#he got dirty messing with berries
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SWEETNESS ~ BUGGY
LA!buggy x straw hat!reader
Based off of this post bc it made me giggle PT 2
Nattie speaks: y’all this mf clown has no right to be so fine but LAWRD. I’d do anything just for one lick. This is short nd simple but cute🤭
ZORO DRAGGED HIS FEET across the wooden floors of the Going Merry, ignoring the muffled screeching of the clown head inside the dark sack as he set his eyes on thing. Nightfall was approaching, everyone on the ship wanted some rest, yet nobody was getting any with the constant whining of Buggy. The green haired man pushed open your door, making you jumped slightly as you looked towards him with a raised brow.
“I give up, all yours now.” Zoro voiced practically dripped in annoyance, he tossed the sack across the room, making it land onto the soft cushion of your bed before slamming the door behind him.
You could hear groans coming from the sack, “Damn you, you fucking broccoli-haired ass!” You chuckled softly, putting down the comb you had in your hand and walking towards the scruffy bag. As you released the clown head he sighed in content, breathing in the fresh scent of berries that engulfed the room. “Ah, sweetness, so good to see you!”
“Nice to see you too, Buggy.” You giggled, “You doing alright there?” You asked, smiling a bit as the man got comfortable on your bed.
“Much better now that I have you in front of me.” He winked with a flirtatious smirk on his red painted lips. “I definitely thought he was going to put me with that weird chef guy again so he could chop me into piece and cook me or something.”
“Looks like you got lucky today.” You smirked back, grabbing him and placing him on the small vanity, going back to combing through your hair. Buggy was a simple man, with simple needs, especially since his whole body was gone. The angle his head was facing gave him more fuel into his dirty thoughts. His eyes directly faced your chest, eyes captured on the line of cleavage peeking from the low cut tank top you had on. He was hypnotized by you, for the first time since he was taken by Luffy and placed on the ship to sail away to Arlong island he’d gone completely silent.
You simply hummed, clueless of how the clown shifted slightly to get a closer view. You suddenly let out a huff, dropping the comb and looking over at the clown. “Y’know, I like having you around here, you totally make me feel special and even though the rest of the crew might really, really not like you, know I’m on your side.”
“Mhmm.” Buggy hummed in response, eyes hungrily watching you. “I appreciate that, sweetness.”
You smiled. “You hungry?” You stood up and took him in your arms, cradling him carefully like he was a baby. The blue hairs that peaked from under the striped bandana tickled your skin.
Buggy enjoyed being around you, especially since you were so generous and careful with him, the others simply tossed him into the sack or an empty barrel whenever he even spoke. But you, you fed him, you defended him, you took care of him and did the exact opposite of what everyone else did. “I’m hungry for one thing, that’s for sure, sweetness.” The clown replied, eyes still clued onto your tits as you entered the small kitchen.
“Hey, maybe we can brush through that tangled mess once we get a quick snack.” You replied giddily with a big smile, “Hey, and wanna know another thing—“ You heard a string of groans follow as soon as you stepped into the room with Buggy.
“I gave him to you specifically to get away from him.” Zoro groaned, making Sanji nod in agreement.
“I’ll be out soon, stop your whining.” You replied with a roll of your eyes, reaching for the basket of fruit and picking out two apples. You picked up a knife and cutting board, quickly going to work and chopping up a few apple slices. “So as I was saying, nobody has ever taken me seriously, which why I also like you, you don’t make fun of me which is what many others do.”
Zoro and Sanji glanced at eachother with questioning looks as you proceeded with your mini rant, both of them making eye contact with the clown head that smirked at them, a cheeky look in his eyes.
“But I mean, Luffy chose me to be a part of his crew so obviously I can be more, I’m not dumb, and I feel like more people need to take me seriously.”
“Hey.” The clown smirked as he watched your every move, finally speaking up about his slight obsessing with your chest. “Nice tits.”
“Thank you!” You happily replied with a smile, placing the slices on a clean plate and taking Buggy back to your room as everyone stared in shock. “Goodnight boys!”
“Yeah, goodnight fellas!” Buggy called out, and if only he’d had the rest of his body he’d most definitely be given them a middle finger.
“How is it that a clown can do better at getting that girl then me?” Sanji muttered in annoyance.
Forever will live, love, and laugh Buggy
yummy, I <3 men who are bbyg’s
#buggy is my man#buggy the clown#buggy the genius jester#buggy x reader#buggy thoughts#one piece#one piece show#one piece live action#buggy smut#captain buggy#buggy one piece#buggy
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strang3lov3’s masterlist
I do not give consent for anyone to copy, plagiarize, translate, or post my work elsewhere for any reason at all. Always ask permission of writers if their work sparks inspiration, and give credit where credit is due.
all fics are f!reader
Joel Miller
One shots
Lookalike - Joel finds your dirty mag and makes you get off in front of him.
Everyday I’m Shufflin’ - Joel is horrified to find out that you cannot shuffle a deck of cards, so he teaches you in a rather unorthodox way.
A Learning Process - When it rains, it pours. Shit hits the fan the first day you’re alone with your infant son, and Joel comforts you.
Tis’ But a Scratch - Too stubborn and proud to admit your mistakes or that you may need Joel’s help sometimes, Joel decides to teach you a lesson.
For Science - Joel helps to alleviate your period cramps. You know, for science.
Sleeping Beauty - Joel realizes you’re dreaming of him and wakes you up in the best way possible (his head between your thighs)
Self-Indulgent Tendencies - (dbf!joel) Joel finds you skinny dipping in his pool, and gives you two options. He can call the cops on you or he can punish you himself. You choose the latter of the two.
Phone a Friend - a story of two assholes and how they resolved their sexual tension (alternatively, Joel is sick of hearing you masturbate night after night)
Death by Flirting - five times you made Joel blush, and when he finally did it back to you.
Cup of Sugar - (dilf!neighbor!Joel) Joel catches you rifling through his belongings when you’re frantically searching for batteries after your vibrator dies.
Joyride - (dbf!joel) when your car breaks down, Joel decides to give you one of his. He just has to make sure you can handle a stick first ;)
Have your cake and eat it too - (brat tamer!joel, mean!joel, dom!joel) when you make joel bust in his favorite pair of jeans, he makes you clean your mess.
Erotic City - adult store owner! Joel helps you learn to make yourself come
Cream (horny husband!joel x reader) Joel is insatiable. He convinces you to get it on at his aunt's house on Thanksgiving. He's also got a lot of dirty Thanksgiving jokes he thought of last year that he's been saving to annoy you.
Fighting Fair - Joel doesn’t know what or who started this fucking thing, but he’s finishing it. Tonight.
Love Spell - (Sex pollen) After eating some mysterious berries, you and Joel spend a very memorable and unexpected Valentine’s Day together
Enjoy the Silence - You trespass into Joel’s house in search of some peace and quiet so you can get yourself off. Joel catches you in his bed in a compromising position.
Chevelle - (virginity loss) Joel figures out that you’re the one who hit his baby, his precious 1964 Chevrolet Chevelle. He needs you to make it right, but he doesn’t want your money
Play Stupid Games - who woulda thought you could make Joel come by playing with his nipples?
Series:
Lather (incomplete) When Joel injures his shoulder, he needs your help washing his hair and getting off 🚿🧼💦 part one, part two
Mall Rats(complete) Joel keeps track of you as you search your way through an abandoned mall. You don’t make his job easy. First stop is Victoria’s Secret Part one, part two, part three, part four, halloween special, part five part six, part seven
Brain Scramblies (complete) after sustaining a concussion, you tell Joel how you really feel about him. You don’t remember a thing the next day. Part one, part two
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Roman Roy
One shots
Invisible Line- boundary after boundary is crossed when your boss is left with no choice but to share his bed with you.
Updated 04/17/2024
#the last of us#the last of us hbo#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fluff#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#strang3lov3#succession#succession x reader#succession fic#roman roy smut#roman roy x you#roman roy x reader#roman roy#Roman Roy x reader smut
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Honey clings to your fingers, viscous and sticky, stringing every time it touches itself. Lines of liquid gold run down the curves of your hand, streams of goopy liquid pooling in your palm and flowing down your wrist in a few collective lines. You plunge your thumb back into the honey pot, the thick substance clinging to your skin instantly, and you bring your hand back up again, the honey only stagnant for a second before it starts its descent down your arm.
A large hand, strong and veiny, grabs your wrist. An unrelenting grip bringing your hand forth to him. He presses your thumb to his lips, smearing the sweet substance to and fro, to the corners of his mouth and back, leaving translucent liquid behind when he catches your thumb between his teeth, grazing the appendage and scraping it clean. A guttural groan sounds in the back of his throat, and you know that means he likes it.
"'s good, huh?" you watch the way his eyes flutter as he lets the rest dissolve in his mouth, ecstasy written all over his features. An emotion he only exhibits when he's eating good food or fucking you. "Yeah, really good." His voice is hoarse as if the honey absorbed all moisture from his larynx and left him in need of a glass of water, ironic given its effectiveness in soothing sore throats. "Thirsty?" you hand him a cup filled with cucumber water, a palate cleanser. "Real sweet," he says before tipping his head back and downing the drink. "But I liked it. What's next?"
Your eyes peruse the board of half-eaten sweets and treats in front of you, searching for one that was untouched. The beech wood board, previously a nice light beige, is stained a multitude of colors. Splotches of deep reds and purple form puddles where you had put the berries, frosting is streaked across the entirety of the board from the multiple unfinished slices of cake, chocolate chips and sprinkles from cookies lay scattered on both the countertop and floor, spoons and forks that were only partially licked clean can still be found near their designated desserts. Cubes of angel food cake half-dipped in chocolate and tooth-rottingly sweet marshmallow squares sit on napkins, drying out more and more by the second while long-forgotten brownies soak up various fruity jellies and jams, having been discarded with no regard for keeping flavor profiles separate.
It was a nightmare to look at, an even bigger one to clean up, and if anyone else had been the cause of this mess, you wouldn't have even begun to entertain the idea of letting it get this bad, let alone cleaning it up. But it wasn't anyone else, wasn't just some random stranger; it was Jason, and to you, spending weeks curating the perfect Valentine's gift to satiate his sweet tooth was a testament to your love for him. Who cares if you have to break out the good cleaning supplies.
"Hmm," you do one last once over, nothing catching your eye that hadn't already been touched, "I don't think so." unintentionally, you start to clean up, collecting dirty forks and spoons for the dishwasher, stacking empty bowls on top of each other to toss in the sink. "What a shame," he mumbles, appearing beside you seemingly out of thin air and taking the utensils from your hands before setting them down haphazardly right where they started. You look at him with confusion, silently inquiring about his undoing of your work, and you open your mouth to verbally ask but are stopped by the wolfish grin adorning his face and the way he begins to lift the hem of your shirt up. "d'ya think we got anythin' else," he asks, moving in closer, eyes locked on you like a predator with prey. "I'm still hungry."
#happy valentines day from me to u#jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x gn!reader#jason todd smut#jason todd imagine#red hood#red hood x reader#red hood x you#red hood x gn!reader#red hood smut#red hood imagine#jason todd lover
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what would it be like if the firsts lived together?
They did live together. Once. Right after Angeal and Genesis made First Class, SOLDIER grew in numbers, and the living quarters were still under planning and construction. They shared a spacious three bed, three bathroom apartment later reserved for Thirds to share. Angeal still dubs it "the worst 14 months of his life"
• Genesis had his own cereal, but thought theft tasted better, so he used to steal Sephiroth's cereal and the two would have a physical altercation over rainbow loops.
• Angeal thought Genesis was a neat freak until he met Sephiroth, who made a color-coded spreadsheet to track the frequency of dusting different areas of the house. Sephiroth liked to passive-aggresively wipe down counters after someone had been in the kitchen, and took pictures of Angeal and Genesis as they were actively making messes to hold them accountable later. Apparently Sephiroth still has a scrapbook of photos to this day, which he labeled "Why I live alone."
• Angeal was the type to leave out a dirty mug Genesis used and never washed for days on end, refusing to let Sephiroth wash it, all to prove a point. Sephiroth would cave and wash the dirty mug when she wasn't looking. Genesis knew this, which is why he would continue to use the mug and leave it out. The same mug remained in the sink for all 14 months they lived together.
• Sephiroth is an insomniac and liked to fix himself meals at 3AM, which would give Genesis a green light to practice the fucking flute, also at 3AM. Angeal had never experienced true rage until he heard a half-assed flute version of O Fortuna while Sephiroth was actively beating a stake with a meat hammer.
• Angeal would refuse to cook for them as a protest if he found half-eaten food in the garbage.
• Angeal was also no saint, and his alarm used to be a loud guitar riff meant to get him motivated and out of bed in the morning. The first time Sephiroth was startled awake by loud rock music at 5AM, he thought it was Genesis. So he threw open Genesis' door and attacked him.
• Sephiroth had the tendency to leave all the lights on, even in rooms he wasn't in. This drove Genesis and Angeal insane, and they berated him so much for it that Sephiroth started to walk around the apartment with a jumbo flashlight. He would flash it directly in their faces when talking to them because he's petty.
• Angeal had a tendency to bring over any strange item or piece of furniture he found at yard sales or on the side of the road. Angeal couldn't understand how Sephiroth thought the giant, stained beanbag chair shaped like an eye he got at a yard sale for 3 gil was junk. He also couldn't comprehend why Genesis didn't want the antique vanity Angeal got for free at the flea market because the owner thought it was haunted.
• Everyone had different scent preferences and refused to compromise. This is why the apartment smelled like Banora White Apple candles, Ocean Mist, and Tropical Berry simultaneously. It smelled like ass.
• Sephiroth enjoys his peace, but couldn't meditate when Angeal was screaming at the baseball game on TV while Genesis was using a karaoke machine to recite Loveless. His Root Chakra is still damaged to this day.
• Sephiroth had to find out the hard way what a tie on a closed door meant, and that not all screams mean someone is in danger.
• Genesis had a phase where he would bring over random people from his nights out. The amount of breakfasts Sephiroth had with half-dressed women and men singlehandedly developed his conversational skills.
• Angeal used to have this mentality of "I'm the responsible one, which means I can take things without asking." He took Sephiroth's hair brush without asking once and forgot to put it back. Sephiroth retaliated by bending Angeal's favorite stainless steel pan. Genesis had to separate them, an exhilarating experience he never wants to go through again because the pan and the hairbrush were used as weapons.
• Genesis couldn't understand why Sephiroth and Angeal didn't want his "artistic french films" playing while they were in the room. Angeal's argument was "If I wanted to see balls while I'm cooking dinner, I would make this lasagna in the locker room at SOLDIER."
#ff7#ffvii#final fantasy 7#sephiroth#final fantasy vii#ffvii crisis core#genesis rhapsodos#ff7 crisis core#angeal hewley#headcanons
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ROUND 1, MATCH 30
NO MAGIC, POWERS, OR WEAPONS
Jughead Jones:
“This guy does not stay down. He was shoved out a second story window and just walked it off. He's almost been murdered twice on screen and survived symptomatic rabies off screen. He doesn't have a canonical healing factor, but it sure as shit feels like he does. Also, he has punched at least two dudes larger than him to the ground in one hit during the course of the show, and one of those dudes was immediately knocked out. I don't know if he could defeat everyone in a fist fight, but the guy could certainly survive everything thrown at him. He looks like a weed and is as unkillable as one too.”
“Ex Gang Leader. Also had several near death experiences he just casually walked away from? Jumped out of a three story building and shrugged it off. Got hazed by the gang with a brass knuckle beatdown and didn't get knocked out. All I'm saying, it's really hard to knock him out.”
“I don't think he can die in a fist fight (or due to disease, really, but that's irrelevant). It's weird because this show only had superpowers for like one season and actually apparently he was killable then. But for the rest of the not-supernatural show this boy spent his days following serial killers, leading gangs, and getting brained with rocks by preppy high schoolers and like he was always totally fine. The man got symptomatic RABIES and survived. Like a single digit number of humans have done that in all of history. It's completely absurd.
Also, he'll fight dirty. He skinned a woman's arm once for doing drug deals in his town and messing with his gang. He also beat the shit out of a guy he thought was a serial killer while the guy was tied up in his girlfriend's basement. I want to see him throw down. ”
Finfin:
“He's a silly little bird-dolphin. He also has MULTIPLE girlfriends, and has a son. He can also change color, loves berries, and loves singing.”
“idk if finfin is capable of violence but he can fly and his bite would probably hurt. plus he’s funny to look at so it would be funny for him to destroy”
“the perfect mix of dolphin and bird, come and see him!”
#fight fight fight#round 1#tournament poll#poll tournament#polls#poll#jughead jones#riverdale#finfin#finfin on teo the magic planet
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Butter My Bread
Elriel Month 2023 (Glances and Touches)
Elain Archeron is cranky and hungry. All she wants is some toast and bread. During Rhysand's birthday celebration, she uses an unexpected utensil to finally get her bread buttered. And then, all hell breaks loose!
No warnings! Just nice clean fun
Elain Archeron did not like chaos.
Not at all. She didn’t like things to be messy. She didn’t like disorganisation. She didn’t like spills, or rips, or dirty dishes. She didn’t like dust, or grime, or water stains. And today, was just of those days.
The kitchen, the larder, the pantry were all a mess—cakes were being baked, crates of fruits and vegetables piled on the floor, berry juice smeared over the counter, and crumbs were on the huntboard. You know what else didn’t help? Cassian. Cassian, sweet and too big, in this space, pawing at food, ‘sampling’ tarts and pies, offering advice that no one needed, dropping things on the floor.
“You are interfering,” Cerridwen told him sternly.
Defensively, he argued, “I am assisting. Not interfering.”
“One man’s ‘assisting’ is another man’s ‘interfering’,” Nuala threw at him. “Do you want to get in trouble with Elain?”
“Petal loves me,” he told her with bold confidence.
“If you eat another of her blackberry tarts, she will cut off your arm,” Cerridwen just shrugged, as she offered the gruesome warning.
“Precisely. She makes them for Azriel,” the latter was whispered in a hushed tone by Nuala.
“Why is he getting blackberry tarts?” Cassian frowned jealously. “I want them too!”
Cerridwen sighed and then murmured in a sing-song tone, “She luuuurvvess him…”
Brows knitted, Cassian stared at her dumbly.
“Who?”
“Elain.”
“Loves who?” he repeated.
The twins rolled their eyes and Cassian roiled his back at them.
“Elain’s got a mate,” Cassian reminded them. “Lucien likes blackberry tarts?”
“Sure,” Nuala sighed dramatically. “She baked them for Lucien,”
Cassian’s eyes jumped between the two sisters and then he announced, “well, since no one here appreciates my input, I guess I will be on my way.
“I hope that you are all cooking Rhys’s favourites!”
“Oh don’t worry. Only the best for the High Lord.”
Just before he left the kitchen, Cassian paused and then turned and asked,
“Wait, are you saying that Elain likes Azriel?”
Cerridwen looked at him and asked, “What would give you that idea?”
He smirked to himself. Yes, exactly!
*
It was Rhysand’s birthday.
Elain had spent the morning at the market, mostly to avoid listening to her sister getting railed by her mate. It was challenging—living with the two, now three of them. She appreciated the kindness, she loved baby Nyx and tending to him was her joy, but she always felt like an intruder. She was like a fifth leg on a dog—unnecessary, and ungainly.
And things have been even more uncomfortable lately, for a variety of reasons. She felt like she had no privacy, and with Fae’s acute scenting, she spent half of her time dodging her sister and Rhysand, or bathing. And Rhys was still watching her like a hawk, even two years after that Solstice. She’d learned how to navigate his suspicions, how to assuage his worries and how to dodge him, but she also existed in a permanent state of acute anxiety, which just didn’t help at all.
And what’s more, Cassian ate two of the blackberry tarts, and Elain was miffed. Ehhh…She was miffed at many things today, because the day wasn’t going well. She didn’t find fennel at the market, so her idea for a chicken dish with fennel and oranges went straight to Hel, and she was forced to think of something completely different on the spot. Elain liked to plan, so this wasn’t the way she enjoyed doing things.
She passed by the various stalls, the sight of meat and fish making her kind of queasy and the fact that she couldn’t make her chicken dish was making her upset.
“What’s wrong?”
Azriel’s soft, dark, husky voice startled her. How could a man so large, with his massive wings and enormous height, move so silently? How could he navigate among the shoppers and somehow, part them so smoothly, that Elain didn’t notice or sense him until the side of his arm was brushing against her body.
“Nothing,” was all she answered.
A smile touched his lips at her surly attitude and he pressed,
“Can I help?”
“No!”
He smiled again and then took her basket.
“Let me carry this,” he said. “Tell me what’s wrong, sunshine?”
Exasperated, she announced aggressively, “they don’t have any of the ingredients I need! I am running behind. I am hungry. Cass ate all the blackberry tarts!”
“What do you want to eat?” he asked at once.
“Nothing,” she said petulantly.
“Elain,” he prodded.
“What?” she snapped. “I don’t want anything from here. It all looks disgusting. I want toast!”
“Alright, let me get you some toast then,” he offered reasonably.
“They don’t have the toast that I want,” she argued, her lip almost wobbling from how upset she was. “I don’t want to do this birthday celebration. I want toast. I want toast with butter.”
He gently took her hand and pulled her alongside him.
“Let me get you some toast, beautiful,” he implored. “I don’t want you to be upset. It’s just bread,”
“It’s not just bread!” she stomped her foot. “I want it with butter. I want bread and butter. And I don’t want to do the birthday celebration. Rhysand doesn’t even like me,”
“That’s not true, sunshine,” Azriel argued gently, herding her away from the meat and the fish stalls. “He likes you very much,”
“No he doesn’t,” she insisted.
“He doesn’t like you with me,” he corrected. “Otherwise, he adores you.”
“So why am I baking him cakes and making him dinner if he is keeping me away from the only thing that I want in my life?”
Azriel’s sharp features softened and he stopped in the middle of the road, and gently brushed his knuckles over her cheek.
“Am I the only thing you want?”
“You know it,” she murmured, kissing the scarred skin of his hand. “The one and only.”
Azriel looked around and his eyes zoomed on the gorgeous display of fish and seafood.
“Why don’t we get a couple of these large salmon—everyone likes salmon, don’t they? Some of these scallops—Rhys’s favourite and then we can send them directly to the River Estate. And I can take you out and get you some toast,”
She considered everything he said, wrinkled her nose at the seafood, and then nodded with approval.
“With butter,” she warned.
“With butter.”
*
Rhysand observed the gathering in front of him.
He was seated in an armchair, his arm firmly wrapped around his mate’s hip. Feyre, gorgeous in a pale blue gown, with her long hair loose and pinned with two diamond combs, lightly stroked his hand with hers, as she laughed at something with Mor. Mor’s already had a little too much to drink, and they haven’t even had dinner yet. It was something that he and Feyre had discussed before, on many occasions—Mor’s excessive drinking, which slowly, but surely morphed into controlled alcoholism. They’d have to address it with her. Eventually. Today wasn’t the day. Tonight was for celebrations, and not accusations or revelations.
Tonight, he wanted to enjoy being with the people that he loved.
He watched Lucien and Helion from the corner of his eye—their tentative, stilted conversation, as the two of them navigated their new reality. That of a father and son.
Rhysand wasn’t surprised by the fact that the news came as a shock to them both, and they didn’t rush into each other’s embrace letting all the bygones be bygones. It would take time. It was particularly difficult for Lucien, who struggled with being the seventh son of one High Lord, to becoming the heir apparent to another Court. All the while absorbing and dealing with the betrayal of his mother, who’d made choices that affected both him, and Helion. Rhys didn’t know what to think of the Lady’s decisions. He couldn’t judge her, but he also understood Lucien’s anger, for the male suffered for most of his life for sins not of his own making.
Rhys shifted in his seat, glancing at the loud red-headed Queen, who accompanied Lucien. The male had brass balls. He had the audacity to bring his apparent lover to this dinner, knowing fully that his mate would be here as well.
Rhys’s eyes moved on to the said mate—Elain. She sat by her favourite window, on the cushioned window seat, her back straight, her long golden-brown hair loose just like Feyre. There was a frown on Elain’s beautiful face, a sneer that she was attempting to hide, but evidently forgetting that it was there—bracketing her mouth, furrowing her brow. She’s been in a mood lately. He knew that she was avoiding him, and even Feyre. She took Nyxie to his playdates and cared for him when duties called Feyre away, but she preferred to take her meals on her own, or told them that she would be dining in the city. Feyre proposed that maybe Elain had a suitor, though he found the idea preposterous.
Unsurprisingly, Azriel made a quick, but determined stroll towards the object of his obsession. God, the male could never go for an available female! First it was Morrigan, who refused his advances, for whatever unknown reason. Though Rhys suspected that Mor wouldn’t be seen with a bastard born Illyrian, and therefore, cut her losses quickly. And now it was Elain, who had a mate. There were plenty of other—available—females out there, but Azriel insisted on pining for those he couldn’t have.
Whatever. Rhysand gave him an order and that was that. Azriel took an oath and it was his duty to serve his High Lord. Do his High Lord’s bidding. Even if Rhys felt marginally bad for his brother, he also understood that politically, this was wise. Elain was not Azriel’s. She wasn’t meant for him.
He watched Azriel whisper something close to her ear, and then offered her a glass of ice water.
“Are we getting to the table any time this year?!” Cassian groaned loudly and theatrically, not waiting for anyone else, including the High Lord/birthday boy.
“You’d think you haven’t eaten for a week,” Nesta snapped at him. “Wait up and let the others sit.”
Nothing changed between these two. Ever. They bickered and taunted each other, only to fall into some rapturous sexual adventure once they jacked one another up enough to start tearing their clothes off. The pairing was not Rhys’s favourite, but it was better than Elain and Azriel.
“Sorry if I’ve been saving up for this dinner!” Cassian patted his stomach. “I bet petal’s made all kinds of delicious things.”
Elain smiled at him, though it looked more like a scowl, and then got up from her window seat, with Azriel hovering behind her like a shadow.
Rhys wondered if Azriel knew how obvious he was?
But maybe not. Because apparently, Cassian still had no idea that Azriel desired Elain.
It was…messy.
Amren took her seat first, not waiting for anyone else, as if she was the hungriest of them all. Everyone knew that she’d barely eat anything.
At last, everyone was seated behind the lavishly decorated table and Cassian began pouring wine, laughing at something with Mor.
“To another 540 years of bliss, Rhysie!” Cassian raised his glass and wrapped his heavy arm around Rhys’s shoulders. Rhys sighed and whispered, “please don’t remind me…”
“Come on, brother! You are still a spring chicken!”
“Most of the days, I feel like a well-aged rooster that’s being fattened up for the next soup,”
Elain snorted a laugh—the first genuine one that Rhys had observed from her.
Feyre got up and cupped his face in her hands, before pressing her lips softly to his.
“Happy birthday, Rhysand darling.”
“Thank you, my love. And everyone who joined me tonight. You make my life complete.”
“Completely intolerable more like,” Helion joked, raising his glass as well.
“I wasn’t going to say that…but now that you mentioned it,” Rhys smirked and sat back down.
Nuala, Cerridwen and other servants began bringing platters of food out—smoked fish, Azriel’s beloved beet salad, carefully arranged boards of cheeses, cured meats and dried fruit, spicy meatballs that both Nesta and Elain loved, bread and butter.
The conversation fell into the usual back and forth of jokes, jabs, laughter, teasing, and stories.
It was both disturbing and adorable to watch Azriel hover over Elain like a mother hen, offering her this and that, though she only picked at some salad and didn’t lose her scowly expression. Whatever was bothering her, the dinner wasn’t making it much better.
“May I have the bread?” she asked Vassa, who was nearest to the breadbasket. Before Vassa heard her, the bread was snatched away by Helion, and then went over to Feyre.
“May I have the bread please?” Elain requested again, eyeing the basket hungrily.
“Hold on one sec, petal,” Cassian reached across the table, but the corner of his jacket swiped Elain’s silverware off the table and onto the floor.
“Oh fuck!” he cried out, “sorry!”
In the commotion and all the jostling, no one noticed how Elain got up and suddenly, her voice boomed loudly, an angry note to it,
“May I have the gods-damned bread! For fuck’s sake!”
Everything and everyone came to a complete halt. Elain using her voice this loudly was unheard of. Elain cursing and using bad language was shocking.
Azriel stood up abruptly and grabbed the bread, while everyone just stared in confusion.
It was what she did after she got a thick slice of crust bread that really lived on in the family lore.
Without batting an eye, Elain clasped the hilt of Truth Teller which was attached to Azriel’s thigh and pulled it out of the sheath, slamming it into the butter dish and smearing her bread with a heaping mound of butter.
While utensils dropped and clattered on the plates and the table and everyone just stared, mouths gaping, eyes wide, she slumped back down in her chair and bit into the slice with an audible pleasure-filled ‘mmm’.
Elain Archeron just used Truth Teller, with which she killed the King of Hybern, to butter her bread.
Azriel’s only reaction was to ask ‘good?’”
“So good!” she nodded eagerly, chomping the bread down like she hasn’t eaten in a month.
Mor began choking on her salmon loudly, while Helion was slapping her back, everyone was looking around, like lost children, while Azriel tore off another generous slice of bread for Elain, who used Truth Teller to smear butter on it.
“I hope it’s disinfected,” Nesta wrinkled her nose, watching the blade spread soft butter over the bread.
“it’s fine,” Elain waved her hand. Chewing contently, she asked Mor, “are you alright?”
Mor was still gasping for air, with Feyre and Helion hovering over her, and Lucien pouring her a glass of water.
Amren was chuckling.
Rhysand was feeling perplexed. Like something was happening around him, and he didn’t understand what it was. A secret that he was not privy to.
Mor finally caught her breath, panting loudly, her beautiful face red and sweaty. She collapsed back in her chair, watching Elain and Azriel, while Elain was busy with her bread.
“What would you do if I was choking?” Elain suddenly asked with a grin, looking directly at Az.
Azriel almost choked himself on his wine and then said quickly, absently, his eyes on Mor, “Pull back a little…or release your throat,”
“Wha-?” Cassian’s eyes bugged out and the rest of the table turned to the shadowsinger now, staring at him with confusion and incomprehension.
“What are you talking about?” Feyre queried, puzzlement on her lovely, soft face. “You shouldn’t even be touching her throat if she is choking,”
Elain squirmed in her seat, her cheek bright red, and a light sheen of sweat sprung over Azriel’s temples, while Rhys’s eyes became as big as saucers.
“Feyre darling,” he reached out to drag his fingers over Feyre’s cheek. “What Az means to say is,”
“I am having a baby,” Azriel declared loudly, his voice both panicked and excited. His gaze found Elain’s wide, shocked doe eyes and he smiled at her, before saying, “Elain…Elain is having a baby. We are having a baby.”
Complete silence engulfed the air around them. Such deafening silence that everyone’s rapid breaths sounded like gongs. Amren grinned like a fiend. A deep crease originated between Nesta’s eyebrows as she glared at Azriel.
“Wait, what? I am confused,” Cassian broke the silence at last, his head pinging back and forth, seeking answers. “What baby?”
“Azriel!” Rhys rose from his chair, his look both enraged and horrified. “What did you do?!”
“Yes, I’d like to know that as well,” Lucien shrieked from the other side of the table.
Azriel gently placed his large, scarred hand over Elain’s flat belly and said,
“Save it, Rhysand,”
“Wait, I don’t understand,” Cassian repeated helplessly. “Why are you having a babe with Elain? What’s that mean?
“It means,” Nesta snapped angrily, “that he impregnated Elain! That’s what it means! He took her dishonourably and,”
“Wait a minute!” Elain slapped her palm over the table, so that the dishes jumped and the glasses clanged, “he did not take me dishonourably!”
“Flower,” Azriel cautioned her gently, trying to pull her back, but she glared at them all and suddenly twisted her finger and showed the crowd a ring that adorned her finger. It was a hefty thing, with a large square sapphire and diamonds around it.
“We are married,” she said softly.
A tense beat of even more shock, more surprise, more of everything fell on the table.
In the doorway, the wraith twins stood silently, both grinning.
A whoop of such utter joy and love tore from Cassian’s lungs, as he tackled both Elain and Azriel in his massive arms, lifting them off the floor that even Rhys stopped in his tracks.
“You got your girl, Az.”
Azriel, looking emotional, nodded, pressing his face into his friend’s neck.
“I got my girl,” he confirmed breathlessly.
Cassian pulled him closer, embracing him tightly.
“The one that’s for you!”
“Yes. My girl. The only one for me.”
“We made it, brother,” Cassian gasped, tears streaming down his sharp cheekbones, as he squeezed Azriel’s face in his hands.
Azriel stepped into his brother embrace, wrapping his arms around the general, and whispered, “We made it, Cass. We really did. And now, I finally have my girl and my babe.”
Elain stood next to them, wiping her own tears, while the two greatest Illyrian warriors wrapped their arms around her, kissing the top of her head together, at once.
“Now, can someone please get my pregnant wife some toast?” Azriel asked, holding her to him, and never letting go.
#Butter My Bread#Elriel#elrielmonth2023#Elriel fanfic#Elriel fanfiction#my writing#fluff#Elain and Azriel#Elain Archeron#Azriel#azriel and elain#elriel-month
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Eyes Open - Chapter 9
Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Amy Oliver (ofc)
Summary: Amy and Marcus are happy.
WC: 2.7K
Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, talk of police work, a blatant show of testosterone, blood, injuries, kissing, making-out, dry humping, a smidge of dirty talk hurt/comfort, slow burn, yearning, idiots friends to lovers, financial stressors, second chance romance, workplace romance (sort of), older love interest, single parents, DID I MENTION THE YEARNING?
Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist II Marcus Moreno Masterlist
Cross-Posted to AO3
Part 8 >>> Part 10
For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.
------
“Mommy, why are you smiling like that?”
“Because I’m happy.”
“You look crazy.”
Amy's eyebrows shoot up into her forehead, not sure how to answer her daughter’s question. She tries her best to school her expression into something more neutral but fails almost immediately. Harris snorts into her bowl of cereal, milk spraying out across the kitchen table. A muffled ‘sorry’ is mumbled around a mouthful of crunch berries, and before Amy can offer an alternative, Harris is mopping up the spill with the sleeve of her shirt.
And she still can’t stop smiling.
——
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“Like what?
“Like you slept with a coat hanger in your mouth.”
Marcus sneaks a glance to the passenger seat where Missy is watching him, eyes narrowed, one sneaker propped on his dashboard. He briefly considers playing it off and changing the subject, but that tactic hasn’t worked on her in years.
“Just happy, kiddo. What can I say? Just really happy.”
He watches Missy bob her head from the corner of his head, her own smile stretching her cheeks.
“Next time they should come to our place.”
If possible, his smile gets even wider.
——
“Hey, Oliver, you got that list of potential informants from Saturday?”
“…Oliver?”
“Oliver!”
A stack of papers and a cup of coffee hit Amy’s desk one after the other, and she blushes when she glances up and sees Derek staring down at her. There are certainly better ways to start a Monday morning than the chief of police catching her daydreaming about brown eyes and very kissable lips. But who could blame her, when the memory of Marcus’s touch was still so fresh, the bruise of his kiss still seared into her skin? She was already counting down the seconds until she could see him again, her mind on anything but police reports and notary stamps, only able to think about the way he – he…
“Oliver!”
“Shit! Sorry, Derek,” she apologizes, ducking her head and grinning despite herself. She shuffles through the mess, looking for the papers he was asking for when a cough draws her attention back to her boss, the cup of coffee he had put down nudged in her direction.
“Seems like you need this.”
“Thanks,” she offers between sips, closing her eyes and humming at the familiar taste.
She hears the scrape of a chair and looks over as Derek takes a seat beside her, something stuck between a smile and smirk looking back at her.
“Someone on your mind?”
“Oh god, what do you know?”
It seemed only fitting that he knew about her and Marcus. A skilled detective with years of experience beneath his belt who has had a front row seat to the back and forth for years now? Of course, he knew.
Derek throws his head back, his trademark laugh filling out the stiff Monday morning air. “Not much, but I think I can take a good enough guess.”
Amy snorts into her mug, taking another sip before returning to the task at hand. “No jokes or warnings? Nothing about ‘bleeding hearts’ or ‘vigilante shit’?”
“It’s not like it would change your mind,” he reasons, leaning back in his chair, the heel of his boot resting across his knee. “Would it?”
“Mmmm, definitely not,” she hums, the smile returning to her face. She pulls out the list Derek had been asking for and passes it over to him with a wink.
“You can spare me the details, Oliver. I’m happy you’re happy, but just do me a favor?”
The tone in his voice catches her ear, and she takes care to stop what she’s doing altogether, giving him her full attention. For a moment he doesn’t say anything, sharp eyes watching Amy from only a few feet away. Not for the first time, she wonders how much Derek really knows about her friendship with the Heroic and how even as it progresses so seamlessly into more, there is one piece of the foundation that remains. He clicks his tongue to the back of his teeth and shakes his head, telltale smirk returning.
“Come find me when you’ve got these reports done. I need to take a look at them before the briefing about Wednesday night.”
——
“Falling in love with that file over there, Moreno?”
“Hmmm, what’s that?” Marcus asks, not looking up from the papers in his lap, Miracle’s question hardly registering, save for the call of his name. Whatever it is, it’s not nearly enough to distract him from the memory of Amy’s kiss, and suddenly he’s wondering if it’s too early in the day to call her. Surely, she’s at work by now, and Marcus can’t think of a better way to brighten his own morning than by hearing her voice. He’s just about to reach for his phone when suddenly a blonde mustache is directly in his line of sight.
“Anybody home up there?”
“Jeez!” He shoots out of his chair, Miracle Guy’s intrusion into his personal space. “Warn a guy next time!”
“Oh, you mean the three times I called your name while you were daydreaming weren’t enough?”
Marcus feels his smile slip for the first time that day, his cheeks heating up at the realization he had been caught red-handed. The other man smirks before straightening and sauntering back to his seat on the other side of the room. He makes a show of swinging his hips back around and sitting in his chair before fixing a Cheshire grin directly on Marcus.
“Sooooo…did you do something slutty?”
“Get back to work.”
“That’s a yes,” Miracle declares triumphantly, cheating his eyes back down to the file in his lap.
“Not your business,” Marcus counters, shaking his head and doing his best to focus on his own work, hoping the subject would be dropped for good. The last thing he wanted was to reduce his weekend with Amy down to typical locker room talk, no matter how well-intentioned his friend was. No, this was something he wanted to safeguard, and protect, in any way he possibly could.
They work in silence a little longer, only the scratch of Marcus’s pen to fill up the space between them. He’s just starting to make a little bit of headway when he feels it, the stare of blue eyes from across the room. Sure enough, Miracle Guy is still watching him when he looks up, but his features have evened out to something tempered and genuine.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he tosses out, cheating his eyes back down to his lap. “So, when you seeing her again?”
Marcus doesn’t bother pointing out that he had yet to actually confirm the shift in his relationship with Amy (or that it was even Amy that had him so distracted in the first place). Instead, he tosses the stack of papers onto his desk and folds his hand in his lap, giving up fully on killing his smile.
“Friday.”
Miracle Guy nods, leaning forward to meet Marcus’s gaze head on, his own smile splitting his lips. “What would you say to seeing her sooner?
——
The assumption has always been that Miracle Guy is dumb. People see the cape and the muscles and the smile and they draw conclusions to a very obvious (if not boring) narrative. Marcus grew up side by side with the other Heroic, a tenuous rivalry that blossomed slowly into a friendship that spanned two weddings, two kids, one devastating loss, one almost retirement, and one fake alien invasion.
The two men brought out the best and worst in each other over the years. Miracle was strong, so Marcus took up swords. Marcus was quick on his feet, so Miracle took to the skies. They were so different in so many ways, but when push came to shove it didn’t really matter that Marcus was named team leader. Miracle Guy looked good on a lunch box and so that was his role to play. The face. The smile. The whole package.
But the world didn’t know.
They didn’t see it.
Miracle Guy was the smartest of them all.
And so when he pointed out one distinct pattern that Marcus had overlooked in every case filing, every box of evidence, every shake down of a perp, he knew the other man was right. About a lot of things.
The air in the station feels less stale today, something static sparking at the tips of his fingers, even just the potential of Amy’s smile leaving Marcus breathless. He spots her quickly, her head bent low over her desk, her pen moving in short, sweet strokes, a half-empty cup of coffee beside her. He shifts where he stands, giving himself a few seconds to collect his thoughts, admiring Amy from afar in the meantime. From the outside, she appears focused, her eyes sharp and her pen strokes precise, but Marcus doesn’t miss how she pauses every so often, the scratch of her pen falling silent, the tips of her ears tinging pink.
He can’t help but hope it’s him that has her so distracted.
She looks up, the weight of his eyes on her finally catching her attention. He gives a small wave, not bothering to hide his grin, delighted when she matches him beat for beat. He moves quickly after that, not slowing until he’s beside her.
“I didn’t think I’d see you today,” Amy greets him before taking a sip of her coffee. From the look of disgust on her face, it’s gone cold but she takes it in stride, standing and moving to the coffee pot behind her, mug in hand.
“Me either,” Marcus admits, his hand coming to the back of his neck. He watches her patiently as she tops off her lukewarm coffee before pouring a cup for him, adding his preferred two sugars with a smile and a wink.
“So is it safe to assume you’re here for more than just a sweet surprise?” She murmurs, brown eyes cheating to where Baldwin’s door is shut tight.
“Guilty.”
Amy takes his confession in stride, handing him the mug of coffee before leaning in to kiss his cheek. It’s soft, a barely there brush of her lips, but still, he can feel his heart rate pick up speed. It’s another addition, something small and sweet, the change in their dynamic more apparent than ever. Her eyes find his, something warm spilling out between them, and before she can move away he leans in and steals a quick kiss of his own.
“Okay,” she hums, settling back down in her seat and motioning for him to do the same. “Spill. Tell me about your day.”
Marcus grins but obliges, scooting his chair in until his knees just graze Amy’s. She doesn’t say anything, but he can feel her push her own leg forward into his space, and he takes that as his cue to talk
“Miracle Guy and I were doing a little bit of work today. Going over some of our notes from the past few weeks, and he noticed something interesting.”
“Mmm? What’s that?” She asks, not looking up from her own work, the perfect picture of feigned indifference.
He takes a sip of his coffee, nodding his head left then right, trying to match her nonchalance. “The only piece of evidence collected.”
——
Amy hadn’t really thought much about the bags of money from the weekend. Not since they had fallen into her face, interrupting her kiss with Marcus. After their giggling had quieted, and Marcus had leaned back in for one more kiss, softer and sweeter on the second go around, she carefully stacked the bundles of cash back on the shelf and promptly put them out of her mind.
Until now.
She can feel the heat of Marcus behind her as they navigate the narrow stairwell down into the evidence locker. Tendrils of warmth curl down in her stomach, the memory of Saturday morning still fresh in her mind. Somehow returning to the scene of their first kiss feels more intimate than anything else they’ve shared since, and it takes every ounce of willpower for her not to turn around and recreate the moment beat for beat.
It isn’t just Amy that’s distracted by the memory, the brush of Marcus’s lips along the nape of her neck giving away his own thoughts. As her feet touch the bottom step his hands find her waist, holding her in place, his breath insistent across her skin. Logic falls to the wayside, one calloused palm cupping her chin and turning her head until their lips finally meet.
The kiss is hurried, sharp and sweet, breaking apart and coming back together again and again. Amy does her best to hold on, one hand finding the bend of Marcus’s elbow, the other planted to the wall, chipped paint catching beneath her fingernails. She gasps into the kiss and his grip only tightens at the sound. Suddenly, she's spinning, her back to the wall, his chest pressed to hers, teeth and tongue taking even more.
“Missed you,” he murmurs into the kiss, refusing to part from her lips any longer than necessary.
Amy is vaguely aware of the growing risk, the busy precinct one floor up, filled with an endless number of people who could walk in and steal this moment. And still she can’t stop, kissing Marcus as if he was the air inside her lungs, breathing him in and holding him close and praying for forever. His tie between her fingers and his hands in her hair, and how could it be that only a week ago she was convinced this man didn’t want her.
Couldn’t want her. For all the things she carried from point A to point B.
Amy was never so sure of how good it felt to be wrong.
Level heads and a gentler touch eventually prevail, the kiss ending with soft smiles and pink cheeks. But Marcus doesn’t pull away, even as his eyes find a spot over her shoulder, the shelves of evidence splitting his attention.
“What are you looking for exactly?”
His jaw ticks hard to the left, his brows bunching in with the effort. When answers, it’s with his own question, something like guilt coloring his words.
“How hard are those bags of money to open?”
——
It turns out, not very hard at all.
Amy pulls one of the neatly stacked bundles down, running the tip of her finger along the sealed edges.
“You can’t open it here, because you’ll cut through these signatures,” she points to the scribbled names of two officers. The ones who had collected the money from the scene of the crime. “But if you cut here,” she slides her finger down to the bottom of the bag, “you can reseal it without it being too noticeable.”
“It’s weird though,” she hums with the afterthought, turning the bag back over in her hands. “Once we confirm the money was obtained illegally the FBI comes to haul it away. Must be hung up ‘cus we confiscated it over the weekend.”
Marcus nods in agreement, a sharp buzz starting to ring in his ears. He’s acutely aware of the lines being crossed, Amy’s voice pitched to a low whisper, her tone rushed with nerves. New layers of guilt are sticking to his every thought, and he hates how unsure he is of both of their motives. Is she willing to help because she always has, his friend first and foremost, their relationship built around little lies just like this one? Or is this something bigger? The memory of their kiss still bruised into her lips as she willingly helps him take something he knows he shouldn’t?
“Marcus?” She calls his name, pulling his attention back down to her, her own eyes narrowed in thought. “What do you think is in here?”
Slowly, eyes never leaving hers, he takes the bag out of Amy’s hands and places it back on the shelf behind them. With his hands free, Marcus cups her cheeks and leans in, pressing his lips, first to the crease in her brow, to the tip of her nose, and then finally, to her lips. When he pulls back, he keeps her close, her breath warm where it mingles with his own.
“I’ll find another way.”
------
A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading.
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Chapter 22: In Which a Heart-to-Heart is Had
They made it home in one piece, though it took them until nightfall to complete the half-day journey they had left after a brief pit-stop where Twig had to chug several oran berries and reapply the numbing agent she had slathered thickly across her leg to keep the pain down. She was looking forward to collapsing into her bed and getting the first real sleep she’d had in months thanks to that hard-won lunar feather.
It would be a severe understatement to say that she was somewhat baffled by the sight of Grovyle and Celebi waiting for them on the roadside outside her home.
Celebi fluttered over in a concerned flurry of humming wings and rapid words. “Oh, Twig, you poor thing! You’ve been walking this whole time? That looks like it hurts terribly. At least it’s still attached, though. Ark, dear, with how you made it sound, I was convinced you’d be carrying Twig here sans a limb!”
“I may have panicked in the heat of the moment,” he murmured. “My apologies. I should have provided you with an updated assessment of the situation, but I was rather preoccupied by navigating our way back.”
Twig gave Celebi a flat glare as she realized something. “You guys can talk to each other… using telepathy. You don't have to be around to chat.”
“Well of course, Twig! What good would Legends be at managing the universe without keeping in touch every now and then across the globe? Grovyle, get over here, Ark and I will handle food and whatnot if you will tend to our injured friend.”
Grovyle was standing in silence a ways off until then. He sighed and shook his head as he approached and readily accepted the burden of Twig leaning against him instead of Darkrai without a thought. “Stick to edible ingredients.”
Celebi fluttered away with Darkrai in her wake. “I’m not so lethal a chef as you claim, Grovyle, dear. And you’re certainly one to talk when you eat the grimiest stuff I’ve ever seen!”
He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it, ultimately bearing no valid argument against what she said. Twig snickered despite herself, and he gave her a frown that twitched at the corners, amused as well.
He helped her into the guest room, and Twig was grateful for the privacy, even if there was no furniture to cushion the floor. Grovyle looked aghast at the lack of furnishings, and Twig reminded him that he said that a potted plant was enough to decorate most rooms.
“This isn’t about decor, Twig, this is about you living here for goodness-knows-how-long and you not even buying a settee.”
“I’ve only lived here for like, two years.”
“You’re not helping your case.”
“Back off, man. I don’t have to take this.”
“You’ve got a broken leg. You’re pretty mouthy for someone who’s not not going anywhere without help any time soon.”
She shoved him over from where she leaned against the wall beside him. It was worth the pain of jostling her leg to see him give her such a dirty look in response.
He righted himself— out of her reach this time— and sighed. “You’re awful.”
“You’re worse.”
“That’s fair.”
Silence.
Twig couldn’t help but feel the weight of the unspoken conversation they weren’t having— she'd never really addressed her words that had hurt him so deeply, about the Darkrai she knew being dead. She needed to say something. Why wasn’t she saying something?
Grovyle looked like he was going through the same struggle across the room.
“Hey, um…” She swallowed dryly. “I’m sorry. About before.”
He looked up, brow furrowed, but didn’t respond.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was messed up.”
He opened his mouth and closed it several times, no noise escaping him. He sighed. “You weren’t saying it to hurt me.”
“Doesn’t change how messed up it was.”
“Twig—”
“I know this whole deal with Ark— Darkrai— whatever you wanna call him— I know it’s hard to wrap your head around. But I have to do this. And I’m not even as worried about what you were saying as I used to be. Like, I was scared about his memories coming back, even if I didn’t admit it, but I think that we’re good now. He hasn’t had anything return, and it’s been months. And he was really nice on the expedition. I think he’s just… I think he’s just weird and lonely, to put it in a nutshell. He’s really happy to have a group to be with, even if half of them hate him.”
“That’s— Yeah, that’s…” He trailed off, frowning. “That’s the idea I got after I spoke to him myself.”
“You talked to him? I thought you wanted to go as long as possible without giving him more than one-word responses wherever you could.”
“It wasn’t pleasant chit-chat. Do you remember when you asked me about when you were human, and you started crying?”
She frowned.
“I pulled him aside and told him that if he messed up and hurt you somehow, I was going to find a way to kill him. And he thanked me. He said he’d appreciate it if I figured out a way and asked me to tell you about my promise.”
“He thanked y—” She closed her eyes. “Yeah, no, that sounds pretty Ark-like. And it tracks with some things I found out from Cresselia.”
“Speaking of— did you get a lunar feather?”
“It’s in my bag. She said it’d work in a pretty wide radius, so I don’t need to worry about it being at my bedside or in the same room or anything the folktales say. Apparently one is enough for a single household.”
“Good to know you’ll stop looking half-dead, then.”
Twig let out a weary huff. “It’ll be nice to stop feeling half-dead. I didn’t really stop to consider how much the lack of sleep was slowing me down. I got hit by a shelgon, Grovyle. And not even a fast one.”
He hummed, a small smile on his face.
She wrung her hands. “I’m…” A pause. She swallowed dryly. “I’m really sorry, you know. I shouldn’t have said what I said. About how the Darkrai I knew is gone.”
He gave her a sorrowful look. “It’s true, though. He is.”
Silence fell for a moment. Twig couldn’t stand to let it remain for long. “I don’t— I know it’s hard for you. It’s weird to have me be me and not the Twig you used to know, and I’m really sorry that I replaced her, and you probably hate me, but—”
“Twig, stop. You’re… you’re different, sure, but you’re still you. And I don’t hate you. You’re still the human I picked up all those years ago, even if you changed a little bit. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world. It’d be nice if you remembered some things, but I’d go through this all again if it meant I didn’t have to lose you forever in that passage of time.” He crossed his arms, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. “It’s hard at times, but having you around is more important to me than some untouched memory of you saying my name for the last time. That memory would fade, but you would still—”
“I knew your name?” Twig interrupted.
Grovyle sputtered for a moment. “I was trying to say something heartfelt and inspiring, but yes. You were the one to give it to me.”
“Wait, I did? Not your family?”
“I didn’t have any siblings that made it too long past hatching, and my parents weren’t the most sentimental people, so no.” He quirked a brow at her. “Are you really so surprised that you knew me on a name-to-name basis? I’ve called you Twig the entire time we’ve known each other and then some.”
“I don’t know, pokemon customs are still…” She groaned. “What did I name you? Can I ask? Is that weird?”
Grovyle once again made to speak, but words failed. He choked out a name that his throat seemed to close up around as it left him. “Clover,” he finally said in a quiet murmur.
“Oh,” Twig said dumbly. She recalled a storybook she loved as a human talking about lucky clovers and how they would keep you safe and happy if you carried them around. “Oh. I think I… I think I might remember that, actually.”
“You do?” Grovyle shot her a look of surprise.
“Not like an actual memory, but a kind of— like a gut feeling that it makes sense, if that… makes sense itself?”
“I think so.” His voice fell in tone, disappointed. Twig’s heart tugged with the urge to tell him about her returning memories, but she didn’t have the guts to go through her conversation with Dusknoir all over again. Soon, she promised herself. I’ll tell him soon.
He stood up, the world seeming to weigh on his shoulders with the heaviness of the motion. “I’m going to help make sure Celebi doesn’t burn the house down trying to cook.”
“Oh. Okay.” The door was about to close when she found the courage to quickly call after him, “Thanks, Clover.”
The door clicked closed. Celebi’s voice rang out through the wood as she squealed, “Grovyle, dear! Are you alright? I’ve never seen you weep so suddenly as this!”
“I’m alright,” he said, voice warbling like Twig had never heard it. “Really. Had a talk with Twig, and— it was a good one.”
“Oh, I’m so glad, dearest, really. Could you help me find where Twig keeps her mulch? Ark here is being no help at all.”
“You do not cook using mulch,” said the other Legend, sounding uncharacteristically frazzled.
“Well, how else are you meant to get the good vitamins and whatnot into you? That’s how plants work! Why can’t it be how mortals do, too?”
The chatter outside moved on to the kitchen, becoming muffled. Twig curled up on the rug beneath her and found it easy to relax with the three’s combined presence a short distance away. She let out a sigh of relief and the tension in her body slowly melted away. The house was warm, and maybe she wasn’t asleep in a bed, be it one styled after pokemon tastes or human ones, but she was okay, and so were the people she loved.
She was okay.
She was okay.
Twig fell into an untroubled sleep, and for the first time in months, she wasn't lying when she told herself that.
#pmd2#pmd eos#pmd sky#pmd explorers#pokemon mystery dungeon#pmd fanfic#pmd fanfiction#pmd fic#the present is a gift au
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Fear
Patton (Ao3)
Word Count: 1407
Characters: Virgil, Patton, Janus
Rating: T
Warnings: Spider!Virgil, food, fear
Patton wakes up to get a late-night snack, but he gets the fright of his life instead!
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Sometimes dinner wasn't quite enough. Patton was pretty certain that was why his grumbling dad-gut woke him up in the middle of the night. He knew he should have gotten seconds before Virgil took the whole pan of lasagna—the whole pan after everyone else got a full serving. And Patton couldn't deny his hungry kiddos!
But the roaring in his core echoed in his ears, reminding him that he still needed to eat enough too. Patton fumbled for his glasses and slipped them on his face, hoping it was late enough that he could wait until breakfast.
1:47
The blue glow from his alarm clock told him everything. Except for faint buzzing and crunching sounds, he suddenly started hearing them and then a minute later they stopped.
Maybe Remus was making a mess. That would explain it. He didn't need to know more.
He got up with a grunt and decided that he could get away with a snack, as long as no one questioned him. He didn't have the presence of mind for that. He was craving sleep.
He fumbled through the clutter in his room—memories, old projects, dirty clothes that he would put in the hamper when he found it. He was not leaving the room without his frog slippers and bathrobe, not when it got so cold at night.
1:53
Patton was cozy and bundled up and ready to brave the dark or pass out. He had great night vision so he wouldn't bother with the lights. He was on a mission.
He quietly shut his door and made his way down the hall instead of sinking out. A little bit of exercise would wake him up enough that he could make a small sandwich. It would be so much easier than raiding the chocolate covered crickets and explaining himself later.
The dim hallway was so different at night. The beige walls were almost tan and the shadows from the picture frames seemed to ripple and flow with an invisible tide.
Patton shuddered.
He was right to wear a bathrobe—it was chilly! Maybe it was just his skin getting froggy. He didn't have the best control of it when he was sleepy.
And it was so late.
His eyes had to be playing tricks on him.
His mind had to be messing with him.
There was nothing to be afraid of!
2:00
He stepped into the kitchen and relaxed his shoulders.
It was almost exactly how he left it before bed.
Sure there was a knife on the cutting board, in a small puddle of fruit juice, but he knew how Logan would make overnight oats and add berries.
That was normal.
And he could hear sloshing—it had to be the dishwasher! Janus must have run it before bed.
That was normal.
Oh and he must have forgotten to put away his stick blender after he cleaned it! It was sitting by the sink.
Everything was fine.
Nothing was out of the ordinary.
Nothing at all.
Why did it feel like something was off?
The shadows were still swaying.
There was an electricity in the air like someone was with him. Was someone watching him?
Patton was more alert.
He made his way to the fridge, ignoring the urge to run and hide.
He was just hungry and tired. There was nothing to worry about.
It was too quiet.
He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
There was nothing to worry about.
Just a handful of shredded cheese would do. He really wanted to go back to bed with something in his tummy. And then curl up under the covers.
Sigh
He opened the fridge and squinted as light poured out onto him.
Silence.
The sloshing stopped.
Patton glanced at the dishwasher, expecting to see the little green light signaling it was finished. That would explain it.
There was no light.
The dishwasher hadn't been running.
What was making that sound?
Who was making that sound?
Patton did not want to know. He wanted to know just as much.
He slowly turned his head, peeking over his shoulder.
There wouldn't be anything there.
He was just getting wrapped up in his emotions.
It was late.
There wouldn't be anything.
He made eye contact with three sets of wide eyes.
The creature had its fangs deep in the back of an innocent kitty. The green appendages were coated in red.
Patton screamed and slammed the fridge shut.
"Don't scream!" the spider man gasped and lowered himself to the floor with his spindly legs.
Patton backed into the fridge and trembled. He could be brave! He could fight a giant spider!
The spider lowered the poor, rigid kitty away from his fangs and timidly stepped closer.
Patton had no idea what came over him.
"Stay back!"
For added measure he shot his tongue out, aiming for the cutting board.
The spider person moved at inhuman speed.
He grabbed Patton's tongue with one hand and raised an eyebrow at him.
The spider tasted like strawberries.
"Patton," the spider person said in a booming, layered voice, "You don't want to wake anyone else."
He knew that voice.
"Thiwil?"
Virgil let go of his tongue, letting it snap back into Patton's mouth like a tape measure.
Patton was dizzy.
Virgil? Spider?
He was so scared and confused.
Darkness
"Pat!"
Patton hit the floor with a thud.
Virgil set the ornate cat-shaped vase on the counter and rushed to make sure Patton wasn't hurt.
"What is going on in here?" Janus huffed and trudged into the room. His hair was pulled back and he had a green face mask covering his skin and scales. He was the first and last person Virgil wanted to see.
Virgil retracted his spider parts and sighed. This would be fun.
"He saw me drinking a smoothie and got scared," Virgil admitted and made sure Patton was lying on his left side.
"You know how he feels about spiders," Janus sighed and shook his head.
"He's usually asleep this late. I didn't realize he was here until he was staring at me," Virgil huffed and got up, "Could you not be a dick and do your thing and make him forget it?"
"I don't have to do anything, he'd rather convince himself that it was just a dream. If you want you can take him to his room. But he should be up and about soon."
Virgil sighed and went to the cupboards, grabbing a package of mini muffins. There was only one reason Patton would be up at this hour.
He scooped the faint father figure up with ease and sank out. He'd make sure Patton got a good night's sleep.
2:15
Patton groaned and sat up. His stomach was grumbling and he felt dizzy. The fuzzy time on the clock said more than enough.
He was having bad dreams about cat-eating spiders that looked like Virgil and it was because he was hungry. Of course he was hungry. He didn't eat enough at dinner.
Patton plucked his glasses from the nightstand, but he was surprised to feel some sort of packaged snack against his fingers. He put his glasses on and grabbed the snack to inspect it.
Mini chocolate chip muffins! His favorite!
He tore them open and scarfed one down. He really needed that!
He was so happy he was swinging his legs. And he bumped his toe against his slippers. They were neatly lined up next to the bed. That was odd, but nothing to worry about.
And his bathrobe was hanging on his bedpost. Was that there before? His room was such a mess he didn’t think too much of it. He was content to munch until the muffin bag was empty.
With a full tummy, Patton set his glasses aside and curled up under the covers. He was ready to sleep without having any scary dreams. Spider people weren’t real, no cats were in danger of becoming spider food, and Virgil was definitely not a spider!
Virgil sat on the counter in the kitchen with his chelicerae deep in the cat-shaped vase. He was going to finish his smoothie the fast way in case Patton had an actual nightmare. Janus could silently judge him all he wanted while he made his chamomile tea. He knew better than almost everyone that Virgil needed to eat ungodly amounts of food. It was a spider thing.
#sanders sides#patton sanders#virgil sanders#janus sanders#spider!virgil#fear!virgil#feargil.....no that's too close to feargal#food mention tw#sandyscribed
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Hello hello ophe 👋😇
I know this sounds weird and carp but I’m gonna say what some of my favs smell like
Trent (my dumb princess) probably smells like mahogany teakwood, strawberry kiwi or motor oil
He seems like a strawberry kiwi kinda guy
Axel would smell like pine, motor oil, or cucumber melon
Emma definitely smells like sunshine and lemons or cupcake sprinkles
WAYNE the boy smell like musty ass hockey bags or hot honey, or strawberry ice berry lemonade
Scary girl smells like red raspberries, unopened monster high dolls, candles, or a hot topic
Damien smell like chemicals, laundry detergent , ocean salt, or fresh water
OLIVIA VON TRASHPANDA smells like what a god would smell like
-Ass Stars anon
I’m gonna like ask every like three or four days so not to clog your ask box and so that I try and control myself
Hello hello, Ass Stars Anon! 👋😊
You're giving these kids way too much credit in terms of how good they'd smell, imo.
Axel would smell earthy, like mulch and wet leaves, because she's a survivalist. Having a traceable scent would bring down her 9.7 primitive survival rating! That's not to say she smells bad, but if you were to sniff a handful of dirt and then Axel herself there wouldn't be much of a difference. Of course, after she started her relationship with Ripper she started smelling like him too (given the fact that the two were literally near inseparable), which is mostly just the stink of body odour- Ripper believes in letting his "natural musk" and "alfalfa pheromones" run free.
Emma strikes me as the sort of girl to either wear super sugary-scented perfumes or drown herself in fruity/sweet body mists. She probably goes through a bottle of So...? Fragrance a day, either in the scent Birthday Cake or Raspberry Frappe.
In the same vein, Chase would reek of whatever cologne/body wash he's currently sponsored by, or if he has his own brand of cologne he'd wear it religiously. I doubt many of them smell great, but at least it's more interesting than deodorant and hairspray.
Wayne AND Raj both smell like Lynx Africa (AXE Body Spray for the US, I think?) with the underlying smell of hockey-sweat and gym lockers.
Scary Girl probably reeks of brimstone and hellfire. Joking, but given that she lives in a funeral home and (according to her audition) deals with explosives often, I imagine she's stained with the ever-present smell of dust and cinder- maybe with the underlying smoky smell you get from standing too close to a fire. Topped off with some sort of cloyingly sweet flowery perfume; she's got that creepy-cute aesthetic to keep up, after all!
I'd like to say that Damien smells like fresh linen and hand sanitizer- because as a science nerd and an anxious mess, he initially struck me as someone with good or even over excessive hygiene habits- but with Zee's secret spilling we know that this dude hasn't changed his underwear for weeks(?), so he in all likelihood smells like cheap cologne layered over dirty clothes.
Olivia von Trashpanda has ascended beyond trivial mortal concepts like "smell".
Trent, our silly little princess who has done no wrong ever, would smell like wood polish (for his guitar), motor oil (he strikes me as the sort of guy who's into fixing up old cars, or modifying his own motorbike) and Old Spice. A lot of oaky scents with a twang of petrol.
This is all off the top of my head btw. I haven't really put much thought into what the contestants would smell like- for good reason, given the fart jokes and gross-out humour in the series.
That's not to say that your own interpretations/headcanons are invalid or wrong, or that my headcanons are the gospel truth. They can smell like whatever you want them to!
This is just me adding my own interpretations. Feel free to disagree with me!
You can send asks as often as you want! I'll do my best to reply to them all, though sometimes I do find myself drawing a blank as to how to respond. If I don't reply to an ask please don't take it as me being rude/annoyed, I probably just couldn't think of anything to add.
#i'm probably gonna be thinking about how every contestant smells now. great. 😬 /lh#anyway harold smells like a hospital and no one can figure out why/how /j#really though. feel free to disagree with me. my suggestions aren't meant to be taken as veritas! /srs#discuss things with me! point out flaws in my logic! run me over with a honda civic! (maybe not that last one 👀)#total drama#td2023#silly headcanons#others' headcanons#ass stars anon#replies
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Okay but what if you took Levi on his first picnic?
He didn't understand the word, or eating outside on a blanket on the ground or anything.
He whines the entire way. "You want me to get dirty?" "Eat with my hands?" "But there's ants."
And you're a giggling mess at his complaints and finally just tell him to shut up and while he's stunned into silence you start moving everything out of the way and lay down and try to pull him with you.
"You want me to LAY out here?"
"Yes!" And you're serious, so he does.
"The sun is in my eyes."
"Then close them."
So he does and and you get cozy against him and draw little circles on his chest until he finally hears your breathing steady. Then he takes it all in, and feels the slight breeze, and the warmth on his skin, and hears the stream running nearby, and it's so peaceful, you're the one waking him up just a short time later.
"So, can we try again next week?" That's him, asking you! :)
Eliza!!! this is so cute. Y/N taking Captain grumpy pants to his first picnic and he can't stop niggling
t.w: fluff
w.c: ~2K
Blowing out a sigh, Levi slips into his pocket the note you left on his desk yesterday. His svelte fingers run through his silky hair, sweeping off the meddlesome strands of his eyes. He sticks a mental post it note to remind himself to schedule an urgent haircut.
Petrichor is dank in the air; the grass glistened in the dew of the early morning rain. He tugs the collar of his white linen shirt, scratching an itch on his neck, and looks up at the clear sky. He squints and shades his eyes against the intense brightness of the sun with a hand. In a short time, the mist will leave a gross tacky layer on his skin.
Spending his day off in the bathtub with you would have been a more pleasant plan. But he would never say no to the schemes you cooked up in your head–the ones involving him. At the end of the day, he ends up giving in to your big puppy eyes.
“Sorry for making you wait.” He feels your melodious voice coming from behind, followed by one arm winding around him. “I had to double check we got everything.” On your other arm hangs a wicker basket that cuts off your circulation, and you can feel your hand starting to tingle.
You plant a sweet kiss on his shoulder and steered around him, till you’re standing before him, and another kiss catches him out of guard.
“Hey,” he muses when you pull apart, and spots the basket brimming with everything you found in the kitchen. “What’s that?”
“A basket with food,” you say, swaying it like a pendulum in your arm.
Levi rolls his eyes. “I mean, what’s that for?” he demands and grabs the handle, and a smile draws on his face when he notices what you’re wearing. A white tie-strap midi dress you confectioned yourself with a rayon fabric he bought for you in the market, complemented with a red hair ribbon tied around your messy bun.
“We’re having a picnic, Levi.” You beam, rocking back and forth on your heels, hands intertwined behind your back.
“A picnic?”
“You’ve never had one?!!!” You blink several times, stunned; your reaction tears out a blush from him. Levi flusters. He scratches his chin and averts his gaze. He’s been living in the surface for less than a year; there are still things he has yet to discover. “Sorry… I overreacted,” you say soothingly and loop an arm through his, pressing your cheek to his upper arm. “Let’s go, I’ll explain on the way.”
Distant hills hear your giggles and Levi’s whines as you look for the perfect spot to set your date. You tell him you’ll be eating on a blanket on the meadow and strings of ‘tch’s drips off from his mouth.
“It’ll be fun,” you reassure him, picking wild berries that grow along the path; however, judging by his narrowed eyes and his constant grumbling, he doesn’t seem convinced. Levi turns his face away when you offer him part of your harvest, and you, without fretting by his moody attitude, eat them one by one, rejoicing in the blend of sweetness and bitterness that lingers in your mouth
After a twenty-minute walk, your eyes light up when you spot the perfect place: a tuft of wild grass tickling the edge of a shallow river.
While Levi still holds the basket, you fumble for the blanket and extend it on the field, placing stones on the corners so that the breeze won't fling it over.
“I won’t sit there,” Levi scoffs as you sit on your knees. You make grabby hands as a cue for him to pass the woven container to you.
“So, you’re eating standing?” you retort, swinging the flaps open.
"You want me to get dirty?"
Your eyes go blank. “That’s what the blanket is for, silly.” You pat the space beside you, and he reluctantly sits cross-legged, frowning and pouting like a grounded four-year-old. Another ‘tch’ coils in his mouth as he tries to accommodate for the grass not to prickle his butt.
You hand him the bottle of wine and the corkscrew for him to do something useful instead of yammering, while you carefully pull out the food containers and set up everything nice and pretty on the wooden trays. Levi watches you, pleased and astound that you’d thought of any detail.
Different types of cheese, strawberries, sliced apples, nuts and ham, sticks of cucumber and carrot, pesto and mushroom pâté, and a baguette put together a colorful feast.
Levi lifts the bottle and holds it at his eye level, swirling it, watching through the glass the tiny bubbles dashing upwards.
“Are we drinking from the bottle?” He gibes and raises a brow derisively.
“Here.” You thud two mugs on the mat, and Levi pours the rosé.
“Mugs for wine?”
“You know I’m clumsy sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” The corners of his lips twitch in an attempt to stifle a mocking smirk. You smack his shoulder with a soft blow; one cheek puffs out as your lour at him.
“It was an accident,” you huff. He wouldn’t stop rubbing in your face the fact that you shatter one of his favorite cups.
Levi pinches your cheek between two knuckles as you finish serving. Then, he stretches out his legs and leans back by a fraction, hands flat supporting his weight. A small, enamored smile creeps across his lips as he contemplates you. Your skin glows, bathed in the sunlight, and your hair, a perfect chaos. A few wild strands of hair slipped off the tie and are now rebelliously curling over your ears.
“Don’t you ever get tired of staring at me?” You lick your lips that curved into a smile as you place the bunch of green grapes in the center of the tray.
“Never.”
His eyes stumble with your long lashes, that look like two fans, sexy and enthralling; and then his gaze slides down your nose, until it entangles with your mouth. Your lips. Plump, juicy, kissable. His vice. With that vivid red lipstick that promises to leave his mouth messed up like the streets of the town the morning after the carnival.
You are luckiest person in the world because Levi loves you. You were the one who crumbled the walls he’d built around his wounded heart and saw past through his eyes. And he gave you everything; he bared his soul and showed his vulnerable side, the frightened boy he keeps tucked away in the recesses of his soul.
He wants to kiss you. He’d ask because no matter how many times you remind him he doesn’t need to ask for a kiss, he’ll do it.
However, he skips this time.
He’s been a dick, he knows he’s been a dick who doesn’t deserve your lips. “Time to dig in.” You rub your hands together with excitement and began to prepare the toasts.
“Time to dig in.” You rub your hands together with excitement and began to prepare the toasts.
Levi’s eyes follow you as you cut the bread in slices, slather pâté on them and decorate with toppings. Unwittingly, you hum a soft tune. Once done, you slip his full plate before him, and he eyes them warily as if making sure they’re not poisoned. His gaze then drifts to you and you’re already munching down one, cupping a hand beneath your chin, so the crumbs don’t fall onto the mat.
“You haven’t touch yours.” Your eyes scoot to him as you take another bite.
He frowns again, reaches out and wipes of the smeared pesto from the corner of your mouth.
"Do you really expect me to eat with my hands?" he jeers, his fingers rubbing clean on a napkin.
“What’s wrong with eating with hands?” You chaffed him for his silly complaints. “I pack enough napkins, or we can wash our hands in the stream too.”
"But there's ants."
“You just sweep them away,” you snort, sending one to fly off with a finger-flick.
“Tch.”
“Levi,” you chime, your mellow laugh filling the air and sweetening his ears. You rub a thumb between his eyebrows to ease the creases of his sulky grimace. “Shut up and stop acting like a brat.”
Bewildered, he stares at you with wide eyes and parted lips, then growls and folds his arms over his chest. “I’m not acting like a brat.”
“You are.” You hold him closer and smother his face with a shower of kisses and soft nibbles, but he whines more and shush you off, rubbing off the remnants of lipstick of his face..
You find it amusing to provoke him and piss him off, only a bit, from time to time. He's adorable, you think, even though anyone else would say you're crazy.
“Open up.” You bring a bruschetta to his mouth, and he leers back, blushing, but surrenders and nabs on it.
“There you go, big baby grumpy pants.”
“So funny.” He remarks sarcastically and takes a long swig of wine before hoarding the toasts in his plate like a squirrel stashing nuts. A chuckle slips off your lips, and you ruffle his hair, glad he’d liked it. You capture a lock of black hair between two fingers, ironing it and curling it upwards to study the ends. “Can I cut it next time.”
“Not a chance, Y/N. You know I don’t trust you with my hair.”
For dessert, you’d picked an apple pie with flaky butter crust that you almost devour whole. An explosion of flavors and textures takes over your mouth, so addictive that you can't put your fork down. But Levi tugs you away from a diabetic coma.
“Can we have it for breakfast tomorrow?” you query whimsically, licking your fingers before putting the dishes and leftovers back into the wicker box, moving everything away to make more room for two, and lie on your side, propping your head on your elbow.
“C’mere.”
Levi shakes his head, arms crossed over his chest, tapping his fingers on his upper arms. You shoot at him a menacing, insistent glance.
"You want me to LAY out here?"
"Yes!"
His glower falter, and he gulps at your sternness. You're always in a good mood, sparkly and cheery, but one thing he’s learned is never to make you upset. He complies and, a bit averse, he joins you.
He lies on his back, and you nestle next to him, swinging a leg across his thigs, curling an arm over his chest and nuzzling your face on his shoulder. A waft of his pungent perfume strokes your nose , intoxicating you in that masculine, panty-dropper scent.
"The sun is in my eyes." He bellyaches, squinting and scrunching up his face.
"Then close them." You mumble, drawing little circles on his chest, gazing up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
Levi's eyes meet yours, and he smiles back. He rolls on his side, capturing you in his arms, wedging one leg between your thighs, and douses the crown of your head in kisses.
“Thank you for today, Y/N.” His sultry voice caresses each letter of your name. “Even if I’ve been a pain in the ass.”
The tip of your nose skims his chin, and your lips make their way beneath his jaw, pressing ticklish kisses that wrench tiny chuckles from his mouth. “You should laugh more often, Levi.” Your breath fans over his Adam’s apple, and his chortle’s joy transform in giggles.
“Stop that!” His voice trembles in his throat against your mouth.
“Make me.” You dare him, blitzing his neck with more kisses in a ceaseless assault.
He lurches back and squishes your cheeks in his hands. His gaze roams over you, and he inches forward, whisking his nose on yours. Then, his hands amble around your neck, his thumbs stroking your earlobes and cheeks.
“Can I kiss you?”
You nod.
First, a gentle brush before his mouth captures yours in a sweet hearty kiss. Your eyes close, slowly, and your tongue, spontaneous and urgent sweeps over his lips and plunges into his gaping maw, exploring every corner of his mouth, swirling and contorting with his in a mucilaginous dance.
When your lungs hoist the white flag, you pull apart and gaze at each other like two idiots in love.
Because you’re nothing more than two enamored idiots.
Huddled together, you’re the first one to doze off. Unlike him, wherever you lie down, you soon fall into Morpheus' claws. He closes his eyes, enveloped by your steady breathing and your warmth, the lavender of your shampoo, and yields to the rustling of the leaves that dither at the rhythm of the breeze, the whisper of the stream that slithers through the rocks.
Without realizing it, the world shuts down and only the two of you are left, cocooned in each other’s embrace.
“Levi.” His name belches off your mouth like cotton-candy, followed by a bath of kisses that wakes him up from his slumber.
He groans and peeks through one of his eyes. And there you are, drinking him with your sparkling eyes, tracing a finger over his ear.
You’re lying on your belly, your chin resting on your hand and your knees bent so that your heels are whisking your lovely, bitable ass.
Still engulfed in the drowsiness, he holds your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and brings it to his mouth, slathering kisses on your knuckles.
“Y/N.”
“Yeah?”
He nuzzles his face against your entwined hands, and a fleeting shade of pink creeps across his cheeks.
"So, can we try again next week?"
#Levi ackerman#Levi ackerman fluff#Levi ackerman x reader#levi ackerman x you#levi x reader#levi x you#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#levi ackerman#aot#snk#levi attack on titan#snk levi#levi aot#levi fluff#nela writes
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BEACON OF HOPE ~ Sanji
LA!sanji x fem!reader
Warnings ! : being yelled at, daddy issues bc it’s the best fanfic seasoning, angst, fluff, abuse from parental figure, double standards, misogyny (or sexism?)
Nattie speaks: a lil something to y’all fed + I need a man like Sanji to comfort me and my daddy issues🙏
ZEFF WAS IN SOME SORT OF MOOD that day. The harsh trudging of his footsteps as he exited and entered the kitchen while bellowing orders was more then enough evidence to prove your point. Nobody in the kitchen even dared to breath the wrong way, afraid of the ex-pirates response. Even Sanji had managed to bite his tongue and hold back any snide remarks to keep the Zeff’s anger at bay.
You avoided any trouble all day, not causing a disturbance when a costumer was being particularly rude. You simply did you’re job was a waitress, took down orders and dropped them off at the kitchen, later coming back to collect the food and give them to the diners. You’d refused to even think about slacking off just a bit, not going over to Sanji for a couple flirtatious exchanges like usual. The Baratie was flooded in a thick tension but all was well, for the most part.
The business was booming with people, that certain point of the day where all the seats were filled with snobby, rich people. You’d been rushing between tables, taking down orders as quick as possible since these people didn’t recognize patience. It was overwhelming and overstimulating, making your temple throb in pain as you dragged you feet into the kitchen. You called out the order in a loud voice, sticking the scribbled notes onto the overhead where Carne cooked up a steak.
“Table 8 says they’ve been waiting for their drink for twenty minutes, y/n, hurry it up!” Zeff’s voice sudden boomed as he marched into the kitchen, you nearly flinched at the sound of his voice, swallowing down a remark about how those twenty minutes was actually a dramatized two minutes. Nonetheless you collected a few cups and took them straight out to table 8, some rich couple and their equally rich kids.
You gave them a kind smile, despite wanting to desperately slap their cocky smirks off their faces. “And are you ready to order?” You questioned in a chirpy tone, reaching for the notepad in your pocket and the pen tucked behind your ear.
“My, we just got our drinks, give us a minute to look over the menu.” The woman scoffed, you sucked you teeth in, blinking slowly and offering another wide grin.
“My apologies, I’ll be back in a bit.” You shoved the notepad back in its place, walking to a booth that was empty, though the table crowded in a mess of dishes. You reached for the sliver platter that held the receipt and a pitiful amount of berry left as a tip. “Assholes.” You mumbled, taking the money and collecting a few plates and cups.
The brewing storm in your head had begun to cloud your vision, sometimes you just wanted to quit and make a dramatic exit out of the shitty restaurant but you never had the balls to. The whole service you’d been good, held your shit together despite wanting to break down on the inside, bit your tongue, but the one moment you got vulnerable ended in tragedy.
In a fit of cursing out some of the customers out in your head, you didn’t take notice of the waiter coming out the kitchen at the exact same time you were entering. The collision led to the shatter of two plates, one cup and a mess of silverware clanking on the floor.
“Fuck.” You mumbled, watching as the waiter scurried away nervously, leaving you at the scene to deal with the approaching man.
“What the hell are you doing!” Zeff shouted, tone practically rumbling the whole restaurant as you stared up at him in utter shock. You felt like a kid again, having to guiltily stand there while an adult went on off on you. The man threw insults that he’d probably regret the next day, humiliating you over a few broken plates. You just stared down at the dirty floor, feeling tiny compared to him. “Clean this up and get out of sight!”
He walked past you, leaving the judging eyes of the kitchen crew to watch as you bent down, slowly picking up the larger chunks. You didn’t even realize that Sanji was approaching till the shadow of his figure loomed over you. You jumped, backing away in fear as you wide eyes met his. The boy frowned, taking notice at the tears pooling in your eyes and you’re quivering lip. You looked like a kicked puppy, that was enough for him to toss the shards of porcelain and help you up.
He took you out the back door, away from the staring eyes as he heard small whimpers escape your mouth. “It’s okay, darling, it’s okay.” He whispered, arms wrapped around your figure, his hand coming up to brush your hair. “The old man is just giving a hard time because he has a stick up his arse.”
You let out silent cries, tears dripping down your face and onto Sanji’s apron, his soothing tone helping ease the tightness in your chest. You felt stupid, and weak, crying over getting reprimanded for something that was your fault. Now your were taking valuable time away from both you and Sanji’s jobs, that’s all you thought about and it made you cry harder.
Funny enough, Sanji was thinking the opposite. He didn’t care about his job, or the broken pieces still laying on the kitchen floor, or even the fact that Zeff could come out any minute and yell at the two for slacking. All he cared about in that moment was you, making sure you cried all the tears you had, making sure that your trembling hands stilled. He placed chaste kisses on your head, standing there until your sobbing quieted down.
He slowly pulled away, hands still placed on your shoulder with a cautious look. “You look lovely, darling.” He chuckled at the sight of the black mascara that began to run down your cheek.
“Piss off.” You muttered humorously, taking the clean rag he offered and wiping away any evidence of your breakdown. “I hate today.”
“I know you do.” He whispered back, taking the cloth and gently swiping away the parts that you missed. “Beautiful as always.”
“Why are old people such assholes.” You shoved your head into his chest, words muffling as you did.
“Because they can’t get it up anymore without breaking a hip.”
You let out a chuckle, smiling against the material of his shirt, his chest vibrating with his own laugh and it calmed you down even more. You took in a deep breath, hands reaching down low, making the cook tense. You grabbed the pack of cigarettes he always had in his pockets, lifting the box with a sly smile.
“Get your head out the gutter.” He laughed quietly, reaching for the lighter in his other pocket as you shoved a cigarette into your mouth.
“Ready to go back in?” He questioned, watching as you puffed out a cloud of smoke.
“Yeah.” You replied quietly, taking a long drag while Sanji opened the door, allowing you to step in first. Gentleman, as always. “If Zeff smells this thing, I’m blaming you.”
The older man hated the stench of burnt out cigarettes that lingered in the air because Sanji had bad habit of lightening one every few hours. The ash tray on the extra table shoved in the corner of the kitchen was full, and Zeff always lectured the blonde on it, Sanji typically never cared enough to stop.
“Blame me all you want, darling, I’ll take the fall each time.” He winked at you, grabbing a dust pan and broom. He lazily swept up the mess, dumping it into the nearby garbage bin, something he knew Zeff would also yell at him about.
“He’s gonna kill you.”
“I’d like to that old man try.” Sanji smirked, giving you that classic flirty look that made the butteries flutter in your stomach. “Now, get back to work.”
You mocked a salut, rolling you’re eyes as you made your way to the kitchen doors, “Yes, chef.”
THE REST OF THE DAY HAD GONE smoothly, the sun hid itself behind the horizon as the dinning area emptied. Most of the guest had migrated to the bar, the party boomed at the other end of the restaurant.
You and Sanji were the only two in the kitchen, he was showing off some new dish he came up with, claiming it was the best thing on the VIP menu.
“We have a VIP menu?”
“Yeah, but it’s so secret that none of the guest know about it, not even the old man.” Sanji grinned, hand off the plate to you. “Now, the food critic decides.”
You rolled your eyes with a playful smile, picking up the fork and scooping up a bite into your mouth. The mixtures of taste were perfectly balance, unique flavors creating a wonderful sensation. There something about Sanji’s cooking that made you feel so safe and warm, you always teased that he was like a granny. He was able to create that familiarity in his food, something you eat every once in a while that reminds you of home.
You placed the fork down, dramatically folding your hands on your lap as you chewed down the food, “This dish, its…absolute shit.” You held back a smile, looking up at the cook.
Sanji glared at you, hands placed firmly on his hips. “You’re starting to sound like Zeff.”
“Ugh,” You groaned, “Don’t remind me.”
“I can’t believe he made you cry.” Sanji slid off into the seat right next to you, watching as the memory of his yelling flickered in your head, lips dipping into a soft frown. “Fuckin’ arse.”
“It really was my fault.” You mumbled back quietly, “But it was the fact that he yelled at me, you shoulda’ seen that look in his eyes.”
“I see it every day, darling.”
You didn’t like to reminisce on the past, especially since it was such a pain to even think about, both physically and emotionally. You didn’t open up about your family, or the crew you use to be a part of before running into the open arms of the Baratie. You were truly a mystery, you’re past locked up in a box and buried deep in the sand. Though sometimes, it escapes, poisoning you’re mind and breaking you down.
Zeff’s blow up triggered that poison, it spread like a virus, clouding you’re head for the rest of the day. Even now, you’d begun to dig up memories you didn’t want to remember. It was enough to make a fresh wave of tears build up, but you refused to cry this time, not allowing a single droplet to escape as you blinked them away. Though the quiet sniffle gave you away as Sanji glanced over at you, taking notice of the redness under your eyes, a silent confession that told him you were upset.
“You all right, darling?” He asked quietly, brows creased with worry, “Zeff isn’t here, he can’t make you feel like shit anymore.”
“It’s not that.” You whispered back, inhaling a shaky deep breath, “I’m just..thinking.”
“Thinking about what?” He asked, a comforting hand coming to hold yours. “If you need to talk about something you can talk to me.”
Silence filled the room as you struggled with making a decision, the truth was you’d probably start crying your eyes out if you opened your mouth. But the longer you held in these memories, the more toxic the venom became, it was tug-of-war between yourself and your conscious. Then again, the same trauma of the memories is what makes it such a hard task to open up.
You licked your lips, squeezing his hand gently and looking down. “I came from a pirate crew, but this pirate crew in specific was my family. Everyone on the ship was made up of all my relatives, mom, dad, siblings, cousins.” You saw the man nod from the corner of your eye, silently confirming his attendance. “My dad was the captain of the crew, and god he was a fuckin’ pain in the ass.” You voice cracked, words beginning to distort as you sucked in a deep breath. “My job on the crew was to basically be a maid, to pick up after the messes he made. Scrub the bird shit off the ledge, mop the deck, shine his shoes, serve him food, serve him drinks, anything a basic human can do I had to do for him.” You’re sadness had slowly began to turn to anger, your eyes lifting to finally meet his. “I got nothing in return, not even a few berry for the trouble.”
Sanji frowned deeply, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “Why would your father do this to you?”
His questioned made you scoff, because it was the same thing you asked the eighteen years your spent on the torturous ship. It wasn’t until you grew out of the naivety that you realized the answer. “Because I was a woman, and as a woman it was my job, my place, to provide service for the men. I was treated like shit all my life, and no one dared to say a thing.” You stood up, hand pulling away from his as you ran it through your hair frustratedly, moving to pace the kitchen. “The men believed that it was the job of a good wife to give and give, while they just take. I seemed to be the only one who didn’t believe this. But no one could ever speak up to the man, the captain himself, god forbid you disobeyed that asshole because he was never wrong, no matter the situation.” You finally sat back down, picking at your nails. “For years I was treated like nothing more then a slave, yelled at for being to slow, never praised for my work, only picked on what was wrong. It changed my way in seeing people, and it permanently left a scar on my everyday life. Hearing Zeff yell at me that way, it’s just..”
“I know, darling, I know.” Sanji cooed, for soft and tender, “That day, when you first arrived at The Baratie, you had a mark on your left cheek.” The cook swallowed thickly, recalling the day you’re feeble body came to the doors of the restaurant and begged for help. “Was that from him?”
The day before you escaped the ship you’d been refused food, as a punishment for not finishing your chores in time. When you spoke up about being hungry and the unfairness of it all, you received a harsh slap across the face. That was it, that was the last bit of disrespect you’d take. So you set off to steal a life boat and run away from the horrible treatment. “Yes, it was.”
“Bloody hell.” Sanji muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What was the name of your families crew?”
“The Calavera pirates.” You replied, Sanji leaned in closed, placing a finger on your chin to lift your gaze towards him.
“I’ll remember that name until the end of my life, and the day I find them, know that your same pain will be brought upon them.” His tone was so serious and low. His threat sent a chill down your spine, and not because you were scared of it, but because you knew he meant it. “You deserved so much better, darling.” He whispered, bringing you into his arms and planting a kiss on your hairline.
Sanji so desperately wanted to open his mouth and say that he’d treat you like a queen if you’d just give him a chance. But the man’s feelings were shoved down before they could tumble out his mouth. He chose to remain silent, allowing his actions to speak for him. With this new confession he made it his mission to take the extra step in making sure you were treated right. He would be your shoulder to cry on or someone to love, whatever you wanted. It was painful, the amount of love he held in his heart and he was unable to fully show you it.
But if he must wait all his life, he will.
sobbing but wanting to smash at the same time
lord pls send help.
#vinsmoke sanji#Sanji#blackleg sanji#Sanji opla#Sanji one piece#Sanji x reader#vinsmoke Sanji x reader#Sanji x you#sanji imagine#sanji live action#opla#one piece#one piece live action#one piece show#one piece fics#one piece imagine
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Hisuian OC
(All made using a neka.cc known as Guangyu colleagues)
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Infancy :
Niesha was born in the Heart's Crag area of the Alabaster Icelands, to a single mother who lost her husband to a rampaging Alpha Mamoswine. Her mother was very wary of Pokémon afterwards and refused to let her near any of them while she was still around.
With the war between the Diamond and Pearl Clans, however, her mother did not make it. She was killed while she was running away from members of the Diamond Clan. However, it was not before she could hide her child from them.
Niesha had been hidden in a Gingko Guild member's cart, and she wasn't found until the member, Ginter, found her sleeping in one of the crates.
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Childhood :
Niesha (mostly) grew up under her adoptive father's care, learning about the many items he sold. She had no interest in the trade, however.
Instead, she used the knowledge of said items to her advantage. People who had Pokémon that could evolve with certain items would be guided by this tiny girl over to where said items were being sold and get a small lecture over what said item would do. Funnily enough, this somewhat boosted sales.
She started to write notes about the items and kept them tucked in a bag until Ginter bought her a book made by traders from many regions away. To thank him, she made him a curry from the local, non-poisonous, flora, such as the leeks and berries.
It wouldn't be until she turned 11 where she would be separated from him, scared off by a younger Volo. He told her that members of the Diamond Clan were going to kill Ginter if they found him with her, since her mom was a member of the clan that was their sworn enemy. At the time, she did not know that there was a truce.
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Young Teen Years (11 -14) :
Niesha becomes a wanderer, moving all across Hisui to learn about the people that came before them and the Pokémon they now live with. Sometimes she encounters Alpha Pokémon and records their behaviors in her notes.
When she turned 13, she encounter a tiny Gligar that was stuck in the mud. She saw how scared the little thing was and helped her out, pulling her out with a large stick. Granted, she got a hug that made her incredibly dirty afterwards, but she felt really good after doing it.
The thing is, the Gligar never stopped following her. In fact, it would even snuggle up to her when she would pitch her tent and settle down for the night.
It wasn't until she decided to sell some of the Fire Stones she had collected when someone told her that the female Gligar really looked like her partner. She was kind of afraid to ask her, but the big, toothy smile she got in response was worth it.
She named her Glimmer.
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Mid Teen Years (15-16) :
During these years she finally had her growth spurt, blossoming into a very tall and beautiful young lady (think of her with the body of Rangiku Matsumoto if she were 6"10). Glimmer had evolved, too. Into an Alpha Gliscor, which startled her.
One day, and without any kind of warning, the sky just turns red. Thinking it might have something to do with Mt. Coronet, she heads up to check it out.
Then she ends up beating the two Pokémon that are claimed to be Almighty Sinnoh, and Glimmer gets badly injured during the whole debacle.
When Arceus finally descends, she demands that he fix it all. He does, since she was the one who fixed many of the messes he had accidentally created. (Arceus means well, he's just doesn't really think about the consequences).
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Conclusion :
Ingo is sent back to the present and regains his memories, Volo got defeated by a girl and her one single Pokémon (who's level 100 and had effort levels put into every single one of her stats).
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"Thank you, Blank." Mare smiled as they looked at their work.
"I help!" The young one smiled, "Mad like?" He asked.
"Oh he will love it, bud." Mare tickled Blank, making him giggle, "Now, today is going to be family night, just you, me, and Mad, okay?"
"Okay!" Blank nodded, making Mare smile.
"Good." They nodded before hearing the door open and close, "That's him!" Blank squeaked and tried to stay casual as Mad entered the kitchen.
"Good morning-"
"Surprise!" They interrupted Mad, making him jump slightly.
"What's this?" Mad asked as he looked at the mess of dirty dishes.
"We made you breakfast!" Blank said handing the plate stacked with pancakes that was topped with berries and syrup.
"Aw thank you," Mad was touched by the gesture, "What's the occasion?"
"Nothing really," Mare shrugged, "Just a family day with just you, me, and Blanky."
"Oh.." Mad felt warm.
"Better chow down! Because we are heading out in an hour or two!" Mare smiled as he and Blank went out of the room, high-fiving as they went.
OH THAT IS SO CUTE
Got me right in the weak spot!
Imma cry from the cute!
Literally tearing up!
Damn did I need this fluff break 🥺💕
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NaNoWriMo 2023: Day 16
Happy NaNoWriMo 2023! I will be posting excepts of my writing every day of the challenge, to keep myself accountable and to share the pieces I like! I am continuing the novel I started last year, The Lucien Project so search #nanowrimo on my page to get up to date.
11/16/2023 Word Count: 1,763
Total 2023: 29,951
It was a long, boring week before Aurelia had her next appointment. Each morning, before the sun had come up, Father would leave for work, the only trace of his existence in the dirty breakfast plate still sitting on the table. Mother would wait for Aurelia in the dining hall, and ring the one of the kitchen hands to bring out her breakfast. Mother never ate breakfast. Then, as soon as Aurelia had finished her food, Mother would usher her back to her bedroom, and disappear elsewhere into the house until dinner, when Father returned.
On the day of Aurelia’s next appointment, however, Father was there at breakfast, reading a newspaper. When she paddled into the room, he threw the paper aside, and quickly got up to pull the heavy chair out for her. “Good morning, my little princess,” he said as he pushed her in.
Aurelia rubbed her eyes lazily. “Where’s Mother?” she asked.
Father poked his head through the kitchen door and said something to them that Aurelia couldn’t hear. Then, he took his seat again, and looked back at his daughter. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Aren’t you happy to see me?”
Aurelia smiled at him. “Of course I am!” Then, her smile faded. “Oh no, can Mother not bring me to the hospital?” She shrank back in her seat. “I wanted to see Lucien…”
Father reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “We will go see Lucien! I can drive too, you know,” he said.
Aurelia straightened up in her seat eagerly. “Really?”
Father nodded his head. “Really!”
Then, a kitchen maid came in with a tray, and placed breakfast out for both Aurelia and for Father. She put covered plates in front of each of them, before removing the lids with a flair. Aurelia gasped - her plate was piled high with pancakes and berry syrups, with a hefty helping of whipped cream. With Mother, she was used to oatmeal or porridge with fresh fruits and toast. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a breakfast dish that looked so beautiful. She looked over to her Father, to see the same thing in front of him. He winked at her, before stabbing his fork through his stack.
“I was hoping I could meet your friend, Lucien, too,” he said between stuffed mouthfuls. “I need to meet the man who will be marrying my princess one day!”
Aurelia gasped. “No no no!!” she protested, slamming her own fork into her pancakes. “He’s my friend!”
Father laughed loudly, crudely showing bits of unchewed food in his mouth. “Oh, come on, sweetheart, I was just messing with you,” he said, pinching her cheek. Aurelia loosened in her seat, and went back to cutting her food into a mess. “Mother said that you used to call him brother, right?”
Aurelia hesitated, but then nodded. She swallowed her bite of food and said, “Brother Lucien. I have ten others, too. But some of them are sisters.” She put her fork down again, suddenly sad. She looked at Father with sopping eyes. “But… I’ve only seen Lucien…”
“Aw, cheer up, kiddo,” he said, hardly taking a break from his pancakes. They were already mostly gone. “You told me Lucien was special, right? Maybe you’re special too, and that’s why you’re there. How does that sound?”
Aurelia thought about it for a moment. Yes, Lucien was special. And even Miss Olivia had thought that maybe Aurelia was special, too. She looked back at Father, hopeful. But then, she returned to her doubts. Miss Olivia had thought she was special, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t get an image through. “Well… maybe,” she murmured, unconvinced.
“Well, I sure think you’re special, kid,” he said. His pancakes were gone. “Are you done eating?”
#creative writing#writing#nanowrimo#national novel writing month#the lucien project#science fiction#excerpt#novel excerpt#original writing#nanowrimo 2023
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Not So Berry: Gray
Willow Berry started in a fairly normal family. Well, as normal as one can be with a rocket ship in your backyard. Between watching her mothers, Dawn and Daisy, and following her three older brothers around, Willow became something of a tomboy. Unlike her mother Daisy though, she would rather keep her feet on the ground, but it doesn't stop Willow from aspiring to be as ambitious as her mom.
Chasing after her brothers taught her to love sports. Spending the days with her mother Dawn taught her how relaxing meditation and singing could be. Watching her mother Daisy build a rocket taught her to be ambitious toward her goals. However, that ambition came at a price... Willow wasn't the best at keeping things clean. It didn't bother her or her brothers. They played hard and dirty and loved it. It was a little hard being the youngest though. Willow entered elementary school just as her brothers entered high school. Tragedy struck early for her when her mother, Dawn, passed away unexpectedly in her sleep one night. After that, Willow clung to her family more and focused harder on sports, meditation, and school.
Her brother Ash was the first out of high school and quickly proposed to his high school sweetheart, Heidi. Ash asked Pewter to be his best man, Slate to be their ring bearer, and Willow to be their flower pal. Their wedding got moved up to sooner than anyone expected, but when they found out Heidi was expecting, they wanted to get a move on things. Willow was so excited to be an auntie, more so once Ash and Heidi had twins! Then after Pewter graduated, he proposed to his girlfriend and eloped at the Romance Festival in San Myshuno. So much was happening around Willow as she worked her way through high school, then tragedy struck again. She and Daisy got notified that her brother, Slate Berry, had died. He had eloped and found out his wife was pregnant! Poor Alex for being widowed so suddenly.
Daisy told Willow of a recent trip to Oasis Springs, showing her pictures of how beautiful it was there. So just after her birthday and graduating high school, Willow packed up and moved to the desert.
Willow settled into her new home. She instantly began to enjoy having more sunshine to exercise in. Feeling a bit lonely, she adopted two cats, Fabio and Archimedes, and a puppy named Whisper. She was more comfortable having more in the house and though the pets helped, it wasn't long until she wanted someone to talk with. Unlike her grandmother Poppy, dating was hard for Willow. After hitting it off as friends at the local gym, Willow attempted to push her relationship further with Valentino. He, however, wasn't interested in having romantic ties with anyone. But having a woohoo partner... that was fine. It helped for a time, but Willow was wanting to find someone to settle with. Willow then met Diego and Joaquin on another trip into town. Flirting and woohoo came naturally between her and the men, enjoying her time with each. Then she met Anvi and they hit it off well too. Willow came to the conclusion that her and Valentino would just be better as friends, but continued to sleep around with Diego, Joaquin, and Anvi. It didn't take long for her to find out she messed up somewhere and was pregnant.
Willow gave birth to twin girls, Wisteria and Thistle. She settled into motherhood rather well, perhaps from watching her mothers raise four kids. At least the twins and her work kept her calm compared to her love life. Joaquin confessed and apologized to being the father of the twins, and confessed that he is deeply in love with Willow. Meanwhile, Diego began asking about Willow's cousin Skye. Out of the blue one day before work, he called and asked for advice on dating Skye! That killed all possible chances for Diego going any further with Willow, though he tried to get in her pants many more times.
Unsure what to do, Willow focused on her girls and work, ignoring Diego as best she could. It was exceptionally hard since they worked together. Their rocky relationship began to affect her work performance, leading to a demotion. That was a gut punch for Willow. To top it off, she then got word that Anvi passed away in a rock climbing accident. Death just seemed to follow Willow, from her mother as a child to her brother to one of her partners... Fears settled in deep and began to take a toll on her mentally.
Confiding in Joaquin, he pointed out that though she might fear death, it seemed to be more like an old friend pushing her forward when her life got stagnate. After asking about if Willow's cousin was single again, Willow officially called all things off with Diego. A bit of thinking, finding out she was pregnant again, and a few dates later, Willow asked Joaquin to marry her and raise their children together. He accepted!
Willow and Joaquin welcomed their son Oleander shortly after their wedding. The twins loved having a little brother and Willow loved hearing all the noise and laughter in the house.
Life got pretty mellow and fell into a good routine for a long time. Family dinners and movies every Sunday night, school and work through the week, and spending time with friends on Saturdays. Motivated by his wife, Joaquin became a personal trainer to help Willow train better outside of work. Having someone back her up also pushed Willow to do better, advancing in her career. Once all the kids were in high school, Thistle fell hard for a young man named Lars, Wisteria fell for Silvia, and Oleander started dating Flora. Willow and Joaquin loved Lars and Silvia, welcoming them over as if they were their own children. Flora however, not so much. She was a terrible influence on Oleander and toyed with him bad. Flora often convinced Oleander to skip school to stay home and make out. Willow began to be unwelcoming toward Flora after Flora attempted to hit on Willow. Oleander eventually removed her from his life after choosing to skip prom and not inviting anyone, Flora took it personally. He invited her over for a movie night instead. Then a bit of arguing ensued... and Flora's attempt at hitting on Willow came out. The twins graduated, choosing to stay at home for the time being and settling into work. Wisteria didn't stay long. Her and Silvia eloped, had a beautiful baby boy named Copper, then moved out on their own. Lars frantically called Willow one afternoon after finding a ring in Thistle's bag. He thought Thistle might propose and asked to advice. Willow told him to say yes, and he did. Joaquin and Willow grew older. One night after Sunday family dinner, Joaquin passed away. Willow confronted the Reaper, demanding and begging for more time. The Reaper granted her wish, doing a favor for his old friend. In a cruel twist of fate, Wisteria died from laughter, shocking the whole family. Joaquin only remained for a few more days to say his proper goodbyes, then passed away again to join his daughter.
Not wanting to leave Willow alone, Thistle and Lars staying living with Willow till after they were married and expecting. After being recognized as the top MVP in her career, Willow retired and enjoyed being a full time grandma. She spent the rest of her days singing and writing songs, working out, and spoiling her grandchildren.
#sims 4 story#sims 4#not so berry#maskurade#sims 4 challenge#ts4 gameplay#ts4 challenge#ts4 legacy#ts4
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