#ACTUALLY HURT by this to their fate and Washing my hands of it- but i cant help wanting it and seeing it as my one way out

[ladadiida]

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

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

or,

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

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

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

𝐰𝐜 11.3k

"There you are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You accepted it years ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah.

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

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

You stumbled on your words. "Sir?"

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

Clearing your throat, you forced a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tomorrow was the perfect day to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday

— S.

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

⸻ • ⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe I can—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zeff took a deep, tired breath.

"Oh, they're ringing alright."

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

⸻ • ⸻

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

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

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

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

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

Or so you thought.

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

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

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

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

Unfortunately, Sanji was one of those men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now I do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the answer was simple.

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

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

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

"Why not me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻ • ⸻

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

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

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

He doesn't.

⸻ • ⸻

"Are you really going to leave?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanji almost dropped the plate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sanji!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻ • ⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The realization began to sink in.

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No..."

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

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

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

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

"Even with me by your side?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻ • ⸻

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

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

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

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

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

"I will."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻ • ⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You missed Sanji and everything that he was.

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

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

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

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

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

Sanji.

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

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

"There you are, ange."

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

#opla #opla x reader #opla x y/n #opla x you #one piece #one piece live action #opla sanji #one piece sanji #one piece live action sanji #sanji live action #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #opla sanji x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #angst #one piece sanji x reader #ਏਓ ladadiida

[notjustjavierpena]

The idea of javier and reader being a baby making factory is so 🤪🤪

Trying (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

A/N: Actually! My idea of them is that they don’t do super well with their attempts at starting/expanding the family. Which is why I think that they accidentally made Sebastian; they didn’t think they were super fertile and got a lil sloppy. It has always taken a good chunk of time to get reader pregnant during the times they were actively trying but fate often has it that when you stop focusing on it, it becomes easy.

Word count: 500 words

Tags: Not explicit thoughts of infertility, trying for a bebe, soft!javi, the inherent suffering of being a person who has a womb, angst, hurt/comfort

Trying

“One line again,” you say quietly and try to hide your voice trembling as Javier leans against the bathroom sink. He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated sigh as the reality of not being lucky this time around either sets in. You shift on the toilet seat, “Really thought this was it this time.”

It’s been four months now without any luck.

“It’ll happen, baby,” he says without sounding overly optimistic. In fact, he sounds like he is in doubt, on the verge of giving up, and the tone of his voice makes you rise from your seat without a word. You twirl the pregnancy test in your hands for a brief moment before aggressively, and with exasperation, throwing it into the sink and pushing past your husband.

You start to cry the second that he cannot see you anymore. It’s big, heavy, and self-pitying tears that are accompanied by sobs as you walk into the kitchen with fast steps. You place both your palms on the counter, not caring about not having washed them yet, feeling stupid for being in this stupid house with two stupid spare bedrooms that you can’t help seeing as stupid nurseries.

Behind you, Javier says your name so softly that you heave for breath. You can only stammer your response, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Javier asks. You hear him come up behind you, so you turn to face him. Your face is tear-streaked, nose as well as mouth are puffy and red.

“The one thing my body is supposed to be good at doing and it’s not working. Probably won’t even be a good mom either,” your sniffles are filled with frustration, a fresh teardrop escaping as you tear yourself down in front of him.

“No, no, baby, no,” Javier shakes his head, tuts gently, and moves to cup your teary face. He wipes a few drops away with his thumbs, and you help by catching a few that threaten to drip off your chin, “It’ll happen. Think about how happy that’ll make us.”

“And if it doesn’t?” You know it’s a worst-case scenario, but admittedly it would be easier if people would only just talk about the struggles of getting pregnant. There is never talk about it not being a bed of roses, that it takes time for some couples. It’s always so fucking romantic and whoopsies, we’re having a baby.

“It will,” he stresses, holding your gaze while smiling gently, “Pero sí no, then we’ll figure it out. Maybe we’ll have our own Olivia like Connie and Steve.”

“Okay,” you reach up to hold onto his wrists, closing your eyes to steady your mind. He rests his forehead against yours.

“Okay,” he repeats, “And you’ll be the greatest momma in the world.”

You chuckle whilst still having tears in your eyes, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he chuckles too, “Now I think we need to wash your pee fingers.”

.

.

.

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[astralnymphh]

god knows she tried.

ellie williams⊱.

“the monster inside her was baying for blood, it had to come out some day.”

⤹𓍢ִ໋listening to; lacrimosa and sour

𖤐.an; I present to you, my proudest piece. wowowoww I really enjoyed writing an emotional piece like this. I hope it suffices and gets enough recognition cause this surely won't be my last angst piece!! inspired by lacy, oh lacy by @coeurify

𓍢ִ໋-cw; ellie pov focus leaning, large analysis of ellie throughout tlou2, loser-esque jackson ellie, angst, heavy feelings, depictions of death + wanting death + blood + guts + sharp objects + nausea/vomit + self hatred + jealousy + starvation, mild glimpses of happiness, reader replaces dina, reader isn't pregnant, poetic writing

⋆.ೃ;wc; 5k+

masterlist ୨୧

the sun was shrouded in gloom. the water did not glisten, but her tears did. droplets of gray guilt pour in slow motion down her bloodied cheeks. tears glistening with hurt.

washed up like a sea carcass, phantom fingers pounding in pain. made into a husk by her own self-corrosion. her mind would have been bare, except, you're there. a figment of time, standing there, suffocating in your blank stare. why are you staring like that? it's not even you. ellie can't grasp that truth. it's only her subconscious. projecting an apparition of your mortal flesh and briny blood. salty like the sea she's sitting in.

would you echo that figment in real time?

the past figments she saw had character. one shaking their head, one like a beacon of comfort caressing her shoulder, and never dead. you're not dead, why is she crying?

she cries for everything.

her limbs calcified of stone. nothings' moving. lungs that felt dried up from all the tears leaving her eyes. a throat that strains and tugs with each dense swallow, reminding her of the atmosphere that appeared so devoid of air, thinking, how could she breathe right now? the insoluble pain of self-destruction. the hunger for revenge, snuffed like a breeze to flames. it was all in her head. the choking. her lungs begged for air, and she could not breathe it.

ellie cusps the hand that gushes with beady red blood that drips into the dark murky water, pressurizing the exposed throbbing knuckle. it hurt like hell, an unlivable hell. yet, not a wail is heard by the ocean. only the whimpers and sniffles graze the ears of her highness, the sea, the only one physically there to listen.

behind her, feet are hung at head-level. wooden pillars that scarcely mimicked crucifixion. this place was dark, in all dimensions.

just minutes ago, her skin was forming bruises and jaw nearly caved in from the force of abby's struggled hits. knuckles praying to live. not even the mass of a gun tucked in her jeans had her awareness. no, she didn't use it. she wanted to feel abby fucking dying in her hands. her hands that have siphoned the lives of many before. but, when she realized someone was actually dying in her hands, when she could feel that through her skin, it was over. the flashes of joel in her head beckoned her to stop, without uttering any words. the same mental imagery that motioned her to break skin in the first place.

joel was always there.

soaping up the harshly served reality that projected on the foggy thalassic horizon and toxified the surrounding waters, her mind sails to different times. supposed simplistic times that, by fate, turned rotten.

the day you two met. a mere four years ago. the town was a busy winterscape. you both were the golden age of sixteen, well, not that golden admist the post-apocalypse. steady clanking hoofsteps that striked the concrete track streaming into jackson, mounted on your midnight coat steed that trailed behind tommy's. heads turned at the sounds of large rusty hinges twisting, including hers, watching from beyond the stable's fencing.

goddess above and below, you're were so stunning.

she remembers she was gearing up for group patrol that day when you arrived, the saddles' horn nearly slipping from her bay leather grasp. thoughts of interest and curiosity had slowly piled up from that point. her pupils picking up on each hoofprint left as you pass the open paddock and stroll into the connecting stable. her browlines furrowed, wondering if you we're some backpacker hauled over for a spell, or a new resident.

she's lucky it would be the latter.

the veil of frigid air that seeped her skin and snapped her focus out of a daydream by the echo of dina's voice, calling her,

"earth to ellie?"

and it tethers her back on earth, turning her face to dina. she thought back to how her gloved fingers snapped in her face, asking for her focus, there and then.

"sor- um, what were you saying?" her speech was floaty, stacking on each other as she stuttered.

why was her focus glued to you at that moment? you had literally just entered. fucking hell, must have been something intruding the air. it's unlike herself to be so.. enraptured.

and later that evening, after a session of controlled gunshots mowing down the rigid fungoid heads that dared to disrupt their supply run, she was tired. plain tired.

as it turns out, a sturdy bench baring wooden boards as seats was enough comfort after all that shit. legs beat down to drooping over the woods edge, feeling like jelly. her hair bathed in the dining hall's incandescent lights, rendering a mellow orange halo. lips in pure quietude, she sat as a stranger to the conversation had between joel, jesse and dina.

ellie pondered the expedition for guitar strings that happened weeks ago, still processing what joel had told her. 'there was, no cure.' was it fabrication? what really took place in her state of unconsciousness? this was the beginning of a lurk. an unabating, rough gloom that presides under and through the chamber of her stomach, telling her something wasn't right. a thing she can't exactly point a finger to. a gut hunch that anchors her heart tightly. all is not true. she must seek.

blanked inside the home of her mind, only to be yanked by the wisping holler that ran over her head.

"hey! over here!" it was dina, ushering you over with the jerks of her wrist.

you passioned your way through the meal lines, appearing before her. she recalls how you looked, you were perfect. you wore the same ebony winter jacket that gathered dust on the wall-mounted rack of your farmhouse bedroom. it had its wears and tears and excerpts of journies to tell, but it was perfect on you. it's just a plain jacket. but for her, it was the jacket.

"the house up to yer' standards?" joel asked you, the usual mug of piping hot joe whaffed a steam around the aged and cracked skin of his face. tender in the light.

your voice rang through, "yeah, nothing I could ever bargain." and it cleared a trench between her temples. that rough gloom took a rain check instantly.

a fuzzy feeling that fords neither love or hate embraced the nape of her back. she didn't realize it just then, but, between the vault of aching uncertainty in her gut and the day to day neutrality she feels, a blossoming delight would come from your arrival at jackson, should she consume its goodness.

she didn't remember much of that conversation until the spotlight beamed towards her.

"this is ellie, she jus' came back from patrol. she'll show ya how we handle things 'round here." joel had gestured your sights over to her, to consume her first impression, with a smile that would become signature.

her ears tuned to you.

"hi!" you greeted with the softest wisping of your lips. oh, it made her evening that much more animated.

from that day onward, it was like a sweet lullaby of love. waving from across the horizon for weeks, your hand splayed out flat in the air, and hers curled up a bit. another week passes, and she's inviting you to the tipsy bison on her own accord. months pass, and she's constantly slumbering on your sofa over long nights, preferring it over being alone in her garage home. at this position in your shared timeline, ellie has grown distant from joel. you swore she forgot that old mans' bowed and bearded face sometimes.

it stung to relive the memory of pushing joel away. outside that damned hospital. saint marys' piece of shit. yelling, "don't you fucking, touch me!"

the tears were scorching. they were brought up to be. and they burned. the inside of her throat felt sliced up, chewed up, and ran through with barbed wire. swallowing was too much to bear, just how it is now, sitting on that dark beach.

that same day, she returned to find you waiting at her doorstep, box in hand. worry-struck. ellie took off out of the void, it made sense you were distraught. she felt mutually the same, her wrenching heart suffering the aftermath. the dawn of day she assumed would be spent alone, was sat atop her bed. losing herself in the video game you brought in that box, laying on you while she flicks the joysticks and taps the bumpers. it was a sunny yellow haven. a light she found in the darkness, that was you.

a tightly braided friendship.

and her mind lingers on something you once uttered at the crux of night during a sleepover, entailing the words;

"i like moths now, because of you."

that made her flustered across the span of a whole week, even joel questioned why she was blanking out during patrol training.

she was your moon. someone to subdue the spines that pricked your skin every day. sharp edges that tell you, happiness wasn't meant to stay. battle it all you wanted. moons eventually dim and embellish darkness.

two years pass, and she's being led to the center of an ornamental string-lit dance floor during another peak of winter, by none other than dina.

not you. if only it had been you. or else she wouldn't have felt that specter of gloom wrench her gut in disgusting ways later at dusk.

at least her gut didn't feel as it does now. torn open for this sorrowful sea to behold, exposed to a retch colored with regret. ill aversion.

her hands guided to the small of dina's back, draping like a silk curtain. missing a flinch when her arms huddled ellie's shoulders. not a flinch. ellie didn't love dina, but they were close. pinkies-tied close. it's just dina being dina, right?

"every guy in this room is staring at you right now.." her voice croaked in a demure whisper. the blood cells in her being were fluttering, the weight of her position then and there, made her feel lit up inside a dark room. backed into a corner. she was the spotlight once more.

"maybe they're staring at you.."

they would soon.

you never resented ellie for that night. you liked her, yeah, but it wasn't her fault. it only felt like you'd gulped a clump of metal bolts, weighing like a sick burden inside you. cold and rustic. your will of steel didn't let that shatter you completely, though. bottled it up and bluffed your feelings. it was never her fault. sucked down that bitter shot and let it ferment in your sickly gut packed with a stir. a stir of pungent nausea jabbing thorns in your esophagus. it delivers a nasty taste. but you swore, you wouldn't resent ellie.

ellie was unaware of your shared adoration. what seemed like a one-sided crush, was not. nights left off with a friendly hug could have been so much more divinely satiating. she wishes her body wasn't bound to the now, wishing she could back to then. the past, and express her affection. tell you everything.

a wish brewn too late. a drunken kiss to her buds out of wills' reach binds a woolly, empty headed fizzing to her ears. tossed into a stupor. all she could do was stand still like a willow tree in the windless plains. lips unable to jerk away. then it sunk hard. you're there. you're watching. people are peering. you saw.

"fuck." was emphasized in her toneless breath, narrowly letting loose another swear in the flavor of a loud scream.

in that gloomy darkness, she saw you. illuminated like a beacon too. your face plasters an unbothered exterior, but the eyes, the eyes are a glass screen. you can understand the essence fueling a person's emotion with one meager glimpse. a new gag clots her gullet. she can't show it, but she for heaven above and hell below, could fucking feel it.

you virtually felt a crack in your heart. cracks in a porcelain antique. you're sure the two looked similar.

strung between multiple conclusions, you pondered. if ellie liked dina, you'd have to woefully accept it. and if she didn't, then she didn't. what more could you have proposed at that time. life is life.

your feet carried you with a saunter, skirting the doors brinking you from the ghostly streets of a slumbering town of jackson. a jarring contrast from the lively party howling behind you. even for someone who's experiencing confusion, you walked with a gentle gait.

pausing under the descending pearls of frozen water, casting your eyes heavenward into the starry globe above you. the stars twinkled so perfectly on such a gut-wrenching night as this one. it dawns on you. how the celestial bodies of space feel no pain, no heartbreak. how their life is lived without the mortal trials you face. it must be so easy up there, suspended in space, feeling nothing.

as the snow nestled in the beds of your hair, melting on your blue hot face, you claimed a sense of emptiness in your head amidst the vomit begging to unfurl from your throttle. please, let it be a dream.

piercing isolation.

ended suddenly.

the swinging of a door wooshes through your ears, and capers your sights to its source. and there she was. joining you in the twilight snow-shower. ellie.

she trotted up to you, lone in the wintry streets, and harvested the same pellets of opalite snow that decorated the strands of your hair like constellations hovering above. her head, too, snowflakes cling to her russet bang and lashes, framing her eyes so damn right.

oh, snowy fern eyes. the most serenic evergreen rings encapsulated behind gloss. dewey eyes sitting atop red sweltered cheeks. her lids fluttered back the tears, the tears that might wither the snow, and surely wither her soundness of mind. a quiver of the lip, bent over her teeth. frozen fucking wind that chars the lining of her lungs with ice. every single thing fucking wounded her.

you gazed into one another, emotions roaring loud. she could peer right through you. through the glass windows of your eyes. things were felt and not shown, it was evident in your expression. no words were uttered in those seconds before. before the infamous words you spoke. words that forced everything to the shore.

"do you love dina?"

fucking gag. another smother of disgust gurgling in her gut. the sheer assumption that you believed her heart to be penchant for dina, and not you, drowned her guts. a quick spurt of unease penetrates her whole esse.

here went nothing.

"I love you."

whorled away from your envy like whiplash. it added up by that point. she appeared like a puppet to that kiss on the dance floor. you recalled it then. ellie's teeth were never bared in a smile, more so, it was the true one-sided love. now, she is standing in front of you. physical, mortal, and all. retching out that confession like it was stifled beneath a tombstone.

to ellie, that tombstone represented everything she expected to fail. to be dead. a wish foreseen as ash, fled to the gales of something more worthy.

that wish sailed the breeze, and landed at your feet.

you reached that shore too.

"I love you too, ellie."

her name levitating off your tongue with a tone so soothing felt affirming. grounding. this is not a dream.

her eyes transmutated, eclipsed by a sun. what was once dewey, red and puffy, then softened to a set of almonds brazed in sweet syrup. calmer tears that were golden. joyous. lids relax and anchor her brows, straightening out like rows of a poem. after straying so long beneath the falling snow, her nose suffused a red-orangey tint, nostrils even redder.

love passioned its way through the gelid space, accompanied by the humid huffs of your breath. but nothing was as warm, not even a star, as what brought your bodies a few measly steps closer.

a kiss.

huddled in the somber streets was an effigy of igniting amour. two souls stuck together. her arms wrapped around your back like you were the only life she could clutch. reddened knuckles crumpling up the same ebony jacket you attired in the winter, holding you dear. your arms found a natural embrace, cusping her shoulders and marrying fingertips into her coppery mane that tied into her bun.

nothing beats the way you two rolled lips, tasting the skin and smacking slowly. her peachy buds that fit the open groove of your mouth so easily. her lips were formed for you. cells that build her body, are building for you. she existed solely for you. graciously drinking up the kiss like a fucking sweet milkshake.

a taste so addictive, you could die on it.

shit, she's smirking into your lips. ellie, you blasted dork. even the dimples denting her cheeks could poke you back. that's how wide her smile travels from ear to ear, even her cheeks fattened up, creasing those beautiful crinkles at the edges of her eyelines. a true smile.

and once that kiss severed, you saw those bloated, ruddy cheeks plucking the corners of her lips. too fucking adorable.

"well, there's that smile. lost her a while ago, els?" the teaser you were, and the loser she was.

her lips refine into the same toothy, adorable beam. she nearly cringed at your observation. the way you kept notation of how often her midface perks up, it was cute. her flesh bites the bitter cold, and blood that heaped her cheeks burnt so vibrant for you.

she couldn't believe you were true.

"i think you're the only person that makes me smile," she recalled this vividly, trying her darndest to uplift every waking thought about you through a cold shell she fabricated, "fuck, i'm so bad at this.." laugh it off past ellie, laugh it off.

if she pinpoints it correctly, you had said the words "i like bad." jokingly. fashioning the most proud smirk ever. pfft, she giggles every time her brain resurfaces that memory of your snowy brimmed confessions.

"tsskk- u're weird."

"you're a big dork."

"shut up.." her ardent palms pancaked against both of your cheeks, passionately pulling you in for another tangerine sweet kiss.

the ivory supermoon set on a blissful night, luckily enough. ellie ended up fleeing that street, hand in hand mingled with you, towards her home. fuck that dance. fuck those feelings flush of guilt that died right there on that street. being tangled in the sheets with you snuggled in her arms was enough. enough to submerge what galloped through her head.

"i don't need your fucking help joel."

shit.

gods above and below.

what did daylight bring?

bloodshed. blood stains her eyes to this day. she was there. she saw. the blood spilt and it splashed towards her. if joel couldn't reach his torn, bashed and narrowly mutilated hand out to her, his lifeline would. the plasma pumping his heart to sustain life, hurling out like a ribbon of crimson. a downright disrespectful invitation of rememberance abby had chucked to her fucking face.

this memory. this disease, an immoral plague. who the fuck up there in the pristine realms of divinity decides a mortal punishment like this?

that memory, lives on. it weakens the marrow in her bones. turns the tides in her head. she wanted to rip her skin off. her skin that gets to survive. disgust. again. the muscles attached to bone, felt like they didn't belong.

she stopped genuinely breathing after that day.

you saw the will to breathe drain from her eyes. etching into that lodges' oak floors. the first grave she ever dug.

"i'm so sorry, ellie."

was the first swan song she ever heard.

now that rough gloom, plummeted and shapeshifted into a dark cavern of misery. starless, desolate gloom. her room turnt cavernous too. blocking all rays of bright luminosity from injecting a disturbance in her seclusion. era of mental death.

you had been visiting her daily in her time of barren sensitivity, at the least, visiting her door. you uneasily sat on the exterior end of her door. poised aside and smushing your ear into it's solid strength. praying that you might hear any peep of life on the other side, you wait. you miss her bloodcurtiling sobs reserved for nighttime, sowing the conclusion that she, inside, was empty. a husk.

if death is so morbid, why did graves look so peaceful? so prettied up. why are the baby blue hydrangeas sitting atop his freshly cold grave, soft in their glory, delivering such a potent posion. they plant their own seed. clotting ellie's throat with a nest of hydrangeas she'll carry with her forever. roots latched to a deep spring in her spirit that navigates every little emotion. the flowers bulge from her esophagus and cough up in petals of regret, forgiveness, and rejection.

she can't accept that.

she didn't.

she heard the rainy forest calling for her.

seattle is here. seattle is waiting. the old flame lights the new wick, and so it ignites, her immortal foe. revenge.

and she brought you along.

ellie respires every soul set free from mangled bodies she creates. her hands a syphon, the weapon her postman. delivering screaming letters of justice with every pull of her finger on the trigger.

a once starless gloom was snapped in half by her own drive with spheres of guttural fire baying for blood. she wakes up a blood-gutter every sunrise. her face just might fossilize and cherish this total takeover. she was someone new. angled fuming brows, irritable red nostrils flared more than ever, and an awful intensity in her eyes. it made them scintillating, more so, grossly gleaming. irises fern green to hazardous toxin in just a few months.

enemies could read ellie's aura nimbly, if their visions should even grasp it faster than their machetes and hammers meeting a clenched palm. she wasn't just a girl. she was a threat.

miles of blood patterned in her path, splotching the diamond modeled bottoms of her converse like abstract art. she was lost in her own world. driven straight to the goal.

you promised you'd be there every damn sliced throat of the way, no matter what. but this scares you. slowly, the fire burning in her eyes had charred her up till she could barely give anything more.

the fire had only engulfed her when she appeared at the theater's lobby doors, banging the margin of her balled fist on the wood. the fist gloved in crescent scars, peeled cuticles, and raised callouses. when the doors waved open to you, gliding up to her and weaving yourself with her body in a relieved hug, she couldn't do it. it was too much. the torture lingering in her muscle memory stung, frozen hands jittering above the small of your back momentarily.

ellie was enervated.

it took her a second to even hug you back. that was, too kind of you. to embrace her body slathered in the lifeline of someone else. why would you even do that, she thought.

her mind looped on a cycle, processing that damned notion as you pleat the soiled shirt off her back. she couldn't even feel the salient tear in her back, the brutally severed dermis throbbing red, not a whimper soars her gullet when you tend to it. numbness riddled her. stitch her up, and she won't flinch.

then ellie croaked,

"i made her talk."

she was revolted. how could she touch you so tenderly after whacking a metal rod into a beating body 'till they coughed up the words. knackered them up for eternal sleep. the face she just wiped from this earth, blurred. does she even remember what she looked like?

it was your own arm, meshing around her blistered collarbone that prompted her to gauge the value of her life, even just for an iota of solace time.

problem being, she couldn't remain enlightened of her value- without you.

"i don't wanna lose you."

your lips kissed her pain away, pitter by patter along the scruff of her neck to her seared shoulder. every peck embedded with a melodic note that forges a song saying, 'i am here, you won't lose me' without even brushing that past your satiny lips.

won't you seal my hardships with your lips of silk? taint my lips of leather and gums of thorns with your soothing buds?

"you wont."

then that day arrived, when she almost did. a scene depicted by the ten of swords. a major disaster indicated. as the arrow speared the air suddenly, and in no time you could count, it had already paved through the plate of your shoulder and strung out blood to the planks before you. rendering you unconscious.

"please stop!" ellie pleaded, just like she did before. god forbid if she had to witness another loved one being lacerated from life. her limp body prays, prays for your safe survival, and not your safe passage. she wonders if god is even real, if any god is real. do they hear her now? we're they aware when she shrilled for mercy at every red ribbon lashed out from his body? did they welcome him, home?

and right before that cold steel nearly divided your skin, a voice erupted.

"abby!"

thank fuck you hadn't ended up a resemblance of the 'ten of swords' illustration. thank the sun gods that you were able to bask and tan under the light that fondled the rustic farmhouse with her. ellie is so lucky, for someone who doesn't believe in it.

"don't ever let me see you again."

you then retired to that old, rustic farmhouse. aging under the continuous moon phases for two years straight.

it was a strenuous journey getting to where she was supposed to be the happiest. despite all the treasures she owned on that farm property, the lagoon of corn fields and hills of verdancy that sung in spring, mighty splendors anyone might wish for, ellie still lived with a loom. ellie bore tantrums inside the confined loneliness of the farm's supply room, kicking the hilt of a rake as it clatters to the stony ground, yelling, "fuck!" when it startled her badly enough, or when it enraged her ptsd well enough.

reminiscence is woven into the scar risen on your shoulder. it reminds her. every. damn. glance.

every approaching dream was daunting to ellie. she'd wake up. cold beady sweat. go back to sleep, suffocate in her subconscious again, and surface them in a panic once more. not even braving the night with a stroll around the perimeter helped. it only sunk everything deeper.

if she was drunken in her sorrows, would you carry her?

the daylight spent with you was her only source of felicity. the mundane made it feel much more liveable. a day spent baking together, flour dappled on each other's noses, roused as she pushed up behind, and swayed you to the cordial and funky beats thrumming from the viynl player. that day, that simple day made her want to live fully for you. she wanted to be tied to your pinkie with the lusty filaments of love.

and in that humble kitchen laid a promise;

"so- this means you'll marry me?" a stupid smirk muffled ellie's voice out huskily, flowing against the shoreline of your ear.

"can't we just announce ourselves married already?"

"baabeee.." that freckled idiot whined.

"eelllssss.." you rung back.

her arms fastened you tighter, pout puffing on your shoulder, "i wann' make it feel real.." she intoned, inclining up and stuffing her nose into your neck. pretty sure she rubbed all the flour onto you, being the bear hugger she is.

no answer parts your lips.

"babe?"

ellie felt you twirl in her caging arms, perking up to even up with your gaze in curiosity. her brows fumble and arc inwards to visibly show her interest for your next words.

"we're real, els. i don't need a ring or declaration to show that.." your tone caters to her love of soothing sounds, as she breaks into an even toothier smile that trails your words.

"you don't?"

you had leaned in, devoid of words. a quiet kiss to her brows, said so much more than she expected. that inner-loser knocked on the door of her mind and took control. blasted blush coating her cheeks. you really knew how to woo her, cradling her head in your tender cusp.

"i just need you."

"don't go."

the grounding touch of her cheeks held between your hands was not enough. the blank, void, and unnerving night was not enough. nothing was enough to keep her waiting.

what kind of songs do you play when dwindling into internal madness?

her own screams battle the wood boards of that farm too often. her screams synchronize with joels, replaying in her head. scared and unable to hold onto anything. thoughts running amok. she fucking needs you more than she thought.

"ellie- ellie.. I'm here. it's okay."

it's not okay.

it's not okay for her to play pretend and cast an ocean over those feelings 'when she can'. you told her, it's okay. to be broken. but her heart anchors towards an obligation to be picture perfect for you, for anyone. every positive cover-up felt like posion pooling from her mouth. lying til she couldn't feel her lips.

she lied to you once. for someone who despises lies and has been lied to, she lied. that fucking lie hurt. but it was too loud. the gloom that stuck with her for so long has grown into a pounding, jarring sound similar to intense whirring, but echoed. nothing had color at that point. everything was a null void, and every sound was a silence too loud.

a sentence meant to be; "i'm going to find abby." sounded a lot more like,

"i'm so tired, baby." murmured ellie, collapsed flat on the plateau of your chest and drained of energy.

you assumed it was just physical fatigue.

"it's fine, go t'sleep, we can talk later."

ellie's eyes looked so dull, so scarce of humanity. she was tired. each passing day had been vampirically sucking the motivation from her veins. some days, she didn't even catch you calling her name from the farmhouse. earth to ellie, are you still in there?

"I have to finish it." ellie's forehead bent to yours, felt so wrong.

"why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't." her voice nearly shattered into a waterfall of sobbing.

your voice cracked, however, "bullshit, els."

that was the drawing line. she finally breaks and is consumed by that hovering gloom. she lost herself.

ellie dashed every chance of losing you, and yet took it upon herself to leave you, instead.

that fucking thing that leeched off her for so many years is finally getting what it yearns for. greed of revenge to feed the darkness. starving herself as it ingests every fiber barely holding her together.

you spun away with leisure, breaching your hands from her, "I am - not, doing this again."

you couldn't save this. she was leaving. nothing blocks her way.

heart-wrenching silence dawns.

"that's up to you."

her heels unhurriedly turned in an instant, abandoning you, and her dreams born of soft blue dasies. her omens of happiness and trust, becoming a fatuous foreground. the door waving shut behind her would soon come to bite her in the heart.

now she sits. almost dying in that water. the water was her gloom all along. she was the vessel, she paid the price, it's free. now she bleeds into it. red rivers dance and make a mockery of her weeping body.

she tried.

it won.

she tried for the false clone of you haunting her mind. it's the only thing she had left of you.

she tried so hard to be strong. only she and the gods above know that.

you wouldn't though.

coming home to jackson a walking carcass, pinning her hopes on you being there. it was obvious you moved from the farmhouse. why would you live there alone?

so, she stands. inside your old jackson home, to divulge its absence of you. no, you weren't there. you weren't in jackson. all that remains are old memories crammed into boxes. motionless without a requiem.

ellie closes in on one of these.

and what she finds is painful.

that winter jacket.

she clutches it tight to her barren eyes, burrowing the trench of her nose with your lingering scent. the scenes trance her mind. visions of you tackling her in the thick mud puddle on your farm's acres, an enchanting laugh wheezing in your throat. visions of holding your stomach while you scrubbed fine china of its grub and stains, wishing you two had a real family, a child, by some miracle. recollections of you, legs sitting pretty across her lap as she thrashed a controller, casting her evil curse whenever the game ticked her off just enough and how you giggled at her. the everlasting evocation of you two, kissing under that snow-ether night, vowing a love to extend across times bounds.

the jacket smells so fucking good.

"please.." whispered ellie, with a taut countenance, "where are you.."

not a clue of where you went is in those walls.

are you dead? nobody knows.

where she left the farmhouse, you left her entirely. unknowing if it stems from love, hate, or neutrality. the guilt felt disgusting, once more. the pain stung in her lung far harsher. the air siphoning out.

in a room so devoid of air, and you, how could she breathe?

you can't pay in blood and sacrifice. ellie has learned that. she paid in loss of something that didn't have to go.

love was understanding each other's limits, and so was losing each other. she just never realized you had limits plummeting down on you, until the new moon phase had begun, and it was too late.

that figment of you is all she has left.

𓍢ִ໋-likes and reblogs appreciated, bright blessings!

#⋆.ೃ;this hurt to write but it must be done at least once!! #ellie williams #ellie williams oneshot #ellie tlou #ellie williams angst #ellie x reader #ellie williams fanfic #tlou ellie #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #lesbian #sapphic #ellie williams x y/n #jackson!ellie #seattle!ellie #farm!ellie #epilogue!ellie

[inhibitionfreewriting]

Hasan idea!!

Has been dating his girl for like a year and chat has NO idea until she is cooking in the kitchen or just doing something in the house where she gets hurt and yelps and he immediately shouts “babe!?” and he gets up and helps her. Idk how it would end thats where you can let your creativity flow haha

Love your stuff 🫶🫶

I have simultaneously had a lot of ideas for this and none, because the second I click answer all of them leave my mind. I'm so sorry. It's the mental illness 💀

Hasan hasn't introduced you to stream or chat not because he doesn't love you to bits and pieces, but his chat can be absolutely chaotic in the worst ways and at this point its been put off for so long that neither of you really care (but not in a bad way).

But last night was a lot. The get together bonfire had kept you both up far longer than it should have, not counting you falling asleep in his lap at least twice. It was safe and warm and that buzz you had from that last drink Will made? It sealed your fate.

So while you had finally gotten coffee in you, you were pretty sure that the exhaustion of half sleeping multiple times would be plaguing you for the entire rest of the day. You just wanted to do something nice - cook dinner while he was streaming instead of ordering out. It'd help wake you up and you'd get to watch his face enjoy the food from just off screen as he takes the first bite.

Maybe that exhaustion was much worse than you thought, because when you were cutting through the potatoes for the curry you were cooking, you might have been holding your hand against the potato wrong and sliced directly into your finger. Luckily, you pulled back quickly enough to have not actually done any real damage, but you YELPED and yelped LOUD.

Without a second thought, because Kaya was asleep in the room with him, he called out loudly, "babe!?" Chat went WILD.

>babe? babe? babe? babe?

>WHO????

>who tf 😭 kaya right there

He didn't spare them a 'be right back' before standing up and heading towards the kitchen to see what was going on, and there you were, washing your hand and trying to keep the tears at bay. Hasan was a godsend though because he didn't panic when stuff like this happened and helped bandage the cut on your finger (thank god it really wasn't that bad, because you didn't really want to go to the hospital).

"I-I'm sorry, I was trying to cut the potatoes and I'm so bad at holding my hand right and-"

"Shut up, it's fine," he ran a hand over your shoulder and softly grabbed the back of your neck to kiss your forehead. "Are you good though, really?" You nodded and rubbed the heel of your palm into your eye to push away a last few tear or two.

"Yeah, I'm okay, just feel dumb." He rolled his eyes, mumbling that you weren't dumb and that he was glad you were okay. Hasan pulled you into a hug, pressing soft kisses to your forehead. "You can go back to stream." You both paused and looked at each other.

"I guess they know about you now, huh. Can't really tell them the one yelping was Kaya... You don't have to join this one but, after you finish with the curry we can eat it on stream together."

"Okay. Go back to streaming. I love you, thank you." He kissed you again.

"Love you too."

#hasan x reader #hasan piker x reader #rpf fic #ask replies #bunny writes

[sethcertified]

「 SCREAM FOR YOU ! 」 . . . 📂 EPILOGUE

scream: billy loomis & stu macher

w.c: 2.1k

⊹˚.⋆ synopsis . . . Waking up from a coma, the events that followed the Macher house massacre are revealed to you by a familiar face. Except, they’re not how the story actually went…

⊹˚.⋆ starring . . . billy loomis, stu macher, & male reader

My name is [Name] Riley.

I am 17 years old.

I am sitting in a hospital bed.

I miss my bed.

My butt hurts.

I miss my home.

...

I miss my sister.

I shook my head as I threw down the pencil onto my lap with a frustrated sigh. My fingers ached from the force I held the pencil with while writing in my newly appointed journal. Mr. Ryder, the psychiatrist that had been appointed to me, had given me the journal to document my mental state since the massacre at the Macher party as I way to make sure I was doing okay, yet it felt more like torture than a way to check up on how I was feeling mentally.

The only relief it gave me was a false sense of company. I hadn't spoken to anyone since I had been put into this room except the nurses that came and went, my doctor, and my psychiatrist. I ignored the outside world's efforts to get me to face the people I had betrayed despite the knocks on my door and the letters slipped into my room. It was lonely, no doubt, but I was too much of a coward to face the reality of what I had done.

What they had done.

The blood on their hands. The blood on mine. It stained. Stained my mind with guilt of what I had done; the path I had chosen. 10 people had died that night, and I could've prevented all 10 of them if I hadn't been so caught up in my own feelings.

In the end, I prevented one. One death. Yet the guilt didn't diminish in the slightest. The blood didn't wash away. Everything remained the same. Everyone remained dead. Except me.

I had hoped I would die that night whether it was on the floor or on that stretcher, but fate had refused to show me pity. Fate decided I needed to be punished for what I had done by keeping me alive. But that wasn't punishment enough; fate felt the need to punish me even more. Fate had kept them alive as well.

Billy Loomis and Stu Macher were alive and all because of me. I had saved them from death that night but sacrificed some of the people I loved the most. It was a fair price to pay for my actions, but I didn't realize that the transaction would actually happen. That they would actually be dead. Even as I thought that, my brain couldn't process the fact that they were dead. That they were all dead.

Tatum was dead.

Dewey was dead.

Randy was dead.

Gale was dead.

Dead, dead, dead, and more dead.

I coughed awkwardly as I averted my attention away  from the journal and my depressing mindset to the hoard of pity gifts resting around my room. They had been gifted to me from all sorts of people; relatives, friends, even people I had never even talked to. I hadn't bothered reading a single one. They saw me as a hero. A survivor. I couldn't face them knowing that I was anything but those things.

The bright pop of colors of the gifts contrasting against the plain, white walls of my bleak hospital room was distraction enough from my thoughts, but just staring at the huge array of them made my mind reel in guilt. With a sigh, I leaned my head back against the plush pillow, shutting my eyes. Sleep called out my name begging for me to relax into the bed just as it had been It was routine at this point. Ever since I arrived here, sleep was all I seemed to do. After all, it was the only distraction from my horrid thoughts.

As my mind began to turn off, a knock at the door resonated from the far corner of my room, but I payed no mind. Knocks were frequent and expected at this point. As I learned from experience, they usually leave after about a minute or two of knocking, so I expected the same routine to follow. At least until the knocking persisted for minutes on end after the first knock. My brows flexed in annoyance as my patience drew thin. "Can't you give a guy some peace?" I yelled out.

A muffled voice yelled back out to me in response, "[Name]? It's me, Sidney! Please open the door." My eyes shot wide open as I tumbled out of the hospital bed, rushing to open the door. I hadn't heard from Sidney since I instructed her to fake her death many weeks ago. While one of the nurses had told me Sidney visited while I was stuck in my coma when I first barely woke up with a teasing, "Your girlfriend came around. She was so worried! How cute! Yada yada," but refused to tell me anything I actually yearned to know about her visit.

I had been hoping she would come back to see my now that I wasn't unconscious, so to hear her voice from the other side of the door was liberating. Exciting, even. I launched the door open to see to Sidney standing there, "Sid-"

"[Name]."

"You're alive," I gasped with relief. Sidney Prescott was alive. My grand scheme had succeeded. I wrapped my arms around Sid's waist as I pulled her into a hug; her head fell into the crook of my neck, mumbling, "I thought you died."

"I thought you died," I said. Sidney chuckled weakly as she pulled away, yet still keeping her hands on my shoulders. Her eyes shown under the fluorescent light with a hopeful gleam. "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked, genuinely confused. I had done nothing, in my opinion, that was deserving of a thank you from anyone, Sidney especially. I wasn't aware of how far back her knowledge of what actually went down was, but I didn't think twice about underestimating her. For all I could know, she knew everything that I had done alongside Billy and Stu.

"For saving my life?" Sidney joked but her tone held sincerity underneath the layer of sarcasm. My confused expression slipped away into something morbid as guilt overcame me once more. Although, in truth, I did save Sidney's life; it didn't feel right for her to thank me. I had betrayed her trust, friendship, etc under the guise of my "investigation." I had went behind her back about Cotton Weary, got together with her boyfriend who happened to be the actual criminal behind her mother's brutal murder, killed her father, and helped the same murders with their plan to kill her.

I brushed her hands off my shoulders as I headed back to my bed. How could I face her knowing she thought of me so sincerely? I sat on the edge of my bed with my head resting on my palms. My eyes stared holes into the white tile of the ground. The sound of shoes tapping against the floor made me shut my eyes. Sidney was heading my way without a doubt, and I dreaded every click of her shoe against the time.

The clacking stopped as the spot next to me was occupied by Sidney, "Are you okay?" I nodded weakly as I turned to her. I couldn't let my emotions get in the way; something I learned the hard way. "How are you here, Sid? Doesn't everyone think you're dead? And what about Billy and Stu? If they know you're alive, they'll come after you." My voice was urgent and a tad bit frantic. These were questions I had been asking myself ever since that nurse told me Sidney came by, and I truly did need them answered.

"They really haven't told you anything?" Sidney asked with shock laced in her tone. My brows furrowed as I thought back to the authority figures that had been taking care of me. Was there really something they've been hiding from me that was so important? Is that why the nurse refused to tell me anything about Sid's initial visit? "What do you mean?"

Sidney grasped my hand in hers. Her eyes were scanning my face, making my stomach churn with anxiety. She was looking for something. I didn't know what it was nor if she would find it. Hell, I didn't even know what "it" was. Sid's eyes shone with pity, "Everyone knows I'm alive, [Name]. They know about you saving me too."

"What?!" I asked as my chest began to swell with anxieties. What happened while I was in my coma? What happened to Billy and Stu? I gasped for air as my head raced, "How?"

"Hey, hey, calm down," Sidney rested her other hand on the back of my shoulder, trying to keep me steady. "Let me explain." I nodded as I took some breaths. I wasn't going to get anywhere by having a panic attack.

"I did as you said and hid away. I was heading to sneak into the police car when I saw your mom by the garage." My eyes widened at that. My mom had came? But my shock quickly washed away into despair as I remembered she probably saw Tatum's blood staining the garage door. I wasn't sure if Sidney sensed my sadness, but if she did she payed no mind. "She was upset- but she was just asking if you were safe. I told her about your plan, and she took me home with her."

I nodded, eager to hear the rest of what she had to say. Sidney took my nod with a stride as she continued, "We all thought you were dead. Week after week, the doctor would say the same thing, so your mom wanted to ensure you and Dewey and Tatum and everyone else got the justice they deserved. She got this lawyer and was determined to arrest Billy and Stu after I had told her everything that they had done."

My fingers twitched against my leg as I froze. Billy and Stu hadn't visited me once... Was this the reason why? Were they seriously locked away while I was in this coma? But those questions only led to one; one question I couldn't wrap my head around. Why would they keep my innocence intact?

Love? No way.

"Did they?" I asked. Sidney nodded as she wrapped her arms around me. "We don't have to worry about them, anymore. They can't terrorize us nor our families anymore." I smiled as she wiped the leaking tears out of her eyes. It was a fake smile. My mind was elsewhere, and I could not be happy for either of us in the moment.

Sidney sensed that and backed away from me. Her eyes scanned my face before she stood up. "It's a lot to digest, so I'll give you some space. See ya later, [Name]." I waved bye at her as she excited the hospital room, but my happy facade was gone as soon as her presence was out the door.

Billy and Stu were arrested? And I'm now a hero? What? I felt the migraine take over my body as I bit my lip. What had happened? My thought process was interrupting once more as a knock came from the door. I rolled my eyes. "Come in!" I yelled. Yet no one did. My brows furrowed as a small slip of presumed paper slid out from under the door.

I stood up from the bed to observe the small, folded piece of paper. Bending down, I grasped the paper gently before unfolding it. The words on the paper made me freeze and my blood go cold.

I know what you did.

✎ notes . . . So many people were asking for it, so I finished off the epilogue that had just been collecting dust in my drafts 😭 but this does kinda make it OFFICIAL that scream for you isn't over although I gave up on it. It's gonna be awhile before the sequel is out and I'm focused on other projects rn as well as my requests on my tumblr. That being said, I have a discord server! Pls join its very empty rn and there's definitely some of u who I think r rlly cool and would like to know better!

https://discord.gg/f8YBEjzz

Thank you for all the love even tho this book sucks. It's crazy to see how big it has gotten and 500 followers!! I'm gonna shed a tear. Thank you for all the comments, I adore every single one. Thank you for the notes. And thank you for enjoying my work.

©️ sethcertified 2023 10.5

#☆ — sethcertified #billy loomis #scream #stu macher #scream 1996 #billy loomis x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #male reader #scream x reader #billy loomis x male reader #☆ — scream #☆ — scream for you #scream movie #scream x male reader #scream movies #scream franchise #stu macher x reader #stu macher x male reader #ghostface x male reader

[daddyy333]

Geralt of Rivia Fluff

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

word count: 2.6k

warnings: reader is injured at the beginning, reader is wounded, reader gets stitches (I think), clingy geralt, ?

summary: Never in your wildest dreams did you think Geralt of Rivia would turn out to be the clingiest boyfriend you’d ever had

When you first started your relationship with Geralt- actually, scratch that. When you first met Geralt you thought he was the furthest thing from clingy. He barely even spoke, much less touched you or even looked in your direction really.

After he fell out with Yennefer, he met you. He was planning to just stay in this small village for a few days and rest, knowing he had to keep moving so no one would find him and Ciri. That was until he stumbled upon you.

He found you running from some odd and probably hungry monster, looking to feed…on you. Possibly one of the most gorgeous women he’s ever seen. You looked quite out of place, your light pastel purple skirt gradually getting covered in dirt as you tried to escape the creature.

You yelped as you tripped over a branch, sobs racking your body as you fell face first into the dirt. You groaned, cursing frantically through sobs, trying to crawl away from the creature.

“fu- FUCK!” You said as the creature drug his claw across your thigh. You cried out, whimpering as you finally accepted your fate. Suddenly, right when you feel it’s stinky, hot breath on you it disappears just as fast.

You couldn’t see what was happening, back facing upwards and your face still buried in the ground. You felt a man’s hands on your waist and you screamed, curling tighter even though it caused more pain to pulse in your thigh.

“Miss, I’m the one who just saved your life. I’m…a Witcher. Even if you hate me right now, I’d like to help you if that’s alright?” He said as he walked in front of you bending down so you could see him. You whimpered as you said “p-please don’t hurt m-me”

“I’m not going to. I just need you to cooperate and I promise you’ll be just fine in a little while” he said and you nodded. He scooped you up and plopped you on his horse, making you cry out in pain.

“Can you…mmm- b-be gentle?” You asked and he sighed. He mumbled an apology and started leading Roach back to his lodgings that he found sufficient for a few days.

You had passed out then, and he realized that his poor excuse for a tourniquet failed. “Shit,” he said and laid you on his bed, pulling your skirt off to help him treat you better.

“Oh gods, what the hell is this?” Ciri asked and Geralt sighed. He poured a disinfectant on your thigh as he said “found her being chased by a monster. Did my job. Now I’m helping her” “why didn’t you just find a doctor to do it?” She asked, setting her bag of fruits down and beginning to wash them.

“Don’t have the coin for it. Why so many questions, Ciri?” He asked and she shrugged. She looked over and said “I don’t know, just…feels unusual” “she needs help. I’m providing it” he said and Ciri nodded, chuckling.

He treated you to the best of his abilities and waited for you to wake up, going out and chopping some wood to fill his time and also training with Ciri a bit. When he came back inside it was nighttime and you were still sleeping.

He knew you weren’t dead, he could hear your heartbeat faintly and you weren’t super pale anymore. He walked over and shook you lightly, trying to wake you up. “Miss?” He asked, and you still didn’t budge.

He sighed and then nearly jumped when Jaskier busted in, a little drunk admittedly. “Ohhhh Geralt!” He sang, stumbling in. Geralt sighed and stared at him, hoping Jaskier wouldn’t cause too much trouble because he needed to look after you.

You groaned softly, rubbing your eyes and coughing a few times. You tried to sit up but moving your thigh cause immense pain. “Ahh!” You groaned, trying to figure out what the hell happened.

“Hi, Miss. Are you alright?” Geralt asked and you jumped slightly. You looked around frantically and then said “w-where is my skirt?” You asked and he cleared his throat. He showed that it was on a table and said “I had to take it off to treat your wounds”

You looked down at your thigh and winced, gently touching it and moving the bandage. “Thank- th-thank you” you said, looking up at him. Jaskier walked over with a smirk on his face and said “and who are you-” “Jaskier,” Geralt scolded softly.

“Y/n…of Aedirn” you said and smiled a little. You noticed a look of confusion on his face and you understood why. You were in a far away village near Creyden, why? “Julian Alfred Pankratz?” You asked the brown haired gentleman and he smiled. He nodded and said “that would be me. Viscount of Lettenhove”

You nodded and looked up at the white haired Witcher, sighing. “Uhm…Rivia…Geralt?” You asked and he nodded, a small smile on his face. Ciri had came out of her room and scoffed at the interaction. “Are you blushing?” She asked and Geralt shot a stern look her way.

“You should be asleep” he said and she shook her head. “Jaskier woke me up” she mumbled and he gasped. He ran over and hugged her as he said “I deeply apologize, my little pocket sized princess. Oh, you should get your beauty sleep come on”

You chuckled a little at the interaction and Geralt bent down to your level. His gaze made butterflies swirl in your stomach. “How are you feeling?” He asked and you sighed. You look down at your leg and said “sore. And dirty” “would you like me to help you with a bath? I would leave you alone but I don’t think you’ll be able to walk properly for a while” “I appreciate it. Yes, thank you” you said and he got to work.

He ended up staying for longer just to care for you and you told him your story. Your parents turned you away because you were secretly harboring magical abilities behind their back and they had strong opinions against that. You’ve been running around all over the continent trying to figure out where’s safest but it’s been tough and technically your homeless.

But he was so infatuated with you he wasn’t really thinking when he said “travel with me. And Ciri of course, and sometimes Jaskier” You shook your head and insisted you couldn’t, you would only be a bother. He insisted instead that you come along.

He was a man of mostly few words, and kept to himself quite a bit. You spent a lot of time with Ciri. You would teach her to cook, help her control her chaos, braid her hair, and even tell her stories of your travels before you met them. The two of you almost seemed like mother and daughter at times but neither of you noticed. You just felt like best friends.

You had to admit, Geralt was a beautiful man. When you caught him shirtless once, you nearly fainted. He was just so handsome, and you wanted to kiss every scar on his body till he forgot about them.

But you thought you never stood a chance with him. You knew about what happened with Yennefer and assumed that because of that you wouldn’t be able to have any romantic relationship with him. Even if you tried, you think it would be rude because of how much happened between them. Truly you are still convinced to this day that they are soulmates, and he would drop you in a heartbeat if she came back and wanted to try again. But that’s a story for another day.

Months go by, you’ve completely healed so long ago you don’t need to burden them any longer with your presence but you feel so welcomed and safe with them. However, after about a year or so you’ve started to think that maybe it would make things easier if you went off on your own again, like it used to be.

You packed your bags and made your way to the lake where Geralt was fishing from. “Hey,” you said, walking up to him. He looked over at you and grunted in response. “I uh…I’ve been thinking and I’m gonna go out on my own again. I’ve been healed for months and I don’t need to stay and bother you any longer. Im grateful fo-”

“Stop,” he said, putting down his net. He shook his head and said “what are you talking about? You are not leaving” “Geralt…I-I was only supposed to travel with you until my leg healed and it’s been over a year. I’m okay now. The less people you have to travel with the easier, so I thought maybe I’d-”

“No. You can’t go. You can’t- do not go. Y/n, why do you say such stupid things?” He asked and you shook your head. You scoffed, shaking your head as you said “why do you care so much? I’m just some strange, homeless woman you met a year ago and just so happened to save from a really stinky monster”

“You’re- why do you think so little of yourself? Stop talking about this nonsense, I don’t want to hear it” he said and you rolled your eyes. You folded your arms and said “so what? I cant go because you say so” “Ciri needs you! I ne- mmm. Go back inside, you’re not leaving” he said and you gasped.

He looked away, obviously shy and embarrassed and you blushed instantly. Did he really mean that? “Geralt…” you said and he ignored you. You walked over in front of him but he still wouldn’t look at you.

You cupped his cheeks and said “what were you going to say?” “I- I can’t. It’s- it’s not fair to Ciri” he said and you sighed. You looked over his facial expression and let go, slowly walking away. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed.

He decided to just say it in case he never got the chance again, even though he was scared. “I need you, y/n! Alright? There, I said it” he said and groaned as if he was annoyed. You smiled then, just slightly as you stopped walking, butterflies swirling in your belly.

“I thought you didn’t need anyone?” You said as you walked over again. He looked away, feeling so embarrassed he could run away. You almost couldn’t tell, just a small furrow between his brows aside from his usually stoic expression.

“I also said I didn’t want anyone needing me but now Ciri doesn’t get to leave my side and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I guess I lied. And I need you.” He said and you nodded, taking a deep breath. You looked over at what he had already caught and said “alright, fine”

You began to walk away and yet again he pulled you back, pushing you against a tree as he cupped your cheek with one hand and your waist with the other. He looked scared, and you were just about to tell him he didn’t have to do this but then he kissed you and your mind blanked.

He slowly and gently licked into your mouth, connecting your tongues as he caressed and squeezed your waist. You were blushing and smiling so hard as your tongues swirled together, his warm hands making the butterflies in your belly worse.

You pulled away, feeling your face was going to explode and he was only making it worse. “What?” He asked as you stared at him. You giggled and said “you’re smiling,” “no, I’m not” he said and blushed, kissing you again.

He never stopped touching you after that day. You tried to keep this new relationship from Ciri but not a week later she caught Geralt embracing you as you made breakfast. He knew you were upset at him, but he couldn’t help the grin on his face as you scolded him, knife pointing towards him with your hair in a messy bun from when you slept and your nightgown still draping over your beautiful body.

She seemed a bit confused about it, clearly distracted during lessons and keeping to herself for a while after that. You never heard the end of it considering Geralt lingered around you quite a bit and had become so talkative as he got more and more comfortable with you everyday.

Eventually she warmed up to your new relationship, especially since she was seeing it all the time everywhere every day. He couldn’t keep his hands off you to save his life. Quite literally, he almost got seriously injured trying to get you away from one of the many monsters he's fought and killed.

And now, it’s high noon and you’ve been stuck in bed underneath a giant white haired man. A little sex, and a lot of cuddling has gone on in the last 16 or so hours. You assume at least. You’ve been too busy with Geralt.

“You know, I thought when we started seeing each other romantically that we wouldn’t last because I would feel insecure due to the lack of attention you’d give me. The last thing I’d expected was this” you said, making him lift his head up.

He searched your eyes as he said “do you…not like it?” “No, no, I love it, I just- well…have you met yourself? You’re not exactly very affectionate to everyone you meet” you said and you both laughed.

“I just…love you so much” he said and you blushed. He’d told you it took him so many years to tell Yennefer he loved her and you two had only been romantically involved for a little over a year. And it’s been the best year of your life.

He trusted you so much. He chose to be vulnerable and he chose to be vulnerable with you. It was the greatest feeling ever. You’d never given him a reason not to trust you and as scary as it was he reacted directly to that fact every single day he was with you.

“I love you more. My sexy, white haired lover” you said and he blushed. You kissed him and he said “the only white haired lover you’ll ever have” “for the rest of my life” you finished, kissing all over his face.

He smiled and it made you blush. You couldn’t help it. 10 years could pass and you’d still feel so shy when you could make him smile. “As much as I do love this, I am quite hungry” you said and he sighed. He rested his head back on your chest for just a moment longer and then got up, looking around for his clothes.

You smiled, rolling onto your side and admiring his body. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, turning around. It was a little bit of a strain but you reached over and smacked his ass, making him gasp and reach over to the other side of you, doing the same.

You squealed, calling a truce because you knew how quick he could turn this dirty and your ass was already sore from being slammed against so many things last night and also from having you in- never mind. If you keep remembering you’ll only get yourself worked up again and then you’ll never leave this bed.

“Dirty girl,” he said, leaning down and kissing you once he got his clothes on. You curled up in bed for just a little longer, smiling at the fond memories of how amazing it’s been loving Geralt for the last 2 years. Even when you weren’t together, you did everything you could think of to subtly show your love for him. You wouldn’t trade him for the world.

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Lo’ak

Neteyam

Sebastian Stan

Bucky Barnes

CW!Bucky Barnes

Chris Evans

Steve Rogers

Ari Levinson

Geralt of Rivia

Henry Cavill

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

#the witcher #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #cirilla of cintra #ciri #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz

[psychwxrdd]

nothing else matters

🎀: do you guys think loki likes metallica...or he's more into megadeth...lmk yall opinion on this really important subject it might change the whole fate of the universe fr

summary: loki never trusted someone like this before, never loved anyone like this before. you're all he needs.

warnings: this is just pure fluff and i kind of wanted to cry while writing lol 😭

David was exhausted. Not only from work, but mentally, emotionally, in ways that he couldn't put into words. It was all so draining, dealing with everything he went through, dealing with the most disgusting cases everyday, it was all too much. But you would always be there for him.

This was the first time in his life that he trully loved someone, trully trusted someone. He never opened himself or liked the idea of intimacy, he felt actually in panic by the ideia of being vulnerable to someone... It was so new, but so insanely addictive. It was so strong and deep, something he never thought he was able to feel. He always thought he would die alone, thats how he always used to deal with life.

And now he couldn't possibly think of a life where you don't exist, his chest hurted just by the mere thought. He loved you more than anything, and he knew he would love you forever. It's simple. When you know, you just know. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle life without you, no, not after knowing what love you is like. Not after meeting you, knowing you so deeply, having a soul like yours by his side. He couldn't even think of kissing someone else without feeling repulsed. He couldn't feel attracted to anyone else, couldn't trust anyone else.

"Hey..." You caressed his shoulders, "what are you thinking about?"

"I love you so much" He stared at you with teary eyes, and a sweet smile "I'm sorry"

"Baby" you hugged him, feeling your heart broken at the sight of his tears "I love you too, there's nothing to apologize for. It's okay"

He held you tightly in his arms, the strong grip of his hands around you as if you would leave at any moment. His face was burried in your neck, you could feel the hot tears falling from his eyes. You knew he was actually apologizing for crying.

"You're the most important thing in my life, honey, i want to spend the rest of my life with you and...and" He chuckled, trying not to cry "And i'm so sure of that, i just never thought i could love and trust someone this much. I'm so glad you were born, so glad i met you, so glad you're here"

Your eyes were full of tears, you wanted nothing else but to also be by his side forever. Your arms tightned around his neck.

You carefully spread the shampoo on his hair, his eyes shutted as you chuckled. You were both in the bathtub, but nothing sexual happened... It was for the pure intimacy. For the the trust and love you had for each other. He loved to wash your hair for you, but now, you were washing his. He was much taller than you, so it wasn't something you could always do, but this time you knew he needed.

You did it with so delicated movements, he could sleep right there with no problem. You were sitting as the bigger spoon, he was laying on your breasts, and then he stared at you, smiling big. His eyes shined so much you couldn't stop looking.

"I love you so much, David"

"Would it be weird if i proposed in a bathtub?"

You chuckled, but you realized he was actually serious.

"It wouldn't be weird, do you mean it?" Your eyes widened.

"Fuck, i would marry you right here honey. I need you to promise you'll be mine forever, please, will you?"

You hugged him tighter from behind and kissed his neck, giving his face plenty of kisses. "Yes!"

He couldn't be happier. The only things on life Loki was sure about, was that we're all gonna die and that he would love you till his last day on earth.

#david loki #detective loki #detective loki x reader #prisoners #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #x reader #fanfiction #imagine

[almond-tofuuu]

Zayne x reader break up prank on him?!? How'd he react?!?

Break up prank on Dr Zayne?! Ofc it's only a prank, none of us would actually wanna leave this man 😚

Playing with hearts💙

Warnings: none except for bad writing and a little bit of angst (happy ending tho bc I cannot bear to hurt this man 😭)

It all began on a lazy afternoon, the sunlight filtering softly through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. You and Tara found yourselves with an unexpected surplus of free time. With no urgent missions or reports looming over your heads, you decided to indulge in a few rounds of kitty cards.

As you shuffled the deck, Tara's mischievous grin hinted at an impending scheme. "How about we up the stakes a bit?" she suggested, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Winner gets to choose a dare for the loser."

You paused, considering her proposal. You'd been on a winning streak so far, your kitty card skills unmatched. With a shrug and a confident smile, you agreed, eager for the challenge.

But fate had other plans.

"...I lost?" you muttered to yourself, disbelief washing over you as you stared at the cards in your hand. Tara had orchestrated a flawless victory, leaving you stunned and humiliated. She reveled in her triumph, a victorious gleam in her eyes.

With a resigned sigh, you accepted your defeat and braced yourself for Tara's dare. Little did you know, it would lead to a moment of unexpected turmoil.

Which brings you to where you are now, standing awkwardly outside of Zayne's office as he's typing away on his laptop, oblivious to your current predicament. Tara's 'brilliant dare' was for you to pull a prank on Zayne, pretending to breakup with him, and as a woman of your word, you were determined to see it through. However, as you hovered in the doorway, watching your loving boyfriend hard at work, you couldn't help but feel guilty about what you were about to do. Taking a deep breath you put your nerves aside and sauntered up to his desk. Hearing you approach, Zayne raised his head to look at you, a small smile gracing his face and his eyes softening upon seeing you.

"I wasn't expecting to see you until later tonight, what brings you here, love? You haven't gotten yourself injured again, have you?" Zayne asks gently, his eyes scanning your body for any signs of injuries.

Your resolve wavered as you met his gaze, his concern melting away your confidence. But you pressed on, determined to execute the prank with finesse.

"No, Zayne, I'm not injured.... But I think we need to talk" you try to keep your voice steady as you speak, knowing Zayne is very perceptive so you need to do this right if you want to successfully prank him.

"Oh, it sounds like you've got something important to tell me" Zayne's brow furrowed, sensing the gravity of your words. He rose from his desk, taking your hand and guiding you to the couch with a gentle touch, "go on, what is it you need to say, love?"

As you prepared to deliver the fake breakup, guilt weighed heavy on your heart. But you steeled yourself, unable to back down now. With a deep breath, you uttered the words, your voice barely above a whisper, "I-... I think we should break up..."

One second passes.....then two, three, four.... The silence is suffocating. After 30 seconds of no response from him, you sigh and look up at him, assuming he already realised it was a prank. However, when you finally see his face, your heart breaks. His brows were furrowed in confusion, lips parted slightly as if he's trying to speak but can't quite get the words out, and his eyes, you've never seen such raw emotion in his eyes, and you realise they're glossy with tears he is trying desperately to hold back. Before you could retract your words, Zayne spoke, his voice laced with pain.

"I see... I'm sorry that you're not longer happy with me... I'm aware that my work takes up a lot of my time, and perhaps I haven't given you as much attention as you deserve..." he trails off, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he fights to keep his composure.

In that moment, you curse yourself for agreeing to that damn bet. Your facade shatters, tears blurring your vision as you reach for him, hands gently cradling his face, desperate to undo the damage. "No, Zayne, please don't think like that!" you pleaded, your voice breaking. "You make me feel like the most special girl in the world! It was just a prank, a really stupid prank. I love you, Zayne."

"A prank?..... You mean, you don't actually want to break up?" Zayne's eyes search yours, hopeful that you're telling the truth.

Nodding, you reply earnestly "Yes, it's all because I lost a bet with Tara. I love you, Zayne, I don't want to break up with you"

It takes him a minute to fully register what you had said, but when he finally does he exhales a shaky sigh of relief, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you into his chest, head buried in the crook of your neck as he breathes in your scent, trying to calm himself. You both stay like that for a few minutes, Zayne refusing to let you go, his voice barely audible as he softly whispers into your ear "please don't ever do that again.... I can't bear the thought of losing you... You are everything to me"

#love and deepspace #zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #fic #its just a prank i swear #im so sorry #pls forgive me #i don't want to hurt you zayne #i love this man so deeply

[serenescribe]

pénthos Twisted Wonderland | 2.2k Summary: Silver is dead, and everything is wrong. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52165603 TW: Major character death, heavy angst

I wrote this a few days ago while trying to process my complex feelings about death and life continuing on, mainly due to the sudden decline in health of one of my family's dear pet cats. It is, in essence, a vent fic; it deals with a lot of grief and hurt.

Nevertheless, writing is still a form of expression, and I hope that someone can find some meaning in this, in spite of the heavy content.

The cottage door opens with a long, drawn out creeeaaak.

He covers his nose and mouth with a hand as he steps inside, eyes squinting against the deluge of dust and musty air that permeates the inside of the house. For a moment, Lilia lingers there, standing stock-still in the doorway, his other hand still wrapped around the handle of the door. His grip tightens the slightest bit, the movement imperceptible, matching the way his heart is squeezed within his chest — a scarcely noticeable gesture to match such inner, invisible pain.

With deliberate effort, Lilia forces his hands to drop to his sides.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.

And then he dives in.

A home is a place, everyone says. That is the textbook definition of what it is — a place where one lives permanently, especially as a family member, or as a member of a household. This cottage is a home, has been a home for all these many years spent deep in the woods of the valley. It was once decrepit, abandoned, falling to pieces, but Lilia had restored it for the purpose of creating a home.

A home for two — for him, and for his son.

His steps are slow, soles practically dragging against the dirt-stained floor. Despite the way the stale air makes him cough, with barely any fresh oxygen in this musty household to revitalise his soul, Lilia leaves it as it is; it is far more fitting this way, than to push open the windows and allow sweeping gusts of forest air to burst inside, washing the living room alight with life.

The decrepit atmosphere matches his mood, the emotions clawing inside his chest, tearing into him from the inside out. There is no point bringing life into a home, when to him, it does not feel like one anymore.

And with that thought, that realisation, Lilia stills. He blinks, and for a moment, it feels as though something indescribable has overcome him — an emotion so peculiar, so powerful, eating at the hollow abyss that has festered within his chest ever since it happened. His shoulders stiffen, teeth snagging against his lower lips. He raises his head, pulling his eyes away from moth-bitten curtains and dust-smeared windows to glance around instead.

Lilia looks at the frames on the wall, housing paintings and photographs within them — an oil painting of him, hair streaked fuchsia yet still draping over his shoulder in long locks, a slumbering toddler seated on his lap; smaller colleges of him years later, laughing in black-and-green uniforms with a boy who towers over him; and scribbly doodles on yellowing paper that tears at the edges, crayon scribbles of stickmen, with wobbling words that read: “Papa and me.”

The claws of fate snatch at his chest, and strangle his heart.

Pressure builds behind his eyes, something wet pricking at the edges. Before he even knows it, Lilia is pressing a hand against the framed drawing, tracing the amateurish yet loving strokes, a lump forming in his throat to choke him until he collapses into the black.

From the very moment he found a crying bundle in a castle of thorns, he has known one singular truth: Lilia has never intended to live longer than the son he shall raise.

Even all the way back then, as he used magic to bless the baby, watching sunlight-spun hair turn to streaks of silvery moonlight, Lilia has always known that his end was near. His only mistake was assuming he had more time than he actually did; if he were truly aware of how meagre his magic reserves were, of how he would run out before Silver even reached the threshold of adult maturity, he would have taken careful steps to preserve it longer.

But Lilia has always known he would not outlive his son. For all his human mortality, Silver was young, and Lilia was old; death has always followed him in his shadows, stalking him with each ticking year, looming like an inevitability that would one day swallow him up.

And yet, the fates had been cruel. Far, far too cruel.

Everywhere he steps in the cottage, Lilia sees him.

He lingers in the bookshelves, from the picture books to survival guides and training manuals. He is there in the wood-carved critters, from amateurish carvings of a bird to much more detailed squirrels and bunnies, that gather dust along the shelves, keeping the neglected books company. A candle, half-burnt, the wax melted a significant amount, sits on the square table they take their meals at; it would always be lit by a smiling son, who started with matches and ended with flickers of budding fire magic.

He haunts the creaking steps and groaning floorboards, the hinges that squeal as Lilia pushes into room after room. He stiffens with each sound, whisked back to years of the past; suddenly, he is playing hide and seek again, and he expects to hear a squeal or a giggle as he calls out a playful warning; “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” When Lilia steps into the bathroom, he spots the laundry basket that the giggling boy used to sit in, when he was tiny enough to hide inside and pull the lid over his head, unable to stop his laughter from squeaking out as Lilia entered and feigned ignorance about his obvious whereabouts.

He lives on in the withering potted plants and the bird houses hanging from the outside of the windows, still visible even through dirtied glass. Signs of life taken care of, from the flora which flourished under his care, lapping up water poured from a little cup and blooming with ample sunlight, left in the view of the shining sun, to the birds and squirrels who would clamber up swinging feeders, chirping and chittering as they tucked into meals of nuts and berries, a veritable feast gathered by a young boy who simply loved the world.

The hollow ache in his chest never dissipates. It only grows and grows, consuming his heart.

Lilia feels something streak down his cheek, and absentmindedly wipes it away.

Silver’s room is untouched by time.

Everything is just as he left it, coated with thin layers of dust. His bed is made, quilted duvet folded and spread over it neatly, his pillow fluffed up at the headrest. His tables are cluttered with a few trinkets, and his training sword, wrought from wood with some metal to emulate weight, leans against the wall. Books line his shelves, next to gifts received from his years of schooling — clocks received as gifts from hometown travels, a little jewellery case that gleams with far too many expensive jewels, and a memory album received in his final year. Lonely clothes hang within the wardrobe, limp and sad without their owner to adorn; he swallows a lump in his throat at the sight of a silly hat tucked away within an inner drawer, thinking back to the silly smile his son adorned when he wore it for the first time.

The weak rays of a setting sun streak into the room. Dust dances in the air.

Lilia stands in the middle of the room, and stares.

Slowly, he moves to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and he spreads a hand against the patchwork quilt beneath. Lilia can remember every little patch of fabric and their origins; against the logic that barely stands out in his tumultuous, aching mind, he summons what little bits of magic he has left, closing his eyes as he casts—

“Far Cry Cradle.”

Silver is young, and Lilia is younger than he is now, new to fatherhood with little idea of what to do. Silver outgrows his clothes at a rapid pace, faster than Lilia expects — how peculiar it is, the way the little human baby seems to grow in the blink of an eye!

The clothes pile up, again and again and again. Silver is older, tottering around on two feet. He giggles at him and claps his hands together, babbling at him over and over.

Lilia has always held a weapon in his hands. The calluses marring his flesh is proof of that. The needle he picks up feels pathetically small in comparison, thread looped through the little ring on the end. Silver slumbers in the cot nearby. A pair of scissors rest on the table to his side, along with a mountain of tiny patches of fabric.

A patchwork quilt. Baul told him about it, when Lilia visited him and his daughter and her family, and had grown interested in the colourful blanket folded across her child’s bed. “She sews one for everyone in the family,” Baul tells him, his voice gruff, though pride and affection underlines it deep within. “It’s her way of showing her love.”

So he tries. He uses Silver’s old clothes, before he moves on to his own, and then he moves on to anything else he can get. Silver grows as new squares are added, his stitching clumsy before it slowly straightens out over the slowing movement of time.

By the time he is six, Lilia wraps him in a thick, snug blanket, heart soaring at the way the young child beams at him, flashing him a toothy grin.

“I love you, Papa!”

Silver is dead, and everything is wrong.

“The worst thing about loving humans,” Baul’s daughter said to him once, when he’d visited in a panic over Silver growing sickly and ill, “is that they don’t live long.” At the time, she had fed the baby some medicine, mixing herbal remedies with some warm milk before feeding him with a bottle, and when she and Lilia began to converse, she had been rocking the slumbering baby in her arms.

Her eyes had grown distant as she glanced down at Silver, before raising her head. Their eyes met; “The knowledge that you will outlive them won’t ever go away,” she told him, her voice tinged with a miserable acceptance. A sad smile graced her lips, scales across her face shifting with her emotions. “I will someday have to bury my own husband, and perhaps even my own children. And yet, that is the risk I have taken, to love who I love, and to raise those who are mine.”

“I do not know if I will outlive Silver,” Lilia had confessed. He drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, eyes floating down to the slumbering baby cradled in her arms. “I’m not sure how much Baul told you about me, but I am rather old, as it stands. And it isn’t just an issue of age,” he added. “I… greatly overworked myself during the days of war. Magic is what makes us who we are, after all — and how much longer can a fae live without their magic?”

There had been a pause, a comfortable silence filling the air. And then Silver had hiccupped noisily, eyes squinting open the slightest bit. He babbled, hands raising weakly, and Baul’s daughter had smiled at Lilia, reaching forward to pass him the little bundle of life. “You never know what may happen, Lilia,” she said, as Lilia took Silver into his arms, the baby breaking into a toothless smile. “Lifespan is one thing. Have you ever considered how much more fragile humans are?”

“Of course I have,” Lilia answered as he rocked Silver back and forth, heart bursting with such melting warmth. “Who do you take me for?”

And that was precisely why he decided, there and then, that he would raise Silver to be the strongest human that ever was. To live long, to live forever, to live past Lilia, and thrive through the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, fingers clenching tight around the quilt. He hangs his head, the tears finally flooding forth, pouring down his face as he gasps for breath. “Silver, I’m sorry—”

But the only thing left for him is the ghost of a home, an empty cottage ladened with dust.

Even as Lilia wraps the patchwork quilt around him with trembling hands, burying his nose into the fabric in hopes of drinking what little snatches of Silver there still are, he knows, deep down, that Silver is gone. A horrible reality he never hoped to pass has come true — he has outlived someone he always knew he would, no matter how hard he tried to cope, lying to himself about a shortened lifespan and dwindling magic.

Fool, he thinks to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. You absolute fool, you—

A home is not a home without the son he so truly loves. As Lilia tips backwards, collapsing into the bed, he stares at the ceiling. The little mobile with the carved animals that he made when Silver was just mere months old still hangs over the bed. Even as Silver outgrew it, he still insisted on hanging it when he upgraded from a cradle to a bed of his own.

Lilia watches as the animals drift the slightest bit — barely moving, for all intents and purposes, static.

He sucks in a deep breath, and closes his eyes.

#my writing tag #personal writing #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #twst ch7 #twisted wonderland spoilers #twst fanfiction #twst writing #lilia vanrouge #twst silver #thank you all for your support. i love you guys #i'll be fine. i just miss my cat a lot

[an-au-blog]

I need to get this ball rolling and to write this au idea out anywhere so pllleeease indulge me and listen to me try to put a spin on Shuggy soulmate au.

Setting: a world in which soulmates are connected by a string of fate that shows only for a short second when two peoples hands touch, doesn’t even have to be romantical, but if you are connected to someone with that string it means your souls are interwoven in some way. Shanks and Buggy share such a string. In the beginning they both believed they were more along the lines of „platonic complete opposite soulmates who’s differences and conflicts drive each other to become their best selfs“ but after Laugh Tale they both realized that at least the „platonic“ part was complete Bull and they become a couple.

The inevitable happens. Rogers excecution, Buggy feeling betrayed by Shanks decision, breakup in the rain, but Shanks still holds out Buggy will come and join him again soon. Then one night Shanks wakes up with a feeling of absolute heart wrecking despair washing over him and at first he thinks he had another nightmare about Rogers execution, but then he realizes that he’s in physical pain, his heart is actually aching and a deep sadness envelopes him as he scream sobs and curls in on himself. Buggy has cut his string.

Years later. They meet again at Marineford and things proceed mostly normal. Shanks doesn’t hold a grudge against Buggy, doesn’t even mention it, doesn’t even confront Buggy about it, he still feels deeply for his soulmate and he never managed to cut his string, because he couldn’t bring himself to do it, but he knows Buggy has moved on. And Buggy is pissed as expected about Shanks being so nice and friendly and “Oh the map? You’re still angry about that?” And GODS he wishes Shanks would be at least a little bit pissed… and part of him is glad he isn’t.

… because thing is, Buggy didn’t cut his string either. Oh he tried alright, and it was as awful and painful as it was for Shanks, an immense physical pain combined with the worst sadness and loneliness he ever felt in his life and that’s saying something coming fresh of his father figures execution. But through the sobbing and heaving he suddenly realizes with dread that the string has reattached himself to him. He once again curses that damn fruit That bereft him not only of his ability to swim but also to cut of the person he never wants to be hurt by ever again in his life. But he can’t. But Shanks thinks he did. And the least he can do after hurting his soulmate this badly, doing the one thing that everyone tells you not to do another human being because the pain is so immense, is to never let Shanks know that he couldn’t cut it.

I'm not even joking when I say that literally half an hour before seeing this ask, I was thinking about red sting soulmates Shuggy omfg get iut of my head ahhagah

Anon imma name you just so whenever you write/post this pleaaaase send me the link! I'm naming you Meltan because anon, this melted me this is amazing :')

The thread hurts like cutting off a part of one's body. Some say it's even worse. Shanks had experienced that already, but it was fueled by the urge to protect. He lost his arm for Luffy and that was fine by him. He still feels bad that he regretted it for a split second because he thought that that was the hand that had Buggy's string on it. If he just prayed to anyone and anything that he never had to choose between the two.

Ever since they realized their bind was more than just platonic, the string felt a bit more lively. "Lively" probably wasn't the best word to call it, but it seemed somewhat vibrant. Shanks took pride in it and in the little time they had together before their breakup, he'd take any chance to touch Buggy and look at the thing that connected them for life. Even if they parted, he thought, they would still fate connecting them and pulling them together.

I'd like to think that Shanks knew, that Buggy's parts always came back to him. But he's under the assumption that Buggy's string isn't on him anymore, so it hurts even more because that would mean Buggy didn't feel their connection as a part of himself.

Shanks sometimes still felt the string but he thought that it was like a phantom limb syndrome. He had one arm less anyway, and he would still feel like it was there, but the string felt more tangible. He assumed it was because it was cut off more recently.

(Dare I improvise that- ) Buggy, when they meet again, started wearing long gloves and long sleeves again. He didn't want to risk Shanks knowing. One late night, Shanks gave him a big hug and for a millisecond their skin brushed. Buggy jumped back in a moment of shock. He felt it. And if he felt it, then Shanks also felt it. It was like a warmth after being in the cold for more than a decade. It felt like the first drops of water after wandering a desert for too long. Shanks maybe tries to tell him what he felt but Buggy denies everything and makes jokes of the sort of "Shanks are you drunk again?" "Haha, okay buddy, time to go to bed now" or just tires to make an excuse to leave. In any case, he rushes to shut the door behind himself because he knew he was going to crumple. He leans against the door and slides down, face in his hands, cursing himself for letting himself feel what he's been trying to stay absent for so so long...

Why did he need months of rehabilitation every time he saw Shanks again. Why did being sober hurt this much...

#AAAAAA anon/meltan I'm begging you please send me if you ever post this pleaaaaaase I'm crying #shuggy #shanks x buggy #buggy x shanks #soulmate au #answers #op

[1moreff-creator]

Happy Birthday Teruko Tawaki!

It's the protag's turn for a birthday post! You know what that means! Small character analysis, fun facts and songs that remind me of her! Let's celebrate! Just make sure to bring out the fire extinguisher before lighting any candles... actually just keep the extinguisher handy in general :v

-Being the protagonist of the series, we actually know quite a lot about her backstory. Enough to know it's quite sad in general terms. This is because she appears to have supernaturally horrendous luck, which she claims affects her and those around her. She's mentioned several instances of highly unlikely, unlucky situations she gets into constantly. From washing machine explosions, vehicles crashing, theaters being "too flammable" for her, all the way to being stuck in a killing game where she gets betrayed, stabbed, her friends die, etc.

-She's an orphan who's never known her parents. She had a brother who was compassionate, but constantly hurt by her misfortune. That brother got adopted when Teruko was around five, and she's never seen him since.

-She doesn't have an ID, which meant she had to attend schools by stealing uniforms and infiltrating them. She then usually gets caught and repeats the process several times a year. She is also in a lot of medical debt as a result of her constant injuries. Given all of this, she actually prefers living trapped in the killing game, though obviously she'd rather not have people killing each other around her.

CW Suicide

-That said, it seems her luck prevents her from dying. She told Xander that she wouldn't die because she was the Ultimate Lucky Student, and it was implied she's unsuccessfully attempted suicide by hanging.

CW over

-This misfortune has led her to develop a tremendously pessimistic view of the world and her life, believing her fate can't be changed and resigning herself to her bad luck.

-This also extends to her relationships. She tried to be amicable at the beginning of the killing game, but after Xander stabbed her, she decided to stop trusting everyone else. She now carries around her unique weapon, a hunting knife, for self-defense. This is a pretty understandable reaction given everything she's gone through, but it will inevitably go wrong (prediction).

-Her numeral in the David MV is unlucky number 13 (XIII). Go to 1:22:20 on this video for an explanation!

-The secret quote on her page's source code is "It is an equal failing to trust everybody, and to trust no one at all." Probably something she'll say in the final trial, given that this is one of the main messages the series seems to be aiming for.

-The quote on Mai's page attached to Teruko is "Some years ago, she was searching for someone named ‘Teruko Tawaki.’"

...

-Yeah, Teruko's relationship with Mai is one of the most mysterious parts of this series. Given that quote, it's very possible they knew each other several years before the killing game, got separated, and reunited some time before the killing game. After all, Teruko does remember meeting with Mai in the CH 1 Ep 6 dream sequence. If you want to read some of my other opinions on Teruko and Mai, I'll recommend reading the related portion of this post.

-Though adding to that, Teruko and Mai seem to have matching phone charms :D

-There is a lot more to talk about with Teruko, but I'm done for the day :v

Fun facts!

-Her nationality is "legally in question", whatever that means.

-She's left-handed, the only lefty in the cast!

-In kanji, her name is spelt 田脇【た ・ わき】暁子【て る ・ こ】

-She has prosopagnosia, aka face blindness. And fun fact about me, I actually have this too! I may have learnt about it when Teruko was a bit too relatable in that one conversation-

-Her favorite color is red due to "association." Possibly because it's Mai's hair color. Her least favorite color is pitch black because it's unsettling.

-Her hair recently started turning grey, probably from stress. Wild.

-Her favorite ice cream flavor is red bean.

-Her sexuality is unlabeled.

-She smells of dirt, sawdust, and burnt smell.

-Straight from a Q&A, "Her fashion sense diverges from what she’d actually wear. Secretly she wants to wear girly, cute things, but is unable to afford that kind of thing. She likes skirts."

-She likes fresh food, food which can be prepared without endangering herself with knives and stoves.

-Her birthday, January 7th, lands on "distaff day", "I am a mentor day", "old rock day", "bobblehead day"... still don't know how these come about. I think my favorite for this day is "I'm not going to take it anymore day." That's hilariously in character for Teruko xD

Songs!

-Again by Crusher-P

-The Things I Deserve by Ghost & Pals

-God-ish by Pinocchio P

-The Medical Anomaly by RIProducer

-End-World Normopathy by Ghost & Pals

-Scapeg∞at by Ghost & Pals

-Chronic Wasting Disease by RIProducer

-Those Who Carried On by Ghost & Pals

And Happy Birthday! Well, that was fun. Now I have to deal with the meteorite which struck me midway through writing this post! Take care!

(to be clear the meteorite thing is a joke)

#drdt #danganronpa despair time #teruko tawaki #character birthday

[nhularin]

hey reddit! AITA...

r/heeseung_O5 - rip yuna!

?! SYNOPSIS. . . in which four idiotic lovesick men try to find comfort in a shitty app after their break up. but! what happens when you find their burner account?

you found yourself nervously fidgeting on your couch, anxiously awaiting his arrival. it had been a month since Heeseung and you broke up, a painful separation that left you both with broken hearts. But fate, well a shitty app it seemed, had decided to throw you a lifeline, bringing you together today

the familar sound of the doorbell echoed through your apartment, jolting you oit of your nervous act. with a deep breath, you approached the entrance and opened the door, finding heeseung standing in front of you, looking handsome as ever

time had not been kind to him. his eyes held the remnants of sorrow, his smile slightly dimmed. yet, he still possessed that charismatic boyish aura that had drawn you to him when you were teenagers.

"hey" his voice broke and you could see the panic in his eyes hes so cute

"come in" you stepped aside to let the man enter, a sudden wave of deja vu crashing onto you. you couldn't help but think back to the beginning of the year, with him standing in your apartment kitchen and attempting to make you a new year's cake, which ended in him almost starting a fire. oh god how you missed it

Heeseung hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, the air between you thick with unspoken words. you stood in the center of the living room, awkwardly unsure of where to begin.

your voice wavered slightly. "I'm glad you could make it."

he nodded, taking a deep breath. "me too, actually." he looked at you for confirmation before he sat down on the couch "I've missed you," he whispered.

your heart fluttered at his words, the longing in his eyes. "heeseung dont do this to me," you admitted, a hint of vulnerability in my voice.

heeseung looked at you with hurt written in his eyes, carefully choosing his words, "I want to apologize for everything I did wrong. I never meant to hurt you."

you nodded, your eyes locked with his, feeling the sincerity in his words. "and I'm sorry for not putting enough effort and taking you for granted," he continued, the genuine remorse seeping into his voice. "I wish I had fought for us harder."

as the barriers crumbled, you began to talk, letting honesty and humour wash over your conversation. painful truths and unspoken fears came to light, as you navigated through uncharted territories of self-reflection and understanding. It was in that quiet moment, trapped within the walls of your apartment, where you both rediscovered the strength of our relationship.

"so" heeseung started as he wrapped his arms around your torso, head buried in your neck "does that mean we can...you know" he made weird gestures with his hands which you only can assume was supposed to be a dramatic heart "boyfie and girlfie?"

you laughed at his silliness "i guess so, hanbin would kill and kick me out of the groupchat if i didnt take you back"

he grinned, lifted your chin, and embraced you in a passionate kiss

oh boy were you screwed

prev <- masterlist

LIKED IT? CHECK OUT R/JAY

AUTHORS NOTE anndddd thats a wrap for heeseungs part! im not the best with writing kissing scenes so ill just leave it at that LOLLL ill begin with jays one in a few days (or even today?!) 🙏🏻🙏🏻so stay tuned! thank you so much for the support pookies ily mwah

TAGLIST @kjrcrz @cha3w0n-hearts @neighborhae @lacieeeeee00 @enluv @kyanmeai @luvistqrzzz @mrchweeee @tobiosbbyghorl @mimimovv @jayujus @heefys @i-hwa

#hey reddit! aita... #enhypen headcanons #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen smau #enhypen #jay x reader #jay drabbles #jay smau #heeseung x reader #heeseung smau #heeseung headcanons #jake x reader #jake smau #jake headcanons #sunghoon smau #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon headcanons #jay headcanons #enhypen drabbles #enhypen drabble #enhypen jake #enhypen texts #enhypen jay #enhypen headcanon

[worksby-d]

Just Watching You

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Summary: During an intimate moment, you let it slip that you've thought about having a family with Andy even though you haven’t had a serious talk about it with him yet.

Warnings: Undefined age difference.

Word count: ~800

ꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀ

“Your turn.” Your voice snaps him out of his daze as you lean away from the mirror to rinse your hands off.

“My turn?” He scoffs from his place in the doorway, trying to act like he wasn't entranced by you putting a face mask on. “For what?”

“Oh, please,” you laugh. “I could feel you standing there. I know you wanna try it too.”

He opens his mouth to deny it, but you're not having it. You ignore him, patting the spot on the counter next to the sink, silently telling him to sit so you can do your skin care on him.

He breathes out a dramatic sigh as he pushes away from the doorframe to hop onto the counter in front of you. You've got him wrapped around your finger. He leaves room for you to step between his legs, his hands resting on the small of your back to keep you in place.

“Was just watching you,” he says quietly. It’s killing him that he can't kiss your cheek right now. “I can't admire my girlfriend while she gets ready for bed?”

“Nope.” You emphasize the p sound as you lean to get your hands wet again so you can dampen his face. He hisses feeling your cold hands on his skin. “This is what you get for leering at me.”

“Whatever,” he chuckles. Accepting his fate, he closes his eyes as you begin applying the gel. “What is this stuff anyway?”

“It peels off. It’ll cleanse your pores, moisturize your skin, yada yada yada.”

Peeking an eye open, he raises an eyebrow at you. “Will it hurt?”

“No,” you laugh. “You actually have really nice skin for–”

“For what?” He stops you there to joke before you can finish your sentence. “An old man?”

“For a guy in general, you doof.”

“I'm not a monster.” He brings a hand up to move some strands of hair off his forehead as he feels your fingers make their way up his face. “I do wash my face.”

“With what?”

Opening his eyes again, he points behind you to get you to look in his shower. And peering over your shoulder, your eyes land on a generic bar of soap sitting on a shelf. You could gag.

“A bar of soap?” You snap your head back toward him. “Andy, ew.”

“Oh my God,” he laughs, tightening his legs around you to get you to crack a smile. “What? It apparently does the job. You just said so.”

Shaking your head, you move onto covering his nose so you can be done.

“Your nose is cute,” you hum without much thought. “If we had a baby, I’d want them to have your nose.”

“A baby, huh,” he teases, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Your mouth falls open, wanting to say something, but you freeze, realizing what you just brought up. “I'm– Uh, sorry. I shouldn't have…”

He tries to interrupt, tries to tell you it's okay, but you don't give him the chance. He clearly looks amused, but you don't notice amidst your panic.

“I shouldn't just assume that you want more kids.” It's not something you've talked about with each other yet. When you catch yourself thinking about it, you remind yourself he’s been a parent already. It's possible it's not something he wants again since he's never brought it up on his own. “Forget I said that.”

“Hey… Relax,” he laughs a little, bringing his hands to your sides to squeeze your hips to get your attention. “It would definitely be starting over,” he admits, causing your breath to get caught in your throat. “But I'd do it with you. I want to do it with you.”

The tension physically leaving your body feels like a weight being lifted off of you. But you don't let it all go.

“Not anytime soon.” You feel the need to explain. “I've just… I think about it sometimes.”

“No, of course. Of course. But I do too,” he smiles. There goes the rest of it. You feel a rush of heat warming your cheeks. “For the record, I've always thought about them with your nose.”

He can't help himself watching how flustered you get, he leans in to kiss you, but you squirm away.

“Your mask! It's not dry yet, you'll mess it up.”

“Sorry,” he chuckles, backing off. You weren't fast enough though, he can feel bare spots on the tip of his nose and his cheek. “How long does this have to stay on?”

“10-ish minutes,” you sigh, fixing the spots of his mask that rubbed off on you.

“Great.” He jumps off the counter and grabs your hand. “Enough time for me to show you what you have to look forward to when we decide to make that baby.”

“Andy.” You whine, but it turns into a laugh realizing what he's saying. “With only 10 minutes?”

“You underestimate me, angel.”

ꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀ

Tag list: @chris-butt @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @thummbelina @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @princess-evans-addict @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @la-cey @turtoix @katiew1973 @harrysthiccthighss @tvckerlance @bluemusickid @rocketrhap3000 @mrspeacem1nusone @murdcox @geminievans1 @doozywoozy @americasass91 @dwights-new-plague @wwwmarissa92 @redhairedfeistynerd @whxre4cevans @aubreeskailynn @white-wolf1940 @melchills-j @xoxabs88xox @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @before-we-get-started @chrissquares @christowhore @ice-dtae @mariestark @justile @rogersdrysdalebarber @dilfbarber @livstilinski @payperhearts @vintagestarlight @gitasor @chaeycunty @miss-ariella @bemysugarbean @t-stark35 @seitmai @reginaphalange2403

#idk what it is about andy that makes me wanna fantasize about having BABIES but 🙄💕 #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #andy barber imagine #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x you

[violetsandfluff]

Laundry Day

yessss here you go, babesssss xx i actually really love this tysm for the concept!

cw: fluff. fluff. fluff. only loosely proofread.

wc: 1014

“Y/N, can you go get the other laundry basket?” Harry inquired, his voice echoing through the bleak, hollow laundry room.

“The big one or the little one?” she called back as she padded into their carpeted bedroom. Whenever Harry returned from tour, there were always loads upon loads of laundry that needed doing. On top of that, she had chosen that specific day to wash sheets, towels, and her own clothes.

“There are still more?” Harry asked disdainfully, sinking back against the wall with his legs straight out in front of him. “We’ve been doing laundry all day.”

“I know,” Y/N sighed as she appeared in the doorway, an overflowing laundry basket balanced on her hip. “But think how nice the clean sheets will feel.”

“My back hurts,” Harry complained, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m all sore, Y/N.”

“We’re almost done,” she assured him. “Only two or three more loads.”

Harry let his head fall backward, hitting the wall with an unintentionally jarring thud. He winced in pain, but Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at his alleged misery. There was no doubt in her mind that he was playing it up slightly to get out of housework.

“Up you go, Haz,” she encouraged him playfully as she knelt in front of the washing machine and began transferring its contents to the dryer. “The laundry isn’t going to flip itself.”

“I think I got a concussion,” he murmured faintly, placing his hand on his forehead for dramatic effect.

“Surely you don’t intend for me to tackle this chore alone?”

No response arose from the injured man on her floor.

Whether it was on purpose or not, Harry wasn’t sure. All he knew was that a pair of cold, soggy socks was flung at his head followed by an equally wet pair of boxers. Wordlessly, he peeled them off and tossed them into the dryer, quickly reassuming his injured persona.

Y/N turned around to inspect the accessories she had bestowed upon Harry, her eyebrows raising in surprise when she spotted them already in the dryer.

“Cheeky little bastard,” Harry tutted with a begrudging shake of his head.

Y/N laughed before turning to the washer once more, her pleasant mood quickly dissipating as she struggled to free one of Harry’s heaviest sweatshirts from the agitator despite bracing her feet against the side of the machine and clenching her jaw. She gave the garment one final tug before stepping back and throwing up her hands in surrender.

“Let me help, darling.” Harry rose to his feet, leaning into the machine with his longer body as his fingers worked to the root of the problem. The sweatshirt was loosened and released in no time, but the same couldn’t be said about him.

“Are you getting it, Haz?” Y/N inquired as she watched his body twist to liberate itself from the machine.

“I got it,” he managed, grunting as he strained to break free from whatever had caught on the collar of his t-shirt.

Just as she was about to ask another question, an aggravated fragment arose from the machine.

“I’m stuck.”

Y/N clamped a hand to her mouth to keep from giggling, but her efforts were in vain. Laughter spilled out of her like a waterfall.

Harry’s face reddened with a mix of embarrassment and strain. “Go ahead and laugh, love,” he deadpanned monotonously. “I’d laugh if I were watching you get eaten by sharks.”

“I can see the headlines already,” she cried, drawing in a shaky breath before erupting into another fit of laughter. “Harry Styles left concussed and swallowed by a washing machine in his LA home. How pathetic would that be?”

“All in the name of love.” He shook his head, his voice cracking with desperation. “My death will be remembered as slow, painful, and tragic, and really obscure.”

“Harry Styles: A Life. From headlining world tours to a fateful encounter with a washing machine. All you need to know about One Direction’s late heartthrob.”

Even Harry had to chuckle at that, momentarily forgetting his predicament.

“I don’t even want to think about the tabloids.”

“I do. Knowing them, they’d depict me as a hero.”

“You think so?”

“Sure. Make up a story of me being kidnapped by the Hobama conspiracists or something,” he shrugged, his shoulder bumping painfully against the side of the washing machine. “Care to help me escape?”

“What’s stuck? Your sleeve, your arm, your dick?”

“My collar.”

“What is it stuck on?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be stuck,” he reasoned.

Y/N slipped her hand into the back of his shirt, maneuvering it around the collar until she found the snag.

“Jesus, your fingers are cold!” he whined, his entire body tensing.

His collar was caught on a deep scratch in the agitator, presumably put there by coins and pens that had been carelessly forgotten about. Once she got a good angle, it didn’t take long for her to free Harry from his short-lived captivity.

He rose to his feet slowly, grimacing as he leaned from side to side to stretch. “All the blood is draining from my brain,” he said dizzily, leaning against the wall for support as his head cleared itself.

“Not even a thank you?” Y/N pouted, feigning hurt.

“Thank you,” Harry said politely.

“You forgot something.” She reached pointedly back into the infamous machine to withdraw Harry’s damp sweatshirt, whirling around and smacking it lightly against his chest.

“Ow,” he whined. “Soon my cause of death will be murder, not a washing machine!”

“Oh, Harry.” She lowered the towel. “This is ridiculous. We can fool around after we finish the laundry.”

Harry leaned forward slowly, giving her a hard peck on the cheek and swiping the sweatshirt from her hand. He swung it at her playfully a few times, letting out a triumphant whoop.

“Harry Styles dubs Y/N Y/LN his personal hero, claiming that she delivered him from sure death.”

“Easy there, Haz. Do you mind reloading the washer for me?” Y/N beckoned to the overflowing laundry basket that remained untouched in the doorway.

“Promise me this,” Harry pleaded as he ran a hand through his hair, disheveled from a day’s hard work. “If something else gets stuck, we’ll call the fire department.”

“Or the paparazzi.”

“Deal.”

Taglist: @madybeth21 @groovychaosavenue @fishingirl12 @sortingharryshairclip @mrspeacem1nusone @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cayleyhannha-blog @whitemancumslut @xxrosebunny @hsdaydreaminghaze

#Harry styles #Harry styles fluff #Harry styles blurb #harry edward styles #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles one shot #flutterfly alley #yellow 💛 heart

[reve-writes]

—deceit; touya todoroki.

ʚ todoroki touya x reader | my hero academia | 0,9k words. ʚ you're a respected hero who was fooled into believing that dabi has changed, that he's willing to repent. in actuality, he used you to siphon intel to the league of villains. ʚ profanities; angst; sad ending. ʚ a/n me when i write more sad stuff.

“Leave,” you spit out, anger bubbling in your stomach and you visibly shake from it. “Get out of my house.”

The term your house is true. This is your apartment, but it was his, too. One of his jackets still hang behind the door from the last time he wore it. His slippers lay neatly in your shoe rack in the entryway. There are food in your fridge that he purchased from your last grocery store trip. Everything has his name written all over it, and you haven't had time to erase it.

As much as you want to, the police and the Hero Public Safety Comission have been all over you. You're suspected of treason because you were harbouring the notorious Dabi, even though when he came to you, he told you he wanted to change and needed your help. You should've called the cops on him, but perhaps it's your saviour complex or perhaps it's his persuasive way of talking. You didn't. You ended up letting him in your house.

One thing led to the other and the two of you had something. It looked a lot like love, but it wasn't. It was deception. He used you. You never had qualms about Hawks doing the same thing to infiltrate the League of Villains, but it hurt.

He sits at the edge of your open window, letting the night breeze brush against his naturally white hair colour. His blue eyes peer at you, keeping his head against the window frame. One of his legs are folded close to his body, foot firmly planted on your windowsill while the other dangles lifelessly out the window.

“I would have come back sooner or later, sweetheart.”

Angry tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Don't call me that.”

You rummage through your sofa, coffee table and kitchen counters to find your phone. You made a mistake once and you won't fall for it the second time. You're calling the cops on him as much as you don't want to.

“I'm holding onto this for now,” he says, waving his hand that is holding your phone.

You dash forward for the phone, closer to him—and it was too close. As if he burns, you jolt back. He pulls his hand back, your phone dangles dangerously outside.

“Give it back,” you demand. “You fucking asshole.”

Touya's gaze soften when he turns to look at you. You scoff. What a great actor.

“I missed you too.”

“Shut the hell up, Touya.” You wince. The name is too familiar—personal. You swear not to call him that again. “Why are you here? Don't you dare lie to me.”

“I never did.” He shrugs.

You scoff. “If you're going to be a piece of shit, the least you can do is admit it.”

“I never did,” he insists. “Not once. I meant everything I said to you. I meant all the sappy shit—the I love yous, the pillowtalks.”

“You expect me to believe this?” You ask indignantly. Does he really think you're that naive? That stupid? Does he really think you're so easy to fool?

He sighs, closing his eyes, knocking his head back on the window frame. “You can't seriously believe that there was nothing.”

The problem is: you can't. You don't think that when he wakes up early to cook you breakfast is just part of the act. Or when he washes and dries your hair. Or when he brings home little things—sometimes desserts or keychains or a little do-it-yourself kit to do together. Or when he traces your skin. Or when he kisses you so passionately your lips turn swollen and red.

You swallow. “No.”

His eyes light up ever-so-slightly. “Yeah? We really had something, didn't we?”

“This is what you're here for?” you ask angrily. “To what? Rub salt on my wound? Feel some sort of validation from me?”

“I'm here to say sorry,” he rasps softly. “Fuck. I couldn't let it end the way it did.”

Your mind rewinds back to that fateful day when your team attacked their hideout. You see him, standing victoriously with a satisfied smirk as he watches you. You remember trying desperately to get everyone out—it was a trap, after all. They had known in advance.

He had known in advance.

From you.

Wreckage. Injury. Deaths. All on your conscience because you couldn't keep your mouth shut. Trusted a convict a little too much. You thought you would be the one to change him, but he was still a villain.

“What's the point?” You sigh out, slumping on your sofa, tracing the expanse of his skin on the night-sky backdrop. You hate him. You love him. Is it possible to feel both simultaneously?

“I don't know, sweetheart. Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. He truly doesn't know. “I'll go.”

His hand twitches, wanting to reach out to you. There's a strong desire to comfort you as you sit dejectedly on your couch, even though it's caused by him. He turns, ready to hop off your window, but you call out.

“Touya.”

He likes his name when it falls from your lips. Without turning to look at you, he answers, “Yes?”

“If — If I ask you to stay, right now. If I say, it's okay, come back to me, would you?” You ask, your chest tightening. “Would you leave everything behind? For me?”

Touya wields fire. Fire bends to his will and to the winds, but he doesn't. He's an immovable thing, like Excalibur fixed in the stone and you aren't the one who holds the power to draw it out. You know it. You don't even know why you bother asking.

“I'm sorry,” he says, jumping off, leaving your phone on the windowsill. You don't rush forward to see where he goes. You slowly walk to the window, geabbing your phone and dialling the Hero Public Safety Comission.

[ ]

#touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x reader #—ki writes 🍯

[pastel-pillows]

A request for Eddie with a red ribbon.

No warnings!

Your ribbon had always been faint, a dull glow in the tangled web of shining red, but it was yours and yours alone and that made it perfect to you. There were days however when your friends would tell you at lunches how their ribbon was brighter or more taut and they could feel that they were close to meeting their soulmates, the game of hot and cold drawing to an end for many of them as you all continued to age and grow, exploring more of the world and ultimately settling down with their loved one. A happily ever after tied in a perfect red bow.

For you, it seemed your search only ever ran cold, the flat red of your string of fate never growing any more intense or vibrant, at times, rare as they were, it would tighten and tug just the slightest bit before falling lax and leaving you on a street you weren’t familiar with and no direction to continue on in. It always left an echoing sense of hopelessness.

“Come on babe, all kinds of people will be out tonight, holidays are always the perfect chance to meet the one! Everyone’s out and about.” Tina had insisted you accompanied her and Kyle out for Halloween this year. “Soulmate or not your twenties are fun.”

She’d had a point, and you were grateful to her for pushing because as you walked the sidewalks on the way to a frat party you felt a tug, faint but there and persistent, drawing you further away from the little group you’d left Tina’s apartment with and towards what could only affectionately be referred to as a bit of a fixer upper.

The house was large, the pavement cracked and overgrown with weeds and grass from years of obvious neglect, the stairs were warped and caving in on one side and many of the windows were busted out or cracked. Once blue paint was discolored and peeling and many of the supports looked rotted and perilous at best, still you could feel it calling for you, guiding you in as if this was your own home, the place you’d always been meant to be.

What an odd place to meet a soulmate.

The light from your cell phone washed the entry room in a faint white, doing very little to actually aid you in seeing but allowing you enough vision to navigate the uneven flooring so you didn’t go tumbling to the floor.

You’d made your way through a few rooms now, following the pull of your line, through what had once surely been a beautiful home and letting it guide you past dusty furniture that had sat so long it’d both gone out of style and come back into it then through halls of worn pictures, bleached from sun exposure and leaving only phantom traces of the family that had dressed so nicely for their family portrait before it pulsed, still dull and flat, to let you know that they were here.

It was on your way out that you found him standing in the living room.

He’d had the kindest eyes you’d ever seen, light and offering a comforting warmth even in the cool darkness on this October night, but the rest of him was as muted as the ribbon that connected you, transparent and washed out by the white light of your phone. “You’re here.” It was a statement, but the inflection of your voice made it sound like a question to you both.

“I’m here sweetheart;” He spun to ease the tension and to add a little flourish to his statement before gesturing to himself “in the lack of flesh. My name’s Eddie.”

“And you’re my soulmate?”

“That’d be me.” This time Eddie raised his hand and wiggled his pinky finger, the action tugging at the ribbon tied around your own. “Not exactly what you were hoping for, am I?”

“Definitely not what I was expecting.” He didn’t let his features fall but you saw the look of hurt flash in his eyes. “But I’d be lying if I said you weren’t what I was hoping for.”

“Dream come true, just a little too late, huh?” The hand with the ribbon flexed, tugging the thin fabric tied to your own.

“You’re still here aren’t you?”

“…yeah, I am.” Eddie’s face broke into a smile, a genuine one, for the first time that night. The ends of his mouth pulling up into a grin big enough that the corners of his eyes crinkled in an unguarded display of what you could clearly read as hope and optimism for the future.

“Then I think we have all the time in the world.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson