#only just now got around to cleaning it up and posting
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All In 7
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)
based on the winning option for this poll
Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes
Note: another week...
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
When Bucky leaves, you feel less than relief. It’s easier to breathe without him around but your heart continues to race. You don’t move until you see him drive away. You steel yourself with the manufactured lie before you go back inside.
As you do, you’re surprised to find Roxie beside your mom, both of them close to the front window. You sigh. Were they watching? You guess you can be thankful Bucky hadn’t done more than talk.
Your mom faces you with a sheepish grin, “so... did you get it?”
You look between her and your sister. Roxie has her phone in hand and an arch in her eyebrow, “I’d die for a boss like that.”
“I...” you glance the screen before she can hide it. Oh. She had a picture of him pulled up on Google. So, they both know exactly who he is.
“He must be really hands on if he came all the way down here to offer you a job,” Roxie tilts her head.
“That’s the sign of a good boss,” your mom insists.
“Really, I think his eyes were the kicker. So blue.”
“Rox,” your mom nudges her. “A man like him, he’s got line ups, I’m sure. Besides, she’s too young for him.”
“Well, I’m older,” Roxie smirks, “maybe she can get me a job too.”
“Er, uh,” you wring your hands, “I should start dinner.”
“You didn’t say if you go the job,” Roxie challenges.
“Yeah,” you utter softly, “I got a job. Just cleaning.”
“Hey, it’s better than nothing,” you mom assures as she comes to you. She puts her hands on your shoulders, “I’m so proud of you.”
“Mom,” you try not to look pained as you return her smile, “it’s nothing. Really. A cleaner.”
“We all gotta start somewhere.”
“Yeah,” Roxie scoffs, “most of us a lot sooner.”
“Oh, don’t be such a downer,” your mom lets you go to spin on your sister, “don’t rain on her parade.”
“Whatever. I’d rather hand out flyers than clean toilets,” she rolls her eyes.
You purse your lips and shy away. You feel worse that they believe you so easily and why wouldn’t they? No one would think that someone like you would merit such a preposterous offer from a man like Bucky. You still can’t really believe it.
Maybe it’s just some twisted hallucination. You could wake up tomorrow and be just like you were before. You never thought you would long for that but now, being alone, being the loser, that feels safe. Being noticed, being someone, that’s terrifying.
🃏
You take your time making dinner, a brief escape from reality. The distraction keeps you busy enough that your chest stops thrumming, yet your nerves are still spastic. You’re not very hungry once it’s done but you make yourself eat.
Roxie heads off for work shortly after you gather up the dirty dishes and your mom goes to change into her pajamas. She startles you as you scour the pan you used to bake the chicken. You splash yourself and hiss.
“Sorry, hon, I was just coming to check on you,” she leans against the counter, “you’re nervous, aren’t you?”
You shrug, to fraught to answer.
“You get restless, I can tell. You do everything just to keep from fidgeting,” she says, “it’s going to be okay. You’ll be just fine and you’ll see, it’ll be nice to have your own money.”
“I know, mom,” you murmur, turning your face down to the sink, “it’s not that I don’t want to work, I just... I guess it’s the change that freaks me out.”
“Change is good, even if it’s scary,” she says. “You’ll see.”
“Mm,” you hum and try not to shatter, “I just want to help out.”
“Hon, you worry about yourself. Please--”
“No, I owe you.”
“Owe me? I’m your mother. I just wish I could give you more,” she smiles and squeezes your arm. “If you’re not some busy working girl, we’ll celebrate on my day off.”
“Sure,” you accept grimly.
She leaves you and you’re silent as you finish up the dishes. You put them away and wipe the counters. When you finish, you shut off the lights. You say good night from the doorway and retreat into your room. Tomorrow. That’s all he said. That’s the only detail you go before he strolled off.
You grab your phone and fall back on your bed. All you want is to lose yourself in a fic or a discussion board or even just scrolling mindlessly. You can’t. It’s like he’s taking over everything. There it is, that little icon you rarely see, a new message.
You pull down the menu and stare at the preview. Two hours ago. You’re surprised he didn’t show up to check why you hadn’t answered. Again. You will at least need to send something before the night is over.
‘Hey doll. I’ll send a car tomorrow morning at nine. Just bring yourself.’
You shudder and stare at the blue bubble around the text. Oof. Nine? That’s early for you. You suppose it’s about time you break that bad habit.
‘Sorry. I was making dinner. Nine is good. Thank you.’
You hit send and put your phone down. You slide your laptop across the bed and open it up. You’ll watch something. That old BBC drama you found on the free streaming service has been pretty interesting, but you think you only have one episode left. That’s good, you can’t be up all night.
Your phone buzzes. Shoot. Alright. You can do this. You have to get to it. You swipe up your phone again, surprised to find it’s still shaking.
Oh no. He’s calling!
You panic and nearly hit decline before you manage to drag your thumb the other way. You put the phone to your ear, unable to muster even a squeak. What do you say?
“Hey, doll,” Bucky’s voice drawls from the speaker, “hope I didn’t interrupt dinner.”
“No, er, we’re done.”
“Ah, and are you alone?”
You frown, “yes?”
“Good, good. Isn’t that sweet of you, cooking dinner for your family. That’s what I like about you. You take care of those you love.”
You gulp. You don’t know what to say.
“What was for dinner?” He asks as you hear a soft rustle.
“Um, chicken and potatoes,” you answer bluntly. It’s an easy question.
“You’re not busy or something?” He wonders.
“Uh uh,” you shake your head even though he can’t see, “I’m just... in bed.”
“Early night, huh?” He asks.
“I guess, I was going to watch a show.”
“Right, right,” he clicks his tongue as something taps followed by other indiscernible movements, “you in your pajamas? Bet those are cute?”
“Not... yet,” you croak.
“Mmm,” he purrs, “I just got out of the shower.”
“You... did?”
“Getting ready for tomorrow,” he explains, “gotta admit, I’m a bit impatient. You’ll see that about me, doll. When I want something, it’s hard to wait.”
“Uh, oh...” you stutter out.
“For you, I can,” he vows, “doll, do me a favour.”
“A favour?” You echo thinly.
“Mmm, yeah, I want you to get in your pajamas and send me a picture. Just to tide me over,” he coaxes.
“A picture?” You open your eyes wide and gape at the wall.
“Sure, just a taste. I wanna know what I should imagine next to me when I lay down.”
“What?” You squeak, shocked by his insinuation. Imagining you?!
“I can’t help myself. It’s lonely here.”
“I...” you pick at your lower lip, “one sec. I... I gotta...”
You put the phone on the bed and push yourself off the mattress. You trip on your own feet and hope he can’t hear you stumbling around. Your pajamas are kind of silly. You don’t really have any sexy ones. Maybe if he sees them, he’ll change his mind.
The only matching pair you have have snoopy on the top and a large check bottom on the pants. You fish them out and change. It’s okay. He can’t see you at that moment. Still, it feels like he is watching you. Just as his presence has lurked around you all day.
You go back to your phone and fumble around, “sorry, I... just... figuring out the camera.”
You hear his timbre but can’t make out his words from the small speaker. You open the camera app and flip the camera. You move around, trying to take the pic, and lean the phone on the top of your dress. You angle it and mutter to yourself as you struggle to set the timer.
You take several pictures before you’re not entirely discontent. You look awkward in all of them. The pants, like all your pants, are too long and gather around your feet. You don’t know how to pose either. Quite frankly, you look frightened in every single one.
“Alright, I think...” you babble and find your way into the conversation and choose the least egregious frame. You hesitate and close your eyes as you push your thumb down on the arrow.
You bring the phone back to your ear, “are you still there?”
“Always, doll,” he assures and once more, the phone shifts around noisily. “Mm, Snoopy? I like it. More of a Woodstock myself but... Mm mm mm, you look good.” He pauses as you wriggle and your cheeks burn hotly. “Sexy.”
“No,” you burst out without thinking.
“No? You don’t think I’m telling the truth?”
“I didn’t... say so, it’s... just pajamas,” you sniff, “sorry, I didn’t mean to argue.”
“Doll, relax. Thing about you, you don’t even have to try.”
You don’t reply. You have no idea what to say or even if you should believe him. You saw the picture, you look in the mirror every day, you know what you are. It still feels like some weird game.
“Here, gimme a sec,” he says from his end.
More rustling and the noise of a digital shutter. Your phone vibes shortly and you pull it away from your cheek. You squint at the screen as it lights up and an image buffers in the conversation.
“Huh, uh, it’s not loading. My phone is--” you nearly swallow your tongue and gasp.
Oh gosh. It’s a picture of him in almost nothing. Just a towel. His long hair is damp and pushed back and his dark beard contrasts his bright blue eyes as he aims the lens of his phone at himself in the mirror. His stomach is ridged with muscle, his chest trimmed with hair that trails down, and the towel hangs low, giving a generous hint of his pelvis. The vee above the fabric feels overly salacious.
“Doll?” You hear the low tone of his voice and make yourself look away. You raise the phone again to your ear. “Everything okay? You got really quiet.”
“I...”
“You like what you see?” He asks coyly.
You put your hand to your forehead, your flesh is fiery. It’s so much so fast. Just that morning, you’d convinced yourself you would never see or talk to him again. And now he’s sending you pictures like that and... flirting with you?
“Yes,” you eke out then cover your mouth. He snickers and you clear your throat before you peel your hand away, “sorry, I mean... you’re... you... you must work out.”
“Doll, you’re too adorable,” he says.
You don’t say a word. You’re mortified. He knew you saw that. He knows you’ve seen him like that. He sent it!
It’s all too much. You’re lightheaded. You rub your chin and shiver.
“I should... sleep.”
“Mm, me too,” he says, “hopefully I dream of you.”
You giggle nervously, “really?”
“Sure, doll. All I can do is dream. Until tomorrow,” he sighs, “and what about you? You gonna dream about me?”
You squeak and stammer, “I... I... I...”
He laughs again, “you really are so cute in those pajamas.”
“Please,” you blurt out, “delete it.”
“Now, why would I do that?” He challenges.
“I don’t... know.”
“I love it,” he insists, “you’re not deleting mine, are you?”
“N-no, no, I’ll keep it.”
“Hm, good,” he intones, “it’s all for you so don’t you go showing me off to all your friends.”
It’s your turn to laugh. “Promise, I won’t.” If only he knew you don’t have any friends to show.
#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#series#au#casino au#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#all in#mcu#marvel#captain america#avengers#winter soldier
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I got this in that NSFW prompt generator you reblogged and this would be a PERFECT part 2 to that one Lucifer fic you posted!
Setting: Art Gallery/Studio Genre: Fluff Trope: Friends With Benefits Prompt: Truth or Dare Kink: Finger-fucking (as preparation, foreplay, accompaniment, or main act)
“You know,” you start, dipping your brush into the water cup to clean it, “Angel does not believe we didn’t fuck in here.”
You’re not exactly sure why you’re bringing this up right now. Maybe to get a rise out of him? Lucifer blushes, mission accomplished; dips his own brush in a brilliant gold paint. He chuckles, shaking his head as he presses brush to canvas.
“I mean we sort of…” He trails off, his free hand gesturing between the two of you.
You laugh as you dry your brush.
“Not really,” you scrunch up your nose as you pick your next color, “I wouldn’t count it yet.”
Lucifer shrugs, leaning on you as he does and not at all caring if he makes a mess with your brush dangerously close to all of the paints.
“When you’ve been single for almost a decade and a recluse for almost a century, it counts,” he winks, “Trust me.”
You feel your own cheeks heat up, averting your gaze from his.
And no matter how much you want to put brush to canvas again you can’t help but think of nothing but the other week.
Your body pinned against some tarp in the dark corner of the studio, Lucifer above you, stolen kisses while the sun rose. His clothed cock pressed against you, the friction between your bodies divine enough for you to understand how the first women fell to him. All shuddered gasps, fumbling hands, breathy laughs, and clumsy lips.
“Okay,” you concede, and now press your brush down in an almost shy stroke to the canvas. Lucifer seems satisfied with this, and you paint in easy silence again. Strokes and dots dance from your tools, Lucifer’s hands working just as carefully on his own. You pause to glance at his canvas, now the makings of what you can clearly tell are a duck now starting to take form. For someone much more accustomed to sculpting, he isn’t half bad with your tools. Maybe one day you’ll hang some of his work in here, you think, or even better have it decorate the hotel.
Your eyes trail from the canvas inevitably to his hands, deft and skilled, up his arms to his face, where you expect to see him handsome and locked in concentration. Only, you find his eyes staring back into your own.
“Wanna tell me what you were thinking about?” he asks, flirty confidence he doesn’t normally show on full display.
“Hmmm,” you hum, and then shake your head, “Nope.”
He narrows his eyes at you, glaring playfully. Lucifer isn’t clueless, even if you’d like to play innocent.
He steps away from his canvas, looking between his and yours for a moment.
“You sure you don’t wanna tell me?” he asks, eyeing you up as well now. You scrunch your nose as you shake your head.
Lucifer only laughs.
“Okay, truth or dare?”
You fucking scoff.
“Truth or dare? Really?” you laugh, but not at him, not mockingly, “Did Charlie teach you that? Maybe after she made sure we got paired up the other week?”
You couldn’t help the playful jab. The Morningstars suck so hard at lying that it’s endearing.
His cheeks and the tips of his ears go red again.
“You didn’t say no,” he reminds you, and damn, no you did not. You roll your eyes.
Fine.
You cross your arms indignantly.
“Dare.”
You won’t give him the satisfaction of truth just yet.
“Kiss me?” he asks, earnest. Your lips break from their smirk to a genuine smile, and then you lean forward until your lips capture his, chaste and warm. Your lips press around his bottom lip, sucking it in until your teeth graze skin, teasing and tantalizing before you pull back again. When you part, you lick your lips, savoring the taste of him, almost reluctant to open your eyes and let the moment fade away.
When you do finally open your eyes, Lucifer’s gaze takes you in with nothing but affection, nothing but sweetness and joy. Really, how the fuck is a man like this the devil? And if he’s evil incarnate, what the hell is Heaven like?
“That was an easy one,” you tease him; You’d kiss him all night if only he’d ask.
“It’s your turn,” he tells you, a smirk gracing his own lips as he lets his hand ghost over your hip. Bold move, Lucifer.
“Truth or Dare?” you ask immediately, not having a truth or a dare lined up in the barrel or the chamber.
Lucifer takes the time to take a step forward, fully removing the gap between you.
“Truth,” he whispers, lips almost ghosting yours. Bold fucking move.
“You playing me?” you ask, mouth moving faster than your mind, and fuck was that a mistake. Immediately you tear yourself from him in embarrassment, a little too vulnerable for your own comfort. Angel and Husk would mock your moment of weakness in their own hypocrisy, you can’t help but hear their laughter. Why did you say that? What the fuck?
Lucifer’s hands catch your own before you can fully pull away from him, though, holding you in place. You look anywhere but his face, not unlike a trapped animal.
“No!” he almost shouts, “ No, nothing like that. Hey, Where’d this come from?”
Lucifer sounds genuinely worried, genuinely upset. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek, holding you close as he pulls you back in. You cannot help but admire the bulbs of your studio lights now, the way they bask everything in a glow that leaves no blemishes in your visions. You refuse to look at Lucifer. You cannot look at him.
“Pick dare!” you tell him, a cheery voice not at all matching your face.
Lucifer’s thumb strokes your cheek.
“I enjoy your company. This isn’t a game,” he reassures you, bringing you back down to his level, “No tricks.”
You release a sigh pent up in your chest, something animalistic and desperate sounding.
“I didn’t mean to say that.”
“But I’m glad you did.”
“Ask again.”
You bite your lip, copper liquid on your teeth. Ask again, you beckon him. Ask again, you. beg. Ask again, you need. Tears unshed well up in your eyes. But no, you will not cry in front of him or any man.
“Truth or dare?” he asks, and immediately you pick dare. Every dare is safer than truth.
“I dare you to pick truth.”
Fucking prick.
“Truth.”
You roll your eyes again, if only to avoid his.
“Do you think I’m playing you?”
“Well there’s a wildly unethical power imbalance and I seem to only see you when you want to make yourself present so I can’t help but think there’s a bit of an uneven exchange,” you offer, not really holding back, but also not sharing how much this situation had you spiraling. Not at all telling Angel or Husk how you felt and just stewing alone. How many nights you’d lost sleep over this. You still refuse to look at Lucifer. You can’t. You won’t.
“Ask me a truth or dare,” he says, and you chuckle, even if you still refuse to look at him.
“Truth or dare?” you ask, not wanting to play anymore, only wanting to get back to your painting and saving face.
“Dare,” Lucifer all but begs, “dare me to prove I’m not playing with you.”
You shrug, almost hopelessly.
“Sure,” you say, “ Why not?”
Lucifer wastes no time pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, nothing too harsh and nothing that progresses into more.
“I like you,” he whispers against your lips.
He then progresses further down, a kiss to your cheek, the underside of your jaw, your neck.
“I like kissing you,” he tells you, lips dragging across your skin.
“Your friendship means a lot to me,” he pulls the strap of your shirt to the side.
“And I’d like it if we enjoyed our temporary time together,” he presses a kiss to your collarbone.
“I mean,” he pulls back, “You could get redeemed tomorrow and forget all about me!”
You’ve been here since 1973, so that’s doubtful. But you don’t miss the edge to his voice when he says that. Like you actually would forget him. As if you could be making out with the devil himself tonight and then getting a manicure with the seraphim tomorrow.
You finally return his embrace, but not without messing with him a little bit.
“Oh yeah? That much faith in me? Why don’t you give me something to remember in boring old Heaven then?”
Lucifer needs no other encouragement, his mouth capturing yours again, tongue eager and pushing past the threshold of lips. His hands move wildly, grasping at you, all fingers digging into flesh. He pushes you back wards until the backs of your knees touch your workbench. The act of sitting pulls you apart from him, the change in position now having you look up at him for the spectacle he always is. Lucifer looks at you through half lidded eyes and mussed hair, usually pristine sleeves rolled up to his elbows carelessly; a work of art in his own right.
Lucifer drops to his knees almost immediately continuing the kiss, passionate as his hands start to pull at clothing. Your arms are around his back in an instant, holding him pressed to you, one hand coming up to play with his so heavenly soft hair.
The kiss deepens, and Lucifer takes the opportunity to unbuckle your belt, the clanking of heavy metal as he pulls it to the side. He makes equally quick work of the fly of your pants, only taking pause when your soft tongue grazes across his sharp teeth making him groan and only work harder at getting you undressed.
He works faster then, yanking your pants down to the ops of your boots, barely even breaking the kiss as he maneuvers himself back between your knees.
The cool air of your studio hits your skin, but you’re not so sure that’s the reason why you’re shivering under his touch.
You kiss him twice, thrice, and then break away, if only to help him the rest of the way, pulling your underwear away to fall at your ankles with your pants.
“Touch me, please,” you ask, voice breathy and way more pathetic than you were intending to sound, but you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed about that right now.
“You want me?” Lucifer asks, some thing of an edge dripping into his voice, honey with a tint of venom. You nod against him as you place your lips back on his, your hands bunching up the fabric of his crisp dress shirt. He’ll definitely need to get it steamed, but you can’t find yourself caring once his hands start to drift lower.
Lucifer’s hands go from your hips to your thighs, running his nails across smooth skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He’s toying with you, drawing it out and teasing. Out of practice my ass, you think. You start to kiss harder, hoping it’ll speed him up. One of his hands comes to your knee, forcing it away and spreading your legs further from where you’re already straddling him. The other hand starts to tease upwards, his thumb starting to rub circles into your inner thigh before finally coming to the apex of them. He ghosts his thumb over your slit, and you all but convulse from tension. Fuck, you need him you need him you need him. His hand on your knee tightens its grasp, holding you still.
Lucifer breaks the kiss to look at you, half lidded eyes and a mischievous smile on his face. This man is going to ruin you, you just know it.
He presses a singular finger inside you slowly, exploring new territory. You whine under his touch, your forehead falling to rest on his shoulder as he moves glacially, in and out. It feels like torture almost, giving you a taste instead of everything you really want. Your fists ball up the fabric of his shirt even tighter, and you’re glad you’re not a sinner with claws because surely you would have ripped it by now.
“You feel divine, Honey,” Lucifer sighs, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of your head. You start to squirm, trying to feel more; fuller, deeper.
“You want more?” he asks, as if on cue. Attentive and in tune.
You nod, definitely not desperately, definitely not needy.
Lucifer obliges immediately, shifting readjusting, reinserting himself now two fingers, plunged deep inside you; sinking in with no resistance. This is it, you think, the fullness you were missing. You cannot help the wanton moan that escapes your lips, mo matter how much you try to muffle it against his shoulder.
“Thats what you needed, huh?” he coos, teasing you, “Oh yeah, definitely. I can feel you squeezing me already.”
Fuck. He’s bad news.
You don’t have a reply for that, only a short choked out whine as he keeps moving, in out scissor, in out scissor: a perfect rhythm. He pulls the sound from your throat through your cunt, playing you like a well tuned violin. You feel your core tighten, tension building in your muscles as he works you over, a man who’s had eternity to perfect how you please a woman.
Lucifer’s thumb finds your clit, and it’s as good as over. Your hands move wildly from their spot o bc his back, to his shoulders, to his biceps. You cling like your life depends on him. Stars form, blotchy spots in the corner of your vision, a tesla coil behind your ribcage.
And then sparks, and then movement. Your orgasm shatters, quickly and without warning, a pitiful and low drawn out whine between gritted teeth. Lucifer keeps his pace, muttered praise falling deaf upon the ringing in your ears. His free hand rubs your thigh, soothing massaging circles. Kisses to your neck, stability against your shuddering form.
He doesn’t remove his fingers until your body stops its shaking, until your frame stills and you slump against him; Your body boneless and pliant because of him. You take the reprieve to close your eyes, to relax into him. Whatever this thing is with Lucifer, it’s dangerous, you realize that now. It would be safe if you didn’t lean into him, it would be safe if you didn’t feel warm and fuzzy and cared for in your post cum haze. It would feel safe if clarity struck you right now and told you to move out of the hotel.
But it’s dangerous because you’re absolutely the most comfortable you’ve been since you ended up in hell, it’s dangerous because he’s absolutely not pushing you away. It’s dangerous because he seems sincere.
It’s dangerous because the sound of him slurping on his fingers, licking them clean, disrupts your anxious train of thought.
Fuck, thats hot. Your eyes open slowly, staring down at your lap, more specifically where he kneel’s between your thighs, his stomach pressed against the bench to be as close to you as possible. Lucifer kisses the side of your head, an action full of affection, a more serious act than what he had just finished doing to you.
“Truth or dare?” His lips move against the shell of your ear.
“We’re still doing this?” you giggle, pulling him closer. Lucifer squeezes your hip, both of his hands coming back to grab you, his wet fingers cool against the bare skin of the curve of your ass. Any tension you felt melts away with his joke.
“Fine,” you sigh, “Truth.”
“Hang out with me tonight?” Lucifer asks, voice wobbling with a hint of insecurity.
“You mean like in your room, or with the others in the lounge?”
Lucifer’s head dips while he goes red again, but his eyes dip down to his fingers again.
“With everyone… If thats okay?”
Interesting. Would he acknowledge whatever this thing is between you? Grab your drinks for you, maybe share a seat with you? Your mind swirls with what tonight could look like while you absentmindedly run your fingers along the fabric of his shirt.
You nod.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
This is dangerous.
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If It Has to Happen, Let It
Rating: Teen and Up
CW: Emetophobia, Vomiting, Panic/Anxiety Attack, Negative Stimming as a Form of Self-Harm/Self-Regulation
Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Sick Steve Harrington, Traumatized Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Migraines, Steve Harrington Has Emetophobia, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Cuddling, Steve Harrington Has Good Parents
Okay, I wrote this while enduring a migraine. So we'll see how good this actually is. But I couldn't shake this idea, so here it is. Also, this is based on experience and I have pretty debilitating migraines and emetophobia. I'm asking y'all to be kind about this, that's all. <3
Read On AO3
🤢—————🤢
Steve used to have normal, everyday headaches when he was younger. They’d last a few hours. Be kind of an annoyance, prickling him with an undercurrent of ache. Sometimes make it hard to focus on tasks at hand. But they weren’t life changing. They didn’t affect every aspect of his day to day life. They didn’t linger or take over or knock him down for the count. His headaches used to be normal.
Now they aren’t. They’re debilitating. Humiliating. All consuming.
It wasn’t the concussions that resulted in the migraines, surprisingly enough. Everybody seems to think that and they’re not wrong, not really. But his mom had them. And his dad had them. And his nana had them.
The migraines started out as being mainly genetic. It sucked, sure. They’d come and go. Once every few months, maybe. At most. Just for a day. Isolate him to his bedroom. Leave him to spread on his bed with an ice pack on his forehead. That sort of thing.
Then the concussions came. One after the other after the other. They got worse. Astronomically worse. It wasn’t just a day that the migraines would hang around. It was multiple days. It was an entire week. Even once, it was three weeks in a row. He was sensitive to everything, sometimes nothing. The smell of Robin’s perfume. The sound of Dustin’s voice. The lights inside Family Video, inside Scoops Ahoy, inside his own house. He’d hole away. Lay in the expanding darkness of his bedroom. Curtains closed. Bed stripped of his sheets. Ice on his head, under his head, wrapped around his neck. He’d sleep shirtless, sleep nude, sleep fully clothed—his body couldn’t regulate. Would barely get up because the world would swirl around him like he was standing in the eye of a hurricane.
Worst of the worst, though, was the nausea.
When he was little, he remembers his nana taking him out for his seventh birthday. Pancakes—Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes, topped with fruit and whipped cream and as much maple syrup as he wanted. He drank orange juice, bubbled the liquid with his straw, took bites of his nana’s egg salad, giggled and snickered and cried with joy. It was fun. A good day. And then no less than eight hours later, he couldn’t keep himself standing. Could only kneel, stripped to his dinosaur themed underwear, hair stringy to his head, his mom cooing softly in his ear—hurling and spewing and coughing on and off for hours. Until, eventually, he landed himself a pretty uncomfortable spot in the emergency room, IV in his vein, and tears on his cheeks.
He remembers the all consuming fear when his stomach would flip. When his mouth would begin to salivate and his throat would burn with the bile that came up through burps, and how his hands would shake. Remembered all the times between being seven and now where he’d kneel on the tile of his bathroom, head stuck inside his toilet bowl, clamping to the porcelain with his slick palms, heaving until there was nothing left to give. And then he’d hack some more, just to see if he was done. If it was over. If he could be relieved instead of walking on glass.
He’d ruined plenty of Pyrex bowls. Dirtied plenty of blankets. Stained several mattresses. He’s apologized through tears as his mom helped clean up the carpet in his bedroom. Let her pet his sweaty hair and say it was alright, even though he knew it wasn’t. Even though it would scare her when he’d dissolve into hysterics.
Steve doesn’t do nausea. He doesn’t do throwing up. He doesn’t even do burps. That’s how afraid he is.
The migraines don’t help. If anything, they make him anxious. Make him trapped inside his own body, shaking and breathing shallowly. Knobby knees and burning tears. Flapping his hands out at his sides as if the stupid movement could will the feeling away. Sometimes, when he’d get really upset and he couldn’t calm down, he’d take to slamming his closed fists over his thighs. Trying to distract himself with another sensation. Something else that should bother him. Steve would slam his palms into his chest. He’d claw at his stomach until he’d either bleed or tire himself out. Would tangle his fingers into his hair and pull, hard enough to leave long strands in his palms. He’d hurt and hurt and hurt until he could forget what it was like to have bile coat his throat.
And he knows, by all means does he know, that to any ordinary person he looks like a basket case. He knows that sometimes it seems like he’s overreacting. That he’s making something out of nothing. But he can’t help it. He can’t help the little freakouts or the rapid breathing or the sound of skin smacking against skin.
Sometimes he knows how to regulate. When he’s feeling even the slightest bit sick. Open a window, stick his head out and take several long gulps of cold night air. Stick himself under a near third degree burning hot shower. (Because his mom had said that hot water helps. Not this hot, but she doesn’t need to know.) He keeps a case of ginger ale. Has a new addiction to peppermint gum. Shoves his big head between his knees and just prays. He’ll say over and over in his head: “You will not throw up. You don’t need to throw up. You aren’t sick. You won’t throw up.”
It’s all worked. Kept himself puke-free since sixth grade.
But now he gets migraines.
And today’s the worst one he’s ever had.
———
If he doesn’t open his eyes, he won’t throw up. Because if the light gets in his eyes, the pain will worsen. And if the pain worsens, he’ll throw up. But he won’t. Because he doesn’t do that.
It’s 9am on a Monday. He woke up nearly four hours ago, head throbbing, lights infuriating, and body aching. His sheets have been pulled away. And his blanket is tossed somewhere on the floor. Down to his underwear and nothing else. Very briefly, he considers stripping those off, too. He’s sweating, even though the A/C is on, even though his window is open, even though it’s something like forty-three degrees out.
He can’t take the smell of himself. Or the pillow under his head. Laundry detergent, sweat, and the lingering ghost of cologne. His stomach is churning like crazy. Every little movement makes his insides flare. And he thinks, at any moment, he’ll upchuck onto his mattress. Maybe he should go lay on the cold bathroom tiles, wrap himself around the base of the toilet.
I won’t throw up, he thinks behind the deep furrow of his eyebrows, I can’t throw up. I don’t need to. Don’t throw up, Steve.
He should get up. Get an icepack. Something to snack on. His medicine.
But if he stands up, he’ll be slammed by vertigo. If he’s dizzy, he’ll throw up. And if he throws up, he probably won’t stop. And then his heart will try to burst out of his chest and he’ll still be throwing up and then he’ll have a heart attack all by himself, but he’ll be covered in his own puke. He gently turns his head into his pillow, where the cold is running from him, and groans.
Something clatters to the ground downstairs. Followed by the thud of several footsteps. But he can’t get up. Vertigo means throwing up. I won’t throw up, I won’t throw up, he repeats, a mantra.
Then, all at once, his bedroom door is swung wide open and the bright amber light in the hallway is bleeding into his room. It’s lighting up the hand by his head, the hairs dangling over his eyes. He doesn’t bite back the whine that erupts from him. Somebody’s walking closer, their shadow overbearing and large over him. Their body heat like the lick of a freshly lit campfire. He’s burning in their orbit—crisping, boiling, ready to be eaten alive.
“Christ, Steve,” the person states. The person is Eddie, once he hears the voice back in his head. A familiar rasp in his voice. And that’s when Steve picks up on the scent of a recently lit cigarette. He kind of wants to reach up and strangle Eddie, choke him until he promises to never smoke again. Maybe this is how Robin feels about him, too. “It’s fucking freezing in here. Why is your window open?” He steps away towards the window, the light coming back full force. “You’ve got a shift today, y’know? Robin’s already there. Called me to come get you because you’re late and—“
“Shut up, Eddie,” Steve finally gets himself to grumble. It doesn’t have the bite he wants it to have. Weak and small and breaking. He opens his mouth again to add more, but his mouth begins to salivate. He shuts up, swallows and swallows and…It doesn’t work. His stomach clenches harshly and he whimpers, hand traveling down towards his overheated middle, digging into his soft flesh, nails sharp and biting. I won’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
Eddie heaves a disappointed sigh. “Dude, you have to go to work. I’m sorry if you didn’t get enough sleep, but you have to go.”
Steve’s chest rises and falls a little too quick. He can’t catch his breath. Can sense the tremor in his hand through the back of his neck. Too hot. Sweating. Drooling onto his pillow. Kind of wants to cry, but can’t do that. Can’t do that in front of Eddie—he won’t understand. Won’t be able to calm him down like his mom can or give him words of comfort like his dad sometimes does.
Instead of dignifying Eddie’s conversation with a response, Steve sits up hastily. Legs dangling over the edge of his mattress. Vision swimming. Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. His stomach swoops deep, then sloshes up towards his lungs as if it’s trying to break free. The throbbing is back full force, pulsating and overwhelming. He can’t see, he can’t breathe, he can’t get himself to wade away the nausea. I won’t. I can’t throw up. I can’t. I can’t.
He groans, reaching up to the sides of his head, gripping himself harshly. Fingers in his hair, pulling and tugging and pulling and tugging. Head tucked towards his knees. Swallowing and swallowing and…He tugs as hard as he can on his hair, eliciting a loud whine from his throat.
The window doesn’t close. The curtains don’t even move. But Eddie does. His body swarming Steve, his heat engulfing him as if he’s a house on fire. Hands flittering out. “Steve? You okay?”
“Mi—Mi—“ Steve stutters before gagging. He cries through a quick exhale from his nose. He can’t make it all stop. His heart’s beating too fast. His chest hurts from how fast his breathing has gone. He can’t. He can’t.
“Sweetheart? Are you gonna be sick? I can get you to the bath—“
“No, no, no,” Steve rushes out. “Not gonna—Won’t throw up. Can’t.” He tries to take a breath through his mouth, but with his lips agape and his tongue working to make words, saliva floods out of him. The heat of his own spit warm on his thigh, it glistens in the little bit of light from the hallway. “Head,” he whimpers, “hurts.”
“Shit,” Eddie softly curses. He crouches down in front of Steve, his hands floating above his trembling knees. “It’s a migraine. Okay,” he whispers, “what can I do, sweetheart?”
Steve sobs. “I dunno,” he wetly murmurs. Another wave of nausea crashes over him and he leans forward with his next gag. He’s not going to throw up, but the more the pain increases and the more his stomach flips and the warmer he gets, he may just do the opposite. That thought alone makes him cry harder. He detangles his fingers from his hair, flaps his hands out in front of him like mimicking a bird, and then thrashes them down onto his thighs. In front of him, Eddie visibly winces. But he does it again, harder.
He can’t see that well, but notices the way Eddie’s hands scramble out to stop him. But he flinches away. Fisting his hands tighter, enough that his nails bite into his palms, and punches down on the surely forming bruises. “Steve, stop it. You’re hurting yourself, stop it,” Eddie scolds firmly. But Steve doesn’t. Eddie visibly is shaken up, rocking forward on his heels, hands stuck between actions, and his voice warbles when he speaks. “I think,” he states slowly, “we should get you to the bathroom. And you should go ahead and try to flush out your system—“
“No!” Steve yelps with a whine. “No, I don’t need’a—“ He takes a quick, shuddering breath. Chest caving in with his panic. His thighs are sore and his hands sting. But he slams down again. “—don’t wanna—“
“Stevie,” Eddie murmurs lowly, placating, “you’ll feel better if you let it out. I promise, sweetheart, you will feel better, okay? I’ll sit with you. Put a cold rag on your neck. I’ll—“
Steve’s saliva dribbles from his mouth again, more this time. His stomach gurgles. And it’s like somebody has an iron grip on his brain, squishing the organ between their fingers, toying with it like Play-Doh. I’m going to throw up, he realizes in panic. “Eds—Ed, ‘m gonna—Gonna—“
Gently, though purposefully, Eddie grabs Steve by the elbows. Half-walking, half-dragging them to Steve’s ensuite. He shoves them down in front of the open toilet bowl. And lays his left palm flat on the center of Steve’s back, wincing at the first jarring wet-heave that comes from the back of Steve’s throat.
He pets his palm up and down Steve’s spine. “Get it out, Stevie. I’m right here. You’ll be okay.”
With Eddie’s words and the soothing touch, Steve finally allows himself to expel. Bile burns through him. And he shakes through the first splatter into the toilet bowl’s water. He could never stand the smell, the sound, or the look of vomit. Yet here it is, sour and salty and yellow. Chunky and swirling and fresh. The next heave makes him start crying again, but he doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t care about breaking down in front of Eddie because he now has to deal with this—the overwhelming anxiety that floods through him, out of him with each hurl. The rabid beating against his ribs and the gasps through sobs.
There’s so much coming out of him. Too much.
“Jesus,” Eddie mutters, “holy…You’re okay, Steve.” He leans across to the toilet paper dispenser for a few sheets. Folds it with one hand and wipes away at Steve’s face between short bursts of vomit. Barely draws his hand away before it starts up again.
Steve spits big globs of saliva-puke. Angles his head so Eddie can catch his eyes. Meekly says, “‘M sorry, Ed. ‘M sorry.”
“Shhh,” Eddie soothes. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. You gotta do this, it’s alright.”
“Yucky,” Steve sighs. “’T’s…I hate this.” He closes his eyes as vertigo slams sideways at him, T-boned by the dizziness. Takes a burbling breath through his mouth.
“If you have more, let it out, Steve. It won’t do you any good to keep it in.”
He cries softly with his next exhale. “‘M sorry,” he keens. And then he’s convulsing forward with his next gag.
Time stretches, it feels like, for hours. His knees ache and his skin is cold and his hands are slipping with how wet the toilet bowl is from his sweat. Throat sore and stomach empty. But the malaise from gagging for so long lingers, making him dry-heave when there’s nothing left to give. He rests his forehead over his left forearm over the back of the toilet seat. Sniffs and keeps his eyes closed. Shaking through the last bit of it.
Distantly, the sound of the sink goes off next to him. He’s so out of it, he didn’t even realize that Eddie stood up and left him momentarily. Wishes he could leave this, too. Wishes he could step outside of his body and not experience this anymore, for the rest of his life, for the rest of time itself.
Eddie crouches down beside him again. Gently grasps him by the chin and pulls him up to be face to face. He runs the lukewarm rag over his chin, his lips, and under his nose. “Good job getting it out, Stevie,” he whispers, “how are you feeling now?”
“Tired,” Steve mumbles, “and gross and in pain.”
He gets a nod in return. “Okay,” Eddie mutters, “let me get your migraine things, alright? I’ll take you back to bed.”
Steve sighs. Closes his eyes in exhaustion. “‘M embarrassed, too.”
The rag and Eddie’s hand slowly comes off his face. The cloth is crumpled in Eddie’s palm when Steve glances. “Why’re you embarrassed, Stevie? It’s okay to throw up. It’s fine.”
He shrugs. “Just—“ And Steve looks down towards his lap. At the mottled bruises on his thighs, peeking out from his two day old underwear. The light scratch lines on the soft give of his belly. “—It’s stupid, isn’t it? I’m afraid of vomiting. Of vomit. I—I have a meltdown like a toddler when I feel like ‘m gonna puke and…and I get all hysterical and whiny and I sob like crazy. And I—I dunno. I was overreacting and I made you have to take care of me and it’s just…I’m just being dumb.”
“Hey,” Eddie says softly, that scolding edge back. “It’s not dumb, Steve. Vomiting is traumatic, I get it. And—Before you try and interrupt me—you didn’t make me help you. I helped you because I noticed that you were struggling. And had I not, you probably would’ve made a big mess in your room. I wasn’t going to just leave you in a state like that.”
“But it is stupid, Eds,” Steve urges, voice wavering. “It’s stupid because I’m a grown fucking adult. And I should be able to handle this. I should—“ The tears come back. “—Just fucking look at me. Crying, again. I’m so—“ He groans in frustration, fingers clenching into his palms, cutting them up again.
Gently, Eddie unfurls Steve’s hands. “Look at me, Steve.” He does. Fiercely, softly, Eddie continues, “You are sick right now. You didn’t feel good. You were scared. You were anxious. In no way, shape, or form were you stupid for reacting like this. Alright? Steve, you were overwhelmed with it all. I’m not going to judge you because you’re afraid of vomit. The only thing I’m concerned about is the hitting, but we can talk about that a different time, okay?”Eddie’s thumbs work tenderly into the backs of Steve’s hands. There’s a glimmer of protectiveness in his eyes and Steve latches onto it. Lets himself begin to believe that it’s actually okay. Even if his circumstances are concerning. “You wanna know a truly dumb fear?” Eddie murmurs lightly.
Steve almost wants to cry more with how caring Eddie is, but he pushes it to the side. Favors the distraction. “What?” He mumbles.
“I’m afraid of birds. And not them existing or being in my space or landing on my shoulders. I’m afraid of birds flying above me and pooping on my hair,” he states genuinely. Steve can’t help but snort, albeit weakly. “See? It’s kind of dumb, y’know? When have I ever cared about my fucking hair, Steve? Never, that’s when. Well, unless there are birds nearby.”
“I guess it is a little dumb,” Steve whispers.
“I know,” Eddie murmurs, grinning. “Vomit isn’t dumb, though. I promise, Stevie. We can talk about it later, if you want. Or never, if you prefer. Let me get you settled in bed and I’ll grab your stuff.”
He lets Eddie guide him back to bed. Fluff his pillow. Lay him supine. When he returns, he’s holding three ice packs, a bottle of prescription migraine medication, a plate of toast, and some water.
Steve watches in silent infatuation as Eddie lays it out all careful on his bedside table. As he tucks the icepacks where they need to go. Helps Steve take his medicine, eat, and drink. And almost begins crying again when Eddie rubs gentle circles on his chest.
“Lay with me?” He quietly asks.
Instead of making up some long winded excuse, Eddie immediately strips down to his t-shirt and boxers. He slides right next to Steve, not touching, but not too far away, either. Rolls over onto his side to face Steve and gently places his hand over the cold compress on his forehead. “This okay, baby?”
He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly as he tries to relax back into his pillows. “Yeah,” Steve whispers, “‘m just nauseous still.”
“Okay,” Eddie mutters, “I’ve got some Altoids in my jacket if you want them. Your chewing gum might agitate the migraine more.” He reaches over the side of the bed and fishes out the tin can of mints. Pinches three with his index finger and thumb. And requests, “Open your mouth, Stevie.”
Steve lets him place the mints on his tongue. He spreads them out so that one is in the center and the other two are on either side. “Will this help?” He asks around the Altoids. As if to mock him, a feeling of malaise washes over him. Immediately, he lays his hands over his stomach and digs his fingernails in.
“Hey, hey,” Eddie whispers urgently, abandoning the ice pack and grabbing Steve’s hands instead. Soothingly rubs his thumb up the back of his hands and down to the underside of his wrists, where his pulse is hot, fast, and concerning. “No more of that. No more making yourself hurt.”
“Don’t wanna be sick,” Steve pants, breathing heavy through his nose.
“You won’t be sick,” Eddie says like a promise. Somewhere deep within Steve he knows Eddie’s saving face, saying something false. But he can’t bring himself to come to that realization. It sounds like the voice in his head. I won’t throw up, he thinks in tandem. “Just keep your eyes closed, alright? I’ll keep the door closed. I didn’t shut the window. Focus on the icepacks for me, sweetheart.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut as tight as they’ll go, relenting when it only makes the migraine pulse alive. He tries to center the cold spots. “Where are they, Stevie?”
“My…My forehead.”
“That’s one,” Eddie whispers, “two more.”
“And my neck. And—“ He takes another deep breath. “And under my head,” he breathes out.
“Good,” Eddie praises softly. “That was good, baby.” He gently squeezes Steve’s palms. “Tell me what usually helps. Let me help you through this so that you don’t…I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself.”
Steve quietly whines. Digging back into the icepack underneath him. Breathing out the last little bits of nausea from that particular wave. But he knows it’ll be back. It’s how his migraines always are. “I like the cold air on me,” he confesses near silently. “And I need to make sure I have mints or gum in my mouth. And I—It’s stupid.”
“Nothing’s stupid, just tell me.”
He huffs. “I have to tell myself I won’t throw up. Like I need to hear that I won’t, I guess.”
Gentle and nimble fingers massage his hands and wrists. Small circles, little vertical stripes, horizontal strokes. “I’m getting the box fan from your parents’ room. And then we’ll just lay here. You won’t throw up, Stevie.” As Eddie gets up, he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek—even where it’s sallow and tacky.
There’s something in the way Eddie says it, nonchalant but not dismissive, that makes Steve believe he’s right. Something in the way he’s not disgusted or afraid of Steve’s everything after, something in that kiss like a vow. So he indulges. Lays with his eyes shut, the box fan eventually blowing the cold air from his window onto his too warm skin, and Eddie’s fingers massaging his hands. Every single time he tenses, Eddie soothes him with that same promise.
He keeps Steve away from harm. Squeezing his hands firmly when he tries to hit or scratch at himself. Pets his hair and coos softly in his ear. And holds the icepacks when Steve goes boneless with sleep, mouth agape and drooling, snuffling softly into the calm silence stretching between them.
At the end of the day, he’s still afraid of vomiting. It’s probably something he’ll never get over, something he’ll be challenged with for the rest of his life (or however long these migraines last). Though, Eddie doesn’t judge him. Doesn’t let the negative in. He’s braver with Eddie. Safer. Afraid, but comforted.
That’s all he could ask for while going through this.
🤢—————🤢
#stranger things#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#tw emetophobia#tw negative stimming as self-harm#angst and hurt/comfort
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Rui mizuki’s lines from Tokyo debunker if you haven’t yet PLEASE I will love you for all eternity
They’re edging me with the rui crumbs every chapter I can’t take it anymore
One flirty reaper coming right up!! And by right up i mean almost a week after you asked hhahaha
BUT YEAH WE DO GET A LITTLE OF HIM HERE AND THERE i wonder why he pops up so much. Especially for someone who allegedly tries not to be around other people much due to his deadly touch? Kinda sus--
also this is the first time i've posted all of someone's lines! not that i don't always end up posting 95% of them anyway, but for some reason some of Rui's were ordered weird(they're normally not entirely in order but they're usually sectioned properly, but for some reason one of his affinity chats was way in the wrong place) and I ended up closely paying attention to which one i was looking at and before i knew it i posted all of them lmao. . . .
You've Got Mail:
"Huh? Did you know you've got unread messages? Oh, that's why you've been leaving me on delivered! Ahaha!"
no that's just because my adhd makes me hyperfocus on things and it refuses to allow me to attempt to allot attention or energy to things it deems me not having enough attention span or energy or time for and i'm sorry--
Default:
"Aw c'mon Ed, again? Why does he always leave his socks on the floor... It's actually exhausting picking up after him all the time..."
lazy sloppy vampire lol
"You look kind of tired {PC}, you doing okay?
Why don't you stop by the bar later? I can be your shoulder to cry on."
"Hey! You on break now?
If you're super nice and you're gonna come chill with me now, put your hands up!"
"{PC}...were you just checking me out?
Hey, it's all good, don't be embarrassed!"
"Oof, Ed popped out of nowhere so I accidentally touched him and he died again. Now I have to carry him all the way back to the dorm..."
i love the face he makes when he says this lmao like he is so tired of Ed's carelessness!
ignore that he's in the casino i always have my background set there since i usually have taiga as my hs
Affinity 1:
"{PC}! Did you come here to see me first thing?
No way! You just made my day!"
Affinity 2:
"Aw c'mon, Ed, what are you doing sleeping out here? Didn't you just take a nap, old man? You're gonna catch a cold!"
Affinity 3:
"Oh hey, it's {PC}!
Can't believe I ran into you here, so random! Guess we've gotta go on a date now, huh? It's like, written in the stars!"
i love flirty characters like rui lolol just. there's always More Going On there. and Rui starts off with More right off the bat.
Affinity 4:
"I can touch the plants as long as I have gloves on!
I mean yeah, I'm pretty sure the same goes for people, but don't you think it'd be scary to test it out?"
Affinity 5:
"Come swing by the bar later! I'd rather watch a pretty face like yours while I work instead of a bunch of drunk guys."
Affinity 6:
"What? Ed was praising my good looks?
I mean he's right, right? People always tell me my face is my only redeeming feature!"
but rui works so hard!? who's saying that!!
Affinity 7:
"Oh sorry, I don't do the whole class thing! You go, I'm all good here!"
Affinity 8:
"Ouch! Aw man, that rose thorn just scratched my arm...
Wait, nooo! My rose bushes are wilting!!"
it's so easy for him to accidentally kill anything lmaoooo
Affinity 9:
"Are you out here by yourself, {PC}? Isn't that like not super dangerous?
...Wait, did that make sense?
Whatever, let me walk you back!"
Affinity 10:
"Sorry! A drunk customer broke a glass, so I'm cleaning it up! Everyone's a little pent-up lately, I guess."
Affinity 11:
"Watering plants in the AM is such a mood lift, right?
Whoa, everything's blooming like crazy out here! Better get my pruning shears."
it's a testament to how well he takes care of these plants that they grow super well in permanently-night Obscuary, i think. 8'D
Affinity 12:
"Huh? Look, you've got loose threads on your uniform. Give it to me, I'll fix it for you!"
Affinity 13:
"Hey, {PC}, did you eat yet? My door's always open! You can just stay the night after!"
damn already inviting you to stay over at affinity 13--just don't share the bed, you'll wake up super dead
Affinity 14:
"(yawn) Wow, I am dead tired...
but I've gotta take a shower, make breakfast, and do the laundry before those two sleepyheads get up."
it takes a real man to be a single mother. . . .
Affinity 15:
"Oh hey, what's your poison? Wait, I mean, morning!
Man, I tried to take my friend's drink order when we were hanging out yesterday too, occupational hazard I guess."
Affinity 16:
"A mission? I'm good, thanks though!
Oh hey, you should invite Lyca! He'd totally be into that!"
Lyca also probably needs them to pass the grade lol
Affinity 17:
"No way, look at the time!
Wish I could keep listening to you talk... Wanna stay over?"
Affinity 18:
"Oh man, I'm sorry! I'm closing early, I've got plans with a friend tonight. It'd be awesome if you could come by tomorrow!"
Affinity 19:
"Congrats on making it through another day, {PC}!
I seriously admire you for working so hard. You're not doing this all for me, are you?"
Affinity 20:
"Morning!
Whoa, you wanna help me with the housework, {PC}? It's all good, thanks though! The thought's more than enough for me."
c'mon, refusing help at affinity 20? let the pc be your little helper at least!
Affinity 21:
"Obscuary looks like it'd be full of downers, but it's actually pretty lively in there, right?
Not gonna lie, I def prefer it that way."
Affinity 22:
"Lyca's an open book, but the flip side is he says the darndest things... I feel like watching him is bad for my heart..."
he talks so much about his teammates, he really is such a mom. . . .
Affinity 23:
"My eyes are red? Huh, that's weird...
Oh yeah, I was cutting onions just now when I was preparing the appetizers for the bar!"
. . .idk this is pretty high affinity. . .you were crying about something weren't you rui. . .or romeo paid you in weed and you were getting tweaked up in the back of the bar
Affinity 24:
"Oh, don't worry about me, I always sleep late! I'm down to chat till you drift off to dreamland."
Affinity 25(max):
"Sometimes I wish I could've met you as a regular guy.
I guess you wouldn't have given me the time of day if I had though, ahaha."
is it just me or. . .does it feel like he gets a little more distant as his affinity gets higher? like after affinity 17 it feels like he gets a little less flirty and a little more at arms length. . .like he knows his feelings are getting so strong that he might not be able to resist touching you, but he's too scared to do it even with the gloves on. . .so he tries to keep you a little further away. . .and then he admits it, he wishes he could be with you like a normal person, but if he were just some flirt in the street none of this would have ever happened. Poor Rui, he's cursed to be beloved but unable to give love how he wants in return.
Spring:
"Oh man, so nice... The weather's like perfect this time of year, right? Wish we could just chill like this forever."
"Man, you wouldn't even know it was spring with how bleak it is in Obscuary! Aren't there any cuter anomalous plants out there?"
"I feel like Ed's getting more senile every day... Maybe I should confiscate his tablet."
"So, what do you think of my spring-inspired cocktail? Almost as cute as you, right? I'm gonna add it to the menu!"
Summer:
"C'mon! It's summer, how can the sun never rise in Obscuary!? I wanna get a tan!"
"It's not summer if you don't hit the beach! I used to go all the time back when I surfed. And then I'd pick up girls on my way home...
Just kidding, I promise!"
why 'just kidding' lolol you're not together! this relationship is not monogamous even if you were!
"Ta-da! I've got sparklers!
Fireworks are fun and all, but there's something special about holding a light that only sparkles for a hot moment."
"It's so hot out, I bet the bar's gonna be a ghost town...
Guess I'll send Harurin and Romi a PR message!"
reaching out to the local population of alcoholic ghouls to remind them to give him business lol
Autumn:
"There's so many dead leaves this time of year, it's a nightmare keeping on top of them!
But you can use them to make a fire and roast stuff. Gotta look on the brights!"
"Hey {PC}, when are you free? I have a date idea for us—a romantic walk to admire the fall leaves! I'll pack us a lunch!"
"Oh damn! You look so cute all bundled up like that, {PC}! We've gotta take a selfie together!"
direct contrast to romeo who sees you in winterwear and calls you a fat slug kekw
"That piano anomaly makes the soundtrack for the bar! The song picks really tug at the heartstrings, right?"
Winter:
"You're a little late today, huh? If you can't get up in the cold, I could be your alarm!"
just gotta be really loud since he'd be too afraid to touch you awake, since he actually wants you to y'know wake up--
"Oh man, how is Lyca so full of energy when it's this cold? You should take him to Frostheim and see if he runs around in the snow like a puppy."
rui pointing at lyca: that dog is my son please take care of him
"Nothing like winter to make you miss the warmth of human touch...
Oh, I'm good! Just getting to talk like this is all I need!"
BBY WE ARE ALL BUNDLED UP. YOU CAN HUG YOU'VE BOTH PROBABLY GOT ON AT LEAST TWO LAYERS JUST DON'T TOUCH FACES.
"Here, this Rui-original hot cocktail will warm you up!
I'll blow on it for you, free of charge!"
is this the next step after gamer bathwater. host club host breath.
His birthday:
"Yeah, it's my birthday today!
Oh damn, you're gonna celebrate it with me!? No way, I'm like, super touched right now!!"
Your birthday:
"{PC}... Happy birthday!!
C'mon, birthday girl, sit down and chill out! This is your day, you should take it easy!"
New Years:
"Happy New Year!
Want to start the year off on a high and come on a shrine date with me?"
Valentine's Day:
"Oh damn, are these for me?
My heart! Is this your way of professing your love to me? Do I have a shot here?"
White Day:
"Ta-da! Happy White Day! This is for you!
What's inside? You've gotta open it and find out!"
April Fool's Day:
"Guess what!? I finally broke my curse! Let's hold hands...
just kidding! April Fools!"
this feels more like a joke on him than on you. . .a mean one at that lol
Halloween:
"Happy happy happy Halloween!!
Trick or treat! Obviously I'm picking trick,
ahaha!"
Christmas:
"Merry Christmas, {PC}! Oh man, I must be like, super blessed to get to spend it with you!"
Idle:
"Hey, hey, hey! We finally get to spend some time together, it's illegal to take your eyes off me!"
"{PC}?
You seem kind of busy, guess I'll take this chance to get some work done…"
Absent:
"{PC}, you're back! I was worried you'd forgotten about me!!"
he's so flirty and clingy, but also he can't be clingy because he's scared you'll die if he touches you, even if he's wearing gloves. . .also surely your curse would cancel out his? Then again I'm sure a reaper i stronger than any other [living] anomaly out there. . . .
but. yeah. rui's a darling haha he just. he's another one of the 'i just wanna be a regular person, i wanna go back to normal' characters whose desire to just be a guy makes him special in a more fantastical world. i'm really looking forward to seeing the Obscuary chapter--probably like a month away, right? 'u'
#tokyo debunker#rui mizuki#danie yells answers#danie yells with anons#danie yells at tokyo debunker#tokyo debunker spoilers#datamining cw#why am i exhausted lol
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Day 4: Hoseok - Your cat, unfortunately, picks favourites </3
Part of the Love, Amour, Aur Pyaar drabble series for February! (what a joke lol)
Word count: 2.7k
Content and Warnings: soft? yandere au, gn! reader, Hobi dearest is an intruder, your cat loves you but loves Hoseok more, knives, threats, attempted murder (not to you), dark content, cleaning, too much cat talk, reader is mad like really mad, house break-ins, unsafe housing ig, I couldn't bare to make Hobi too evil in this even though I probably should have considering the context... but it's Hobi :(
Author's Note: Hi! Another one for you guys. You guys got this cause a few kind anons and @comingupwithacoolnameishard were nice enough to let me know that they would like me to continue posting this series. Which I'm so touched by. So this is dedicated to them! Thanks for being so kind dears! This is unedited as per the rules of this drabble series/challenge. Anyways, enjoy!
You would often hear the shuffling of your cat in the dead of night. The little guy would often run around your house with his heavy flops and little pitter-patter footfalls. It didn't wake you up when you first got him, when he was just a little kitten enjoying the various rooms and halls of your house. He was so small that you barely ever noticed him running around until he’d get bored of the emptiness (usually around 4:30 am, when the birds would begin to sing) and make his way back to your room to scream up at you from the floor, asking to be let back up into the comforts of the bed with you. Then he would purr right into your neck contently until he’d wake up with you at 7:30.
But with his growing age, he had become larger and more disruptive in the night. And more mischievous as well. In the dead of night, since the past 8-9 months or so, you’d been hearing clacking of dishes, cabinets, and doors. Auguste knew he wasn’t allowed on the countertops from when he was just a little kitten, fresh from the shelter, and he was good at not opposing you when it came to his limitations. He wouldn’t climb into cabinets like other cats did and he didn’t show any attempts of trying to sneak his way in either. But it seemed when you were asleep in your room, his confidence would rise and he’d begin breaking all the rules. Maybe he was going through his teenage rebellion phase.
Nonetheless, you were often now roused from your sleep to the sound of Auguste going wild downstairs. You’d pause for a second, straining your ears to hear whether the little man had gotten himself hurt or stuck in the cabinets, but when the sounds of his heavy walking around would resume, you’d relax, turn, and fall back asleep. You knew he was fine, as every early, early morning he’d still finish his little rebellious session by appearing at the side of your bed, meowing for you to pick him up and pull him into bed with you. At this age, he was more than capable of getting on the bed himself, but you think he’d made it part of his routine to have you, specifically, pull him into bed. Even if in the day he’d happily jump up and down from your bed as he pleased.
Maybe you’d spoiled him too much when he was a baby.
Only on the nights that he wouldn’t make it back to your room by 4:30 would you begin to worry that he had gotten himself trapped in a cabinet or something of the like. You’d wait no more than fifteen minutes before getting out of bed and calling from your door out into the hall for Auguste quietly, only getting louder as the time went on. But every single time, he’d trot up the stairs, calling back to you with his me-ah noises. He’d finally run up to you when he’d see you standing by the door, arms down stretching, ready to scoop him up. He’d circle your legs for a turn or two before flopping into your hands, gleefully accepting the kiss you placed between his ears with a small mmerp.
You’d reprimand him jokingly. Asking him what devious crimes he’d been up to only for him to purr as you tucked him under the covers beside you. It was funny though, even though you joked about his “devious crimes” the house was never really out of order when you’d wake up after his active nights. Okay, maybe some things were shifted, out of place, the paper towel holder an inch to the left of where you kept it, the wash cloth haphazardly thrown onto the sliver between the two sides of the sink, but nothing disturbed. Nothing broken, nothing ruined. It was like even in his most mischievous of moods he could never be too bad.
It was another such night when Auguste trampled around the house, creating the ruckus that would cause you to stir. When you checked the time, you saw that it was nearly 4 am. You looked around you, but couldn’t find Auguste. He must be downstairs messing around.
But that’s when you noticed just how cold it had gotten overnight. Even while bundled up in your duvet, you were still shivering. Was it supposed to get this cold tonight? It was barely even close to winter, this is too much. Your poor little cuddlebug was probably freezing his paws off downstairs. If it was cold up here, it was probably freezing downstairs!
You managed to pull yourself out from the warmth of your bed thinking of your cat. You pulled a throw blanket that sat at the foot of your bed around your shoulders to try and protect your warmth. You tried to call for him, but just as you were about to, you heard a crashing sound from downstairs.
You immediately startled, taking a step back before taking for the stairs, not even bothering to turn on the hallway light. You made it halfway down when you heard a noise coming from behind you. It grew louder and louder until it was right behind you. You just managed to jump to the side in the dark to barely make out Auguste sitting beside you on the step, his eyes practically the only part of his that you could see in the dark.
“Auguste?” The cat let out a meow in acknowledgement. “Aren’t you freezing?”
You scooped him up into your arms, under the blankets you had wrapped around yourself. He felt cold against you. Maybe it had gotten much too cold overnight. “Let’s go turn the heating on, hmm?”
Auguste only pulled his head out of the blanket in reply, looking out in front of the both of you, with only his head peeking out.
You hummed a little song as you made your way down the remaining steps. The thermostat was at the bottom of the stairs, right by the front door. With the moonlight streaming in from the window beside the door, you were able to locate the thermostat on the wall. You cranked the temperature up, and the furnace roared to life from below your feet.
“Let’s get back to bed, eh?” You pulled the blanket tighter around you with the arm not holding Auguste up. You pressed a kiss against his head, before turning back to the staircase. But when you turned to the stairs, you saw a faint yellowish light against the stairs that you hadn’t noticed before. Following the line of light, you saw the kitchen door cracked open, soft light making its way down the hall.
You must have left the light on earlier. Better turn it off before your electricity bill skyrockets. You pushed open the door and immediately froze.
There was a man.
A man.
In your kitchen.
Illuminated by the light from under the exhaust fan.
Wiping down the stove.
In your kitchen.
A man.
Auguste jumped from out of the blankets, landing with a thump on the ground before skittering over to the man. You wanted to grab him and run, but you couldn’t. You were frozen to your spot, watching your precious cat approach this stranger.
Auguste ran between the intruder’s legs, purring as he rubbed his face and body against his ankles. Between the various thoughts coursing through your head, you had one neuron notice that the man was wearing your guest slippers. Auguste bumped his head against the man’s leg, before meowing his grievances up at him.
The man just chuckled quietly, before whispering, “give me one second, Auguste. I’m almost done with the last of the cleaning.” He continued to wipe up the counters and stove for a few more seconds before finally rinsing the washcloth in the sink and putting it to the side to dry. In the same spot you always put it. By the window. Wait, why was the window open?
He washed his hands, drying his hands against his shirt before picking Auguste up. He pressed a kiss against his head, between his ears just as you do. “It’s getting late, shouldn’t you be running up to Y/n, hmm? Cuddling up to them? Making me all jealous?”
Auguste purred in his arms. You could see him moving Auguste around in his arms, bouncing him in his arms like a baby. “You should go up. Don’t want ‘em to come down and look for you, do you? What would we do if I was caught, hmm? Then I’d never be able to come and see the two of you?”
Auguste meowed up at him, pawing at the man’s face.
“You’re right. Maybe it’s time that I finally introduced myself to your parent. Then I could win them over and finally take both of you away with me.”
Auguste let out a disgruntled noise, before licking at the man’s cheek.
“Okay, okay,” the man relented. “I’ll move in instead, happy? Then all three of us can live happily ever together in this beautiful, clean house. Think you could cuddle up to me when I come over for the first time when they invite me over for the first time? If they think you just instantly loved me, then I might win them over even quicker!” The man laughed quietly.
“You, me, and—” he turned around and locked eyes with you. “—Y/n.”
The two of you stared at each other. Both frozen in place as if your bones and flesh had turned into marble. Auguste looked between the two of you, seemingly confused. He began to fidget in the man’s arms, causing the man’s arms to tighten around him. Auguste let out a frustrated hiss before the man jumped, releasing him from his arms and finally pressing play on the two of you.
“Y/n, I can explain—”
“Who the hell are you?” You demanded.
“I’m, um, I’m…” His hands balled into fists as he shifted from foot to foot. Almost like he wanted to run away.
“Your name,” you stressed, taking a step into the kitchen from the doorframe. “I’m asking for your name.”
His lips were pursed together. “I don’t, um… I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that…”
You raised your eyebrows, an incredulous scoff passing through you. “But you’re supposed to be in my house?”
The man could see your expression even though his shadow was covering you, but even if he couldn’t, your tone made it clear that you weren’t happy.
“I was… just cleaning.”
“Oh! Just cleaning? Oh that makes it so much better. Now I’m not concerned at all with this stranger standing in my kitchen!”
He winced. The man knew he’d said the wrong thing.
You moved to grab a knife from the knife block near you, pointing it at him with both hands. With your hands preoccupied, the blanket had fallen from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, just missing Auguste. “You have five seconds to tell me your name and why you’re here before I kill you.”
The man’s eyes widened, slowly raising his hands in alarm. Why is it that he was in your house uninvited, but he felt like the one who needed to call the cops? “Uh, come on, Y/n. We don’t have to go that far,” he tried.
Your eyes darkened, taking another step towards the man. “Don’t say my name. Don’t you fucking dare say my name.”
The man backed up until he was pressed against the counter, his hands coming back to steady himself. You continued closer to him, until you had the tip of the blade pressed against his adam's apple.
“Tell me your name before I slit your throat!” you screamed at him, eyes crazed.
“Fine! Fine, my name is Jung Hoseok. I met you once, at a bar.” Hoseok had turned his head slightly away from your knife, eyes screwed tight. Hands clenching tightly to the counter for dear life.
“Who the fuck cares how I met you? All I care about is that I have a name to give the police when they come to collect your body!” You pulled the knife back and straightened your aim for his jugular. But just before you could bring the knife down on his flesh, your cat began meowing like crazy at your feet.
He was on his hind legs, his front paws clawing at both your legs as he cried, wheezing his little heart out at the both of you. You’d never seen Auguste so stressed. You’d always kept him so happy.
You took a step back from his sharp claws, pulling your calf up to try and soothe the marks Auguste had scraped onto you.
You watched as Hoseok, given the room to move around freely now, scooped Auguste right up into his arms, pressing hisses to Auguste’s upset face.
“Hey there,” he sweetly spoke to your cat. “Now, now, your parent isn’t hurting me. It’s okay. Shhh, shhhhhh, it’s okay. They are just a bit surprised, okay? They won’t hurt me. See, I’m not hurt.” He raised his chin to show Auguste his neck. “See, I’m a-okay.” You watched Auguste relax in Hoseok’s hold, moving to lick all over his face as if he was trying to heal him.
“Now why don’t you ask your parent, not to kill me, hmm?”
You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you trying to use my cat to manipulate me?”
Hoseok just shook his head, Auguste still curled up in his arms purring. “No, just trying to get him to talk some sense into you.”
“You’re talking about a cat right now.” You brought the knife back up, pointing it at him as he took a step forward. Auguste immediately straightened up, hissing at you.
“Did–Did you just hiss at me?!” You asked your cat, only for him to swipe at you with his claws. Even though you were out of reach for him to scratch you, the damage had already been done. “You’re choosing the intruder over me?!”
Auguste hissed at you again.
Hoseok laughed sweetly, too sweetly for the fact that you had a knife aimed right at him while he had nothing to protect himself with. It only made your anger heighten. “Don’t you know, you’re talking to a cat right now?” he threw your words right back at you.
“Oh fuck off!” You moved to cut him with the knife, only for Auguste to hiss at you again, this time his claws actually landing on you, cutting open your forearm. “Auguste! What the hell?!” You dropped the knife, narrowly missing your foot as you stepped back in pain.
Hoseok gasped, pulling the cat back from you. “Auguste! You can’t do that to Y/n! No matter what they do to me, you don’t hit them!”
Auguste only made a smug sound as he stared at you from his place in Hoseok’s arms.
“What black magic did you do to him?! Why does he like you more than me? Why is he protecting you and not me!”
Hoseok immediately tried to reassure you. “Oh no, Y/n, you misunderstand! Our baby doesn’t pick favourites! He loves you just as much as he loves me. He only did that ‘cause you had a knife! Now that you put it down and he knows you won’t hurt me, he’s fine, see?”
He held Auguste out into your face by his armpits. Auguste only stayed silent as he stared into your soul. He had never seemed so upset with you.
“Come on, Auguste,” he coaxed your cat, your baby into being kind to you. “Give them a kiss so they know you love them just as you love me.”
Auguste refused to lick you, but with some more of Hoseok’s sweet encouragement, he pressed the pads of his paw against the tip of your nose. Seemingly, the most affection he was willing to give you after you almost killed his second favourite person. Or maybe his first, you weren’t really sure if you were still number one in his eyes with the blatant aggression he’d shown you tonight on Hoseok’s behalf.
“See, Y/n.” Hoseok brought Auguste back against his check, only for him to instantly start purring again. “He doesn’t hate you. Do you, Auguste?”
You watched as Hoseok fussed over Auguste and how Auguste, in turn, revelled in his affection just like he always did with you.
You were never gonna be able to get rid of Hoseok now were you?
No you will not lol
In case you're wondering, Hoseok broke into your house by the window in the kitchen. Which is why it was open, and also why your house was getting so cold so quickly. Like yeah, the night was cold anyway, but it was made worse by him leaving the door open.
Auguste does love the two of you equally... at least that is what Hoseok thinks. But after Hoseok making it routine to come into your house to wipe the counters, sweep, reorganize your pantry, snoop through your things and watch you while you sleep, and give Auguste plenty of pets and give him company during his nightly walks around the house, he'd quickly become number one. But you were still a very close second.
Oh yeah, also, Auguste was not the one who was making all that noise the past 8 or 9 months, it was Hoseok. Auguste just inadvertently took the blame lol
Anyways, let me know if you enjoyed. Hearing what you guys think is why I post anything in the first place, so please do comment. It lets me know that I'm not wasting time posting my silly ramblings.
Take care!
#yandere bts#yandere hoseok#yandere hobi#yandere j-hope#yandere jung hoseok#yandere bis drabbles#yandere hoseok x reader#hoseok x reader#jung hoseok x reader#yandere jung hoseok x reader#hoseok fanfic#hobi fanfic#yandere oneshot#yandere drabble#yandere au#Ev's writing#series: love amour aur pyaar
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Rating: G
Wordcount: 2,674
Summary:
Ever since Zagreus confessed his feelings to Dusa, she's been unable to focus. Should she tell him she doesn't feel the same way? Is that even true? And what if this damages their friendship that she values so much?
She doesn't expect reassurance to come from Zagreus's ex, but some girl talk with Megaera turns out to be just what Dusa needs.
(Read on Ao3)
#hades#hades supergiant#hades game#hades fanfic#dusa#zagdusa#ace dusa#aro dusa#I am a simple person#I see an aroace character#I write a fic about them#this was the first fic I wrote for this fandom months ago#only just now got around to cleaning it up and posting#my point is writing about aroace characters was my gateway drug to writing about the other characters too#I just love the way the game treats their relationship okay!#cyankelpie's fic
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Scientists are very serious.
This is a post about science. And soup.
Dr. Elinne Becket, a microbiologist from Cal State University, is in the middle of one of those Fridge Experiments that happens to us all - except in this case, she is uniquely placed to unravel the science down to the microbial level.
While cleaning out her fridge, Dr. Becket found that a tub of family-recipe beef vegetable soup had turned bright blue. “Ok I'm outing myself here,” she tweeted, “but there was forgotten beef soup in our fridge we just cleaned it out and it was BLUE?!?!? Wtf contam would make it blue??? Like BRIGHT blue!! Even w/ all my years in micro I'm not handling this well.“
Read on for a breathless and ongoing saga of Soup and Science, and the wonderful international community that is Academic Twitter.
Academic Twitter quickly reminded her of her Responsibilities to Scientific Inquiry. (Cue the chanting from around the world of “CLONE THE SOUP! CLONE THE SOUP!”)
“I can’t believe y’all talked me into going back into the trash.” she tweeted in response, over a photo of a puddle of beautiful Mediterranean-sea blue soup in the trash bin, with bits of veg and noodles arising from the depths.
Scientists being scientists, Dr. Becket agreed to take a sample and send it to colleagues for cloning and microbial analysis.This involved getting arms-deep into the trash bin of Old Soup. “I’m never forviging @ATinyGreenCell (genomic biologist Sebastian Cocioba) for this.” Dr. Becket tweeted, with a photo of a properly dipped and snipped and VERY blue q-tip in a small clear plastic tub.
Diving into decomposing soup was not the only hazard. She writes: “My mom (who made the soup for my birthday) came across this thread and now 1) I have to answer for letting her soup spoil and 2) she's worried @ATinyGreenCell will figure out her secret recipe.“
Dr. Becket and Sebastian were able to culture the Blue Goo!
Becket posted a photo of three petri plates of streaked beef bouillon agar at 72 hours incubation, at 37C, room temp and 4C. She writes: “Left the plates where they were for another 2 days, except the 37°C one was brought to RT, which then grew white stuff over the yellow stuff and stinks to high heaven. RT looked the same. 4°C had impressive growth. Restreaked them all onto TECH agar, awaiting results!”
Sebastian, from his lab, tweeted a photo of three more covered petri dishes, with early results: “Great progress on isolating the glowy microbe from our #BlueSoup! It's so fluorescent the streak is GREEN. Still needs another restreak as it seems there is a straggler but should clear up in the next plate. Exciting!”
Then yesterday, Sebastian tweeted out an updated photo of his plates under daylight and blacklight. “Whatever grew on the #BlueSoup colony plates overnight glows under UV, but only on King's Agar B! That particular media is used to tease out fluorescein expression in pseudomonads. What are the chances that the same cell line expresses fluorescent AND blue pigments?“
“Looking closer, there definitely is a handful of different microbes showing distinct phenotypes. Could be that the blue producer and the fluorescent microbes are totally different microbes!”
At which point, Professor Cynthia Whitchurch of Norwich, England, responded: “Consistent with P. fluorescens being at least part of the #BlueSoup community. The fluorescence is due to production of the siderophore pyoverdine which is up-regulated when iron availability is limited. P. aeruginosa produced this too but my guess is you have blue Pf.”
And Australian agricultural researcher @WAJWebster helpfully tweeted a petri dish of ALL KINDS of colourful bacterial colonies from white to yellow to orange to stark black, with a cheerful: “You need bact-o--colours? I got you, fam.”
The best part is that as of today, March 9, 2023, THE BLUE SOUP MYSTERY CONTINUES. WE ARE WATCHING SCIENCE HAPPENING!
A paper is being written. And Dr. Becket’s mum is getting an author credit as the proprietary owner of the #BlueSoup recipe.
Dr. Becket’s Twitter is here: https://twitter.com/bielleogy
Sebastian Cocioba’s Twitter is here: https://twitter.com/ATinyGreenCell
Fun IFLS story is here: https://www.iflscience.com/microbiologist-investigates-after-her-beef-soup-turned-blue-in-the-freezer-67894?fbclid=IwAR0H27KqVZhzzrosnjzzKkxuKASZ-0L0Lt6hGwCRDJK8xvFbbSlyS4JvwlM
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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
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fake pizza boy yan developed a concerning taste for seeing darling eating his cum after that first encounter and starts bringing a variety of menu items with “ranch dips” and “vanilla shakes”. plenty of visual material to keep the supply up for his next “delivery” and he is definitely not spiraling into crisis just because the only thing that gets him hard for his other shoots is the mental image of darling stuffed full of his—
(Slapping these two together since they have a similar premise)
Yan Adult Film Star Pizza Boy + Reader [18+]
[Masterbation, Food Play]
-
"Come on..... Come on....."
Twenty minutes till deadline. Since the beginning of his career he stuck to a strict schedule. A simple routine to get the ball rolling as he dipped his toes in the new venture. Now that he had so many eyes on him and his content, Brie was able to take more breaks in between filming, but at this point it had been almost two weeks since he posted anything at all.
He tried everything. His hands. Toys. Videos. Brie even thought about buying pills at one point, but gaining an erection wasn't the hard part of his situation. His viewers were into a lot of things - but if there was one thing that really got their wallets open for him it was when he painted the nearest surface to him with a heavy load of his release. His donations would be flooded with comments from his hands how they wished to be his desk or pillows - or for the opportunity to lick said object clean.
Kind of like how you licked your fingers clean on the day he first met you.
The brief flicker of your face in his mind made his aching length jump in his spit stained palm. The encounter he had with you was all that he could think about anymore. He was obssessed - The innocent confusion as you opened the front door, the genuine gratitude in your expression as you handed him some cash for all his troubles and the free meal. Brie would pay anything to see you sample his sauce again. The way your eyes lit up as the flavor registered on your tongue-
"Mmh....."
What he wouldn’t give to have those lips wrapped around him. If you liked what he gave you so much what better than to get it straight from the source, right? The slick sound of friction grows louder as his hand moves quicker - eyes scanning every corner of his room for more fuel for his fantasies. He wish he had kept the photos he found of you online on screen, but he feared loosing that knot of pleasure twisting at his insides if he took his focus off the task at hand for any reason.
His eyes fall on the drink cup from the takeout he picked up earlier in the day. A boring Styrofoam cup with no clear ties to any restaurant would be the perfect container to bring you another item off the menu. The peach tea he had earlier would be a dead giveaway for any tampering. He needed something thicker, ideally with a creamy texture.
A milkshake.
Who wouldn't enjoy a nice, refreshing shake after pizza? You surely had to be thirsty after eating all that bread. Brie fisted his cock to the image of you on your knees beneath his table - hands gripping the meat of his thighs as your mouth hung open awaiting your treat. You'd look so cute under him like that - his fans would absolutely love you-
A surge of jealousy strengths his grip. Nobody should get to see you like that but him. Those perverts could fotk over their life savings and it wouldn't be enough for Brie to share you with them. Maybe the occasional stream with the two of you couldn't hurt - your face held against his pelvis as he stuffed that pretty throat so nobody could see anything but his cock slipping past your perfect lips.
"Ah.... Y/n...." It's the first time he's said your name. The first time he's let his imagination run this wild. He makes a mental note to cut it out during editingthe. Brie swipes the camera off his desk, angling it better towards his lap and the empty floor below him. He then makes a grab for the empty cup - popping off its lid as he positions the container between his legs. They tremble - barely holding into the styrofoam without crushing it as Brie spits - whimpering as he coats his girth in another layer of his saliva. For a fleeting moment he can perfectly picturing the warmth dripping down his cock as your own - and that's all it takes for him to come undone.
Brie cries out your name with a shakey breath, clutching the edge of his desk for stability as his upper body lurches forward, pouring ropes upon ropes of his spend in the general direction of the cup. It's too much- With it being so long since the last time he came, this hard - tears stab at the corners of his eyes as he shutters, nails peeling chipping at the polished finish of his desk. He misses his intended target at first go, thighs glistening with cum as he hurriedly fixes the cup to catch the remainder.
Brie takes a long pause to catch his breath before wipping off his camera lense, posing with a shakey thumb up as he holds the cup for all to see.
"Shake's ready- Guess it's about time I make another delivery~"
-
"And here you are, one milkshake on the house. We're always trying out new things in the kitchen and like to reward our loyal customers by letting them sample new items first."
Swirling your straw through the thick slurry, you take another sip with a satisfied hum. "Hm. You said this was salted caramel, yeah?"
The delivery boy snaps back to attention - seemingly lost in thought as you gulp down the shake. "Y-yes. That's right- Your thoughts?"
"It's pretty damn good, actually. Been getting kinda hot these past couple of nights so this is just what I needed right about now."
Brie bites down hard on his bottom lip as you place the cool styrofoam against your bare neck, condensation running down to your chest.
"I forgot to ask the last time I can, but my boss finds it really helpful if I get some pictures of satisfied customers to put up. Would you mind if I took a couple of you right now?"
#Brie my oc#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere oc#yandere headcanons#yandere insert#yandere scenarios#male yandere#yandere blurb#yandere smut#suggestive#yandere male
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does the queen do fluff :(
fluffy aftercare w könig!! after he kinda gets lost in a haze after accidentally destroying his cute (post virgin) gf and now she's sore and clingy and in pain!!! :(((
love u and your silly little stories mwaah xoxo
was just thinking about how i wish i got more fluff requests…
he’s new to the whole being gentle thing. he thought it was completely against his nature, given his background, but it came ridiculously easy with you. he treated you like you were made of glass before this, as if you’d shatter if he touched you too hard or held you for too long, so he didn’t expect himself to step outside of his head like he did. the only thought in his mind was how good you felt wrapped around him, to the point where he neglected to be the tender, considerate boyfriend you’ve made of him.
he panics a little at first, seeing you completely ruined at his hands. the guilt eats him up on the inside — he wanted to your first time to be handled with extra care… but he’s still so sweet about it :( cleaning you up gingerly and making you drink some of the gross electrolyte water he keeps near his bed… pressing kisses to the indents of his fingers on your hips and other various marks from where he forgot his strength. then he’s holding you to his chest, his hands soothing down the length of your spine as he tells you how good you felt, how much he loves you, kissing your tears away. he’ll want to know how you felt about it, and he goes red when you tell him you enjoyed how rough he was. he might’ve lost himself a little, but now he’s back to being completely at your disposal, making sure you’re well taken care of.
aftercare with könig doesn’t end and begin right after the sex, though, he’ll want to do everything for you the rest of the night (and morning if you let him) no matter how much you insist you can fend for yourself. he draws you a bath and carries you to it when he notices the slight limp in your step, washing your smooth skin and pressing kisses to your forehead. putting you in one of his big shirts and letting you sit on the counter whilst he makes you dinner, swatting your attempts at help away <3 you were so good for him, you deserve to be pampered.
#konig cod#konig x reader#konig call of duty#konig smut#konig x you#konig x y/n#könig x reader#könig cod#konig mw2#könig smut#könig call of duty#könig mw2#könig#bella writes⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚
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I’m a satoru girl through and through but….I saw this headcanon post on tiktok saying that geto would grip the head board with one hand…and I’ve never been the same.
a/n: this got a little kick to it ngl! a little half assed bc i havent been writing properly these few days and rather just rambling. tagging my geto fuckers @na-t0 @crysugu @slttygeto
warnings: fem!reader, reader has a hand kink, fingering, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, sex in geto’s parents’ house, finger sucking, n*sfw under the cut
anyone who’s met geto suguru knows he has pretty hands and arms. when he explains the differences between his curses, you’re only looking at his hands, at how he summons them and absorbs them back into his being. when geto drives, the way his muscles tense and release against the black shirt make you clench your thighs together.
the winning thing to finally get you to release a breath is the hand on your thigh, squeezing and feeling around. it’s routine. he’s always done it, but you aren’t sure why the feeling is so vivid now.
“what is it, darling? you keep sighing.” your boyfriend’s eyes are still on the road, unaware of your predicament before he finally has the chance to turn to you: all hot and bothered and heaving. “are you okay? we can turn back around if you’re feeling nervous.”
you were meeting his parents, of course you were nervous! but all you do is reassure him with a hand to his and a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.
but dinner is as difficult as it is — “suguru, may i have a tissue?” his mother calls out, not wanting to bother you even though you were closer to the tissue box. geto reaches over your plate with an apology, muscled arm right up to your face that you suck in a breath. your lover takes four prawns, but you already know he’s on his way to peel two for you.
he digs at the prawn’s skin and pulls, rips out the legs and takes off the head, not even hearing his father’s question about what you’re majoring in because you were too hyper-fixated on suguru’s fingers. you pray that he never finds out about this, but he manages to tease it out of you later in his bedroom which his parents have kept clean. the bed fits you perfectly fine, geto’s fingers try their best.
“this why you were so distracted this evening?” geto laughs into your skin, enjoying the shyness you’re exhibiting. even now, you’re trying to hide the way your eyes flicker to his hands that pump in and out of you, mewling into your shirt.
“y—yeah . .” you mumble, grasping at his biceps to be close to geto.
he coos, “oh, baby . . could’ve just said so.” he indulges you, leaning forward to kiss you as his fingers move at a lazy pace, strictly for stretching you out before you’re left empty. you’re no stranger to geto’s cock, and yet the size always takes your breath away.
“now . . gotta be quiet, ya hear me?” geto nudges his tip past your folds and you’re taking quick breaths. you can barely hold his stare, legs coming around to hug his waist. “don’t want my parents hearing how the sweet girl they met just now is actually a filthy little thing.”
you nod.
“tha’s a good girl . .” geto sucks in a breath when he comes right up to the hilt and he thinks he might just cum with how much you’re clenching around him. you’re always so good to him, so pliant and so caring, little broken sputters of his name leaving your lips.
“su— gu— ru—!” he makes a statement with every accurate thrust, threatening you to let out louder sounds than now. he’s so so afraid of his parents walking in, because despite his instructions, he’s not exactly following. his grunts are getting louder and spiralling into moans, not to mention, your pussy is just crying for him.
“you’re so— wet, sweetheart.” suguru drags a hand down to your clit and plays with it, making you arch your back off the sheets and grind your hips back onto his. he tuts. “aht! down, baby. i know you’re eager, but i want you to— f-fuck . . let me do all the work.”
geto smiles a little when you obey, purposefully flexing his arms a little more to wind you up. if the hand on your clit wasn’t enough, the other works its way up your body, spanning the beauty of your stomach and just feeling you. they trail up even more to your face where you lean into his touch and then they’re above you.
you make the mistake of glancing up, seeing how his grips his headboard so damn tightly it’s clear that your cunt is the only cunt to make him feel this way — his biceps tense and move together with the headboard, the uncomfortable squeaking definitely giving you two away. well, the sounds of his balls slamming into your ass was also another indicator, coupled with the squelching of your pussy.
“eyes up here, sweetheart.” you’re caught. again. there’s a smug smirk on his face at your clueless face, having no chance to apologise before he uses the hand on your clit and sticks his fingers in your mouth. you moan around them, grabbing on his wrist immediately to suck on them. geto twitches in you at the sight, rough thrusts stammering just a little and you give him a smile back.
geto chuckles, “what a slut.”
thank u for requesting! request something here ☆
#anon#asks#geto smut#suguru geto x reader#geto suguru x reader#geto x reader#geto x you#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk thirsts#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk drabbles#jujutsu kaisen geto#jjk geto x reader#getou smut#getou suguru x reader#suguru geto smut#suguru geto x you
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cr: @ave661
Simon wasn't a stupid man. He always knew better, knew to look between the lines even when you tried your best to be deceiving. Even then, the pure rejection you showed to your newborn baby was something not even the best actress could hide. Refusing to hold her after she was born and fully shutting down on Simon, screaming at him whenever he tried to offer any sort of help and support, only getting worse if he ever tried to approach you while holding the baby.
Post-partum depression is no joke, Simon realized after doing his own research, only then realizing just how bad it can get after accidentally stumbling on article upon article of mothers getting to the point of harming their own child. You weren't like that— Simon liked to convince himself despite the growing pit of dread in his stomach, anxiety seeping out of every pore of his body when even months later you refused to hold or interact with the baby.
It all came crashing down after he came back from deployment, the nanny holding his daughter while soothing her with calm words, doing her best to console the crying infant despite the tears falling down her cheeks when she confessed to him that you're gone.
Gone without a trace, at first. Simon wasted no time using his connections to know where you were. Laswell was the most helpful, giving him all the details of the help center you were in, yet even then, Simon didn't reach out first in fear of messing up your progress, not wanting to add more stress to your situation when you were trying to get better.
Four years. For four years, Simon's life was divided in deployments and taking care of his daughter at home, never once thinking about moving on, always asking Laswell for updates— updates she was glad to give him using her own connections, wanting to give Simon some peace of mind even if it went against the rules.
“It's okay.” Simon reassured his daughter, his long sleeves wet with cola that she spilled from her little cup. His home was the complete opposite of the absolute hell he grew up in, not allowing himself to scream, hit, or take out his frustration on the little carbon copy of himself sitting on the couch.
“'M sorry, daddy.” Her sweet voice made the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head, taking off his sweater and putting it away, wasting no time on grabbing a towel to clean up the now sticky mess of coke on the table.
“It's okay, love. Jus' don't tip it, 's gonna spill.” She gave him a small salute in understanding, a cheeky grin on her lips when she saw him holding in his laughter, knowing fully well she's copying him— as usual.
The doorbell ringing got Simon's full attention, giving his daughter one last look before he went to answer. His eyes widened slightly the moment he saw your shorter figure waiting for him, purposely making yourself smaller like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, a small folder held in your hands. You're both quiet for what seems like forever, the only sounds coming from your daughter in the living room, the TV displaying a kid's show Simon put on.
“I'm so so—” You don't even have the chance to finish your sentence before you're being pulled into a tight hug, Simon's burly arms wrapping around your body, every single second spent missing you, secretly hoping you'd come back one day crashes down on him the moment he feels your arms wrap around his waist, holding him as tight as possible, as if he'd disappear if you don't hold onto him for dear life.
“I got better.” You whisper into his ear, rubbing his back soothingly when he doesn't let go of you. Not yet— not when the love of his life is finally back after years. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder before his face goes back to burying in the crook of your neck, taking in the familiar scent.
It takes minutes for Simon to finally let go, hesitation clear in his actions as he looked down at you, keeping one hand on your waist in silent fear of you seeping through his fingers. The folder in your hand gets his attention, giving you a questioning look before you offer it to him, managing to give him a small smile of reassurance despite all the anxiety and fear.
“My psychotherapist wrote it. It's... just a paper that shows the progress I've made from her perspective.” You stand awkwardly as he reads the document, taking in every single word written by the woman who has been helping your for four long years. You can hear your daughter giggling at the TV show, only making the anxiety in your stomach grow more by the second.
To your surprise, Simon steps out of the way to allow you into the home he created, his safe haven. Nothing changed from the last time you were here, other than toys scattered all over the place, likely from Simon being too busy bonding with his daughter to even clean.
You can see the little girl sitting on the couch as you walk closer, her brown eyes fully focused on the screen until she hears something from behind her. She's so much bigger now, looking like a tiny carbon copy of Simon, down to the little skull-patterned pajamas she was wearing.
She turns around after seeing you from the corner of her eye, her little face lighting up into a toothy grin as she jumps from the couch, sprinting towards you as fast as her little legs allow her to.
“Mommy!” You crouch down to her height out of pure instinct, almost being knocked off balance when she crashes into you, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck. The fact that Simon never stopped talking about you to her and kept your pictures warms your heart, being as delicate as possible as you hug her back.
“Y'look so pretty.” She has Simon's accent, making you let out a small laugh before looking down at her, cupping her cheek just to examine her features better.
“Thank you, sweet girl.” You're glad for the way she cuddles up to you again, not bothering to hide the tears falling down your cheeks at the sheer love displayed by the same girl you left four years ago. Your gaze drifts up to Simon, whose eyes are glossier than usual despite the fact that he's not shedding a tear. He gives you a small nod in acknowledgement, not daring to look away from the heartwarming scene in front of him.
“Daddy talks a lot about you.” She whispers into your ear, covering her mouth as if she's telling you the biggest secret ever. You giggle at the little gossiper, your warm hand running up and down the length of her hair.
“He does?” You whisper back, giving Simon a cheeky look at the admission, one of his thin eyebrows raising when he sees your daughter nod her head vigorously, giggling as she looks at Simon.
“Well, I'm sure he talks a lot about you too.” The pure forgiveness that comes from both of them drowns the guilt, if only for a short while.
“You're such a pretty princess.” Your arms wrap around her again, rocking her softly from side to side, allowing yourself to take in their love. It doesn't take long for Simon's resolve to falter, dropping to his knees and wrapping his burly arms around his girls protectively, planting a little kiss on your forehead.
Despite everything, there's no one else he'd rather spend the rest of his life with.
Dad!Ghost Masterlist
#dad!simon riley#dad!ghost#hurt/comfort#cod mw2#cod mwii#call of duty#ghost mw2#ghost cod#simon ghost x reader#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#tw postpartum depression#dad mw#cod simon ghost riley#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley imagine#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost call of duty#ghost x fem!reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#ghost x female reader#ghost x f!reader#simon x reader#simon riley headcanons#ghost simon riley#simon riley cod#mw2 ghost
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if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow
★ : summary :: when they lose a race
★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris
★ : genre :: hurt/comfort; angst; fluff
★ : word count :: 2.7k
Max Verstappen
Max had never felt so distant from you. He had the win in his bag, he started good and was going to give it his all but was forced to retire due to a sudden engine failure while leading the race.
He was rightfully disheartened. The post-race meeting only added to his frustration as blame was thrown around instead of taking responsibility. It only got worse when he walked out of it with a, ‘This is such a waste of time.’
As he ranted in the car, his anger palpable, you listened silently, and caressed his hand when, had gotten a call from his dad.
“Just let it ring,” you whispered from the passenger seat. Your attempt was futile though before he picked up the call and put it on bluetooth in his ear.
You waited until you reached home before discreetly ending the call, giving Max a moment to compose himself. He didn’t let you hear anything but as he sat in his seat, rubbing his face to get rid of his emotions, you knew the conversation had affected him deeply.
Opening his car door, you pulled him out using his hand before getting home before you both took a shower in silence, allowing Max the space to process. It wasn't until you were tucked under the covers, clean and warm, that he finally spoke.
"I just hate feeling like I let everyone down," Max confessed, his voice heavy with guilt.
"You didn't let anyone down, Max,” you reassured him, kissing the top of his hand. “You gave it your all out there.”
"I still feel like I'm constantly disappointing everyone," Max muttered, his voice thick with frustration.
"You're not a disappointment, Max. You're a phenomenal driver, and sometimes things just don't go our way.”
"It's hard to believe that sometimes," Max admitted, his gaze distant and you realized what exactly he was thinking about right now.
"Your dad's words don't define you, Max. You're so much more than that," you said firmly, refusing to let him internalize the negativity.
"It's just… I've always looked up to him, you know? His opinion matters," Max confessed, his tone tinged with sadness.
"But you're your own person, Max. And you're incredible in your own right," you reminded him, squeezing his hand gently.
"I know, but… it still hurts," Max admitted, his shoulders slumping with the weight of it all.
"I wish I could shield you from all of this," you murmured, feeling a pang of helplessness. Your boyfriend nodded softly, looking so so so small that it was physically hurting you to even keep looking at him, his eyes reflecting the turmoil within.
"Hey, look at me," you said, gently tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. "You are loved, Max. Don't ever forget that." "Thanks, Y/N. I needed to hear that," Max replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Anytime, Max. I'm here for you, through the highs and the lows," you said earnestly, offering him a comforting embrace.
He looked conflicted for a second and you were sure whatever he was about to say was going to officially break your heart into two. Max's voice was barely above a whisper when he admitted it, his expression pained,"It's just… seeing them celebrate my failure, it stings."
"I know it's tough seeing those celebrations, Max, but remember, those people celebrating are just haters who can't accept that someone is doing better than them," you said firmly, trying to inject some perspective into the situation. "Their joy comes from a place of envy, not genuine happiness. Don't let their negativity dampen your spirit."
"I hope you're right," Max said, his voice tinged with doubt. "Thanks for always being there, babe. I don't know what I'd do without you," Max said sincerely, his eyes reflecting gratitude.
"You'll never have to find out, Max. I'll always be by your side.”
Lewis Hamilton
Your heart dropped the moment you saw the tire puncture Lewis’ car in the second last lap of the race. His frustration and curses echoed through the headphones, reaching you with a painful clarity.
“Don’t tell me to calm down! This is all so shit!” Lewis’s distorted voice cried through the radio. “I was so fucking close!”
As much as it hurt you to listen to this, you decided to keep your emotions at bay so you could handle your boyfriend’s better. Silently making your way through the people in the paddock to the back.
The chaos and disappointment from everyone forcing your chest to hurt a little. The only thought in your mind was how Lewis was probably feeling much much worse than you right now.
You heard his car before you saw him, and when you did, the defeat etched on his face made you want to cry. Lewis seemed drained and defeated, devoid of the usual fire.
“Baby?” You called, catching his attention. He nodded at someone before making his way towards you. Pulling you into a less crowded area before wrapping his arms around your shoulder.
"I don’t think I can face the interviews and media circus after this," he confessed, his breath warm against your neck.
"Should I go get the getaway car ready?" You joked, delighted to hear a small huff from his mouth.
“Can’t really leave before that though,” Lewis replied. “I’m beat, just wish it wasn’t this close to winning.”
Realizing he needed encouragement, you took a deep breath and spoke softly.
"Lewis, it's incredibly tough luck to have a tire blowout so close to the finish line, especially when you were leading so strongly," you said, feeling his grip tighten around you. "But these moments, they test your resilience and determination."
He nodded, his shoulders relaxing a fraction as you continued to rub his back.
"I know it's hard, Lewis, but remember, every setback is just a setup for a comeback," you whispered soothingly.
"I just had my heart set on this win," he murmured, disappointment evident in his voice.
"I know, love, but sometimes things don't go as planned," you replied, offering a comforting squeeze.
"It's like the universe has it out for me today," Lewis said with a bitter chuckle.
"Maybe it's just testing how badly you want it," you suggested optimistically. "Well, it's certainly made its point," he said, a hint of bitterness lingering.
You were about to speak again when he interrupted.
"I just wish it had been enough."
"It will be next time," you said confidently, refusing to let him dwell on the defeat.
"I hope you're right," Lewis said, a hint of determination creeping back into his voice. "Thanks for always believing in me.”
"Always, Lewis. That's what lovers are for," you said, smiling warmly at him, admiring his eyes that had some of their shine back intact.
Carlos Sainz
The relief you felt when Carlos walked out of the safety car before making his way towards you was indescribable. From the moment his car collided with another due to a racing incident until now, with his arms around your shoulders, you hadn't taken a single calm breath.
It was probably less brutal than what was shown on the screen, given that it happened so fast that none of the drivers had even processed what was happening. Still the incident had left you with a knot of dread in your stomach.
Carlos was okay, you repeated to yourself, but it didn't quell the pounding of your heart or the trembling of your hands. You were trying to stay composed but it was really hard while your boyfriend talked to someone from the team, frustrated that he had to retire so soon.
"Hey, at least you're still in one piece," you pointed out, trying to inject a bit of humor into the situation but it sounded dry and that was when Carlos took a good look at you, his gaze sharpening as he realized how shaken you were.
"Babe, are you alright?" Carlos asked, his concern evident in his voice as he reached out to touch your trembling hand.
"I'm fine, just a bit shaken," you admitted, forcing a shaky smile as you tried really hard to stay in the present and not let your brain run rampant.
"I'm so sorry you had to see that," Carlos said, his eyes filled with regret as he pulled you into a comforting embrace. Knowing that he would’ve been the same if it was the other way around.
"I promise I'll be more careful out there," Carlos vowed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.
"I'm just glad you're okay," you whispered, burying your face in his chest as you finally allowed yourself to let go of the tension you had been holding.
"It's not your fault, Carlos. These things happen in racing-”
"I know, but I hate putting you through this," Carlos said, his voice filled with remorse. "Let's forget about the race for now, okay? We'll focus on us."
"That sounds perfect," you agreed, feeling a sense of peace wash over you as you leaned into his warmth, longing to put the ordeal behind you.
"I love you so much," Carlos said earnestly, his eyes filled with love as he looked at you. Hands holding you tight against him, grounding you so you could understand that he was real and wasn’t going anywhere.
"Let's get out of here and grab some dinner, just the two of us," Carlos proposed, eager to shift your focus away from the day's events as he led you towards the exit. Mentally making a list of things he would tell you to take your mind off of what happened today.
Charles Leclerc
You found yourself seething almost as much as Charles after yet another podium slipped away due to a messed up pit stop. It lasted more than a fucking forever at such a pivotal moment in the race.
It really made you wonder whether his team was even working with him or deliberately against him to make sure that neither of them could score more points. He had opted to stay silent, shutting out the media and team meetings, and unfortunately, that meant withdrawing from you too.
“Charles?” You asked after giving him ample time to process the race in the sitting room all alone like he requested.
He simply hummed before taking a sip of whatever his glass held before you carefully took it from his hand and put it on the table. Crawling into his lap to make sure he knew he could lean on you.
"This isn't the solution," you whispered, pointing to yourself. "Talk to me. Mid-life crises are lighter when shared."
“I don’t think I have the brain to make a correct decision ever.”
"Hey, don't say that," you said firmly, looking into his eyes with a mixture of concern and determination. "You're one of the most talented drivers out there, Charles. One pit stop mishap doesn't change that," you assured, brushing a stray hair from his face.
"But it keeps happening, Y/N," Charles replied, his voice heavy with frustration. "I know, love, and it's unfair. But you can't let it define you," you said, cupping his cheek in your hand.
"I understand how frustrating it is, Charles," you said, your voice soft but determined. "But dwelling on what went wrong won't change anything."
"What do you suggest, then?" Charles asked, a hint of desperation in his tone.
"Let's analyze what happened today. Break it down step by step," you suggested, gently guiding him to a more constructive approach. "Let's start with the pit stop. What went wrong there?" you prompted, encouraging him to identify the specific issues.
"It was a miscommunication between the crew members," Charles recalled, his brow furrowing with concentration.
"Okay, so how can we prevent that from happening in the future?"
"Maybe we need to implement clearer communication protocols," Charles suggested, a spark of hope flickering in his eyes.
"That sounds like a solid plan. Let's discuss it with your team tomorrow," you said, nodding in agreement.
"But what if they don't listen to me?" Charles wondered, his confidence wavering.
"You're their driver, Charles. Your input is invaluable. They'll listen," you assured him, offering a reassuring smile.
"I feel a bit better now," Charles admitted, a hint of relief in his tone. “I was just so lost, I should've talked to you a bit sooner.” Your boyfriend whispered before leaning down and dropping a soft lingering kiss on your lips, conveying what words couldn't. "I'm lucky to have you, Y/N."
"And I'm lucky to have you, Charles. We make a great team," you replied, squeezing his hand reassuringly.
Lando Norris
The usual smile was off of Lando’s face. He faced an unavoidable collision with another car in the chaotic start of the race, resulting in damage to his car and an early retirement. Though he tried to maintain a facade of normalcy, the tension in his jaw and the sharpness in his gaze betrayed his true emotions.
Lando typically a laid back playful guy who was always joking around, had retreated into himself on this dismal day, with even the reporters giving him a wide berth. No one has seen him this dejected before and it was killing you.
However, as soon as the race concluded, it was clear why he was keeping up appearances. Lando pecked your cheek and told you to stay put before following the rookie who had collided with his car.
Alarm bells rang in your head and you were right behind him, stopping him using his shoulder.
“Babe, maybe it's best to cool down before confronting him.” You saw him sigh and open his mouth to retort but you were quicker. “Walk with me.”
You understood him obviously, knowing that the incident was beyond his control and shattered his hopes for a strong finish.
"I can't just let it slide, Y/N," Lando said, his voice tight with frustration as he glanced back towards the rookie's garage.
“I understand, Lando, but lashing out won't change anything," you said gently, placing a comforting hand on his arm, relieved when he finally started walking away.
"I just feel so helpless," Lando admitted, his shoulders slumping with defeat.
"You're not helpless, Lando. You're just taking a moment to process everything," you reassured him, placing a gentle kiss against his lips.
"It's just hard to stay positive when everything feels like it's falling apart," Lando confessed, his usual optimism dimmed by disappointment. "I just hate feeling like I'm at the mercy of circumstances.”
"I know, love. But remember, you're not alone in this. We'll figure it out together," you assured him, intertwining your fingers with his. “You, me and the team. He’s going to face penalties anyway.”
"I just wish I could turn back time and avoid that collision," He sighed, letting you drag him to a park nearby for a walk.
"I understand, love. But dwelling on what could have been won't change the present. Let's focus on what we can do now," you suggested, leading him away from the chaos of the race track.
"But what if this affects my standings in the championship?" He wondered aloud, his brow furrowing with worry, a pout evident on his face.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, babe. Right now, let's focus on taking care of you," you said, your voice filled with determination. "Let's just take this walk and clear our heads, okay? If you still want to talk to him later, I’ll support you."
He was extremely grateful that you pulled him away at the time because not even an hour later, the rookie approached Lando and apologized for his mistake.
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Measure 110, or the Self-Fulfilling Prophecy
So if y'all aren't local to Oregon, you may not have heard that the Oregon state legislature just voted to -- essentially -- gut Measure 110, the ballot measure which decriminalized all drug possession and use in the state. It turned all drug use into a citation instead, and the citation and fine could be waived by completing a health screening. The entire point of Measure 110 was replacing jail with health care and services to help people instead, and while I could probably write a very long side post on the imperfections of that approach, it was at the very least a move in the right direction after decades of the pathetic failure and absolutely racist mess that is the "War on Drugs."
You may hear this pointed to in coming years as a reason why we have to just throw people into jail for using drugs, because Measure 110 failed. And like... it did fail, kinda. Sorta. It failed in that it did not manage to fix everything immediately, and it created some new issues while also exposing older issues more sharply.
It also saved the state $40 million in court costs prosecuting low-level drug offenses, kept thousands of people whose literal only crime was putting a substance into the body of a consenting adult (themselves) out of jail, put at least one addiction services center in every county in the state, invested $300 million in addiction services, and an awful lot more. See the end of this post for more reading.
But where it failed, it failed because it wasn't supported. Police and advocacy groups both asked for specific tickets for this new class of offenses which had the phone number to call to go through the health screening and the information about how going through that health screening would make the ticket go away printed on it prominently - lawmakers declined to fund this. Governor Kotek budgeted $50K to train officers on how to handle these new citations and how to direct people to the treatment and housing supports, but lawmakers thought that training officers on this new law at all was a waste of money. Money moved extremely slowly out to the supports that were supposed to come into play to help people obtain treatment or get access to harm-reduction strategies. People freaked the fuck out about clean-needle outreach, fentanyl testing strip distribution, Narcan training, and other harm-reduction strategies.
And at the end of the day, Measure 110 gets called a failure because it wasn't a silver bullet. Never mind that thousands of people are not sitting in jail right now for basically no fucking reason. Never mind that people have gotten treatment, harm has been reduced, overdoses have been prevented...
So, yeah. You'll probably start hearing this trotted out as proof that, well, we triiiied decriminalizing drugs, but look what happened in Portland! Well, what happened in Oregon is that we got set up to fail, and still didn't fail, just didn't totally succeed.
Measure 110 highlights, quoted directly from Prison Policy Initiative:
The Oregon Health Authority reported a 298% increase in people seeking screening for substance use disorders.
More than 370,000 naloxone doses have been distributed since 2022, and community organizations report more than 7,500 opioid overdose reversals since 2020.
Although overdose rates have increased around the country as more fentanyl has entered the drug supply, Oregon’s increase in overdoses has been similar to other states’ and actually less than neighboring Washington’s. A peer-reviewed study comparing overdose rates in Oregon with the rest of the country after the law went into effect found no link between Measure 110 and increased overdose rates.
There is no evidence that drug use rates in Oregon have increased. A cross-sectional survey of people who use drugs across eight counties in Oregon found that most had been using drugs for years; only 1.5% reported having started after Measure 110 went into effect.
There has been no increase in 911 calls in Oregon cities after Measure 110.
Measure 110 saves Oregonians millions. Oregon is expected to save $37 million between 2023-2025 if Measure 110 continues. This is because it costs up to $35,217 to arrest, adjudicate, incarcerate, and supervise a person taken into custody for a drug misdemeanor — and upwards of $60,000 for a felony. In contrast, treatment costs an average of $9,000 per person. The money saved by Measure 110 goes directly to state funding for addiction and recovery services.
There is no evidence that Measure 110 was associated with a rise in crime. In fact, crime in Oregon was 14% lower in 2023 than it was in 2020.
Further reading/sources:
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Quiet. - Matt Sturniolo
Summary: You and Matt are bored of the movie you’re watching and a few things go down… including the bed frame being broken
-based on this post i made a few days back..
Warnings: smut, swearing, choking, biting, Dom!Matt, Sub!reader…etc.
You and Matt had been together for a while now, around seven months to be exact.
Tonight Matt had decided to invite you over something you’re always down for. But as of now you we being somewhat ignored while he played a couple games of fortnite with his friends.. Chris included, Unfortunately I couldn’t help but become more and more bored by the second… wishing he’d get off the game and give me more attention.. Something I felt too bad to admit considering he’s always getting off the game when I’m around… Eventually (after 2 hours) I got fed up with just sitting around in the background so I decide to grab a extra chair from the Dinning area and sit next to him
Upon sitting the chair down Matt looks up at me and smiles.. only a quick glance so he could assess my facial movement hoping I wasn’t as mad as I seemed.. I just look at the screen..
After around 5 minutes i start to focus on the way his hands are moving.. super fast.. over the keys he pressed so delicately, it turned me on, fast.. “shut the fuck up pussy” Matt shouts at a player he killed.. I could slowly feel my pink underwear get soaked, an extra large T shirt Matt had given me keeping me from staining the chair..I slowly run my hands down to my underwear to check if i’ve made a mess on the chair, hoping Matt doesn’t catch me when my hands between my legs.. I remove my hand quickly after realizing I’ve made a nice sized puddle on the seat running to my bag I grab a clean pair of underwear and rush out to the bathroom.. Not even thinking of the puddle on the chair..
I return from the bathroom and am immediately greeted with darkness.. I was confused for a second until i hear Matt, “come over here” he speak from his bed in the darkness.. “Did you get off the game? why is it dark.” i ask still confused.. “just come here” he spouts. I climb in the bed with my two knees, immediately sweep off them and laid flat on the mattress.. Matt above me with my wrists pined down with his hands.. “you made a huge mess on my chair..” He spoke leaning down directly in my ear.. “ how am i supposed to clean that” he added
“i didn’t mean to..” i spoke… “he turns his head.. “hmm what was it? what got you all worked up” he asks one hand trailing down my stomach to reach for my pussy… “i-it was.. you playing the game.. well—your fingers specifically.. they really made me hot..” i reply lightheaded.. “is that so? what about them?” he asked pushing his hands in my underwear slowly “was it? my hand on the mouse or the keys? or was it how fast you correlated it to me holding you down and rubbing your pussy” he questioned hand reaching my hole, eventually diving in with two fingers.. I couldn’t reply, too stunned to speak as he pushed his fingers further lathering them up in my juices, he pulls his hand out sucking both fingers.. pulling my underwear down from underneath me..
Kissing down my stomach as he yanked them down.. arriving at my area placing a soft kiss almost as a sign of respect due to the fact that he’s about to devour the poor thing.. Face immediately digging in causing me to spur a few profanities “oh fu-shit- Matt” i moaned, as his tongue run up and down on my clit, sucking and slobbering all over it.. “please Matt” i beg, worried I’d make a even bigger mess than before on the chair.. He just continues to eat me out, licking in somewhat of a figure eight formation.. moaning in between every one of my moans..
Coming closer to my climax i can’t help but grab his head pushing him deeper in my ocean, tongue diving deeper than the titanic, as i begin to orgasm i start to cream, him sliding two fingers in and out of me as his tongue does the two step on my flit sends me into over drive.. In less than two minutes I’m finishing, him still pumping two fingers in and out as he smiles up at me, gorgeous blue eyes staring in my soul
Rising over me and pulling my legs down he looks me in my eyes causing me to get more wet by the minute. He leans down closer to my neck kissing down to my collar bones, “Matthew please just fuck me” I beg not being able to take his soft lips kissing all over me.. wanting for him to just be inside me already.. “i’m going as fast as i can love..be patient.” he speaks finally making it to my nipple, sucking it him between his teeth immediately, rolling his tongue around it like a lollipop, he then grabs my waist pulling himself down closer to me.. his warm body hovering over me.. he releases my nipple “are you ready love?” he asks staring up at me from my boobs “yes matt please! i-I need you!” i beg in to which he pulls his pants down his ankles and off his legs.. He positions himself to my hole, mesmerized by the juices flowing out. “ok” he smiles and slides in for the first thrust, his hands gripping his headboard above me, “aghh-Ma-you’re so big oh my-“ i moan feeling every inch of him enter me.. being shadowed by his arm hanging from the bedpost.
He continues to thrust deeper and deeper in me, brushing that spot each time “oh f-fu-Matt” i stammer. “look at me?” he tells “huh” i react unable to keep my eyes open.. “look at me, i wanna see you cum, i wanna be the last time you think of when you climax” he asks thrusting in and out in such a quick pace.. eventually i hear a crack.. unbothered by it he continues to stroke deep gripping the bed frame tighter and tighter with each thrust, becoming deeper and deeper with each stroke..
“FUCK” he moans almost as a shout.. “ouu- matthew..fuck me..goodness” a few moans utter from my breathless mouth.. I can feel myself arching my back as i let my orgasm take over me. “MATT-fuck” i scream in to which he grabs my face preventing me from screaming any louder.. I can feel him begin to increase his pace looking in my eyes “yeah, i know baby” he says “cum for me” he adds.. “just like that” he says as he pushes me to orgasm..
I watch his face contort as his thrust get violent, getting closer to his high. eyes closing as he lets out the breathiest moans “o-oh fu-ck, shi- god you feel like heaven” he breathes. eyes rolling back, and just then that’s when i hear the bed frame crack, both of us falling 20 inches to the floor, mattress and bed cot underneath us, matt still inside me. He hurriedly gets up “are you ok? are you ok?” he stammers worriedly hopping off the bed “i’m ok im just on the floor” i laugh from the angle im looking up at him.
He then helps me up and stands there thinking of a way to fix his bed, now on the floor.. He decides to remove his bed frame completely for the time being.. “Can you sit over at the desk?” he asks looking at me with a concerned look.. I just laugh and walk over and sit in his chair. He then lifts the bed up off the ground leaning it against the wall and then grabs each panel one by one taking them down to the garage..
I just decide to hop in the shower..
Once i’m out the shower i come back in the room for the second time to see Matt sitting on his bed, that is now on the floor completely made up with no bed frame.. “I didn’t know what else to do.. I can order a new one tomorrow” he states.. “haha ok, what are we gonna tell Chris and Nick” I laugh thinking of all they’d have to say… “I don’t know..Nothing for now” he chuckles.. I just hop into the bed.. “your TV is up wayyyy too high now” i laugh at his TV mounted to the wall. “stop- i’m gonna have a bed frame!!” he whines jokingly.
3 hours later…
You hear Chris and Nick in the hallway talking about a fortnite game they were playing which spikes Matt’s attention. He hops up and runs out the room..
Minutes later you hear Matt nearing the bedroom door talking to Chris.. They both enter the room in a rush to what i’m assuming is get to the fortnite launch.. “Yo what the fuck-what happened to your bed” Chris states, Nick walking in behind them.. he gives you a funny disgusted look walking out the room “You both are nasty- oh my god” he fake gags. Matt and I both look to eachother. Chris shaking his head in disapproval “i can’t believe that’s what i was hearing earlier” “I need to go” He adds walking out the room and down the steps to his. “NICK ITS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE” I yell.. “GIRL BYE” He shouts back from the steps leading to his room making his way up the stairs so they can all get on the game.
You and Matt just giggle with eachother before he puts his headset back on…
De End 🧌
A/N: aye i wrote this as fast as i could for yall,so you know… my bad if it isnt “perfect”, also idk if i should’ve had a tag list but.. idk lmk if yall wanna be on a tag list.. also btw message me yalll!! I BE BORED!!
#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo headcanon#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#nicolas sturniolo#matthew sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo imagine#matthew sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut#nicolas sturniolo smut#nicolas sturniolo x reader#nick sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris#the sturniolo triplets#sturniolo triplets imagine
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Ryomen Sukuna NSFW A-Z
Part of my 20k follower celebration (past due)
Warnings: if it isn’t abundantly clear, this is smut :)
A/N: in honor of hitting 20k followers a while back, I’m going to be posting 10 NSFW alphabets for JJK men — scheduled post 11 :) - I've developed an unhealthy obsession with true form Sukuna... he is all I think about now. Forgive me because this one is for sure a bit OOC since he like... loves you
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
If you managed to break the hollow icy shell that is Sukuna’s heart and make yourself someone important to him… Sukuna is pretty damn good with aftercare. He’ll clean you up, even ordering someone to get numbing salves because he tore you the fuck up and he know’s you’ll be sore and aching within a few hours if you aren’t already. He’ll use two arms to cradle you gently while his other set works on cleaning you up and making sure you’re okay. He’ll wait until you’re sleeping to whisper praises to you, telling you that you did so well for him and that he adores you. He’ll never really say these things to you when you’re awake though.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Sukuna loves your legs and thighs, he loves your hips and your stomach too. He loves having things to hold and your body provides so much softness for him. He loves to kneel before you – that’s right the king of curses kneeling before you – to lick all the way from the top of your foot up to your inner thigh. He’ll cover your legs in bruises and bites, making sure everyone is well aware that you are his property and nobody else can have you. He adores your stomach, often resting his head against it and letting you pet his hair lovingly. Sukuna will only show this level of vulnerability to you, letting down some – not all – of his walls.
Sukuna loves his entire body, four arms, two mouths, two dicks, and all. He considers it his masterpiece and it deserves to be worshiped. He has no shame in proclaiming this either.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
If he’s not dumping several loads into your cunt/ass then what’s the point? Sukuna treats his cum just as he treats the rest of his body… It's sacred and a privilege to have it. He toys with the idea of painting your face or chest in it but ultimately doesn’t see the point in letting something so valuable go to waste. So creampies are the only way in Sukuna’s eyes. And trust me when I say this man cums a fucking boat-load. I don’t care if it’s realistic or not, he’s making you look bloated by the time he’s done with you.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Sukuna would let you do anything you wanted to him… he just hasn’t found the strength to give you that knowledge yet. He hates the idea of someone holding power over him, which is why he’s ever so mildly terrified of you. You may not realize it, but you have Sukuna wrapped around your finger… that man would kill the entire planet for you if it meant seeing you smile.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Sukuna is very experienced, having tens if not hundreds of harlots laying around for his use. But that was before you. You changed his view on that sort of thing and he got rid of every single one of them… you are all he needs to remain satisfied and that is a feeling Sukuna never thought he'd experience in his existence. Sukuna knows what he’s doing and he knows what he’s doing well.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Sukuna’s favorite position is holding you up so your back is pressed to his chest. He has a hand hooked under each of your knees and he’s holding you up that way, spreading you apart further than your legs really allow. Sukuna is either sitting or standing and honestly he prefers when a mirror is present so he can watch your face contort in a mix of pain and pleasure. He has you impaled on his cock, easily able to trust in and out of you as you fall apart.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Not even a hint of goofiness in this man when he fucks you. He is all about business… I mean for real it was actually kind of terrifying at first but now you’re used to it.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Sukuna doesn’t really give a shit about his hair down there… and yes it’s pink like the rest of his hair. It may sound fucking bizarre but if you want to trim and clean him up down there? He’ll let you do it. You bathe him often so it’s not necessarily out of your comfort zone to sit there and groom his nether region. He doesn’t really care what you do down there either. You can simply trim him to your liking or shave him bald. Whatever you’re into, he truly doesn’t care.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Sukuna is… romantic in his own way. He’s not detached from the situation at hand and he’s not focused entirely on himself. Sukuna shows his “romantic” side by letting you cum, maybe sparing you a few kisses, rubbing his thumb across the nail marks he left on your legs… he’s not one to say “I love you” or really express how much you mean to him. But it’s the small, subtle little things that hint towards his affection for you.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He’s got four hands, you’d think he’d use one of them to get himself off but he simply doesn’t see a need for that when he can have a random whore come do it for him. When it comes to you though? You never leave him, like Uraume, you’ve earned your spot by his side. He has you to assist him with those kinds of needs when they arise (heh). Though, he’s amused you once or twice by jerking himself off for your own enjoyment. Making a show of using two hands to jerk off his two cocks but stopping just before he comes because – as i’ve said – he doesn’t like to waste any of it, not a single drop can be spared.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Slave/Master kink for one… he just likes the feeling of being superior even though he doesn't need to “roleplay” to get that feeling. BDSM… or whatever equivalent there is for the Heian period. He likes it rough, messy, even a little bloody. Sukuna has a massive breeding kink but doesn’t want kids, he just likes the idea of filling you over and over again (regardless if you have the ability to get pregnant or not). Dacryphilia for sure, your tears turn him on. Orgasm control (both denying and overstimulation) are just another aspect that plays into his love of power. Sukuna loves restraints in any form, not him, though. He will for sure try and fist you.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Anywhere. Sukuna will fuck you where ever the fuck he wants too with no shame. He’ll fuck you on his bed, ruin the luxurious sheets and break the bedframe over and over. It’s gotten to the point where he actually got rid of it all together because he was sick of the wood splintering and nearly hurting you. Sukuna can and will fuck you on a raised platform in front of his petrified subjects. He wants everyone to know who you belong too – even if you don’t need to be fucked stupid in front of hundreds of people for them to know. It’s quite obvious. To be totally honest, Sukuna loves the mess and mayhem of fucking you in the tub. Watching the water slosh everywhere then ordering a maid to come clean up the damage, it makes him laugh.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
There is an innocence to you that really gets Sukuna going. You’ve done the most downright filthy things with him, you’ve stood beside him as he makes a bloody mess of someone… but somehow you still retain this sort of innocence to you that he loves to try and taint. It’s not to say you’re oblivious… you’re very smart in Sukuna’s eyes and he knows you have a mean streak. But when you’re with him… there is something about you that he wants to break so badly and he has such fun trying to do so… you’re resilient which would usually piss him off to no end… but with you it’s endearing and he can’t figure out why he can’t get enough (you’re in love dumb ass)
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Shit. Yeah no that’s the one thing he can not and will not deal with. He’s had his fair share of bodily fluids – to say the least without going into detail. But he draws the line at anything to do with vomit or scat. It disturbs him… which is saying a lot. He’s had women offered to him as sacrifice that have done several things in fear and he can say he truthfully cannot handle it. Also, no threesomes ever. He’s not sharing you.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He’s a healthy combination of both (shocking). Sukuna loves watching you struggle to even take one of his cocks in your mouth nevermind both. But your mouth feels so damn good even though you struggle to get more than the tip past your lips. Sukuna loves to go down on you though, keeping your thighs spread apart so he can eat you as he pleases. Your arousal just tastes so good to him, he can’t get enough and he will not stop until he’s satisfied.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Rough and cruel for the most part. But he can be even meaner when he goes unbearably slow, splitting you open agonizingly with two cocks opposed to one just to see those pretty tears slip down your cheeks as you beg and plead for mercy (mercy he never gives). Sukuna will fuck you stupid with one cock most of the time, that’s his little bit of kindness towards you, but you’ll get fucked twice at least… ya know… gotta get the second cock off too. He’ll give you a choice, get fucked twice with one cock each time or get fucked once with two… mind you it’s never just once even if it’s two cocks at the same time or one each. You’re smart enough to take one cock multiple times unless you want to be bedridden because you can’t walk. Both options have happened to you many times though… so you really can’t tell why he offers you a choice.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Sex can take up a whole day when it comes to Sukuna. So, no, he despises quickies. He doesn’t like to be rushed, he doesn’t care if he gets caught, he’ll make people watch. What is there that would really appeal to him??? It seems more annoying than anything really.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
He will experiment but only on his own accord. He won’t say it outright but Sukuna is at least a bit mindful of the experiments he does… he doesn’t want to really hurt you or scare you away. So he picks and chooses what he wants to try on you. If there is something very intriguing to him that he worries will make you uncomfortable? He’ll force two other people to play it out while he watches and decides from there… he’s oddly considerate of you in that sense.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
As you saw above… sex can be an all-day process for Sukuna. He can last as long as he wants to… and I mean that seriously. His stamina is infinite, nothing will stop him but himself. He can go multiple rounds until you’re so fucked out you’ve lost count. He can last anywhere from 15-25 minutes per round, he could last much longer but his goal is inevitably to cum so why bother… praying for you honestly.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Toys like we know today don’t exist within his era (the Heian period) and honestly?? Sukuna is a fucking jungle gym in his own right so you really don’t need toys… and even if they did exist and were at his disposal? Sukuna isn’t using them. Why the hell would he rely on a stupid little toy to get you off when he’s more than capable?? He’s not intimidated by them, he just would think they’re absolutely useless… modern day though… if you begged him for a vibrator he would probably cave and get you one. He may even find amusement in it.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Sukuna and fair do not belong in the same sentence so it should shock nobody that this man will tease you until you are nearly dry heaving with how hard you’re crying. He will tease you for hours, to the point it feels like genuine torture, before he feels like getting you off. Then, the unfair attitude continues because he will not stop even when you start begging him to. He likes how quickly he can make you regret your words, seeing those pretty fat globs of tears leaking down your cheeks only makes the experience better for him.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Sukuna will curse and groan but that’s about it. He won’t try and hide his noises, either, but he will try and make sure he’s not too loud. It’s rare to get a moan, whine, or whimper out of him. Especially since he has such good control over himself. But he will not hesitate to groan about how good his cock is feeling because of you… he has to give you a little something to get you to stick around, ya know? Not that you have a choice… and not that you’d really want to leave him anyways… giving up your luxurious lifestyle and being on the king of curses’ good side isn’t something just anyone can obtain, you know.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Sukuna hates your family, ever since you were dropped off to him to be a sacrifice. He doesn’t care about his donors and their sacrifices since all of them are mediocre pieces of shit at best. Though he knows a scumbag like him is not one to talk. But you? You arrived to him nearly beaten to death, half naked, with little to no emotion left in you. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Where was the fun in playing with something that was already half dead. Though, as he was about to kill you, something in your expression moved his icy heart. That truly petrified him but he’d never let anyone know it. He kept you instead of killing you, ordering for the immediate execution of your rotten family instead. He likes to joke that he had the perfect specimen nursed back to health, in his eyes you really were perfect.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Sukuna is a tall man… while we don’t know his exact height in true form… he’s been guesstimated to be anywhere from 7.5 feet to 9.8 feet. A tall man is going to have a monstrous cock… or cocks in his case. When he’s soft he’s about 8.5 inches in length, and when he’s hard he’s just over 11 inches. He’s monstrous, girthy and sticks straight out… both of them do. He will hurt… he will make you feel like you’re getting ripped in half and he will often try and fist you to prepare you for him. He cannot fit all the way inside of you, as much as he’d love to, he's not trying to kill you by rupturing your organs. He’s a tan color, one dick is circumcised, the other is not… he was feeling quirky, and has a deep rosy pink tip… or tips… you know what I mean.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Sukuna has to fuck you at least twice a day, if he doesn’t, he’s extremely irritable. He has at least 5 hours of his day set aside just for you. But really he makes his own schedule so he can do whatever the fuck he wants when he wants to. His sex drive is pretty damn high and he does absolutely nothing to deal with it or hold off. He will get off the moment he wants too.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Sukuna prefers falling asleep after you do, which can be pretty instant considering how long he may have been fucking you. So the answer is anywhere between 30 seconds and 10 minutes.
#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jujutsu kaisen imagine#jujutsu kaisen scenarios#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk headcanons#jjk smut#jjk scenarios#jjk imagines#sukuna imagine#sukuna smut#sukuna headcanons#ryomen sukuna smut#sukuna x reader#jjk sukuna#ryomen sukuna#sukuna
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