TOLERATE IT
older!ghost x reader — i realized after i finished, i did not mention simon’s name once, but this was written w him in mind lmaooo
cw: angst, no comfort, break up? ish, friends w benefits and complicated feelings, simon self-sabotaging, im in such an angsty mood! edit: this has been sitting in my drafts for over a month and i don’t know if i like it
your nails dug into your palms as your eyes filled with tears. you were drowning, he was drowning you. you had known it for a long time now. this, whatever it was, wasn’t working. not anymore.
not when you had bled yourself dry, spread yourself too thin for him, just to receive nothing in return. worst of all is he had told you so from the very beginning. but some naive, stupid, part of you thought that would change. that he’d change for you.
stupid, stupid, stupid.
“what did you except?”
his voice was ice cold, indifferent and… bored. as if you pouring your heart out to him mere seconds ago meant nothing.
you realized then that you had been terribly wrong. mistaken the way he held you, and kissed you, as something more. “i just figured-”
his eyes blazed with frustration, “figured what, hm? that i’d eventually soften up? grow to love you?”
yes.
“i don’t know. would that be so difficult?”
“yes.”
your face twitched, unable to mask how deeply that hurt. your throat tightened with regret. regret of ever tangling yourself with him, regret with voicing your feelings.
“you knew what i wanted from this arrangement. you had agreed. we were on the same page.”
the regret and melancholy that had ebbed and festered in your heart turned to anger. blinding, burning rage.
“i had told you, made it so very clear that nothing long term would come from this. i can’t give you that.”
that rage was threatening to consume you.
your voice shook with anger, but the look on his face took the crack in your voice as one of sadness, weakness, “you won’t give me that. it’s not that you can’t.”
he said nothing, because you both knew it was true. “look, kid-”
“don’t-” your voice rasped, “don’t call me that.”
his fingers clenched in frustration, breathing through his nose as he tried to collect himself. he had never heard your voice grow that cold. not towards him and it made his bones ache.
“it’s nothing personal. i’m just not want you’re lookin’ for. not for something constant, and if things were different, if i was a different person then maybe. but im not.”
your eyes burned, a few stray tears falling but you were quick to wipe them away. yes, you had come to an agreement prior to this. but things had changed, the way he looked at you, and held you.
the whispered words in between your tangled limbs had proven that. he lingering touches and soft eyes.
he must’ve been one hell of a liar if he didn’t mean any of that.
stupid, stupid, stupid.
“i don’t believe you.”
you sniffed softly, looking at him and you were sure the devastation was clear in your eyes. “because if everything that passed between us, if you were able to fake that. you’re a monster.”
“you knew what this was when we started.”
you missed the way his fingers dug into the armrest of the couch. shaking your head as you stood up. “get out.”
he felt the chill of your words wash over him, and the part inside him that yearned for you, desperately begged him to speak up. to tell you that this was all some big misunderstanding.
stupid, stupid, stupid.
what he was doing was stupid. but it was for the best.
you deserved better, and he’d never be able to give that to you.
yes you would.
he forced the voice back, swallowing roughly before standing up. grabbing his things as he watched you try not to fall apart before him.
the words of ‘i’m sorry,’ heavy on his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
his footsteps heavy as he left your apartment. his heart aching the further he walked away and it comforted him a bit to know you’d never forgive him again.
there would be no hope, no one to hurt or disappoint and he could live with that. knowing that he let you go before you could begin to hate him.
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Helloooo! I enjoy your stuff a whole lot and I was wondering if I could ask for a scenario where a rescued reader is on the sunny/merry feeling really homesick so she shyly asks sanji if he could cook her up a meal from her homeland. Then when she bites into it she starts crying cause shes so happy? Im in a fluffy sorta sentimental mood (*⌒∇⌒*)
𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after being rescued by the strawhats, you find yourself homesick one morning, and sanji has a foolproof cure.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sanji x fem!reader
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: food, smoking
Your thoughts were being more of a bully than usual. You suspected it was because of how you stood at the edge of the Going Merry’s afterdeck, staring out at the water with an air of melancholy about you.
You’re much too sad for a woman rescued, your thoughts would taunt.
But you couldn’t help it! Of course you were more than grateful to have been rescued from your captors by the crew of pirates known as the Strawhats.
You thanked them every chance you had, asked what you could do to help at every turn—most of the time they just smiled and told you to relax. I can’t, you would say. I’ve forgotten how.
So now you stood on the deck of the Going Merry, grateful even through this terrible sorrow washing through you.
The sea breeze reminded you of home. The gull’s cry reminded you of home. The sound of Zoro and Sanji’s bickering reminded you of home. Everything was a reminder of the little village of your childhood… and how you’d never get it back.
It was burned—slaughtered—by the very pirates that took you away from it.
There was nothing left to return to. So yes, you snapped back at your thoughts, I’m homesick. If that made you ungrateful, so be it.
“You,” said a charmingly familiar voice, “look like you could use a friend.”
Sanji leaned on the railing of the afterdeck, nudging you with his shoulder. You ducked your chin and let your hair fall around your face, if only to conceal your grin.
“I could use a cigarette,” you mumbled, receiving that smooth chuckle of his in reply.
He complied, slipping his lighter and cigarette box out of his coat pocket, lighting one with practiced ease and handing it off to you. You didn’t try to ignore how he watched you take that first puff, something almost fond in the way he looked at you, before he followed suit in lighting his own.
He’s very fond of you, said your thoughts, to which you replied, He’s Sanji. He’s very fond of everyone.
That didn’t stop you from being very fond of him in return.
After some time in silence, he posed a question. “What’s on your mind?”
You didn’t have the heart to lie. “Home.”
“Oh.” He knew what had happened to your village. He was the one you’d sobbed to on your first night on the Going Merry, after he’d caught you trying to slip out on a dinghy in the night. Sanji had taken your hand and led you to the kitchen, letting you get out all your worries as he made you some food.
“Yeah,” you sniffled. “It’s fine, though. I’m okay.”
He stared at you for a long moment, before he turned his face away and said, “I know a cure for homesickness, you know.”
Skeptical, you side eyed him. “You do?”
“Mhmm.” He leaned into your ear and whispered, “Food.”
You laughed softly as he gently took your wrist and started to lead you away from the railing. Though confused, you didn’t fight, walking beside him as his hand slipped perfectly into yours. “Sanji?”
The man took you all the way into the belly of the ship and right to his workshop: the kitchen. You stood in the center of the room as he rounded the counter and turned to smile at you. “C’mon. What do you want? Let’s make it.”
Something about that let’s was powerful. Sanji didn’t just let anyone use his kitchen, especially with him. He had his own rhythm, and there had been countless times he’d snapped when anyone so much as slightly disrupted it.
He’d never snapped at you though, and you certainly had a knack for disruption.
For a good solid moment, all you could do was stand and stare. Sanji kept on smiling, the expression growing warmer and softer with each second. Softly, you told him your favorite dish from your hometown, glancing up through your lashes to find him already fishing around for pots and pans.
“I think that can be arranged, madam.”
Some time later, the kitchen was thick with smells of a superficial kind of home—no matter how you closed your eyes and focused, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe you were actually there. You were always drawn away from your fantasy by the sway of the ship and the song Sanji hummed.
And now you sat side by side at the table, the fruit of your joint labor plated before you, yet you could barely even look at the food.
Your thoughts called you a coward while your heart mourned something you will never have again.
But Sanji was so kind, and the food smelled really good, so you closed your eyes and took that first bite, all too aware of how Sanji eyed you like a hawk the whole time.
You melted as the flavors filled your senses—in an instant you were catapulted back to a simpler time, seated at the counter with your mother, grinning over a plate of food so similar to this. That countertop was gone now. She was gone now. Everything was gone, yet you remained.
You were the last reminder of the home you loved.
Tears had started to stream down your cheeks before you could stop them, swallowing down the food as your fork clanked onto the table. You crumbled in your seat and prayed with everything in you that Sanji somehow wouldn’t notice.
It was a foolish wish; Sanji noticed everything.
“Love, what…” he couldn’t find the words, his whole chest seized as he caught sight of glistening tears. “Is it that bad?”
You laughed, though it was a broken sort of sound. “Please. Everything you make is ambrosia.”
Wiping at your cheeks and turning away, you didn’t expect it when Sanji reached for your hand and wrapped it up in both of his. You met his eyes instantly, your own wide in question, and wondered how a person’s hand could be so warm that it sent a wave of heat throughout your entire body.
Or maybe it wasn’t his hand. Maybe it was the way he lifted one hand to hold your cheek, thumb swiping away the last of the tears, allowing you to clutch his other hand so tightly.
He observed you a little longer, then sighed. “Home?”
You squeezed your eyes shut and turned into his hand, another wave of tears spilling down. And then you were drawn forward, enveloped in his arms, hidden from the world. For some time, you sat there, awkwardly leaned into him as you both remained in your chairs, your hands ruining his neatly ironed dress shirt, his hands rubbing circles into your back.
That’s when you found your thoughts to be unusually quiet, and you weren’t going to start complaining. Now all you heard was your own heartbeat racking through your ribcage. Your face was dry, though, and you felt very warm.
“I know we haven’t talked about it,” said Sanji, rather out of the blue. “Other than the offhand mention of the best port to find work… what if… I mean, we all enjoy your company—some of us more than others—some of us being me—and I think…” He took a breath, pulling away with a little smile. “I think you should stay.”
A sniffle. A blink. A very long hesitation wherein Sanji felt more panicked than he had in a very long time.
“Okay.”
Sanji huffed a chuckle. “Really?”
“I have nowhere else to go,” you shrugged. His head tilted just slightly, eyes prodding at you. “And I might enjoy everyone’s company too.”
Sanji wondered, “Anyone in particular though?”
You leaned back and cast your gaze back to the plate of food, probably cold by now. “Zoro isn’t too annoying.”
He scoffed. “Hate to disagree.”
“Liar,” you teased, barely able to conceal your grin. “Zoro’s also kinda boring after a while. I like talking.” Your cheeks dusted pink then, but you didn’t back down, looking up at him through your lashes. “I like talking to you.”
His smile could have kept you alive in the darkest winter storm. “Lucky for you, I’ve been told I never shut up.”
You rolled your eyes and shifted on your seat, taking up your fork and admiring the food. You’d made this together, and you could only hope it wasn’t the last time you joined him in the kitchen. There was something so softly domestic about it. So softly home, whispered your thoughts, back again for a fleeting moment.
“Thank you,” you mumbled.
He nudged you gently, inching his own forgotten plate toward him as well. “For what?”
“Being here.” All was still, contentment filling the silence, before there was a soft pressure on your temple; a kiss, you realized, turning a dark crimson as you whipped your head around to stare at the man beside you.
A thousand words threatened to spill from your lips, some incoherent and some so flirty you paled to think of them, before you let out a deep breath and felt your lips tilting up at the corners.
“Always,” said Sanji. His blue eyes bore into you and right through to your heart, which thundered once more.
Your thoughts were silent, for all but one, a very loud and frightening and lovely thought: Sanji is starting to feel like home.
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