#Minke Too Late

[minkkinii]

Fyodor goes on Twitter 🦕

[jennablackmorebooks]

comfort zone :)

[sooniebby]

Can I ask for a completely separate fic of Riki and M!reader not in the same universe but just like a non canonical thing of where M!reader begs Riki to try and impregnate him because his stomach is feeling all weird and achy. M!reader doesn’t know it’s his heat all he knows is that he wants his children.

Fic ends with the reader pregnant ofc, breeding mink, biting, dumbification, go crazy on it. If you don’t plan to make any side fic of Riki that aren’t canonical to the main 2 parts then u can ignore this <333

ఌ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘

꧁ 𝙊𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

➤ Riki's story (but this isn't canon to the original plot)

Word count › 2.9k

Rating › NSFT

Warnings › you and Riki are morons

Kinks › a/b/o, breeding, biting, lite somno

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＢＥＧＩＮＮＩＮＧ

(Name) had been feeling weird. He woke up tired and his head was hurting. When he went downstairs, he saw his parents and instantly wanted to throw up.

“Mom…”

“What (Name)? I have somewhere to be.” His mother answered, not even sparing him a glance.

You’d think a mother would pay attention to her child. Especially a child that sounded so weak but she focused solely on her phone. (Name) sighed to himself before walking away to the kitchen. She didn’t even try to stop him.

(Name) ignored his father. His father was worse when it came to paying him any mind. He rummaged through the fridge for something but nothing was appealing. If he had to be honest, they all made him feel sick.

His stomach was hungry but not for whatever was in the fridge.

“Dad, I’m not feeling well.” (Name) said. “And everything in the fridge is making me feel sick.”

“And what can I do about that? You’re 18. An adult. Go buy some medicine and food that you want.” His father said, walking away.

(Name) didn’t even feel sad. He knew what type of answer he was going to get. The sound of the door slamming was music to (Name)’s ears. He loved whenever they left. But he didn’t feel happy right now.

His stomach was cramping. And he didn’t know what it was.

Maybe he should’ve paid more attention to anatomy lessons for omegas and alphas. Now that he was an omega and all.

The only thing on his mind, besides his killer headache, was to go see Riki. His inner omega was whining for it. But he wasn’t sure why. Maybe he just needed some comfort. Yeah, getting some cuddles sounded great right now.

With that, (Name) sluggishly got ready to go see his alpha. The bus ride felt odd. People kept staring at him. He wasn’t used to the stares. Being a beta since he was a child, most people ignored him.

He wondered if his scent was finally coming in. Did it smell bad? He didn’t think too much of it when he finally reached Riki’s house. It was smaller than his own but still cozy the last time he visited.

(Name) rang the doorbell, feeling himself sweat into his shirt. It was sticking to his skin now. But the sun was hardly out. It looked as if it would rain in an hour or so. (Name) wanted to take a cold shower.

The door opened showing a sleepy Riki. Wow, he was still asleep this late? It had to be almost 1 pm now. Riki seemed to wake up a bit when he realized it was (Name). He pulled him inside quickly and held him close, leaning down to scent him.

(Name) still didn’t feel much from scenting. But he allowed Riki to do so. He knew Riki’s alpha loved doing it. (Name) closed the door behind himself as Riki pulled him over to the living room.

They plopped down onto the couch as Riki moved (Name) around to sit on his lap. Riki’s voice was muffled as he muttered something before focusing on scenting his omega. (Name) simply nipped at Riki’s mating bond, not knowing how to fully scent someone yet.

“You feel warm.” Riki said.

“I think I have a fever…”

“Oh, did you take anything?”

(Name) shook his head. Riki huffed before standing up, ignoring (Name)’s shriek as he quickly wrapped his legs around his waist to not fall. Riki only had to use one hand to hold (Name) up as he brought him to his room, laying him down on the bed.

“Sleep. I’ll make some porridge.”

(Name) hummed as Riki left his room. Having been in his room before, (Name) didn’t care too much to look around. He mainly focused on stripping his clothes off and moving the sheets around to make a makeshift nest.

He wasn’t sure how he knew how to make one. It was probably just an omega instinct. With just his boxers on, (Name) finally felt cool. His stomach was still cramping—getting more painful by the minute.

Was it something he ate last night? (Name) sighed as he took off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand. He wanted to just sleep the pain away. Getting comfortable, (Name) hugged a pillow to his chest and drifted off to a dreamless slumber.

But it wasn’t fully dreamless. In passing, he dreamt of Riki’s neck. An odd dream. What was so sexy about a neck? A few other times, he dreamt of what Riki would look like shirtless.

A groan left (Name) as he tried to dream of something other than being horny. But it didn’t work. Anytime he dreamt of something more wholesome with Riki, it ended with Riki pulling off his clothes. (Name) was beginning to feel hot again.

His skin was burning that even the fan that was turned on didn’t do anything to calm him down. The sheets felt too warm but whenever he pushed them away, he felt panicked. Like he couldn’t part with it for some odd reason.

“(Name)…”

A cool hand brushed his forehead as he sighed in relief. Finally, he felt himself cool down. The hand moved to his neck, feeling around before pulling away. (Name) whined at the lost.

“Your fever as gotten worse. Let me call my mom.” Riki’s distant voice was heard.

That only made (Name)’s stomach clench tightly, causing him to scream out. Riki didn’t get far as he quickly grasped (Name)’s arm, trying to shake him awake.

But (Name) didn’t scream again. His face that was twisted into one of agony was calm. Riki sighed in relief and moved his hand away only for (Name) to cry again.

Riki decided to test something. He touched (Name), noticing how calm he was before pulling away. Like clockwork, (Name) began to whine at the lost.

This didn’t make much sense to Riki. What type of fever worked like this? None that he knew. Riki glanced at the porridge on his desk. He’d force (Name) to eat it later. Riki gently pushed (Name) further on the bed before joining him, keeping a hand on his skin.

The first hour or so was fine. Riki even fell back asleep. (Name) work up with a start, wondering where he was. He didn’t even remember waking up. He glanced around the room before noticing Riki snuggled close to him.

Oh. When did he get here? (Name) hummed as he rubbed his stomach. It was still cramping but it didn’t hurt as much. It felt more like a very light burn. But it didn’t feel like hunger.

He should’ve been hungry since he didn’t eat this morning. (Name) sat up, wanting to go get something to eat before feeling something wet. He didn’t even notice he was naked. Well he still had his boxers on but it was wet.

(Name) pulled off his boxers, tossing them across the room as he looked down at the bed sheets. It was also wet but how? He gently touched it. It was sticky. He frowned.

What did he pee glue? What the fuck was this?

“Riki.”

Riki didn’t wake up.

(Name) groaned. He felt sticky, hot, and uncomfortable. A bath would be nice but he didn’t feel comfortable just using Riki’s shower without asking. They may be mates but they haven’t known each past a month yet.

They hadn’t even had sex yet.

(Name) was ready to just shake Riki awake when he felt his spine tingle. He gasped, feeling something wet gush out of his asshole. Slick?! Why was he producing slick? (Name) reached down to confirm, feeling the slimy wet slick that he produced the day Riki had bit his scent gland.

Was he going into heat? No way. His doctor said he had two weeks before it started. So his body can ready itself for it. (Name) sighed to himself. He must’ve been horny due to those weird dreams he had.

Riki wouldn’t mind him masturbating, right…?

(Name) easily slipped in one finger inside of his asshole, groaning at the sudden gush of slick. Why was he feeling like this? He thought having something inside would feel better but that only caused his stomach to ache. As if it wasn’t what it wanted.

He glanced over at Riki, looking down at his boxers. (Name) felt his inner omega purr at the sight of Riki. He thought about waking him up. His body wasn’t liking his fingers. It wanted his alpha.

In his head, the thought of being knotted slipped in. (Name) felt his hole clench around his finger. He liked the thought of that. To be knotted by his mate.

(Name) moved to straddle Riki, sitting himself on top of his boner. Riki didn’t even flinch. He really was a deep sleeper. (Name) knew how to wake him up. He gripped Riki’s boxers and pulled them down, allowing his cock to pop out freely. It rested against Riki’s stomach, twitching slightly.

Riki had a large cock. No denying that. But it wasn’t too surprising. Most alphas had large cocks. Riki’s cock was thick as well. He wanted it inside, quickly.

Yeah, that’s what his stomach needed. He needed to be breed. (Name) felt himself shudder at the thought of being stuffed full with Riki’s come. The idea of having pups.

(Name) grasped Riki’s cock and positioned it at his awaiting hole. He slowly lowered down, gasping at the burn. His slick worked overtime to make it less painful.

“(Name).”

“Huh?!” (Name) shrieked, accidentally slamming himself down onto Riki’s cock. He cried at the feeling, his cock cumming. Riki simply hummed, reaching to grab (Name)’s hand.

“You couldn’t wake me up?”

“Sorry…”

“It’s fine. I’m your alpha right? So my cock is yours to use,” Riki grinned. He had actually been awake ever since (Name) flung his boxers off. The boxers had actually ended up on his face instead of where (Name) had imagined.

His moves were way too sluggish to actually fling something. Riki had woken up due to the slick directly in his nostrils. He pushed it away and was about to call out to (Name) until he noticed (Name) fingering himself.

He wanted to watch, so what? Only an idiot wouldn’t like to see someone they liked masturbate.

“I feel so weird.”

“Your fever?”

Watanabe Riki was a dumbass. As well as Tanaka (Name). Only total idiots couldn’t tell the signs of a heat. But only idiots would bond themselves to the other after knowing each other for a total of two weeks.

“Maybe you should eat.”

“No. I wanna have sex.” (Name) hummed.

“Alright. You’ll eat after.” Riki said, easily flipping (Name) over to lay on his back. (Name) watched in glee as Riki grasped his legs and pushed them forward, to (Name)’s ears. Riki’s thrusts at first were slow and calculated.

It made sense. To him, (Name) was sick. He didn’t want to go too harsh. He focused on mainly rubbing against (Name)’s prostate—enjoying the soft moans he got. The sound of slick was filling be room, making (Name) feel embarrassed.

He didn’t know why he was dripping so much slick. But it wasn’t enough. It felt nice but it wasn’t what his omega was craving.

“Riki, faster.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

(Name) whined, hoping his puppy eyes would persuade his mate. Riki only leaned down and nipped at his pouting lips.

“Cute.”

“Riki….! C’mon!!”

“Why do you want it so rough?” Riki asked, picking up his pace. It was still slow but at least it wasn’t too slow. (Name)’s inner omega purred in delight.

“My body wants it rough. An omega thing.”

“Really?”

No, it wasn’t. (Name) was just talking out of his ass. And Riki was a bit stupid to not notice. He was pretty horny himself and didn’t like his pace either. But (Name)’s comfort mattered more to him.

“I can handle it. I’ll tell you to stop.” (Name) wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him close. Riki hummed. He still wasn’t too sure. But the tight wet heat of (Name)’s ass felt good.

He really wanted to cum. And no way could he cum from these piss poor thrusts. Riki leaned back, grasping (Name)’s legs tightly and began to pick up his pace.

His thrusts were harsh and fast, repeatedly aiming for (Name)’s prostate. (Name) cried out, clawing at Riki’s shoulders. He arched his back at the feeling.

“(Name), it’s my first time… is it yours?”

(Name) shook his head. “No…”

Riki’s thrusting stopped. “Huh?”

“Riki, why’d you stop?”

“Who was it?”

(Name) glared at him. “It was two years ago! C’mon, don’t stop.”

Riki growled. “Did you enjoy it?” He began ti thrust again, his grip on (Name)’s legs harsh. (Name) stared up at him in confusion. Why did he care so much?

He was mated to him. He belonged to him.

“No. We were both betas…”

Any sort of anger within Riki quickly disappeared. A smile appeared on his lips. “You should’ve said so. No beta can compare to an alpha.” His cock dragged against (Name)’s wet walls, aiming continuously at his prostate.

(Name) mewled. “Why’s, ngh, that?”

Riki smirked. He maneuvered (Name) to lay on his side and have one of his leg’s on his shoulder. This position gave total control to Riki as he seemed to reach even deeper inside of him. It felt as if he was even reaching his stomach, judging by the small bulge in his stomach.

“No beta can knot their omega. Give them pups.” Riki grabbed (Name)’s right arm and brought it to his lips, biting down at the skin. It hurt, his canines digging into his skin. But (Name)’s inner omega jumped for joy. An alpha biting your skin with their canines meant you were truly theirs.

And (Name) really did belong to Riki. Riki left multiple sharp bites on (Name)’s arm, a few stringing out small amount of blood.

“No beta can make an omega dumb off their cock.” Riki suddenly said, slamming his cock deep inside (Name). (Name) cried out, his cock once again cumming on his stomach. He didn’t think he could handle much more.

At least his cock couldn’t. But his hole, his inner omega?

Oh, it could go all night.

And Riki seemed to know that.

“Do you want my knot, Omega?”

“Won’t I… hngh! Won’t I get pregnant?”

“You shouldn’t. I’m not in my rut.” Riki gently bit the leg on his shoulder, glancing down at (Name)’s shaking form. (Name)’s eyes were dilated. He truly felt gone mentally at this point.

All he could think about was being knotted.

And if Riki was right, he wanted it badly. But a small side of him felt disappointed. He wanted to get pregnant. His rational side was screaming at him not to but his omega side purred at the idea of being filled with pups.

“Inside, Alpha. Please, knot me with your cum.”

Riki grunted, flipping (Name) over again to rest on his knees, face on the pillow. (Name) cried at this, not wanting to face the headboard. He wanted to look at his mate but when Riki slammed back inside, he clenched down tightly around his cock.

This position was the best out of the other two. Riki’s cock kissed his stomach (womb) with ease. His prostate was constantly brushed against—earning cries from him with ease.

Riki gripped his waist tightly, holding him close once his knot began to swell. (Name) mewled at the knot brushing against his prostate. Riki leaned down to rest on (Name)’s back as he bit his scent gland, using his canines. (Name) felt himself black out at the pleasure, a scream off his lips.

As (Name) felt himself get tired, Riki slammed in one last time, right against his prostate. His knot released, filling (Name)’s hole with his cum. It felt warm inside. But it wasn’t a small load. It seemed Riki’s load was pretty big.

(Name) felt overwhelmed. He didn’t think an alpha could cum so much. It also didn’t help that the knot was rested nicely against his prostate. Whenever the knot swelled to release another batch of cum, it stimulated his prostate.

He mewled each time, gripping the bed sheets underneath him. Riki sighed as he left small bite marks on his back. He was tired. He wanted to fall back asleep but knew if he did that, he’d crush (Name) beneath him.

Riki moved to lay on his side, holding (Name) close. His cock had finally stopped cumming but his knot was still swelled. It’d take a minute for it to go down. This was mainly for the cum to stay inside, making sure the omega’s womb took every last drop.

But (Name)’s womb wasn’t ready for pregnancy yet, anyway. At least the doctor said so.

(Name) hummed. The cramps he was feeling was long gone. Who knew sex could help so much. He glanced down at his stomach to see a small bulge there. It looked to be from the cum. He felt himself purr at the thought.

He didn’t know why he suddenly felt excited at the thought of being breed so full.

The two idiots fell asleep, holding the other close.

But six weeks later, when (Name) felt nauseous, Riki was swiftly slapped by his mother and was called an idiot. Yeah, (Name) was pregnant.

He guess he should start looking online for baby names. It felt as if it wasn’t about to be one pup.

(Name) just wasn’t sure how to tell his parents.

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ

Riki’s a bad boy, not a smart boy :/

It was so fun writing fluff for Riki tho since the original story isn’t there yet

Thx for the request!!

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @mello-life69 @chill-guy-but-cooler @kiiyoooo @nakedtoasterr

(Ask to be added to the tag list/you’ll be tagged in every fic I post)

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

imagine law thinking you're too cute

gif request by @stuckinthewrongworld

The footsteps of Law's boots echoed in the empty hallway, sword resting against his shoulder as he opened every door along the way. He peeked in and every time was disappointed and grew more agitated. Bepo and you were suppose to meet the rest him and the others twenty minutes ago. He had been patient at first but after waiting too long, he told everyone to remain up deck and he'd go find the two of you.

These two are always up to no good, he grumbled under his breath. He stopped in front of Bepo's quarters and pushed open the door, ready to yell at you two for being so late. His grim expression faltered as he stepped further into the room and saw Bepo sound asleep on his bed. He gripped the handle of his sword, eyes focused on the way you were laid over your crewmate. You looked like a little kid lounging over her overstuffed teddy bear. Law could feel his cheeks burn - eyes fully taking in the sight set before him. Bepo on his back, hands out to his side; you laid over his stomach, hands dangled off the bed and head slightly turned, resting on the navigator's side.

Law's irritation turned into softness and that really pissed him off. He stormed over to the bed and shook it with his foot, causing the mink to jump up. Your flew up in the air but landed next to Bepo, eyes heavy with sleep.

"You were supposed to be up on deck twenty minutes ago!"

Bepo began to apologize, jumping off the bed and rushing out - promising to never be late again, but leaving you to your captain's wrath.

"Coward," you yawned, getting up from the bed slowly. Law stood in front of you and you smiled up at him, he looked cute when he was mad. "Sorry, we were reading and ended up falling asleep."

Law's gaze narrowed as you smiled sweetly at him, hair ruffled and cheek a little bruised from how you slept. He could feel his face burning even redder and he snarled. "Stop being so cute!"

You laughed and drew closer to him, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "I can't help it, can you forgive me, Captain?"

The man melted against your teasing and he took a deep breath, lifting your chin with his thumb. His eyes softened and when you leaned in, he captured your lips with his. The kiss was short but sweet and it left you feeling wide awake. Law's eyes opened after yours and you enjoyed seeing him so vulnerable. Reaching down for his hand, you asked if he was still mad and he rolled his eyes.

"No, but come on, the others are waiting."

Nodding, you felt his fingers wrapping around yours and when he started toward the door - you were more than happy to follow.

[willowser-but-nsfw]

now we're partners in crime—

gojo x f!reader wc: 4k+ tags: modern au, no smut but it is a mentioned subject throughout, intoxication to the point of slight memory loss (referenced), gojo being gojo, f!reader (referred to as 'wife' and 'bride', etc.) takes place in you guessed it las vegas, so there's some american stuff in here inspired by the katy perry song 'waking up in vegas'

many things are immediately concerning when you wake up.

the first being that you're laid up in a bathtub and not entirely naked, wearing some ridiculously scandalous lingerie you would never buy for yourself while in your right mind — though you think that might be precisely the problem. that you weren't.

you have no recollection of getting into this...outfit, which is little more than too-tight ribbons and misplaced pasties and strips of crotchless, white material. it's so open and exposing that you are horrifyingly embarrassed, hands clumsily rushing to cover the bits of you that are all out even if you are in a hotel bathroom by yourself.

the thought of anyone seeing you in this nonsense nearly has you sinking further down into the tub and turning the faucet on high until the water runs up and over your head, but someone would come to find you eventually, and they would catch just as much of an eyeful as whoever tied you into this crap.

and someone certainly did, because there's no way you could have gotten into this alone, either stone-cold sober or sloshed out of your mind. which you're quite sure you were. had to have been.

there are faint and distorted memories tickling the sensitive skin of your throat, of cherry-stained lips and rushed, slurred whispers. "y'look so sexy," he says, and the little giggle pressed into your neck is innocent, childish compared to the wide hand gripping your ass cheek too hard.

the terribly concerning thing about this isn't that you don't know who that man is, but rather that you do. all too well. and now your head is pounding and your stomach is turning and your hangover is coming in full force at the realization that you may have, in fact, fucked your best friend.

but even that isn't the most concerning thing. no, waking up in a bathtub with few memories of your wild, first night in las vegas has nothing on the glittering, heavy diamond ring on your finger.

you don't know anything about carats but someone — that you hope and pray is not gojo satoru — has bought you a whole crop of them.

it seems as if an eternity passes before you can haul yourself up and over the edge of the tub, though it probably only takes about 10 minutes in total. on all fours, you feel like a little show cow, with fabric everywhere except for where it should be, and you're almost so overcome by your embarrassment that you turn back for the tub.

but there's a faint ringing coming from outside the door. an annoying, too-cheerful noise that you realize is what's woken you up in the first place, because it hasn't stopped for ages. a ring-tone that, again, has your stomach dropping from the familiarity.

maybe it's getou, you try to tell yourself, come to find gojo's phone because the clown ran off without it too late last night and is now panicking. maybe shoko and suguru and satoru are all sober as can be and you've just made a big fool of yourself, all by yourself, and everything is totally fine; you'd happily be labeled a sloppy drunk rather than...whatever it is your brain is trying to piece together right now.

you're not actually any more covered on the ground like this, but it gives you some semblance of comfort as you open the bathroom door and peer out down the hall — which is made of marble flooring and a crumpled-up white, mink rug, gold picture frames lining the pristine white walls. you can see clear across the room, and the floor-to-ceiling windows are all city skyline and a cloudless blue day.

and this is absolutely not the room the four of you booked.

not that it was some backwater, mysteriously-stained-carpet-esque motel room, but it was a bottom-floor rental, and definitely not on the strip, as this king-fucking-suite seems to be. definitely not littered with rose petals and pictures of greek goddesses (?) and a cardboard cut out of elvis presley.

the first piece of real clothing you come across while crawling along the floor is a black blazer that had clearly been tossed into a haphazard clump last night; you hate to imagine why. you yank it on as quickly as your lead-heavy limbs will let you and button it up as far as it will go. a good portion of your chest is exposed, still, but it goes to nearly your knees, because it's fitted for some stupid, tall idiot.

— and said stupid idiot is passed out in the middle of the hotel room, half of one leg kicked up on the couch. there's a sticky, splotchy puddle — of old champagne, you guess, if the empty bottle in his hand is anything to go by — right next to his stupid idiot head, and if he were to only turn his face a little, it'd get all in his hair. you wish it would.

satoru is also entirely shirtless, with the button of his slacks undone and a peek of his black, expensive briefs staring you in the face.

for a moment, you're surprised; all his dumb designer clothes make him seem too slinky, like a limp string-bean, and you didn't expect him to be as...thick as he is. still lean, moreso than even suguru, but there's a soft roundness to his shoulders, which have never looked so wide beneath his fancy shirts.

he has pecs. smooth abs that you want to poke, maybe bite. you're also trying not to care about the snow-white happy trail underneath his belly button.

the first thing you do is whack him in the head.

"gojo!" you hiss, hugging the blazer closer to your body as he whines and, unfortunately, turns further from the mess on the floor. "wake up!"

his glasses are nowhere to be seen, hopefully broken or lost for good, and he only manages to crack a single baby-blue open before covering his face with his hands and groaning out in pain. "did you hit me?" he asks, muffled and delayed, so you do it again to be more clear. "ah!" he cries, "why are you hitting me?"

"b-because! where are my clothes?"

you can see the brush of his light eyelashes against his fingers as his eyes open beneath his hands, and then he's sitting straight up, interested, smile growing at the sight of your bare legs.

gojo has the nerve the laugh, infuriatingly similar to the one haunting your memories. "noooo clue."

"satoru," you grit, and the use of his first name has his face falling into something more serious. "this isn't funny. what—" you hold up your hand and point to the ring on your finger, face burning up when his eyes go wide. "—happened last night?"

but — you know what happened, don't you? because, try as you might to ignore the silky white dress draped across the back of the couch, you're looking into gojo's eyes and you can see them staring back at you underneath the cheap light in some shitty little chapel.

you gasp out loud as your hands go to twist in the roots of your hair, the realization a physical assault on your sanity. "what the fuck have we done?"

a small crease forms between gojo's brows, courtesy of his own hangover headache, and his lips press together evenly as he blinks in the sunshine pouring through the window. he's startlingly less bothered by this than you are and you think it's driving you even more crazy; sitting as if has hasn't just dropped who-knows-how-much on a giant, ugly ring and a suit and this honeymoon-esque-fucking-suite.

the lack of frenzy from him is only driving your anxiety up tenfold.

the annoying little ring-tone splits the air again and that finally prompts him to leave the floor, stumbling around to the kitchen as he knuckles at his eyes. he brightens for a moment and holds up a hand-written note left for you both that says "congrats newlyweds!".

satoru answers the call without a care, voice light and amused. "mr. and mrs. gojo speaking!"

the only very little, teeny-tiny upside to all this is that shoko and getou look just as hungover as you.

ieiri is still laughing, however, into her eggs and then into her mimosa and then fully, into her hands, when you glare at her from across the table. suguru seems unphased for the most part, though you didn't miss how big his eyes got at first sight of the ring on your finger.

there had been no choice but to slip back into the dress you'd worn last night, as it seems the rest of your clothes were in the hotel room where you should've been; gojo at least lets you keep the blazer. most of the buttons on his shirt are gone and you'd both spent too long, too much brain power, trying to figure out how to get it to stay closed before meeting up with getou and shoko in one of the restaurants on the bottom floor of the hotel.

they confirm the worst.

the diagnosis? terminal. 'til death do you part.

"i can't believe you let me do this," you moan, dropping your head to the smooth, cool surface of the table; it doesn't alleviate your headache whatsoever. "why did you let me do this? how could you let me do this to myself?"

"oh, you both were very adamant about it," shoko snorts, downing the rest of her drink in one shot. you don't know how she does it; the very thought of alcohol makes you want to be sick. "wouldn't take no for an answer."

your face falls back into your hands, all doom and gloom. you want to refute such a claim, vehemently disagree that you would want to marry gojo satoru under any circumstances — but there apparently are circumstances that have led you right here. beside gojo, who is drenching a fat stack of pancakes in syrup.

he only grins. "i always knew you found me irresistible."

"look what you've let me do," you cry, digging your hands back in your hair as you send ieiri a pleading look, as if she could go back in time and stop you from ever getting into this mess. "you've let me ruin my life!"

getou sighs, head falling back against the booth you're sitting in. "it can't be that hard to undo. must happen all the time."

gojo chokes at that. "what? you would dare suggest the d-word on our first day as man and wife?"

you smack him again to shut him up, though he only frowns at you, cheeks full of food. "we are undoing this!" you hiss, glaring at your own reflection in the over-sized glasses shoko has let him borrow. "and you're paying for it!"

gojo chooses violence in that moment, by reaching out to catch the attention of the waitress walking by. "excuse me, do you mind getting my bride a cup of coffee? she gets a little grumpy in the morning without her caffeine, you know how it is."

you launch forward in the seat to strangle him, but he's quick to deflect by looping an arm around your shoulders, just before you get your hands on his throat. he yanks you close to his side, hard enough that you feel the phantom pain of his grip on your sore ass, from the night before, and then you catch sight of all the purple hickies just under his collar.

the unshakable reminder has you shrinking back into yourself, unintentionally nestling deeper against his side due to your blazing hot shame. it's mortifying suddenly, to realize it's public knowledge that you've married and screwed your best friend in the same night. maybe even the same hour. and he's seen you in that ridiculous lingerie.

the truth is that you don't know how to take this. you don't know how you feel about this. being married to him, having been bedded by him. you know he's not the reputation he tries so hard to uphold, as some playboy douche-bag; satoru is nothing but a goofball, a bit of a nerd about mathematics while also shouldering a substantial amount of emotional trauma.

you've known him since college, when you and shoko shared that crappy little apartment off-campus and spent too many nights playing beer pong with your only other two idiot friends — who are conveniently sitting in this booth with you.

he's slept in your bed more times than you can count, because he's too stubborn to sleep on the couch, and you were the link between he and getou when they stopped talking for a while. you don't know what the real deal is with megumi and tsumiki, but you've housed them, too; brought their lunch to school and washed their clothes when gojo forgot to pay the water bill, after he decided to stop living off his family's money.

you don't know how you feel being married to him, even if it's only for 24 hours. you don't know how you feel about crossing such an intimate boundary, or how you feel about not remembering any of it.

gojo, on the other hand, seems to feel great about all this, though the look getou gives him across the table doesn't go unnoticed; disappointment, almost. an are-you-serious kind of look.

"i'm never drinking again," you whine, frowning down at the diamond in your lap, sitting bright and sharp on your finger. it's too big for your taste, a bit gaudy, all for show; definitely satoru's style.

"good idea, peach," gojo nods, "let's agree to go sober."

"you didn't even drink that much—"

gojo interrupts suguru by raising a quick hand. "but we all know i'm a lightweight, so it doesn't take much to begin with."

shoko pokes through her phone and you notice the odd way she's angling it, almost like she's just snapped a picture of you and him snug together. you consider kicking her under the table, or throwing her phone in the obnoxious fountain blubbering over by the bathrooms.

she snickers. "i can't wait to tell utahime."

"you will not!" you squeak, suddenly wrenching yourself from gojo's grasp to scooch down to the other end of the booth, as if that could erase the evidence somehow. "we're getting divorced, like, right now!"

gojo — still seems unbothered, which only has your nerves flaring up again. "you know peach," —he pouts when you hiss at him to stop calling you that— "i'd move heaven and earth to make you happy, but unfortunately i can't find my credit card, so you'll have to put a hold on breaking up our family."

"you what?"

"yeah, what?" getou screws his face up, crosses his arms. "who do you think is paying for all your food?"

"suguru," he gasps, scandalized, "you would make the newlyweds pay for—"

"oh my god, get out!" you fuss, reeling your leg back to literally kick gojo's ass out of the seat. "get out, get out now! we're going back to that room and we're not leaving until we find your stupid card!"

"honey," gojo laughs, sweet and light, sending a chill down your spine as he is gladly steered by you. "don't be so forward in front of our friends."

"shut up!"

you re-tear apart the already torn apart hotel room.

there's not much to sort through, which is both good and bad for your pending annulment; helpful, because it means there isn't much in between you and gojo's credit card, but also unfortunate, because you rip the place to shreds and still can't find the stupid thing.

you're met with plenty of other things, though, that only serve to make your body hot and your brain fuzzy.

all the buttons of gojo's shirt, for one, which are scattered in various places across the floor, where they must have flown when one of you ripped it open. there's a ridiculous assortment of chocolates that, at one point, spelled out something —married!; gojo digs into them immediately with an excited little "oh!" as you crawl around on the floor.

whatever it was you woke up in gets shoved in the trash, and you don't even speak about it to satoru.

it eats away at you, though, the flitting images that cycle through your brain, the muddled memories you have of this ridiculous hotel room. the more you look, the more comes back to you, and you eventually can't stop replaying the way he'd thrown your dress up over your head, or the hand you stuck down his pants.

to no surprise at all, gojo isn't really helping. instead lounging on the couch, shoes kicked off, little foil wrappers in his lap. when he notices you staring at him, remembering, he smiles his coy little smile. "c'mon," he starts, "being married to me can't be that bad, can it?"

it's only been a few hours, but it feels like the day has drug on, far too long; you only shake your head, raise a hand and say, "don't."

"i can take care of you," he continues, turning to prop his chin up on the back of the couch as you pace back and forth. "i can—"

"i don't need to be 'taken care of'—"

"—you know what i mean." he has the audacity to roll his eyes at you, but the smile on his face is dimming. "i'll do the cooking and cleaning."

you huff out a laugh. "satoru, you've never cooked anything in your life."

he ignores the diss. "is it because i've got kids? you don't have to be the step-mom—"

"god, stop," you groan, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. they sting, suddenly, and you tell yourself it's only because of the migraine. "what are you—you can't be serious. why are you—i mean, what the hell?"

the hotel room goes entirely silent, and maybe it's because a phone isn't ringing in the background, but it feels like a completely different room. there's pink and red everything, bouquets to go with the petals littering the floor. the ring around your finger fits just right, but you force it to spin around and around, pinching at your skin because you can't keep your hands still.

satoru's face betrays nothing. you have no idea what he's thinking. why he's going so far, if this is all just another joke of his.

"we didn't, by the way," he tells you then, voice low and calm. "you went to throw up in the bathroom and never came back and i passed out on the floor."

you press your thumb into the center of your forehead, trying to tide back the frustration building in your waterline. "what? what do you mean?"

a small smile returns to his face, bringing about a rosiness with it. "our marriage was never consummated, i mean. we never got that far."

oh.

satoru is your best friend, one of them, and you decide, while looking at his tired eyes and soft smile, that maybe marrying him wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. getou gets on your nerves too much, with his grumpiness, and shoko is too flighty. utahime is maybe ideal, though you think nanami would be a good, safe choice.

and gojo, too. couldn't be too bad of a choice, with him.

you heave a sigh and come around to sit beside him on the couch, slumping back into his side — which was undeniably comfortable, down in the restaurant. the affection makes him hum, warm and happy into the crown of your head.

"every marriage has its ups and downs."

you dare to laugh, finally, at the situation. "i don't think i've been a very good wife."

"that's alright, peach," he yanks away, squirming as you try to pinch him. "i'm willing to try therapy to save this thing."

"you're stupid," you tell him childishly, though he only shrugs in response. "we have to figure this out, gojo. we have to — fix this."

"megumi will be out of the house in two years, if that's really the issue—"

you shake your head with another laugh as you get up to stretch your sore limbs, to rub at the tenderness still lingering in your buttcheek. "oh my god, it's not the kids, gojo!"

he laughs, too, though it sounds a little strained, like it's being forced from the back of his throat. "then what is it?"

"we're—" you shake your head again, at a loss from the seriousness dulling his eyes. "i mean, we've never even—we can't be married. we're—just friends, aren't we?"

there's a tension that hardens his face for a moment, solid enough that you get the feeling he's going to pull away somehow, from you and this conversation — but then it's falling away just as quickly, replaced by a look of exasperation. "we can be whatever you want."

another chill shudders down your spine at his honesty, his decision to be vulnerable, here, right now, with you. you've never been under the impression he had any...romantic feelings for you, and maybe that's been on purpose, out of fear of him and what loving him could mean. what losing him could mean.

"i think," you sigh, turning your attention back to the ring—your ring. "i think i'm going to give this back to you and you can hold onto it, if you want, and maybe give it to me in the future. after you cook me dinner and clean all the dishes."

he frowns, but it isn't too severe, playful once again. "so you're really gonna d-word me?"

"yes, satoru," you nod, unable to stop from smiling when he does, too. "i'm really going to d-word you. you're just gonna have to win me back, i guess."

"oh, challenge," he grins in full at that and rises to his feet, towering over you a bit. completely without ceremony, his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs brushing over the heat that swells in them. "it's good for us to shake things up every now and then, it'll keep our marriage fresh."

"yeah, great, i'm so glad you're so knowledgeable about this,"

"i'd be a perfect husband,"

—and he kisses you. so simply, so suddenly, a small peck to your lips as if it's nothing but natural.

"also," he kisses you again, a little firmer as your eyelashes flutter against his. "my credit card has been in the pocket this whole time."

"what?" you murmur, brain struggling to keep up with whatever he's saying between the press of his mouth to yours. the sharp breath he inhales through his nose is audible, felt against the skin of your cheek, and you almost throw the conversation out the window when he steps in closer to you.

but you yank away from him at the last second, as soon as you feel his lips curving into a smile.

"wait, what the hell?" you dig around in the pocket of the blazer only to find his little metal card, sitting there and waiting to be found. this time, he accepts the smack, because he knows he deserves it. "gojo!"

"what do they say? 'what happens in vegas, stays in vegas'?" he cups your face again, but it's only to squish your cheeks together to silence you, to smush your frown. "well, we don't leave for another two days, so i don't think you need to rush into tearing my heart into shreds."

you mean to tell him to shut up, but he doesn't let you, and you decide not to fight him on it this time.

—because you are working on your marriage, after all.

you're in the bathroom, washing your hands up after crawling around on the floor, when you feel another painful throb in your asscheek. only — it's less of a throb, really, and more of a stinging. almost like you have a scrape of some kind.

from out in the room, satoru laughs, cackles, wholly elated.

"hey peach, you're never gonna guess what's tattooed on my butt!"

[bugcreditcard]

Law grunted, dangling above the water in the grip of a man ten times his size. If only he hadn't been so distracted by what happened this morning, these nobodies wouldn't have been an issue.

The early morning had been cold. The sun barely peeked through the tall outlines of Swallow’s signature snow-covered pine trees, casting lazy shadows in the dawn. Law rubbed his hands together letting his hotter breadth warm up his chilly fingers for a second before continuing on to his destination. He had left the mittens Wolf gave him behind. They were slightly too big for him and he wanted full dexterity of his fingers. When he got there, it would be brighter out anyways.

He was off earlier than normal to an isolated lake that he had found during one of his explorations mapping out the terrain of Swallow Island. Isolation meant no people, and no people meant it was a perfect place to practice the boundaries of his Op-Op-no-mi powers.

His powers were something that he was still getting used to, not quite sure where the 'theoretically' possible became the actually ‘now’ possible. He knew already that he could use them to heal once-thought incurable illnesses, his own body a constant reminder of that fact, but it also seemed to aid in fights as well. It would be around a month since he had used the devil fruit’s powers to save his new roommate, an anxious polar bear mink by the name of Bepo, from being poached by two eggheaded wanna-be hunters. The two young adults waving their guns around, cruelly boasting about their valuable catch had him rubbed the wrong way even before he saw the polar bear on the ground. Law was glad they never saw those shambled rocks until it was too late.

(And he would never be unprepared again.)

A few minutes of walking later and he was here. He approached the edge of the shore, his attention quickly caught upon a struggling trout that had somehow made its way onto land. As luck would have it, there was also a crab desperately hanging onto it (no doubt it's dinner gone wrong) that had managed to be flipped onto its back. At the time, it seemed to be a waste to not utilize the situation to perform some experiments. For what he had in mind to test, he would be needing two 'test subjects' after all.

Quickly he walked a few paces around to make sure there wasn't anyone in the vicinity. Pine trees enclosed a small area where land met the frigid lake that hadn’t quite frozen over yet, several smaller channels branching off, snaking their way farther into the land and probably the ocean. The lake was too small to set up fishing boats and it was far up enough in the mountain to make any sort of trek here not worth it. Satisfied, his hand moved to hover over the fish and crab, a small familiar blue encapsulating it. His brow furrowed in concentration. Attention pinpoint focused, his fingers twitched slightly and with a (admittedly) satisfying pop, the lower ends of the crab and fish switched places, slotting into place without any bleeding or seemingly outward complications.

"Holy fuck did you see that!"

"Shhhhhh!" Followed by a quick splash that had Law paranoidly whipping his head around. He stood up, hand clenched into his fist, heart hammering loudly in his chest.

The Crab-Fish and Fish-Crab wiggled uselessly on the ground below.

There was no one around. No one moved across the treeline and the lake was barren, lazy ripples scattering across the surface from the wind. Who saw him? Law took several steps back, his eyes darting around. Was it Doflamingo? "Hey." Law started off before raising his voice in anxiety and anger "HEY! Show yourself!"

There was no answer.

With an urgency that Law refused to say was paranoia, Law scooped the proof of his actions into his bag and broke into a sprint into the treeline. If it was Doflamingo he would have already been dead, Law chanted under his breath - the thought did little to settle his beating heart. Wolf’s house, yeah he would be safe there for now: he could pull himself together and form a plan there.

Continued here: In the beginning there was me and you (and you)

[pampushky]

Foot of the Gallows

trafalgar d. water law/reader - chapter 5 - 3.2k

ao3 link | masterlist | series masterlist | next chapter

5.) lion's bane

A powerful sedative once dried and powdered. When picked fresh, it can be pickled and then eaten to help children sleep before significant procedures. Legend says it was once used to make a fierce mountain lion sleep, so that it could then be put into the royal menagerie.

You’re on your way back from foraging for a certain mushroom that only grows deep in the forest when you see someone leave your shop, which is interesting. Because your shop was always closed during this specific time, on the same day every week, it makes you freeze before you sprint back to the shop, fearing some version of a robbery only to find…. a clinic.

Lined up around the first floor of your shop are dozens of people staring at you while you stand there with your chest heaving, your harvesting sickle held out like a weapon. And sitting behind the counter, in your stool that has always been your stool since you could walk, is Law, focused entirely on the swollen wrist of a mink-hybrid child. Tiny little cat ears flattened to their head while a doting father hovers, a bushy white tail twitching back and forth as Law murmurs and draws a shimmery black string of mana a centimeter or two over the child’s wrist. The string flashes, sinking into the child’s skin, watching as the wrist stops swelling, while Law scribbles down something on a piece of paper— your paper! 

He blinks at you as you stand there and give a little wave as you look at the line of people. They’re mostly peasantry, the same people who you would have ended up writing prescriptions and waving the payment, though you do see a few nicer-dressed folk, who look rather embarrassed to be sighted alongside the lowborn seeking Law’s care. 

“You were gone, so I opened up my clinic here.” Law gestures to the line and how he’s set up at your counter. Using your pens and paper. Offering the younger patients sweets you saved to keep off your hunger during rushes.

“You’re in my stool and using my paper,” the words come out before you can stop them. And you feel your face heat up. Because that’s not what you’re really mad about, but you still want to let him know that you’re mad about them. 

So you turn right on your heel and go upstairs to start to dry the mushrooms you’d foraged, but it’s not right, because you’re supposed to be downstairs when you do this. After all, that’s the best place to do it. It’s not too humid, and the light around this time of day is perfect even when you’re an hour late or early from coming back. But it’s too loud down there, and the floors will be covered in mud, and you’ll have to clean it all again before you can start, meaning that the mushrooms will take longer to dry, or they may not dry correctly at all. 

It’s ridiculous. You know that. They’ll dry fine on the kitchen counter as long as you cut them the same way and use the same spells to help wring the moisture from them. But downstairs was where your mother had taught you how to do it. Where your Uncle had helped you learn the spell to pull the water from it, and it was always where you had done it.

Downstairs is where Law had become your husband now, too. 

With matching embroidered cuffs and necklines, as was standard for the couples that could afford it, it was your fault for not clarifying to the tailor that he didn’t have to do that. You look down at the thread around the cuff of your sleeve. The serpentine body entwined with the ivy. Constricting, tightening around the neckline of your dress, and by instinct, your hand goes to your throat as if to ensure nothing is there.

Why do you keep having to remind yourself that Law had never choked you on that day? You place your hands flat on the counter, counting down from ten as you had learned to do when your mind got the better of you in these moments.

Law can feel the prickle of annoyance and anxiety trickling down his back as he helps the next person in line. Your mana makes a prickling noise, almost like a Geiger counter, in his ears (not that Law knew what a Geiger counter was or could even comprehend the idea of nuclear waste). And continues to feel it, crackling in the back of his mind until there’s no one left in the shop. He’s well aware it’s yours, but he’s not sure about what. It’s been a week— the pattern you two have set out has worked thus far. 

Or, he thinks it has. You don’t talk to him unless it’s absolutely necessary. But the anxiety says otherwise. And just when he’s about to start sweeping, he can feel a jolt of rather violent anxiety spiking— enough so that he sprints upstairs just to see you with your palms on the countertop, staring at a pile of neatly-sliced mushrooms on your drying rack. He can hear you mumbling, one of your hands clenched in a tighter fist than the other. 

The mushrooms are dried now, or close to it, but you still seem frazzled. Eyes squeezed shut as you count your way down from fifty. 

“Are you alright…?” Law stays at the top of the stairs, not wanting to get too close. Your hunched form leaning against the doorframe of your bathroom haunts him still. 

“Fine.” You gasp out as if it’s painful to do so. “Perfect. Amazing. Stupendous. What are other synonyms, you were always better at the languages than I was,” you trail off, and he can see how labored your breathing is as you start to count down from sixty. 

“...You don’t sound it,” Law speaks hesitantly. Weighing your symptoms in his mind, practiced eyes taking in your entire body. Anxiety attack. You need grounding, and fast. You’d never been good with more practiced methods– he recalls that much, or rather, has had those details committed to memory forever. So, he walks briskly to your side, pulls you to the kitchen sink as you briefly protest, only to plunge your hands into a stream of icy cold water. “Five seconds. Then I want you to go from cold to hot.”

“What—”

“Do you have any ice?” Law rustles through the cabinets, knowing that you had at least oneenchanted one to keep produce and meats fresh, and then another to keep things frozen, he just can’t recall which one it is. 

“Yes— top right–”

You shriek when he pops an ice cube rather forcibly into your mouth, and the anxiety that had been trickling down his back pops, as though it never existed to begin with. 

And then you cuff him in the ear while trying not to drop the ice cube from your open mouth.

“Law Water D. Trafalger—!” You screech, and he can’t help it. He starts to laugh, dodging your clumsy swipes at him, easily blocking them. This seems to enrage you even more. “What the hell were you thinking—!?”

“A way to stop your panic attack,” Law laughs, grinning so widely as you pause, as if you’re still processing what he’s said, before scowling at him. “C’mon, give me some credit. I’ve known what your panic attacks look like since we were kids.” 

“You also once shoved a pill bug in Luffy’s nose when he was sleeping.” Your tone is so dry as you turn off the faucet and leave the ice cube in there to melt. “Shanks was pissed,”

“He bit me!”

“He was like, seven!”

“I didn’t bite when I was seven,” Law sulks, leaning against the counter. “I just watched my parents die.”

“.... By the gods above and below, you’re still such an ass,” You mumble, bracing yourself against the counter, turned away from him. But he can still see the little smile on your face. Good, he’s distracting you. Forcing you not to think about whatever had upset you so much. 

The mushrooms catch his eye again. Lion’s Bane. He’d always needed more of that— it helped him to sleep when he’d first moved to the southern continent when the pain of the curse had really started to kick in. Before that, he’d spent most of his nights passing out from exhaustion when he finally couldn’t take it anymore, and asked Doflamingo if there was anything that could help him. Anything. 

And, of course, there was. But it came with a price. Everything that was given to him came with a price: another tight wire coiled around his neck to keep him under control. 

“Hey— these look good,” Law plucks one of the thin slices from the drying rack, carefully examining it. “You really have gotten better. With your earthen magic, I mean.”

The anxiety immediately comes back, and it nearly knocks Law over. Okay– one question answered, but now another presented itself to him. Why were you so anxious over the Lion’s Bane? These were perfect— he wasn’t joking about that. You were one of the best apothecaries he’d ever worked with. Yet your anxiety said otherwise. It was making him feel nauseous. 

“No, they’re terrible,” You sound so certain. So utterly devastated. “I wasn’t as fast with drying them, which means they won’t be as effective when powdered.”

“That’s… a thing that happens?” Law puts the mushroom back down. “How much does it affect it?” 

“It takes five and a half minutes longer to kick in,” You mumble, and he hates how tears are threatening to spill over onto your cheeks— 

But he laughs. And you look utterly startled. 

“Then they’re just fine for doctors,” Law does mean to, but he takes your hands. They’re clammy and shaky, and he worries about your circulation for a brief second before he snaps back into gear. “I promise. How many minutes do yours normally take to kick in?”

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, still with tears threatening to spill, “They’re gonna take fifteen and a half—” You stop speaking when you notice how baffled he looks. “What?”

“Your Lion’s Bane powder. It only takes fifteen and a half minutes?”

“Ten normally,” you pull your hands away from his and start to wring them nervously. “Why?”

“They take about forty minutes on average. From every other apothecary I’ve gotten them from. How— what are you doing to them? Whatever you’re doing to them, you’re making them so much more effective,” Law looks at one on the drying rack, then at you, and then back at the drying rack, snapping one up as he makes his way over to the couch. “Time me. I— I need to test this, this is remarkable if you’re right—“

“You shouldn’t eat an entire dried slice—“You make a grab for his hand, but he’s already dangling it above his mouth and drops it in, chewing and then swallowing quickly. He looks at you, and suddenly, you’re both fifteen and seventeen again. “Oh my fucking Gods, Law, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Are you timing it?” He grins at you, and you have half a mind to have Gertrude smack him in the back of the head or reach down his throat to pull it from his throat.

“What— no— I should be shoving charcoal down your throat right now—“

“Well, there goes the experiment!” Law slumps onto the couch. “Where are you even getting them from, I can already feel the effects— yes, slight blurriness around edges of my vision, slowed reaction time,” he adds when you pitch a pillow at him, and he doesn’t even dodge, letting it hit him square in the face, pulling it to his chest. “This is remarkable!”

“They’re just in the woods outside the city wall! It’s where my family’s been getting them from for centuries—“

“You need to show me.”

“Excuse me?”

“These could be…” he yawns and blinks sleepily, “…a huge breakthrough for… for chronic insomnia…”

Law is slumped against the wall before he can even finish his sentence, drooling onto his tunic as you watch him. There’s gentle shuffling behind you as Gertrude comes to set a leaf on your shoulder. You pat their leaf gently and plop down onto the opposite side of the couch, rubbing your forehead. Gertrude wordlessly starts to get you a glass of water while rifling through the cabinet to find the charcoal you’d mentioned when Law first ate the mushroom. “Thank you,” you mumble, taking the charcoal from the plant, along with a glass of water. The charcoal is already crushed, meant for emergencies with your customers. In this case, just for your idiot of a childhood friend and now husband. Law snores as you mix the powdered charcoal with the water and doesn’t even flinch as you pour it into his mouth, tilting up his throat and having him swallow, keeping his head tilted forward so he doesn’t choke. It’ll be a bit late to help him wake up, but you just sigh, leaning back against the couch. Gertrude brings you a cup of milk tea, gently patting your head with one of their leaves before going back to being nestled around the top of the cabinets.

Your eyes close softly after you finish the cup of tea, still caked in mud from your four-hour hike through the woods to get to the lion’s bane.

When you wake up, Law is looming over you. You do the natural thing and scream, kicking him immediately in the place you’ve learned is the weakness of most men, regardless of if they were born as one or not. You kick him straight in the balls, watching as he topples nearly instantly, clutching his groin while holding in several groans as he bites his lower lip.

Gertrude is laughing, the little shit. They’re laughing, and you’ve just kicked Law in a very sensitive area. Rustling their leaves from the top of the cabinets until you shoot them a stern glare. 

“G’mornin,” Law’s voice is several pitches higher. Still holding his crotch and looking at you with a very shocked expression. “That hurt.”

“Why were you hovering over me,” you steady your breathing. You still have your leg outstretched to kick. Your hands brace on the couch. “Like a fucking weirdo?”

“You’re getting mud on the couch.”

Your eye twitches. And you stand, even when you want to sit back down and rub mud into the fabric just to spite him. But you know you’ll be more upset in the end if you do end up doing that. The mud feels so wrong against your skin when you’re in your casual wear. It would stick to your skin all day, even if you’d washed it away.

“It’s my couch.”

“Our couch.”

“Fuck off, you literally ruined my day yesterday,” Your voice is venomous, and he seems shocked by the anger. 

“How?”

“You— ugh— you wouldn’t get it,” 

Because he probably wouldn’t. You’d tried to talk to your parents about it, especially when they still worked with you. You liked things done a certain way. There was always a proper way to do things and a certain place to do it all. When trying to tell your mother that, while she was turning the orange roots of a fire bush into a paste, she just quirked an eyebrow at you and told you, albeit lovingly, to get over yourself and that any place in the shop was the right place to work, so long as it was clean. She didn’t understand that while it may be that way for her, you liked your rhythms. The specificity. It had taken years to develop these routines and patterns for harvesting and processing all of your medicines. Along with finding the perfect materials to label and write your detailed notes. 

Kizaru had somewhat understood. But he also was in a very different profession than yours. Yet he understood nonetheless.

“Why not?”

Why not? Because he would likely tell you to get over it like your mother had and would make you work out of your comfort zone. Sometimes, it helped. Other times, it made it worse. She hadn’t meant anything by it. She just didn’t understand.

“Because— because I’m weird about my shit, and I don’t like it when people use it,” You blurt out, “Like my paper! That paper is resistant to most degrading compounds, so it’s safe to not only label but use as a packaging thing, and I really, really hate when people sit in my stool because it’s my stool and—“

“Calm.” You feel a wave of ease roll over you, with Law pressing his thumb to the center of your forehead. 

You feel like the world is moving much slower. Or your brain is. The prickling under your skin is gone. “I do actually understand that,” Law says, pulling his hand away from your forehead and kneeling so he can look you in the eyes. His hands are warm, cupping your face, making sure you’re looking at him. “And I’m sorry I invaded your space like that. You’d been gone for two hours already, so I figured it would be alright if I opened my clinic down there.” “It takes me five hours to get the lion’s bane, and then I dry it downstairs. That’s how I’ve always done it.”

He hates how tired you look. How soft your voice is. He knows exactly why you’re like this, too. You’d always had… peculiarities about doing things your way. It’d make you cry if you couldn’t do them the way you’d always wanted to do them, sending you into a quivering mess. Your mother had accidentally triggered one of these when she’d been drying out thunder root and had nearly panicked when you couldn’t voice why you were so upset. 

“I didn’t know. But I won’t do it there, or at that time, again. Okay?” Law pulls his hands away, and he thinks he’s imagined the way you almost chase after his touch. “... do you normally panic when things like that happen? It… hasn’t changed?” “Yeah,” you pull your knees to your chest. “I think. It’s just been piling on. All the stuff from the past three weeks.” Law nods, rocking back on his heels. 

Just the two of you. Law on the floor, you on the couch, both of you with your knees to your chests, looking at each other. It’s painfully familiar and foreign at the same time. 

“...I never apologized. For….” “Don’t,” Your voice quivers. The fight and anger are gone. You just sound defeated. And he can feel the weight of the sorrow on his soul as you tuck your head into your arms, hiding away your face. “Please.”

The sorrow gives way to fear. Of the wetness of mud caked on your skin, slinging to your hair and eyelashes. How it weighed down your clothes, your skin, your hair. How cold you’d felt as you trudged back to your home. 

You hate mud. Yet you’re still in the mud-caked clothes from your hike to forage for mushrooms yesterday. “Alright.” Law chokes, unable to handle just how heavy everything feels from your side of the bond, “Alright.”

You don’t know how to feel when there is an unfamiliar twinge of guilt and longing that is not your own. The door down the hall shuts as Law shelters himself away in his room. And you just cry into your arms, your tears turning the dried dirt on your sleeves to mud again. 

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 16.

Summary: In which we observe a few nights during the first week of the Summer at Saltburn while you set your plan into motion for putting on a show for Oliver. You don't tell Farleigh about the plan despite definitely using him in it, because you reason that he'd only object because he still loudly hates Oliver whenever he can. You... don't think too hard about all of the ethics of this. But there's also a lot you don't think about. Anyways, what Farleigh doesn't know won't hurt him.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; Farleigh/Reader(/Oliver kind of). Dom!Reader, praise kink, no AGAB specified for the reader, brief mention of oral (M receiving), implied voyeurism and also implied non-consensual voyeurism, degradation, choking, discussions about the reader's sex life and about whether or not their partners get them off.

A/N: 3193 words. not to be hit by the fic writer's curse but sorry this chapter is late i had a seizure for the first time in my life on a main road by the bus stop and was hospitalized for four days. this was going to be longer but i wrote and rewrote the "ending" and neither fit right so i said fuck it. very nsfw chapter and we get to love farleigh a bit more. LOVE YOU!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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So it was definitely working.

And after you'd explained it to Felix, he was more than on board.

Farleigh was of the opinion that Felix monopolized too much of your time whenever you were away from the Estate, so he would never complain about your sudden increased desire to be pressed against him as you lay about the property. Likewise, Venetia had absolutely no complaints about the contact. Venetia relishes the contact, and not that she'd ever say it, but she'd wrap herself around your shoulders like a mink coat for hours at a time if you'd let her.

You know Oliver's eyes are on you often in the early days, the first week at Saltburn. His gaze burns you in the days, and he finds you in the lilac study at night.

At first it's innocent enough; you'd left a copy of Saltburn: The Art of Saltburn House, The Catton Collection on his bedside, to help him familiarise himself with the history of the Estate and the antiquities therein. You sit at the desk, looking through your dossier, he curls up like a cat on one end of the off-white, leather sofa beneath the window. He looks beautiful in the moonlight.

"You're watching me," Oliver murmurs. He looks like a dream, shirtless, relaxed against the sofa, painted beautiful and blue by the clear night sky. You sigh softly, apologising faintly but insincerely as you reach past your dossier to the pack of cigarettes resting there. Its Oliver's turn to watch you once more, book closed in his lap where he waits for you to join him. You open the window, sitting on the back of the sofa, half on the windowsill.

Oliver leans forward, looking up at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his as he asks you about the dossier. You explain about the various events, big and small, that Saltburn plays host to over the Summer. You explain rather clinically about your interest in the guests, while keeping your mouth shut on any information about your own parents out of habit.

The next night, you forgo the desk entirely and simply sit on the sofa, window open, lamp on behind you. Oliver sits, and you stretch your legs out over him, invading his space without looking up, but blithely telling him that he's free to ask you to move. One of his hands holds your ankles, crossed in his lap, secure as he braces his book against your shins.

You've become acutely attuned to the way Oliver thinks he's skulking around Saltburn. As quiet as he tries to be, he'll never be able to out-fox you here. The Cattons and Farleigh? Most definitely, but you? Well, not since you spent a full year trying to convince Duncan to let you join the staff for events. Neither he nor Elspeth had agreed, but the skills you'd taught yourself made you a sometimes uncanny presence in the house even to this day.

But you appreciate that Oliver's aiming for subtlety, even if he doesn't meet his mark; it makes him easier to ignore on purpose.

There's the barest shift and creak outside of Farleigh's room the night he invites you back to drink wine and hang out. Considering the artistic inclinations of his own immediate family, Farleigh had often found a great deal of solace in you and the stories you could tell him if your grandmother, a great artist in her own right. Many nights were spent in Farleigh's room, drinking, listening to music, and painting across each other's skin before it devolved into a mess of another kind.

This third night, you hear the faint groan of the floorboards, the creak of the barest weight against the other side of the door. You tell Farleigh he's beautiful as you ride him, rocking back and forth in his lap, and you wonder if Oliver can tell the painting on your back is a dreamy field of wildflowers through the keyhole.

Gorgeous boy, so good - fuck Fars, you feel so good - you tell him as he grips you tight, paint smearing across your hips and thighs. You're the one covered in his art, but you call him breath-taking with absolute sincerity. Part of it is of course a show for Oliver, but you can't deny your genuine affection for Farleigh. His bitchy shell gave way to so few people that you considered the moments in which he'd relinquish control to you to be rather special.

Plucking control and responsibility from him while lavishing him with affection was something you delighted in. The shallow doting of fair-weather friends and short term partners was something Farleigh was used to, but you knew he was worth - and capable of - so much more than that.

While you were more than capable - and he was more than willing - for you to bark orders, push him around, make him kneel and obey your every whim, you knew all too well that you had all Summer to show off. Not that you wanted these games to drag on that long.

The bed rocks with your consistent rhythm, so you can hear the way weight shifts just outside the door, but doesn't move. A thought occurs to you, a new script, a new hook -

"Ollie thinks you treat me badly," you tease loud enough you know your voice will carry, but leaning in to press yourself to Farleigh, braced over him to keep him on his back despite the irritation in his eyes the minute they flick open. Still, you carry on before he can comment, despite how much you know he wants to, "he even asked how we got -" you moaned faintly for effect, settling yourself on him for the moment, hips pressed flush, his hands on your ass, "close," your smile widens, "considering, how awfully mean you can be to me." You pout, putting on the act thickly enough that it gets Farleigh to smile despite himself.

"You need to tell me this now?" Hands sliding up your body, Farleigh's hips begin to roll, taking over from you, fucking you softly as he takes your face in his hands. The touch is tender, more gentle than he'd ever allow if he knew he had an actual audience. Perhaps you should feel bad for using him like this, but you tell yourself that Farleigh will understand. If he ever finds out.

Still, the more you think about it, the more it... bothers you. Oliver's voice in your ear.

You need to be needed. Want to be wanted.

Farleigh stops. There's genuine concern in his face as he holds your face close. But it's his voice too, casually cruel to the entire roster of your past sexual exploits without giving you a moment to really think about it.

You rate sex by how good you can make your partner feel.

Maybe that's all you were to Farleigh, just like Venetia; a warm body you weren't related to. Be a partner in crime, someone he could bitch to about the finer irritations he suffered under the Cattons, someone he could fuck when he felt bored or unwanted. An affectionate little imp who'd accept his every apology, who'd still let him get away with feeling like he had the moral high ground. The dog forever at the foot of his metaphorical bed.

But was that not enough? How could you say he did not love you, not care about you, not look out for you? It's there in his eyes in this moment, these brief few seconds that to you have felt like a lifetime.

Pushing down the urge to ask the kinds of questions that would give real answers, but would complicate things tremendously, you let yourself lean into the messy, shameful lust that pits low in your belly, burning as you think of Oliver, though you've lost track of if he was still there, you have hope. It's his voice once more, from this morning this time, the praise he'd so casually offered. It that spurs you on.

"Tell me I'm good," shifting your focus back onto Farleigh, it comes out as almost an order. Your companion takes a moment to reassess the situation, smile lighting up his face when he's finally sure your behaviour isn't worrying.

"Of course you're good, you're you -" he laughs, but you sit back up, taller this time and out of his grip, hand braced on his chest as you level thin, cold smile at him, playing far more into the dominant role than you had been earlier.

"Exactly," and your hips begin to move again; you think you can actually feel Farleigh shiver with sudden anticipation, "tell me I'm good, Farleigh," you drag your nails down his chest, "make me believe it." The words escape him in a hiss as you clench down on him, tight and sensitive as your hips pick up the pace. Hearing the words begin to spill from him like a prayer unlocks something deep within you, a want you hadn't even realised you had. Recognition. Praise.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Farleigh," hand finding his throat, you press firmly to the sensitive pulse points in the way you know he likes, and he actually whimpers, tries to shake his head that he's not. Agonisingly slowly, you leaned in. You know he's close, he's begging and whining as much as he's affording you praise, so you dare not stop. It's a messy kiss that you plant on him, all teeth and shared, desperate breath, his lip between your teeth to the point he actually yelps and you let go.

"You ever call me a dog again," you whisper into his ear dangerous and seductive all at once as you have him where you want him, "you'd better make sure you call me a good one," and you bite gently at his ear as he swears, "now it's your turn to be good for me."

Reaching between you both, as you pull yourself off of Farleigh's desperate, all but twitching cock, your hand takes over for the half second it takes you to move down him, to let him finish in your mouth, all but singing your praises.

Farleigh's quiet and rather giggly in the afterglow, sharing a cigarette with you. The tension leaves you as his fond teasing returns. You don't hear any sign of Oliver beyond the door in these moments; you don't think you hear him leave, so he must be gone already. You wonder just how much he stuck around for; you wonder if he'll ever let on.

That night you stay with him, talking and joking about nothing and everything, and the fears you had about your place in his life matter less and less with each passing moment. Head on his shoulder, reading the last Harry Potter book with him in the early hours of the morning, you think any pet should feel lucky to be half as loved as you were by Farleigh and Venetia. Even if they had a strange way of showing it.

Ever true to form, there's absolutely no indication at breakfast that anything remotely note worthy happened the night before. These trysts had been occurring for so long at this point that as long as it was confined to the private quarters of one of the four - now five, you supposed - youth of Saltburn, everyone else pretended to feign ignorance. It was simply a truth of life at Saltburn; death, taxes, and you knowing Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh biblically since high school. So if there was to be a reaction, it would be from the exact person you were hoping would give one.

Oliver.

His gaze does linger on you over breakfast, but it's strangely unreadable. For a long while he watches your hands, but you don't call him out, or draw attention to the fact that you know; you let him stare. You let him watch as you have resolved to do.

Okay, there is one point where your hands drift into a lewd, sexual gesture while you're busy making plans with the others to head to the field for the day, and when you glance back at Oliver he's pink around the ears when he guiltily meets your gaze. The smile you flash him, so quickly that no-one else sees it, is wicked. Even if he seems to grow further embarrassed, you're pretty sure he's focusing straight down on his food to hide a smile.

"What kind of pervert do you take me for?" Felix mutters, despite the flush on his cheeks in the golden afternoon sunshine as Farleigh continues to tease him while you three and Venetia settled into the field, waiting for Oliver.

"Like you aren't even the slightest bit curious about the only other dick to get Y/N off besides you," Farleigh smirked, even as Venetia gasped with a kind of scandalised glee, and you practically screeched with fury, berating him with a flurry of smacks against his shoulder.

"Not true!" You clarified immediately, looking to Felix, who had slid his sunglasses down his nose to give you an incredulously amused look. You could feel yourself growing more flustered by the moment, but you're not exactly sure why. Surely - if it were true, which it decidedly is not - it would be just an awful reflection on your past partners, "and if it were, which it... mostly isn't," you stuck your nose in the air, giving Farleigh a final shove, "wouldn't you just be writing your own shit review with that lie?"

"How can it be mostly true?" Venetia's eyes are alight with intrigue as she fully rolls over to get closer to you and the boys, propping her chin on her hand as she dedicates her focus to you. Farleigh's actually kicking his feet and giggling, the bloody shit-stirrer.

"I told you that in fucking confidence," you snapped to Farleigh in what was more a stage whisper than anything else. Farleigh's giggling turns to cackling.

"So what I was told," Felix sits back with a smug little smile and a tone that you knew could only mean he was about to be a menace, "was that Ollie was so good that none of our friends," his grin grows wider in the face of your pouting, "Farleigh included, I'd assume, would believe you if you'd told them." Smug bastard; if he put half as much effort into studying as he did to remembering stupid shit you say about your hook ups, you wouldn't have had to go in and change nearly as many of his marks in the system.

"I get off!" You defended your past self, though it almost sounds embarrassed, but the ridiculousness of the situation sets the others off snickering, "people other than Fi, and, yeah, Ollie," you admitted awkwardly, "get me off- have gotten me off! Both of you cunts have gotten me off! You were there!" By now they're all practically cackling, and you let your embarrassment wane and let yourself get caught up in the laughter too.

As your coming down, it's a lot easier to admit without feeling self conscious.

"He got me off first is all," you lay back in the tall grass, lighting up a cigarette with an easy smile, "which, yeah, is admittedly a rare enough occurrence that it made whatever counts as mine and Farleigh's news cycle," you snorted.

"Seriously?" You hear Felix's incredulous voice and you sigh, admitting that while, yeah, that list consists of him and Oliver, it's also not that big of a deal, that you have your fun. But Felix isn't talking to you; "no, seriously," he's looking between Venetia and Farleigh like he's personally offended, "how long have you two been fucking my best mate and you haven't even had the decency to -"

"I keep track," Farleigh insists, which, yeah he actually did, "I repay back every one that I promise," his hand over his heart like this is anything close to serious. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you see Felix is still wearing a severely unimpressed look at them both, and despite the ludicrous situation, something about his indignation on your behalf melts something in your heart. It's almost like he can tell; without even looking at you he reaches out and rests a hand on your shin beside him.

"And a very worked up lesbian in Montreal told me I was a pillow princess," Venetia says in that same tone as Farleigh, as if her words were any kind of justification.

"I have follow up questions," Farleigh, however, immediately takes the bait, if only to steer the conversation away from Felix's frustration at them both, "how did you know she was a lesbian and why were you arguing?"

"The answer to both is that we weren't arguing," Venetia tells him smugly, voice laden thick with inuendo. Felix makes a face, but lets them go about their conversation without further interruption from him, despite his continued discomfort with the news he'd just learned about you.

Sitting up beside him, you mirror him, knees up to your chest, but you tuck your arm in his and bump your forehead against his cheek.

"Feels kinda gross to know about you," you hear Felix mumble, though almost immediately he clarifies, "you're not gross," he's speaking low enough that only you can hear, "everyone else is," he jerks his head towards Venetia and Farleigh before he leans back against you, "they're gross."

"Lucky I have you and Ollie then," you murmur with a chuckle, but are met with silence. Felix lets out a long sigh, and you know him well enough to know what's on his mind, "you so are curious about Ollie," you poked him in the ribs with a sly grin. Felix snorted, pressing a kiss to your forehead instead of answering. You know all too well that he's blushing by now, attempting to hide most of it from his perverse family members by keeping close to you.

Venetia and Farleigh for their part have shifted over, given you both more space as the gossiping had come to an end. As it always seemed to be, the last two to remain unreasonably close were you and Felix.

"What made him different from everyone else wasn't his dick, for the record," you murmured as you were going through the picnic basket, searching for something cold in the afternoon heat. Felix the only one close enough to have heard your quiet aside, looks at you with intrigue; how does he not get it? You give him a strange little smile, "it's... that he was Oliver." Felix frowns a little, as if trying to decipher what you're trying to tell him. Instead you shrug and unwrap and ice lolly, gaze focusing on where you can finally see Oliver on the horizon; you wave, but keep your voice low as you add to Felix.

"There's no dick that's going to cure world hunger by itself, you know?"

And no, at the time Felix doesn't exactly understand what you mean by that. Yet.

[merakiui]

You unlocked a new mink for me about stepson!Floyd. Anymore headcannons?

I have a few thoughts to share!!

(cw: yandere, nsfw, dub-con, unhealthy relationship/behaviors, obsession, stepcest (stepson!floyd x stepmother!reader), reader is female and a milf, age gap (but floyd is an adult in his late twenties/early thirties; i couldn't decide.), one-sided attraction (floyd loves you in a very not familial way, but you don't reciprocate in this regard)

✧ growing up, floyd probably hated you with a fiery passion. perhaps he's stubborn and refuses to see you as his new mother because he clings to the memories of his birth mother. no one can replace his real mama. you're just a fake! >:( what does his pops even see in you? as he matures, he grows out of his dislike for you and eventually comes to appreciate your presence in his life. both you and his birth mother are two separate people and he knows that even though you're not his birth mother (and will never be his birth mother) you're still technically his (step)mother. stepmother status doesn't mean much to him; regardless of that, you're still very mama to him. he's always been a mama's boy, so he grows attached. it's a very different attachment with you.

✧ the line between platonic and romantic is very thin for floyd because he's never truly understood the boundary between both. he loves you. isn't that enough? his admiration for you is just puppy love; it probably starts when you'd patch him up after every scuffle he got into or when you'd pick him up after he got in trouble with the other schoolchildren or teachers, chiding him lightly. you'd hold his hands in yours and lecture him softly: "floyd, you know these hands of yours aren't supposed to hurt others. why hit when you can hug instead?" he thinks that's so LAME. >:/ but because you said so, he'll try to be nice just so you won't be upset with him. he'll do anything to make his mama happy.

✧ he fought with jade a lot for your attention. whenever the two of them got into a spat, he'd show up at your bedroom door and sleep between you and his pops. he hates fighting with jade, of course, but then he hates it more when jade's being greedy with your time and affection.

✧ floyd probably surpassed the line of platonic when he was going through puberty and started noticing things about you that he hadn't before. with the physical changes that accompany puberty, the emotional ones come, too. it's a turbulent time for floyd because he has no idea how to navigate any of these weird feelings. while the boys in his class are talking about their crushes, floyd's thinking of you and only you. part of him realizes it's wrong, but he never addresses it. it's just hormones. it'll pass. (it doesn't.)

✧ now that he's much older, set to inherit the family business any day now, all of these memories are looked back on with immense, obsessive fondness. his affection for you doesn't waver with age; if anything it's gotten stronger because now he's old enough to understand what everything means. and he now knows the line between platonic and romantic. he'll probably never think of you platonically ever again. he's too deep into his obsession to view you as you are without the lustful attraction.

✧ you're so soft. so sweet. he's so in love with you and your body and your smell because you always smell like home; and you always cook him delicious meals when he comes to visit. as much as floyd likes the independence and freedom of living on his own in the city, he misses being under the same roof as you. so he visits when he can. when his pops isn't running him ragged with work (floyd thinks he ought to retire sooner; he can handle things on his own) and he's not pursuing fleeting hobbies, he's visiting his parents' place.

✧ most of these visits start and end the same. floyd comes to pester you about marriage. he told you he'd marry you when he was older and you'd laughed it off and told him, "when you're older, you'll find a lovely person to marry. i'm sure of it." but the problem is: you are that lovely person. he doesn't want anyone else. he wants you, and it eats him alive that his pops has you and he doesn't. floyd knows his old man's schedule by heart, so he only ever visits on the days he's out doing business. his pops would have his head if he knew what floyd got up to with you on the weekdays.

✧ you try to reason with him: "floyd, sweetheart, you know we can't do that. i'm your mother." but floyd doesn't give a shit about that. who cares if you're his mama! he loves you and that's enough. you've gotten softer with age. he notices it every year: your wide hips, the wrinkles lining your face, your pudgy tummy that he loves to squeeze when he rucks your shirt up, your fat tits, the thickness of your thighs, the way you're so easy to manhandle...... he bends you over the table, the couch, the counter; wheedles you into the bedroom and fucks you on the bed you sleep in with his pops. and you put up with it because you don't want to hurt him; he's still your precious boy. :( you don't want to break his heart.

✧ it's so not fair. floyd doesn't care what society thinks is right or wrong. the family business is just barely legal. do you really think he'll stop loving you just because the world tells him it's wrong and gross and weird? he's always been painfully honest. he'll spite all of the people who try to tell him it's wrong, especially his pops, by tugging you into a sloppy kiss in front of everyone. that way they'll know you're his and he's yours.

✧ you worry for floyd. he really should meet other people his age, but he's so set on you. you'd feel flattered if he wasn't your stepson, the boy you raised and watched grow into the man he is now. you know he won't listen to you every time you try to combat his delusions with logic. and it's so difficult to get a word in when he's rutting into you from behind, rubbing your flank adoringly and groaning in your ear about how "fuckin' hot you are, mama."

✧ floyd's never been a patient creature, but he is persistent. and you're worn down every time he visits. you're his stepmother; you want him to be happy. but there's some happiness you just can't provide for him. floyd isn't deterred. he'll have his mama one way or another. he loves you too much to give you up.

[xxchaosjojoxx]

I want you to see me [1/5] (Penguin x reader)

After the events on Whole Cake Island,  you rejoined your Crew, the Heart Pirates, with the strawhats. You never interacted with Shachi, Penguin and the rest of your crew due to your shy personality. Suddenly you can interact with them without any problems and are really close to Sanji on top of it. Even so, Penguin isn’t quite fond of you, seeing you and Sanji flirting with each other makes him a little jealous.

A/N: Welcome to my first mini serie. I hope you will like it <3 There is a hint of Sanji x reader

Chapter 1: Wano Kuni, here I come.

“No, you won’t be doing this! Law said angrily. You gulped and looked him in the eyes. “But Captain. I wanna help as well.” - “Then join Bepo, Shachi and Penguin.” Law was totally annoyed. You were with the strawhats on Whole cake Island to help them save Sanji, despite the fact that you were a member of the Heart Pirates. Captain Law wasn’t happy with your decision, but he trusted you enough to let you go for this mission. Now you and the rest of Luffy's crew are on Wano and reunite with the other members as well. As the other strawhats received their undercover role in Wano Kuni you wanted one as well and had an idea, but your captain wasn’t very happy about it. “I want to be more useful for once. Please, I beg you, captain.” Law was getting more furious. “You won’t be a prostitute here, are you nuts?!” He couldn’t control his voice. Normally you would tremble, avoiding your gaze. But you learned a lot from the strawhats while you were on WCI and didn’t look away. “I won’t be doing this kinda stuff I promise. But this Kyoshiro guy is suspicious. I am sure I can gain helpful information from either him or Komurasaki. Maybe I can work as a geisha or whatever by his side.” Law sighed heavily. “This is way too risky. You know that. If you wanna be active, you can join blackleg-ya and help him with his soba noodle shop. You can cook as well.” Law was staring at me with an unamused expression. Your face lit up. “Ok. I won’t disappoint you. Thank you captain.” And with that and the help of Kinemons devil fruit you were ready for your first mission.

A few days later~

“There is nothing going around lately.” Shachi sighed while he watched the area with binoculars. Shachi, Penguin and Bepo's daily routine was observing and  delivering Kinemon’s secret message to his allies. Bepo stood up and was on his way towards the city. “Where are you going, Bepo?” The mink turned around, looking at his two crewmates. “I will go see Sangoro and Y/N to share our newest information. “Oh right. Y/N is back. I didn’t see her after she left Zou.” Penguin said while Shachi nodded his head. “Yeah I wonder why she even joined the strawhats or why the captain allowed it.” Penguin hummed. “We should accompany you. I could use something to eat.” And with that the three of them were on their way to the city.

While they arrived in the city they could see Sanji’s soba noodle shop on the streets and with that a large crowd of customers. “Woah, his business is insane.” “Their noodles are absolutely delicious” Bepo said and was on his way towards the shop. “Hey Shachi look. There are so many beautiful women there.” Penguin was in paradise. A small blush on his face. Shachi shook Penguin’s shoulder. “Dude look at this girl in this cute (f/c) kimono. She looks like a princess. Their cook is such a lucky bastard to have so many women gathering around him.”

While they were fangirling about all those women, Bepo sat down on a near bench, receiving a bowl of noodles from said girl. Shachi and Penguin rushed to his side while Bepo was enjoying his soba noodles. “Bepo what are you doing?! I thought you wanted to share information.” The mink looked at them sheepily. “My apologies. But I was so hungry.” Before Shachi and Penguin could say anything else, the girl with the (f/c) kimono joined them. “Hey guys, wanna have a bowl of our soba noodles as well?” She asked and smiled at them. Both men jumped in surprise, smiling like idiots and nodding their heads, while sitting on the bench beside Bepo. After a few moments, she joined them with two bowls of hot soba noodles. “Enjoy your meal.” Shachi and Penguin were in heaven. This girl was way too cute for their own heart. “Can I have another bowl please?” Bepo asked shyly and the woman was holding his empty bowl in her hand. “Of course Bepo.” She said happily and again gave him a big smile. Bepo replied with a smile as well. “Thank you Y/N. Those noodles are the best. I missed your cooking.” Penguin and Shachi choked on their food and coughed, nearly dying from this. “Oh no, I forgot the water.” You said and were fast to bring both of them a glass of water. After they drank a big gulp of water they were staring at you. “W-Wait…Y/N?!” Penguin asked surprise. Shachi was still coughing while he tried to get a good look at you. “You are Y/N? What happened?” You tilted your head. “You mean on Whole cake island? That’s a long story. Maybe I should tell you this later.” “No!” Shachi shouted at you and you shrieked in surprise. “I meant what happened to you. You were always sitting alone in the corner, without even talking or looking at us. You were a plain and inconspicuous person. How the hell are you so different right now? Why do you chat with us like we were good friends?” You were pouting and felt anger rising in your chest. Before you could answer Shachi, Sanji came by your side leaning an arm around your shoulder. “Y/N-chan, is everything all right?” Sanji asked you while his gaze was on your crewmates. The blonde looked pretty pissed. “Yes Sanj- eh I mean Sangoro. Shachi is just being a bit rude right now.” You calmly said. Shachi was shocked while Penguin couldn’t even say anything at all. He was just staring at you. “Mi amore, if they don’t wanna be around your beautiful presence I will. Will you join me again?” Sanji said with a smile on his lips, as he turned his head so he could look at you. He clearly had heart eyes right now. You met his eyes and chuckled. ”Ok there, handsome. We have a lot of work to do today. Go ahead. I will join you shortly." Sanji nodded and went back towards his little shop. “You can flirt? Are you even the same Y/N we know? Our crewmate?” Shachi was still on and you turned towards him. Your smile was gone. “Of course I am. You just don’t know me, otherwise you wouldn’t say something like that.” “What are you saying? You ignore us all the time by sitting alone in the corner and reading a book without joining us for any fun occasions.”  Penguin stood up looking between the both of you. “Stop it guys.” You both gazed at each other. “I had my reasons for it.” 

”Only because you decide to dress up and be friends with the strawhats doesn’t mean you can trashtalk us right now.” Penguin was touching Shachi’s shoulder. “Shachi, stop there for a second.” But they both ignored Penguin. “HEY!” You heard a loud yell. Sanji was on his way towards you with an angry look on his face. “Can you stop screaming for once? And don’t you dare talk to Y/N-chan like that.” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed your hand with a ‘Come on, my dear’ and dragged you away from Bepo, Shachi and Penguin. “Now I know why she is like that. They both have the same attitude.” Shachi growled. Bepo tried to calm Shachi down. Penguin was looking at you and Sanji. You were so different back there. He kinda liked you smiling at them earlier and being friendly towards them. You were never interested in your crewmates except for Captain Law, Ikkaku and Bepo. Never ever talking or interacting with him or Shachi. Seeing you like this, talking to them without any problems, he felt unsure and a sting in his heart. He wished you were able to interact more often with him and the rest of the crew in the beginning. After time passed he figured out that you dislike them, so Shachi and Penguin weren’t too keen when it comes to you as well. Penguin was looking at you. You were working and smiling at the blonde chef. Penguin gritted his teeth when he saw Sanji’s hand was on your body, guiding you with something. “This dude is touching her all the time without any problems.” Penguin said, while Shachi and Bepo looked at him confused. “What does it matter? She clearly enjoys his attention. We should go back to our spot right now.” Shachi said and the three of them returned back to the top of the nearby mountain.

After your work for the day was done, you and Sangoro cleaned everything up. “Those two are idiots.” Sanji said. He was still a little furious about the situation earlier. “They were right tho. I did reject every offer to get along with them…I even ignored Shachi and Penguin the whole time.” Sanji interrupted you. “But you had your reasons.” You sighed. “Yeah but they don’t know them. It’s ok Sanji. I will apologize to them the next time I see them. I was pretty rude back there as well.”You silently stood beside him. “Maybe you should join us Y/N-chan. I’m sure Luffy wouldn’t be against it.” “I can’t, Sanji.” Sanji sighed and lit up a cigarette. He blew some smoke before turning towards you. “I know you are loyal to your captain and he appreciates you and your skills. You looked at him sadly. “Do you really think so?” He grinned at you.”Of course Y/N-chan. Otherwise he wouldn’t have let you go to Whole Cake Island to rescue me. Say, why are you interested in this douchebag anyway?” Your face turned red. “S-Sanji…! Don’t be so loud. I..-I guess he doesn’t remember anymore but when they docked on my island, he was the first of the crew I met. He was so thoughtful and sweet back there. I couldn’t help myself.”

[l-in-the-light]

I love the Heart Pirates 🥰♥️. Would you write sth for the relationship Law and his crew (especially Bepo🐻)? Does Law love his crew just the same as he loves Cora?

Sure, this will be that post :D there isn't that many Hearts Pirates scenes in the manga, so it will probably end up being more Hearts appreciation post than strict analysis :) but I will do my best! Also I will use some neat quotes from the novel, in case you want to skip those they're all written in italics so it's easy to avoid them!

Also really sorry it took me forever to get to this ask!

Let's introduce our power rangers Sora-fanboying crew. That idea probably got born all the way back in the North Blue, when Law, Bepo, Penguin and Shachi were living together as children and sharing stories and talking into late night hours before falling asleep.

First of all, Hearts Pirates are strategists. All crewmates know their roles they have to play in a battle. There's always someone responsible for the Polar Tang, usually it's Hakugan (taking care of the ship so it doesn't get damaged is essential, because that ship is not only their means of travelling but also their home). There are people responsible for providing cover (Shachi and Penguin, Law's most trusted guys besides Bepo). There is a bodyguard - Jean Bart (or should I call him a tank? :D), making sure Law doesn't get hit when preparing powerful counterattacks.

Second of all, the biggest strength of Heart Pirates isn't their individual feats, fighting skills or not even their ace in the sleeve - the overpowered captain. Their true strength lies in their teamwork. They always work like a team, supporting each other and cooperating to help Law win his battles.

Hearts are apparently very strong in sea battles. Seems their usual strategy is to go for sinking the enemy's ship (very sly and effective). They're also good at fighting in the water, which is refreshing in comparison to many other crews depending solely on devil fruits powers.

Also RIP Polar Tang :(

Bepo has actually the most jobs to do, surprisingly. He's the navigator, he's the main attacker who often plays support for Law, but he also uses his mink/animal senses to track down enemies and instruct where each crewmate is needed! He's definitely very reliable.

“Sorry, I got nothing. If only I was a smarter polar bear… I’m no use, I should just disappear.”

“Hah hah! Just having strong legs doesn’t make you the best at peddling, Bepo. Man, you really are clumsy. You were so wobbly I thought for sure you were going to crash. It was scary just watching you!”

“Hm, you’re right. I wonder why I can’t ride a bike to save my life… I’ll just leave and figure my life out then.”

Despite Bepo's poor self-esteem, he's a really good fighter. Bepo's kung-fu (bear-fu? :D) fighting style is so unique too. Law often trusts him to "take care of things". Bepo has also one more powerful ace up his sleeve, his sulong form, though apparently he can't control it at all. It's only thanks to Chopper's rumble ball that Bepo was able to control his form for the very first time, without even a full moon visible in the sky.

Of course Bepo is also a very outstanding navigator. I mean, I dare you all to try to draw a better map with those huge paws! They're not exactly suited to hold a pen!

I do have to mention though that Law had a momentary pause before finding their current location ("around here") on this map, haha. He would never admit it though. He's so proud of his navigator! Also, keeping that map with him must have made Law happy, because he got reminded of Bepo even when he wasn't with him.

It's so tattered too and needed some tapes ;-;

Bepo is also, sort of, second in command after Law. He's responsible for new recruits who work directly under him. That gives us some sort of insight in how the hierarchy works in Hearts crew. There is Law whose word is absolute, then Bepo, then Shachi and Penguin, then the rest, then the fresh recruits.

It's not quite like in Strawhats where everyone is more or less equal in their positions. Even in the novel Law sometimes calls them friends and sometimes underlings, but in Punk Hazard and Egghead he instead calls them "nakama" (his crewmates, companions), so that apparently has changed at some point as Law grew up.

These two are my subordinates! I won’t let scum like you call them “things”!

I let out a large sigh. I have to keep it together. I have to protect my underlings. My friends.

Bepo, Penguin, Shachi. I told you to be my underlings, so I have a responsibility as your boss.

As much as Law treats his Heart Pirates as equals, his responsibility over them makes him take a higher position over them. But he doesn't interfere much in how they organize things around each other. Bepo took it on himself to be the second in command and Law never protested or questioned that. Basically their importance in the crew is based on the order in which they joined.

“Hold on, both of you ate three pieces and I only had two! You guys are new here, so you should be putting me first!” (Bepo complains while Law thinks to himself:) I should have just given them all equal portions to begin with instead of piling everything on a single plate; that’s what I think as I quietly shovel my fourth piece into my mouth.

Law himself is a bit sneaky, he might think he should make sure things are more equal around his crew, but at the end of the day he just doesn't do anything about it. They're free to do whatever they want. That's the type of captain he is.

When Wolf is out of the house, the four of us work on the farm, go fishing, clean, and do the laundry. During free time, each of us will focus on the things we want to do. I spend most of my time reading medical books and learning how to use my power. Bepo uses his time to study navigation. Penguin and Shachi simply have a desire to get stronger. But since their way of doing things didn’t allow them to improve, I had to borrow weapons from Wolf and teach them swordsmanship and gunnery. Seeing someone I'm teaching getting better at it is more rewarding than I thought it would be. Whenever I see how happy Penguin or Shachi are when they hit the bullseye, I can’t help but smile.

Law also trained them all by himself.

But back to Bepo. He's also a bit of a silly bear who needs to be looked after. He doesn't stand the heat very well, he's a bit of a slow thinker, he also panicks very easily and often calls out to Law to save him or stay with him. And that feeling is usually mutual, because Law also wants to take care of him:

“Don’t worry, Bepo. Even if you get injured and covered in blood, I’ll fix you up at the clinic.”

“Assuming I do get injured! Aye-aye!”

Hah hah. What a goof.

Bepo is a bit like a younger sibling to Law, he can be strong but also very clumsy and silly, and it for sure appeals to Law's protective side. He kinda stepped up (it was probably subconsciously) to be a temporary older brother figure for him in absence of Zepo. He was ready to throw away his Wano's raid plans just because Bepo had a stomachache and asked him to stay by his side. Bepo is also the only person Law has any sort of physical closeness with. Those two grew really close with each other.

But Bepo is dependable when it matters. He was also a guardian of Whale Forest back on Zou, so Law isn't the only one who recognizes that quality in Bepo.

“Law, I brought you some hot tea. It’s made with tea from the old man’s garden. He said it helps calm nerves.”

“Thank you, Bepo.”

“No problem. You’ve been having nightmares a lot lately.”

“I know. I must be worrying Penguin and Shachi too.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Bepo asked with an earnest look on his face.

“No; right now, I can’t get my own thoughts together, sorry.”

“It’s fine. But I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.”

Law is close friends with Penguin and Shachi as well, but it seems it's Bepo he confides in most of the time. It might be because Bepo shows his concern and care very openly, making it especially hard for Law to refuse or dismiss it. And it's a good thing, because Law really needs someone openly caring and loving like Bepo in his life.

Bepo is clearly higher in command than Penguin and Shachi, and they both respect him despite the rocky beginning of their friendship:

“That's what you thought while they beat you?”

“Yes. I thought if I let them do it, maybe we could become friends.” Friends. It’s a word I hadn't heard in a long time. I no longer have any. They were all burned in a fire. (…) As my mind wanders, I begin to wonder why a polar bear is here, alone. Actually, if I think about it, he’s probably just like I had been before. I've become a little more interested in his situation.

Law's crew respects him and looks up to him, but they also voice out their own opinions and approvals or lack there of. They also occassionally allow themselves some really lewd comments, like in the picture above :D I bet you anything they would also call out Law on acting cute if they saw him with Chopper strapped to his head.

Damn, Penguin even looks like he's a bit jealous of Chopper's position. They fanboy Law so much despite being slightly older than him!

Shachi and Penguin are Law's intel and watchers. Penguin seems to be the smarter one out of the two of them, basing it on the rational comments he makes. But Shachi's skills in the water are also nothing to sneeze at! And as a bonus skill, Shachi apparently cuts the hair for others in the crew.

“Hey, you two.” I call Shachi and Penguin calmly. “You have nowhere to go, do you? I know you can't go back to your relatives' house either.”

“That is the only place we would never return to.”

“Alright; then you won't. Be my subordinates. And for now, you can live here.”

The four of us—myself, Bepo, Penguin and Shachi—have experienced immense loneliness in this world, and somehow managed to overcome despair.

I think it's possible Law recruited everyone in his crew in similar fashion (of course his first three friends remain special regardless). He seems to have easier time to relate to people who know how despair feels like and he wants to help them leave that feeling behind, to see things from a different perspective, to show them that no matter what, there are still probably other ways out, and if there aren't, he will make one happen.

Heart Pirates are also responsible for lesser tasks so that Law himself doesn't have to do it, like keeping an eye on Luffy.

Some Hearts, like Clione, Uni and Ikkaku even disagreed with the idea of the alliance. At first I thought Law told his crew that they don't have to get along with the Strawhats, because he respected that some might feel uncomfortable doing that, but nah, in the end it was just payback for Luffy not introducing Law to his own crew properly.

It's not the only time Law's crew complained to him so directly. When they were supposed to enter the New World, Law told them they need to wait and that they need to shut up and listen to him, because they should trust his plans. Despite his crew's big enthusiasm and competitive spirit, they were actually a bit scared to enter the New World, because when they saw beasts in the calm belt they definitely panicked a bit. So Law's decision was probably the right course of action.

Bepo also isn't afraid to scold his captain, when Law stares at yonko instead of escaping Marineford or when he chooses to drop down the waterfall in Wano. Law always seems to win each and every time tho. They also have no fear on calling him out for showing off ;)

Let's not forget that despite the fact that Heart Pirates can voice their complains openly, they were still kinda left in the dark and learned about the alliance from the newspaper. Ouchie, Law :D Nami might have a point when she said Law is just like Luffy.

They're very loyal, not only to Law, but to each other as well. They also share their duties on Polar Tang, like cleaning or maintaining the submarine, all together.

“You… no, the lot of you can really help others without asking anything in return, huh.” (Wolf about Law, Shachi, Penguin and Bepo)

Shachi, Penguin and Bepo always accompany Law wherever he goes.

His whole crew protects him whenever they can.

And of course they love him so much. Law might be a grumpy captain, but he for sure returns the love he received from them, in his own way. Let's not forget Bepo, Penguin and Shachi were there for him when he lost everyone again, after what happened to Cora-san. They basically supported each other in their biggest time of need.

Despite some of them protesting, they all get along with Strawhats in that alliance in the end :) Hearts are also very fun loving people, who definitely like to party :D

Law might be quite overprotective about his crew, but he does trust them enough to take care of themselves and pick their own battles in the Onigashima's raid. Hearts also worry for Law a lot and cheer him on and celebrate his won battles ❤

“Hmph. Well, alright then. It’s just that when you’re not feeling well, the rest of the lot are out of it too.” (Wolfe said this to Law, suggesting that whenever Law is feeling under the weather, it affects his friends)

I have to act strong. I have to act cool. If I stay gloomy in this situation, the other three will continue to live in fear. I can’t let that happen. (Law to himself)

At first Law didn't think much about his responsibility over his crew, he learned that along the way and thanks to Wolf's guidance. He decided to do everything he can so he can protect his friends and show them that they can rely on him, and they make sure to return the favour.

Now let's take a moment to celebrate Penguin and Shachi being little horny perverts ;)

In the end, I'm the only one scolded by Wolf. Bepo and the other two look at me like they are sorry, but I know that tomorrow things will be exactly the same. Since we’ve been living together, I’ve learned that these three will forget their transgressions in a day’s time.

This is probably another reason why Law chooses to ignore most of Hearts antics :D

I gotta say Shachi is certainly having hots for Penguin, basing it on this image ;) or at least he would be even more into him if he had, well, bigger tits.

Now we all know Law left his crew on Zou so that Doflamingo doesn't use them against him in the fight. But did you ever wonder why Law recruited Jean Bart into his crew? Saving a slave is one thing, but taking him into his crew is another. I think Law cares for his crew so much that he recruited someone strong and experienced as a captain who can take care of them in case Law can't (in time of need when he's missing in action, but also in case something went horribly wrong and they would be left without a captain). Recruiting Jean Bart was a strategic move and I believe it's to make sure someone takes care of the Heart Pirates in Law's absence.

“I definitely want to see my brother," Bepo said after a long silence. “It’s fun living here with everyone and all, but sometimes I think of him. I wonder if he’s doing okay, or if something happened to him. That’s why I’ve continued studying navigation since I got here. I’m terrible at it, but I can finally draw maps. So I definitely want to set out to find my brother some day, I think.”

This is one of the reasons why Heart Pirates ventured into Grand Line, besides Law's motivation to fullfill Cora-san's wish. He actually made sure to fullfill Bepo's wish before his very own one!

And finally, to answer your second question in the ask: does Law love his Heart Pirates as much as he loves Cora-san? I will allow Law to speak for himself, quoting the novel:

What was Cora-san for me? We had no blood relationship, and we didn't even know each other that long. Yet somehow, we were family. A love that could be felt without even putting it into words. I was wondering if I could love someone like that again. If I stay with Junk-ya and the bear, can I come to love them? Or will it continue to be a give and take relationship, as the old man says, where we just use each other?

After Wolf signed his name, we all followed suit. Seeing all our names next to each other on the paper, it’s strange. It is almost like we were a family.

Actually, we all looked happy, myself included. This place is definitely irreplaceable to me, I realized once again.

I can’t keep looking backwards; I have to move forward. Together with the happiness of being with friends, no matter how much I waver.

I found some salted fish that was on sale, so I bought it. In my head popped the pleasantly surprised faces of Bepo and the old man, and the expressions I imagined soon became my own.

Two months have flown by since the five of us started this life together. Eating meals, bathing, thinking of games to play, and bullshitting together under the same roof. It's the type of life I had never experienced until now.

But I have friends now—I have people who can allow me to forget the pain and the rage by distracting me with stupid things. That’s all I need.

And in case you wonder how did Law ask them to become a pirate crew together, here you go:

“I'll be leaving the island in a week. What do you want to do?” I ask them the question, trying to stay as natural as possible. “I will not force you to do anything. You can very well continue to lead the same life, to eat with the old man by exchanging jokes and get on with your job in town. Only, if… if you ever… wanted to come, then… that… that would help me a lot.”

(and after they all enthusiasthically agree:)

“Alright, I know I can count on you. That's all I'm saying.”

And from that moment on, Law gives them a name: Heart Pirates. Because they're a crew that belongs to Law, but also to Cora-san, and that's the meaning behind the name. If Cora-san lived, Hearts would be *his* crew as well. In some alternative reality, they could all be happy together sailing the seas.

So I guess, my final answer is: Law loves them because he found friends in them, his new family, and he wished he could share this happiness with Cora-san as well. I doubt there are many people out there who would get that privileage! Heart Pirates are definitely irreplaceable to him.

[boundinparchment]

Blasphemous Rumors - V

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly.  Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year.  A marriage of convenience.  Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.” Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality.  Slow-ish burn.  Semi-enemies to lovers. On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.

You peered out between the crack in the doors at the back of the cathedral.  Every pew was full.  Breakfast, what little you had of it, churned in your stomach.  Your hairpins were too tight and you fought the urge to fix them. 

The front steps were packed to the brim with common folk shivering in their coats and furs, eager to get a glimpse of you despite the bitter cold.  Why would the inside of the church have been any different?

Everyone seemed accounted for.  You had gone through the guest list extensively; it was far too long for your liking.

And it was far too late to back out now.

The high collar and long lace sleeves of your dress were soft, rather than irritating; you were right to have chosen the shop you worked with.  Your final fitting had induced tears, both of lamentation and awe; you only wished you shared such a moment with anyone other than the Tsaritsa.  Who were you to deny an Archon, after all?

She gifted you the veil that now covered your hair and face, as light as freshly fallen snow.  

Part of you wished, hoped, that perhaps you might catch a familiar shape in the crowd.  But as far as you could see, neither of your parents were present.  As expected.  Your father wouldn’t have been in good shape to attend, at any rate.

All that waited for you was a Harbinger, dressed in white, and the Tsaritsa beyond.

You rehearsed this for the past few days with the Omega Segment acting in its master’s place.  The very act did nothing but weigh on your nerves like your boss weighed his mora.  It was infuriating, actually, that Lord Dottore did not deign to show up to his own rehearsal ceremony.  He had that luxury.  You were required to appear.  After all, you had no copies of yourself to delegate tasks to and you were the only one in the ceremony who would do more than just stand and speak.

Typical Harbinger.  Others suffered while they reaped the benefits of their positions.

Running would get you nowhere except a shallow grave.

You agreed to this.  You gave your word.  And such a position would give you plenty of information to pass on.

The music started, the doors opened, and on beat, you began the long trip down the aisle. 

Your grip on your flowers tightened as you went.  The bouquet in your hands was a monstrous thing, flowers practically spilling out of it in an array of irises, cecilias, glaze lilies, and an overabundance of greenery.  The florist had gotten far too overzealous and you wish you hadn’t been so tired during those meetings.  Around you, the church was sparsely decorated except for the long carpet you walked on.  All eyes were, inevitably, be drawn to you.

 Brides were supposed to smile, you reminded yourself.  You hoped your smile only felt tighter than it looked.

Lord Dottore was dressed in mostly white and, naturally, not without that feathery mechanical thing draped over his shoulder like a mink pelt.  His mask was black with blue accents, different than usual mask he shared with Omega.  The tails of his coat were accented with bright blue, matching his waistcoat, and it even looked as though he repurposed the usual dangling tubes into accessories for his suit jacket.  Across his chest, a red sash, not unlike the Tsaritsa’s, denoting his station and affiliation.  A bright and luminous aquamarine gem was nestled into a pin at the base of his throat, floating above a white cravat. 

Despite the upper half of his face being covered, he did a decent job of appearing enamored: a tilt of the head; a charismatic smirk that passed for charming; a shifting of his weight as he fixed his cuffs.  If you didn’t know any better, you might have believed it yourself.

As you approached, you realized his shirt wasn’t black but a deep blue, almost as deep as the midnight sky back home.

You caught the quickest glance at his sharpened teeth when he attempted to match your smile.  It came off more like a snarl as you passed your flowers to an attendant and took Dottore’s awaiting hands.

You shared his sentiments.  Your feet were already aching and the event had barely begun.

The Tsaritsa spoke of a blur of sentiments that, perhaps in any other situation, would have brought you to tears.  Selflessness (impossible for the man before you), a reciprocity of compromise and challenge (only out of necessity to keep your job), sharing in the accomplishments of another (again, impossible for your future husband) were things that, surely, the crowd collected here knew to be absolute bullshit.  Il Dottore, Second of the Fatui Harbingers, was infamous for his ruthlessness, his lack of humanity, unwavering resolution for knowledge at any cost.

Hell, you even severely compromised on traditions that might have added authenticity.  Normal couples celebrated in Snezhnaya for at least two days; a marriage for a high-ranking military official would have warranted far more.  Back home, it was still common to practice the tradition of ransom for the bride but that required your parents and you caught a muttered remark about the cost of your ring.  Betrothal and Crowning were replaced with a simpler ceremony that would not insult the Tsaritsa while remaining true to Dottore's sentiments towards godhood (absolute bullshit, in his opinion). 

He cared little for ritual.  Ritual was nothing more than unsubstantiated nonsense to explain a world instead of looking closely for answers.  So long as everything was legal, it didn't matter to him otherwise.

In exchange, both of you would instead endure a tour of the main city for photographs before the reception.  Pantalone's idea.  Of course.

Would anyone really believe the two of you were serious about this…

The Tsaritsa did though. 

Didn't she?

You tried not to marvel at Lord Dottore's long fingers when he removed his gloves to exchange vows and rings.

His recitation was, of course, perfect.  If he wasn't a scientist, you were certain he might have been a stage actor in another life.  Dottore's touch lingered as he carefully arranged both of your rings and slid them home, ensuring they nested into one another perfectly. 

Compared to your pair of rings, his appeared plain when you slid it on after affirming your vows in return.  Then again, this union meant nothing and his adornments were always more about his rank and their functionality.  An unassuming band of platinum suited him just fine.

Touching him was less a sparking jolt at the sensation of skin on skin and more akin to a burn, as if thawing one's hands in front of a roaring fire after a day in the tundra.

The Tsaritsa spoke again, giving closing remarks.  You wanted to pull away already but there was little choice in the matter.  Dottore's fingertips were curled into yours, the smallest amount of contact you could get away with already, and it wouldn't take much for him to decide that you weren't playing along.

"…your union will be sealed with a kiss."

Lord Dottore's shoulders squared instantly and you felt the tension run into his fingers, now feeling more like curled claws.  Fuck.  Of all things you had discussed…practiced, even (you stepped on his feet more times than you cared to consider and yet still had your feet).  Had both of you truly forgotten…

The longer neither of you moved, the worse this was going to be.  You felt expectant gazes and heard a soft wave of whispers.  Convincing.  This needed to appear true—

You let go of Dottore's hands and you were thankful that he took the cue to lift the edge of your veil.  Disappointment sunk in your stomach as he kept his head as level as possible, preventing you from sneaking a look up his mask.  You stepped forward to close the distance, cupping his cheek with your left hand before you tilted your head to the side and pressed your lips to his.  Fluid, smooth, natural.

That was your role, you reminded yourself.  It would take both of you to make this work.

His lips were soft, as warm as his hands (warmer, perhaps, you considered).  As human as any other person you kissed before.  You pulled away, catching a glimpse of his ears turning pink, before he ducked down and captured your lips again, finally back on track. 

He turned his head to break the kiss but didn't pull away immediately.

"Quite efficient, Accountant," Lord Dottore whispered.

His words tickled your neck and threatened to send a shiver down your spine.

The closest you would never get to gratitude.

Touring the city was excruciating.  In-between trying to put names to faces and track who was speaking to whom, you waved and smiled from the carriage window, thankful the gray clouds were holding off their inevitable snowfall.  Every stop meant a photo, meant standing too close to your husband, all the while hoping you came off as shy and dutiful rather than stiff and uncomfortable. 

The schedule left little time for breaks.  You managed to nurse a glass of water, fix your makeup, and gather your remaining strength as an attendant bustled your dress before you entered the Palace Ballroom, arm in arm with the Harbinger.

If your husband was a different person, you would have pushed back on his insistence to get the first dance out of the way as soon as you were in the room.  But you agreed with him and it was better to get it over with.

As rehearsed, you took your position, thankful all the while he had slid his gloves back on as soon as you were in the carriage hours ago.  Bad enough you had to be essentially pressed up against him for this.  You would rather eat glass than touch him again, especially if he was going to feel warmer than he truly was.

He smelled more pleasant than you usually experienced.  The lack of viscera and disinfectant helped.  This close, closer than you had been all day as he led exactly on beat, you caught hints of musk, along with sandalwood, mint. 

Dottore pulled you flush against him after spinning you out, angling his head towards the crook of your neck.

"Relax your shoulders," he muttered.  "You're resisting the rhythm and making this harder than necessary.  All that convincing work earlier can be undone quite easily, Accountant."

"Is that a threat, my lord?" you teased, passing off a playful smile.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth but it didn't stay long.  He was quiet in the carriage, professional.  Other than his vows, he barely said a word to you all day.

"For once, not from me."

You schooled your face, instead resting your chin on his shoulder as the mantle's feathers brushed against your cheek.  It was much softer than you expected.

What had you missed?  Other than perhaps appearing, as any person might, a little weary during the tour, you had been nothing but polite and warm during any interactions with guests. 

"Even one as erudite as myself knows to move with the music and the flow of the event.  Stop thinking, Accountant."

You tried to ignore the slight squeeze of his arm around you; it was a little too tight to be assuring.  Focusing on the music, a song you could hum in your sleep by now, you tried to relax your shoulders and hips and follow through with the sway of each step.  The song ended; its final note was cut short by the sharp sound of knives on glass.  You fought a grimace, realizing your guests were goading you to kiss again.

This time, the Harbinger was quicker, stealing your lips as soon as you lifted your head from his shoulder.

"Better," Dottore whispered as he pulled away.  "By the end of this, you might even fool yourself."

You threw him the same smile and demure look as you did in the jewelry store and fixed his cravat to stifle the urge to punch him.

"Are you sure I won't fool you, Lord Harbinger?"

"I'd like to see you try."

The socializing took the longest.  The Harbingers themselves, although never without a quip to throw, were civil enough.  You led most of the conversations once the two of you reached the tables of dignitaries and nobles, Dottore falling back to either have more in-depth discussions or to observe, as he often did.  Eventually, it was just you when he muttered something about getting air and you were determined to get greetings and gratitude off your plate before dinner.

Your head swam as you recalled every single face, every name, every seating arrangement.  It wasn't that different from data, from account numbers, balances.  No one would call you an extrovert by any means but the only thing keeping you going was the very knowledge that Dottore was not going to do it.  Such things were not worth his time.  Without his Segments in normal situations, he was protective of his time; now, it was your turn to fill in the gaps.

It took everything in you not to roll your eyes at yourself.  Your duty was to the people of Snezhnaya and beyond.  Your duty was your family.  This marriage was a means to an end.  You only played your part because if you didn't, the consequences were far, far worse than you wanted to consider. 

You were partway through the final table when you felt a hand on your elbow and you saw everyone at the table straighten considerably, as if they were puppets ready to perform.  Instead of any kind of introduction or pleasantry, however, Dottore turned his attention to you, his hold gentle.

"Dorogáya moya, come eat before your plate gets cold."

You felt your face flush at the use of the term, both at the familiarity and the double meaning.  Over the last few weeks, you learned that he was not a native to Sneznhaya, as you were, but he spoke the language so fluently one would never know.

With a smile, you let yourself be taken to the head table, where the first course of many sat waiting for you.  Your stomach grumbled at the sight of food.  You'd been hungry since before the ceremony.  Now that you looked, you noticed that the wait staff were well into bringing out dishes, carrying trays over their shoulder.

Funny that he would come find you when he left you alone to tackle the ridiculous social obligations of his station.  Then again, Lord Dottore couldn't exactly have you fainting at your own wedding. 

"So, I'm expensive, am I?" you asked, glancing through your peripheral at him as you took a long sip of water.

You half-entertained wine earlier but you needed your faculties and wits about you.  Water was best.

"If time was a currency, yes," Dottore turned his head to you, fork and knife still poised on the plate.  "Surely you can quantify how much of my time could be better spent on almost anything else."

"And surely you know how easily anyone could read into a Harbinger calling his new wife expensive as establishing an amazing matrimonial foundation."

Dottore tilted his head and raised a shoulder, a gesture you always took to mean silent acquiescence.  If you could see his eyes, you imagined his eyebrows would be rather expressive as well.

“I never cared for the opinions of others, especially those who never had to try to improve their life, such as most of our guests who were born into their position.  There is little reason for you to be anything beyond polite.  It is those closest who must be fooled, not the rest of the country.”

“All it would take—” you hissed.

“You’re forgetting who you married, Accountant.” Dottore gave you what anyone else would have called a charming smile. “Unlike you, they fear me.  Now eat.”

He needed you to cooperate but if he thought he was going to spend the next year commanding you around...arrogant, self-important, manipulative ass…

You kept your face neutral as you lifted a utensil, pushing away the thought of driving your fork into his leg.  It was the least he deserved. 

Flavor exploded in your mouth as you took a bite to eat.  Any other time, you might have reacted beyond simply reaching for another forkful from your plate.  The finest thing you tasted in months, years, and just like everything else, it was wasted on this moment.  A moment you would never get back. 

Funny how right he was.

Food helped.  Each of you played the part of doting newlywed, dancing, smiling, laughing.  You only ever heard Lord Dottore chuckle but never outright laugh.  It was almost sweet, how genuine the sound was.  Did he even realize it, you wondered, when the mask slipped and for a moment he appeared almost human?

Of course he did.  Nothing would ever get passed him.

Except you.

If you made it out of this alive.

It was no secret that a Harbinger's station meant a certain quality of life.  Estates of their own, entire wings within the Palace for work and for leisure.  After all, the Cryo Archon only had her Harbingers to dote on, who else would make use of the space, you often wondered.  Staff were well-compensated and taken care of but the stark contrast between your dormitory and living spaces compared to the soaring ceilings and marble pillars and gilded frames turned what little food you managed to keep down.

You weren't in charge of auditing the annual operating budget (that was exclusively for the Ninth himself) but you could estimate.  More than what you would make in your lifetime thirty times over, probably.

The walk from the ballroom to the far reaches of the Palace was shared in silence.  Exhaustion was woven into the very layers of your gown and by now face-planting into the bed, makeup and all, sounded like a wonderful idea.  After all, it was not as if anything about this arrangement was normal and Lord Dottore himself expected nothing, he had been quite clear about that from the beginning.

He was impossible to read right now, even for you.  Mouth in a flat line, shoulders back, arms behind him as he walked as if he were simply out for a stroll.  Without the context of a common discussion topic, mostly regarding his funding, you couldn't tell if he was simply bored, exhausted, or annoyed.  All three in a stormy cocktail seemed likely. 

The rooms themselves were as lavish as the rest of the Palace.  Opulent furniture that was dusted but never used filled the sitting room that you walked into, the walls lined with filled bookshelves.  Floor to ceiling windows revealed the usual white landscape and the mountains beyond while projecting your reflection back at you from the illumination of a nearby lamp.  Your bag, the singular container of all of your packed belongings sat on a sofa, as if discarded hastily.

Through a set of double-doors was a second private sitting room and the bedroom, as large as half of your entire dormitory floor.  Dark wood, flowing lines, clearly hand-crafted rather than assembled on a factory line.  Too many pillows on the bed. 

Did he even sleep?

The only details the space was even occupied were the books piled haphazardly on a coffee table, on a bureau, scraps of paper and blueprints scattered but clearly organized in a way that made sense to someone.  A coat strewn across a couch arm.  Mechanical parts and a small set of tools on a table where one might ordinarily hold a private dinner party.

You caught sight of a large closet and beyond it, a washroom, each room with their own set of double-doors to close the space off.  For a man as arrogant as Il Dottore, perhaps even vain (after all, who made clones of themselves if they weren't?), you expected far more clothes and shoes.  His budgets rarely, if ever, accounted for clothing unless it was for a specific occasion but that didn't mean much.  And you doubted he would have made room for your pitiful amount of belongings.

On one side of the closet was a large three-way mirror, the kind you dealt with at the seamstress, complete with a platform.  Obnoxious.  This felt out of place compared to the amount of space in the closet itself.  Unless, of course, he did his own tailoring or a Segment did.  Would explain the lack of receipts and mentions of it for his budget reviews.

You locked eyes with your own reflection and saw where your make-up was thinning, how your hair had finally succumbed to the weight of the product in it.  No matter how hard you tried to keep your eyes open, they seemed to have minds of their own; you were beyond tired at this point.

And the dress was finally taking its toll.  The lace was scratchy and the corset was digging into you.  Without thinking, you finagled your feet and removed your heels without bending over.  You closed your eyes, instantly relieved at the sensation of your heels sinking into the carpet.  The pain was still there but it nice to be on even ground again.

Your eyes snapped open when you felt slight tugging on the buttons of your dress and it took everything in you now to jump, nerves frayed and split.  Dottore looked up from behind you, mask still in place, and you could only presume he was making eye contact.  Harder to determine without facing him.

"Don't tell me you expected to reach every single button yourself, Accountant," he sneered.

"More like I didn't think you would help.  Not without prodding."

Dottore scoffed as he undid the buttons running the length of the dress and loosened the back stays of your corset.  He tugged slightly at your dress' sleeve but not enough to reveal your shoulders.  Never once did you feel the brush of his gloved hands on your skin. 

Dottore stepped back when he finished, your gaze remaining fixed on his mask.

"Polite for a man who stepped foot into my office covered in blood on more than one occasion," you remarked.

You were graced with the wide, vicious smile you knew so well, sharpened teeth gleaming.

"Go wash up, you smell like you wandered through a florist's nightmare."

He nodded his head in the direction of the bath but made no attempt to leave the dressing room.  You held back a grimace as a sound of disgust escaped your lips.

"You have such a charming demeanor, Lord Harbinger."

You gathered up your dress and entered the bathroom before he could remark further, shutting the doors behind you with the resounding clicks of the latch and lock.

The bathroom was tiled and just as ornate as the rest of the rooms: a large vanity with more counterspace than you ever saw in the dorms; a water closet for the toilet; a standalone shower; a tub that stood on its own feet and looked as if it was intended for at least two people, maybe more.  You were beginning to think there was no in-between in the Palace; either everything was utilitarian and functional or overly-decorative and wasteful of resources. 

Here too, you could only see a smattering of personal effects.  Signs the room was occupied but not necessarily used.  Curiously, you picked up a bottle and read the label once, twice, and then again, realizing it was actually some kind of acid and not a mouth rinse solution.  Whoever brought your things over from your dorm had at least been insightful enough to unpack your toiletries and you were thankful you would not risk burning off your scalp to wash your hair.

Just as you were rummaging around for your things, you noticed a bundle wrapped in soft tissue on a chair near the door.  Weird.  Was this for you?

You removed the rest of your jewelry and tugged gently on the lace sleeves, the upper body of the dress coming free without further resistance.  You stepped out of the dress, arranging the pile of tulle and lace neatly nearby before turning your attention back to the small package.

Gently, you pulled apart the paper.  From the pile of cloth, you plucked the top piece and held it up, frowning.  It left little to the imagination.  Same for the other half.  On the bottom was, you presumed, what was meant to be worn over the lingerie, made of the same fabric with a small bow on the back and ruffles on the hems.

To the credit of whoever put it there, it was very fine material.  The kind that was befitting of your newly acquired station.  Lace this soft and sheer was painstaking to make and couldn't be machine-replicated. 

There was no note in the packaging.

Lord Dottore held no expectations, you reminded yourself.  Had a servant put this here?  If so, on whose behalf?

You put the lace back down and ran the shower, adjusting the water as you ran through scenarios in your mind.

Was Dottore testing you?  Could he have only said such a thing to get you to agree?  If he'd changed his mind, it would have been more prudent to tell you.  On the other hand, telling you would allow you to prepare and he wasn't in the habit of allowing anyone, subject or not, to have time to skew results.  Plausible enough.

Or perhaps Pantalone, in his ever-insistent and nosy nature, had this planted here?  Considering the state of your ring situation, this was also viable.  He wasn't above planting evidence, arranging scenarios so they worked in his favor without fail.  From Lord Pantalone's perspective, Dottore acquiring a wife so soon after their deal was struck would have been immediately suspicious and potentially short-sighted, subject to various tests of his own...

Maybe it was neither and a servant or even a Segment thought the notion would be funny.

But it was too expensive for that.  No one paid that much mora on something without a purpose…or at least, most people didn't.  Your boss was, as always, the worst exception.

You stepped into the shower, ridding yourself of your makeup and perfume and the rest of the day's trappings.

As you stepped out of the shower, feeling at least a little more human, your stomach sank.

In your frustration with Dottore, you never grabbed a change of clothes. 

Because your bag was in the sitting room.

Your heart squeezed as you lamented your poor planning.  Really?  At this rate, you would be found out.  How the hell could you possibly think this was going to work when you didn't even grab your things and put them in the closet?

Why hadn't the one responsible for the task done that?  That just made sense!

You could walk out in a towel, go grab your things, and make it even more obvious that you were only doing this because, perhaps, you might get better intel. 

And while Lord Dottore wouldn't care about any of that, was it really necessary to make a show of how much you didn't want to show skin around him?  No. 

He thought well enough of your professionalism.  And part of that would be embracing the role you were supposed to play.  If a servant were to see you not in lingerie as befitting a wedding night, but in drab pajamas…whispers usually spread like wildfire on a good day.

You dried your hair as best you could, freshened up, nestled the lace against your skin.  While you weren't used to the cut of certain things, it wasn't uncomfortable per se.  Altogether, it was quite lovely. 

Another thing wasted on the wretch in the other room.

When you stepped back into the bedroom, you found Lord Dottore laying on the bed, covers pulled back as he scribbled into a book.  Even now, his mask was still present.  His hand stilled and he turned his head to you briefly to acknowledge your presence before he went back to what he was doing.

Steeling yourself, you crossed the room, crawled onto the bed, and straddled him.  He hadn't changed at all, only bothering to remove his jacket, cravat, and waistcoat.  Deftly, you grabbed the book from his hands and tossed it to the floor to force him to look at you.  He was solid and warm beneath you, the same as any other, and you tried not to think of how little separated the two of you, how bare you were under the lace.

Dottore tilted his head, lips pulling into a smirk for a moment before it spreads into a full-toothed grin, his hand reaching for and gripping your thigh.

A leg wrapped around yours and you met the bed quicker than you expected to, soft sheets and a firm mattress under you.  You blinked, Dottore's grinning face above you, never far from reach.  You felt a hand ghost over your side, your breast, your collarbone, before it settled on your neck, caressing your pulse point.  Despite your proximity, you never felt him press against you, not even when he brushed his lips over your cheek, where the faintest scar remained.

"I hardly you know, my dear.  Besides, I already told you that I have no expectations beyond those in public.  Such acts between us are quite unnecessary," he said.

Dottore rubbed his thumb up and down the column of your neck before he angled his head so his lips were near your ear.

"Unless, of course, you're simply needy enough to put yourself in the maw of a wolf so easily for a quick reprieve.  You never struck me as the sort but I suppose there's a first time for everything."

Heat flooded your cheeks at the insinuation but before you could protest, the Harbinger rolled off of you and out of the bed.  He bent down, picked up the book, and made his way to the door to the sitting room.  For a moment, Dottore looked at the leather-bound cover in his hands before he turned his attention back to you.

"There is little need for someone as lovely as you to give more than is asked to a monster such as myself.  We leave at daybreak."

Oh.  Right.  Honeymoon.  He took care of that and you still had no idea where you were even going.

Without another word, the doors shut, leaving you alone in the large bedroom.  Light bled in through the bottom of the doors.  No doubt he would be awake a while longer. 

You clutched at the bedspread, embroidered with silk and stuffed with down.  It gave easily under your hands, as such soft feathers often did, providing nothing substantial to squeeze.  You weren't insulted or even hurt, as many others in your position would have been.  Confused, certainly, but your ego was intact.

Seduction wasn't precisely a skill you practiced.  Numbers told stories in unique variations and patterns and provided more consistency than people.  People were unpredictable.  Il Dottore especially.

You fell asleep, wondering when all of this would come back to bite you.

[cryingpariah]

My One Piece Oc Jackie's opinions on people and organizations in OP

The Strawhats: she really likes them! Be able to visit them even if just for a moment make her work day infinitely better. She knows as a member of the press she has a duty to be unbiased buttt nobody actually follows that so it’s fine. Though she knows that the race to the top is anyone’s game, if she had a personal favourite that was no one’s business but hers.

The Heart Pirates: she can tell how much their captain distrusts her and she respects it in all honestly. He never turns her away anyhow so it’s never an issue and the crew has an infectious sense of humour and camaraderie. They crowd around her and ask for all the juicy gossip the Grandline and New World has to offer and she must say, they make a perfect audience.

The Kid Pirates: like Trafalgar Law, Eustass Captain Kid does not trust Jackie a bit but he also knows the weight of the power of information has so he plays nice. His new strategy lately trying to recruit her, he has found no current success on that front. His promises are many and varied: money (she had plenty of savings), protection (she was an excellent fighter thank you very much), incessant asks from their little winged pirate-to-be (tempting but Big News waits for no man, woman, or mink).

The Seven Warlords of the Sea: she thinks the the entire idea of the Warlord system is stupid and can be too easily taken advantage of by cruel and powerful pirates (and it was..twice). She also think the pirates who join are somewhat sellouts. Isn’t the whole appeal of being a pirate is playing by no one’s rules but your own? Choosing to join the Marines, even adjacently, feels like a cop out to her. The only exceptions in her eyes are Pirate Empress Boa Hancock and First Son of the Sea Jimbei since they so obviously joined to save their people.

(Her personal rankings go something like Jimbei, Boa, Mihawk, Crocodile, Gecko Moria, Donquixote Doflamingo.)

(Kuma remains unranked so far, something in her gut tells her there’s more than meets the eyes with the Tyrant.)

The Admirals: she understands for genuinely world ending threats they are a needed force but for anything below that feels like complete overkill. Whenever she’s at Marineford she usually gets dragged into doing some secretarial work for them which depending on who it is can range from an honestly pleasent interaction to her fantasizing about shoving his head through a electric meat grinder.

(Her ranking goes Fujitora, Kuzan, Kizaru, Akainu, and then Ryokugu.)

The Underworld: hates it and the overwhelming majority of people involved in it. To be fair there’s nothing to like about it anyway, it’s a swirling cesspool of the worst humanity has to offer (yes that includes her too). Other than her boss Stussy is the only one she can tolerate.

Big News Morgan: likes him because they’re so similar and hates him because they’re too similar. She’s grateful for him taking her in and she loves her job but she also knows he just kinda sucks?? As a person?? If she thinks about it too hard it makes her dizzy with indecision so she tries not to.

Red Haired Pirates: The weird drunk uncles of the sea, they loved snatching her hat away to ruffle her hair and asking her to join in on whatever merry pirate ditty they happened to be belting out, she declined and instead procured an instrument to jam along with. Shanks was easily one of the most convoluted individuals she’s ever met, she’s dying to know what makes him tick even though she knows he’ll never tell her. A girl can dream, can’t she?

Dark King Rayleigh + Former Empress Shakky: she’s in awe of them! She practically begs to hear his tales of his time as the right hand man to the King of the Pirates and her anecdotes as ruler of the Amazon Lily! Rayleigh usually acquiesces but occasionally he (and Shakky) like to tease her for her eagerness but she can’t help it!! They’re just so cool!!

Whitebeard Pirates: if she’s there, it’s always for a big order and a big order usually means either weapons restock or a party. The members of the Whitebeard pirates always seem worried about her, offering hot meals and checkups while she’s there and threatening to head up to the WE NEWS blimp whenever she complains about work. She doubles down, acts extremely cheery the next time she sets foot on the Moby Dick and it works…mostly. Edward Newgate, father to dozens of wayward souls can’t be tricked with a child’s lie.

Big Mom Pirates: she had the pleasure of meeting Charlotte Linlin shortly after being taken in so she got Mom mode for 2.5 years. The Charlottes have taken to her in all their years of business together and are delightful hosts when she visits. It probably helps that she shares a birthday with a Sweet Commander so they love to invite her to Whole Cake Island to celebrate together!

Beast Pirates: she actively has to be forced to go to Wano, the SMILE Fruits users give her the heebie jeebies! Not to mention once when discussing some newly produced and shipped North Blue scotch The King of Beasts had called for her and, while incredibly drunk, started rambling to her about his lack of willingness to live. It went on for a while before a Tobi Roppo member found them and escorted her out. Easily the longest 20 mins of her life…

Blackbeard Pirates: truly and wholly detests them, especially their captain. She keeps a calm and indifferent mask on when she has to interact with them but she refuses niceties. Teach is offended by this and loudly recalls memories of how sweet and accommodating she was back on the Moby Dick whenever she’s in earshot.

Cross Guild: the business model of placing bounties on Marines for even civilians to collect and then when said civilians are marked as criminals welcoming them into the group is ingenious! She’s surprised no one has thought of it before. The idea of Buggy being its head with Sir Crocodile and Dracule Mihawk acting as his wings is laughable. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that just happened! Now if she could only get 5 mins alone with the Genius Jester, she’s sure she can get the real story…

The Revolutionary Army: if she wasn’t very dedicated to her current job, she could definitely see herself as a member. Conflicts of interest to her lifestyle aside, she really wants them to succeed and is usually the one pushing for their stories to be the front page. If she ever spots some Revs on a mission she’ll, despite her curiosity, leave them to their work. And if a stray arrows happens to knock aside some marines and move some slaves away from a nearby explosion…well who’s to say it was her? Forgery is on the rise lately yknow? You can never be too sure…

[megamindsecretlair]

Room 1918

Cross posted on @megamindssecretlair

Pairing: Nomad Steve x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. Dominance, breeding kink, unprotective p in v, fingering fem receiving, biting, cum play, blow job, and dirty talk.

Word Count: 3,569k

Summary: After the troubling events of Civil War, Steve is constantly on the move. But even a super soldier has needs. He just so happened to fall for your charms and you promptly fell into an arrangement. At each hotel you meet at, you reserve Room 1918 and wait for him.

A/N: What can I say, I'm toasted and feral AF for Nomad Steve and just kept writing. Apologies in advance if I missed warnings or offend anyone.Not beta'd or proofread all that well, it's almost 5am for me. LOL. While likes are awesome, please consider commenting and reblogging to support writers!

He’s late. You pace back and forth in front of the window, peeking out every so often. You bite your lip as you think about all the reasons he could be late. The feds caught up to him, he was killed, or some emergency. You think about turning on the TV but the thought of seeing his face plastered on the news makes you sick. 

In between your worries, you’re also excited. Your skin iss sensitive already. You anticipate all the wicked things Steve will do to you tonight. You blow out a breath and look out of the window one more time. 

A knock on the door makes you jump. Your heart races as you cross the dark navy carpet towards the door. You look through the peephole and see a familiar bearded figure with a cap on his head. Still, per his instructions anyway, you call out, “Who’s there?” 

“It’s me,” his deep voice rumbles from the other side. You smile and open the door. Steve stands before you in dark jeans, gray shirt, and a black hoodie. His cap is pulled low over his brow and his beard is growing out. He has a full and proper beard this time, most likely to fool security cameras.

You lean your head on the hotel door and just drink him in. Even in casual clothes, he looks every inch the super soldier you know him to be. Your cheeks warm as you objectify him. His broad shoulders barely fit through the frame as he walks in. 

He pushes past you smelling like sandalwood and soap and man. He is at least a foot taller. He towers over you. He sniffs at you as he brushes past looking down and looking you over. 

You’re wearing a baby pink robe with black trimming. The bottom slightly flared to accommodate your wide hips and it was trimmed in faux mink. It contrasted perfectly with your russet skin. The dim hotel lights make your skin glow and you hope the glitter was showing. But the dark look in his blue eyes let you know that it didn’t matter. He is devouring you in one look. 

“You are a treasure,” he says. 

You giggle softly and close the door behind him. You lock the door and stand before him and let him look his fill.

He takes off his cap and throws it onto the mahogany dresser. His hair is darker, the blond more akin to brown now. His hair is longer too, runaway strands landing into his pretty face. 

“You broke our rule,” he grumbles. His brows draw down, scowling at you.

“Which one?” 

“I could see you from the parking lot, looking out of the window. You can’t do that. If someone catches you…”

“They won’t. No one knows about us. We’ve been careful,” you say. You approach him until you are chest to chest. 

“All the same. Don’t look out of the window. Someone could see, or someone could harm you. These windows aren’t that effective.”

You roll your eyes. You did not wait a whole fucking month to hear a lecture about safety and evasion tips. All you had were stolen moments. One day of being in his arms. The other days, there was no communication. Full and total blackout. You anxiously awaited news that he was captured or killed. Until the next time he hit up your email. 

You set up a joint email account and communicated via the draft folder. He’d send you a city and you’d book a flight. Since you worked for yourself, there was no one to answer to but yourself. Your friends and family just thought you liked to travel. They called you lucky.

You were dating a ghost. And every day he was on the run, was another day you could never be together. And it hurt. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” He asks. 

“I promise I won’t look out of the window next time,” you say. 

“Did you roll your eyes at me?” His voice pitches lower and he scowls even further at you. He spoke slowly as if you hadn’t heard him the first time. A tingle shoots up your legs. 

“Yes, I did,” you say. You raise your eyebrow at him.

Steve sighs and rubs his beard. “I’m not in the mood,” he says. 

You coo and closed the remaining distance, rubbing your hands up and down his arms. “I can fix that,” you say. You trail your hands lower, moving your hands over his jeans. A noticeable bulge grows under your exploring hands and you rub him over his jeans.

Steve grabs your wandering hands in one hand and narrows his eyes at you. His blue eyes are scalding. You would’ve flinched if it didn’t just turn you on. The Steve that stayed hidden away was swimming to the surface. The side of him that he kept hidden was there. 

“I said I’m not in the mood. You’re taking dangerous risks. I won’t risk you,” he says. 

“It’s not dangerous, Steve. I promise. I just…I miss you so fuckin’ much,” you say. 

“That doesn’t mean you can put yourself at risk. You know you belong to me. What would I do without these days I get to see you?” He asks.

He’s right of course, the arrogant prick. “I won’t do anything to risk that, Steve,” you say. An attitude creeps into your tone and you know the moment you fucked up. His eyebrows shoot up at the same time his hands squeezes yours. 

“Just for that, you don’t get your treat tonight. You’ll have to wait another month,” he says.

“Oh come on,” you whine. You know you sound annoying and you hated it. 

“Keep it up, I’ll make it two months.”

“Steve, please,” you say. You pout, sticking out your bottom lip and rounding your eyes. 

“Three months,” he says. His jaw clenches as he stares you down.

“Please Steve, I won’t make it that long,” you plead. 

“I don’t care.” He grabbs your jaw, squeezing your rounded face until your lips pucker. “I told you that I’m not in the mood. Get your ass on the bed, now,” he growls so close to your face that his breath fans over it. He pushes you away until you stumble back a bit.

You manage to lick your lips. Something bad happened today. It was either a close call or he failed to help someone. That whole other side was begging to be pushed. He thought he needed total obedience, but he needed to get worked up more. To push past that barrier and consume you body and soul. 

“Let me make it up to you,” you say. You approach him and slid to the floor to get on your knees. You move closer on your knees. You reach up for his jeans and unbuckle his belt. You tug it through the metal loop. As you work to free him, you keep your eyes on him. He’s so tall, he might as well be a giant. Especially while you were on your knees.

The mink at the bottom of your robe tickles your legs and only works to make your skin hyperaware. The hold the man had on you was like being drunk. Total loss of your control. Your head is fuzzy and you sway. And you overall feel so damn horny, you were nearly combusting.

“Let me earn back my months,” you say.

You palm him and he sighs. His eyes flutter closed as you work him up and down softly. Your hand glides over his velvety soft dick. The serum really increased everything about him. His thick length intimidates you. You’ve sucked him off before but every time required a pep talk.

You lick the head of his dick, painting your tongue with his precum. You swallow the head and lick back and forth over the tip. A groan leaves Steve as he throws his head back. You take him in further, swallowing him down. His hips jerk forward and he digs his hands into your hair.

He places his palm on your scalp and grabs your hair at the roots. He soon takes over, fucking your mouth as if you were nothing more than a hole to be used. He sets the rhythm and the pace, bouncing you up and down. You look at him as you hollow out your cheeks. 

Steve’s dick hits the back of your throat, causing you to choke a bit. Steve groans hearing your whimpers and moans and quiet pleas. Still, he is relentless. Your jaw hurts and tears gather in your eyes.

“That’s my dirty fuckin’ girl,” he says. “Suck that dick, baby.” His whispered commands make your pussy clench with vicious need. His balls slap your chin. He reaches down with his other hand to pull on your dark left nipple. It was his favorite nipple for some reason. Probably because it was slightly bigger than the right and you swore it was more sensitive. Every time he pinched you, it sent a straight shot of desire to your pussy. 

Your whimpers increase, creating a sexy symphony of carnal sounds. His harsh breaths mingle with your crying and soon he’s groaning. “Fuck, this mouth is gorgeous,” he moans.

Steve abruptly pulls out of your mouth with a growl. He grabs your arms and lifts you to your feet. He leans in and licks the tears off your cheek. Then he’s kissing you, stroking his tongue against yours. He grabs your face and moves you backward until your legs are hitting the bed.

“You’re gonna take this cum inside of you,” he say.

“Yes, Steve,” you huff. You rotate your jaw to get some feeling back into it. 

“You only earned one month back,” he say.

You open your mouth to speak but Steve’s eyes burns holy retribution. He finally snaps. He pushes you onto the bed. You hop once. He stares down at you and rubs his beard. You got the sense that he was trying to figure out the best way to attack you. 

He glares at you as he strips. His shirt and hoodie are off in one fell swoop and flung onto the floor. He shucks off his shoes and socks and relieves himself of his jeans and underwear.

Fuck, he was beautiful. Tanned skin, a glory trail down to his impressive dick. It bounces under your gaze and you lick your lips. 

“You better be fuckin’ wet,” he says. He rips open your robe, the snaps releasing at once. You learned your lesson with the button and latch ones. Your robes kept getting shredded with his inhuman strength. And you really like this one. 

You don’t wear anything underneath. Somehow you knew that tonight would be different. Whether it was a hunch or intuition, it came in handy tonight. His gaze roams over your body, sighing and cooing in pleasure.

“You’re really fuckin’ perfect,” he croons. He kept eye contact as he leans forward and over you, licking your tummy. You whimpers. His rough tongue was divine. Surely it was a crime to be this addicted to somebody. His every touch set your nerves on fire. 

Fresh arousal drips out of your pussy and you keen forward trying to get his attention. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that needy little cunt for you,” he says. Oh god, you whimper. 

He climbs onto the bed, forgoing your usual treat of him eating you out. You hoped that after he got that post-nut clarity, he’d be all too happy to oblige. But knowing him, he’d stick to it out of spite. By simply knowing that you needed his lips on your pussy. 

As he came over you, he kisses you so sweetly. Feathering his kisses over your full, luscious lips. He kisses the side of your mouth and then your jaw. He licks a hot trail on your neck. 

Your hands came up to rub his back. He’s on fire. He’s a living furnace under your fingertips. His muscles contract and flex beneath your touch. 

“I’m gonna fill that needy cunt with my seed. I want you so full,” he growls in your ear. The subtle gravel in his voice makes you tingle all over. “I need you so badly. Please,” you beg. 

You’re not too proud to beg. Your pussy aches and feels empty. You need him to fill you up now.  You had a very low tolerance for just about everything. Least of all this weird middle between pleasure and pain. 

Steve denies you further. He continues to rain kisses on your chest, sucking on your titty and biting you. He licks the sting away and then latches on to your nipple. He sucks and teases the little bead between his teeth. He uses one hand to dig under you and grab on to your fat ass. 

He squeezes and growls in satisfaction. He uses his other hand to roll your other nipple with his fingers. You moan and writhe. You sigh. “Please, please, please,” you cry.

He kneads your breast and pinches your nipple. Then he switches sides. His mouth came over his favorite nipple and gave it just as much attention. Freezing hotel air hit your wet nipple and you shivered. His free hand came up to warm your titty once more. 

“Steve,” you beg. You couldn’t speak anymore. It was too much.

“That’s my filthy girl,” he says. He lowers his left hand to dance over your damp curls. You suck in a breath. He digs his finger between your pussy lips and sighs. You’e so wet, the sounds of which echoed in the silent room. 

“You’re making a mess over here, sweetheart,” he chides. You whimper and your legs shake. Your nails dig into Steve’s shoulders. He rubs your clit in agonizingly slow circles. Your arousal ramps higher and higher until your body begins to jerk and twitch. 

“Cum for me, dirty girl. Cum on my fingers,” he croons. 

You’re stuttering breaths and shaking so much that he leans down further until he is right on top of you. The solid weight of him made you come undone. He curls his fingers inside of you and you come with a powerful force, waves of please washing over you. Your body seizes as you come. 

Steve talks you down from it, calling you a pretty girl and beautiful and gorgeous. Each new adjective soaked into your brown skin, lighting you up from the inside. You absently rub his head, letting his silky tresses slip through your fingers. 

Your skin’s overheated. If it wasn’t for his body laying on top of yours, you would’ve been shivering from how incredibly cold you were. You sniffle as runaway tears escaped your eyes. 

Steve kisses your cheek, once again licking up the tears. He makes his way back to your mouth. He kisses you lazily. As if you had all the time in the world. He bites your bottom lip hard enough to sting. Then he licks it away. He leans back and sucks on his fingers. The fingers that were inside of you.

You smell your arousal on his fingers. Your breathing starts to settle as Steve sticks his fingers into your mouth. You taste yourself on his fingers and whimper. 

He leans up until he’s kneeling on the bed. He grabs your thighs and moves them to his hips so that he’s lined up perfectly. He pitches forward and lets his smooth dick rub your clit. You’re still a bit sensitive from your orgasm so you twitch on every up-slide. 

Then, he shoves in one full thrust. You’re so slippery, he slides in without resistance. You both moan at the contact. You’re finally full and fuck, it burns so good. He stays like that for a few moments as you acclimate to his size and girth. 

“Fuck. Your pussy feels so damn good,” he says. 

You whimper beneath him and move up and down, trying to signal without words that he needed to move. He pants above you. His floppy hair falls over his brow and half in his eyes. He licks his lips as he stares at you.

Oh, right. You tap his arm twice to let him know that you were okay and he could keep going. You found out pretty quickly that he was capable of rendering you catatonic. You needed a system that communicated through taps to let him know that you were down for everything he was doing. 

He leans forward and kisses you before sliding out of you and then sliding back in. “Such a messy, filthy girl. You’re making a mess all over my dick,” he says.

“Oh god, Steve,” you cry. You clench around his dick and you both groan. You grab onto his forearms and wrap your thick legs around his waist. He starts to piston inside of you, going so deep and hard that he’s hitting the shit out of your G spot. 

You hold on, bouncing on his dick. His balls slap against your ass. 

“Fuck, I’m going to give you all this cum, sweetheart. Tell me you want it,” he says.

“I want it so badly. Please fill me up, please.” 

A desperate need takes hold of you. He feels so good sliding in and out of you with ease. You truly are making a mess. He takes your wrists in his one palm and lifts them above your head until your breasts are on full display. His other hand grips your knee and pushes it back to get a better angle. Somehow, he’s able to go deeper and you make all kinds of incoherent sounds.

You’re pretty sure you’re gonna bruise in the morning. His grip is punishing, locking you into place. Steve chases his own orgasm, giving you no more thought as he closes his eyes and groane. His stomach contracts from the effort of gliding into you. 

“Take this fuckin’ cum, sweetheart. I want your pussy full of my cum. Only mine. Help me fill you up,” he grunts.

He thrusts harder, his thighs slapping against yours. You clench and clench around him, your belly burning with the need to cum. 

“I’m going to put a baby in that pussy of yours. I want your belly to be swollen,” he growl. 

“Oh fuck,” you scream. An orgasm rips through you. Sparks fly behind your eyelids. Your body convulses and twists and turns. Steve lets go of your wrists to hold himself up. He pumps three more times before bursting inside of you with a long, guttural moan. 

His hot seed squirts inside of you, bathing your insides. He pumps a few more times before dropping on top of you. He shakes and you rub his back. You touch every inch of him you could get your hands on. 

He withdraws and you make embarrassing squelching noises as he pulls out. His cum leaks out. You groan from the sensation. He leans up and away, leaning back on his haunches so he can grab your legs and spread them apart.

He surveys his handy work and lord help, but you were getting aroused again. He grunted in between his huffs. 

“You keep that fuckin’ cum inside you,” he growls. He dips his hand down to gather up the cum that slips out. Then he pushes it back inside of you, massaging your overworked pussy. 

“That’s my fuckin’ pussy, that I can use however I want right?” He asks.

“Yes, Steve,” you whisper. You shiver from him fucking his cum back into you. 

“You gonna keep this cum inside you? You gonna grow my baby?” He asks.

“Oh god, yes Steve,” you whine. 

This orgasm sneaks up on you. One minute he is adding a third finger inside of you and the next, you’re huffing and whining and whimpering again. He fucks you through it, moving his fingers in and out as you cry out. Your sweet cries flow over the walls and hit you back.

“So needy and filthy,” he says. 

As you come down, he grins at you for the first time that night. He licks his fingers as he gives you a devilish grin. 

“The things I’m going to do to you tonight,” he says wistfully. His eyes look over your deep russet skin, your big tummy, and juicy breasts. 

You yawn and he chuckles. “Thank you, sweetheart. Get some sleep, we’ve got a long night to make up for.”

Steve untangles himself from you, crossing the room to the bathroom. You curl up on your side as sleep tugs heavily. Steve returns with a washcloth to clean you up. You feel the cold circle of your arousal on the bed. It’s huge. You groan. You can’t believe that all of that came out of you. 

Steve takes care of himself with his own washcloth before laying down and pulling you into him. His warm chest hits your back and your ass hits his dick. You both sigh as you wiggle a bit. Steve tells you to behave. 

He wraps a massive arm around your waist and pulls you closer, his fingers curling underneath you. You’re locked in and aren't about to go anywhere. 

You fall into a deep, deep sleep curled up with the literal man of your dreams.

There's more Steve to love! The Secret Nomad Steve Files

[theobscurepotato]

Dear Yuletide Writer 2024

Dear Yuletide Writer:

First off, thank you! I hope you are as excited about your assignment as I am to receive it. Hopefully the lateness of my Yuletide letter didn’t panic you too much! I enjoy a wide variety of fic, and these are truly some of my favorite canons, so really you can’t go wrong...but if you are looking for a spark of inspiration, I hope this letter provides it.  

General Likes/Dislikes: 

Things I love in a Yuletide fic: M/M, UST, hurt/comfort, banter, happy endings. When I look at the canons I chose, one consistent theme is that they all end on a note of hope, yet the characters I chose within these canons don't always get to experience that. I think, more than anything, what I would love to see is a chance for these characters to catch a glimmer of it for themselves (or for each other, in the canons where I've selected a pairing). 

Things I generally don’t like in a Yuletide fic: AU’s set outside of the canon setting (coffee shop, etc), MPREG, graphic gore, body horror, unhappy endings. That being said, if you have a wild idea that goes against these, these are definitely more loose guidelines than DNW’s. 

___

Coldfire Trilogy

Damien Vryce/Gerald Tarrant Not sure if there will ever be a Yuletide where I don't request CFT fic. I do write frequently for this fandom, but just because I write in a certain style, please don’t restrict yourself to my “usual” topics. For this canon especially, I’m excited to read what you want to write.  I’m starting my millionth re-read of the trilogy, so I am excited to read anything set either during canon, or a post-canon fix-it. Give me all the banter. Give me all the UST. Give me Gerald Tarrant doing something kind (while doing mental gymnastics to justify it to himself as FOR SELFISH REASONS ONLY). Give me Damien forgetting to agonize over what GT is and just enjoying a moment with him (bonus points for him Prophet!fanboying). Give me physical contact of some sort between them, give me the soul bond! I ship these two hard, but I am happy to read pre-slash/gen.

Dimension20: Escape from the Bloodkeep

Leiland (Kraz-Thun) I watched Escape from the Bloodkeep 2 months ago(?) and once I was done, I immediately restarted it and watched the series again. Bloodkeep has some of my favorite Dropout cast characters, but of course it was Matt Mercer’s Leiland who stole the show for me. Someone on Reddit summed up Leiland as “All that dark power and regal lineage turned into a benny hill skit” and in response I can only say, that’s exactly why I’m here. I am happy with both pre and post-canon fic, gen or shippy (and not picky on ship). I’d really love to see Leiland navigate how to be Leiland, and not Kraz-Thun, and getting more comfortable in the “evil” found family he has created. Galfast Hamhead, while not requested, is of course 1000% welcome in any story.  Yoroiden Samurai Troopers (Ronin Warriors)

Shuten/Rajura

This was my first real fandom, well over two decades ago now, and Shuten/Rajura was my first ship. I definitely carried a binder plastered outside with the Masho chibi from Amanda Swiftgold’s page and stuffed to the brim with too much printed fic from Mink’s Yaoi Cake archive. This was a rare ship even then, and I am absolutely fine with gen, and fics that include all the Masho. I would of course love a fix-it fic, but I am open to exploring missing canon scenes also. I would enjoy a fic either from Rajura or Shuten’s perspective that grapples with their encounter out on the tracks, and that sprinkles in some of their shared complex history. Feel free to bend canon details in terms of what the armor enables. 

Uprooted

Solya/Marek These two have taken up residence in my brain and will not leave me alone. They truly enable each other in a way that is absolutely toxic, but I would love a fic that lets them attempt to do better by each other. I would prefer that Marek lives in your fic, whether that means exploring pre-canon events, or a missing scene during their story, and I would definitely enjoy a fix-it (just think of the hurt/comfort possibilities!) where they get to figure out their version of a happy ending. How do they navigate a world where they both wield less power? Would they be able to make their peace enough with that to carve out something new? Or would they chafe against that lack of power, and it would be that struggle that entwines them further?

[adashoflavendermelancholy]

Costume Problems

Uta looked all over for a costume. There is an entire list of things the costume needed to be before she picked it. One that would look good on her. Something that would let her run around on stage. Nothing that would rip easily. It can’t be drowned out by all the lights. Nothing that would not be see thru in all the lights. Not cheap fabric that would rip. It had to be adjustable. She knew she wasn’t all that flashy in the chest department, so it might need to be taken in a bit. But that couldn’t ruin the costume. This was the list that she had to check through. Every costume in four stores looked through. Even with the high number of potential costumes, her list decimated them into the put back pile. Leaving every little for her to choose from.

In the end, she picked out a cute little costume. Red riding hood. It wasn’t too flashy, and it showed her normal amount of leg. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. It had spaghetti straps that were thin. But that was fine, as it came with a cape. One that Uta would throw out to use a red Uta jacket. Always supporting her merch to get others to buy more. It was such a simple thing for her to do.

Of course, Uta didn’t account for one thing. She got there out of the costume and tried it on. Trying to pick out what shoes she was going to wear on stage with them. Only for her father to show up. He was almost never home, just out drinking his money away.

“Hey,” she called, barely giving him a glance while looking over the shoe options. She could go black and have them pop out against her skin and the red rests. Or match it up with some red shoes. That might look good.

The broken, “What ARE you wearing?” Coming from behind here snapping her out of any choices.

Uta turned to see Shanks looking at her like she was crazy. “It’s a costume for my Halloween concert. I’ll be selling shirts with the outfit only at this one concert so I have-”

“You can’t wear that! You can see too much! No! No, this won’t do!” Shanks began babbling. He must have been really freaked out because he never babbled unless he was out of his mind. Even when super drunk, he managed to string together full sentences. It just went to prove where Rayleigh rubbed off on him while he was growing up.

“Sorry to break it to you, but I am. I already looked at the other options.” Uta said, crossing her arms.

That only had Shanks turning to look at her like a kicked puppy. “Uta! there will be men there! They will see you and fall in love!”

“Yeah and?”

“You can’t marry yet! You’re not old enough!”

Uta’s jaw dropped. Who said anything about marriage? Picking up one shoe she was deciding between, she threw it at him. “UGH! WHO WAS ASKING YOU!”

The shoe hit Shanks in the face, though he could have avoided it. He didn’t think about it. “But, but Uta!” He yelled, as Uta stormed away. Taking out his phone, he called Benn.

“Hello?”

“BENN EMERGENCY! UTA! MY BABY IS GONNA! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S HAPPENING!” Shanks yelled. Uta knew who he called and used the time to make her own phone call. It was a race to see who showed up first.

To her utter upset, both parties showed up at the same time. Benn and Yasopp showed up looking like they already knew he was being dramatic about all this. While Luffy and his friends showed up. Both Uta and Shanks began telling the to tell the other to listen to them. Both sides blinked, letting them yell.

When something caught her eye. A large white bear. He must be a mink. He looked to be just about hyperventilating. “Luffy, who’s-“

“Hello, miss Uta! I’m a fan of yours! You look really beautiful in the red dress!” The mink said, not bouncing a little in place.

“Bepo.” Luffy’s friend with the tattoos said. But it was too late. Uta turned to Shanks, looking smug, while the man looked pissed.

“I don’t get it,” Luffy said, breaking the growing tension. He looked between the two arguing.

“She’s too young to wear something that revealing!” “This is a costume. He’s being a creep!” They both yelled. Neither caring what the other said.

Luffy blinked, still not getting it. His friend stepped in, “Shanks is mad because he thinks that Uta is still his baby- “ “She is my baby!” “-while Uta wants to wear what she wants.”

Luffy thought about it for a minute. Tilting his head a bit. “Why can’t she wear it? Uta thinks really hard about what she wears and takes so long deciding.” Luffy asked, now turning to Shanks.

“She’s too young! Look how much skin is showing! What if some man sees her and thinks bad thoughts?” Shanks said, already getting a little pissed about it.

Bepo raised his hand. “Um! You don’t have to worry. The Uta protection squad is here to keep those kinds of guys out of the way. We get together and buy the tickets the moment her shows go on sale. So no one but us and genuine fans can get close. But we also point out to bouncers where someone’s acting strange.”

They all looked at him again. Bepo wasn’t sure f that was a good thing or not. While his best friend was wondering why he put himself in this position. Uta then smiled. Turning to Shanks, “See, I’ll be fine. My fans got my back!” She told him. It wasn’t like she didn’t trust them. She loved them just as much as they loved her. That was why she did so much for them.

Shanks sighed, “I still think it’s too revealing, but fine.” Benn and Yasopp were happy they didn’t have to get in the middle of this any more than they were. Luffy was still a little lost but that was fine. Bepo got to eat dinner with Uta and help her pick out what shoes she should wear with it. Everyone got what they wanted.