#the random urges to draw them keep coming up recently
Text
Engravings
inspired by the following comment on my last SH fic:
Couldn't stop thinking about it, which eventually led to this.
Characters: Sanji
Reader: GN, they/them
Word Count: 6.2k
CW: Hurt/Comfort, SH, SH scars, auditory hallucinations, PTSD, mental institution-related trauma. No shipping, ace-friendly
Summary: It’s Sanji. You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.
AO3 Link
"I’m listening to everything / please, tell me everything"
Nothing’s happened.
The sea is calm, the sun is shining, and the breeze is strong. All in all, a great day for sailing.
Nothing’s happened…
No recent squabbles among the crew, no surprises from sea beasts, no battles with pirates or Marines.
There’s no reason to feel the way you do. No trigger or logic to it. But you feel it anyway.
It’s like there’s an invisible filter over everything. Nothing looks different. Things sound different, though. The sounds of the waves and wind, the snapping of sailcloth and rope, the din of the crew’s voices. All of it wavers, like someone has their hand on a universal volume dial, yanking it back and forth at random. Sometimes the sounds are piercingly loud, like they’re right next to your ears, making you resist the urge to cover them. Sometimes the sounds blend into the background of everything else in a low, dull hum–so distorted that you have to focus to parse what’s being said to you.
The sound issue is your second tip-off that you’re having that kind of day. The first is the sense that the Sunny feels too small. And, crushingly, overwhelmingly, it feels like your fault. Irrational, but you can’t shake it. Really, it’s stupid: On the outside, it just looks like you’re hanging out next to your crewmates, making idle conversation. Inwardly, there’s such a deep feeling of guilt for just being there that you’re ready to throw yourself overboard.
You try to cope. You really do. You make an effort, mentally talking yourself through it.
I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to exist.
You want to cry. You want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t make sense, and there’s no cause you can identify. You feel like you’re going to throw up.
No one notices. How could they? Your mask is calm smiles and practiced eye contact, formed with easy jokes and interest in what the others say. Your mask is years in the making, thick with each layer you’ve added to seal in the cracks. It’s heavy and ugly, but it keeps you safe.
I am allowed to exist.
There’s no danger. You can’t explain why your fight-or-flight response is going off. There’s something wrong with you, and no one can see it because the problem is deep in the wiring. You can’t even see it. But you can feel it, and it feels so god-awful you don’t know how to endure it.
You feel yourself shaking from head to toe, so much so that it’s hard to keep your balance. But when you look down, your body is completely still. The noise around you blends together and buzzes like static, harsh on your ears. Then it gets louder.
I am allowed to exist.
You want to crawl in a hole and hide.
I am…
You excuse yourself–casually, collectedly–and head for the ship’s interior. You know what you’re going to do before you even start moving, like the decision’s already been made for you. A certainty that settles in your system, something to hold onto. The background noise grows even louder.
You stumble into the bathroom. As soon as you shut the door, all sound cuts out.
You can’t hear anything. Not even the sea, nor the creaking wood of the ship. The room shifts, draws away from you until you have tunnel vision. Your vision warps, then focuses on the cabinet above the sink until you can see nothing else. Just like before.
It’s been a few weeks since the last time.
The background noise slowly picks up, but it’s distant, like you’re hearing it coming from a different ship. You reach for the cabinet.
What are you doing?
You open the cabinet. It’s organized so each crewmate’s stuff is clustered together, with the common items at the bottom. Your gaze passes over your deodorant, your nail clippers, your toothbrush, and settles on your straight razor.
Aren’t you too old for this?
You take your razor. From the common items, you take a bottle of alcohol. You fold up some tissue paper.
What would the crew think?
It’s hard to ignore the thoughts. But like any bully, they usually go away if you don’t give them energy. Usually.
The razor’s weight in your hand is comforting. It shouldn’t be, but it is. You unfold it, wipe down the blade with some alcohol. Then you lift up your sleeve and slide it over your shoulder.
This stretch of sea has been balmy. With the pleasant weather, you’ve worn a t-shirt, the short sleeves going just less than halfway down your arm. Underneath them, high up on your shoulder, are the scars. Faint and healed, a few shades lighter than your skin tone. Noticeable in the light, but that’s why you don’t participate in the group baths.
The background noise gets louder again. You think you hear shouting, faintly, but that’s normal for the crew. It barely registers over your heartbeat.
Your heart is beating harder than before, dull thumps in your chest that seem to echo. Anticipating, ready.
Everything is going to be okay.
Finally. Finally. A hurt you can make sense of. Small, controlled. Yours.
There’s supposed to be a rush, you’ve heard. You don’t feel one. But there is a difference. The tunnel vision stops, the filter lifts. The world snaps back into place, the sound goes back to normal.
That’s when you really notice the shouting, no longer muffled by brain static. Something’s off. You focus. It doesn’t sound argumentative, like Zoro and Sanji. Nor is it playful, like Luffy or Franky’s might be. It’s startled and panicky, immediately grabbing your attention and making your adrenaline surge.
A second later, you hear an echoing BOOM, followed by an ear-splitting crunching of wood. It’s a sound you recognize, one you’ve heard before–a cannonball tearing into the ship.
You’re under attack.
For just a moment, you stare at your equipment, caught off guard. Then you pull yourself together–take your feelings and compartmentalize them for later dealing with–and tear out of the bathroom, dropping the tissue in the process. Your pistols are in their case, in the sleeping quarters. You need to get to them before you can join the fight…
The enemy pirates are strong–for a New World crew. Unfortunately for them, they’re completely outclassed by Luffy alone, much less the combined strength of the Straw Hats. Still, the numbers favor the enemy, and the battle is tiring enough to be distracting. Enough so that you forgot about what you were doing before it started. It’s only an hour into helping Franky patch up the ship, when you feel your shirt sleeve catch on your scabs, that you remember.
Then you realize you left your equipment out in the bathroom.
The razor. The alcohol. The bloody tissue paper.
Panic floods your system. You drop your tools and jump up as if electrocuted, all but flying to the bathroom. Has anyone used it since the fight?
Please no, please please please be wrong.
You kick the door open. It bangs harshly against the wall.
The equipment is gone. Your stomach sinks.
No no no no no.
You open the cabinet. Everything’s been returned to its place. Your straight razor has been folded and put away, as has the alcohol. The used tissue paper is gone. Not in the trash, either. Whoever it was must have discarded it in the toilet.
No no no no no!
Who?
Who was it? You run through the possibilities in your head. Zoro? No, he wouldn’t clean up after someone else’s mess. Neither would Nami. At least, not for free. And what about the rest of the crew?
Whoever it was, would they even know what they saw? Surely they’d just think you cut yourself shaving. That was the only explanation, right? Even if the patterns on the tissue paper were distinct, the stains shaped into blurry, beaded lines–unless they had done it before, there’s no way they’d know. Right?
This time, when you shiver, it’s for real, not just a figment of your imagination. What would happen if you were found out? At best you’d be kicked out of the crew. At worst…
I’ll get locked up again.
You feel ill. Dizzy and nauseated with the prospect. You try not to spiral, try to get a grip before panic can take hold. The best you can do is to close the door behind you, sit on the floor, and take deep breaths.
You’re not sure how long you’re there–minutes, hours–but you don’t get up until someone knocks on the door.
“You almost done?” Usopp calls from the other side.
Swallowing hard, you find your voice. “Yeah. Just a sec.”
Usopp doesn’t so much as give you a second glance when you pass him. It’s not him.
You’re hypervigilant the rest of the day, scrutinizing every action, every word from your crewmates. Nothing seems different, but that only makes you more paranoid.
Nami offers you a tangerine. The simple action sets off a cascade of racing thoughts: Is she trying to make you feel better? Because she knows? Did she tell anyone? Did she tell Chopper? Luffy?
Every interaction is like that–an innocuous action that makes you flip out internally.
Franky gives you a gift: A cute little wind-up frog toy, made from scrap metal. He says it's to thank you for helping with repairs. You scan his face, but he’s only grinning proudly. Not Franky, either.
Zoro invites you to drink with him. Brook plays a song you like. Robin hands you a book she’s just finished, saying it might suit your tastes. Nothing unusual, but enough to make you second guess everything. Each time, you cling to your mask, holding it so tightly to your face that you can barely breathe.
The next day, Sanji cooks your favorite meal for dinner. That wouldn’t be too weird, except you know for a fact that your favorite involves pricy ingredients that he prefers to save. You know this because he mentioned it, years ago, when he was teaching you how to make the dish.
You and Sanji had joined the Straw Hats at the same time. Two weeks before Luffy had shown up, you had tried and failed to dine-and-dash from Baratie. Zeff forced you to work to pay it off, plus an extra week to “teach you a lesson.” That was when you got to know Sanji. Unlike the rest of the chefs, he wasn’t mad at you for what you did. He even taught you some of the basics of cooking. As the only soft presence on the floating restaurant, you grew attached, and that feeling of reliance never really left since then. You were drawn to his air of confidence and self-assuredness, but mostly to the fact that he never hid who he was, even when who he was could be straight-up idiotic at times. But you still respected that about him.
You always liked to hang out around the cook, helping him prepare meals with what you learned at Baratie. You both fought well together, having each others’ backs in battle despite your different fighting styles. It was safe to say that he was your favorite crewmate, and though you weren’t sure what he thought of you, you viewed him as your closest friend.
So you really, really don’t want it to be Sanji.
You appraise his expression, his movement, his actions. It all seems normal, on the surface. And yet, it feels off somehow, but you can’t tell if that’s just the paranoia speaking.
“How is it?” Sanji inquires.
You stare for a second. It’s not a question he usually asks–he knows it’s your favorite and he knows you think it’s amazing. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but the smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.
“Delicious, as always,” you say. Your own smile lights up your face, the way you’ve carefully practiced. “What’s the occasion?”
He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. “No reason, really. I just thought that it’s been a while since we’ve had it.”
That evening, you’re alone at the port side of the ship, leaning against the railing and looking out at the night sea. Sometimes it helps with your racing thoughts. This time, it does nothing. Nothing keeps you from fixating on the situation. You feel like you’re hanging by a thread, like at any moment you’ll get kicked off the crew, and then your whole world will unravel. And it’s entirely your fault.
The questions won’t stop repeating themselves: Who was it? Did they know?
Behind you, someone clears their throat. You whirl around a bit too quickly and steady yourself with a hand on the railing. Sanji’s standing there with his hands in his pockets. Something about his posture sets alarm bells off in your head. He’s too stiff, trying too hard to appear composed.
“Hey, Y/n,” Sanji says gently, “can I talk to you about something?”
It’s Sanji.
You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.
You gape at him for a moment, then collect yourself. The mask comes back on.
“Actually, I’m pretty tired. Gonna turn in for the night. Tomorrow, okay?” you dismiss, and go to walk past him.
“Wait a second, Y/n,” he reaches to grab your wrist, but you yank it away before he can.
“Don’t!” you snap, stepping back, then quickly correct yourself. “I mean–don’t surprise me like that! We’ll talk tomorrow. I really should sleep...”
Sanji frowns, hand slowly lowering, and you make a hasty retreat.
The rest of the week is torture. You’re constantly avoiding Sanji wherever possible. He doesn’t strike up conversation when the others are around, which only makes you more certain that he knows. You ensure that you’re never alone with him, and if he does approach you by himself, you make yourself scarce. It becomes harder and harder to hide that you’re avoiding him. The crew takes notice–it’s not difficult considering you and Sanji are normally close.
Zoro’s the first to say something.
“Oi, Y/n. Did you have a fight with the cook or something?” he asks bluntly.
“No, we didn’t,” you reply.
Zoro’s eyes narrow slightly. “Well, you’re both acting weird.”
Some of the others are looking your way, now. Anxiety sours your stomach. You hold your mask steady as he continues.
“You’ve been kind of flighty lately. And he’s oddly subdued,” Zoro says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, since he’s finally quiet for once, but it’s annoying. Would you just talk to him?”
“Uh…yeah, sure thing.”
Obviously, you don’t talk to Sanji. You keep evading him at every turn, only growing more distressed with each passing day. You know you can’t dodge the issue forever, but the moment you stop is the moment you’ll get kicked off the crew or worse, and that thought makes you want to die.
But the Sunny is only so large, and eventually, Sanji manages to corner you one night at the bow of the ship. You have your back to the figurehead, throat dry as you face him. Brook is up in the crow’s nest, keeping watch. Everyone else is asleep. It’s just you two, and you know you’ve run out of luck.
“We need to talk, Y/n,” Sanji says firmly.
Your throat goes dry. “Now?”
“Right now. No more running,” he says, taking a few steps closer. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”
There’s no getting out of it anymore. “...Alright.” you say. Your heart pounds harder, palms growing damp.
Sanji takes a long drag off his cigarette, then stubs it out–that’s when your adrenaline really spikes, when you know you’re in for it. He looks you in the eye.
“Should you have access to firearms?”
The question hits you like a brick, stunning you into wide-eyed silence. You open your mouth, then close it, unable to respond for a second.
“...What are you talking about?” you try.
“Given how you’ve been avoiding me,” he says coolly, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“I’m–I’m not following.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/n!” he snaps, and you cringe. “Of everything you’re hiding, this is the one thing I’m going to find out. I’m not asking. You’re going to tell me or I’m going to tell Chopper. So answer me, right now: Are you safe around guns?”
You can’t take another step back, but you instinctively try anyway, your heel scraping the wood of the ship. But there’s nothing you can do. The mask crumbles, years and years of desperate crafting turning to dust in an instant.
“God, Sanji,” you respond, “what am I supposed to say to that?”
“The truth,” he says.
“And if you didn’t like my answer, what would you do? Take them away from me?”
“Yes.” His tone is unyielding, his eyes hard.
Yours start to sting at the corners. “And what after that? You’ll have me–” you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming, “–you’ll have me kicked off the crew?”
“I never said that,” he says stiffly, “you don’t get it–”
“You don’t get it!” you bite back, voice rising. You lower it before continuing, “you don’t know anything.”
“I know you’re cutting.”
You flinch. The words sting. It’s not a pleasant sting this time. You turn your head, unable to look him in the eye.
“It’s just…” Sanji says, and there’s a touch of hurt in his voice, “after everything we’ve been through, I thought you trusted me.”
“I do,” you say automatically.
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
That stings even deeper. You shake your head. “I do, Sanji, but this is different.”
“Why?”
“It’s none of your business!” you bite. Bile rises in your throat at your venom; you hate being callous.
“My friend’s hurting themselves,” Sanji replies thinly, “that makes it my business.”
“That isn’t how this works!” you argue. “You don’t get to know everything about me just because you don’t like this!”
“Don’t I?”
“No!”
“You don’t feel safe with me.”
That one’s like a punch to the gut. You can’t tell what’s worse, the words themselves or the way he’s looking at you. That one hurts the most, because it’s true.
“...No,” you say after a moment, then steel yourself. “You’re right. I don’t. I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Sanji, please.”
“Don’t you plead now,” Sanji says, his tone hardening. “Don’t you put me in this position, Y/n.”
“I don’t have a choice, Sanji. I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Why?”
“Sanji!”
“Why?!”
“Because last time I trusted someone with this, I lost everything!” you blurt out. “I was institutionalized, okay?! Locked up! Is that what you wanted to know? Are you satisfied now?”
Your words echo in the silence that follows. He stares, jaw dropped slightly. You’re shaking, for real this time, and the words pour from you like a dam unblocked.
“You don’t know how humiliating it is, Sanji, to have the strings on all your clothes cut off, to be given only felt tip pens to write with, to not have doors, to have a scheduled bed time. To have all your choices taken away.” Your vision blurs as you continue. “I couldn’t do anything. It was like a prison. The other patients didn’t give a shit. The staff definitely didn’t give a shit. And all the while, they drained me of all my savings, until I didn’t have a single berri to my name. Then they kicked me to the curb. The one who reported me didn’t want to be associated with a crazy person. Neither did the rest of my friends. I was homeless. I had no one and nothing! That’s why I fled my home island, and that’s why I tried to dine and dash at Baratie.”
Sanji looks taken aback. He blinks quickly, then stares down at the deck. “What would you have me do, then?”
“This is supposed to be private!” You cover your face, fighting back tears. “You need–you need to keep your mouth shut and mind your business! I don't want anyone’s ‘support.’ You were never supposed to know.” You take a shaky breath and lower your hands. “If you really care, you’ll keep it to yourself, you’ll forget what you saw, and if you tell anyone…I won’t stick around to make the same mistake twice.”
Despite what you say, you already know it’s too late. There’s no going back, and now that he knows, it’s only a matter of time until you’re left behind. You bite your tongue to keep from crying at the thought, but you have to bite harder this time. The tears keep threatening to spill anyway, until you’re tasting iron.
Sanji is quiet. He pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, not speaking until after he takes a drag. “…Do you regret joining the crew?”
“Joining the Straw Hats was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you say honestly. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”
“But you aren’t happy, are you?”
“Multiply something by zero and you get zero, right?” You look away, guilt eating at you. Experience tells you that no one wants to hear this. “I’m not trying to sound dramatic. I just… I don’t work right.”
“I don’t think you’re being dramatic.”
For some reason, that, more than anything else, breaks you. The first tears slip past your defense. You say nothing, lower lip trembling.
Sanji takes another slow drag of his cig and exhales away from your direction. “I don’t know how I missed it.”
“I do,” you say. “At the hospital, they…” the words die in your throat as the memories surge forward. “They…they…” You can’t finish, but tears begin streaming down your cheeks. You shake your head. “Let’s just say, after that, I learned not to ever give anything away. Never again.”
“They did something to you.”
You barely nod. Already you feel yourself slipping into a flashback, feel the nurses holding you down and the needle jabbing into your flesh.
“I’m sorry,” Sanji says, taking a step toward you, and then another, until he can reach out and gently touch your forearm. The touch brings you back, grounding you so that you’re back in the present. But the gentle action, and Sanji’s soft expression, only makes the tears flow faster, makes your nose run. You shrug.
“It must have been scary.”
Slowly, you nod again.
“Will you answer my question, Y/n? Please?” Sanji asks. “Please, I need to know you’re safe around guns. Will you at least tell me that much?”
You swallow the lump in your throat and wipe your face. When you answer, you look him in the eye so he knows you’re telling the truth. “Yeah. I’m… Yeah.”
Sanji sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank goodness. Okay. Can I ask you something else?” At your nod, he goes on. “How long have you been feeling like this? Before the hospital, I mean.”
“...Since I was young,” you sniff. “I’ve been ‘coping’ on and off for years.”
Sanji sticks his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Can I see?”
“What?” The question catches you so off-guard that you stop crying. “I’m–I’m sorry?”
“You’re not going to show Chopper, right?” Sanji says. “So–”
“You’re not gonna tell him?” you cut him off, surprised.
“I haven't decided yet,” he admits. “I don’t want to go against your wishes, Y/n. But I don’t know the extent of the damage. Just… Just, let me see?”
“No.” You’re shocked at his audacity. What’s he thinking? Of course you can’t do that.
“I won’t judge. I swear, I just want to know you’re okay,” Sanji says.
“You can say that, but…” you rub your arm. “Be real. You’ll never look at me the same way again.”
“It won’t change how I think of you.”
“It will!” you shout, then lower your voice. “It will, forever. There’s no going back once that line is crossed and you see me for what I really am.”
He frowns. “Which is?”
“A freak!”
Neither of you say anything for a moment. Then you shake your head again. “I’m sorry, Sanji. But a guy like you–strong, handsome, confident–you wouldn’t understand.”
Sanji gets a weird look on his face, one you’ve never seen in all the years you’ve sailed with him. He looks to the side, then down, then up. His drags on his cigarette become long and harsh, finishing it in three breaths. He lights another, making a face. Then he nods to himself, like he’s decided something.
“Okay,” Sanji says. “There’s something I want you to see.”
You frown. When Sanji puts his hands on the hem of his pants, you frown deeper. He pauses.
“Um. Just trust me, okay? I promise I’m not doing anything weird–just wait a sec.”
He slides down his pants, and you have no idea what’s going through his head until his pale upper thighs are exposed. Then, finally, you understand, and you cover your mouth in shock.
Both of his upper thighs are covered in a myriad of scars. There must be over a hundred, clustered just above where shorts would hide them. Most of them are big, inches long and criss-crossed with each other. A few are keloid scars, thick and raised above the skin.
Your stare could burn a hole through his flesh. Slowly, you look up at him. Sanji has a faint blush on his face, looking sheepish.
“Guys like me can be freaks too,” he says simply.
You’re in complete disbelief. You keep looking back from the scars to his face. It’s too much to process–where would you even begin? Sanji, of everyone on the crew–Sanji’s like you? Brave, unwavering, gallant Sanji? Of everyone? When you don’t respond, he speaks again.
“See, Y/n? You’re not alone.”
Tears sting the corners of your eyes again. You find your voice. “Yours are old.”
“Yeah. I got lucky. Had someone’s support.” Sanji smiles slightly, in a way that he only does when thinking of…
“Zeff?”
“Yeah. He eventually found out.” Sanji laughs nervously. “At first he freaked out. Thought I was using kitchen knives. After he calmed down, he told me…he told me he wouldn’t abandon me over that, because what kind of parent would that make him?” His expression wavers like he’s trying not to cry.
You, on the other hand, start crying again the moment you hear the word “abandoned.” You realize that’s precisely how you felt back then.
Sanji grabs your shoulders so you look up at him. “You’re not getting kicked off of the crew.”
“...I’m not?” you ask, voice small and pathetic.
“No. I promise.” Sanji squeezes your shoulders reassuringly. “No one else needs to know. But, Y/n, I’m not going to leave you to deal with this alone. So, will you show me?”
“...You won’t tell anyone?”
“I won’t. I swear on my honor. This stays between us.” He lowers his arms.
You bite your lip, sniffing. You shut your eyes, mustering up your courage, and nod. Sanji waits patiently as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. You hesitate before peeling back your sleeve, exposing your upper arm.
He’s quiet as he inspects the damage. Unlike his old scars, yours have yet to finish healing, still in the scabbing stage. A ladder of thin, dark red lines decorate your upper arm and shoulder. You look between your cuts and his scars. Yours aren’t as deep as what Sanji had done, which you feel weirdly ashamed about.
Sanji’s hand comes up, hovering over your cuts like he’s going to touch them, but then he rests it on your forearm instead. Despite the clear evidence that he won’t judge you, you’re still self-conscious, so you break the silence.
“The scabs catch on my sleeves,” you say awkwardly.
Sanji nods. “I had to bandage my thigh so it wouldn’t bleed through while I was working. It always felt so…”
“Stupid,” you both say. Then you both smile at the unexpected camaraderie.
“What’s really stupid is how long I went thinking I was the only one,” you say, “and all this time, you…” You gesture vaguely.
“Can you do something for me?” Sanji asks. “Whatever you’re using–I’m not going to take anything from you. But in exchange, I want you to talk to me. We can talk in the galley, when it’s just us two.”
“I don’t know how to talk about it.”
How could you, after what had been done to you? After everyone you used to trust turned their backs? Knowing that Sanji understood you couldn’t fix the mental scars left behind by others. You could try to rationalize it, but just thinking about discussing the past made your throat dry up.
“If I told you about mine first, would it make you more comfortable?” Sanji offers.
You balk. “You–you don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind, if it means helping you.” Sanji says earnestly. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge. How could I? We’re the same.”
Something broken inside you changes right then. Deep engravings fill with gold like broken pottery, sealing some of the cracks in your soul. Unmasked and exposed, Sanji sees into you, and he doesn’t waver or turn. He smiles, gently and softly and lovingly. Your eyes fill with fresh tears.
Sanji holds out his pinky finger. “Freaks?”
You smile from ear to ear, even as the tears start flowing again, and lock pinkies with him. “Freaks.”
So caught up in the moment are the two of you that neither one notices when Zoro appears until it’s too late.
He’s further down the deck, but standing right under one of the ship’s lights, so you can see him smile. “Hey, you guys are–” he starts, then notices Sanji’s pants. His smile instantly turns to a look of indignation, then rage. “What the hell?!”
Sanji scrambles to pull up his pants as Zoro charges.
“What the hell are you doing to Y/n, you creep?!” Zoro yells.
You hurriedly pull down your sleeve and move in front of Sanji, holding your arms up. “Wait a sec, Zoro!”
“I-It’s not what it looks like!” Sanji cries.
Zoro screeches to a halt right in front of you, but then stretches over your shoulder to snarl at Sanji. “You better have a good explanation for this, shitty cook!”
You grab Zoro’s arms to hold him back. Not that you could ever hope to overpower him, but you know he’s too brotherly toward you to push you out of the way. “Zoro!”
“What?” Zoro turns his focus on you, “what did he do? I’ll kick his ass for you, Y/n.”
“No, that’s–”
Sanji interjects, “I didn’t–”
“We were…”
Zoro relaxes somewhat, now frowning and looking at both of you weirdly. “What exactly were you guys doing?”
Really, being in the middle of the night, it’s not a good look. You and Sanji are both caught off guard. Fumbling hard, you both speak at once.
“I was looking at a fungal infection!” you say.
“They were removing a tick!” Sanji says at the same time.
Both of you glance at each other.
“Tick,” you correct.
“Fungal,” Sanji says.
Zoro blinks. “A fungal tick?”
You both just nod.
Zoro stares between you two, then relaxes. “Oh... Okay. Good of you to not wake Chopper.” He nods and turns, leaving the two of you to it.
So flooded with relief are you that it’s staggering. You mentally thank the stars that Zoro is a simple and straightforward type of guy.
You and Sanji watch Zoro walk away. Once he’s out of earshot, you both look at each other.
Then you both burst out laughing.
“Oh my god,” you breathe, clutching your chest.
Sanji wipes away a tear. “That was close, huh?”
The laughter dies down into giggles before you calm yourselves, grinning at each other. Then you’re both throwing your arms around the other in a tight embrace, squeezing like you’ve never been hugged before in your lives. You bury your face in Sanji’s chest, he rests his head on yours. Your fingers dig into the other’s clothing, soaking in the warmth and the comfort that you could only get from someone who truly understood. You stay like that for a few minutes, quiet, close, and held.
“Are you sure?” you whisper after a minute. “That you want to deal with this? With me? What if I never get better?”
“Nothing’s set in stone but the poneglyphs,” Sanji replies, running a hand over your head so you look up at him. “Our future hasn’t been determined.”
“Our future?”
“You and me and the rest of the crew. There’s still time to grow, and to change.” He holds the back of your head tenderly.
“When does that time run out?” you ask, uncertain.
“It doesn’t.” Sanji smiles down at you. “As long as we’re alive, there’s another chance. That opportunity is always there.”
You smile back, then press your face into his chest again. Sanji squeezes you tighter.
“Tomorrow,” you mumble into his shirt. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m tired.”
“I bet.”
“I never want to hide from you again.”
You feel Sanji kiss the top of your head. “And I never want to make you cry again.”
“I want to tell you everything.”
“I’ll listen.”
You both stay like that for a while longer, each second spent there healing something within yourselves.
It will take weeks to figure out how to talk about your troubles. When you’re up for it, you talk in the galley as Sanji cooks, you helping him out as usual with prep and cleanup. It’s even longer before Sanji learns everything. In the interim, you become the only Straw Hat to learn of Sanji’s past before he ever gets a wedding invite.
Like worn muscles rebuilding, like bone regrowing stronger, the scars you’ve revealed to each other, both physical and mental, strengthen your bond more than anything else ever could.
"let it out, let me in, take a hold of my hand / there's nothing like another soul that's been cut up the same"
-Handwritten, The Gaslight Anthem
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Moving Day
Dia moves into his first apartment!!! :D His favorite rust moirail comes to help!
Google Docs
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Jodiah really, truly, did not have nearly as many belongings as he thought. He pondered on this as he carried another box inside the rather crappy apartment. There was so little to his name. Even the things he kept at his father’s, the things from his old bedroom he was allowed to take with him. Clothing and tools, mostly.
The box is set on a coffee table- not originally his, but one his well-meaning moirail insisted on giving him. Said well-meaning moirail stumbled his way into the room shortly after Dia, arms shaking as he struggled to carry two boxes on one trip.
“Dude.” Dia’s mask did little to hide the amusement in his voice, though he made no motion to help Festur as the scrawny rustblood toted the boxes in. He sets them down rather harshly next to Dia’s box, panting with exertion.
“M-Maybe…You should’ve asked your…other moirail…to move you in.” Fester all but wheezed, doubling over with his hands on his knees. The lime shot him a sympathetic look and patted his back lightly.
“I’m not ready for Tori to start sugar-lusus-ing me just yet. You good?”
Festur looked up at his moirail, seemingly unaware of the trickle of ruby ichor dribbling from his nose, mixing with the sweat above his lip. Dia used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe it away.
“Why the…fuck…are those…so heavy?”
“I think you grabbed my box of impact and torque bits.”
“...Your what?”
“Tools, Fes. You grabbed a box of tools.”
The rust’s brow furrowed, a microexpression that spoke volumes to those who knew how to read him, “...There’s a toolbox in there?”
Dia sighed, a sound not autotuned by his mask. He reached into his stolen boots for a hidden knife - a gift from his father, naturally - and cut the box open with ease. To his surprise, there were no tools.
“Oh, it was paper.”
Festur stood upright, peering over Dia’s shoulders with curiosity and annoyance, “You have a box of paper?”
Dia resisted the urge to elbow his already wounded moirail in his already busted ribs, “Important papers, dumbass.” He rifled through some, pulling out examples. Letters, wriggling day cards, holiday cards, drawings from his siblings, awards, certifications, palmhusk pictures printed on printer paper, pages torn from books.
Festur joined in, taking a small handful of papers to nose through. He didn’t bother questioning why Dia had these. He always knew the lime was sentimental. Hard to be sentimental in space. It was amusing to look at everything Dia had saved. Older cards had fingerprints from where Dia had held them, rereading the messages over and over. Fold where he had tucked drawings into pockets for safekeeping. Handwritten letters from his father and mother, tucked safely in their original envelopes. Setting one card down, he noticed an oddity.
An unopened letter. New- the stamp was expensive, still shiny, and dated recently. The return address was some random Fleet port, with no name to send to. The envelope was neat, a gentle lilac shade, with a strange floral embossing. Festur turned the unopened document around in his hand, investigating it closely.
“...Are you saving this?”
Dia’s ears perked up slightly, then dropped again, “Hm? Oh, no. They were sent to the wrong person. I keep forgetting to return them to sender. Here- see?” He gently turned the document over, pointing to the name in the center.
In a curly cursive handwriting, written in dark indigo ink, was the address of Her Beloved Annihilation. But right above said address was a name that made Festur’s brow furrow once more.
Little Cristo.
“Little is an…interesting name.”
“And Festur isn’t? Who are you to judge, Mr. Septic?”
Festur’s frown sank deeper, though not from the insult. A seed of worry had seated itself in his chest. He couldn’t quite place it, nor could he shake it. Some deep paranormal concern that the contents of this beautiful lavender letter were not as lovely as it looked.
“Is this the only one you got?”
Jodiah shook his head, unaware of his moirail’s growing concern. He rooted through the box of books and pulled out two….three…..four……..five…………six………………..seven.
Seven more letters. All unopened, all addressed to Little Cristo. All with different dates. And sent from different Fleet ports.
Wordlessly, Festur opened one, ignoring Dia’s complaints. He unfolded the crisp letter, holding it above his moirail’s head to read. Dia only tried to grasp it a few times before giving up, and waiting for an explanation.
As usual, Festur’s face remained unchanged. He raised his brow in a faux amusement before folding the letter back up. With a perfect monotony, he said simply, “You got someone’s love letters.”
“Are they at least juicy?”
“No. Bland, boring. Old guy language.”
“Ew.”
“Mhm. Here- There’s a drop off by the House of Restoration, I’ll take them for you.”
With a remarkable amount of casualty, Festur collected the other six letters, tucking them into his waistband for later. Dia had no complaints. They would go on to unpack a few more boxes, then Festur would say good day. He made Jodiah promise to lock the doors on his way out.
“Paranormal paranoia. Watched a lot of trolls die from not locking their doors.”
Dia rolled his eyes.
Festur opened the remaining six letters on his walk hive. He scoured over the meticulously handwritten pages, noting how they were, in fact, not love letters. The language was flowery and poetic but deeply sinister. The author waxed on about meeting The Littlest Cristo (as it turned out, Little Cristo was not their name) only a handful of times, but knowing they belonged to each other. The letters would vary from violent in descriptions, to nearly sickening in how loving they were. Descriptions of ownership, of leashing one like a bad dog. Of painting the walls with their illegal hue, of washing them in violet so they knew their place.
Either these letters belonged to a truly disturbed couple, or the true recipient was in danger. Festur wasn’t sure which he preferred. He knew one thing for certain- even if he knew the letters weren’t for Jodiah, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something very bad was about to happen.
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Greetings, @greatprotector-if . I saw your tag about writing the mc. Do you remember that random galen.txt file screenshot Someone (alas, 'tis me) sent to your asks? Yes. I have kept its contents locked away for all this time but now it is clamoring to be set free. I cannot keep it at bay any longer.
I was about to send it to your ask box, but then I took a step back and Actually Looked at its length and I was like. Madness. To terrorize anyone's inbox with this would be a most heinous crime.
So, it's a post now!
(Warning!!! Short snippet where you talk to a loser who's utterly in love and is very annoying about it. You may feel the urge to launch them out a window. I would support you <;3)
I am going to babygirl galen so hard actually, themk youf or creating them. I've mostly been lurking around in your blog till recently, but I just want to say that the moment I laid eyes on Galen I have been head over heels besotted with them. Thank you for giving them to us, they are the light of my life, the love of my dreams, I promise I will take care of them I will make them so so happy.
I am keeping an MC who's ready to fall head over heels besotted in love at first sight with Galen. They are raring to go. They are going to be so in love and they are going to be so persistently annoying about it.
"I don't think love at first sight is really a thing," a lovely well meaning individual might say, "Wouldn't that just mean you liked their face?"
(Another MC I keep stuffed in the freezer, voice coming muffledly from its depths: AND WHAT ABOUT IT,)
"No, friend," My MC would say, with a solemnity akin to a war general giving an impassioned speech in the name of their cause before they march off to war, "I mean, yes, Galen is lovely. The prettiest. They have the prettiest golden eyes, like the glimmering gold of sunlight coating tree bark and grass blades in sunset, though they often use them to give me the look—"
They pause in their enthusiastic ramblings to stare at you, eyes bright. Your expression has long collapsed, settling into a flat, dead-eyed stare. Why are you here. Why are you still listening to this. They gesture excitedly at you, triumphant.
"—Yes, like that! And they have the broadest shoulders and the thickest arms and the loveliest eyelashes, and sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to hold them—"
"You know, you're really not helping your case," you interject, your dead-eyed gaze strengthening into indignant accusation. You have to cut this wannabe bard off before he decides to wax poetic about this poor Galen for another three paragraphs.
Gods know that you would launch either them or yourself out a window before they finished.
"It— it's not like I'd do that without their permission," they cough meekly, their eyes wandering away from your accusing gaze. They have the audacity to look shy. "Of course I'd court them first."
"Court," you echo flatly. "Did you really just say court—?"
"Yes!" They draw themselves up, gaining steam once again. Their eyes sparkle with determined fire as they outline their wooing plans to you, the resigned listener. "I'll give them gifts, like cool looking rocks and flowers — nothing too expensive at first, since that would probably make them uncomfortable—"
You squint at them. "... Are you a crow?" they steamroll on, undettered.
"And I'll do some wood carving! Maybe some pocket-sized figurines first — wait, what do you think Galen's favorite animal is? Do they even have one? Ah, what about a chicken? Do you think they'd appreciate a chicken—?
"Not a clue, but you never answered the earlier question," you point out. "Why do you like them so much?"
At this, they pause. "I just..." unlike in their earlier spiels, their voice sounds much softer. Stumbling over their words, as if they were about to voice something extremely precious. "They're... them" they clear their throat, and fiddle with the woven bracelets around their wrist. "Galen. They can be grumpy and intimidating and they're kind and they care and everyone knows that. And I just... I like them a lot. Just because."
"Just because," you repeat.
"Yeah." they seem to struggle with themselves for a moment before they draw themselves up, looking at you with earnest eyes. "I want... I want to make them happy."
— And that was my Galen-mancer MC. It was an ungodly hour in the morning, I was possessed by the Galen Brainrot, and I proceeded to write this abomination, immediately passing out at 5am once I finished it. I woke up groggy and dazed with only one .txt file possessing a damning title as a testament to what I'd done. I'm so sorry 💀
#... I am very very sorry#This also goes for my mutuals and any unlucky chump who sees this float across their dash 😔😔💖💖💖 ily guys fwah#AND NO THEY DO NOT HAVE A NAME YET#IM SORRY MC... IT WILL HAPPEN WHEN IT HAPPENS <333#tgp: galen#head in hands#what is this actually#the great protector if#scribbles.txt
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Shy anime review (up to ep 5) Spoilers up to most recent unofficial manga translation (around chap 100) and references to untranslated chapters (up to most recent)
I will say I love the anime. Its very cute, I like the style of editing because it keeps the feel of the manga. I will say the style is okay, what I was expecting, I just urge anime-only to at least check out the first volume because I love Bukimi's style of drawing (its so pretty and would be impossible to replicate for animation),
Since the anime is still early on, all I can really say is how much I can think back upon earlier stuff in relation to "reveals" in the later chapters.
For example, when Stardust tells Pepesha that she is too soft on Teru because Teru reminds her of someone. I completely forgot about it in the mange, but now that I remember, I realize he meant Shine/Mei. I don't think Stardust ever mentions anything regarding Mei every again until a possoble scene in the untranslated chapters, in which there is a flashback with him and Pepesha talking (i won't get into details for spoilers sake).
In episode 5, with the old lady (I already forgot her name I'm so sorry) and Teru. Teru mentions going in because she was reminded of the shop when she saw the mountain, and the lady mentions she used to come with Mei when she was younger. The lady also reveals her husband has since passed from them. The lady wishes she could climb the mountain again like she used to with her husband, which urges Teru to seek Lady Black's help. When I first encountered this scene I thought it was partly to show Teru's caring side despite her reserved and introverted nature. She wants to help people. But I feel this also goes Teru's loss of Mei. Essentially both of them lost someone important to them, Teru going into that shop also acted as a way to remind her of Mei, the mountain (while much more of a deeper connection) represents something similar for the lady. Which could possibly be why Teru was willing to go out of her way to get Lady Black's help. Or I am looking too deep into this lol.
(I also feel this could indicate something about Mei. People rarely went to this local stationary shop probably because it was easier to go to a bigger store. Even when Mei is not being a hero she is still helping those around her (supporting the shop).)
I believe maybe next episode has the fever scene, which I think is the first direct mention of Mei. More specifically the lost of Mei 3 years before canon. I don't think its that relevant until the Shinning Six, so not for a while in the anime. But I wonder if they are going to mention that she was the previous Japanese hero now. I mainly think they might because of all the little easter eggs of her (aka the figurines in Teru's room).
The anime is obviously bringing up some of the errors of the early volumes though. Such as the introduction of random side characters that seem they might have later importance, but generally do not. The calligraphy club being one that is essential not brought up again (spoilers) until the latest untranslated official chapters.
Another issues is kinda the rushing of certain character developments. Mainly Stardust and Lady Black. I've seen some say Pepesha too, but since the entire first arc is significant development for her, I would say no. Introducing her and Teru's relationship is a bit rushed, but as the manga later reveals (untranslated chapters/speculation), they've known each other since before Teru became a hero, which is around 6 months before canon if I remember correctly. As in Pepesha helped Teru "official" become Japan's hero after Shine.
Overall, wonderful anime. Beautiful manga. I just read the most recent unofficial translation chapters and I'm screaming. We are entering the Mei backstory sooooonnnn
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existing with them (small moments with all of them)
Usually, there would’ve been no room for you to slide your book and paper onto Lucifer’s desk. But he had recently piled his random collection of items into a table in the middle of the office. He was planning to redecorate, apparently. You rolled your eyes.
You stretched your arms out with an exhausted yawn, letting your chin drop onto the dark wood. Lucifer blinked and paused his writing. He lifted his head and looked at you. “Shouldn’t you be working?”
You huffed out a breath, watching the wooden pencil he had lent you start to roll across the table to him. He stopped it with his hand, not taking his eyes off you. You smiled.
Mammon slurped his ramen noodles loudly. You sighed out, agitated. “Quiet, Mammon.”
“Ya didn’t hafta be awake with me,” he grumbled out but started to eat quieter anyway. He nudged his thigh into yours, before he threw his cup in his trash can. “C’mon. Bed time.” He stood up, stretching his arms up over his head before letting you lead the way to the other side of his room.
In your exhaustion, you stumbled over the stairs leading up to his bed. He grabbed your elbow, and your other arm shot out to keep you from face planting. “Jeez!” he let out a deep breath. “Gonna give me a heart attack!”
He made sure you could stand straight before he began to laugh at the still shocked expression frozen on your face.
You glanced up from your phone for the first time in a while. You sighed, cracking your neck. Leviathan made a disgusted noise from beside you, his shoulders bunching up.
You laughed, using your hand to grab him by the jaw. He tensed, watching you as you brought him to face you. “What?” He mumbled and averted his eyes.
“Nothing.” You let go, your arm dropping down beside him. “I just like looking at you.” For a moment he did not react, staying perfectly still. You became a little concerned until his head dropped down onto his desk and a strangled squeal escaped his mouth.
Satan was convinced the man was a serial killer. “We just met him, though.” You pointed it out. He only smirked, his arm tightening around your shoulders.
“No, just look at him. You don’t hire an actor like that unless it’s a serial killer show.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious. Look at how he acts around him! He’s gonna kill him.” You only shook your head in denial.
And when the man started to hunt down his ex lover, Satan would glance at you through out the movie, a proud smirk plastered across his face. “Not a serial killer? Looks like a serial killer to me. Look at all that blood.”
“Whatever,” you can only grumble, shrinking down into the couch as he laughed happily. Oh well. As long as Satan was having fun, you could deal with the teasing.
Asmodeus urged you to stay still. “Come on, Hun!” He bit his lip in concentration, scribbling erratically across his paper. “Keep up the pose!”
You winced, the awkward position hurting you in more ways than one. Why did demons need to take an art course anyways? “Hurry, please.”
“And… done!” Asmodeus slammed his pencil down, sitting back in his chair. He grinned, picking up the paper to show you. It was… well. It was a drawing. “Good, right?”
You gave him a strained smile.
Beelzebub had been clingy all day. He’d been at least in the same room as you constantly, usually sitting or standing right next to you.
“What’s up with you?” You gestured to him where he fidgeted with the ring of his right hand, eyes flitting around nervously.
“I… wanted to ask you for a hug,” he finally rumbled out in a low voice, eyes downcast in shame. Your eyes watered. You adored this man.
“C’mere,” you shuffled closer to him, holding out your arms. “I always want hugs.”
In order to inspire Belphegor to work out, you tried those cute couple things where when he lowered himself to do a push up, he’d kiss you on the mouth from where you were under him. However, he usually ended up headbutting you and he was already growing tired. It was too short lived to enjoy.
His arms finally collapsed, sending him crashing down into you. He let out a grunt of pain, while all the air in your lungs decided to ditch you in a time of need. He rolled off you and you gasped for air, hand flinging out and smacking Belphegor in the face. “Ow.” He shot you a glare. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it before bringing it up to his face for you to pet. Needy.
#obey me x reader#obey me x you#obey me x gender neutral reader#obey me x gn!mc#obey me headcanons#obey me headcannons#lucifer x reader#mammon x reader#leviathan x reader#satan x reader#asmodeus x reader#beelzebub x reader#belphegor x reader#obey me x mc#obey me
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Norman Osborn X Female Reader
I Forgot My Umbrella - Part 8
Word Count: 2857
Summary: When you come down sick, Norman can't help but worry over you. Since you live alone, who will take care of you?
Warnings: Age gap. Mentions of Vomiting. WHOLESOME FLUFF XD
A/N: A purely self-indulgent chapter. Seriously, this wasn't the original Part 8, but I came down sick a few days ago and decided to write this one instead. Now this is one of my favorite parts. And to get you hyped for Part 9- it's a DOOZY.
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Another week came and went.
Norman found himself spending his work days watching you closely. He couldn’t help it- you were starting to fascinate him. In his mind, no one could be more interesting than you. You had clearly shown an interest in being friends with him and that made him curious. Just what kind of person were you? So he started to notice every little thing about you. The things you did when you thought no one was looking.
You doodled Spider-Man, monsters, and random eyes on post-it notes and stuck them to your computer. You liked to chew on your pen when you were editing his schedule. You occasionally tapped your desk to the beat of a song only you could hear. You liked a lot of sugar and creamer in your coffee and you always somehow managed to spill some of it. On more than one occasion, when there was nothing to do and you weren’t doodling, he found you absently spinning in your chair.
You also smiled a lot and it was starting to make him smile more as well. Your happiness was infectious. It made him want to sit on your desk and talk to you about anything. Heck, it could just be a conversation about the weather and he’d be happy.
So that’s what he did every chance he got.
The corner of your desk became like a new home for him whenever he had free time. At first he tried to keep the conversations relevant to work. He’d ask you about future meetings or what you thought about some of the ongoing projects. But eventually he’d start asking you more personal questions. He’d ask about your recent drawings or your plans for the afternoon. And you would happily tell him. His short little convos with you were starting to become his favorite part of the day.
It was right after the weekend that Norman realized that he craved your attention a lot more than he thought.
He was sitting in his office, patiently waiting for you to arrive with his morning cup of coffee. Glancing at the clock, he noticed that you were a few minutes late. He fought the urge to worry and tried to think of a reason for your tardiness. He finally settled on blaming the donut shop. He had given you a charge card in his name last week so you could buy donuts for the office every morning instead of spending your own money. So it made perfect sense that you were busy with that.
But as Norman watched the seconds tick by on his watch, his worry mutated into full on concern. You had never been late. Since the day you started working you had either been early or right on time. Fear started to crawl up his spine. It felt like he had ice in his veins.
What was taking you so long?
Were you alright?
“Look at you. Anxious. Over a little girl. PATHETIC!”
Norman shivered and gripped his head in his hands. It had been over a week since he had heard the voice. Why is it coming back now?!
“I was never gone, Norman. You’re not FIXED.”
“No… no!” Norman groaned, “Leave me alone! I’m cured! You’re… You’re not here!”
“There is no cure for madness, Norman. Face it. I’ll always be here. And soon, when you’re ready, you’ll let me have my way with that girl-”
The phone began ringing and Norman jumped. He scrambled for it as the echoing sound of the Goblin’s laughter filled his head. He barely managed to compose himself before picking up the receiver.
“He-hello?”
He hated how his voice shook.
“Boss?”
Norman’s heart nearly stopped as he heard your voice. Something was wrong. Your voice was raw and strained. It sounded as if you were in a great deal of pain and had even been crying.
“Y/N? Are you alright?”
Norman straightened in his chair as he listened intently. He heard some rustling on the other end as you moved something. He could hear your labored breathing and he gripped the phone tight enough for his knuckles to turn white.
“I’m sorry, Boss,” you rasped, “I won’t be able to come in today.”
Norman couldn’t hide the panic in his voice.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I think I ate something bad yesterday. I’ve been sick all night.”
“Do you need a ride to the hospital?” Norman asked quickly.
“No… I don’t think so. I should be fine in a day or two… once I’m done throwing up… ugh… sorry… that’s TMI…I gotta go, Sir. I promise, I’ll try to be back in as soon as I can.”
Norman heard the click of the phone as you hung up. As soon as you did, he bolted up from his chair, his mind in a whirlwind. This response… he hadn’t expected it. He felt afraid and panicked. No… Afraid was too tame a word. Terrified, more like. The thought of you being in pain caused an ache in his chest. He needed to make sure that you were okay. He couldn’t handle the idea of you suffering all by yourself.
Norman instantly sat back down, wiping his hands over his face.
“Get a grip. She’ll be fine.”
He tried to start his work day. He tried to focus. But all he could think about was how you didn’t have anyone to take care of you. You lived alone and most of your friends were busy. At a time like this, you shouldn’t have to take care of yourself.
What if…
What if you were so sick that you couldn’t take care of yourself?
Norman eyed the phone, his stomach twisting with worry. If you didn’t have anyone… then he would have to step in. Maybe he should send someone to check on you?
—
You were curled up in a ball on your bathroom floor, praying as hard as you could. The twisting pain in your abdomen was bad enough but you also had the sensation of rocks scrapping your throat. You really needed a drink but the kitchen was so far away and walking made you dizzy. Overall, you were miserable. You had thrown up all night and just when you thought you couldn’t throw up anymore, your stomach provided more bile. You had spent the entire night on the cold tile of your bathroom. You knew if you could just relax you could get some sleep… maybe.
It was at times like these you wished you had a roommate.
Just anybody to hold your hair or rub your back.
With a groan, you moved into a sitting position and leaned against the wall. You ached deep down in your bones and there was a pounding in your head. You kept sliding in and out of a tired delirium; unsure of what was real or a dream. So when you first heard the knocking, you thought it was just in your head. But it came again, louder and more frantic. You scowled as you realized it was coming from your front door.
Who the heck could that be?
You waited a moment and there came another set of knocks, louder this time. And somehow it was even more panicked. With a roll of your eyes and every ounce of strength you could muster, you started crawling to the front room. You reached the door and used the knob to pull yourself into a standing position. You felt another knock and, without even looking through the peephole, you jerked the door open. You planned to glare at whoever it was because they made you get up, but you were shocked into silence upon seeing who it was.
Norman Osborn was standing at your door.
“Nor- Doctor Osborn??”
You had to be dreaming right? Norman Osborn couldn’t be here. He was at work. You must have a fever. That was the only explanation- this was a hallucination. You were still on your bathroom floor, passed out. You had to be.
“Y/N, I am so sorry to make you get up, but I don’t exactly have a key.”
You blinked at him. He… He was really here? The man you were falling in love with, the man you supposedly had no chance with- he was standing at your door. His eyes were filled with worry and fear as he beheld you. Looking down at yourself, you instantly felt embarrassed. You were just in a t-shirt and basketball shorts. You didn’t want Norman to see you like this! You hadn’t showered yet!
You tried to hide yourself behind the door, tired eyes fixed on Norman’s face.
“Wha… what are you doing here?”
Norman stepped forward, practically pushing his way into your apartment.
“You should be laying down, come on.”
He gestured towards the couch but when you tried to take a step for it, the room spun and you went to drop. Thankfully, Norman was right beside you to balance you. He pulled your left arm around his shoulders and led you over to the couch. He darted back to the door to make sure it shut before he came right back to your side. You laid down on the couch, confusion written all over your face. Norman’s hand came to your forehead and you marveled at the worry in his ocean eyes.
“You’re burning up,” Norman whispered.
“What are you doing here?” You asked again.
Norman met your gaze and you realized just how close he was. If you weren’t so nauseous, you would’ve been noticing the butterflies. But there was no room for the fluttering creatures. All you felt was the urge to throw up and you sure weren’t about to throw up all over Norman. That would be a disaster. So you clenched your jaw, and focused on breathing.
“I’m here to take care of you,” Norman explained.
“Am I dreaming?” you muttered as you curled into the fetal position.
“Ha, no. I doubt you’d dream about me taking care of you.”
“You’d be surprised,” you sighed as you closed your eyes, “I dream about a lot of things.”
You peeked a look at Norman through your eyelashes. He wore an amused smile as he shrugged out of his coat and set it on the coffee table. As you watched him, you fought the urge to tell him how pretty he was; his blue eyes all full of worry. You wanted to reach out and ruffle his messy hair.
“Yeah I have a fever,” you laughed.
“Most likely. I should get you back to your bed.”
“Nah… you should get me to the bathroom.”
“What? To the- Oh! Right!”
Norman got to his feet and helped you off the couch. You gripped his forearm tightly as he walked you down the short hallway and into the bathroom. You dropped down before the toilet to empty out your stomach, no longer able to keep it down. You automatically reached a hand back to grab your hair but Norman beat you to it.
“I’ve got you,” Norman assured softly.
While his one hand held your hair, the other rubbed your back. You would’ve liked to really enjoy this moment, but puking your guts out kind of took priority. After you were done, Norman handed you some tissue to wipe your mouth with. Surprisingly, this last toilet full of vomit seemed to calm the twisting in your abdomen. At the very least, you didn’t feel as nauseous.
“I’m sorry,” you groaned, “I’m gross.”
“You do not apologize for this,” Norman ordered firmly.
You turned to face your boss and froze. He was crouched beside you, hand still rubbing your back. His blue eyes watched you with concern and he honestly looked like he might start crying. With a scowl, you looked him up and down. He looked so out of place in your tiny bathroom. Like a fancy book stuck in with a bunch of cheap novels.
“Are you really here?”
Norman gave a short laugh as he smirked.
“Yes, Miss L/N. I am really here. Do you need anything? Some water?”
“Yeah… but I don’t know if I can keep it down.”
“You need to stay hydrated,” Norman declared, “I’ll get you a glass.”
“There’s bottled water in the fridge!” you called as he left the room.
Now alone, you attempted to understand what was happening. Norman Osborn was not only in your apartment, he was here to take care of you. It felt so bizarre but you were unbelievably grateful. If you had been more lucid you would’ve been worrying over how dirty your apartment was. But in truth, you were quite lost in your pain and couldn’t really form coherent thoughts very well. You sat cross-legged on the floor just staring at the white tile. It wasn’t too long before Norman returned to you with a bottle of water.
“Here,” Norman offered you the bottle after he opened it, “Drink it slow.”
“Yes, sir.”
You sipped on the water and grimaced. You could still taste the bile in your throat but the cool water soothed some of the pain. With a sigh, you leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. You heard Norman shuffling and took a peek to see him sitting on your counter. You watched him for a long moment. He was looking at his hands, obviously feeling out of place.
“I still don’t think you’re here,” you mumbled, “Why would you be?”
Norman’s head came up and his expression was unreadable.
“Do you want me to leave?”
There was a deep pain in his voice and it surprised you. You opened your eyes fully, still trying to read his expression. His eyes reminded you of a kicked dog and you felt the urge to start crying just looking at him.
“NO! Please stay... I’m happy you’re here… really… happy…”
You were too sick to feel embarrassed over your words. Norman just gave a small smile and urged you to drink some more water. That smile was so gosh-darn adorable. He had no right.
“So… did you take the day off?” you asked in an attempt to move the conversation on.
Norman gave a nod. You looked away from him towards the other side of the room.
“You really didn’t have to do this… not for me.”
Norman scowled.
“I couldn’t leave you here all by yourself with no one to take care of you.”
You gave a halfhearted smile.
“And you say you’re not a good man. I’m glad we’re friends…”
You closed your eyes, letting your head lull to the side. You were exhausted. Your pain was thankfully starting to dull just enough to let your mind slip into the realm of sleep. With someone watching over you, you felt like you could finally relax.
“Y/N?”
“Hmmm?”
“Would you like to lay down?”
“Yeah… that sounds nice.”
But you didn’t make a move to get up. Truthfully, you didn’t know if you had the strength. Every bone in your body ached and your back was the worst. All that vomiting just took it out of you. So you were pretty content to drift off here on the floor. You thought you had started dreaming as you heard Norman’s voice, practically whispering in your left ear.
“You don’t want to sleep here, my dear,” he said as he took the water bottle from your hand, “Come on. Can you stand?”
You slowly shook your head back and forth, eyes still closed. Norman was silent for a long moment.
“Would it be alright if I carried you then?”
“Mhmm? Yeah… that’s alright. You can hold me.”
You lazily lifted your arms and Norman chuckled.
“Alright, come on.”
Norman’s arms wrapped around you as your arms fell upon his shoulders. You were lifted from the floor, held bridal style, and only now did you realize- it wasn’t a dream. You smiled and pulled yourself closer, nestling yourself in the crook of Norman’s neck. You breathed in his scent in a way you had always wanted since the day you borrowed his shirt. Tightening your arms around him, you decided you never wanted to let go. You drifted through the air as Norman carried you to the other room.
“Y/N… you can let go now.”
You felt your bed beneath you but still refused to remove your arms from around his neck. In fact, you tighten your grip a little more.
“Y/N?”
Norman whispered your name and you smiled. You could feel the butterflies now and you loved the feeling. You didn’t want to let go because you knew the feeling would disappear the moment you did.
“Y/N.”
“Hmmm? Oh… I guess…”
You finally let go and flopped back onto your pillows with a huff.
“I’ll be in the other room if you need me,” Norman said, “Get some rest.”
You gave a tired smile, eyes still closed. Now comfortably in bed, you started to fully drift off. You felt Norman lean over you as he pulled your covers up to your shoulders. His cologne wafted over you one last time and you gave a drowsy sigh.
“Thank you, Norman.”
#norman osborn x reader#norman osborn#green goblin#spider man: no way home#i forgot my umbrella#sam raimi spider man#fanfiction#fluff#wholesome
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If you want to you could write some C! Dream being soft around reader?
Secluded Cabin's and Gentle Touches
♡Pairing: Dream x GN!Reader (with hints of platonic!GN!reader x Tommy and Tubbo)
♡Genre: Fluff
♡Format: Fanfiction
♡Summary: It's not uncommon for Tommy and Tubbo to bring people over to your place so you can help calm them down after a prank, but today they seemed to drag by a familiar face that you have yet to properly spend time with. Lucky for you, he seems to be longing to talk to you as well.
♡Au Setting: Au where the war never happens but tensions are still high.
"Get back here!"
Despite the voice ordering them to stop, Tommy and Tubbo continued to run like their lives depended on it, and to be fair, it kinda did in this situation. Wet hands stained in different coloured dyes served as proof of their crimes and a green hooded man wearing an awfully smudged looking mask makes it clear who their latest prank victim was.
"What were we fucking thinking!?" but a laugh at the end of his yelling as he dodges Dream's outstretched hand makes it clear that Tommy doesn't regret his life choices at all.
"I don't know!" Tubbo on the otherhand, was starting to regret his involvement in the prank. His legs were starting to ache and his chest began to burn as he slowly became exhausted. A wild chase like this isn't exactly new to them but Dream's persistence really makes it hard for a person to catch a breather between runs. "Tommy, where are we even going!?"
Tommy opened his mouth to respond but a trail of scattered lanterns and torches answers Tubbo's question for him. Tubbo lets out a knowing, "ooooh!" And uses whatever remaining energy he can to keep up with Tommy, knowing exactly what his friend had in mind.
In the distance, they can see you sitting on your porch, playing with a parrot you had managed to tame while out searching for cocoa beans. Relief washes over them when you lock eyes with them and start jogging over with your bird in tow, a worried expression evident on your face.
They're quick to hide behind you when they get close enough, clutching the back of your shirt while trying to catch their breaths to answer your questions as to who they were running from this time and why.
"Dream-" is all Tommy can manage to wheeze out before he's coughing up a lung and swearing again.
"Ah," honestly, after knowing the pair for a good few years now, just mentioning a name gives you a pretty good idea of the type of prank they pulled and the danger they could be in. Thankfully, Dream wasn't a major threat, to you at least.
"Alright, alright, go hide in the house quickly and don't come out until I tell you guys to. If I die, make sure to take care of the farm animals and bees for me."
"Bless you, (y/n)."
"Your sacrifices won't be in vain, we promise!"
You give them a joking salute and urge them to go inside quickly, informing them that you can hear Dream approaching closer. Once the boys were safely inside, you tried your best to look as natural as possible with the limited time you had to adjust yourself. When Dream arrives, you can see that he's just as tired as the boys are thanks to the chase, though his stance continues to be tense as he frantically looks around for them, fists clenched tight until his knuckles turned ghost white.
"Fuck, where did they run off to?"
"Not gonna give a stranger a kind hello after walking onto their lawn with murderous intent?" You and Dream weren't really strangers per say, you had to meet up with him when you moved into the server after all, but due to conflicting schedules and how often Tommy and Tubbo dragged you away whenever he tried to make conversation, you two didn't know each other all that well. That doesn't mean that you didn't want to try though.
When Dream realizes where he was and who he was talking, he's quick to adjust his mask and hoodie to make himself look somewhat... presentable, as presentable as he can look with sweat marks and a messed up mask at least.
'Why did those two have to run up to your house out of all places,' Dream mentally whines to himself, clearing his throat and giving you a single awkward wave as he walks up to you.
"Hey, (y/n). I didn't know you lived in this part of the server," that was a lie. Dream did know where you live, he knew where everyone did but it would be a little creepy to just put that information out there, wouldn't it?
"It'd be a little weird if I just started screaming out my address to random people on the streets, wouldn't it?" You try to joke, earning a little laugh from Dream.
"Okay, yeah, you got me there."
You pat an empty spot beside you on your porch step, inviting Dream over for a bit of rest and he accepts your offer gratefully, practically slumping beside you as he suddenly feels just how tired he is.
"Love the new look you gave your mask by the way," Dream groans at your teasing and pulls at his hoodie strings, hoping to cover his whole mask with his hood. He's glad you can't see his face right now because he can feel his cheeks practically burning at the fact that when he finally gets a chance to talk and get close to you it's when he's a sweating tired mess who looks like a wreck at best.
"I'm going to kill those two when I find them," he mumbles under his breath.
The slam that follows within your home could not have been more terribly timed.
"What was that?"
"Must be my wolves," you lied through your teeth, knowing damn well that your actual wolves were sleeping in your bedroom, "they learned how to open doors recently, I think they're messing around at the moment."
While he's distracted, staring at your window to check what's going on inside of your home, you're quick to read through your most recent private messages on your communicator.
Tommy: HE'S HERE!
Tommy: (Y/N), WHY AREN'T YOU TELLING HIM TO FUCK OFF!?
Tommy: Fuck this, we're hiding in the kitchen.
Tubbo: We're making a run for it through the back.
Tommy: We'll hide in your barn like runaway children.
Tubbo: Isn't that what we technically are right now?
Tommy: (y/n), we're making a fucking run for it if you don't answer us in 3 seconds.
Tommy: 3!
Tommy: 2!
Tubbo: We'RE OUT! I REPEAT, WE'RE OUT!
"Yup," you pop your P a little at the end, annoyed yet amused at the string of frantic messages still continuing to pop up on your communicator as they make their escape, "definitely my wolves causing all of that chaos."
Dream knows that you're lying from the way you read through your messages but he doesn't say a word about it, choosing instead to take this golden opportunity to get closer to you without worrying about anyone getting in the way.
"Not really how you thought the day would go, huh?"
You can't help but laugh and shake your head, "Not at all, I thought it was just going to be another boring day with my bird, but hey, I'm glad you showed up to make it a little more special."
"Really?" Dream hates how happy he sounds to hear you say that, but he'll beat himself up over it another time.
"It's not everyday you see Mr. WasTaken himself visiting your humble home, now is it?" Oh, or maybe he won't.
"I guess not, that really should change, shouldn't it?" You can hear the little grin in his voice as he realizes the game your playing.
"It really should, but a quick heads up would be good, unless you'd like to deal with said 'wolves' I mentioned earlier."
He chuckles and shakes his head, mentioning how he's more than aware that those two 'wolves' of yours would probably rip him apart if he ever visited you unannounced.
It isn't long before you invite Dream inside, offering to help clean his mask as an apology on the boys's behalf. He claims that he doesn't mind but he would rather not take his mask off in front of you when he hasn't gotten to know you all that well.
"You don't have to remove it if you feel uncomfortable, I'll just wipe away whatever I can with a cloth, but if you're still hesitant, I'd understand."
He takes a moment to consider your offer, trying to see if you have any other ulterior motives. It's not that he doesn't want to trust you, he does, but sometimes you just have to be a little extra cautious even with people you like. Sensing no ill intent on your part though, he relaxes himself once more and accepts your help, letting his hood finally loosen and fall back to ease your process.
Your actions are incredibly comforting to Dream who can't help himself from leaning into your touches every once in a while. He watches you with his fullest attention as you wipe away the mess on his mask with a damp cloth. He loves how focused you look while doing so, taking in every little quirk you may have while you concentrate. His little crush on you that he's harboured ever since he saw you running around the server can't help but grow every second you give him your attention.
There's a certain draw to you that Dream can't fight off no matter how hard he tries, you just manage to hold a certain power over him and that was evident by the fact that he completely lost interest in continuing his hunt for Tommy and Tubbo even after finding out that they were still most likely on your property. Dream was a persistent man, he was never one to simply drop something with no proper reason at all. There was just this appeal to you that he couldn't describe and he was desperate to find out what it was about you that made him act differently than he normally would.
"Okay then, that's the last of it," he has to stop himself from letting out a whine when you pull your hands away from his mask, he wants to say something to try to get you to continue on longer but decides against it, not wanting to seem desperate. His eyes don't leave you even after you pull away, watching you rinse off the dirty cloth before throwing it into what seemed to be a bin filled with laundry. When you return to sit by his side, he can't help but swallow a bit of his pride to rest his head on your shoulder. It's a big risk to take, but at least he has an excuse for his actions if he ever needs it.
"Tired, Dream?"
"Mhmm," he feels himself melt when you let your fingers run through his slightly sweat damp hair, clearly unphased by the state of it much, to his joy.
"You wanna rest here for a while? I'm sure you could get a good nap in before leaving."
"That depends, can I still use you as my pillow?"
"Not like I have anything else to do for the rest of the day, knock yourself out."
"Then if you'll excuse me," his head is quick to leave your shoulder to instead rest in your lap and the blissful sigh he lets out escapes his lips before he can even stop himself. You just feel so comfortable to him. "I'm gonna drift off, wake me up in an hour or so, will you?"
You let out a hum in response and it isn't long before you start to see Dream's body go slack, his breathing now steady and deep as he slowly falls asleep. It's quite endearing seeing Dream act so affectionately towards you, something you certainly didn't expect from a guy who carries himself with a subtle wave of authority, but you definitely weren't complaining as you continued to play with his hair once again.
Dream would never tell a single soul about it, but this was quiet possible the best sleep he's gotten in years, if he even tried to sleep at all to begin with. The thought to just slow down and relax is never really on his mind, his head always spinning with things he has to do. However, with you, he's glad to know that he can look to you for comfort from now on, something he now realizes is rather hard to find on the server. It pains him to know that he'll have to leave in just a few moments but for now, he'll take what he can get from you and maybe, if you let him, he'll be sure to return your sweet gestures tenfold one day.
A/N: Hello, everyone! I am so sorry for being absent recently, I know the writer's block excuse can only go so far but- yeah ^^' I'm so sorry again for everything and I'm sorry if this isn't what you were hoping for anon! Thank you so much for the rquest and feel free to request it again if you want me to remake this to hopefully suit what you wanted. Anyways, I hope you all have a good day and thank you so much for reading!
(Requests are open and anon is on!)
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The frat party | t.h.
Title: The frat party
Pairing: Frat boy!Tom Holland x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1823
Warnings: frat boy Tom, angst, nakedness (nothing sexual though, no smut in this chapter), mention of sex, implied smut, cliffhanger at the end, jealous Tom, language, OC Oliver, violence (one punch), blood, plot twists.
Summary: Tom and the reader met at a frat party, but a year later they broke up because of some reason. Now, rumor has it that the reader is dating one of Tom’s friends and he gets jealous.
A/N: Hello hello, I’m back! Have you seen Tom’s recent pics in Monaco?? He looked amazing! Anyway, I don’t know why, but I just had to write a fic with frat boy!Tom, so enjoy!
If you wanna be tagged in my Tom Holland fics, just let me know in my ask box! You can also find me on AO3 and Wattpad. Feedback is always appreciated by a writer!
Main Masterlist
Tom Holland Masterlist
Peter Parker Masterlist
Chapter 1
Break up with my ex girlfriend
Frat parties. Am I right? Worst part of college life. A lot of people drink to forget about their grades and how their lives went wrong, while someone’s just hoping to have some fun with them (if you know what I mean). For the first year, I hated them with passion, but it was before I met him. At a frat party. Oh, the irony! And then, frat parties were the only chance I had to actually talk to him. It didn’t take us long enough to start dating. I think that adults tell you fairy tales to make you grow up with a hope, the hope to find your real happy ending, your true love. Well, I wasn’t used to believe in them, but the year I spent with Tom… that was close to the definition of happy ending. The problem with happy endings? They don’t tell you what happens after them. And that’s because they’re a nightmare.
“Tell me that now or you’re not gonna find me in this bed tomorrow”, he says and there’s a part of me that wants to die right here and right now. I shake my head. I don’t want to do that. Not because I don’t feel anything for him, but I’m scared that this will complicate things between us and it’s the last thing I want. “Are you serious, Y/N? You really think that saying something like that during sex doesn’t count? Calling someone on the phone means something, even if you’re drunk as Hell. So tell me what you really feel about me right now or I swear, I’m out of this room. I’m out of this kind of weird relationship that’s going on between us for years,” Tom says and the veins on his arms draw a beautiful map on his body, in which the moles are cities and his eyes are volcanoes. They’re burning, unlike my skin, that is freezing because I’m not wearing anything at the moment. Except for my shame, perhaps. My insecurities, that never leave me. Even in front of Tom.
“You don’t mean that,” I try to say, my mouth dry. But he’s insanely angry. In another situation, it would be hot.
“I do, Y/N,” he replies. I swallow. His expression softens, like he’s in pain. He comes closer to me, brushing my cheeks with his hands. My eyes are full of tears. His words feel like a prayer on my skin. “Please, tell me”.
And even if I don’t wanna do that, my hands are tied. Even if that’s a lie. I remain in silence. One second after that, he’s gone. Tom always keeps his promises, after all.
2 months before
Harrison sat down with a strange look on his face. It only meant one thing for Tom: trouble. He sighed, throwing away the third cigarette of the day. Jacob raised an eyebrow, trying to get rid of the stench of smoke with one hand.
“I thought you wanted to quit smoking,” Jacob said.
“Relax, I only smoke before finals now,” Tom said. “What’s up, mate? Come on, talk”.
Harrison raised a corner of his lips in a smirk.
“Rumor has it, that Oliver’s got a girlfriend,” he said.
“No way!” Jacob exclaimed.
“Oh, fuck me,” Tom said, laying on the grass with his hands behind his neck, glancing at a couple of girls who were passing by.
“I haven’t said the best part yet, though,” Harrison continued. Jacob urged him to speak further. “He’s gonna throw a party for his birthday and he’ll introduce her to his friends. But since we’re his friends, I was wondering why I haven’t told us anything about this gal in weeks. So I played Sherlock Holmes for a couple of hours and I found out that… we actually know this girl,” he said.
“I bet she’s someone of the campus,” Tom joked, as if it was obvious.
“I bet she’s someone’s ex girlfriend,” Jacob replied.
Harrison remained quiet, but he was smiling.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Tom said, astonished, while sitting on the grass again.
“I won!” Jacob yelled.
“Who’s she? I hooked up with…”
“Ex girlfriend, Tom. It’s not some random girl you hooked up with. She’s someone you remember very well,” Harrison said.
“So we’re talking about me, uh? Well, let’s see… is it Janine? We lasted two weeks, I wouldn’t be mad about her,” he shrugged. Harrison swallowed.
“It’s someone you would be mad about,” Jacob guessed. “And there’s just one person that you would be mad about”.
Tom’s eyes widened at the realization.
“He’s fucking dead”.
Two days after that conversation, here they were: the three of them were laying with their backs on the wall like they were sustaining it from falling down. Tom had threatened Oliver with a Dare to explain, mate?, but his answer was just an I’m sorry Tom, but she’s just your ex. I don’t have to ask for your permission. Or does this mean that you’re still not over her? So, since Tom values too much his pride, he said that he was over her and that Oliver was right, he didn’t have to ask for his permission. Oliver apologized for not telling him that before and then walked away, leaving Tom to smoke the whole pack of cigarettes. Tom was watching Oliver talking with Elizabeth, one of your friends, when he saw you and Zendaya arrive at the party. In his opinion, you were stunning. You immediately caught his gaze. You just never failed to amaze him, even after a year. His heart ached at the view, but it ached even more when you greeted Oliver. You gave him a kiss on his cheek, clenching your hand in a fist. It seemed like you were uncomfortable. So, he came up with a plan to save you.
“Wait for me here,” he said to his friends, then he walked fast to reach you. “Hey mate, happy birthday!” Tom said to Oliver, who hugged him.
“Thanks, Tom. I think that you already know Y/N, Lizzie and Z,” he said and you smiled along with your friends, even if you looked more surprised than happy.
“Of course, I do,” Tom said, looking directly at you. You looked down. “Could I please talk to Y/N? We haven’t been in touch for quite some time and I’d like to catch up with her,” he asked.
“Sure!” Oliver said, while Zendaya seemed looking at you with a concerned expression. You winked at her.
Tom made you move away from Oliver by brushing your back, walking to the next exit. He lowered his voice in order to talk with you only, speaking to your hear: “You look ravishing, darling”.
He noticed that you closed your eyes for a very long second, but you didn’t say a word about that.
“Are you here to show that you still own me or something?”
“I don’t own you, darling. You’re absolutely free to do anything you like,” he said, lighting a cigarette outside the building.
“Z said you wanted to quit smoking,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows.
“I only smoke before finals”.
“Finals were yesterday,” you replied.
“Are we here to talk about me or you? I noticed that you were uncomfortable with Oliver, but I thought that you were his girlfriend. Wouldn’t it be weird?”
You smirked.
“Oh, now I get it. You’re jealous”.
“Nah, If I’d be jealous, you would know, trust me,” Tom said, with a playful tone.
“What would you do?” You asked, curiousity eating you alive. You wanted to know so bad if he still had feelings for you.
“Don’t play with fire, darling. You’re gonna burn your pretty hands, otherwise,” he replied, running a finger over his lip. Shivers ran through your spine, but you hoped that Tom didn’t notice it.
“Don’t try to seduce me, Holland. You’re not gonna win this time,” you said, chuckling. “And for the record, we’re not dating. He’s just insistent,” you explained.
Tom looked inside and saw Oliver staring at the two of you. An idea came up into his mind and he couldn’t quite get rid of it. It was smart, but also terrifying. It was very dangerous, yet he had to try.
“We could be in a fake relationship. It could fool everyone,” he proposed.
You turned to look at him, astonished.
“Even after what happened?”
Tom’s eyes were locked with yours, but his facial muscles didn’t move at all. If he still was hurt by the reason that made you two break up, he didn’t show it to you.
“He’s coming here,” he said instead, glancing at Oliver.
“Tom, this is insane,” you kept going. “You said you couldn’t forgive me after…”
It happened all too fast. All the lights went out at the same time. Tom's lips were on yours in an instant. Everything was on fire, every inch of your body. Every cell your flash was made of exploded like a dying supernova. A moment later, someone snatched him from your hands, leaving you in the cold.
Oliver hit him. Tom laughed, nervously, but then he grabbed the collar of Oliver’s shirt and slammed him against the wall, angrily. You pounced on Tom, trying to pull him away from Oliver. At first, Tom looked at you confused, thinking that you just wanted to keep Oliver safe from him, but your eyes told him another story: you prevented him to be kicked out from the campus.
“I told you, you’d know,” he said, while wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth, pretending to be the tough guy he wasn’t.
“Guys, I think we should leave,” Jacob said, while Harrison was taking Tom away from Oliver by his arm.
“I thought we were friends, Tom,” Oliver said, an inch of hurting in his voice tone.
“That was before you came after the only thing I care about,” he said harshly. And then, he left with Harrison and Jacob.
That night, while Tom was cleaning himself of blood in the bathroom, Jacob was staring at him worried, while standing with one arm against the door jamb.
“You never told me what happened, you know, with Y/N last year. Haz doesn’t want to tell me, he thinks it’s up to you. You said that you were over her, but I don’t think you are, since what you did tonight,” he said. Tom kept wiping away the blood from his shirt, ignoring Jacob’s words. “Why have you broken up with her, Tom? It seems pretty obvious that you’re still in love with her”.
Tom gulped, while looking at himself in the mirror. He had tried to bury all of his memories deep down, but it seemed that now the demons wanted to come back and play with him once again. Maybe it had finally come the time to confront them.
When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse: “Because she cheated on me”.
Read chapter 2 here!
#tom holland x reader#tom holland x y/n#tom holland x you#tom holland smut#frat boy tom holland fanfiction#frat boy tom holland#fratboy!tom holland#frat boy tom holland x reader#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland fanfic#tom holland ff#tom holland imagine#tom holland headcanon#tom holland hc#erule's masterlist#peter parker x reader#tom holland
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i’d love to know your thoughts on ear-eating! it sounds weird but it’s something i’ve recently taken an interest in, mostly because of this one ASMR youtuber kirinyan.. my ears are kind of sensitive and the thought of a cute boy wanting to have his tongue in my ear despite it being “gross” is really hot to me 😭 i guess it just makes me feel desired. maybe it’s the sort of perverted thing soobin would be into? what do you think! <3
yooooo, kirinyan!!! i love him, his videos are so good~ i’ve actually been thinking a lot about asmr-inspired smut and whether that might be too weird, so this was bizarrely timely! 😂🥴🥰 (if you'd be interested in something that's sorta adjacent but is maybe a little more out there, i’ve been watching ASMR ALICE a lot lately—they do ear massage videos with silicone ears that are, uhhhhh, visually pretty suggestive sometimes👂🏽👀 quick warning, tho—i'm linking to a playlist i made of their videos because they also do piercing videos, please be mindful of that if you decide to head to their channel 🙈)
honestly, i think Soobin's just prone to random and hyper-specific fixations when he’s into someone, so he could for sure be into your ears! all it would really take is drawing his attention to them—you showing off a new piercing, or asking him to help fasten an earring that's come loose, or even just him noticing that your ears go pink when you’re embarrassed or that you have a habit of tucking your hair behind your ear when you’re nervous.
once he's noticed how lovely they are, he can’t stop obsessing over your ears—thinks about tracing his fingers along the delicate whorls and curves, pressing soft kisses in the little hollow hiding behind your ear, catching your soft lobe between his teeth and digging in just a little. he fantasizes about getting you new earrings or ear cuffs just so he can help you put then on, but never quite has the courage to go through with it. he definitely watches videos of ear cleaning and ear massages and thinks about you, for a wild minute he even entertains the idea of starting his own channel just so he can ask you to help him with it—any excuse to get near your pretty little ears.
if Soobin somehow finds out you’re into ear-licking audios, he’ll lose it. he'll look up the videos/channels you listen to if he can, study them and try to figure out what it is about them specifically that you like. every time he sees you wearing headphones, he’ll be wondering if you’re shamelessly listening to one of them in public, wondering if you’re thinking about your ears being fucked by someone’s tongue and getting wet for it right at that moment, and it drives him fucking wild. that feral feeling makes him bold—now that he knows you like that sort of thing, he’ll start trying to tease you with it. imagine him playfully pinching your ears when he teases you, brushing his fingertips over them under the pretense of getting something out of your hair, leaning in close to whisper right into your ear and watching you shiver at the feeling of his breath along your skin.
if he can get you flustered enough, if he thinks you actually really want it, he might even work up the courage to make a direct move—caging you in and leaning down to brush his lips along the shell of your ear, nose nudging your temple as he asks if you’ve been listening to anything fun lately. he won’t be able to resist the urge to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you back into him, one hand sliding up your neck to feel up the ear he isn’t whispering into, because it’s not fair to leave one neglected.
once Soobin actually has you in his arms, boldness just turns to desperation—with the object of his obsession so close, he’ll confess that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about your ears, about touching and kissing and licking them, about dipping his tongue into a place he knows it’s not meant to go and tasting you. he'll keep you in his lap for ages, pressing butterfly kisses along your ears, tracing his tongue along the helix of your ear before bringing it down to curl into your conch, flicking it just past your tragus. he doesn't even care about getting off, it's enough just getting to hear you moan for him. (he's definitely getting off while he does it, though.)
Soobin's fixation with eating out your ears would be just like his obsession with going down on you, he loves getting to focus on you completely, loves seeing and hearing and feeling you falling apart for him. if you let him, he'll really wanna see how desperate he can get you with just his lips and tongue against your ears—see if he can get you to whine and beg for him, see if he can get you grinding against his thigh because you need him so badly. he'll slide a hand down the front of your underwear just to see how wet you get, mimic the movement of his tongue in your ear with his fingers sliding against your dripping folds. if you let Soobin have his way, you'll be cumming around his fingers buried inside of you, with his tongue curled hot and wet inside your ear.
tagging: @gyulfriend 💕, @jensdior
#soobin smut#txt smut#mail corner 📬#not to cheat on soobs in the tags of his own post#but like#i've definitely been thinking about adorable bf hongjoong losing his virginity to you#then turning the tables#and prying every weird kink you've ever had out of your brainpan#and him finding out you get turned on by freaky asmr ear videos#was definitely one of those#txt👾#also oops#atz🏴☠️#i said this was coming soon but i didn't think it was gonna be this soon 😂#i brought up kirinyan's channel again and i was ~inspired~#this comes out to more than seven hundred words what the fuck
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"the way you flirt is shameful." Klavier (klapollo) and ema ?
"short fics," I said, like a liar.
anyway please enjoy almost 2k of Klapollo Nonsense.
Send me a random line of dialogue and some characters, and I'll write a short fic!
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Another grey morning, another lukewarm cup of coffee. Apollo pulls his coat a little tighter around him, scowling at nothing in particular. It’s just his luck, isn’t it, that this week’s defendant is a fisherman, accused of murdering their boat’s captain out on the docks.
It’s also just his luck that it’s March, and he hadn’t even thought anyone would be out on the water this early in the year. Shows how much he knows about the fishing industry.
He jumps when an arm lands around his shoulders, and has to fight to keep his awful beverage from sloshing entirely out of its styrofoam cup. With an irritated huff, Apollo turns to reprimand his unexpected company, but the words die in his throat when he looks over to see Klavier Gavin—and, more specifically, the woolly hat perched on his head. It appears to be lovingly hand-knitted, in a shade of purple he’d swear he’d seen in scraps of wool lying around the office in previous weeks. It also happens to be emblazoned with Gavin’s ridiculous logo, the angular G as distinctive as ever.
“Uh…” he says instead, eyebrow raised in what he hopes is a skeptical, yet bewildered expression. He’s not sure he succeeds with that, though, considering the way Gavin’s casual smile crooks up at the edges into a more genuine grin.
“Ja, Herr Forehead? How goes the investigation?” Lazy curls of steam rise from the stainless steel travel mug clasped in his hand, dissipating into the pervasive fog that’s blanketing the docks. Typical. Apollo considers asking him if he’d like to swap drinks.
“Cold. Damp. And is this a good time to mention that I’m allergic to shellfish? I think that’s probably an important detail, considering….this.” he replies, poking an errant mussel with the point of his dress shoe. His dress shoe that he’s for some reason wearing to a crime scene out by the harbour, because Apollo has misplaced ideas of professionalism, apparently.
“Ach, it’s not that bad! For one, you have my company to brighten up your day! And for another thing...I have news for you about the case.”
“Really. And it’s not just going to be something that you’ll immediately rescind in court tomorrow?”
“HerrForehead, what kind of prosecutor do you take me for? We’re on the same side, you know—both seeking the truth.”
“That’s cheesy as anything.”
“But correct! Anyway. FräuleinSkye has just uncovered something tangled around one of the fishing lines on the boat, and she’s attempting to piece it back together. If you hurry, you might get a glimpse before it goes straight into the evidence dossier.”
Apollo hmms, considering. He’s not sure he wants to just take Klavier’s tip-off; it could be seen as collusion under some circumstances. But he’s really not accomplishing anything on his own, and any new evidence could help him prove Annette Sloop’s innocence.
He also realizes, belatedly, that Klavier still has his arm around his shoulders, and that he’s been unconsciously leaning into the warmth of the taller man’s down jacket.
“Okay, sure—it’s gotta be better than anything I can find here,” Apollo decides, and tries to subtly extricate himself from Klavier’s grasp without drawing attention to the fact that he’s actually found some kind of comfort in their proximity, that he’s really not particularly enthusiastic about losing his human space-heater.
Luckily, Klavier realizes that he’ll have to grant Apollo his freedom if he wants the shorter man to be able to take advantage of his newly-gained intel, and drops his arm back to his own side. Apollo stifles a shiver as the cool, damp air rushes back against him, clinging to his skin with a pervasive chill.
He’d assumed that Klavier had business to take care of on the dock, so the fact that the prosecutor follows him as he boards the fishing boat takes him by surprise. What also takes him by surprise is the intensity of the fishy aroma around the vessel, something that Apollo really should have considered as a factor beforehand. He wrinkles his nose and tries to breathe shallowly—and when that doesn’t work out, he buries his nose in the collar of his jacket.
And that brings with it its own set of problems, because somehow the short amount of time his jacket was in contact with Klavier’s own was enough to allow the other man’s sandalwood cologne to seep into the thin fabric. Apollo wishes this wasn’t his life. Isn’t this the kind of stuff teenagers write about?
Luckily, his panicking is cut short by Ema Skye clearing her throat from the other end of the deck, midway through spreading fabric scraps onto a plastic folding table. She appears decidedly unimpressed, but waves them over.
“Justice. I take it you were informed of the recent developments by the fop here?” she remarks, as disinterestedly as possible for someone who’s practically vibrating with the excitement of being able to do something actually forensically significant.
“Er...yeah, Klavier told me that you’d found something?” Apollo replies, trying to look as though he understands more of the situation than he actually does. He thinks he pulls it off. If not, Ema doesn’t comment on it.
Klavier, however, smiles impossibly wide at Apollo’s words, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s because he’d called the man by his first name, as opposed to his more professional title. A slip of the tongue, nothing more! And yet…
If it’d get a reaction like that, Apollo might start using Klavier’s first name significantly more often.
“Oh, come on, do neither of you actually care about this T-shirt I found? This apparently-bloodstainedT-shirt?” Ema taps her foot against the plank wood of the ship’s deck. Apollo breaks out of his thoughts with just about enough time to look marginally interested in the new evidence—which he hopes is convincing.
And it’s not that he doesn’t want to solve the murder! It’s really just that—well, Klavier is just there, being distracting, like he always is—except it’s worse, recently, somehow. Apollo swears he used to be able to spend time focusing on other things, that he wasn’t always this preoccupied with what the prosecutor was doing, where he was standing, if he was looking at--
“Oh, for God’s sake. The way you flirt is shameful,” Ema says, entirely exasperated. She also seems to be looking at Apollo, for some reason.
“Are you talking to me?” he asks, confused. The detective rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically, visibly resisting the urge to throw up her hands.
“You, him, both of you! This used to be almost funny, you know, watching Gavin be all glimmerous in your direction and seeing you shut him down. But recently you’ve been playing into it and—you know what? I’m done! You don’t get to listen to my stunning forensic breakthroughs until you’ve sorted your shit out, because I just can’t be doing with this. It’s ridiculous. Why can’t you just act like adults?”
The outburst is followed by Ema Skye whirling around, the sensible shoes she’s wearing clacking against the ship’s deck. Halfway to the door to the crew’s quarters, she remembers that she’s left all her forensic materials spread out next to where Klavier and Apollo are standing, and backtracks with increasingly evident frustration.
“You know what? I’m not leaving! You two—off my ship!Go figure yourselves out, and I won’t tell you about this case-changing evidence until you’ve stopped acting like this.”
Apollo’s a little taken-aback—not the least because he doesn’t think that he’s been doing any flirting, especially not with Klavier. He’s been hiding his feelings far too well for that—right?
Klavier looks at him and shrugs, motioning with his head that they should retreat the way they’d arrived. It’s not necessarily the most dignified thing, climbing off a boat in shame after being reprimanded by the detective on the case.
Once they’re back on “solid” ground (as solid as one can call a fishing boat’s dock, anyway), Apollo turns to Klavier.
“So, what was that about? I’ve never seen her that angry.”
Interestingly enough, color rises to Klavier’s cheeks. “Well...I think that, perhaps, she’s...misinterpreting the situation?”
And if Klavier’s strange statement hadn’t been enough to tip Apollo off that maybe something strange is going on here, there’s the familiar pinch of warm metal against his left wrist, his bracelet constricting at the taller man’s fib.
And—they know each other well enough, by this point, that all Apollo has to do is level an unimpressed stare in the prosecutor’s direction, and deadpan “Klavier” with all the air of a man who is taking no bullshit for an answer, for him to deflate and give up, shoving a hand in his back pocket awkwardly.
“Ugh. Okay. Erm. So, HerrForehead, this wasn’t...exactly...unprovoked. It’s possible that FräuleinSkye has been on the receiving end of many conversations about how I would like to….uh…”
It’s quite something, seeing Klavier at a loss for words. Apollo hadn’t thought that the former rockstar could look as awkward as he does now, the hand not trapped in his pocket fiddling with a loose strand of his hair.
He really, really tries not to think about how endearing it is.
Klavier seems to have reached a point, however, where he’s just decided to say things and worry about the consequences later. So Apollo’s contemplations are brought to a screeching halt when the man sighs, flips his hair, and stares at him straight-on, enunciating with perfect clarity:
“Apollo Justice, would you like to go out with me? On a date? Because I must say, I’ve been trying to find the best way to ask you for a while now, but unfortunately all I’ve succeeded in doing is, apparently, annoying the FräuleinDetective until not even Snackoos are a valid enough weapon.”
And—this isn’t the setting Apollo had pictured, in his often-hastily-repressed daydreams about Klavier asking him out. For one, he’d not quite imagined the quantity of fish, or the less-than-steady footing. But Klavier looks so earnest about his request, and Apollo can’t deny the way his heart’s skipped a beat, the way he’s almost petrified to say anything just in case this isn’t real—and so, he takes a deep breath, steps forward, and twines his fingers with Klavier’s.
“You know what? I’d love to. I’ll go anywhere you’d like—with the exception of a sushi restaurant” Apollo smiles, hesitantly at first, and then more genuinely as he sees the softly disbelieving expression on Klavier’s face.
“Really?” the prosecutor asks, and isn’t that incredible—that Klavier Gavin had been worried about being turned down. Apollo can’t quite believe it himself, yet.
“Yeah, really,” he says, smiling up at Klavier, who beams down at him in return. He feels the other man squeeze his hand briefly, and can’t quite contain the impulse to lean in closer to him, consciously this time, sharing both warmth and physical contact in a meaningful way.
When they return to the fishing vessel, Ema takes one look at the two of them and narrows her eyes, proceeding to mime nausea at the way they’re still holding hands.
However, she does follow through on her promise—and by the time they’re ready to leave the crime scene, both Klavier and Apollo are fairly certain of the next day’s trial’s outcome—as well as of the location of their post-trial dinner date.
#lucy's thoughts#my writing#klapollo#thank you for the prompt!!#mogoliz#ask#asks#ask game#sorry these are taking me ages!!#you might have noticed that they keep getting away from me#also i am going to be on an island for five days starting tomorrow#so i will be very slow in answering the other two i've got sitting in my inbox#just know i am getting around to them!!#i will just have to write them out on paper rather than on a laptop#and then type them up later
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Hi! Can I ask an ikevamp request where the boys find MC's sketchbook and is filled with drawings and doodles of them? If all of the suitors is to much, then just do for Jean, Will, Theo, Mozart, Leo and Comte. Have a nice day! ^^
Bruh this is a genius idea @jeanstan . First of all thanks so much for this request and second of all of coarse I will do all the suitors. Why? Because I’m awesome. No I’m kidding, I’m literally the most clumsy, airheaded person on this planet. Think brain fried Kaminari energy. Also I’m really sorry this took this long. Anywhooo let’s get into it shall we. Tags: @nad-zeta
Ilevamp suitors finding mc’s sketchbook
Comte
you where just chilling in his armchair and doodling him when sleep over took you and fell asleep
being the gentleman he is he picked you up and set you down on his bed tucking you in nicely
then he noticed your sketchbook on the armchair
not even mr. Perfect-guy can resist tacking a little peek at it
so he just looked at the page that was already open
an there he saw a pretty good drawing of him
Comte to his brain: take a peek you said. it will be fine you said. why are you looking through it. you said.
yup he ended up going through your entire sketchbook
he then wrote a little thank you next to your most recent drawing and set it next to you.
when you saw his little note you blushed, but at least he liked it
Leonardo da sleepy
you where both just sitting in the library
you got a bit hungry so you left to get a snack but you accidentally left your notebook there
you know this guy has a thirst for knowledge and that includes figuring out what’s in your notebook
he will pick it up and flip it open expecting to see notes or random drawings
nope nope he sees a bunch of drawings of him with notes like * damn that smile owns my heart* or * UUUUUUH why is he so annoyingly adorable*
This guy has the biggest smirk plastered on his face. when you come back into the room
“ I didn’t know I was annoyingly adorable Cara mia”
cue you turning tomato red
Napoleon
you where sparring ( or where watching the boys spar whatever fits)
after a few rounds you decided to get a drink and offered to bring drinks for the boys too
Jean excused himself and went to the bathroom and Leon was left alone
now your sketchbook was already just on the ground next to your hoodie
he didn’t touch it ‘cause he’s nice, but now..
he decided to take a peek
and he saw a sketch of him sparring
he flipped through it and found more pictures
him sleeping, him laughing, him teaching the kids the best thing that would describe him in this moment that meme: mha heart mah soul
and you catch him with the notebook in his hands
he just walks up to you and hugs you
Isaac
little bean
he stumbles across it by accident, literally stumbles
you dropped it and he tripped on it
he’s like the f is this?
he picks it up and opens it
oh my Lord
he’s as red as an apple ( pun intended😏)
there are a bunch of doodles of him some where he’s holding Harry, some where it’s only him looking through his telescope or just off into the distance
you: Hey Isaac have you seen my...
Isaac: no I haven’t seen the notebook, idk about a notebook, what is a notebook even
poor boy
you just hug him and reassure him you’re not mad, when he mumbles an apology
Jean
precious bean yes Isaac, Jean and Vincent are all beans. COME @ ME
so you carried that notebook around everywhere you went and while he is not as attentive as Arthur he still noticed
so when you left your notebook in his bedroom after bringing him breakfast he couldn’t resist the urge to take a peek
when he sees a bunch of drawing of him he’s..torn
on one hand he’s moved and is actually happy that you drew him on the other he doesn’t understand why you would want to draw someone as impure as him akgkgakgskgfau LOVE HIM PLS
when you come back into the room you panic a little ‘cause he’s staring at it with a blank expression
but then he apologizes and your panic melt away
he ask you why you drew him and you if play the “because I love you” card he will be shocked and happy and confused and surprised...( the list is so long A decided it would be best to just ad an etc. over here)
you hug him and reassure him he is important and you love him
Arthur
ok so he knew that the sketchbook was important to you right of the bat
being the annoying sweet person he is he decides to pester you more then ever
“ Whatcha got there Luv?” “It’s my notebook” “Can I see what’s inside” *flashes a severely annoyed look* “Arthur this is the 7th time today and i have the same answer. No.” “ Oh come on doll it’s just a peak” “It is closed for a REASON!”
Yeah you might have snapped at him a little but his ho guy ain’t giving up
so of coarse when you leave your notebook in his room he will act like he didn’t notice until you leave and then he will scramble out of his chair and nab the notebook
he opens it expecting a diary or just a bunch of notes only to come face to face with a bunch of pictures of him
he’ll raise an eyebrow and keep looking until he finds a very beautiful and realistic drawing of him sleeping with Vic and he looses his shit
he’ll run to you and pull you back into the room to cuddle and tell you how much he loves you no he’s definitely not crying
you don’t get what’s happening until he tells you he saw your drawing and you will turn slightly pink but honestly you just can’t be mad
Mozart
ok so we all know that when he finds this notebook he’ll be stone-faced
you ain’t getting no type of emotion out of this tsuntsun
that is until he’s in public
once he’s in his room oh boy
at first it’s just a hint of a smile, but it gets bigger and bigger until he’s smiling like a dork as he inspects your drawings
he’ll never admit it but the fact that you drew him really warmed his icy heart
he even finds one where he’s by a Christmas tree smiling and a little note next to it saying “I’ll make him smile like this one day”
he closes the book and puts on his stone face again and leaves his room
in the corridor he runs into you
“ Hey, Wolf?” “What do you want.” “Isn’t that my notebook?” “Yes it is.” “So why do you have it?” “....Inspiration.”
yup now he has that notebook with him on the piano and only let’s you get it back if you want to doddle in it some more
Theo
you where cooking in the kitchen, whipping up some pancakes for the brothers
Theo came in to complain that there wasn’t enough syrup on his pancake and you flashed him a death glare and told him to get some from the cupboard
as he grumbles to himself h notices your sketchbook on the counter
and he proceeds to open it and go through it
he sees a bunch of pretty decent drawings of him and he’s surprised
he’ll act all tough but he’s really happy
“ Oi, Hondjie! What is this?” he shows you your most recent sketch. The one where he’s walking King with a faint smile on his lips.
you instantly go bright red
“ Put that down! You where not supposed to see that! There not good just put it down”
he’ll sigh and pull you into a hug
“ I like it”
Vincent
smol bean
you left it in his room and he just wanted to take a peek
and he opened it up and saw a punch of sketches of him
they even had notes like “uhh stop moving you hand” or “how can someone be this pure”
he’s moved
will go and find you and apologize for looking in your notebook and will tell you how cute your drawings are
all in all he’s a sweet little angel but like who expected anything else
Dazai
funny how he can’t remember your name but can remember exactly were you hide the sketchbook when you can’t take it with you
yup this guy just went and took it
he has no shame
he flicked trough it and smiled to himself
the drawings where adorable and funny and he loved it
you strait up walk in on him with the sketchbook and he just smiled at you
you turn pink trying to explain why you drew them
buuuut he just twirls you around and pules you into his lap smiling and you go over the drawing together recalling happy memories
Sebastian
did somebody say Sebastian appreciation hours
You can’t really hide anything from Sebas can you
you went out to get groceries and he was cleaning up around the mansion
you had left your notebook tucked behind one of the library shelves and as he was dusting he found it
he opened it not knowing it was your notebook
he realized soon enough though
he just starred at the pages full of drawings of him
you waked in and he just calmly put the notebook down
he asks why you drew him and you turn pink
as you try to formulate a coherent response he sighs and makes his way to you
he gently flicks your forehead and smiles
“I never said I didn’t like them”
Will
ok so lets talk about our dear yandere boy Will
you hang out a lot at his villa
usually you are accompanied by Vincent
but today he remembered he had a painting to finish and left
you offered to walk him to the gate and he gladly accepted
however you forgot your sketchbook on the dining table
William instantly noticed this and couldn’t help but take a peek
he’s shooketh
the drawing are so cute he really likes them
you come in and he smiles at you
your kind of embarrassed because 1 you didn’t want him to see that and 2 he asked you if you could draw in front of him
“ The way thou hand moves across this paper mesmerizes me”
you turn bright red but your happy he likes it
#Ikemen Vampire#cybird ikemen#ikemen vampire mozart#ikemen vampire theo#ikemen vampire leonardo#ikemen vampire le comte#ikemen vampire comte#ikemen vampire vincent#ikemen vampire arthur#ikemen vampire jean#ikemen vampire shakespeare#ikemen vampire william#ikemen vampire sebastian#ikemen vampire dazai#ikemen vampire isaac#ikemen vampire napoleo#ikemen vampire fic#ikemen vampire fanfiction#ikemen vampire fanfic#ikemen vampire hcs#ikemen vampire headcanons
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When Words Fail
In which the Maitlands notice you are refusing to talk to them as of late
When I tell y’all this is one of my favorite pieces to reread when I need to c r y
MAITLANDS > BEETLEJUICE (sorry not sorry)
Also, if you are Adam or Barbara Maitlands, please contact me. I have some adoption papers for you to sign.
The Maitlands were confused.
When you and your younger sister Lydia Deetz discovered that the house was haunted by two friendly ghosts, you two were ecstatic. It was something your mother would’ve loved to see, and Adam and Barbara Maitland just gave off this warm and friendly vibe that was welcoming and infectious. Whereas Lydia saw them as an opportunity to get the Deetz family back to New York, you saw the Maitlands as they were: a couple who were kind, caring, middle-class, suburban, and white. They were just a regular couple, minus the whole being dead thing.
The Maitlands, in your opinion, were the most suitable people to be parents, and during the whole Beetlejuice incident, your bond with them increased. They kept you safe from the demon’s antics, making sure no harm befell you as his anger festered into rage when your little sister jumped into a portal to the Netherworld. They refused to allow you to offer yourself in Lydia’s place (which concerned you to the extreme, she was your little sister and it was your sole duty to keep her from harm), instead keeping you hidden from his sight.
Over the course of the next few months after the fake marriage and the murder of Beetlejuice, your bond with the Maitlands undeniably grew stronger. On nights you were stressed out, you found yourself creeping into the attic to have calming conversations with the ghosts. On the days you were upset with your father or Delia, sometimes even Lydia, you dismissed yourself from your current activity to join Adam in a game of checkers or Barbara with a classic game of Go Fish. When dinner conversations went haywire, you’d make up an excuse to leave the table and headed to the attic to read a random book with the Maitlands (Adam would read to you and Barbara would let you rest your head on her legs as she ran her fingers soothingly through your hair).
And of course, if you didn’t get enough to eat during dinner, Barbara and Adam would sneak along with you into the kitchen for midnight snacks that would surely stuff you so that you wouldn’t go hungry.
But for the last two weeks, the Maitlands noticed your appearance in their part of the house slowly disappearing. On a scheduled game night, you didn’t show up. You apologized the next morning and kept the chit-chat to a minimum. Not wanting to seem creepy and intrude on your privacy, the deceased couple tried their best to stay out of your business, but always struck up a conversation with you whenever they could. They missed having your normal long talks about whatever came to mind, the subject always switching just to keep the three of you talking.
It took them awhile, but Adam was the first to finally catch on to what you were doing. He suggested the idea of you avoiding them on purpose to Barbara, and her eyes widened. She thought you were comfortable with Adam and herself, that you were just avoiding conversation because you couldn’t seem to hold onto one in the recent days. Barbara never took into consideration that you might’ve been avoiding them purposefully and the thought struck right through her heart.
Just to see if their little theory was true, the Maitlands took their seats at the dinner table one night, after being offered to join the Deetz for a family dinner by Lydia. The deceased couple chatted quietly with the Deetzes, short bursts of laughter and chuckles here and there throughout the whole dinner. The whole time, though, Barbara noticed that your chair remained empty.
“Where’s Y/N?” the blonde ghost asked the living family. Everything went quiet, and Barbara believed she was onto something.
“They haven't been leaving their room recently,” Lydia broke the uncomfortable silence with her answer. She stabbed the spaghetti that was on her plate with her fork, twirling it in her hand mindlessly. “If they didn’t answer their phone when I texted them, I would’ve thought them to be dead.”
“Lydia!” Both Charles and Delia scolded the gothy teenager. She sat up straight and shrugged.
“It’s not like I’m wrong!” Lydia argued, turning to face her father and step-mother.
Before they could witness the argument between the adults and their child, Adam and Barbara quietly excused themselves from the dinner table. They marched silently up the stairs to the attic, shutting the door behind them softly. Immediately, the two began pacing.
So, yes, the Maitlands had never been more confused in their afterlives.
And yes, having a bio-exorcist tormenting them and then making sexual innuendos was something they were still confused about, but the burning question of why you would be avoiding them was top of their list.
“Did we do something wrong?” Adam voiced the idea. Barbara stopped her pacing, looking up to meet her husband’s gaze.
“They would tell us if we did something,” Barbara countered. Slowly, though, the dark thought wormed itself into her head. She took a hesitant step towards Adam. “They would, right?”
Adam closed the distance between them, taking her hands in his. “Of course they would, honey. I’m just spitballing ideas here.” He rubbed his thumbs over the back of Barbara’s hands as a soothing gesture, and the blonde nodded.
“You’re right,” she mumbled. “Maybe they are just-”
A soft thump from the room underneath the attic was heard, and the Maitlands jumped, breaking their hold on each other. Both of their eyes widened as they recalled that your room was under their space, and a dark thought struck them both. After all, if Lydia was suicidal once, who was to say you weren’t. Adam and Barbara scrambled towards the attic door, practically ripping it off of its hinges as they hurried down the stairs.
When they got to your room, they didn’t know what they were expecting to find. They definitely didn’t expect to find you hunched over your desk, a clenched fist on the top of the wooden piece of furniture. You had earbuds in, blasting music to muffle all outside noises, and a tear rolled down your cheek before landing on the piece of sketch paper you were currently drawing on. Your eyes were puffy from crying, and the small trash can near the side of the desk was practically filled to the brim with dirty tissues and crumpled up pieces of paper. Barbara covered her mouth with a hand, suddenly feeling the urge to cry.
Here you were, vulnerable to the world, and the Maitlands never knew.
Before Adam could protest about invading your personal space, Barbara walked over to where you were sitting and knelt beside you. She placed a cold hand on your shoulder and you jumped, moving yourself away from the hand and ripping the earbuds out of your ears. Your eyes were blurry from crying and you wiped away the tears with the back of your hands, trying to stop yourself from letting out muffled hiccups. However, your body didn’t comply, and a new stream of tears were flowing down your cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” you apologized through sobs, wrapping your arms around your torso. Adam entered the room as Barbara walked over to you and embraced you into a loving hug, and you broke down once again. Another ‘I’m sorry’ left your sore throat as you wrapped your arms around Barbara, holding onto the female specter as much as you could. She shushed your apologies, instead rubbing her a hand in gentle circles on your back, hoping to calm you down.
God, you thought. This is embarrassing. You didn’t expect anyone to actually come check up on you, and having the Maitlands do it made you even more emotional. You didn’t remember how long you’ve been avoiding your favorite deceased couple. The only thing you could recall was the one-year anniversary of your mother’s death, and things only seemed to go downhill.
Once your sobs had turned to occasional sniffles, Barbara guided you over to your bed, and the two of you took a seat on the side. Adam sat on the other side of you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around your body, leaning his head on top of yours, and Barbara placed her hand overtop of yours.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled once more.
“What for, kiddo?” Adam asked you.
“For avoiding you guys,” you answered. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. It just sort of happened.” You pulled away from Adam and stared at the floor. “I’ve been trying to come out and talk to you guys, but I guess you just remind me so much of my mother. Her one-year anniversary passed a while ago and I guess I fell into a pit without meaning too. I’m sorry-”
Barbara turned so that she was facing you and placed a finger on your lips. “Slow down, Y/N. You don’t need to tell us anymore if you don’t want to.” She removed her finger and placed her hand on your cheek, rubbing her thumb in a circular motion. “Just know that Adam and I will always be here for you, hun, okay?” You nodded, closing your eyes as the blonde brushed away a few stray tears.
“I, uh, have something for you guys.” You stood up from the bed and grabbed your sketchbook from the desk, flicking through some of the pages until you landed on the one you wanted to present to the Maitlands. You sat back down and both of them leaned over your shoulder with curiosity, and you were greeted with gasps.
You don’t recall when you drew the sketch, but it was your favorite one that was based off of a photo that Lydia had sent you one night. Barbara and Adam sat on both ends of the couch, with you stretched across it in the middle. You were asleep, as was Adam with his reading glasses practically dangling off of his nose, and Barbara was laughing, running her fingers through your hair as Lydia took the picture. Underneath it in cursive you had written a Disney quote that stuck in your mind.
Ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind. Or forgotten.
Two pairs of arms wrapped around you tightly, and you jumped from the unexpected contact.
“Y/N,” Barbara cooed, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “That’s absolutely adorable!”
“We definitely are a family, kiddo.” He looked at the sketch once again, and pointed out the glasses on his face. “Also, you’re telling me I looked like that when I sleep?” You and Barbara chuckled, and you nudged him with your shoulder.
“I’m surprised I was able to sleep with how loud you snore,” you teased, and Adam scoffed, pushing you gently into Barbara. The laughter and chuckling eventually died down, and you all laid back on your bed, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars you had decorated your ceiling with. There was a comfortable silence, and you smiled.
“Hey guys?” The Maitlands hummed, letting you know that they were listening. “Thank you for being there for me.” Adam grabbed one of your hands, Barbara doing the same, and both of them gave you a gentle squeeze.
“Of course, Y/N.”
“Anything for you, kiddo. You should know this by now.”
“I love you guys,” you murmured quietly. And with the way they each squeezed your hand, you took it that they heard you.
“We love you too, kiddo. We love you too.”
#beetlejuice#adam maitland#lydia deetz#barbara maitland#beetlejuice the musical#the maitlands#beetlejuice fanfic#the maitlands x reader#beetlejuice x reader#beetlejuice broadway#bjtmtmtm#bjtm
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Levi's reaction to MC sitting on his lap and trying to ride his thigh discreetly?
CW: thigh riding, a little bit of exhibitionism, sexual context in public places
This is a mess but when are any of my fics not a mess
Also I know this isn’t really how Levi acts but I was having a confident Levi moment
Levi’s reaction to: GN!MC thigh riding him
Levi was sitting in the couch, legs spread. He was in between Mammon and Satan, scrolling through his D.D.D. as if he couldn’t care less about whatever was being discussed that day. Lucifer was already standing, as he’d do whenever he was getting too worked up over small things, and he all but hisses at you, Belphegor and Beelzebub as you enter the living room.
“Sorry,” Beelzebub says as he plops down onto the armchair nearest to the center table, where a bunch of small cucumber sandwiches rested upon a plate. “Belphie wasn’t waking up so I asked MC for help.”
Belphegor drops next to him on the floor, eyes meeting Lucifer’s. “It’s too early for this shit.” He announces, “Also, fuck you.” He closes his eyes, resting his head on the arm of the chair, ready to lull back to sleep.
Lucifer ignores him, an annoyed sigh escaping his lips. “It’s fine.” It’s clear it isn’t, but you try not to giggle at his antics.
You look around. There are no available seats. Belphegor and Beelzebub had taken the last one, and Asmodeus sat on the other armchair, Solomon next to him, looking a little lost.
Oh, so those were the noises you heard last night. Uh.
You screen the room once more, aware of Lucifer’s ever-growing anger at your inability to find a sitting place.
“Just pick wherever,” he says, making an effort to not sound pissed - it failed, but bless his heart.
Your eyes fall on Levi’s lap and you smirk to yourself. Without much ceremony, you go to him, take his hand onto yours so he’ll look up, and with the other, makes him close his legs together, before sitting down on him, your ass right above his crotch.
He makes a strangled noise, just as Asmodeus smirks.
“Well if MC can, then Solo-”
“I’d rather not.” Solomon cuts him, eyes dead on Lucifer.
You look at Lucifer as well. His mouth is agape, gloved fingers gripping hard enough onto the paper he was holding that it crumpled it. His eyebrows are curved, almost perfectly crescent with his shock.
“You said wherever.” You shrugged.
Levi smiles, hands snaking around your waist. “You did.” He agrees, resting his chin atop your shoulder.
You lay back against his chest, happy to be able to do so. You had only recently made your relationship known, and while the brothers were still adjusting, you enjoyed the little extra moments of affection.
Levi’s newfound confidence isn’t something to shame, either.
He entwines his fingers over your stomach, sighing low, and snuggles up to your neck, inhaling your scent. Next to him, Mammon makes an exaggerated gagging sound.
“Can we get it over with? I don’t wanna watch this shit,” he gestures at your general direction, “and I have to meet some witches today.”
“Well I for one find it cute,” Asmodeus purred, leaning on hand. Next to him, Solomon not so discreetly pulled out his phone.
“And I, for one, would enjoy if you could keep quiet,” Lucifer warns.
Asmodeus sticks his tongue out to him, but sits back anyway, looking over whatever Solomon had pulled up on his phone.
“As I was saying…”
It was easy to tune out Lucifer for stuff like this. It wasn’t any news that, despite you living there for the exchange year, the brother’s opinions on whatever happened to the house was more important than yours. Not only because you are fine going along with whatever, but also because it just is. It’s their home.
With that in mind, you resist the urge to fish out your DDD. Trying to catch up to whatever Lucifer was going on about, you look up. He has pulled out a whiteboard filled with chores - from where you have no idea because he didn’t have it in the living room when you arrived.
Levi chuckles at something, and you follow his gaze. He’s playing a little dance game, not giving a single shit about his brother’s rambling. He titls the screen towards you.
“You should play this. We can be friends and see each other’s progress.” He whispers.
Your eyes catch the screen, where little chibi drawings of dolls that look suspiciously familiar dance. “Sure.” You point at the screen. “This one looks like Lucifer.”
Levi groans. “Great, now I can’t unsee that.”
“Leviathan, could you at least pretend like you care?” Lucifer cuts into your chat, making the both of you startle.
“Yeah, Levi!” Mammon mocks, “What part of getting this over with can’t you get? The great Mammon-”
“Belphie’s sleeping.” Levi points out, “I’ll listen when he does.”
“Don’t bother him,” Beelzebubs says through a mouthful of something that looked too akin to a napkin wrapped into a sandwich bite. “Belphie’s tired.”
“Belphie is always tired,” Satan seems to be done with the conversation quickly unfolding, “He’s the avatar of sloth, Beel.”
At some point during what now was escalating into a half-assed discussion - of which Asmodeus had taken time to take selfies with a very distraught Solomon, Levi’s legs had fallen apart again, making you slide in between them. Huffing, you stand up.
Everyone looks at you, expectant looks on their faces.
You flush. “Just, let him speak.” You say, falling back onto Levi’s lap, straddling his thigh this time.
“What are you…” He asks, looking in between his brothers.
“You move too much.” You answer, looking forward.
Lucifer has already gotten back to the topic at hand, and even Belphegor seems to be trying to pay attention by now.
It goes slowly from them on. No one talks much besides answering random questions Lucifer comes up with. At some point, everyone went back to doing their own thing, even as the lecture continued. Levi shows you the game once more.
Things get slow.
And you grow bored.
Just as an experiment - just to see his reaction - you grind down on Levi’s thigh, as discreetly as possible. You’re lucky that Lucifer is turned to the board, while everyone else is just ignoring it.
Levi’s hand comes to your waist and he squeezes it. “MC… what are you doing?”
You tilt back a little further on his lap, turn on your head in a strange angle to touch your lips to his ear. “Did you know… I’m not wearing any underwear today?”
His cheeks are tinged pink. “What?”
“Just felt like it.” You whisper, rolling your hips again. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”
There’s a sharp intake of breath and then he’s whispering, “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” His hand - that was firm on your waist - slides forward, helping you keep straight.
You smile to yourself, turning back to the front. He takes another breath as you keep moving on his thighs, doing your best to not attract any attention.
You place your free hand on Levi’s other thigh to steady yourself, thrusting forward. Your sex rubs against the fabric of your uniform, making you groan lowly. Bashed, you look around, but no one seems to have caught on to what you’re doing.
Biting your lip to keep your noises in check, you keep riding him, heat pooling in your lower regions. Levi is almost guiding you, his hand coming to a stop right over your sex, pressing his fingers against where you want him most. His lips touch the back of your neck, tasting the small beads of sweat that start to form on your skin.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, voice low.
You suppress a moan and keep riding him as best as you can with the strange angle, rubbing as close to his hand as possible.
He opens his palm, grabbing you, and without noticing, you whimper.
Asmodeus’ head shoots up, and your eyes lock with his.
“Oh,” he says through a sly smile, teasing laugh at the tip of his tongue, “maybe you should end the meeting, Luci.”
Lucifer stills, turning to him. “What do you…” his eyes fall on you and Levi. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Levi smiles, raising his face from your neck. “I don’t really care what any of you do,” He pushes back, folding his arms behind his head. “Either leave quietly or stay and enjoy the show.”
Masterlist
#obey me!#obey me shall we date#obey me fanfic#obey me levi#obey me levi fanfic#obey me levi x reader#obey me levi x mc#obey me leviathan#obey me one shot
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Headcanon - When you apply face masks with him
This work, 当你们一起敷面膜, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸
Lucien’s portion is slightly suggestive, so I’ll leave it at the back so it’s easier to skip!
[ VICTOR ]
“Victor, come over here and apply face masks with me~”
While facing the mirror and smoothening the mask on your face, you call Victor over once he steps out of the bathroom, towelling his hair dry.
Tossing the towel onto the chaise lounge in front of the bed, he walks over with a look of distaste, watching as you busily rub excess cream onto your arms. “I don’t think you’re clear-headed.”
Patting your arms, you draw a sharp intake of breath. “You really don’t want it? When you were shaving this morning, I saw your crow’s feet~ Sure you don’t want to try this mask which lightens wrinkles?”
“...” Victor touches the corners of his eyes, staring at the masks on your dressing table wordlessly.
You strike while the iron is hot. “Let’s see. We have a six year age difference, so when the splendour of your youth has faded, I’d still be as lovely as a flower. Are you sure you don’t need to maintain your complexion?”
“...help me with it.” He finally caves in, lying down on the bed obediently, closing his eyes.
Excited, you rip open the packaging, carefully covering Victor’s well-sculpted, typically taciturn face with a mask.
Once you’re done, you lie down next to him, lifting your phone up high to take a selfie of the both of you. After a moment of hesitation, you still lack the guts to post it. You give him a poke. “Victor, I was lying to you earlier. You don’t have any wrinkles at all.”
“Dummy.” His hand encircles your waist, locking you in his arms. “I’ll cooperate with your nonsense for now. There won’t be a next time.”
[ GAVIN ]
Gavin spoils you so much that it’s as though he’d allow you to defy laws both human and divine. Whether it’s tying tiny buns on his head, applying make-up, or having to play along with a drama queen like you, he has never refused. Even if he were unwilling, a slight furrow of your brow would leave him agreeing faster than anybody else.
“Gavin, come over to apply a mask~” You beckon him over while he’s watching television on the bed.
He walks over, touching his face. “I don’t need it. It’d be a waste of your mask.”
“How is it considered a waste?!” You stand up, tugging him over to your seat. Then, you give his cheeks a poke. “The weather has been pretty dry these days. You need to keep your skin moisturised, or you’ll be disappointing this handsome face.”
“Is my face handsome?” The corners of Gavin’s lips hook into a smile, his amber eyes brightening slightly.
“Of course - you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!” You cup his face in your hands in an exaggerated manner, giving him a peck on his lips.
You aren’t sure which line pleased him, but his smile becomes even more evident, his typically stern expression melting into a gentle one.
“Go on.” He points at the masks in the box on the dressing table, closing his eyes and leaving himself entirely to you.
“Good. Your gold-medal skincare expert is very happy to be at your service~”
[ KIRO ]
“Ro Ro, I don’t think this mask is as effective as the previous ones I bought.” You bring a mask, freshly removed from the packet, over to Kiro.
Hearing this, he leans his phone against the vanity mirror. The screen is still on, but you don’t put much thought into it since it just displays the table.
“Really? In that case, don’t use this one. I recently bought a few boxes of SK-II ‘ex-boyfriend’ masks. I’ll let you use them first?” Kiro retrieves new masks from the drawer of the dressing table, ripping one open for you.
Just as you reach out to take it, Kiro retracts his hand. “Miss Chips, want me to help you put it on? You could help with mine later.”
“Sure.” You sit on the make-up stool obediently, tilting your head upwards, and allowing Kiro to smoothen the icy cold mask onto your face.
“Done~ It’s Miss Chip’s turn~”
You stand up, retrieving another mask from the box, and meticulously help him apply the mask onto his face.
“Miss Chips, how does it feel?” Kiro suddenly asks.
“I guess it’s pretty cooling?” Failing to grasp the meaning of his words, you respond intuitively.
“Tch~” Kiro chuckles. “Of course the mask is cooling. The fans want to know about the effects of the mask.” He holds up the phone, giving it a few taps, entering the live space where the comments section is being flooded.
“You were doing a live broadcast?” Your eyes widen in disbelief, wanting to shift outside of the camera’s view.
“You’re not allowed to run. I promised to let the fans see a sweet day-in-the-life of me and Miss Chips. How could that happen without the female protagonist?”
[ SHAW ]
Ever since your failed attempt to make Shaw wear female clothes, you’ve tried everything possible to lure him into a trap. This included applying make-up on him over the past few days, and applying masks right now.
“Shaw, want to try a mask?” You grip the silver coloured packaging of the mask in your hand, looking at him expectantly, The meaning in your eyes is as as obvious as ever.
“Don’t want to.” He rejects you quickly.
“Really?” You refuse to give up, asking once more.
He waves his hand, as though he’s chasing away a fly. “When I say ‘no’, it means ‘no’. You didn’t hear me?”
“...” You clench your fists, feeling a slight urge to give him a beating. “If you apply this mask with me, I’ll promise you an entire week’s worth of mixed cola.” You toss out this bribe, certain that he’d be reeled in.
As expected, Shaw wavers, his eyebrows furrowing. “The mask is fine. But no photos.”
He knows you pretty well.
“I won’t.” You raise your right hand, making a vow with three fingers and a solemn expression.
“...” He frowns. “Okay.”
You celebrate internally, ripping the packaging and pasting the mask onto his face. Once you’re done, you beckon him to look into the mirror.
“Your skills aren’t bad.” Shaw peers at himself from side to side, the mask fitting perfectly on his face, without a single wrinkle.
You pat your chest with pride. “Of course, I’m adept in my skills~”
Seeing that you really didn’t take a photograph, he relaxes, sitting on the sofa and watching television.
Retrieving your phone, you tap on a button to stop the recording. Then, you take a random screenshot of the video - it happens to be one where he’s checking himself out in the mirror. You happily tag on a caption: “Am I pretty?”
Saved. And sent.
Shaw’s phone vibrates, and he picks it up. “You!!!”
[ LUCIEN ] - Slightly suggestive!
You’ve always felt that Lucien wasn’t just a genius neurologist. If he were in the business industry, he’d definitely be an excellent businessman. After all, you’ve experienced for yourself how in certain aspects, Lucien would never let himself be taken advantaged of.
Usually, Lucien would ask for a benefit from you when you seek his help for even trivial matters. Often, it’d be a request which leaves you with a flushed face and a rapid heartbeat. You never know whether to laugh or cry.
Glancing at Professor Lucien as he leans against the headboard, then returning your gaze to the final mask in the box, you’re struck with an idea. “Lucien, come here. Let me apply a mask for you~”
Lucien rests the book on his torso, lifting in head to look at you in confusion. “Apply a mask?”
“That’s right! It’d make your skin more elastic, giving it a youthful and moisturising luster, and making it look even more tempting~” You mimic the tone of voice used in television advertisements, spelling out the benefits of the mask in an exaggerated manner.
“Making it look even more tempting?” Lucien repeats what you’ve just said, supporting his chin with his hand. “If it can make my wife more interested in me, I’ll be very willing to try it.”
Hearing this, your enthusiasm heightens. “Lie down properly, and I’ll put it on for you~”
“You should let me finish. Cooperating with you comes with a condition.” Lucien places the book atop the bedside cabinet.
“What condition?”
He removes his spectacles. “Tonight, we’ll do it one more time?”
–
More translated and original works: here
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[ Permission to translate ]
君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the author
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Poppy Fanfic: “Ask Her”
For context: This is a fanfic I wrote in order to join the Poppy Milk dev team and show off my writing skills. Since the callout at the time said we’d need to write a lot of sidequests, I wanted to ask the question of what a Poppy-centered side-quest would be like. I got the idea that it would be from an Asker’s perspective, and everything sort of came naturally after that. Even though I’m on the dev team right now, it’s not canon to Omega Timeline: Poppy’s Story and even has some inaccuracies that contradict canon. With that said, please feel free to read the story below the cut.
---
You noticed something very different inside your room when you woke up. The lights were off and the sun hadn’t yet risen, but there was a certain… aura, coming from your door. You were filled with a certain trepidation, but… you approached it. It was hard to see in the light, but it looked… grey.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped through...
...and found about the last person you would’ve expected. The spitting image of Frisk - CORE!Frisk, that was, looking up at you, in the middle of a white void.
“Wh- You’re real?!” you asked, dumbfounded.
“Of course I’m real. Have you been taking all this multiverse stuff for granted? Everything is real somewhere,” Core answered, simply.
“I… I don’t… and you, me…” you panted, starting to feel a small panic attack coming on.
“Focus,” Core snapped their fingers, grounding you back in reality. Okay, this was happening now.
“Let’s get down to business. Simply: you don’t like me. And I don’t like you. But we BOTH like Poppy. Poppy, my dear, sweet angel… has unfortunately recently come to the realization that Askers ALSO exist in the multiverse. And now she wants to do a ‘meet n’ greet’ with one of her fans. Trust me, I TRIED to talk her out of it, but she can be darn persuasive when she wants to be. And as you’re now realizing, that’s where you come in.
“I wanna make you a deal. You play along with whatever Poppy wants until she gets bored of this. If you’re on your best behavior - and that means, don’t give her anything bad, don’t tell her anything you KNOW she shouldn’t know, don’t use any magic, and be a general good influence - if you play nice, in exchange, I will allow you to hang out with ANY resident of the Omega Timeline.
“Want to spend a day full of wacky hijinks with a Papyrus, or even an Underswap Sans? Consider it done. Want to know how Deltarune Chapter 2 plays out ahead of time? I know a Susie with your name on it. Whatever you want, so long as you play by the rules, and don’t ask for anyone obviously ridiculous. So… do we have ourselves a deal?”
You contemplated that offer, and everything that was happening, trying to suppress your inner urge to geek out for just a few moments. The Omega Timeline, Poppy, and all the AU’s you could think of and more were real. And you just got an invitation to visit them.
“Yeah, of course!” you nodded excitedly, though your enthusiasm only seemed to make Core more anxious.
“Don’t make me regret this…” Core sighed, as the whiteness seemed to melt away into a cozy-looking house with wooden floors and lime walls, where you were standing directly outside of a white door. Core seemed to have disappeared.
Technically, there was nothing stopping you from exploring. So you did just that. You walked up to a shelf with some family photos. One was a photo of Poppy, Core, Dusted and Rust all together, in some meadow, looking happy. At least, you assumed Dusted and Rust were happy, they didn’t show up well on camera. There was another photo of Poppy alone, looking somewhat younger than she did on the blog, seated on a chair in a photo that looked far more staged. She held an actual poppy flower in her hand and smiled brightly.
You opened the cabinet doors, curious of what knick-knacks you might find in there. Some crayons, a few random glass cups, some art by 3-year-old Poppy that was so poorly done its meaning was hard to decipher, and a locked box. You reached for the box--
“Getting a bit sidetracked, aren’t we?”
You jolted up, and faced Core behind you. Even though they were child-sized, they crossed their arms with the poise and authority of a stern parent. You laughed anxiously. “Ahahaha… ahaha… ha……..”
“...Strike one.” Core said, and vanished. The meaning of that was all-too clear. Deciding not to dilly dally any longer, you went to the room you suspected to be Poppy’s, and knocked.
“Just a sec!” Poppy said, and opened the door. She looked up at you, and gasped. “Wow, Granpa really did come through…!” She twirled excitedly. “You must be my adoring fan, aren’t you?” she asked.
You stared down at the girl in stunned silence.
“To be honest, I kinda figured you’d be some gray guy with sunglasses, but that’s kinda silly in hindsight. How you doin’?” She asked that last line in a mock accent as you continued to stare.
“Baby,” you said.
“What?”
“Nothing,” you quickly tried to change the subject. “Yeah, it’s… y’know, it’s great to be here…” You clasped your hands together, biting your lip. You were in an Undertale AU, faced with the AU granddaughter of another AU character. You still weren’t entirely over that. Was this fever dream? Fandom heaven, or fandom hell?
“I know! Once I heard you guys weren’t from the Omega Timeline, I realized I hadn’t met even ONE of my fans… even if you guys are super annoying some of the time.”
“Uhhh, yeah…” you wondered if you should apologize on behalf of the askers who put Poppy in the hospital that one time. Then again, it seemed kind of awkward, and it might have been best not to bring that up while Core was watching, which was always. Looking down at the cutesy girl, it was almost tempting to pull her into a hug, but you managed to keep your composure.
“I wanted to do something a little more special than just some sorta interview, though, because you ask me questions all the time anyways,” Poppy said. “Granpa said you’ve never been to the Omega Timeline before, so I wanna give you the big tour!” Poppy went to the door. “I’m gonna be outside when you’re ready!” She left the room.
Seeing the empty room in front of you, you were tempted to snoop again, but you’d learned your lesson after last time. You headed straight out after Poppy.
You couldn’t help but gasp in awe of the serenity of the great outdoors as you were beckoned to it. You’d been outside before, obviously, but everything just looked so… nice. The blue sky, the grassy grounds, the ornate buildings… you’ve seen this place in pixel art and a couple drawings before, but seeing it with your own eyes was another story. And the next thing for you to nearly faint at was seeing the Undertale characters running around, Sanses, Undynes, Frisks, even goat moms.
Poppy smiled. “...It’s nice, isn’t it? I KNEW taking you on a tour was a good idea.” She smirked. “Now remember, just because this is a meet-up doesn’t mean it’s free, and there WILL be a fee at the end of our ride.”
“...Uh… I left my wallet at home,” you said, patting your pockets, “And I don’t have any, uh... ‘G,’ I think. Unless the G stands for ‘Gratitude,’ amiright?” you did finger guns.
“G stands for Gold,” Poppy corrected you bluntly, unamused. She returned to her chipper attitude just as quickly, though. “Now, let me show you around!” She led you down the street.
Walking with her, seeing so many versions of your favorite characters in the flesh, walking around… well, the temptation to talk to SOME of them was irresistible, Core be damned. You did resolve not to go too far off-track, but you shared some words with the folks you passed by, Poppy thankfully stopping each time you did. You met two Frisks - one boy, one ambiguous - an Underswap Undyne, a human version of Toriel, and surprisingly, a version of Princess Peach.
You and Poppy approached an elegant fountain, stood upon proudly by a statue of a mustachio’d CORE!Frisk. “This is the Timeline Plaza! It’s sort of the local park, where people meet up to do... stuff. Just hang out. Make a picnic. Play ball. All that good park-y stuff, y’know? And there’s stores in all directions, so it’s pretty good.” She proudly showed off her home to you, with a smile.
You talked to more on the way to the next place. An Inverted Fate Papyrus. A weird Ralsei who said his name was “Noyno.” An Asgore wearing a hoodie, who you assumed was swapped with Sans. (Poppy did scold you a little bit for this, telling you that just because someone has a hoodie you shouldn’t assume they’re swapped. You apologized.)
“This is Grillby’s! One of them, anyways. The nearest one to my house. It’s pretty good if you want an OK burger. Sanses love the place, though. It’s… kind of unhealthy. And a little gross.” Poppy said. “Especially when they just drink… raw… ketchup.”
“Can’t handle a little ketchup?” you smiled mischievously. “We drink it by the gallon back in my universe,” you lied.
“...I really hope you’re joking,” Poppy said, alarmed.
“Am I?” you smiled brighter.
“...W-well, we’re not going in there, so you can FORGET about drinking that much ketchup!” Poppy said, afraid of the sheer power of your ketchup-drinking.
You and Poppy moved onto the next spot. You met an Underswap Alphys who seemed to be trapped in a red-and-gold palette. You met a robot dressed as a circus ringmaster, who claimed to be a Chara. You met a Dummy dressed in a Frisk shirt. (You didn’t assume it was swapped with Frisk this time, which turned out to be a mistake, because it was.) Poppy stared at you awkwardly now, wondering why you were talking to all these random strangers. Finally, you and Poppy reached your next destination.
“The theater! Where we show off all the greatest hits! Including MY movie, which, not to brag, but it’s--”
Except, you’d been distracted by a hyperdeath Asriel, and were ignoring Poppy for the moment.
“...” Poppy spoke up. “That’s what I don’t get about you.”
“Huh?” that seemed to wake you up, and you looked at her.
“Everytime it’s always, ‘have you met Underswap Sans,’ or ‘have you met JangoTale Frisk,’ or some other weird thing. You always ask that. But… they’re just people. Why do you always assume I know some random Sans or Frisk or someone?”
“I…” you were a bit taken aback. “...I don’t… we don’t assume you know them, they’re just… they’re just important.”
“Important?” She asked. “...I-I mean, yeah, EVERYONE’s important, but, I don’t really get what you mean…”
“They’re all--” You paused, trying to collect your thoughts, think of everything you knew from the blog, and tried to actually talk to her. “...They’re like friends to me. Kinda.”
“...You guys are friends with them? I thought you were stuck in your world…” she frowned.
“No, it’s like-- I’m not ‘friends’ with Underswap Frisk, or-- or Storyshift Frisk, or Shifty or whatever, I’m just friends with… Frisk.”
...Poppy stared at you like you just said the ground was turning to jelly, or something equally bafflingly inane. “...I… think you’re confused. Look, sometimes newcomers struggle with this. Your Frisk isn’t the only Frisk--”
“I know! It’s… You don’t get it. This world, these worlds are so special and creative, and they mean a lot to me. I know we can be really edgy, and I know we ask weird questions about Dusted and Rust, but that’s all because… because...” you paused.
Poppy looked, seeming upset about hearing her siblings mentioned in the context of ‘edgy’ questions, not seeing what you were seeing. Core, standing behind her, holding up a hand signal.
The number two.
You were getting carried away. You overstepped.
“...Um… I’m sorry.” You pulled her into a hug as Core vanished. “There’s really no reason for us to ask those questions. We can just be dumb sometimes.”
“...” She hugged back. “Yeah, it’s okay. I knew you guys were super weird and dumb before I convinced Granpa to let you in here, so I guess I should’ve seen this coming,” Poppy smiled, regaining her confidence as you did your best to not be offended at being called weird and dumb.
“Okay! I think I have just one last stop in mind to cap this tour off on a high note! Literally, hehehe…” She giggled mischievously. This time, you didn’t stop to talk to others, following her directly as you approached a peak overlooking the town. For yet another time, and probably the last, you couldn’t help but ogle at the town’s beauty. “Pretty good, right?” She sat down.
“Ha… with all the climbing, I was worried we’d fall down a mountain,” you joked. Poppy seemed to roll her eyes, as you sat beside her. “...I guess I get how you can call this place home. I mean, once I stop nerding out, anyways. You don’t see stuff like this in my… reality.”
“Just gallons and gallons of ketchup, huh?” she commented. You couldn’t help but laugh.
“Yeah.”
And you two just stared into the distance for a while. ...She wasn’t just a character. She was a human being.
...Or, technically just a ‘being,’ scratch the human part. Still, you felt a bit desensitized to all this. And so did she. You related in that way.
“I can’t say you exactly passed with flying colors, but you fulfilled your end of the agreement well enough.”
Without any warning, you were back in a white void with CORE!Frisk, just like before. You almost forgot about the deal you made, what with all the time you spent with Poppy. You stood.
“Uh… yeah. So, my reward…” you drifted off, remembering the offer Core gave you. The chance to meet just about any AU character of your imagining… or at least, any that would be peaceful enough to be in the Omega Timeline. Which still left a WIDE variety of options…
Who did you want to see? What mattered most to you?
...
Thinking deeply… you told Core their name.
“...Oh. Really? Well, I guess it makes sense for you that you’d want to see them,” Core remarked. “I can’t guarantee they’ll give you what you’re looking for, but a deal’s a deal. Let’s head off.”
You and Core went somewhere else.
---
And that’s all she wrote! If you read this far, thank you. Working on the game since then has been fun, and I think you’ll like what we have in store. Until then, ciao.
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and you knew what it was
author’s note: i don’t know what the fuck this is i was bored at the beginning of my break lol and i wrote some stuff based on a prompt list and a random number generator that gave me “here, drink this. you’ll feel better” and it kinda like ,, grew ,, into a lot
i’ve been sitting on this first part pretty much completed for a while and i think i want to just post it and i have two other “parts” that are sorta connected and idk yeah lmao they’re in progress rn and hopefully i can finish them soon if i post this one i just feel kinda stuck rn :P anyway idk lol i like this part tho hopefully i don’t change anything massively in the other two that would have to change something here XD
basically 1539 words of shadowhunter!quinntina hurt/comfort (or an attempt at it) maybe like sort of warning for mention of death and injury tbh am i trying too hard to be a ya fantasy writer lmao
title from “you are in love” by taylor swift <3
as always lmk if anyone wants any shadowhunter things to be explained lol :P
***
“Here, drink this,” Tina says, voice shaky and quiet, unsure. “You’ll feel better.” She helps Quinn sit up a little and slowly drink the whole glass of… something.
Quinn wrinkles her nose at the aftertaste coating her tongue and throat. “What was that?” Her shoulders are propped up against her pillow, and she awkwardly tries to situate herself somewhat upright.
Tina shrugs, setting the cup aside. “Something Mike whipped up. Said it should help your strength and energy a little?” She crosses her arms, lightly gripping the fabric of her shirt at her sides—hugging herself.
“Mike needs to add some sugar or something,” Quinn tries in a joking tone. Tina smiles slightly but won’t really make eye contact with her.
The room falls silent and Quinn watches Tina, recognizes the expression on her face, her defeated posture, her smaller, quiet demeanor. Her outfit—a lot darker than what she’s often in these days, when she’s not in black gear.
And Quinn remembers a few months ago, when Mercedes had her own complicated encounter with demon poison. She remembers how Tina cares, how she loves, how beautifully, how much.
“Hey,” she says softly, and Tina finally looks up to meet her eyes. “Mike and the Silent Brothers said I stand a good chance for full recovery, right? So no tears,” Quinn urges gently.
Tina huffs a light laugh and wipes under her eyes. “No promises,” she says hoarsely. Quinn wiggles her fingers and Tina releases the hand clutching tightly at her side and obligingly takes Quinn’s, who squeezes reassuringly.
Tina keeps sniffling though, and it seems to be getting louder. She covers her mouth with her free hand when Quinn looks over and says quickly, “I’m sorry, I know, sorry, it’s Kurt’s turn to see you anyway, I should go—” and starts to untangle their fingers but Quinn holds fast, squeezing again and she looks into Tina’s tear-filled eyes.
“Come here,” Quinn says quietly.
“What?”
“Help me lay down, then get in bed with me.”
Tina pauses. “Are you—I don’t know if—”
Quinn smirks a little, starting to push herself back into a horizontal position. “I’m the one who’s injured, and I’m cold and I need my girlfriend close to steal her warmth, okay?”
Tina swallows and nods a little, replies barely above a whisper, “Okay.”
Once Quinn is lying down comfortably, Tina climbs under the blanket, facing her. Quinn tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear, wiping some of Tina’s still-coming tears as she retracts her hand.
Tina holds her wrist, lightly, almost only with the tips of her fingers, and presses a soft kiss to her palm. She lets out a slight chuckle. “Shouldn’t I be the one taking care of you?”
Her tone is lighthearted but bitter and Quinn brushes her fingers through Tina’s hair. Her eyelids flutter, half closed, and she releases a small, comforted breath.
“You’ve definitely already done a fair amount of taking care of me. And I’m fine,” Quinn assures, and she really is fine, aside from the fact that she just missed a few days being knocked out from the worst kind of demon poison and she’s still feeling the effects of that, probably will be for a while, but that’s getting out of her system now, and with its complete departure her strength (and ability to move without pain) should also return, if Silent Brother healing magic and knowledge is to be trusted. “On the other hand, you look like you haven’t slept in days.” And knowing Tina, it’s all too possible that she hasn’t.
Tina shrugs a little. “Maybe.”
“Do I need to call Kurt in here to tell me?”
“Fine,” Tina grumbles halfheartedly. “I haven’t.”
But do you blame me? is her unasked—and unanswered—question.
(Quinn doesn’t.)
Quinn tilts her chin forward a little to kiss Tina’s nose gently. “Go to sleep,” she says.
“Here? I shouldn’t—Kurt wants to see you,” Tina starts and Quinn shushes her again.
“Yes, here. Kurt will live without it, he knows I’m okay.” And Quinn knows Kurt is okay, and presumably will understand Tina staying for longer if he’s been around her the past few days.
She just hopes—knows, really—that Kurt has helped Tina, that they help each other. They’ve always been close on account of being the two who could always be found awake in the latest hours of night, talking to each other and recently, working on designs and drawings together.
But it’s still different right now, for these past few days, and Quinn thinks that if either of them slept at all, it wasn’t much. Especially Tina. Kurt had the parabatai bond’s assurance while Quinn’s been out. Tina had Kurt’s assurance, but it still couldn’t have been as good as knowing it herself. And at night, Kurt had the bond as an extra layer of assurance when he went to sleep, but Tina didn’t, and Quinn knows how Tina’s worry keeps her up sometimes, and how she sometimes chooses energy runes instead when she knows something is weighing on her mind too much for her to sleep.
“You need sleep, love,” Quinn whispers, and she feels the resistance fade from Tina’s body. She pulls her closer, tucking Tina’s head under her chin.
“I missed you,” Tina says with a small gasp, voice cracking a little in desperation. “I’m so sorry.” Quinn can feel her tears on her collarbone and she hates it—hates that she’s the reason Tina’s crying and she can’t do anything about it because she was unconscious and on the verge of death for three days and then the Silent Brothers kept people away for a few more and Tina didn’t know how she was for a week, and Quinn really just woke up again and she’s mostly fine and she feels fine but Tina hasn’t slept for days and Quinn understands.
“It’s not your fault. And I won’t ever leave you,” Quinn promises.
“You can’t say that for sure.”
“Shh,” Quinn breathes, thinking about both statements. Tina’s right, she can’t say it for sure, and she knows that. With their life and what they do every day, it’s the most unsure thing in the world. Even just a week ago, she could’ve died if the demon’s stinger had gone in a little higher, she could’ve died if there were any more of them left, she could’ve died if Tina wasn’t there. Tina could’ve died if Quinn wasn’t there. (Would have, a voice in the back of her head creeps in, less than a breath, and she suppresses the shiver that it brings.)
But if Quinn has any control over it at all, it will be true. She tells Tina as much. “I won’t leave you,” she says again, quietly but as vehemently as she can, and Tina relaxes a tiny bit in her arms.
And then for the other thing. “And there’s no way it’s your fault, okay?”
“If I wasn’t so fucking careless, you would be fine—”
“You didn’t push me into a demon’s stinger, did you?” Quinn continues to run her fingers through Tina’s hair. “You didn’t take its poison and inject it into my body. And you were killing the other ones. We could both be dead if you weren’t, okay?” Her tone is more blunt than probably necessary and she brushes Tina’s temple slightly in apology.
Tina burrows her face deeper and Quinn knows she’s winning, if only because Tina’s tired. But she needs her to know…. “It would never be your fault,” Quinn whispers. “Ever. Tell me you know that.”
After a second, Tina nods. “Yeah,” she says in a small voice. “Okay.”
Quinn can tell Tina isn’t completely convinced, but it’s a conversation for another time, another day when Tina isn’t running on a ridiculously small amount of sleep and probably an unhealthy number of energy runes, and only just coming down from the emotional rollercoaster of the past week.
Quinn presses a kiss to the top of Tina’s head. “Go to sleep, love,” she says again.
“Wake me up if I hurt you,” Tina breathes, on the cusp of sleep.
Quinn smiles, runs her hand up and down Tina’s arm. “You won’t,” she promises, voice hushed.
It’s a testament to just how exhausted Tina must be that her breathing evens out within a few seconds, and her body is still and loose from exhaustion, mind finally quieted, for now, close to Quinn and reassured, and Quinn continues to rub her girlfriend’s arm gently and thinks.
She thinks about the word she just used—twice, and for the first time. Not the first time in her head, but the first time out loud. But unlike countless other times when she’s questioned her decisions and even after so many that have hurt her, so many choices that have led her astray—led her heart astray… she knows it’s right this time. Now, here, in her room, in the Institute that changed her life for the better, her family within the building’s glamoured walls, next to the one person she would always want to be next to, she doesn’t need to question it. And she closes her eyes and follows Tina into a hopefully peaceful sleep.
#no one: me: writing the same shit in the shadowhunter au#lsdkhglksfj like this is just the same as my klaine one but a little different with elements from another quinntina one and just lk;j;kgjsal#original ideas we don't know her#hhhhh idk how i feel about the end but oh well#it;s so random :') fuck lmao stop complaining about ur own writing that ur posting XD#lmao me writing over my break: RUN ON SENTENCES GALORE#this and my jatp fic that i posted a little bit ago lol anyway#ummmm is that it (no it's not but i can't think of anything else i wanted to say lol)#quinntina#glee#glee fic#my ficsssss#how do i tag this shit#it's been a while lmao#me: feeling like shit bc i feel like everyone hates me bc i can't just text my friends without feeling like i'm being annoying#me: POST A FIC FOR VALIDATION#also me: posts shadowhunter quinntina shit catering to an audience of: me#anyway#yk what lemme ramble for a sec bc i don't want to make a post about it#i want to ask my friends if they wanna plan something but like it's always been me texting them about stuff lately#which is DUMB that i feel weird about that but that's always the thing like#i always feel like i'm absolutely no one's like 'favorite' person and like everyone has people they'd go to before me :DDDDDDD#which isn't like just me but still i just this combined with idk today just my brain being dumb and being really self deprecating and dumb#i feel like i'm not actually close to anyone and i don't think i ammmmm#anyway no one asked for this in the tags of a fic post lmaooo
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