?” You demand. “You aren’t saying anything bad, are you?” 

It means you’re an insufferable little bastard of mean intelligence and he hopes you fall into a ditch, so yes, he definitely is saying something bad. “It means you’re the most gorgeous, most wonderful person in the world,” he says, sarcasm dripping from the syllables. When you look genuinely taken aback, he lets out a cruel, derisive scoff. “It means you should trust me more.” 

“That seems like a horrible idea.” 

He shrugs and reaches over to take one of the pastilas, light pink with a white, foamy top, vaguely aware that another one of your language lessons has gone considerably off course. Perhaps that was too light a description. It shot in one direction and came speeding back the other way. “Suit yourself, Your Imperial Highness.” 

You smack his hand away, gently. Almost too gently. “Those are mine.” 

He eats it, anyway, and learns many new colorful Snezhnayan curses for it, though he detects no real annoyance in your voice. You ring for another batch of desserts. He counts it as a successful lesson. 

He continues speaking in Sumerian when you're near. It’s the greatest of treasures, seeing you frown and demand to know what he had just uttered in your presence. Sometimes he just says the first phrase that enters his head, most times he insults you and relishes in your clueless blinking. You can't do the same to him — he's been picking up on Snezhnayan at an exponential pace, and he's made sure to memorize all of the insults and swears first. Obviously. It’s his talent for machinations that he prides himself on, but lately, he’s been deriving vicious pleasure from the fact he can speak twenty languages, though it never mattered much to him before. It’s a good, safe outlet for his annoyance whenever you’re near, which you seem to always be, nowadays. 

Even outside the language ‘lessons’ (the word lessons being used extremely lightly) you seem to trail him wherever he goes. Ambushing him in the halls, materializing in the laboratory, and in general trailing him like some attention-starved puppy. He resents it, resents the stars that float through your eyes whenever he enters your view, resents the way you immediately disengage from whatever it was that you were doing to attach yourself to him, all smiles. 

He actively avoids you, but somehow you keep running into him. On purpose or accidentally, he has no idea. He suspects it is the former.

Today is one of those days. You’re by his side, again, chatting happily about… something. He’s trying to tune you out, focusing on the long walk back to his laboratories after a meeting with the Tsaritsa. He needs to do something about that, it’s woefully inconvenient to have to walk a mile every time she calls on him. Some sort of contraption that could go up and down easily would be of great use, and he wouldn’t have to climb so many fucking stairs.

Then — it happens. In your excitement, you bump into some government official accompanied by another, what his role is Dottore does not know and does not care to, but he must be quite high up if he allows himself to glare at you for an instant before it disappears into a cool stare. Or maybe he just has a lot of gall.

"Oh, my apologies sir," you murmur, ducking your head. 

"Quite alright, Your Highness," he says smoothly, "have a good day." He turns his back and starts to mutter to his companion, their heads bent together, completely unaware that with your godly senses and his recent enhancements to his body, you both can hear every word.

"How clumsy," the first man tuts, "what does their mother teach them? She's been too soft on them."

"She lets them run amok doing whatever they please. The other day, they—"

"—yes, I heard. Look at those clothes, aren't they too plain for the heir?"

His companion makes an agreeing noise. "And the company they keep… " 

Dottore doesn't particularly care about what other people think of him, and perhaps if it was only the last sentence that had been uttered he wouldn't have said a word, but the tirade of their complaints makes irritation, absurdly, flare inside him. He whips his head back to their retreating figures, and you throw him a glaring warning, so he clenches his jaw and stays where he is. He isn't one to do nothing, however. 

“Kol khara,” he says to them, viciously. Eat shit. He hears you stifle a sound that might be a laugh and briefly wonders why exactly you would laugh. 

The men turn back around. “Excuse me?” The first one says. 

“Nothing,” he says, curtly, his eyes like sharp daggers, “go on." They throw each other confused glances but say nothing further, going further down the hall until he can no longer see their backs. You both stay in the middle of the now-empty hallway, staring silently off into the distance.

You’ve never been able to contain your curiosity for long. After a good minute of silence, you turn inquisitive eyes on him. He’s been expecting your question.

"What did you say?" You ask.

He shrugs; makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Nothing."

You narrow your eyes. "I know it isn't nothing. It was something bad, right? You've said it to me before.” Clever you, he thinks briefly. Nothing gets past you. When he stays enclosed in icy silence, you press on further, “I won’t be mad. It doesn’t bother me — I think it’s funny. Just tell me.” He has no idea why you would ever think it’s funny. Nonetheless, he stays silent. 

You try again. “Tell me.” 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“Tell me,” you say again, but this time you slip into the voice of the noble, unshakeable heir to Winter. The two words are a command, and they leave no room for argument. He must follow. 

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “It means I want them to eat shit.” 

A moment of silence passes and Dottore wonders if he should start running. Then, you start to laugh. A small laugh, so small he almost thinks he could cup it in his hands and never let it go. But he recognizes it as different from the laughs you’ve given him before. This one is warm and sweet, conjured from the belly upwards. Summer in a sound. 

He tries very hard not to smile when he says, “you aren’t mad?” 

“No,” you say, still laughing, “I suppose I do deserve it.” He silently agrees. “Anyways, after coming to my defense, I forgive you.” 

He snarls, that sudden irritation reviving itself. “I wasn’t coming to your defense.” 

You shrug, not looking bothered at all. “Fine. Defending yourself and by extension — and complete coincidence — me.” 

He decides it is best not to argue, and listens quietly as you walk with him back to his laboratory, chatting happily away once more. If you notice that over the next few days, his outbursts toward you decrease, you say nothing of it. And if you notice he is insulting other people more in other languages, seemingly for the sole purpose of making you laugh, you say nothing of it, too. 

You’re speaking Sumerian. 

Fluent Sumerian. Rapid-fire Sumerian, without blinking or stumbling over your words. Clean, pure Sumerian, speaking everything with the perfect enunciation of a noble. You don’t notice him behind you, utterly bemused, as you speak to a foreign dignitary from his homeland. The First drags him out of the underground labs from time to time in order to socialize and familiarize himself with the political atmosphere, but Dottore lets you do all the work for him. You engage in polite small talk, though delivered with much more enthusiasm than necessary. But the words are barely intelligible in his head. It isn’t possible that you’ve learned how to speak fluent Sumerian in such a short about of time. He will begrudgingly admit your brightness, small as it is, but even he cannot master a language within a few months. Which means there must only be one conclusion. 

When you notice him, your face morphs into one of surprised panic. Oh. He’s sure his fury is plain to see. It’s at that precise moment the dignitary — Dottore does not see the point in blessings but, Archons bless her — chooses to excuse herself, leaving you open and without a proper excuse to escape with. 

“You can speak Sumerian,” he says, plainly, having immediately taken the empty spot at your side. You take  cautious, half-step backwards. 

You look both amused and slightly abashed. 

He grits his teeth. “For how long?” 

“... since I was five." A pause. You look thoughtful. "Actually, it was your Greater Lord Rukkhadevata who first taught me."

This new piece of information surprises him so much that the flames of his anger are snuffed out, if only for a second. Then they come back raging, and he cannot contain it.

"You knew what I was saying this entire time!" He rages, jabbing an accusing finger at you. You cringe away. "You could understand all of it!"

"Not all of it—" When you see the exasperation that crosses his face, you smile. "Alright. Most of it." 

You begin to walk away, but he furiously follows you. "You lied to me!"

"You were cursing me to my face. I think it's a fair exchange." You shrug with one shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It was funny, anyway. Your cluelessness, that is." And then, "you should know, now that you know — I can speak the main languages of each nation." 

"I can too," he says haughtily, raising his chin up at you. 

"Really?" You laugh. "Cubitum eamus?"

"What?"

"Nothing." 

"What does that mean?" He demands, only half aware he's repeating the interaction you once had over a plate of pink and white sweets. He's never heard a language sounding quite like that. Perhaps it could be a dialect, but it doesn't sound similar to any currently existing language. "What language is that?"

You deliver your coup de grâce with such smooth smugness on your face. "It's Khaenri'ahn." The dead language. 

He blinks. Opens his mouth dumbly. And lunges.

As he chases you through the halls, your laughter floats warm and clear in the frigid winter air. You easily outpace him, but perhaps out of pity, you let him catch you and drag you to — well, he doesn't exactly know where he's going, only that he does not want to let you escape his rage. You thrash in his arms like a trapped animal, still controlled by a laughing fit all the while. 

"I hate you," he grumbles later, when you've calmed him with a slice of strawberry cheesecake from the kitchens. He's still quite angry, but not angry enough to not accept your peace offering. "You're horrible."

"So are you." 

A pause, then, "Teach me Khaenri'ahn," he says, leaning forward, a bright idea sparking in his chest. "There's so many texts I have yet to decipher — you have no idea the knowledge I can grasp if you teach me." He thinks of the old Ruin Golems in Sumeru. How hard it was to learn how to control them! But with your help, with your knowledge, he could crack the world open like an egg and watch its secrets spill like yolk. 

"I thought I was a bad teacher."

"Bad is better than none at all."

The utterly offended look that flashes on your face teases a grin from his mouth. "You're horrible."

"So are you."

He thinks he sees the corner of your mouth involuntarily curl upward. You twirl your fork in your fingers, humming thoughtfully. "Why should I?" 

"... For the pleasure of contributing to my research?" The look you give him tells him you're not at all convinced. He continues, "My research that is so very essential to the success of this nation?"

You scoff, but you cannot deny it. He would not be alive if he wasn't useful to Snezhnaya.

"You'll owe me," you tell him. 

He shrugs. "There's worse things in the world. Let's start."

It startles you somewhat. "What, now?"

"Yes, now. Unless you have other things to do?" 

You don't. Your language lessons with him already ended when he reached an acceptable mastery over Snezhnayan according to your mother, and he knows that though you have a schedule (mysterious and utterly incomprehensible though it is — not even he has been able to figure it out), you'd drop everything in an instant if something else interests you. Your other engagements are often boring things, too, and the only duty you ever truly commit to are the strange missions your mother sends you on, ones that could go for months on end. He's fairly certain you'll acquiesce to his request.

You pretend to consider it, before shrugging with hardwon carelessness and saying, "Fine."

You're exactly the same. Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye. Half the cheesecake is eaten before you even start on the alphabet, and the journey to that is filled with endless detours that consist of bickering, fighting over the (large) cake, and kicking each other like children under his work table. His intelligence is insulted more times in half an hour than in his entire years of study at the Akademiya.

Dottore decides, with solid determination, after eating the last slice of cake, finally learning the pronunciation of the vowels and consonants, and being on the receiving end of an onslaught of Khaeri’ahn curses he truly cannot understand — which is horribly ironic considering the past few weeks — that he might as well beg the Jester for lessons instead, and no one can do a damn thing about it. He tells this to you, chin up, resolute and unwavering in his declaration. 

He never does get around to doing that. 

[crossbackpoke-check]

it’s all the rest of what i want with you

connor dewar/brandon duhaime :: 8k

Summary:

“Brandon,” Connor says with a sigh. “There’s no baby in there.”

“Not yet,” Brandon says. Connor feels his stomach twist, almost like what he would imagine a baby kicking to feel like.

in these trying times of dewvorce, may i offer you 8k of pwp inspired by @stillfertile’s wonderful art which i had. several breakdowns about 🫶 anyway please enjoy!!!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

top 5 wips you’re most excited to write? :D

AH …. anon my beloved 🥺🥺🥺 tysm for giving me an excuse to talk about them!!!! i have a whole bunch but here are the ones i’m most excited for/planning to write soon :3 hopefully

TITLES ARE STILL UNDER CONSTRUCTION BTW but if you know where any of them are from you get a big gold star ⭐️

it’s your touch that i need

the best friend’s brother!satoru fic that i’m planning on posting next….. i’m . Unsure if i’ll have time to post it this week but :’3 i’ll get it done!!! honestly i just think bfb!toru is insanely attractive so this is mostly an outlet for that but . i have a plot mapped out kind of… the unrequited love trope is just perfect for him but it’s Me so it’ll probably be less angsty and more funny/bittersweet !!

here’s a snippet from it <3

”you’re a good kid,” he says, and his smile teeters on the edge of something apologetic. mostly, it’s pitying. ”there are lots of people out there for you.” the weight of his palm on your head is usually a comfort, but like this? it’s a specific kind of torture. he ruffles your hair, as affectionate as ever, the same as it’s always been. not a trace of any romantic intent. there are lots of people out there for you. (i know, you want to tell him, but your voice is raspy and your throat feels sort of dry. i know. but i want you.)

hunter, you were human

my neglected mer!sugu fic…… our beloved fish man….. one day. i’ll write it out. i’m having some trouble deciding the order of events + general formatting of the outline so 😭😭 i’m a bit stuck. i’ll get there though!!! this au has angst potential but it’s Me so trust that this will be fluffy and nothing else. lots of banter and cutesy moments. i have a lotttt of thoughts about this au and character/reader dynamic so….. i’m. really excited to eventually write it all out!!! i love him sm :cc

“i don’t really like freshwater.” … your eyes widen. his voice is silky, smooth, like a silver river running from the forked tip of his tongue; a melodic lilt that makes you think of the lullaby your mother used to sing you to sleep with. a long, slow moment passes you by, like the rocking of a rusty ship. silently, your tongue forms around a bundle of words, your mouth gaping like a fish out of water. staring at the merman in your bathtub. “you can talk?!”

consider the hairpin turn

THE BELOVEDEST OF THEM ALL …… my extremely neglected best friend’s brother!kenjaku fic T_T my magnum opus even . i started writing it out a while ago but had to stop bc i can’t decide how to format it …. i think it’d be best to tell the story through a lot of flashbacks but it’s difficult to decide where to put what flashbacks in a way that doesn’t disturb the flow, yk??? but i do have everything outlined and i’m super excited to finally post it :33 someday… bfb!kenny is the actual loml i have so much lore planned for him. this fic is just a whole bunch of yearning and tension… the tiniest tiniest bit suggestive bc he truly makes me ill.

nervously, your gaze trails towards the stairs. worried, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip. kenjaku notices. a large palm cradles your cheek; making sure your eyes stay locked onto his own. ”don't worry about him,” he soothes, a rough thumb smoothing down your skin. ”it’s just us here… just you and me. why don’t you take a deep breath for me, hm?” (you do. without thinking. as if your body was waiting for instructions, waiting to satiate this gnawing desire to impress him, make him proud. be good for him.)  “now,” he exhales, in tandem with you, molecules mingling together. “do you want this?” 

only in the next world

ANOTHER DEARLY BELOVED WIP that’s been rotting in my drafts for a while ….. 👉👈 i think that out of all of these fics this is the first one that i wrote the outline to?? probably even before i made this blog. it’s basically just a canon-aligned au where gojo navigates his maybe-possibly-feelings for you, a new teacher at jujutsu high!! sooo really just my attempt to write what i view as a more canon-aligned gojo and his feelings towards love :3 mostly character-centered fluff and slowburn… some office au vibes…. i’m very fond of this reader!! and i love this version of gojo so bad i really hope i can do him justice…

“they’re a softie, huh?” shoko exhales — smoke drifting past her lungs, mingling with the cold air, a stench of tobacco that makes him crinkle his nose. ”they are,” she hums, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. a dangerously knowing look. “it’s not often someone captures your attention.” gojo smiles. ”is that what it seems like?” he drawls, almost a chuckle. closing his eyes and thinking of you, the fading scent of your perfume. ”well, who knows.” (certainly not him.)

signs of affection

my sickeningly fluffy cult leader geto fic <333 bc i’m spreading the agenda that he is a puppy of a man towards his s/o. this one is just meant to be funny and sweet!! i adoreee the thought of him dating a retired sorcerer with a normal ass job so in this one the reader works at a preschool…. and they’re meant to attend some kind of event for the preschool + is offered to bring a plus one. mild chaos ensues (geto doesn’t want to be anywhere near your non-sorcerer colleagues but he also wants to support you so he’s having a bit of a crisis rn…..) i LOVE this one and i’m so excited to write it out <333333 i think this geto is the most endearing man alive.

suguru blinks, eyelashes fluttering, gleaming under the shallow light of the lamppost just behind him. illuminating the peach-dyed flush dusting his ears, those wide pupils. and his lips, glossy with something cherry-flavoured, soon to curl up into a smile — fond, fond, fond. melting into your touch, basking in your long-sought attention. if he were a cat, you’re sure he'd be purring. he places one big palm over yours, where it rests on his cheek, and he stares. silently, like you’re the only thing worth seeing; dreamy galaxies inside his eyes, all honey and star clusters, leaking adoration. a milky way of love. ”… another,” he pleads, nosing at your fingertips.

[knightzp]

when are we getting knights trip previews i need to listen to my sunshine youre moonlight already aughauagahgghh

[ereborne]

WIP Title Game

tagged by @acountrygirlsfun Thank you Caitlin ❤️

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

save a horse; ride a catboy (Call of Duty)

Buckle Up, Bitch (SW, CW)

up like the moon and out like the hounds (DC, batfam)

it's a small explosive device (SW, CW)

lay-on-the-floor-and-scream dot excel (SW, CW)

poor unfortunate souls (Marvel, tower)

I glow cause I know what my worth is (Trek, Nextgen)

space agave blooms as many times as I need it to (SW, Mando)

No pressure tagging: @goingsparebutwithprecision, @zahnie, @lynne-monstr, @losersimonriley, @anaclastic-azurite

[laesas]

KPTS Playlists

Kim's Album || Chay's Album

So the concept behind this is that Kim releases a post-canon album and Porchay releases an album of his own in response. I love the idea of how the songs on each of these would affect the other person listening to them, as well as giving both characters the ability to use songs to communicate feelings that they can't express openly in person.

KimChay - Why else would I tutor you?

A big mixture of both KimChay albums + some extras that didnt fit either album but fit KimChay as a whole or inspired me while writing.

Additional Playlists and rambling under the cut 🖤

VegasPete Shoot Me || VegasPete Let it Out

I love both these VP moods but struggled with mixing them in a single playlist! The vibes were too all over the place - so now theres one for the emotional stuff and one for the self-destructive decisions bourne from hedgehog funerals and bisexual lighting

SO! Thoughts on playlists:

The concepts behind the KimChay playlists are my favourite and they're the ones I put the most thought into! - I started them back in july and I'm still adding to them now! They're not necessarily all about Kim and Chay's relationship per-se, there are a couple that I think really fit Kim's relationship with his brothers for example, or the way that Porchay feels living in the compound with his lack of autonomy. I've tried to keep a consistent sound/vibe throughout and match both the lyrics and the sound to the melancholy post canon situation!

My absolute favourite is Chay's album (lovingly referred to as the chaylist). Picturing the absloute breakdown Kim would have listening to some of these songs sang by Chay is so delicious to think about. Hopefully these would be the catalyst to a KimChay resolution!

There are a couple of other less developed/experimental playlists like for KinnBig, Tankhun (sad lol) and KimBig on my spotify profile! (as well as some other non KP playlists)

If you liked any of these, found a new favourite, or found them useful/helpful for art/writing/rotating the faves in your mind, feel free to share and to come yell at me about them here! DMs are open, anons are on! I'd love to hear your thoughts!!!

[thesaintofnevergettingitright]

Hey legit question: I’m probably 2/3 of the way through my fic and I want to finish it this week… would anyone be willing to beta??

A) I need the external motivation lol and B) I’m desperate for some feedback from someone familiar with both fanfic in general and The Witcher more specifically.

I would pay you in eternal gratitude???

K thanks bye.

[deonideatta]

hi if you like twiyor listen to this song i will never shut up about how well it fits them it's literally their song haha im not crying what

[ladadiida]

𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 as much as you wanted to stay by his side, you couldn't bear the thought of watching him fall in love with other women while you're stuck at the kitchen washing dishes and measuring ingredients. so you dreamt of leaving, of traveling to different islands to share your lovely songs and tunes; but the more your desire to leave grows, the more sanji finds himself drowning in your warmth.

or,

you and sanji over the years, wherein five times you tried to leave him and the one time you finally did, despite his refusal to let you go.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 musician reader, 5 + 1 things, pining, unrequited love, not actually unrequited love, heavy (kind of) angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 HERE IT IS! the response to the sneak peek was crazy, and so i rushed to get this done. i only watched the live action so beware of minor mistakes if you ever saw one. english is also not my first language and you are welcome to correct me anytime for any grammatical errors. title is a lyric from the last time by taylor swift ft. gary lightbody. this fic is also posted in ao3 with its full summary and WITH A BONUS CHAPTER. enjoy reading!

𝐰𝐜 11.3k

"There you are."

Your soapy, wet hands almost dropped the ceramic plate you were currently washing in the dirty kitchen sink as soon as you heard a familiar smooth and honeyed voice. Abruptly turning off the sink so that the sound of his approaching footsteps were clear to your ears, you wiped the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand before turning your body towards him.

He was carrying a stack of plates, a fresh batch to add to the pile you had to wash, with an obnoxious yet handsome smile plastered on his lips. You took a deep breath to calm the growing irritation at the bottom of your stomach, reminding yourself that this was your job and you only had a couple of hours to endure until you're free to lock yourself up in your bedroom. You were particularly looking forward to writing today, and the thought of finishing the lyrics to your new song tonight slightly eased your mood. Accepting your fate, you pointed to the remaining space beside the sink.

"Place it there." You told him, albeit begrudgingly as you turn on the sink again and pour more soap on the battered sponge.

You took a mental note to ask Zeff later about buying new sponges, and if you were lucky to catch him in a good mood, you'll put in a request to get the sink fixed and cleaned. Your eyes scanned over the grime and rust around the area. If you were going to spend the rest of your life washing dishes, then you might as well get a proper kitchen sink to do so.

An amused laugh fell out of the golden haired man you grew up with, surprised at your compliance to do the job you hated. The sound nearly sent your poor heart into a dizzying whirlwind of little nuisances called emotions. "What a hardworking woman."

"I could say the same to you. It seems like you have a new record today." You said while you splashed dirtied bowls with soap water, smiling at him teasingly, "Thought you would've been kicked out of the line by now."

"The old man just can't help but to accept the fact that I am a greater cook than him." He smirked, wiping a knife with a dish cloth. Trying not to roll your eyes, you shook your head at his usual display of arrogance, yet you can't help but to grin as you began to hear scratching sounds against the floors.

"Then you better get those chopped carrots ready." You replied, and when you got to finish your sentence, the doors to the kitchen swung open, revealing the head chef.

Zeff's cold and steely eyes immediately landed on the blond. He walked towards him with a fast pace despite only having one leg, his braided mustache bouncing in each step.

"Aye, aye, aye. Why haven't you started on the carrots yet, little eggplant? Can you get any slower?" He scolded, loud enough for the whole staff to hear, but none of them even flinched. You returned back to your plates and glasses, smiling softly. This was part of your routine everyday: to listen in their silly arguments.

However, before the younger chef can reply, you butted in, "Sanji fetched some of the plates for me. Since there's a lunch rush, I couldn't leave the kitchen."

Zeff let out a low hum. You couldn't even see Sanji's face, but you knew him well enough to know that he was smiling triumphantly, knowing that he won this time. After a few minutes of contemplating, the head chef clicked his tongue. "Don't defend him, little lass. But I'll let it slip this time. What are you waiting for, then? Start cutting them!"

"Yes, chef." Sanji answered in a jovial manner, placing the carrots on a chopping board.

Twisting the faucet lever so that the water flow from the sink is gentle and quiet, you then paid attention to their little banters every now and then. You brought up a wine glass and positioned it by your side to try to get a glimpse of the two most important men in your life. Through their reflection on the glass, you can see Zeff hunching over Sanji's knifework, nodding every time the vegetables were correctly sliced.

On the other hand, Sanji was unbothered by the head chef's observations and continued to cut the ingredients calmly. Some of the strands in his hair fell down on one side of his face, covering an eye, and most people would think that it was an unusual way of styling hair; yet it was one thing out of many that you loved the most about him.

You accepted it years ago.

You accepted the fact that you somehow fell in love with Sanji Vinsmoke along your weird journey of working in a sea restaurant full of former pirates and making music while at it. How the pesky feelings grew and wrapped themselves around your aching heart, you didn't know. Maybe it was when he learned to cook your favorite food and gave it to you afterwards, or the way his crystal blue eyes reminded you of snowflakes every winter.

Or maybe it was when he pulled your hair out of jealousy the moment he learned that Zeff would be taking in another child in his care, but brushed it and even braided it after the latter cleared the misunderstanding. Maybe it was when he supported you in your dreams and told you they weren't silly, maybe it was when he fought off drunk men that were trying to hit on you. Or maybe it was the way his voice would drop an octave lower whenever he asks you for a favor. The list could go on and on and you still wouldn't know the reason why. It doesn't matter anyway. You tripped, you fell, and now you're pining.

Drying off the last of the plates, you washed your own hands after and patted them dry on your skirt. You were the last one to leave the kitchen, the other staff already back in their quarters after a long, exhausting day of cooking. You fixed the signature blue bandana tied in your hair then went on your way towards the upper deck.

You weren't blessed with a talent in cooking, so you offered to do chores instead. Washing the dishes, cleaning the restaurant, and doing the laundry were few of the things you do in the Baratie. You can't say that you enjoy it, but you were beyond grateful that Zeff gave you a chance despite his opposition to let a woman work inside his restaurant.

As you were about to go to the newly laundered clothes you hung on a thin wire earlier that morning, you heard two voices speaking. You also smelled cigarette smoke wafting through the air, and you only knew one person who could be smoking at this hour. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

"You bringing a woman to your bed again, Sanji?" The other person asked playfully, but there was a hint of disbelief in his voice. You carefully took a peek so you won't accidentally reveal yourself and be accused of eavesdropping. Two people came into view with their backs facing you.

"Now, what are you talking about, Patty? I am a gentleman. I only had a nice chat with the lovely lady and escorted her back to her ship." Sanji interjected, a cigarette hanging on his lips.

Patty huffed. "I didn't know that chatting included kiss marks on jawlines."

This caused Sanji to laugh and say, "Not my fault she was charmed by my food."

"The boss man ain't gonna like it when he finds out about this."

"He's not gonna find out." Sanji assured him, wiping off the said kiss mark on his jaw. You stared at him as he did so, and you pitied the woman who planted that kiss, knowing she was just one of the many beautiful ladies Sanji had flirted with before. However, a tinge of pain in your chest said otherwise, taunting you that it was not pity you're feeling, but foul jealousy.

"Why don't you look for more decent women, eh? How about 'little lass' for a change?" Patty suddenly suggested.

It was like someone had hit your stomach with one of the metal pans in the kitchen with the way it lurched in surprise and nervousness. Your heartbeat started to quicken the longer you waited for his response, making your grip on your skirt tighter. In moments like these, you allowed yourself to hope, to wish that he saw something in you and that he finds you beautiful and lovely enough to be the person standing by his side.

But his answer made all that hope crumble down into nothing but dust.

"I don't see her that way." Sanji said after a long stretch of silence, taking a long drag from the cigarette then releasing the smoke in a single breath.

Ah.

You blinked repeatedly, trying to keep the tears from forming. It's always been like this, so why can't you get used to it? Taking a deep breath, you gulped away the knot forming in your throat and decided to leave. You can grab the clothes later.

"You're too kind for him." Someone behind you spoke, making you jump and tense up. Turning around, you saw Zeff looking at you with an unreadable emotion in his eyes and his hands on his hips, almost like he knew your secret. Of course he does. He always sees everything.

You stumbled on your words. "Sir?"

"That boy is always up to something." He began, switching his attention to Sanji. "One minute he's stubbornly immature in the kitchen, and the next he'll be a thirsty man staring at women like they're liquid booze."

Clearing your throat, you forced a smile.

"Well, he can be a lot sometimes." You agreed, remembering the days when the two of you would fight over irrelevant matters. Then you chuckled and continued, "But he's kind. He's gentle, and lovely, like a freshly made poem you keep repeating in your head. But then he's also confusing, hot-headed, and reckless. He's like the sea, isn't he? Calm yet wrapped with mystery, dangerous yet beautiful..."

You trailed off, an unbearable heat rising up your cheeks and neck once you slowly began to realize that you just ranted out your feelings to the head chef. You glanced at him with wide eyes, preparing to see a disgusted look on his face; however, Zeff didn't appear to be repulsed by your little speech. In fact, the corners of his lips were slightly quirked up.

"But I cannot swim. If I were to drown, he wouldn't save me." You quickly added, hoping to shut down the topic.

He sighed. "You will meet someone who deserves you as much as you deserve them, little lass." He simply said. He then laid his hand out, and on his palm was a little box poorly tied with a ribbon. "Here, for you."

Altnough you were a bit confused at the random gift, you accepted it and cradled the box to your chest. "I'll be okay, Zeff." You insisted, grinning cheekily. "When I become famous, I'll sing my songs here in Baratie, and people would flood the restaurant to hear my singing. And to eat your food too, of course."

The head chef nodded, relief flooding his expression. "I look forward to that." He said while awkwardly returning your smile.

That night, when you were sure that everyone in the Baratie was asleep, you opened the loose floorboard on the floors of your bedroom and grabbed the wooden box you kept hidden for a long time now. You opened the lid and began counting the Berry you saved for the past few months.

Tomorrow was the perfect day to leave.

You just can't stay here. Yes, you had a roof over your head, delicious food to eat everyday, and clean clothes to wear but you were so miserable. This wasn't the life you wanted. You wish to go out there, sing your heart out, and fall in love with someone who actually loves you back.

A knock on your door made you freeze. You held your breath as the person on the other side continued to knock a few more times. "You awake?"

Pain surged through your veins, your chest twisting in agony. Sanji.

"You didn't come down for dinner. I guess you're too tired, hmm?" He said, his muffled voice gentle, and the sound almost prompted you to stand up and open the door for him. But you dug your fingernails in your palms and resisted, because you can't just let this opportunity pass by.

You heard a brief clinking sound before Sanji spoke again, "Sweet dreams, ange."

Once his footsteps faded away, you cautiously moved towards your door and opened it as quietly as you can. There, on the floor, was a small plate with a slice of your favorite desert: angel's food cake, topped with fresh cream and strawberries.

You bent down and saw a note beside the plate. And when you got to read the contents of the note, you burst into tears and sobs that wracked down your entire body.

Happy Birthday

— S.

You ate the cake with tears silently falling down your cheeks, and that was the first time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

⸻ • ⸻

Today was the day, and you won't allow anyone to ruin it for you.

You had saved enough Berries to travel around the world and sustain yourself for the upcoming months. Your notebook containing the lyrics of the songs you wrote laid open on top of your bed as you spent all night revising them while planning out an itinerary. Then you'll find a place to settle in, a stable job that required doing what you loved the most, and overall just be peaceful and free from pirates and chefs and pirate chefs. It was perfect.

Folded clothes surrounded you everywhere, ready to be packed in your bags. Once you finished stuffing them all in, you grabbed your treasured instrument, the one thing you couldn't live without: your guitar, which has been with you since you were a little child. It was given by your mother and you've been attached to it ever since.

It has scratches all over its wooden surface, and the strings needed some fixing occassionally, but you wouldn't trade it for the greatest treasures in the world. You ran your fingers over it, suddenly feeling like it was lacking something. Seeing the paint chipping off at the corners, you figured that it needed a little color.  You'll need lacquer, and paint if you managed to find some.

You set the guitar aside and left your bedroom to head downstairs to the kitchen. As you were about to push the doors open, a loud, angry shout made you stop in your tracks.

"I won't ever become a pathetic waiter for you!" Sanji's thunderous yells can be heard from outside. Your shoulders tensed up. It was a good thing that brunch was over and all the customers had left.

Zeff's own furious voice followed, "Leave then, for all I care! You can do anything you want, but don't you ever serve one of your shit dishes in my kitchen!"

A frown settled on your face. Their fights were a normal occurrence to you, but this one sounded more grave than usual. Crossing your arms, you stepped in closer to the entrance and hesitated whether you should go in or not. Before you could make a decision, Zeff beat you to it by pushing the doors open, rage emanating from his figure as he ignored and walked past you.

Without hesitation this time, you entered the kitchen, greeted by the sight of Sanji bowing over the counter, breathing heavily, his face covered with his hair. He didn't move an inch even as you approached him, the clacking of the heels in your boots echoing throughout the room.

Both of you were silent as you rummaged through cabinets, trying to find lacquer to cover your guitar with, while he tried his best to calm himself down after his outburst. Many cupboards later, you finally found a small can of used up lacquer, but as you started to reach for it, your hand completely stopped mid-air.

You looked over your shoulder, and found Sanji already recovered from the argument seeing that he was on the move again, preparing a cut of beef tenderloin and other ingredients he needed for tonight's dinner.

Slowly, you closed the cupboard and went closer to him. He still refused to look at you. And so you watched him place a bag of flour on the countertop, slices of cold butter, and a variety of spice bottles to season the meat with.

Sanji began to wrap twine around the beef tenderloin. You sighed, and before you could stop yourself, you grabbed a bowl and decided to help him. Your guitar can wait.

It was rare for you to cook inside the kitchen, having so little knowledge about food and how they were prepared, but you knew this recipe well. You poured two cups of flour through the sifter, followed by placing heaps of the cold butter in the mixture.

The moment you started to mix the dough for the puff pastry, Sanji quickly pointed out in a monotone voice, "You're adding too much butter."

You raised your head and glanced at him, his attention now on the meat he was searing on a skillet. You smiled, glad that he was speaking again.

"You're beginning to sound like the old man himself." You joked lightly.

His jaw clenched. "Don't compare me to that shitty geezer."

In a softer voice, you asked, "What happened?"

"The usual." He replied curtly. "Didn't approve of my dishes."

You perked up upon hearing about a dish he made himself. Sanji was talented when it comes to creating his own recipes, and sometimes, you would be the person he chooses to test them out. Every time he lets you taste them, your chest would feel warm and you wouldn't be able to sleep for days because you'll keep replaying it in your head. "What did you make this time?"

"It doesn't matter. He'll never agree to any of them."

"Maybe I can—"

"Drop it. Don't poke your nose in things you're not involved." Sanji cut you off, his hardened gaze meeting your concerned stare. You only blinked at him, straightening up.

"I see." You muttered, eyes landing on the bag of flour. You looked at him, then at the flour, then back at him. A smile began to form on your lips as a devious plan formulated itself in your brain. Sticking your hand inside the bag of flour, you took a fistful of the pillowy powder and threw it straight into his face.

Sanji jumped back, flinching and closing his eyes when some of the flour's particles managed to enter them. His jaw dropped open in surprise, hands quickly removing themselves from the skillet's handle to dust off the flour that rested on his now white hair. You tried to stifle a laugh as you watched him struggle getting the flour out.

Once he managed to clean himself, he stared straight at you and said in the calmest way possible, even if you knew deep inside that he was fuming, "What was that for?"

A high-pitched snort left your mouth. You covered it to prevent yourself from laughing.

You cleared your throat and smiled at him innocently. "Am I involved now?"

His piercing blue eyes then started to sparkle with mirth, amusement replacing the vexation previously swimming in them. He also looked to be trying to push down a smile, and that made your heart skip a beat. "You're insufferable."

He reached for the bag of flour. You squeaked and took off running, trying to escape from his attack, but he still managed to throw a small amount on you. Giggling, you ran the opposite direction to confuse him, and yet he caught up with you, throwing another round of flour. This time, it hit your cheeks, making you laugh loudly. He laughed along, pointing a finger at you because you probably looked crazy at the moment.

You tried to take the bag of flour away from him, but he just took it an as opportunity to catch your arm and grip it firmly. He pulled you into his chest, caging you completely.

With your cheeks warm and your breaths short, you tilted your head up and looked at him, noticing the way that you were both covered in flour; and not only that, you also noticed the short distance between your bodies and how your noses were almost touching. His pupils were dilated, black dominating the alluring blue shade that kept haunting your dreams. You drank in the attention he was giving you, the breathing coming out from his soft lips, and the comfortable silence that wrapped around the both of you like a safe little bubble.

"Caught you." Sanji muttered, voice deeper and huskier, making you let out a quiet sigh. His arms snaked around your waist as he leaned in closer. A million questions started to run inside your head, begging to know what this situation was and how you got into it. "Nowhere to run now, darling."

A slamming of doors shattered the secret moment you shared, and you immediately pulled away from each other. You pushed down your disappointment and hid it in the secret crevice in your heart as the two of you faced your intruder.

Zeff observed your flour-laden figures, his thick eyebrows scrunched together in irritation. He then demanded, voice seething and dripping with anger, "What in the hell are you two little brats doing?"

Sanji blurted out in defense, "Zeff, we—she was the one who started it!"

"And you went along with it!" You accused incredulously, grinning from ear-to-ear. Sanji grinned back, shaking his head and biting his lower lip.

"Oh, shut up before I stitch your mouths! Just by looking at you two, I already know that you snot-nosed shits are both at fault!" Zeff shouted, clicking his tongue at the sight of the half emptied flour. "Wasted them good flour for your childish fights. You're even worse than fatwits. Get out and clean the toilets!"

"Not the shitty toilets!" Sanji groaned, and you couldn't blame him for it. The bathroom area smelled revolting and the floors were always wet for some reason.

"I don't wanna hear complaints from you when you've dirtied my kitchen! Off you go!" Zeff dismissed, and you can't help but to laugh again when you saw Sanji pout like a little kid.

The head chef watched the two of you leave the kitchen together while giggling and exchanging fond looks. Patty, who also saw the whole situation unfold, suddenly appeared beside him, snickering, "I can already hear the wedding bells ringing."

Zeff took a deep, tired breath.

"Oh, they're ringing alright."

You cleaned and scrubbed the toilets the entire afternoon with the man you're in love with, flushing your plans down the drain and forgetting all about them, and that was the second time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

⸻ • ⸻

You didn't know how you ended up in a ship full of pirates.

Well, maybe you knew. A little. But it wasn't supposed to be like this.

Your knuckles were beginning to turn white with how tight you were clenching them. A mix of emotions swirled around in your chest, namely confusion, impatience, and hesitation, pondering about whether you should be irritated at yourself or at Sanji.

The opportunity was there, handed to you like a steak on a golden platter, or a miracle that suddenly fell from the sky. The day you met Luffy and his strange pirate crew was the day you immediately realized that he was the key to your exit from the Baratie. He was friendly; a good pirate, according to his own words, so you figured he would allow you to tag along for a while until you find an island to get off to. You just had to ask for his permission and wait for his reply.

Luffy agreed. And you were ecstatic. You were finally going to leave Sanji Vinsmoke and your pathetic, unrequited feelings behind.

Or so you thought.

You watched in horror as he followed you when you boarded the Going Merry, also carrying a bag of his own. He said something along the lines of Luffy needing a cook for the journey to the Grand Line but you couldn't care less. You got here first. Why was he here?

So here you were, sitting in a corner, lonelier than ever and regretting your life decisions. You watched Luffy and his friends celebrate after defeating the pirate Arlong and saving Coco Village from his inhuman hold over its people, but Sanji and the beautiful orange haired Nami were nowhere in sight.

The thought of them being gone together at the same time left a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

Nami. The first time you laid eyes on her, ethereal was the word that came up to your mind. With soft deep saffron locks that framed her small face and a wide blue eyed gaze, she would have the cruelest of men begging for mercy and affection at her feet.

Unfortunately, Sanji was one of those men.

Fuck, you cursed mentally, rubbing your face with your hands to try and forget about the times he flirted with her and the moments he wouldn't stop talking about her or kept asking about her favorite food or dessert or if she's into blonds. Your already battered heart doesn't need the usual reminder that he'll never see you that way, that you weren't going to experience his sweet words and his loving gazes.

You took a sharp breath. It's okay, you tell yourself over and over again until they were buried in your heart. They'll make a great pair, Sanji the cook and Nami the thief. A strong man with an equally strong woman. Yes. That makes sense.

You'll leave soon anyway, and you'll no longer have to worry about seeing them or how they were going to end up together.

And yet you can't help but to think about the things that could've been if you were the one he was in love with instead.

You were crossing your arms and hugging yourself as the crisp afternoon air was getting chilly when a hand gripping a shot glass filled with amber liquid appeared in front of you. Looking up, you saw Luffy smiling widely at you, waving the glass encouragingly.

"Come on, just one drink! Usopp poured this for you!" The captain exclaimed heartily, obviously trying to uplift your spirits and to make you feel welcomed in his crew, even though you did nothing but to guard the Going Merry while they were fighting for their lives.

You shook your head and smiled politely. "No, I don't drink. Sorry."

Luffy's smile faltered, but he recovered quickly. He nodded, setting the glass down on top of a barrel. "Well, okay." He said, then turned to Usopp, who was currently downing a whole bottle of whiskey. "Hey, where's Nami?"

"Oh, she's with the cook," Usopp replied cheekily, wiping his mouth after drinking. There was a teasing tone in his voice as he continued, "Someone's getting a boyfriend tonight!"

With that said, you reached for the shot glass that Luffy was offering you earlier, grabbed it swiftly, and poured the whole thing down your throat. The whiskey tasted unfamiliar, and it burned and made you dizzy at first taste, but it doesn't matter; as long as it can make you forget just for a little while, you were willing to drink more of the horrible beverage.

Zoro, the green haired swordsman and the captain's first mate, stared at you as if you had lost your mind, but a tinge of concern was visibly written on his face. "Woah, slow down." He warned sternly.

"I thought you didn't drink." Was all Luffy said, blinking in confusion. You chuckled tiredly.

"Now I do."

Drink after drink, glass after glass. You lost count on how many times Usopp poured whiskey for you, or how many times Zoro shook his head in disbelief. Luffy was the same old happy-go-lucky captain throughout the disaster that was starting to brew inside you, turning your brain into mush. You can barely lift your head or your fingers as you asked for another shot in an incoherent voice. Luckily, Usopp was still able to understand you, tipping the whiskey bottle yet again towards your glass.

You started to raise the glass to your lips, eager to just get severely drunk and be over with it already. However, you suddenly felt strong fingers wrap around your wrist to stop you from drinking; and when you caught sight of a familiar silver ring with Baratie's jolly roger inlaid upon it, you didn't need to look up to know who it was.

Sanji's voice was unnervingly calm as he questioned the crew, but the slight shake in his words lets you know otherwise. "Which one of you allowed her to drink?"

"No one. She took the glass and made the decision herself." Zoro drawled, challenging the chef, "The last time I checked, waiter, you were supposed to be the one responsible for her."

Sanji ignored him and turned his attention to you. He stole the shot glass away from you, then kneeled and held your hands comfortingly, smiling. "Come on, ange. It's time for you to rest now." He said quietly, yet loud enough for only you to hear.

You stubbornly shook your head repeatedly and whined loudly. "No! Don't touch me!" You cried, prying your hands away from his, "I don't like you...!"

Zoro huffed in amusement at your declaration. Sanji glared at him for a short second before looking at you again. This time, he stood and gently placed his arms under your shoulders to raise you up. Once you were standing on your feet, he swept you up and carried you bridal style with ease. Another whine escaped your lips.

"Put me down! I want another drink, please, just one more!" You pleaded while throwing weak punches on his chest. Sanji only smiled and began to lead you towards the sleeping quarters. You continued to thrash in his arms as he walked slowly and in small steps so he wouldn't drop you.

Sanji carefully set you down on your hammock. "No drinks for you until you actually learn how to take them." He told you, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek and rubbed it in circles, noting how fast you were heating up due to the alcohol. You pouted.

"Pretty please, Sanji...please..."

He chuckled, staring at you intensely. "Maybe some other time, ange."

You went quiet, staring back at him with half-lidded eyes. Then, you crossed your arms like a child and asked, "Why do you keep calling me that?"

Sanji raised a brow. "Call you what? Ange?"

You nodded. "I don't like it."

He began to smile, the dimples on his cheeks appearing. You briefly wondered if he'd allow you to poke and feel them. "Why?"

"I don't know what it means. Is it an insult?" You wondered aloud, your eyes widening in curiosity.

A hearty and warm laugh came out from Sanji, his eyes forming half-moons as he cackled at your words like they were the biggest joke he heard in his entire life, "Oh, my dear girl, how could I possibly insult you?" He managed to speak between laughs, "It means angel. You're an angel, to me at least. My angel."

Oh.

Your lips parted in surprise. Blinking, you simply said, "You're not Sanji."

He's not Sanji. He wouldn't call you angel; you're not even sure if he found you beautiful or attractive. You wear the same old tattered dresses that Zeff bought for you a long time ago, and you didn't even bother to style your hair or put on face powder like all the other beautiful ladies do. You look nowhere near to an angel.

But Sanji only grinned. "I assure you, I am very much Sanji. The little brat who pulled your hair when we were barely eleven years old."

Your breath hitched at the thought of him remembering one of your fond memories in your childhood. "You remembered."

"Of course I remembered." He whispered, cupping your cheek one last time before he got ready to leave. He turned on his heel and was about to walk away when you spoke.

"Are you going to see her again?" You asked, and he quickly noticed how broken your voice sounded. Sanji faced you in concern and was taken aback with how deep you were frowning. He figured that you were just drunk and women tend to be different when they were intoxicated. You were no exception to that, it seemed.

"Hm?" He hummed, prompting you to elaborate further.

Tears began to form in the corners of your eyes. You shakily mumbled, "Nami...you're going to Nami, aren't you?"

Sanji froze, an icy cold rush filling up his body. A knot formed in his throat, and it continued to tighten the longer he stared at your face. You looked so hurt—like he just destroyed your beloved guitar into pieces. Your lower lips were trembling, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. For a moment, he couldn't find the courage to answer you, feeling like he could die at any second now if he answers your question.

But the answer was simple.

"Yes." He breathed out, a sharp pain stabbing through his heart.

And it only became worse when a teardrop finally rolled down your cheek. "Why?" You rasped, and Sanji didn't know that a single word can hurt this much.

He tried to give you a reassuring smile but awfully failed to do so. He started to explain, "We were just discussing something—"

"Why not me?"

Those three words coming out of your mouth felt like a final blow to his heart. He can feel himself bleed, drained of life and soul because of you and your words alone, and he let you. He let you kill him, he let you make him swim in his own guilt and he doesn't why, why, why.

More tears fell out of your angelic eyes, staining your cheeks with wet trails, and he tried to hold himself back from wiping them off. You choked out, "Why not me, Sanji? I have been asking myself that question for the past decade, and it eats my brain every night like some kind of plague, but I let it anyway. Because why? Why can't you just recognize me and appreciate me and see me? Why can't you go to me if you want to talk about your dreams, or what dish you're planning to create? Why do you have to seek solace in other women when you have me standing by your side everyday, me who is willing to listen to you and whatever you have to say?"

Angry, red rimmed eyes glared at him. Your hair strands stuck to your skin and framed your face as sweat began to form on your forehead. Teardrops clung to your wet eyelashes and your face was drenched like you just took a swim in the ocean. You were burning with fury and rage and want, struggling to breathe properly after your little rant, and Sanji thought you couldn't be more beautiful. You were so beautiful.

"Oh but I couldn't blame you for that. She's just so beautiful, so perfect, and so strong. She could give you anything you wanted and she could be anything that I never was." You hiccuped, smiling forcibly, "But in the end...I will still love you. I will always love you. I think."

You scooted closer to him, leaning in until your faces only had a few inches apart between them. You didn't notice how his lips were slightly parted in shock, nor his eyes that were starting to glisten with his own tears. "No matter where I flee to, or where I lay my heart on, or which skies I look at—it's always you, Sanji. It's always been you."

"I had been so selfless all these years, Sanji. So please, can you pretend to like me too, just for today, before I leave?" You whispered meekly, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands. Numb and completely speechless, Sanji simply gave you a single nod as a response.

You gingerly pressed your lips against his, and he immediately tasted the saltiness of your tears. But your lips were soft, as he expected from an angel like you. And so he couldn't help himself; he closed his eyes and delicately kissed you back, repeating your name in his mind like a sacred prayer and wishing to the stars above to not let the moment end.

However, you broke the kiss by losing consciousness and falling down on your hammock, knocked out and peacefully snoring.

Sanji spaced out, not moving from his position. No. It's not that he didn't want to move—he couldn't move. He couldn't feel anything except for the drumming of his heart, knocking on his chest desperately. His lips were still tingling and his ears and neck were warming up.

He gulped, loosening the collar of his shirt to cool himself down. He needed a cigarette. And a drink.

Scrambling to get up even with his trembling legs, Sanji managed to stand properly. He avoided your sleeping figure and decided to get out of the room as soon as possible. However, when he took a step forward, his foot touched a notebook lying on the floor.

Sanji bent down and took the notebook. He flipped it open, and after reading only the first page, he finally came into a conclusion.

Heartbroken, drunk, and unaware, you dozed off the rest of the afternoon. When nightfall settled on the azure horizon and dusk fell on the rough surface of the sea, you missed the chance to walk away from the crew yet again; and that was the third time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

⸻ • ⸻

The next morning, you woke up feeling much better with only the memory of you drinking and crying yourself to sleep and nothing else. Everything was normal, and the crew began to make plans for their next adventure during breakfast.

Everything was normal, except for Sanji, who was quiet throughout the whole discussion. And of course, just like always, you were the only one who noticed his strange behavior. You tried to catch his eyes, but he looked at everywhere except you.

When he finally met your gaze, you gave him a soft smile, hoping he would smile back and everything was fine and you were just overthinking it.

He doesn't.

⸻ • ⸻

"Are you really going to leave?"

Taking your gaze away from the heart shaped cloud you spotted on the clear blue sky, you faced the person who asked the question you were dreading for some time now. Luffy was staring curiously at you, awaiting your answer. You can't help but to smile softly at the captain, whose kindness you have yet to repay.

"I believe we already talked about this, captain." You said, recalling your short conversation last night. He kept asking you if you were really sure about your decision while his eyes darted to a certain blond haired chef every time he shoots you the question. It was strange, and you felt even more suspicious when Sanji pretended not to hear your answer and even refused to glance your way.

Luffy put his hands on his hips. "You know, you're welcome to stay and be a part of my crew."

You crossed your arms, smile growing wide. "And what, pray tell, is my role? Sing battle songs and chant your names while you swing your gummy arms at pirates?" You joked playfully.

The young captain stroked his chin in deep thought, almost like he was considering your suggestion. "That's not a bad idea."

You bursted out laughing, shaking your head in disbelief, "I'll leave first thing in the morning. I told Nami to dock at a nearby island."

"What about Sanji?" He suddenly questioned, leaving you flabbergasted for a split second. You weren't prepared to hear Sanji's name after days of not talking to him properly.

Him not speaking with you wasn't a strange occurence at all; back when you were still in the Baratie, there would be days when Sanji wouldn't bother to acknowledge your presence and would completely ignore you. This would happen whenever he was extremely busy with his cooking or he had a disagreement with Zeff.

And it seemed like this was one of those days, seeing that he had been ignoring you for about a week now. Yes, you have been keeping count. Although he doesn't appear to be angry with you, the short-lived exchanges and the abrupt cut-offs before you could say anything deeply concerned you more than it should have.

You tried to rack your brains for reasons on why he was acting like this. Maybe Nami had rejected him for the hundredth time, or Zoro kept throwing insults in his direction—or maybe his cigarette packet had ran out. Maybe his kitchen knives weren't sharp anymore and he was struggling in the kitchen.

Should you ask him? Should you go to him and demand him to tell you what's wrong?

You pressed your lips together. It sounded like the worst idea you've thought of so far. You convinced yourself that Sanji was fine and he'd be back to normal in no time; there would no need to talk to him.

"What about him?" You faltered, chuckling to ease the tension in your body.

"You care for each other." Luffy explained bluntly and matter-of-factly, "What does he think about you leaving?"

A shaky sigh made its way out of your lips. How will you tell the captain that his cook has been avoiding you like you were some kind of rotten fish these days?

"I..." You stammered, gathering the courage to lie to Luffy even if you thought it would be the gravest sin you could commit, "He...agrees. Yeah. No need to worry."

Luffy grinned, but it didn't look normal at all. You winced in embarrassment. He knew that you were lying and was totally unconvinced.

Luckily, he didn't voice it out. He only nodded and said, "Great! Oh, I have an idea! Why don't you sing for us before we part ways? Think of it as a farewell party for the crew."

Hearing the pure and genuine excitement dripping from his voice, you couldn't turn him down. It was a good idea too, and now that you thought about it, you haven't performed for them yet. "Sure." You agreed, shrugging.

He raised his fist up in the air and cheered. You smiled, watching as he shouted for his crewmates' names to come down and listen to you sing. You prepared yourself for an impromptu performance, making sure that your guitar was properly tuned and your voice was clear enough to give you the best version of your singing. Sitting on top of a barrel, you faced your audience of four, all their eager eyes watching your every move.

As you struck the first chord to your song, you tried hard not to think that Sanji wasn't there to watch you sing the song you secretly dedicate to him.

In the kitchen, Sanji busied himself by plating the food that he'll serve to his fellow crew mates for dinner. He grabbed a large plate and placed the chicken drumsticks that his captain favored, but Luffy wasn't the one in his mind when he cooked those. Looking at the food, he wondered if you would love them too.

He shook his thoughts off and took the plate with him outside. Approaching the crew, his steps slowed down when he heard a familiar singing voice and a melodic tune of a guitar.

Sanji almost dropped the plate.

It was you. Of course it was you, you were the only one he knew who had a voice like that. It was you, and you were singing with a lovely smile painted on your sweet lips, the very same lips that touched his a few days ago, resulting in him not getting a wink of sleep every night. The beam of the sunset right behind you colored your hair in the different shades of the sky as the dulcet-filled notes you made echoed throughout the vast sea. For a moment, he was worried that you were going to attract ferocious sea beasts with your angelic voice and steal you away from him.

He could hear his blood pound in his ears the longer he observed you from afar. You looked happy. Happier than you were when you stayed with him and Zeff. His chest tightened, knowing that you leaving and go on adventures on your own was probably the best decision you could make, even if that means leaving him too.

You were finishing up your song by the time you saw Sanji standing behind Usopp, silently listening. He met your gaze, and for the first time ever, you couldn't read his mind. His expression was blank as you stared at each other, and as you opened your mouth to say something, he cut you off.

"Dinner's ready." Sanji announced shortly, setting down the plate in front of Luffy and then walked away without saying another word.

That was your final straw. You immediately put down your guitar and followed him into the kitchen. You didn't care about how you felt Nami's watchful eyes on you as you went after him, nor how Luffy was scarfing down the dinner and was definitely going to finish it all before you could take a bite; you just chased the blond with determination oozing out of you.

You roughly pushed the door open and found Sanji washing the pans he used for cooking. He glanced at you briefly then quickly looked away after. This irritated you even more as you demanded, "Is there something bothering you?"

"You should eat before the food gets cold." He said with an empty voice.

"Sanji!"

He stiffened. You rarely raised your voice at anyone. Sighing in defeat, he dried off his hands and fully faced you.

Your eyes were sharper than his knives, cutting straight into his soul. "I've known you for a long time now, do you think I don't notice whenever you have a problem?" You glowered, taking a step closer to him, "You have a problem. What is it?"

It happened fast. His hand landed on the small of your back and pulled you to his chest, and the other was placed on top of your cheek, and in a single motion, Sanji captured your lips with his. You gasped in the kiss, your heart dropping to the soles of your feet when he tilted his face to deepen it. Your fingers tightly grasped the sleeves of his shirt for support as he passionately moved his lips against yours. A pleasant heat ran down your spine, your whole body tingling and warming up. You were simply drowning. There was no other way to describe it, and it was only caused by his fervent kisses.

Sanji pulled away, resting your forehead on top of yours, and you took it as an opportunity to breathe in air that you lost. "You are the problem." He murmured lowly, eyes darting down to your swollen lips. Confused and lightheaded, you didn't get the chance to retort.

"Ever since that night, ange, you occupy my thoughts. You gave me a taste of your lips and you didn't even remember the next day. Do you know how that feels, hm?" He said, pecking your lips once again. You made a noise in the back of your throat, turning your head sideways so he couldn't kiss you anymore, but he took your chin and hungrily connected both of your lips.

He spoke between kisses, "You torture me. Ever since I read those songs you wrote about me in that little notebook of yours, you torture me with your presence."

That was when you snapped out of your daze. With all the force you could muster, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him away. Sanji stepped back, surprised at your reaction.

Without giving him a chance to ask you anything, you ran off and left the kitchen, slamming the door loudly so you wouldn't hear him calling your name and be tempted to go back in his arms again.

You arrived in the sleeping quarters, locking the door behind you. You were sure that the others would understand you needing your alone time. Once you made sure you were on your own, your body collapsed altogether, your back sliding down against the door as you panted heavily.

He knows, was all you could think about. He knows about the songs. He knows about your feelings.

Well, you finally got your answer to your previous question, but a more complicated one replaced it. With trembling hands, your fingers raised themselves to your lips, touching its surface. You hated the way that you still felt his warmth on top of them.

A lone tear slid down the side of your nose. He was cruel. Sanji was cruel.

You didn't come out of that room for days, refusing to talk to anyone as you gathered your scrambled throughts and pulled yourself back together, and that was the fourth time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

⸻ • ⸻

A stack of books, most of them being a collection of maps compiled in one, rested beside you while you flipped through the pages of the one you chose among them.

Nami has been lending you her books ever since you shut yourself out from the crew. You ignored all of them and only let Nami in, hoping that she'll be able to understand you; and she did. She was a good listener. Although you weren't particularly close with each other, you trusted her and told her everything: your dreams, your problems, your feelings, and Sanji. In return, she confided in you too.

"Here. So you can finally decide on where you will go to," You recall her saying while she handed you her collection of world map books, "and to distract yourself, of course."

"You're too kind, Nami." You said in admiration. Maybe this is why Sanji was enamored with her. She was a beauty inside and out.

Nami shrugged, yet she was smiling. "Just helping a fellow woman out."

The books did take your mind off the stubborn blond haired man that was still resting inside your heart, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. You tried to search for islands that will be suitable for you to start your career, narrowing some of them down into choices, but your eyes wil always lead back to where the Baratie was stationed.

You leaned back against your chair, letting your head hit the wall with a soft thud as you released a sigh of frustration. Not only will you need to prepare yourself for a journey all alone, but you also have to talk to Sanji sooner or later, whether you like it or not. The kiss distracted you more than the books Nami gave you. You think of it in the morning and dream of it at night, and it only got worse every time you remembered that he kissed you like he loved you.

Relaxing in your seat, you closed the book and listened to the silence.

The Going Merry docked for a quick trip to a market to gather fresh ingredients for food. Sanji will be gone for the meantime and you were free to roam around the ship without his heated stare boring holes in your skin.

But the peace was ruined by rushed footsteps and Usopp breaking into the room, almost destroying the door with his brute force. You frowned, standing up on alert when you saw how nervous he looked.

"Sanji's injured!" He exclaimed, which got your brow raising, knowing that he had a long history of lying to people. However, he forcibly pulled Sanji inside, and you were greeted by the sight of a bruised man, whose lips were bleeding and cheeks were starting to yellow.

You immediately sprang into action. You took the first aid kit you packed in your bag and grabbed his arm, making him sit down on your chair.

"How did you get into a fight in just a span of ten minutes?" You asked in irritation, wetting a cloth with saltwater to wipe off the blood on his lips.

Sanji grunted, tensing up when you took a hold of his face and dabbed on his lip using the cloth. "Some petty vendor was selling overpriced onions, and they weren't even the best of quality."

You stopped for a minute, glaring at him. "So you decided to punch them instead of talking it over?"

He only huffed in reply. Pursing your lips in annoyance, you continued to treat his wounds in silence, noticing him flinching and wincing in pain whenever you compress the bruised area with ice. "Who's being petty now?" You scolded impatiently, "Stay still."

The only sound that filled the room was you hastily rummaging your kit trying to find an ointment and an awkward silence that made you want to jump into the sea and never swim back to the surface. You unscrewed the lid of the jar of ointment and scooped some with your finger, looking at Sanji as you did so. He looked back at you quietly, and you tried hard not to think about the fact that you have to touch his lips in order for you to apply it.

It seemed like he realized that too, glancing down at the dollop of ointment on top of your finger, then back to you. You just gave him a small, uneasy smile, showing him that you weren't uncomfortable even though you were, and shyly took a step forward.

As gently as you could, you spread the ointment on the wounded area on his lips, reminding yourself to not be distracted on how soft they looked.

"A busted lip because of overpriced ingredients...it almost feels like you're doing this on purpose so I wouldn't get the chance to leave you." You half-heartedly joked to lighten up the atmosphere. However, you were greeted by nothing, not even a smart comeback or a funny joke from the blond. You hesitantly observed his reaction, and saw that he was grim and serious, guilt swimming in his beryl blue eyes.

The realization began to sink in.

Oh.

You should've known from the start. Sanji was a great fighter; he wouldn't be injured in the first place. "Sanji..."

Sanji took your wrist and held on it tightly. Your breath hitched, only then realizing how much you missed his touch, his warm, gentle, and loving touch.

"Let me go." You weakly said, even though deep down, you didn't want him to.

"Tell me you're not in love with me." He said, sounding utterly desperate that it almost made you fall down to your knees, "Tell me, and I'll let you go."

When you didn't answer, he stood up and cupped your cheeks with both of his hands. He pleaded, "Look at me. Look into my eyes and tell me you don't love me."

"Please don't do this." You whispered in pain as you tearfully shook your head.

"Stay. Please, stay." Sanji begged, pressing his forehead against yours, "What can I do to make you stay? Tell me. I'll do anything. Do I need to kneel? To beg for your forgiveness? Tell me what you want. I'll do anything in my power to make you the happiest woman in all of East Blue. Just please, don't leave."

"I can't." You answered, closing your eyes, a few tears streaming down your cheeks. You hate the way he was making this so hard for you.

He only continued, "Hate me, curse me, shout at me, if you must. Anything but you leaving me. Or do you want to make me yours? Then I am letting you. Whatever you want, mon ange—my heart, my soul, my attention, they're all yours. I'm all yours."

"No..."

"The crew will be incomplete without you." Sanji insisted in anguish.

"I have dreams, Sanji. Just like you and the rest of the crew." You explained softly, placing your own hands on top of his in attempt to comfort him and relieve him from his confusion.

However, he was persistent, "You can achieve your dreams without leaving. You can stay, and I will support you in everything you do. You're better off staying with me—with us."

You said firmly, "I will not spend the rest of my life doing what I don't want."

"Even with me by your side?"

A few second pass before you finally reply, "I'd be miserable."

Pain flashed on his face, making you want to take back your own words, yet you remained strong and unyielding. Sanji took a deep breath and stepped away from you, saying, "I'd rather have you miserable here than go out there and encounter ruthless pirates."

The statement quickly irritated you, frowning at him deeply. "You think I'll have problems with pirates when I've been serving them for years?"

"Oh, darling, you wouldn't be able to say that once you've encountered worse ones, with bounties higher than you could ever imagine." He snapped, voice raising with each word.

"I can manage on my own!" You bit back frustratingly, your tears evaporating into anger.

Sanji scowled at you, impatiently running his fingers through his hair. "You can't fight!" He shouted, voice breaking in the process, and with it, your heart too. It shattered like glass and the shards landed and pierced through your lungs, rendering you breathless. Your eyes widened, mouth dropping open in shock.

Seeing your expression, he immediately snapped back to reality, regret writing itself on his face. You shook your head in disbelief and let out a humorless laugh, "Are you telling me that I'm weak?"

"I didn't say that." Sanji quickly said in a hushed manner.

"But you're implying it!" You choked, still can't believe that he doesn't trust you. He doesn't trust you enough to accomplish your dreams on your own, and that he was not confident that you'll succeed without him by your side.

You wanted to ask him about the passionate kiss you two shared, about his loving gestures that confused the hell out of you, about his fresh bruises that he received on purpose so that he can get you to stay, and why he did all of that. You needed confirmation. But the question that left you was, "What am I to you?"

Sanji stayed quiet, and your heart broke again once more. Deciding that this was the last time he breaks it, you walked away and left him alone to tend to his own injuries.

He lit up a cigarette as he listened to your fading footsteps. A single teardrop fell down from his eye the moment he placed the cigarette between his lips, and all he could think about was that you hurt more than the bruises on his cheeks.

You packed your bags and spoke with Nami, telling her that you were ready, and that was the fifth time you tried to leave Sanji Vinsmoke—and tomorrow, you'll finally succeed.

⸻ • ⸻

The sun had just risen, and the early morning breeze smelled of the ocean, the calming sound of waves filling your ears. It was one of those days when the sky was clear and the sunlight wasn't harsh but pleasantly warm on your skin, making it the perfect day to start working on a new song and strum on your guitar for the melody.

But today was different. You were standing on the first step of the ship's staircase that leads to a docking station and a wooden walkway towards an unfamiliar island that was soon to be your new home. Your fingers clenched on the strap of your bag, finding this moment to be surreal. You have tried many times to leave, and here it was, right on the palms of your hands.

"So. This is it, huh?" Your trance broke as Nami commented beside you. She was the only one to bid you farewell and watch you leave, since the others were still asleep. You thought of Sanji and how he looked like when he was sleeping, staring at his handsome features so you can memorize them and implant it in your mind. He was your first love; you didn't want to forget him.

You smiled. "Thank you, Nami." You said earnestly, "I would've liked to spend more time with you. It's tiring to speak to men sometimes, don't you think?"

She laughed. "Yeah." Then, she caged you in her arms and hugged you tightly, surprising you for a second before you laughed too and returned the hug. "Stay safe out there."

"I will."

"So you planned to leave? Without saying goodbye?" A new voice interrupted, breaking the hug you and Nami both shared. You swiveled to look behind you, and there stood Sanji, appearing to have just woken up, with the strands of his blond hair sticking up in different directions. You observed his dejected expression, the downward tilt of the corners of his lips, and the glistening of his tired eyes. You stared at his crumpled suit and his crooked necktie. Despite how messy he looked, he will always be perfect to you.

You walked forward and looked at him fondly, with your eyes full of so much love reserved for him and him only. "Thought it would hurt less." You said, raising your hands to touch his hair and brush it down, "And I was right. How can I leave now when you're standing in front of me?"

He sighed shakily as he felt your soft fingers threading through his hair. "Then don't." He whispered. You only smiled at him. He didn't smile back, but that didn't stop you from taking both of his hands and caressing his knuckles using your thumb.

"Every night, I'll look at the moon and think of you. I'll tell my stories, sing my songs, and whisper my secrets to it. Just like what you and me would do when we were little." You told him softly and endearingly, "Would you be so kind as to look at the moon too and think of me?"

Sanji's eyebrows were scrunched together in agony, muttering, "I can't make you stay, can I?"

When you didn't answer, he just nodded his head, understanding what you wanted to stay. He forced a smile and tightly squeezed your hands. "I'm sorry."

"I'm yours." You answered, placing a soft kiss on the back of his hands. After letting your lips linger on his skin for a while, you slowly let go, and with one last glance at his face, you stepped back and made your way downstairs to the docking area, leaving before you could change your mind.

Sanji watched you go. While you walked away from the Going Merry, from the crew, and from him, not once did you look back. He just watched as you went farther away and became smaller in the distance, until you blended in with the crowd and you were just another person in a sea of people. And then you were gone.

It was the sixth time you tried to leave Sanji Vinsmoke, and this time, you finally did.

⸻ • ⸻

The red velvet curtains began to draw in front of you, gently falling back down on the stage as you said your final good-byes to your audience for tonight, a bouquet of roses cradled in your arms while you blew delicate kisses towards them. You can still hear their loud cheering and clapping even as you retreated to your personal room backstage.

A middle-aged woman greeted you inside when you stepped in the room and closed the door behind you, whistling. "There she is, our talented rising star!"

You only laughed at the silly nickname, setting the bouquet of roses that one of the people gave you in tonight's show on top of your vanity table. "You exaggerate, Madam. I have only performed two shows in your beautiful theater."

The madam, who was the owner of the theater you were currently working in, shook her head in disagreement. "And those two shows are sold out!" She informed you proudly, placing her hands on your shoulders, "Let me know if you want to add more, you are welcome to perform here anytime."

"I'll think about it." You replied, smiling. The madam patted your shoulder twice before she left you alone, humming happily to herself. You huffed in amusement, fully aware that she doesn't appreciate your talents at all, but only cared for the money.

Regardless of that, you were happy. It has been a couple of years since you left the Strawhat Pirates and pursued your dreams all on your own, and you've been traveling to different islands across the seas to perform. You never had a permanent home; being a musician meant going to many places from time to time to share and spread out your music.

Yet you can't help but miss life on the sea.

You missed washing dishes on the Baratie and the late night conversations you had with Zeff. You missed Luffy and his weird antics, Usopp and his jokes, Zoro and his blunt comments, and Nami and her kindness.

You missed Sanji and everything that he was.

You stared at your reflection in the vanity mirror on your desk. Your hair was pinned neatly, you had make-up on and you were dressed fancily for your performance. Years ago, you wouldn't look like this. It was hard to believe how much you've grown and changed, but these days, you felt like you wanted your old self back. Slowly, you took the itchy pins off your hair, and cleaned your face with warm water and a cloth. You replaced your dress in a more comfortable one and went outside.

Looking up at the night sky, you saw a bright full moon with no stars in sight. It was just the moon and its beauty, illuminating the pitch black sky with its glow. You silently watched it, a smile growing on your lips as you felt a tug on your heart.

"I wonder what you're up to, Sanji." You thought aloud, cheeks heating up at the memory of your first love and his golden hair and his contagious smiles. Then, to your surprise, a voice spoke unexpectedly.

"Well, I am fortuitous to have met such a beautiful angel."

You froze. No one referred to you as angel except for one.

Sanji.

As you turned around, he was already walking towards you. And there you both were, bathing under the moonlight, with him grinning at you mischievously and you looking at him lovingly.  You didn't know how he found you, but what mattered was that he searched for you and now he was here, and he was still making your heart beat fast in your chest just like all those years ago.

How the pesky feelings stayed and wrapped themselves around your aching heart, you didn't know. But maybe it was because he was standing in front of you, and the way his next words made you run into his open arms and kiss him until you were both breathless,

"There you are, ange."

taglist part 1 @angel-luv3r @appalost @chexmixtrys @nimtano @sparklyphantom @natalieisfreeziing @reallysparklychaos @maydaylovex @johnnysactualgf @mochamei @kisumisumi @ttokyocat @mypurplewinee @rosaliinnn @nonniecannie @court-jester-stuff @detectivelucy07 @megumiif @untitledandrandom @erin-the-king @fangeekkk @nikolaevna-art @candesstuff @chaoticevilbakugo

[kpop]

K-Pop Spotlight: DAY6

Come one, come all to a K-Pop Spotlight that is sure to dazzle and delight ’til the final curtain. This week, all eyes are on DAY6 following the release of their eighth mini-album, Fourever, and brand new title track, "Welcome to the Show." We caught up with the band to discuss their goals as they approach their 10th anniversary and their ever-growing connection to their fans through their music. Check out our full interview below!

Tracks like “Welcome to the Show,” “The Power of Love,” and “Get The Hell Out” seem to have very different themes. Can you tell us a little about how these songs relate to each other and what aspects make this album cohesive?

SUNGJIN: As we pursue the idea of being a 'band that sings every moment,' it seems like our albums, including the recent one, prioritize diversity in songs and situations rather than unity. Consequently, our albums contain various genres and narratives. However, there seems to be a commonality in most songs, depicting situations that everyone has either gone through or might experience.

Young K: First and foremost, I would say this album is a compilation of the best songs we could create. There's definitely a theme of love running through it. "Welcome to the Show," "The Power of Love," and "Get The Hell Out" all talk about the concept of love.

What goes into creating titles for DAY6 songs and albums, especially those that don’t come directly from your lyrics? Do you find it hard to condense the intentions and themes of a song into a title?

Young K: While there have been cases like that, all the songs on this album came from the lyrics. Sometimes, when choosing a title, we select the one that best describes the song—other times, we choose to give it a twist or make it more intriguing.

WONPIL: Naming songs involves a lot of deliberation. We often contemplate which title will catch the eye and capture the song's essence. Usually, we try to take it from a verse in the chorus. This can be a challenging part of the songwriting process.

Is there a creative project you’ve always wanted to work on but haven’t gotten the chance/found the time?

SUNGJIN: I'm very curious, and have a principle of "trying to experience as much as possible." There are so many things I want to try musically and personally, especially among the things I know but haven't tried yet.

DOWOON: I hope we can have a song that we can collaborate on with My Day, like a choir.

What does your work/studio setup look like? Where do you feel the most creatively inspired?

DOWOON: We try to keep the studio as tidy as possible and make it comfortable for practice sessions.

WONPIL: When working on songs, we talk a lot. We get inspiration from little conversations, joking around, sharing stories, and listening to music from various eras regardless of genre while giving opinions. We also try to build emotional connections with the songs. There’s a lot of communication going on. The songwriting process takes place in the studio of our long-time collaborator, composer Hong Jisang, with whom we've been working together since our debut.

How do you want to evolve as a musician/producer?

Young K: I want to be eagerly anticipated and awaited as an artist. Without those who wait for us, we wouldn't release or even step onto the stage. So I’m always thankful for My Day.

WONPIL: My biggest goal is to make good music for My Day and the public, so I think I'll continue to ponder. When working on songs, I pour my sincerity into them. I constantly strive to express this sincerity musically, fully capturing the emotions I want to convey. I hope to create songs that can still be listened to even after 10 or 20 years.

Design your own Tumblr blog: choose an aesthetic, a blog name, and would you be a frequent poster or lurker?

SUNGJIN: I think I’ll use it to catch up on friends' updates. For the blog name, THUMB BLUR sounds good to me. I might end up being a lurker who never posts.

DOWOON: Maybe a blog for plants? I think I'll post it like a diary.

Want more DAY6? Check out their new mini album Fourever and the music video for the title track “Welcome to the Show,” both out now!

[wandasaura]

TOO IN LOVE TO THINK STRAIGHT

summary — when you mention to your dominants that you want to further explore the dynamics of your relationship, they’re all for it

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, exploration of non-sexual bdsm, purposefully triggered subspace, implied mommy kink (never said), implied daddy kink (also never said), brief mention of sensory overstimulation, literal fluff to the fullest extent possible, men/minors dni

authors note — i committed to the lyric titles too hard, but wonderland perfectly describes this fic! daddy nat lovers, i see you

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

“Are you excited?” The soft vibrations have become a fond sensation as you peer out of the car window and admire all of the buildings that you pass. You’re not in the best area, one of the worst actually, but you find something so calming about the construction crowded roads and graffiti covered storefronts. You’ve been stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for the last half hour, a plethora of detours and u-turns standing in your way of where you really wanted to be, but every time Natasha eases her foot back onto the gas and shoots between lines of cars that don’t have the balls to make the move themself, you hum in contentment. You’re okay with being stuck if you’re stuck with them. 

They’d been promising you this day for months, and although it had been canceled two weeks ago when you came down with an unexpected cold that left you miserable and bed-ridden for three days, it was finally here. There was no time left for another extenuating circumstance to push the date back farther. You hadn’t stopped bouncing in the backseat since Wanda had affectionately buckled your seatbelt, your fingerprints are smeared against the backseat window from how you point out the exit signs that mean your destination is growing closer. Natasha had long since stopped asking you to refrain from touching the glass she kept spotless, looking back at you through the rear-view mirror with fondness whenever a lull in speed occurred. Now was one of those moments. The line of cars all waiting to merge back onto the Garden State Parkway kept the car still, the break was applied heavily and wasn’t going to be let off soon. Unlike the other times she had looked back at you, she craned her entire body now, and you grinned at the easy way about her expression. 

Your fingers left behind the glass of the backseat driver side window to press firmly against the tip of her nose, wanting to see it scrunch up in annoyance like it always did when you poked it. Natasha was less compliant with your need for physical touch then Wanda was, but she allowed you small victories every once in a while. Today was one of those days where everything seemed to fly. You had eagerly pulled her around the house all morning, sat in her lap at breakfast, and all but forced her to help you dress when you decided picking the perfect outfit was too hard to do on your own. The women had immaculate taste in fashion, you supposed it was something that needed to come with their high-profile occupations, but you’d never complain about them making your old clothes look fresh and new without adding anything tasteless or unnecessary.  You hadn’t wanted to be apart from her since your eyes had peeled open at seven, the excitement in your belly too strong to ignore despite Wanda telling you that you wouldn’t be leaving the house until eleven. You were so beyond grateful that Natasha had been serious about taking you out when her and Wanda’s schedules allowed, that it didn’t matter to you if your earlier than usual wake up time meant having a full four hours to merely sit around and wait. 

You nodded your head at her simply asked question, bearing a smile that compiled a list of words you’d be happy enough to use in a sentence if she so desired. She didn’t though, you knew she was well aware of how excited you were and was merely pulling your leg because she herself was bored. There was no way she could be oblivious to your hyperactive movements when your feet kicked the back of her seat every handful of minutes, but she’d not asked you to stop only rolled her eyes in fond exasperation and murmured to Wanda about the copious amounts of fingerprints and scuff marks she’d have to tend to later. Natasha and traffic were not things that should exist in the same sentence. For as patient as the woman was, she quickly lost her composure when ‘assholes in black hondas don’t know what the fucking speed limit is’. The first time she’d bellowed in annoyance you’d shook your head and giggled into your hand, your eyes connecting with Wanda’s who had glanced back at you in a silent threat to not egg Natasha on further. You’d tried to keep your amused reactions to yourself after that, but it was hard not to laugh at Natasha’s annoyance for anyone going under eighty miles an hour; especially considering the speed limit was only sixty-five. 

The drive wasn’t meant to be any longer than an hour and a half, Wanda had meticulously gone over each and every available route before she’d loaded you and Natasha up in the car, but construction hadn’t been something to consider while she was planning your departure. It seemed every major highway and backroad was under construction lately, even the roads that led down to the shore in Westview. You didn’t mind it, occasionally pointing out the names of the yellow vehicles as you passed them, but you worried how little time you’d have to explore as the second hour of driving came and passed. When your legs grew restless, you settled for sitting cross-legged in the backseat, your elbows pressing firmly against your knees as you craned your neck to see between the head-rests on the couples seats. The sky was open and blue, no trace of clouds but apparent wind. The trees on either side of the road rustled with the flow of the breeze, and if you stayed just quiet enough, you could hear it howling outside of the windows. The sight of wind was a ploy to get unsuspecting people out of their houses. The weather was hot and humid, temperatures climbing into the low hundreds, but your destination was indoors, so thoughts about how you’d melt beneath the sun didn’t have valid reasons to come. 

Wanda’s eyes locked on yours when Natasha eased onto the gas again, pulling off the exit ramp like a bat out of hell and dodging oncoming traffic that honk and scolded her boldness. You giggled when a particular car just to your left raised their hand at her, a single finger pointed toward the sky. She was unaffected, returning the gesture with passion. Your smile fell off your lips when your gaze shuffled over to meet Wanda’s, and the Sokovian looked at you with displeasure. “Feet on the floor.” Wanda reprimanded when she knew she had your attention, and you sighed but complied with the request. “We'll be there soon. Why don’t you tell me about what you're most excited to see?” 

That had inspired a full tangent of thoughts that were only half complete to spill from your lips like rushing water off a cliff, but neither Wanda or Natasha had tried to interrupt you and get the full version of your story. They were happy enough to listen to you ramble nonsensically, your fingers twisting together in your lap out of pure elation that you had no other way to express. Wanda was simply content with knowing that should Natasha crash, you were sitting properly in the backseat. It wasn’t another half hour before Natasha was grabbing a ticket from the machine at the entryway of the parking garage and pulling into a reserved spot on the very first level by the exit. You’d known they would go all out for today, they always did, but it never failed to make you feel incredibly special to be getting such attentive treatment from two of the most willing and powerful women in the world. You flew out of the car before Natasha even had the engine off, feet not even hitting the pavement beneath you entirely before you raced around the back of the Stingray so you could pull Wanda’s door open for her. You bounced excitedly on your toes throughout the entire exchange, grinning up at her with an expression of complete innocence. The Sokovian smiled down at your adoringly, capturing your face in her gentle hands and pulling you just close enough for your forehead to fall against her lips. 

“Such an excited little duckling.” Wanda mused with gentle laughter, her breath warm and thin as it fanned across your temple and shot sparks of pleasurable admiration through your belly and across your spine. You would’ve stayed permanently fixed on her tender expression had you not heard Natasha’s door swing closed. Your eyes trailed over the top of the car until they met the sight of her, dressed casually in a white t-shirt and jean shorts, her red locks had been pulled up and away from her face in a fleetingly worn ponytail that swung behind her head with every subtle move her body made. You could drool over the sight of her, but there were other priorities at the forefront of your mind. 

“Can we go now? Please?” You bounced eagerly beneath their transfixed stare, your hands grabbing eagerly at Wanda’s who still had a soft grip on your cheeks. You knew the rules of walking in busy parking lots well, and although they’d made you feel like an incapable child at one point, you adored and craved them now. The lawyers reminded you so often that just because you are a capable adult, doesn’t mean you have to act like one when they’re there to take care of you. You let them take control easily now, no willingness to fight left to linger in your instincts, even in something as simple as finding your way through busy parking lots. 

A smirk splayed across Natasha’s lips as she approached you and Wanda, her hand shoving her phone and wallet into one of the back pockets of her denim shorts. You should be ashamed for finding the simple action so attractive, but you didn't. You'd stopped letting yourself feel embarrassment for merely noticing their beauty long ago, and greedily your eyes trailed over the muscles in her shoulder and bicep that flexed as she reached toward her back. Natasha chuckled knowingly, sending a wink in your direction before she purposefully flexed her biceps. You wanted to roll your eyes and tell her to knock it off, but Wanda had beaten you to the punch and sent her wife an exasperated hit to the gut. “I don’t know, malyshka. Can we?” Natasha answered your earlier question, letting her feet carry her impossibly close to Wanda’s side. You wanted to groan aloud when the Russian’s hand slid comfortably into the back pocket of the Sokovian’s denim shorts, but you were too excited to dwell on the fact that Wanda’s ass had definitely just been squeezed roughly and possessively. 

“Yes.” You made the executive decision with a curt nod of impatience, already setting your pace toward the exit, dragging Wanda behind you with rushed steps. It was the exact opposite of what she intended to happen when she’d first implemented the rule of wanting you to hold either her or Natasha’s hands in busy spaces. You were now the one leading her around by the hand, and quite blindly if she wanted to put it nicely. You’d hardly noticed when you led her body straight into a traffic cone, her feet just barely able to avoid tripping over the bright orange safety measure. Natasha had to stifle her laughter as she followed, her hand still in Wanda’s pocket and effectively pulling the Sokovian in two different directions as she remained a couple of steps behind. 

Wanda placed a firm hand overtop of your wrist, catching your attention as you looked back at her with a whine of impatience toward the back of your throat, ready to be unleashed if she didn’t make whatever she needed quick enough for your standards. You were almost there, almost to the long line of parents and children that wrapped themselves around the building in an unruly line. You could see the electric blue sign on the top of the structure perfectly, the artwork on the sides of the building visible but intercepted by bobbing heads and tall bodies. Her abrupt stopping when you were so close to where you desperately wanted to be was the cruelest thing that had ever happened to you. “Why don’t you leave the dragging around to me, lyubov’. Unless you want me to end up in the infirmary before you even get to see the sharks.” 

You groaned at her teasing, a fierce blush crawling up your neck that couldn’t be blamed by the unforgiving heat. You didn’t let her words sink beneath your skin however, deciding that pulling at her hand was effective enough. “Will you hurry up then?” You groaned, smirking victoriously when Natasha laughed at your antics and placed a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Yes, milaya. We can go.” Wanda rolled her eyes but agreed with your demand, already beginning to set your pace at a significantly slower speed before the rest of her sentence even lingered in the air for your ears to pick up on. You practically skipped beside her, a broad smile on your face as you once again droned on and on about everything you couldn’t wait to see and have. Natasha had promised you a stuffed animal from the gift shop, knowing that you’d never had many in childhood. You’d decided that today would be one of the first times you explored your dynamic outside of the house, and the Slavic women were sparing no experience in giving you the purest taste at reclaiming your lost childhood. It felt too good to be true, to just surrender your conscious mind and let them take control, but you found yourself submitting to them easily. They wanted to do this for you, they enjoyed playing up their roles in this aspect. It was still hard to grasp that something that could be so kinky in bed could also be so pure outside of it, but they were allowing you to learn at your own speed, and selfishly they loved how inexperienced you were. There was no former training to unwind from your beliefs, there was no burned skin around your heart that had been failed by somebody else. You were fully theirs to shape, and they intended to show you the purest sides of this dynamic. 

You frowned when Wanda began to lead you toward the front of the building, getting farther and farther away from the long line of people waiting their turn to enter. Toddlers pointed at you and tugged on their parents arms, not so quietly wondering why they couldn’t follow you and go around the line. A blush settled onto your cheeks when a little girl, no older than six, tugged at who you assumed was her fathers hands and boldly declared that you were ‘cutting’. Natasha and Wanda were in their own little world it seemed, laughing and talking with one another in quick Russian that you couldn’t comprehend, not batting a blind eye to the whispered accusations that were being pointed at you. 

“The lines back there.” You whispered albeit a little self-consciously, not wanting to draw attention to yourselves anymore than the redheads adoring your waist already had. The sight of you together dripped with wealth. The diamond studded Chopard watch on Wanda’s wrist dazzled in the sunlight, the yellow gold Tiffany hoops in Natasha’s first piercing swayed when the breeze caught them. You looked properly out of place amongst the parents and young children all waiting in line. 

Wanda stopped walking at your timid statement, looking down at you with a look that could only be described as dominating. It wasn’t hard, wasn’t demanding, but rather apologetic and soft. You felt entirely small beneath her sage green stare. “What did you want to try today?” Wanda reminded you softly, her body language not portraying the suggestiveness behind her quiet words. To any of the parents standing feet away, it looked like she had simply paused to ask you a well-intended question, which you supposed was true, but it wasn’t as innocent as it appeared.  

You deflated slightly, leaning into the touch Natasha had placed on the small of your back minutes ago. You were becoming fuzzy, a feeling you’d associated with rough sex, but there hadn’t been any of that today. The closest thing to having their bodies had come when Natasha pulled you into a bruising kiss before you left the house. “Letting you have control.” 

Wanda hummed, content with your answer, knowing that once again she had full control. Her fingers that always seemed to be perfectly polished ghosted over your cheek, and you could assume she’d attempted to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear like she always did, but today your hair had been tied back into two french braids that Natasha had suggested. “So let Mommy worry about where the line is. That’s not something for little girls like you to be concerned about.” 

You nodded softly, unable to help the rush of something sweet that further propelled the dizziness in your mind forward at the Sokovian’s dismissal. Although you didn’t resume your skipping like you had been doing when Wanda guided you across the street, your footsteps came lightly and with a bounce as you became lost in the simple action of counting the many cracks that adorned the sidewalk as you stepped over them. At some point, your hand had grabbed Natasha’s, and you swung your arms back and forth absentmindedly. The day was hot, unforgivingly so, and the natural flush across your cheeks was becoming annoying. You were ready to start vocalizing your discomfort when Wanda guided you inside of the aquarium, saving her the headache of listening to you whine about something she couldn’t control. 

You gawked at the sight of light blue painted walls and elaborate glass tanks that held any color coral you could imagine. The front desk was a giant fish tank, and little orange and white clownfish swam around the enclosure blissfully. You were practically vibrating beside Natasha as you looked around at the little details that had been incorporated into the entrance of the building. The ceilings were high, and painted across them were sharks and whales and every kind of fish you could even imagine. There was no embarrassment when you pulled at Natasha’s hand and let your own little finger shoot up to the ceiling, excitedly pointing out a boesemani rainbow fish that swam beside a hammerhead. Wanda had gone to check you in for your reservation, or at least you assumed that was what she was doing as she stood closely to the front desk and nodded at the teenager behind the counter. His eyes briefly flashed over to you when he noticed your head craned toward the ceiling and overheard your loud exclamation, but Wanda must’ve said something that made his attention snap back to her just as quickly as it had left. 

“Inside voices, dorogaya.” Natasha smiled sweetly at your excitement, having no real issue with the volume that you had spoken at before, but she knew it would bother you if you caught onto the lingering stares of judgemental adults who couldn’t possibly understand that not everything was meant solely for children. You had just as much of a right to enjoy these little things as the toddlers who ran free, but she couldn’t change everyone's opinion even with her deadly glare. 

Your cheeks flushed pink, and not because of the blistering sun, but you nodded to her request and tried not to let it sting. You’d been told all your life that you were too loud, reprimanded by your mother until you’d just fallen silent. You knew she hadn’t meant it in any particular way, but some things still struck a chord in your heart. The crushing feeling hadn’t lasted long, too comfortable in Natasha’s presence to dwell in self-consciousness. Your eyes went back to trailing all of the open space that you could see, and when they landed on a particular tank beside the single hallway that led into the larger room that veered off in several separate directions, you attempted to jut off. A whine rippled through your chest when your hand was squeezed and Natasha didn’t follow you forward, cemented in the place where you’d been instructed to wait for Wanda. 

“Seahorses!” You tugged at her hand, earning you a disproving expression complete with a single raised eyebrow. You sulked back toward her, giving the tank one last sad glance before you focused down on your shoes, a frown on your lips.

“What are we meant to be doing, hm?” Natasha didn’t allow you to keep your gaze transfixed on your shoes, one of her slender and ring adorned fingers guiding your chin upward until your eyes flickered to hers. Her heart clenched at the sad frown that clung to your features that had been so happy not even seconds ago, but she didn’t let your pout sway her decision. After all, Wanda had given you a clear direction, and she expected that you follow it. “Can you tell me what we’re meant to be doing?” 

You sighed, glancing back over at Wanda who looked to be wrapping up whatever conversation she’d been having with the teenager behind the counter.  “Waiting for Wands.” The words slipped past your lips softly, your eyes trailing back over to Natasha’s. “But there’s seahorses.” 

“And the seahorses will still be there when Wands is done. We’re gonna have our listening ears on today, aren’t we?” Natasha was really laying it on thick, even she knew that, but it was hard to help herself when you looked so soft and pliant standing in front of her dressed in an outfit that she picked out. You nodded your head, shuffling into her embrace, sadness still tainting your features. 

Natasha kisses the top of your head, wrapping her arms around your torso as she lets you have your feelings against her chest. She knows they’ve been guiding you into a stage of subspace all day, it had been perfectly intentional, but how you handle it is still a wildcard. Much to your misconception, subspace wasn’t always brought on by getting railed, as you liked to refer to it as. Any form of submission could send you down that rabbit hole, including following instructions; which you’d been doing all day. Subspace wasn’t about the weight of the scene or how badly your body ached afterward, it was just about trust and the right amount of guidance. They’d been doing something right, and Natasha could recognize the glassy sheen over your eyes as you peaked up at her and then over toward Wanda who was finally, finally, walking back toward you. 

The Sokovian had three brightly colored bands in her hands, her lips curled into a bright grin that crinkled her eyes. She stopped just in front of Natasha, effectively blocking you from view as she felt the eyes of the teenager behind the counter try to burn into your form. “What’s with the frown?” 

“Seahorses.” You pouted up at her, much to Natasha’s amusement. The Russian’s hand ran over your back soothingly, though she couldn’t fight her bright smile when you again tried to wiggle out of her arms and rush over to the cylinder tank now that Wanda was back in sight. 

“She wasn’t very pleased that you asked us to wait for you.” Natasha filled in the gaps, your explanation rather vague and rushed; if you could even call the one word response you gave much of an explanation at all. “Why don’t you tell Wands what kind of fish you found on the ceiling?” Natasha nudged you, prompting your attention onto something other than seahorses. You beamed at the excuse to ramble again, your finger pointing up to the ceiling like it did the first time, and even if Wanda couldn’t follow your finger to the specific fish she was meant to be looking at, she smiled encouragingly. 

“It’s a boesemani rainbow fish! They get brighter when they get older!” You laughed, your pouty face no longer a visual that filled the entrance of the aquarium. Wanda had not the slightest care in the world for the fish you were pointing to, but she praised your knowledge either way. She’d pretend to care about anything if it meant seeing that bright smile linger on your lips even after the words stopped coming. “Can we see the seahorses now?” 

Already anticipating how the rest of the afternoon was going to play out, Wanda laughed at your eagerness but nodded her head. You were just out of Natasha’s grip when she captured you in hers. This time, you did whine, sad eyes stuck on the tank in the corner of the room. Neither redhead could blame you for your distress when you’d been intercepted on your way to the seahorses twice now, and so neither scolded you for the sharp sound that reached their ears. “What are the rules if you’re not holding mine or Natty’s hand?” Wanda quizzed softly, her voice taking on a tone that had made you weak in the knees too many times. It was a voice Natasha called her ‘Mommy Voice’, which usually led to the Russian getting slapped upside the head when Wanda overheard. 

“Stay where you can see me.” You bounced on your toes, still pulling at Wanda’s hand and glancing between her and the seahorses with a desperate plea in your wide and glassy eyes. “Please!” 

She nodded at you with encouragement, smiling fondly when you raced over to the tank, carefully not to place your hands on the glass though it was already smudged with little fingerprints and what could only be assumed to be saliva. You marveled at the seahorses that bobbed in the water, illuminated by an electric blue strip of lights that made the gradient of colors on their bodies pop. You would’ve stayed staring at the seahorses all afternoon had Natasha not been the one to softly guide you away after five minutes of soft oohing and awwing. There were so many more tanks and creatures to see, she didn’t want you wasting any more of your time on just one tiny tank. You’d been upset about her gentle hands guiding you away until you’d turned a corner and spotted a tank of hippos in the distance. Your eager hand had pulled her through the crowd with Wanda following hot on your heels. 

You showed the same level of excitement at every tank and exhibit, which neither lawyer thought was possible. There was no lull in your squeals and shrieks, and both of their wrists hurt by the time they sat you down for a late lunch. You’d abided by their every rule, including the ones that seemed stupid to you, what was so wrong about falling into the penguin exhibit, it was an easy enough climb back over the thin glass barrier? They’d expected lunch to go smoothly, you’d been so well behaved that they’d even considered buying you ice cream first, but unfortunately for them, the small cafe in the heart of the aquarium was directly beside the shark exhibit. 

“Milaya, we will see the sharks after we eat.” Wanda cooed sweetly for the umpteenth time, trying not to let her face crack as she contemplated just giving into your pleas. Their firm voices and whispered praise had guided you into what Natasha referred to as the ‘sweet spot’. You weren’t so blissfully fuzzy that you couldn’t comprehend their words, but you were beyond the point of making a rational decision, and listening seemed to fall into that category as you struggled against Wanda, eyes fixed on the large sign that comically had a massive bite mark in the side. It was the little things that lingered throughout the building that made it more immersive, like the stickers on the floor in the shape of penguin footprints that lead to their enclosure, and the bite mark in the sign that led to the sharks. Your eyes searched to find every little detail that anyone else would overlook. 

“I want to see them now.” Your crestfallen face was enough to weaken the reserve both redheads had been putting forth since your little meltdown had started. They hated to think that had you not been so high on endorphins and adrenaline, you never would’ve expressed how much you enjoyed all the little things that the aquarium had to offer, but they were still working to earn this level of trust from you when peptides weren’t at an all time high. With your head firmly planted in subspace, there wasn’t a single insecure feeling prickling beneath your skin. You were utterly free, control sitting in their hands and they had to force themselves to remember that. 

“Not now, detka.” Natasha stepped in, guiding you toward the only empty table in the cafe. Your lips were turned downward in a persistent frown, but by some miracle, you’d actually sat down on the chair and let Wanda name out the options on the menu. It was no surprise to either of them that you pointed toward the chicken tender basket, but it was good enough for them to fulfill your request immediately. 

Wanda left to order the food while Natasha kept you occupied at the table, ensuring that you didn’t start to fall out of the state they’d been working you into all day. She offered praise when you answered her little questions about the fun facts you’d been reading on all of the displays, and she tutted disapprovingly when your fingers ripped apart a napkin that some other family had left on the table. When Wanda came back with a tray of three chicken tender baskets because it felt wrong to eat any of the seafood that was offered, you were firmly engaged in a conversation about the stingrays that had been yet to be spotted. You’d explored more than half of the aquarium, finding out that the pink band around your wrist was a pass to all of the activities that lingered around. You’d fed the penguins, given the seals high-fives, and watched a 4D movie that made absolutely no sense, but had dispensed bubbles and sprays of water that were fun enough. All that was left to do was walk the roped path overtop of the shark exhibit, but that didn’t sound like something you wanted to put your faith in, even if hundreds of people did it every day. You, nor Wanda, would be walking across a shark infested tank, though Natasha had plans to do it herself. She’d always been the more daring of the couple. 

When your lunch was finished, or when your lunch was picked over enough for Wanda and Natasha to set you free again, you wasted no time in grabbing both of their hands and zipping through the families that stood in your way. You’d been too distracted with the bamboo sharks to hear Wanda mutter to Natasha about how your crowd direction was just as bad as her driving, but you’d turned around in time to watch Natasha roll her eyes and whack Wanda’s bicep. 

In your fuzzy headspace, their rules engraved in your mind, one of them being to show respect to others, you frowned and settled both hands onto your hips. “You broke rule number six!” You stated rather angrily, stalking up to Wanda with long strides that didn’t match the innocence in your eyes. You kissed her arm softly, the place where Natasha had hit her engraved in your mind. 

“Yeah Natty, you broke rule six.” Wanda’s amusement wasn’t so easily hidden in her tone as her lips curled into a smile and she pulled you into her chest, settling a kiss onto the top of your head as you both sent glares toward Natasha. Yours was littered with a protectiveness that almost outshone the glassy gleam that had settled, Wanda’s however, was riddled with enjoyment and humor. “What should she do, detka?” Wanda giggled, leaning down to whisper in your ear though it was loud enough for Natasha to hear, and the redhead was just barely keeping the smile off her face as she watched you and Wanda conspire against her. 

“She’s gotta say sorry!” They’d noticed that in your fuzzy state, you’d shied away from the bigger words that slipped into your vocabulary normally. You weren’t yet at a point where communicating your needs was impossible, but you weren’t actively fighting to clear your head and search for words like apologize and blasphemy either. Natasha would never forgive Yelena for throwing that word around so often you’d started to pick up on it.  

“Well?” Wanda jutted out her hip, placed a perfectly manicured hand just above where her bone rested. You mimicked her stance, though you were significantly less threatening than Wanda with your french braids messy from the humidity that drafted in from windows, and your baby blue colored corset shirt that was adorned with intricate lace patterns and ribbons that tied the back together. 

“Ona razob'yetsya v mashine.” Natasha hummed, and although you knew enough Russian to know that wasn’t an apology she had uttered to Wanda, no, it was a very true statement that you’d crash in the car on the way home, the Sokovian had accepted it and laughed. 

Despite your excitement to see the sharks, you didn’t hang around the exhibit for long. There were too many people and you seemed to become overstimulated more easily when you were flush full of endorphins, so Wanda had been the one to lead you away toward tanks of lobsters and jellyfish. She started walking down the hallway, leaving you with Natasha, wanting to find a sign that could lead the three of you toward the stingrays because she knew you wouldn’t enjoy the aquarium for much longer. It had been hours, and in your sensitive headspace, the bright lights and sounds were quickly becoming too much to handle. You’d been so brave, trying this out with them and trusting them fully, but Wanda wasn’t about to compromise your happiness for a few more hours of mindless walking from room to room when you’d already seen everything that interested you. All she cared about was making sure you had a good time, even if she thought aquariums were savagely overpriced now. 

Wanda frowned when Natasha found her way over to her without you. Her eyes flickered around the long hallway, searching for your blue top that stood out brightly against the sea of other colors that adults and children wore. It was such a specific shade that even if seventeen other people all crowded around to watch jellyfish bob had blue on, you stuck out like a sore thumb. “Where’s Y/N?” Wanda questioned and Natasha frowned. 

“I thought she was with you.” The Russian quickly realized that no matter how many times she spun around in circles, you weren’t anywhere in sight. She distinctly remembered you telling her that you wanted to go with Wanda, so she hadn’t questioned when you walked off and toward the direction that the Sokovian had gone in. Natasha was properly panicked when thirty seconds went by and she still couldn’t spot you, but Wanda at least had the thought to check the next hallway before she let herself spiral too. 

The stingray exhibit turned out to be in the next room over, crowded by kids and parents who talked about the sea creatures with excitement in their quiet tones. The occasional toddler bellowed in disgust when they realized how slick the back of a stingray was, but for the most part, the room only vibrated because of the sheer number of voices that occupied it, not because of volume. You were hunched over the edge, elbows deep into the shallow water when Wanda and Natasha spotted you. Each let out a sigh of relief, but nothing was going to stop them from marching over to you and pulling you away from the water. 

“What were the rules, milaya?” Wanda asked you, her voice not as soft as it had been all day, but not hard either. They’d never been out of the house while you were lingering in subspace, and though they never wanted to lose you, it hadn’t been something that never crossed their mind. You wandered away even when your head was clear, your lack of impulse control only heightened that need to trail off.  

“Stingrays!” You beamed at Wanda, not taking into account the thin line that settled over her eyebrows as she peered down at you. Your excitement was cute, a telling indication that you really hadn’t meant to wander away and give them the scare of their life, but it wouldn’t get you out of the scolding Wanda had ready on the tip of her tongue. 

“Not stingrays, utenok. What were the rules?” Natasha laid heavy emphasis on the last word of her question, and though your eyes were more glassy then she’d seen them all day, she could see the wheels turning as you tried to process her words. 

“Oh.” You mumbled when you finally came to the conclusion, your shoulders deflating as your head dipped down and set your gaze on your shoes. “Sorry.” 

Wanda, who had been prepared to dig into you, sighed softly and dropped the topic. She may be a stickler for the rules but she knew it would only cause further damage if she laid into you about listening. Your disappearing hadn’t been intentional, and even she could see the tears threatening to spill over as you brewed in your own feelings of disappointment. 

“I want you holding my hand, dorogaya.” She instructed firmly, “No more walking by yourself. We don’t wanna lose such a sweet little duckling, huh?” Wanda lifted your chin, smiling reassuringly down at you. Her rings caught the light, glimmering like a million little stars that cried to be released from the gold adorning her fingers. It was over after that, you’d fallen too deep into the sea of bliss to want anything other than her. You shuffled close, all thoughts of stingrays forgotten as you breathed in her scent. Sensing your loss of interest, Wanda shared a silent conversation with Natasha who nodded. 

“Why don’t we go check out the gift shop?” Natasha claimed one of your hands, engangling you from Wanda before you could sink any deeper. They needed you coherent enough to get back into the car, and then you were free to settle deeply beneath the blanket of comfort they’d slowly been laying over top of you all day. Natasha held back on delivering any further praise, knowing it wouldn’t help you coming closer to the light. 

She guided you through hallways and crowded rooms, occasionally squeezing your hand when you winced at crying babies and strong fishy odors. She herself was over the aquarium, but she’d been holding out for you. She was glad she didn’t have to fake her enthusiasm anymore, though Wanda was certainly getting a kick out of all the exasperated eyerolls the Russian hid from you. 

The gift shop was practically empty when you shuffled inside, clinging to Natasha who didn’t mind the contact. She led you through rows of toys and puzzles, some not having any connection to the aquarium while others quite boldly sported the name in a thick black font. You found interest in none of it, which she couldn’t blame you for. Everything looked tacky and far too cheap to be as expensive as the prices on the shelves said, but still she guided you around encouraging you to pick something out. She’d promised you a stuffed animal, but when you finally reached the back wall where all the cuddly toys were lined up in rows, neither of you liked any. They were all filled with stuffing that was too stiff to cuddle, and you retracted your hand quickly when you reached out to touch one. Whatever had been used as fuzz was scratchy and coarse, and you hated it with a passion. Eventually, when Wanda came up to you holding a soft gray crewneck with an embroidered whale shark and the name of the aquarium on the front, you agreed to let it be purchased for you, and although it was still in the highest temperatures that New Jersey had seen all summer, you wore it out of the aquarium with a smile. 

When you reached the car, there was no keeping you afloat any longer. Natasha had uttered the first bit of praise in minutes, and you surrendered fully to the warmth in your mind. Wanda smiled, usually the one who you attached to when you fell over the edge, but Natasha had been your chosen pick today. 

“Just get in the back with her, Talia.” Wanda rolled her eyes after three minutes of Natasha trying to detach you from her arm, each attempt ending with whines and stomped feet as you tightened your grip. 

Natasha sighed, able to count the number of times she’d let Wanda drive her car on one hand, but she wasn’t getting away from you right now, and she didn’t really want to anyway. “If you so much as leave one fingerprint on my radio you won’t be getting laid for a week, Maximoff.” 

Wanda rolled her eyes, snatching the keys from Natasha’s outstretched hand and opening the driver's side door more aggressively than needed. If anyone was going to be leaving fingerprints it was Natasha, who could never decide which type of music she wanted to listen to. Seeing that you had gotten your way, you smiled up at Natasha with a grin that was only right to describe as cheeky. The Russian rolled her eyes and settled you into the backseat, shushing your protests when she strapped the seatbelt over your chest and made sure your feet were planted firmly on the floor. 

She pulled you into her side when her own seatbelt was clicked into place, gently releasing your hair from the tight braids that had been twisted together all day. At the first pass of her fingers across your sensitive scalp, you all but melted into her chest and let your eyes flutter closed. It wouldn’t take six minutes before you were asleep against her chest, clutching desperately to the white t-shirt covering her torso. With the absence of your questions and excited statements, the car settled with silence, filled with only the sound of the engine revving when Wanda stepped on the gas. 

“Did you have a good day, moya lyubov’?” Natasha asked, extending an arm to run over fingers over Wanda’s shoulder. She couldn’t see the Sokovian’s face, but she knew there was a satisfied smile settling over her lips. 

“I did.” She breathed out softly, flicking the right blinker on when she merged onto the parkway, thankful that all the construction seemed to have been paused for the day and the road, though filled with typical traffic, was clear of any major dead stops. “Did you ever think we’d be here?” Although Wanda hadn’t been specific, Natasha knew she was referring to you. You were practically the sun in their own two planet universe, everything they did revolved around you now, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Things got boring when it was merely her and Wanda in a universe void of endless light and warmth. 

“I hoped.” Natasha kissed your temple softly, glad that she hadn’t stirred you awake. 

When Wanda pulled into the driveway, you were still sound asleep and the sky was dark with nightfall. It was early to call it a night, but the couple did so without complaint. You settled into Natasha’s chest with only the aquarium crewneck on your body, and Wanda had shuffled into the space in bed where your body typically rested, laying her head down on Natasha’s shoulder and placed a heavy hand on the small of your back. 

“Goodnight my little utenok.” She whispered into the thick stretch of silence before sleep overcame her too, and although the night carried on outside of your small bubble of peace, none of you had any idea.

[writingstoraes]

lover 🪻

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!singer!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: this is another thing i thought of knowing i have hundreds of unattended drafts lolol lmk what u think! this is like very similar to something i've posted before but only w a slightly different ending... hehe also am using mother taylor's lyrics cause they're just too good

about: you and charles seem to be really quiet, it's either one of two things — you're over or you're about to release a masterpiece that shatters all break up rumors.

wagsoff1

liked by wannabewag, norrisfan, hamilec, and 25,439 others

wagsoff1 It has been 100 days since Y/N was seen in the paddock. Her last appearance was during the 2023 Australian GP. Any thoughts? 👀

leclercsainz yeah honestly the two of them have been really quiet lately... i'm scared

ynfan this is such a reach? 😬

lecsyn4eva are we forgetting that y/n has her own career, a pretty successful one at that, it's normal for her to not be at races at times?

wagsoff1 Hmm yeah but she's missed a ton of races, apparently rumors are only ever growing that they might be over... lecsyn4eva maybe we stop sticking our noses where it doesn't belong 🤨

queenyn MOTHER WE MISS YOU pls come back

sainzstappen Classic pattern of broken up F1 couples lol miss a few races then suddenly statements are out 😆

popgirlstm stop i will literally jump off a bridge

yourusername

liked by zendaya, florencepugh, landonorris, and 2,340,923 others

yourusername At every table, I'll save you a seat.

My 3rd full-length album, Lover, is out tomorrow at 12 EST. Sorry for the surprise but see you at the premiere ❤️

lecsyn BITCH THIS IS WHY YOUVE BEEN QUIET

mothertay miss mam we havent heard from you in months how can you drop a bomb like this so casually

norrislaren IM CRYING I DID NOT SEE THIS COMING

midnightshouse y/n i need to know if i can shake my ass to this album or i will be destroying ice cream pints with tears on my face

ynalbums Judging from the title... it sounds like it's more on the romance side? gucciluv oh my god there's hope for charles and her after all 🙏

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari, and 1,295,294 others

charles_leclerc My lover.

Beyond excited for your album, amour. Thanks for letting me be a part of it 🤍

lecsyncharles CROWD CHEERS OH MY GOD

hamilstappen im crying they broke the streak they're alive! WAR IS OVER

charlierari part of it... y/n ft. charles????

carlossainz55 Hey this counts as your musical debut? 😆

charles_leclerc I didn't sing... carlossainz55 Yeah you shouldnt c2lovers FUCK??ABSHBHWWH

landonorris Can't believe people thought you broke up you literally won't shut up about how you're in Silverstone and she's in LA

pierregasly Don't forget the calling Y/N every 10 seconds charles_leclerc ??? Please shut up

Now Playing: Lover (Music Video) - The Dedication

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, landonorris, lorenzotl, and 2,109,294 others

charles_leclerc My forever lover.

tagged: yourusername

landonorris Will you save me a seat at every table?

yourusername Have my song memorized already, I see 😆 landonorris You know it!

lewishamilton Congratulations, Y/N and Charles! 🥂

danielricciardo I call taking most of the pictures 🙏

landonorris No???

ynlecs16 this is such a fucking surprise the two of you need to cool it down i'm hyperventilating

scuderiaferrari Best wishes to our favorite couple ❤️

yourusername Wait, I thought we broke up?

charles_leclerc Negative. You're stuck with me forever now 😘

---------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy

notes: taylor has got me wishing i was currently in love this is sick! anyway i only got this idea bc my tiktok fyp is swarmed with charles daylight edits and they are right he is so golden <33

[bookshelf-dust]

when it's rainin'

billy hargrove x gn!reader

word count: 2,666 ;)

warnings: swearing, reader has a fear of thunderstorms, kinda newly established relationship, a few sexual innuendos, fluff

a/n: hi! this was very self-indulgent for me and i am decidedly dedicating this fic to all of my fellow thunderstorm fearers. i see you. i am you. i hope this isn't too bad. i revised it too many times and i'm still feeling a little fretful over it. also, the title is a fleetwood mac lyric. bite me. anyways, please let me know what you think! mwah mwah i love you <333

————

“Billy, I gotta get going.”

You squeeze the fat of his thigh where it’s draped over both of your legs. He takes hold of your wrist; his grip gentle, if not a little teasing. 

He turns to look at you, head lolling against the back of the couch. His hair is pushed up messily behind him on the cushion. You know that if he were to sit up, it’d be matted in the way that it gets when he lays on it for too long. 

Billy knows the cogs in your brain are at work. The beginnings of a cocky smirk play at the corners of his mouth. He furrows his brow, faux concern written all across his face, as if something’s wrong. 

“But it’s rainin’, baby.” He gives his head a little shake, like he can’t believe you’d leave in weather like this.

His smirk is in full bloom when he laces his fingers with yours and lifts your hand up to his mouth. You turn to look out the window and feel him press a kiss to your knuckles. 

He’s buttering you up and you know it. 

“It’s just rain, Hargrove. And I do know how to drive.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, the rain picks up, enough so that you can hear it pounding against the roof. 

Billy laughs, low and sweet. You glare at him.

“Fine. I’ll wait it out.”

“Mhm,” he grunts, peeling his leg off of yours and repositioning himself on the couch. He leans up against the arm, and holds his own out to you. You know what he’s doing, so you oblige. 

Billy loves to watch storms, and holding you this way makes for a better view out the window. You lean into him, back pressed to his chest. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and buries his face in your neck. 

There’s a crack of lightning and the rumble of thunder that follows seems to shake the earth itself. Your stomach drops. This is exactly what you hadn’t wanted to happen, and now you’re stuck here, with Billy, internally panicking over a thunderstorm. Admittedly, you do feel a bit safer than you would alone in your bedroom, but this fear isn’t exactly something you share with others. 

“You can’t drive home in that,” he argues. 

You grab hold of Billy’s forearms, his skin warm under your palms. “I said I’d wait it out,” you mumble. 

He kisses the side of your throat, and it’s the kind of kiss you might feel lingering there for the rest of the day. Like his lips have left a searing brand against your skin. 

“You could just stay,” he drawls. 

“Billy.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh and moves his face back from you. “Yeah, I know. You don’t love me.”

You let yourself slide further down the couch until your head rests on Billy’s tummy. He doesn’t let go of you though, hands rubbing over your collarbones. “That’s not fair.”

It thunders then, at a volume you couldn’t have expected. It rattles both you and the windows, making you jump. 

“You okay?” Billy’s tone is sincere. 

You sit back up a little bit, and he uses the leverage to pull you into him. He wraps his arms around you completely, enveloping you in warmth and the scent of his body wash. The gesture is protective. He can see the way you glance out the window, and he thinks you might be looking for that flash, that queue for another rumble. 

“‘M fine. Scared me is all.”

Your grip on Billy’s knee says otherwise. He thinks he understands.

“I’ve never been with you during a storm before. You don’t like ‘em?”

You glance back at him. The concern on his face is genuine this time, but you can still see that underlying tendency to tease, like he’s ready to use it when he feels necessary. 

“Rain is fine,” you start. “I love it, actually. It’s just when it gets like this, when you can’t see down the driveway anymore and it’s windy. I really don’t like the wind.”

It is pretty damn windy. Billy hadn’t noticed it until you pointed it out. It makes him glad he parked under the carport today, knowing this is the kind of storm that leaves a mess behind. 

You’re starting to panic, not only because you’ve just told Billy about your childish fear, but also because you don’t know what kind of weather they’re calling for. You live in Indiana, for fucks sake. You don’t like that all of this is out of your control, that there’s nothing you can do but wait it out. 

“Hey, look at me.” Billy says, voice low and enticing. It pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. Your fingers are cold where they press into his legs. You twist around to face him and his hands meet your cheeks. His eyes are boring into yours. 

He kisses you. It’s slow, measured. The kind of kiss that steals your breath and demands your full attention. 

You realize too late that it’s a distraction. You don’t jump when it thunders this time. 

Billy pulls away, pleased with the blissed out look on your face. With the fact that he’s seemingly calmed you down for the moment. 

“That sweatshirt you like is on my bed. Why don’t you go get it, huh?”

You nod and he steadies you when you climb off of him and the couch. Billy wants to look at the weather, but he also wants to take care of you. He’s not letting you drive home tonight. 

You slip down the hall and Billy uses the time to flip the channel, assuming the weather will be on. 

You find his sweatshirt where he told you it’d be and stop at the foot of his bed, pulling it on over your head. It smells like him. Not like his cologne or cigarettes, but like the Billy who took a shower and got cold, who fell asleep earlier than usual and slept in more clothes than he ever has—this sweatshirt included. 

You see the lightning this time and are able to brace yourself for the thunderclap that follows. You still scramble back to the living room, seeking refuge in Billy. 

Your footsteps are quiet despite your panic, and Billy only notices you’ve entered the room because he’d sat up firmly against the back of the couch. You’re chewing on your lip, staring at the warnings flying across the screen. “What’d it say?” 

Billy turns the tv off. “Nothing bad baby, promise.” He holds out his hands and scoots to the edge of his seat, pulling you to stand in between his legs. He closes them against your own, gently trapping you there. “Just that it was gonna be stormy the rest of the night.”

Your brow furrows. “It’s not gonna let up?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” This time you catch the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. Clearly he’s happy with himself and the weather. 

Billy’s always loved these kinds of storms, and he hates that you don’t, but if he can get rain and his baby to spend the night all in one go? He’ll be pretty damn content. 

You realize that you should’ve watched the weather report this morning, but it seems that when you know you’ll be spending time with Billy, he’s the only thing that occupies your brain. 

“Dammit,” you say. 

Billy squeezes at your hips, and it makes you look down at him. There’s a pout on his face: the crease between his brows deepening, his bottom lip jutting out just that little bit. He squeezes harder now that he’s got your attention. 

“Something wrong with staying here? You really wanna go home that bad?” 

Billy’s teasing and you know it. You know that he’d let you go if you actually wanted to, that he’d worry until you got home and called him to say you were okay. You also know that he wants you to stay, and you’ve known that since you got to his place and saw the relief on his face. Hell, he hasn’t stopped touching you since then either. He’s plenty needy today. 

You cup his face with your hands, swipe your thumb over the smattering of freckles under his eye. His fingers have made their way under the hem of your (his) shirt and are pressing into your skin. 

“I didn’t say that. I just told my parents that I wouldn’t be home too late.”

“So call and say you’re staying the night, that you don’t want to drive home in this weather.”

You decide then that maybe you don’t need to overthink this so much. That maybe you shouldn’t let your brain ruin what could be a nice night. 

“Okay.”

Billy blinks up at you.

You move away from him and then you’re picking up the phone from its place on the wall, punching in your home number. 

Billy can’t believe that worked. You never listen to him. And clearly you recognize this given that you’re hiding a grin with the back of your hand as you talk. The phone call is over quickly, and when you walk back over to him, Billy pulls you down into his lap. Your fingers find their way into his hair before you can even think about it. 

“Have I behaved better than I thought?” Billy asks, tentatively rubbing up and down your thighs. 

You grin at him and place a kiss on his cheek. It’s warmer than it should be, because somehow you’ve managed to fluster him. 

“You keep giving me your pitiful little looks, Billy.”

He scoffs. “No, I don’t.”

“Don’t lie to me, pretty boy.”

He blushes. Goddamnit, Billy thinks. You can read him much too easily now. He’s really fucked. 

Billy exhales. “I’ve wanted you to stay the night for weeks. But you always had to be home or somethin’. And the storm seems to be working in my favor tonight, y’know?” He gives you this look then, his eyes traveling across your face, down your neck and back up. He bats his lashes at you and you slap him on the shoulder. 

He acts as though he’s appalled, grabbing you by the waist and maneuvering you off of him and onto the couch. Billy braces himself against the cushions and hovers over top of you. “Now that was just rude.”

“You deserved it,” you bite back, leaning up to swipe the tip of your tongue across the end of his nose. “Hate it when you flirt with me.”

Billy rolls his eyes and lets his weight drop down on top of you, causing you to voice an audible oof. 

He props himself up on his elbows, face inches from yours. “Mhm. Hate it when your boyfriend flirts with you. I believe it.”

You start to say something, something he knows will be a smartass remark, so Billy presses his lips to yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. You make a noise of surprise and Billy starts to laugh against your mouth, a low chuckle that makes you want to both keep kissing him and shove him on the floor. 

Billy pulls away to press kisses to both of your cheeks and the center of your throat. You’re lost in his affection when it thunders again, making you jolt underneath him. He brings a hand up to cradle your cheek. “Hey. S’okay.”

You start to nod when the lights flicker, and you swear your heart falls out of your ass. Please don’t let the power go out, you think. He can read the panic on your face. 

“Okay,” Billy grunts, pushing himself to stand. “New plan.”

You sit up, and Billy quickly hooks one arm around your back, the other under your thighs. He hoists you up and over his shoulder, making you squeal with how swift the action is. But you don’t protest, and only hope that he won’t drop you on the way to his next destination.

Billy sets you down on his bed.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, running your hands down your face. You realize too quickly the opening you’ve given him.

He leans in to kiss your forehead, though he pulls away and lets his mouth linger over the shell of your ear. 

“You can ride anytime you want, baby.”

You fall back onto his mattress. “Billy, please.”

“Don’t gotta beg, honey. Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.”

You hold back a groan at his antics. “I really should’ve gone home.” 

Billy laughs and lands a playful smack to the side of your thigh before moving towards his dresser. 

You push up on your elbows to watch him sort through his clothes. He grabs a couple things and brings them to you before pulling his own shirt off over his head. 

“Why are you stripping?” You question, looking over the shirt and shorts he’d handed you. 

“If you think that’s stripping, clearly I haven’t been good enough to you,” Billy snorts.

You grin up at him. “Are these for me?” you ask, holding onto the bundle of fabric in your hands. 

“Mhm. For you to sleep in.”

You nod hesitantly, having just seen a flash outside of Billy’s window. This time the rumble is just that, not a clap, not enough to rattle the windows in their frames. 

Billy moves towards his door, with the promise of getting more blankets, allowing you a moment to change. He comes back with water for you, too.

He kicks the door closed behind him, internally melting at the sight of you in his clothes. You’re so pretty, it physically hurts him. He’s never felt that way in his life. 

Billy gets you to drink some for him before you’re scooting further into his bed and he’s kicking off his sweats. 

You watch him move around the room, the way the muscles of his back move as he’s shutting blinds and pulling makeshift curtains closed. He turns off the overhead light, leaving only that coming from the lamps he has. 

You’re in awe of how easy it is for him to take care of you. How he didn’t pester you for being afraid of the storm but instead has comforted you and seems dedicated to keeping you safe. 

Billy finally slips into bed beside you. “What are we doing?” you ask, eyeing his torso while he settles in. He pretends not to notice. 

“I’m protecting you from the big bad storm, baby.” He kisses your hairline. 

You smile at him, one of pure joy that starts slow and grows brilliantly. The both of you are bundled up like it’s some big sleepover, or like you’ve stayed up hiding a book beneath the sheets. 

“Well, I’m not sleepy. So what’d you wanna do? Tell secrets?” 

Billy props his head up, palm cradling the base of his skull, elbow squishing his pillow. He laughs and squeezes at your hip. 

“Trivia? Talk about boys?” you continue. 

He shakes his head, his smile matching yours and making his eyes crinkle at the corners. Sometimes he can’t believe he landed you. “You got a boy you wanna talk about?”

You snort. “Mhm. There’s one I like. He’s pretty but super grumpy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep.”

“I think trivia might be better since you’re just going to bully me.” 

Billy flops down on his back. You push up so you can hover over him. 

“Whatever you want, baby.” 

Billy rolls his eyes but kisses you again, pulling your face down to meet his, mouth warm against yours. The next round of thunder is louder than the last and your heart rate picks up, but with him here it feels okay.

It’s hard not to feel safe when he takes such good care of you, when he’s warm enough that everything feels protected, like you could weather any storm with him and his smart ass mouth.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @clovermunson (for being such a gem and helping me)

[hihello-pinky]

varsity crush

atsumu miya x afab reader

some fluff, i guess

i originally wanted to write a full fic based on pixie labrador’s song (hence, the title) but somehow i ended up with this drabble. ALSO i know it’s a sapphic song but damn, the first time i listened to it and heard the lyrics about volleyball, haikyuu was my first thought

miya atsumu who has been your classmate since sixth grade; who you always only thought of as osamu’s loudmouth brother who once lent you his jacket when it was cold and you forgot to bring yours.

atsumu who was your partner for cleaning duty at seventh grade; who would almost always miss the task because he made it a habit to rush to the gym after last period.

atsumu who made your heart skip a beat when he passed you a note asking you to the eighth grade dance; who raises an eyebrow at your questioning look and says the note is from osamu.

atsumu who was your seatmate during ninth grade; who would distract you during class with the sound of his pen scraping against his notebook as he sketched volleyball plays.

atsumu who surprises you when he enters the classroom on the first day of tenth grade with his blonde hair; who you couldn’t stop looking at because his lightened hair made him more handsome.

atsumu who, one night, dropped by your grandpa’s convenience store looking for an onigiri; who told you as he reached the counter that he had a fight with osamu and he wanted to give it as a peace offering.

atsumu, who somehow made it a habit to drop by the convenience store after practice to buy energy drinks; who always buy one of those candies displayed at the counter and conveniently “forgets” them, sending you a quick message to just keep it.

atsumu who approached you after class one thursday afternoon in eleventh grade; who shared he needed help in his studies in order to stay in the volleyball club and asked you to tutor him.

atsumu who began sharing a table with you at lunch under the pretense of having more time to discuss about lessons but always made it a point to just talk about random stuff; who in time recruited his brother and suna to your lunch table.

atsumu who lovingly accepts gifts from his fans at your lunch table; who smiles so sweetly at the girls as it makes you inwardly frown, confusing yourself.

atsumu who, at the first month of twelfth grade, excitedly tells you he made captain as he walked you home; who grinned at you as he showed you his jersey and jacket with his last name.

atsumu who became much busier due to volleyball but would always somehow find time in his calendar to stay with you either in a coffee shop or library as you studied for college entrance exams; who would force you to take a break as he snatches the pen from your hand (my old captain, kita, would scold you!)

atsumu who gets surprised once you tell him you’re going with them to the nationals; who teases you for volunteering to cover for the school newspaper; who is actually secretly happy that you’re coming.

atsumu who gives you his jacket before their first game “in case you get cold”; who makes the girls beside you at the bleachers squeal when he smiles at your direction once he sees you wearing his jacket and cheering for him.

atsumu who lets you see his tears for the first time as you comfort him when inarizaki places second; who listens to your gentle voice as you sincerely tell him that you believe there are lots of greater opportunities for him in the future once he goes pro.

atsumu who passes you a note before class with prom? written in his messy handwriting; atsumu who receives a note from you saying is this from osamu again?; atsumu who bites back a smile as he passes back the note, so the bastard told you?; atsumu who doesn’t notice his ears reddening until suna points it out but he doesn’t care at all as he reads your note: yes, and yes i’ll go to prom with you.

atsumu who surprises you at prom because as athletic as he is, he sucks at slow dancing; atsumu who makes you blush as he tightens his hand around your waist as soon as you two finally find the rhythm; atsumu who leans to you closely and whispers in your ear how beautiful you are; atsumu who plants a soft kiss at the top of your head after you tell him to shut up and accidentally step on his shoes.

atsumu who runs to hug you at graduation, wrapping his strong arms around your smaller figure and lifting you in the air; who attends your class’ afterparty with you where you end up playing truth or dare.

atsumu who chokes on his drink as your bottle ends up on him and you ask him on when he plans to ask you out; who, after composing himself, gives you a cheesy smile and asks you to be his girlfriend; who blushes so hard, making osamu and suna laugh, when you say yes and kiss him on the cheek.

miya atsumu who you never thought would capture your heart; atsumu who somehow also fell for you; atsumu who you would be cheering on for the rest of your life.

it doesn’t matter whether you’re wearing his jacket or not; he already gave you his last name, anyway.

[giantmushyfriend]

Welcome back to the Ineffable lyric discussion (can I hear a wahoo)

In honor of the announcement of season 3 of our beloved Good Omens, I find it completely necessary for us to discuss one of the many songs on Aziraphale and Crowley's angelic playlist that made me scream my bloody head off. One of those songs is the one and only The Book of Love by Peter Gabriel. While I UNDERSTAND this song may have just been chosen to spell out SEASON THREE, I think it goes much deeper than that because of all of the parallels it draws to Aziraphale and Crowley. And ultimately, what I think is going to happen in terms of their relationship when they finally sort their shit out. So beware if you haven't watched season 2 of Good Omens because we're about to do a fucking DEEP DIVE into this.

First, the title of the Book of Love feels almost like a call to this looming threat to the Book of Life that was consistently used in series 2. The entire season, Crowley and Aziraphale have to work oh so carefully because with the Book of Life being confirmed, they know that either of them could get the other erased, and whether they want to admit it or not, losing the other is their biggest fear. We've seen this when Crowley believed Aziraphale to be dead in Series 1 when he couldn't feel Aziraphale's presence anymore since he got incorporated. When Aziraphale isn't there, Crowley is a mess. Likewise, we saw how both reacted during the ineffable divorce scene in series 2. Crowley is full-on begging Aziraphale to stay, and Aziraphale has finally admitted that he needs Crowley and full-on mouths for Crowley not to leave him. The Book of Life inherently, from how Neil set it up, feels threatening. The Book of Love, on the other hand, raises an entirely other reaction. Throughout the series, as corny as it sounds, love has been what grounds our protagonists. It is the love of Tadfeild and his friends that keeps Adam from kickstarting the end of the world; it's what keeps him from rejecting his father, the literal devil. It is the love of the earth, of humanity and all its strange creations, and for each other that keeps Aziraphale and Crowley attempting to prevent the end of the world when it could be so much easier to just accept the fate of it all. Love is the key theme that grounds our protagonists, that makes them tick. Love is safe; love is, at times, painful but overall kind. So when we see this title on their playlist, listed amongst heartwrenching tales of grieving a relationship, you could have had, and of loss, it brings a sense of salvation and safety. The Book of Love, unlike the Book of Life, is not a threat- it's a sanctuary for Aziraphale and Crowley.

Now, diving into the lyrics.

"The book of love is long and boring

No one can lift the damn thing

It's full of charts and facts, and figures, and instructions for dancing

But I

I love it when you read to me.

And you

You can read me anything"

The first couple of verses inherently feel like Aziraphale and Crowley's original view on this notion of love. As two supernatural entities who aren't bound by human emotion or logic, love may seem superficial and downright silly at times. The courting procedures that different societies have taken on throughout the centuries and the songs and dances that come along with it may all seem like a big waste. The book of love is a manifestation of love itself, and originally, it seems unappetizing to our protagonists. That is until they refind each other, and love goes from this thing that humans feel and jump through hoops for to this tidal wave of emotions. Love felt silly and unrealistic before, but with each other, they are willing and excited to explore it, even if it comes with things that feel inherently silly.

Also, these verses draw some cute parallels to headcanons and features of cannons. If you've been involved in the Good Omens fandom long enough, you've probably stumbled across the idea that Crowley asks Aziraphale to read to him for a multitude of different reasons. Some people say it's because his eyes aren't meant to read, one of the many punishments that came with him being cast down from grace, or maybe it's just because he finds Aziraphale's voice comforting. Additionally, the line about instructions for dancing is just so heartwarming when we look at the ball scene from this past season and Aziraphale's daydreams of a romance worthy of a Jane Austin novel.

"The book of love is long and boring

And written very long ago

It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes

Adn things we're all too young to know

but I

I love it when you give me things

and you

You ought to give me wedding rings"

I'm sure we've all heard this idea that you'll understand love when you get older, but even when you get older, it never seems to make sense. This idea that love is too old for any of us to truly understand, and that humbles us but in the best way possible. There is no point in trying to figure out what exactly love is because you could spend thousands of years feeling it and watching it happen all around you and still not know exactly what it is besides this all-encompassing feeling. And that is exactly the perspective of Aziraphale and Crowley. They have seen countless examples of love, true, unwavering love, and they have felt it for each other. And yet they themselves cannot begin to fathom what love, true unconditional love, is exactly. These two supernatural, ethereal/occult beings are humbled by the very concept of love like humans are- and that love is drawn from each other.

And then there is this notion of giving, which pairs so well with Crowley's primary love language, acts of service and gift giving. If the first chorus was Crowley talking about how he loves it when Aziraphale reads to him and takes care of him, then this is Aziraphale talking about how Crowley displays his love. And this final notion of asking for that final commitment, one of the key ways humans express their love for each other, is just amazing. Because in a way, Aziraphale moving to make this commitment, to fully be on their side in this way, is the resolution we have been wanting since the beginning. For Aziraphale to finally feel safe enough to let go and finally let himself settle to where he finally belongs, on his side with Crowley.

[thetorturedpoetsfest]

We're super excited to announce The Tortured Poets Fest, a Harry Potter themed fest centered around Taylor Swift's newest album! ✨

Calling all writers, artists, and video editors! Below are important dates, rules, and information you'll need to know if you'd like to join in with us. This fest is focused on The Tortured Poets Department — Taylor Swift's newest full-length album released on April 19, 2024.

This fest is open to ALL Harry Potter generations including Marauders, Golden Era, and Next Gen. All pairings are welcome!

We've also created a little community of participants on Discord to help with round tabling and creativity. We'd love if you joined us! This is an 18+ only fest.

⚡️ Timeline

Sign-Ups Open: April 22, 2024

Sign-Ups Close: May 20, 2024

Submissions Due: June 24, 2024

Posting Begins: July 1, 2024

🌙 Sign-Ups & Claiming

You must complete the Google Form for your sign-up as well as claim your choice of prompt on the AO3 collection.

You may only claim one prompt at a time. If you finish your prompt, you may claim an additional prompt, but you must submit your first prompt as per submission guidelines.

One song prompt can be claimed by multiple people (it's not first come, first serve). You can use a song in any way you like for inspiration — title, lyrics, vibes… You do not need to title your work after the song or use lyrics in any way if you don’t want to.

Collaborations are welcome! Collabs can be illustrated fics, multi-writer fics, multi-artist artworks, etc.

✨ Creating

All ships from all generations are welcome (Marauders, Golden Era, and Next Gen). This is not a ship-specific or generation-specific fest.

There is a minimum word count of 1,000 words for all submitted fics. For podfics, the recorded story should be a minimum of 1,000 words. There is no maximum for either fics or podfics.

Multi-chapter fics are allowed, but you must finish the first chapter of the fic by the submission deadline.

All works must be tagged appropriately! In light of the mental health topics alive and real in this album, please consider yourself, your fellow participants, and your readers when discussing any themes on mental health in your works.

🏛️ Posting

Posting will begin on July 1, 2024, and the schedule will not be publicly released.

If you have any questions, please feel free to drop us an ask!

—

From your Tortured Poets Mods — @imdamagecontrol @wolfpadx @lemonlans @heartsoncover @multiimoments @abz-coralsunset and it's many helpful and incredible organizers who managed to put this whole fest together in a few days' time 🖤