#amongst the new fics and drabbles

[thepayloadisgay]

Zenyatta turned to his friend, feeling him shift position yet again, the hiss of his joints breaking the strained silence. The poised fingers at his knees relaxed, and the orbs that hovered rolled inward, settling around his neck with a pleasant chime.

“There is a disquiet within you today,” said the monk as he watched Genji shift onto his knees. “Actually, ever since Overwatch recalled you.”

A quiet sigh, as Genji straightened his back and placed his hands atop his thighs, moving each finger one by one, trying hard to centre his balance and thoughts.

“Do you regret rejoining?” asked Zenyatta as he watched his student struggle with what he usually found so easy. “I know working alongside your brother -”

“It's not Hanzo,” he interrupted, breaking his posture as the vents in his shoulders moved, hissed and coiled a swathe of steam, disturbing his ribbon. “It’s Angela.”

Zenyatta tilted his head to the side, watching the unsteady fingers of his student roll over his thighs as he re-attempted his pose. “Dr Ziegler? Is she alright?”

Genji smirked as looked ahead, his ribbon settling at his back. “She is well,” he said, spreading hands over his thighs once more. Genji remained still for a while and breathed in, out, letting the silence of their makeshift meditation room in new HQ embrace him. And with it he closed his eyes, but all he could see, was her. “I think I’m in love.”

The orbs by Zenyatta’s neck shifted, making a gentle hum as the omnic’s face shifted to mimic a human’s smile. “I could have told you that, Genji.”

Genji faltered, disrupting the rhythm of his pose. Eyes narrowed from the midday sun, voice elevated in question. “You knew?”

Zenyatta rested his hands atop his knees, pinching two fingers together slowly, and laughed. “You are different whenever you speak of her - in a good way. Your voice changes, your mannerisms shift,” he said as the orbs extended around his head and began to hover. “And when you are around her, when you look at her for a moment when she smiles, you forget.”

Genji stared at his hand, at his wrist, bound in a small yellow ribbon. 

“You forget. Because all you see is her.”

He turned to Zenyatta, staring as he hovered a foot off the ground, a perfect picture of peace. “What should I do?”

“Tell her.”

[motthe]

I was just rereading the house call the other day so I'm super stoked you're doing Arcane fics again! I adore the lumen au SO much. May I request academic rivals lumen au with Viktor? Him and reader both being incredible academics competing for the same position, but up til now haven't met in person and don't realize it's their soulmate they're trying to beat. However short/long you want and whatever format you prefer!

I hope you don't mind, I did fem!reader for this drabble. If not I can go back over it, no problem!

Professor Heimerdinger did his best to not show favoritism amongst his students. Each and every one of them had a grand mind, reaching aspirations, and a passion to learn. They were the stars to his sky and he would not trade anything for a single one.

But there were those who earned their place in the elite, guiding those with their brilliance onto a path of achievement some might fail to find. Heimerdinger did not make it any easier on them in their greatness, if anything he asked for more. And now with it being time for a new assistant he was having a hard time choosing from his collection of constellations. 

“I’ve finally narrowed it down to two of you,” he said to Viktor, taking a moment to sip his tea. “You’ve shown marvelous progress this semester as you have for all the others—a constant, you are, my boy!”

Viktor swirled the amber liquid around in his cup. He had known what the meeting was about as soon as Heimerdinger had invited him to his office. It left his stomach in knots. 

A softness grazed his ear, adding pressure as it traveled under his jaw. He allowed himself a small moment to bask in the touch before he raised his hand to gather your light and bring it down to sit on his leg. 

Lumens all had their shows of affection, always doing their best to help when they sensed stress. You preferred to pull him out of his head by taking up his attention. From running through his hair and making a mess of it to nudging his cheek, you would do anything to get his eyes on you. Right now, he couldn’t have you distracting him, so he kept a hand over you, biting back a smile as you wiggled against his palm. 

“And the other student you are ruminating on?” he asked.

“Hm?” The wise yordle’s ears perked up as he swallowed another sip of tea. “Oh, no need to worry about that. The point of this meeting is to gauge your overall interest in the job at hand.”

“Consider me interested, Professor.” Viktor set his porcelain cup down, leaning back to meet his gaze. “Is there to be a contest? A, eh, battle of the wits?”

“By the spirits, no!” chuckled Heimerdinger. “I would never pin you against one another like that. The last thing I need is having two of my best students at each other’s throats!”

“And, yet, you seem…concerned about me knowing of the other candidate.” Viktor raised an eyebrow as his professor coughed, turning in his chair and hopping down. The young man grabbed his cane and stood as Heimerdinger approached. 

As soon as he raised his hand from you, your bright form went twirling up into the air. He blew a short breath at you as you tried to hover in front of him, clearly irritated if your budding red color was any indication. You bounced against his nose in retaliation, floating down to sit on his shoulder.

“I only mean to keep the mystery alive, my boy! There are many times in life we are faced with the unknown and must navigate blind.” He slowed his pace to remain by Viktor’s side as the two made for the door. “By the end of the week, I will have come up with something suitable to decide which of you will become my assistant, but for now, I ask you to think on it and be sure the job is something you truly want for yourself.”

“Of course, Professor,” said Viktor as he stepped through the doorway, cane clicking against the ground. 

“Spectacular! Now off with you! I know finals are right around the corner for you two.” Heimerdinger waved before shutting the door, leaving Viktor out in the hall with an inkling he was not too fond of.

As he began his walk to the library, he noticed your stillness on his shoulder and grinned to himself.

“Pouting, are we?” he hummed. A flash of crimson light had him glancing over, but the majority of you was still a soft yellow. It made him chuckle.

Entering the library, he went straight to the front desk, nodding to the librarian as she looked up from her paperwork. 

“Hello, Viktor, anything I can help with?” she asked.

“Just a pickup. I sent the requests this morning,” he answered. 

“Let me check the cart.” Pushing her chair out from the desk, a purple lumen rolled off the counter to follow her as she went to the back office in search of his books. He waited by patiently, taking in the peaceful ambiance of turning pages and scribbling pens. 

You nudged at his neck, done with your little strike. He brought his hand up to rub a finger over the top of you, returning the sentiment. The yellow light phased into that lovely pink shade he adored—the sign you were content. 

“Here we are.” He looked up, surprised as the librarian sat down his books. He hadn’t heard her returning. “One of them was already checked out, it seems, but you’ll be the next in line for it as soon as it’s turned in.”

“Many thanks,” he said, gathering the study material against his side before heading off to his dorm. 

There was mail—the scores from last week’s test, no doubt, and a vanilla envelope stamped with that cursed emblem. He rolled his eyes, attempting to prepare himself for what was to come as he unlocked his door. He went straight to his desk to drop off his books and sit. You wandered down his arm and under the lamp as he switched it on, enjoying the warmth of the bulb as he grabbed his letter knife.

As he scanned the parchment he was met with usual sight. His marks were as predicted in his class, but there sitting on the next column over for the professor’s second class of the day, was that same name that shadowed him since his third semester. He opened the second piece of mail with a sigh.

Guess we’re both head to head for the role of Heimerdinger’s assistant. He didn’t want me to know who I’m up against as I’m sure he won’t want you to, but there’s no mistaking his two, brightest candidates.

P.S. Tied again for perfect scores. I hope you’re studying for finals. Don’t want to end up a point shy again, do you?

He tossed the letter into the bin, jaw clenched. You moved from your spot to rub against his hand, back to your color of neutrality. He let out a slow breath.

“I know,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t get so worked up.”

He knew better. Years had passed but his rival had not lost a bit of their flare. He had met his fair share of competitive students as well as bullies, but this one walked a fine line. 

Viktor never bothered to waste energy on such petty pastimes. He recognized her name and had heard it in passing from professors when they spoke of the highest grades. She was always mentioned—a star pupil. In the beginning, he had been curious, but she was a ghost, then. No classes were shared and Viktor was never a social being to begin with, so seeking her out was never a priority. He wouldn’t know her face if he passed her in the hall.

Yet, somehow, she tracked him down enough to send these little notes time and time again. He never replied, but it did not stop her.

He did his best to push her from his mind, burying himself into his classes. When he checked with the library the next day, the book he needed was returned, so he added it to his growing collection on his desk. The week went by quietly.

A knock came at his door.

“One moment,” he called, a tired breath slipping from his chest as he pried himself away from his chair and towards the door. You tussled along the top of his head as he peered through the peephole, humming. It was only went he looked further down he saw a tuft of hair.

“Professor,” he said as the door opened.

“Good evening, Viktor,” said Heimerdinger, holding up an envelope, “I’ve come to deliver my assignment to you and miss—er, to the other student I’m considering for the role of my assistant!”

He leaned against his door jam, managing a tight smile. “You need not keep secrets. I’m more than aware who your other ‘star pupil’ is.”

Heimerdinger sighed, brow furrowing. “Oh, fiddlesticks! I should’ve known you would figure me out. She did, too.”

Viktor would say it was obvious, but he spared the poor man. It wasn’t as if he knew how cumbersome the girl was, needling Viktor any chance she got.

“Well, it makes things a bit easier, I suppose,” Heimerdinger said, holding up the envelope again. “I know your exams are beginning, so I made this as simple as I could. The details of the assignment are within. I looked forward to it, my boy!”

With that, the yordle went on his way, leaving Viktor to slip back into his room and lock his door. Looking down at the parchment in his hand, he squinted as you fell into sight, catching yourself just in time before floating off behind him.

“Were you up there the entire time?” he huffed, raising a hand to fix his hair. 

You twinkled mischievously, back on his desk and in the warmth of his lamp light. 

Shaking his head, he crossed his room and eased down into his desk chair once more. You nudged the letter opener where it sat beside you.

The assignment was as Heimerdinger promised, simple. He wanted a written answer of what being his assistant would mean to him as both a scientist and a person. There was no word limit and he expected it to be turned in to his office by the end of the weekend before classes began.

“I’m assuming he doesn’t want a basic answer,” Viktor mused allowed, eyes slinking back to you. He smiled as you swayed from side to side, the outer layer of your light trailing with the movement. You were a strange combination of green and orange—excited and nervous. Perhaps plans for the weekends? Or maybe you were facing something just as important as he was—a door to the future. 

“Better to start right away,” he breathed, searching his desk. When he couldn’t find his pen, he began closing and stacking the books to open up the space. One must have been teetering on the edge because the next thing he knew there was a mess on the floor.

Accepting the new chore with a roll of his shoulders, he turned and began to tidy up. He paused, though, at the book that lied open. Sitting in the crease of the pages was some sort of bookmark, thin and metallic if the light reflection off of it had any indication. Grasping the edges, he brought the text back to his desk’s surface, holding up the thin item for better observation. There was an intricate design that changed when angled in different ways. It was quite pretty and likely cost more than Viktor would pay to keep tabs in a book. 

Flipping to the start, he looked for the checkout slip attached and slid it from the pocket, roving over the names until he found his. Above it was that cursed name.

“For the love of—” He let out an aggravated scoff, glaring at the bookmark. Of course it would belong to her. With all the letters she sends, she probably doesn’t glance twice at the cost of a stamp or mailing fees. She has money to spare if she buys trinkets like that.

He laid it aside along with the mess of books. When he turned in Heimerdinger’s assignment he’d give the bookmark to him as well. He would get it back to her. 

Come the end of the weekend, Viktor was up bright and early to drop off his explication. The halls were mostly quiet, a few teachers offering a greeting as they went by. The students still recovering from whatever activities they got up to. Viktor didn't have the time. He needed to return the textbooks and check out more for the next exam, also grab some more pens. He was running low.

Turning the corner that was attached to Heimerdinger’s office, Viktor stopped as he spotted a figure by the door. The uniform revealed she was a student, her hair pinned back from her face as she opened the mail slot and tucked an envelope inside. He spotted a lumen in the crook of her elbow, a warm brown against the cream of her coat. 

The metallic clap of the mail slot closing broke him from his observation. When he raised his eyes he found the girl had noticed him, eyes wide before a smirk curled at her lips.

“Well,” she chuckled, “we finally meet.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said, repositioning himself as she turned to face him. 

“Oh, c’mon, Viktor.” She crossed her arms, careful of her lumen as she cupped a hand under it. His chest warmed at the sight. Despite such a devil-may-care attitude, she was soft with it. “Another student here this early, turning something into Professor Heimerdinger? Need I say more?”

“Ah,” he muttered, lips curling just a bit in distaste as he let her name slip.

“Ding, ding, ding,” she sang, chin rising. “I suppose it’s about time we met, being academic rivals and all.”

“You enjoy it a bit too much,” he said, shaking his head as you tumble from his shoulder, slowly floating forward. You’re a bright orange, so very excited. If only he wasn’t dealing with her right now, he’d smile.

“Oh, it’s all in good fun!” She glances at her lumen as it hovers up from her embrace before turning her attention back to him. “You’re always all by your lonesome. I’d thought you’d enjoy some friendly competition.”

“I don’t have time for frivolous games. I thought you might have understood that seeing as I never replied.”

You froze, midair, causing Viktor to realize just how far your light had wandered from him. That sparkling orange had dulled to a grayish blue.

He reached for you, concerned before he noticed his rival’s face beyond you. She was looking at the floor, smugness gone, and the lumen attached to her was now slowly floating up, a foot away from yours.

His breath caught in his throat as it moved higher. He let his hand fall to his side as it nudged against you, sending a bright flash that had him closing his eyes. When he blinked again his rival—you—were staring at the two lumens in shock. The dull color of your lumen had gone milky white.

You both stared at one another, then. 

“I change colors?” you muttered.

He sucked in a breath. “Y-you do, yes.”

“Oh,” you said, rubbing your hands over your sides, “weird.”

“No, it’s, eh,” he stumbled over the correct words, bringing a hand to his neck, “you are honest with your emotions. Very, what do they say, er…”

“I wear my heart on my sleeve?” you said, smiling.

“Yes, that,” he murmured, nodding.

“I get that a lot,” you chuckled. It was nothing like the first one he’d heard from you. This one was much weaker. Sadder.

“I apologize,” he began.

You shook your head. “No, I get how irritating I must’ve been. I should’ve stopped when you never sent a letter back. That’s on me.”

“No, I ,” he sighed, taking a step towards you, the hit of his cane on the floor pulling your eyes to his, “I assumed you were ‘poking the fun’ at me. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“No, no I meant it to be friendly, I’m sorry,” you hurried to say, bridging the distance bit by bit. “I would never poke fun at you, Viktor. You’re brilliant. I hold such high respect for you.”

“Oh.” He was blindsided by the joy that came from hearing that, especially from his soulmate. “I, well, thank you…”

“Can we start over?” you asked, smiling nervously as you held up a hand. “I promise I’m much better in person.”

You are perfect, he thought, unsure how fate would bless him with something as beautiful and smart as you. 

[plutoenjoyer]

jooyeon — intervention

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

genre: fluff 𓇬 wc: 1.7k

tags: female reader, fluff, drabble, established relationship, face kisses, tickling, playfully teasing each other, jooyeon jealous over little things, not proofread lol

warnings: none

summary: you can't seem to stop buying merch of this little dog character, and jooyeon takes it upon himself to confront your addiction.

notes: "my next fic won't be jooyeon i promise!" I SAID, LIKE A LIAR. im sorry i had the worst writing block ever and this picture of him inspired me to write this silly little thing (it literally looks exactly like him). so i hope its still enjoyable even if its paced a little badly... i just wanted to get something out to make up for the absence T_T

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“y/n,” jooyeon enters your room with no announcement holding up your new purchase in his hand, looking more serious than he's ever been in his life, “this is an intervention.”

you quirk your eyebrow at him, putting down your phone and taking off your headphones so you can greet him properly, “hi?”

you're not surprised he's home at this time—you gave him a key so he could freely go back and forth between here and his dorm when he felt like it. so you're pretty used to him coming into your room and doing weird shit unannounced, like the one time he came in holding a gigantic platter of fruit which made you laugh because the image of his blank-looking, boyish face enveloped by the largeness of his black puffer jacket with a guitar slung over his back, a backpack over his shoulder, and sliced melon in his arms was not exactly what you expected to see that night. but you both just sat on your couch together while snacking, anyway. ”the nice auntie at the store gave it to me for free,” he had said.

you wait for him to explain himself as you sit comfortably amongst your sheets, blissfully unaware of his melodramatic torment.

“don't give me that look!” his over-the-top exasperation makes you break out into a smile even if he hasn't really said anything of note just yet, “this thing! this freaking thing!”

you sit up further, swinging your legs over to the side of your bed to take a closer look. not that you needed to, because it was plenty obvious what it was.

over the course of these past few months you've become increasingly susceptible to this cute little dog character. reason being … it reminded you of jooyeon. it had this head-empty cute innocent silly smile that you couldn't resist, and there were just so many variations that you've found yourself accumulating them over time with little purchases here and there … and well, it seems jooyeon’s finally noticed.

you pout at him. “what, you don't like him? he’s pretty cute to me …”

“no, it's not that,” jooyeon shakes his head. you gesture for him to hand you the plushie by holding your arms out, but instead he gets closer to you and holds out the toy in his arms without letting you grab it. you look up at him in amusement, waiting to see what else he has to say.

“it’s everywhere! seriously!” he vaguely gestures to the … oh yeah, the giant version of the dog that's laid cutely on the left side of your bed. that one was a bit of a splurge purchase. you don't like to think about the price you paid for him.

“and what's wrong with that? i just think he’s a cutie!” you stick your tongue out at him playfully and snatch the smaller toy away from his hands, holding it close in your lap. you watch as his brow furrows at this, eyes laser focused on this stupid dog thing taking up the real estate of your lap where he should be, and you stifle a laugh because it's so obvious how he's jealous of a freaking plushie.

he huffs, crossing his arms and giving you a look of mild contempt, “why?”

“i mean, just look at it!” you enthusiastically ignore his frown and show off the dog, “his little beady eyes, his dumb smile … he just looks happy to be here. look, it even has a tiny bowtie, how cute is that?! he's having so much fun! he doesn't know what taxes are! it's awesome. i love him.”

“sure, but you even have a little statue of it in the bathroom, even stickers on the mirror! i can't even pee in peace!” jooyeon flops himself onto your bed and you bounce a little in your seat at the impact. he leans on his back arm and reaches out a hand to poke at the plushie in your lap, clearly sulking.

you want to laugh at his misery over something so trivial but instead you smile and poke his cheek. “you're just gonna have to deal with iiiit,” your voice lifts at the end, a sing-song voice to fully solidify how much you will not stop buying merch of this little creature of a dog. you roll over and grab the giant one he had pointed out earlier, placing it next to you and hugging it with your entire body weight, and yes, it was in order to see jooyeon get even more antsy.

you innocently smile as you do so, “seeee! it's so cute and comfy! i hug it all the time when you're not here. you should try.”

this piques jooyeon’s interest by the little glint in his eye that says ‘oh?’ and you know exactly what's he's going to say next. “wait, so this thing is my replacement?”

“first of all he has a name. its yeo— … uh, actually, you don't get to know since you're being mean.” you realize how insane it's gonna sound when you tell him you named the giant plushie after him, and try to move on, “and no, i just think he's nice to hold at night.”

“hmmm.” he smiles mischieviously after finding your weakness in all of this, his lips quirking up as he speaks, “you're being weird. what's his name?”

“i told you, you don't get to know.”

“y/n.”

damn. he’s not budging.

you grit your teeth, regretting ever opening your mouth, and mumble, “it’s yeonie …”

his face lights up because now it's his turn to tease you. “yeonie? yeonie like, hmm, perhaps taken from a name like, i dunno, joooooyeon? oh but that would be silly! that's my name! what a coincidence!”

“aaaah, shut uppp!” your face burns in embarassment. you try to stifle his talking with the plushie by (gently) slamming it into his face, but he's too fast. instead he tackles you, throwing the plushies and puts his entire weight on you while your precious yeonie is slumped over to the side.

you shriek, laughing as he does so, “getoffmeeeeee!”

“i won't!” he exclaims and presses kisses against your cheek and forehead. all you can do is brace yourself for the onslaught, his strong arm keeping you in place. “’yeonie’ won't save you now!”

“noooo! free me!” you’re thrashing about under him, unable to control your laughter. even with his attack, he is so gentle and careful not to put too much weight on you. too bad that courtesy doesn't extend to yeonie and the other plushies, whom he’s very violently (in your opinion) cast aside with a swing of his arm.

he eventually stops, thank goodness, and his eyes shimmer with joy as he looks down at you with a silly grin on his face.

“yeonie,” he begins, a little breathless, as he pushes your hair out of your face, “that's really frickin’ cute.”

you huff. you figure this would be a good place to admit the start of it all. you're a little tingly with mushy feelings after being kissed so many times but you still need to make sure he knows that you think he's silly.

“it reminds me of you,” you snicker, “that's why i kept buying it, i mean, really. it looks exactly like you.”

he glances at yeonie and back to you and he suddenly gasps, “but you called his eyes beady and his smile dumb.”

jooyeon’s range of expressions is truly impressive because now his eyes are huge and soft with adoration for you, a toothy smile on his features. “oh, really now? but now that i’m here you won't need him, right?”

“yeah, exactly.” you give him the most deadpan stare you could, but his expression of shock and offense made you double over in laughter. wiping away tears, you smile, “i also said he was cute. he just looks so excited and positive, the silly smile reminds me of you. it makes me happy.”

and this last part makes you look away and furrow your brow just a little. you groan, “and i do hug him when you're not here. happy now?” the embarrassment doesn't last long because you get to see the stupid satisfied grin on his face when you say that, and it warms your heart.

you blink. “okay, well i wouldn’t go that far—aaack!!! okay okay, yes! he can go on the couch for now! i promise!” you yelp, because as soon as the words leave your mouth jooyeon’s tickling your sides again and you’re weak to the sensation.

“well, i guess if he makes you happy when i'm gone, i’ll let him stick around. but you have to promise that i’ll always be your favorite.”

you poke his cheek, “i truly don't know why you think you'd ever lose to a plushie. you’ll always be number one in my heart, joo.” and you did mean that. you know he's just joking, but you're filled with so much warmth just from being able to tell him how much he means to you. you say do it over and over again if he asked.

but you can't resist. “… for now.”

“you are so mean to me.”

you snicker, “okay, okay! i promise. i love you the most.”

finally satisfied, jooyeon flops down next to you and relaxes against you, tucking his head against your neck and slinging an arm across your frame. you sigh in relief, at not having to endure the tickling but also because you missed having him here.

“i love you, too.”

laying next to him like this always put you at ease, arms and limbs wrapped around each other like a safe haven.

-⠀𓇬 -

sleepily, you mumble as you're stroking his hair, “shouldn’t we get dinner?”

“mmm, just five more minutes …”

yeah, five more minutes does sound nice, you think.

(you guys both wake up at 3 am, hungry and ready for a hearty meal of convenience store snacks and apple juice. a truly fitting dinner for grown adults. if it means being with him, you wouldn't have it any other way).

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

masterlist | request rules | inbox

thank you for reading! <3

[fanaticsnail]

Parts You Left Behind

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 7,300+

Synopsis: You are the ship’s counselor aboard the Polar Tang. Giving your captain the permission he desires to behave idiotically with the two Nakama captains, you give yourself permission to behave with similar unbridled stupidity. The Soul-King Brook has your romantic attention: you love his energy and decide to reciprocate his flirtations, no matter how crass and distasteful they come across.

Themes: Brook x f!reader, therapist!reader x nakama-musician!brook, skeleton kisses, cheek kisses, platonic kisses, romantic kisses, angst, fluff, crews being themselves, validating feelings, requited love, flirtatious dialogue, talks of panties, heart-pirate!reader

Notes: this was meant to be a small drabble. And the same thing happens every time I try writing a small drabble - we end up with a full fic. Apparently I have a lot of angst inside about the Heart-Pirates that needed to get out, and also skeleton kisses. Posted a day late for the Skele-man's bday. Thank you to @sordidmusings and @since-im-already-here for helping me with boney kisses.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @feral-artistry @gingernut1314 @vespidphoenix @carrotsunshine @cinnbar-bun @i-am-vita @mfreedomstuff (sorry if you're all not into the skeleton. He needed some love)

The air shifted the weight of salt-forward air through the strands of fallen hair which whipped across your face. The docking of the three ships, joined together by ropes and beams, were thrust into the hull by a soft thump. Your crewmate Shachi instinctively reached for your forearm to steady himself on, gritting his teeth as he adjusted to the new altitude above deck.

“You alright there, big boy?” you cocked your head to the side as Shachi balanced himself on your forearm and the metal beam framing the deck. He hid his head from view, shooting you a swift gesture with his thumb to indicate his well being. You smiled at him, shifting his weight on your arm by weaving yourself beneath his shoulder. 

Rubbing soothing circles onto his back, you aided him in adjusting to the altitude difference, as he grew accustomed to life above the barrier of the oceanic waves. Being at lower altitude saved Shachi’s sea-sickness from the swell of waves, rocking his body and causing his stomach to lurch with every rise of the ocean surface. 

“I got you, sweety,” you cooed at your red-headed crewman, holding him steady as he holds back the rise of bile in his throat: refusing to open the floodgates to expel the contents of his stomach, “Take some deep breaths for me, hun. Big one in,” you breathed with him inwards for three seconds, holding it briefly, “And then out,” you exhaled with him.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Good job,” you praised him, feeling a shudder in his shoulders as he fought back the sickness in his stomach and mouth. You breathed with him a few more times, praising him on every inhale and exhale that he took with you. Once adjusting to the pattern of the swelling ocean, he turned to face you.

“It’s just hard, you know? Being under the water, then over it again,” he commented, leaning into your touch with his back arching beneath your palm, “It’s the rocking that does it for me. Just the constant rocking.”

“I dunno,” you shrugged beneath his shoulders with a bitten-back, downturned smile, “I don’t mind a bit of constant rocking from time to time.” 

Shachi expelled a roar of laughter accompanied with your own at your unbridled jest. He hooked his arm over your shoulder and teetered off into a light chuckle. You looked up at your crewmen beneath your shoulder and shot him a winning smile. He reflected the expression on your lips with one of his own. 

“There’s a few members of the Straw-Hat and Kid-Pirate crews, hun,” Shachi commented, gesturing to the ship that had docked with your own with the index finger of the hand around your shoulders, “Maybe you could find some constant rocking amongst a few of them.”

Your captain, Trafalgar Law, made you aware of all of the crew that served the Captain of the Thousand Sunny. The ever growing list of occupants never seemed to end: Captain Luffy, First-Mate Zoro, Navigator Nami, Marksman Usopp, Chef Sanji, Doctor Chopper, Archeologist Robin, Shipwright Franky, and finally, the Musician Brook. 

Your role as the counselor of the Heart-Pirates, executing your position with the utmost excellence, had you immediately drawn to advise your captain with the Nakama encounters with the Straw-Hat Crew. You knew a few members of the crew, the person you seemed to gravitate towards the most was Nico Robin. Her level-headed dimenure alongside her ability to balance the rapport of the crew was truly admirable.  

The other was the playful musician, Brook. The first time you met with the Straw-Hat “Brook,” you were truly ill-prepared for what was to come of it. Where a few people found his straightforward approach of flirting with the opposite sex repulsive, you found it quite endearing. When he performed his melodic compositions, you were entranced by his musicianship. You adored him, and would love to get to know him in the arena of flirtatious engagement. 

“We’ll see,” you smirked up at him, pressing a small, friendly kiss on your crewmate’s shoulder before you gave his waist a gentle squeeze, “How are we feeling, Shach?”

“A bit better,” he confirmed with a nod, looking over to the docked ship and their crewmen, “Just gotta focus on not locking my knees, and we’ll be all set.” He turned to look down at you, smirking with his eyes shrouded beneath his glasses. Leaning down, he pressed a small kiss on your forehead before breaking from the embrace. 

Shachi, Penguin and you were the closest amongst the Heart-Pirate crew. The seas were incredibly lonely, comfort being scantily found amongst one another aboard the crew. It started one night when the shifts were switching between the ‘am’ and ‘pm’ crews, your body reacting in its exhausted state within changeover.

“Nothing new to report here, just a small blip on the monitor indicating the arrival of a school of fish,” you yawned at Penguin, he nodded in understanding. 

“Alright then,” he confirmed, clapping a hand on your shoulder in his own dissociative and sleep-deprived state, “Get some rest. See you in a couple winks, honey.” You hummed in response, cupping his left cheek within your right hand and pulling his right cheek towards you.

“Night-night,” you uttered, pressing a small peck on his left cheek before turning to his redheaded shift-partner beside him, “Happy shift-watching,” you uttered, breaking contact with Penguin’s body before extending the height of your body by standing firmly on the tips of your toes. Grasping Shachi’s cheeks, you tilted his head to give him a gentle peck on his forehead before heading off to crew-quarters without any further explanation. 

After that moment, the three of you became as close as close friends could be. Jokes, playfulness and comradery were always openly expressed physically between the three of you. Should Captain Law make port, you would wingman for your special boys, just as they would absolutely reciprocate for you. Each time Law made a Nakama encounter, you would all be on the lookout for appropriate couplings for one another. 

“All crew: prepare to board,” your captain’s voice rang over the speakers with a soft crackle, “Reconvene aboard the Straw-Hat vessel. Counselor, to my side.”

Bowing a small nod and giving Shachi a final squeeze, you broke from your position within the arms of Shachi and made your journey to your position beside your captain. Both the Victoria Punk and the Polar Tang bound themselves against the Thousand Sunny: sandwiching the great lion figure between their own figureheads. 

Approaching your captain, you cupped your palm over his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. He huffed out an acknowledgement of your name and title while he bowed his head. 

“You wanted to see me, Captain?” you asked him, stepping into his peripheral view. He continued to have his head bowed low, pursing his lips into a straight line. You furrowed your brows, sinking lower to get a better gauge on his emotions.

“I have a confession, Counselor,” he nodded, opening his eyes and looking above his descended brow, “And I need absolutely no judgment other than the highest level of professionalism.”

“Understood, Sir,” you smiled, releasing his shoulder and quarrying your own as a way of depicting your full attention, “You will always have my ears, along with my complete attention.” He sighed in gratitude, tilting his chin to elevate his eyes upwards. 

“Being with those two captains makes me-...” he paused with a light scoff in his tone, “...-make awful decisions. It’s as if I am no longer in control of myself: always doing something to prove how much of a man I am to not only them, but to myself.” 

Nodding along to his confession, you wordlessly agreed with all points he raised regarding himself. You relaxed your stance, opting to remain more compassionate and empathetic while you listen to your captain speak. As of this moment, your captain was only a man - and one that desired to verbally process with his therapeutic confidant: you. 

“I put our very lives at stake with this utter stupidity,” he continued, shaking his head at himself as he uttered his confessions to you, “All I seem to do is share a single, joint brain cell with those two morons each time we meet. There are no intelligible thoughts I can call my own, only competition and idiocy seem to remain.” 

After taking several moments pause, Trafalgar D Water-Law waited patiently for you to offer a countenance for his predicament. You suddenly allow a warm smile to begin its rise on your lips.

“May I ask what our purpose is with docking with the Thousand Sunny and the Victoria Punk?” you pose your question as simply as you can. He furrows his brows, clicking his tongue in thought.

“It’s a simple exchange of information,” he confirms with you, eyeing your face as you receive this knowledge, “And to determine if our alliance should remain valid in its longevity.” You hum in response, pursing your lips before allowing that warmth to return to your features once more.

“Then I would suggest leaning into the so-called stupidity, sir,” you shrug, scrunching your nose before looking to the hull of the Thousand Sunny. Cyborg-Franky was tying up the rigging to secure the Polar Tang in position to ensure it didn’t slip away in the swell of water with the dark-haired Nico Robin beside him.

“Excuse me?” Law expressed his concern with a low tone, “Lean into it?” You hum emphatically, returning your gaze to meet with your captain. You shrugged nonchalantly, cocking your head to the side to get a better gauge on the emotions of your captain.

“We’re not in any danger here, sir,” you relay your translation of his objective, “We have no threats posed to us, that is not at the hands of one another. I doubt the other two captains and their crew would make any attack on our vessel here, if we’re all in a similar predicament.” 

Law stands quietly, interlacing his hands behind his back as he mulls your words over in his head. He inhales a deep breath, closing his eyes with his brow deeply furrowed in the center of his forehead. 

“If I also may, sir,” you add, stepping closer to your captain, “You are only twenty-six years old. You are young,” you dip your head down to capture his gaze, his eyes now reopened, “And from what we’ve discussed in our prior sessions together: the opportunity to behave like a child in your youth was taken from you by illness and cruel, tyrannical hands. You never truly had an opportunity to be stupid, Captain.” His small gasp was barely audible, eyes widening at you giving him permission to behave childishly.

“Then what would you suggest, Counselor?” He questioned you a final time, floating his gaze with the utmost seriousness between your playful eyes. 

“Allow the crew of the Polar Tang to switch out of their uniforms, and let us all be stupid together,” you smile at your captain, extending your hand up to clasp his shoulder once more, “You deserve to be stupid amongst friends. Even if it’s just for a little while. If it matters, as one of the few members of your crew you trust with the rank and title to dismiss you from active duty-...”

Law’s eyes never left yours as you softened your playful expression

“...You have my permission to be stupid, sir,” you quip with a small wink, releasing his shoulder from within your grasp and turning back to make eye contact with the Thousand Sunny’s archeologist. You give her a small wave and a broad smile, with a final word to the gloomy man by your side, “But really, the person who’s permission you truly need is your own. Give yourself the luxury of behaving like, as you say, ‘a moron’ for a few moments. See what happens.”

With that final word, Law dismissed himself from his place standing beside you and hurriedly scurried below decks to, presumably, his office. In his sessions with you, he has worked through a few hard truths, all of which resulted in him taking a few moments in isolation to allow the truths to sink in. This appeared to be such a moment as this; which left you, in his absence, to be the welcoming committee to both the Straw-Hat and Kid-Pirate crews and their Captains.

As you walked over the wooden plank used as a makeshift bridge between the vessels, Nico Robin offered you her hand to stabilize your footing as you stepped down onto the deck. Her radiant smile elevated her features, mirrored within your own. 

“Counselor,” she addressed you with the smooth hum of her voice. 

“Archeologist,” you acknowledged her title with a soft nod in your welcome, “Are we reduced to titles now? Shall I address all of you in such a manner?” Luffy smiled at you, his pearly teeth shining beneath his upturned eyes. 

“Where’s Traffy at?” Luffy asked loudly, his voice carrying over to alert the red-headed captain at the other side of the deck, “He not with you?”

“Unfortunately not. My captain is not available to conduct the preliminary introductions of our crews presently,” you relayed your practiced response, “Is there anything I can do to make this first step more comfortable for you while we wait, Captain Luffy?” you asked before turning to the taller man rapidly approaching, “Or you, Captain Kid?” you finished your question with a low bow and awaited their responses. 

“Nah,” Luffy shrugged, clapping his hands behind his neck and offering you a tight-lipped smile, “Welcome aboard, Counselor. Tell your crew to get comfy, Sanji has made a whole heap of food for us all.” You rose from your deep stoop, smiling at Luffy before turning to Eustass Kid and awaiting his response. 

“Traffy sends his cute little counselor ahead of him to meet us, instead of showing his ugly mug up here,” Kid smirked, his lip paint cracking in the warmth of the sun, “Smart man, that captain of yours.” You chose to remain stoic at his unbridled, backhanded compliment of your captain. You extended your chin into the air, narrowing your eyes at the tall captain. 

“I would prefer all compliments coming my way be not at the expense of my captain’s intellect, nor his appearance,” you snarled, arching your brow at him, “If that would be all, Captain Kid.”

“Aye. That’s all, little mouse. Scurry on back to your duties,” he smirked down at you, his narrowed eyes training after you as you turned to direct your crew, now in common clothes, aboard the Thousand Sunny. They all seemed more than joyful at their captain’s lax behavior, depicting their personalities in their own styles rather than in boiler suits. The only member of the Heart-Pirate crew that remained in their uniform was yourself, eagerly awaiting for your captain’s dismissal so you could change into common clothes, yourself. 

You felt a presence behind you, your blood running cold as a shudder curled itself up from the base of your spine to the top of your skull. The small rattle of bones indicated the soul which stood behind you, a smile immediately tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Pardon me, miss,” the soft-spoken voice addressed you over your shoulder, “Would you mind terribly if I were to ask you what type of panties you were wearing?” Your tight-lipped grin did very little to stifle your teetered giggle at such an insanely, forward question from the familiar man behind you.

“Soul-King Brook,” you addressed him, turning to meet with the hollowed eyes of the skeletal form which stood before you. He was dressed in a purple, velvet suit, his hair curled and styled in a carefree, circular afro. The beads hanging from his skeletal neck shook and rattled against his exposed ribcage, the perfectly bleached bones secured with a black, leather belt. 

Eagerly awaiting your response, he pressed the tips of his fingers together in anticipation of your response to such an unhinged question. He could not remember if you were the type to yell, if you were the type to respond with violence, nor if you were the type to simply scoff and walk away from him. 

“If I were wearing any, I would absolutely inform you of the make and model,” you smirked up at him, before adding a soft wink with a further hushed utterance, “When I am dismissed from duty by my captain to change into more comfortable clothes, I would be more than happy to tell you the exact shade of the ensemble.” 

If you had never met this man in encounters prior, you would scoff if anyone ever attempted to convince you that skeletons could blush. But you did know him, and here he was: Brook, the Soul-King, the undead skeleton - blushing red at your words. The cracked cap above the crown of his head popped briefly, to which you almost thought you could see steam rise out of the hollow crevice. 

Nami, the straw-hat navigator, noticed the skeletal musician beside you seeming to have a small rush of energy pop out of his cranium. Immediately, she hastily walked to your side to ensure the skeletal man was behaving himself.

“I-If then, it wouldn’t be too much trouble, miss,” he stuttered over his words, tumbling through his teeth without anything to halt them, “Would you mind telling me if the carpet matches the drapes?” 

“Brook!” Nami scolded her crewmate with a loud reprimand, “You can’t just go around asking people if-.” You halted her words with a wave of your hand and an enthusiastic giggle.

“-It’s perfectly fine with me, Navigator,” you huffed a laugh at both his poorly held conversational skill, and the response his crewman welcomed him with, “I am more than capable of defending myself if I were ever uncomfortable, but I thank you for your valiance nonetheless.” From the corner of your peripheral, you notice Law’s presence aboard the Thousand Sunny. He gives you a curt nod before elevating his chin sharply to excuse you from active duty to change out of your uniform.

“If I may be excused, Nami, Brook,” you nodded to the two Nakama crew respectfully, which they both reciprocated. You turned and began to take a few steps, casually calling over your shoulder, “To answer your question, Musician: The last time I checked, I wasn’t bald up top.” 

The whistle of steam sprung into the air behind you, the rattles of the rotation of excited bones clinked together behind you with the familiar, unhinged laughter you had come to enjoy upon your meetings with the Straw-Hat crew. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself as you made your way back to the Polar Tang to redress yourself in more appropriate garb for the encounter. 

Brushing your shoulders against Shachi and Penguin as you began to go below deck, Penguin quickly grasped his hand over your wrist and halted your movement. You quickly snapped your head to him as he lent down towards you.

“You keen on the skeleton, honey?” he whispered his hushed question into your ear, “Need a wingman to set something up? We can be on the lookout for something, if you like.” You laugh at his questioning, shaking your head at his enthusiasm at the proposition of a romantic fling amongst the crews. Feeling the loosening of his grip over your wrist, you quickly pressed a small kiss against his cheek in gratitude. 

“I think I can manage on my own,” you confirmed with a small teetered laugh, “He is quite easy on the eyes, and I find his unbridled lust for the living flesh endearing.” Shachi joined you with your laughter, both quickly dismissing themselves from your presence as you hopped back on board of the ship you called home. 

Hollowed eyes tracked your every movement. From the grip on your wrist, to the kiss on a cheek, to the teetered giggle rising between the three of you. Brook didn’t truly understand how to feel in this moment: a woman of his dreams seemingly reciprocal of his flirtations being more than friendly with her own crewmen. Was this foreign emotion jealousy? 

He turned his head from your position, as your silhouette vanished below decks of the Polar Tang. He felt a warm hand tuck itself within his skeletal palm, giving his bones a gentle squeeze in support. Nico Robin offered Brook a smile alongside her affectionate touch, soothing over his scattering nerves. 

“She is friendly with those two, Brook,” she hummed up at his tall form, “You, of all people, understand how lonely it is on the seas. She’s blessed to have found friends to offer her a gentle touch and a friendly embrace from time to time.”

“That I do, Robin,” Brook confirmed softly, nodding to himself as he knit his thoughts together, “I just-...” he trailed off, his onyx hollows seeking out the former position you were atop the deck of the Polar Tang, “...I would never dream of ruining that, should I choose to entangle myself with her. She’s wonderful.” 

Robin’s gaze floats over to the two crewmen of the Polar Tang you had found a family with, both of which were focussed in deep, private conversation. Their eyes would float up to Brook, as their hushed whispers were scheming in hyper-focussed plotting. 

“Something tells me you won’t be ruining anything, Dear,” Robin chuckles before releasing Brook’s hand and giving him a small tap on his shoulder in encouragement. 

As you stripped out of your boiler-suit, you hastily made yourself more comfortable in clothes you rarely found yourself donning. You quickly made an appropriate arrangement of your favorite dress: cinched in the waist, accentuating your figure in a perfect hourglass and laid it out on your bed. Before you threw on a plain set of undergarments, your fingers halted on fabrics you had yet to have an opportunity to wear.

A small smile grew into a playful, mischievous grin, as your fingers looped over the lingerie: hastily drawing it up onto your body. You usually wore this garment if you were feeling particularly dull in your boilers uniform: something only for you to wear to make yourself feel more confident. You giggled as you hooked your thumbs over the bottom piece and pulled it up over your thighs to settle on your hips. Hooping your arms through the arm holes of the corseted bodice, you tightened the front of the piece to accentuate your breasts within the cups. 

You quickly took a moment to laugh at yourself at your own stupidity, before you reminded yourself: “If I gave the captain permission to allow himself a moment of idiocy, why should I not do the same? Where is the harm?” 

Throwing your dress over your head, you took a final glance at yourself in the mirror. Hastily adding a small amount of makeup to accentuate your features, you hurriedly made your way back up to the top deck of the Polar Tang while adjusting your laced ankle boots as you took lengthy strides.

As you made your way back aboard the Thousand Sunny, you truly took the time to notice the assortment of clothes your crewmen were finally allowed the luxury of expressing. You set an internal reminder to put forward a petition to allow the crew to dress casually at least once a month while serving aboard the Polar Tang. 

Your eyes quickly found the skeleton, sitting cross legged in front of a checkerboard with the archeologist of the Straw-Hat crew: both drinking jasmine tea and engaging in a game of chess. Approaching slowly, she gazed up at you and wordlessly complimented your chosen casual attire for the day. You gestured with your eyes whether it was an opportune moment to interrupt their game to claim the skeleton’s attention for a moment. She tilted her head with a warm smile, gesturing with her hands to go right ahead. 

Brook was confused briefly before he felt a hand press down on his shoulder. He quickly turned his face to glance down at the fingers perched on his right shoulder before his chin was claimed beneath the same warm grip. You tilted his face to gaze into his eyes, taking a moment for Brook’s mind to catch up to what his body was experiencing. You gazed through half-hooded lashes into the darkened recesses of his circular hollows, a playful smile drawn up on your lips. 

“Violet and pastel-lavender,” you uttered in a soothing, low voice, “Laced up with a gold ribbon in the front with a gold embellished trim around the hemline.” Brook would have lowered his eyebrows in deep thought, if he had any hair sprouting over his skull. He was confused as to what exactly you were relaying to him before he focussed on who was relaying the information. 

His spectral breath was taken from him, no further words were formed within his hollow cranium as steam began to exude from every open orifice. Your half-hooded eyes playfully toyed with him, as a feline would with their freshly caught rodent in their teeth. You held your eyes watching him squirm as you bit your smile back with your teeth, while Robin attempted to contain her chuckle at witnessing her crewman be the center of another’s romantic attention. 

“Y-Y-You-...” he choked on his words, the steam rapidly whistling and fuming throughout his skull, “...You’re w-wearing purple panties?” You giggled at his response, pressing your painted lips against the hollow surface where his nose was once located, leaving a perfect pursed circlet of affection painted on the bleached bones. 

“Of course I am,” you confirmed with a wink before pulling away from him, releasing him from your hands and beginning to rise from your stoop, “I had to match with my favorite musician.” You gestured to the velvet suit Brook was wearing, prompting his attention to briefly switch to his own clothes before snapping his head back up. His jaw hung comically slack, prompting a giggle to rise in your throat before you turned back to acknowledge the woman opposite to Brook.

“Apologies for my forwardness, Nico Robin,” you bowed your head in respect to the dark-haired woman before returning your attention back to Brook, “Soul-King,” you nodded your head to the musician before walking over to your captain. 

Sitting beside Trafalgar Law as he shared a single brain cell with the two Nakama captains was truly a sight to behold. You adored how he finally allowed himself to loosen the tight reins he held himself bound by, his playful stupidity was something you would’ve prescribed as his personal councilor. He needed a holiday, and he was finding one beside the two louder captains. 

As the food changed from the savories, to the sweets, to the cheeses and cured meats: you felt hollow eyes fixated upon your form. You were not swayed by the attention in the slightest, it was a welcomed change to your experience aboard the Polar Tang. You embraced the opportunity to express your femininity in a creative way, and it was a bonus that you managed to snag the attention of such a unique individual as-.

“Brookie!” Captain Luffy called over the ramblings of the crowd, “How’s about a song? Somethin’ from the heart while we enjoy being one big crew together?” 

His trance broken by the orders of his Captain, Brook snapped out of his bout of hypnotism as he made his way hurriedly to claim the first instrument set aside on the deck. The old guitar had water-swollen cracks in the base, but the strings were all new and freshly tuned. When he played music, he was in his own world: unaware of the life around him as he let the music carry his soul. 

As his skeletal fingers began plucking at the strings, his voice relayed a heartfelt melody that held you completely transfixed on his form. Both Shachi and Penguin snickered at your awestruck expression, nudging each other with their elbows as your breath was claimed from you. Law attempted to ask you a question over his shoulder, turning to face you as he didn’t hear a word or utterance of response from your direction.

Law's gaze floated over your starstruck expression, the music fully moving your soul was painted intricately on your face. Your eyes began to become glassy as the swell of Brook’s melody reverberated in your eardrums and shook you to your core.

He smirked at you, uncaring that his question remained unanswered. Your captain reached his hand down, claiming your palms and giving them a gentle squeeze as you remained unresponsive to the world around you. 

Nothing existed in this room: just you, and the skeletal man who was singing to every fibre of your very soul. You were entranced, bewitched, captivated and spellbound by his melody.

Brook in his time as a musician in his corporeal form was well renowned for his shanties and musical ensembles. Some of his melodies were taught to you as a child before you decided to embark on a life of piracy. 

Nothing could have prepared you to meet the man who influenced your childhood musicianship, especially one on the high seas between all the quarters of the continent. Nor did you ever picture yourself falling in love with him as he finally concluded his performance aboard his vessel, to which you were a welcomed guest aboard.

You were too stunned to offer applause in response to the song’s conclusion, the world suddenly jolting back into existence as calls for an encore were encouraged from the three crews. 

Brook’s spectral eyes were held in complete focus against your own, noticing the elevation in your heartbeat flooded to dust your cheeks in a warm flush. Your lips were parted, your eyes never leaving his as you blinked the world back into existence around you. Brook took a brief bow before he extended his boned hand out towards you, nodding to you in a gesture for you to take his hand and join him. 

Turning to your captain first, Law nodded his head to excuse you from your position beside him, you rose to your feet and stepped around from the positions the three crews scattered themselves atop the deck, reaching forward and taking Brook’s skeletal hand. He guided you over to the plush stool beneath the piano, taking a seat beside you as he began to perform a classical arrangement that required no vocals. 

Enthralled by the melody once more, your eyes focussed on the piano. The ebony and ivory keys dipped and rose beneath skilled fingers, the passion in the melody depicted with each crescendoed element. 

“Do you play any instruments?” Brook asked in a low, hushed tone beside you. You snapped out of your brief captivity and looked to his vacant hollows. The empty sockets held firm against your face, focussed on every subtle change in your expression. His fingers continued to clack at the smoothed tips of the keys as he awaited your answer. 

“Not since embarking on a life of piracy, much to the disdain of my heritage with my familial title,” you shrugged with a soft smile, his skull now holding your attention rather than the melody, “I did sing in my youth when I was in medical school, which was a long, long time ago.” 

“Not as long as my youth was. Of that, I am certain,” Brook jested with you, nudging you playfully with his shoulder, “And I bet you could still sing if given the appropriate circumstances.” You returned the gentle nudge with your bicep before lulling your head over the curvature of his firm shoulder.

“I highly doubt we would find ourselves in those rare circumstances, Bone-Daddy,” you snickered at him, enjoying the subtle hiccup in his tinkering atop the keys at the bestowal of such a title. 

“And if I were to ask you to sing with me, Liebchen?” he asked, briefly resting his head atop yours and nuzzling against you. His hair tickled your skin as he rested his undead body against yours. The rambunctious merriment aboard the vessel broke you away from Brook’s question, prompting you to raise your head from its position on his shoulder as you witnessed the stupidity your captain’s were involved in.

Each captain had managed to locate several bugs and beetles aboard the vessel, drawing a chalk circle on the wooden floor of the Thousand Sunny. It seemed that each captain had chosen a bug, beetle or arachnid: those creatures needing to touch the chalk ring of the circle the fastest to determine a clear winner amongst the Nakama.

Shaking your head with a warm, melodical chuckle at how much your captain was letting himself engage with the two other captains in their idiocy, you allowed the warmth to spread up to your cheeks. You were proud of your captain in his vulnerability to engage with them in this way.  

Brook concluded his piano concerto to the absence of applause now the attention was on the insects in front of the captains. You turned to Brook and gave him a soft round of kind applause with your hands, to which he bowed his head in response. Cheers and hollers were thrust into the air at the engagement of the insect race, prompting you both to shake your heads as your eyes remained fixed on Brook’s.

“Will you?” Brook asked once more, elevating his hand to capture your own beneath his, “Will you sing with me, Liebchen? Something small and familiar to you?” You sighed in response, upturning your brows and allowing a soft smile to elevate against your lips. He held onto hope, his hand giving yours a small squeeze in eager anticipation of your answer. 

“I would adore singing with you, Brook,” you sighed breathlessly, “Lead me in song, and I’ll follow the melody you set.” The skeletal man, should flesh be imagined on his features, would be beaming a broad and enthusiastic smile at your willing participation.

He reached within the opening of the piano, pulling out a small instrument with four strings and a rotating handle at the base. Several indented cogs and keys clacked at the sides beneath his skilled fingers, the music springing from the instrument sounded not so dissimilar to a violin with the dual tonality of piped bags. 

“This is a hurdy-gurdy, if you haven’t seen one of its make before,” he informed you with enthusiasm. You nodded down at the instrument as he performed with chords and melody over the clacking and winding, stringed instrument. 

“Do you know any melodies to this progression?” he asked as he played a few minor keys in sequence, “I know it would be somber, but I would love to hear you sing something like-.” His words were stolen from him as you began to lilt your voice in a familiar tune from your childhood. 

Although over time the lyrics in certain passages became lost to you, the intention was there with each skilled fluttery phrase. This melody was bittersweet and melancholy, the song depicting a foreign land where death and grief would no longer hold purchase over those who flee to its comfort. 

There was no mention of a lover, nor whisper of romance within the phrases - yet each lyric fleeing from your lips had the skeletal man falling deeper into the trenches of his adoration and admiration for you. As he learnt the melody and the repetition of the chorus, his voice joined your melody in harmony: skillfully floating in perfect pitch within the realms of your vocal skill. 

As the melody ceased, silence once again surrounded you: the world once again free of the colorful atmosphere you were painting with your song. You were in your own little world with the Soul-King, Brook, beside you. Barely comprehending your actions, you leant forward and brushed your painted lips against the bone occupying the space his lips once were. 

Drawing up the heels of your palms, you collected his cheekbones within them and held him firmly as you pressed several more, soft kisses against his boned lips. It was an unusual feeling, teeth where lips should be, bones where cheeks should be, cold aura of hollows where the fluttering eyelashes of a lover would belong. 

Breaking away your lips from his face, you gazed longingly into the dark sockets of his eyes. No word was spoken between you as you held your breath. He turned his face away from you, shaking his head lightly as if battling an internal argument with himself. Your brows triangulate upwards in the center of your forehead, eyes wide and innocent as you bite at your cheek nervously. Resolving his internal struggle with a huffed breath, he turned back towards you. 

Claiming both of your hands within his own, he gently squeezed at your digits. 

“I never, in all my days in this skeletal body, have longed to have lips as much as I do now,” he confessed in a dark whisper. You floated your eyes between the hollowed sockets, searching for further insight to his feelings.

His sorrow was depicted within his tone, his face remaining vacant at each uttered confession, “I have no flesh, no muscle, no organ: I am only bone. I have no heart, my soul is all that remains. I have nothing to offer you in this life-.” You had no choice but to break him out of his spiraling thoughts with your own argument.

“-All of those things are untrue, Brook. Aside from the physical attributes, don’t you dare reduce yourself to merely the parts you left behind,” you chastised him with your verbal warning. He was shocked at your passion, feeling the heat radiating off your body as you drew up further arguments to present to him.

“You have no lips? I am more than capable of allowing you to borrow mine,” you spoke with no hint of irony, nor jest within your tone, “No flesh, no muscle, nor organ? Those are just the tangible surroundings for the spirit within all of us. Are we not merely vessels for our souls to use as hosts?”

Brook remained speechless, hanging on your every word as the fire of your passion ignited your tongue with sparks and flashes. 

“You are only bone? No heart?” Your anger now truly evident on your features, “How dare you reduce yourself to less than all that you are,” you broke away his grip on your hands, and began to rise to your feet from the position beside him on the stool, “Your heart is your music, your soul is depicted in the care you have for your crew. I feel it, Brook.”

He cowered back against the piano, the hurdy gurdy dropping limply on the floor: discarded and abandoned. No crew spared the two of you a glance in your quarrel, choosing to remain solely fixated on the insect race, now turned into gladiator death-matches within the chalk circle.

Brook was in awe, watching your passion ignite in your eyes as you scold him with your words and bless him with your compliments. In all your encounters together: each time the Polar Tang met with the Thousand Sunny, he was entranced by your rapport and support for your crew. Your soothing words and answers to his unashamed lust presented to you had him blushing, but your attention now has him soaring with the reignition of his absent heartbeat. 

From your position now standing, you brushed off your dress and shook your head to rid the prior passion from elevating further. There were no regrets from offering him a kiss, not even the absence of his lips inhibited you from pressing your affection into his bones. At a huff of your breath, you lowered your tone to be in a kinder pitch, softening your features as you turned back towards the skeleton. 

“I will not stand for such self-degradation, especially with my occupation serving aboard the Polar Tang,” you extend your hand out to him, a soft smile slowly creeping up against your cheeks, “For what it’s worth, I adore you, Brook. I have always held you in the highest regard.” 

“The highest regard? Even with only the parts I’ve left behind?” he uttered his question barely above a whisper, seeking out further explanation within your orbs, “I am only a skeleton, afterall.” You sighed, rotating your neck atop your shoulders and stepped further towards him. Pressing a small kiss on his forehead, your lips lingered for a moment longer against his cranium before you simply walked away from him.  

Feeling truly no need to draw out an explanation for your dismissal of his question, you felt your heart break for the Soul King. You had already confessed your admiration for him, uplifted him with your words and then wordlessly expressed your affection for him with a soft kiss. The skeletal face now had several painted hoops from your pursed lips written on his bones, a memorial of love artistically indented into his absent skin. 

Staggering in his rigidity, a boney hand reached out for you as you attempted to retreat back towards your crew. His essence was screaming to unify with you, to lead you in more intentional touches against his corporeal form. 

“I-I’m sorry. I only meant-...” he circled his boney fingertips around your wrist and gently tugged you to return towards him, “...-I cannot kiss, nor embrace you, in the manner to which I desire most. The others aboard can give that which you seek, commit those acts with you. Why would you choose to engage in this way with me when there are so many others available to you?”

You exhaled slowly from your nose, turning to face the Soul-King. You stood between his parted knees, leaning down while seeking out his chin with your fingertips. Apprehensively cupping his jaw, you leant down to hold your lips a whiskers length away from his pearly teeth. 

“Because you’re who I want, Bone-Daddy,” you confessed down to him, smiling as you touched your forehead against his. He reveled in the warmth rolling from your body to his own, feeling your smile mirrored with his spirit. If he had eyelids, he would close them as you did your own within the arms of one another. 

Elevating his left hand, his slender fingers cupped your cheek and guided you in towards his skeletal mouth. Following his lead, you pressed your lips tenderly against the cool bones of his teeth, feeling the divots beneath your pursed flesh. He held your cheek against his face, tracing soothing circles over your wrist with the tips of his phalanges in his thumb. 

Cheers and an uproar of hooted hollers erupted from the three crews, tearing your attention away from one another as you witnessed an exchange of Berry from Shachi, Killer and Nami. The wagers the crews placed on the variety of small creatures in the gladiator ring were as freely given as the drinks concocted by the skilled hands of the Straw-Hat chef. 

Joining your laughs with your crews, you both held each other firmly engulfed within your arms. The Soul-King nestled his head between your breasts as you soothed your hands within his hair. After several moments remaining this way, you felt the tips of Brook’s fingers trailing curiously up your spine.

“Purple, you said?” he hummed coyly against your chest, his fingers brushing with the hem of the back of your dress, “Violet and lavender with a gold trim?” You chuckled warmly, feeling his head turn slightly in your embrace, his chin placed firmly between your breasts as he looked up at you with his jaw seeming to smile up at you.

“And corset-laced, gold ribboning in the cleavage,” you smiled, smoothing over his hair as you collected his cheek within the heel of your palm. You scrunch your nose at him, gazing through half-hooded lashes playfully down into the hollow abyss of his eye sockets.

“Would you like to see them?”

[brainmuncher]

Okay, so I know we have a handful of reasons we usually revert to when it comes to ‘moving Danny away from Amity for plot reasons’. While I was about to make lunch I thought of this one and now I have to share it before my brain forgets it.

What if the Observants get fed up? Like Danny has done one too many things against them and they are sick of it? He doesn’t respect them or their authority so he is a threat. But Clockwork is refusing to work for them on this. He’s digging his feet in and not letting the Observants use him, stating it's ‘for the good of the timeline’.

So they go another route and start bribing increasingly powerful ghosts to take down Phantom.

Only Danny has noticed a pattern with the new ghosts suddenly coming through the portal. Not only are they ghosts he’s never even heard of, but their only focus is on him. Eventually one of the ghosts that are hired or maybe even one that Danny has befriended in the past that has heard down the grapevine, tells Danny what the Observanats are doing.

And instead of grouping with his friends to figure out how to either take down (preferably) or calm down (Ugh do we have to?) the Observants, Danny in his ultimate wisdom… leaves. The ghosts that the Observants are sending are after him, right? So long as he isn’t near someone else nobody has to get hurt!

And so, without telling anyone why or maybe even completely bulldozing over his friend's reasons to stay, Danny leaves Amity to protect the town.

This idea could just stay as Danny exploring the world but not in freedom like Dani, but in an attempt to escape the Observants. Maybe he even bumps into her at some point and she is surprised and tries to ask ‘Hey, why are you in Hawaii?’ but watches in shock as he runs away from her. Maybe in these adventures, he inadvertently discovers another ancient artifact that he could use against the Observants but the information is threaded throughout the world. So he continues to travel and force himself to be amongst people so that he can gather more information.

Or this could open up some neat ideas for crossovers!

One idea is Danny becoming an omen of sorts that something terrible is about to happen. If you see Danny Phantom, you know that a really bad rouge attack is about to happen in your area. And the worst part is, Danny is happy to see that everyone is avoiding him. Not because he likes to be feared, but because it's for the better. And to his horror rouges are trying to hire him to terrorize certain areas. He's accidentally become a villain because of the constant ghosts trying to take him down.

Another idea is another hero catching on that Danny is being essentially hunted and is concerned. Although their attempts to reach out and help are not being accepted. Danny is trying to protect the hero from danger but they don’t know that. They just think he’s being stubborn. So to Danny's dismay, they try even harder to prove to him that they can help.

I dunno, just something different to think about. Please tell me if there are fics or drabbles already using this kind of idea out there! I would love to read it :>

[fandomfluffandfuck]

You know what I would loove to read from you? Pussy Steve (or pussy Bucky? 👀) and virginity/Innocence kink. Just pure smut of shy, inexperienced kitten getting their cunt pounded properly for the first time and cumming stupid. 🫶🏼

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

First, you probably would be interested in this previous fic rec I did for an ask

Second, I can't not think of this part of one of my evanstan drabbles that hinted at virginity kink because...

It's good. It's hot. It's, it's-- It reminds him, suddenly, guttingly, of whispered rumors of dirty, bad men told in private. Words pressed into ears, raising goosebumps, hidden behind cupped hands. Gossip that drips down your spine and pools inside you, wrong but... helplessly intriguing at the same time. Intoxicating. A fly caught in a honey trap. He feels like a dirty, bad man taking--thieving--some poor lady's worn panties and smothering himself in them, burying his face in the tiny, pretty, white-cotton underpants and fantasizing about her body, not her clothes. Picturing, filthily, how sweet and sensitive she'd be. How she'd moan and squeal and take it in a tight fit, pinned down. And as horrifyingly arousing as the nasty, vile comparison is--appealing only with his inhibitions lowered to the fucking ground, stupidly turned on and horny, not in his right state of mind--he can't quit. And, further, he makes it worse. He makes the comparison all the more real as he tilts his head to the head, thrashing side to side for a helpless, breathless moment before settling and pressing his blushing, burning face into Sebastian's pillow. He shamelessly inhales a chestful of his scent and leans that much more into it. He doesn't just rut against Sebastian's shirt as if it's a pillow conveniently held between his legs then. No. It's even more crude. Worse. He wraps Sebastian's worn shirt around his cock and defiles it.

Yeah 🥴🥴

And third... here's pussy Buck losing his virginity (which, again, like in that linked ask for recs, isn't real and doesn't mean shit):

When Bucky imagined losing his virginity, it was primarily a passing idea in the deep private space of his horny, lonely high school brain. But, he was a realist, even back then--and, not to mention, gay--so it wasn't the fantasy of white sheets, red rose petals, and fragrant candles to ward off the total darkness of having the lights off with a long-term boyfriend, ideally supposedly even good-Christian husband. He didn't imagine it slow and good, he imagined it fast and bad.

And he imagined it that way because he imagined it, again and again, with his crush, one of the jocks on the football team he pinned stupidly after who, really, seemed to be a jerk to all the girls he made out with at lame, underage drinking parties that cops would look the other way about 'cause their kid was amongst 'em and then, somehow, he would forget about who that Friday night girl was by Monday. But... he was just so fucking guh.

That jock, just a fucking pretty man who looked so good rolling around in the field, muddy and streaked with grass stains and sweat, pulling up the bottom of his jersey to wipe the drool across his chin from his mouthguard, flashing a strip of taut abs and the faintest trail of hair leading south where Bucky wanted to get. Shamefully, even if he didn't think it would be good. He just wanted.

But.

It didn't happen in high school. Which was probably a good thing, considering how progressive his town was.

It didn't happen in freshman year of college, either, even though Bucky's fantasies took on a whole new life, especially the summer before arriving, thinking about how he was surrounded by so many different men in his dorms and would be showering with them and--

It turns out, college dorms are fucking gross.

So. Not there.

And, slowly, as he slogged through college, Bucky stopped imagining it. It would happen when it would happen, there was no point rushing it or torturing himself by imagining it at every turn. Just enjoy the ride, he told himself, don't get impatient. He kissed boys men, made out, cuddled, and did some over-the-clothes shit in cars and shitty college apartments, but, it just didn't progress all the way.

So, all in all, Bucky is fucking blindsided when it does happen. He hasn't really sat down and thought about losing his virginity in... a long time. He especially hasn't imagined it happening with a hot, older PhD student. But. It does. It happens with Steve Rogers, a PhD student when Bucky's a term or two away from getting his Bachelor's. And, most shockingly, it's good--

"Ahh, ohmygod, aH-!" Bucky moans underneath the man on top of him, sweaty and heavy and pressing him bodily into the mattress, which is a good thing because if he didn't, Bucky thinks he could float away. He didn't think it would feel so good the first time. He thought it would hurt or that, best case scenario, it would be fine, but not good or great because he doesn't know what he likes and he assumed he would be with someone his own age who was also unsure and fumbling and inexperienced, therefore, innocently bad.

He didn't--shit, a wave of heat crashes through Bucky, sticky and intense as Steve keeps going despite his embarrassing sounds of pleasure--he didn't think he would want to slap a hand over his own mouth during his first time because, fuck, it was embarrassing enough when he had to red-faced explain to Steve that he's never done this before, he's 23, it means nothing that he hasn't, but... just looking at Steve? Steve fucks. And, now, he's more embarrassed because he can't stop making sounds.

Breathy, shocked, hot noises that curl out of his gaped-open lips like mewling moans as he has his cunt fucked loose for the very first time. He feels loose. Loose lips, moaning, loose joints, neck limp, and losing timing.

He's so fucked because, yes, literally, Steve's cock is inside him, it's heavier and hotter and thicker in his pussy than he would've ever thought to imagine, but he's also fucked because this feels so good. He gets it. He gets why no one can shut the fuck up about sex. He understands. He's not going to shut up about it. Even as embarrassing as his reaction to it is, he's never going to go without this again.

God.

It feels like a revelation.

It is a revelation.

He wants to do this forever.

This is the only thing that matters to him now.

Sex.

Every time Steve thrusts forward inside him, he gets in so deep. The pressure and friction are so good. The slide is wet but tight. Bucky is so much more sensitive inside than he ever realized.

Jesus Christ, it's laughable now to think that Bucky didn't think he liked penetration that much just an hour ago. An ill-informed opinion based on how it felt when he was touching himself. Having Steve touch him is so entirely different. Bucky almost always just stayed on the outside of his body, playing with his achingly sensitive clit and tracing the folds of his inner and outer lips when it got too much to keep rubbing his clit or to gather up the wetness that would leak out of him for easier circles around his achy, pulsing clit. Whenever he tried to finger himself in earnest, searching to find his own g-spot according to Cosmo's top ten salacious tips for better sex, he just ended up with a crick in his wrist, was frustrated by the fact that it didn't feel that great when he thought it ought to, or being unsure if he was even doing it right in the first place. He didn't know that--

"Oh, ohh," Bucky's eyes roll back in his skull despite all his effort to focus on Steve on top of him. He's muscle, just, everywhere. How he has time for school and living at the gym and charming the pants off Bucky, Bucky does not understand. How else can he be built like a Greek god if he's not always at the gym? He's so fucking handsome, pale and blushing, strong and muscular, nice but dirty. He's everything Bucky never dared to think about, thinking men like Steve were so out of his league.

Steve is here, though, Steve is making him helplessly moan and whine on his cock as he fucks him within an inch of his life in his bed. One of his hands is planted next to Bucky's fanned-out hair restlessly curling across the pillows as he thrashes his head side to side and his other hand is on Bucky's body, tracing the line of his throat, toying with his nipples, finding his hips and squeezing, pawing at his clit to leave his toes curling and using his fingers to slide down, down, down his wet slit and trace where his cock is splitting him open, leaking around the intrusion of him.

He's so big.

Bucky doesn't know how it fits in him.

He doesn't know how big Steve really is, he's got nothing to compare him to, but he just knows that it feels like it's in more than his pussy--Steve's filling his belly and fucking into his throat. That's why Bucky can't breathe. That's fucking it. He's so chokingly full.

And Bucky is having the fucking time of his life.

Choking, sputtering, and writhing as Steve goes at him, buried within him and showing him what he's never known before. Their chests heaving and hitting together, colliding perfectly.

Steve is fucking him so good, his hips rolling smoothly, just hard and deep and fast enough. It's perfectly good, making Bucky really fucking feel every inch of him, clenching, trembling around him in a daze of arousal. Eyes rolled back. Feeling like he can't do anything but take it.

Take it.

Steve's cock is plunging expertly into his wet, squelching cunt, moving to the rhythm of a thudding, window-shaking, whole-body-rattling house-music-style song that Bucky can't hear but shamelessly revels in anyway; Steve's hands caressing his body like he's precious, touching him everywhere and making him sweat like crazy, feeling so much, and filled to overflowing with heated desire; Steve's lips on his, colliding hard and swallowing his sounds down, then smearing hungry kisses across his face to his jaw to bite and suck at his neck, the thin, delicate skin there so much more alive then Bucky ever knew it could be, crackling with want; Steve's hot, honey-dripping words meeting Bucky's sounds of pleasure in the scant few inches on thick, humid air between them, so charged that it's hard to take any oxygen into his lungs, barely breathable, too, too much--

Steve chuckles, amused and pleasantly teasing as he tells Bucky, "you can touch me, too, sweetheart."

He's been doing that all night, coaxing him into participating in his first time more and more. It's active. He's taking but he's also giving. Bucky loves it.

Bucky fucking loves sex.

And, really, Bucky had not realized his hands were just shaking in limp, unsure fists by his sides until Steve's words finally process in his mushy brain. He blinks open his eyes, fighting against the sticky, too-thick lust poured over him, weighing him down, making him slow. Dumber. And for a long moment, the best he can do is arch his back. It feels so rauchy, but he's possessed. Bending. Breaking. His head is dropped completely back against the pillows. His neck couldn't hold the weight of his head if his life depended on it. He... he... he feels like he's moving through molasses, trying to lift his arms and touch Steve.

It's nearly impossible. Bucky is spread so thin, melted into Steve's mattress like a thin layer of marmalade on hot toast.

He's never going to recover.

He gets about halfway into holding his arms up, muscles trembling weakly before Steve takes pity on him and uses his sure, knowledgable grip to loop his arms around his neck. Bucky moans, feeling how feverish and sweat-soaked Steve is--it's not just him. Steve's in it, too. He's here with him. And Bucky uses all of his wimpy strength to push his quivering fingers into the short hairs at the base of Steve's skull, cupping his head and staring foggily into his ravenous eyes. He looks ready to swallow Bucky. Something inside Bucky adores it, preening and pushing his chest forward, feeling big and bold and wanted. Desired, even. It's hot as fuck. Bucky wants to feel like this forever.

"Yeah," Steve rewards him with a groaning word of agreement and a lewd kiss, tonguing him, no, fucking his mouth with his tongue as his cock just fucking keeps at it, grinding, digging, carving into him.

Bucky can't breathe, he can only gasp.

"Yeah, that's it, baby," Steve encourages, "why don't you hold onto me, hmm? I know it feels good--"

Bucky whines. It does. It feels good. It's so good he could cry.

"--and I know 's a lot, so just hold on and touch me a little while I fuck you, yeah? Don't worry about anything else, jus' right here, touch me, lemme in, c'mon, babyy."

Bucky nods uselessly, letting his hands slide down Steve's body, openly adoring and admiring his unreal body, squeezing the meat of his hugely broad shoulders and following his fingers with his eyes, nearly going cross-eyed when--

Oh.

His vision is fucking filled with the overwhelming, gut-punchingly hot vision of Steve's chest. Bucky felt up his chest when they were making out just before this, he knows he has big, tight, high pecs. Part of his unreal, gym-sculpted physique. He didn't--he doesn't know--how was he supposed to know that his pecs would jiggle when he's fucking into him?

"Go on, h-honey," Steve kisses his temple, just a little sloppy as he moans against his skin, "touch 'em," he urges him on, "grab my tits."

Bucky does. He doesn't need fucking brain cells to follow those tempting directions. He just does. He wants to bite Steve's tits and, fuck, he's never had such an aggressive, intense urge before but it doesn't matter. He has no ability to process it. He just feels it.

He wants to bite.

Further--because that's not it, of course, that can't be it--Bucky fucking holds on for dear life, he wraps an arm around Steve's muscular fucking back and lifts himself forward an inch, maybe not even that, clinging to him, shoving his face against Steve's neck, feeling his pulse thunder through him, and smashing his hand tight against Steve's pecs--his tits--and his own heaving chest.

Just that little bit changes the angle, and suddenly, a squeal is ripped out of Bucky.

He has no choice but to cling tighter, curling his legs around the formidable line of Steve's body, needing him even closer, deeper, tighter, more, shoving them together tip to tail. Christ. His body couldn't be hungrier. He needs. He--

He accidentally shoves his clit tight to Steve's pelvis changing the angle, making the hot, hard line of Steve's body rub harshly against his clit with every thrust into his soaking pussy.

"OH!" Bucky's mouth drops open wide, hardly muffled against the junction between Steve's neck and shoulder. His hold, arms and legs wrapped around Steve's body, is like if he were drowning in shark infested waters and someone threw him a life preserver. It's frantic.

Fervent.

Steve doesn't even have to touch him between his legs anymore. His cock can do all the work. And he's free to plaster the huge, heavy hand, not holding himself up against the small of Bucky's back and keep him there. Keep him tight. Keep him close. Keep, keep--

Keep thrusting.

Bucky is fucking losing it. No. He's lost it. Already.

He's squealing, he's hyperventilating, and he's crying. He's crying not because it's so beautiful and emotional like he might've once assumed losing his virginity would be, hell no, it is beautifully filthy with every wet sound of Steve's cock fucking into him and every cry of pleasure from them both, but, instead, tears are prickling his eyes, hot and pressurized behind his squeezed shut eyelids, because it's so fucking good.

He's crying and he's tipping over the edge with Steve inside him and against him and overwhelming him and he's cumming so hard that he can feel it in his teeth.

It's official: Bucky's imagination doesn't hold a candle to reality.

[btsbabe7]

November Prompt 18: Crown

Words: 594 | Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

There’s a surreal feeling that washes over you as you descend the castle stairs into the entrance of the Yule Ball. You hadn’t told a single soul about your date. In fact, as far as all your friends knew, you had no intentions of attending. But here you are in a pearly gown with silvery lace trim hand-sewn against the white silk. Your curly hair is styled in a slightly messy updo that you’d practiced for weeks until it was perfected, and a dainty, single emerald stone bracelet, gifted by your date clings to your right wrist. All the planning had finally led you to this very moment.

In the midst of the first dance coming to a close, an applause breaks through the room, then you spot your date breaking through the crowd. Heads turn and there seems to be whispering amongst the crowd, but not over the music. Just as you reach the bottom of the stairs, Draco’s arm links around yours. A vest and bowtie accompany the snowy white button-up that hugs his thin torso. His platinum hair is parted perfectly down the side and tucked behind each ear to fully display his dashing features. He looks absolutely amazing, even more than he does on the day to day, if you do say so yourself. And soon, the gaze of other students follow the two of you through the crowd where Draco pulls you in close for a slow dance.

“Ignore the whispers,” he breathes, pulling your wandering gaze for your friends back to him. “You look beautiful tonight and I won’t let anyone ruin this for us.” His brows raise to make sure you understand and you smile softly and nervously.

You had planned to attend the ball with Draco almost a month ago in the secrecy of your meetings in the Astronomy Tower. If everything went as planned, the entire school would be in shock at the news of you and Draco attending together, despite the existing rumors of his growing crush on you. And the whispers tonight have proved just that. Even Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and Dumbledore, the Headmaster himself, had done double takes when Draco’s arm reached out for you at the entrance moments ago.

“Draco,” you mutter softly, keeping your eyes on his to stay focused. “What do we do when they see? My friends, when they notice?”

He chuckles softly and pulls you closer, gently stroking your reddened cheek.

“Then let them notice. You look beautiful. You spent so much effort planning and perfecting the perfect. Just focus on this. Don’t let your crown slip.”

You smile widely at his comment and just because you’re happy to finally be in his arms in the midst of everyone. There’s whispers and stares and even pointing, but you stay focused on Draco. It all feels like a relief compared to the fear that came with sneaking out to meet in hiding in The Astronomy Tower every night. You know your friends are somewhere with their own dates and that their curiosity about you and Draco will soon be a topic of conversation, but none of that matters now in a place where you should feel the most confident.

Draco spins you around one last time at the close of the song, and with a smile, he caresses your cheeks.

“We’ll have the best night of our lives, my queen. I promise,” he breathes before placing a soft kiss on your forehead that leaves you grinning from ear to ear, and tonight, you truly feel like royalty.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

⚡︎ For You Always - reader x Snape

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms) & (bts imagines/drabbles)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

[amtrak12]

After a conversation with a friend about this weird trend of fic readers who only want epic length fics (and also what seems to be a massive misunderstanding between parties on terms and their definitions), I went searching for the fandom sources I cut my teeth on. I don't have much bookmarked from those days anymore, but googling got me to this fiction length/terminology breakdown from a Livejournal blog. (Which also has good fandom definitions for other terms like A/N and fanon too, so if you're super new to fandom, go check that out.)

The definitions come from the publishing world (hence the page counts), but fandom and fanfic has always borrowed heavily from official publishing terminology. Flash fiction (aka, anything less than 1k words) is called a 'ficlet' within fandom. We call everything else a fic until it reaches the novella mark -- which may start at 20k words but as synecdochic breaks down on their Dreamwidth blog, there's a lot of overlap between short stories and novella word counts. Because, when you're not constrained by physical page counts, the real dividing line between short stories and novellas are the number of plots and themes you're using. (Seriously, go read their meta on this topic. It's fantastic!) Either way, once you're hitting tens of thousands of words, you're in longfic territory. And then if your fic is even longer than that -- 100k+ like shown in the screenshot above -- it's called an epic fic.

And these terms, longfic and epic, are important because they're used to differentiate these stories from the average fic. Because, at least in the 2000s up until the 2020s, the most common fic lengths you ran into were between 1k-20k words. "Fic" made the reader assume only a few thousand words at most. It's only when you changed the term to drabble or ficlet or longfic that they would realize 'oh this is going to be shorter or longer than normal'.

I don't really understand why that baseline assumption has changed amongst the newer demographics (and maybe amongst some long-running fandom members too?). I've seen a lot of theories and 'tiktokification' complaints, but I honestly don't know what's true. And I don't want to start a fight or even try to change anyone's minds if they are dead set against reading short story length fics. You can do what you want!

Just maybe shift your attitude about it a little bit? Remember that it's a personal preference the same way tropes are, and that one story length isn't better than another. Just like tropes, each story length serves its purpose. Some stories are best told in 1-2k words. Some are best told as 100 word drabbles -- or even a single sentence! And then, yes, some stories do need to be 100k+ in order to be told properly.

But that's not every story. And it shouldn't be expected of fic writers to pad a 1500 word plot into some sprawling epic just because they left it on a cliffhanger. The cliffhanger is probably the point of that fic! Short stories are an entirely separate art form to novels and as such are able to cover different topics than novels can or cover the same topics differently. And that's what makes them special!!

And look at that word count breakdown by genre! That's mainstream publishing standards! Now, go back up there to the definition of a novel and notice that the average published novel is 80k words long.

Let me repeat that:

The average length of a published novel is 80,000 words long.

Could a novel go longer? Sure! And if you're dipping into adult sci-fi or fantasy, absolutely it will be longer! But does your fic need to be longer than the average novel in order to be good? In order for you to feel satisfied when you finish reading it? Why does the length of the fic matter more to you than the content?

idk just some rambling food for thought, but I guess too long, don't read:

~✨~ Every story length is valid ~✨~

It just depends on the plot you have and the structure you want to use to tell it.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Any Classic Sans x Reader recs? 👀

Smut is welcomed!

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

Lonely Eyes by TooObsessedForMyOwnGood (Mature, Complete)

I made this entirely and got up to about chapter 11 before deciding to post it. I've been into undertale since the day it was born and OH MAI GAWD. Excuse me if i happen to make any typos along the way. Hopefully not as I will be editing and reading these over as best as possible. Don't expect frequent updates after chapters 10 and/or 11. Also, i'm sorta new to posting stuff on here, so please forgive me if i'm slow with this sorta thing. The first at least 9 or 10 chapters will be short and more of a slow burn type of thing, but hopefully I can make them longer in the future. here we go guys. ______ It had been at least 15 years since the last human had fallen down. They'd been a mercilious human, one that had dusted almost every monster in the underground. Leaving the rest to lose hope as their king, queen, and all of the royal guard had been taken down by a measley human. A child, at that. Now, the next human to fall was one that had no intentions of such things, but Sans was prepared to put this one down much quicker if they proved to be a threat. Though, they both find out quickly that things were going to be much different then they'd both planned.

You're Not Alone Anymore by alexrun (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

I'm just gonna say this right off the top - I am not entirely sure where I'm going with this fic but if you like fLUFF AND SKELETONS YOu are in the right story!! >w> Uhm I suppose this is a very domestic plot with the whole "monsters living with humans but human don't like 'em" thing, also you are a little bundle of insecurity and anxiety who doesn't have a lot of friends and is just trying to make it through the day ;v; Enojy!?

Integrity (Sans Undertale x Reader) by xylocorpse (Not Rated, Incomplete)

Y/N L/N. A young adult who helps monsters settle in on the surface in your free time and is shit with making friends. On this beautiful day in particular, you happen to be helping two brothers move in and find yourself drawn to them. Thanks to persistent efforts (by you) you find that your life is permanently marked with new faces and new events that you hope will be for the better. .... and what's wrong with having a huge crush on a skeleton along the way? ALL OF THIS IS A HUUUGE SELF INSERT LMAOOOO. i have the fattest juiciest crush on sans and there is not enough love for classic on here. so now i have to do it myself. (but the reader being lowkey a loser is not me i am very cool irl)

Seren(dip)ity by Absent_Enigma (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

Life is pretty swell on the surface, Sans supposes. There have been no resets or reloads for years. No drama or violence from the human populace that monsters now live amongst, but for some minor complaints and scuffles. It’s just a bit lonely at times now that Sans’ friends and brother explore what the surface has to offer. Your life gets a little better when you enter into a tentative relationship with a funny skeleton monster who makes you laugh. It goes well, chip-dip fiasco and all. Five years later and the relationship is going steady, with less cultural misunderstandings now, as you and Sans go about daily life together. [Drabbles of you and Sans, in an established relationship, with little to no angst. It’s self-indulgent fluff, honestly]

Can we stay here? by TiredInBed (Mature, Incomplete)

You just recently moved to Ebott for college; it's nice here. The seasons are varied, the town is lively, and the school you're going to is manageable. The only thing that seems to be missing are friends and lovers. It feels so hard to get involved with anything or anybody new these days. They're all isolated in their own little world, and it's hard to become important to somebody. That's why when you get spontaneously involved with a new group of friends, you're happy! And when you meet a special man in Sans, you're overjoyed to watch your relationship blossom. You slowly forget what life would be like without them, the daily chaos of your new reality becoming very comfortable. You like it here in Ebott; you think you might stay.

[bonny-kookoo]

𝐄𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Masterlist

-> All parts are listed in chronological order. Drabble requests and character asks are open. There is no Taglist for this fic.

Jungkook ✅️

Every year, he joins the old tradition of traveling, where his ancestors have once ruled the skies. Every year, he meets familiar faces and new ones he's never seen before. Every year, he watches how his brothers find their mates, build their families, and introduce new generations to stories as old as time. But this year, something might be different. This year, there's you - a treasure worth more than he could ever offer.

Part 1: Intro

Main Tags/Warnings: Dragon!Jungkook, strangers to lovers/mates, mentions of folklore and traditions, modern fantasy, romance, human?Reader, Fluff, Courting, MC kinda wary of kook at first, but he's cute give him a chance pls

This storyline is considered finished, but will receive minor drabbles on occasion.

Part 2: Best Behavior

Part 3: Warm Eyes

Part 4: Just a game

Part 5: Pull Me Closer

- Drabble: JK saving MC from a creep

Part 6: The Hunt

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Yoongi

From the bustling cities to the pine tree forests up the mountains, Yoongi always looks forward to the yearly dragon festival, where he can unwind and simply let his inner fire burn freely. But this year, amongst the new flames joining in, there's one that stands out- so pitifully small but warm, he can't help but feel the need to try and nurse it back to a fire worth filling a dragon's heart.

Main Tags/Warnings: Dragon!Yoongi, strangers to lovers/mates, mentions of folklore and traditions, modern fantasy, romance, Dragon!Reader, Fluff, Courting, Evocation!AU, Fluff

Part 1: Intro

Part 2: Backwards

Part 3: ???

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sidecontent:

Yoongi #1

[peachyjinx]

Smutty drabble idea: something with somnophilia, like Loki comes home from a mission or battle and finds Reader sprawled out naked in his bed asleep and it drives him wild

Ooo this one was fun cause I haven't written somnophilia before and only read like maybe 2 fics with it. Hope you enjoy!

Home

Relationship: Dom!Loki x Sub!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: 18+, somnophilia, Loki's POV

Loki keys in the password to your shared living quarters in Stark tower, wincing as he feels a tinge in his shoulder that had taken the brunt of a sonic blast last night. Loki scowls as he quietly enters your living room, thinking about how Stark had insisted his new shields would be impervious.

Idiot, Loki thinks to himself.

He enters the room quietly, glancing at the clock-2:30 am.The others insisted that he showered in the communal showers when they landed, under the assumption of possible exposures in the lab. Loki had huffed in response, grabbed some of Banner’s soaps, and headed to your private shower you shared. He needed to be back home- where you are. 

Loki silently steps towards the bathroom, already feeling relief to be in the space you shared. He runs the shower and steps in, feeling his tense, sore muscles begin to relax under the hot water. Loki gently soaps his body down and lathers his hair, his mind wandering.

Loki’s thoughts drift to the last 48 hours. A whirlwind of reconnaissance and the subsequent invasion of new Hydra labs. He proudly grins to himself with his eyes closed as he stands under the hot water, remembering flashes of green spread out amongst the crowds of henchmen. How thrilling it felt, feeling his power coursing through his veins. Loki feels his heart beating faster, the adrenaline still pumping in his system.

He had been told by Rogers not to kill anyone, but Loki had rightly ignored that order as he took the lab technician’s lives. He had been alive longer than the rest of the team- he knew there was no use for the sort of ilk that experimented on others. 

As Loki reminisces on how glorious the battle had been, his hand wanders to his cock, which is beginning to twitch. He begins to gently pump his hardening length while his thoughts drift to you, sleeping soundly in your shared bedroom.

There was something about you he couldn’t resist; like magnets, the two of you were drawn to each other. All it took was a giggle and a glance from you and Loki was ready to burn everything down just to be inside your welcoming cunt. 

You had always told him he could have you whenever he wanted- even when you were sleeping. He normally chose to wake you up… but tonight was different. As Loki dries himself off, his need feels even more pressing, a heat is building in his lower back. 

Loki softly steps into your bedroom, his eyes drawn to you peacefully passed out, wrapped in your sheets. His gaze slowly drifts down your body and he feels his cock twitch again, warmth spreading over his body as he hears himself breathing faster. 

His aching need to bury his cock inside your wet folds is unbearable, and he gently removes the sheets off of you and turns your pliable body on your back as he stands over you. Loki climbs onto the bed, his muscular thighs encasing your hips. His cock is flushed and he resists his urge to sink it in you immediately. He needs to make sure you are ready, because he’s not waking you up this time. 

You let out a soft whimper as he gently caresses your breasts with the tip of his finger, his eyes widen as he watches you respond to him. 

So beautiful…and always so willing under my touch.

Loki’s hand drifts to your core, a finger gently discovers your wetness in between your legs. His heart races as he touches your soft skin, fingers mingling in the sticky sensation.

Always wet and ready for me. 

Loki shudders as his skillful hands begin to massage your clit, and he works his finger inside of you.  His finger gently pumps inside, preparing you for his girth. You let out a quiet moan in your sleep, “Mmm Loki…”.

The sound of your voice floods his senses in the dark, his need to fit his thick cock into your tight hole overwhelms him as an intense heat from the base of his cock becomes too much to ignore. 

Loki withdraws his finger and lowers his large frame on top of yours, needing to be inside of you immediately. 

With ease, he pushes his cock slowly inside of you, holding back a moan as he closes his eyes tightly. Your warmth envelopes him, and Loki knows this is Valhalla. He restrains himself as he starts slowly and begins to pump himself inside. 

You begin to squirm, and he gently grabs your wrists with one hand, moving them above your head. Loki feels his cock twitch as your hips begin to buck gently against his as he rhythmically thrusts inside of you. 

Loki nuzzles in your neck, your scent driving him wilder as he increases his pace, trying to get deeper inside of you. 

“Ohhh..” you begin to shift and Loki watches as your eyes move under your lids, and he can tell you’re going to wake up at any moment.

Loki feels his breath hitch at the sight of you stirring, and his grips on your wrists get tighter. His panting is louder and he can feel his balls tighten against you as he continues to desperately chase his high in your warm cunt. He needs to come inside you, with your wet heat tightening around him. 

Your eyes slowly open to look up and see Loki above you, his hair fallen in a black curtain around his face. Your face is one of shock and then pleasure as you realize Loki’s taking you in your sleep. 

Loki feels the pressure building, cursing under his breath as he sees you’re awake. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, and he bottoms out inside of you.

“Ohh Norns…” Loki groans as he begins to fuck you deeper, grabbing tightly onto your hip and chasing his high. The moans coming out of you now are enough to send him over the edge. He pistons himself inside of you, and with a final hard thrust he feels the coil in his core snap, coming hard into your tender cunt. A shuddering wave of relief washes over him as he spills his seed inside of you while he moans your name. 

The air is filled with the two of you panting loudly, as Loki continues to gently thrust into you, savoring the moment. He releases your wrists, and begins to nuzzle in your hair, breathing in deeply. You feel like home to him.

-----

Peachyjinx Masterlist

[honey-beann]

💞

Sweet Victory

Connor x Reader Fluff

💕 - Kisses

Note: Okay look, I genuinely thought I hadn't gone that far over on this one until I put it in the word counter, so no judgement allowed! (For those of you who might not know this was supposed to be a 200-600 word drabble and I failed hard at keeping to that limit).

So, with that said, here is this request fulfilled with a word count far higher than I had initially anticipated (sorry, I apparently have no self-control).

A huge thanks to the Anon who requested this, and I hope everyone enjoys this random fluff fic!

Word Count: 2,534

Okay, so maybe you could be a little bit competitive at times. Was that really such a crime?

Sure, this was supposed to be some children's event designed to help the DPD gain favor amongst the younger generation of Detroit Citizens, but what were you supposed to do, just let your teammate down? Hell no, if you were in it, you were in it to win it, and that was a fact.

"Okay, remind me of what we have left to find?"

You asked Louisa, the eight year old girl walking alongside you, who you had only just met twenty minutes earlier.

Prior to the notice you'd received just this morning, you'd had absolutely no idea about the fact that kids were coming into the DPD today, let alone that you would be paired with one for their little scavenger hunt (and that may have showed in how unprepared and unsure you seemed).

That said, somehow, you had ended up with the most understanding third grader of all time, which you found yourself incredibly grateful for.

"Uh..."

Louisa checked her paper before continuing,

"It says we need to get warning citations written by an officer who isn't on duty right now, find where the Captain hides the donuts until after precinct meetings, and get something one of a kind from one of the detectives."

You raised a brow at that last one,

"One of a kind?"

You questioned looking down to see Louisa nodding in response as she looked down at the sheet in front of her.

"Yup. It says that at the end of the scavenger hunt Officers Miller and Chen will decide together who got the most unique item, and that that team will get points for the category."

"Huh, okay then."

You said, shrugging a bit before smiling down at your new friend,

"How about we go grab us some donuts?"

Five minutes and one trip to the storage closet later, and you and Louisa were making your way towards Chris Miller's desk, where you slid him his favorite powdered sugar confection before giving him your best (most pleading) smile.

"Wanna write us some citations, Officer Miller?"

You asked politely, watching as Chris looked down at the treat in front of him before looking back up at you and your partner with a slightly guilty looking smile.

"No can do, judges can't participate in the competition."

You groaned under your breath, shooting a nervous grin down to Louisa before you began scanning the bullpen with your eyes, looking around for another off duty officer while cursing yourself for never paying attention to the officer duty schedule.

That is, until your eyes landed on a familiar face.

Connor, everyone's favorite rk800 (or maybe that was just a you thing) was just sitting at his desk, all but begging to be interrupted by your shenanigans.

Instantly, you started making your way toward him, motioning for Louisa to follow you as you did so.

"Hey, you forgot your donut!"

Chris called after you, causing you to simply shake your head in response, a rather cheeky looking grin spreading across your face as you briefly turned to look at him.

"Don't need it."

Within moments, you were stood beside Connor's desk, hands clasped politely in front of you as you tried your best not to look as devious as you felt.

Immediately, the android looked up at you, a familiarly soft smile forming on his lips as he opened his mouth to speak, though he notably faltered when his eyes fell to the eight year old beside you.

"Good morning Detective, is there something I can help you with?"

He asked politely, his demeanor immediately making you smile ever so slightly.

"Hey Con, can I ask you a favor?"

The android in question seemed to perk up at your words, tilting his head as he turned his chair to face you and your new partner properly.

"Well I can certainly try. What can I assist you two with?"

You blushed ever so slightly at the sight of him as he turned to face you, trying your best not to make how good you thought he looked in that perfectly tailored dress shirt too obvious.

Thankfully, Louisa clearing her throat beside you brought you back to reality, and you quickly answered.

"We need an off duty officer to write us warning citations, but I can't remember the officer schedule for today. Did you happen to take a look at it anytime recently?"

Connor hummed, his LED briefly going yellow before slowly circling back to it's typical stagnant blue.

He nodded.

"According to the schedule, Officers Brown and Person are both off duty for the afternoon."

Your eyes scanned the room once more before they finally fell on Person, who sat at her desk, tapping away at her keyboard.

You grinned at Connor, fighting the urge to hug him as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

"Awesome, thanks Con!"

You enthused,

"I'll be sure to pay for lunch tomorrow to make it up to you."

The android in question smiled but shrugged his shoulders,

"I'm always happy to be of assistance, Detective, with or without incentive."

With that, he bid the two of you farewell before turning back towards his desk and continuing whatever he'd been doing prior to your (all too welcome) interruption.

Meanwhile, you and Louisa set off toward Officer Person's desk, which was when Louisa spoke up again.

"Was that your boyfriend?"

She asked, causing you to startle a bit before laughing nervously.

"Uh..."

You trailed off, looking over your shoulder slightly to glance at Connor once more.

The man had super hearing, and would therefore probably hear what you were about to say, but if you thought too hard about that the words would never come, so you just pretended he was too distracted to listen properly.

"Kind of. We've gone on a few dates together."

Louisa smiled and nodded,

"Yeah, I thought so."

Your cheeks reddened slightly at her comment, but you pressed onward nonetheless until finally, you made it to Officer Person's desk, where you were immediately regarded with an almost taunting eyebrow raise.

"Did I see you using lover boy over there to your advantage?"

She teased as she pulled her citation notepad out of her desk, writing your name at the top without even having to ask any of the spelling details.

You blanched.

"Oh hush, Person, who else was I supposed to ask? He has a literal connection to the database in his brain."

The woman in front of you shrugged, but her grin remained persistent nonetheless.

"Whatever you say, Detective, I just thought the first kiss came a stage before asking for personal favors. But hey, I could be wrong."

She finished up your citation and ripped it away from the rest of her note pad with a flourish before handing it to you and shifting her attention towards Louisa.

"Now what's your name?"

She asked.

You rolled your eyes at your friend and coworkers antics, looking down at your citation with a sigh only to be met with an absolutely humiliating sight.

Under infraction, Person had put 'Not kissing by the fifth date despite previously verbalized intentions to do so'.

You groaned internally, glaring down at your still seated friend as she finished up Louisa's warning citation, which cited that she was 'Stealing the hearts of Detroit's finest left and right'.

She handed it to the young girl with a kind smile before turning her attention back to you, satisfaction written all over your face.

"Anything else you need, Detective? I could give you some courage for your next outing with -"

"I think we're all set, thanks Person."

You muttered through gritted teeth, watching as she simply laughed before giving you a nod and waving the two of you off.

"Well in that case you'd better get moving then, the scavenger hunt ends in five."

You felt your eyes widen at that, and you cursed quietly before looking around the room.

Your brain struggled to conjure up the image of anyone who could provide you with that final artifact, something so unique it was guaranteed to win. Something that was truly one of a kind.

At that, your mind abruptly brought your thoughts to Hank, the lieutenant detective like no other (because no other could ever get away with doing the things he did).

Spotting him just outside the break room, you hurried over, offering him a quick greeting before getting straight down to business. The clock was ticking after all.

"Hey Hank, got any unique items on ya?"

You asked, gesturing to Louisa at your side as your only explanation.

Hank sighed, clearly having been asked this question more than once this morning.

You bristled a bit at this, realizing that maybe asking Hank had been a bit too obvious of a choice.

Still, what other options did you have now with only two minutes left?

"C'mon Lieutenant, anything?"

You all but pleaded, watching as Hank sighed and pulled a gold plated DPD pen out of his pocket.

"Jeffrey bought one of these for each high ranking officer like fifteen years ago. As far as I know, he and I are the only ones left that still have one."

You cheered a bit at the win, thanking Hank profusely before walking over to the crowd of waiting students and precinct workers to see who would be crowned the winner once items were handed in.

Except as you stood with your partner at your side, you couldn't help but notice something shiny sticking out of Gavin's pocket.

"Hey Reed!"

You called out without thinking, catching the attention of the aforementioned officer immediately.

"What?"

He replied snidely, never having been your biggest fan.

You ignored his tone.

"What'd you get for your unique item?"

Gavin regarded you with distrust for a moment before he seemed to get over it. He shrugged as he pulled the shiny thing out of his pocket entirely.

"Some pen Jeffrey gave my kid when he asked for a unique item. Said nobody else should have it."

You cursed under your breath, looking down at Louisa to find her staring up at you, the question of 'what do we do now?' obvious in her eyes.

You swallowed thickly, looking around the room at the various officers who were sitting at their desks.

You checked your watch.

Thirty more seconds.

Could you even hope to convince one of them to give you something by then, let alone have them actually find something genuinely one of a kind in so little time?

No, that would take far too long.

So now, you were left with only one option.

"Quick, come with me."

You told Louisa, taking her hand and weaving through the crowd with her, walking as fast as you reasonably could with a child at your side until you reached Connor's desk.

Sensing your urgency, the android stood as you grew closer, worry evident in his expression.

"Detective, is there something wrong? Do you need something?"

He asked, and you fought off the urge to take the additional time to assuage his fears and instead turned to face Louisa.

"Cover your eyes."

You told her firmly, watching as she nodded and did as she was told without question, equally as determined to win as you were, and knowing there was no time for you to clarify.

With that, you turned back to Connor, taking a single deep and shaky breath before speaking.

"Kiss me."

You said, cheeks immediately becoming warm as the man in front of you tilted his head in confusion, his eyes searching yours for any type of answer, or even just an ounce of context.

You looked down at your watch.

10 seconds.

"My apologies, Detective, but what did you just-"

"Con, I swear I'll explain later, but right now I really need you to kiss m-"

You were interrupted by a strong hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging you closer, and then suddenly, there were lips, warm and firm, pressing against your own.

You gasped briefly, shocked despite your previous pleas, before melting into the man in front of you, your arms moving to wrap around his neck as he kissed you so sweetly you could have wept.

By the time he pulled away, your face was beet red and your legs felt lie jelly.

Connor smiled nervously down at you, grabbing your hand to give it a gentle squeeze.

"I didn't think you would-"

"I figured it out."

He clarified before you could finish, glancing down at the pen in your pocket with a slight smirk.

"No need to clarify."

You nodded almost mindlessly, finding yourself crashing back into reality only when you heard your name get called from the other side of the room.

You snapped to attention, looking over to Chris and Tina, who were both holding back laughter.

"Sorry, what did you guys need?"

You asked, your voice slightly higher in pitch than usual as you struggled to contain your embarrassment.

"We need you to hand in your items."

Chris replied, and you nodded slowly before handing everything to Louisa, following behind her as she rushed back over to the group, immediately giving the judges everything the two of you had collected.

It was then and only then, after they scored the groups based on their initial findings, that they asked about the unique items.

And at that point, everyone began to share.

You thought about leaving, or maybe even just falling off the face of the earth altogether, but in the end when they called your name, you steeled your resolve, opening up your mouth to speak only to be interrupted by Louisa.

"She got a kiss from Detective Connor!"

She shouted giddily, all but dancing on her feet as she spoke, eyes gleaming in a way that told you how much the sight of your budding romance had excited her.

"It was their first kiss and everything!"

You felt your eyes widen at that comment, and in an effort to keep her from saying anything more you started to laugh nervously, watching as the whole room looked towards you, some of them grinning while others regarded you with a raised brow.

"Well, I mean..."

Tina began, chuckling a bit as she turned to her fellow judge to share her thoughts,

"I'm not sure if anything can beat that in terms of uniqueness."

Chris shook his head, smirking amusedly at your thoroughly embarrassed expression as he spoke up,

"You know what Officer Chen? I was thinking the exact same thing."

They looked at each other before nodding, choosing without hesitance to extend your misery.

"I guess that means we have our winners!"

They shouted together, causing the entire group to clap as you attempted to sink into the floor beneath your feet, far too nervous to look up and see the expressions of those around you.

Gee, this was gonna be a fun one to explain to the captain during your lunch break today.

'But hey', you thought as you looked down at Louisa's smiling face.

'At least we won'.

masterlist

AO3

[spotaus]

New Age AU (The Magic Retreats)

Hi guys!!! So, I wrote this one in a fit of passion, but here's a brief take 2 on the most important chapter of the fic and the first one I posted! (In which Night becomes Tiny again :] ) As always this drabble is unedited and un-checked so uhh. Good luck!

(HI @ancha-aus , @papiliovolens , and @mutzelputz welcome back!)

   The days felt like they were growing longer again. Maybe it was the change of the seasons, or the workload ramping up again making his nights bleed into his mornings. No matter the case, Nightmare was lucky to have moments of rest from his endless piles of debts and taxes and laws and requests that were strewn all about his office. They were nice, neat, piles now, but they seemed to be an endless cycle. He'd solve one problem and it would result in a new report of catastrophe somewhere else.

   Often, he wondered whether it was that his Mother's ruling style had truly worked, or if she'd ignored it. After all, she'd been a God amongst mortals, why would she care for a few challenged livelihoods amidst her paradise?

   The sharp clash of metal on magic drew Nightmare's attention back to the present. Against all odds, he'd managed to convince Cross to start training his sword again. When Cross had first started getting lessons to properly control his magic, harnessing even whisps of Nightmare's own spells on occasion, he'd quickly neglected his physical training. Over the last few weeks, Nightmare had voiced his worry that Cross might find himself up against another foe like Dust. One who he couldn't simply control. He needed to re-learn his old battle tactics. Only then, he'd promised, they would move on to harnessing both at once.

   So, now, he was sparring against Horror in the training room. Nightmare sat off to the side on the benches, Dust and Killer on either side of him watching intently. Two of his tendrils hovered readily before him, ready to pounce to intercept any wayward attacks or truly dangerous intent, though he trusted his Knight to not put his newest comrade in any real danger. The other two tendrils lay lax behind the bench, curling comfortably beneath where his other Knights sat at his sides.

   These were the sorts of daily distractions he enjoyed. Which pulled him away from the stress of the papers and the outside world. He could focus solely on his charges and how best to help them. They helped him so often, he just wanted to return the favor.

   His eyelight followed the movements, as Horror stayed more or less right on Cross's tail. His axe swung slower than normal, and it was obvious he was taking the training seriously without giving Cross a heart-attack from the force of his normal blows. It wasn't often Nightmare allowed them to pair up precisely because of that. Horror had no magic for Cross to control, none that would help him at least. Meanwhile, Horror's brute strength could snap Cross like a twig if something were to go slightly awry.

   A swing of the axe, Cross's longsword cracking against the handle as he blocked. A push-off, sending Cross back a few steps before he swung. Missed. The axe was on him again, this time towards his side. Cross jumped over it, swung his sword. Missed again. The axe came in again, from above. A narrow block, one which forced Cross to his knee, before Horror let up.

   Horror was simply a marvel of physical combat. He hadn't been a good fighter when Nightmare met him, but he'd learned very quickly. From watching the guards, from listening to Nightmare. Though, Nightmare was almost positive Killer had actually been his biggest influence. Killer, the cockpit, single Knight at that time. He'd taken Dust under his supervision at the time, practically heading the dismantling of the crime rings Dust knew so well all on his own. Meanwhile, Nightmare was working with Horror to understand how to fix the farming situation across the kingdom. Once things settled, and Nightmare expressed interest in having Horror stick around, it was Killer who showed off in combat training. Horror spun off his feet and pushed off his hands in the way expected of a much smaller, leaner, monster. Very similar to how Killer fought when he was playing around.

   It was evidently too unfamiliar for Cross. He'd been taught formal swordplay, but here in this kingdom? That was about as useful as playing with a slingshot and trying to operate a trebuchet. It seemed similar, but it could only get one so far.

   Cross had been steadily improving, of course. Just a year or so ago, Cross had been besting all the rest of the royal guard out on the training field. But placed against Killer, the best of the best at practical combat, no holds bar? He'd fumbled. Now, Nightmare knew Cross could hold his own against his proudest Knight. That meant a lot in such a short time. Pride filled his chest at the thought, as he watched the two of them clash again and again.

   He knew his time was running short for today. He'd had Dust and Killer work on their team-building and attack him earlier on in training while Cross and Horror were warming up. As he already knew, they were chatty, but very efficient in their coordination.

   "On your left!" Killer would call out. Dust would simply duck as Killer instead vaulted over his head as though emerging from the shorter Knight's shadow, knife in hand, glowing red with energy.

   Killer's use of deceptive verbal cues was a talent he'd come up with all his own. Nightmare remembered him pestering Dust over it every dinner for a week after he'd first thought of it. Dust had seemed annoyed at first, but Nightmare could tell after the first session of them trying it out, against him? He'd been unaware, and if his magic didn't work separate from his mind on occasion, they would have gotten him in the first two minutes.

   They'd used it again earlier, and even after several years it still kept Nightmare on his toes. He figured that was why he felt tired as he watched the two locked in mock battle before him. The cognitive challenges did tend to make his socket heavy with sleep. And he hated to admit it, but he always knew about when to end their afternoon trainings, because it lined up with when his mind would start to lag. Even years later, his body still seemed to respond to the familiar draw of a long-discarded bed time.

   He'd let them exchange a few more blows, before calling it off and ushering them all off to clean up before dinner. Even if he knew only Cross and Dust would go wash up. Horror would go change out of his training gear into clean clothes, he hated to look messy at the dinner table, abd Killer would simply stick to his side like glue.

   It never was a point of complaint, he appreciated the commitment, but sometimes he really did wish he'd at least take a moment to swap clothes. Sometimes he tracked all sorts of dirt and scraps of magic out of the training room and into the halls.

   Mm. The clashing seemed to have reached a rhythm. That meant Cross had gotten familiar with Horror's movement patterns again. It never lasted long, Horror was very adaptable, but it did mean that Cross would be locked into the stalemate now, or it'd be an easy defeat for Horror. Better to call it now and send them off with a bit of praise. They never ceased to impress him, they'd all grown so much.

   "Alright, end the match." he called. It didn't take hardly a moment for the order to register after his voice carried to the two monsters.

   Cross was the first to pull away, with Horror letting his swing fall short and his Axe's momentum swing up and into the air. He caught the grip and almost immediately stuffed it back into its own holster along his back. Cross sheathed his sword, and while a bit out of breath, he still grinned triumphantly and bowed amicably to Horror. Horror returned it with a nod. Their little ritual.

   "Wonderful work today, all of you." Nightmare announced, his front two tendrils slinking back to his sides as they no longer had danger to be hyper aware of. To defend against. "Tomorrow, I want to see you two spar again, I believe you are making great leaps in progress, Cross. Dust will provide you both with terrain obstacles in the form of erratic magic attacks to simulate a more turbulent battle field and provide Horror with more opportunity to practice dodging." The suggestion seemed well-recieved, and Nightmare let his good eyelight turn to Killer, who sat grinning beside him. "Killer, you and I will be doing more endurance training for your magic."

   "Looking forward to it, my Lord," Killer replied.

   That made Nightmare chuckle a bit. Once upon a time, Killer would tense up at the premise of magic training. Then, as he grew bolder, groan at the mention. He was not proficient in the sort of magic Cross, Dust, or he himself relied on, but his preferred weapon was a knife or two summoned by his own soul. Since it was magic, Nightmare insisted he learn to better sustain and alter it rather than letting it atrophy in the wake of his extensive physical training. Now, seeing him grin lazily at the idea, not a worry weighing on his soul? It made Nightmare feel a lot more justified in making the rambunctious Knight do the more "boring" practical training.

   "If we understand what to expect for the afternoon tomorrow, then you are dismissed. I will see you all at dinner," he declared. Humor filled his chest at the warmth which rolled off his knights at the mention of food. Dinner was always cooked by Ccino, and Ccino was the best cook. Nightmare would know.

   He watched as Cross gave a little salute before he turned on his heel to begin to follow Horror's lumbering gait towards the heavy doors separating this room from the hall. The newest Knight's voice was quiet, but excitable as he started to reflect on his techniques to Horror. He always debriefed after a training.

   Beside him, Dust swung forward off the bench and landed silently, already moving to follow the other two. His body-language always seemed disgruntled, and his expression was hidden under his darkened hood, but Nightmare knew he was pleased with his work tonight. Content with what he had accomplished.

   "Cross is gettin' a lot faster." Killer's voice was calm beside him, and Nightmare followed the other's hollow gaze to where the other three were discarding their gear, hanging it up on the racks near the door where they always stored the supplies.

   Four spaces, one for each knight. Killer had gouged his name into the wooden base of his own years ago.

   "I agree." Nightmare let one of his tendrils wrap at the ground around a leg of the bench. "It helps that he is eager and willing to improve on his skills. And that he has others to lean on as he continues to learn."

   Killer's scoff quickly devolved into a laugh at the thinly veiled praise. It wasn't unusual of him to slip it into conversation. A quick, gentle nudge of praise. Acknowledgement and appreciation. Killer had heard to most of it, and Nightmare often worried he'd find it insincere.

   As far as he knew, he never did.

   "You should go put up your armor as well." Nightmare suggested, nudging at Killer's back with a tendril.

  

   "Yes, sir." Killer chimed, the sharpness of his laughter still on his tongue.

   Nightmare rose simply, and Killer pushed off the bench with a quick hop. His feet planted, and Nightmare waited for him to take a step towards where the others were before moving to follow. It felt right, to see them all in one spot. Relaxed.

   He moved to follow Killer's quick steps, only... All at once his vision seemed to double, and he halted himself. He could feel his tendrils lash out, moving to stabilize him against the floor of the training room. He still stood upright, just barely, but it seemed all his balance had left him. Instinctively, in a fit of habit, he shut his good socket and took a moment. The swaying feeling he was gripped by, even after a deep breath an counting to five, did not fade. The darkness which usually seemed to calm him only seemed to make the swaying worse. He could not tell if the motion was coming from him, or I the ground beneath him was shifting like the deck of a boat. Without his vision he couldn't orient up versus down, let alone find his stability again.

   Opening his good socket provided him with orientation, though his vision still danced and swirled. He was looking down, down towards the brick ground, from the space behind his palm. When did he place his hand to his socket? The view included his legs, which he recognized now were shaking, and his tendrils which were trying to hold him in place.

   And...

   He jolted at the contact he could see but hadn't felt in the slightest. He skull reeled up so that he could see who had touched him. One hand on his elbow. The other- when did he grab Killer's arm? When had Killer turned around to look at him? Why was Killer looking at him like that?

   It was Killer, who had ahold of him, though he couldn't feel the Knight's touch, and he couldn't tell if he was gripping the other's arm at all. Though he was, he could see it.

   His vision warped again with the quick movement. A desperate bid to look past Killer. Was there a threat? The blurry form of Dust shot past him, he thought. Horror and Cross still seemed to be by the door.

   The ceiling. Why was he looking at the ceiling? No, wait, the floor now. It grew closer, in the space between himself and Killer, as the opening for him to see it grew smaller. Then he couldn't see it at all, his vision replaced swiftly by- training gear. The leather smell invaded his senses as the rest failed him. He couldn't feel Killer, though he knew the knight was near to him. That, as far as he could tell, Killer had caught him. That he'd sunken to the ground under his own weight.

   Why?

   His socket wasn't being helpful. It seemed, from what he saw, that his tendrils were trying to melt away as they moved errantly to slap onto Killer's back or the ground beyond. Surely that wasn't right? His tendrils had never wavered. He shut his socket again, letting his skull sink into the training armor again.

   It didn't occur to him for a few moments, that he couldn't hear his knights, until he suddenly could.

   The voices were loud and grating, breaking his wobbling darkness once again as he tried to force his socket back open. What was wrong with him?

   "Horror, I said go get Ccino! Now!" Killer. He'd know that voice anywhere, though he didn't like the angry tone. Like fire spitting from his tongue seemingly right above Nightmare's skull. "This isn't some sort of test, I- I don't know what this is. It can't be good."

   Nightmare tried to reach out. Not physically, it felt he still couldn't control his limbs. No, he tried to sense. Did the others know what was wrong with him? Was the rising panic in his chest originating from his own emotions or theirs? Had... had one of them done something?

   No, it wasn't them.

   "Shit." Somewhere behind him, he heard Dust's voice hiss. "His magic levels are dropping. And fast."

   For a second, Nightmare was stunned. What did he mean his magic levels were dropping? Though, it made sense. Somewhere deep in his chest he could feel it, the swaying motion as his magic tried to peel away from his bones. He-

   "What do you-" Killer still sounded frustrated, and he too spat an expletive a moment later.

   Nightmare, for the briefest moment, thought he felt touch again against his skull. He let his blurry socket fall closed again, the vision only worsening as his magic rocked with unseen waves of revulsion.

   "Cross, try to grab his magic," Killer ordered.

   The familiar splattering of the young Night would've been comforting, if the suggestion didn't fill him with dread. Killer knew better than that. They'd agreed Cross could only touch on controlling his magic. Nothing more. It was too vast.

   "W-what! I- I shouldn't-" Cross attempted to stammer a defense, but Killer was quicker with words. Always had been.

   "Just try. Now. Hold it in place and see if it stablizes." The command was a lot more controlled than the previous one, but his tone was leaving no room for error. "When the King and Ccino are unavailable, I'm in charge. Listen to me."

   Nightmare had never heard Killer take charge in such a way before, and in his haze he might've written it off as a product of his imagination. All of this being some sort of weird hallucination. But he felt the invasive force of Cross' magic snake over his bones.

   He'd felt it before, a sort of blanket or hand-hold aimed at the ends if his tendrils which could make them twitch a bit with Cross's own will. This time he felt it creep up the length of his spine and dig unseen claws into his shoulder blades. He could feel it, just like he could now feel Killer's chin and shoulder, where his skull had been tucked. He could feel the hand supporting his back, the other his side. He felt limp as the forceful magic washed over him.

   Nightmare gagged.

   Cross's magic caught on something, like a hook finding the fish, and for a brief few moments, Nightmare felt like he had a ball of gunk in his non-existant gut. Something heavy and feral, trying to escape.

   For just a moment, he regained a breath of awareness. He felt his Knight supporting his weight, he felt the nakedness of his back where his tendrils had completely abandoned him, he felt the emotions of the three still with him. Fear. Confusion. Anger. He didn't like it much. He still couldn't move his limbs.

   And just as quickly as it was stable, the hold on the wild magic slipped away. Like the fish had broken the string.

   It flowed up, like the force of a dam finally released. Through his ribcage, past his shoulders where Cross's magic seemed to dissipate all at once, into his mouth.

   Nightmare regained some semblance of control over his body at that moment. As the magic seemed to rush towards freedom. He shoved away from Killer all at once, the chill of the stone hitting his palms heavily and his socket opening if only to watch as he lost it. That dark, thick, sticky magic that had marked him as a bad omen. That had gifted him the power to rule in place of his twin. Protect those he loved.

    It spilled to the stone before him, and he was stunned to watched that, as he heaved suddenly labored breaths, it sunk away. Disappeared. Just like that, instead of his familiar darkness, the protective shield, the instinctive defense he had grown to know, he was staring at the floor. And the space in which his wobbling arms hid under too-big sleeves, and from the cuffs escaped perfect, pearly-white bone. Bone he could never seem to reach no matter how hard he scrubbed with water and soap. Bones that seemed so frail in the torchlight.

   "My king?"

   Nightmare let his eyelight raise from the ground. It wasn't as wobbly anymore, his vision slowly coming back to normal. He still took his time trailing from the ground, to look at Killer's pants. He was on his knees, hardly an arm's length away. Then the edges of his chestplate. His arms were outstretched, hovering barely away from touching Nightmare. He shook at the closeness, but didn't dare try to move. Killer's soul was wobbling. Nightmare's boww furrowed at the sight. It was very small, but he'd always notice the little changes and moves. Though, he noticed an absence of something at the back of his skull as he stared. Something missing.

   Killer's face was last. He looked serious, his dark sockets not a new sight, but Nightmare hardly saw Killer so serious. He'd seen the look before. Usually when he'd see someone bothering Ccino. It had always been brief, quickly disguised under his patented sadistic grin. Killer just watched him now. As though he was sone glass sculpture ready to tip off the end of the table.

   He hated, as he stared, that he couldn't- he could feel-

   He tried to shift, to whip his head to look for the knight he knew should've been behind him. And he was right, of course. A glimpse of Dust's shadowed skull and tense body-language told Night he was on high-alert, but Nightmare hadn't been able to feel him. Hadn't sensed his presence at all. No emotions, no aura, no nothing.

  

   "Woah, steady!" Killer yelped as Nightmare felt himself tilt.

   Looking up at Dust had disoriented him. The weight distribution was different now. His body listed to the side, and he flinched when arms wrapped around at his sides and tugged his upper half onto soft fabric. Killer's legs. Killer had caught him.

   "My king, Nightmare, it's you, right?" He sounded the same. Something told Nightmare he was uncertain.

   "Y-" His attempt to speak was short-lived. His voice wasn't right. It was high-pitched and raw. All the rumble and low tones entirely missing. He couldn't be sure if he stopped on account of keeping his pride alive, or if he feared speaking in a voice he hadn't heard in years.

   It didn't help that he couldn't feel them. No matter how much he tried, the only feeling in his chest was his own solitary anxiety. Balling up tighter and tighter, an old friend come home again. If he could tell what they were thinking- if he could know if he was safe...

   He bit back his panic, holding in the weakness which was threatening to give him away. Though, what else was there to give? If he was right, then the prophecy had finally rejected him. Left him as an offering to a pack of wolves.

   Nightmare knew he was shaking, but some irrational part of him thought that if he kept his socket shut that this would all be some absurd night terror and he'd wake up cozy in his bed, or exhausted at his desk, or maybe passed out on the floor. Somewhere else. Anywhere else.

  

   "What's wrong?" That voice was deeply familiar, and all at once Nightmare felt like he had a surge of strength. "Why did Horror rush me back here? Where is our King?" It was Ccino. He sounded more frustrated than anything else, but he didn't need to feel his emotions to know the rise to his tone. The worry buried there.

   "We finished training and everything was fine," Killer explained, tone as even as he could muster, "But when we were on our way out, he just collapsed."

   Nightmare pitied him, having to tell Ccino any sort of bad news. Nightmare didn't think as he attempted again to shove himself up. If only to catch a glimpse of Ccino.

   As he peered barely over Killer's shoulder, he saw what the others did. Ccino had some sort if flour or wheat all down the front of his nice apron, and a few streaks along the thighs of hid pants from where he'd probably wiped his hands along the way. His expression was a mix of concern and fury that set Nightmare's soul into a pretzel-twist of regret, and his eyelights scanned the room as he rapidly approached Killer. Obviously looking for answers.

   Only, Ccino arrived to Killer's side, and his growing rage seemed to stop all at once, alongside his steps. He stared down at Nightmare with wide eyes. Nightmare stared up at him wearily. The king's sockets were beginning to water. Ccino's expression, the way his balled fists twitched and relaxed, the way he seemed to lose all the tension I'm his body, just getting a glimpse at him. Ccino recognized his face, no doubt about it.

   "Nightmare?" Ccino's voice was small.

   Nightmare fumbled a bit as he tried to launch away from Killer. Having Ccino so close to him simply... broke whatever had been holding back the emotional damage within. It didn't help in the slightest when Ccino crouched and immediately tugged him away from Killer and into a gentle bear-hug there on the floor.

   For the first time, in a very long time, he found that the welling of tears in his sockets didn't result in dark, tarlike, goop that fell in chunks down his skull. This time the tears were real, a transparent lilac which raced down his cheeks abd planted themselves against the fabric of Ccino's tunic and apron. He wasn't wearing his fur, he was smart like that.

   Ccino's arms wrapped around his back like they always did, and Nightmare felt himself slipping. Ccino was safe. He had always been safe.

   Nightmare didn't have time to begin sobbing as he had expected, or to even begin to hyperventilate into Ccino's shirt or curl into a ball against his chest. The moment Ccino nuzzled the side of his skull, his vision went blurry again.

   At the tightening of Ccino's grip, he heard Dust's voice again. "Magic-loss. A lot of it." Faintly rolled into his mind like a distance voice two doors over. He didn't quite catch when Killer started to speak again, or Ccino worriedly said his name. Dust was right, the magic was gone. Out of nowhere. It was a lot for his little body to handle.

[avantalem]

Aly’s Fic Recommendations:

ATEEZ - OT8/MULTI

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In Love & Lore - shadowynn

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Library of Illusion - thelargefrye

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Dewdrops at Dawn - sunmoonjune

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Bloody Hell - yuyusuyu

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Murphy’s Law - atzfilm

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As the world caves in - atzfilm

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Wonderwall - atzfilm

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As always if you have any recs please let me know! Im always looking for new things to read!

[partially-controlled-chaos]

When We Were Young

Pairing: Halsin x f!Tav (Tavriel) Rating: G (General) Warnings: None, really. Little bit of smoochin' at the end. Just completely self-indulgent fluff for my own sanity. Summary: Deep in the autumn forest, Halsin and Tavriel share a sweet, if not awkward, moment to themselves. Pre-tattoo, pre-scar, love-lorn 90 year old druid initiate Halsin being completely inexperienced with anything romantic. Word Count: 3.7K A/N: A hurricane knocked out my power for a few days last weekend, so without access to my other WIPs or electronics, I hand wrote a complete self-indulgent fic for young Halsin and my original Tav. Once I started typing it out to post, I fluffed it up a little bit so it ended up being a good bit longer than my original drabble, but shorter than what I normally write. I recently revamped the backstory for my original Tav after seeing young Halsin art from @ozumii-fucking-wizard (thank you for blessing this site with your young Halsin art, it's amazing and for absolutely rotting my brain with young Halsin). I've never been a huge fan of "companions knowing Tav before the events of the game", but I played around with this idea and I've ended up loving it for Tavriel. I have stories previously posted for her that are a complete 180 from what I'm going with now, but I'm very please with the new lore I have for her. Might make a lore sheet or mini fic at some point, but I haven't completely decided. I do have a handful of more small ideas for Halsin and Tavriel so I'll probably sprinkle them in between my normal stuff. Also, hi hello @thoughts-of-bear , it's the fic I'd mentioned like a week ago that I finally posted

Read on AO3 here!

Masterlist

The sun hung low in the sky, casting the surrounding forest in a rich orange glow. Leaves of nearby oak trees turned shades of yellow and red, gently falling from their branches with each gust of wind, swirling in the air before softly landing on the ground. Acorns and pinecones littered the forest floor as autumn approached, sprinkled amongst small patches of mushrooms that grew in shaded spots. Bare feet darted against the ground in rapid succession, barely making a sound before lifting and leaping to the next patch of hard dirt or sun-kissed grass. Tavriel moved quickly through the trees, weaving through towering oaks and over fallen logs with an ethereal grace and swiftness as she sprinted away from the darkened thicket she called home and towards an open field.

She left the area practically untouched as she traversed the land of her home, simply stirring freshly fallen leaves with the wisps of air that that flowed from the ends of her linen robes. With each step she took, she could hear the heavy footsteps of those following her grow fainter, leaving the forest in a gradual silence. As a final obstacle, Tavriel crossed a small stream, gracefully leaping from one wet river stone to another, lifting her robes above her ankles to keep them dry. Cold water soaked her toes as she crossed, sending a chill through her legs until she made contact with land once more. 

Tavriel began to slow, her full blown sprint having tapered off to a slow trot before finally coming to a stop in the middle of a field of golden wheat grass. Her lungs burned from the exertion, chest heaving as she took in sucking breaths of the warm, late afternoon air. An earthy scent filled the area, picked up by the wind as it wove its way through the tall grass and to her nose. A pleasant smile graced her lips, tugging the corners of her mouth towards the sky as her eyelids softly closed and her head tilted back to face the sky. Warm wisps of wind blew through the long, fiery orange tresses that adorned her head, drying the light layer of sweat that had formed against her face from her run. Time had slowed as she took in the serenity of the moment, simply basking in the warmth the sun offered. 

The earth hummed beneath her feet, strong and loud enough to feel in her bones. The soft points of the grass licked at the ends of her fingers as her arms came down beside her, the gentle wind blowing causing the blades to tickle her fingertips. Songs of birds that thrived in the evenings began to sound off in the distance, signaling the end of another day. If she focused hard enough, Tavriel could swear she could hear the hushed voice of the forest calling to her, beckoning her back into the safety the trees and bushes offered. 

A large branch cracked in the distance and her eyes snapped open at the sound, breath hitching in her throat as she focused her hearing. Tavriel felt the muscles of her legs tighten and coil, ready to snap and spring her forward in a quick escape if needed. She silently cursed herself for becoming distracted; a dangerous game to play for someone who was undoubtedly being hunted. Instinct made her want to flee in an instant; to simply dart away and never be seen again. Tavriel wanted hide somewhere deep within the forest, curling in on herself and tucking her limbs close by and hide amongst the brush and foliage until the brightness of her hair was darkened from shadow and her scent was covered by moisture covered foliage. However, pure curiosity made her stay, waiting to see just what was coming from the forest.

Moments later, Halsin stepped from the tree line, taking a brief pause by the streams edge to regain his breath, hunching over slightly to rest his hands atop his knees. He was young and fit, having just celebrated his ninetieth birthday, but after such an extended amount of time swatting away tree limbs and stumbling over bushes, even he needed a break. His bright green eyes were locked on to Tavriel from across the river, who returned his gaze with a twinkle in her eyes and a smirk across her lips. He returned her smile, a cocky look on his face as he used the back of his hand to wipe beads of sweat from his upper lip.

It had been years, decades even, since they had played this game with each other. Running from one another to see who could be caught first before reversing roles, playing for hours at a time until they were both collapsed on the ground next to one another, too exhausted to move. They’d first started playing together as young children, having met by chance on a warm summers day. Being the secluded elf that she was, Tavriel was skittish and wary of strangers, even now, and each time he’d come across her in the woods, she’d dart off before he could make friends. It had taken a great deal of patience on Halsin’s part, and a few fresh honeyed buns he’d snatched white his mother’s back was turned, to finally persuade her to stay for a spell. Once they’d gotten comfortable with each other, Halsin and Tavriel had quickly become the best of friends. They would spend each day together, filling their days with laughter and fun from sunrise to sunset, always eager to see each other again the next morning. 

As they grew older, their usual playtime gradually decreased and instead they spent their spare time simply in each others company as friends and learning the ways of the natural world together. Halsin’s druidic studies often took him away from Tavriel’s realm of wood, which was the thickest and deepest portion of the local forest, and instead placing him with elder druids with a book in his hands. While he enjoyed learning from the other druids and discovering their wonders of nature, he preferred to experience them firsthand with his friend at his side.

Tavriel spent her days roaming the forests she called home, ensuring her safety and solitude all while strengthening her own skills. She was graced with a magical prowess that she had yet to fully understand. She had never been formally taught magic, but learned what she knew mostly from aged tomes that had supposedly been left behind from her unknown mother and pure curiosity. She knew how to heal small wounds and speak with animals like many magic casters, but could also control aspects of nature. With a snap of her fingers she could summon a flame or with a wave of her hand she could call forth a gust of wind. The flow of water could change to her will and, depending on her mood and the season, small flowers would bloom in the wake of her foot prints. She didn’t fully understand the magic she had been born with, but each time she discovered something new was exhilarating. Her talents were not without its dangers. Many of her powers stemmed from her emotions, which opened the door for wither and decay if she was frightened or angry. 

Tavriel was incredibly skilled with a bow, having learned the craft from her father before his passing, and used much of her spare time to fine tune her abilities. Overall she was a pacifist, so she spent most of her target practice on high hanging fruits and billowing leaves, but would occasionally hunt when she required sustenance other than what she could forage. Although she loved her solitude, she admittedly was fond of spending her time with Halsin and frequently missed him when he didn’t come striding into her realm of the woods each morning.

“It’s barely been a week since you’ve been in these woods and you’re already tired?” Tavriel teased from across the river, “The bear must be preparing for hibernation.”

“And the fox should know better than to taunt a bear on the hunt.” Halsin shouted back, straightening has back as he spoke.

Without another word, Halsin lunged forward, quickly crossing the river before sprinting as fast as he could towards the elf. Tavriel took off once again, her feet carrying her just as quickly as before, but not quite fast enough to outrun the young man on her heels. Tavriel held the advantage when deep in a thicket, her stature and almost other worldly sense of nature gave her an advantage over the aspiring young druid. She could tuck herself into the smallest of spaces and weave her way through dense foliage like a gentle breeze, letting her slip away and remain undetected if the needed was ever present. 

Halsin, on the other hand, was certainly at a disadvantage. He was a broad young man, much taller and broader than any of the other elves in his clan, making it much more difficult for him to maneuver his way through a forest when compared to Tavriel. He frequently became snagged on low hanging branches or thorny vines, forcing him to take the time to remove himself from natures sudden embrace before continuing. However, he held the advantage when it came to open land. His long legs allowing him to close long distances easily with little exertion. 

It didn’t take long for him to catch up, closing the distance between them in mere moments, and if he were to reach out, he could almost touch the flowing ends of her hair. Sensing the larger man on her heels, she gathered her strength and pushed on, creating a very small gap between herself and Halsin, although it wouldn’t be enough to insure her freedom. Tavriel made a split second decision to change her path and cut to the side, hoping the tactic would allow her to slip right past druid and back into the tree line not too far away. Unfortunately for Tavriel, it was a trick she’d used many times before to evade Halsin’s grasp and it was one he was anticipating. With her change in direction, she inadvertently stepped closer to the druid, allowing him to simply reach out and grab her.

Halsin’s hands suddenly gripped her sides, squeezing firmly enough to lift her partially into the air mid stride without dropping her, but not enough to bruise her delicate skin. A quick yelp of surprise slipped from Tavriel’s lips before erupting in a flurry of giggles. In an attempt to slow down, Halsin spun slightly, bringing Tavriel with him, but lost his footing in the process. He tumbled backwards, his back hitting the ground as a grunt left his chest. He still held the elf in his hands, who’s back had landed on his chest and she was suddenly staring up at an orange sky.

They paused momentarily where they lay, catching their breath and getting familiar with their sudden change of view. Tavriel saw this as an opportunity to escape by prying Halsin’s grasp from her waist and rolling her body off him and onto the dirt below. She found her footing beneath her as her hands dug into the dirt, ready to launch herself forward. Before she was able to start another mad sprint towards the tree line, she felt a set of large hands grab at her waist once more, pulling her back to the ground. With a triumphant smile and quick movements, Halsin pinned Tavriel into the dirt by her hips after pushing her onto her back. He rested the weight of his large frame atop her much smaller one, effectively trapping her for good.

“That’s cheating.” Tavriel managed to say between fits of laughter, smacking Halsin’s bicep with a playful hit.

“Had you not stopped,” Halsin panted as he came down to rest on his forearms, caging the young woman beneath him, “you might have slipped away, dearest fox.”

“Can you blame me?” She asked breathlessly, “It’s only natural to stop and take in something so beautiful.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Halsin said softly, bringing his fingers over to tuck a wayward piece of orange hair behind her ear. He brushed her freckled cheek with the back of his fingers, marveling at just how soft her skin was, considering she lived in nature and forewent any sense of shelter from a structure not built from a canopy of leaves. 

Tavriel had been one of his closest friends for years, eventually becoming a confidant and someone he felt safe with, but nothing had ever progressed from the companionship. Their relationship had never been anything more than platonic, but Halsin’s feelings had begun to shift as of late. He found himself stealing more glances than normal, a new and exciting flutter rippling across his chest each time he could look more than a few seconds and he could properly take in her features. Tavriel’s copper colored hair was as bright as the autumn sun and was often braided to keep her face clear of her locks while the rest cascaded down her back, resting neatly between her shoulder blades. Her eyes were as deep and green as the forest she called home, flecked with bits of gold that almost glowed if the sun caught her at the right angle. Her sun-kissed skin was littered with freckles from head to toe, the darkest ones sitting atop her shoulders and across the bridge of her nose.

Her scent had become intoxicating lately, making the would-be druid’s head spin if he stood too close. She smelled of the forest, as earthy and hardy as the deepest part of the woodlands where she dwelled. But there was also a hint of something he couldn’t quite describe, yet equally enchanting. She smelled of an otherworldly celestial magic, something ancient and almost forgotten that clung to her skin like moss on a damp rock. He’d never met another mortal soul capable of that kind of magic; the only other instance that came to mind was the power the land spirit Thaniel possessed. Growing up, Halsin had been told stories of a race of deep wood elves that lived in the thickest parts of the land, preferring a life of seclusion and isolation all while worshipping the goddess of the forest, Mielikki, instead of Silvanus. He had also heard how the last remaining deep forest elves had died off long ago, leaving the forest silent and forgotten, yet Halsin couldn’t help but wonder if Tavriel was one of the last remaining of that clan. She lived alone in a hidden spot deep in the brush, the location itself was a mystery even to him, and she’d had no family or clan to call her own for decades now.

His thumb slowly traced along her bottom lip, which was supple and rose tinted, as his forefinger slipped under her chin, slowly tilting her head to the side. Despite his age, Halsin had never kissed, aside from the kiss to the cheek he would get from his mother each morning, and the urge to feel Tavriel’s lips against his own was becoming overwhelming. His stomach twisted into knots as he considered leaning forward to close the gap between them, unsure of how his dearest friend would react. Despite their bond, Tavriel was prone to secrecy and mystery. Halsin often had times deciphering her feelings if she didn’t outright say what was on her mind, which made her difficult to read. He could feel her heart beating in her chest, the vibrations echoing against his own frame. His own heart fluttered as her tongue poked out lightly and wet her tinted lips, her eyes half-lidded in an unspoken expectation of what was to come.

Being the impatient and overeager young man that he was, Halsin dipped his head down, hoping to take Tavriel’s lips with his own in one sweeping, fairytale romantic gesture. It was something he’d played over and over in his mind for days now. Then when and where were something he couldn’t pin, but the how was certainly within his realm of control. He could see it in his mind’s eye, his lips pressing against her in a brief, yet meaningful kiss. Nothing too forward or abrupt, just the beginning notes of a young love. She then, of course, would kiss him back after he pulled away from her, pulling him down to her by the collar of his druid initiate outfit and wrap her arms around his neck. In turn, he would tangle his fingers in her soft hair, smiling against her lips as they lay together in their golden field of wheat, sharing quick, loving kisses until nightfall.

Instead, in his excitement, he rushed forward too quickly, bashing his front teeth against Tavriel’s before their lips could properly connect, filling the space with an audible clack. Halsin felt his chest seize with fear as Tavriel made an audible gasp and could taste a sudden rush of something warm, wet, and metallic against his lips. Her upper lip had gotten caught between their teeth, the delicate skin tearing and bleeding at the sudden force. She could taste the blood on her tongue, instinctively running the appendage over the wound, which was rather small.

Without hesitation, Halsin lifted himself from atop her frame, sitting back on his knees before gently taking the elf by the shoulders and helping her sit up. Before she could speak, Halsin’s hands were on her cheeks, tilting her head towards the remaining light of the fading sun as his thumbs came to her lips, pulling the skin taught so he could inspect the wound. The cut itself was difficult to see, given the smeared blood and saliva that now lingered on her skin. 

“Please, Tavriel,” Halsin said frantically, “f-forgive me I didn’t— I-I was over eager.” Halsin’s mind raced as he tried to remember the incantation for a healing spell, suddenly regretting skipping a few of his medicinal lessons. 

Tavriel brought her fingertips to her bleeding lip, wiping away the blood that had already stopped dripping. Her lip was a little tender, but nothing a short test couldn't fix. She couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the moment. Greater things were happening in the world, yet all that seemed to matter was landing a perfect first kiss. She wiped the remaining blood from her mouth with her sleeve, fully prepared to brush lips with him again. 

“Halsin,” she said softly, “it’s all right.” Halsin simply shook his head, refusing to believe his friend wasn’t angry with him, especially when he was furious with himself. Of all the times to blunder and show his inexperience, of course it had to be this moment. Although, he wasn’t the only one who was inexperienced. Given her life of solitude and a significant lack of other to socialize with, Tavriel had never experienced any sort of intimacy. When she first found herself conflicted with flutters of the stomach and heat in her cheeks, she first assumed she was ill or coming down with a sickness. It wasn’t until she connected these feelings to being in Halsin’s presence did she realize that it was no illness she was afflicted with, but the beginning stages of a young love.

Despite Tavriel’s protests, the young druid was practically beside himself with shame, still babbling away with apologizes and promises of making things right. With a slight roll of her eyes and a light chuckle, Tavriel took Halsin’s cheeks in her hands, pulling his gaze towards her long enough to keep him still. She pressed her lips to his gently, silencing his stammering and uncertainty with one fluid movement. Her eyes closed as she lingered, her body practically melting into Halsin’s chest, waiting for his embrace. She drug her hands down from the sides of his face and nestled them against the center of his chest, fingers latching into the leather bands of his outfit. 

Relief washed over Halsin as Tavriel’s soft, if not slightly swollen, lips caressed his own. He was convinced that she would run off at his blunder; just disappear into the forest and refuse to see him, perhaps forever. Of course, it was his own youthful embarrassment causing these thoughts, especially when considering that he wasn’t fully sure that Tavriel felt the same way. One of his hands caressed her cheek while the other found purchase along the braids resting behind her head, pulling her close to him as he deepened the kiss. 

When they finally pulled their lips from each other, they met the others gaze with a soft smile and a flush to their cheeks. Halsin bumped the tip of his nose against Tavriel’s, who returned the favor. She let out a light and airy giggle as she felt him nuzzle into her cheek moments later, pressing another light kiss to the light blush that had formed there. Their foreheads touched in a warm embrace, simply staying like that together until the sun was well below the horizon and the stars had begun to shine.  

Once they parted, Halsin leaned forward to take her lips with his again, only to find that she had pulled away. He tilted his head to the side just slightly, his brows having knitted together as she came to her feet once again. His hands lingered on her body for as long as possible, savoring the warmth she brought until she had completely stepped away from his grasp. Initially, he thought he had perhaps done something wrong; been too forward of lingered too long.

“If you want another, dear bear,” she said softly, “you’ll have to go on the hunt again.” Her usual playful smirk returned to her lightly bruised lips. Halsin’s eyes flashed a light shimmer of gold as he watched her take off once again, bouncing into the forest at a pace that was anything but a hurry. Tavriel turned to face Halsin once her hand ran across the rough bark of an oak, her heart fluttering as she disappeared into the moon lit depths of the forest, Halsin having already made it more than halfway to her. 

[olderthannetfic]

I think another reason why people bemoan the relative lack of engagement compared to the Good Old Days Of Fandom - however they define them - is that you just get more attention when the show or whatever is still relatively new. Even more so if you yourself are new to the fan community, and said community centers on something niche. In my experience, if you find yourself as a new arrival in small-ship hell with 12 other people, these twelve other people WILL play "Yes, and" with even your dumbest blorbo/shitto headcanons. They'll leave kudos AND comments on all your drabbles (and you theirs). Your follower count will go up by 12. And that sets a bar in people's heads. But once a fandom gets a bit older, things settle down. Some of the old crowd will have moved on or be just casually into it, so new arrivals don't get as big a welcome as they used to. There's more fic to read at that point, so less incentive/gratefulness due to fic-hunger to leave comments on everything. People who struck up friendships in The Old Days will largely stick to each other bc they are either out of the hyperfixation or had already had the discussions that the newbies now have amongst each other five years ago. I think lack of engagement "nowadays" is really mostly a matter of timing, and not so much of lazyness or entitlement or whatecer "kids these days" get accused of.

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A lot of it is just human memory being fallible. Another major factor is people discovering fandom in the first place through something big and active, then taking their interest in fic and such to the next pieces of media they happen to like—which may or may not be ones with fanworks fandoms.