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lazyfox411 · 4 months

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Summary: Sanji glances over at Zoro, who's been awfully quiet, even for him. He finds the swordsman staring at the rest of the group with a dejected set to his shoulders, and Sanji's about to kick him and tell him to haul the stick out of his ass until he sees Zoro absentmindedly reach up to trace his fingers along the scar over his left eye.

Oh.

((The crew dock at an island just in time to enjoy a festival. Everyone gets their eye makeup done whether they like it or not, sanji has a little too much to drink while denying his feelings, and zoro has some feelings of his own while being an excellent caretaker)

Length: 4979 words

Fandom: One Piece

Relationship: Zoro/Sanji

Rating: T

Additional Tags: hurt/comfort, crew as family, drinking, alcohol, drunk sanji, vomiting, self-esteem issues, pre-relationship, pre-slash, mutual pining, denial of feelings, makeup, everybody gets eye makeup bc its fun and i said so, not beta read, post-time skip

Ao3 link above or read under cut :)

“If everything goes to plan, we’ll hit the next island before sundown,” Nami says, earning a chorus of cheers from the crew.

Stretching their legs on land will be a nice change. They’ve grown restless, cooped up on the ship for too long. Sanji is feeling particularly pent up this time around; he’s been picking fights with Zoro nonstop over anything and everything, from getting in the way while he’s cooking to simply just existing, all to try and release some frustrated energy.

It’s not like he wants to be picking these fights, he just can’t seem to help it. Honestly, things with Zoro have been good, lately. Different, but not in a bad way. When they’re not fighting, they enjoy each other’s company, sitting quietly on the deck or doing the dishes together in the galley.

It's always easier when it's just the two of them, Sanji muses, less hostile, less explosive, neither trying to outdo the other with no one around to impress. They're equally guilty of trying to antagonize each other, but they have quiet, calm moments too.

Sanji's finding he likes these moments more and more lately. Zoro knows him, knows what he's capable of after them trying to beat the shit out of each other so many times, and so Sanji doesn't have to try so hard in these moments, when it's just the two of them. There's nothing to prove to Zoro. Maybe there was, in the beginning, but not anymore, not after so long. He hates Zoro's company a lot less than he used to think he did.

He thinks about it idly as he finishes cleaning up from lunch and starts dinner prep. Until he hears commotion from out on deck and pokes his head out of the kitchen to investigate.

“I see it!” Usopp exclaims, pointing in the distance to the vague outline of the approaching island.

“Good eye, Usopp!” Luffy praises, practically vibrating with excitement.

“It’s a fall island,” Nami informs them. “Judging by the weather right now, I’d say it’s the fall season, too. Dress warm, guys, I bet the temperature will drop once the sun sets.”

The Straw Hats are buzzing with anticipation as the island grows nearer, shifting from a distant shape into a stretch of vegetated land, leaves changing color for the season.

There’s a small port waiting for them, and Luffy is the first one off the ship, slingshotting himself over the railing with a rubbery snap before they're even fully docked. He disappears in pursuit of adventure or meat, whichever he stumbles upon first, followed by Usopp who witheringly promises the rest of the crew he'll try to keep their captain in check.

Nami is next to disembark with Robin in tow, eyes bright as she anticipates what sort of clothing shops the island may offer. Chopper and Brook follow close behind, chattering excitedly, and Zoro and Jimbei trudge after them.

Sanji opts to stay and help Franky finish mooring the Sunny. He tosses the thick ropes over the side of the ship, where Franky ties them to the dock with expert hands. They double check the anchor is lowered, and then they're off to see what havoc the rest of the crew is wreaking.

As he steps off the pier and onto solid ground, Sanji notices a flash of green off in the distance. The rest of the crew have already disappeared inland, but Zoro is by himself, headed in completely the wrong direction.

"Oi! Marimo!" he shouts, waving an arm in the air to get Zoro's attention. "Town's this way!"

Zoro's head turns, and although he's a little too far away to see, Sanji's sure he's scowling.

"Go on ahead, Franky," Sanji tells his companion, "I'll wait for the moss head."

And Sanji does wait, lest Zoro get lost again. He sticks out amongst the reds, oranges, and yellows of the foliage that lines the coast, brightly colored leaves fluttering from the trees and into the air around them as he finally catches up.

"I knew where I was going," Zoro mutters once he's within earshot.

Sanji scoffs. "Sure, mossy. Whatever you say."

The town is just a minuscule walk away, shrouded with more colorful trees shedding their leaves. The tips of Sunny's masts are just visible over the treetops, flags waving in the warm breeze.

The swordsman and the cook walk in companionable silence until the worn path gives way to cobbled streets dotted with buildings and vendors. The market is bustling, humming with excitement, and Sanji finds it washing over him, putting a smile on his face and a skip in his step as he flits through the market stalls.

Zoro follows him without much interest, probably just on the lookout for a bar, Sanji suspects. He keeps an eye on the moss-brained idiot to avoid losing him in the crowd, and is rewarded when Zoro is still by his side as they come upon the town square.

It's a flurry of activity. People are hanging lights and banners on every available lamppost, tree, and awning, while others arrange tables and chairs, and musicians warm up and tune their instruments. Sanji can smell spices of something cooking, curry and turmeric, maybe, and Zoro finally perks up when several barrels of alcohol are rolled by.

"What do you s'pose is going on?" Zoro asks him.

Sanji shrugs. "No idea. Let's ask somebody."

The place is scattered with large pumpkins and bundles of corn stalks, and the next person they pass is balancing on a stack of hay bales while he hangs a string of lights.

"Excuse me, sir?" Sanji asks politely. "What's everyone doing?"

"You're not from around here, are you?" The man smiles at them. "We're preparing for the fall festival tonight! Everybody's been looking forward to it all year! You're more than welcome to join in the festivities with us!"

"Seems like we arrived at a good time, then," Sanji says to Zoro as the man returns to his decorating. "It sounds like fun."

"Hm," Zoro eyes the preparations critically. "As long as there's booze."

Sanji rolls his eyes and elbows him good-naturedly. "Of course that's what gets you excited."

Zoro's retaliation is drowned out by their captain's shouting.

"Zorooooo!!!!! Sanjiiiiiii!!!"

Luffy is gathered with the rest of the crew on the other side of the square, waving wildly at them. He bounces up and down as they approach and points at a nearby table.

"Look! We're gonna get our faces painted! Isn't it cool?"

Sanji grins at his enthusiasm and looks over the array of palettes and brushes set out on the table. He notes many of the locals milling around the area are already sporting various colors and designs, all strategically painted to accentuate their eyes.

Nami bargains with the young man doing the face painting, stating they should get a discount because they're such a large group. After the berries are handed over, Luffy has his turn first, too active in the stool he's asked to sit in and making the artist almost smear makeup all over his face because he won't stay still.

The end result is still stunning. Despite his squirming, shimmering shades of scarlet dance around Luffy's eyes like flames. He cackles with glee looking in the small mirror he's provided, then waits impatiently for the rest of the crew to have theirs done.

Nami is next, her eyes veiled in glimmering turquoise that looks like the sky reflecting off the ocean.

Then Usopp, with shining greens and warm browns reminiscent of a forest canopy. Luffy gives him a high five as they admire their new looks.

Robin gets sparkling purple and black, enchanting as a night sky, and Sanji is sure to tell her as much, complimenting Nami as well.

Brook is done up in glittering gold, then Jimbei in vibrant silver, looking a little unsure of himself but pleased nonetheless. Franky follows in brilliant blue and yellow.

Chopper hops up next. The makeup won't stick to his fur, and he's utterly devastated until the artist suggests painting on his antlers instead, and he squeals with delight as his horns are made pink and sparkly.

Sanji glances over at Zoro, who's been awfully quiet, even for him. He finds the swordsman staring at the rest of the group with a dejected set to his shoulders, and Sanji's about to kick him and tell him to haul the stick out of his ass until he sees Zoro absentmindedly reach up to trace his fingers along the scar over his left eye.

Oh.

Sanji's heart clenches at the sight. He doesn't know what happened to Zoro's eye, isn't really sure if he wants to know, but he does know how hard it must have been to adjust with an injury like that. It hasn't slowed Zoro down in the slightest, he's come out the other side stronger than ever, but seeing the forlorn look on Zoro's face as he watches the crew having fun, Sanji wonders if maybe the damage wasn't just physical.

Either way, Sanji will be damned if he lets the idiot feel embarrassed and left out because of a stupid scar.

"C'mon," he tugs on Zoro's sleeve, "your turn next."

"Hm?" Zoro shakes himself from his thoughts to glance at Sanji, then to where Chopper is having the finishing touches put on his antlers. "Oh. It's okay, you go ahead. I don't need–"

"Nuh-uh," Sanji crosses his arms, "you're doing it. You know Luffy will be upset if we don't all do it, and Nami-san already paid for us all."

Zoro scuffs the toe of his boot against the ground, head down. "Nah, I'm good."

Sanji frowns. He has one more trick to get Zoro to do his bidding, though he'd been hoping not to have to use it.

"What, you scared or something? Need me to hold your hand, Mossy?"

Zoro's head snaps up and he levels Sanji with a one-eyed glare. "I am not scared."

Sanji smirks. "Prove it."

And prove it he does. Zoro stalks over to the table and plops his ass down, still glaring daggers. Sanji flips him off and then turns to the rest of the crew to avoid his steely gaze. They're all in good spirits, and Luffy is positively ecstatic about the festival and the food that will accompany it.

"Your turn, cook."

Sanji jumps and spins to face Zoro, who's snuck up behind him while he was talking.

"Wow," Sanji blurts, "you...it looks great."

The other strawhats have been made up with glitter and shine, but Zoro's been given matte colors, dark green and burgundy that pair well with his hair and earrings. The scar has been left untouched, as if it weren't even there. His lashes are lined with sharp black wings that make his face look more severe, eyes sharp and fierce.

It's a little offset, though, by the flush creeping up on his cheeks.

"Shut up," Zoro mutters, "I'll cut you."

"You'll try," Sanji smirks, before taking his place at the table.

"What color would you like, honey?" the artist asks.

Sanji thinks for a moment. "Blue, please."

The man sweeps Sanji's bangs out of his face, which. Ah. That's not something he considered having to do to get his face painted. At least he doesn't make any snide comments about the eyebrows. Sanji closes his eyes to let him work, his grip strong on Sanji's chin as he tilts his head this way and that, deft fingers sliding the brushes over his closed lids.

"Almost done," the young man tells him. "I'm sure your partner over there is going to love it."

Sanji opens his eyes to see where he's pointing, prepared to tell him that unfortunately, despite his best efforts, he and Nami still remain firmly in friendship territory.

Except he's not pointing at Nami.

He's pointing, at Zoro.

"Wha–" Sanji sputters, before lowering his voice, because god forbid anyone hear them, "he is not my partner!"

The man blinks at him. He looks at Zoro, then back to Sanji again.

"Oh, honey," he says simply. "Whatever you say."

As soon as the last stroke of the brush is done, Sanji bolts like a feral cat.

Zoro catches his eye and raises his eyebrows. "You look–"

"Shut up," Sanji growls, "I'll kick you."

He joins Luffy at the front of the group, leaving Zoro behind and bewildered.

The festival gets into full swing as the sun sets. The square is lit up, struck with lively music and cheerful crowds.

Luffy immediately makes for the buffet table, and Zoro for the drinks. Of course.

Sanji, still a little frazzled–because how could anyone think–Zoro–euck– sticks to Jimbei, who is more than happy to be quiet company.

Until they're joined by one moss-headed swordsman.

"What do you want," Sanji snaps.

"Brought you a drink, idiot," Zoro says, handing him a mug. "Looks like you need it, geez."

Sanji takes it wordlessly and takes a sip. It's a strong, sweet mead, honey coating his tongue and warming his throat.

This is something he and Zoro have done for a long time now, since Cocoyashi. Whoever gets the first drink of the night gets the other one as well. Sanji isn't really sure why he started it, he just knows it's entertaining to see Zoro's face light up when a drink is placed in his hands.

After Zoro leaves, Sanji chugs the rest of his mug and searches for a refill right away. Jimbei gives him a questioning look but doesn't pry.

Really, though. Zoro? No way. Sanji wouldn’t go for the mosshead, not in a million years. Never mind how good he looks when he’s swinging those damn swords around or how strong his hands are when they brush up against Sanji’s while they’re drying dishes–

Okay, yeah, he’s going to need that refill. Sooner rather than later. Enjoying Zoro’s company is one thing, but these are things he’s not quite ready to be thinking about yet.

The drinks help him unwind, and he loses track of how many times his cup is refilled. Mood considerably lightened and forgetting why he was stressed in the first place, Sanji talks and laughs with Usopp, dances with Chopper, even sings a little with Luffy. The atmosphere is wonderful and the locals are friendly, and Sanji mingles with them under the falling autumn leaves.

Nami offers to buy him another drink, and Sanji agrees because he'd sooner chop his legs off than say no to Nami. He downs it and stumbles into a chair, not realizing how drunk he is until Chopper appears in his face, telling him maybe he should slow down and have some water.

"M'fine," Sanji waves him off with a hand that feels much too heavy, words sticking to his teeth.

"Sanji," Chopper whines, "you've had a lot to drink. I don't want you to get sick."

"M'not–hic–gonna..." Sanji trails off as he tilts to the side.

Chopper catches him before he tumbles out of his chair, the sudden stop making his guts lurch.

"M'kay," Sanji admits, bracing his hands on the table to steady himself. "You're right. M'gonna...go'n sober up a bit."

He staggers to his feet, Chopper hovering nervously until he gets his balance.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Chopper asks.

"Nah, s'alright," Sanji pats him on the head.

He makes his way through the buzzing crowd, intent on finding somewhere quieter to sit and suck in some fresh air, but he's stopped by Nami draping herself over him. Sanji's too far gone himself to even freak out about it.

"Sanji," she singsongs, her cheeks flushed and words slurring. "I drank too much. Finish this for me, would you? I don't want it to go to waste." She thrusts her mug into his hand.

Give it to Zoro, Sanji wants to say, but Nami is already gone and the swordsman is nowhere to be found. He stares down at the swirling liquid in the half full mug. It would be a shame to waste it, and Sanji doesn't waste things.

Sorry, Chopper, he thinks, gulping it down.

Bad idea. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. He drags himself away from the crowd as his steps become more wobbly, limbs floaty and uncoordinated, lights and falling leaves blurring together and making him lightheaded.

He drops gracelessly onto a bench on some side street, leaning back all the way and taking deep breaths, praying for the world to stop spinning. He's not sure how long he sits there, body lax, staring up at the full moon through the trees. The festival is white noise in the distance.

"There you are," Zoro's voice permeates his dulled senses. "Been looking everywhere for you. Everybody wants to watch the fireworks together, come on."

Sanji snorts, his head still reeling. "So they sent you to find me?"

Zoro squints at him, stepping closer. "Are you drunk?"

"No," Sanji replies automatically. It's punctuated by another involuntary hiccup. "Maybe," he amends.

Zoro chuckles and moves to sit next to him, lowering himself onto the bench with a satisfied groan.

"Are you?" Sanji asks. "Drunk?"

Zoro shrugs. "Nah. The booze here's a little sweet for me. Besides," he smirks, "somebody's gotta look out for your sorry ass."

Sanji huffs, but doesn't argue.

"You alright? You've been...weird, tonight." Zoro frowns. "Curls?"

"Yeah," Sanji sighs. "It's just..."

He tilts his head lazily to look at Zoro. Zoro's looking patiently back at him, elbows resting on the back of the bench. For as quick to anger as they are with each other, Zoro is always patient when it counts. Sanji is trying to be more patient in return.

"I don't know," he finishes lamely.

He's still staring at Zoro, and Zoro doesn't shy away. The eye makeup looks more dramatic in the darkness, painting him some sort of ethereal being, cut from the night sky–

Okay, no. Sanji slams the brakes to that train of thought. Where the hell did that poetic bullshit come from? This is Zoro, for crying out loud.

"You cold?" Zoro asks him suddenly.

Sanji pauses to try and take stock of himself. He's warm on the inside, fueled by alcohol, but on the outside he's shivering.

"Dunno," he replies. He vaguely recalls Nami telling them all to dress warmly before they arrived here, and he wishes now he had better listened; he's only dressed in a light shirt.

"Here," Zoro says. He shrugs off his thick green coat, and carefully wraps it around Sanji's shoulders.

Sanji grasps at it, pulling it tighter around himself. The residual body heat Zoro left behind envelops him and he sighs contentedly.

"Better?" Zoro asks.

"Mm," Sanji nods. The motion makes him dizzy again, and he presses a hand to his temple.

"I think we should get you back to the ship," Zoro suggests. "Can you walk?"

"Yes," Sanji says indignantly. He pushes himself to his feet, only for his body to protest. He sways and the dizziness comes back in full force. "Shit."

Zoro catches him before he can topple over, holding him up like he weighs no more than a sack of flour.

"I'll take that as a no, then," he snickers. "C'mere, Curls, hang on to me."

He arranges Sanji's arms around his neck, and lifts him so they're pressed chest to chest, Sanji's thighs curled around his waist.

"This is so fucking embarrassing," Sanji mutters, too drunk to really protest. "Don't you dare tell anyone about this, shithead, or I'll kill you."

"Yeah, yeah," Zoro placates, insincere. He adjusts the coat around Sanji's shoulders and they set off.

Resigned to his fate, Sanji instead focuses his efforts on correcting Zoro's course to make sure they stay headed towards the ship. The fireworks start, loud booms thundering across the night air, and Zoro trudges along, unbothered, his hold unwavering.

Sanji glances up through the trees to look at the fireworks, but the bright lights and colors only serve to make his head spin more.

Eyes screwed shut, he hides his face in Zoro's shoulder with a miserable groan.

Zoro's grip tightens near imperceptibly. "I've got you," he murmurs, his voice a gentle reassurance warming Sanji's ear.

I know, Sanji thinks. He trusts Zoro implicitly to keep him safe when he's vulnerable like this. Zoro always keeps the crew safe.

Zoro continues to march them towards the ship, and Sanji continues to take measured breaths in through his nose, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the churning in his stomach.

It's a losing battle, and he urgently taps Zoro on the back. "Put me down."

"Tch. You can't walk, cook. Don't worry, there's nobody around to see you getting carried like a baby."

"Put me down now, or m'gonna puke on you."

Zoro takes the hint and quickly sets him down. Sanji crashes awkwardly to his hands and knees and proceeds to hurl his guts up.

He tries to aim for the bushes so he doesn't make a mess of the picturesque street. Zoro's coat slips from his shoulders and he trembles in the cold night air, eyes watering with the force of his retching.

Zoro kneels beside him calmly, wrapping an arm around him to keep him from nosediving into the pool of his own sick. He cards Sanji's hair away from his face, even though it's not quite long enough to really be in the way.

"I've got you," he repeats.

Sanji groans and curses himself. He doesn't usually drink like this, and here lies the reason why. He almost always ends up making a damn fool of himself, and this time it's in front of Zoro, of all people.

When he's finished defiling the shrubbery, Zoro guides him to lean back, and Sanji lets him, placing all his weight on Zoro while he tries to catch his breath.

"Done?" Zoro asks.

"Think so," Sanji gasps, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He's way too fucking drunk to care about propriety, and his dignity is lying in a puddle in the bushes.

"Let's get you home."

He's bundled in Zoro's coat once again and lifted into strong arms. He feels a little better after throwing up, just exhausted now, and Sanji lets his eyes slip shut and rests his head on Zoro's shoulder.

The rest of the short journey is a blur, and Sanji comes to as he's being lowered to sit on the edge of his bunk.

"You're really fucked up, huh?" Zoro snickers at him when he starts to list sideways again.

"Shuddup," Sanji grumbles, shoving at him with clumsy hands as Zoro props him up.

Zoro's steady hands move from his shoulders to his neck, unbuttoning the first button of his shirt to make him more comfortable and removing his tie with deft fingers.

Sanji looks at him sleepily. "How come you're doin' all this?" he asks. Surely, Zoro would much rather return to the crew and the party, not be stuck here with a miserable cook who can't hold his liquor. He's surprised Zoro didn't just dump him in his bunk and leave.

"We're crew," Zoro says simply, bending down to untie Sanji's shoes and setting them aside. "We take care of each other."

Sanji stifles a yawn and lets it happen, too tired to argue. He rubs a hand over his drooping eyes, only to find it comes back smeared with blue glitter.

"Shit," he mumbles.

He'd completely forgotten about the face painting, hasn't even looked at himself in the mirror since getting it. While it probably did look nice, Sanji's sure he looks like a wreck now, shades of sparkly blue streaked and smudged all over his face. He flops over onto his bunk in defeat.

Zoro smirks down at him, his own eye makeup impeccable. "Wait here."

"M'not goin' anywhere," Sanji promises. He's become one with his bed, sprawled on his back like a starfish, blanketed by Zoro's coat. He tries to pretend the sensation of being tossed back and forth is from the ship rocking on the waves and not his own poor choices.

Zoro returns after an indeterminable amount of time, a glass of water in one hand and a wet cloth in the other. He sets the water aside and sits on the edge of the bunk. He reaches out, cupping a gentle hand under Sanji's jaw, and lightly angles his face to wipe off the glitter.

The cloth is blessedly cool on his flushed cheeks, and Sanji leans into the touch. He watches Zoro through half lidded eyes, warm and safe under his sure, calm hands.

Zoro wipes the last of the makeup from his face, brow furrowed in concentration.

"The blue looked nice on you," he comments absently. "Matches your eyes."

Sanji looks up at him dumbly, not quite sure what to make of that. "Huh?"

Zoro's eye widens as if he's only just realized what he'd said. He stands quickly and backtracks across the room, ears turning red.

"Wait," Sanji calls after him, reaching out blindly. He didn't mean to chase him away. He'd been surprised, that's all. People don't usually compliment him. Zoro doesn't usually compliment him.

Zoro crosses his arms and looks at him from the corner of his eye, cheeks still tinted pink. "What, cook?"

"Nothing," Sanji says. "Just...thanks."

Zoro nods. "You need anything else? I brought you water."

Sanji shakes his head. "Mn-mm."

"Warm enough?"

"Mmhm."

"Alright then," Zoro heads for the door, "go to sleep. There's more festival stuff going on tomorrow morning. The rest of us will get breakfast in town so you can sleep in."

It's thoughtful. Sanji's chest feels full.

"G'night, Zoro."

"Night, cook."

The door clicks shut. Sanji snuggles into his bunk and promptly passes the fuck out.

----

The morning brings him a mouthful of dry cotton and a splitting headache.

Sanji hisses when sunlight hits his eyes, streaming in from the porthole window. He rolls over in his bunk, guts rolling dangerously with him, and before he has time to think his instincts have him on his feet and staggering outside to gag over the side of the ship.

"Sorry, Sunny," Sanji mumbles, patting the ship's railing apologetically.

He shivers in a cold sweat, still feeling sick and shaky and in desperate need of a smoke. He's awarded a small miracle when he finds his cigarettes still in his pocket from last night. They're a little squished from being slept on, but they'll certainly do the trick.

He leans heavily on the railing as he lights up, face scrunched in defense of the bright sun. He estimates it to be late morning, which means he's really slept in. The ship is uncharacteristically quiet, and Sanji vaguely remembers Zoro telling him the crew would be in town for the morning.

He's grateful for the break. A hot shower is in order, and he really needs to brush his teeth as well. Plan made, he grabs a comfy change of clothes and heads for the showers.

Much later, Sanji reemerges, still exhausted and with a killer headache, but feeling considerably less gross. He makes for the kitchen and the familiar safe haven it provides.

Only to find it already occupied.

Zoro is by himself, leaning casually against the counter and sipping from a steaming mug.

"Marimo," Sanji grunts in greeting.

"Cook," Zoro nods, hiding a smug grin behind the rim of his drink. "You're alive."

Sanji sinks into one of the stools on the opposite side of the counter and shoots him a withering glare, head pillowed on his arms.

"You are not to speak a word of last night to anyone," Sanji warns. It doesn't come out as menacing as he intends, because as he says it he remembers–mostly remembers, the fine details are a little fuzzy– just how pathetic he'd been, and how Zoro had gone above and beyond to make sure he got home safe and sound.

Zoro's face has been cleaned of makeup, but Sanji remembers how striking it had looked, accentuating his sharp eye and jaw. He remembers how Zoro had been reluctant to participate, how he'd hesitated and touched the scar marring the side of his face. He'd held Sanji with those same hands, but with confidence and reassurance rather than hesitation.

He hears Zoro puttering around, opening cupboards, and Sanji lets him, lacking the energy to stop him from messing with his kitchen.

He trusts Zoro, anyway, he thinks, not to make too much of a disaster.

A second mug is placed inches away from Sanji's nose. He sniffs at it and looks at Zoro questioningly.

"Coffee," Zoro says. "I didn't poison it."

"A feat," Sanji teases, "for you in the kitchen. I'm surprised your algae brain can even figure out how to turn on the coffee machine."

Zoro rolls his eye, smiling fondly. "I'm not as helpless as you think."

This is the part where they start arguing, Sanji thinks. But the longer the moment stretches, and the more he drinks from his coffee, made perfectly to his liking, the less he wants to kick Zoro's brains out and the more he wants to just...

Just what, he's not sure. But it's quiet, and comfortable, and the midday sun is shining through Zoro's hair and glinting off his earrings and if Sanji were to suddenly get stuck in a time loop, this wouldn't be a bad moment to have to relive.

This is the different he's been feeling lately, creeping up on him again.

"Thank you," Sanji says, deciding to indulge the feeling for a change. "For last night."

Zoro's cheeks and the tips of his ears become dusted with pink. "Don't mention it."

And, yeah, okay. Definitely not a bad different.

Not when Zoro smiles at him like that.

#zosan #one piece #one piece fanfiction #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #zoro x sanji #my writing #hurt/comfort #alcohol

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kryptid-writes · 1 year

Text

Chapter 8 - Clipped Wings

Ashamed that Dean has discovered her wings, Y/N takes matters into her own hands to fix the problem.

(2.2k)

TW: This chapter contains self mutilation of wings that may be triggering for those that struggle with the topic of self harm. I am not trying to romanticize the subject, please don’t be afraid to seek help if you feel unsafe.

American Mental Health Hotline (1- 800 - 622 - 4357)

Global Hotline (212 - 673 - 3000)

My head spins as I clutch at my chest, willing myself to breathe in ragged breaths. My body shivers from the uncomfortable cold sweat that clings to my skin. My hands, feet, and tip of my nose goes numb, the feeling much like the buzz of a static TV.

I wobble to my feet and hastily pop open the buttons on my shirt with shaky hands. I shove the fabric off my shoulders and let it pool around my feet. Once again, I’m completely vulnerable. Staring myself down in the mirror, my eyes full of resentment at the twisted version of myself staring back at me.

How could you be so careless? Now he knows how much of a freak you really are! I scold myself, gripping the edges of the sink and hang my head in shame.

Taking a piece of bandage from the front of my chest, I carelessly rip it in half with the sudden strength arising from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I hastily unwind the wrap of musty bandages, revealing the tattered skin underneath which is now a blotchy red color from the lack of circulation. I cringe as I feel my wings pop free from the restrictive binding. Unsurprisingly, they’ve grown since the morning, reaching nearly a foot in length that now fall just above my hip. More feathers have filled in, some of them small, fuzzy, and gray, hugging the bone. And others that are long and white with a golden shimmer at the tips. They stretch out as far as their length will allow, trying to soothe the aching feeling from being confined for so long.

I glare at myself in the mirror, disgusted at how far I've fallen from the simple human I once was. This is what Lucifer wants. He wants me to become a monster just like him, trapping me into a life bound to my captor. This has been his plan all along.

I shake my head, my knuckles turning white from gripping the porcelain sink with the strength of a bull. Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision and clouding my mind.

I know what I have to do.

Carefully, I grab the powerful angel blade off the bathroom floor, hugging it to my chest. If this is the only thing that can kill an angel, surely it will get the job done.

I turn on my heels and tilt my head back to see my wings clearly in the mirror, and with that it’s decided: they must be removed by any means necessary. I take a deep breath, gripping the angel blade, just as Dean taught me and press the blade to the top of my wing, just a few inches from where they distend from my back. I hesitate for a few seconds, my body shaking with fear and doubt that lasts for a fleeting moment. With one swift motion, I slice the blade across, cutting through the thin layer of flesh.

“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath. I’ve been hurt before many times in my life and I have the scars to prove it, but nothing compares to the pain that radiates from my wings. They’re more sensitive than I ever could’ve imagined.

Blood dribbles down from the wound, staining the white feathers surrounding the area. The sound of quiet droplets hitting the tile floor below cuts through the silence of the room.

My breath comes in ragged and my heart beats a thousand miles per second. With renewed determination, I bite my lip and hover the blade, just above the incision.

“Y/N?” Dean asks from the other side of the door, startling me out of my trance. His voice is low and caring, but very clearly concerned.

“Go away Dean,” I reply weakly, biting back the sobs that so badly want to spill out.

“Let’s just talk about this,” he says in a kind voice. I hear a soft thud, presumably from him leaning his head on the door.

Part of me wants to stop what I'm doing and open the door for him, let him come in and comfort me like I know he can, but I don’t. This is how it has to be. This is how I break Lucifer's hold on me. This is how I reclaim my humanity.

Ignoring his pleas, I drag the blade further down the weeping laceration, sawing until the bone is exposed. I involuntarily hiss and drop the blade to the floor as agonizing pain surges through me. It makes a loud clattering noise that rings out like the chime of a bell. This time the results are much more severe. Blood pours out of the wound, drenching my entire wing in a sickening crimson coating. Feathers flutter to the ground in clumps, landing in the forming pool of blood below. The feathers that were once pure and white, now stained in my misery, forever corrupted by sin.

“Y/N? What are you doing in there?” Dean asks in a distressed voice.

I don’t respond, partially because I don’t want him to know the answer to the question, and because I’m unable to make any sound besides weak groans. My knees give out and I fall to the ground, slumping forward and tucking my head into my knees. I can’t stop the heaves of sobs that shake my body as the pain and torment becomes too much to handle.

“Y/N OPEN THIS DOOR!” He demands, knocking incessantly.

A whimper escapes my lips as the world slowly starts to spin. Every ounce of energy in me feels as if it's draining rapidly. My whole body feels light and the need to keep fighting slowly fades away, the pain grows dim and my mind becomes a blank slate, the emptiness feels warm and inviting.

The quiet clicks and jingles of the doorknob fill the silence, becoming more imperative by the second. With one final tick, the lock gives in and the door swings open with a bang.

I cusp my hand over the injury in a pitiful attempt to hide what I'd done.

“Oh fuck,” Dean gasps, immediately rushing to my side. He pulls me close and takes my head in his hands, panic taking over his features.

My eyes are unfocused and my skin is pale as a ghost.

He peels my hand away exposing the mess of flesh, feather and bone. His face drops.

I want to resist but I'm too weak to fight him. “Dean…” I groan softly, using all my energy to look him in the eye. Suddenly my eyelids feel heavy and my pupils drift to the ceiling.

“It’s me. I need you to stay awake, can you do that?” He says in a serious voice, lightly squeezing my jaw, keeping me grounded to reality.

I can’t manage a response as the words get caught in my throat. I blink slowly, widening my eyes as much as I can, trying my best to shake the sleepiness that so desperately calls my name.

He swiftly moves me to lie on the floor, dragging me away from the puddle of blood that stained my feet and hips. I should feel embarrassed that my half naked body is completely exposed to him, but it’s not even a concern that crosses my mind at this moment.

“I have to call Sam and Cas.” He states, fumbling for his phone.

“No!” I cry, “Please don’t tell them.” I meet his eyes with a look of desperation, silently pleading with him.

“Y/N -” He furrows his brows.

“I said no Dean!” I snap, followed by a soft, “Please….”

He thinks for a second before nodding his head and getting to his feet. With a sense of urgency he rushes to the cabinet and grabs the first aid kit, yanking it open with such haste that the flimsy plastic cracks and breaks under his touch. He rummages through the supplies, pulling out a needle and thread, as well as a travel size bottle of antiseptic.

“You’re gonna need stitches,” he explains. “This is going to hurt a lot.” He looks at me sympathetically, then guides my head to lean on his shoulder. “Bite down, it’ll help with the pain.”

I nod my head against his broad shoulder, trying to distract myself from the anticipation and anxiety riddling my mind. I can feel the nausea building in my stomach. I barely register his arms moving behind my head with precision as he threads the needle.

“Take a deep breath,” he orders.

I do as he says, attempting to control my breathing. The needle enters my sensitive skin, it feels like searing hot pain as he drags it through to the other side of the injury, pulling the thread taught. I can’t stop the scream that rips through my body. My wings tense up and fan out, trying to escape the pain.

“Shh, I'll make it quick,” he assures me, running a soothing hand down the feathers of my wings. The feeling it leaves is a pleasant surprise of soothing pleasure. I’m thankful for the contrast in sensations that temporarily distracts me from the searing pain.

I screw my eyes shut and bite down on his shoulder hard enough that I probably broke skin through his shirt as he continues to stitch me up. I sob in his arms, my tears stain his signature red flannel, but I'm too far gone to care.

When the stitches are finished he opens the bottle of antiseptic and pours a bit onto the wound. It should hurt like hell, but at this point my body is too tired to even register the burn.

“All done.” He strokes my hair, letting me rest my head on him for as long as I need. “You made it sweetheart.” He places a tender kiss on the top of my head. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

I lean back, a disheveled mess, allowing him to stand up.

He grabs a fresh towel from the closet, running it under the tap until it's soaked in clean water. He takes a seat behind me, tucking his knees on either side of me and tenderly touches the rag to the bloodied area around the wound.

I hiss at the contact, it stings, but I bite my lip and let him work.

Carefully, he drags the towel down each feather, mopping up the crimson mess that paints my damaged wings like a gruesome crime scene. He takes his time, working his way from the top to the bottom til the feathers are nearly clean, leaving just a tint of pink behind. Without exchanging any words, he runs his fingers through the soft plumage, correcting the placement of the messy crooked ones until they lay neatly.

I can’t stop myself from sighing at his touch. His fingers radiate pleasure throughout my wings.

“Gorgeous,” he mutters under his breath, placing a soft kiss between my shoulder blades.

“Th- thank you Dean,” I whisper, turning my head back to look at him, but still feeling a twinge of doubt.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice sweet and caring. He takes the excess of medical wrap and carefully wraps the cloth around the stitches, biting off the end with his teeth and tucking it away securely. He stands up and plops the dirty towel in the sink and washes away the blood that soaks his hands until the water runs clear, drying them on the sides of his jeans. Turning back to me, he lifts me off the floor like I weigh nothing to him and brings me to my bed, carefully laying me on the mattress, being mindful of my butchered wing. He scoots in next to me, pulling me close and wrapping his arm around my waist.

I rest my head on his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing instantly calm me.

“Why?” is all he can say.

The question hangs in the air as I scramble for the right thing to say, but it’s difficult to explain.

“I tried to get rid of them. I had too,” I try to explain, but the words become lost in translation. “I’m tired of being a freak…” I say in a hushed tone.

“You’re not a freak Y/N.” His hands wander to my wings, carefully tracing each feather. “You’re beautiful,” he coos. “Promise me you’ll never do this again,” he says in a more serious tone, his eyes brimming with tears.

I falter for a moment, the thought of living like this for the rest of my miserable life leaves me feeling sick. But, perhaps one day I could also learn to love the wings that Dean finds so utterly beautiful.

“Promise,” I reply, tucking my cozying my head into his chest and wrapping a damaged wing around us.

He strokes my hair and I melt into his touch.

Despite the disaster I had just subjected us too, I feel protected in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt me.

“Sleep” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

And with that I drift off into a peaceful slumber, thankful for the safe haven that is Dean Winchester.

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #lucifer x reader #supernatural fanfic #slow burn #supernatural fanfiction #choices #dean x reader #love triangle #lucifer #lucifer supernatural #lucfier x reader supernatural #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural reader insert

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averagemrfox · 3 months

Note

2 for the ask game for each member of team RWBY!!!!!

Alright I’m home from work and have had time to think

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

First of all this goes for every single one of them and my individual answers might overlap with this we’ll see. I love how much they’ve all grown and persevered! They’ve been through so fucking much both together as a team and separately and have come out on the other side of it. They were kids!! They made bunk beds and had food fights and were starting to figure out the types of people they wanted to be and then got thrust into Remnant’s Worst Divorce™️ and throughout all of it have only grown closer as a team (not friends family!!) and still have hope that they can make the world a better place (Keep moving forward!!!) (They all need therapy tho fr)

Ruby: she’s perfect just the way she is!! This is supposed to be about the canon things I love about these character but god do I want Ruby to see herself as an individual separate from Summer. I think she’s getting there after her talk with the blacksmith. She’s just so accepting of people without hesitation. Penny is a robot? Don’t care new best friend. Little is a talking mouse? Don’t care new best friend pt 2. I’m sure there’s other examples but she’s always so ready to just let people be who they are and I wish she’d give herself that same grace

She’s also just a giant fucking nerd. About weapons about comics about video games

Weiss: 🗣️🗣️I DONT KNOW WHO YOU THINK YOU ARE BUT LET ME TELL YOU WHO I AM. I AM THE GRANDDAUGHTER OF A HERO AND THE CHILD OF A VILLAIN. I AM A CITIZEN OF A FALLEN KINGDOM AND AN HEIR TO NOTHING. I WILL NOT BE DEFINED BY MY NAME BECAUSE I WILL BE THE ONE TO DEFINE IT. I AM WEISS SCHNEE AND I AM A HUNTRESS🗣️🗣️

Also I love that she’s canonically a fairly well known (at least in atlas) singer. Now I’m not sure she’d do that by choice based on what we saw in v4 but it’s super cool that that This Life is Mine is canon to remnant because of that. Also Jacques made her sing and she was like alright bet and then roasted him in song on stage in front of all those people and we don’t talk about that enough I think

Blake: I say that’s my baby and I’m really proud

Blake tells Sun she joined the white fang 5 years ago in v2. She was TWELVE she was a BABY!! If I had to give Blake a word the way she gives others a word it would be conviction. She never gives up on what she believes in. And she does her best to support others in doing the same, in v7 she tried to encourage ironwood and in v9 she tried to encourage Ruby poor girl got shut down both times but she tried!!

I also love how Blake is canonically a good artist and would like to see more of that. crwby show us a drawing Blake made of Yang

These:

Yang: this girl can fit so much love in her god. She goes to any and every length to protect the people she loves even if it’s to her own detriment (which someone really needs to have a conversation with her about) the Yellow Trailer tells us straight away that there’s more to her than meets the eye and yet there are people who fell into that trap anyway and criticize her character for “not being fun anymore” as if that isn’t the point!!

She’s so confident and cocky until a pretty girl Blake flirts with her I love the disaster lesbian representation.

She punched god in the tiddies!!! And she’d do it again I bet! Maybe we’ll see her punch one or both of the Brothers next I’d like that

This:

#answered #thanks Stevie!!!#rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long

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heavenlybutler · 2 years

Text

paper rings

pairing: austin!elvis x reader

request: not sure if u still want requests but if so can it be austin!elvis and the reader (his gf ofc) is like super spoiled and usually gets her way but this one time he doesn’t let her and she gets all pissed (idk what it is the reader wants you can make up anything)

summary: reader has been watching her friends get engaged or married left and right. so she finally brings the topic up to elvis and the conversation turns into an argument.

warnings: angst (apparently i’m on an angst kick lol), and fluff at the end.

wc: 2.5k

note: this is obviously inspired by taylor swift’s song that i love oh so much. this isn’t exactly what the person requested but once i started writing i just ran with it lol. but i still hope you enjoy! <3

“did you hear about louise and johnny?” you asked as you sat down on the couch, watching elvis who was fiddling with the piano.

elvis turned his body around on the bench to face you, “no, what ‘bout them?”

“johnny proposed last night…,” you said with a small smile on your face. it seemed like every one of your friends were at least engaged at this point. every time they announced it to you, you were obviously happy for them but all you thought was i hope it’s me next.

“that’s great,” elvis muttered and went silent for a few seconds.

you also fell silent because all you could think about was the day elvis would finally propose to you. you hoped it was soon, very soon.

“i mean it’s a little bit quick for them… don’t ya think?” elvis pointed out, breaking the silence.

you shook your head slowly, giving him an inquisitive look, “they’ve been together for almost two years, elvis. i think that’s plenty of time if you ask me…”

“four years,” you heard elvis mumble under his breath, assuming he was talking about the length of time the two of you had been together. elvis’ eyes fell to his lap for a few seconds before meeting yours, “tryin’ to tell me somethin’, honey?”

a smirk plastered on his face while a hopeful smile came to yours. “well…,” you started, having to stop and think about your next words, “i hope i wouldn’t have to tell you. i kind of hoped you’d already been thinking about it…”

little did elvis know that you had been agonizingly waiting for the day he would propose to you. there were moments when you thought it was finally going to happen but every time you got your hopes up, they would quickly fall, day after day.

“life has just been so busy, honey…,” elvis started, the smile that had currently occupied your lips disappeared at the doubtful sound in his voice. elvis’ eyes were now dropped to the floor while he fidgeted with his fingers in his lap.

you let a few moments of silence go by before saying, “so you haven’t thought about marriage? like at all?” elvis looked up when he heard the crack in your voice, which only occurred when you were upset.

you weren’t used to elvis ever shutting you down or saying no. everything you had ever wished or asked for, elvis delivered to you on a silver platter. most things you asked for were never actual physical items, just simple things like asking him to stay in bed a few minutes longer. elvis never told you no, ever. you were beyond grateful but you hadn’t realized how used to being spoiled you had grown.

“it ain’t that i haven’t thought about it, y/n… you know how busy i am. i just don’t think with everything that’s goin’ on…,” elvis trailed off as he thought about the embarrassing performance he had made on the steve allen show the other night, “that now is the right time for me to be thinkin’ about marriage…”

you quickly averted your eyes away from his as tears brimmed your eyesight. you didn’t know whether you should be angry or upset, but you were experiencing both.

“is it ever going to be the right time, elvis?” you blurted out, his eyes shooting wide open at your response. you lifted your head to look up at elvis, awaiting a response, but he was speechless.

your frustrated voice got a little louder but still not loud enough that his family that was currently in the kitchen could hear you, “it’s been four years, elvis. when we celebrated two years together, i thoug- i knew for sure that it wouldn’t be long until you were down on one knee. i just keep waiting for the day and it never comes…” you admitted with tears now running down your cheeks.

elvis bought his palms to his face before he mumbled under his breath, “it’s never enough…”

“what, elvis?” you asked softly this time.

you watched as he ran his fingers through his black hair, shaking his head.

“everything i do for you… is it ever going to be enough?” elvis almost shouted, standing up from the stool now. “you ain’t ever happy, y/n! i‘ve got you everything you’ve ever dreamed of! every single fucking thing! that car you wanted for years sitting in the driveway…,” elvis pointed out the window, “i bought it! this house we dreamed about for years, i bought it! i’ve bought you everything just because i wanted you to be happy! everything down to the damn shoes on your feet! now you wantin’ a damn ring… but what will it be after the ring? it ain’t ever enough for you! you always wantin’ more!” elvis screamed, hovering over where you sat on the couch.

you were immediately taken aback at his words. he had never said anything like that to you before. you couldn’t even process the words that left his mouth.

when you met elvis, you had just completed high school and you worked your ass off every day to help keep food on the table at home. and he knew that because he was in the same predicament. when his career picked up, he basically begged you to quit your job and just let him take care of you. you were very reluctant at first, telling him that you didn’t want to be his responsibility. but after weeks of him begging, you did.

elvis took very good care of you and your family. you couldn’t have ever wished for a better man. you had even mentioned going back to work to elvis but he immediately shut that down. he said there was absolutely no need for you to work.

elvis showered you with gifts constantly, like the car he had mentioned. when the two of you first met, you had mentioned your dream car to him in a casual conversation. he told you that he’d get it for you one day, which you never believed until he did. you didn’t drive the car for a week, begging elvis to take it back. you explained that you didn’t deserve it and he should’ve never spent so much money on you. but elvis told you that there was no one else in the world who was more worthy of it than you.

elvis had never thrown the things he had bought or done for you in your face until now.

you were violently sobbing, staring up at the man who had never hurt you a day in your life until this moment.

“i didn’t ask for any of this, elvis,” you managed to choke out. elvis’ didn’t even look like himself as he stood over you. he looked like a whole different person and sounded like someone you had never even met before.

elvis backed away from you, chuckling in disbelief.

“i was just as happy with you four years ago… when we didn’t have anything. none of this fancy shit matters to me and i’ve told you this... the only thing that matters is you, just you. i’d choose you over anything in this world,” you cried out through hiccuped breaths.

you thought elvis was calming down as he slowly paced back and forth in front of you. until he opened his mouth and his loud voice erupted through your ears again, “don’t you lie to me! you ain’t ever fuckin’ ha-!”

elvis was cut off as he heard his mother's voice interrupt him.

“elvis presley!” gladys shouted, having heard the commotion and walking into the living room to interfere.

both of your heads snapped over to her, gladys immediately noticed how upset you were as she looked between the both of you.

“what in god’s name?” gladys mumbled before elvis stormed out of the front door, slamming it when he did.

you began to cry more as you looked out the window to see him getting in one of his many cars and leaving.

“oh my goodness… what happened, sweetie?” gladys sat down on the couch next to you, wrapping her arms around you.

“i-i didn’t mean to m-make him upset,” you stuttered out but gladys could barely make out a word you were saying.

all she did was pull you closer into her chest as you soaked her shirt with your tears. “it’s alright, darlin’…,” gladys rubbed her hand up and down your back, “that ain’t him… hasn’t been himself since that show the other night. he’s just stressed and taking it all out on you… you don’t deserve this. i’m sure he didn’t mean it, baby… he’s just going through a lot.”

—

it had been hours since elvis stormed out and you were starting to worry about him as you crawled into your shared bed which felt empty without him. you weren’t worried that he wouldn’t come back, you were worried that he wouldn’t want you here when he did.

you had cried for hours, insisting you go look for him but gladys told you that you were way too upset to be driving.

you laid in the bed, trying your hardest to fall asleep so you could get him off of your mind for what felt like hours. you tossed and turned until you finally heard the bedroom door open.

you slowly turned over, squinting your tired eyes to see elvis’ frame entering the door and shutting it behind him. you didn’t know what you expected to happen next but you knew you had things you needed to explain to him first.

“y/n,” elvis spoke, much quieter than earlier. his tone was different as well, he actually sounded like himself.

“you awake?” elvis whispered as he walked closer to the bed, sitting on the edge and placing his hand on your lower calf that was under the covers.

you nodded your head, half hoping he wouldn’t see you because of how dark it was in the room, but he did.

elvis reached over to the bedside table, cutting a dim lamp on. his eyes finally being able to see your face which broke his heart.

your eyes were puffy, your face was bright red, and your lips were swollen from crying so much.

“i’m so sorry, darlin’… i-“

“before you start i want you to listen to me,” you mumbled as you sat up in the bed, “i’m thankful for everything you’ve done for me… i’m thankful for everything you’ve done for my family, everything. i love the things you get me, even though i reiterate to you every time that i don’t need anything else… because i don’t but you love to shower me with things and i’m fine with that as long as you continue to love doing so. but what you said about the ring… i couldn’t care less about the ring. i’d literally marry you with paper rings…,” you paused as a small smile appeared on both of your faces for the first time in hours, “but what i’m trying to say is, i want to marry the man you are now just as much as i wanted to marry the boy who had to scrape up money for two weeks just to take me on my first date,” you finally finished your rambling with a gentle smile as elvis placed his hand on yours.

elvis shook his head as thought back to what he had said to you earlier. he’d never been so disappointed in himself. the things he said about you wanting more and more were simply not true. he knew he should’ve been saying those words to the colonel…

“baby, i’m so sorry…,” elvis started, squeezing your hand, “i shouldn’t have said any of those things. i don’t know what was going through my mind. it’s just the whole thing with the press and the colonel…,” elvis trailed off looking over to the floor but you squeezed his hand to bring his attention back to you.

“i understand. i know it’s hard on you, honey,” you reassured him. it wasn’t hard to see how much of a toll the recent commotion had caused elvis.

“it all just got to me today and i snapped… i took everything out on you and i know shouldn’t have. god, i wish i wouldn’t have… if i could take everything back i promise i would but i can’t,” elvis spoke as tears appeared in his eyes. you could tell how much he regretted it from the disappointment written all over his face.

“um… i got you something, i know it’s not what you want right now but…,” elvis paused as he reached into his pocket.

“elvis, no… i don’t need anything else,” you shook your head as elvis pulled the gift out of his pocket. you couldn’t see what it was since it was wrapped in his large hand.

“it’s a promise ring,” elvis unveiled a small black velvet box, holding it out in front of you.

you slowly took it out of his palm, clutching it in your hand.

“i don’t need this,” you blurted out, attempting to hand the box back to him but he wouldn’t take it.

elvis chuckled at your actions, “at least open it, darlin’…”

you then noticed you had the same problem that elvis had with you, you couldn’t say no to him. so you reluctantly opened the box, your jaw dropping when you finally saw the ring. it was beautiful but very far from dainty.

“ya like it?” elvis asked with a smile as he took in your facial expressions.

“i-i love it, elvis… but i can’t take this…,” you whispered as you closed the box and sat it down on the sheets in front of you.

“yes, you can, doll,” elvis said as he picked the box back up and took the ring out, taking your hand in his.

“i know this isn’t what you want right now but it’s a promise- i’m making a promise with this,” elvis spoke as he held up the ring, “i promise when i feel that the time is right, which i believe is very soon… that i will marry you, y/n y/m/n y/l/n… i will get down on one knee and ask you the question. i promise i will, but i want it to be perfect. i don’t want any of the stress that’s currently on my shoulders to be on my mind when that does happen. all i want to be able to think about is you… okay?”

you teared up at his words, he made you absolutely speechless. all you could do was nod your head with a large smile on your face.

elvis lifted your hand so he could slide the beautiful ring on your finger, which surprisingly fit perfectly.

“i love you,” elvis whispered before placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“i love you more,” you smiled, placing another peck on his lips.

“not possible…”

#austin butler fic #austin butler #austin butler elvis #elvis movie #elvis x reader #austin x reader #elvis austin butler #elvis imagine #elvis presley #austin butler smut #elvis presley fic

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ladytauria · 4 months

Note

ohohoho... In a hoarse whisper, “Fuck, you’re killing me here.” jaydick yeaaaaboiiii

iiii went a little overboard on this 😂it ended up over 7k, so i won't b posting the whole thing here, but have a preview ;)

(editing to add as a warning/heads up: jason is trans here, and i use both male (cock/dick for clit) and female (cunt) terms for his genitals <3)

>> six little deaths <<

“Fuck, little wing, you’re killing me here.” Dick’s hoarse whisper makes Jason smirk. He settles back against Dick’s chest, popping another kernel of popcorn in his mouth, making sure to wiggle his hips a little as he does.

The hot, hard length of Dick’s cock presses into Jason’s ass through his thin, cotton shorts. It makes a thrill rise in Jason’s belly, knowing he has such an effect on Dick.

Cook, suave, charming Dick. Everyone wants him. But—right now at least—he wants Jason.

The thrill is sweeter knowing Dick won’t do anything. Can’t, not with Bruce sitting in a recliner half a couch away.

He feels Dick’s slow, hissing breath. Smirks to himself, and then raises his fingers, sticking them in his mouth to clean the butter and salt from them.

Dick grips his hips tight enough to bruise.

Jason chances looking at him, fingers still in his mouth, and finds those normally electric blue eyes dark and stormy. His thighs clench.

Dick grabs his wrist. Jason doesn’t resist as Dick pulls his fingers from his mouth. The look on his face— Jason half expects him to kiss him, Bruce be damned. His pulse is a staccato beat in his chest.

Dick doesn’t kiss him. Instead, his lips brush Jason’s ear, and in a voice thick with promise, he whispers, “You’re going to pay for this later.”

Jason shudders, head to toe, skin going tight and prickly. Fuck, yes, please. Dick is always the perfect amount of mean—that’s half of why Jason likes working him up so much.

The other half is being at the center of his attention.

Jason rocks his hips, relishing in the shocked, almost pained gasp he gets. “I’m counting on it.”

Dick growls. Under the blanket, he grinds the heel of his palm over Jason’s groin, and Jason gasps before he can help himself, bucking up into that hand as sparks light up his veins.

“Boys.” Bruce’s deep, commanding voice makes Jason shudder again; red staining his cheeks. For half a moment, he thinks they’ve gotten caught, but then Bruce just says, “Don’t make me separate you. You can get through a movie without fighting.”

“Sorry, Bruce,” Dick says. He doesn’t sound very sorry at all. “We’ll be good.”

He splays his hand over Jason’s belly—a possessive, proprietary move that already has Jason trembling—and presses, a steady, even pressure that makes him want to squirm.

Conscious of Bruce’s attention though, he doesn’t. Instead, he just takes it; breaths getting faster, deeper, until he’s nearly panting. Dick’s hot length against his ass is starting to feel less funny and more taunting.

How much longer is left in the movie? Jason stopped paying attention somewhere around the first fifteen minutes. He tries to focus on it now, ignoring the way his underwear has grown sticky with his arousal. It’s hard to focus, but—based on the music, the snippets of dialogue… they’ve got to be getting close to the end, right?

Dick rubs his belly a little—Jason bites his lip to trap his moan. A little of it sneaks it out anyway, a soft, “Nnn,” that makes Dick shiver under him, and press a smile against Jason’s shoulder.

It would be an asshole move to excuse himself to the bathroom, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t like, touch himself or anything—it’s tempting, but. Dick can be kind of a sadist, and that’s fun, but he’s already in enough trouble for starting this shit in the first place. Getting himself off without Dick’s permission is just asking for worse, and Jason’s got stuff to do tomorrow.

But he would like to step away for a second. Just a second, so he can catch his breath and not give up the game before they’ve even gotten started. If he leaves, though, then all Dick will have is a blanket to protect his bulge from Bruce’s eye…

‘Course, that’ll be a problem either way, won’t it? They’ll have to get up and go to bed eventually, so. That would at least give Dick a chance to figure something out. So really Jason would be doing him a favor, right?

Right.

Jason squirms a little, and then says, “I gotta pee.”

“Do you want me to pause the movie?” Bruce asks.

“Um. No, I won’t be gone that long, and uh. I’ve seen this one before.” He hasn’t. Dick lets him go, although the brief look they exchange before Jason scampers out of the room tells him Dick is more than aware of Jason’s fib.

Jason’s little wink probably didn’t help matters, but. Oh well.

In the bathroom, Jason washes his face with cool water before sitting on the closed toilet and getting his phone out. He checks his email—some review bloggers he follows have posted new reviews, there’s an author newsletter, and oh! One of his favorite fic authors posted something new. He opens that to read later—tomorrow, probably, although it’s short enough…

No.

He’s already pushing. Don’t borrow trouble, Mama used to say, and while Jason may not follow her advice to the letter… he at least tries not to borrow more than he’s prepared to handle.

Jason clears the spam from his email, unsubscribes from some things he’s been meaning to for a while, and then stands, stretching. He splashes a little more water on his face—and turns, ready to go back, only to bump into a hard, warm chest.

It startled a squeak from him, all that color flooding back into his face.

“Hello, little wing,” Dick purrs, crowding him against the sink. “That was a neat little escape you made.”

Jason’s heart beats rabbit quick in his chest. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says. “I had to piss. Didn’t figure you’d appreciate me going all over your lap, is all.”

Dick snorts. “You had to go get yourself off, you mean.”

“I didn’t get off!” Jason scowls. “I know better.”

Jason has to tilt his head back in order to meet his eyes. He can feel his knees trembling. The ache in his groin pulses, slow and steady like a heartbeat, the crotch of his underwear uncomfortably damp.

“Like you knew better than to start something in front of B?” Dick raises an eyebrow. “Y’know he lectured me about making you uncomfortable?”

Jason’s face burns. “I…” He draws up his chin. “Maybe you shouldn’t be such an asshole all the time, then.”

Dick scoffs. “See, and that’s why I don’t believe you.” He pats Jason’s cheek—the condescension in it makes Jason shudder. “That’s alright, little wing. I’ll just have to check.” He pinches Jason’s cheek, then, making him whimper, hole clenching both at the promise and the way Dick’s voice drops when he says it. It’s not quite Nightwing register, but it’s close, and—

Jason shudders again.

He wants.

“Take your shorts off, Jason,” Dick murmurs, and Jason hooks his thumbs in them without hesitation, letting them slip off of his hips and fall to his ankles.

“Good.” Dick pats his cheek again. “Turn around. Hands on the sink.”

Jason feels like he’s on fire. He turns slowly, spreading his legs until his thighs no longer touch. Dick guides him backwards, Jason shuffling his feet to keep from getting caught in his shorts. His crotch is soaked.

Dick traces the hem of his panties. “Would you look at these,” he purrs, snapping the band.

The back of Jason’s neck burns.

When he bought them, he’d thought it would be funny. Oh, ha-ha, a pair of panties designed to look like the bottom half of the Robin uniform. It’s less funny now.

Jason’s grip tightens on the edge of the sink as Dick pulls them down to bunch around his mid thigh. The bathroom air is cool against his slit, and he swears he can feel every droplet of slick gathered there. He bites his lip.

Mistake.

Dick spreads his folds—Jason bites so hard he tastes blood, feels it bead on his lip. Can’t help but look at himself in the mirror; the way his curls halo around in his head in perfect dishevelment, his face blotchy red, bottom lip fat and swollen.

He looks like a fucking slut.

“You’re so wet, little wing.” Dick’s tone is almost scolding.

Jason wants to cry. Jason wants to raise his hips in offering, rise onto his tip-toes and beg for Dick’s cock.

Stop being so fucking easy, he scolds himself. Can’t play too hard to get, either, but he also needs to stop damn-near creaming his pants any time Dick gets a little intense. Dick’s attention is heady. Addictive. Jason doesn’t want to give it up if he can help it, and that means keeping a careful balance.

Luckily, Jason is used to giving men people what they want.

He swallows down the urge. “Whose fucking fault is that?” he grits out, letting his eyes drop again; staring at the marbled sink instead.

Jason yelps when Dick swats him. It’s not hard, he’s taken worse, but the unexpectedness of it… The threat of it… It makes him swallow.

“You know damn well whose fault it is,” Dick says, voice low and vaguely threatening. It makes Jason shiver, cunt fluttering. “But we’ll be talking about your behavior later. For now…” Dick probes a finger inside of him. Jason’s cunt welcomes it, swallowing him greedily. His middle finger finds Jason’s t-dick, stroking small circles around it.

Jason whines helplessly, legs quivering as he fights to stay still. He’s so— He’s so sensitive.

Dick teases him, giving him only the barest stimulation, moving so fucking slowly it’s almost agonizing. Jason is panting by the time he’s done, sweat beading at his temples. His fingers ache, knuckles white.

“Hm. Looks like you were telling the truth,” Dick says. He takes his hand away, and Jason can’t help the way he whimpers, meeting Dick’s eyes in the mirror.

There’s a thin sheen of tears in his own now; the sclera red. Dick looks unaffected—save for his eyes, crackling electric blue that cut Jason to the core.

“Clean yourself up, little wing,” he says, wiping his fingers on Jason’s thigh before patting Jason’s ass. “I told Bruce I’d check on you and apologize before going to bed. You should go say goodnight to him.”

>> continue reading <<

#jaydick #dickjay #batcest #dcu #tauriawritesfanfic #tauriawritessmut #paprikadotmp4 #asks and answers

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paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 · 6 months

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Some Grayson kid headcanons I just got:

Mar'i's favorite animals are monkeys, cause she thinks they're super cute and loves how wildly fun they are

Jake would used to always take his Nightwing and Starfire plushies with him everywhere he goes whenever Dick and Kory aren't around him, since he feels comforted by them and also a sense of warm familiar safety with them wrapped up in his arms

Mar'i gatekeeps all her snacks from Jake, since that boy will literally eat it all up if left alone with him. She even hides them in her own room sometimes if she has to. This is especially done whenever it's mainly about Starfire's very famous zorkaberry tarts and Jake KNOWS that Mar'i has some left, which are usually the last ones after him and everyone else finishes theirs quicker

Mar'i has a spider plushie and will throw it at Jake to scare him away for fun or whenever he's purposely being annoying to her and she wants him to stop. It always gets him to scream loudly, yelling "NO!" and fall back to the floor and immediately run to Dick and Kory or just straight to his bedroom so that she won't chase him with it

Me likey…..Me Likey A LOT

@spider-jaysart

If I may….(clears throat)

- The two have a tally counter, white it be a whiteboard or in the StarCave’s main computer, of the amount of times they’ve rescued each other from being captured by villains and rouges or from immediate danger on the field. So far, Mar’i leads ahead by two rescues. The latest in which had her burst into the hideout’s walls as Lion Tamer (an OC supervillain whose a street orphan turned to ex Lion Tamer at a circus, hence his name around the siblings’ age range) was interrogating Skybird for information about the secret codes to Bludhaven Central Bank’s vaults via his pet lions, a peanut butter like substance they can smell and taste and finally some stocks meant to keep his ankles in place while he was also handcuffed with power dampening cuffs. Jake still fumes when he’s reminded of that since now his sensitivity that’s meant in being a family secret (with the exceptions of sone of their closest friends) is known by one of his frienemies.

- Due to the two of them being descended from feline ancestors as per their Tamaranean halves, Mar’i and Jake instinctively sometimes follow both rodents including mice and rats and also bright laser pointers. Though Jake is only one known to purr when very comfy like their mother can

- Speaking of their mother, Kory often times helps them maintain their hair as to prevent them from becoming unbearable for them in one form or another. She has quite the experience with her own follicles needing to strike a happy balance between smooth enough (whether it has fiery curls or it’s silky smooth) to comb while maintaining its massive length throughout the years. Despite Jake usually keeping his hair short, had it grown as large as his mother and sister’s, his would be no exception

#mari grayson #jake grayson #dick grayson #koriand'r #sfw #headcanon

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kess-in-the-perthchimzone · 2 months

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PerthChimon have a lot potential and have grown a lot in their abilities. But I feel like Dangerous Romance, whether right or wrongly, didn’t live up to the audience expectations. I’m hoping that they will get another series this year and it will be better received. If it’s not, I admit I will be alittle worried about their status within Gmmtv. I don’t like seeing good actors go to waste. My personal preference is for them to do a mafia AU, with two warring families sort of like Romeo/Juliet. But I will be happy with anything. Anyways just my two cents, love your meta!

Hi! Thanks for sharing all this! LOVE the warring families, Romeo & Juliet idea!!

I had to sit with this ask a bit because my brain wanted to write a novel about how wonderful Dangerous Romance is in so many ways and how I think it has been judged more harshly and unfairly than any other piece of media I’ve seen so far in my time in BL. But I have written a lot about it (all tagged here) and spoken about that at great length on the @criticallyobs podcast and I have to think anyone reading this already knows how I feel about DR, so I don’t want to distract from the actual point of this ask, which is PerthChimon’s future.

Regardless of how their next show performs, which I’ll come back to, I feel very confident they have a long future ahead for several reasons:

-Their popularity is clearly on the upward trajectory. Just this year to start they’ve had two fan meetings in Japan, one in Hong Kong, and one in Taipei. They themselves have showed us in videos how amazed they are by the crowds turning up at airports and waiting outside venues.

-GMMTV has invested a lot of time and resources in them since Nov 2022. They have an established brand (in terms of color, logo, etc) a new mascot (SOL CUTE MY BELOVED), are being featured at LOL, and had a role in the GMMTV fan weekend in Japan. While I don’t think it’s hard for GMMTV to split up a pair like Mark & Neo who’ve done one show together, once any two people are an official couple within the organization, I think GMMTV has almost no vested interest in splitting them. They would lose years of promotion and time developing the brand assets. Things like shared merch are a sign that GMMTV has faith they will continue to SELL for a long time.

-And on that note, their merch has been selling! The box set for Dangerous Romance is sold out. The photobook sold out and had to go to reorder. Money talks!!

-PerthChimon want to stay together a long time!! And given that I believe every branded pair breakup we’ve seen so far has been initiated by one or more members of the pair, I think that is important to note. Here’s just one quote:

Taken from this amazing PC translation blog.

Okay and then I want to talk about how DR performed and how their future show will very briefly. My number one takeaway is I don’t think all the negative voices on social media are a good marker for how it performed and that while it wasn’t a smash hit, I think Dangerous Romance did well by several markers:

-Views on YT are consistently over 1 million and many have cracked 2. Chimon’s OST is over 3

-DR did regularly trend in Thailand and several other countries on Twitter

-it consistently performed in the top 10 on the Viu streaming app; including being ranked number one (and P’Tha took notice!)

I also have spoken with several new people who are discovering it now and aren’t biased by the constant negativity towards it that was happening in the fall last year, and absolutely loved it (in fact, who couldn’t understand how there was backlash at all), so I think it’s going to be a show that becomes more popular and well regarded over time.

But all this aside, it’s hard to know how PC’s next show is going to do. A whole lot of people online already seem to have made their minds up about them based on their physical intimacy in a show set in high school. I however, am confident of two things:

1. They have only gotten closer and more physically comfortable with each other. That has been clear in their recent interviews and fan meetings.

2. They are absolutely amazing actors who are committed to their craft. They wouldn’t be this excited about their upcoming show if they didn’t feel confident about it. And they won’t give us anything less than their all!

This is way more than you asked for, I am just incredibly fascinated by the behind the scenes of branded pairs and why they exist and how they make money so I think about these things often!

#perth tanapon #chimon wachirawit #perthchimon #kess babbles about dangerous romance #kess gets knives emoji

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happi-tree · 3 months

Text

heart, liver, and other matters of the body

Each morning, Lincoln takes in the face in the mirror, and sometimes, he likes what he sees.

Other times, Link glances over the wide eyes done up in borrowed eyeliner, the jawline that seems too square, too sharp today, frets at the broad slope of shoulders, the indelicate scarred brow and callused hands and battered, ashy knees, tries to sculpt the features there into something more feminine with willpower alone.

Or: Lincoln tries on a dress for the first time and comes out to her boyfriend.

ao3

Here's my Swiftli Week fic for Day 6: Secrets! 🤫 I did some research for this one, and it was lots of fun. Hope you enjoy!

(P.S. A little context for the title: xīn’gān - Mandarin term of affection which literally translates to “heart and liver” but is equivalent to “heart and soul” or “my everything” in English. Implies that, like a heart or liver, this partner is something one cannot live without.)

Lincoln Li-Wilson is buzzing with nervous energy all throughout their shopping date.

Link’s boyfriend, Taylor, can clearly tell that something’s off (he’s let his emotions show more plainly over the past few months, but he’s always been observant, always cared, and that makes Link smile fondly).

Lincoln runs a hand along the racks of clothes, distracting anxious nerves through the textures and colors, and graciously, Taylor doesn’t ask.

Not yet , a voice in Lincoln’s head says, only to be batted away by Taylor’s hand brushing against his own as they sift through the clothes together.

The mall doesn’t see a lot of traffic, these days - hasn’t seen a lot of traffic since their parents were teenagers, to be honest - so it almost feels like they have the place to themselves.

It’s nice, Link thinks while thumbing through the hangers, stopping on a flash of buttercup yellow.

It feels soft against the skin, weighty enough to be substantial but not stifling, and the silhouette…

Lincoln takes the garment off the rack, adds it to the others.

Today, today, I’m gonna tell him today, Link repeats like a mantra, disguising nervous, shaking hands by flapping them a little.

“All good, qīn?” Taylor asks, meeting eyes over the rack, and Lincoln’s heart flutters a little at the affectionate name.

After learning how much Link enjoys terms of endearment, Taylor’s insisted on using Mandarin pet names, citing that they still keep up his “cool and slick” reputation in public. Lincoln frankly thinks it’s pretty silly, since anyone with eyes can tell how sappy Taylor is when it comes to…

“Mm,” Link nods. It isn’t a lie, but it isn’t exactly the truth either. “Gonna try these on.”

“Awesome, man!” Taylor replies, and Lincoln doesn’t even flinch. “Want me to, uh, join you in there?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

The offer is very tempting, Link won’t lie, and definitely something they’ve done before - though the trying-on-clothes part historically has the tendency to be abandoned in favor of making out.

“Not today, shǎguā,” Lincoln tells him, voice kept purposefully light and teasing. “You’re gonna have to wait this time.”

“Boo. Have it your way, but I’m definitely sitting on one of those little benches so you can model for me! Plus, my legs could use the break.”

Satisfied, Link leads them through the maze of racks, tries not to dwell on things as they enter the changing rooms marked MEN.

True to his word, Taylor takes up his post on one of the cushioned benches in one of the alcoves, taking out his phone to scroll once he clocks which room Lincoln’s picked.

Link steps in, closes the door, breathes out, and comes face-to-face with the figure in the mirror.

Lincoln’s hair has grown out in the last year or so - rather than being buzzed at the sides, the curls now end around jawline length, depending on how they’re styled.

Taylor visits Hell more frequently, now that things have calmed a little, and Link’s gone with him, asked Terry a bunch of questions about upkeep and styling and braiding that were probably a little too much all at once but were met with enthusiasm and more in-depth answers than what YouTube had to offer.

Link brushes back a few stray twists, meticulously dotted with colored beads and gold cuffs, complemented by the gold flowers dangling from each earlobe and the gold eyeshadow at the inner corners of each eye.

Satisfied, Lincoln begins trying things on, breezing through a graphic Garfield sweatshirt (comfy, but not big enough), a pair of joggers (right size, but the fabric feels a little weird), and an oversized tee shirt (soft and just roomy enough, definitely something to buy).

There’s just one last thing to try.

Carefully, Link takes off the shirt, hangs it back up, pulls on the last article of clothing, shimmies out of the gym shorts from underneath it.

Lincoln fumbles with the side zipper for a little, worried for the briefest moment that it wouldn’t fit around the torso, but manages to get the hang of it, clasps the hook and eye at the top edge awkwardly into place.

Link smooths down the fabric at the hips with nervous hands, then finally allows for a glance upward.

Lincoln stares. And stares.

Someone unfamiliar stares back. But it’s a good unfamiliar, a right unfamiliar.

Link has practiced saying the words in the mirror before, has felt how the shapes of them formed on the tongue, has spoken them into being in whispered, low tones. Link has treated it the same way as practicing his facial expressions, a daily ritual, trying to figure out how to show the right emotions, making sure they look and feel correct on the face as well as in the heart.

Each morning, Lincoln takes in the face in the mirror, and sometimes, he likes what he sees.

On those days, like this morning, Lincoln tries out the words again, mouths them out once more in the present.

She. Her.

And they feel real, feel as true as if she had just taken a whiff of that blue power from the FBI.

Sometimes, they don’t fit, just like he and him don’t feel right, sometimes, like a shirt with the wrong texture, a bite of food that’s a little too mushy.

But sometimes, like right now, they fit Lincoln like a glove.

They fit her like this dress.

The bodice hugs Link’s torso, and though it’s painfully obvious that her upper body is all boxes and angles and no curves, she finds that she doesn’t mind too much.

Straps, about the width of two fingers, tie off in elegant bows that rest at the midpoint between her neck and shoulders, drawing emphasis to her collarbones in a way that makes them look almost delicate. Link frowns a bit at the way the neckline makes her shoulders look so wide.

The light yellow fabric goes phenomenally well with her complexion in a way that makes her dark, freckled skin nearly glow, and the texture is a little stiffer than she’s used to, but it has a nice thickness to it and doesn’t chafe against her skin, with enough give that she instinctively knows wouldn’t hinder her range of motion.

The skirt is full, gathered fabric flaring out around her hips and stopping a few inches above her knees, though she thinks it was probably meant to be a longer dress on someone with shorter legs.

She twists around in it, trying to catch a glimpse of different angles, and the way the hemline flutters around her thighs is completely alien to her, but she thinks she likes it.

She feels feminine. Girly. Is girly.

Lincoln feels like a girl. She is one.

“Link, you okay?” Taylor’s voice is muffled through the door, and there’s a small shadow beneath it, followed by a half-hearted little knock.

Shit.

“You’ve been in there awhile.”

Fuck, has she? Maybe she got a little too carried away staring and lost track of time.

Link wracks her brain for a proper response, a yeah, I’m okay or yes, I’m fine, I’ll be out in a minute , but they get stopped up in her throat as she realizes that she’s still wearing the dress and she hasn’t come out to him yet like she planned to.

“Is it okay if I come in? No funny business, I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Taylor wears dresses and skirts all the time, it’ll be fine, he won’t be weirded out by it, Lincoln attempts to rationalize. It doesn’t really work, so she tries to speak again.

“‘M fine,” is all that comes out, high-pitched but not in a pretty way.

“You don’t sound fine,” Taylor argues, voice softened out at the edges so that it doesn’t sound accusatory. “Can I please come in?”

Link squints her eyes shut against it all and nods minutely, then realizes that Taylor can’t see her and manages a shaky “Yes.”

“Okay,” he says, and Link hears the door creak open, then shut, hears Taylor’s quiet footfalls.

“So, can I -? Woah .”

Cautiously, Link opens her eyes to see Taylor shaking off an expression of… bewilderment? Confusion? Curiosity?

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, “I’m just - I wasn’t expecting - you look really pretty, dude.”

Feeling a little too overexposed, too raw, too much, Link can’t help the way she flinches.

“Oh, baby,” Taylor says, sadness evident in his voice, and Link hates the sound of it, hates that she made him that way. “Can I touch you?”

Not trusting her voice, Link nods, and her boyfriend steps closer, winds an arm around her back, and she melts into his hold, crumbles into his familiar warmth.

“You’re crying,” he observes quietly, reaching with his other hand to thumb away a tear, and Lincoln hadn’t even registered the wetness spilling down her cheeks until he mentioned it.

“I’m fine, I promise.” Link’s voice sounds a little too deep to her own ears, discordant with the girl in the mirror, and another tear slips out anyway. “Just… overwhelmed?”

“Okay,” Taylor says, “We can work with that, xīn’gān.”

Xīn’gān , Lincoln thinks, heart and liver, my everything . Taylor only uses that when he’s serious.

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking?” he asks.

“It’s silly,” Link starts, then continues before Taylor can refute it. “I just… it’s hard, and I’ve been meaning to tell you, I promise, I just… couldn’t figure out when or how.”

She laughs a little, then, high-strung and nervous.

Lincoln pulls away, glances at their reflections, and Taylor’s eyes follow hers.

“You’re not, uh, breaking up with me in this dressing room, right?”

“No,” she says, a little too loud. “No,” she repeats, forcing her voice softer, higher. “This is a good thing, I swear, it’s just…” “Hard?” Taylor asks.

“Mm.”

Lincoln inhales shakily, reaches for Taylor’s hand, and Taylor latches them together, gives them a light squeeze.

God, she’s so lucky to have him.

Her free hand fists in the fabric of the dress, and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“I think I’m trans.”

She said it. There’s no taking it back now.

Taylor’s thumb runs along the side of her hand. “That’s amazing, babe. I’m so proud of you,” he says, and Link knew in the back of her mind that her boyfriend would always be supportive, but that last irrational bit of fear finally vaporizes.

Lincoln opens her eyes, and Taylor’s looking at her with so much open affection that it makes her eyes water up with tears again, and she brushes them away.

“I’m not… I still like being a guy, sometimes,” She says, the words leaving her in a rush, “but sometimes I feel more like a girl? And sometimes it’s a little bit of both?”

“That’s cool,” Taylor says with another encouraging squeeze to their joined hands.

“I think I might be… bigender?” Link tells him, and wow, it’s so nice to hear the word aloud, to tell someone. “Or maybe genderfluid? Genderqueer, definitely.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Her boyfriend says with a smile, looking a little misty-eyed himself. “Coming out’s really fucking nerve-wracking, isn’t it?”

“No kidding.”

“Is Link still okay to use?”

“I think so, yeah,” Lincoln responds, and she’s thought quite a bit about it. Despite how masculine her full name is, Link still likes it a lot. Maybe she’d find something later, but for now, she’s content with it.

“I, um,” Lincoln stutters, a little unsure of how to word it. “Is it alright if you use she/ her for me today? I still like he/him, but… feminine feels better right now.”

“Of course. Speaking of feminine, this dress looks fantastic on you.”

“Really?” Link asks, twisting a little and glancing back at the mirror, grateful to see that her makeup still looks okay.

“Really. You should buy it! If you like it, too, of course.”

“I do,” She confirms, wiping up the last of her tears, letting go of Taylor’s hand to pat her face dry with the backs of her palms. “I really do.”

“Did you do a little spin yet?” There’s a fond excitement in Taylor’s eyes as he looks her up and down - not just appraisingly, but lovingly.

She shakes her head.

“Trust me, it’s the best part. I know these things.”

Lincoln spins around a little, curious, and the way the dress floats around her, the way the fabric laps against her legs like waves - it’s addictive and oddly freeing. She twirls a little faster, reveling in the feel of it, and a smile stretches wide on her face as she lets out a little whoop of excitement.

“This is amazing, Tay!”

“It’s great, right?”

Link comes to a stop, her dress still in motion from the force of her whirling, and she’s giddy as the fabric swooshes, then settles.

“Yeah. Wow, I kinda never wanna take this off.” She smooths her hands down her sides and over her waist, looking up again at her reflection.

She looks happy.

Lincoln is happy - really, truly, incandescently happy, in a way she doesn’t think she’s felt in a long, long time.

“You do kinda need to take it off to buy it, though,” Taylor says. “As much as I love how gorgeous you look in it.”

“Guess so,” Link says, already dreading changing back. Maybe she can convince Taylor to help her out of the dress - with minimal making out. Maybe.

“Have you told anyone else?” Taylor asks her, dispersing Lincoln’s brief fantasies.

Link shakes her head. “I thought about telling Dad, but, well, he’d want to tell Grant… things are still a little rocky between us, but, like, I still love him, and I don’t wanna hurt his feelings by not telling him directly? Does that even make sense?” “It does, I think,” Taylor says.

“I’m gonna tell Normal and Scary, soon, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“And… I was thinking of talking to Hermie about… this. Gender,” Lincoln confesses, though she still cringes at the thought of it. She didn’t like to admit it to herself, but they probably knew a lot more about gender nonconformity than Link’s figured out through her own research.

“Mm, my auncle probably has some good insights, even if the two of you don’t really get along,” Taylor muses, seemingly on a similar train of thought.

“She's probably not gonna make fun of me, right?”

Her boyfriend’s eyes gleam with demonic light even in the weird fluorescent lighting of the changing room, brows furrowed, and Lincoln’s stomach does a funny little flip at the expression. “Link,” He says seriously, “If they’re even the slightest bit mean about it, I’m fucking his shit up on sight. I don’t care if we’re related - Nobody messes with my girlfriend.”

My girlfriend, Link’s mind plays back, loops it like a broken record as something shining and effervescent floods the cavities of her lungs. My girlfriend, my girlfriend, I’m his girlfriend .

Lincoln must not be making the right face, because Taylor hastily tacks on, “W-who is also my boyfriend! Sometimes?”

He blinks up at her, brows tilted upwards in concern, a silent are you okay? and god, Link is so, so happy that she lets out a little huff of laughter.

“No, no, it’s not that, I just… I didn’t realize how much I’d like hearing you say that.”

“Oh?” A shit-eating grin forms on her boyfriend’s face, and before she can do anything about it, he’s reaching up to cup her cheek in his hand. “I have the most beautiful, gorgeous girlfriend in the world. I adore her big brown eyes, her pretty hair, her stunning smile… oh, my god, look at that, there it is, my girlfriend’s smile.”

“Stop,” Link says, half-hearted and breathless, so much heat rushing to her dimpled cheeks that Taylor, even with his demonic heritage, can probably feel it. And she would look down, but she’d only meet Taylor’s smug, knowing smirk, and that would only make her more ridiculously happy.

Taylor moves his hands to her waist, squeezes at her sides, and though she’s sure he’s continuing his goofy little litany, she’s a little too overwhelmed by sheer exhilaration to make out most of it.

Not quite sure what to do with all her joy, laughter tumbles out, lower and raspier than she would like at the moment, but loud and bright and full.

“Oh, wow, my girlfriend just laughed and it’s my favorite sound in the whole wide world!” Taylor says, and she can hear the beam in his voice, so wide that his eyes narrow to crescents. “My girlfriend looks so pretty in this dress. I’m gonna have to buy her a dozen more.”

“You are not doing that!”

“Of course I am,” Taylor refutes, shaking his head with that adorable vehemence of his. “I’m rich! One for every day of the week, at least. You look so happy in it. I’m gonna spoil you so bad, wô de tiānshî.”

“Wô de tiānshî,” Lincoln parrots, sounding out the rise and fall of the syllables carefully. “I haven’t heard that one. What does it mean?”

“‘My angel,’” Taylor tells her softly, thumbs gently circling at her waist, and the reverence in his eyes makes her feel simultaneously unmovable and unsteady on her feet. “I always thought it would suit you, but traditionally, it’s used for girlfriends. Unless that’s too, like, weirdly gendered, uh, if it makes you uncomfortable -”

Link crushes her wonderful, amazing boyfriend to herself in a tight hug.

In an instant, Taylor’s arms circle around her, too, and so much about her has felt wrong lately, but this has always, always felt right.

“I love it,” Lincoln says, “I love you . Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Love you, too,” he replies, and they stay like that for a few long moments.

Eventually, Link pulls away, and Taylor drops his arms.

“So, wanna get this dress and get out of here and go for froyo in the food court?” He asks.

“Only if you help me take this off,” Link answers, waggling her eyebrows like Taylor had earlier. "Seriously, the zippers on these things are kinda tricky."

Taylor laughs.

“That’s my girl.”

#happy international women's day!!! *transes a guy's gender*#bigender link is so real to me okay. so real #also. this is the first time i think i've written someone coming out maybe 😅 hope it reads somewhat realistically!#also ft some mandarin terms of endearment from taylor (and link. link's learning :])#okay uhhhhh hope y'all like it!!!#dndads #fic #swiftli #dndads swiftli week 2024 #happi scribbles

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heyiwrotesomethings · 2 years

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Hello Maddy! BirbMcGee here back at cha! I would like to request a Wedding or Proposal oneshot with Shinobu; They/Them with a tuxedo, (Or anything, it doesn't matter!) that's so nervous on how they're going to plan this, and eventually when/if Shinobu says yes, they get so emotional due to the fact that they thought she was going to say, "No."

Please take all the time you need, and thank you! One last thing; Please take care! You're self-care is everyone's top priority here! 💪

She Said Yes?!

Shinobu Kochou x They/Them Reader

A/N: Hi Birb! Hope this was worth the wait! Went with the proposal for this one. Word Count: 1,453

(Y/n) had been grappling with the same one question for months. Should they or shouldn’t they ask Shinobu for her hand in marriage.

Most would say yes, why not? They’ve been together for years, it seems only natural to tie the knot after so many wonderful years together.

However, it had not been especially easy to achieve such a loving relationship. Shinobu had been wary at the start, holding (Y/n) at arm”s-length. Whenever (Y/n) would ask her out, which had been many, many times, she’d turn them down every time with a smile and a sympathetic pat on the back.

Being rejected so many times, they had almost given up. In fact, when Shinobu had decided to agree, that was going to be the last time they asked before trying to move on. Shinobu had laughed at how surprised they looked. The relationship builded slowly, but they hadn’t looked back since. If (Y/n) had a hard time imagining life without Shinobu before, they found it impossible now, which was why they wanted to propose marriage so badly.

But, well, okay, they did look back and they saw all of the failed attempts to ask Shinobu to be their girlfriend. They had grown a lot since then, but what if Shinobu didn’t want to get married? What if the idea of marriage broke the spell over their seemingly perfect relationship and Shinobu rejected them? Worse yet, it could be a catalyst for Shinobu realizing she wasn’t really that happy with them and she’d want to break up!

It was that fear that made (Y/n) so tentative about popping the question. But… they wanted to try at least once. If Shinobu wasn’t really happy with them, who were they to make her stay. They just hopped it wouldn’t come to that.

And thus began the planning for the most sincere and heartfelt proposal they could muster.

They wanted it to be a private affair. Public spectacles were something Shinobu wasn’t a fan of. Not to mention if it went poorly, how incredibly awkward it would be to have all of their friends and family pop up just to watch them break up.

They would ask Shinobu to spend the day with them, a normal but no less special date. They didn’t want to make it too obvious what they were planing, but not make it seem too out of left field either. They didn’t want Shinobu to be left anticipating, dreading, but also didn’t want to put her on the spot without warning. The balancing act was maddening!

“You look so dapper. The western style suits you,” Shinobu’s voice broke (Y/n) out of their thoughts, “were you waiting long?”

“Not at all! You look really good too!”

Ah! They felt so nervous! They fidgeted with the collar of their tuxedo. Shinobu chuckled, and replaced (Y/n)’s hands with her own, helping them readjust to a more breathable position.

“It’s only fitting that we look good together, don’t you agree.” She teased, kissing (Y/n) on the cheek. “There, ready to go?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

When Shinobu was like this it almost made (Y/n) melt every time. Oh, who were they kidding? Nearly everything Shinobu did made them want to melt.

Shinobu threaded her arm through (Y/n)’s and then they were off. They took a train to the city to enjoy the day together. They had such a good time that they lost track of the time, only noticing how late it was when they happened to look up at the dark sky amongst the lit lanterns.

They didn’t even attempt to dash back to the station to catch the last train home. Instead they decided to spend the night at a nearby onsen. (Y/n) hadn’t meant to stay out so late, but it just never seemed like the right time to ask Shinobu to marry them. There was always something. People around, Shinobu drumming up another conversation, weird lighting… the list of excuses went on.

But here, in the comfort and privacy of the rented room, they would ask her.

“Today was really nice, don’t you think?” Shinobu smiled, she had already changed into her complimentary yukata.

“Yeah! Really nice!” (Y/n) agreed a little too eagerly, making Shinobu giggle.

“You should change too. These yukata are very comfortable.”

And (Y/n) wanted to, but there was something they had to do first.

Besides, if they changed then asked and Shinobu said no, it would be awkward to have to change again so they could go lick their wounds elsewhere.

“Actually, there is still something I have to do first.”

“Oh?” Shinobu crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, “I was wondering when you would ask.”

“A-ask what?!” (Y/n) squeaked. Had they been that obvious?

“That’s what I would like to know.” Shinobu replied. “You seemed to have something on your mind. I kept waiting for you to say something, but you never did.”

Shinobu poked at (Y/n)’s chest, making them jump, “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

“It’s not a troubling matter!” (Y/n) assured, “It’s just nerve-wracking.”

“Nerve-wracking? What is, talking to your girlfriend?”

“No! I’m just—“

“Hey,” Shinobu took (Y/n)’s hands in her own, “it’s alright, just take your time, breathe.”

(Y/n) did just that and took a few deep breaths. Shinobu decided they should get some fresh air, so she took them out to look out at their partitioned section of the hot spring to watch the steam rise off of the water. After sitting down and leaning against each other for a few minutes listening to the trickling water until Shinobu spoke again.

“See, this is nice, isn’t it? Now, tell me what’s on your mind.”

Another deep breath.

“I love you.” How were those words so much easier too say than, ‘will you marry me?’. They weren’t always easy, granted. They thought Shinobu would run the first time they accidentally uttered them, but she was still here.

“I love you too,” Shinobu smiled and poked (Y/n) again, a little harder this time, “Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

(Y/n) turned to fully face Shinobu and gathered their courage. Shinobu loved them. They had no reason to believe she would lie. That wasn’t Shinobu’s style at all. Yet another deep breath, resolve gleamed in their eyes. Even if she did decline for whatever reason, it wouldn’t be the end of the world… right?

“Shinobu?”

“Mhmm?”

“Will you marry me?”

Shinobu’s lips parted in surprise and (Y/n) began to backpedal on pure reflex.

“AH! No pressure of course! Just a suggestion really! We don’t need any formalities. We’re fine the way we are! I’m bringing it up because, you know, in case you were interested I thought I should at least—“

“Sometimes, you overthink too much.” Shinobu braced her hands against (Y/n)’s cheeks and gave them a breath stealing kiss. When she finished, she only pulled away enough to angle her head to the side so she could rest her head against their chest.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Once upon a time, Shinobu shunned the possibility of falling in love. In the world they lived in, it seemed not only unfeasible, but to pursue such relationships was just begging for disaster and heartbreak. That’s why she had turned (Y/n) down time after time.

But through their persistence, she couldn’t help but fall for them anyway. She could have kept playing the hard to get game, never really getting any closer, but when she had overheard the girls and the Kakushi whispering that (Y/n) was going to give up after one more try, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but accept their invitation. She was scared to allow herself to feel this way about someone, but she would regret it more if she let them slip away.

“You really mean it? You said yes?” (Y/n)’s eyes began to sting. They thought for sure that she would say no, but she kissed them, she said yes, she was still hugging them!

“Yes, I mean it with all my heart. You poor dear, you’ve been on pins and needles all day about this, haven’t you? Probably even longer. I’m sorry.”

“What are you talking about, you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I didn’t exactly make it easy for you to pursue me back then. I imagine your hesitation stemmed from that.” Shinobu reasoned.

“Well, anyone would be nervous proposing to someone as amazing as you.”

“Too sweet.” Shinobu sighed, hiding the blush gathering in her cheeks. If they said anything, she would blame it on the steam from the water.

Still, she smiled earnestly against (Y/n)’s shoulder. She couldn’t wait to gloat about, and flaunt her soon to be spouse for all to see.

#demon slayer oneshots #kny oneshots #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #shinobu kochou x reader #shinobu x reader #shinobu kocho #shinobu kochou #requests #birdmilkshakemcgee

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createserenity · 6 months

Text

A Day for Magic - fanfiction

This is the first story I wrote inspired by @mrghostrat's collage of kisses. It's based on the first kiss in the set, which I don't think was drawn with the intention of it being on a bench, but it happens on a bench in this fic anyway.

Thank you so much Bilvy for making such lovely artwork that did away with my writers block. Maybe I'll actually be able to make some proper progress with my wips now, at least if I'm not distracted by the ficlet idea I have for the fourth kiss (hello ADHD hyperfixation taking over my brain). Like the other fic, which you can find here, this is set post an imaginary season 3 where they've saved the world and are talking again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Day for Magic

Read on AO3 here (preview below)

It’s a beautiful early autumn day, the warm afternoon sun slants through the trees, sending golden motes of light dancing across the lake as Aziraphale sits on the park bench and contemplates the scene around them.

Just up the pathway he can see the little ice cream cart is making good money from the passing foot traffic, the vendor taking advantage of the unseasonably warm autumn day before the winter sets in and nobody wants ice cream anymore.

Over near the lake crowd of ducks harass the Bulgarian culture attaché over the contents of the plastic bag clutched in his hands. Aziraphale can tell even from here that the bag contains frozen peas, or at least previously-frozen-and-hopefully-now-defrosted peas, and he feels his lips twitch up into a smile. Crowley will be pleased.

He glances over at the former demon sprawling out next to him on the bench, skating his eyes briefly over the sharp lines of his form fitting jacket, up the long neck, partly hidden by the red hair that Crowley has grown out again. He’s got half of it pulled back off his face today and Aziraphale thinks the look rather suits him, not to mention it has the advantage of being an exceptionally convenient length for Aziraphale to run his fingers through when the mood takes him.

They’ve sat like this in this park so many times before, but things are different now. Aziraphale sits closer, no longer confined to his side of the bench, and Crowley has one knee pressed against Aziraphale’s thigh, warm and solid. His arm is draped over the back of the bench and Aziraphale can feel the fingers of Crowley’s hand curled up against his back. The touch is nice – comforting without being intrusive.

Crowley isn’t paying attention to him; he’s gazing across the path and when he gives a sudden smirk Aziraphale turns his head to try and work out what he’s looking at. It’s certainly not the ducks.

He’s just in time to see a man in a sharp looking business suit rising to his feet, glancing around in a way that suggests embarrassment. Had he fallen over? It didn’t look as if he had and surely Aziraphale would have noticed if there had been a commotion.

His eyes drift down to the path itself and he sees something round and shiny, glinting in the soft autumn light.

“Really, my dear,” he murmurs, glancing over at Crowley again.

“What?” Crowley shoots him a grin. They both know he’s feigning the ignorance so Aziraphale just shakes his head and lets the corner of his mouth quirk up into a slight smile. He’s aiming for something that says, “I can’t believe you’re doing this, you incorrigible fiend,” but suspects the expression has taken a detour towards fond somewhere along the way.

Continue on AO3 here

#good omens #good omens fanfic #fanart inspired fic #ineffable husbands #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves aziraphale #ineffable fandom #fluff #kissing #silliness #aziraphale loves magic #no beta - mistakes are all my own fault #my writing #I realise this is probably too long for a post #but I did it anyway

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lieutenant-speirs · 1 year

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For the valentine’s prompts, only if you don’t have too many already and only if you have the time/want to - and no worries if you don’t :)

21. “I’ve been trying to get ready for like an hour and a half, because I know you’re going to look so good and I need to try and match up.” With Joe Toye x Reader. Maybe where they’ve been real close friends for a long time - heavy mutual pining and one of them just can’t hold it in anymore.. Thank you 💛

“𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒? 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘….𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘….” “𝐴𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠? 𝑆𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑦? 𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑?” “𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠ℎ𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑝….?”

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏: 𝐽𝑜𝑒 𝑇𝑜𝑦𝑒 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: 𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐/𝑅𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑐 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: Valentines Day | Valentines Platonic Joe was a long way from frayed and stained army greens and browns as he was waiting in the living room, dressed in formal black pants, plain button up and suit jacket to match. Hair slicked back into a neat style since he had grown it out a bit, getting a feel for his own style since being stateside.

Flicking his wrists to readjust he cuffs more comfortable, he sighed as his eye caught the time on is watch. His head turned towards the stairs that lead to the upstairs rooms, “Come on Y/N!”

Joe had met you a few months before he went to war. You moved in next door and the rest was history. However, your first interaction, outside a friendly wave, had been when you were stubbornly trying to carry all the shopping bags in one go…and of course one bag broke and the rest fell out of your arms like dominos. Joe, being who he was, came running over - while laughing - but still offered to help. He helped carry your groceries inside, maneouvering between packed boxes that are waiting to be sorted into their designated rooms. To which, he also offered to help move them upstairs for you. From there… the friendship just…clicked. You two were never short of a conversation, always making the other laugh… everything just felt… natural.

And then the war broke out… Joe showed up at yours in his uniform to state that he’s leaving soon. Your heart dropped and it visibly showed on your features. That’s when you both promised to write.

And that’s exactly what you did. Both of you slowing falling for the other through years of correspondence. Both of you open and vulnerable in your letters because noone else was reading them and there was just that comfortableness in friendship that you could express your inner thoughts and feelings without judgement. Him too.

There was a period where you weren’t getting letters and then you finally received one from a hospital. It was shorter than normal but Joe didn’t have the strength to write lengthy letters while recuperating from having lost his leg. Your heart broke but was also relieved that he was just alive. That’s all you ever prayed for…

You heard Joe’s voice call out and huffed in annoyance; either at him or yourself, you weren’t sure, as you stared at yourself in the full-length mirror. You weren’t happy with your outfit. Three other dresses lay haphazardly on the bed and the chair as you had tried those on and deemed them not suitable enough. Joe technically wasn’t yours to worry about looking decent beside him, but he was your everything. Which was what made today, of all days..harder to choose with the outfit. It was Valentines. A day for couples. You two aren’t a couple. You’re just going along for the joy ride because you both don’t have official plans anyway.

Your makeup made your features look softer than what your expression is letting on, your hair done up but, just like the dress, you weren’t satisfied with the result. “I’ve been trying to get ready for, like, an house and a half! Because I know you’re going to look good and I need to try and match up!” you called back down.

Joe’s now frowning up at the stairs, not having heard anything more ridiculous in his life. “Will you just come down? We’re going to be late. Whatever you wear is gonna be fine.”

You rolled your eyes as Joe’s annoyed voice filtered through. Men just didn’t understand. To you, Joe was one of the most handsome people you ever met… His brown eyes twinkled when he laughed, they darkened when he was angry (and you won’t admit this, but you find it hot), he had the most gorgeous smile, his eyebrows were expressive and made his features soft when they knitted together in concern when you would talk to him about certain things. So, of course whatever he wears will just accentuate his handsome features and you’ll end up looking like ‘plain jane’ next to him. He was deserving more of that. Especially with you two going out on, what’s supposed to be a couples-only celebration.

You scoffed at your appearance before finally doing as requested and making your way down the stairs to see Joe fiddling with the cufflinks, his crutches resting under his arms against his side. Brown eyes finally looked up as he heard one particular stair creak beneath your step and his face went blank. You didn’t realise you held your breath as you all but floated down the stairs (he thought you floated like an angel, you thought you clunked down like a not-so-graceful rhino).

Using his crutches, he made his way over to you just as you reached the last step and stood in front of him. His features gave nothing away. His lips were parted, his brown eyes just staring at the ghastly get up that you’re in. “I’ll never look nice compared to you.” the heartbreak was evident in the disappointment in your voice. You turned on your heel and was about to make your way back upstairs when a tight grip on your wrist stopped you in your tracks.

Joe still didn’t know his own strength at times, whilst he wasn’t hurting you, it still surprised you what this man might be capable of with just his bare hands. “Are you shitting me? You look….you look….” “Atrocious? Silly? Like a woman menstruated?” “Will you shut up….?” His voice, not at all harsh, but soft and exasperated. You just weren’t getting it. He was at a loss of words. His facial expressions… well… He’s Joe. He’s not the best with the ladies unless he’s wooing them for sex. Which is something he wouldn’t dream about doing with you. He respects you too much. His voice softened and a hushed, “You look beautiful, Y/N.” filtered past his lips, as though he were afraid it was inappropriate to say and some unforgiving Godly figure might smite him a second time causing him to loose the only other leg he has.

His eyes gazed over you, up and down, drinking your entire being in. “Anything you wear, you look radiant in. I don’t understand -” “Because it’s you, Joe. You’re the handsome one. The funny one. The charismatic one. And I’m just… me.” I’ll never be good enough for you Went unspoken on your red-painted lips.

But it felt heavy in the air that it made Joe snap. He had enough of dancing around this, he had enough of waiting, and he was too impatient to tell you over dinner how he was feeling about you. Hobbling forward a step or two. He hooked a finger beneath your chin and lifted your head up. “You…are one of the most beautiful broa-ladies, I’ve ever met. No matter what you wear, you’ll look drop dead gorgeous. I think you look gorgeous… I always have…”

Without asking permission, Joe dropped his head and his lips pressed against yours. He felt the small gasp part from your lips before pressing his lips more firmly against yours. One hand one the end of the stair rail to steady himself, the other hand lighty resting against your cheek…which now dropped to wrapping around the middle of your back and pressing you firmly against him. Your own arms snaked around his neck, as your lips melted against him.

He had already mentioned you two were pushing for time… but now… neither of you could care less.

You were happy that he was finally yours. Officially.

#They were neighbors to friends to lovers #Hope this was okay #I've never picked up Joe Toye as a writing muse before #I would have posted yesterday but I forgot he lost a leg #Please don't ask how I forgot #and I mentioned stairs #and I was like 'well that's not gonna work'#I completely disregarded they were pining friends before too #So a few added paragraphs helped cleared that up #Hopefully #I don't know #But it's totally okay if you don't like it and it's not at all what you were expecting #Joe Toye x Reader #Joe Toye #Band of Brothers x Reader #Joe Toye Valentines Date

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