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broke-on-books · 10 months

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The live action Scooby-Doo movies?

I did not see this ask until RIGHT now (first time on desktop since crab day, second time since Nov 5 2020 [which was DOUBLY experience since I got my phone taken the same day]) so I'm going to assume this ask got eaten on mobile because tumblr, HOWEVER you poked a bear with this ask anon (as I'm sure you knew when asking) SO without further ado: my Scooby Doo live action opinions

So when you say 'live action Scooby-Doo movies' I'm assuming you're talking about the James Gunn films, starting with Scooby-Doo (2002) followed by Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed, just due to like, generally popularity and also the fact that I have actually seen those films. However shoot another ask if you wanted me to include Curse of the Lake Monster in this (because I will if anyone cares and turn this into a live-action scooby dissertation, i'd just need to like. watch the movie first) But anyways where I'm going with this is that this post is about the Gunn movies aka the ones with SMG, Freddie Prinze Jr., Linda Cardellini, and ofc our #1 man, Matthew Lilliard.

Okay so my take on these movies is... complicated. I wouldn't say it's as complicated as my feelings towards SDMI, because I watched the live actions way less as a kid and generally care less about them, but still no matter how much shit I throw at these two movies there are parts that I generally like (even love) that stops me from totally condemning them wholesale. Like the fact that these movies are FUNNY! There's so many moments from this duology that are just beyond iconic "like, that's one of my favorite names!" the whole thing with Scooby in the dress at the airport, ET. CETERA (like I can go on!)

The Gunn movies are genuinely SO fun and I can 100% see and understand how they've stood so well in the public view as a representation of Scooby. HOWEVER, this is where you start to see my problems with them. For the general American, (because that is the audience I'm familiar with) ESPECIALLY millennials and younger, who happen to make up the majority of both people on this site AND people I talk about Scooby with in real life, these movies, and the elements they introduced as "quintessential scooby tropes" are the base of their understanding of the Scooby franchise, along with likely some miscellaneous WAY episodes and maybe SDMI.

Which is where I get pissed off. In the pushing of the narrative of "breaking away" from the Scooby norm, Gunn basically invents (aka totally makes up) an idea of what classic era Scooby was like, cementing an idea of classic Scooby into the public mind that is totally disingenuous and just straight up false. For example, in attempting to portray Daphne as having taken strides to be seen more seriously in solving mysteries and defending herself, it pushes the narrative that in the classic era she WASN'T taken seriously, and only existed as a damsel-in-distress prop of a character, which is just not true??? Like yes, Daphne is clumsy, that's a part of her character, and her friends (because, fun fact, the gang ARE friends) joke about it sometimes because that's what friends DO. Framing that in some kind of sexist "that's all she does" lens is just total bull, especially as gang members fall into secret passageways/get lost etc. in WAY ALL THE DAMN TIME because that's how the plot functions! Like are we calling Velma ditzy for losing her glasses every other episode? Of course not, and Fred falls into passageways all the time, not to MENTION Shaggy and Scooby and all they get up to. Also one last thing on the topic of Daphne, like this idea of her mystery solving skills not being respected by the gang is just so supremely bullshit it amazes me sometimes, especially when she was the LEADER (or leader adjacent) through pretty much all of her appearances in the 1980s [Not that James Gunn could look at '80s era Scooby without spitting on it, but I digress]

AND THIS IS JUST DAPHNE! Like the perceptions pushed towards Fred (and Velma, but mostly Fred) through these movies are just as bad! Like okay, with Fred---In these movies Fred is just an asshole. I hate Gunn Movies!Fred. I mean yeah he can be funny but it's almost always so mean! Almost nothing makes me madder than a mean Fred by the way. If he's putting other gang members down (even halfway, like with his whole "dorky chicks like you turn me on too" line, which... ew) then to me something has gone very, very, VERY, wrong in your basic understanding of Frederick Herman Jones as a character. Like he's the cheerleader! He puts himself in between his friends and danger! He loves nets, and traps, and Elvis impressions, and wrestling, and the trapeze, and cars, and most of all he LOVES sharing the things he loves with his friends! (Sometimes to a bit of an extreme. No one wants to hear about your net facts, Fred) And the live action movies just don't understand that at all. And I know there's maybe something to say I suppose in that some of those aspects of his characterization hadn't been "established yet" by the time "Scooby-Doo" came out in 2002. But it's there if you look. For Fred Jones, being the leader means being the caretaker, (he's the Mom friend what can I say) and any version where he's cruel and arrogant and just DOESN'T CARE about his friends in the way he's shown to in the Gunn movies is just so far from Fred to me it's not even funny. And what makes it even worse for me is that this (or at least something similar) is the idea of Fred that has really spread to the popular culture. Just the "leader", the jock that makes the rules, the one that [insert X adaptation here] finally gave a personality and made interesting (something that has been said more times than I can count for pretty much every gang member, save Shaggy and Scooby).

And I haven't even touched on Velma, and how they gave her a bit of a early 2000s smart superiority girl complex against Daphne, plus the whole makeover thing and etc. etc. The Gunn Movies are pretty much what would happen if you took someone who hadn't seen Scooby since they were 7 years old (and honestly had a pretty negative outlook against it then) and tried to "fix" it, only his memory was so bad he just made up problems (and threw in a good helping of early 2000s style sexism with it) convincing pretty much the entirety of the popular culture that said problems exist and that Gunn was absolutely brilliant for fixing them (and then bringing up said "problems" whenever anyone wants to talk about Scooby) and this entire rant has been without even fucking MENTIONING what is probably the reason you, anonymous tumblr user sent this ask in the first place, to I, Swishy "Scrappy Doo Redemption Arc" Broke-on-books (dot tumblr dot com), which is his HIGHLY SUCESSFUL and utterly sadistic character assassination of my number one man, Scrappy Doo.

And I am going to try my damnedest here not to get totally into my highly passionate opinions over what James Gunn did to Scrappy in the first of his Scooby movies and how thoroughly it has pissed me the fuck off because I have been writing this post for over an hour now and if we start to really get into my feelings on this topic it will certainly be a couple of hours more but like. That Fucking Bitch. I give James Gunn personally a solid eighty-five percent of the blame for making my life as a Scrappy Doo fan UTTERLY unbearable with this stupid fucking movie alone, and just his Scrappy crimes would honestly be enough for me to say that I hate this movie, not even considering the numerous Scooby crimes I've been talking about here for the past million paragraphs, but the part about this movie that makes me the MOST mad the most pissed off is that it's actually a good fucking movie. James Gunn wrote two hilarious and entertaining movies that have become beloved in the popular culture for their successes in that arena, while at the same time pissing all over the core themes and messages of the franchise of which it was based, that of friendship.

TLDR; The Live Action Scooby Doo movies (written by James Gunn) are highly entertaining and fun pieces of media to watch, and are widely loved by the general public and looked at with fondness and nostalgia because of that. However, as a hardcore Scooby Doo fan (writing that phrase sounds so ridiculous but oh well) the existence of these movies and their impact on the popular culture can be extremely frustrating (despite any personal nostalgia said fan may have) due to their spreading of a misinformed picture of what "typical Scooby Doo" looks like. This picture is especially frustrating due to the fabrication or exaggeration of problems present in classic Scooby (such as sexism in regards to the girls), as well as giving more ammunition to other problems in Scooby fandom (such as oversexualization, and sexualization in general, which no one wants to see in regards to their children's cartoons, like HONESTLY.) Discussions of sexism and sexualization in Scooby (both of which ARE present and are issues, although not at their worst in WAY) can often lead to an overlooking of the issues that are very present and clear in WAY and have continued since then with far too little resistance (I'm 100% talking about the racism here) HOWEVER that topic deserves at least a dozen posts of its own that I am no way informed or qualified enough to even begin to think about writing. The Gunn Movies are frustrating to many longtime Scooby fans because of these reasons, but for me, and fellow Scrappy Doo fans there is also the added aspect of the demonization of Scrappy Doo in the live action movies and the affects that has had on the popular culture as well, making it uniquely inhospitable to like or enjoy the character of Scrappy. End post.

#that last sentence is such a weird tone jump btw but its because the topic flowed one way and i had to jump it back to a summary to actually #finish this monster of a post #SO anon i hope you're happy with this and this makes my opinion make some more sense. and you or anyone else is more than welcome to ask me #questions about anything i said here or my opinion on any and everything scooby related (and not) so if theres a specific aspect of this yo #would like expanded on i can definitely 100% do that for you or anyone who cares #also there are many complexities towards my feelings on these movies that i didnt get to hit on despite the monstrous size of this rant (il #check word count later but im not gonna fuck with it now because im terrified of deleting this post by accident) one of which is my lasting #fondness towards all of the actors in this movie. YES including freddie prinze jr. i may have major issues with his fred but hes also playe #characters i really really like. for example hes the va in this tv show i LOVE and havent watched in like 10 months despite the fact im on #the last season because freddie's character dies in like 7 episodes and i am NOT AT ALL emotionally prepared for that on any level because #that is my fictional father goddamnit!!!!!#also every buffy the vampire slayer gifset that crosses my dash gets me closer and closer to watching it because oh my god daphne!!!!! that #sarah michelle gellar thats daphne oh my god!!!! also i went and saw guardians of the galaxy 3 with my friend (despite not having seen a #marvel movie in 2+ years AND holding a grudge over james gunn's scooby doo crimes)[the things you do for {platonic} love amirite?]#and the title sequence SAID linda cardellini was in it and i got SO excited i was looking everywhere for her it was like wheres waldo in th #discount movie theatre FOR REAL and i just could NOT for the life of me find her (turns out she was VAing the ferret) so in a way linda mad #me cry with that role. whatever. istg i get so off topic i forget what i was even talking about but ANYWAYS <<<1 of my fave english words b #dubs (my favorite spanish word is el amanacer btw. it means sunrise. also burbujas because its bubbles and saying it sounds like bubbles #popping) BUT. AS I WAS SAYING. SEND ME ASKS IF YOU WANT SCOOBY DOO OPINIONS. DEAR GOD I GET SCATTERBRAINED SOMETIMES.#scooby doo #answered #anonymous #blah

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ahumblenipple · 3 months

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Also quick shout out to literally everyone that has ever given kudos or commented on a fic. I'm finally biting the bullet I have been ravenously staring at for years and trying to get my own shit published.

#personal #like im just submitting to an anthology #but still #goal is to work up to a novel of some sort some day #im very excited and also terrified #also (and yes I know this sounds petty as hell)#seeing the absolutely GARBAGE stuff that has been published gives me confidence #at least a little #yall know what im talking about though #“pee flavored biscuit” type nonsense

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everywhere-all-around-the-world · 7 months

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screaming crying throwing up not the skz comeback tracklist AND the txt comeback preview both coming out today i am being FED

#benefits of being a staymoa: exhibit a #HWFEBWIEF IM SO EXCITED #also i dont think i talked about the skz comeback vid with the clowns and stuff here yet #let it be known. i am very hyped about that #chanlix voiceover was um. BEAUTIFULr #like chan sounding absolutely unhinged and deranged while lix is so creepily calm #the ANxiEtY. iS sOmeThiNG wE CREATE OURSELVES #obsessed.#that whole vid made me feel terrified in that uncanny the stanley parable energy kind of way #and also incredibly excited #im very hyped #if you can't tell #ALSO ALL THE TXT COMEBACK SONG PREVIEWS SOUND SO COOL #JHFBIWUE

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pepsitwist · 2 years

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still dodging rampage spoilers like theyre the fucking plague, but i gotta say, i have no idea why they did it tonight. seeing how late everything went just...why? why do this tonight? ive only ever been to two shows and BOTH shows had issues with everyone leaving after dynamite. which is understandable. you go in, watch dark elevation, watch dynamite (which arguably always has the more interesting booking and most of the storylines), and then still have an hour to go? so adding on a whole SECOND HOUR onto the pretaped THIRD SHOW you watch in a night is just too much.

#i went to week two of fyter fest this year and lemme tell you. by rampage almost everyone was gone #one half of the arena was already empty so having more than half of the ppl that DID come leave??#that ruined the energy #cannot IMAGINE having a second hour of rampage like this tonight #im surprised anybody stayed #and if the booking is as bad as ppl are saying then holy shit #i REALLY cant believe ppl stayed. tk has to figure this shit out #soooo sick of the whole 'this is gonna be an amazing show' instantly followed by one of the shows being god awful #if youre doing a special rampage. then DONT DO IT ON WEDNESDAY!!#as soon as i heard it was filmed tonight i was somuch less excited #also terrified that this means eddie v sammy had the ending changed from what it was supposed to b originally #sounds like the kind of thing theyd change for some terrible reason unknown to any man #anyways. yeah. im mad. im annoyed. im frustrated.#trying to enjoy this damn company is hard sometimes. fuck #just look at how this shit goes!!! anyone couldve told you like 6 hours worth of wrestling is too much for the general population!!!

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thekidsarentalright · 2 years

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thinking abt how abt a year ago i was applying to colleges and was convinced i wasn't gonna get into any of them and how my mom was in the hospital dying and i was nervous for my senior year and was in a relationship that ended up being bad for me and was super self isolating from everybody bc of how depressed and out of my mind scared i was abt life and now im a month away from going to college w a full ride after graduating with high honors and getting accepted to 8/8 colleges i applied to with a very much alive mom and being single and happy and a (hopefully) bright future ahead of me .

#DO/NT RB OBVI #much to think about #like im still very depressed but for different reasons this summer... summer always makes me depressed but #like why am i so scared abt moving out if the worst of my life is behind me. bc nothing NOTHING could be worse than last august/september #also sorry if this sounds like bragging i just literally never hype myself up enough or have gotten to celebrate all of this bc my family #sucks ass 🤩 but yeah just. so much has happened in a year #and im so excited for college but terrified of moving out . everything is just so much #if u read this far i love u mwah #txt

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depresseddepot · 2 years

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I'm finally FINALLY watching arcane and that opening w the lullaby and the soldier is HAUNTING

#i knew this show was a masterpiece but goddamn every scene is beautiful #im liveblogging in the tags btw and god. god the animation and the voice acting is so so good #AAAH IM SO EXCITED #update: ive been pronouncing vi's name wrong this whole time (i thought it was v like the letter)#i love butch women.....#does this show have jumpscares bc im afraid #THAT ALARM SOUND IS TERRIFYING HELLO????#yesss the dirt in the eyes trick FUCK THEM UPP #i know nothing abt league of legends but the world design in this is crazy #is it to early to say vander is hot #''dont threaten the man who pours the drinks'' yesssss #ohhh the guards are hot too. the gas masks do it for me #i wonder what the masks are for??#im sleeping now but rip cat :(

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elle-smells · 2 years

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apparently heartstopper season2 is only gonna be volume 3 and 8 episodes long I-

#apparently alice said it in an interview or smth idk #anyway #paris trip basically confirmed #my life is complete that was everything to me #well #also exploring new characters hello??#scared terrified gonna have expect the worst so I wont be disappointed lmao #no no but srly Im very pumped it sounds liek tis gonna get a ll deeper so excited for that

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neuvistar · 11 months

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HONKAI STAR RAIL MEN AS FATHERS! pt one.

— featuring ┊jing yuan, blade, dan heng, gepard x fem!reader (all separate)

— warnings / content warnings ┊hsr men as fathers !! mostly fluff ! SPOILERS ON BLADE’S (?) PART, not proofread i think, you r married to them here, a little angst on blade’s but it’s nothing much, mentions of pregnancy, blade referred to as “ren”, them being absolute sweethearts </3 overall just fluff! | pt two. (luocha, luka, welt, sampo) pt three. (aventurine, dr ratio, argenti, boothill, sunday gallagher)

— a/n ┊oh my days i’m sooo obsessed w these, i love thinking abt them too like okayyy.. strong jing yuan + gepard best father believer !! I ALREADY MADE A SEPARATE TAG 4 THIS TOO SO I CAN RAMBLE ABT IT W MY PRECIOUS FOLLOWERS, ANONS N MOOTS !! </3 you could tell i had fun writing gepards (i rlly did)

best papa #1. jing yuan (DILF DILF DILF!)

- JING YUAN would be such an amazing father, it’s like it’s natural to him, he’s one of the sweetest n most supportive ones !! when he found out about your pregnancy he would spin you around in his arms, kissing the temple of your forehead whispering “i love you”s under his breath. hes such a dilf too jesus fuck

- JING YUAN would have three kids (jesus christ) two girls n one boy, HE WOULD BE SUCH A GOOD DAD N I KNOW IT! he’s so patient and gentle with you during your pregnancy, and he was even more patient n gentle w his own kids, he loves them very much. he would be willing to teach his children everything, he would help them with their swordsmanship skills and even help out with other things, he’s such a good papa it hurts, he’s so gentle with your children, he’s an absolute natural! it’s like he was meant to be a dad almost

- JING YUAN who would be protective over his kids but not too protective, he loves seeing them all free, especially when they were just little cute babies. his eldest daughter loved running around his office, tugging at his clothes and asking him to play with her.

“dadddd! play with me noww! brother and sister wants to play too, we’ve been waiting for ten minutes like you said, but it already passed!”

“not now, princess.” his lips melted into a soft grin, giving his daughter a small pat on the head. “how about this, how about you and your siblings accompany daddy while he works, ‘that sound good?”

- JING YUAN who tries his best to make his children happy, i bet he’s the type to sing small little lullabies for them to help them sleep, rocking his little son in his arms as he has his small little fingers around his. he’s great with animals as well, he would take his children to a little adventure one day and have them hold and feed the birds that are always around him, nibbling on their tiny hands as he guides them, helping them try and feed it.

“go on, try and feed him. he doesn’t bite, he’s not scary either right? dad’s here to protect you, remember?

- JING YUAN who would talk to his children when they were still in your womb, telling them stories about his life, his adventures and telling them how beautiful their mommy was. jing yuan would consider this as his daily routine, he loved talking to his little ones even before they were born!

“hey princess. daddy loves you so much, y’know that?”

“daddy is excited to meet you too sweetheart, yes he is. but try not to give your mother a hard time, okay?“

best papa #2. blade

- BLADE who never thought he’d ever become a dad because of the life he lives, so much regret and grief in his heart so therefore he would start off a bit rocky, he was a bit unsure and didn’t quite understand the aspects of being a father and that worried him so much. he was terrified of not fulfilling his duties and responsibilities as a father but you always reassured him that he’s doing the best he can and that’s what truly matters.

“ren honey, she can’t support the weight of her own head, you know?”

“.. she can’t?”

oh boy.. he had a lot to learn.

- BLADE would probably have one kid! HE WOULD HAVE A DAUGHTER IM CONFIRMING THAT RN. your little princess is almost bound to look like him! she’s like a mini version of blade as she has the same hair, same eyes, etc! aaa it’s so cute! he thinks so too, he just doesn’t have the balls to actually admit it. his little princess would think of her papa as the strongest person in the world! it’s adorable honestly, she wants to be just like him, big and strong!

- BLADE who would be extremely overprotective over his daughter, he would have a very soft spot for her too. he would give everything his all to secure her knowledge about the current life he was living right now as a stellaron hunter, he knew he wasn’t the best, but he was willing to change for you and his child. yet, it still worried him. it still worried him that maybe one day his daughter will eventually find out about his past and follow his exact footsteps, everyday he prays nothing like that happens, he wants her to do good, not bad. he doesn’t want her to fall in the same path he went before.

- BLADE who honestly didn’t expect to have a child himself, so when he was caught right handed carrying a small little child in his arms, kafka and silver wolf would doubt him at first, asking him if this was just another child he found in the middle of the streets, shocked to find out he was acc a father n he wasn’t messing w their heads again skull emoji

“that’s.. that’s your kid?!”

“yeah.”

“she looks just like you..”

“are you sure you aren’t messing with us? you actually had sex?!”

“.. could you have worded that a better way?”

- BLADE who would find comfort in his own family, making a promise to himself that he would absolutely devote his love to you and his little princess, he would do everything to protect you and her, even if it means risking his everything for the both of you. but yet.. he still thinks about how he’ll eventually watch you and his little princess die while he lives on, for eternity. he wants to bask in the presence of his beloveds for as long as he could, he would break the curse of his immortality if he could, just so he see his loved ones die, no.. not again. he can’t afford to see the two most important people of his life die, once again. but he knew, his fear would come true eventually.

best papa #3. dan heng

- DAN HENG is a SWEETHEART. tbh hes a a lil confused but he’s trying + he’s learning! he also never expected he would ever have a child of his own, he doubted his own abilities at first but he got the hang of it as it flows through, he’s an outstanding father too! he’s just a lil confused but he’s got the spirit

- DAN HENG would probably have multiple kids, about two! one girl and one boy. when his first child was born, he felt a wave of happiness and relief wash through his body as he was finally taking in one of the biggest responsibilities there is, he promised himself he would do his best for you and his kids, and he really kept his promise! he does try his best and tries his hardest to give them the utmost care and support, he loves his pretty wife and his kids sm and it shows

- DAN HENG would have good hearing! when his young ones were still little babies, he would usually be the first one to aid them whenever they wake up in the middle of the night crying, gently rocking them in his arms until they fall asleep in his arms, their small hands on his shirt. so cute <3

- DAN HENG who would help his kids fall asleep by sitting or laying by their side and watch them sleep, maybe he would hum a tone or two.. he just can’t comprehend the fact that he was the father of these kids, he treasures them sm and you notice it, he’s just so so sweet to you and your kids

“dan heng?” you would call, entering the room of your kids before seeing your husband laying on the edge of the bed, arm over the two young ones as a gentle grin forms on your face as you shut the door, god. you married the right man.

- DAN HENG who just wants the best for his kids, he would come off as too overprotective sometimes and it might look like he was angry but in reality he just wants the best for them and wants to keep them safe.

“i thought i told the both of you not to go there.”

“.. but daddy you didn’t say that! that’s no fair!”

dan heng crouched down to his daughter’s level, eyeing her and his son down. “daddy doesn’t want you both to get into trouble. plus, you could easily get hurt or stepped on from some big monster.”

“dan heng, stop scaring the kids.” you crossed your arms, before a tug on your shirt was made,

“no no mommy, it’s not scary! because we know that daddy is always gonna be there to save us!” dan heng grinned, pulling his two younglings in a tight hug. he really does hope he can fulfill that, he wants to be there for them after all.

best papa #4. gepard landau

- GEPARD is such a girl dad, he would have three little princesses! gepard is surprisingly a good dad, like i said he’s a such a girl dad he would cherish and love his princesses (including you <3) until the end of time, he’s such a good dad it makes my heart melt, he would probably ramble about the fact he has three daughters to serval, HES SOOO SWEET ABT IT TOO. “mhm mhm. i have three princesses in my household!” is what he would say, he loves his daughters smmm HES A GIRL DAD U CANNOT TRLL ME OTHERWISE. speaking of serval, she would be an amazing aunt i know it!

- GEPARD is such a loving and doting father! when his first daughter was born he probably thanked every star in the whole universe for this amazing gift that was brought upon him and you, HE LOVES YOU AND HIS DAUGHTERS SM BRO. he can be a bit overprotective and it might lead him to seem a bit controlling but he doesn’t mean to be or sound controlling in the first place, it’s only because he wants his daughters to be safe, he knows how bad the world can be and he doesn’t want anything to happen to them.

- GEPARD who is willing to style his daughters’ hair, honestly you wondered where he inherited his skills from since he’s such a natural at it! (he got it from serval) sometimes you’ll even see one of your daughters in cute little pigtails held up in cute little pink bows, it’s so adorable to you!

“who did your hair baby? it looks great today.”

“daddy did!” when she said that, gepard would probably be eavesdropping from the kitchen, a huge stupid smile on his face <3

- GEPARD who does his best to protect his wife and his children, sometimes you would tell stories to your kids about how amazing gepard really is, and how he’s the captain of the silvermane guards! i bet if they still had fears over little things like monsters under their beds etc your daughters would always go to gepard so he can “fight” the monsters off, gepard finds it so adorable how go to him whenever they’re scared, because he knows he can protect them from anything <3

- GEPARD probably has a daughter that looks up to him a lot, trying to follow in his footsteps. when his little daughter was little, she would sometimes sneak out from her room and sometimes catch him training, doing weird motions with his hands she didn’t quite get and copy him! she views gepard as “the strongest hero in the whole universe”

“daddy daddy! look look, it’s a drawing of me in your armour! one day i’ll be just like you, brave and strong!”

the blonde’s gaze softened, a low chuckle leaving his chest as he picked her up from the ground planting a quick kiss on her nose. “you’re already brave and strong, princess. you’re just as brave and strong as daddy is”

he’s such a girl dad ugh i love those men

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

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ooh im glad!!! so, expanding on that then..

how about price with a civvi wife/gf, and when they’re talking over the phone while he’s gone, she’s being kinda cagey and definitely omitting something, but he doesn’t know what. so when he gets back home she tells him she’s pregnant? really just a lot of fluff (and maybe angst? 👀 like about how his job is super dangerous and he might not come home, so he has fears about it?? bc your angst is so good it makes me sob violently /pos)

ive never sent a request before, so if this is too specific or something, feel free to whittle it down or toss it, i don’t wanna bug you lol

have a good day hal, love u!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our Remains

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You disliked hiding things from John. Certainly something as big as this.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, allusions to breeding kink & unprotected seggsy time, morning sickness, angst, major fluff at the end

A/N: This was an adorable request, Anon!! Thanks so much for sending it in.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You disliked hiding things from John. It not only felt like a betrayal of his unlimited trust in you but also a slap in the face for what you had built with each other. The both of you were always honest to a fault when it came to your relationship—like how a bird was loyal to the sky. It was an unselfish principle; a promise of pure love and devotion that transcended touch or given gifts.

You told each other things. Everything. Down to how much you had spent on groceries that day just because it was something to talk about and share; something that made you closer to one another even when you were apart. You told the Brit what you planted in the back garden—what shirt you were wearing!

But now you hold the ringing phone in your hand and for the first time in your entire relationship, you consider lying.

Your eyes bore into the icon of John’s smiling face, head covered by a black beanie and beard tilted up softly. Affectionately, his name on the device had been changed to ‘Grumpy St. Bernard,’ but now the title made your lips go thin instead of the usual giggling reaction. No heat spreads over your cheeks; no excitement.

Just an overwhelming sense of dread.

The week had started just as the last three had. A special form of hell. At nearly six o’clock you would whip back the covers with all the fervor of a terrified rabbit being chased by a hawk; the taste of bile immediately snapping you to attention as the toilet acts as your commanding officer.

You imagined John would get a chuckle out of that comparison, but when you’re hurling up your guts in nothing more than a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers and a tank top it’s hard to think about all that. The taste of bile was still lickable from your lips as the bathroom tile digs into your knees, ringing phone still in your palm.

The idea of a pregnancy test slid into your subconscious in the first week of John’s two-month deployment, the tantalizing thought that was like a hook to a fish. You had pulled on the string, of course, and had instantly drowned in air. But you hadn’t taken one until now. Too nervous, perhaps. Hesitant.

In your other hand, opposite of the buzzing phone, you held three positive pregnancy tests in a shaking grip. Pink and white plastic mock you from the corner of your vision; two double lines.

John’s icon dims.

You press the green circle in your panic, mouth opening and closing yet no sounds escaping. Would you tell him now? Later? Was it right to tell him about this now—when he was halfway across the continent? Fear overtakes your heart for no apparent reason. You didn’t want him to act rashly, especially when John could act so stubborn when he wanted to.

He was always so concerned about you when he was away but you were concerned just the same. That man was the one who was getting shot at constantly, not you.

“Took you a while to answer. Trying to give me the slip, then, Sweetheart?” John’s gravelly voice helped slightly, making your heart still, even if for a short moment. You close your eyes and tilt your head down, lips quivering at the soft chuckle over the line.

God, you loved him so much.

Blue eyes furrowed in confusion at the silence on the line, the chilled Switzerland air sneaking inside John’s compression shirt as he stood on the hotel balcony. The sounds of gentle conversation twitch his ears from inside the room—the voices of the One-Four-One a dull mumble behind the half-closed sliding door. They had been playing cards before the Captain had easily slipped away to check up on you.

He tried to call as often as he could.

John’s hips shift, one arm crossed over his chest as the other presses the phone harder to his ear. Lips pull to a frown, beard bristles going with them, before the lines on the Brit’s forehead grow larger.

“...Love?” Naturally, a sliver of concern wedges itself into his ribs but it subsides when your calming voice spreads honey over the call. John’s shoulders fall back down.

You breathe deeply, hands dropping the tests onto the bathroom counter with a small clack of plastic.

“John,” forcing away the hitch to your words, you stare at yourself in the mirror, free hand sliding up to lightly rest over your collarbone as a soothing method. Your eyes are so filled with shock that it throws you off. “I…I wasn’t expecting a call so soon.”

“Hm, been up since 0500.” the man grunts, looking out over the city and seeing the rising sun before asking softly with a deep-set brow. There was something about your tone…lids narrow at nothing. “Did I wake you?”

“No, no,” You force a chuckle, having to take a deep breath before ripping your sights from your own reflection. The disgust was settling at you trying to avoid this. But if your own brain could barely process this right now, what gave you the right to tell John when he wasn’t here? “I’ve been up for a few hours.”

Licking your lips, you run a hand over your hair, glancing out of the ajar door into the master bedroom, pushing out bland answers for only the fact that you couldn’t think clearly right now.

Jesus, this was actually happening.

You study the thrown covers from your morning rush to the bathroom, seeing the pictures on the nightstand and feeling the delicate atmosphere that was sparking—electricity between atoms. A silent moment of realization that everything down to the bare bones of your relationship was about to change. Blinking back to the tests, you dwell in the strange fuzz that took residence in the back of your mind.

“What’s been going on?” Your voice isn’t right. Too tight. Too…nervous. Why were you nervous? “Everyone good?”

The Brit frowns stiffly, shifting his feet again and sending a look back into the hotel. Hunching forward, John’s large fingers fix the position of the phone as his voice lowers, ignoring your question entirely. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but there were pros and cons to his line of work.

Above all, he knew when something was up with you.

“Are you alright over there, Sweetheart?” Blue eyes rove the street below, “Feelin’ okay? You sound a bit stuffed up.”

Your heart lurches, quickly stuttering through an explanation of, “O-oh, I think I just came down with something.” The irony wasn’t lost on you. “A stomach bug,” you cringe, “I’m sorry, was it that obvious?”

The laugh that exits is less convincing than you thought it would be, but it does the trick. John sighs in relief, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize, Love…anything bad, then? I can bring some meds from Base when I’m back if you need me to.” He was still concerned for you, but knowing that you’d never lied or withheld the truth from him before there was really no reason to believe that anything else was going on. John trusted you to the end of the earth.

The Captain rubbed at the back of his neck, cracking his spine as he bent back. It was still early and waking up on a hotel bed without you beside him was torture. John longed for home. Longed for you.

Back at the house, your face scrunches together.

Bad? You wonder, saying absentmindedly that some medication would be lovely. Was this…bad?

John had always wanted to have a kid—or, at least, he’d told you as much when he was above you, filling you to the brim and then doing it again a second and third time. Thighs quivering and eyes fighting to stay open through layered bliss as sharp pants rung in your ears.

“Gonna get you pregnant…watch you swell up…c’mon sweet thing, you can handle another one, can’t you? Need to watch it take.”

…But was that a true feeling or just a kink? You blank and realize you’d never asked him. More than that, though, was this what you wanted?

“When do you think you’ll be home, John?” You speak softly, palm flattening over your stomach as you exit the bathroom and sit on the end of the bed, gut swirling but not in a nauseous sort of way. “I…I really miss you, y’know? It would all be better if you were home.”

The brunette blinks softly, lids peeling back in shock for a moment before a thin thread of guilt worms its way into him.

“Kate said two months, Love,” John speaks slowly, the grumble in his voice trying to convey his unease at your strange behavior, “You know that.”

He’d explained his job when you both had gotten serious, how he would be gone for long periods of time, and the somewhat uncomfortable situations you’d be put in because of it. You’d agreed and never brought it up when John would have to leave in the small hours of the morning and disappear for months on end. It shocked him, really, with how well you adjusted but that was just how you were. One of a kind.

There was no one else with whom John could see himself building a life—being buried beside in some nice meadow grave plot and turning to dust together. Growing a family with.

John cleared his throat, tilting his head down slightly before pulling himself back to the present.

“It’s bothering you that much, eh?” His brows furrow, “Are you sure you’re alright? I can call hospital and—”

“No!” You slap a hand to your mouth, halting your outburst as blue eyes go somewhat wide, jaw slackening. Taking a breath over the shocked silence over the line, you dig your fingers into your cheek before letting your limb drop. “No, John…I-I’m sorry I just…”

Your voice quivers.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

Eyes burning and nose twitching, you breathe heavily, mouth closing shut because you knew that if you say another word you’ll explode. You were shivering with cold sweat, scared and confused, and wanting John to hold you in his arms; whispering that it would all be okay into the shell of your ear.

You force through a sob, “I’m just really scared.”

John tenses, one hand going to grasp the balcony with white knuckles. His mind goes into overdrive. “Scared?” the Brit prods, muscles going stiff and mind running, “What in the hell is going on?”

Authority leaks into his tone, serious and deep. It made him nervous that he couldn’t see you right now—couldn’t stop the sounds coming from your mouth. Why were you crying? Has something horrible happened to you? Were you in trouble but were unable to tell him? John runs over your conversation again, every word and sound, as his heart races. He was wound up like a spring.

From behind him, the conversation in the hotel room halts.

You force your eyes closed, now up on your feet and pacing. Tears lightly patter to the floor.

“John, I can’t tell you over the phone,” you admit, shaking, “that wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be fair to you.” Swiping at your eyes, you spread the salty liquid away from your lashes, sniffling; praying that he would understand. “But I really need you home as soon as you��re able. I don’t want to break up what's going on over there, it’s just really important. I don’t think I can wait two months by myself. You know I would never ask this if I didn’t need to.”

John’s jaw clenches, legs unable to stay still as your anxiety leaks to him. He’s nodding before he realizes you can’t see him, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs.

“...I’ll see what I can do, then.” The brunette runs his hand over his beard pulling at the strands aggressively. What was so crucial that you can’t tell him over the phone? It was a secure line, John always made sure it was; yet, at the same time, that fact didn’t matter at all. If you needed him home so fervently—then he was coming home. That was that. “How long can you wait for me, Love?” He spares a glance inside. “There are a few loose ends that need to be taken care of here. Might complicate things.”

You blink around the bedroom, hand wrapped around your middle and trying to run soothing circles into your skin.

“I…I don’t…” John’s face softens, closing his eyes.

“Breathe, Sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m comin’ home to you. We’ll get whatever this is sorted, yeah? I need you to be brave for me until then.”

Listening, you let the words calm you down, sniffling one last time like a kid who had fallen off the monkey bars before you let out a chuckle. John instantly follows his own advice when that sound wafts over the line. His shoulders fall back once more, silent sigh exiting.

“You said that exact same thing to me when I ended up burning that loaf of bread I was making—two years ago, was it? ‘Breathe, Sweetheart.’” Blue glimmers with love, cheeky tone growing.

“Hm, nearly set the kitchen on fire, didn’t you? So much smoke I swore someone had set off a charge in the oven.” John doesn’t push you to answer him, though he’s more questions than anything else at this point. You’d said you would tell him when he’s home and he believes you. “Please, Love, at least promise me you didn’t burn the bloody house down, yeah?”

A laugh strikes his chest, and he’s chuckling slowly in retaliation.

“I promise, John.”

“Good.” You’re smiling for the first in what seems like ages, tears drying as the flood down your chin stops. You lick away the water stuck in the corner of your mouth when John grunts lowly, “I’ll tell the boys and inform Laswell. But I can’t say it’ll be less than two weeks.”

Nodding to yourself, you say, quietly, “Okay.” Your eyes fall to the framed picture on the nightstand—the image of John and you smiling brightly on your third anniversary. You’d gone hiking, both sweaty and dirt marks on your cheeks, but happy…always happy. Your veins pump blood faster. “I love you, John.”

The final comment is tender; the words are more silk and soft furs than vibrating vocal cords.

He blinks away the blush that lights his pale cheeks. John huffs, an infectious smile flickering over his face as his chest wells with affection. Acting like a bird preening itself, he smirks and says, “Well, you’re lucky then…I love you too, Sweetheart.” An exhalation echoes over the call as his tone drops, “Keep safe for me, eh? I’ll call to update tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

When the phone is set down on the bed, tossed down carefully, you try to think over this situation more rationally. You wouldn’t say you were against this—building a family with John. In fact, if not him, then you don’t believe it would be anyone else.

The Brit was the only man for you. You both knew the risks of having unprotected sex and in reality, you think neither one of you cared about the consequences.

Nodding to yourself, you wonder how to explain this to him when he comes home as you get to fixing the sheets, one hand always drifting back to your stomach with a growing appreciation.

—

John jogged to his car in the underground parking garage, unlocking it with his fob as his bags are slung over his shoulders. He wastes no time chucking his belongings into the back seat, swiftly sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut as the engine starts. His dog tags bounce on his chest, but he’s half convinced they move from the rate that his heart is going alone.

All through traffic his fingers are tapping against the wheel, grunting stiffly at red lights and shifting his hips.

It had been three and a half weeks of fixing loose ends.

“Fuckin’ hell, c’mon,” John huffs, one elbow on the car frame as his hand flattens over his lower jaw. The light slowly snaps back to green after a long minute.

Pressing on the gas, the vehicle moves forward and continues until the familiar home comes into view on that quiet street nearly twenty minutes later.

John barely parks the car before he hops out, leaving his bags in the back, and rushes to the door. Taking the key from under the doormat, his mind is focused on only you. He had been unable to stop his worry about you and your unnamed fear, watching the phone with every free instance he could. It had only grown as the days got longer, and no matter how much you assured him that you would be okay until he got back, deep-seated apprehension grew. He didn’t like living under a shroud, especially when it came to your health.

The key in his hand was inserted with a firm wrist and twisted, shoving open the door with a heavy shoulder like there was a cloud over his head.

“Love?!” He calls, not bothering to shuck off his boots before looking around the visible living room and foyer. “Where are you?”

Long legs move swiftly as an utterance calls from the kitchen, barely taking the time to close the door behind him in his anxiety, “John?”

The Brit immediately backtracks, skidding to a stop and turning with blinking eyes. His ears twitch at the sounds of dishes being dropped back into water, as his heart steadily slows at the sound of your beautiful voice calling his name.

He rushes around the doorframe, feet stomping and hand catching the wall as you come into view, staring wide-eyed.

Your digits are around the fabric of a dish towel, fingers dripping as John finally presents himself to you. You hadn’t heard him until he had called out, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to hear the lock click.

But now it was like every worry you had was wiped clean at the sight of that gruff face; the hitch in his large chest. A smile slashes your lips after a moment of shocked silence.

“John!” You laugh, rushing forward, and the man lets his face soften—bringing you close to him as you draw near and trapping you in his arms.

His breath spread out over the top of your head in a great sigh, grumbled chuckles accented by the way John’s great hands wrap around your shoulders. Fingers press you into a solid chest, digging through hair to let your ear twitch at the sound of his heartbeat.

John doesn't speak until he has held you in his arms for at least three minutes, just pressing his face into your scalp and feeling your warmth against him. You don’t pull away either, breathing in his musk as it instinctually leads to your muscles loosening.

Minutes later, the Brit pulls back slowly, gripping you by the shoulders and looking down into your eyes. His gaze filters over yours, taking you in before his lips meet yours in a brief yet deep kiss. You melt into it, hands going to grip his cheeks and spread throughout his beard hair, soft strands leaving you shivering when John’s thumbs rub circles into your flesh.

He pulls back and you fight the tears in your eyes as he connects his forehead with yours. His optics shine with love, bleeding out like trapped stars; silver flecks of devotion and a blue the color of sea storms.

“What’s going on, Love?” John whispers, concern alight and raving as his grip goes to your waist, squeezing comfortingly. “I’m here. Tell me.”

You blink slowly, lips going thin with tight brows. Swallowing through a tight throat, you nod.

“Can you go sit in the living room, please?” Speaking carefully, you tilt your head and watch John get confused—his nose scrunching and moving his lips together. You run your thumbs over his cheeks and smile slightly, obviously nervous again. “Trust me.”

Though it wasn’t a question, John replies under his breath, “Always.”

But still, he holds you, studying your expression and the whites of your eyes with stiff lungs. You were making him fear that something horrible was coming—something he couldn’t control. His heart begins to hurt, but he backs away from you, brows tight as he exits the kitchen and disappears into the living room.

Taking down a swift breath when he’s out of sight, you fiddle with your fingers above your abdomen, looking down at your still-flat stomach. You knew it was stupid to worry, but how could you not? It wasn’t every day you just told your Lover you were pregnant with his child…

“John loves me,” you mutter to yourself, nodding and getting ready to go through with the plan you’d formed over the three weeks you’d been alone. “And he’ll love the both of us. I know he will.”

Hand flattening over your stomach, you open a drawer with the other, pulling out a small cardboard box no bigger than a book. Fingers shaking, you lick your lips and feel the slight pull of a nervous, yet giddy, smile. Turning, you exit the kitchen and see John sitting with his nose resting above the clench of his fists, foot tapping. His head immediately snaps over when you come into view, hands falling to hang off his legs as the couch under him dips from his weight.

You steel yourself and raise the box.

“Here.” Placing it on the coffee table, you sit across from John in an armchair.

He blinks slowly, eyes going small with curiosity. The man sends you glances through his lashes as he stares down at the object but he says nothing. Rubbing his beard with one hand, he reaches and grabs it carefully.

Testing the weight, John is genuinely confused, clenching his jaw and feeling the material in his palm.

“...What’s this, then?” He asks lowly, glancing at you with a raised brow and lines on his forehead.

You put your intertwined hands in your lap, prompting with a tilt of your shoulders.

“Open it.” Off put by your cryptic answers, John nods firmly, grasping the top of the box and pulling lightly, careful not to disturb the contents. It was strange to think, but he was honestly quite perturbed.

What exactly was inside this box, and why had he been called home for it? He loved being here, no doubt, but the circumstances….

Blue eyes glimmer. You didn’t look overly afraid as you shifted in your seat, just plain timid—like the inside object would change something fundamental about his and yours relationship.

John pops the top off and looks as you start talking before your throat threatens to shut you up. “I…I know it’s not a life-threatening thing to call you home for,” the man stills as if he was made of stone; a statue as non-breathing and pulse-less as anything, “But I didn’t want to tell you over the phone because that seemed so—!”

Your voice is drowned out as John’s shaking fingers delve into the box, ears ringing. His fingers flinch off of three positive pregnancy tests and the soft fabric of the plain army green baby onesie that surrounds them; skimming slowly.

“I found out the day you called and I said I had come down with something.” Your laugh is strained when it exits you, and you stare at the Brit hard, seeing his features utterly halt all expression. Thumbs digging into your skin, your tone drops, speaking slowly, “...John? A-are you okay? Say something to me, Love.”

It’s only in that long minute of nothingness that you really start to get an all-consuming tenseness to your bones like a rabbit.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

John clears his stiff throat, blinking rapidly as he brings out one of the tests, dropping the box lightly to the coffee table with a dull thump. The twin red lines are ingrained into the softness of his retinas as the sun would be if you were to stare directly at it.

Pregnant.

His heart swells to an almost painful degree, blue eyes moving to look at you across the table and then dipping to your stomach. The Brit stands up slowly.

Your lungs are tight, lids moving quickly with wetness growing in your tear ducts.

“Please, John, what are you thinking—?” Large hands capture your arms, bringing you up as lips meet yours in a passionate and heart-stopping kiss.

John’s limbs wrap around your hips, bringing you up into the air as gently as a bird, face parting from yours with a series of loud and genuine laughs. You snap your arms around his neck, shocked but not at all complaining as he holds you up with ease, twirling you around in a firm but ever-gentle hold.

“You’re pregnant?” His whispers meet you, airy and deep with awe. It was like he was in his teens again, running around Herefordshire with his mates—his eyes shone with happiness; pure unabashed love. “Oh, truly, Sweetheart?”

Tears dribble down your cheeks at the sight of him glowing, beard peeled back in a large smile with wet eyes. Hiccuped giggles leave your lips as you nuzzle your face into his neck, the sight of him like this overwhelming. All stress leaves you in a millisecond when your feet hit the ground again.

“Yes, John,” you sob, overjoyed, pulling back so you both can stare into each other's teary eyes as the Brits’ fingers go to shakily wipe the waterworks from your under eyes. His orbs flicker quickly, looking you over in an entirely different light. “You’re going to be a father.”

He fights through a scratchy voice, “Me?” The tone is amused, but he can’t articulate how exalted he feels to hear that. A father…him? It was more than he could have ever asked for, and, even better—John whispers out, “You’re going to be a mum.”

You kiss him, multiple quick pecks that he returns through shared joyous chuckles.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” the confession meets the air as one of John’s hands travels to cup your flat abdomen, fingers flinching over the fabric of your shirt to sneak under. You laugh and shiver at his calluses, as his blue eyes are so soft they could be compared to butter. “And I couldn’t wait two months.”

“Christ, Love,” John lays a kiss on your forehead, needing to be as close to you as possible. You can feel his heart through his chest, and you know yours isn’t any better. This was far more than you could have hoped for. He mutters against your skin, “I’m so glad you didn’t. This is bloody amazing news—I want to be here for all of it.”

Sea storms lock onto your face with a grunt, “You’re so lovely. Perfect, yeah?”

His warm hand still rests under your shirt, and you doubt it’s going to leave anytime soon.

You feel your cheeks heat and you smile bashfully, heart about to explode.

“You are.” John reiterates. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, Sweetheart. I’m so happy.”

The air is ripe with tenderness, a soft state of being that just keeps getting better. John had silent tears dripping down his face, blinking to clear them and not letting you leave his hold for a second.

“Oh, John,” you whisper, digging your fingers into the back of his shirt, looking up. “Me too, Love.”

While the glee is nearly physical enough to grab, there is a moment of hesitancy in the Brit. He was gone more times than not for work; put into situations that could leave him going through bodily harm. You didn’t deserve that stress—didn’t deserve to sit at home with a swelling stomach just watching the door and wondering if you’d have to become a single mother. You had a child in your womb. His child. Both of yours’ child.

A family that you both had made.

John swallows and says to you seriously, without an ounce of hesitation in his blood, “I’m telling Laswell to pull me out,” you blink up and listen, letting him continue as his press on your flesh gets even more prominent, nodding to you, “I’m not missing this—not putting you through that worry. Two years, then I’ll head back in. We have enough saved, I give you my word you’ll want for nothing.”

Blue eyes flicker down, and a small mumble so tiny it nearly disappears hits your ears. You almost start sobbing again. “This is more important. You both are more important.”

There were few moments in your life that you think you’ll remember when you are old, weathered and wrinkled, but this you tell yourself is one that you will carry to your grave. John and yours’ grave.

What remains behind, you ask? Simple.

White bones entangled with an eternity of deathless worship, and the generations that will come to lay flowers on the headstone.

TAGS:

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lovers-rck · 6 months

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heyyy I love your writing. I have a request for ellie x fem reader, but it's the readers first time with a girl.

thank you angel <3 I got too excited writing it and it ended up being a little long, but I hope you like it!

smut, +18.

☆

When the kiss gets deeper, you start to think. The thoughts in your head start to fight eachothers, they bite and punch and die and come back to life as Ellie grabs your waist. Her grip is strong, hungry, her fingertips kissing every inch of skin.

You try to follow her lead, trying to mimic some of her movements but your lack of experience gives you away. Ellie's hands are everywhere, in your waist, in your neck, in your legs, in your face.

She is hovering above you, your back buried in between the pillows, her body in between your legs. As she continues her kiss the red lights in your head begin to flicker incessantly, remembering that you are in fact a virgin, a girl who lacks experience, and that the furthest you got was when Ellie playfully bit your neck, which caused you to replay the scene in your head for the rest of the night.

You wanted this, you wanted to have experience, you wanted to have fun and enjoy sex like everyone else did, but you were also afraid. You always knew that Ellie had other girls before you, and that for obvious reasons she had more experience than you, and the thought that tortured you every day was not the fact that she had loved other girls before, but that those girls knew what to do to turn her on, to tease her, and you did not.

You were terrified that when the time came you wouldn't be good enough for her.

And to your horror (and your excitement) the time might have come now.

"Why is your body so soft?" Ellie murmurs as she kisses your neck, making a path to your clavicles "I might drown in your skin" you tried to laugh at her joke, but instead a weird sound comes out of your mouth. Ellie looks at you "You okay?" you nod frantically, strands of hair accompanying the movement.

Ellie leaves your neck and straightens up, your thighs on hers, her hands caressing your naked legs "You know we can't stop if you want, right?" her hair is messy and her lips are a bit swollen "You don't have to do this if you don't want"

You smile softly. She's a good person, you think "I know"

Lately you are consumed by a sense of not giving Ellie enough. That someday she will wake up tired of your fears and will come to your door to leave you forever.

But you know that's not true because Ellie is a good person "So what's happening?"

"What do you mean?" you replie, hands in your stomach

"You have been acting weird everytime i try something"

You want to punch yourself in the face.

"You don't not like it?" she asks.

"No!" you say, instant regret at seeing her face "I mean, yes, yes i do like it Ellie" you lick your lips, thinking "You are totally not the problem"

"Tell me what are you thinking" her voice is soft, she keeps caressing your legs, up and down.

You stare at the ceiling, and the ceiling quickly takes on such an interesting appearance that you would rather stare at it for hours than face the embarrassment that was invading you "Is stupid" you say "It's not important"

After a few seconds of silence, you look at her. She is waiting for you to speak.

"I just get nervous" you play with your fingers as you speak "I don't know what should i do, or what shouldn't. Im scared i might be bad in bed and you won't like it"

Ellie furrows her eyebrows "You don't have to worry about that, it's logical that you don't know what to do"

"Yeah but you know a lot!"

"Are you calling me a whore?"

"No!" you cover your face with your hands "I give up"

Ellie laughs and places her hands over yours, taking them off your face "I'm sorry" she brings them to her lips and plants a kiss on the back of your hand "But seriously, you don't have to worry about that"

"Nobody knows anything the first time" she continues "You just get good with practice" Ellie start to kiss your arms, her lips feeling every inch of skin as she reach your shoulders, moving her mouth to your neck, her body in between your legs once again.

She plants wet kisses in your neck, bitting softly and kissing the spot after. You felt how your fears start to fade with every kiss.

"Plus, is better if you have a good teacher" she murmurs and you laugh, the echo of your action reflecting in your chest.

"Are you supposed to be the good teacher?" she nods briefly, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around her waist.

When Ellie leaves your neck and looks you in the eye, you realize the joke is over. Her eyes pierce yours, full of lust. She kiss your lips with so much hunger that she thinks she might die just by kissing you. Her fingers sneak under your shirt and make contact with your skin, warm and soft just for Ellie's pleasure.

Your body acts alone. Your chest chases the warmth of Ellie's hand, famished by her touch, no longer afraid but excited. She caress your torso, trying to memorize every inch of it, feeling in a fever dream.

She never stops kissing you, but her mind is in the way you feel against her fingers, and she don't understand how long she had been alive without knowing that feeling.

A scene of absolute tenderness unfolds in the room. A non-verbal language that only their bodies understand, a language that has only two speakers in the world.

Words are not needed when Ellie leaves your lips to look at your shirt, you quickly take it off without a second thought. You feel her eyes scan your body like x-rays, and for a moment you think she might see your heart pounding.

"And you dared to be nervous?" she says, her eyes admiring your torso, a pastel pink bra decorating your breasts.

You chuckle with a bit of shame, wanting to cover yourself but knowing that you don't have to "Take yours off?" you asks shyly.

Ellie obeys and takes her shirt off quickly, a black sport bra greets your eyes and you love how fearless and shameless she is with you.

"Your wish is my command" she says and you laugh. You laugh and you laugh because your heart does not know how to express this feeling so sharp that dwells in your body, this love and this desire ""Can I take this off?" Ellie asks, touching the seam of your shorts. You nod.

The kisses resume quickly, only this time you feel them on your covered breasts, on your stomach, on your ribs. You feel holy, as if your skin is made of the most expensive diamond and only Ellie can have access to it.

Kisses sail among the sea that is your body, the sounds of wet mouths adorn the room. Ellie unfolds a path of kisses to your underwear, her teeth playing with the elastic of your panties "How are you feeling?" she asks, her breath hitting your pelvic bone.

You feel in cloud nine. Ellie's kisses work like the most expensive drug on the market, leaving you foolish and lustful "Good..." your murmur, too lost in the upcoming pleasure to say more than one word.

Ellie smiles in your skin "You want to keep going?" she says

You make a positive sound that Ellie takes as a yes. You grab her hair when she plant a kiss in your clothed cunt. She place your legs on her shoulders so that you are now completely open for her, exposed only to her.

For a few moments, Ellie hesitates. She feels that her mind has erased all experience ever acquired and now she lies blank, not knowing what to do. It was common knowledge about Ellie's adventures with different girls before she met you, the rumors about her development in bed were no secret, and she would never admit it but she felt some pride in those sayings.

Nights and nights Ellie had fantasized about this scenario, about having you at her mercy, about being able to enjoy your body for as many hours as she wanted. She never said it out loud because she didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable or pressured, but every time your skirt lifted a little Ellie felt like she couldn't contain herself.

So she feels totally lost when these wishes come true and she has you lying down for her, waiting for her.

She is about to surrender when with a subtle movement you guide Ellie's head towards your pussy, a vulgar movement but coming from you it transforms into something almost tender, and Ellie finds herself again.

She moves your panties to the side and kiss your skin down there, you gasp. Her finger collects all the wetness and start making little circles in your clit, aplying pressure when she feels like it.

She watch your body react to her. Your mouth open, whimpers coming out as she speeds her pace, your grip getting harder in her hair.

Ellie watch you a few seconds more, afraid that she would come just from touching you.

She places her mouth in your cunt, licking your clit and teasing your hole with her finger. You moan and quickly understand why people talk so much about sex, bragging about how good it is. Ellie controls your body in a way that makes the moans fight to get out of your mouth and your eyes close from pleasure, and you don't understand how you could go so long without knowing what Ellie's mouth feels like.

"I'm going to add a finger," she announces, and you smile at her sayings, analyzing how weird it sounds in any other situation "Tell me if it hurts"

At first, a burning sensation invades you. The feeling is weird, it burns everytime she moves but you want more. She moves her finger in and out slowly, watching your face for a signal of something "How is that?" she says

You whimper when she curls her finger, the uncomfortable sensation disappearing as the seconds pass. "Faster" you say and is all Ellie need to know.

She obeys and start fucking you faster, to mesmerized by the view of your cunt. You start to play with your breasts unconsciously, lifting up your bra and touching your nipples and when Ellie sees that she thinks she creamed her boxers.

Too selfish for her own pride, she straightens up and starts sucking on your breasts, her fingers still fucking you. You grab her neck, feeling her tongue play with your hardened nipples and her finger accelerates the onslaught. Ellie adds a second finger and you start to lose it.

Your legs are trembling and you feel your climax close "Ellie..." you murmur, lost in pleasure

"Tell me what you need"

You moan loudly when she curls her finger "Please" you continue "Harder"

She obey and start to finger fuck you harder, her thrust making your tits bounce to the pleasure of her eyes. She sits and watch the naughtiness of your acts, how you lick your dry lips and how your pussy swallows her fingers, how is cum leaking out of your hole, translucent white liquid adorning her fingers. Ellie hears the wet sound of her fingers against your cunt and whimper herself.

Ellie feels like she could faint from such a view.

Your orgasm hit you without warning, your body trembling in pleasure, feeling how your pussy leaks.

Ellie looks at her fingers covered in you and put them in her mouth, looking at you. Her tongue clean the cream and taste your sweet flavor.

You almost cum again seeing that scene.

After a few seconds, she goes and grabs a wet towel, moving your weak legs to clean your mess and put your panties in place. You feel light-headed, still recovering from your recent orgasm when Ellie comes back and lay down by your side, caressing your hair "Did you had a good time?" she asks, knowing the answer

You nudge her playfully, giggling at her question "You are such a narcissistic Ellie Williams" you murmur settling into her chest, your head on her heart, hugging her torso. You feel Ellie's chest heave as she replies "You didn't answer my question" her hand gently strokes your hair.

"I had an horrible time" you joke and she laughs

"Good" she says, her fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear "I'm glad"

#ellie wiliams #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader

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nouvxllev · 2 months

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after party

Pairing: G!p!Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: in which you both left a party in pure silence just seconds after tara pulled you away from flirting too much with a girl.

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: pure and heavy smut like every scene is a sex scene. oh and its angry sex

a/n: i wanna consider this as the special valentines fic because the main one im writing right now im totally so damn stumped on. so heres one to atleast keep up with my stories

masterlist.

You were too fucked out of your mind to even process anything. All you took note of was that your girlfriend looks pretty fucking hot when she's jealous.

Your breath was caught in your throat as Tara's hands pressed you firmly against the wall, a forceful thud and your back meeting the hard surface, your bodies pressed together as your hands tried to push her away but your efforts were in vain when you were met with her abs concealed beneath her shirt. Tara's lips claimed yours without a second of hesitation, letting her mouth slip inside as she explored every inch of you.

A gasp that turned into a moan escaped your lips as Tara's hands slid eagerly under your thighs, you could feel a smirk between kisses, her touch warm under your skin as she effortlessly lifted you up against the wall, all while you allowed your tongue surrender as she took control over you. You could feel her fingers slipping under your shorts, caressing every inch of your skin with her thumb, tracing the delicate curves of your ass before squeezing it sent shivers down your spine.

Her lips on yours and her hot breath mingled with your own was its own fix. Too intoxicating, yet so addictive, you couldn't get enough even if it killed you. Your hands go nowhere but to instinctively wrap them around her head, fingers possessively at the nape of her neck, letting your head tilt to create the perfect angle for Tara to deepen her assault inside your mouth.

It wasn't romantic, it wasn't delicate, it wasn't passionate. It was raw, filthy, messy, and sloppy. But who were you to care if you got to see Tara so eager to fuck the shit out of you?

She pulled away, her breathing becoming strained as a string of saliva unraveling themselves as your lips were far apart from hers, an aching sensation that you never wanted to happen. "Why were you flirting with her? In front of me?" Tara breathed out, her voice filled with desperation and want, husky but fuck did it make you clench around nothing.

"I wasn't—god," Your pathetic words turned into a moan when you felt Tara push her body against yours with force. You could feel her hard erection rub against your clothed clit, driving you wild, your hips bucking involuntarily to seek more friction than a simple bump of its head as you struggled to explain, "I didn't mean to."

Her nails dug into the soft and sweaty flesh of your ass, making you wince as she spoke, "You were practically fucking yourself onto her." Tara's words were harsh, but it made your cunt throb with wetness more than ever, clenching around nothing yet again. It took all of your self-control to not pull down everything she had and ride her dick until the insides of your pussy remembered her shape.

"I didn't… I didn't mean to, Tara, please," you stammered. You could feel saliva dripping from your mouth as your abused lips hung open, wanting nothing more than to let Tara inside. Or better yet, letting her cock drill into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat.

Her eyes bore into yours, making you feel like prey under her hands. It was rare to see Tara like this, and fuck it turned you on. "You liked her hands on you, didn't you? You even got her number." The sound of her voice terrified you, but it never overcame the excitement that shot through your spine, shivering as she tried to bring you closer to her, her mouth opened to take yours but you were never granted that.

"No—" You tried to find a voice when all you can do is whine, whimper, and moan whenever her throbbing cock was rubbing against your pussy and the tightening grip she had on your ass. "I don't want her, please," you whined, "I want you. Only you."

"Really, y/n?" Tara's breath caressed your skin, "Then let me fuck you against my bed so everyone in this apartment can hear how fucking good you take my cock. That alright with you, baby?" She purred, her grip on your ass tightening further as she guided both of you toward the bedroom. Her head leaned in, tracing lazy kisses along your jawline. It was crazy to think someone so small could have this much strength.

You nodded feverishly, a small mhm coming out, afraid that your words would just come out as a pathetic whine. Your hands remained on her shoulders as you allowed Tara to manhandle you toward the bed. The ache between your legs, combined with the throbbing need within your pussy, pleaded for her touch even more, wanting nothing but to let her dick plow into your dripping pussy until you couldn't take it.

Tara wasted no time in throwing you against the bed, your back landing on the mattress with a loud thud while her body was on top of yours, her cock pressed so fucking close against your pussy, the subtle friction making your hips buck in a desperate motion. Her hands went down your chest, tugging at the fabric that was the only barrier between her and your body.

"You know, she would've ripped it apart and fucked me so good right now."

You could tell that was the last straw for Tara.

In a heartbeat, Tara abandoned any hint of gentleness she had with you, ripping your blouse open with such force she almost tore it apart, eliciting a rather embarrassing wince from you.

The piece of unwanted fabric desperately clung near the edges of your shoulders, barely holding on as you felt her hands drop to your chest. Her fingers traced the curves of your body, the simple touch making your pussy throb with want yet again, reaching up to your breasts and then to your mouth, her thumb parting your lips as she ducked down to slip her tongue into yours.

Your hands flew to Tara's shorts, fingers frantically pulling the hem down along with her boxers, letting them slide down to Tara's hips as her throbbing cock sprang out, slapping against the fabric of her shirt. She was big. Probably the first and last monstrous cock you'd ever take.

"Tara…" you gasped, her name escaping your lips in a breathy moan as Tara pulled away. Her hands immediately found their way to your waist as her fingers worked to pull your own shorts down, mindlessly discarding them around somewhere, your wet cunt being exposed to the cold air and Tara's gaze.

"God, y/n, you're soaked," she whispered as she wrapped her fingers around her cock, stroking it up and down. Your slick gushing out on her mattress was one of the things that made her erection throb so damn painfully. She guided the head, coaxed with her own pre-cum, to your slick folds, parting them slowly. "Wanna fuck you so deep and let you forget about her entire existence," she breathrd out, her eyes watched yours in a haze with your mouth hung open.

"Tara fucking Carpenter, if you don't—FUCK!"

You cried out as you felt Tara shove her cock deep inside your tight pussy without warning, the sudden invasion making your folds stretch so damn good to accommodate her throbbing length, the pain mixed with pleasure making your head spin and your toes curl.

Tara's hands gripped your hips firmly, her perfectly manicured nails digging into your skin to hold your body steady as she relentlessly kept sinking her huge cock into your heat.

Your body shuddered, making the perfect arch for Tara to penetrate your pussy even further as she leaned down, Tara, wait, you're too big, oh shit...!" You moaned, letting her bite and kiss every inch of her skin as you welcomed her, marking you as her own as if her dick wasn't claiming you right this second.

Tara continued fucking into you, ignoring how painful it was to be inside of you yet so satisfying seeing her dick disappearing and reappearing, your wet slick going nowhere but being used as a lube for her thick and girthy cock.

Her name continuously escaped your lips along with a moan, "...shit! Right there Tara, oh fuck!" You gasped, giving her the most pornographic moan she ever heard, the lewd repeated claps of your ass meeting her hips while she rammed her shaft inside you with disgruntled breaths and grunts.

"Take it, baby," she whispered, her voice husky as her hands slid under your thighs that instinctively encircled her body, "I know you can." She slowed her pace down, grabbing your legs and folding them onto your body then returned to her merciless pace, "Such a perfect mess for me." She grunted, her hips desperately rutting into your sex.

You moaned uncontrollably throughout her room, "So... so full, holy fuck," You groaned, throwing your head back in pure ecstasy, your fists clenching, your eyes rolling back and your toes curling beneath her as you writhed under her touch, wanting more even if your pussy was already stuffed to the brim with Tara.

Your arms reached out to her, fingers gripping her shoulders all while your body shook and squirmed underneath her, "Fuck me. Fuck me so hard, please, Tara!" You begged, tears starting to trickle down your eyes while immense pleasure washed over you, your voice reverberating as she dicked you down.

Tara's half-lidded eyes locked in with yours, pure lust evident in her eyes. No longer staring at your puffy folds, her mouth hung open, grunts escaping her soft lips with every forceful thrust.

"You want this, don't you?" Her mouth poured out words with every harsh thrust she gave you. Your mind couldn't work properly, let alone form any coherent sentences other than incoherent mumbling and needy whimpers of her name. "To make me fuck you senseless with my cock until your brain couldn't think of anything other than my dick."

It was clear she knew the answer, she just needed to hear it from you.

Your breath hitched, staring at Tara as if you'd pass out by how stretched you were under her, your throat unable to form words as it was caught between pathetic gasps and moans, your walls fluttering around her dick like it was your sole purpose to be her cock-warming slut and manhandled so good by her.

You couldn't focus on anything other than Tara. Tara, Tara, Tara, oh how her cock felt so good buried inside of you, how it kept hitting your cervix with every thrust, and how it was so fucking painful yet it sent shivers down your spine that made your back arch so naturally.

"Answer me," she rasped, her hands releasing the harsh grip on your thighs that were bound to leave a mark and letting them trail up your body until they reached your throat, her fingers wrapping around it with their possessive grip, her nails slightly grazing your skin that were already adorned with hickeys. "Don't tell me you're too drunk on my cock to think of anything else."

You couldn't handle it anymore, your airways constricting with each tightening grip Tara had on your throat. "Yes!" you screamed, "I need your dick so much, so badly, Tara, my God—!" You choked out, your muscles tensing as you felt a knot forming in your stomach, your cunt clenching around her cock

"So close, so close, soclosesoclose, 'm close, Tara, f-fuck!" you whimpered, your hands reaching over her shoulders, nails clawing against her chiseled back, leaving red marks along her body that were bound to scar.

You couldn't miss the subtle wince that went across Tara's face under your harsh touch. Even if you were so damn close to cumming around her dick, the relentless slam of her hips onto your skin taking a toll on your sense of awareness, you still took notice of the muted groan of pain leaving her lips amidst the struggling grunts and low moans she breathed out. Yet you could feel the undeniable twitch from her cock buried deep inside you out of pleasure.

"Why were you flirting with her?"

Tara cocked her head to the side, her voice still raspy and her breaths were hot and heavy. The pace of her thrusts slowed as she began to give deliberate and agonizing strokes with her dick as she toyed with you, her hips slowly thrusting inside of you so excruciatingly slow to the point you'd be better off at riding her cock until your cunt spasms so hard you couldn't cum anymore.

"I wasn't…" you panted desperately, the slow and deliberate movement of Tara's hips driving you insane. "I wasn't flirting… with… oh, fuck..!" You let out a guttural moan as you felt Tara pull out, almost to her tip, and slammed her cock back in your cervix with such force.

You threw your head back, eyes rolling while your mouth hung open to deliver a loud moan that echoed throughout, your back arching in response to her plowing her length inside of you once more.

Tara continued her relentless assault, though if not slower, your hands frantically going to your face, grabbing a handful of your hair as you subtly hid your face away from hers. Biting the flesh of your arm to hide the rather embarrassing and pathetic moans you kept producing.

"Who?" She leaned down, her hot yet soft lips giving you wet kisses all along your jaw as your muffled moans filled the room and her ears, "Who, baby?" she pressed all while your muffled whimpers filled the room, her hands going to your face and pulling your arms out of way. Her voice was soft, unlike the way she fucked you into insanity, acting as if she was the most innocent girl in the room.

"I don’t know.. I don’t know!" You sobbed, actual tears running down your face as Tara kept her tormenting pace. You couldn't think of anything anymore, let alone other people who are not Tara. Sentences just flowed out of you as if Tara controlled every inch of your brain. Your cunt soaked her dick with your wetness, the knot in your stomach tightening with every thrust.

"Please," you desperately pleaded, the words escaping with more neediness than you intended it to be. "Just, oh my god, let me cum!" You cried out as your body shook under her, ready for release, but you knew she wasn't going to give you that when she pulled out, a loud wince escaping your lips.

It took all your self-control not to pull her back with such force that her cock would immediately hit your cervix and you'd rut all over her until she was satisfied with you.

"Wha... Tara what the fuck!?"

You whined as you looked down, her dick still standing proudly at 7 inches with its thick girth, resting on her stomach, still hard and erect. So why the fuck did she pull out when you could've been on the verge of having the most jaw-dropping orgasm of your life.

The knot in your stomach eased slightly as Tara grabbed a handful of your hair, her head leaning down, "Here's what we're going to do, baby," she whispered against your lips, your need to slip your tongue into hers was just a fleeting thought.

Her dick twitched over your thigh, and you knew you looked like the hottest mess Tara had ever laid her eyes on, and the knowledge that your face looked like a fucked-up, cock-drunk, slut for Tara made your pussy throb.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard against that glass window," she continued, her voice low and husky as you looked over, "until all of New York hears how you're such a pathetic and filthy whore for my dick." She raised her free hand to cup your cheeks, caressing the soft and red skin you had from sobbing your heart out. "Then you're going to thank me for letting you cum on my cock while screaming my name."

If you weren't crazy then, then you were definitely going crazy now. You looked at Tara, doe eyes and all.

"Do you hear me, y/n?" She demanded, and you dumbly nodded in response.

"Mmh, yeah, yes please," you whimpered, your voice so desperate and needy as you dropped to your knees, gazing up at Tara who was already standing up, your hands almost reaching to wrap around her cock if not for her hand slapping it away. It was unfair she was half-clothed while you looked like you got railed every second. "I'll do what you want, anything, just let me cum, Tara…"

"There's that good girl I know." Tara purred, her simple approval and praise making you wet as ever. Her hands found your shoulders, turning you around to face away from her as you obeyed her silent orders.

You gave her the best possible view of your back, a perfect arch as your head was off to the side, all while offering her a glimpse of your exposed pussy.

You could feel her hands trailing down your back as your head faced forward, your eyes dropping down to the mattress. With a firm grip, she grabbed both of your wrists, tying them together with her hand while her other arm traveled back to your shoulder.

With your hands bound behind you, Tara led you towards the window, forcefully pressing your face against the cold and hard surface, the windowpane flushed on your skin. You could see every apartment that surrounded Tara's, lights turned on and some turned off, some maybe even watching the both of you.

You wouldn't be lying if you said it turned you on so much.

Tara's body was pressed onto yours, gasping for solid air as you felt the hard length of her clock sliding against your ass, its slow movement teased every inch of your body as the pleasure shot up from your spine.

"You won't mind if I use your phone, right?" She asked while you wondered how the hell she even got your phone in the first place in this position. But you didn't mind.

You weren't above filming a little video for her, especially when it came to something like sex. In fact, you have a dedicated folder solely for those kinds of videos, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't have a video of Tara screaming your name replaying in your head over and over as you fucked yourself to it.

And so, you nodded.

Oh, how you wished you hadn't.

Or rather, you wished you didn't immediately add the girls number in your contacts so quickly.

"Fucking hell," Tara murmured to herself which didn't go unnoticed by you. As well as the sounds of Tara dialing a number onto your phone.

Glancing over your shoulders, you found Tara standing right behind you. Her hand gripped her throbbing cock, teasing your slick folds while her gaze remained fixated on the ringing phone in her other hand.

"Tara, what are you—" you began, but before you could finish your sentence, Tara shoved her cock deep inside you with a force that left you more than breathless, penetrating your pussy so good that left you gasping for air as you cried out her name.

"Oh, God! Tara—Shit, Tara!" You screamed, your head throwing back as your fingers gripped the wall, "feels s' good, f-fuck!," you cursed, a perfect arch making its way to your spine while Tara fucked your juices back inside of you.

Her cock fit perfectly inside you, almost as if it was already molded to the shape of her dick precisely. Every vein, and every twitch of her shaft inside of you felt so familiar. Her balls repeatedly slapped your clit by her relentless pace, driving you to the brink of insanity by the touch alone. Every pleasure you felt shot down onto your cunt, hot and so fucking intoxicating.

You wanted to push her away, to catch a breath and your abused folds catch a breath, yet bring her deeper into your body, wanting and craving her more and more.

It felt so good to the point you didn't notice the 'hello, y/n?' that came from your phone.

"Hold it." Tara commanded of you, her body leaning down to yours, bringing your phone closer to your ear.

You looked at her, wide-eyed. Your lips and mind tempted to moan out her name as she kept pounding her cock inside of you if not for the abrupt phone call. "Tara…" you whimpered, "Tara, I-I can't—" your voice barely audible before her hand covered your mouth, muffling your moans when she gave you a hard thrust.

The pleasure she's giving you by simply moving and her still dick filling you up send shivers down your spine, yet the voice coming from your phone won't stop talking.

You took over Tara's hand from the phone, putting it up to your ear as you spoke quietly. "Yeah—sorry, he—hey!" You stammered, attempting to even get a coherent thought over your clouded mind while Tara continued assaulting your puffy pussy, "who, oh fuck, is this?"

"I'm the girl at the party, Cady! You do remember, right?"

You don't, really. It's all a blur.

You gasped, your head turning to the side as you tried to muffle your noises as quietly as possible, "yeah, yeah, I remember. Why—why, are you calling?"

The girl on the line laughed, chuckling even, "you called me. I didn't expect getting a call so easily after that conversation."

Please stop talking, you wanted to say.

You could feel Tara's jealousy and anger through the way her hands gripped your waist, her other hand delivering a sharp slap to your ass.

"I… I probably was—I was drunk," you stuttered, struggling to find the right words as your head ducked down. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call," you breathed out, biting your lip to prevent a single whimper coming out of you.

"Well, you did," she replied, her tone teasing, laughing even more, "But I'm glad you did. We can pick up where we left off, if you know what I mean," You knew there was a sultry tone to her voice, probably even winking across the phone. "Is there someone in your room? I thought I heard something crash."

Tara leaned down, her grip on your hips tighter than ever, planting wet and sloppy along your shoulders to your ear, "You wanna tell them how good I'm fucking you, baby?" She whispered huskily, innocently kissing your cheeks as if she wasn't teasing you with another person on the other line.

"Wanna tell her how fucking good it feels to have my cock buried deep inside you?" She thrusted, her arms going to your shoulders and pushing your body deeper inside of her, "Tell her how you're begging for more, how you couldn't get enough of my dick?"

You were so glad you moved the phone just an inch away.

"I, oh my God, uhm, Tara—Tara!" You screamed out, a broken moan escaping your lips, hiding it by the fact you were mentioning her name, "yeah, Tara's here. Carpenter. She's, well, joining me for a simple exercise," you managed to reply, your voice shaky.

"Didn't know you guys were close."

"Yeah, we...uh, got closer recently," you stammered while Tara continued her relentless assault on your tight cunt, her cock plunging deep inside you, "we—oh shit—she lives with me so, yeah!"

You could hear Tara laugh at the half-assed excuse, probably the most common ones in the book.

Cady laughed through the phone once more, "I didn't mean to interrupt anything by picking up the phone, did I?"

"Cady, it's… It's fine," you managed to gasp, your voice strained with pleasure as Tara's relentless thrusts kept pounding into you harder and faster if it was even possible. "Oh, fuck!" You couldn't help but moan loudly, yet accidentally, the phone still pressed to your ear, as Tara leaned down once more and took over the phone, bringing it close to her ear as she let you grip the walls with such immense tightness.

"I'm sure y/n will forget you in a matter of seconds after this," she purred, "especially when she's getting fucked so good by me." She turned the phone around, enabling video on, letting Cady see your ass bouncing along her cock, her dick disappearing deep inside you and your back arching in pure ecstasy, "I almost pity you on how you'll never feel the never-ending pleasure of her pussy clenching around you."

She hung up before a single scream shouted from the phone, throwing it on the bed, "'m gonna cum, Tara. Baby, I'm gonna cum, Shit, shit,shitshitshitshitshit!"

Your body tensed, a knot forming in your lower abdomen as you cried out her name like a prayer, begging for a desperate release of being denied just moments ago. You could feel her hands gripping your hips even tighter, her grunts and little moans escaping her lips only drove you more into an orgasm,

Your moans filled the room, mixing with Tara's own gasps and the sound of skin slapping against skin, your wetness coating her dick. "Cum on me baby," she whispered, her fingers running across your hair as she threw your head back, "don't forget to do what I said."

"Tara! Oh, fuck, that feels so good!" Your walls clenched around her cock, your body trembling while you felt Tara's own climax shoot ropes of cum deep inside of you as she held you close, her arms wrapped around you as she came, "thank you..." You murmured, crying out, "thank you, baby, fuck your cock still feels so good inside me..."

The intense grip you had on the glass faltered, your legs giving way as you collapsed against the window, your body still shaking and your pussy tightening against Tara's twitching cock while you waited for her to empty her load inside of you, her hips still bucking while she caressed your skin, leaving a trail of kisses and words of affection down your neck.

"I love you..." she whispered against your skin, "you're gorgeous," she kissed, "such a good girl, y/n."

You nodded weakly, a smile covering your lips as you slid down the glass wall as Tara gently turned you around, planting a tender kiss on your lips.

"My pretty girl," Tara called out, softness in her voice while she tucking a loose strand behind your ear and wiping the tears away, "you did so well."

Tara cupped your cheek, all too evident that you were tired and exhausted, her thumb brushing lightly against your skin as she stared into your eyes. It was all too beautiful for Tara.

You started to wrap your arms on her shoulders, pulling her close while she laughs"I'll carry you to the bathroom, mkay? I'll draw you a bath and we can cuddle there."

You were too tired out to say or think of anything, so you opted with a nod.

Tara chuckled softly in your response, scooping you up in her oddly strong arms as she carried you to the bathroom, her touch now soft and comforting instead of harsh and cruel.

You didn't think the afterparty would turn out like this, but you were grateful it did.

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aftermath bonus:

Y: "are you still mad at me?" T: *shrug* "lost it within the three seconds we started making out" Y: "what the fuck tara?!"

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a/n: tara is the size of two apples tall (give or take), every possible bone in her body is fractured, probably losing blood by the minute, her shoesize is probably smaller than a rats AND the girl has asthma. it almost felt wrong writing her like this. off topic but i wished tumblr had a like comment thing for people like me that for some reason is too scared and shy to reply to you guys. I REALLY APPRECIATE THE COMMENTS, TRULY!! THEY MAKE MY DAY SM BETTER

#tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter smut #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader smut #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega

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humofnight · 2 years

Text

(less than) twenty four hours remain until my oral exam

#AND THEN IM FREE #excited about that terrified about the rest of it #namely the exam #one advisor kept going ah its gonna be a grand ol’ lark #we’ll just chat about how to make it better #sounding very chipper and new zeal and about it #and im like thats great my guy still an exam for me #Afton hums

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revasserium · 3 months

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hiii i'm a new follower and i love your writing so much

ik u said no requests in ur bio but i just finished reading ur sanji fic.. so even if ur still not taking requests i'd just like to throw in an idea that u may or may not feel like using in the future, up to you (i'm requesting this with opla sanji in mind but if u wanna use it for zoro that's cool too)

k so imagine reader being invited to a friend's wedding, & being excited to go until they find out their ex is coming too (with their partner of some amt of yrs). so now reader is pressured to bring someone w/ them & ends up asking their best friend sanji bc they don't want others thinking they're still hung up on the past.

wedding dress

opla!sanji; 6,544 words, pining with a happy ending, fluff and a tad of angst, flirting, lovesick!sanji, whipped!!!!sanji, no "y/n", zeff is a whole mood, confessions, sanji-appropriate nickname usage, modern!au?

summary: you invite sanji to be your plus 1 at a wedding

a/n: im so sorry this took so long. but. better late than? never? also, there is a tiny bit of rehashing for ep 6 of the live action for sanji and zeff's relationship so... spoilers?

It’s a chilly, overcast kind of day when the call comes in. And in retrospect, Sanji thinks he should’ve known better when he’d seen your name on the caller ID. He’d hesitated, because by god if it wasn’t his New Year's Resolution to get the hell over you this year, but it’s almost December again and he still can’t help the way his heart races at the sound of your voice.

“Hey sweetheart — long time no talk!” he answers after a brief moment of contemplating his entire life, dusting his flour-covered hands on his apron.

“Hey! Sorry for calling so… out of the blue…” your voice is still as sweet as ever, and the way his stomach twists at the tinkle of your nervous laughter makes him want to kick himself. Still, he forces himself to stay calm, clearing his throat as he checks the oven — it’s almost done pre-heating.

“Now you know what I said about actin’ a stranger — just because you moved halfway across the entire world doesn’t mean we ain’t best friends anymore, right?”

It’s what you’d said when he’d been standing at the airport, three seconds from dropping to his knees and begging you not to go. But he hadn’t, because he knew how hard you’d worked for this — for this opportunity abroad, to study art in the birthplace of the Renaissance itself, in the heart of Italy.

“And… you might be able to come visit me, right?” you’d said, rocking on the balls of your feet, your eyes full of what Sanji could only call false hope — which is always, always the worst and most painful kind.

Sanji had swallowed and nodded and said something or other about Europe and fine dining, but there’s a terrible, prickling heat eating up the back of his neck and a voice that’s screaming at him to pull you to him and kiss you. He doesn’t. And he regrets it to this day.

“Ah — right… I’m actually calling because… I’ll be in the area in about a week and…”

Your voice pulls him out of his reverie and he clears his throat, hitches a smile to his face that he knows you can’t see but he’s sure you can hear.

“Oh! That’s great, darling! You’ve gotta come for a drink, I’ll whip up all your favorites — we can make a night —”

“It’s actually for a wedding.”

There are a few moments in everyone’s lives when they learn the true meaning of a thing for the very first time — elation, pride, stomach-twisting guilt, and… fear. True fear, the kind of fear that shakes the muscle from your bones and sends them tingling, threatens to overwhelm you with numbness. Fear, that pushes adrenaline through you like a drug, forces the world into a terrifying, all-consuming focus.

Sanji feels the fear coursing through him, wild and contentious at your words.

A wedding.

Your wedding? Perhaps?

He can’t bear to think of it; he’s so terrified he can barely breathe.

Then comes the moment after, the wave of everything else that the fear had washed away — confusion, anger, guilt (always guilt, for some reason), because isn’t he supposed to be happy for you? For you, the person he loves most in this entire world, to find love, to know happiness. He should. He should.

“Oh.”

Sanji sags back against the hard, metal counter. Almost mindlessly, he reaches into his pockets with shaking hands, digging around for a smoke.

Your breath is soft in his ear, too far across the phone line and a thousand miles of ocean.

“I originally wasn’t even planning on going — she’s not a very close friend — we had like one class together but —”

And within the span of a minute, Sanji also learns relief. The kind that melts the world around you into sizzling butter and champagne bubbles. The kind that makes you want to lie down on the ground and scream.

“— it was so close to your restaurant so I said yes but I didn’t know he was gonna be there and —”

You’re still talking, rambling like you do. And it takes nearly everything inside Sanji to pull himself back to the conversation.

“Sorry, love, who did you say was gonna be there?”

“My ex — you know the one —”

Sanji grimaces, flicking on his lighter with still-shaking fingers.

“Mm, yeah I do. The tall, dark-haired bastard who —”

“Yeah well — he’s gonna be there too and I just —” he hears you swallow hard and take a long, steadying breath. An unnameable something is calcifying in the depths of his stomach as he waits for you to collect yourself.

Curiosity? Why had you called like this, so suddenly, about a wedding where your ex was going to be? Concern? Were you thinking of going back to him?

But slowly, as you stutter through your next few words, the unnameable thing obtains a name — dread.

“— I just don’t think I could do it myself, y’know? And — and you were the one who got me out of it wh-when I decided to break it off with him so…”

Sanji takes a long drag of his cigarette and casts his eyes up at the high, white-slabbed ceiling of the kitchen, scored with long strips of bright, fluorescent lighting that floods the entire room in a direct, unforgiving glow.

He closes his eyes and counts to three.

“Course I’ll come with you, darlin’. It —” he wets his lips, taps off a bit of ash from his cigarette, and sucks in through his nose, clearing his throat of the words still lodged there, “— it’d be my honor.”

Relief — he hears it in your voice, and by gods he can almost see it — the way your whole face would light up, washed as if by the setting sun, your eyes wide and dark, your cheeks flushing his favorite fucking shade of pink and —

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really owe you for this one —”

Sanji makes a valiant effort at a nonchalant chuckle; it comes out sounding like a dog with a bit of bone stuck in its throat instead.

“Nonsense — what are best friends for, anyway?”

There’s a tiny pause where Sanji can feel the words best friend scraping along the insides of his mouth, barbed and harsh, leaving his tongue feeling raw and metallic.

“You really are the best friend anyone could ask for,” your voice is soft and honest and Sanji wants nothing more than to chuck his phone into the industrial blender.

You tell him that you’ll send him the details, that you can’t wait to see him soon, that you’ve got a world and a half of catching up to do, that you’ll buy him so, so many drinks, and that you’ll come bearing presents. He laughs at the right times, makes soft noises of consent and agreement, and when finally, finally you tell him goodbye, he clicks off the phone and takes another long drag of his smoke.

And then, he whips his hand back and throws the cigarette butt into the large sink, where it tinks against the metal and sizzles sadly in the murky dishwater.

“Real sucker for punishment, aren’tcha, lil’ eggplant?”

Sanji groans, turning around to find Zeff with his arms folded, the hip to his bad leg propped against a counter.

“Will you fuck kindly off — can’t you see I’m going through a thing here?”

Zeff snorts, clunking unevenly towards him.

“You been going through that thing for the last year and a half since you chickened outta askin’ her to stay so —”

“I didn’t chicken out — I — it was her dream to go to Florence and study —”

“And what was your dream then, ey?”

Sanji bangs his palm against the counter and sighs, “It’s not like I could leave you here with —”

“With what? A thriving restaurant business that I started? A guest list out the door and round the corner —”

“I — I helped!”

Zeff rolls his eyes, “Ah sure ya did, but I never asked you to, did I?”

Sanji huffs, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop the torrent of horrible, sad, acrid things he could say and could never mean, so he swallows them back down. When he looks up next, Zeff is still standing there, but there’s a softness around his eyes.

He opens his mouth a few times, but eventually, all he says is, “The oven’s over heatin’.”

Sanji swears and jumps up to tug open the oven door. A wave of hot air whooshes out and nearly catches him in the face. Behind him, he can hear Zeff’s dark, gravelly chuckle, and the dull clunk of his wooden leg.

“You burn the kitchen down, you pay for it.”

And then he’s gone again, leaving the door swinging behind him, and Sanji very much alone with the too-hot oven and a counter full of things he can’t really remember the recipes for anymore.

Nearly a week later, Sanji finds himself standing at the airport, rocking on the balls of his feet, nearly in the exact same place as he’d been a year and a half prior. Except this time, you’re not walking away from him. You’re walking back towards him. He wonders if there’s a name for deja-vu in reverse and comes to the realization that that’s just called… a memory.

And memory seems to work in strange ways now, images superimposing themselves on top of one another — the flicker of a film lens, the bat of an eyelash, the shadow of a smile crimping the corner of your lips. All of this, he sees in the here and now, but he sees it in the air around you too, shimmering and mirage-like — all his memories and dreams of you layered over the shape of you. Your memory like a ghost of itself, trailing behind you as you walk towards him, a shy smile on your face, your cheeks flushed from travel and the cold and —

He doesn’t let himself hope. Not this time.

“Hey!” your voice is just as bell-like as he remembers it, pitched a little higher than it usually is, probably out of nervousness. But it still feels like a kick to the guts. Sanji forces himself to smile.

“Hi, love,” he says, leaning down as you reach him, but the motion aborts halfway because — is it still appropriate to hug you like he’d always done? To press his lips to your cheek or your hairline and revel in the bright citrus of your shampoo, to soak in the butter and cream of your skin like he used to?

There’s an awkward half-second pause before you’re standing up on tip-toe and Sanji’s heart nearly drops out of his ass as you lean in. But then — your lips skim by his cheek and your arms are around him, and stupid, stupid, stupid heart — thundering in his chest like horses or hooves or fists or thumping rabbit’s feet — leaping into his throat and pattering against the base of his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. But it’s not close enough. It’s never close enough.

He breathes and distantly, a part of him notes that you still use the same shampoo.

“Hi…” your voice is warm by his ear, a bit muffled, but he can’t help the way it makes him shiver, “It’s… so good to see you.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice to do the normal thing and, oh, you know — work.

“I’ve — I’ve missed you.”

He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough as he nods again. He feels your arms slackening around him and a fierce, terrifying thing is flapping its wings in his stomach, screeching at him not to let you go. But he does — like he did before.

“I — I missed you too,” he says, though his voice sounds flat and scratchy and he clears his throat again.

A dozen different expressions flicker across the lovely planes of your face and finally, it settles on endeared exasperation.

“Please don’t tell me you still work through like three packs of smokes a day.”

Sanji laughs then, shaking his head as he reaches over for your luggage, “Nah — well, maybe not three but —”

You whack him softly on the arm.

“I actually tried to quit right after you left.”

“You did?”

Sanji shrugs as the pair of you start to make for the exit. He feels your gaze go slanted and shrewd.

“How long’d that last?”

He smirks, “Few hours.”

You whack him again and this time, he dodges out of the way just to bask in the bright spark of your laughter as you chase after him.

“Seriously though, you know how terrible they are for you!”

“Sure do,” he says, tugging one out of his pocket as soon as he clears the airport doors, pivoting left towards the parking garage. You have to jog to keep up with his longer strides, your breaths misting the air between you in silvery puffs.

He makes no move to light it as he helps toss your luggage into the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You huff as you wiggle into the passenger’s side.

“Then why —”

Sanji waits patiently for you to buckle your seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting soft against the middle console. He slates you a glance.

“Cause,” he says, fixing his eyes back on the road, an easy smirk twisting his lips, “it’s a metaphor.”

You groan, sinking into the seat, “Just because you read John Green one time —”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I read his entire bibliography after you showed him to me.”

“Ugh, whatever you manic-pixie-dreamgirl-loving ass.”

“Yeah, whatever — you actual manic pixie dreamgirl.”

You smile and Sanji allows himself the brief and aching delusion that the past year and a half didn’t happen, that you never left, and that you’d never leave. That you’d always be here, warm and laughing and just within reach.

The rest of the car ride is spent in mundane conversation, in how was your flight and tell me about Florence and how’s Zeff doing these days and I wanna know about your latest dish. It’s light and easy, and Sanji lets it warm the air around him. By the time he pulls into the front of your hotel, all the unsaid words from the past year and a half have soaked through his socks and into his shoes. It sloshes out onto the pale pavement as he opens the car door.

He helps you roll your luggage up into the lobby and tells you he’ll be here at 3PM to pick you up tomorrow. The venue’s just three blocks away.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you say, pursing your lips, waving as he backpedals towards the automatic doors.

“You’ve still gotta send me pictures of the dress you’re wearing — I gotta find a matching tie.”

You laugh, a bit embarrassed, “Right — and here I thought I might surprise you.”

Sanji freezes, eyes wide.

“O-oh! Er — well, you can just — just tell me what color or —” he waves vaguely, “send a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against —”

You nod, eyes glittering, eager once more, “Oh! That’s a good idea — I’ll do that.”

“Great,” Sanji says.

“Great!” you echo, perhaps a bit too chipper.

He gives you one last smile before turning and striding from the hotel, firing up the engine as calmly as he can, forcing himself not to turn and check if you’re still watching him through the brightly lit, sliding glass doors. He allows himself a glance through the rear-view mirror as he pulls away from the drive and his heart skips a beat when he realizes you’re still standing there, right in the middle of the lobby, fingers wrapped around the handle of your suitcase, your eyes fixed on the shadow of his retreating car.

He lights the smoke the second he turns the corner, your shadow no longer in his rear-view mirror.

That night, Sanji dreams in fits and leaps, flashing images and long, sticky streams of could-have-beens —

He dreams of your laughter in a white-tiled kitchen, of powdered sugar and eggshells cracked and leaking on an exposed wood counter, chopsticks clinking against a thick glass mixing bowl. He dreams of your voice echoing off the shower tiles as you sing off-key, the way you used to when you’d sneak into his college dorm for movie night and a midnight snack. He dreams of coffee mugs and errant rose petals and dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. He dreams of dancing with you in his arms in a darkened dorm room that morphs into a bigger room with a softer carpet, one that he’d never seen before but he knows implicitly (like bodies know) is his home — it has pictures on the walls, trinkets lining the far bookshelf, your favorite scarf draped over the back of the well-worn sofa.

In the dream, you pull your head back from where it's pillowed against his shoulder and smile up at him. He leans down to kiss you, his lips hovering half an inch from yours.

Sanji jerks awake to the sound of his alarm, fingers fumbling for his phone, groaning as he smashes the orange snooze button and flips over to bury his face back into his lumpy pillow.

“Ah… fuck.”

It’s not the first time he’s had that dream, and he knows it won’t be the last. But it’d been so real that night, real enough to make him wonder if it just might come true.

He rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes and peers blearily at all the notifications on his screen. There’s a text from you with a picture attached. He clicks it open to find a short message attached to the picture — I really did want to surprise you…

He blinks for three seconds at what looks like a blurry picture of studded black silk before he remembers —

“Send me a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against.”

He allows himself a laugh, swinging his feet out of bed even as he types back — you coulda just told me it was black…

He watches the three little dots appear and disappear a few times, chewing on his bottom lip, before the text appears — well there are different shades of black, right???

Sanji laughs, shaking his head.

sure there are.

A string of tongue-out emojis, followed by an equally long string of middle-finger emojis.

He spends the rest of the morning fussing over which specific black tie to wear before settling on one that he’s quite sure is the exact same shade of black as your dress (and yes, he does have quite the collection of black ties), before tugging his best suit out to press.

It shouldn’t feel so easy, slipping back into the rhythm of things, of texting and smiling and hearing your voice in his head when he reads your texts. It shouldn’t feel so easy to forget the months of radio silence and guilt, the oppressive, resonant weight of what might have been if either of you had done a single thing different that day at the airport — he wonders if he should’ve reached for your hand, he wonders if you’d ever looked back.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t let himself.

He is waiting for you in the lobby at 2:45, wearing a hole into the plush Persian carpet, collecting strained looks from the concierge who had assured him three times in the last four minutes that he’d already rung up to your room and that you’d said you were on your way.

“Wow, you’re early — sorry I took a while — I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair and —“

Sanji lifts his head and thinks distantly that all those rom-com cliches of a guy looking up, time itself slackening, the room smearing sideways around him, the music going slow, the lighting soft — all of it is painfully, startlingly true after all.

Because there you are, walking towards him, still saying something, but he can’t make out the words anymore because time isn’t really a thing anymore, is it? He can’t focus on that and also the dark glimmer of your dress, the way the neckline skates just beneath your collarbones, barely skimming the skin there before it slips down along the slope of your shoulders in a way that makes his breath unspool inside his chest like loose threads.

And in the slanted, ethereal light of the winter afternoon, your dress looks like it’s cut from a swath of darkest midnight, moonless and scattered with stars.

You blush as Sanji attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor and hitch his lips into something resembling a smile.

“W-wow… you look…”

Your smile is shy as you press your palms against the dress, looking down, “Thanks… you don’t think it’s… too much?”

Sanji shakes his head, feeling dazed.

“No! I mean — it’s —“ his mouth is dry, drier than he ever remembers it being, and suddenly it’s very hard to swallow and Sanji isn’t even sure the muscles in his neck know how to perform the action, let alone force words out alongside it. He struggles for another few seconds, his jaw working furiously as his eyes skitter down and back up the shape of you.

“You look… perfect,” he says, finally, because the word has been ricocheting around his chest like a stray bullet and he had to let it out somehow.

“Thanks — you don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, your voice breathy in a way that makes Sanji’s stomach squeeze.

He offers you his arm, and you glide forward to take it.

He drives the three blocks to the wedding venue in a daze, his mind spinning slow and off-axis, tilted so by the gentle waft of your perfume, the lullaby of your voice as you chatter nervously about this and that and the weather, I mean, can you believe it’s gonna be an outdoor wedding in the winter? He wonders briefly why you’re so nervous, and then he’s reminded of the reason he’s even here at all — your ex will be here. Ah. Right.

“Ready?” he asks, offering you his arm again as the both of you follow the meandering stream of arriving guests toward the paved outdoor garden area where the ceremony is due to take place.

“No, but… you’re here so…” you let out a breath and for a second, Sanji almost thinks he hears the hint of an ache in your voice. An ache like an old scab picked at too many times, like unrequited love, perhaps. It’s an ache with which Sanji is so intimately familiar that he immediately tamps it down and vows not to think about it again for the rest of the night.

There are stiff-backed waiters wandering around with plates of hors d’oeuvres and thin flutes of bubbling pink champagne.

Sanji grabs two glasses and hands you one.

“Cheers, then.”

“Bottoms up,” you say, tossing back the entire flute in one.

Sanji cocks his eyebrows, grinning as he follows suit, smacking his lips.

“Alright then, I guess if that’s how you’re playin’ —”

Your laughter is light, if a little strained, but he remembers how quickly bubbly drinks tend to go to your head and makes a concerted effort to slow down. You make it all the way through the actual ceremony without bumping into your ex, though you do lean over and grab Sanji’s hand as the bride and groom exchange vows — something about love being a choice, one that they promise to make every morning of every day for the rest of their lives — and he looks over to find you misty-eyed, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sap,” he whispers, leaning over. It earns him a choked laugh and a half-hearted elbow in the ribs, but it’s worth it to see the tension melt from your shoulders.

Sanji turns back towards the bride and groom, exchanging rings now, and unbidden comes the images of you and him standing where they are — you in a dazzling white gown, him still in a dark suit, but one perhaps of more expensive material and much better tailoring. He thinks about all the things he might promise you, wonders at what you might promise him in return —

“I promise to love and cherish you —” you might say.

“I promise to make all your favorite foods,” he might say.

“I promise not to touch your emotional support le creuset pans.”

“I promise not to make you taste all my experimental dishes —”

“Okay, but what if I want to —”

He imagines the way the crowd would titter, how the officiator would affectionately clear his throat. He imagines Zeff’s warm, well-worn laughter, rough and a little torn at the edges because he’s just as sentimental as the next guy behind all the beard and gruffness. He imagines the crowd smiling up at the pair of you, the way you’d squeeze his hands to get the both of you back on track —

He jerks out of his reverie as you tug your hand away from his to clap, and it takes him a beat to realize that everyone else is clapping and cheering too. He blinks — the bride and groom are kissing, pulling apart as the music swells around them and they link hands to walk back down the aisle.

Sanji clears his throat and hurriedly gets up to clap as well, his eyes trailing the radiant smiles on both the newlyweds’ faces. Another sharp ache sings through him but he feels your hand in his again and he can’t tell if he wants to grip you tighter or pull away. They’d both hurt just as much, wouldn’t they?

“C’mon, let’s get inside — I wanna judge the catering with you,” you whisper, your breath tickling his cheek, and he knows without having to look that you’re standing on your tiptoes, your chin almost propped on his shoulder.

He fights down a bout of shivers and smiles, “My favorite part of any formal event, honestly.”

You laugh, “I know — me too.”

So you spend the entire dinner service whispering to each other about the food —

“God, this steak is so well done I think it just might dislocate my jaw —”

“What’s in this sauce?”

Sanji chews thoughtfully before making a face, “Dunno, but it’s got oregano.”

“Oh the cake looks good though.”

“Yeah, but we both know how much sugar and butter goes into that right?”

You nudge him with an elbow, “Weird, cause I’m pretty sure happiness is also made of sugar and butter.”

“Well for me, it’s always been…” but Sanji trails off, biting his tongue. No. He can’t say that — not now. Not here.

Because for him, happiness has always just been you.

So instead, he swallows passed his own mouthful of regrets and attempts a lopsided grin. And thankfully, your attention is drawn elsewhere by a loud peal of laughter before he has to make a shitty joke about happiness being a well-lit kitchen and a gas-lit stove.

You’re both at least a bottle of champagne deep when it finally happens, inevitable as a summer storm — your ex saunters up to you on the dance floor, sporting a grease-slick grin, eyeing you up and down like a piece of well-cut meat. Sanji is at the bar, grabbing more drinks and you’re catching a breath of fresh air just outside the dance hall.

“Well, well, well — look who it is.”

Sanji turns sharply at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing — Asshat. Fantastic. The bartender is putting the finishing touches on two custom cocktails but blinks, confused, as Sanji swipes both drinks out from the bar and casts him a hurried grin.

“Thanks mate, these look great,” Sanji raises the cocktail glasses at the bewildered bartender before hurrying off, slowing ever so slightly as he reaches you, straightening his spine and smoothing out his shoulders.

“Here, got them special-made for you,” he says, pressing the cocktail into your hand, cutting into something that Asshat is saying.

“Oh! Thanks — oh wow, this looks so good!” you beam up at him, taking a sip.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you were still hangin’ out with this guy,” Asshat says, hooking his thumbs into his belt-hoops and jutting out his chin.

You frown, pressing your lips, “Excuse me?”

Asshat scoffs, posturing, “I mean, when we broke up, it was cause o’him right? So I just thought you might’ve realized what a mistake that was and —”

Sanji barely has the time to feel offended before Asshat is gasping and stumbling back. You’d tossed the remainder of your drink straight into his face.

“What the —” Asshat sputters, his fists clenching, but quick as anything, Sanji swipes out a leg that catches him right in the shins and makes him stumble. In one fluid movement, Sanji pushes his own drink into your hand before reaching out the other arm to steady the now flailing Asshat, catching him around the shoulders.

“Whoa there! Seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend!” he says, loud enough for the people around you to hear. He thumps Asshat on the back in a would-be kind gesture before tugging him close, still coughing, and hissing in his ear —

“Listen here, you asswipe — you’re gonna turn around and walk away and stay the fuck away from us for the rest of this wedding, you understand? I’ve got plenty more o’this for ya if you don’t, got it?”

Sanji scuffs his foot along the gravel-covered ground in a motion that could easily be mistaken as fidgeting, but you know better. And so, it seems, does Asshat, who scoffs and shoves Sanji off him with a glare, but after another second, straightens his drink-soaked jacket, turns, and stalks away.

You let out a long breath, swallowing hard.

“Hey darlin’… you alright?” Sanji turns and bends down to level his eyes with yours.

“Y-yeah — thanks — you didn’t need to —”

“Nah. Course I did — it’s why you invited me, right?” he allows himself a lopsided grin that borders on self-deprecating and you look up, eyes wide.

“No! I — that’s not —”

“It’s okay, love — I promise I’m not offended —” Sanji’s babbling, he knows he is — but he has to, because the alternative of letting you speak, of letting you confirm what he already knows to be true (that you’ve only ever seen him as a best friend, that you love him in all the ways except for the one way he wants you to, in the one way he loves you) is too much. He tucks his hands in his pockets and shrugs up his shoulders, pulling them up towards his ears like armor.

And then you lean in and kiss him, and every single word he’s ever thought of saying just to fill the silence turns to mist and mornings on his tongue. His mind turns blissfully blank and when he regains consciousness (or has he? Because isn’t this the dream he’s dreamt every waking moment of his life for the past… however many years?), he thanks every god he can name that he feels his fingers in your hair, his other hand cupping the soft curve of your jaw. He tastes your uncertainty against his lips and presses in, hoping, praying that if he just kissed you hard enough you might understand.

When you pull away, he can’t help the satisfied purr that curls up his chest at the pinkness in your cheeks and the slightly glazed-over look in your eyes.

“O-oh — sorry I —”

Sanji shakes his head, leaning in to push his forehead against yours.

“Nah, nah, nah — if you tell me that was a mistake now I might just turn around and never speak to you ever again — because don’t you dare —”

You let out a helpless laugh, shaking your head as you reach up to cover his hands with yours. It’s only then that he realizes they’d been shaking. He swallows and he thinks he can taste every single morning after for the rest of his goddamn life in the whisper of your breath.

“It — it’s not, I wasn’t —” you close your eyes and Sanji holds you still, foreheads still pressed. Distantly, Sanji is aware that people are cheering, that more drinks are being poured, that the dance floor is probably a mess. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’ll care about anything else ever again — why would he? Now that he’s got you.

“Shh… take your time, love… we’ve got all the time in the world.”

He feels the relief take you, and then you’re falling into him, burying your face in the lapel of his suit jacket, probably smearing it with your foundation. Vaguely, Sanji considers framing it when he gets home.

“I’m… I’m sorry it took so long — I’m sorry I didn’t — that I wasn’t…” you curl your fist into the material of his shirt and thump him lightly on the chest, even as he laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“I know, darlin’… I know.” Sanji presses his lips into your hair and can’t help a smile.

Finally. Finally.

Your hair smells like citrus shampoo.

Finally.

“I thought about you every single day,” you admit, your voice small when you finally pull back to look at him again. He thinks there might be tears in your eyes, or maybe it’s just the starlight caught in the thick night sky of your lashes.

“Did you now?” he asks, fumbling for some semblance of normalcy amidst this night of revelations.

You nod, fervently, and god he wants to kiss you again. Briefly, he wonders if he should, if he’s allowed to now. Instead, he smiles and cocks his head.

“So? What changed?” and he can’t help the tiny note of hurt out of his voice, the slightest shiver of disbelief. After all, cynicism is a hard habit to break.

Especially after so many years of practice.

You shrug, sighing, “Nothing — everything. I mean — I’d always… but then I thought — you had your career as a chef and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. But it —” you lick your lips, and Sanji nearly breaks when you tear your eyes away from his. He wants to force you back, to soak in the dark and bright of your gaze till he can see the world exactly as you see it.

“It’s always been you…” you say.

At this, Sanji does break. He tips your face towards him with a thumb and a forefinger and leans in, waiting for you to pull back, bracing for it. But you don’t — instead, you press in and close the space between you again, and again, and then again.

He wants to tell you — he needs to tell you that it’s always been you too, that there’s never been anyone else. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he’s known, even though both of you were children back then, and neither of you had any idea what “love” actually meant. He knew then, too.

“Love…” his voice trails off, but you smile, and he knows you know, knows that you can hear it in the rawness behind his voice, in the softness of his breath, in the way it shakes.

You make to kiss him again. But your lips hover half an inch from his and you stop. Sanji sighs.

“What — why’d you stop?”

Your smile is sweet and sharp, honey glinting on a razor’s edge, and he knows that he has you. And maybe that he’s always had you and was just too blind, too terrified, to see it.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s a metaphor.”

Sanji groans, “Fuck your metaphors.”

You bat your lashes, pulling an expression of mock affront onto your face.

“Well at least wine me and dine me first —”

Sanji licks his lips, “What’dyou think I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years?”

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

Sanji smirks and kisses you again, slowly this time, languid and deep. Unhurried. He luxuriates in the way you go soft in his arms, in the way he can feel the gentle hitch of your breath as he runs his tongue along the edges of your teeth, coaxing you towards him, closer and closer and closer.

The hardest, angriest part of him wants to swallow you whole, bite down just to hear you hiss, to taste your blood on his tongue. To make you feel even a sliver of the pain he’d felt. He tamps it back down — there’s time for that later.

Instead, he forces himself to pull back and allows himself the satisfaction of watching you chase him, pursing your own lips with a bashful look away, your cheeks dark.

“So,” Sanji takes half a step back, puffing out his chest in the best imitation of a fuckboy at a wedding party, “wanna get outta here?”

You let out a helpless laugh, falling into his side. He lets the sound ring through him like so many silver bells.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He chuckles, looping an arm around your middle and leaning towards your ear.

“Your place, or mine?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure I still have a toothbrush at your place.”

Sanji hums, “You still have a whole drawer at my place.”

You smile up at him, open and happy and sincere, “Then… I guess that’s your answer then.”

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