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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 days

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the girl next door 26

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You fall asleep somewhere between the Humphrey Bogart classic and the Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan romcom. It all blends together inside your eyelids as the world glazes over behind the wall of your subconscious. The black-and-white and vibrant technicolor merge and storm around the images of reality; a courthouse, the smell of grass, and a constricting pressure around your middle.

A rippling sensation spreads down your thigh as you slowly rouse from sleep. The worn couch cushions have you stiff as you lay on your side, one leg extended as warmth rests just above your knee. Your eyes slit as the TV continues to play, an early morning news show localised to another district. You yawn and scratch your ear as the world comes into focus.

You don’t remember laying down. You only know one moment you were nestled into the corner and the next, you’re waking up like this. You fell another tickle on your leg and look down at the weight there. Steve’s hand lays on your thigh carelessly as his head hangs back over the back of the couch, his knees wide as his body is slack. He snores up at the ceiling, his other hand on your ankle.

You turn slowly, careful not to disturb him as you pull your leg away from him. He wakes anyway, his head jerking up as he latches onto your calf, squeezing before he lets you go, and grumbles as he rubs his cheeks. He shakes his head.

“Mm, oh, morning already,” he mutters as he leans forward, reaching back to touch his lower back, “umph,” he leans against the armrest, “good new, at least, my couch is a lot comfier.”

He chortles and slides to the edge of the cushion. His jaw tenses before he stands, stretching his legs straight under him as he shifts from one foot to the other. He angles so you can only see his back as he rolls his shoulders. He tugs at the front of his pajamas then glances back at you.

“Sweetie, you okay?” He asks.

You nod as you hug your knees and stare down at the couch. The old floral pattern is worn out and you can feel the springs poking up. Still, the idea of getting rid of it is unsettling.

“This was my grandma’s couch,” you murmur.

“Aw, I know, sweetie, sorry, I didn’t mean--” he nears and sits back down, dragging his knuckle up your pant leg, toying with the fabric as he watches you, “you must’ve loved her, huh?”

“I... yeah,” you shrug.

“If you wanna keep it, how about we put it in your room?”

“What?” you tilt your head, “my room?”

“Well, yeah, you can take the guest room. Makes sense, right? Lots more room there. We’ll have to toss a few things but we’ll make it work. And you can put your art stuff in the studio, I don’t mind sharing.”

“Mm, okay, I guess, I...” you look down at the couch then at him. “You can get rid of it.”

“Hm?”

“The couch,” you turn, slipping away from him. “It’s old.”

“If it means something to you.”

“Not really,” you stand and shuffle away from him. “I’m going to get dressed.”

“Right, uh, yeah,” the coach groans beneath him as he stands again, “I’ll check on mom.”

There’s stolid silence lingering between you, as if he expects a response. You just continue on to the doorway and he clears his throat.

“Got some running around to do today, calls to make,” he says, “gotta get at em.”

You nod and hum but offer him nothing else. You’re tired and disoriented by the disjointed night. Your head is brittle from the lack of sleep and the uncomfortably thin couch cushions.

“Make sure you come and have breakfast with us, huh? I’ll be going into town soon to sort out the bill with hospital and ask about nursing options.”

“Okay,” you utter and turn down the hallway.

It’s a lot. You don’t think you could deal with it alone. It almost makes you thankful for all of it, yet it all still feels very strange.

🏠

You offer to clean up after breakfast as Steve gets ready to leave and your mom reclines on the sectional in the front room. She looks out of it, more than you’ve ever seen her. She was quiet as you ate and looked sickened by each bite. She almost begged Steve to let her lay down.

As Steve grabs his keys, he seems reluctant to leave. It’s as if he wants you to say something, to do something, but you can’t figure out his expectations. That will be a new worry. No longer do you have to keep your mother happy, but her husband will be just another task.

The front door closes as you scrub and rinse. You forego the dishwasher and make sure to handwash each dish, taking your time if only to keep busy. You dry up and stack the plates away, put the glasses in neat rows, and sort out the utensils.

You go to check on your mom. Her eyes are closed and her hand is on her chest. She looks so still you can’t even see her breathing. You cross the room and hover just on the other side of the arm rest, staring at her. Your heart patters nervously as you stare at her chest.

“What do you want?” She growls and opens a single eyelid.

“N-nothing, just... checking on you. You... want a coffee?” You offer, hoping to appease her with a dose of caffeine.

“Should,” she yawns and frames her forehead with her thumb and fingers, leaning against the side of the couch, “goddamn, I’m so tired.”

You briskly return to the kitchen. You use what grounds are left over in the fancy grinder. You’ve never used one before and it kind of scares you. You measure them out and put the water on, waiting before the machine as you bob on your feet.

When at last you have enough for a mug, you pour the coffee and add the cream as your mother likes it. As you come out, you hear her snoring. Her arm is slung over her face as her mouth hangs open and her breath catches in her throat. You know better than to wake her so you leave the cup on the coffee table and retreat.

You’re too restless to stay inside. This isn’t your home. No matter how Steve tries to convince you, you just can’t get used to the idea. He might be nice but it just doesn’t feel right. It’s all so fast. Too fast.

You sit on the top step and stare out at the street. You cup your chin and watch the sky. The clouds are wispy and curl into each other as the sun blazes down. Your vision blurs as the intense lights causes your eyes to water and you stare into the endless above.

You glance over at your mom’s house. You want to run over and hide away in your room. You can’t. You have to be there for mom at least until Steve comes back.

As figure strolls up along the walk and your eyes flick up. You brace yourself for the disproving glare of an HOA minion but instead, find a friendly face. Peter smiles as he stops in front of your mom’s gate and puts his hand on the door. He sees you and waves.

“Hey, what’re you doing over there?” He asks as he jiggles the gate then strides towards Steve’s house.

“Um...” you drone and shrug, standing as he nears the edge of Steve’s lawn. You meet him at the low gate and stop across from him, “I sort of... I think I live here now.”

“You think? Sort of?” He muses.

“Yeah, uh, my mom... got married?”

“You don’t sound so sure about that,” he chuckles. “Everything okay?”

You turn your lips downward and turn out your hands, “sure.”

“Wow, I’m convinced,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, I--”

The toot of a car horn interrupts you and Peter turns to watch as Steve pulls into the drive. Your chest thumps wildly. You’re not doing anything wrong but you feel like you are.

He gets out and puts a hand up. He comes around the corner of the fence and approaches Peter, “hey, kiddo, you making friends?”

Steve’s eyes are focused on Peter even as he speaks to you. The shorter, younger man faces him and offers a hand, “hello, sir, I’m Peter. Old friend.”

“Oh?” Steve’s eyes scale up and down Peter’s figure, “she never mentioned.”

“Well, just moved back to the neighbourhood, you know?” Peter grins, his eyes twinkling as if something’s funny. Steve peers between the two of you.

“Mm, that’s nice,” Steve shakes his hand and you see his knuckles pale as he shakes it firmly, “Steve.”

“New dad, got it,” Peter chirps and the older man’s cheek ticks.

“Mm,” he squints as his square jaw clenches, “well, Pete,” he nearly spits, “her mom’s not doing too well so she’s a bit busy. Aren’t you, kiddo?”

He looks at you and you look at Peter. You nod and look away guiltily, “yeah.”

“Well then, Pete,” Steve releases Peter’s hand and claps his shoulder, “think you should be on your way.”

“Right,” Peter nods and turns to you, “sorry to hear about your mom. Hope she feels better. See ya round.” He puts up three fingers in a half-wave, “see ya, Steve.”

He steps past Steve, brushing close as he does, and marches off with a spring in his step. The older man turns to glare after him. You don’t know why he’s so bothered, Peter’s nice enough. Well, maybe Peter isn’t the issue.

“Sorry, mom’s sleeping so I came out here--”

“Come on,” he interjects as he lets himself through the gate, “did you give her her meds?”

You frown as you scurry ahead of him. You didn’t. You thought he had. Oh no.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the girl next door #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers #peter parker

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bailadeluna · 30 days

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there’s something so brilliant in cooper howard’s costume design - it’s so much more than just a simple blue and gold cowboy fit.

at the beginning of the show, before the bombs dropped, cooper howard was a good person - always kind to others despite the circumstances or how he was feeling in the moment.

you could say… he was exemplifying the golden rule.

this is evident in his costuming - cooper is decked out in gold even when the bombs dropped. the golden rule is still so close to his heart - i mean come on - look at how tight that bandana is around his neck.

even in certain lighting, his hat looks gold.

cooper howard being a good person and living by the golden rule is what barb probably fell in love with (she has her own interesting character analysis and thought process which i would love to discuss later). because this trait is so admired by her and those around cooper, she probably saw him as who she would hope future generations would become as they grow up in the vaults. people like him are the better future she envisions - so it’s no coincidence that the vault suit is in his colors.

what does the blue symbolize?

well, to me, i think it’s the corporate presence in the world. there’s more blue in the suit than there is gold - hinting at vaultech’s corporate greed, capitalism, and evil machinations. (there was also blue in his old cowboy costume - i.e. the presence of the studio and how they use cooper to push a mccarthyism narrative. kinda in the same way vaultech will use him)

the blue in the suit - symbolizing vaultech’s overwhelming presence and the reason for such a bleak and cruel world - does not swallow up the gold - the small semblance of humanity’s capacity to do and be good. it’s the small hint at barb’s intentions (analogous to the road to hell being paved with good intentions).

yet the man who was an inspiration for vaultech’s workers - the man who they all wished they could be like, the man who symbolized all the “do good” ideas they pass down to their children but in the end have no intention of following them (wink wink, looking at you, hank) - was in the end stripped of all his humanity by the world vaultech created (wow, would you look at that? another analogy for capitalism!)

this man, once rich in morals now robbed of them all, wanders the wasteland a ghoul. everything has been taken from him - symbolized being devoid of layers of skin.

now, he’s nothing but the ghost of the man he once was - haunted by what has been done. everything he wears as the ghoul is frayed, tattered, and dark - symbolizing that cooper howard, that kind and caring man before the bombs is dead.

but wait - is that…

you don’t see it? Ok, i’ll zoom in some more

GOLD? (perhaps even the same shirt he was wearing during the bomb drop??)

perhaps the golden rule, those values that he once held so dearly, are still there just dormant - waiting to be awaken again.

maybe cooper howard can come back… that just maybe there’s still hope for the good in humanity…

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softmangoes · 3 months

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sweater weather | brahms heelshire x reader

18+ only

summary: you ask brahms to knit a sweater for you. he gets excited.

includes: edging, slight manipulation, possessive + jealous brahms

author's note: pls let me know what you think! i love this wall boy so much 💕

@buggwritesmain here you go! tagging you as requested ☺️

one night, as you tangle your fingers in his hair, you ask brahms if he would ever knit you a sweater.

"yes," he says after a moment, voice muffled by his mask. "you would like that?" his eyes are curious, a light jade in the glow of the morning sun.

"just for me," you tell him. in the space between the walls, you had seen the hanks of wool and the long wooden needles. throughout the room, there were scarves, socks, a few sweaters. before you, he must have had a lot of spare time spent carefully weaving rows of soft fabric to brave the cold winters.

"of course," he curls himself into your embrace, tangling his legs with yours. the old bed creaks at the shifting of weight. "i would never dream of making one for anyone else."

he's been talking more often, you've noticed. when your relationship had started to sprout to what it was now, he would rarely speak and usually it was to beckon you closer. he could never stand not being around you, after all.

you think it's endearing. in the time he yearned for you in the darkness, had he ever tried to practice what he would say to you? for a moment, you imagine him whispering in the quiet of the night as you slept, thinking of what he would do if he could have you.

the thought makes you hold him tighter.

he lets out a small, satisfied sound at the sensation of his hair being pulled. earlier today, you had entered the house to find him in a mood again. no matter how many times you had asked what was wrong, he refused to tell you. right now, it seemed like whatever had bothered him had subsided. at least for the moment.

"quite the romantic, aren't you?" a fond smile spreads across your face. hearing him flirt was something that was still new to you. "someone's been reading his new books."

through your fingertips, you felt rather than saw the blush that spread up his neck.

this close to him, you could hear the faint sound of him licking his lips.

"i've learned more than just that," he said, pride seeping into his voice. below the blanket, you feel his knee press in between your legs. "would you like me to demonstrate?"

the next day, brahms gently wraps the measuring tape around your bicep. you're both in his hovel - recently cleaned and organized thanks to your insistence and his grumbling. this part of the house hasn't been completely sealed from the elements, so there's a slight draft that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"you're cold," he says, the warmth of his fingers trailing lightly across your collarbone as he measures your shoulders. it's tempting to lean into his touch, but he instructed you to keep still.

"w-we should move inside," you breathe deeply, trying your best to keep your teeth from chattering. the manor was warm and you had packed the fireplace with fresh wood just an hour ago. surely it would be fine to take your measurements there, wouldn't it?

"no." there's a sweet note to his voice, almost self-satisfied. "i want us to be here."

and when he says that, without any hint of sympathy, you realize you've been tricked.

"you're enjoying this, aren't you?" from making strange noises during your first month at the manor to taking your things, brahms could be mischievous whenever the mood struck him. standing so close to him in the cold draft, you were certain this was one of those times.

it must be thrilling, you think, for him to see you all vulnerable like this.

you suppress the urge to shiver. instead, you bite the inside of your cheek as you ask, "what's really happening here?"

"it's simple," he says, tightening the tape around your abdomen. the length of ribbon is cool against your body. just a breath away, you could feel the warmth emanating from his skin.

you had never had something custom made, but you were sure that the process of creating an item didn't require him to be this close to you.

"whenever you feel cold," the tape loosens, falls, and is replaced by his hands, the heat in his palms chasing away the prickles on your skin. "i want you to think of me."

his eyes intensify and you realize you are stuck in the web he's woven for you.

"brahms?" you ask, although any sense in him is gone.

"the other day, the errand boy draped his jacket over you in the garden," he says, his palms drifting to cup the soft curves of your bra possessively. "i saw it," he hisses. "and you came back reeking of him."

"hey," you start, realizing why he had been sulking the other day. he only ever played mozart loud when he was upset and you had to pry him from the shadows between the walls by promising you'd spend the whole day curled up in bed with him. "that didn't - "

it didn't mean anything. but that wouldn't matter now. not to brahms.

"am i not good enough for you?" his voice quakes. there's a note of warning despite its softness. his thumbs make slow circles around your nipples, the pressure of it made agonizing by the cloth separating his touch from your skin. "is that it?"

"brahms," you say his name gently, looking up into his glistening green eyes. your voice is level. steady. it's what he needs when he gets like this. "if you're going to speak to me like that, i have to see your face."

he pauses. you had an agreement that you would only have serious conversations with him unmasked and he had never broken it once. after a moment, he slips off the ceramic shell and sets it aside. a single tear falls from his eye lash onto his cheek. he's so beautiful, this strange man, and he's all yours.

you reach to hold his face in your palm.

"silly boy," you tell him. "you're the only one who can touch me like this."

this time, thankfully, the rage subsides. his gaze softens. in the end, he was always so full of hunger and you know how to keep him fed.

"only me," he says under his breath. "me."

slowly, you guide his hands to unclasp your bra, breathing a sigh of relief as his hot tongue licks into the hollow of your neck.

"only you," you tell him, like it's a promise.

with ease, he hefts you into his arms and lays you onto his cot. the new mattress is soft under your back.

in a moment, he's all over you. his mouth finds the hard bud of your nipple and his hand cups your other breast. you squirm at the feeling of his tongue lapping at you, your hips bucking at the open air.

"mine," he says hungrily. his mouth away from your skin feels like agony. the slick wetness of your exposed skin is too cold.

you need more.

"if you want to be good to me," you tell him. "then you better warm me up."

obediently, brahms slips off your lounge pants and underwear off with ease, wasting no time to slide his tongue along your slit.

you whine at the contact, running your fingers through his soft curls as he laps at your wetness.

he pulls away, his mouth glistening from your pleasure.

"my love is cold," he says, slipping two fingers inside of you. the pressure ignites a lick of heat within your core and you bite the end of your moan. "only i can warm you." your hold tightens on his hair. "only i can give you what you need."

brahms licks at your clit, but he doesn't move his fingers. he wants you to want him, so you fuck yourself against his knuckles. you rut against his beautiful mouth.

he gasps softly against your skin as your thighs squeeze his face.

when you come, shaking and whimpering his name over and over, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers.

"look at you shivering." he laughs, satisfied that he could ruin you like this. brahms sheds his tank top, pushes his pants down. "i can help you," he says. "i can be so good for you."

god, he's stunning. there's a litheness to his body - graceful muscle sculpted from agile years spent quietly sneaking through the shadows.

you want to shut him up. to eat him. you want to pull him down to you and take his neck between your teeth. but when he enters you in one long slide, body pressed against yours, all you can do is gasp.

"that is what you said, right?" he murmurs into the hollow of your neck as he dips his hips deep into you. "only i can touch you like this."

"i have to teach you a lesson," you wrap your legs around him. "about that mouth of yours."

when he pulls away to look at your face, you crush your mouth to his, sinking your teeth into his lip.

"mmph," he trembles, whining softly at the taste of you. before he had made himself known to you, he had fantasized many times about bringing his lips to yours. although you kissed him often, the thrill had never left him.

as the pressure builds again within your core, he pauses before resuming his pace. you rake your nails across his back, eliciting a deep groan from him. the brat was edging you.

"i don't want to stop," he gasps. "you're so perfect and you're mine you're mine you're mine - " he punctuates each repetition with a thrust of his hips and all you can do is hold him.

"come undone with me," he begs, sweat slicking his chest. "i need it, there's nothing else -"

"brahms," you breathe and the sound of his name is all it takes to make him shudder.

when you come, he kisses you deeply, pumping his warmth into you as you shake beneath him.

"i love you," he says, twitching inside of you. "tell me you love me."

"i love you," you tell him, brushing his hair from his face as the post-orgasm glow warms the both of you. there's a moment he spends just staring at you, as if he can't believe you're there in his arms. "did you even keep track of my measurements?"

he laughs. it's a gentle sound - one you wouldn't mind hearing for the rest of your days.

"i suppose we'll have to do this again," he says, his eyes bright and beautiful. he nuzzles into your neck, lips soft as he presses a kiss to your collarbone. "but for now, let me be the one to keep you warm."

#brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire x you #brahms heelshire fic #the boy fanfiction #the boy 2016 fanfic #slasher smut #slasher fic #my writing

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short-honey-badger · 5 months

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Peppermint Tea 8

Holy crap the amount of likes and comments and reblogs you all have left is amazing! Thank you so so much for enjoying!

Anyway! On to the next part.

Masterlist

The sound of the native birds of your island is what wakes Mihawk. He cracks his eyes open, wincing when his back protests him moving as soon as he wakes up. He stands and moises his way to the kitchen, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove. Mugs and tea bags are next, and Dracule makes sure to dump some sugar into your own cup. He then moves on, collecting fresh fruits and vegetables from your garden and investigating the smoke room. He finds very little inside and decides that his haul now is enough for breakfast.

Fixing it up doesn't take all that long, and soon, he has a platter of foodstuffs that looks similar to the one last night. Dracule makes a mental note to try and bring you some type of livestock, though he dreads the thought of anything bigger than a house cat on his ship.

The tea is placed on the tray, and Dracule makes his way to your bedroom. He eases the door open, and a soft smile crosses his lips at the sight of you curled up with an arm around Hank. The big pooch whines and drags himself off the bed and out the door, going to do his business. Mihawk takes his spot and sets the tray away from you but still on the bed.

“Sweet thing,” Dracule rumbles and slides his hand up into your hair, scratching your scalp just the way you like it, “It's time to get up. I've made breakfast.”

Those seem to be the magic words for you rise like the dead and look at Mihawk through squinted eyes. He thinks she looks adorable when you rub your eyes, pout on your lips from being woken up.

“Hawk?” You mumble out and wince when your head throbs like a bastard. You whine and lay back down, not wanting to deal with the pain, “Don't feel good.”

Dracule can't help but laugh at your pitiful state, “Oh, Darling. I'm not surprised you don't feel very well,” he coos and gently pulls you back into a sitting position. He shifts to sit behind you, back against the wall, as he drags the tray of goodies closer to both of you.

“One must be careful when indulging in alcohol. Is this your first hangover?” Mihawk asks quietly, and you shrug, not really understanding what he's going on about. You frown when he laughs at you again and cross your arms over your chest, only to wince when you brush across your breasts.

“Owee,” you murmur quietly and wonder why your chest aches so badly, only to drop your head in shame when you happened to remember most of last night.

Mihawk gently lays you back and lifts your shirt, shushing you gently when you squirm and try to fight him, “Hush, let me look. There is nothing to be embarrassed by,” he chides and sends you a look that has you ducking your head and looking away from him. Mihawk examines the seldom hickies and love bites with a smug twist of his lips, hands reaching up to gently trace the bite mark that still lingers from last night.

You look beautiful all marked up, and a dark feeling blooms in his chest at the sight of what he did. Mihawk wants to see more of them on you, proof that you want him. That you are his.

“Just sore, sweet thing,” Dracule comments lowly and kisses your cheek, lingering to leave a trail of hot kisses all the way down your neck and to your shoulder, “We will have breakfast and then you will have a hot bath while I do my morning routine.”

You nod, completely at the warlord's mercy as you glance down to see that he hasn't stopped his gentle ministrations, thumbs rubbing over your nipples over and over again until you can think of nothing but the man who holds you. Even your hangover doesn't seem as bad with Dracule here.

Mihawk glances over the tray and picks up a cubed melon slice, lifting it up to your lips and grinning when you obediently open your mouth for him. He feeds you one piece after another until you are pleasantly full and ready to go back to sleep, “Tea first, sweet girl,” he orders when he feels you shift again.

You nod slowly, wincing when your head aches at even the slightest movements. The tea has cooled, but it still tastes wonderful to your cottonmouth. You sip until it is empty, and Dracule takes the mug away from you when he notices you finished. He taps your thigh gently, “Up you go, Darling.” He encourages softly.

He leaves you to find some clean clothes and a towel while he goes to the bathroom and begins to run you a bath. He is surprised by the amount of modern utilities he finds in your cottage and wonders who you really are. While simple, your home was filled with older but no less luxurious items. The hot water and plumbing were just one of the many things that he's noticed.

Mihawk's thoughts are interrupted when you appear in the doorway with a thin robe and towel. You smile at the sight of your friend starting you a bath, “Thank you for taking care of me, Dracule,” you say, and step close to press your lips to his cheek when he rises from his slouch over the tub.

Hawkeye feels hot satisfaction curl in his chest at your thanks. He turns and pulls you in for a kiss, hand coming up to tangle in your hair and pull you close to him. Mihawk likes the way you say his name. All breathy and full of gratitude, and all for him.

You whine at the less than soft treatment, but you can't bring yourself to care or complain about it. Not when you love it when Dracule touches you like this. He kisses you breathless, leaving you a gasping mess as he turns away to fiddle with the knobs of the faucet. You pout a little, annoyed that Dracule is never as affected as you are after a kiss like that.

Your annoyance disappears the second that Dracule steps behind you, hands placed on your shoulders as if to slide your robe down. Nerves surge through your entire body, and you clutch the thick fabric to your chest, “I um. I can take It from here, Mihawk.”

You shiver at the feeling of his warm breath on the back of your neck. Your hair is up in a messy bun, allowing the warlord to press chaste kisses to the flushed skin there, and thankfully, no more than that.

“Take your time, dear one. I'll be outside if you need me.” Dracule assures you, and then he is shutting the door behind himself and leaving you alone in the bathroom.

You shrug off your bathrobe, and a relaxing sigh escapes you as you settle in the hot water, eyes closing as you do what Mihawk bid and take your time.

It's an hour later by the time you step outside. It's nice and sunny like usual, and you grin when Hank bounds up. The big lug presents you with a stick, and you toss it into the woods for your dog to go running after. You glance around, humming wordlessly as you look for Dracule.

You find him at the back of the cottage where the sun shines brightest. Your home is situated up a small embankment, leaving your backyard to drop off into a cliff face. Dracule stands at the edge of the cliff, looking regal and dramatic as the wind blows his dark hair this way and that.

You wonder why he keeps coming back here. He's told you before that your island is like a safe haven from the rest of the world, but sometimes you aren't sure that you believe him. You don't know what the rest of the world is like, and when you first came to this island, you yearned to leave and explore the world. How much of the world has Mihawk experienced to say that your island in the middle of nowhere was a safe place for him.

What did your friend go through for him to run and hide away from it all?

“I can hear you thinking from up here, dear,” Mihawk says, and you nearly jump out of your skin. He turns and gives you a smug smirk, “What's on your mind?”

You huff at him and step by his side, eyes flickering to the crashing waves of the ocean. Your devil fruit reacts to the sight, sending flurries scattering about the two of you. You debate asking the real question you've wanted answered since Dracule stepped foot on your island. Just who exactly was Dracule Hawkeye Mihawk?

“Nothing, just admiring,” you say instead. You didn't want to give him any reason to leave early.

Dracule huffs at you with a roll of his eyes, “Is that so?” He presses and eyes you, “You can ask me things, Dear One. I won't lie to you.”

“Even if it's about who you really are?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. You tense, flurries sticking to your skin as your nerves get the better of you. The silence is thick between the two of you, and you are terrified to even look in his direction.

“I introduced myself when I saved you from those pirates, did I not?” Dracule's tone is one of forced calm, and more snow begins to fall when you hear it. You can't help but feel like you've messed up. A warm hand catches your chin, and you are forced to look into the golden, ringed eyes of your friend. His gaze is as cold as your devil fruit, and you find yourself shivering under it.

“You did,” you agreed carefully, “But, you just… don't speak about yourself often, and I'm curious.” You swallow harshly and catch the bird following the movement of your throat. His eyes catch your own in the next moment, and you force yourself to hold his gaze.

It feels like it takes an eternity, but Dracule relents, eyes softening just a fraction and grip becoming more tender, “I have a good reason for not doing so, Snow Angel,” he murmurs.

You suck in a sharp breath at the new name, wetting your lips as you latch on to the pretty words that he spills. You want to say more, but your lips won't move. Your jaw won't work to form the words that you want to say to him. Dracule has you, hook, line, and sinker, just where he wants you. He traces the curve of your jaw with his thumb, then leans forward to press his lips to your brow.

“Promise to not ask me again, and I'll tell you in my own time,” Dracule suggests softly and you lose yourself even more to him, “I do not take the sharing of personal information lightly,_.”

And there it was. The nail in the coffin. Mihawk rarely calls you by your name, so hearing it in his sinfully melodic voice sends shivers of pleasure racing up your spine. The flurries melt, and you find yourself nodding eagerly.

“I promise not to ask again,” you say, and feel like you are about to explode when Dracule gives you a proud quirk of his lips.

“Good girl,” Mihawk praises softly and brings you in for a quick kiss, pleased that you see his way of things. The tension in the air is all but gone, and the warlord leads his snow angel away from the cliff edge.

“Come, I didn't get those books for you for nothing, Dear One. How about you read one of them to me?”

You let Dracule pull you back to the cottage, Hank meeting you with a happy bark at the door. His anger still lingers in the back of your mind, but you can let it go for now.

@writingmysanity @foggyturtleknightangel @kenkenmaaa @browneyedhufflepuff @goth-mami-writer @djbumblebee

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #fluff #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #opla mihawk x reader #op mihawk #one piece mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x y/n #mihawk x you #peppermint tea

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bettyfrommars · 3 months

Text

Missed Connections

older!Eddie x f!Reader

We are in a new town with drifter!Eddie, he's in Oregon and it's the mid-2000's. He survived the Upside Down and has been traveling ever since, carrying his wounds with him. There is no "monster" action in this, as with the other drifter Eddie stories, there isn't even any smut, but I love thinking about him, and I wrote this purely for myself, and maybe two other people. Eddie is in his late 30's to early 40's, and reader is over 30.

18+ONLY, MDNI, mechanic!Eddie, alcohol consumption, mention of scars and depression, loneliness, mutual crush, surprise ending

wc: 1.6k

On the outskirts of town, just before you could catch the highway in either direction, there sat the only gas station for 20 miles. The tiny mom and pop market behind it housed various essentials including lottery tickets, deep fried corn dogs, and booze.

The liquor store was a separate entity, but a part of the same building, which made for one hell of a convenient stop, and over the past year, it had become a part of your routine to drop by after work every Friday.

It wasn’t long before you noticed him, the guy with the long hair and wallet chain with bats tattooed on his forearm. His work boots were scuffed, and he wore a long-sleeved flannel in the winter, but by the time spring came, his button-up, heather blue work shirts gave you a view of the rest of the ink and scar tissue covering his arms. One day, when he was going in, you were coming out, and he held the door for you. He had silver hair at his temples, and a thin white scar on his cheek that tugged down his eye a bit. The patch on his pocket said Eddie.

Another month of Fridays went by. You were lingering in front of the rows of bottles, humming to Hank Williams being played over the sound system, wondering if you wanted to try a new vodka. Maybe the coconut flavored one would change your life? A bit of fizz and perhaps you could close your eyes and pretend you were on that vacation you’d only been able to dream about for years.

“‘Scuze me,” the deep whisper was so close, it made your heart somersault.

It was that Eddie guy again, stretching his arm out long in front of you to grab a pint of Jameson. The fact that there was plenty of room for him to go around and get it without interacting was not lost on you. You took that opportunity to inhale a sharp breath, noting the hints of motor oil to match the dark stains under his fingers and in the creases of his knuckles. A touch of sandalwood softened with vanilla and nicotine, and a secret other thing you couldn’t put your finger on.

“My grandpa loved Jameson,” you mumbled, keeping your attention on the clear booze.

Eddie scowled curiously, searching your profile. “He had good taste.”

You offered a tight grin, not sure what else to add. You’d been alone for so long, you were starting to forget how to interact with people, but the clunky gears in your mind registered that he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. He did have a silver hoop piercing in one ear, though, and a few days' worth of scruffy beard growth.

It startled you to find him chilling on the sidewalk, lighting a smoke just outside the door.

“Have a nice night,” you hummed politely, beelining for your car.

The lit cigarette bounced between his lips as he spoke. “Same time, same place? Next Friday?”

With your driver’s door open in front of you like a shield, you paused to look at him. All the months you’d been crossing paths, you’d never caught him smiling before, but just then, one side of his mouth curled up and a dimple popped in his cheek. An unusual warmth crept through you, and you bobbed your head a few times to answer his question.

When you got home that night, you sat outside in your car and bawled into your open hands. Your life had been spiraling out of control for a while, and every so often the dam burst when you least expected it. You didn’t have any tissues in your car, so you blew your nose on an old fast food napkin and wished you could afford to relocate and start a new life. You wondered if Eddie was lonely, if he ever sat on the couch watching TV, wishing he had friends, wondering where all the years had gone.

You’d been wallowing so hard in your misery, you didn’t hear your mother stomp out onto the sidewalk. “ARE YOU COMING IN?” She shouted it, as if you were hard of hearing and had no neighbors. “The damn remote is broken or something. I can’t figure it out.”

Staring glassy-eyed at nothing, you took a deep, withering breath that made your lower lip tremble. Another weekly ritual of yours was to show your mother how to use the TV remote and listen to her tell you how tired you looked.

The next Friday, you were running late from work and only caught sight of Eddie driving out of the parking lot. It was then you realized that you didn’t really need anything at the market that day, so you wandered around for too long before settling on a Snapple and a few of their cheapest scratch tickets. You did not win anything.

He was late the next week, but your skin flushed with excitement when you caught sight of him zooming in off the main street in his beat-up work truck. When he came in, he scanned the store until he found you, and then you both picked up items nearby and pretended to be interested in them.

You shifted too close to one of the shelves and knocked a row of tampons to the ground, cursing as you fumbled to pick them up before anyone could stroll over to investigate.

When you stood to full height again, your Eddie had vanished. Maybe he’d gone to use the restroom, you had no clue, but now you had a box of super plus tampons in your hand that you actually needed to buy, along with a few other things in a shopping basket on your arm, and you wanted to check out before he returned.

Ten minutes later, he was still MIA.

What the hell were you planning to do, anyway? His truck was still there. Months of nothing but a few words and goofy stares was all it would ever be. Just a silly little corner market crush. Get over it.

You decided to start your car up and hit the road.

But your engine had other plans.

You pumped the gas a few times on the old Chrysler that used to be your grandmother’s, asking for her help from beyond the grave.

“Please, please,” watching the door to see who was coming out, you tried the ignition again.

The engine cranked a bit, and then nothing.

You tucked your chin to your chest, about to lose your shit right there at the corner market parking lot.

But then

there was a knuckle tap at your window, and for some reason, you weren’t surprised to see Eddie standing there. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail that day and he was still wearing coveralls like he’d been in such a hurry to leave work and had no time to change. Chocolate eyes were concerned as he made the universal sign for you to roll your window down.

“Won’t start?” He rested his hand on your side mirror. “Want me to take a look at it?”

One thing about you, it was nearly impossible to accept help of any kind, especially from strangers.

“No, I—” you tried the key again, knowing you’d get the same result. “I’m sure you have other places to be.”

“I got no place to be, I promise you,” he wanted to help, but he was also weary not to force himself and make you uncomfortable. “I’d be happy to help.”

“I’ll just call triple A,” you flashed a nervous smile.

“If you’re sure,” he bit his top lip and gave an awkward thumbs up before heading back.

Eddie sat back in his truck a second and thought about it. It didn’t take long for him to jump back out and go over to offer you the use of his flip phone, in case you didn’t have one. Maybe he’d think of some other clever thing to say, but probably not.

He found you in the same position, both hands gripping the wheel, a catatonic look on your face.

“Hey,” he waved as if it were the first time seeing each other that day.

“Hey,” you gulped. “I’m really glad you came back.”

“You are?” He cocked his head, jaw muscles tightening.

“Yeahhhh. I don’t have triple A,” you let out a strangled, self-deprecating laugh.

“Is the engine turning over at all?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and shook your head, and by the expression on his face, you could tell that was not a good thing.

With a deep breath, he glanced from you to the hood of the car, hooking a thumb into his pocket. “Well, we might have to tow it to the shop so I can get a better look at it there.”

“I appreciate it, but I can’t afford—”

“It’s on me,” he shoved both hands all the way in his pockets then. “The guy that owns the shop, he owes me a favor.”

Fucking right Lou owed him a favor. He owned him like 20. He'd been busting his nut sixty hours a week, while simultaneously keeping quiet about the illegal chop shop that Lou ran out of his second garage. Not to mention Eddie had never asked for a handout or so much as a day off in the eighteen months that he'd been there. Plus, Lou did not want to meet Eddie's bad side.

"I can change your oil, rotate your tires, make sure everything else is running okay."

You sought his eyes for reassurance. The neglected heart inside of you didn’t know what to do with the generosity.

You were grateful he'd opted not to lift up your hood right then and there. It would've been pretty easy for him to sleuth out that the distributor cap was missing, and those didn't just vanish out of thin air. For now, it was in your bag, and you'd find a way to get it back on eventually.

“Do you want to wait here while I go and get the tow truck, or do you want to ride with me? I'd love to buy you dinner, if you're hungry."

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson lives #drifter!Eddie #older!Eddie #mechanic Eddie

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teacheesee · 2 days

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pleeeasseeee can i get some more luffy? i love how you write him 🥺

ive grown so used to you somehow - luffy x reader fluff

YESSSSS i forgot how to read and write but im back!!!

fluff, gn reader!! no warnings, just luffy being sweet af, same old same old

Ripples of hushed laughter slipped past your split lips as you tried your best to keep hushed, two warm bodies against the dark backdrop of the night. Nighttime at sea was always eerily dark, which made the stars stark in contrast to the seamless meeting of sky and sea. It was late, the sweltering summer day cooled pleasantly by the setting of the sun. Occasionally a warm breeze would threaten the flame burning in the lanterns holding the blanket down below you, but you didn’t pay it much mind.

“Even when I do this?” Luffy warped his face into some impossible expression, causing you to slap your hand across your mouth as you fought another laugh.

You were breathless as you nodded, “Yes, I still think you’re cute when you do that face.”

“Hey, come on, I wanna hear it!” he reached to pull your hand down before you slapped his arm in protest.

“Okay,” you whispered, “Seriously, stop, we’re gonna wake everyone up,” your tone was hushed buy the sincerity of your words dampened by the laughter cracking through. It didn’t help that his smile was so infectious, his face so warmed by the soft lantern light.

You both caught your breath, lungs exhausted from hours of laughing, and a deeper silence filled the space as it always has the tendency of doing.

You sighed, and as you looked back at Luffy to catch the traces of laughter residing in his eyes, you found he was looking right at you too, gaze unwavering.

You cocked your head, “What?” He mimicked your action, smiling as you saw eye-to-eye again.

“You’re so pretty!”

You lolled your head to the other side. “So are you!”

His smile cracked his face in two as he giggled, “I mean it!”

You sat up straight, and he followed, “What makes you say that now, though?” You didn’t realize that he’d scooted closer to you until he started speaking again.

“I always say it, don’t I?” He leaned a tad closer, bottom lip tucked into his lips, the smile never leaving.

“You do, but I’m wondering what exactly do I do that makes you say it?” He’s getting really very close now, you think.

“Hmm,” he makes a show of putting his fist on his chin, scrunching his eyebrows. You laugh, touching his forehead to make the faux frustration ease away.

“You do that!” He grabs your wrist and pulls it to rest in his hand, gently lacing his fingers with yours.

“Do what!?” Your eyes widen, searching desperately to understand what exactly he’s gunning for.

“Little stuff, like just now,” his thumb starts to rub circles into your hand, “you make me smile when you laugh, and how you like when I’m making stupid jokes,” he presses into your palm, a motion that calls you to look into his eyes, away from where he’s holding you.

“I just like being around you, and how you make me feel, and I like to look at you while you do those things. You make me better.”

The heat in your cheeks is enough to tell you that you’re blushing like crazy and, with a sweltering smile, you look away.

a/n HELLO thank you for the request sm i loved writing this it was so damn cute!!! please send in more ideas and i will try my best to fulfill them! sorry for falling off the face of the earth (one year closer to my bachelors degree) 😼🏄‍♀️💪

ALSO title from the lyrics of “lovesick blues” by hank williams hehehe

#luffy x reader #luffy #luffydmonkey #luffy fanart #mugiwara no luffy #straw hat luffy #gear 5 luffy #one piece luffy #one piece #one piece zoro #ronoroa zoro #zoro x luffy #monkey d. luffy #op luffy #with: luffy

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