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luveline · 3 months

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(𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞) 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

Steve hears you wrong, thinks he’s your boyfriend, and begins to act accordingly. You try your best to go along with it until you can’t anymore. 3k, fem. requested here ♡

cw shy(ish)!reader, misunderstandings, steve being a huge sweetheart, fluff, hurt/comfort, bonus fluff scene

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The arcade is loud and brisk this evening, doors thrown open to allow for the constant ebb and flow of younglings, the machine music turned up to account for so many voices. You’re lost in a sea of rainbow flashing lights and the ticklish smell of sugar. Without Steve’s hand behind your shoulder, you’re pretty sure you would’ve gotten lost and trampled half an hour ago.

A candy necklace pinwheels past your heads like a torpedo, forcing you closer together, your shoulders tight with a flinch.

“We can leave,” Steve says immediately. He’s weirdly thoughtful. Before he asked you out you had no idea he thought so much about other people, but he’s always thinking about other people. You could argue he thinks a little too much, like you.

“I wanna see Max.”

“She has to be here somewhere.”

That theory proves less and less likely. Steve’s hand falls away from you, tugging through his hair in a marker of stress as you circle the Palace Arcade for the tenth time. “Maybe she quit?” you suggest.

Steve’s eyebrows pinch together as he gives the arcade another sweep. Max’s rough patch freaked him out, as it freaked you out, because ‘rough patch’ is a kind way to describe it. She could’ve got a whole lot worse; she was suffering, capital S. It’s nice to see her returning to society, but not if she isn’t actually settling in. That’s the whole reason you’re here.

Steve frowns at you worriedly.

“Who died?” asks a new voice.

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Max!” Steve cheers.

“That’s me,” Max says, looking at you both sceptically. Her ginger hair is pulled into two tight braids either side of her face, her cheeks flushed red. Mascara paints her usually pale lashes a darker brown, and a rosy tinted chapstick shines on her lips.

“Hey, the uniform looks good on you,” he says affectionately. “You look like a valued member of society.”

“A society in need of better labour laws. I’m pretty sure this is child abuse.” She rolls her eyes.

“Is it awful?” you ask.

“It’s fine. Better when your stupid friends aren’t here making themselves sick on candy like they’re nine years old,” she says pointedly to Steve. “Are you going to throw up too? You look–” she grimaces in place of insult.

“Who’s throwing up?” you ask.

“Dustin. He’s outside.”

Steve sighs and gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “I’ll be right back,” he says, squaring his expression. “Goddamn kids.”

He sounds like an old man, you think to yourself with a small smile. Disgruntled, he still goes to make sure everyone’s alright. He’s nice, even when that nice is begrudging and tiresome and plain gross sometimes.

“Why are you smiling at him like that?” Max asks.

You school your impression. “Like what?”

“Like you like him.”

You shake your head. “Tell me about work, Max. What’s it like here? Are they giving you your breaks?”

She drags you over to the counter to sit in the seat waiting behind. She glares at any kid who approaches, but besides that she seems in good spirits. The job isn’t hard, it’s just a job. She’d much rather be at home reading, but wouldn’t everyone? “And I get this sweet uniform,” she says, pointing at the embroidered icon on her shirt pocket. “What’s with you and Steve?”

“Nothing,” you say, though it’s something. You’re mortified to have been caught having feelings.

“Looks like something. Are you dating?”

“I mean, this is a date,” you say, almost whispering as heat floods your face. “But we’re not together.”

“He was touching you a lot.”

“Max, he’s really nice. He’s a really nice guy,” you say gently, “and we’re not together, but if he does ask me out eventually, maybe I’ll say yes.” You realise what you’re saying and attempt to backtrack —you do like Steve, but Max doesn’t need to know that. “It’s not like he’s my boyfriend,” you say strangely.

“Ew,” Max says with a laugh.

“Not ew,” you correct. You hadn’t meant it in a bad way, it’s—

“Not ew,” Steve says from behind you, his arm a heavy weight across your shoulder.

You look wide-eyed up at his face, surprised by his huge beaming smile, an intense loveliness about him as he gives you a half hug.

“What’s ew about that?” he asks you softly.

Oh, boy, you think.

As it turns out, being Steve’s girlfriend is kind of nice, but you aren’t ready.

From that afternoon at the Palace Arcade onward, he treats you like you’re made of gold. And it’s great, he’s so kind, he brings you flowers and takes you out for breakfast, where he pays the tab without any flourishes and talks to you as casually as always. You almost hope he hasn’t got it wrong at all, and that his soft tone a few days ago had been down to a brief overwhelming fondness. You’d get that. You have your moments with him, you’re falling for him, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re desperately in love, you’re sure, but then the waitress asks if you need anything else and he says, “Just a water for my girl,” and you realise you’re not getting off easy.

Dating is sort of like being good friends; you’d planned to spend the day together anyways. You enjoy his company. It’s clear he’s eager, optioning off the day’s agenda as you return to the car, the bottom of your face hidden in your bouquet.

“We could go to the movies,” he says, opening the passenger door, his smile seemingly permanent as you climb inside. “No science fiction, I promise.”

“I kind of like sci-fi.” Petals press fragrant to your top lip.

“Well, we don’t have to go to the Hawk. We could go into the city. I bet they’re playing any movie you wanna see.” He checks that your leg is properly inside the car before he closes the door, jogging around to the driver’s side and practically throwing himself inside. He’s giggling like a kid. “Shit, I’ll see anything you want to.”

“Steve.”

“Or we can go do nothing? Until dinner.”

“Steve,” you say again, thinking you’ll tell him. Nothing good ever comes from dishonesty.

“What?” he asks.

His eyes are so brown. Billions of people with brown eyes and you swear you’ve never seen anything like it before, their centres like hot honey, the sweetheart shape to them when he smiles

You sigh. His smile is contagious, even while your stomach hurts. “Nothing. Let’s go see a movie.”

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? You sounded weird.”

“I sounded weird?”

“No!” He winces. “I mean, yeah, you sounded weird for you, like you… I don’t know. Sorry.”

You feel bad, then. His apology is earnest, his hand resting open on the console for you to take if you could manage the flustering heat of it.

“I wanna go to the movies,” you say, ‘cos you really do.

“Alright, good. It’s just, I think my last relationship, I– I didn’t pay enough attention, and I want to do that better this time around. So yeah. Sorry.”

Oh, Steve, you think. How are you supposed to tell him now? You’re gonna have to pretend to be ready for a relationship with him until you really are, it seems. He doesn’t deserve to have his heart played with twice.

“Don’t be sorry,” you say gently. “Let’s go watch a movie, okay? I want to go, with you, we’ll watch a shitty daytime flick and then get dinner after. It’ll be fun.”

You aren’t lying to him about what you want. It’s clear to everybody, Steve and his friends and especially you, that you like him, that you want to be around him and make him laugh. Maybe being his girlfriend won’t even be that different to being his something.

After all, what’s romantic about seeing a movie?

“You good?” he asks, half an hour later, your agony prolonged.

You’re at the back of the movies where the seats have the most leg room, more popcorn and candy than you could ever eat at your feet and a litre cup stuffed into the armrest between you. Steve is tucking his shirt back into his jeans, his head parting the light of the projector and leaving a silhouette in the previews.

“Steve,” you advise, gesturing for him to lean down out of the way.

He leans down, further and further, face to face with you with his hands on his hips. A flirtatious teasing makes its way onto his lips. “What?” he asks, amused.

“You were in the way of the light.”

“That what it was?”

“Seriously!” you whisper-shout, laughing despite yourself.

“You’re so cute,” he whispers back. “Want to take your jacket off?”

Your lips part at his good suggestion. You hold your arm out and start to peel from your jacket, but he takes your sleeve and helps you out of it before folding it and sitting in the seat next to you, your jacket on his thigh. “How’s that, babe?” he asks.

“It’s good.”

“Okay, perfect.” He beams at you. He’s always smiling when he’s with you, like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. Like he loves you. “Tell me if you need something, yeah? I know you’re kinda shy.”

He settles back in his seat with your jacket still in his lap and no indication that he might want to move it. Your knees touch as he relaxes, your knuckles as he puts his arm on the rest between you, a picture of contentedness as the movie begins and the opening credits play. “That’s us,” he says without looking at you.

Two people walk down the street holding hands as the title of the movie blazes in yellow font with thick red outlines. A Day In Paradise!

You bite down on a slither of the inside of your lip until it stings. You try to fight it off but the longer you sit there, the more your eyes burn, thinking about Steve and what he deserves and how unfortunate this whole thing is, and yeah, you’re overwhelmed, too. You aren’t ready for so much sweetness all at once. You don’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve this.

You force the tears away. The movie goes on and on, the lights low, the chatter of moviegoers and the occasional popcorn crush not nearly loud enough to cover the sound of Steve’s breathing.

He pushes his hair out of his face. Somebody on screen makes a joke, his hand brushes against yours, and then takes it gently as he laughs.

You pull your hand away and tip your head down, a frantic tear flicking from your lashes.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You try to answer. You whimper instead, a terrible, sorry sound stuck to your throat —you can’t hold it in anymore. It’s too much.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble tearily, looking up, a tear rolling fast down the bump of your cheek.

Steve sits still in moderate horror. “Why are you crying?” he whispers.

The thing about Steve that people tend to forget is that, while he takes care of people the best that he can, he’s really young. He doesn’t always know what to do. He stares at you now like you’re a foreign object, hand tucked back into his abdomen.

A tear drips onto your lip. It tastes salty. “Sorry,” you say.

“Why?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“I really like you, Steve.”

He stares at you. “…But?”

“But I–” His frown hurts your heart. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this, I never– never had someone like me like this, I don’t know why I’m crying.” You say that last part to yourself rather than him, scrubbing your cheeks with your hands roughly before hiding your face completely. “It’s not you.”

“I thought…” And of course he did.

“I know,” you say. “I’m sorry, Steve. I thought it wouldn’t matter but everything’s going so fast.”

He touches your arm gently. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought you wanted this. You– you said I was your boyfriend, to Max? I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you,” you insist, meeting his eyes.

“Can I wipe your tears away? They’re everywhere,” he says. You struggle to read his expression, but there’s no resentment or anger there for you. He looks quite serious.

“Yeah.”

Steve bends in his seat to wipe your tears off of your face gently. They really are everywhere, on your cheeks, your top lip, your chin, even down the arc of your neck. “I don’t understand,” he says, going back to your cheek for a missed streak, “but you don’t have to be upset. Please. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, I promise.”

“Steve, when I was talking to Max, I said,” —you wince— “that it’s not like you’re my boyfriend. She was asking me about you, and I got all panicky because I like you, but I’m too weird about this stuff, I’m panicking now–”

“Don’t.” His hand lingers on your face, before a sorry flash of dejection passes over him, and he drops your face altogether.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe me.”

“Of course I believe you.” He grimaces at you, and the heartbreak turns to something more manageable, like he’s brushing himself off. “I’m sorry. For getting the wrong idea.”

“I like you,” you whisper. Your voice is nearly lost to the rustle of popcorn and drinks.

“I like you too!” he says loudly.

A few seats down, somebody turns, an angry whirl of hair and clicky nails. “Can you guys shut up?”

You and Steve leave your mountain of snacks behind to stand in the theatre hallway, where the winter air is cool on your flushed skin, and the silence is stifling. You lean against a wood feature wall and try to calm down, because he’s the one who should be upset (or maybe he’s not that fussed about you). He stands a half foot away with his arms crossed, looking down at his shoes, though occasionally he glances at you for a split-second and looks away again.

“You okay?” he asks tightly.

“I’m sorry.”

He pokes his cheek with his tongue. “So you don’t want to be together?”

You don’t know. He deserves the truth, even if you barely understand it yourself, and it stings to say. “I do, I like you, but I… I want to take things slowly.”

He stands there without talking for a while. When he does talk again, he’s laughing, that achy awful sadness he’d worn a far off memory. “You’re this upset because you want us to take things slow?”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“You haven’t,” he promises. “That would never hurt my feelings. I knew when I heard it that it was too good to be true.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I gotta earn the title like everybody else does. Is that… cool?”

You nod vehemently.

Steve blows a relieved breath of air up his face, his hair ruffling off of his forehead. “I thought I was gonna lose you completely,” he says, smiling. “This is fine. I can work with slow. Slow’s my middle name.”

—♡—

The sun is a blistering heat today. “Can’t believe it’s only spring,” you murmur, eyes covered by the back of your arm.

A weight sits down on the blanket beside you, the sound of dry grass crushed underfoot. He brings the fresh scent of lemon slices with him, the zest sticking to his hands.

“I think I might melt.”

“I’d never let that happen,” Steve says, laying down beside you.

“You can be my parasol.”

“Your what?”

“It’s a sun umbrella.”

“Like this?” he asks, gently laying himself across your front, his face on the slip of your stomach that’s bare, his arms sneaking behind your thighs to hug them as you bring them up.

You reach down to stroke his hair, taking your fingers through the silky lengths of it, fingernails scratching ever so slightly at his scalp. “Thanks,” you say.

He kisses your naked leg. “You’re welcome, honey.”

If he’d done that at the beginning of your relationship, you’d have frozen up; not because he would’ve done it differently, not because he wasn't always your handsome sweetheart, but because being comfortable with someone this intimately takes time, and that’s okay.

“Your face is digging into my hip,” you murmur.

He shifts back, his ear above your belly button. “Is that better?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Are you falling asleep?” he asks softly.

“No… I’m thinking.”

“Nothing good ever comes of that.”

“I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“I love talking to you,” he says. He sounds as though he might fall asleep himself, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

You stroke his hair away from his face by touch alone. Long, warm minutes pass without conversation. You aren’t scared to tell him how you’re feeling. He’s proved to you over time that he’s someone you’ll always be able to trust, and that whatever you have to say will hold weight.

“It’s a question.”

He turns in your hold to face you. You raise your arm, greeted by the image of him sun-kissed and lazing, laid out across you without a care in the world.

“Don’t tell me then,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, you’re terrifying.”

“Would you wanna be my boyfriend?”

He narrows his eyes at you. A myriad of emotions pass between you both, until he’s smiling, and you know he’s sitting up for a kiss seconds before he actually does. He presses his lips to yours carefully. “Baby,” he says as he pulls away, voice as mild as his soft kiss, “I think we’ve passed that point.”

“I realised I’d never asked you, is all.”

His hair falls down into his eyes. You tuck it behind his ear. It’s pretty clear now you’re together, even after such a bumpy start.

“Can I get it in writing this time?” he asks, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours, your eyes fluttering closed in tandem.

“Give you anything you want if you kiss me,” you murmur.

His laugh fans over your lips. He cups your cheek, your heart a hummingbird drilling at your ribs as Steve moves in to kiss you properly. Your lips part under the pressure, your head tilting a touch to one side to accommodate him as he searches down for you, melty hot pleasure and nerves that never seem to fade arising as his thumb moves up your cheek, a semi-circle of touch. It promises undulating care whenever you want it.

You tip your head aside to catch your breath.

“Better late than never,” you joke.

Steve talks into the soft skin beside your mouth. “You weren’t late, babe. I was early, and I didn’t mind waiting.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank u for reading!! pretty please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed cos it means so much to me and inspires me to write even more!!! but either way i hope u enjoyed❤️❤️❤️

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington drabble

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violet-witch-6 · 10 months

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Gonna be real, my first time watching THAT scene I honestly wasn’t sure how they were ever gonna patch things up because I can’t even imagine the pain of standing in Crowley’s place after 6,000 years of loving someone in silence, trying to show them who you are at every opportunity, painstakingly chipping away at the delusion they’ve bought into since the beginning (more than you ever did) in order to show them the truth—to show them who you are (who the two of you could be together) —and then just as you’ve finally worked up the courage to lay it all out there and toss the dice hoping (with what, for the first time, you’re starting to believe are less than doomed odds) that they’ll love you back and that it will be enough—only for all of it to be dragged out from under you because they look you in the eye and all but tell you that they never understood you at all. They weren’t listening. And, sure they want what you want (to be together), they love you back (still unspoken but legible in the way they glow at the thought that they might still save you) (as if you need saving) (as if you’d want it)—but not as you are. They think the change they ask of you would be received as a grace and the betrayal of that is gut wrenching in a way that no flat out rejection could be, I think. If I were Crowley, I can’t imagine how I’d come back from that.

But then I watched the scene again. The moments after that betrayal. Once Crowley’s put his glasses back on, raised his defenses and sounded the retreat. I wondered, watching the scene again, how it could ever reach the point where the kiss made sense when they were already so torn apart. But the thing is that no matter how wrong Aziraphale was to want things to go back to the “way they were”, everything that led him to that conclusion comes from the thing Crowley loves most about him: his goodness. Aziraphale is good in a way that heaven is not, and Crowley knows that, but Aziraphale still hasn’t learned that lesson. He wants so desperately still to believe in god and heaven and the ineffable plan and even though it’s that desire that’s led him to hurt Crowley, I don’t think Crowley can completely begrudge him. By the time Crowley’s walking out of the book shop, the betrayal has already faded—not gone, but less than when compared to his sadness for Aziraphale and what his angel is going to go through when heaven lets him down (again)—assuming that it doesn’t just break him.

And the kiss—that fucking kiss (be still my beating heart)—that was Crowley planting a seed. “I know better than you do” he says and he does because Crowley has always been more honest with himself than Mr. “Master class in self delusion” A. Z. Fell. Aziraphale is about to be more alone and more lost than he has been in 6,000 years, so Crowley needed to make 100% clear to him where solid ground was. Aziraphale won’t be able to rationalize this away or hide behind propriety because it can only mean one thing and that is that he is in love with a demon whose on his own side with no interest in ever rejoining the heavenly host because heaven is not the epitome of goodness or love that he so desperately wants to believe it is. It’s not even capable of being that—no matter how hard Aziraphale tries to bend it back into what he thinks is it’s natural shape (because isn’t that what he wants so desperately to do as chief archangel? To make heaven the place he’s always thought it was?). Crowley really said “whatever you do next, do it knowing I love you”. He said “I’m done letting you ignore this.” And I get it. Cards on the table means cards on the table. No more half measures no more dancing around it—any of it. If Aziraphale wants to walk into the belly of the beast, then the least Crowley can do is make sure he’s doing it with his eyes wide open.

#good omens #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #crowly x aziraphale #it’s about the pain and the love mingling so closely together that you can’t separate them anymore #the one is the other #and you’d take them both if it only meant you could have him

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onetoomanyfandomfixations · 29 days

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Hazbin Hotel Characters React to You Asking for a Hug (PART 2)

Buckle in bitches, its time for some COMFORT

Lucifer

Guys he’s SO nervous

“Oh really? You, uh, you want a hug from me? Are you sure?”

Nervous laughter 100

Takes a hot minute for him to adjust, but DOES give good hugs

WING HUGS. Y’ALL KNOW HOW I GET ABOUT WING HUGS.

Y’all gotta remember he’s a dad

So good, firm dad hug

His hands are clammy af, but don’t mention that pls

Gives you the opportunity to talk out whatever’s going through your head

Actually has really insightful advice

Like his daughter, honestly so honoured you chose to come to him

Lute

“Must I?”

Begrudging as FUCK

But she’ll do it

If she has to

Stiff, awkward hugs that last for 5 seconds tops

No wing hugs :(

“Human souls are weird”

Tries to teach you how to fight so you can use sparring as a “normal” coping mechanism

Adam

As much as I hate him, would give BANGIN hugs

“Fuck, you wan’ a hug? Fuck yeah bitch, get over here!”

Super enthusiastic about it????

Like, gives you shit, but its still one of the tightest and most excited hugs you’ve ever received

Very very warm

You will probably overheat if you stay there too long

WING HUGS!!!!!!!

Will be extra touchy with you from here on out

Arm around the shoulder, etc

Carmilla

Is she mom, or mommy? Jury’s still out on that one.

Will never ever refuse you if you need a hug

Will, however, try to pull you aside and make it a private moment

Not a big fan on PDA, but your wellbeing takes priority

Makes you rest your head against her chest, no matter how tall you are

If you tell her what’s going on, will fix it

You don’t even need to ask.

She’s gonna check up on you after at LEAST twice

Rosie

Is she mom or mommy part 2: electric boogaloo

Drops EVERYTHING

Ushers you into a sunroom and brews you a pot of tea to share

And grabs snacks, of course

Definitely forgets if cannibalism makes you queasy

Holds you hand from across the table and encourages you to talk it out with her

A lil bit pushy about it, but its from a place of love

But if you need it, will definitely hug you

Another one with bone shattering hugs

Her hands are cold af tho, so beware

Vox

Tbh doesn’t hear you the first time, he’s super focused on whatever else he’s doing

Once he hears you/it registers to him, he’s pretty confused

“Why do you need a hug?”

Only hugs you if y’all are really close

Generally not a touchy person

He won’t stop whatever he’s doing though

Most likely will just sit you in his lap, so he can cuddle And work

Multitasking, bitch

Don’t do it while he’s actively broadcasting though

Super against PDA (bc he’s embarrassed) and will probably snap at you if you break this boundary

Velvette

“Wot. Why?”

Also confused

Like Vox, usually to busy to properly hug you

But will let you stick around and lay all over her while she works

Anyone who questions it dies Very quickly, and Very grotesquely

Very protective

“Babes, do I need to hurt someone? Coz you Know I’ll do it”

Probs takes selfies of you hanging off of her bc she thinks its cute

Will dress you up to try and make you feel better

Valentino

Seek psychological help 💕

I know he’s got a sexy voice, but you know I’m right

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spider-stark · 1 month

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INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place.

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange.

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown.

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter.

Or, at least, none that mattered.

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do.

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play.

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift.

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether.

And Peter never even asked why.

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?”

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.”

And how true that must have been.

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too.

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night?

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.”

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?!

“Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?”

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.”

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter.

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.”

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.”

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter.

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.”

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used.

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar.

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite.

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.”

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now.

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?”

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.”

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too.

“Did he?”

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.”

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's.

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him.

“Well did he have anything useful?”

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter.

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups.

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0.

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration.

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear.

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?”

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation.

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.”

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite.

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?”

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.”

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?”

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch.

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?”

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him.

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.”

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.”

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.”

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth.

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.”

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?”

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?”

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.”

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now!

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-”

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!”

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.”

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief.

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded.

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere.

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now.

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down…

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.”

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell.

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered.

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night?

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.”

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips.

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world.

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all.

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone.

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting.

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway.

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!”

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!”

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else.

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?”

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?”

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.”

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse.

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully.

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter.

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!”

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.”

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?”

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task.

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway.

“Mj happened.”

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.”

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.”

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease.

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth.

You sucked in a breath.

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.”

His brow snapped up. “What changed?”

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours.

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth.

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?”

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance.

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.”

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-”

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.”

“I’m not pretending-”

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.”

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.”

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest.

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.”

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?”

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

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roseychains · 2 months

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Bone jaw٫ could you maybe pretty please do a thick thigh reader with jk men 👉👈 smut of fluff doesn't matter to me cause all I want is to finally see a thick thigh reader cause I never do its fine if you dont tho thanks for doing/considering this!

Jjk men with a reader with thick thighs ~

A/n: I’m literally sobbing I accidently clicked out of this tab and it erased everything I had done 😕 it’s okay tho I rewrote it all

C/w: everything is fluffy. Maybe slightly suggestive in getos & toji? But nothing smutty.

Bonus Gojo smut at the end, c/w: written by a minor, thigh fucking, somno but he wakes you up to ask for consent. Needy Gojo.

Gojo: his love language is physical touch. He can’t keep his hands off you, esspecially your thighs. The bigger the better, I can imagine him using your thighs as pillows. Being a jujutsu sorcerer is stressful and tiring, and being the strongest, naturally he has to take on the most begrudging tasks. Everyone has their own way to desensitize after a long day. His method just so happens to be falling asleep on his gorgeous wifes thighs while she plays with his hair. It’s just so comforting to him, a change of pace from his otherwise violent day.

Geto: geto is obsessed with your body. Especially your supple thighs. He’s handsy, and finds them incredibly attractive. He also finds himself unable to look away from him, he can’t help it. One of his favorite things is making out with you while your straddle his lap and your thighs rest on either side of his waist. It drives him insane, being able to hold not one but both of your lovely thighs in his hands while he kisses you.

Nanami: this man is such a provider, he can’t help but keep a gentle hand resting on your large thigh at all times. Sitting at a restaurant? His hand is on your thigh. Being his passenger princess? His hand is on your thigh. It’s not rough, just enough pressure for him to feel your skin and you to feel his hand. He wants you with him 24/7, and having his hand on you is a relief. He knows your right next to him, safe.

Toji: this man can pick you up and throw you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. And to him, you do. But one of his favorite things about carrying you in such a manor is your thighs draped over his abdomen. He will grab you buy the thighs and support you buy the thighs anytime he’d holding you. Be that pinning you against the wall, princess carrying you, or thrown over his shoulder, he’s holding you by your thighs.

Choso: he’s a big sensory guy. Whenever you guys are just laying around cuddling, he will poke and hold your thighs. He loves the way your skin feels to his fingers, how soft and pliant your thighs are, a nice contrast to all the sharp and rough feelings in the world. He’s fascinated , almost, absolutely lost in though when he’s touching your thighs. Start stroking his hair and he’s asleep. He’s just so cute

Bonus Gojo smut ~

Waking up in the middle of the night, with his cock throbbing in his boxers, he’s just so happy his lovely wife is beside him, wiling to help. He doesn’t want to wake you though or make you put in any work this time at night, so an idea pops into his head.

Rolling over and crawling on top of you, he’s pushing your hair gently away from your face, gently tapping your head till you squint your eyes open. “Pst.. I know it’s late, but I’m really fucking horny. Do you mind if I use your thighs?”

It takes you a minute to process what he just said, but after you understand what he’s saying, you nod your head, about to get up when he pushes you back down “nonono go back to sleep, I’ll be so gentle and quite you won’t even hear or see me. Please go back to sleep baby, I don’t need you to life a finger.” Leaning down and kissing your forehead.

“Mmm are you sure baby? I don’t helping” he nodded his head, cupping your face. “Your the sweetest love, but yes I’m sure. I don’t need an ounce of effort on your part, now go back to sleep sleeping beauty~” you nodded, closing your eyes and turning back to your side.

He returns to your back side, quickly freeing his member from his boxers, jerking himself a few times before lining himself up with your thighs, gently sliding his cock inbetween your plush thighs.

He began thrusting slowly, his tip poking out through your thighs, right over your panty covered clit. He kept his voice down, letting our soft moans as he pushed in and out of the space.

His thrusts sped up, rutting into the space between your thighs, needy hands grabbing your hips pulling himself as close to you as he could, and after a few, sloppy thrusts, he’s spitting thick ropes of cum out from between your legs, landing on the sheets and of course your thighs.

He puts his cock back in his boxers, pulling your body close to his, wrapping your body up in his, spooning you. Thinking to himself, “Eh. I’ll change the sheets in the morning.”

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mooshywrites · 2 months

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Hello hello! May I request a Halsin one shot or companion headcannons of how they would react to you having the flu? I've caught the most recent bug going around and it has absolutely floored me 😞🤧 thank you x

How they take care of you when you’re sick

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A/N ~ I’ve been so under the weather lately as well so I love this sm ;~;

Masterlist

Art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Astarion ~

~ Astarion was a very begrudging nurse

~ He couldn’t deny the fact that being around a sick person disgusted him on some level, but he couldn’t see you suffering alone

~ It was almost comical to watch him, grimacing as he approached your sniffling bundle of sick

~ He was so brave however, even landing a small kiss on your forehead as he situated you to be more comfortable

~ As a compromise, he settled in across the room, reading to you throughout the day to keep you company

~ In your sleepy and delirious state, you would feel him replacing the wet rag on your head, softly chiding you for having such a strong fever

~ Despite his attitude, you knew he was worried about you, rarely leaving you alone for more than a few minutes at a time

~ “Please get better soon, darling. I’m simply not cut out for such affectionate work”

Halsin ~

~ Halsin was a little lost when you came down with a cold that his healing magic didn’t fix

~ He had no basis of what to do when his magic failed, so it was interesting seeing him try to come up with ways to help

~ At first, all he could think to do was bundle you as tight as he could in a fluffy blanket, holding you close to keep away the chills

~ When that didn’t help your stuffy nose, instead of setting you down to try something else, he simply carried you around as he thought

~ You felt like an overgrown baby, bundled up and tucked tightly against the Druid’s chest

~ Finally, he decided the only remedy would be lots of affection and some very warm peppermint tea

~ He fed you the brew spoonful by spoonful, almost as if he didn’t trust you not to choke on it in your feverish state

~ “Sip slowly, my heart, can’t have you dying on me so suddenly”

Gale ~

~ When you started complaining to Gale that you were coming down with a cold, you expected the wizard to be a doting and affectionate partner

~ You did NOT expect him to become some sort of depraved mad scientist

~ After corralling you to the bed and snuggling you up in a plethora of blankets and giving you a smooch on the top of your head, he beelined it to the kichen

~ Your fever had you flitting in and out of sleep, so you didn’t quite know how much time had passed before Gale had returned

~ It took you a minute to realize what he was carrying, your eyes widening at the ray of various soups he had concocted

~ The rest of the day was spent lazily, your wizard reading to you from your favorite books as he rotated the soups for you to try

~ To your delight, most of them were delicious, though some neared the edge of all things bitter and medicinal

~ Gale’s hand never left your own, squeezing appreciatively as you tried every bowl

~ “Don’t eat too much now, I’m not quite sure how those potions will mix with each other, love.”

Wyll ~

~ Wyll was a nervous wreck when he realized you were sick

~ You had to spend most of the morning calming him down, convincing him not to wrap you up and race you to the nearest healer

~ You assured him it was a minor case of the sniffles, a minor fever that probably wouldn’t last the day

~ After he had finally relaxed, he insisted on waiting on you hand and foot

~ He was ever present, refilling your water and handkerchief before you could put it back on the table

~ The duke even poured a basin of warm water, keeping a hot towel over your feet constantly

~ It was nice being cared for so diligently, despite your hellishly progressing cold

~ When it reached evening and your cold hadn’t subsided, Wyll gently carried you to bed, tutting over you nervously

~ “Whether I have to kidnap you myself, you will be going to a healer tomorrow, my sweet.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

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petrichorium · 1 year

Text

the merman is back.

it’s a little weird how used to him you’ve gotten. he’d only shown up for the first time a few months ago, but when you’re largely alone out on the boat or in your oceanfront lab there’s no shortage of ways for him to visit with nobody around.

he’s yet to tell you a name, but after the first few weeks of silence he suddenly revealed a passable understanding of english; when he speaks it's rudimentary, but he clearly understands everything you say, even if he doesn’t listen half the time.

you haven’t gotten the nerve to get in the water with him. in fact, you haven’t gotten in the water at all since he arrived, even when your colleagues are around and he’s notably not. he’s massive, his tail alone being well over two meters long and possessing the torso of a man who would tower over you on dry land (a handsome man, you're begrudged to admit, with those broad shoulders and blood red eyes and that ash blond hair that somehow looks good immediately coming out of the water). he’s assured you in his blunt, curt way that of course he doesn’t want to eat you but you still have anxieties about getting out into the open water you’ve always loved and being pulled under by a fucking sea monster.

he’s getting bolder, though. when you take the boat out today, he follows it, like the dolphins used to back when you operated out of the keys; that sleek black body would be terrifying just from the size, like seeing a fully grown orca bump up against the hull.

and when you weigh anchor, almost immediately, the boat keels aftward when he pulls himself onto the deck.

you shriek and he immediately pins you with a steely glare. he’s never done that before. it’s fucking terrifying, though he’s not managed to drag his whole body up and you’re a little comforted by that. it’s just his arms—two massive, heavily muscled things that are flexed and crossed in front of him, holding his head, shoulders, and much of his human-like torso up out of the water with ease. that enormous tail trails behind him and it’s still terrifying to see, your heart skipping a beat every time the shimmering orange markings catch your eye.

you don’t know what you’ll do if he decides to come all the way onto the boat. he wouldn’t be able to maneuver that well, but where the fuck would you go? into the damn water?

“fucking christ!” you yelp. “don’t just do that, motherfucker!”

“calm,” he snaps as he rolls his eyes.

the urge to flip him the bird is overshadowed by the knowledge that he wouldn’t understand, and you’re too frazzled to explain what go fuck yourself means. instead, you turn back around to clean up the cabin that he’s managed to mess up.

“oi, human, come.”

you huff, shouting your name at him and pointedly refusing to turn away from your task. he’s clearly annoyed at that, and you belatedly realize that perhaps if you’re really that terrified of him coming onto the boat you shouldn’t provoke him. luckily, rather than heaving himself up, he jerks the entire hull.

it’s a smooth motion for him, gripping the stern and rolling his tail so that the boat moves with him. it’s like being out in a storm, and though you’re well aware that it’s just your needy visitor, your sea-hardened stomach still lurches at the familiar feeling.

you stumble out of the cabin, careful not to be thrown over the edge. “i’m out! holy shit, i have a damn job you know, i can’t spend all my time catering to your whims.”

he stops as soon as you get back on deck. “calm,” he tells you again, and you're really starting to hate the word, “too loud.”

“who’s fucking fault is that? don’t rock my damn ship.”

“sit,” he demands rather than apologizing.

there are a plethora of reasons not to. you won’t be able to get away quickly if you need to, you shouldn’t be encouraging his demands by obliging immediately, you really do have a job to do instead of… whatever this is—instead of listening to any one of those reasons, you ease yourself down with your legs crossed a little ways away from where he’s holding himself.

he snarls, baring a mouthful of sharp teeth. “closer.”

“no,” you snap. “not if you’re threatening me.”

his mouth shuts immediately, brow furrowed and lips pouting in an expression that’s less pleading or apologetic and more contemplative.

“not a threat,” he seems to settle on saying.

you roll your own eyes. “yeah. okay.”

“come here.”

“why?”

“wanna feel you.”

that throws you for a loop. what could he mean by that? you realize that perhaps he’s as fascinated by you as you are by him.

you’ve caught him staring at your body in the past. he’s never reacted like you’d expect—if you’d caught a human looking at you like that and then turning away when you caught his eye, he’d have been checking you out. but when it’s an apex predator of a different species, there’s an entirely different context, one you’re even less enthused about.

you’re standing before you’ve fully thought it through, fully freaked and ready for him to go. you barely get to uncross your legs, however, before he lunges.

it’s far faster than your not-normally-hunted-because-you’re-a-modern-person mind can follow. a cold, clawed hand snaps out to latch around your ankle and yanks you downward, slamming your back into the boat’s coarse deck and then dragging you towards the edge. there’s not even time for you to shriek.

this is it, you think. he’s going to eat you now; he’ll drag you under and rip you apart, or maybe he’ll drown you first as a mercy. you hope he doesn’t want to play with you further, drag you into the water and let go to make you swim because he wants a chase.

the moment your ankle hits the water he stops.

you’re breathing heavily, free leg still braced on the deck, arms finding purchase on a pole nearby. his whole body is underwater aside from his eyes and the very top of his head, but you can still see that massive dark shadow—only little flashes of that pretty orange-gold patterning visible as his scales glint beneath the sun—and it sends a thrill through you. he’s so ungodly enormous.

that hand is still around your ankle, but it’s looser now. his mouth is beneath the waves so he doesn’t speak, but his eyes are soft and almost regretful as he regards you.

“okay…” you move slowly, getting to a better position. it pulls your captive ankle from the water and the movement causes his grip to tighten as if he’s reluctant to remove it—he doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t let you go. you’re forced to sit on the edge of the deck with your feet dangling over the side.

“let me feel you,” he tries again, as if he’s giving you a choice.

“ask,” you decide upon demanding. his words have made you realize, with a burst of shame and a promise to never tell anyone in the future, that you’re not entirely opposed to the strange rude merman feeling you.

you’re gifted a growl, not unlike the snarl from before but lacking the teeth. he’s learning, you realize, not only in not baring those terrifying weapons at you but also in removing his hand from your ankle.

“can i… touch you,” he spits out, like the words and your request are insulting.

and again you think there are far too many reasons to give in just like that. you’ve been around enough children to know that rewarding problematic behavior is hardly the way forward, but there’s a certain part of your brain that’s in control right now and it’s not particularly interested in breaking him of his demanding attitude (quite the contrary, to your chagrin, this very annoying part of your brain is enjoying it).

“are you sure you’re not going to eat me?”

“no eating.” he huffs, wrinkling his nose.

“what, i smell bad or something.”

he regards you, approaching a little closer, and you resist the urge to pull your legs up to hold your knees to your chest.

“smell good,” he says, “not like food.”

all right.

“fine, then. if you’re not going to take a bite out of my calf, then… sure. feel me, i guess.”

he’s just as fast as before, not even waiting for you to finish your sentence before he’s lashing out and grabbing your leg again. this time, he’s not looking at your face; he’s focused entirely on your feet, those big hands inspecting them thoroughly.

it’s rough, and you’re a little glad because if he’d been gentle it would have likely been too ticklish. he’s still careful with his massive claws; you’re sure they’re sharp enough to pierce your skin with ease, and he’s clearly skilled enough to avoid it. you’re more than thankful, because you’ve seen how he hunts with them (he’s dropped disemboweled fish in front of you before as strange gifts) and you don’t want your legs to end up like his prey even if he doesn’t eat you.

he moves on from your feet, both hands latching onto one calf and almost massaging it in reverence. his face is even closer now; you really ought to be more worried by the proximity of those teeth to your skin, but the fascination on his face is so enthralling.

by the time he reaches the back of your knee, you're tensing. while before he’d been mostly in the water, he’s very nearly at your height now, holding himself up by his grip on you and an awkward hold on the deck with his spare hand.

and then he’s at your thigh, and your breath is heavy.

because he’s basically laid out on your lap, one arm wrapped entirely around your upper leg such that his large palm rests flush, fingers spread, against the plush flesh of your inner thigh. and he’s no less fascinated, expression no less sincere, as he pulls further up to get closer.

“warm,” he says, more to himself than you. he blinks, as if shaking away a daze, and his eyes jump up from your thighs to look at your stomach. “soft…”

his head drops. you jump, caught up in the strange haze he's brought with him but snapping out of it as he lays his head on your lap. your heart thumps erratically, your breath long bated. he’s not looking at your thigh anymore, and not your face either—he’s locked on your stomach, your loose t-shirt having ridden up slightly to reveal more bare skin.

you ought to see it coming, really, but when that big, cold hand moves from your thigh to your torso, sliding smoothly beneath your shirt and running up your bare stomach, you yelp and jolt back.

he startles, and then he’s gone, slipping back off you and disappearing down into the murky water. you’re left panting, with nothing but a very wet body and the ghost of his touch on your legs…

and the heat of your face at the knowledge that, while you’d been surprised, you kind of wanted him to go further.

#bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #mine.🌧#char.🌧 bakugou #that one beach episode #just a lil merbaku 👉👈#for the soul #w a spitfire reader bc im me JHSBDF #this is reposted!!! i wrote it like two yrs ago for jotato kujo lmfaoooooo but rewrote it for bakugo who tbh i think it works for even bett #but the og is still up on my ao3 so

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aerynwrites · 7 months

Text

Masquerade of Liars

Dad!Gale x Fem!Reader

A/N: Had to do a little something for Halloween! So i found out Faerun has their own kind of Halloween called Liars Night or Masquerade of Liars. Here’s a link if you want to read more about it, it’s actually super cool! But I also just wanted to write some soft Dad!Gale after so many of you seemed to enjoy that one shot of him finding out reader was pregnant. So hope y’all enjoy!

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: reader is referred to as mother/mum.

*not beta read, sorry for any grammatical errors*

The smell of sulfur fills your nose as you strike a match to light the small wax candles before you. You light the wicks before shaking the match to douse the flame, and grabbing one of the lit candles.

“Cassias!” You call, moving to place the light source inside of your son’s pumpkin. “Are you almost ready? We need to go. Gale-!”

Your husband materializes just as you call his name, his lips against your own cutting off your words. You sigh when you pull away, smiling despite yourself as you place the last two candles in the remaining pumpkins.

“Did you help Cas with his costume?” You ask, looking over the carved orange spheres before you, making sure they look alright before you put them outside.

Gale lets out a quiet laugh as he shrugs his shoulders, “I tried, but he could not be swayed to accept my assistance. He wanted to do it himself.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes playfully, “He is definitely your son - stubborn.”

Gale lets out a small scoff, as he steps forward to wrap his arms around your waist. “Me? Stubborn? I think he gets that from you, my love.”

You let out a low hum, as you reach up to straighten the collar of his robe, “I suppose he gets it from the both of us.”

Gale smiles. “That’s better,” he says, before leaning in to kiss you again.

You relish in the somewhat quiet moment in your lover’s arms, knowing that the rest of the night will be full of excitement and noise.

The approaching thunder of footsteps coming down the stone steps of the tower make you separate from one another, but not before you press one last kiss to his cheek.

“I’m coming!” You son calls as he barrels down the stairs, nearly tripping over the tail of his costume as he hits the floor.

You instinctively reach out for him, but he’s righted himself before you can help, and you’re unable to stifle the grin that splits your lips as you take in the costume Cassian wears.

He insisted on being a dragon. A red dragon specifically. And it had to have horns, and giant wings.

And well…who were you to deny him?

His mask looked like that of a red dragon, tall pointed black horns rising from the top of it, even pointy teeth peeking out of the creature's mouth. The rest of his costume was just as elaborate, you and Cassian having worked on it for weeks leading up to the Masquerade of Liars. His shirt and pants are lined with hundreds of small metal scales that glint in the candle light. He even has a tale pinned to his pants, which may prove to be more of a hindrance now that you see it dragging the ground.

Even Gale helped with the costume, adding his own magical flare in the form of gentle smoke coming from the mask's mouth as if Cassian could breathe fire.

“Look, father look!” Cassian jumps around in his costume, the scales tinkling softly as he does so and reflecting a beautiful dappled light pattern all through the kitchen.

Gale ‘ooo’s’ and ‘ah’s’ at his son’s costume before picking the child up and smiling at the giggles that pour out from behind the mask.

“You’re just as fearsome as the legendary Ansur of Baldur’s Gate,” Gale tells him seriously before reaching up to tilt the mask up to the top of Cassian's head, revealing his face to you both.

Cassian is basically a spitting image of Gale. Warm brown eyes and dark hair. Gale insists he got your nose though, and your smile, which you’re happy about if not a little begrudging. You carried him for nine months! The least the gods could have done is given him your eyes…

But you wouldn’t change a thing, not really. Cassian has turned into a wonderful child, all chubby cheeks and laughter and kindness. Even now you watch in silent admiration as Cassian talks animatedly with his father. Despite being only six his vocabulary is as big as Gales.

“Are you ready for a night of trickery and lies?” Gale asks, voice dropping to a playfully low octave.

Cassian nods, eyes lighting up. “And candy!”

Glae laughs, moving to set Cassian back on his feet. “And candy of course. Do you have room in your pockets?”

Cassian nods fervently, face serious as he pats both pockets on his costume. “I even have candy in my other pocket so no one steals our coin.”

You stifle a laugh at the seriousness with which Cassian takes the holiday.

Liars night, though now more commonly known as the Masquerade of Liars is a night to pay tribute to the dirties Leira and Mask. While it started centuries ago as a more serious holiday it’s evolved into more of a fun tradition to celebrate the gods.

The particular tradition Cassian is referring to is pickpocketing. It used to be so common back when the holiday was first created that people started keeping candy in their pockets instead of coins - this soon evolved into people taking the candy and leaving behind trinkets or a small note in return.

Now most people just give the candy out, especially to children. But the occasional trinket still makes it into a pocket here or there - and you aren’t about to ruin his fun.

“Very good, Cas!” You praise, turning to face the carved pumpkins once more. “We should be ready to go once we put the pumpkins on the doorstep. Do you want to carry yours?”

“Yes, yes! Can I?” He reaches his hands up expectantly, and you smile, looking over at Gale.

“What do you think, my love?”

Gale nods, a smile matching your own on his face as he takes Cassian’s pumpkins from the counter. “I think a dragon as fearsome as Cassian can carry his own pumpkin to the stoop this year.”

Cassian cheers and takes the pumpkin carefully in his arms, Gale keeping a watchful eye until he’s sure he has a secure hold on it.

You take your pumpkins and Gale takes his as you all move to the front door of the tower, moving slowly to keep the candles lit.

“Be careful Cas,” you say, following close behind. “You don’t want the candle to blow out, remember?”

“I remember, mum,” he says, “It’s bad luck.”

You nod as Gale reaches out with one hand to open the door for all of you, the cool night air kissing your skin. “That’s right.”

You watch as Cassian moves to set his pumpkin at the top of the stairs right next to the door, turning it this way and that until he’s happy with the placement. You and Gale place yours nearby before locking the door and taking Cassian’s hands in your own.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, you all turn to look at the small display, the candles flickering gently in the night. Cassian hops impatiently between you and your husband, his little hands squeezing yours tightly.

“Can we go?” He asks, excitement bleeding into his words.

You chuckle and nod. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to miss the festivities.”

The three of you walk from your home towards Waterdeeps town square. While the night is celebrated throughout the city, most people gather in the square. Vendors set up to sell food or other festive items and children run around trying to collect as much candy as they can in one night. Even the adults partake in the costumes and activities. You and Gale have dressed up in the past, but this year you decided to forgo a disguise.

Cassian chats animatedly as you make your way down the quiet streets, the sounds of celebration getting louder the closer you get to the center of Waterdeep. His steps get more impatient until eventually, both you and Gale are stumbling to keep up with the energetic child as you finally reach your destination.

The square is decorated for the holiday, lanterns hanging all around, and some even floating in the air thanks to some other magic wielders. Autumnal colored banners and draping shirt line the various vendor stalls and the fountain at the center, and lively music fills the square as well.

Cassian breaks away from you and Gale when he spots one of his friends, a little tiefling boy named Allon who looks to be dressed as an owlbear.

Gale laughs as you both follow him, watching as he embraces his friend before gesturing excitedly at their costumes. “I don’t understand where all that energy comes from - it surely doesn’t come from me.”

You let out a chuckle of your own as you stand a few paces back to let Cassian talk to his friend. “That’s just how children are, I’m afraid. But it dies down. Eventually.”

Gale just hums quietly in response, watching your son with adoring eyes as he and Allon take turns roaring at each other.

You remember a time many years ago when Gale told you he didn’t feel like he was father material. Granted it was in the middle of some tumultuous times for everyone, but you had thought he truly meant it. And despite him being overjoyed when you told him you were pregnant with Cassian several years ago you couldn’t help but worry those doubts would creep back in.

But they never did.

Gale took to fatherhood like a fish to water. Despite it being a learning curve for the both of you, he took everything in stride and a new glow settled into his being. Even in his most dour moods from hours of fruitless research or a failed spell experiment, his face would always light up at the sight of his son.

This adoration just seemed to grow as Cassian got older, the boy taking after his father in almost everything. You remember thinking that Gale was going to die of happiness when Cassian started to show an affinity for magic and a certain connection to the weave.

You know he would have been happy even if Cassian showed no interest in the weave or magic in general, but the fact that he does has only pulled the two of them closer.

“Mr. Dekarios!”

Allon’s voice pulls you from your reverie, watching as him and Cassian come running up to you and Gale. You look past him to see his parents watching you all and give them a small wave which they return.

Gale takes his hand from your own as the boy approaches and crouches down to his level.

“Yes, Allon?”

The boy, whose mask is tipped up to sit on top of his head, looks slightly sheepish as he looks at Gale.

“Can you show me that magic trick again?” He asks politely.

Gale feigns to think for a moment, hand on his chin as he scratches his beard. “Do you mean this one?”

With a flick of his wrist and a faint purple aura, Gale produces a small foil wrapped chocolate in the palm of his hand just to the side of Allon’s face. The tiefling giggles in delight before snatching the candy and stuffing it in his mouth.

You hear a small gasp come from behind him as his mother approaches, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Allon, what do you say?”

His eyes widen as he speaks around the chocolate in his mouth. “-‘fank you.”

Gale laughs before pulling two more chocolates from his robe and handing them to him. “You’re most welcome.”

Allon’s mother gives you both a small apology before leading her son back to where her husband stands.

Gale’s trick for Allon starts to attract a small crowd of children, all of them begging to see him do more tricks and other magical displays. Your wizard stands next to you as the gaggle grows, a huge grin splitting his lips as he complies with the tiny demands.

He pulls candy out of thin air, handing them to the small grabby hands that reach out before moving to pull hard candy’s from behind some children’s ears or even making them appear right in their pockets. You watch from a few feet away, as Cassian fights his way to the front of the crowd. Gal hoists him into his arms and pauses his display as yours son leans in to whisper in his ear.

Gale’s eyes light up, and he nods. “That sounds like a grand idea, Cassian. Would you like to help me?”

At the prospect of helping his father with magic, Cassian nods fervently, his mask shaking funnily on his face. Gale instructs the other children to back up just a few feet before setting Cassian down beside him. He turns to face him and takes his little hands in his own, palms facing up.

“Now, remember,” he instructs gently, “You have to think about it very hard, try to picture it in your head.”

Cassian nods firmly, and you can practically picture the look of serious determination on his face.

Gale continues. “And remember, do not be discouraged if it does not work because…”

“I’m still learning and mistakes are okay,” Cassian recites the words Gale tells him so often.

Gale smiles, squeezing Cassian’s hands. “That’s right. Now, are you ready?”

Cassian nods again and Gale turns to face the small crowd, which has now grown to include adults as well. You’ve now moved to join the crowd a few paces back from the front row of children in order to watch your family. You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping that Cassian isn’t nervous in any way.

Gale places both hands out in front of him, palms together and waits as Cassian mimics him. After a moment of concentration he separates his hands to reveal a small area of purple and blue light. You wait for Cassian to do the same but find yourself slightly perplexed when he stays still, his hands held firmly together in front of him.

You watch as Gale whispers something to him before he thrusts his hands skywards ending out a cascade of purple and blue light that settles over the crowd. Moments later you watch as Cassian does the same but instead, pure starlight springs out from his palms, creating a magical night sky above the square as the pinpricks of bright white light settle among the colorful aurora.

Cheers and gasps of pleasure erupt from the crowd, but you don’t stay to watch their faces as they marvel at the magic. You’re already rushing forward, taking Cassian in your arms as you gasp.

“Cassian, that was amazing!” You praise, hugging him close before looking at Gale who gazes proudly at his son. “When did you learn to do that?”

Cassian pulls away so he can look at you, tugging his mask up so his brown eyes can look into your own, excitement and utter joy sparkling in his eyes.

“I’ve been practicing for over a tenday!” He says proudly.

Finally gale approaches, finally free from attention as they all marvel at his handiwork. “It’s true. He would not rest until he was sure he could do it,” he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. “In fact it was you he wanted to surprise most.”

You smile and turn to look at your son again. “Well consider me surprised,” you tell him before peppering his face with kisses, causing him to squeal. “I’m so, so proud of you, Cas.”

“Muuum!” He whines, causing you to relent in your barage of kisses.

“Okay, okay,” you say, moving to set him back on his feet. “Why don’t we go explore the rest of the square? I think I saw someone selling cinnamon buns…”

At the mention of his favorite treat, Cassian’s face lights up again and he tugs his mask back down as he grabs your and Gale’s hand in each of his one.

“Yes! Let’s go, let’s go!”

———

The moon is high in the sky by the time you three make your way home. Cassian is sound asleep in Gale’s arms, pockets building with candy, and chocolate staining the corners of his mouth.

You approach the tower soon enough, the facing flicker of three candles greeting you through the carved mouths of the pumpkins. You smile as you make your way up the steps, getting the door for Gale before following them both inside.

You follow them up to Cassian’s room and help Gale gently remove his costume, careful not to wake him. But despite your best efforts, just as you're tucking him into bed, Cassian stirs awake.

His eyes flutter slowly as his hands come up to tug the blanket further around him.

“Did the candles go out?” He asks sleepily.

You shake your head, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Nope. They’re still lit, my love. No bad luck this year.”

Cassian nods before turning onto his side, eyes slipping closed as he falls right back asleep.

You smile and press another kiss to his forehead, Gale doing the same before blowing out the candles and leaving the room, leaving the door cracked so a small amount of light can filter in from the hallway.

You both move about readying for bed once Cassian is settled, neither of you speaking as sleep starts to tug at your minds as well. Only when you’re settled beneath the covers with Gale’s arms snaking around you do you finally break the silence.

“You’re an amazing father,” you tell him softly, lips brushing against his own.

Gale is silent for a moment, eyes trailing over your face before his eyes slip closed and he pulls you closer, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“That is praise most high - praise I sometimes still feel unworthy of.”

You shake your head, wrapping around him further. “You deserve that and more, my love.”

He presses a kiss to your neck, the underside of your jaw, before eventually pulling away to capture your lips with his own. It’s a slow, languid kiss, both of you just taking each other in until finally breaking apart and settling against the pillows.

“I love you,” gale says simply, pressing one last kiss to your cheek. “Thank you, for giving me this. Giving me a family.”

Your heart swells at his words and you move to bury your face in his chest, wanting him as close as possible.

“I love you too.”

#gale dekarios #gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #bg3 gale x reader #bg3 x reader #gale #bg3 #bg3 gale

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starleska · 1 year

Text

The Nightmare Picnic - Wally Darling x Reader

You're a brand new resident in the wonderful Welcome Home Neighbourhood, and it's the perfect day for the picnic! But your dear friend Wally Darling doesn't seem to be enjoying the fun. What will happen when you decide to try and cheer him up?

content warnings for: eye imagery, scopophobia, hypnosis, impossible physics, Eldritch, and unreality. go in assuming that Wally is a weird little guy, and you’re both terrified of and kind of enjoy that fact! 😉 you can also find this fic on my AO3. i hope you enjoy!!

The day you learn how to love Wally Darling begins like any other.

It is a balmy day, the air soft and thick and dizzy with butterflies. The sun shines with relentless cheer, and nary a cloud can be seen in the sky. Such a day in the Neighbourhood cannot be spent languishing inside, and all your new neighbours think the same way. So, which lovely activity did they decide upon? Why, a picnic on the grass, of course!

The organisation of the event is efficient and cheerful. In no time, the lush meadow surrounding the outskirts of the Neighbourhood is replete with cosy blankets to lie on, fun games to play, and a plethora of delicious foods contributed by each neighbour. Luckily, you’d baked a whole tray of cupcakes the previous day, with the intent of handing them out when bumping into your neighbours going about their daily business. The cupcakes were a huge success; even the ever-curmudgeonly Frank, who always has something to complain about, graces you with a begrudging, “It’s good, I suppose,” when you hand him a vanilla cupcake topped with a green-icing butterfly.

'I needed this,’ you think as you look around at your new friends. You’ve only been a resident of the Neighbourhood for a few months, but in that time you’ve grown so close to its colourful cast of neighbours as if you’d known each other your whole lives. Right now, they’re dotted across the meadow, smiling and laughing without a care in the world: Howdy’s busy putting together an impossibly long string of daisy chains; Eddie and Sally peer into an origami fortune-teller and giggle at the results; Frank leans over a bush, studying a caterpillar, and Julie and Poppy clap and cheer whilst Barnaby entertains them with a juggling act.

It’s a gorgeous scene. Today, your heart is warm.

A small flash of yellow catches your eye. Of course, it’s an incomplete picture. You take in Wally, who sits cross-legged under the shade of a verdant apple tree. He’s holding an apple between both hands and staring at it intently, as if willing the fruit to communicate with him. It’s an odd expression - you aren’t used to seeing Wally in a state of concentration.

“Hey, Wally!” you call.

Wally looks up at you and smiles. He beckons you over.

“Hello,” says Wally, in his simple way. “I’m happy to see you.”

Oh, what a beautiful voice. Every time you hear Wally speak, it’s like the gentle lapping of his syllables sweep away your worries in a single wave.

As you get closer to Wally, you notice a few strands of his deep blue hair turning flyaway and giving in to the heat, curling away from the otherwise-immaculate pompadour and escaping the death-grip of his hairspray. He’s a little dishevelled elsewhere, too; Wally’s neckerchief is coming loose, and though he’s long since abandoned his cardigan, a stray button on his shirt remains stubbornly popped. You find yourself grinning. Wally takes such pride in his appearance that you never get to see him a little less than perfect.

“Same to you!” you say. “Aren’t you hungry? All the food’s down with the others.”

That unusually pensive look on Wally’s face deepens. He turns his eyes back to his apple. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” You rummage in your backpack and pull out a chocolate bar. “You’ve got to eat, bud. You not feeling so good?”

Wally takes the treat from you and examines it for a moment, as if the bar is a scientific curiosity. “That’s very nice of you…but this doesn’t work for me. You should keep it.”

When Wally hands the bar back, your fingers touch for the briefest moment, and a shiver works its way up your spine.

You don’t know when this… thing you have for Wally Darling began. Despite the countless nights you’ve spent desperately trying to focus on something, anything else, your thoughts inevitably return to the little yellow puppet-man and his catlike smile. There’s a strange magnetism to Wally which befits his profession as a television host; everything from the delicate way he handles his paintbrush, to his ridiculous affinity for apples, leaves you with a little more fondness than before. Wally has so much affection stored in one small body, and when you first met, you wondered how any person could love so much all at once.

But now, when you look at Wally, you understand.

“If you’re sure.” You pop the bar back into your bag and sit on the ground in front of Wally, mirroring his cross-legged pose. “The offer’s still there.”

“It’s tempting,” says Wally, now turning his apple over and over in his hands. “I’d like to know what would happen, if I tried. But Barnaby told me it isn’t worth the risk. I trust him to know.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, but the look on Wally’s face is so uncharacteristically brooding that you don’t feel it’s polite to pry. Wally’s always been the drifting sort: those large, dewy eyes of his are perpetually lidded, and always seem to be gazing at something no one else can see. But Wally’s inattentiveness is usually matched with an infectious, excited kind of energy, bursting with nonsense and love.

Today, he almost looks sad. The idea makes you feel sick.

It occurs to you that this may be a personal issue, and Wally doesn’t know you well enough to discuss it. So you ask, “Do you want me to look away?”

Wally’s fingers still. To your surprise, the apple actually drops from his hands and rolls into the grass. You’ve never seen Wally mistreat an apple before - there must be something seriously wrong.

“Actually,” says Wally, now looking at you properly, “I’d like to try something.”

He gestures for you to shuffle closer. When you do, Wally reaches forward and takes hold of your forearms. You make a surprised noise, but Wally squeezes you, and fixes you with a smile full of reassurance and warmth. A rush of heat leaps into your cheeks, and you’re suddenly reminded of an interaction you had with another neighbour not too long ago.

It was only a week after you arrived in the Neighbourhood, and you were finally moving the last of your belongings into your home. All of your new neighbours had graciously donated their time to help you in some fashion, and you were overcome with gratitude. On that final day you were more than capable of doing the rest of the moving yourself, but your closest neighbour - the excitable Julie Joyful - volunteered to help with the last handful of delicate items. At first, you were unsure - Julie is a lovely girl and incredibly fun to be around, but so spirited that you feared for the safety of your items. But a good twenty minutes of allowing her to help with the least fragile of your boxes allayed all your fears: Julie moves with the grace of a ballerina, and the two of you soon had all your boxes stacked in your living room.

Burnt orange sunlight poured through the window, streaming soon-to-be-dusk and casting the wooden floorboards with a vibrant glow. You take a moment from the heavy lifting to look out the window. Across the lawn, you can make out a couple of your neighbours engaging in some game. Upon closer inspection, you realise it’s Wally and Barnaby, the former laughing and tossing a series of colourful balls for Barnaby to catch.

You watched as Wally swung his arm and threw a few of the balls a surprising distance, letting the large, spotted dog race off to retrieve them. Wally put his hands on his hips, as if exhausted by the exertion. He turned - and locked eyes with you. Wally’s face broke out into a huge grin, and he gave you a hearty wave. Feeling horribly embarrassed, you waved back, trying to ignore the painful squeezing of your heart. You’ve only known Wally a week, and yet you’re utterly charmed by everything he does.

A tug on your arm brought you back to the present: it’s Julie. She bats her long eyelashes at you, a knowing smile on her face.

“You like hiiiiim, ” she teased, her voice all sing-song.

“What?!”

You grabbed Julie by the shoulders and yanked her away from the window, as if Wally could somehow hear you both through sight. “No! I don’t know where you got an idea like that-”

“It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t need to pretend.”

Your face felt like it was on fire. You’d always been the careful type, ensuring your innermost thoughts and feelings stayed stuffed as far down as possible to keep you safe. But the Neighbourhood bred a kind of emotional honesty with which you were totally unfamiliar. Everyone is so exuberant, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves - some of them even literally, as plenty of your new neighbours wore outfits stitched with cute little hearts! Keeping a secret in the Neighbourhood felt wrong…even a secret crush on the silly little artist whose smile lit up your insides.

So, you give in. “How did you know?”

Julie giggles. She fishes in the pocket of her dress, and pulls out a daisy.

“I know a lot about flowers,” she explained, as she twirled the stem between her fingers. “What kinds grow in different meadows. How much sun and water and love they need to grow. They show it in their petals, and how they lean. People are a lot like that too.

“When you arrived, you looked…wilted. Like you’d been kept out of the sun for too long. I could see it, but didn’t want to ask why. I think everyone else could, too…and we all wanted to help a new friend who lost their colour.”

“You’ve all been so lovely to me,” you said, by way of thanks.

Julie nodded. “Sure we have! And it worked, for a little bit. But for a flower at the end of its days, even fresh soil, plenty of sun and lots of water can only do so much. Your petals seemed faded for good. And that’s okay. I just wanted you to be happy - whatever that looks like for you.”

You swallowed. “You see a lot, for a gardener.”

Julie smiled. “When you care for flowers, you learn to listen to their needs. Sometimes, you’ll have a flower who has everything in the world…but they’re still curling up, and shying away from the light.”

She pressed the daisy into your palm.

“Wally brings the colour back to your petals,” said Julie. “Do yourself a favour. Don’t hide from your sun.”

Another squeeze from Wally brings you out of your recollection. You suck in a deep breath, facing this new reality of Wally holding you, his fingers pleasantly warm and fuzzy.

“Close your eyes,” says Wally gently.

For anyone else, you would’ve paused - but for Wally, you comply immediately.

Slowly, you feel Wally’s hands slide down your arms to your hands. He threads his fingers through yours and holds them firm, so tight that you start to feel your blood thrumming from the pressure. Your hearing, sensitive now your sight is compromised, picks up the distant chatter of your neighbours, as well as the friendly sounds of nature at play. Your skin tingles, sweat-slicked from the heat and the nerves.

“I have a question,” says Wally, his voice wonderfully calm and soft.

“Yes?”

“Why do you eat?”

“Uh…” What kind of question was that? Wally is admittedly prone to posing questions that only a truly strange mind would think up, but this one is so baffling, you’re thrown entirely for a loop. “...So I don’t die, I guess?”

“Ha ha ha ha!” Wally’s unique, halting laugh almost startles you into opening your eyes. “You’re so funny. Okay. Do you know why I eat?”

This time, it takes you a little longer to answer. A simple enough question, surely with the exact same answer? But Wally’s voice has taken on a teasing, knowing edge - a sound you recognise from when he’s setting up a punchline. The question must be a trick. So you rack your brains, trying to think of all the times you’d seen Wally eat: where he was, what he was eating.

With your eyes still closed, you reach a strange realisation.

“I…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat.”

A soft chuckle from Wally. “That’s right. You haven’t.”

Wally’s grip on your hand tightens. Strangely, a weak, static noise buzzes to life, seemingly from inside your skull. You shift, trying to locate the source, but Wally holds you in place. As the noise grows, the sounds of your friends fizzle out and die. It’s as if you’ve been placed on an invisible train and are moving steadily down the track, away from all the familiar sounds of your Neighbourhood - but you can’t feel the rumbling of the track, or hear the whistle of the wind.

“But…maybe you should.”

With Wally’s words the temperature noticeably drops, and gooseflesh breaks out on your arms. You shudder, wanting to open your eyes but finding that you can’t: your eyelids feel impossibly heavy. You’re stuck in place, pinioned to the grass (which you can no longer feel) as that buzzing sound inches up by the decibel, a nasty, steady crawl which leaves your brain awash in a sea of noise.

“Open your eyes.”

You do so.

And you can’t make sense of what you see.

The sky is gone. The tree is gone. The meadow is gone. Every detail from the Neighbourhood’s comforting landscape has evaporated, leaving nothing behind but a grayscale emptiness which fuzzes in and out like television static. Even the awful buzzing sound abruptly falls away, leaving your ears with nothing but the distant sound of an unseen tide.

Wally still sits in front of you, his hands grasping yours, but it’s like he’s sitting on nothing at all: somehow supported by a cushion of emptiness. It’s like the texture of the world has fallen out of reality.

Seized by vertigo, you tighten your grip on Wally’s hands. “What’s happening?!”

“Don’t worry,” says Wally. “You’re safe.”

“There’s nothing here,” you whisper. “Where is everyone?”

“Back Home,” says Wally. “They can’t see us right now. They’re not ready.” His smile turns coy. “But I think you are. Watch this.”

Wally reaches over and rustles in your backpack. Your heart crawls into your mouth; although you can see Wally’s hands in front of you, you can somehow still feel his hands holding both of yours, keeping you locked in place. You try to look down and make sense of this impossibility, but your eyes are stuck, glued to Wally’s face. You can only watch, terrified, as he takes out your chocolate bar and locks in his gaze.

Without warning, Wally’s eyes flare open, heavy lids drawing back and revealing the full size of his large, black pupils. Wally’s stare travels steadily down the chocolate bar, a focused intensity searing from his eyes like a laser. Somehow as he stares, bite marks are chunked out of the chocolate, as if some great invisible person is taking enormous chomps out of both the bar and wrapper. In seconds, the chocolate is gone.

Panic grips your chest, and you start to hyperventilate. The world tilts, and you’re scared you might actually puke. Wally blinks, his eyelids half-blanketing those pupils once more, and he looks at you with concern. When his eyes connect, your chest convulses with panic: a type of terror you’ve never experienced before threatening to claw its way out of your body and devour you whole.

“What happened?!”

“Oh, don’t be scared,” says Wally, his voice floating and cloudlike. “This is just how I eat.”

“How - did you - do - that?” you gasp.

“I’m not sure. I’ve always eaten this way.” Wally inclines his head in sympathy. “I am sorry if I’ve made you afraid. I usually only eat when others are blinking. That way, I don’t interrupt them. I don’t want to be rude."

You suck in a huge gulp of breath. “Wally, this is…impossible,” you manage. “I want to leave - I want to go Home-”

“You can’t.”

Wally shakes his head mildly from side to side, but his eyes seem to stay still, locked into the centre of his face. No matter how much you strain to move, those incredible eyes remain right in front of you, always at the same distance, never looking away - and never blinking. In your peripheral vision, you see Wally’s hand reach up towards your face. He cups your cheek. The sensation of feeling three arms belonging to a two-armed person on your body sends a rush of nausea through your throat. Wally strokes your skin with his thumb.

“You understand me so well,” says Wally. “You see me, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand.” Another wave of dizziness rises up, pushing behind your eyeballs. The sensation is the same as the pressure of allergies arising on a high pollen day - yet you can no longer smell the flowers of the meadow. You try again in vain to rip your gaze away from Wally’s, but you can’t - and you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

Wally’s thumb stops, resting in the dip of your cheek. “I love my friends, but they only see one part of me. The part they want to see. But you…”

His thumb trails to the edge of your lip.

“...you see all of me.”

You’re split in two. Your brain, the logical part of your thinking, is screaming at you to do anything - to move, to scream, to run as fast as you can into the nightmare emptiness and beg for help. But the other part of you - your traitorous, emotional heart - douses the runaway fire of your fear with the intoxication of Wally’s touch. You find yourself leaning into his hand, savouring how perfectly his cheek cups your palm, and the slight fuzz of his thumb teasing your lip.

“I do,” you whisper. Suddenly, your body relaxes, and you slump forward. You feel very tired. The panic which gripped your body only moments ago is now quashed, flattened into a fine layer of dust by the weight of Wally’s impossibly black eyes. Now your nervous system is nothing but the aftermath: the feeling of fight-or-flight chemicals settling into your bloodstream, leaving you weak and sluggish.

Now, Wally’s eyes are not a source of terror. They’re a blanket you wish to curl up beneath, and never wake up.

“I think you’re special, you know,” says Wally. “The way I feel when I’m around you is…different, than with the others. You’re the absolute most.”

Wally’s words settle over your brain like a dream. You watch, your eyes heavy and drained, as Wally brings his hands up to his chest and forms the shape of his heart with his fingers. You’re no longer scared of the physical contradictions of Wally holding your hands whilst signing his affection. It seems in this reality, Wally can have as many hands as he wants.

This is why Wally’s next question confuses you so:

“Do you think if our friends saw me like this…they’d run away?”

Wally’s words are becoming harder to process. The world around him tunnels. Even though you’re sure that you’re fixed in place, sitting on some immovable, textureless cushion, Wally’s eyes grow larger, encroaching evermore on your limiting field of vision. The longer you look, the more of Wally’s scleras are swallowed by his expanding pupils. Those blown, void-black pools seem to come with their own gravity, and you’re slipping into their inconceivable pull, ready to be strewn and stretched and ripped apart by their physics.

“Oh, Wally,” you try to say, but your tongue slackens, and his name comes out as, ‘Waaalllllyyyy.’ “We love you so much. You can’t make us run away.”

Wally smiles, and you think it’s the saddest thing you’ve ever seen.

“How I wish that were true.”

Suddenly, Wally’s eyes shift just the slightest bit to the left. The effect is like unsealing a pressure chamber. For a moment you are released from his eyes, and your brain and body scramble as one, free-falling and bracing to break against the ground with a hypnic jerk. However, Wally realises his mistake and grabs you by the shoulder - another impossible arm - and forces you to look back into his eyes.

“Shh. Don’t strain yourself. The more you resist, the worse you’ll feel.”

You blink rapidly, trying to reorient yourself in space. Wally’s touch grounds you again, holding you steady in this non-existent space. You try to reply, but your mouth now hangs open, jaw useless. Saliva collects in a pool under your tongue, but Wally still keeps his thumb at the edge of your lip, now rubbing soothing circles against your flesh.

“We don’t have much time,” says Wally. “But…thank you for this. You can’t know how much I appreciate you.”

The warm flush of his approval works its way through your unresponsive body. Your muscles contract, dopamine and serotonin coating your insides and bringing your fingers - still interlocked with Wally’s - into a sudden contraction. You force your mouth into a speech-ready shape, fuelled by his words and his touch and the sheer paradox of his being, and you try so desperately to say, ‘Wally, I love you- ’

But then he looks away.

The spell is broken. Like flipping to another television channel, the world around you snaps back into place in one vivid bound. All the colour, sounds and scents of the Neighbourhood re-enter your senses in one huge burst, and the force of it almost knocks you over. Wally - who is still holding your hands, just like before - keeps you steady, crushing your hands together like he would rather die than let go.

“Hey, you two!”

Looking away from Wally feels like ripping off a plaster. Your eyes alight on Julie trotting up the meadow’s slight incline, clutching a hotdog in one hand and a cooler in the other.

“Eddie wanted me to tell you we’re packing up,” Julie chirps. “Looks like a thunderstorm is coming.” She looks down at your hands, still intertwined with Wally’s, and grins. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just some good old-fashioned fun,” says Wally, his voice impassive and gentle.

The ability for words has deserted you. You stare back at Wally, searching desperately for something supernatural in the darks of his eyes. Wally looks normal - as normal as a small, yellow puppet can - and his eyes are back to their half-lidded, sleepy-looking state. It takes a couple of nudges with his foot for Wally to bring you back to earth.

Wally lets go of your hands, and you can feel the blood pumping in the spaces between your fingers. You try standing up, but your legs are weak and wobbly, as if you’d just run a marathon while sitting in one spot. They would’ve collapsed beneath you, but Wally catches you before you slip. He hauls you up and loops his arm around yours.

“Just hungry,” Wally says with a smile. “Let’s get you Home."

Julie leads the way down the small embankment, with Wally supporting your timid, uneasy steps. You soon reach your neighbours, now busying themselves in tidying up the remnants of your picnic. Upon seeing you, they all crowd around, asking if you’re okay. Barnaby remarks that you look terribly pale, and Sally offers to bring you a drink. However, Wally shoos them off, admonishing them in a familial sort of way. He reassures them that you’ve just had a small fainting spell, and need to get some rest.

Now free of the others, Julie, Wally and yourself make the way home - and you’re thankful it’s only a short distance. When you finally reach your porch you want to fall over onto the steps, but Wally keeps you held upright: a firm, reassuring presence at your side.

“You need to tell us if you get this again, okay?” says Julie, looking at you with worry in her eyes.

“Okay,” you say, giving a weak nod.

“Thank you. Feel better soon, okay?”

Julie gives you and Wally a final glance over. Having determined you’ll be more than fine in Wally’s care, she bids her goodbyes and skips off to help the rest of your neighbours.

“Ha ha ha,” laughs Wally. “Julie is a good friend. I’m lucky to have her in my life.”

You look sideways at Wally. He catches your eye, and dips his head in a nod. “I feel the same way about you,” he says.

The question is implied in his voice - a little waver at the edge of his words.

“Wally…I don’t really understand what happened today,” you say. “But…I know it doesn’t change how much I like you."

The beam that dawns on Wally’s face is so wide, it almost cracks in two. “Thank you,” he whispers.

You can’t help but return the grin. “Thank you for being vulnerable with me.”

Wally lets go of your arm, and turns to face you properly. He reaches up one hand, and then hesitates, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours as if pondering a question.

Finally, Wally leans in and gives you a small, gentle kiss on the cheek. You inhale sharply, your arms hanging limply by your side and your fingers curling into questioning shapes. His mouth is plush and downy, and the impression of his lips sends a toasty-sweet feeling rocketing through your body.

When Wally pulls back, his yellow skin is dusted pink about his cheeks.

“Always know,” he says softly, “that I love you very much.”

Then, he’s leaving. You watch in stunned silence as Wally’s back retreats into the distance, making his way to join the throng of your neighbours. A slight rumble in the distance makes you look up: a cluster of thunderclouds gather at the edge of the Neighbourhood, fat with the promise of rain.

You touch your lips gently, and smile. Then, you retreat inside the safety of your home…with the warm memory of Wally’s kiss playing in your mind, and static still buzzing in your fingers.

#wally darling x reader #wally darling x you #wally darling #welcome home #welcome home arg #julie joyful #frank frankly #eddie dear #poppy partridge #barnaby b. beagle #sally starlet #howdy pillar #starleskawrites #welcome home fic

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holymusicalmothman · 8 months

Text

Eat at Baratie! - OPLA!Sanji x Fem!Reader

Might do a part two, there might be more of this that comes to mind!

Inspo is from @madmadamemimble who said : "Sanji recognizes reader as a former patron of the baratie a few years back. Why does he remember them? They dined and dashed. On his watch. Zeff. Was. Furious. He still begrudges them for the lengthy month of chore duty he got stuck with as a result. But how could he ever stay mad at someone so beautiful, kind and charming."

Warnings: none? mentions of a dine and dash in the past. Don't do that to your waiters guys :)

Word Count: 1k

Main Masterlist

You felt yourself tense when your little brother led you all through the fog and towards the Baratie. Normally you didn’t return to places that you had left on a rather…unhappy note. But you also knew that you didn’t stand a chance against Luffy’s appetite.

But maybe the waiter from before wasn’t working there anymore? And the Head Chef and Owner, who you knew to be Red Leg Zeff, had never seen your face. So you knew there was a slight chance you’d make it through this. After all, you didn’t even have a reservation.

You weren’t proud of your prior actions, but back then the simple dine and dash had just been a moment in the wind. You definitely hadn’t planned on returning.

And you definitely weren’t telling your brother.

Growing up two years Luffy’s elder, you made it your own personal mission to look out for him. Especially after Shanks had left. You had taken his departure personally, the pirate genuinely being your father. Luffy had never quite told you how that moment had affected him, it was the one of the few things he had never opened up to you about. But you had seen how much he treasured his hat. He called you his sister though. And you called him your brother.

You and Nami stood more towards the back of the group as Luffy and Usopp attempted to get a table.

“You’re tense.” She pointed out.

Being the only two girls aboard the Going Merry, you liked to think you and Nami were friends.

You lowered your voice. “Don’t tell my brother, but I might have dined and dashed here a few years back.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You?”

You nodded. “Took a few months a few years back to see what I could. I felt restless back home, and Luffy wasn’t quite ready to head for the Grand Line. I wound up here, hungry and broke. I feel bad for the waiter, if I’m honest. He was…charming, and easy on the eyes.”

Nami smirked, a quick laugh passing through her nose. “Well then, maybe he’s still working here.” She walked over to the host and pulled some Berry from her pouch. “Excuse those two, they’re idiots.”

“Nami!” You were floored. Had she not been listening when you said you had dined and dashed?

“Relax, you said it yourself, it’s been years.”

You groaned as you followed the group to the table, seating yourself between Nami and Zoro, trying to vanish into the booth.

“Are you okay?” Luffy asked, not quite sure what to make of your antics but concerned none the less.

You kicked Nami in the shin under the table as she opened her mouth.

“I’m fine. Just tired.” You told your brother, reluctantly sitting up.

There was a shout a ways away, toward the entrance to the kitchens. You couldn’t quite tell what was happening from your angle, but you recognized the accented voice that followed.

“No cause for alarm folks, return to your meals.”

Your gaze fused itself to the tablecloth.

A basket of bread was set on the table.

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

You frowned, looking up.

It was the same man from the last time you were here, but the charm was…missing. Odd.

Luffy had dug into the bread with joy. “One of everything please!”

Sanji glanced at your brother. “Anything to drink? Perhaps one of our signature cocktails to help you choke down your meal?”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Wow. Giving us the hard sell.” Nani’s voice was sarcastic and rather deadpan.

It was like a switch had been flipped. Sanjis eyes flickered from Nami to you and seemed to linger.

“Apologies, madames, I didn’t see you there. Would you care for an aperitif to start? We have several rare Micqueot vintages in stock. Or perhaps a glass of Umeshu? You know, something sweet for someone sweet.”

The wink that followed was obviously directed at you and you felt your cheeks warm despite the situation. You returned your gaze to the table.

“Something wrong with your eye?” Nami questioned.

Sanji merely smiled. “Just blinded by beauty.”

You heard Nami order the both of you plain waters and the receding footsteps of your waiter.

As soon as he was out of earshot, the boys started giggling at the obvious flip to his personality. You rolled your eyes and nudged Zoro to let you out of the booth.

“I’mma get some air.” You muttered lamely.

The open air bar was cooler than the dining room, you noticed as you leaned against the railing.

“You caused me quite the bit of trouble the last time you were here. I trust you don’t plan on pulling such a stunt again?”

The blond was at your side, resting his forearms on the railing, a lit cigarett dangling from his fingertips.

“I have berry.”

He raised a brow, taking a drag. “And you didn’t before I take it.”

You shook your head. “Not at the time. I’m sorry about that by the way. I didn’t mean to get you into any trouble with Zeff.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” he smiled, grey blue eyes meeting yours. “Just a month’s worth of extra kitchen chores. Honestly, Zeff could have done much worse. I think, that as long as it doesn’t happen again, we’ll be alright.”

“We?”

“I trust you’ll be docked while your ship receives repairs, and I’d love a chance to get to know a lady as charming as yourself.”

You laughed. Something about him was enthralling. You couldn’t tell if it was the charm, the accent, the smile, the way his hair fell in his face, or even just the way he looked. Something about him reeled you in like a fish on a line.

“Maybe a drink after my shift?” He asked, hopefully.

“I’d like that, Sanji.” You said with a smile.

“Ah, and the beautiful lady blesses me with a drink. I should get back to work, I’ll see you later then?”

“Yeah, I should be getting back to my brother.”

“Until later, then.”

You smiled as he walked away, back into the dining room. Maybe coming back to the Baratie was a good idea after all.

#opla sanji x reader #opla sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #opla x reader #thismothwrites

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zepskies · 7 months

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 5

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,000 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, house fire, perilous situations, angst, hurt/comfort

Part 5: “Twitterpated”

“Hey there, beautiful,” Dean said.

His voice alone was enough to cause a shiver tingling down your spine.

You couldn’t help but giggle as he once again drew you into a kiss. He held you close by the waist. Feeling his hands spanning your lower back was doing things to you, but you knew you had to keep a level head here.

“Dean,” you said. Your lips curved against his. “We’ve said hello about three times now.”

“Wanna make it four?” he suggested. His voice was deep as sin.

Damn this man, you thought. He was a professional flirt.

But you laughed, and he smirked at the sound. He resisted letting you go when you playfully tried to pull away. The two of you were standing in the middle of your small office, in front of your desk at work. A large bag of takeout was perched on your desk, but neither of you cared about food just yet.

Dean liked the look of you in your navy blouse, tucked into a trim pair of pants, down to your smart heels.

“Tell me you didn’t go up all 20-something flights of stairs in those daggers you got on,” he remarked.

You followed his gaze down to your heels.

“Oh no,” you said. “I’ve got a backup pair of sneakers that I came to work in. Then I slip these on behind my desk. No one’s the wiser.”

Dean enjoyed that playful little smirk you gave him. He still couldn’t believe you’d walked all those stairs, but he guessed he couldn’t begrudge you for your lingering fear of elevators.

“Yeah? What else do you get up to behind that desk? Besides work, that is,” he teased. You guffawed and playfully hit his arm.

He chuckled and finally released you. You’d already dragged a spare chair next to yours behind your desk, so he began helping you unearth the various containers in the bag he brought. All the while, he surreptitiously took an inventory of your office.

It was all very neat and organized, just like you. You had a large window right behind you, which let in some much-needed natural light. There were tile floors, like the rest of the building, but while your desk was an old wood, clunky thing, you had a double monitor setup with an organized file system on either side.

As you pushed things aside and made room for the food, Dean noted the way stray pieces of hair fell from your clip, framing your face. He itched to take that clip out and make that hair wild, maybe even wrapping it around his hand.

Instead, he reached out and tucked a few strands behind your ear. It earned your attention with a soft blush.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothin’,” he grinned. He was treated to one of your shy smiles as you continued in your task.

Soon you and Dean were once again sharing good food and conversation. You explained what you did for work, being a Senior Sales Representative at Savage & Co. He listened, offering interjections here and there: gems like, Josh sounds like a fucking idiot. And, so does your boss. You couldn’t disagree.

In the back of your mind, it was still a bit strange for Dean to be in your office. It felt rather intimate for a second date, but you supposed coming to your place of work wasn’t so new to him.

“You sure are killing that chicken,” Dean remarked, as he watched you carve into a large drumstick with fork and knife. He shot you a teasing smile. “You know it’s already dead, right?”

You gave him a dry look, despite your amusement. “I’m starving! All I’ve had today is a cup of coffee.”

He frowned at that. “What, you can’t take a break for an egg McMuffin?”

“Ha!” you cracked, and took a sip of lemonade. “There are no breaks around here.”

Dean hummed, though you could see he didn’t like it.

“You sound like Sam,” he said.

“Oh, your brother?”

“Yeah, Mr. District Attorney,” Dean said in a mocking voice. But his smile betrayed his fondness, and his pride for his younger brother’s accomplishments.

You remembered then that Dean’s father was a police officer as well—a real life homicide detective! You ruminated on that when you and Dean moved on to dessert. You had a scoop of frozen yogurt, while he started to dig into a slice of blueberry pie.

“You know, it’s amazing to me that your entire family went into public service, from all angles,” you said. “It’s impressive…and really noble, actually.”

Dean offered you a quirk of a smile. It told you he wasn’t typically one to be comfortable with praise, as he carded a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, well. It’s a living,” was all he said.

You shook your head with a smile. His humility seemed genuine, and you found it endearing as hell.

“And you’re the eldest, right?” you asked. Dean nodded around a mouthful of pie. He set down the little tray between you for a moment.

“Yeah, though you wouldn’t know it looking at my brother. Around sixteen, he shot up like a damn weed. Friggin’ gigantor.”

You giggled at the image. Now you were truly intrigued, and hoped to meet both Sam and Dean’s father in the future. Though for right now, you glanced down at the slice of pie resting between you, all glossy blueberry filling and flaky crust.

You raised your cup of frozen yogurt to him. “Wanna try a bit of this, so I can try a bit of that?”

You went for a piece of pie with your fork, but Dean snatched the tray out of reach. He eyed you with a bit of admonishment.

“Hey, now. I got you your fake ice cream or whatever,” he said. You rose brow at him, both incredulous and amused.

“What, you won’t share with me?” you asked.

A smile twitched at his lips, but he stayed firm.

“Sweetheart, I’ll get you whatever you want, but here’s where I draw the line.”

You laughed in disbelief. But then an idea made your smile slide into flirtation. You set your dessert aside and rolled your chair closer to his. Dean watched you as your hand slid up his arm, and your pretty eyes met his.

“Okay, what if I make it worth your while?” you posed.

He tilted his head. His hand found the curve of your waist and slid around, bringing you even closer.

“Oh, yeah?” he challenged. “If you really want my pie, that’s gotta be damn worth it.”

Another giggle bubbled in your throat, but you continued to play your part.

“I have a few ideas,” you said. Your fingers drew a path down his chest, over the soft gray Henley he wore. You could feel the warmth of his skin underneath, and the firmness of his body. His grip on your waist tightened a fraction.

And he smirked. “Tell me…”

Your lips were a whisper from his. He smelled like spicy cologne and blueberries. Two of his fingers came to brush your hair away from your cheek…

But as usual, your boss had the absolute worst timing. The sound of your office door opening was like a gunshot ringing through the room, making you and Dean separate from one another with a jolt.

Nick Savage strode in without knocking, as he was wont to do. (No matter how many times you asked him not to.)

“Hey, what’s your progress on the Greenway account…oh,” said Nick, pausing where he stood.

He took note of Dean in the room and straightened his posture. His expression changed from its lazy gait, to a more tightened one. You swore you could spot a tinge of annoyance as well, like he was surprised that he hadn’t caught you alone in your office.

“I see I’m interrupting,” he said.

Holding in a sigh, you looked over at Dean and found him similarly assessing Nick.

“This is Dean. You might remember him from last week, when the elevator broke down. He’s one of the firefighters who got me out,” you said. Your hand fell on your companion’s arm. “Dean, this is—”

“Her boss,” Nick said. He seemed to lighten up and give Dean a smile, reaching over to shake the man’s hand. Dean obliged him.

“So I’ve heard,” he said. His tone was pleasant enough, but still more reserved.

Nick purposefully shifted his attention back to you.

“Report? Greenway account?” he repeated.

Your lips firmed into a line, though you slipped back into the professional patience you had to maintain at all times with this man.

“I’m still on my break, but I’ll have the report to you by end-of-day,” you said.

Nick tsked at you with a shrug. “How’re you gonna get that account locked down if you’re not trying to conference with Mr. Greenway? He’s headed to China in two hours.”

You had to reign in an annoyed tick in your brow. But you didn’t notice how Dean was watching the exchange between you and your boss with a thinly veiled frown.

“I’ve called three times, Nick. He’ll get back to me.”

“Hmm. I wonder if Josh is taking that same approach,” Nick wondered with mocking sincerity. “I’ll go ask him.”

He finally turned to leave, though he stopped short, giving Dean a lazy salute. “Nice to meet you…”

“Dean,” he reminded.

“Right.” Nick slid a pointed finger your way. “Greenway. 2:00 p.m.”

You were silently simmering by the time your office door closed behind him.

“Well, he’s a delight,” Dean remarked.

“He’s a dick,” you huffed and tossed your napkin down. But you grabbed your desk phone to make a quick call—to Mr. Greenway.

Dean frowned, but he covered it up by wiping his mouth with a napkin, subtly clearing his throat.

“I should head out then, let you get back to work,” he said.

His words made you pause. You had a reply ready on your tongue, that his suggestion was probably for the best.

But then you actually looked into his eyes. Guilt prickled in your chest as you realized what you were doing. Not only were you letting Nick get under your skin again, but here was a man who’d brought you lunch. Who was willing to sit in an uncomfortable chair to spend some time with you, and you were about to brush him off.

You hung up the phone without dialing.

“No. I’m sorry. Stay, please,” you told him, and grabbed his arm to keep him in his seat. You pushed your desk phone away with your spare hand and gave Dean your full attention, along with a smile.

“Where were we?” you asked.

Finally, Dean’s reserved expression eased as he relaxed in his chair, and subtly leaned towards you. He thumbed at your cheek with a smirk.

“I don’t know, something about making it worth my while.”

You bit your lip on a deeper smile.

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded. You crossed the ever-closing distance to give Dean a proper kiss. Your hand found his cheek, and your thumb brushed back and forth across the stubble there. You tasted sweet, sweet pie on his lips.

Even after you parted softly, Dean went back in for a second taste of you. This time it was deeper, as he angled into the kiss. He once again brought you close, just shy of dragging you into his lap.

His hand reached behind your head and succeeded in taking the clip out of your hair. He tossed it on your desk and sunk his hand into the soft strands while his lips continued to devour yours.

It was a small move, but you found it both soothing and exhilarating. You shuddered when you felt his fingers brush the back of your neck. It had you contemplating locking the door of your office and forgoing the rest of lunch…but your mind was competing with your heart, warning you to be cautious. To protect yourself.

Really, you’d just met Dean. You had no idea what to expect here, even though your heart was tripping up over his slightest touch.

Still, your face was warm when you eventually parted from him. You chanced meeting his eyes, and you blushed further at what you saw.

The truth was, Dean had been contemplating laying you out flat across your desk. But he tried his best to keep it down to a simmer behind his eyes, a bright and gleaming green.

“Worth it?” you asked. Your voice was a mere whisper, despite your smile.

He returned it, and gave you one last kiss.

“So worth it,” he said.

Dean wasn’t sure he liked this.

The start of his shift was usually the time for him to be relaxed, but focused. He knew who he was and what he needed to do when he entered the firehouse. It was his second home, perhaps even the place where he felt most comfortable.

And yet, he nearly burnt his hand while pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Shit,” he muttered. He jolted and hopped back a step as scalding brown liquid splashed between his feet. It had Benny and Meg looking over from the common room, where they sat at the dining table.

Dean looked at the mess he created and tried not to sigh. He wasn’t awake enough for this…or maybe, he didn’t want to admit that he’d been thinking about you.

Your smile, your eyes, your voice, your occasional shyness, versus the way you dealt with your boss like a pro. Your confidence that was damn sexy, and had Dean imagining what you’d be like taking his orders, or giving them right back, shoving him down into a seat, straddling his thighs, his hands hiking up your skirt…

Dean shook his head a bit sharply to try and clear it.

He circled into the kitchen in need of a paper towel. But he bumped right into Jack, who was making breakfast. It sent the salt canister flying out of his hand and dumping into the pan of eggs.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry,” Dean said. He really did sigh this time. Now they’d have to wait even longer for breakfast.

“Uh, it’s okay. I can save it,” Jack said, though his brows were furrowed as he contemplated just how he was going to do that. He took a wooden spoon and tried to scoop out the mound of salt on the still-sizzling eggs.

Meanwhile, Dean’s lips pursed as he went over to grab a few paper towels. Once the mess by the coffeemaker was clean, he poured himself a tall cup and took a seat between his friends. Benny shot him a glance as he sipped at his own mug.

“You all right, brother?” Benny asked.

“Just fine,” Dean replied. He tried to sound breezy, but neither Benny or Meg bought it. She eyed him with a smirk.

“Heard you went on a date the other night,” she said. “A real one, with chocolates and flowers and all that shit.”

Dean shot her a sharper frown. “Who the hell told…oh. Perfect. Goddamn it, Cas.”

He should’ve known that big-mouth bastard couldn’t be trusted.

“Nope,” Meg said. Her eyes were dancing mischievously, and Dean knew he was in for it this morning. “Your little girlfriend is best friends with my cousin.”

She tossed a sly look at Benny. “You remember Andréa. You two were sucking face hardcore the other night. And giving quite a show to the local pedestrians. Have you called her yet, by the way?”

Benny cleared his throat, but he looked both unrepentant and tight-lipped about his business as he stayed sipping his coffee. Dean shot him a smirk. Until Meg directed her cutting gaze back to him.

“And you,” she said, just as slyly. “Dating your own damsel in distress. How fucking predictable.”

Dean’s lips firmed into a line, while Benny’s brows shot up.

“You really went for it with Elevator Girl?” he remarked in surprise. “I saw you two talkin’, but didn’t think you’d pulled the trigger.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “All right, first of all, let’s stop calling her ‘Elevator Girl.’ She’s got a name.”

Once he’d told them your name, however, their smiles deepened. And Dean knew it was about to be a long shift.

“Ooh, he’s got it bad, bad,” Benny shook his head.

Meg made a “cute” face at him and reached out to shake Dean’s chin, smirking when he slapped her hand away.

“Look at him, all twitterpated,” she teased.

“I’m fine,” Dean all but gritted out.

Benny chuckled, but truthfully, he was happy for his friend. It seemed the time had finally come when Dean Winchester was hooked on a nice girl. Hopefully one he intended to keep seeing.

“If it’s that serious, you should bring her by the Roadhouse again,” Benny said.

Dean snorted into his coffee. “Yeah, like I’d want to subject her to you degenerate clowns.”

“Well, if you expect to keep it going with this girl, she’s gotta meet us eventually,” Meg pointed out. Dean shot her a look.

“Oh, she’s definitely not meetin’ you,” he said.

Meg’s brows knit together. “What? I’m perfectly pleasant.”

Before Dean could utter a retort, a familiar alarm bell tolled on the intercom speakers. There was a working house fire over in Bellmont—the wealthier part of town. Truck 79 and Rescue Squad 5 were called, along with Ambulance 7.

All hands on deck.

“Okay, Jack. You’re staying on my ass once we get in there. You got it?” Dean told the Candidate.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Jack agreed. It was only his second real fire since he joined Firehouse 25.

By now the team was in full gear, with jackets and helmets and belts. The Chief, Bobby Singer, was at the helm. He and Dean shared a nod.

“All right, Dean. Head in. Lafitte and Ramirez will vent the roof,” he said.

Dean nodded again. “You got it, Chief.”

While two of his team got the firehose ready, Dean fitted his mask over his face. Already the fire was at a full blaze. They had a limited time before the fire grew too wild to safely maneuver. They’d know when the flames started smoking black. The Chief would let them know on their walkie talkies, and Dean would have to pull his team out.

But first, there was a family of four trapped inside the large two-story house. He fully intended to get every single one of them out.

Thanks to the mask, he could hear his own deep breaths in his ears as he entered the house. A quick look back confirmed that Jack was on his heels, and Gordon was right behind him.

“Okay, clear each room. I’m going right, through the kitchen,” Dean called out the order.

“I’ll take left through the living room,” Gordon replied.

Dean shot a thumbs up. “Copy that.”

Then they got to work.

The flames were high and eating up the walls of what would’ve been a pristine open kitchen. The room was clear, so Jack and Dean kept moving forward until they reached a long hall. They had to hasten single file until Dean opened up the first bedroom with his crowbar.

“Fire Department, call out!” he shouted.

He didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean the room was clear. It was a child’s room, a girl if he had to guess. There were stuffed animals strewn across an unmade bed with pink bedsheets. He checked the closet while Jack looked under the bed. Neither man found anything.

“All right, moving on. First bedroom clear,” Dean said into his walkie talkie. “Going upstairs next.”

“Master bedroom clear,” Gordon commed in.

Jack and Dean continued to the second floor, where the flames were thickest. It was getting harder to see, and even harder to breathe, despite the mask.

“We’re almost outta time, fellas,” Bobby radioed.

“Just a couple more rooms, Chief,” Dean responded. The first and second bathroom was clear, as was a linen closet in the hall. He had a feeling about this last room though.

He opened the door and nearly got a flaming piece of wall dropped on his head. He jumped back at the same time Jack helped pull him to safety.

Dean breathed deeply. He didn’t have time for thanks, but he reached back and pat Jack on the arm before he entered the bedroom. It was another child’s room, this time for a boy—with green walls, and a school uniform on the back of a chair.

“Fire Department!” he said, though it nearly died on his tongue at what he saw.

There in the far corner, on the other side of the twin bed, was a man kneeling on the floor. He was doing his best to cover his wife and kids. His back was charred beyond recognition.

Dean snapped to attention when he heard one of the kids whimper.

“Fire Department,” he repeated, as he rushed to them. He and Jack peeled the man off his family as carefully as he could. Dean hauled him onto his shoulder.

Meanwhile, the man’s wife was crying and holding her children as tight as possible: a boy that looked about 10 years old, and a young girl. The mother’s glassy eyes widened with hope when she saw Jack and Dean.

“We’re gonna get you out. Come on,” Dean reassured. His hand on her shoulder was both supportive and urging her up onto her feet. Jack helped get her kids up as well.

Gordon joined them as soon as they were out of the room. He picked up the boy while Jack carried the little girl, and Dean had an arm wrapped around the mother while he still carried the father on his shoulder.

They made it out of the house just before the ceiling started to cave in at the doorway.

Meg and Chuck were waiting for them with a gurney, where Dean carefully laid down the man he carried. His wife hovered close with her kids as Meg began calling out instructions to her partner, trying to take the man’s vitals, all while they wheeled him towards the ambulance.

Just before they would’ve brought him up into the ambo, Meg halted them with a hand. Her other gloved hand was poised at the man’s wrist. She listened closely for a few more seconds in concentration…

And she sighed through her nose. She removed her stethoscope and met the wife’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. He’s gone.”

Dean’s heart fell into his stomach, but he held the woman as she fell apart. Jack and Gordon did the same for the kids. Behind them, the rest of the team were dousing the flames and black smoke consuming the house with the firehose. Chief Singer let out a heavy breath, but he continued issuing orders as needed.

Dean stared at the pale, soot-stained face of the man he’d failed to save. The woman’s cries rang in his ears, and he continued to support her as she fell to her knees and gathered her children close.

He understood their pain.

Not for the first time, he wondered what his father must’ve felt…the day his mother died.

Dean was a seasoned firefighter. He’d seen enough of the horrors this world could produce, and he had an internal catalogue of shit he’d rather forget. But he knew, as he later got back onto the truck for the long ride back to the firehouse.

He knew this day would be another one to be imprinted on his memory.

“You’re quiet,” Sam noted. He ate dinner in relative silence with his brother, in the apartment they shared. Dean met Sam’s eyes.

“Long day,” Dean eventually said.

Sam didn’t like the sound of that. Before he could probe further, Dean’s phone vibrated on the small dining table.

Dean slowly reached for his phone and saw the new text message, from you.

Hey, thanks again for lunch yesterday. Hope I get to see you again soon. ❤️

It briefly lightened him, almost bringing a smile to his face.

It soon fell, even though his thumb hovered over the keyboard to reply. His mind was blank. Right now, he couldn’t think of a damn thing flirtatious, or charming, or even human enough to say to you.

“Dean,” Sam said, earning his attention. “What’s wrong?”

Again, Dean hesitated. He blew out a slow, heavy breath and sat back in his seat. He ran his fingers roughly through his hair as he thought and thought.

But if anyone might’ve understood where his head was at, it was his brother.

“What do you think would’ve happened if Mom had made it out of the fire, instead of Dad?” Dean asked.

To say that question shocked Sam would be an understatement. Yet to his credit, Sam internalized most of his reaction. He tilted his head as his brows furrowed.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. Dean’s question was impossible for his mind to even wrap around; mostly because he never got the chance to meet his mother. The house fire claimed their home when Sam was barely six months old.

All he knew was his father, and Dean.

Dean shook his head and wiped a hand over his mouth, an anxious gesture Sam knew well.

“She would’ve been just as messed up at Dad, but…I don’t know. Ignore me. I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying.”

“What made you think about that?” Sam asked.

“Today,” Dean said. Though he paused, he managed to say it. “It was a house fire. A mom and two little kids, boy and girl. Their dad just laid over ‘em, took the brunt of it.”

“Jesus…he didn’t make it, did he?” Sam deduced, from Dean’s eyes and his tone. Dean shook his head slow.

“I’ve seen a lot of shit, Sammy, but…”

This was why Sam worried about his brother. He admired the hell out of him, but he also worried.

Sam had a ring in his nightstand. He’d picked it out last month. Part of him was hesitating to move forward, not because he thought his girlfriend of three years would say no to marrying him, but because he didn’t want his brother to be alone.

“You don’t have to look at me like that. I’m okay,” Dean said, levying him with a knowing look. His lips gave a wry turn. “Nothing a couple shots of Jameson won’t cure.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, that’s what you need.”

“Right. Like I haven’t caught you up late with your mistress, Johnny Walker,” Dean tossed back.

Sam’s lips pursed, but the point was made. He spent his days putting murderers, drug dealers, rapists, and thieves on trial. Some days were darker and more unreal in their realism than others. And he could only burden Eileen so much.

Still, he didn’t like the look of Dean, who got up from the table and took his half-full plate of spaghetti to the sink.

Dean went up to his room and showered. He’d done so at the station, but showering was one of those methodical things he could do to try to ease his mind, besides working on his car. It provided an alternative to drinking.

But it didn’t work this time, as he knew it wouldn’t. He lied in bed after getting dressed, just staring up at the ceiling.

He checked his phone and saw your text, still waiting on an answer. He hesitated…but his thumb hovered over your name. He called you instead.

“Hey,” your soft voice greeted him. You sounded surprised to get his call, but also a little sleepy, like you were on the verge of going down for the night.

“Hey, yourself,” Dean said. “Sorry, were you about to get to sleep?”

“No, I’m awake. What’re you up to?”

“I’m home. Been a long day,” he admitted.

“Yeah?” you asked. “Dean, are you okay?”

He heard the perceptive shift in your tone. Against his best efforts, he should’ve known you would pick up on the threads of his mood. But he smiled at the sincerity in your voice. True concern.

“Yeah. I’m good, sweetheart. How’re you?”

“Uh-uh. Not so fast,” you replied. “…Did something happen at work today?”

He sighed. “Yeah, but uh…we don’t need to get into it. It’s okay.”

“You sure?” you asked. “I’m a good listener.”

“That you are,” he said, with a deeper smile. “You know what’ll help me?”

“What’s that?”

“Tell me, how bad did you wanna knuckle-dunk your boss’s teeth in today?”

“Oh my God. On a scale of 1 to 10?”

“Lay it on me.”

“20,” you replied. “You met him, so now I can tell you without exaggeration. He’s the Chief Asshat among asshats.”

Dean chuckled. It crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“What’d he do this time?”

You explained your latest frustrations. Then you continued to make him laugh with all the creative ways you’d imagined ending your boss for his dickish behavior, demanding reports, pitting you against your coworkers, being a general pain in the ass.

The rusty can opener in the break lounge was Dean’s personal favorite.

Hearing about your day, and the colorful adjectives you used, managed to lighten him. For a little while, it even took his mind off his troubles. And you admitted that venting to him about your violent fantasies was its own form of therapy.

“Damn, do I gotta worry about you?” Dean teased.

“Only if you get on my bad side, Lieutenant,” you said. Your voice was nearly a purr.

It had him smirking, with a tendril of heat lacing down the back of his neck.

“All right, then. I promise I won’t make it a habit,” he said. “Gotta keep you nice and sweet for me.”

You laughed then, in a way that had him imagining your pretty blush.

He ended up talking with you about everything and nothing, well into the night.

AN: 🥹 *sighs* Anywho, I know this chapter was a little shorter than usual, but I hope you got a kick out of Dean's first meeting with Nick. And we got a snapshot of an unfortunate "bad day" at the firehouse.

In Part 6, we'll get deeper into the murder mystery, along with a taste of jealousy...

Next Time:

“Uh, no, that’s okay,” you said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“What?” Gordon asked.

It was getting busy in the bar, making it loud enough that you could understand why he hadn’t heard you. You leaned over towards his ear.

“I’m good for now, thanks,” you said, raising your voice a bit. Gordon leaned in even closer and chanced resting a hand above your knee.

“You sure?” he asked. He gave you a smile that was all smooth sex appeal and confidence, without being arrogant. It was undoubtedly attractive, but you were more shocked than charmed in your blush.

You instinctively leaned back when you felt his hand on your thigh.

Keep Reading: PART 6

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yoonavii · 8 months

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Never popped a request to anyone via tumblr before but ahhh I loved your most recent Sanji fic so much. You're so talented ❤️

If you ever feel inspired, what about something where Sanji joins the crew, and sees how close reader and Zoro are (whether or not Zoro actually does have feelings for reader, idk!), and he gets jealous, until some event or fight and the reader shows how she cares for him and it all comes out in the open

(love me a bit of angst!)

Thank you!!🥺 and Welp, I’m inspired!! I tried my best with this one cause I’ve been a little dusty with angst lately so I apologize in advance. Hope you still enjoy it though!

Jealous

OPLA! Sanji x Reader

After the tumultuous events at the Baratie, Sanji officially joined the Straw Hat Pirates as their skilled cook. Initially, he was thrilled to be part of the crew, living his dream of sailing the Grand Line with an extraordinary group of individuals. However, as the days turned into weeks, he couldn’t help but notice something that gnawed at his heart – your growing closeness to Zoro.

On the surface, it was an inseparable bond formed through countless adventures, battles, and shared moments. You and Zoro seemed like kindred spirits, and it was clear to everyone that you had each other’s backs. They trained together, sparred together, and sometimes, they even spent hours talking about their dreams late into the night.

For Sanji, it was painful to watch. He had harbored deep feelings for you but never found the courage to express them. Instead, he masked his emotions with jealousy, believing that you and Zoro shared a connection that he could never hope to replicate.

As the crew continued their journey, heading toward the tumultuous waters of the conomi islands to save Nami, the tension between Sanji and Zoro escalated. Their arguments, once subtle jabs, had evolved into full-blown conflicts, often ending in physical confrontations. The crew couldn’t ignore the rift growing between them, and their division was affecting their performance in battles.

One day, as the crew faced off against the Fish-Men on the foreboding Arlong Park, the simmering animosity between Sanji and Zoro reached its boiling point. The battlefield became a stage for their pent-up anger to explode. Swords clashed against kicks, and fists met with blades in a cacophony of violence. You, exhausted from fighting alongside your bickering crewmates, couldn’t take it any longer. With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you stepped boldly between Sanji and Zoro, ignoring the danger of the ongoing battle. “Enough!” you roared, your voice cutting through the chaos. “We can’t afford to be divided like this, especially in a battle like this one!”

Sanji and Zoro froze, their faces flushed with anger, but they both turned their attention to you. Your presence had an immediate calming effect. You took a deep breath, then continued, “Sanji, Zoro, we’re a crew. We’re a family. And I can’t stand to see you two at odds like this.” Sanji’s expression softened as he listened intently to your words. You took a step closer to him, your voice quivering slightly with vulnerability. “Sanji, you should know that I care about you deeply. It’s not just about Zoro and me. I want us all to be close and support each other. If it’s causing you pain, then let’s find a way to work through it.”

Sanji’s heart raced as he absorbed your confession. He never expected to hear those words from you. Slowly, he nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I… I feel the same way y/n. I was just being stupidly jealous.” You reached out and placed a hand on his cheek, your touch gentle and reassuring. “Let’s put this behind us, Sanji. We can be together as a crew, as friends, and as something more, if you want.”

With the tension diffused, Sanji and Zoro exchanged a begrudging nod of understanding. The three of you returned to the battle, but this time, there was a newfound unity among the Straw Hat Pirates. While they hadn’t completely resolved their differences, they had taken the first steps toward mutual respect, recognizing that they each had their unique strengths and weaknesses. The bonds of the crew were stronger than ever, and as you fought side by side, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that you had mended a broken heart and solidified the crew’s unbreakable spirit.

As the sun set on Arlong Park, a feeling of hope and reconciliation washed over the crew. Sanji and Zoro had begun to understand that their differences could be complementary rather than divisive, and with your support, they would continue to grow and adapt as a unified crew. The journey continued, marked by a deeper sense of camaraderie, love, and acceptance, proving that even in the face of jealousy and conflict, the bonds of friendship could prevail and grow stronger.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

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chelseeebe · 5 months

Text

stevie doesn’t know.

sorry stevie boy.. it had to happen at some point. obviously based on scotty doesn’t know which i have listened to repeatedly while writing this

18+. smut. cheating. eddie is rlly quite mean to poor stevie. no use of y/n!

‎♡‧₊˚

what steve doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?

that’s what eddie thinks anyway.

it wasn’t ever supposed to continue after you and steve actually became official, you’d made that explicitly clear.

until you’d broken the no-contact rule one night, it must’ve been gone two by the time you had called. not that he’d been sleeping or bothered by that fact. actually, he was impressed you’d held out so long.

‘why’re you calling me?’ he’d asked innocently down the phone, guitar still poised in his lap.

you had just sighed. eddie could picture your face, irritated but standing tall on your stupid, made up rules. he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction. not yet, anyway.

‘you know..’

‘ah, but i don’t,’ positive you could hear his smirk on the other end.

then came another sigh, ‘please don’t make me beg,’ sounding utterly pathetic, just the way he liked it.

‘but what if i want you to beg?’

‘can i come over?’

‘are you gonna answer my question?’ joint balanced between his lips, not bothered to raise his hand to smoke properly.

there was silence from your end until you huffed in frustration, kissing your teeth before finally giving up, ‘i need to see you.’

‘need to? or want to?’ he liked the tease, liked to mess with you until you had no choice but to crawl right back into his bed, begging for another chance.

‘need to.’

and there you were, stood solemnly outside of his door still in the dress you’d obviously worn on whatever disappointing date steve had dragged you on.

‘come in,’ he simply smirked, holding the door open as you slinked into the trailer, head down in defeat.

the two of you stood staring for a moment, eddie waiting expectantly for an apology or for some half-assed grovelling but it doesn’t come.

he holds his finger to his ear, jutting his bottom lip out, ‘did you wanna..’

‘eddie,’ you warn, your tone giving away how desperate you really are.

‘i just wanna hear you say it,’ he’s not prepared to keep this going much longer, not with his dick twitching in his pants at the mere sight of you.

‘i’m sorry,’ your shoulders slump, tossing your bag onto the couch as inch your way over, ‘is that what you wanna hear? i’m sorry for telling you not to call me, i’m sorry for being a bitch, okay? but i need you eddie.. now,’ fingers walking the length of his upper arms until they rest on his shoulders.

christ, you’re practically panting. and he knows what’s waiting once he gets that dress off. can see the way your thighs are clamped together, eyeing his lips and his neck and his chest. you’re starving.

‘is that right?’ he taunts, hands ghost above your waist, not quite touching but almost.

‘yes,’ you begrudge, spitting the words at him, fingers skirting around his collar, messing with the soft cotton. ‘please eddie.’

it doesn’t take much for him to cave, hands meeting your waist after much teasing. his eyes are hooded, staring at your lips rather than your eyes, ‘i’ve been waiting for you to come crawlin’ back,’ there’s a hint of satisfaction in his voice but he’s adamant on not ruining this again so keeps it to a minimum.

‘shut up, you knew i would,’ pressing your chest to his.

eddie hadn’t exactly been celibate since your last rendezvous last month but god, no one had felt quite as good as you. he’d dreamt about it, this very moment to be precise. it hadn’t played out like this in his head though.

his idealised version included a hell of a lot more begging, you might’ve even gotten on your knees at one point. but there’s no time for that now, not after you’d made him wait so long.

‘don’t do it again,’ he breathes, lips brushing against yours.

‘i won’t,’ you gasp out, ‘i promise,’ finally locking lips with a haste.

it’s a hungry kiss, teeth and tongues clashing with pure animalistic want for one another. you taste like mint and a vague hint of wine, so you were getting wined and dined but he’d have to provide the sixty nine.

normally he wouldn’t bother to find his way to his room, the couch would suffice however he’s well aware that this won’t likely be a one and done. perhaps an all night affair.

his fingers fumble for the door knob, reaching behind you all the while trying to keep his tongue in your mouth and successfully guide you backwards. you fall into the room, his weight pressing against your chest had sent you flying, finding the bed through sheer muscle memory.

you break away just long enough to land on the springy mattress, eddie climbing above shortly after, eager to continue the kiss. too much time had been wasted already.

his fingers creep lower, slipping between your thighs and up underneath the satin dress. he was right, ‘this all f’me sweetheart?’ teasing his fingers into your sodden underwear, suckling along the length of your jaw.

he’s not stupid enough to mark you how he wanted but he is tempted. would love to watch you squirm as you explain the violet markings to pretty boy.

his fingers slip inside, groaning against the skin of your neck, he’d missed this just as much as you had. made evident by the growing tent rousing in his sweat pants.

you pant softly beneath him, digging into his biceps with an iron-clad grip, not that he was going anywhere. everything about you is so sweet, the way you unravel the second he touches you, eyes barely staying open as his fingers slide in and out.

you’re a picture. something to behold, to think about on the nights you don’t come around. this is what keeps him going.

he slides out slowly, removing his hand from your underwear and haphazardly sliding down his own pants. he’s trying to savour it but you’re too much, writhing around, sending his head into a frenzy.

the fact that neither of you could be bothered to undress, the straps of your dress sliding down, revealing the lacy number eddie hoped you’d worn for him and not steve.

he lines himself up with your entrance, huffing when he slides in, knees almost collapsing when you whine into his ear. his tongue glides over his bottom lip, wetting the skin as he tries to focus on not coming immediately.

‘oh,’ he exhales, ‘you hear that? you missed me, huh?’ driven wild by the sounds of your pussy enveloping him, the way your skin collided with such velocity. it’s music to his ears and completely indistinguishable to anyone else.

‘yeah,’ you breathe, loosely attaching your lips to his jaw, ‘so much.. missed you so much,’ garbling over the creaking mattress.

jesus christ, if you kept speaking like that, he wasn’t going to last long.

his fingers tilt your chin upward, forcing your eyes to meet his before travelling down between your sweaty bodies, finding your neglected clit quickly. your legs snap shut, releasing a shuddered breath into his ear as you clamp him between your thighs.

‘oh my god,’ you whine, grabbing at his arms as he quickens his pace. the room full of lewd noises, he’s sure the trailer was probably rocking. he’s just grateful that wayne was back on nights or else you’d be somewhere dark in the back of his van.

your cunt clenches around him, bodies moving as one as your hips jut upward, chasing his cock when he cruelly slows down. he just wants to savour the moment, if only for a second, gazing down at you through blurred vision.

steve didn’t deserve to see this. not that he’s sure he was ever capable of that. lipstick smeared around your chin, looking up at him through hooded eyelids and the delirious babbling that fell from your lips. this was stuff most people only dreamt of.

your palm pulls him from his head, cradling his cheek as you plead with him to just fuck you.

he obliges, happily. thumb still working wonders on your sensitive bud, sending the pair of you hurtling towards your looming orgasm.

you repeat his name like some sort of mantra, breathless and pathetic. ‘shit..’ eyes rolling to the back of your head. eddie knows you, knows your body, knows you’re in that sweet spot where you’re completely malleable and incoherent.

he’s not far off, especially not when your thighs begin to quiver, tightening around him as you go quiet. incapable of thinking or doing anything as you unravel beneath his body. jaw slack with your lips curling into the perfect ‘o’.

if he were some eighteenth century painter, he’d probably have hundreds of canvases full of this exact image.

eddie’s forehead drops, pressed against yours as he tumbles over the edge. ‘baby.. oh shit you’re- fuck,’ spurting thick ropes of cum into your cunt because he’s too wrecked to think about the implications of that right now.

the world goes soft around the edges for a moment, his head spinning as he pulls out, collapsing into a heap on his bed, a mess of limbs and clammy skin, both panting as he reels.

he reaches over, wiping his thumb over your chin and clearing off the mess he’d made. but really, he’s proud. admiring the beauty in your disheveled hair and bleary eyes.

‘i’ve missed you,’ he whispers, watching intently as you readjust your disregarded panties. give him a minute and he’d be raring for round two.

you tut, turning to face him proudly, ‘i missed you too,’ lying back against the pillow. the fact that you hadn’t immediately left was a good sign.

‘you staying?’ he asks cautiously, one brow raised, not wanting to push it too far.

‘mhm,’ you nod, playing coy although eddie can spot that grin starting a mile away.

that’s enough for him to throw his arm over your waist, pulling your body to his as he mentally prepares for the night you were about to have.

eddie leans over the counter, chin resting in his hand. tuesdays were never a particularly exciting day, the residents of hawkins weren’t looking for records during the week apparently.

the door chimes and his gaze flies towards the door, gobsmacked to find one steve harrington and you stood in the doorway. you’re whispering angrily at him, tugging on his arm, trying to get him to budge.

oh this was about to be so fun.

steve’s ignoring everything you’re saying, too preoccupied with marvelling the place. the dinghy old record store was hardly somewhere he frequented.

your eyes meet eddie’s with a serious please shut the fuck up message that he’s choosing to ignore. instead, he straightens up, waiting for steve to reach the counter before starting his attack.

‘stevie boy,’ he roars, ‘long time no see, how’ve you been man?’ wilfully ignoring your pleading eyes.

‘oh munson, i didn’t know you worked here,’ steve smiles, still eyeing the various yellowed posters that hung around the store. ‘i’m great, you working hard or hardly working?’

god he’s so smug. he doesn’t even mean to be but eddie just can’t stand it. though he does get some slight satisfaction with knowing that not even twenty four hours ago he had had you dripping from his chin.

‘oh i’m always working hard,’ his eyes flitting to you, ‘what can i do for ya’ today?’

steve looks over towards you, arm resting around your shoulder which eddie detests. it’s such a flimsy claim and if steve knew anything, he’d realise how stupid he looked.

‘well this one wants some new record.. told her we’d stop by and see if you had it.’

you keep your jaw clenched, antsy and irritated as you wait for eddie to inevitably make some wise crack. ‘what is it?’ asking you, rather than steve. his eyes threatening to slip down to your chest.

‘madonna,’ steve grins, completely unaware of how much he really wasn’t a part of the conversation.

‘hmm,’ eddie hums, ‘i didn’t know you were a madonna fan,’ poking and prodding just a little more. seeing how much he could irritate you before you cracked and said something.

‘why would you know that?’ you bite, regretting it almost immediately.

‘well i know lots of things about you,’ he smiles, slipping from behind the counter and over to where they kept the shitty pop you apparently liked.

it’s no surprise you don’t reply. eddie had the upper hand here and you seriously didn’t want to give him a reason to open his mouth again.

he hands the record to you, lips twitching as you scowl at him. steve is completely oblivious, watching the exchange with a grin so cheesy, it knocks eddie sick.

ever the joker, eddie twists round, fiddling with the other tapes until he finds the right one. if he hadn’t pissed you off before, he’d definitely get you riled up now.

‘i think you’d like this one stevie,’ holding the tape out to his face, ‘jessie’s girl.. right up your street.’

steve nods, graciously taking the plastic case from his hand. you look less than impressed, the scowl on your face sends shivers down his spine but it’s so worth it.

‘sweet man, thanks,’ steve nods, looking over to you with that same stupid expression on his face. he’s so naive and it would make eddie feel bad if steve hadn’t been such an asshole in school.

you don’t say a word for the rest of the transaction, hanging onto steve’s arm with a sour frown. he’d pay for his antics later but now he waves you off cheerily, ‘enjoy it man!’ he calls out as you leave, relishing the chaos he’d caused.

when you inevitably turn up at his door the following night, you’re miserable as sin, pouting with your arms crossed over your chest.

‘you think you’re a comedian or something?’ jabbing his shoulder with your carefully manicured nail. ‘he thinks you’re friends,’ expelling the pent up anger on his poor shoulder.

‘we are friends,’ eddie laughs, using the belt loops on your jeans to pull you closer, ‘i’m just closer to his girlfriend,’ despite your face screwing up, you don’t pull away. obviously.

‘it’s not funny,’ expression softening when his hands find your ass, relaxing into his touch, ‘if you want this to continue you’re gonna have to learn how to shut up,’ your palms sliding down his chest, tugging at his shirt as you go.

his head dips, pressing his forehead to yours, ‘you want me to make it up to you?’

you nod carefully and finally, that smile he loves peeks through.

you’re a different person around steve, more timid and sweet. not a patch on the girl now laid underneath him with her shirt pulled up to her chin, joint hanging lazily between her lips as eddie’s lips attach themselves to your bare nipple.

no, this was only something he got to see. if he says so himself, it’s the best version of you.

your mouth parts slightly, smoke and soft sighs filling the trailer alike. he’s insatiable, wanting to swallow you whole like some snake he’d seen on the discovery channel. his tongue flicks around the stiff bud while his other hand becomes friends with your other breast.

on his knees between your spread legs, just the way god intended him to be.

there’s a knock at the front door, pulling him from the bliss of your boob in his mouth. he groans, waiting for whichever rude asshole to leave.

‘hey munson,’ steve’s voice sounds from the other side. both of your heads fly to the door, sitting up from the compromising position you had found yourselves in. ‘you there man?’ he hollers, knocking again.

‘shitshitshit,’ you hush, rushing to pull your shirt back down. launching yourself from the couch as eddie sits up, trying to think of something, anything that would explain your presence in his trailer.

now you weren’t amateurs to this game; your car wasn’t outside, you had a solid alibi for your whereabouts.. so what the hell did he want?

and as much as eddie liked to goad and tempt fate, he wasn’t stupid. if steve found you in his trailer, he’d most certainly beat eddie’s ass. no doubt with the help of his yappy little lap dog tommy.

‘bedroom,’ he hurries, taking the joint from your fingers and stubbing it out into the ashtray. fuck. why now? why when he’s sporting a solid half-chub does your meathead boyfriend have to ruin it all?

you scurry off, a concerned look overtaking your features. keeping the door open a crack just in case things really got out of hand.

eddie’s obviously flustered, his cheeks burn and his hair is unruly but he doesn’t exactly have the time to do anything about it. he swings the door open just as steve is about to turn back to his fucking shiny beemer.

‘oh hey dude.. sorry i was-,’ eddie’s fumbling with his words, too caught up in concealing his stiffy to speak coherently, ‘doing something,’ now he definitely looked as if he was jerking off.

steve spins back round, ‘oh shit man! i was just..’ he slinks back over to the door, now speaking in hushed tones, ‘someone told me you sold weed.. i was wondering if i could get some?’

god he’s such a dweeb. simultaneously, eddie hates him and wants to coddle him. he’s so nauseating.

‘oh..’ trying to hide the instant feeling of relief that washes over his body, he could finally fucking breathe. ‘sure.. come in,’ now this was a risky game but he couldn’t exactly start dishing out drugs on his front porch, could he?

steve walks in with his hands tucked into his pockets, trying not to stare at the peeling wallpaper and various drug paraphernalia that littered the table. he doesn’t reckon your boyfriend is that observant otherwise he’d notice the collection of stubbed out joints with your lipstick stains on them.

eddie watches him for a moment, wondering how this man who reminds him of a labrador could reign such terror over everyone in high school. he doesn’t dwell on it too much because truly, eddie got the last laugh. steve just didn’t know it yet.

‘how much you want?’ he asks, thanking the stars above that he’d bought his box out into the living room before your boyfriend had decided to gatecrash.

‘uh.. two?’ steve replies cluelessly.

‘two what?’

he shakes his head, not understanding how that wasn’t incredibly clear, as if eddie was the stupid one, ‘joints?’

‘you want pre-rolls?’ eddie asks, quirking his eyebrow at the dumbass in front of him.

‘yeah, those,’ steve nods, now smiling at eddie like this whole conversation wasn’t unhinged and completely unnecessary.

‘oh.. right,’ he holds off on rolling his eyes, deciding he’d get his revenge in the form of ripping him off.

he roots through his box, grateful to have rolled a couple earlier with the intention of not having to roll up while you were here. oh well. anything to get steve the fuck out of his living room and your tits back in his mouth, as soon as he can.

‘here ya’ go man..’ he debates whether asking for a hundred would get him his ass beat or not. ‘thirty bucks,’ passing the joints to steve with a small smile.

he digs around in his abnormally-tight jean pocket for his wallet, handing eddie three tens with absolutely no complaints. fucking sucker.

‘thanks man!’ he continues, heading for the door at long last. ‘oh.. i know you two are friends so i just wanna ask..’ speaking in hushed tones as if anyone but you could hear them, ‘if we could keep this between us? my girl doesn’t know i smoke anymore.’

wow.

what a fucking idiot.

he won’t mention the use of my girl and how much he wants to strangle the dumbass stood before him. eddie bites back an added our, decided he values his life over a quick-witted quip.

eddie closes the non-existent zip on his lips, fighting the smirk that wanted to break through, ‘my lips are sealed.’

they certainly were.

‘thanks man,’ disappearing off into the night.

eddie rushes over, locking the door once again as he peaks through the tiny window, watching as the headlights leave the trailer park at long, long last.

‘he’s gone,’ he calls out, watching the bedroom door you’re waiting behind, bottom lip between your teeth as you creep out.

‘thirty dollars?’ is all you can say. cheeks twitching when you start giggling, thumping eddie on his arm rather hard.

he just shrugs, ‘stevie boy had it coming for interrupting,’ hands already finding the hem of your shirt, eager to continue what had been rudely ruined.

‘you’re an assh-,’ you begin only to be cut off by eddie’s lips pressing to yours.

yeah yeah maybe he was an asshole but he’d just endured an entire conversation with your fucking boyfriend sporting a fucking boner, you could bicker about it later.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #Spotify

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rae-writes · 1 year

Text

what if. . .

om brothers x reader

wc : 1.k

warnings : light angst

synopsis : what if it wasn’t Lucifer who lost his memory? [lesson 37-38]

The metaphorical dam had broken loose, sending a wave stronger than anything Lotan himself would have caused to come crashing against the House of Lamentation.

It was suffocating. All six of the remaining brothers were distraught— Lucifer more than anyone. Because he should’ve known, he tells himself- screams at himself. He should’ve realized. What’s the point of being the eldest if he couldn’t save his brother from this?

The self hatred was all in vain, really, when Diavolo shows up with Barbatos in tow. When he practically spits out the fact that this happened because of you. Your power and your pacts and your ties to the three realms caused it. Caused harm to one of the people you care most for.

And you were angry- livid - if the green drowning out your own eye color had anything to say for it. Lucifer was mad, too, but he stayed silent out of begrudging respect for Diavolo. The redhead could feel everyone’s rage, confusion, hurt, and panic, though. He knew. So he apologized, sincerely, earnestly, but the damage was done. And there were only two ways to fix it.

Before that, however, you had to face your demon with the knowledge that- even if unknowingly and involuntary- you caused him to lose his memory.

“What’s with that look?” Mammon thought about it for a moment, “Was I special to ya or somethin?”

You smiled at the question, though it didn’t even come close to reaching your eyes; instead, they were riddled with a loss so deep it seemed bottomless.

“There’s not a single being in all three realms more special to me than you, Mammon.”

Despite only really knowing you for all of two hours- at least, from what he could remember- that statement alone floored him so hard he almost thought he was going to come crashing against the floor. It made him gasp for air and clutch his chest— Mammon wasn’t able to say a word as he watched you walk out of the room, as your time slot for watching him was over. All he could do was hope.

Hope this whole…amnesiac thing you guys were calling it ended soon, because if he was the one person you cared about more than anything? He couldn’t handle not remembering the path it took to get to there.

Mammon needed to remember. Please let him remember.

†

Levi was always nervous underneath your gaze, though he didn’t know why. It might’ve been the clear distraught slapped over your features or maybe it was the familiarity of your face that made his head hurt…whatever the case, he tried his best to avoid you.

“Here, Levi.” your voice was nothing more than a whisper as you sat his dinner down in front of him, “‘s your favorite.”

“It is?”

A silent nod was all he received. This time, he was the one watching you while your frame weaved in and out of the chairs to place down his brothers’ food.

“W-was I…were w-we, uhm…were we close?” Levi wishes he didn’t ask. The tears that filled your water line instantly made his throat go dry, “I-!”

Your smile was heartbreaking. “Yeah. We were.”

Tuning out the curses from the others at the table, Levi clutches at his pants so hard he thinks he hears a rip. He’s so worthless! Why can’t he remember you?! Remember, remember, remember!

†

The fourth born doesn’t try to snap at anyone, much less to the only one that treats him gently, but the anger Satan feels is practically right back at square one and he can’t stand the giant fuzzy blur popping up whenever he tries to think of you.

“Tell me about us.” The blonde overlooks your surprised expression and grabs your hand, “You were something to me, I can feel it, so please…”

You swallowed back your anger- not at Satan, no, at Diavolo and the so-called ‘god’ for letting this happen to your family.

Satan felt it. He felt every drop of your wrath.

“You are everything to me, Satan. Everything and more.” Your grip tightened. “I’m sorry for doing this to you.”

An uncomfortable pressure settled over his chest, “It’s not your fault.” He curled his arms around you and kissed the top of your head out of instinct. “Don’t blame yourself.”

He’ll remember. He’ll make himself remember— he swears.

†

Despite having amnesia, the feeling of being ignored still bothered Asmo. He saw you in the halls countless times, running around while checking in on all his brothers, but you never stopped to even glance at him.

Not once since he woke up like this…it bothered him, though he couldn’t tell why. Asmo guesses it’s the reason he showed up in front of your door at 3 am.

“Asmo? What are you doing awake?” Clearly him being awake right now was sacrilegious or something because you looked as if he was a walking zombie.

“Why are you avoiding me? Did- did I do something to you? Do you not like me?”

The choked sob you let out was startling, but he was quick to reciprocate your crushing hug, “I adore you, Azzy— I love you so fucking much, but you don’t remember loving me back and it hurts.” The gasps you let out made you sound as if you just couldn’t bear to breathe without telling him everything at once.

And Asmo was just horrified at the sight; he didn’t mean to make you cry like this, “‘orry..sorry, I’m sorry!” Ignoring the wetness on his own face, he pulled you impossibly closer, “I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

He still couldn’t remember, no matter how many times he apologized.

†

Oh, Beel could barely stand the way you and Belphie looked at him— so heartbroken and helpless. He could practically see the bonds between the three of you, but…

“Our eyes look the same…twins?” The small smile that crossed Belphie’s face made Beel beam, “Twins! And what are we?”

You opened your mouth to speak, thinking for a moment before closing it again. A bittersweet smile crawled up your face as you leaned against his brother.

Belphie answered in your stead. “You two loved each other. Very deeply.”

“Love?” Beel looks at you, smiling at him despite the subtle tears streaking your cheeks and blushes, jaw clenching at the same time.

He could see the bonds— he knew they were there. But why couldn’t he remember? He wanted to remember. He needs to remember.

“Please help me remember.”

†

With the red headed demon basically glued to his side the entire time, Belphie didn’t have a hard time figuring out who was who and who had what kind of relationship to the other (there were a lot of dynamics, he discovered, even though they were all brothers).

The only person he couldn’t figure out was you. Beel told him that Belphie loved you more than anything, but what did that mean? Did you love him like that too?

“Do you love me?”

You answered without hesitation, “Yes.” Humming a tune that sounded familiar, he watches you tuck him in like you’d done it a thousand times. “I love you more than the moon loves the stars.”

Belphie blushes and snuggles deeper into his blankets, “Did I love you?” He wishes he remembered. Your face is making his stomach fill with butterflies and he knows it would feel even better if he just remembered.

Like it was a secret, your voice was barely a whisper. “You did. More than the sun loves the earth.”

#obey me x reader #obey me imagine #obey me drabble #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer #mammon x reader #obey me mammon #leviathan x reader #obey me levi #satan x reader #obey me satan #asmo x reader #obey me asmo #beel x reader #obey me beel #belphie x reader #obey me belphie

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