#and the sound of the ac and the ceiling lights count

[lunammoon]

what's exhausting is being pissed all of the time and it's "not constantly monitoring yourself" to stop and think "hey, has my brother's voice suddenly got grating to hear to the point where every word out of his mouth is like sandpaper on my brain, or am I tired/hungry/thirsty/overstimulated" and if, after a bit of thought, you realize it's the later, you can address it.

one of the most challenging skills i've had to learn as an adult is the art of figuring out whether i'm proportionally annoyed with someone or just tired and overstimulated and looking for reasons to be pissed off

[dreamescapeswriting]

Lights Out ~ JJk

⤜WORD COUNT:2.7K

⤜PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Girl!Best friend

⤜GENRE: smut. Pure filth MINORS DNI, includes tit sucking, tit kink, threesome, oral (both giving and receiving) tit play, ice play (on nipples) hope this is okay for you my love, unprotected sex

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - July 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

This content is a work of fiction and is meant for entertainment only!!! All content is made for 18+ only. No one was harmed in the making of this fictional piece, all parties were consenting and above the age of 18.

The sun blazed mercilessly over Seoul, casting an oppressive heat that seemed to suffocate every inch of air that was available. Even with the AC running it still didn't feel like enough for you to breathe properly. Jungkook lay sprawled on his bed, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he tried to force his body to relax, he'd decided to do a small workout and was now regretting the decision to even move from his bed that morning. The ceiling fan whirred feebly above him, doing little to alleviate the stifling heat that had invaded every corner of his bedroom. He sighed, lazily reaching for the glass of water on his nightstand, only to find it empty.

In the living room, the sound of laughter and animated conversation drifted in. You were sitting with your best friend Jihyo, lounging on the couch, their voices a comforting hum in the background. Despite the heat, the two of you were in high spirits, trying to make the best of an unbearably hot day. The windows were thrown wide open in a desperate attempt to catch any semblance of a breeze, but the air was stagnant, heavy with humidity making it damn near impossible for any fresh air to fly through.

"You have told him I don't bite right?" Jiyho laughs as she looks at you. Jungkook had decided to give the two of you some space while you had her around to the apartment that day despite you telling him he was more than welcome to join you both.

"He says I need 'girl time' with you," You giggled, shaking your head as you remembered Jungkook's face when you told him he could join you. He wanted to but he also wanted you to have a nice morning with your friend while he stayed out of the way.

"He's one of us now," She giggles a little but the lights flickered ominously before plunging the apartment into darkness. A collective groan echoed through the space as the sudden silence signalled the loss of the fan’s gentle hum and the whir of the refrigerator. Soon the AC shut itself down and that one bit of coldness you'd experienced was ripped away from you leaving you in a hot mess.

"No, no, no!" Jihyo exclaimed, her voice rising in dismay, she stared around at the lights waiting for them to come back on but nothing did. 

"The power's out!" You glanced around, your eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains, you knew that it was likely coming since the AC had been struggling all week to deal with the overwhelming amount of work it was going through all week thanks to everyone using it. 

"Great, just what we needed," you muttered, but your tone was more resigned than upset. Jihyo began to fan her shirt away from her body, whimpering a little as it stuck to her body thanks to the sweat that was now leaking from her body.

"Mind if I take it off?" She asked you, your eyes landing on her as you shook your head at her. It wouldn't be the first time the two of you had stripped off in front of each other. Hell, the two of you had seen each other naked more times than either of you could even count.

"Not at all." You giggled unbuttoning your own shirt and revealing the black bra you'd been sporting since that morning, throwing your shirt onto the armchair on the other side of the room as Jihyo did the same revealing her bright purple bra. 

"Damn, did they get bigger?" She gasps at you, running her fingers over your bra and making your back shiver a little as you let out a small whine, your cheeks heating up at the sudden attention from her. 

"I think so," You laughed a little as she smirked at you, slowly taking off the rest of her clothes, you joining her, until the two of you were sat in nothing but your underwear and yet it still felt too hot for even that.

The two of you sat there together practically naked as you let out a small whine, it was doing nothing to cool you down and you were starting to get a little bored.

"Jungkook, are you okay in there?" You called out, your voice carrying a note of concern as you realised he hadn't even come out to talk to you about the power going.

"Yeah, just trying not to melt," Jungkook replied, forcing a chuckle. He ran a hand through his damp hair and decided it was time to join the two of you out there. It had to be a little cooler out there than it was in the bedroom at least. Maybe your energy would be contagious, and he could forget about the sweltering heat for a while. But as he stepped out of his room, his gaze landed on the two of you as the breath was knocked from his lungs.

He hadn't expected to come out to see the two of you standing there in next to no clothing and he bit down on his tongue. Doing his best not to make it weird, he sat down on the armchair and looked over at you.

"Well, looks like we're all in this together," he said with a wry smile, you could read him like a book and you knew exactly what seeing the two of you like this together was doing to him. 

"Any ideas on how to survive this heatwave without power?" His voice cracked a little and he moved one of the pillows to his lap, his erection only growing harder as you bent over and reached for your cup of water, squeezing your tits together more and driving him up the wall.

Jihyo grinned despite the situation, your boyfriend's growing hard-on hadn't gone unnoticed between the two of you and she squeezed your hand teasingly. 

"We could tell ghost stories to distract ourselves from the heat. Or, better yet, find some ice and have a cold drink contest." She suggested but it only made your mind wander as she bought up "ice" and you couldn't stop the smirk from growing.

"I can think of a better idea for the ice if you're okay with it?" You suggested, your eyes finding hers as you had a silent conversation with one another.

"Back when we were in Uni we did it," She smirked already knowing where your mind was going with it.

"Baby, can you go and get me some ice?" You turned your focus on Jungkook who nodded, carefully getting up and heading to the freezer as you giggled with Jihyo slowly reaching up her back. 

"You're okay with this?" You asked, your voice coming out low as she let out of soft whine and nodded her head,

"Fuck yes," She whispered as you unclasped her bra, leaving her tits completely exposed as you slowly licked your lip, your best friend was hot there was no denying that and you were attracted to her. Not that you'd ever do anything now that you were with Jungkook but the two of you had done plenty together in the past.

"Your turn," She giggles, leaning down and kissing the top of your breast before exposing you to the world, throwing your bra in the direction of the kitchen having it land in front of Jungkook who was standing there. His face was now the colour of a tomato as he stared at you both, your huge tits just sitting there as he let out a low groan.

"It was too hot," You gasp out, exaggerating a little as you pull Jungkook to sit on the sofa beside you, you slowly take an ice cube from the tray he was holding and place it in your mouth. 

"Yn." He whimpered a little, watching intently as you leant down toward Jihyo's breasts and began to trail the ice cube from the nape of her neck right down to her nipples, sending them hard within seconds as she let out a strangled gasp at the cold sensation running through her.

"Fuck that's good," She moans out, rolling her head back against the sofa and arching her back toward you a little. You glanced over at Jungkook to make sure this was okay but he was already rubbing his cock through his shorts making you smirk at him. 

"We could pass some time," You whisper as you take the ice cube from your lips, slowly trailing it over Jihyo's other nipple as she let out a string of curse words. 

"D-Doing what?" Jungkook's voice cracked a little, his eyes never straying from Jihyo's breasts but you didn't mind as you giggled a little. 

"You know what," You whined leaning down to her tit, taking her nipple into your mouth and sucking softly as you used your other hand to play with the other. Moans filled the room as Jihyo cried your name out and ran her hands down your back, pulling you closer to her body. 

"Jungkook," She whimpered as she watched him rubbing his cock through his shorts,

"Join us," She whispered, as you smirked around her nipple, biting down softly as she let out a loud scream of your name and whimpered a little at you. 

"Evil, bitch." She hissed out as you left her without your mouth, turning your attention to your boyfriend who looked like he was trying to sus out if this was real or not.

"Baby...Do you want to join us?" Your fingers slowly trailed up his thigh until your hand was over his hard cock, rubbing softly as he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut.

"N-Not a dream, not a dream." He moaned out in ecstasy as you giggled at his innocence.

"No baby, not a dream." You confirmed, slowly undoing the tie of his shorts and freeing him from them.

"Jesus, now I know why you struggle to walk for a while," Jihyo whined as she saw the length of Jungkook's cock on full display, precum already leaking down his shaft as you giggled. 

"Fuck that's hot," You moaned out as you gently run your index finger along the underneath of his dick, watching in amusement as he twitched as you got to the tip of his dick.

"Does seeing us together get you hard baby?" You whispered, your free hand starting to rub Jihyo's tit as she ran her fingers down your nipples, squeezing them softly. Jungkook's cock twitched and he nodded frantically at you both.

"I know what will get him harder," Jihyo whispers as she leans down and takes your left breast into her mouth, sucking and swirling her tongue around your nipple as you let out a moan of her name. 

Jungkook soon leaned down on your right nipple and did the same, his eyes locked onto Jihyo's as he paid attention to her movements on what she was doing.

"S-Shit," You stuttered out as you looked down at them both, your moans getting louder as they continued to suck and tug on your nipples.

"Shit baby didn't know you liked it this much," Jungkook chuckled as he kissed your breast,

"Fuck it's so good." You pant, looking at him as he took your breast back into his mouth and sucked harsher this time.

Jungkook had always been a tit man which was why he rarely came out of his room whenever you and Jihyo were around together. How could he? The two of you had huge breasts and he didn't want you to get upset if he stared too long. 

"I-I want you to fuck me." You whimper a little, looking at Jungkook who was licking his lips. Jihyo smirked at you, sucking harshly on your nipple as she felt herself getting wetter at the thought of it. 

"Are you sure?" Jungkook whispered, looking at you with lust in his eyes. It was almost every guy's dream to get into a situation like this and as much as he wanted to dive in head first, he wanted to make sure this was something you were comfortable with.

"Never been so sure in my life," You moan out, rubbing his cock softly in your hands as he let out a strangled moan of your name.

"You better be a good little whore and get on your hands and knees then," He smirked, his dominating side coming out through his words as you squeezed your thighs together.

"Where do you want me baby?" Jihyo whispered to you as you watched her kneeling in front of you,

"L-Lay below me, let me eat you out while he fucks me," You smirk as she kissed down your neck, her hands squeezing and rubbing your tits as Jungkook positioned himself behind you.

"Don't need these anymore," He grunts, practically ripping the fabric from your hips and throwing it down to the ground making you whine at him.

"Those were new," You pouted as Jihyo giggled, sucking on your neck softly.

"He can buy you more later, baby." She coos, your lips meeting hers in a messy make-out session, only making Jungkook's cock harder as he watched the two of you.

"Don't blow your load yet, Jungkook. She wants to feel you," Jihyo tuts, smirking as she lays down below you and sucks on your clit making your knees buckle a little.

"F-Fuck Jihyo," You whine out as she continues to suck on your clit, 

"Her tight cunt knows who it belongs to." Jungkook growls, the tip of his dick at the entrance of your pussy making you roll your hips back for more from him.

"Ask nicely," Jihyo and Jungkook said in unison making your head roll back in ecstasy. 

"Please, I need it." You whined out, not having it in you to be teased tonight. Without a second thought, Jungkook slowly pushed into you until he was buried deep inside of you, your back arching deeply as you felt him at the deepest parts of you.

"Shit," You cry out, pulling Jihyo's legs open and ripping her underwear off her body the same way Jungkook had done to you.

"Someone's needy," She giggles as you pull her toward you, pushing your tongue deep into her cunt and making her moan out loudly. In return her lips found your clit once again and she started sucking in time of Jungkook's rough thrusts. 

The three of you moved in perfect time with one another, every time Jungkook sped up you did too. Thrusting two fingers into Jihyo as she cried out your name, her fingers gripping your hips as she sucked on your clit.

"J-Jungkook." You panted, clenching around him as he continued to fuck into you roughly. The sight of you eating out your best friend sent him wild as his thrusts began to get erratic. 

"You gonna cum baby? You wanna cum all over my cock?" He moans out loudly, holding your hips in place as he ploughed into you from behind. The combined thrusts from him and sucking from Jihyo sent your head into a frenzy and you could barely form the words to agree with him.

"D-Don't stop! F-Fuck, I'm right there." You begged, as your orgasm began to build. Jihyo's back arched as you moaned against her clit, cumming around your fingers and over your face. The action sent Jungkook reeling as he frantically sped up inside of you,

"F-Fuck, Yn! Shit, Jihyo." He cries out as you cum around his cock, whimpering loudly as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm until he came deep inside of you, holding himself perfectly still as you looked up at him from below. 

"T-That was so good," You whine out, Jungkook opened his mouth to speak but the sound of the AC turning back on and the lights flickering back on stopped him as you all let out soft giggles.

"I guess it really did pass some time," Jihyo laughs as she slides out from under you and watches as you slide away from Jungkook letting out a small whimper at the loss of contact,

"Who wants ice cream?" Jihyo grins, rushing to your freezer as you giggled, leaning your head on Jungkook whose cheeks were flaming red.

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @tinyoonsblog @whitefoxgirl @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @wolfgurl2600 @choisoorin @heyjiminnie @btsiguess-kpop @alicejustwakeup @halesandy @gothic4under4lord @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lenfilms @elizaschuyler18 @whitefoxgirl

[itstheghostofmypast]

Kiss, Kiss, Fall In Love

Non-Idol Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: Just a babygurl trying to show her bigboy her love.

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7

Est.Read Time: 8 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: Idk...I just had to, okay. I don't even know what this is. This song didn't even inspire the fic- but THANKS TO @edenesth I HAVE UNLOCKED A CORE MEMORY AND WHILE WRITING THIS NONSENSE I WAS LIKE- WAIT, THIS MATCHES THE VIBE

“What did we learn?” She asked, turning off the extra lights, leaving the little lamp on, turning to admire the way it complimented the bronze skin of his broad shirtless back, the faint droplets of sweat trailing down the curve of his spine- man, her man was a treat.

“That you're a bad spotter?” He groaned, tossing the shirt aside before kicking off his sweatpants and flopping down on the bed with a strange sound- well he was in pain so that's what we'll call it. Blinking at the ceiling he tried to imagine he wasn't in pain, but truth be told he had done this to himself, she did tell him it was too much weight and she did tell him not to remove his shirt since he was all sweaty and he'd get cramps. His girl would always be right, especially when it came to his well-being, he should give her a bit more credit for that-

“Next time, don’t act like a man-child and just listen to me.”

His eyes snapped open at the statement, turning his head to glare at her-

His girl was rude and annoying

And like hell he'd ever admit any of those nice things about her to her now.

“Now turn over,” she mumbled, tossing her bag on the other side of the bed, after taking something out of it, “The oil will help relieve the tension.” Showing him the oil she gestured for him to get on his belly so she could help him out.

His girl really was an angel.

With a quick pouty smile, he mumbled a thank you and turned to his side all excited and giddy, laying on his belly, arms extended, almost resembling a star. His form occupied most of the bed as he lay in the middle, the sheets crumpled up under him.

“Man, look at that cake.” She hummed, earning a giggle from him as she sat on his lower back, making sure to not put a lot of body weight or pressure, “Is there a reason why we discarded the pants, hmm?”

“Technically, I had to go shower….”

“Technically you were on your bed all sweaty,” Mumbling back she poured a generous amount of oil in her palm before flicking the cap close and tossing it aside, “And last I checked, you don't do that.”

“Gotta change the sheets anyway,” a sigh escaped him when he felt her hands on him, feeling her palms press onto his shoulders, applying the right amount of pressure before trailing down his back, “God…I love you.”

“You better, people pay money for this, you know?” With a joke she sighed, feeling his tense muscles under her fingertips, gently trying to massage out the knots the idiot had graciously created as soon as he realised taking his shirt off in an air-conditioned gym was smart, “I complained to the management about the AC but they said it was at a moderate temperature…I think we were sitting under a duct…” 

“Mhmm…” with a small hum he closed his eyes, a quick nap before he hit the shower wouldn't be a bad thing. So, the last thing he thought of before falling asleep was how he'd have to change the sheets after this, followed by a whispered, “Thank you.”

A small smile graced her lips as she felt him go lax under his touch, relishing the way he felt so safe and loved by her. Her heart fluttered at his little thank you, even though he didn't need to thank her. Especially when she was glad he was in pain right now, don't get her wrong, she hated how he was hurting, but she hated those hoes at the gym even more. From the moment he had taken off his shirt to check on his progress, their eyes were glued to him, hell, they didn't even look away when he had turned to look at her, flexing his arms at her, earning a giggle from her- HE WAS CLEARLY TAKEN.

That's exactly why she had asked him to put his shirt back on, people had no shame these days. The irony lay in the fact that her handsome man was dumb as hell, he had no idea that a group of girls, who usually never came this late to the gym, had been eying him like a bunch of rabid dogs. Initially she thought he had figured out, she had assumed he was either enjoying it or using it to make her jealous, which made her blood boil, and perhaps increased her strength momentarily, for the way he had called her out with a breathy “Babe…” had her glance down at him, shocked to see him admiring her, staring up at her in awe as he continued, “That’s some weight you're lifting…I think you're better than Jongho at this point.”

She had smiled at his compliment, a sense of relief coursing through her veins at the realisation that he had eyes only for her, but that didn't last long, as soon as she heard them giggle, she had gotten distracted and let go of the weight, leaving him struggling to lift it up, trying to ignore the burning in his spasming muscles. Yeah…that’s probably what caused the issue of the day. 

With a sigh she leaned back, admiring his sleeping form, shaking her head at the snoring man, clueless to what he'd do to her, how he'd make her burn green with jealousy. Usually when they'd go the gym would be empty, or rather the moment they'd enter the gym those girls would be leaving, at least that's how it was for almost a month. Moreover, Mingi and Jongho would accompany them, but since both of them had work tonight they couldn't come, but why is it that those little hyenas somehow changed their routine? Hmmm?

She placed her hands flat on the small of his back and thought about it, irritated by how she couldn't get them out of her head, irritated by how her idiot of a man was clueless to all this, irritated by the fact that they clearly knew he was in a relationship and if wearing booty shorts or sports bras was a way to get him to look at them- then she really had a problem with them.

She needed to tell them he was her’s, with that thought she pulled on the strap of her purse, pulling it closer and taking something out as she smiled at the sleeping man before eying his shoulder blades, “Good enough.”

.

“Sannie~ wake up…go shower…the water’s warm,” shaking him awake she gently patted his arm, moving so he could sit up properly. She smiled at her sleepy, clueless boy who pouted at her with droopy eyes, “Go, I'll change the sheets…gonna stay over tonight.” With a quick soft kiss, she pulled him up and patted his arm, “Hurry up, you gotta drop me home before going to work tomorrow.” With that she watched him stumble out of the room, mumbling some nonsense about ‘never letting her go’ followed by an ‘I think I need to retire’, though all she could focus on was the pretty art piece on his back, between his shoulder blades, till the middle of his spine, oh she did some good work.

With a sigh he walked out of the shower, a towel hanging low on his hips as he hummed a tune, closing the door behind him as he walked down the hall, only to stop at his bedroom door, slightly opening the door to peek into the cold dark room, the small night light illuminating the bundled up figure on his side of the bed, as a smile graced his features, his little princess worked so hard, she’d go to work, help him at the gym, take care of him- she deserved the world. Right now, however, he had to tend to his growling stomach, demanding his attention. The gentle ‘ding’ of the washing machine caught his ear, as he opened the fridge, oh so she washed the sheets too, huh?

“What’s that?” He turned to look at his flatmate, who was placing his bag on the small table, “On your back dude.”

“What is it?” San asked, walking over to the counter as he placed the almond milk carton on the counter, reaching for the cupboard to take out a glass, “Is it a scratch? I took my shirt off today at the gym, maybe- oh shit, it’s not a rash is it?” panicking he craned his neck back, assuming that he’d magically be able to see his back.

“Ohh…no, no, I think it’s a case of jealousy.” Mingi mused, taking out his phone and striding over to the man in the towel, “Though I’m impressed at the craftsmanship, that’s some detailing.” With that he pushed San to face the counter, telling him to hold still before an audible snap was heard.

San felt his eyes bulge out at the sight, a giant heart made out of little kisses- did she use some kind of permanent tint? How did this not wash off?

“Man, didn’t know girls could be this territorial.” Mingi snorted before opening the fridge, “How did you not know what she was doing?” Taking out last night’s leftovers he sat down on the opposite chair, staring at the man who had been staring at the picture, a pink hue tinting his cheek, almost as dark as the red kiss marks on his back.

“I was asleep…” he whispered, before looking up at Mingi with an unfamiliar fire in his eyes, “I’m never gonna wear a shirt again.”

Mingi only shook his head in disbelief, munching on his pizza slice as he looked at the man who was now sending himself the picture, before he joked, “Just, make sure to wear one for work tomorrow, Sannie.” He glanced at the man who tossed the phone back to him and shook his head, too delusional and high on endorphins right now to care as he giggled, “You’re just jealous you don’t get a girl who loves you,” turning around he showed him his back, pointing at his back with his  thumbs, “this much.”

With that he ran back to his room, ready to wake up his lover, ready to beg her to use the lip tint to decorate his lips, his face, wherever she wanted- only this time, he’d be awake enough to feel her love.

Taglist: @edenesth @skteezcursed @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp @spooo00oky @bunnyluvr25 @s-h-y-a @ateezswonderland

[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (9/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

Your sense of smell is getting duller. At least, that’s what you think as you awaken to the sound of snoring in your ear and Suguru’s breathing on your shoulder. You can’t seem to catch the whiffs of the spiciness that once permeated the Geto home, or how your Mama used to smell like soft, warm honey as well anymore.

It’s frustrating— Now that everybody sometimes smells like their detergent; or like nothing. You can’t really associate anybody with any foods anymore.

It’s sad.

But your eyesight is still there, you suppose. So you can turn your head to the side to catch how rays of sunlight were flittering in through those fancy white curtains Suguru has.

There were no more bright oranges in the sky, no more swirly light pinks and fluffy yellows that had their rays hitting your eyes and making you squint at the light that Mama had warned you countless times not to stare directly at.

Luckily for her, what’s left were the beginnings of a dark horizon and the whirring of Suguru’s AC as you stare up at his ceiling, eyes steadily trying to get used to the spots of black and the dry feeling in your mouth.

One thing about taking naps in the late afternoon is that your body only ever seems to awaken just in time to miss the sunset that you so dearly love.

Your hand twitches awake as you experimentally move your leg, only to find a drooling Gojo Satoru asleep atop of you as you blink blearily, his limbs thrown over and onto you like some sort of pseudo-hug.

If you counted how his arms and legs are clinging onto you much like a koala to a tree branch as a hug, anyway. You can’t exactly move a lot right now.

“Satoru… You’re heavy…”

No response. Just his snores and even more drool on your shirt as you squeeze Suguru’s sleeping hand.

“Suguru…?” A grunt and a furrow of his brow— That relaxes soon after. He’s not awake either.

It’s also at this time of day that you wonder what you were doing beforehand. You’re pretty sure you’re on Suguru’s bed, pretty sure the side of your face feels kind of sore from being pressed against the pillow for too long and your fingers stiff from subconsciously gripping onto Suguru’s shirt.

Your brain is slowly starting to work again, you think.

S… Hoko— Left a while back, you’re pretty sure. Left a bit after she got a got a call on her cellphone that you were so intrigued by whilst she slowly taught you how to call a number on it.

She really is super cool.

If you had to say, had to tell yourself something to wake your sleepy brain up and to forget how dry your mouth feels— You’d probably start thinking about your friends to count your blessings.

Because that’s already 3 blessings in total. That’s not a lot, but you’re not counting the plenty of others that you’re sure you have.

Ieiri Shoko was someone almost comparable to Gojo Satoru. Almost— Because there just isn’t anyone out there you know of who can match his level when it comes to wealth and social standing and power.

(And Shoko only comes close because she was the only other rich person you knew of. Are rich people really rare or do you just know too few?)

Gojo Satoru truly had it all. And if anyone could be pitted evenly against him; excluding standings of class and economic prowess, the answer immediately reroutes and makes the straightest beeline for Geto Suguru.

You’re not rich. You’re not exceedingly smart or pretty or have Satoru’s strangely large appetite for sweets. You don’t even have Suguru’s strange likability despite how skewed of a personality he can tend to have.

Where do you stand, really?

“Does it even matter?” His mouth opens far too wide, stretched into one of his lazy yawns as he stands idly, a singular duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, his green eyes squinting at your scrutinizing face.

“If you think too much your puny brain’s gonna explode.”

“But if I think too little I’ll end up with an empty head.”

“You sure ya even got anythin’ in it?”

So you pout and glare, much to his amusement and to your chagrin as your cheeks huff up, his too big hand messes with the top of your head with a chesty laugh.

“See ya ‘round, kid.”

It was a good few years with him, you think. And your teacher was definitely someone who kept his promises, even if he had to go super, super far away for his adult adventures.

(It was precedented. He always was an almost adult, anyway.)

“Don’t forget to bring Saya-chan around to show her the world.” You plop your precious, precious Ito Saya merchandise onto his open palm, her pretty face giving you memories of all the times she had given you news about the weather— Before transitioning to doing your favourite astrology tellings.

There was even an Ito Saya dehumidifier that she had personally voiced. Oh to hear your Saya-tan greet you every morning with her voice…!Oh, but unfortunately for you, the stars were not aligned in your favour that day. With 1 too many 0s on the price tag for your liking as you stared at the advertisement— And at the coins you had collected in your little shoebox.

Nope.

So you settle for your super precious ultra deluxe Ito Saya headshot from the nearby supermarket collaboration that Mama got by paying an extra ¥300 for a blind box keychain.

Fate was kind. For it was written in the stars when you so carefully ripped off the plastic to find your precious Saya-tan’s face staring right back at you.

It turned into your most precious possession, but even someone as tough and strong as your teacher needed something for good luck.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Saya-chan.” Duh. Even Satoru knows her, and all he ever watches is Digimon and the magical girl shows you excitedly ask him and Suguru to join you for.

And there he went— Face barely fighting back an almost constipated grimace, before it morphed into one of resigned defeat as his fingers closed around the trinket in his palm.

“…right. I’ll dedicate a smoke to ‘er or something.”

“Saya-chan thinks smoking is bad for the body.”

So much for trying to be nice to you. So can you really blame him when he’s squatting down to your height to pull at your cheeks and ruffle your hair until the cute pigtails your Mama did up for you fell apart?

“Beggars don’t get to be choosers, you brat.”

Someone who really wasn’t like you, no matter how hard you tried to be him. So it really glares what your super duper knowledgeable teacher had said—

Does it really matter? When you let out a yawn and finally muster enough strength to push the snack-loving boy off of you and release Suguru’s death grip on the sleeve of your shirt, you don’t contemplate for long. It’s not like you have enough time to, if you want to catch the final rays of the fading light of today.

The sun always sets all too soon for your liking.

(“I’ll come visit you one day when I’m older.”

“Heh. If I’m not dead by then, why not?”)

——

When you all turned 10, it was like stepping into a pair of brand new shoes that you didn’t quite like the feeling of, yet didn’t quite dislike. The familiar uncomfortableness of something you’re not used to, and the uncertainty that came with it.

It’s weird having a 2 digit age.

There’s rain outside, cold and an overcast sky that made you huff into your mittens because it was just that cold, your cheeks feeling like they were kissed one too many times by Geto-mama as you shiver and make the short walk towards Suguru’s house.

(Mama had to bundle you up like this instead of just letting you run over. She’s always right, it seems. It’s really cold today.)

“Mama says I have to start thinking about what middle school I wanna go to.” It’s said through your muffler as you hurriedly unwrap it from around your neck, clumsy fingers fumbling with the buttons of your coat as you feel Suguru’s hands pat off snow from your head.

“Did you have any in mind?”

“Nope.” And once you’re finally free from your winter bindings, you just can’t help but lean forwards, until the cold socks of your feet were sliding back against the polished wood of his home, until your body lost its sense of gravity and you no longer have any control— Just to let your dear friend catch you in a trust fall, of course.

“You’ll hurt yourself one day, you know?”

“No,” You cuddle back against his warmth, taking advantage of your position to absorb every ounce of warmth he could possibly give to you. “You would never let me fall.”

Your future doesn’t really cross your mind, not when you’re at this tender age.

“Can I just go to the same school as you, Suguru?” It’s easier than picking for yourself. Easier than going around and looking at each nearby middle school 1 by 1 with Mama at your side or picking up hearsay from your classmates.

And it made you happy. So, why not?

“Hmm…” He’s still holding onto you, shivering only slightly from how cold you felt as you rub his back and feel the tickle of his hair on your nose.

“If you can get your grades up, sure.”

Wah… You think you feel defeated now, letting out a sigh and slumping until you can feel how the poor boy was struggling to hold you up. Even if he did have extra martial arts practice, you’re both still only kids after all.

��It’s okay— Hngh— To stay as you are.” He’s starting to pull you along, heaving slightly as you entrust him with full control of your entire physical being, letting your socked feet drag against the smooth wooden planks as he carefully walks backwards with you in tow. “I’ll like you as whatever you want to be.”

(“I wanna be a hero.”

“You already are one.”)

“Oh, don’t you both just look so darling!” Her hands are too preoccupied with squeezing each of your cheeks, the heavy blanket she had set over the both of you making you feel fuzzy inside.

And sleepy. Really sleepy.

“I just want to keep you both wrapped like this forever!”

(“Mama, please…!”

“Oh, yes, yes you fussy child.” She leans down to kiss his forehead as she pats your head and sneaks in a final squeeze of your cheek.

“Take your time, my cute little couple!”)

You take another satisfying sip from your cup, liquid flowing down your throat and into the cozy warmth of your tummy. Heated porcelain thaws your freezing hands and the blanket wrapped around the both of you making you want to doze off and drift off into sleep.

(You swore you just slept, though. Suguru’s house is just way too relaxing.)

“Geto-mama should be careful when she tells you you should be a couple with someone.” That should be a no brainer as you impart your oh so wise knowledge onto your friend. “You can’t just marry anybody, okay?”

It’ll be bad if he marries someone just cause Geto-mama was too friendly. Because trusting people comes easily to her zodiac sign, so she should throw more caution to the wind.

“Oh, and because picking a partner for marriage is hard. Picking just anybody Geto-mama likes will end up with you in pain.”

And you just don’t like seeing him upset.

You catch the hot blush on his face, searing red on his cheeks as he avoids eye contact and lets out an exasperated sigh.

“I-It’s fine. She just gets too excited whenever you want to come over by yourself.”

Huh. Geto-mama is quite the hopeless romantic after all. You’ve seen how hard she swoons whenever Geto-papa comes home with a wide grin and a bouquet overflowing with flowers despite being in the middle of winter.

“My Mama also says marriage isn’t always a good thing like on TV, though.” The pretty Omegas dressed to the nines in flowy white or handsome black suits, the flowers, the music, the red carpets… Honestly, if it isn’t all that good, why do people try to portray it like that? Is it really that hard to show something as it is?

So ambiguous.

“Oh. Mama also says it’s good if I can find someone who I like a lot, is pretty and who lives close by cause she’d be sad if I moved too far.”

That’s already too many prerequisites, you think. Does Mama expect someone that perfect to fall out of the sky? Ito Saya just doesn’t live in your prefecture. Not counting those, you also need someone with— Uhm… Com-pact-ability?

(Whatever that means. They always talk about it on your star sign channel, so you usually tune it out while waiting for the daily luck reports.)

Maybe it would be okay if they just liked you as is? You think you can learn to like them if they already like you. Oh, but if you already have a laundry list of things then maybe you should try those arranged marriage meetings you always see advertised on late night TV when Mama has to work overtime—

“How about me?” Quiet, gentle like a ripple against the surface of a pond. Geto Suguru always talks so soft, speaks with such an endearing tone that it offsets the stuff you catch him saying sometimes. “I fit your Mama’s requirements, no?”

But it’s a nice voice, nonetheless.

“Hmm…” If you weigh the pros of Geto-mama and Geto-papa already knowing your Mama, minus off the fact that you wouldn’t have to go through the awkward ‘meet the parents’ phase they always discuss on the Couple channel that you swear gets played too much… If you calculate the short little walk from your house to his house— “I guess I wouldn’t mind if it’s with you, Suguru.”

(“Plus, you’re really pretty. You would look like my Saya-chan if you had longer hair and added all the pretty curls and ribbons she has.”

“…right. Let’s pick a middle school that allows boys to have long hair then.”)

——

“I don’t like sweets.” Shoko looks bleak and blank as she stares down at the pudding, fingers momentarily stopping midway through the flip of her magazine. “I think my maids like them, though.”

…what? You’re flabberghasted, heartbroken, perplexed and going through perhaps, every motion possible as you slowly, slowly try to process her words.

How can anybody dislike sweets?

She stares. Blinks at your pouting, downcast expression and the unwillingness to comprehend that there were people out there who didn’t like sweet things.

So she sighs. Internally.

“It’s because…” Her eyes break contact with yours as they flicker around her surroundings in search of a good excuse. “They always serve too much. So I can’t finish ‘em.”

“Then you can share mine!”

That was how you hooked an Ieiri to spend time with you at the infamous playground, using plastic spoons to shovel your much more affordable 3-pack pudding cups into your mouths.

(At least she isn’t complaining that it wasn’t the super expensive ultra deluxe cream filled ones that Satoru likes to eat.)

“Then they told me they were both busy.” You pout as Shoko flips through another page on her magazine, spoon in her mouth and hanging from her lips.

“Huh.”

“It’s okay, though! You’re my friend too so I wanna hang out with you lots and lots and lots.”

It’s no skin off her back to be together with you, not at all a bother in her eyes to hang out beside you. Though, something has been bothering her. Something that didn’t involve you— Even if it entirely did at the same time.

It’s odd, really. You possess so much of it, yet were involved so little in its affairs.

“(name).” She has a look in her eye that you can’t really discern, a shine in her pupils that usually hinted at something more.

(You would know. She does that whenever she wants to show you a brand new 2-page spread of Ito Saya you’ve never seen before on one of her magazines.)

“Do you know why Gojo and I had to get engaged?” It’s dismissive, uncaring and almost like she was just throwing it out there and into the air.

Like she was asking another question completely different to what she just said.

“No…?” You just never really bothered to pry further, never really bothered to involve yourself in things that others don’t want you in. Therefore, it’s not your business to stick your nose in. Because everyone has their own secrets, right? They’ll tell you only if they really want to. A good lesson for everyone to learn.

And she furrows her pretty brows, her expression disbelieving and like it was in… Shock? You think? Honestly, it’s hard to tell her disgusted and surprised reactions apart.

“So… You don’t know what they’ve been doing all this time?”

“…no?”

She squints and takes in a breath, using one of her dainty hands to cover an eye to stare harder, even rubbing them before finally blinking once more.

“You have— More than enough though.” She waves her hand in the air, glaring at the empty space around you as you mimic her actions, before her hand grabs yours.

“They really didn’t tell you?”

Now you’re just sorely confused as you tilt your head to the side, head itching with confusion and your lips pursed as you try to think of every possible reason. Though, you think you’re going to get a headache if she runs anymore circles around you.

“Am I… Supposed to know?”

Then she chuckles, letting her expression flit into a smug grin and eyes that implored you to explore that unfamiliar glint more. Your hand in hers felt somehow all the more compelling, yet all the more wrong as you blink.

“So I’ll be your first, then.”

You’ve been walking for a while now… You think. In the complete opposite direction from school, from Satoru’s home, from the playground… Before you realized you haven’t exactly asked about your destination.

“I can’t attack anything so we gotta stay clear from a lot of stuff, okay?”

“Okay,” There’s barely hidden excitement and anticipation in your voice, a hop in your step as you obediently follow along. “Where are we going?”

“Mm… Far away from here, I guess.”

“Oh. Cool.” You both continue to hold hands as you pass 1 house, 2 houses, 3… There wasn’t really a direct answer despite your question. But at the same time, Shoko has never really been the best at explaining things.

“Then this part will become 21, then once you do some more math stuff you’ll get the answer like this.” Her pencil leaves your paper, neat handwriting and the final answer to the equation staring back at you as you blink at it.

“…huh?”

“It’s cause,” She squints up at the sky briefly, scratching at her hair to think a little bit more with a troubled expression on her face, before her head tilts back down to look at you. “The Gojo estate is too big and near and… Stuff. So the energy scares them off.”

“…?”

“Y’know. Like the bad stuff.” She pauses, looking you right in the eye before she points at the bleary sky. “Did you really never see how different that looks?”

So your eyes follow, trail after her finger that was pointed up and above your heads. At the sky you’re used to seeing, at the sun that was far from setting. And you realize… It looks the exact same way it always had been.

“Doesn’t it always look like that?”

And she contemplates, her hand now on her chin as her eyes close and her lips pout that little bit.

“Maybe you need glasses.”

Huh. Not a bad solution if you can’t see exactly what she was looking at, but… “Glasses are expensive. I don’t think I can ask Mama for them.”

Oh.

Ieiri Shoko is lots of things, and she is especially one who just wasn’t all that used to interacting with someone from a widely different social class just yet. So when she hears you say something like that… It makes the words that were on the tip of her tongue lose all direction.

“Right. Sorry.”

You don’t really get it at all, don’t get why she always goes quiet and looks away when at the mention of such things. It’s not like you’re embarrassed or ashamed of it— So you choose to shrug it off, to trust her as you both walk and walk, in little bits of chatter and filler conversation that you can’t help but find enjoyment in.

(“Maybe I’ll get you a pair as a gift.” If a certain someone didn’t beat her to it, that is.

“But I heard people need their eyes checked for ‘em. How are you gonna get my eye results?”

“Hmm… Want some snacks instead, then?”

“Yay.”

At least she tries her best to explain stuff more now.)

“Okay. Here.” It’s before an alleyway quite a bit further from where you’re used to venturing. Far from any of the usual buildings that you’re used to seeing, and certainly— Really dark and scary and much more ominous.

Her dainty finger points forward, points with an ascertainy that you just can’t doubt, even if you think she was pulling your leg. “What do you see?”

“A… Really ugly rat?” You feel bad for calling it that, but it really is what it is. Tendrils of black seem to emanate from it, beady blue eyes and a grotesque snout that looked like it was collapsing in on itself upon a body of black goo that tried to shape itself into limbs.

So you can see it.

“It looks like Gojo, doesn’t it?”

“Satoru’s…” You furrow your brows and frown, intently watching the almost pitiful thing as it cries out. “Way cuter than that.”

The creature gurgles at the both of you, voice distorted and squeamish, bubbles appearing upon its deformed body as it slides, twitches towards the both of you.

“That’s a cursed spirit, by the way. A really weak one.”

“Cursed… Spirit?”

“Mhm.” She moves forward, standing by your side and watching the newly introduced, slow-moving ball of black before the both of you. “It’s made of negative emotions and other bad stuff. That’s why it looks like that.”

“Do the stronger ones usually look uglier?”

“I dunno. My mama doesn’t let me go on missions yet. Gojo probably has been on some, though.”

That sounds… Dangerous. Is that why your friends have been disappearing so often lately? They’re not risking their lives out there, are they? Wait, does it mean Suguru can see them too? But how? You’re pretty sure you’ve been with them all your life, so how—

“It’s approaching you.”

“Ah…” It snaps you out of your rambles, makes your head tilt downward to be facing the disgusting thing now that it was only a few meters away.

“Don’t touch it, or get too close to it. It only wants to eat cursed energy.” She pulls you back when it inches too close for her liking. “And they’ll try to kill you, too.”

Maybe you both should’ve seen it coming, should’ve taken more caution— But even she didn’t notice how the cursed spirit was charging up a ball of vile, concentrated energy, didn’t see how it aimed right at you.

“Ah…” You barely even have a reaction, not even when it causes your blood to splatter on the ground and for the cursed spirit to shoot towards you, goo spreading and extending to expose gnashed teeth and a torn tongue that kept licking up the droplets of your blood from the ground.

It’s when your eyes widen and you both see the way it had cut into the skin of your arm, leaving a thin, crude gash that Ieiri Shoko thinks she sees red, thinks she doesn’t like the idea of something so ugly touching you.

And she stomps, and stomps— You see blood splatter and hear shrieks of a scream that sounded far too human for it to just a simple rodent— And yet, Shoko remains undisturbed throughout.

“It’s… Dead.”

Gone. Deceased. Battered into a puddle of its own guts.

“Mhm. It’ll come back after a few days though, since I can’t exorcise it.” But she’ll get someone from her family to do it later, anyway.

“It… Made your dress dirty, Shoko.” Maybe any other ordinary kid would have reacted differently, would have screamed and cried for their dear friend to spare the creature’s life, would have reacted much more to the way they could have had their life threatened.

“…huh. I guess it did.”

But your skin stings, and your eyes just can’t help but stay stuck to the way Shoko’s pretty dress had been dirtied by her efforts to save you.

Maybe you had a subconscious thought that you were perhaps worth less than the sparkly garment, maybe you thought that it didn’t hurt as much—

Or maybe you just don’t know how to react in this situation that you have yet to fully process in your head.

“Where do you get your clothes, usually?”

Pondering for only a moment, you finally pull out a what you think is a pretty shirt from your, to be very honest, lacking wardrobe.

“Mama usually lets me pick what I want, but I pick one thing and ask if I can spend the rest on sweets instead.”

(She usually chides you, but eventually does give in after a puppy-eyed look or 2. You don’t need new clothes, you’ll just wear Mama’s when you’re older!)

“Oh, and Suguru’s mama likes to give us stuff.”

“Thank you, Akari-san. Your baking really is amazing—“

“Oh, lose the honorifics! We’re bosom friends at this point. And look at this! This darling shirt just reminded me of your cute (name) so much that I couldn’t help myself and just went ahead to buy it, aha!”

“And Satoru too.”

“Greetings, (name)-sama. The Young Master would like to formally thank you for the relations—“

“I made Kimi-chan buy it after she said it reminded her of you!” And he himself unravels the article of clothing before you, showing you the Digimon themed print full of cute Marching Fishes.

“It’s even Digimon themed so ya haveta stop watching Pokemon and watch the better show with me!”

“That’s where I think I get most of my clothes from.”

And the girl says nothing, staring down at the shirt you had given her as you gather up the fabric of her dress into your smaller arms and huffing triumphantly.

“I’ll be back soon! I’ll ask my Mama to help wash this!”

“Okay.” Truth be told, she wasn’t really listening to you anymore. Too preoccupied with the way your scent was heavy on the article of clothing, too busy taking whiffs of the air—

It smelt really nice.

“Mama.” You show her Shoko’s dress, prim and proper and sequined with a gentle shimmer to ensure maximum elegance. Very expensive, you’re pretty sure. “Can we wash this out?”

She blinks. Once, twice and a few more times. Even picks up the article of clothing and puts it close to her face, squinting at the very obvious patch of cursed spirit blood that was very evidently there— Especially against the pure white of Shoko’s dress.

“Honey…” She has to adjusts her eyeglasses, even swipe a finger at the fabric and observe her skin to really check for the damage done.

“There’s nothing there.”

——

You’re being stared at— No, scrutinized by blue that was all too judgmental of you.

“Did ya go crazy?” His hands feel hot, feel like they were going to melt into your skin and fuse your flesh together with his as he glares at you—

Angrily.

“We didn’t tell ya to involve yourself did we?” He’s huffing, upset and very much squeezing your hands tight as you let him hold them, letting him glare at the patch of skin Shoko had expended so much energy trying to heal.

(It’s definitely not perfect, but who can complain about her magic healing powers? It was so cool.)

“No, but I wanted to find out and Shoko wanted to help, so—“

“Shoko’s dumb.”

“She isn’t—“

“And you’re weak.” Gojo’s eyes never stop staring even as he rudely interrupts you once again, his face closing in on yours as he invades the little personal space you had left until you swear his eyeballs were gonna pop out of his head and touch your own.

“You never had anything in ya.” His eyes shine once more, before he inevitably blinks and lets out a grunt. A hand releases yours, going up to press against his face as his shoulders stiffen and his whole body shook.

As if he was in pain.

“A-And you still don’t!“ He wheezes slightly. “No cursed technique, no innate forms—” You can see the very clear grimace on his face as his eyes squeeze close and his face twisting into one of clear discomfort as he stamps a foot and shakes his head. “What even m-makes ya think I would go ahead and tell ya anything?!”

You know he’s not being mean— Not by your standards, anyway.

“Satoru… Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, you—“ He pauses when he squints at you through an offended gaze, the light in his eyes peeking through the gaps in his fingers whilst going silent for just a beat of a moment.

“My eyes hurt… Cause of my cursed technique, a-and stuff!”

“Then I-I can go call Kimiko-san to—!“

You don’t even get a reply, not even spared an explanation; just his hand making a grab for yours and pulling you back down beside him.

You meet puffed up cheeks and an angry pout, a sullen look and red splayed across his face and the tips of his ears infuriated and very telling of his annoyance whilst those crystals he had for eyes did their best to fight back tears.

Oh.

And when his head plops down onto your lap, it was almost as if it was a subconscious action turned into an all too repeated habit. Your hand brushing against white locks, trailing through strands of white as you gently scratch at his scalp.

“Hmph.”

“A-Are you sure you’ll feel better like this? I thought headaches and serious illnesses and poison and stuff like that needed a doctor…” Not that you know any doctors for cursed energy, or ‘techniques’ as he called them, but you’re sure Kimiko-san would.

“Hmph!”

Ack. He’s still too angry at you to want to explain anything, but not enough for him to stop your hand from stroking his head and making your lap his replacement pillow.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” You really are. It’s not like you wanted to get hurt on purpose… But technically you did unearth the secret he and Suguru were keeping from you. “I didn’t mean to worry you or Suguru…”

(Not that Suguru knows of this situation yet, anyway.)

“I just—“ You take in a breath to steady your heart that was somehow racing, stop your administrations on his head as you try to find your words. “I guess— The reason I followed Shoko after she offered to tell me, I realized I just didn’t want to be left out…”

And it drawls into silence. It’s heavy and makes you reflect on your actions, forces you to be alone with the words that you didn’t realize reflected your truth. Maybe, you’re not as okay and go with the flow as your zodiac sign said you would be today.

Maybe you just didn’t want to be left alone and unknowing. You know you don’t know a lot— But at the same time, if you learned too, can’t you fit in with them all the better?

“…cursed techniques are something people are born with. And they usually show up ‘round the age of like 4.” He uncrosses his arms and stares up at you through his short bangs. “People born with ‘em get really good at using them as they get older, since it’s ingrained into them over and over that they eventually ‘get’ how to use it.”

“But you—“ He sighs when you scratch against a spot behind his ear as he twitches slightly. “You have a lot of cursed energy and stuff, but ya don’t have a cursed technique; at least not one I can see with my eyes yet. And I’m betting it’s cause y’er super weak.”

“Your… Eyes?”

“Yea, you noticed how much prettier my eyes are compared to like— Everyone else around, right?” There’s a pompous harrumph in his tone and a really proud, really smug grin on his face. “That’s cause I was born special and super, super strong.”

(“But you get a lot of cavities often, though…”

And he’s immediately jumping up and off of your lap, embarrassed face and telling shame on the red tips of his ears as he rebuts you.

“It’s just because I’m too strong that e-everything is out to get me—! Shoko told ya it’s cause cursed spirits were made of negative emotions and stuff, right?! That’s that!”)

previous masterlist next

[avalordream]

Prompt: Imagine an MC who gets a tattoo that goes all around their ankle so that they always have an "anklet" for Cove.

Pairing: Cove Holden x GN!Reader

Tags: fluff, Cove getting his anklet fix, mostly fluff tho

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: With this newfound will in me, ALLOW ME TO INDULGE YOU IN SOME LOVELY COVE JAMES HOLDEN- Also! This fic was intended for fem readers but it can be taken as gender neutral!

Now seeing as the age to get a tattoo is roughly 18 years old, let's assume this is Step 3 Cove we're talking about

At this age, Cove and you haven't quite gotten into a relationship yet.

In fact, you're stuck at the crush stage

Even so, you and Step 2 Cove had the talk of what you both were into during the Roadtrip moment. (Y'know- the beige eyes and anklet conversation)

That particular conversation was surprisingly difficult for you to initiate, considering your rather quiet nature

That didn't mean you were shy! No no!

It was just...

Awkward.

It wasn't the "normal" type of conversation you usually had

Maybe it was because of the fact that it was so different that made it so difficult to talk about.

In any case, that led to you thinking over the anklet attraction Cove had, trying to understand it as you lounged around on your bed in the middle of a hot summer day

It was the sort of day where the California sun shone exceptionally hard, the heat making it so nothing really stood out to you. You could almost remember this exact type of day from when you were younger... When Shiloh was still around...and when Cove had just recently moved in.

You were currently lazing about on your bed, soaking up the sun's rays shining through your window as the AC worked to cool your room and a nearby fan rotated slowly, its blades providing an ample amount of background noise. It was truly the staple sound of summer. Your eyes blearily blinked as you stared up at your ceiling fan working overtime to beat the summer heat. Normally your moms weren’t so keen on cranking up the AC but today was an exception, considering the high was a 90. Even the water was warm which meant that even walking along the shoreline - forget it, the sand was practically steaming - wasn’t appealing. 

That left you in your current condition, leaving your mind to wander and daydream about everything and anything in the quiet. It was already noon but there was no rush to go out. While it wasn’t the norm for you to be alone, usually hanging out with Cove or even Terri or Miranda., today was an exception though because of the heat. And in any case, you relished the feeling of just…coasting through the day with nothing to do… free as the birds in the sky… 

A few soft knocks on your door blinked you out of your sleepy stupor as Ma stepped in after you had hummed an affirmative. Her eyes softened as she seemed to take in the sight of you: Curled up yet sprawled out in a cocoon of light blankets and pillows, the sun shining brightly through the window and you relishing it all in the center, having the time of your life. “You doing ok, hon?”, she hummed in turn, trying not to break the peaceful trance you were under as you simply nodded, tucking your hair back as you smiled at her. You loved your ma more than anything, even now as she came close to sit by your head, gently stroking your hair as she eased your head into her lap while you leaned into her hand. Guess today she was feeling pretty lax too… Figures…

You felt your eyelids drooping as she continued, her ministrations cooing you to sleep before her voice, a quiet whisper, kept your attention from waning. “No plans for today?”, she hummed as you yawned, stretching before getting comfy again, nuzzling your nose against her thigh.

“No…not yet at least…”, your voice came out slowly, humming as the fan faced the pair of you, sending a refreshing blast of cold air into your hair. “Just…thinking…You ok, ma?” There had to be a reason why she entered right?... Or…maybe there wasn’t one. That was ok too.

Ma chuckled in some amusement as she shook her head, taking her hand away as you whined, audibly wishing for more. “I’m doing just fine, kiddo… Nothing to worry about. Just wanted to check up on you before I get started on lunch. Do you want anything specific?” You told her your current crave fix before she left the room again, offering another head pat before you were left to your devices again, decidingly more lucid than before as you sat up to stretch and work out the kinks in your back.

You checked your phone just to let your friends know that you were alive and hadn't up and left them- As if Cove would let you anyway, you thought with a chuckle. A funny thought but you weren’t that evil. 

Tossing your device back to the swath of blankets, your mind wandered to the past few years- gravitating back to Cove. It didn’t surprise you as much why now than when your feelings had begun to simmer but the fear of possibly destroying what you already had always stopped you. A worry that proved to damper down on your interactions, restricting them ever so slightly rather than how freeing they used to be. You had become close confidants to one another since the moment he moved in at the ripe age of eight. Given your rich history, it was reasonable to worry that taking such a big step could tarnish what you had and…quite frankly, you weren’t ready to risk it all just yet.

You sighed, feeling the familiar trill of heat flitting over your cheeks as you rubbed them furiously to wipe them away just as fast. Until you figured out what to do with yourself- and- everything- Then the plan was simple: ACT NORMAL. Whatever your new normal was anyhow. You had a feeling Liz knew just by looking at you when Cove was over, judging from the smirk she would send your way- not to mention the teasing remarks! But…you hoped that until you were ready to tell Cove (if you ever did), that…he wouldn’t know. 

It surprised you a little that he hadn’t knocked on your window yet or made his arrival via the door but apparently, judging from the text he had sent you three hours ago, he was helping his dad with the scuba shop. You appreciated the heads up so you knew where to go in case you needed to reach him. 

Your thoughts followed you as you made your way downstairs to get started on lunch- or brunch as mom liked to call it. A smile crept on your face despite the mild joke, appreciating the play on words as your lazy state decided to pull for some cereal, chewing slowly and thoughtfully as you remained quiet. You were more so or a thinker rather than a talker. You preferred to listen rather than start a conversation. It made things easier. With the friend group, you were the same; going with the flow unless it was something you wholeheartedly refused to do. It had never gone to that point before since the group respected your opinions and were quick to pick up on your preferences…one more so than others…

Right as you were washing the dishes, your thoughts wandered again- this time to that anklet discussion all those years ago. You’d be surprised you still remembered it but the entire road trip itself was a memorable experience and would be…rather hard to forget anyhow. (More so for Mr. Holden getting his lunch snatched away by a stray bird but you digressed.) The discussion itself… you still felt a little bad for pushing it onto Cove to answer your questions, even if he had tried to console you when you made it known to him a week later, saying that he didn’t mind since you were only curious. Even so, you never really thought he actually liked anklets all that much… or beige eyes. You already had quite a few anklets you got from Hot Topic that were pretty neat but you never really found the time to use or wear them. It became a sort of…rare occasion kind of thing. Though- you already had the beige eyes- which made you hopeful that he liked you in some capacity?? 

You shot that down quick with a grumbled shake of your head, consoling Ma when she asked if you were ok. 

Your mind was quick to pick back where you left off, sighing as you focused on scrubbing a particularly difficult splotch of cooking from a pan. Anklets…you might not understand entirely why Cove liked them but you gathered that it had to do with the aesthetic of them that appealed to him so much. Maybe. Even so, you enjoyed making some yourself and had gifted some to Cove already, much to his delight. He tried to wear them as much as possible, but after nearly losing one to the ocean, you didn’t see them as often- unless it was too cold to go in the water. At this point, Cove lived and breathed the salty ocean breeze… One time, you had joked that if Cove wasn’t a human in this life, he was definitely a mermaid in his last which was nicely reciprocated with a very flustered Cove with his familiar wobbly smile.

But unlike him, you lost so many of your precious anklets, that also being why you nearly abstained from wearing them entirely. The weight would grow familiar but then you would forget about it until much later. By then, the anklet was long gone and you had gone to too many places to retrace your steps to find them. You remembered one particular time where you had lost an anklet that Cove had gotten you as a birthday gift and you had worn it everywhere. Until the inevitable happened and you had lost it, inconsolable as even Liz had been roped into helping you find it. Mr. Holden did end up finding it in his shop but that was the final nail in the coffin for the entire anklet business. From then on, you kept most of your anklets under lock and key unless it was a special occasion like going to the Cypress’ dinners or such. 

What you needed was a way to wear one without losing it…you wouldn’t mind as much if it were one of your own- but if it was one that someone gave you… At that point, you figured you should buy a display for them. There wasn’t a point for them gathering dust in the wild…

“Hey baby sis- You done over there?” 

Liz stood behind you with a caring smile, a smile on her face but her eyes held a little concern as you followed their gaze to the now pristine pan in your hands- as well as the time. “You must’ve been really focused, huh?”, she chuckled with a conspiratorial tone as you quietly rinsed the pan and put it aside, segwaying into a classic Liz interrogation as she pick-pocketed your brain… to which she had a solution. 

“Well…”, she started as you wiped your hands on the drying towel. “How about a tattoo that looks like an anklet?” Feeling your questioning stare, Liz held out her hands. “Here me out: Firstly, I’m not saying to go and get a tattoo on a whim. Think over it- Obviously. Removing it costs at least twice or three times as much so give it some thought. But…in a way… You’d still be wearing an anklet and you’d never lose it, right?” The more she talked about it, the more it made sense to you. Obviously, you had to promise her (and your moms ‘cause they were listening) not to get that tattoo right away if you wanted to- and if you did, to at least let them know. No matter what you chose, they made it clear that they’d support your decision either way and loved you very much. As per usual, this brought a smile to your face and it never failed to make your day.

You didn’t end up getting that tattoo until around a week later, having taken Liz with you as moral support. She joked that you took her because Cove declined but that wasn’t the case. Instead, you wanted to try to surprise him! It was a very out-of-the-blue sort of thing for you to try but it was new and you were curious about the entire process. While it wouldn’t be the same as wearing an anklet, at least you’d never lose it! Besides! You still had all the anklet shrine to refer back to if you ever needed it. 

The tattoo shop wasn’t near the neighborhood shops or district, meaning Liz had to drive you into the city. It was…surprisingly pretty cute, judging from the pictures online! Which was…not the aesthetic you expected. It was also a little close to Mr. Holden’s shop if you and Liz wanted to walk over to say hello. Speaking of, Cove was supposedly hanging out with Terri and Miranda so as far as you were aware, there was very little chance for your paths to cross so everything checked out! 

As for the anklet in question… you decided to go for a (intricate/cutesy/simple) design with (floral/beachy) aspects. If you decided on floral aspects, you pulled up pictures of the white poppies behind your house for the tattoo artist as a reference as well as asking for some fireflies to be floating around them. The hill behind your house was where you met him after all…and the memories behind catching fireflies with you, him, Liz and Shiloh were important to you… 

If you decided on beachy aspects, you pulled up a picture of your favorite orange seashell, the same one that Cove was drawn to in your collection on your first playdate, and the dolphin keychain that he got you when you went to the shops together. The tattoo artist had nodded and gave you the rundown of what was going to happen. You pointed down to the ankle you wanted the tattoo on as your sister stayed by your side, taking her role as your moral support incredibly seriously. 

Once you decided on what the design would look like, they got right to work. The first few pin pricks of pain were easy to bear but as time went on, your grip on your sister’s hand tightened as she tried to make you feel better by pointing out how great it’d look after- and Cove’s face when he saw it. Despite her laughter at your blushing face at the thought, that little comment did help you pull through and before you knew it, it was over. 

You finally let go of Liz’s hand who didn’t complain one bit the entire time so…you were grateful to her for putting up with you. The area where the tattoo was sensitive, the tattoo artist told you. They also said that tattoos typically took two to four weeks to heal on the surface, but it could take three to six months to fully heal. It usually involved a week of redness and oozing, followed by two to three weeks of itchiness and peeling. They had already told you this before getting you set up to get a tattoo but they wanted to remind you again, just to be sure you’d take extra care of your skin during that process. You were quick to reassure them, making a mental note to be extra kind to yourself in these upcoming months. 

After the talk was over, they saw you back to the front, finalized the payment and sent you on your merry way as you couldn’t help but awe over their work. The (white poppies/seashells) were beautiful and they had stuck to your original design well, considering what you asked for. Your skin was holding up fairly well and you loved the colors on it so much, Liz had to stop you from accidentally bumping into everything.

“If you like it so much, take a picture of it! It’ll last longer! And you could send it to your lover boy!~”, Liz laughed teasingly although you knew she was trying to keep you safe. “He’s not my lover boy…”, you sighed, shaking your head as you tried to walk away from her to look for a bench, ignoring her laughter as she followed. “Not yet!~”, she warbled, obviously taking amusement in your half-hearted misery. As soon as you sat down, you quickly aimed your phone at the tattoo and sent it straight to Cove. Sure, you meant to keep it from him just a little longer but- crush aside- he was your closest friend and you told everything to each other. It was a habit you fully indulged in- except for the crush part. Obviously.

_______

MC: Hey

MC: Look what I got :D

<MC sent a picture 1 second ago>

Cove: Thats a tattoo

Cove: Wait

Cove: THATS A TATTOO

MC: Ahuh

Cove: YOU GOT A TATTOO

MC: Yup

Cove: Since when??

MC: Like 

MC: Five minutes ago

MC: Got it at a tattoo parlor in the shopping district with Liz

MC: And Liz says hi

Cove: Where

MC: Down past art gallery

Cove: Stay there

MC: Wait why

Cove has gone offline

_______

Huh. That was weird. 

Liz had noticed the confused look on your face, accepting your phone once you handed it over to see what her thoughts were on it. Your older sister stifled a bark of laughter before passing it back over with a grin. “Don’t worry about it!~ Tell you what: How about I scour around for a snack before we head back?”, she cooed teasingly, patting your shoulder as you huffed quietly, crossing your arms as she stood up. You offered to go with her but she shook her head, saying she’d be fine and that she didn’t need a chaperone.

You did ask if she could get some (strawberry ice-cream/pretzels), making a mental note to share in case Cove did end up stopping by. Thankfully, Liz didn’t comment on the gleam in your eyes and playfully rolled her eyes before walking down the street. No matter how many years passed by, you made sure to watch your sister as long as you could before she turned a corner. It never failed to make you anxious being utterly alone in a space, given that you were always with someone throughout your entire childhood. There was safety in numbers, you guessed.

You didn’t have to wait long before the buzz in your pocket alerted you to a text, distracting from your plight as you pulled it out. It was Cove.

_______

Cove: Im at the shop

Cove: Where are you?

_______

That was your cue. 

You got up from the bench and stepped back on the main street to look back where the tattoo shop was. And right there was a familiar mop of seafoam green hair looking up and down the street. Couldn’t imagine why. 

“Cove!”, you called out, watching his eyes widen and look for the source as you (waved/shouted again/stepped into sight) to get his attention. Seeing how his face visibly brightened just by seeing you alone never failed to make you smile. He was quick to join your side, offering a hug which you easily accepted, snuggling yourself in his warmth as his arms curled around you softly, resting his cheek on your (head/shoulder). 

Just as fast as he had come, came your realization as you pulled your head back to look at him. “Wait- How did you get here so fast?,” you started as Cove tilted his head slightly with a small smile, catching up to the speed of your words. “I sent that text not even five seconds ago!” 

Your neighbor was quick to blush lightly, rubbing the back of his hair as he seemed to look anywhere but at you. “The hangout with Terri and Miranda was cut short so I asked if they could drop me off at dad’s shop.”, he chuckled, finding his eyes drawn back to you as you listened with a nod. “I would’ve drove myself but I wasn’t driving everyone around this time.” His hand found its way back to your back, keeping you close although you certainly didn’t mind. “That’s when I got your text and decided to walk here to meet up. Where’s Liz though?... You told me she said hi.”

You figured it probably didn’t settle right with him, seeing you all alone and by your lonesome with your sister nowhere to be found. You pat his arm, offering a smile to try and alleviate his worries as his worried frown persisted. “It’s ok! Liz offered to grab some snacks while I waited for you. And I didn’t stray far anyway. The plan was to stick by the bench until (I found you/she came back)!” He seemed to accept the explanation, sighing even then but grateful that nothing bad happened to you. 

“Ok cool. How about we head back to that bench? We can talk and- Oh!” His mouth opened in shock as he realized what he came here for. Cove looked down at you, a determined look on his face as he tried to properly word his thoughts into something coherent. “Were you being serious about the tattoo? That…wasn’t a joke, right?”, he asked hopefully, barely to stay still, judging from how he let go of you to fiddle with the bracelets on his wrist. You knew it’d probably shock or catch him off guard so you decided to play coy, putting a finger to your lips and skipping on back to the bench as you left Cove in some confusion. It took him a minute to react before quickly following you like a lost puppy, a sentiment you kept to yourself, trying not to giggle at the thought of it- although it didn’t go unnoticed by your precious neighbor.

As soon as the pair of you sat down, Cove was quick to ask about the tattoo. It was why you were here anyway and he seemed a bit more interested in the fact that it looked like it was around your ankle. The (skirt/pants) you wore covered it up so he couldn’t even get a sneak peak at it- if it was real at all. Sure, you liked to joke around and tease him from time to time but Cove didn’t think you’d go so far to joke about…a tattoo. It just didn’t rub off of him right. And if you did… Well. He didn’t want to go down that route. It was why he was here anyways! You were close by and had a tattoo he needed to verify! 

Thankfully for him, you weren't the type to deny him much (of anything.) You spoiled your neighbor rotten too much already- what was one more going to do to him? You pulled up your (skirt/pant leg) slightly to show off the tattoo as Cove’s eyes widened, the (fireflies flitting around the white linen poppies/ dolphin keychain diving around the orange seashell and coral reefs) catching his eye as he inhaled sharply. “Can I…?”, he barely whispered, his voice reduced to almost nothing as his fingers were a breath away from tracing the (eccentric/adorable/simplistic) designs. You were (quick/slow/hesitant) to nod as he took the initiative to take extra care not to irritate your sensitive skin, easily in awe and appreciative of the colors splashing across your skin-kissed canvas. He was already going down the memory lane, judging from the tears that bubbled up in his eyes. “Surprise?”, you offered, giving a sheepish smile as your ocean-loving lover boy (Liz would cry tears of laughter if she heard your thoughts) looked up with one of his iconic sappy smiles.

“It must be my birthday…”, he whispered, sniffling as your hand moved to wipe his tears away. Cove leaned into your touch with ease, his wobbly smile evident even when he tried to cover it up. He would always be touched by sentimentality; the reaction to something small meant volumes- it was truly the memories behind those items that held the most meaning to him. Your existence was paramount to his growth and he would always be ever so grateful to you for being his favorite neighbor.

“But…did you get for yourself or me?”, Cove continued, his smile replaced by a worried frown. Judging from the look his eyes, it was pretty discernable to guess where they stemmed from. It was the same concern Liz had indirectly brought up when you were washing the dishes a week ago: Getting a tattoo was a pretty huge decision and it wasn’t something to decide on a whim. While you knew that your family and Cove would support whatever decision you chose, you guessed you had to reassure him that, yes, you chose it for you but you also chose it for him…mostly for you though!! 

“Cove James Holden,” you started, which easily startled him as your grip gently squished his cheeks, drawing out a pout from him. He knew that you knew that you were being serious but having way too much fun messing with him. And also- you never really called him by his full name? Actually…when did you find out his full name??  “I promise you that I got this anklet tattoo just for me and that I was 100% sober while doing so. Nobody made me do it except me, myself and I.”, you vowed in a rather (silly/serious/exasperated) voice, making sure to exaggerate quite a bit just to see him try and fail to fight off a snort of laughter. 

“Alright, alright! I’ll lay off!”, he chuckled as you finally let go of his face, satisfied even as he struggled to hide his blush. “You know you’re adorable right?”, you spoke up (with a smirk, teasing him shamelessly/shyly, bashfully trying to hide your own blush/with a soft smile, being as honest as you always were). It always ended up the same way- Cove started blushing up a storm and tried his hardest to vehemently deny any and all allegations while you would laugh and easily bring up every moment where he was. This would prompt him to flip the tables onto you and you would be on the receiving end of compliments galore, to your (amusement/embarrassment/surprise). In the end, you both had come to the agreement that you both were equally deserving of praise despite not outwardly agreeing to those allegations, much to both of your dismays. 

Unbeknownst to you, the tattoo had affected Cove more than he let on. Yes, it nearly reduced him to tears, seeing how you managed to tie key points in your conjoined childhood into a tattoo that was on your skin for…forever-!  But… there was a part of him that was…relishing in the fact that you not only got in the form of an anklet but that it was just as much as it was for you as it was for him. It meant the world to him that those pieces of your childhood were just as important to you as they were for him. Although Cove didn’t like imagining a world without you in it, he was grateful he had you in his life. You were there when he needed you and… Well, before he knew it, the waterworks bubbled over again, trailing down his face as your fingers held his face again to wipe them away.

“What’s wrong, Cove?...”, you (whispered, gentle and soothing/hummed, direct and straight to the point) as you always were.

“Nothing nothing…”, he whispered, content to simply be with you for as long as he could. “I’m just…really glad you’re in my life.” His aquamarine eyes focused on you, offering a wide smile as you returned with ease, (hugging him through your own tears/ruffling his hair with a grin/holding his hand with a comforting squeeze). One day he’d tell you just how much you meant to him but… not right now. He found comfort in familiarity but he couldn’t hold it off forever.

The more things change, the more they stay the same…

©2024 avalordream Please do not COPY, REPOST (without permission), TRANSLATE, MODIFY or CLAIM as your own work. Doing so otherwise will result in a REPORT and an INSTANT BAN. No exceptions. Give credit where credit is due.

⊹ ‧₊˚ Taglist: @now-and-4ever ˚₊‧ ⊹

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

oh my god there are so many good choice on the touching prompt list for Ace!Tav and Astarion. But since it’s first numerically may I please request 3?

Summary: You finally arrive in Baldur's Gate and you can't sleep. Normally this would mean taking the nearest instrument and playing until your hands are raw. Luckily for your fingers, Astarion is there to listen.

Prompt: hiding face in neck

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

A/N: Hey! Sorry it took me so long to get to this. I swear to god I wrote like five different versions of this thing. Let's give it up for over writing! Enjoy.

Word Count: 1.8K

The night felt oddly still for Baldur’s Gate. You’d traveled so far, done and seen so much and you were finally here.  It should have brought you relief; instead, all you could think about was all you had left to do. There were still the tadpoles to deal with and devils and gods and frankly all the things you’d never given a second thought to the last time you stepped through the gates. Perhaps the city felt it as well, collectively holding its breath for whatever was coming next. 

You let out a deep sigh, staring up at the darkened ceiling. There would be no hope of sleep tonight. The best you could do was find a way to pass the hours without going mad.  

As carefully as you could, you slipped out of bed, mindful of Astarion resting soundly next to you. For all your troubles, they were nothing compared to the horrors coming for him.  You wouldn’t disturb his rare moment of peace for the world. 

In easy strides you grabbed your lute and made your way to the balcony where a comfortable enough chaise awaited you. 

No lamps were needed. Between the moon and the street lamps below, you could see well enough to play for an audience of one. 

You started with something easy, plucking out a handful of scales to warm up your hands. It didn’t take long after that for a melody to form, pushing your worries further and further away. Lyrics slipped their way past your lips in whispers and half remembered hums. You were here. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You had control over your body and the sounds pulled from the instrument in your hands. There was still time. The morning hadn’t found you yet.

Soft footsteps approached from behind you; the obvious padding of bare feet on wooden floor boards given just enough extra weight so as not to startle you.  Astarion could be very considerate at times. 

You paused your hands, turning to face him. 

“Sorry, was I playing too loud?” 

“Not at all,” he assured. “How else was I supposed to find you after waking to a cold, empty bed?”

You had to at least smile at his dramatics, which seemed to please him as he stepped further onto the balcony. 

The light of the moon gave his already pale skin and iridescent glow. His silver curls were just a little ruffled from their perfect coif as his eyes held you with a tired softness that made you ache. It was in moments like this you remembered why poetry existed; paints, canvas, marble, clay, they were too clumsy of tools to capture all of him.  

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, pulling you from your musings. 

“Just needed to clear my head,” you said. “Didn’t want to bother anyone with my plucking.”

“Perish the thought. I rather enjoy your plucking.” He nodded to the empty spot next to you. “May I?” 

You couldn’t think of a reason to argue, so you didn’t try. Astarion had proved himself one of the few people you could enjoy a peaceful silence with. So long as he didn’t expect you to entertain him, there was no harm done. 

You scooted over to allow him room. 

He took it, only to pull you against him, caging you between his legs. 

You gave a small yelp of surprise, only just managing to keep hold of your lute. “What are you doing?” 

“Making myself comfortable.” His hands found your waist, pulling you closer so your back rested against his chest while his chin made a home on your shoulder. “Go on dearest, start plucking.”

You snorted out a laugh. Gods above, he really was a cat sometimes. He didn’t ask for attention so much as demand it and in a way only the most heartless could be upset by. 

“It’s rather difficult for me to perform with my back to the audience,” you said as some attempt at protest. 

He gave a noncommittal hum. “I’m inclined to disagree. But if it does bother you, consider me a humble patron observing a rehearsal.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  

Settling back as best you could, you began again, humming a tune to yourself as you worked out the cords. 

A different kind of peace settled over you as he held you. You had come here to be alone, something you had gotten used to over the years. Astarion didn’t have to be here with you, but he was. He chose to sit here in the dark and listen as you played your troubles into the air. It was an alien comfort, one that still left you a little unsure, but it was a comfort nonetheless. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard this one before,” Astarion observed, gently breaking the silence. 

“I would think not, seeing how it’s only been in my head for the last few months,” you teased. 

He nodded as you felt him shift awkwardly beneath you. “Far be it for me to speak on your artistic vision, but is it meant to be so repetitive?”

You stopped your playing as a flush of warmth came to your cheeks. There was a reason why rehearsals were usually kept private. “Sorry, can’t seem to find the ending.”

“Might be easier if you wrote it down,” he suggested. 

“That would require me knowing how.” 

“You don’t know how to write music?” He sounded so genuinely surprised, you had to laugh. 

“Love, I don’t even know how to read it.”

“Really?” 

You shrugged. “Just not how I learned. They weren’t exactly letting riff raff like me into the conservatory.”

You could all but feel the furrow of his brow as his chin pressed against your shoulder. “So every song you’ve ever played, original or otherwise, you taught yourself, by ear, and stored away in that head of yours?”

“You make it sound more impressive than it actually is. Plenty of bards do the exact same thing,” you dismissed.  

He hummed in thought. “Perhaps. It does explain why so many of them don’t seem to have anything going on behind the eyes.”

“I’ll try not to be insulted.” 

“Present company excluded,” he amended, pressing a kiss to the back of your ear for good measure. “Why do you think I’m so impressed? Beauty, talent and brains are such a rare combination.” 

You gave a small huff, earning you another kiss on the temple.

“I’m sure we could find somebody in the city to teach you,” he offered. 

You shook your head. “Not interested. Besides, I’ve found it an effective filtration method. If I can’t remember the tune the next day, it probably wasn’t worth learning in the first place.” 

“Oh darling, who knew you could be so cruel to your fellow artists,” he said, full of approval. “But, what about when a song of yours is done? Surely then it would be worth preserving.” 

“If I’ve done my job well, then the memories of those who have heard it will be preservation enough,” you said. “It’s how all the best songs are passed on anyway. The specifics of who wrote it and when get lost, but the melody remains. It stays in the world because people want it to stay in the world. I think there’s a kind of poetry in that.” 

He let out a long exasperated sigh. “How nauseatingly romantic of you. One little problem though, people’s memories are shit. Give it a few centuries and it will barely resemble the original. At least if you write it down they can’t muck it up.”

“It’s obvious you haven’t met many musicians,” you said, dryly. “People are always going to have their own interpretations. Putting it down on paper doesn’t make it any less a memory. Personally, I’d rather keep it living in the mind than in a stagnant drawer somewhere.” 

“Or I can just make sure nothing happens to the original.” 

He tried to keep his voice light, but there was promise beneath that tingled at the back of your neck. His arms held you a little more tightly. His body tensed. It was as if he was trying to guard you from something, but who or what you could only guess at. 

“Astarion–”

“Don’t,” he said, sharply. “I know you want to say something comforting and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you go on about memory or legacy or things to remember after you’re gone, because you’re not gone. You’re here. You’re here with me, and I don’t care who I have to kill or what bargains I need to make, but I’m not letting you go.”  

He turned his face into your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse. To your surprise, no teeth accompanied the gesture. He just breathed, inhaling your scent deep into his lungs. His touch lingered on your skin as some of the tension left his body; the steady beating of your heart calming him. 

“I don’t want memories,” he whispered. “I just want you.”

Your lips parted to speak, but quickly closed. You knew there was a correct thing to say. Letting go was a part of life, whether you liked it or not. Sooner or later, everyone became a memory; but, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear and that wasn’t what you felt. 

The promise he made wasn’t some collection of meaningless words, but a desperate, blood soaked plea. For the first time in so long, you knew somebody would be upset if you died, not for the loss of income or poetry, but because you would be gone. 

You wanted to tell him you loved him. You wanted to tell him you didn’t just want memories either. You wanted to make the same promise and then hide away somewhere safe where the world wouldn’t dare touch either of you; but, you didn’t say that either. 

Instead you placed your hand over his, squeezing his fingers. 

“You have me,” you said, softly. “I’m right here.”

A shuddering breath left his body, as if all the emotion he had been containing was suddenly pushed from his lungs. His arms stayed around you, but his whole body relaxed as his head found a new place to live buried in your neck. 

“Keep playing, my heart,” he said. “Don’t stop.” 

How could anyone say no to such a request? 

Your hands found a melody, different from the one before; something complete and familiar. As soon as the song finished you transitioned to another and then another, never stopping until Astarion’s hold became slack and his breathing turned deep and steady, signaling his trace. Only then did you set down your lute and curled into his arms to finally sleep. 

You would finish your composition another night. The morning would find you, but you had time. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You were here and you were going to stay. 

[amethystarachnid]

Hi, how are you doing? ☺️

I’m here to make a little request for Tony Stark/Female Reader, please.

Prompt: Secret Santa

Background: Tony all cute and happy trying to find the best gift for her (maybe something handmade that reminds them of their relationship, I’m not the best person to think about those things, but I’m sure you will find something amazing) and Reader immediately knows what she’ll give to him, a box either a positive pregnancy test, some ultrasound pictures, a cute little iron man onesie with “Iron Baby” written and some other cute little things.

Thank you in advance! 💜

SECRET SANTA

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: While Tony is trying desperately to find the perfect gift for you you already have the perfect one hidden from him. Whose gift will be the best?

ᯓ★ TW(s): pregnancy

ᯓ★ To adapt the them to the request it isn't a secret santa so it'll be just a exchanging gifts kind of things

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Snow falls gently outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Stark Tower penthouse, each flake sparkling like tiny diamonds against the glow of New York City’s Christmas lights. Inside, the hum of J.A.R.V.I.S.’s automated systems and the faint strains of a holiday playlist create a cozy atmosphere. You’re lounging on the oversized couch, nestled under a throw blanket with a mug of peppermint hot chocolate warming your hands, your gaze occasionally drifting to the man who seems to embody the Christmas spirit this year.

Tony Stark is a whirlwind in the kitchen, entirely out of his natural habitat but utterly determined. He’s wearing a Santa hat that’s slightly askew, paired with an old, grease-stained AC/DC t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. His expression is one of laser focus as he uses an intricate set of tools — not culinary ones, mind you, but Stark-grade gadgets — to try and assemble what looks like a cookie cutter. The sight is simultaneously adorable and ridiculous, and you can’t help but smile as he mutters something under his breath about structural integrity and the optimal dough thickness.

“You know,” you tease, setting your mug down on the coffee table, “most people just buy cookie cutters. They don’t invent them.”

Tony looks up from his project, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, well, most people aren’t me, are they? If I’m going to make Christmas cookies for my amazing girlfriend, I’m going to do it right.”

You laugh, the sound echoing warmly through the room. “Cookies? Is that what you’re calling this… whatever this is?”

“This,” Tony says, holding up a vaguely star-shaped cutter with an air of triumph, “is engineering at its finest. And you, Ms. Skeptical, are going to eat the best Christmas cookies of your life.”

Your heart swells, the playful banter a familiar rhythm in your relationship. He’s been like this for weeks — uncharacteristically domestic and brimming with holiday cheer. You suspect it has something to do with the Christmas gift he’s been hinting at. Every time he tries to subtly ask you about what you might want, you see that telltale Stark gleam in his eye, the one that means he’s up to something.

Meanwhile, you’ve already decided on your gift for him. It’s sitting in a little box, tucked away in your closet, and every time you think about giving it to him, a wave of nervous excitement washes over you. It’s perfect, you’re sure of it, but it’s also a bombshell — the kind of gift that changes everything.

Tony’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “Hey, you good? You’re smiling like you’ve got some secret.”

You grin, trying to play it cool. “Just enjoying the show. You’re surprisingly cute when you’re playing mad scientist with cookie cutters.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your sass, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Careful, or I might make you wear the Santa hat and help me. Equal partnership, remember?”

“Nice try, Stark, but you’re on your own for this one.” You stretch lazily, enjoying the way his eyes flicker to you, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I have my own holiday preparations to deal with.”

Tony narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Preparations, huh? Like what?”

“Like… wrapping your gift.”

His expression shifts instantly, from suspicion to unbridled curiosity. “You already got me something? Why didn’t you tell me? What is it? Is it a car? A private island? Oh my god, is it a pony?”

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. “Why would I get you a pony?”

“I don’t know!” Tony throws up his hands. “You’re unpredictable. That’s one of the things I love about you. You could totally be the kind of person who buys her billionaire boyfriend a pony just to mess with him.”

Shaking your head, you rise from the couch and walk over to him, slipping your arms around his waist. He smells like a mix of motor oil and peppermint, a strangely comforting combination. “You’ll just have to wait until Christmas morning like everyone else.”

He groans dramatically, leaning his forehead against yours. “But waiting is the worst.”

You laugh softly, your fingers playing with the hem of his t-shirt. “You’ll survive.”

Tony pulls back, giving you that crooked grin that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. “You’re lucky I’m crazy about you.”

“I know,” you say, kissing his cheek. “And for the record, I’m crazy about you too.”

The rest of the evening unfolds in a blur of laughter, cookie dough catastrophes, and a flour fight that leaves the kitchen looking like a snowstorm hit it. By the time you crawl into bed, Tony is already brainstorming ways to improve his cookie cutter design, his notebook balanced precariously on his lap.

As you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but think about how much your life has changed since Tony came into it. He’s still the same brilliant, unpredictable man you fell in love with, but there’s a softer side to him now, one that he only shows to you. It’s a side that makes you even more excited about the future — a future that’s about to become even more chaotic, and infinitely more wonderful.

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Christmas music playing softly in the background. Tony is already up, standing at the counter with his back to you, tinkering with something that looks suspiciously like a robotic arm holding a whisk. You smile, shaking your head at his endless creativity.

“Morning,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.

He turns his head to look at you, his face lighting up. “Morning, gorgeous. Coffee’s on the counter.”

You grab your mug and take a sip, savoring the warmth. “What’s on the agenda today?”

“Shopping,” he announces, spinning around to face you. “I’m on a mission to find the perfect gift for the perfect woman.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And who might that be?”

Tony smirks. “Funny. You might know her. Smart, beautiful, has an impeccable sense of humor. Bit of a troublemaker, though.”

You laugh, leaning against the counter. “Well, good luck with that. She sounds like she has pretty high standards.”

“Oh, she does,” Tony says, his expression softening. “But she’s worth it.”

Your heart melts a little, and you reach up to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he quips, grabbing his coat. “Now, come on. Let’s go spread some holiday cheer — Stark style.”

The day is a whirlwind of activity. Tony drags you to every shop in Manhattan, insisting that he needs your input for “research purposes.” You play along, knowing full well that he’s trying to throw you off the scent of whatever he’s planning. At one point, he buys an absurdly oversized stuffed reindeer and insists on carrying it around for the rest of the day, much to the amusement of passersby.

By the time you make it back to the penthouse, your feet are aching, but your spirits are high. Tony collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, the reindeer perched proudly next to him.

“That,” he declares, “was a successful mission.”

“Did you actually buy my gift, or was this just an excuse to act like a Christmas lunatic?” you ask, flopping down beside him.

“Both,” he admits, pulling you into his arms. “But mostly the gift thing. You’ll love it, I promise.”

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I’m sure I will.”

As you sit there together, surrounded by the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree and the quiet hum of the city below, you realize that this is what you love most about the holidays. It’s not the gifts or the decorations — it’s the simple, joyful moments with the man you love.

And if everything goes according to plan, this Christmas will be one you’ll both remember for the rest of your lives.

The Stark Tower is unusually lively this morning, the energy of Christmas buzzing through its futuristic halls. Tony is in a festive yet frantic state, pacing the penthouse like a man on a mission. His hair is slightly tousled, his signature goatee impeccably groomed, but there’s an unmistakable panic in his eyes. In one hand, he clutches a tablet loaded with potential gift ideas — all of which he’s already rejected.

“I’ve got nothing,” he mutters to himself, collapsing onto the plush sofa. “Nothing! Billionaire genius, and I can’t even come up with a gift for my girlfriend. Pathetic.”

J.A.R.V.I.S., ever the voice of reason, chimes in. “Perhaps if you focused on what Ms. Y/N truly enjoys, sir, instead of cross-referencing gift lists from obscure online influencers—”

“Don’t start, J,” Tony cuts in, running a hand through his hair. “She’s already got everything. I mean, I got her that custom jet last year. How do you top a jet? You can’t just show up with…I don’t know…a fruit basket.”

“Fruit baskets do have their appeal,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responds with what could almost be sarcasm. “But perhaps the Avengers could provide some inspiration?”

Tony freezes mid-panic spiral. That’s not a terrible idea. Sure, it’s risky — the team isn’t exactly known for their emotional intelligence — but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Fine,” he says, springing to his feet. “Avengers assemble… into my gift crisis.”

Tony’s first stop is the gym, where Steve Rogers is predictably punching a bag that looks like it’s seen better days. Captain America, always dependable. Surely he’ll have a wholesome, foolproof idea.

“Cap!” Tony calls out, striding into the room. “I need your help.”

Steve turns, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Help with what?”

“Gift ideas for Y/N,” Tony explains. “You’re all about romance, right? Flowers, dances, old-school charm?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate.”

“Come on,” Tony pleads. “What would you get Peggy?”

Steve hesitates, clearly caught off guard. “Well… something meaningful. Like… a locket. Or a handwritten letter.”

Tony blinks. “A letter? Seriously? What am I, a 1940s soldier? This is Y/N we’re talking about.”

Steve shrugs. “You asked for my opinion.”

“Yeah, and I’m returning it for store credit.” Tony claps him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Cap. I’ll try not to let your advice tank the relationship.”

Steve sighs, going back to his punching bag. “Good luck.”

Next up is Natasha, who’s in the middle of yoga in one of the quieter rooms. Tony approaches cautiously, aware that interrupting her zen could be hazardous to his health.

“Nat,” he begins, leaning against the doorway. “I need a favor.”

She doesn’t even open her eyes. “Is this about Y/N’s gift?”

Tony gapes. “How did you—?”

“Because you’ve been pacing around the tower like a maniac all morning,” she replies coolly, finally sitting up and fixing him with a knowing look. “What do you have so far?”

“Nothing. Nada. Zilch.”

Natasha smirks. “And you want me to tell you what to get her.”

“Exactly!” Tony points at her like she’s just cracked the code to cold fusion. “You’re sharp. Observant. What’s the perfect gift?”

Natasha considers for a moment, then says, “Something personal. Handmade, maybe. You’re good with your hands.”

Tony grins, but before he can make a suggestive comment, she cuts him off with a glare. “Not like that. I mean something that shows how much you care. Jewelry, maybe. Or art.”

“Jewelry… art…” Tony mutters, pulling out his tablet. “Great, now I just have to learn how to sculpt in two days. Thanks, Romanoff.”

“Happy to help,” she says dryly, already returning to her yoga pose.

From there, Tony tries Clint, who’s stringing up Christmas lights in one of the communal areas. Clint’s advice is as chaotic as expected.

“Easy,” Clint says, perching precariously on a ladder. “Just get her a puppy. Chicks love puppies.”

Tony stares at him. “I am not bringing a dog into this tower.”

“Why not? Dogs are great. They’re cute, cuddly, and they make up for any shortcomings in the gift department.”

Tony rubs his temples. “I’m not trying to distract her from my shortcomings, Barton. I’m trying to impress her.”

“Suit yourself,” Clint shrugs, hanging a lopsided string of lights. “But don’t come crying to me when she says she wanted a golden retriever.”

Bruce is in the lab, predictably surrounded by gadgets and scientific equipment. Tony hopes the two of them can put their combined genius to work on this problem, but Bruce is far less helpful than anticipated.

“Maybe you could write her a song,” Bruce suggests, pushing up his glasses.

Tony stares at him. “Do I look like Taylor Swift?”

“I’m just saying, it’s heartfelt. You could compose it digitally if you don’t want to sing.”

“Banner, I love you like a brother, but I’m not serenading Y/N.”

Bruce shrugs. “Your loss. I think she’d like it.”

“Noted.” Tony sighs. “Back to the drawing board.”

Even Happy gets dragged into the chaos. Tony finds him downstairs, supervising the unloading of holiday supplies.

“Happy,” Tony says, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve known Y/N for years. What’s her ultimate Christmas gift?”

Happy looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “You want me to tell you what to get your girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re asking me, the guy who drives you around?”

“Exactly.”

Happy shakes his head. “You’re hopeless, boss.”

Tony groans, throwing his hands in the air. “You people are useless!”

By the end of the day, Tony is no closer to a solution. He’s tried everyone — Sam, Bucky, even Thor, whose advice (“Forge her a hammer!”) was predictably unhelpful. He slumps onto the couch in the penthouse, utterly defeated.

“What if she hates it?” he mutters aloud. “What if it’s not enough?”

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. interjects, “if I may offer a suggestion?”

Tony sighs. “What is it, J?”

“Perhaps the best gift you could give Ms. Y/N is a reflection of your relationship. Something that reminds her of the journey you’ve shared.”

Tony frowns, the gears in his mind turning. A reflection of their relationship… Suddenly, it clicks. His face lights up with realization, and he jumps to his feet.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., you’re a genius!” he exclaims. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?”

“I am programmed to be helpful, sir.”

Tony grins, already pulling out his tools and materials. He’s got a lot of work to do, but for the first time all day, he’s confident. This Christmas, he’s going to give Y/N something truly unforgettable. And if all else fails, well, there’s always next year’s puppy.

The workshop hums with activity as Tony works furiously on his latest project. He’s elbow-deep in wires and microchips, his face illuminated by the glow of holographic schematics projected in the air around him. His Santa hat sits forgotten on the workbench, replaced by his trusty welding goggles, and the upbeat carols playing in the background do little to mask his occasional muttered curses.

This gift has to be perfect. After his disastrous attempts at getting advice from the Avengers, Tony finally landed on an idea that feels right. It’s not about flashy extravagance or grand gestures this time. It’s about them — their inside jokes, their adventures, the little moments that have defined their relationship. The project is both ambitious and surprisingly sentimental, and it’s consuming every ounce of his focus.

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. pipes up, “Ms. Y/N has just returned from her errands. Should I inform her of your whereabouts?”

“No!” Tony yelps, nearly dropping a soldering iron. “I mean, no. Don’t tell her I’m down here. And don’t let her come in. This is classified.”

“As you wish, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replies. “Though I should point out that she may grow suspicious of your… absence.”

Tony pauses, chewing his lip. “Good point. I’ll head up for a bit. Cover for me if she asks anything.”

“As always, sir.”

Tony wipes his hands on a nearby cloth, tugs off his goggles, and makes his way upstairs. As the elevator doors slide open, the familiar scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air, and he spots you in the kitchen, arranging a tray of cookies with a focused determination that rivals his own.

“Hey, Peppermint,” he greets, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What’s cookin’?”

You glance up, a playful smile curving your lips. “Cookies, obviously. You planning to swoop in and steal half of them before they cool?”

“Steal? Never.” He steps closer, the grin on his face equal parts mischief and charm. “I’m just here to, uh, supervise.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, clearly not buying it. “What’s the catch, Stark?”

He slides an arm around your waist, planting a kiss on your cheek. “No catch. Just missed you.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, setting the tray aside and turning to face him. “And this has nothing to do with trying to figure out what I got you for Christmas?”

Tony’s feigned innocence is laughable. “What? Me? No. I’m just an affectionate boyfriend who loves his girl and—”

“Tony.” Your tone is firm but amused. “You’re not getting it out of me.”

He groans dramatically, letting his head fall against your shoulder. “Come on, just give me a hint. A tiny clue. Like… does it have wheels? Or a remote control?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

Tony leans back, his hands coming up to cradle your face as his eyes search yours. “Okay, what if I said you’re the most brilliant, stunning, wonderful person in the universe?”

“Flattery won’t work.”

“Bribery?”

“Nope.”

“Kisses?” He leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a way that’s almost enough to make you forget what he’s after.

Almost.

You pull back, grinning. “Still no.”

Tony lets out an exaggerated sigh of defeat, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“Consider it payback for all the times you’ve teased me with surprises.” You poke him lightly in the chest. “Now go find something else to obsess over.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, though his eyes sparkle with affection. “But this isn’t over.”

It’s definitely not over.

The next day, Tony launches a full-scale investigation. If you won’t spill the beans, maybe someone else will.

Thor is his first target. The Asgardian is lounging on the couch, a giant mug of hot chocolate in hand, as he admires the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. He looks every bit the picture of holiday contentment — until Tony plops down next to him with an unnerving grin.

“Hey, Big Guy,” Tony begins, his tone overly casual. “Enjoying the cocoa?”

Thor nods, his expression serene. “Indeed, Stark. This Midgardian drink is most delightful.”

“Great, great.” Tony leans in slightly. “So, uh… you’re pretty close with Y/N, right?”

Thor raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing an ulterior motive. “She is my dearest friend. Why do you ask?”

Tony shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, no reason. Just curious if she’s mentioned anything about, you know, Christmas gifts. Specifically mine.”

Thor chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound. “You wish to uncover her secret.”

“Exactly!” Tony’s eyes light up with hope. “So spill. What did she get me?”

But Thor shakes his head, his amusement evident. “I swore an oath of silence, Stark. Y/N entrusted me with this knowledge, and I shall not betray her.”

Tony groans, flopping back against the couch. “Come on, Thor. Just a hint. A riddle. Morse code, even.”

“I cannot,” Thor replies firmly. “But take heart, my friend. I am certain you will be most pleased with her gift.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony mutters. “Thanks for nothing, Thunderlord.”

Undeterred, Tony moves on to Sam and Bucky, who are bickering over whether or not Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie.

“Guys,” Tony interrupts, sliding into the seat between them. “Serious question: What did Y/N get me for Christmas?”

Sam snorts. “You think she told us?”

“Please,” Bucky adds, not even looking up from the screen. “Y/N knows we’re terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Exactly,” Tony says. “So if she did tell you, you’d crack by now. Which means she didn’t. Which means you’re useless to me.”

“Glad we cleared that up,” Sam deadpans.

Even Bruce, who’s usually patient enough to entertain Tony’s antics, is less than helpful.

“She didn’t tell me,” Bruce insists, adjusting his glasses. “And even if she did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do none of you understand the concept of loyalty?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Tony, if anyone here has loyalty to Y/N, it’s you. Why don’t you trust her gift will be amazing?”

Tony opens his mouth, then closes it. Bruce has a point. But that doesn’t mean he’s any less curious.

Back in his workshop that evening, Tony tinkers with his own project, trying to push thoughts of your gift from his mind. He’s almost finished now — just a few more adjustments, and it’ll be ready. As he assembles the final pieces, he thinks about all the moments that led up to this Christmas: your first date, the time you stayed up all night helping him debug a faulty suit, the way you make him laugh even on his worst days.

This gift isn’t just a present. It’s a thank you, a promise, and a celebration of everything you’ve built together.

And even though you’re driving him crazy with your secrecy, he knows one thing for certain: Whatever you’ve got planned, it’s going to be unforgettable.

With that thought, Tony sets down his tools, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. He doesn’t need to know what your gift is — not yet. For now, he’s happy just knowing he has you.

Christmas morning in the Stark Tower is a scene straight out of a holiday movie. The enormous tree in the living room is aglow with lights, its base surrounded by neatly wrapped presents. Snow falls gently outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a soft white backdrop for the festive chaos unfolding inside.

You’re curled up on the couch in your favorite pajamas, a mug of hot cocoa in hand. Tony, ever the big kid at heart, has already passed out Santa hats to everyone present, including himself. He wears his tilted at a jaunty angle as he lounges beside you, an arm slung around your shoulders.

“All right, folks!” he announces, clapping his hands together. “It’s showtime. Let’s get to the main event: gifts.”

The Avengers have gathered around the tree, a motley crew of holiday cheer (and mild bickering). Thor booms with laughter as he rips open a package containing a novelty hammer-shaped mug. Natasha smirks as she unwraps a sleek new set of throwing knives from Clint. Even Bruce looks delighted by his custom-designed science gadget from Sam.

But you and Tony? You’ve been waiting for this moment all morning, both of you teasingly delaying the exchange of your gifts.

“You first,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “I want to see what you’ve been hiding in that workshop of yours.”

Tony’s grin spreads wide, a mix of excitement and nerves. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart, this one’s worth the wait.”

He reaches under the tree and pulls out a medium-sized box wrapped in shiny silver paper. Handing it to you with a flourish, he leans back to watch your reaction, his eyes sparkling like a kid on Christmas morning.

You tear into the wrapping paper eagerly, revealing a sleek wooden box with a brass clasp. Inside, nestled in velvet, is a handcrafted piece of art—a delicate, intricate snow globe. The base is engraved with your initials intertwined with his, and the scene inside is unmistakably Stark: a miniature version of you and Tony, standing arm in arm next to a scaled-down Iron Man suit, all framed by a sparkling winter wonderland.

Your breath catches. “Tony… this is…”

“There’s more,” he interrupts, leaning forward eagerly. “Shake it.”

You do, and as the snow swirls around, holographic lights within the globe flicker to life. Tiny projections play out in the air—a montage of your most cherished memories together, from your first date to lazy mornings in the penthouse, all culminating in a tiny glowing heart, just like the one in Tony’s arc reactor.

Tears well in your eyes, and you look up at him, overwhelmed. “Tony, this is… it’s perfect. It’s us.”

He smirks, brushing it off, but you can see the pride in his eyes. “I figured I’d go for something understated this year.”

You laugh, setting the globe carefully on the coffee table before launching yourself into his arms. “Thank you. I love it. I love you.”

“I know,” he quips, pulling you into a kiss that’s soft and sweet. “Merry Christmas, Peppermint.”

The rest of the room groans at the display, but neither of you notice.

“Okay,” Tony says after a moment, clearly eager now. “Your turn. Let’s see what my genius, gorgeous girlfriend came up with.”

You grin, your nerves suddenly kicking in as you grab the box you’ve been hiding behind the tree. It’s wrapped in festive red paper, topped with a glittery bow.

“Here,” you say, handing it to him. “Be careful. It’s… uh… delicate.”

Tony narrows his eyes playfully. “Delicate? What did you get me, a Fabergé egg?”

“Just open it,” you reply, your heart pounding.

He takes his time unwrapping it, deliberately dragging out the suspense until you swat his arm. Finally, he pulls off the lid, revealing a soft, tiny onesie folded neatly on top. It’s bright red and gold, designed to mimic his Iron Man suit, with “Iron Baby” written across the front in bold letters.

Tony stares at it for a beat, then looks up at you, brow furrowed. “Uh… is this for… like, a doll? Or are you suggesting I start a baby clothing line?”

You can’t help but laugh nervously. “Keep going,” you urge, gesturing toward the box.

Still confused, Tony sets the onesie aside and peeks beneath it. There, tucked beneath a layer of tissue paper, are the ultrasound pictures.

He picks up the first one, his eyes narrowing as he examines it. The confusion melts away in stages—first to realization, then to shock, and finally to an overwhelming wave of emotion. He freezes, his hand trembling slightly as he holds the image.

“Wait,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Is this… are you…?”

You nod, tears brimming in your eyes. “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

For a moment, he’s completely speechless. His mouth opens and closes as he looks from you to the pictures and back again. When the tears come, he tries to hide them by rubbing his eyes, but there’s no stopping the emotion that floods his face.

“Oh, my God,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “You’re pregnant?”

You nod again, smiling through your own tears. “Surprise.”

Tony lets out a choked laugh, setting the pictures carefully back in the box before pulling you into his arms. He holds you so tightly it’s as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

“You made my gift look miserable,” he mumbles against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t compete with this. This is… this is everything.”

“You don’t have to compete,” you whisper back, your arms wrapped around his neck. “This is our everything.”

When he finally pulls back, his face is lit up with a joy you’ve never seen before. He looks at the pictures again, then at you, then back at the onesie, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” he says, more to himself than anyone else. “Holy—wow. This might be the best day of my life.”

You laugh, wiping at your tears. “You think you’re ready for this?”

Tony grins, his trademark cockiness shining through even as his voice trembles. “Are you kidding? I’m Iron Man. I was born ready.”

He pauses, then adds, “Although, uh, maybe I should baby-proof the workshop.”

The two of you laugh, and when Tony pulls you in for another kiss, the rest of the world fades away. It’s just you, him, and the tiny new adventure waiting for you both.

“Merry Christmas, Peppermint,” he whispers against your lips.

“Merry Christmas, Tony.”

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Singing Songs and Being Kidnapped

ectoberhaunt24 day 3- archaeology fandom- dp x dc TW-none summary- Danny is bored and is making it everyone's problem

ao3 masterlist part 2 of APVG

Danny had grown bored and had started tapping his foot. He’d been humming at first but the bag over his head muffled the sound. (He’d been humming the chorus of Staying Alive. (the only part he knew) It was funny. Sue him. Actually, please don’t. He only had two nickels and a mint edition signed Dumpty Humpty record to his name. But you’d have to pry that from his cold, dead (well deader) hands!)

 But wait! He just had to be louder so he could be heard through the bag over his head. So, instead of just humming, he started singing out loud. He had an excellent singing voice no matter what Sam and Tucker and all his classmates and teachers and other Amity Parkers said. He made it through the song’s chorus ten times, trying his best to make the instrumental sounds with his mouth. He started wondering what other songs he could sing when he was so rudely interrupted.

“Will you stop it!” screeched the smelly man currently in the room guarding him.

“I’m booooooored!” Danny complained trying to flop back dramatically, forgetting he was tied to a chair so all that happened was a tiny shuffle.

“I don’t care!” the guard said. “Look,” the guard sounded like he was pleading, “They’re on the phone with Wayne now, which means Batman will probably break in, break my kneecaps and rescue you soon. Please don’t make my life anymore miserable in the meantime!”

Awww, poor guy. He was just trying to do his job. Maybe Danny should be nice. Nah. They’d kidnapped him, now they had to deal with him.

After singing the chorus of Staying Alive approximately more times than he cared to count, Danny started branching out into the choruses of other songs he knew before deciding just to start singing the song that never ends, because it goes on and on my friend. Someone (Danny) started singing it not knowing how it ends (that’s a mystery even the Ancients can’t solve, except for maybe Clockwork) and know Danny’s stuck repeating it forever just because, it’s the song that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friend someone started singing it not knowing how it ends and now we’re repea–

Batman broke through the wall (leave the poor guy alone, he's allergic to doors) to find a henchman curled up in the fetal position, sobbing, and a kid who Batman could swear was one of his even with the bag still on the boy’s head.

Batman secured the goon, who still hadn’t stopped sobbing, before stepping over the man and removing the bag from the boy’s head. 

Yup, that definitely looked like one of his. He squinted. He didn’t think he adopted anyone recently, but…

“Thanks, Mr. Bat Furry Man. Sir.” said the young boy who immediately stood up, the ropes falling away.

The teasing and being able to escape the ropes, were two more points toward this being one of his kids.

“Hn.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok. Don’t get your spandex in a twist.” he said, rolling his eyes.

This had to be one of his! He even understood the bat-grunts!

“Glad you’re okay.” Batman placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you at dinner.” Then he leapt up, creating a hole in the ceiling. He then immediately jumped behind an ac unit, hissing as the light of the sun hit him. 

Curse the sun! Gotham wasn’t supposed to have sunlight! What was this? Some new villainous plot? Where was the smog? The smoke? The darkness!?

Down below, Danny blinked up at the hole in the ceiling, then looked down at the still crying henchman. “Well that was weird.”

Though… If the henchmen thought he was a Wayne kid, and Batman just called him son… did that mean… could Wes possibly be right?! But no, that was ridiculous! Surely, Batman would know his own kids!

Then again, he did remember Sam mentioning that there was a whole boatload of Wayne kids, and Wes had mentioned that the number of Bats pretty much lined up with the number of bats, and that the times of adoption lined up with the reveal of each new bat.

But whatever! Danny didn’t care! He had his own problems to deal with. Batman would just have to have dinner without him!

With a look toward the now unconscious henchman, Danny turned invangible (invisible plus intangible) and flew out so that he could return to the class.

Following his classmates' ecto-signatures, he found his way to a museum where he dropped into the middle of the group letting go of his ghostliness.

“Finally, took you long enough.” Sam muttered.

Danny rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I missed out on anything. I’ve seen most of this stuff on the jobs I do for Clockwork.”

Tucker smirked. “Speaking about your jobs for Clockwork,” Tucker motioned to where their classmates were huddled together in front of a mosaic, “look at what they found.” 

Danny shoved his way to the front, forgoing intangibility just to annoy them. Then he caught sight of what they were looking at and promptly turned green as a green tomato.

“Hey, Danny, why didn’t you tell us you looked so good in a dress?” Paulina snickered.

Danny turned even greener. “It’s a toga!”

His classmates snickered, and Danny flicked his fingers at the floor, covering it in a layer of thin ice. They yelped as they lost their balance and tumbled to the floor. Danny snickered, before darting away when they tried to pull him down too.

While Danny couldn’t wait to go home, being able to have fun with his class one last time before they all went their separate ways for college was really nice.

[twstfanblog]

*~Magical Girl AU~* Part 1

A/N: First chapter of the Magical Girl AU! I'm super excited to share more of this with you guys. I still need names for Jack and Jamil's Magical Beasts, but everything else has been picked! Please comment or send in asks if you have questions. Just ask if you want to be added to a tag list for this series. Enjoy! Word Count: 2.3K

For the longest time, Yuu felt the most comfortable in tight, dimly lit areas. It needed to feel soft to the touch on all sides, a bit of noise that felt out of place for how low it was yet filled the room. Her dad would tell her — when she was a baby — at times the only way to make her stop crying at night was to take her out of the bassinet and lay her on his chest as he continued working. His heartbeat, the sounds of nature from the open window. The faint glow of his screen and the stub of a cigarette on the windowsill lulled her to sleep in seconds.

She remembered only one dream from her childhood. It was dark, the sound of water dripping in the distance. She was laying on something soft, a cushion that held her entire body. Then something picks her up, holding her easily as she's lifted higher in the dimly lit room. Yellow lights look down on her fondly, and that's all she remembers.

The youngest Shroud boy crying was a rare sight, one that was by equal measure unwelcomed and disheartening in Crowley's opinion.

He could only feel pity, anger, heartbreak, as the small caster cried. His face buried in the feathers of a far too tired dire beast. In fact, everyone in the room was too tired. A truth that only shed further misfortune on them…

Looking around, Crowley saw the youth he was to lead and protect by his own choice scattered in the bleak safety of his home. The Shroud’s area had been the newest to fall to the ever growing darkness of their lands. Thick and viscous, thorny vines that ensnared many an innocent beast and loved ones alike.

He watches in silence as Diamond finally works up the energy to stand, appearance disheveled and marked by faded bruises. His stride was offbeat, limping to Ortho before dropping to his knees and gathering the sobbing boy into his arms. 

Crowley turns away, seeing Diamond's shoulders start to tremble.

Clover was tired, exhausted even, topaz pupils almost glowing from behind the dark outline clinging to the skin around his eyes, “Crowley, we can't keep this up…”

Casting a look behind him, Clover couldn't hide the distress in his gaze. His two younger charges, Trappola and Spade; younger compared to the former three that finished up their group but seasoned fighters in their own right. Each laid still, bodies covered in dirt, blot, and the shimmering ichor their kind bled. They were alive, blessedly enough. But they couldn't risk their lives day in and out, they were slowly becoming sloppy. Clover and Diamond feared one day they'd leave their small — ever growing smaller — safe haven and not come back…

Clover looked away from them, pinning Crowley with a hard stare, “Ace and Deuce still aren't to their full potential. R-...Riddle was only letting them tag along with Cater and me on recon missions before he… We in good faith keep sending them out alone to handle blot monsters…none of us can…We…Jade's contacted me…he almost lost Floyd some time ago.”

We can't keep holding on like this. It was unspoken, but said so many times Crowley feared he was growing deaf to it.

Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes and looked up the stairs of his root-infested home, the thick branches curving in intricate designs along the ceiling and walls. The swirls converge to direct toward the locked weapons room, the cradle of his greatest creation.

“I had hoped we could resolve all of this…peacefully. But I fear the others are too far gone for us to aid them now. All we can do is put them to rest from their madness.”

Clover tried to speak over him, opening his mouth in protest only to flinch as Diamond finally let out a choked sob at Crowley's words. When he turned back, he noticed the elder was already at the top of the staircase, waving his hand in a show of magic to open the doors.

Taking the steps two at a time, he took the moment to look around the room in brief awe when he walked through the doorway. A weapon of magic and might was crammed into every corner and laying unused on tables. The faded memory of sitting patiently at the table pressed against the grand circular window overlooking the once vibrant valley, watching as Crowley weaved complex spells and metals to craft his mallet. A sorrowful memory of standing with Cater at his side, smiling as Riddle excitedly took his newly created axe into his small hands.

“Clover, come here.”

He was beside Crowley in an instant. Looking at the table covered in a deep indigo cloth, numerous gems, trinkets, and smaller weapons were tucked into a dark corner before them. Trey couldn't help but blink his eyes in surprise at the beautifully embroidered chest sitting on the cluttered space. The chest was clearly an item of Crowley’s, deep blue in its main body with metal fastenings of gold on each edge and corner. He could even see a number of tiny iridescent pearl necklaces half hanging from the closed lid. But, on top of the chest, snoozing away as though all was well, was a dire beast with a striped ribbon around its neck. A cat if he remembered the name properly. But it was…big. Clearly already bonded to a weapon and a powerful one at that. Even asleep it seemed to ooze an aura of intimidation from its place atop the mysterious box.

Crowley only huffed at the creature, face pulled into displeasure at the sight. With one hand, he quickly picked the beast up by its ribbon collar and moved it haphazardly off the chest and onto the table.

With its own huff of annoyance, the beast shook itself awake to level a glare at Crowley. A gem was tied to its collar, the stone void of color only to flicker blue briefly before its ears flared up in flames of the same color, “What's the big idea on waking me up!?”

“It can speak!?” Trey shouted, eyes wide in shock and awe as he took a step back from the table. A dire beast so powerful it could speak the same tongue as them was unheard of. Turning to Crowley, he struggled to string his thoughts together, “Crowley, what is this? What weapon is this beast linked to?”

“Hey! My name is Grim!”

“A mirror.” Crowley smiled at the chest with fondness, gold-tipped hands caressing the top of it lovingly, “A weapon I had crafted nearly at the beginning of this mess to be our ultimate tool. A weapon that has the ability to create another from nothing, in any shape or form deemed necessary to ensure our victory. I had hoped…I would only need to use it on the reason for all of this…but he's grown too strong and we must use all we have…”

With a tap of his hand, a series of clicks sound from the chest. The lid popped up with a soft snap, a poof of glittering dust escaping the box and allowing Crowley to open it wider.

A black velvet pillow was all that greeted them. As time passed, Trey wondered if…the mirror was small. Or maybe it wasn't able to be seen by those who weren't wielding it? Maybe the beast decided who could see it…

“...Ah…” Crowley turned, meeting eyes with Trey and speaking just as the beast stared into the chest and yowled in confusion and distress at the lack of mirror inside, “It's missing.”

“...It’s what?”

Running water was the background noise to Yuu's teeth brushing, an overplayed pop song hummed at the back of their throat.

“Puppy! Puppy, come here; I need your help.”

Yuu spits into the sink, yelling back as she grabs a facecloth to wet in the still running water, “I'm covered in toothpaste!”

“Well, wipe yourself down and get in here!”

Already halfway through cleaning their face and hands, Yuu let out a loud groan before shutting the water off. The five-second walk from their cramped bathroom to the comfortably cozy living room was quick, moving beside her father as she watched him pick and stitch at a coat on one of his mannequins, “Yeah, dad?”

Crewel glanced at her briefly, stepping to the side to allow her to move closer to his project, “I need you to reach into this seam and smooth a layer inside down for me. I'm going to just stitch it down instead of having it mess up when I transport it…”

A quick and easy task, one Yuu had been performing since toddlerhood. A few minutes later, Crewel had tapped them on the thigh, a gentle signal that they could remove their hand. Watching their dad stitch the seam close, they couldn't help but marvel at the coat.

A pea-length coat made from almost shimmering short white fur, glittering in every slight movement made even from a single breath. Closed with three gold buttons and notch lapels that matched the fabric lining the inside of the coat. The inside was just as stunning; an ornate jacquard pattern of reds with her father’s signature stitched in white along the edge. The back cinching the coat into a more feminine framing with a red satin ribbon ran through gold corset loops and tied into a bow at the curve of the back.

They ghost their fingers over the fur, fighting the urge to feel the soft texture but knowing better, “The coat looks amazing. One of my favorites so far…” Yuu looked over to Crewel, raising an eyebrow as they elbowed him lightly, “Is it gonna be in the show?”

Sighing, Crewel put his pins and needles away, pulling a pair of glasses from a bin along with a comb and fine-toothed hair sheers. He starts moving over the coat with the comb and scissors to ensure not a single tuff was misaligned along the sleeves, “Well, she says it will be in the show. But we both know how Madame Sanat is. She says it'll be in the show but then decides as it’s about to go down the runway the design doesn't need the coat or the hat or the shoes-”

Taking a deep breath, Crewel signed again, staring at his creation with every ounce of exhaustion in him, “But, the plan is for the jacket to be in the show. She asked me personally to design for it, so maybe she won't be taken by the flights of fancy during the weekend.”

“You leave Thursday, right?”

“Thursday morning, correct. I'll try to make sure to do a grocery run before then.” He turned to Yuu, smiling as he gently caressed a hand against their cheek, “I'm sorry. I normally try to stay in town during your first week of school…”

Leaning into his hand, Yuu smiled back, shrugging in playful nonchalance, “It's no big deal. I'm a young lady after all. I even got through the first two days without being sent to the office for once.”

“I will admit. That part is impressive.” Crewel pulled on gloves, removing the coat from the mannequin to place it in a garment bag, “Thank you for doing your best to not get me called to your school as I was prepping for the show.”

Yuu rolled her eyes, “You sent me to school Monday saying if I got in trouble and pulled you away from working on the coat, you’d leave me back in the alley you found me.” They grabbed the reusable cup placed on the other side of the TV console, “Not my fault people are so easy to beat up.”

“Puppy.”

“What!? I've only punched in self-defense…” They sip at what they had thought was water, only to be met with the unpleasant mixture of the burn of alcohol and a mildly sweet taste hitting her mint-filled mouth and making her gag, “Ah!”

Crewel smiled lightly, taking his cup from her hands and looking at her from the corner of his eyes, “That's my wine, puppy…”

“It's like 11pm! Don't you have work in the morning!?”

“And you have school. Off to bed with you.”

Yuu rolled their eyes, groaning as they turned to walk into their bedroom, “Drink water!”

“Bed!”

Comfortably cramped and cozy was the staple of Yuu and Crewel's lives. Their bedroom cluttered with their personality and several iridescent fairy lights hanging from their loft bed. Climbing into the bed space, taking their extra-long charger cord with them, she made herself snug in her blankets and pillows. With their phone plugged in to charge through the night, they surfed along websites and apps as sleep slowly crept into their body. They could hear the noise of cars and the stray person outside their window slowly decreased the longer they stayed awake. Crewel had moved into the bathroom at some point, water running for some odd minutes before leaving to his own room across the hall separating them. Soon, for what seemed like an almost supernatural moment all was completely still and quiet.

Yuu felt their eyes drooping, blinks lasting longer and longer with each passing second. So when the light from outside their window changed from the warm-toned, burnt yellow street lights to an ethereal shimmery blue, they barely registered or had the energy to be amazed at the shift. The light and colors shifted, leaving shapes to dance and swirl along their walls and floors for nearly two minutes before they completely faded.

The lights had been beautiful, calming in a way they weren't entirely sure how to describe nor explain why they soothed them. As their eyes finally blinked closed in a deep sleep, Yuu made the mental note to check their phone tomorrow, already eager to see a video or an explanation for the glowing lights.

*Bonus!*

Aw~ Look, it's Yuu's baby picture!

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return Part 3

Chapter 25: Decisions

Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1.5k

“Do you want to go back?” Ace asked, studying your face. 

“Back where?” You focused on the newspaper in your hand, aware of his watchful eye. 

It had been a few days since Ace had woken up, but you still hadn’t made the call to Marco or the others that you all were safe. He had been making great progress since then-he could sit up almost completely on his own. His back was still heavily wrapped, but most of the tubes and wires were no longer connected to his body anymore. 

“Back home.” You winced at the word, which didn’t go unnoticed by Ace. His voice was softer when he spoke again. “To the Moby Dick.”

You stayed silent, staring intently at the paper in front of you. 

“We don’t have to,” he said, gently laying down on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He groaned at the contact between his back and the sheets, and your eyes reflexively darted over to him at the sound of pain. 

“Luffy’s not awake yet,” you reasoned. You didn’t want to have to make a decision yet. “We can’t leave him.”

“Luffy will be fine on his own.” Ace chewed on his lip, deep in thought. “If we leave before he wakes up, it’d be better.”

You scowled at that. “You can’t mean that. Luffy risked his life to save you! You can’t even stay around long enough to-”

“What if he didn’t save my life, though?” Ace’s dark eyes looked at you, waiting.

You let out a shaky breath. Certainly he wouldn’t be suggesting the same thing you had offered when he was unconscious. There’s no way Ace would want to leave…

“What if we were dead to the world?” His voice was so quiet, you could barely hear him. “We have the chance to start over. To leave everything-”

“What about the people we love? What about our family?” You argued. 

“My family is in this room.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was right. It had been the three of you for so short of a time, and yet all you wanted was a quiet life with them. 

Still, you found yourself shaking your head in disagreement. “We can’t just leave them.”

“We can.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a light squeeze. “We will never have this chance again. We have to make a decision. Don’t think about anyone else. What do you want?”

You thought about how peaceful life had been in Wano, when you had established a life, a routine. You had made friends. You never had to look over your shoulder in the market. Nobody knew who you were or what you were capable of. Could you really have that again?

But your life had always been on the high seas. You had never grown bored of island life in Wano, but surely that was only because you had goals. If you were confined to a life on the ground with no end in sight, how would you feel in five years?

“I can’t do that to Marco,” you said. “He can’t lose everyone in one day. That’s not fair.”

“So we tell Marco,” Ace shrugged. “I think he would agree we’d be making the right choice. And he’s not exactly one for gossip.”

“Don’t you think we’d grow to hate it?”

Ace quirked up an eyebrow. “Do you think you would hate it?”

You wouldn’t. He knew that, and so did you. The thought of a place to call your own made you want to weep with joy. It sounded like something you could never achieve, and yet here it was, serving itself up on a silver platter. 

“I’ll go speak to Law.” You rose from your chair, striding to the door. “It sounds like he has a call to make.”

--

A few days later, you were wrapped in Marco’s tight embrace, sobbing into his shirt. 

He had come alone and boarded the metal ship without any weapons, like Law had demanded when he initiated contact via the transponder snail. And they had vanished beneath the waves before Law had led him to your and Ace’s room. 

He had been cussing up a storm and threatening to rip the ship apart before the door opened to reveal the two of you. And then his entire demeanor changed, and the two of you hadn’t stopped holding each other since. 

Ace cleared his throat gently, trying to get your all’s attention. “Marco-”

“How’s the baby?” Marco asked, redirecting his attention. “Is it alright after Marineford? You really shouldn’t have-!”

“He-” you gave him a knowing smile. “-is completely healthy, thanks to the doctor.” You gave another nod of thanks to Law, but Marco’s was more focused on the words you had spoken. 

“He? It’s a boy?”

You gave a tearful nod. “It’s a boy.”

Ace shifted in his bed. “Marco-”

Marco ignored him. “And nothing is wrong? I mean, you used your powers for at least-”

Law stepped in, handing him a folder. “You can read all about it, Phoenix. We’re kind of on a tight schedule here.”

Marco’s brow furrowed. “Schedule? Aren’t I here to pick you up?”

The pain on your face was enough to spread panic across his as he looked between Ace and you. But slowly, miraculously, the panic melted away.

“You’re disappearing, aren’t you?” Marco asked softly, looking at Ace. 

Ace gave a simple nod. 

“We need your help,” you interjected. “We want to offer our protection to an island that Pops protected. In exchange, we just want to live there peacefully. Surely we can make the World Government believe their assassination attempt was successful. They’ve been reporting as if it was.”

Marco nodded as he wiped the tears from his face. He could switch into strategy mode almost as fast as you could. “It shouldn’t be hard to convince the world that the two of you are dead. We’re having a burial for pops in a few days.” Marco glanced at you nervously, but you kept your face blank. 

“You’ll need to take some of our belongings,” you said. “For the graveside. Take anything from my room.”

“My hat,” Ace choked out. “You can take my hat. It’s too much of a distinguishing feature anyway.”

Marco shook his head. “I can’t-”

“You can,” you said sharply, trying to keep your bottom lip from trembling. “We only have one shot at this, Marco. I need to know that you can do this.”

Your uncle let out another shaky breath, but he nodded. “I can do this. For you to live a happy, peaceful life…I’d do anything.”

You handed him a sheet of paper with a list of names. “These people have vivre cards-”

“Most of the cards were destroyed during the war with the ships, but I’ll make sure they’re all disposed of.”

“Keep one,” you whispered softly, your voice threatening to betray you. “In case you need to find us.”

Marco gave a light laugh. “Kind of defeats the purpose of erasing yourselves, doesn’t it?”

But one look at your shining eyes stifled his laughter. “I’ll keep one,” he promised. “Go to the island of Ontau. They’ll accept you. You don’t have to tell them everything, just let them know you were one of Whitebeard’s underlings. It’s far enough in the Grand Line and it’s such a small island that the Marine’s won’t bother you, but it won’t be hard for you two to defend.”

“Marco-” you whispered.

“I have 50,000 berries on me, take them all to start over. It’s not a lot, but you can buy a small cabin and some things for the baby.”

“Marco,” you said a little louder. He was blabbering to prolong his time with you. 

“And make sure you all find a nice place near the ocean. You can fish and live off the land, or get a job in town. Don’t live so far away that you isolate yourself. You need to make friends, both of you-” he gave you a pointed look. “You can trust people there. They’ll have your back when you need help, but you need to ask. Don’t be so prideful that you-”

You lunged toward him, wrapping your arms tight around him. It would be the last time you would see him for a very long time…maybe ever. 

“I don’t want to leave you,” you cried into his chest. 

“You have to.” He brushed your hair out, softly patting the top of your head as if you were still six years old. “You’ll live a better life. That’s all any parent wants, you know.”

“I wouldn’t be who I am without you.”

“You wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But now you can figure out who you are without me.”

You nodded into his chest, but you kept your arms locked around his torso. You needed to remember everything about him. Because if this was the last time…

“Look after each other, okay?” He said. You gave another nod. 

“I swear it,” Ace’s voice came from behind you, and you felt his hand on your shoulder.

You gave Marco one last squeeze and finally broke away from him.

“One last thing,” Marco said, his hand enveloping in blue flames. “Let’s see how much I can heal those pesky burns, Ace.”

Tag list! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog @dancingnewcat @dxestyi @flooofity @nyxthedragon01 @deadsnothere @h-rhodes1598  @morgyyyyyyy @trafalgardvivi  @fiestynatureweeb @frogpogjoghurt @beepboopcowboy @ms-portgas @luvyallbabes @appalost @zuchkaa @saybeyonce @stray-npc @kitsunechan707 @theyluvmesblog @heartysworld @aira-needs-sleep  @mothmomjay @ophelias-flowerss @aqualein @sehyojae @fanficwriter5 @forgotten-blues @amberash05 @firefistnoct @depressed-but-make-it-cute @stuckinthewrongworld@lizpoir

[thus-spoke-lo]

Compliments to the Chef // slimeball linecook!Sanji x f!reader // NSFW/18+ [feat. special guest appearances by fuckboy fwb!Ace and taxi driver!Zoro]

Written for @bastardblvd's Slimeball Collab

Summary: A few nights pass after the sordid events of A Ride for a Ride, and you're working another late night shift at Franky's Flapjack Shack with Sanji, that damned pervert cook. Sanji manages to piss off your only remaining customer for the night, leaving the two of you alone in the restaurant. Soon, things start to heat up in the kitchen--and not just because that one oven door won't close all the way. CW: afab!reader [no pronouns used to address reader]; dubcon elements; slight praise kink/body worship; vaginal fingering; oral sex [f receiving]; brief degradation. WC: 3.7k

���Goddamit Sanji!”

Sanji glances up from his sink full of dishes to see you in the doorway to the kitchen, one hand pressed firmly into your hip, the other gripping a plate. “You called, ma chérie?”

“Oh would you cut it with the ‘ma chérie’ shit, you’re not even French.”

“Hey, I am too!”

“I know you’re from Canada, asshole. And anyway, you got another plate of eggs back.” You toss the dish of half-eaten breakfast across the counter towards him, as a piece of bacon flops to the floor and bits of hashbrown scatter.

“So?” he scoffs, raising one curly eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips.

“So, he said they tasted like cigarette ash.” You cross your arms over your chest and stare at him unflinchingly. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

He shrugs as he reaches in his pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. “He wanted his eggs over hard. That’s disrespectful to the ingredients…so I may have added some extra seasoning.”

“Sanji!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll make him another plate,” he mumbles as he lights the cigarette that dangles precariously between his moving lips. “On one condition.”

“And what’s that?” You’re not sure why you even bothered to ask—you know the answer will be some degree of unsavory.

“Just give me a little kiss.” He moves towards you, snaking a hand around your waist as he blows a ring of smoke in the air. “Just one.”

“I’ll tell him we’re out of eggs,” you grumble as you slap his hand away and huff back into the dining room to explain your unexpected dairy shortage.

*****

“Thanks a lot, asshole!” you shout as you swing the kitchen door open a while later, finding Sanji standing just inside with his phone in his hand, looking guilty as he hastily shoves it in his pocket. “Dude left without paying. So now we gotta explain why we’re short—again—and I don’t even get a tip.”

Sanji opens his mouth to speak, but is quickly shushed as you press your index finger to his lips.

“And I do not want to hear any ‘tip’ comments, you pervert.”

“Oh come on,” he grumbles as he tries to kiss your hand, “do you really think so little of me, my sweet?”

“…Yes.”

“Look, my dear, as someone who went to culinary school, I just can’t allow an injustice to be committed against food that way.”

You sigh and your head lolls back of its own accord as you stare up at the ceiling, counting the missing tiles. “Sanji, do we have to do this?”

“Ma chérie, I trained under the finest Michelin-starred chefs.” He takes a long drag off his cigarette and closes his eyes, becoming instantly lost in the vast expanse of his own bullshit. “When I worked in the kitchen of Chef Zeff, now that was where I learned to appreciate the simplicity of an omelet, none of this fried-egg-and-cheap-meat nonsense that we do here.”

He’s talking.

And he’s still talking.

And he’s still fucking talking, his words sounding more and more like the annoying hum of a florescent lightbulb. As you stand there and watch his lips move, his cigarette bobbing up and down, you start to wonder if maybe kissing him wouldn’t be such a bad idea as long as it would shut him up for a little while. He is a pervert, and a creep, and a bit of an egomaniac, but he’s also easy on the eyes, all sparkling blue eyes and soft blonde hair that was always falling in his face. And those hands of his—those long, slender fingers that you knew had to be capable of more than cracking eggs and gripping the hilt of a chef’s knife. Maybe he just needs to get laid to calm down and stop acting like he’s the greatest gift to the cooking world—although it would probably would be best to silence him if he has his mouth on your—

A sudden vibration in your pocket thankfully distracts you from your meanderings. You lean against the counter and take it out, chewing your lip as you see the notification on the screen:

BAD IDEA sent a photo

You already know what you’re going to find but you swipe it open anyway, and to no surprise, you see a text bubble that simply reads “wyd?” followed by a picture of himself—your forever-friends-with-benefits Ace is freshly out of the shower, strands of his black hair clinging to his chiseled jaw, rivulets of water dripping down his muscled body. A towel is hanging precariously from his lean hips, low enough that you can see the delicious v-shape carved into his lower torso, the one that practically leads you like a treasure map down to the long, thick column of a cock that you know hides just under that towel. 

I’m at work, you furiously text back, a warmth beginning to pool between your legs.

[BAD IDEA]: when u off?

[YOU]: couple more hours

[BAD IDEA]: k, text when ur on ur way. i’ll be up.

[YOU]: I bet you will be.

[BAD IDEA]: wanna see?

Before you can even place your thumbs on the keyboard to respond, a perfectly-lit photo of his rock-hard cock appears on your screen, his large hand gripping it at the base. You inhale sharply at the sight, already counting the minutes until the end of your shift.

“So whose dick is that?” a jealousy-laden voice suddenly utters in your ear, whispers of smoke drifting up your nostrils.

“Fuck!” Your phone flies across the room and lands face-down on the wet, tiled floor. “None of your goddamned business!”

“Let me guess,” he says as he walks around in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours for even a moment, “some fuck buddy of yours?”

“Sanji, let it go.”

“Why? No need to be embarrassed, my sweet. Someone as gorgeous and utterly desirable as you deserves to have all their needs met.” He pauses to take a drag and cocks his head, a slight smirk settling in the corner of his mouth. “And he does meet your needs…right?”

You glance down at your shoes as a montage of encounters runs through your mind, typically ending with Ace rolling off you and falling immediately to sleep. “Usually.”

“Usually?”

“Well, I mean, sometimes,” you say, swaying your head a little as you try to count the orgasms he’s given you on purpose. “Like, it’s just not a big deal, you know?”

“My darling.” Sanji bends down to stub his cigarette out on the tile floor and walks towards you, leaning his body into yours as he places one hand behind you on the counter. “Don’t you think you deserve better than that?”

“Well sure…” you trail off as his body comes closer and closer to yours and you can feel the fire of longing radiating off him, almost creating its own atmosphere around the two of you.

He bites his lower lip, dragging it through his teeth, as his gaze flits between your eyes and your mouth. He leans in slowly, his lips almost brushing yours, and you don’t stop him—you don’t even so much as turn your head and you wait for the faint beginnings of a kiss, when he veers away just before making contact, instead letting his cheek graze yours as he moves to whisper in your ear.

“Your pleasure should always come first, you know,” he murmurs as one leg slowly slots between your knees, pushing them apart slightly. “You shouldn’t accept anything less than that.”

“Let me guess. Next you’ll tell me you’re the kind of man who would make sure I’m always taken care of, right? Is that where this is going?”

“Why don’t you tell me where it’s going, ma chérie.”

“A-alright, stop being a fuckin’ perv, Sanji.” You place your hands on his surprisingly firm chest and push him away, feeling at once annoyed and deeply, unsettlingly aroused.

He makes no attempts to stop you, just snorts a quiet laugh as he watches you storm out of the kitchen and into the dining area, and you roll your eyes at the fact he’s probably getting off on your tempestuousness. You stand behind the counter, hoping and wishing that someone would wander in, freshly drunk from the bar a few blocks down, begging for a hot coffee so at least you’d have something to occupy your body and mind for a while. Instead, the room remains empty and cold, accentuated by the low mechanical whirring of the ice maker behind you and the tinny rhythm of the royalty-free music playing softly over the one good speaker at the cash register. 

As the ice maker roars to life and noisily drops perfect little cubes into the bin, you sense a warm presence behind you, and a hand settles on your shoulder, gripping you gently. Long fingers reach up to brush your jaw, soft fingertips moving up to caress the apple of your cheek. 

“We’re all alone, huh?” Sanji’s voice lacks its usual repulsive air of desperation, replaced by a honeyed sweetness and a whiskey-smooth confidence you only heard when he talked about his cooking.

Without thinking too much about it, you reach up and place your hand on his, stroking the tops of his fingers, surprised by the silkiness of his pale skin. “But Sanji, we’re open.”

“I don’t think anyone would mind if we closed up to take a break. Do you?” He leans forward, brushing your hair away from your neck, and warm lips meet your chilled skin, sending a shiver through your core. The tip of his tongue traces along the delicate flesh of your neck, and he leaves a trail of gentle kisses back down the path he made.

“We are—ah—entitled to a meal break, I suppose.”

“I certainly know I’m hungry,” he groans into your shoulder as he nips at you through your shirt. “Why don’t you go wait in the kitchen for me, beautiful, and I’ll lock up?”

You nod, unable to readily conjure up any affirmative response and force it out of your mouth as you find yourself suddenly set adrift in a sea of passion. You meander into the kitchen and lean back against a metal worktable, gripping it tightly, wondering what in the hell is wrong with you—how it is that this curly-browed cook, in all his usual shamelessness, was suddenly able to enchant you, place you under some wicked spell of sexual depravity that has your heart racing and your core pulsing as you anxiously wait for him to return.

You glance out the small window in the kitchen door and see the lights in the restaurant dim slightly. The door swings open a moment later and Sanji’s gaze immediately settles on you, never leaving once as he crosses the kitchen to where you stand nervously against the counter. His hands settle at your waist as though they’ve always been meant to be there. “Shall we pick up where we left off, lovely?”

“Sanji, wait I—I need to be clear,” you stammer as you gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, feeling a little wave of pleasure roll through you as you notice how sinewy he feels under his stiff button-up shirt. “If we—if we do this…it doesn’t mean anything, okay? Not a damned thing.”

He leaves a soft, patronizing kiss on your forehead. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, darling.”

Without any further exchange, Sanji claims your mouth with a fierce urgency, feeding from the sweetness of your lips as though he was trying to absorb your very essence into his cells. His tongue gently pushes past your lips and dances and curls with yours, lingering flavors of nicotine and black tea filling your mouth, as his hands move up from your waist and push under your shirt, his palms exploring the soft expanse of your form.

“You’re so warm,” he moans into your mouth, “so perfect. I could do this forever.”

He intoxicates you with more long, drugging kisses before finally pulling away, a frenzied look of desire glimmering in his icy eyes. There is something in his gaze, in his touch, in his in effortlessly sensual kisses that has you ready to let him defile you right here in the worn-down kitchen, to bend over and let him take you right in the walk-in freezer, to have him utterly ruin you among the containers of pre-made spaghetti sauce and expired salmon.

He lowers his hands back down your body and tugs at the waistband of your khakis. “Take these off for me, my sweet?”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” you mumble through your delirium as you quickly unbutton and unzip, struggling with unsteady hands as you find yourself unable pull them off over your shoes.

“Here, let me help you, darling.” Sanji lowers himself to the floor and strips the cheap trousers off your body, a quiet gasp leaving his lips as his gaze scans the length of your exposed legs. “Fuck, you’re more beautiful than I ever dreamed.”

His hands settle on your thighs and slowly slide up, moving outwards to grip the plush curves of your hips. He carefully slips a finger under the waistband of your panties on either side and unhurriedly slides them down—he seems to know he doesn’t require your permission anymore, as you silently urge him to finish undressing you. You’re far too hazy already, starting to lose yourself to the debauched atmosphere in the warm, quiet kitchen, to notice him quickly slip your underwear into his pants pocket.

He stands and helps you up on the metal prep table, and you feel it move slightly under your weight as he settles you. He plies you with more sweet kisses, more meditations on your exquisite beauty, as his hand slides between your legs. Sanji lets out a whimper of pleasure as he glides his fingers along your slit, and you become shamefully aware of just how soaked you’ve become from your little tryst.

“Oh my darling, my beautiful, incredible darling,” he whispers as he gently begins to press against your entrance. “You feel like silk—like the softest flower petals.”

His long fingers slide inside you, and a sigh leaves your lips; his name drifts in the air between little gasps and moans. It feels so perfectly wrong to let him fuck you with those slender fingers, to use him for the pleasure you were so often denied, but the look of absolute euphoria on his face tells you he is more than willing to provide you whatever it was that your desired.

“You’re so wet for me, it’s incredible,” he groans as he slowly pumps in and out of you, watching you with a sordid fascination, enjoying every furrow of your brow and every heave of your chest as you begin to breathe in short, sharp gasps. He moves his wrist a little faster, crooking his fingers up to stroke that bundle of nerves inside you. “Does that feel nice, my sweet? Is this what you needed?”

“S-so good, Sanji,” you stutter as little waves of pleasure drift through your lower half, your muscles twitching with every thrust of his arm, and a warm tension begins to build deep within. “S’perfect.”

“Mm, I think I can do better, though,” he grins as he kisses you again, his teeth dragging against your lower lip. “May I taste you, my darling?”

“Please?” The word comes out in a whimper, and you don’t even mind how pathetic you must sound—you just need his mouth on you this instant.

“With great pleasure, beautiful.” Sanji languidly pumps his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt a little longer before he finally withdraws. He fishes a cigarette out of his pocket, touching his slick-coated fingertips to the end of it before placing it his mouth, getting the taste of you on his lips for the first time. He sighs as he lights it, taking a long, slow drag from the cigarette before carefully handing it to you. “Here, my sweet—hold this for me.”

“Sanji, I’m—I’m not thinking straight,” you shakily respond, carefully taking the cigarette from him and grasping it between trembling fingers. “I don’t wanna end up burning myself.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” he assures you as drops to his knees in front of you, “you’re going to cum on my tongue long before that’s out.”

He kisses up your leg, starting at your knee and moving up the plush inside of your thigh, until he reaches his paradise. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, a guttural groan rumbling in his ribcage as he fills his lungs with your scent.

“You smell even better up close like this,” he murmurs against your cunt as he kisses and sucks at your swollen lips. “This is like heaven, darling, and I never want to leave.”

His soft fingertips part you, and he licks one long, low stripe up your cunt before fucking you with his tongue, moaning as he darts it in and out of your pulsing hole, collecting your slick on it and greedily swallowing. “I want to drink every last drop of you, darling, you taste sweeter than honey.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he moves up to your aching, needy clit, and he laps and sucks at it, the tip of his tongue swirling over you, as he revels in every little moan and gasp, your noises of delight only spurring him on further to devour your pussy with the hunger of a starving man. Every flick of his tongue sends little bolts of lightning down your thighs, and you feel yourself slowly but surely losing control of yourself to this perverted menace of a man, who showers you with a kind of reverence that you’ve never felt before. You grip a handful of his blonde hair between the fingers of your free hand and press yourself into his mouth as your climax takes you by surprise, a feeling of heated bliss hitting you hard and fast, your body tensing and coiling, then releasing with a shuddering explosion. You cry out as he continues to bury his face in your pulsing cunt, his tongue never ceasing its movements over your throbbing clit as wave after wave of pleasure engulfs you, and your keens and wails of ecstasy are so loud, so powerful, that you don’t even notice the squeak of the kitchen door swinging open.

“Hey! Anyone back here?”

“What the fuck?” you stammer as you see a familiar man appear before you, and you hurriedly stub out Sanji’s still-lit cigarette that you hold between your shaking fingers. The local cab driver, Zoro, is standing in the kitchen, hands on his hips, bulging biceps threatening to pop the stitching on his shirtsleeves, his mouth slightly agape at the sight before him.

“How did you get in here?” Sanji shouts as he stands up from between your thighs, and quickly tries to cover your exposed cunt with a soggy dishtowel. “We’re closed right now!”

“Says ‘24 hours’ on the sign. By the way, I think your door’s messed up, had a helluva time gettin’ it open.” He pauses as his eye settles on you and he studies your face; after a moment, a lecherous grin begins to make its way across his lips. “Hey…I know you.”

“How the hell do you know my precious flower, moss-head?” Sanji takes a step towards him, his chin still glistening with your juices and his saliva.

“Uh, how do you guys know each other, exactly…?” you ask quietly, though your question is promptly ignored.

“Your ‘precious flower’ got a ride home from me the other night.” Zoro licks his lips and winks his good eye at you, as his gaze drifts towards your mostly-exposed lower half. “Gave me a helluva ride, too.”

“Zoro, shut up!” you hiss.

“Is that true?” Sanji wipes his mouth on his sleeve as he turns to you, a horrorstruck expression on his face, and he takes a step towards the table. “Did you—did you fuck this creep?”

“Sure did,” Zoro answers for you, moving in front of you to block Sanji from reaching you. “We had a little exchange of goods and services in the back of my cab, if you know what I mean.”

“In his cab?” His voice is nearly a screech now, his whole body shaking as he stares at you incredulously. “Really? His fucking cab?”

“Sanji, it’s none of your damned business!” you shout around Zoro’s side. “You’re not my boyfriend!”

“Yeah,” Zoro nods, “you heard the slut, stay out of it.”

“Zoro!”

“How dare you speak to my sweet darling that way,” Sanji seethes through gritted teeth as he moves closer to the cabbie. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of you!”

Zoro steps forward, pressing his forehead against Sanji’s, grinning wildly. “I’d like to see you try, curly-browed idiot. I can speak to that little whore however I want.”

“Out back,” Sanji spits as he sinks his index finger into Zoro’s chest. “Right now.”

“Fine!”

“Hey—try not to get lost on the way out.”

“I’m gonna kick your fuckin’ ass, cook!”

Zoro stomps after Sanji as the heavy door to the alley slams open, the handle leaving a deep dent in the drywall behind it, and you watch, dumbfounded, as it slowly drifts shut behind them and their curse-filled tirades begin to fade into the cold night.

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” you mutter as you hop down from the counter. You nearly topple over as you pull your pants back on, simultaneously scrambling for your phone, frantically fumbling for the video call button while you zip up your khakis.

“Mmm, hey. What’s up, baby?” Ace answers in darkness after a few rings, and a light clicks on beside him as he situates his camera on his chiseled face—even in the middle of the night, he looks devastatingly handsome. “It’s late, ain’t it?”

“Hey Ace, you got a minute?”

“Oh shit, you comin’ over?” He lazily pans his phone down his body, past his washboard abs, stopping once you have a view of his half-hard cock that lays against his steely thigh. “I can be ready whenever you are.”

“I’ll be by in a little bit,” you huff as you jog towards the back door, already hearing the subdued sounds of shouting and scuffling in the alley. “You gotta see this shit first.”

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Maybe Later

Maybe Later: After fighting on Marineford with your captain, you wake up on the Polar Tang injured. When you try to wash the blood from marines and pirates alike, you can’t quite reach the areas you need to given your injuries. The doctor that patched you up decides to help.

Warnings: Gore, Talk of Death, Explicit Language, Explicit Material.

To Note: Trafalgar Law x Female!Reader, I named you Tulip.

Word Count: ~4.4k

You come to with a start, your eyes struggling to open. The room swims into focus—a metal ceiling, dim lights casting a sterile glow. You try to shift, but pain lances through your back, immobilizing you. You’re on your stomach, naked, and the sting of antiseptic fills your nostrils.

“Where... where am I?” Your voice croaks out, dry and weak. The last thing you remember is Luffy's screams, Ace's lifeless body, and charging for them. Then nothing. A memory of blistering pain erupting on your back flickers into your mind but doesn't linger.

A figure moves into view—dark curly hair under a yellow and orange hat. It’s Ikkaku. A concentrated look upon her face keeps her attention, hands gentle as they tend to the wound on your back.

“You’re on the Polar Tang,” she replies without glancing over to you. Her voice is calm but tinged with an underlying urgency. “You took a nasty hit from Akainu. Severe burn injury on your back and over your spine.”

The memory floods back—Akainu’s magma fist, the searing agony as it punched through your flesh. Bone. You grit your teeth against the residual pain and screaming nerves.

“You passed out from the pain,” Ikkaku continues. “You’re lucky your spine wasn’t completely ruined, otherwise you’d’ve lost your ability to operate your lower body.”

“Luffy... what about Luffy?” you rasp, knowing all too well the fate of Ace. All that work only for Ace to die.

Ikkaku’s hands pause for a moment before she resumes her work. “He’s still unconscious. We’re keeping an eye on him.”

The thought of Luffy lying somewhere in a similar state fills you with a mix of dread and relief. At least he’s alive.

“I need to get up,” you mutter, attempting to push yourself off the gurney.

Ikkaku’s hand presses firmly on your shoulder, stopping you cold. “Don’t even think about it,” she says sharply. “You are just out of surgery! You need at least three more hours for your spine to finish bonding before you can move safely. Otherwise, you might paralyze yourself! You are lucky that you still have vertebrae and nerves left!”

You whimper, a sharp sound of frustration mixed with agony. The pain surges, radiating from the burn wound and spreading through every corner of your back. Reluctantly, you stop moving, surrendering to her orders. With great reluctance.

Ikkaku's grip on your shoulder softens as she resumes her work. “I’ve debrided the wound post surgery,” she explains, voice clinical. “Removed all the dead tissue. Now I’m applying a synthetic material over it to protect the flesh that isn't too far gone. Most of the flesh that made direct contact with Akainu’s fist was incinerated. It’s going to feel strange for a while, but it'll speed up the healing process and you'll have 'skin' covering your spine again.”

Her fingers glide over your stinging back, placing a cool, gel-like substance over the raw skin. The contrast between the burn’s heat and the synthetic coolness is startling and you dig your fingers into the gurney beneath you to force yourself to stay still. You let out a shuddering breath, focusing on Ikkaku’s touch rather than the lingering pain.

“How bad is it Ikkaku?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Bad,” she admits. “But not irreversible. Law has some new advanced medical techniques. We’re doing everything we can, it won't be the same, but you'll at least still have function.”

You nod slightly, though even that small movement sends ripples of discomfort through you. Silence stretches between you and Ikkaku, filled only by her quiet murmurs as she continues her treatment.

Minutes tick by like hours until Ikkaku finally steps back, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Alright,” she says softly. “The worst part is done for now.”

“How long?” you ask, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Three hours,” she replies. “Three hours for the material to integrate and start the healing process. Then you can take a shower to wash off all this blood. Just avoid applying excessive pressure to the area. Until then, do not move.”

Your eyes snap open at that, taking in your surroundings once more—the metallic walls of the Polar Tang's infirmary now smeared with streaks of red where you had thrashed earlier. The scent of blood mixes with antiseptic, a reminder of how close things had been.

“Blood’s everywhere,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Ikkaku nods grimly. “Yeah, it got pretty messy when we brought you in. You were thrashing and kept breaking open cauterized parts of your back… but don’t worry about that now. Focus on resting.”

You close your eyes again, this time willingly surrendering to the stillness that beckons you. Time stretches and blurs; seconds bleed into minutes into what feels like an eternity. Luffy's screams, the explosive sounds of gunfire, screeching metal. You find yourself slipping into memories. The chaos of Marineford floods back into your mind in a rush.

Gunfire, screams, and the acrid stench of blood mingled with smoke. You remember the searing heat of Akainu's magma fist before it had even touched your shirt, the blinding pain that followed, and the desperate struggle to stay conscious. Luffy's frantic cries for Ace echoed in your ears, a haunting reminder of your failure.

“Tulip!” Luffy had shouted amidst the chaos, his voice a lifeline as you stumbled through the battlefield. But you had been too slow. The sight of Ace's lifeless body is burned into your mind, a permanent scar.

You vaguely recall Law's voice cutting through the haze of pain and battle. “I’ve got her,” he had said, his tone clipped with urgency. He hoisted you over his shoulder with a gentleness that seemed out of place in the middle of such violence and chaos.

Jinbe’s presence loomed nearby. He had just landed on the deck of the Polar Tang, cradling Luffy in one arm while passing you off to Law with the other. “She’s too stubborn to die,” Jinbe had grumbled, a rare hint of emotion cracking his usually stoic demeanor.

Law laid you on your stomach on the operating table, his hands surprisingly steady as he assessed your injuries. “Hold on, Tulip,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “I'll fix this,”

The sound of surgical instruments clinking together was oddly comforting amidst the backdrop of battle noise still ringing in your ears. Familiar. Law worked swiftly, his focus unwavering despite the urgency surrounding him. You always admire him for that.

“Ikkaku,” he had called out, never taking his eyes off your wound. “Prep for debridement, I'm going to have begin working on Luffy immediately.”

You barely remember her quick nod and rapid movements as she prepared the necessary tools. The pain was almost unbearable as they worked to clean and treat your burns, but their voices—calm and controlled—some how managed to keep your mind from breaking.

“We’re doing everything we can,” Ikkaku had reassured you as she began scraping at the edges of your wound. Sharp, burning. A chilly burn had entered your bloodstream and memories faded.

Now, back in the present, their words echo in your mind as you lay there on the gurney. The room around you fades into a blur once more as exhaustion pulls you under again.

The battle at Marineford may be over, but its echoes remain—etched into your skin and seared into your memory. Marring Luffy. You drift between wakefulness and sleep, caught in a limbo where past horrors intermingle with present pain. Is Luffy going to ever recover?

You push yourself up, muscles trembling, feeling every but of the synthetic material adhered to your back shift and move. Just like skin. Ikkaku hovers beside you, her eyes scanning you with a meticulous intensity. She’s making sure the material has bonded correctly, fingers grazing the edges of your wound with light touches.

"How does it feel?" she asks, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

You wince as you shift. "Like a thousand tiny needles are prickling my back," you admit, voice hoarse but steadier than it had been.

She nods, not unsympathetic, just clinical. "That's normal. It means the material is integrating well. You'll feel phantom pains occasionally. Your nerves are still adjusting and your body hasn't realized that you lost that skin yet. Well… it shouldn’t, it should just integrate the synth material like it is your own natural flesh healing.”

Her hand leaves your back, and she reaches for a lab coat draped over a nearby chair. She hands it to you without a word, her expression softening as she watches you struggle into it. The fabric feels rough against your still-bloodied skin but offers some semblance of modesty.

You take a deep breath and push yourself off the gurney and too your feet, legs shaky but functional. The room tilts slightly before steadying itself around you. Ikkaku moves to support you, but you wave her off with a weak smile.

"I got it," you murmur, taking tentative steps forward. Each movement sends twinges through your back, reminders of the damage inflicted by Akainu’s magma fist. Like you’ll every forget.

Ikkaku follows close behind, ready to catch you if you falter. "Take it slow," she advises. "No sudden movements."

Your feet shuffle against the cold metal floor of the infirmary, each step a fight you struggle to complete without a threatening wobble. The scent of antiseptic and detergent mingles with the lingering tang of blood—nauseating.

"How’s Luffy?" You ask again, needing to hear more than just reassurances.

Ikkaku hesitates before answering. "He's stable for now," she says quietly. "But he’s not out of the woods yet."

A wave of determination washes over you, lending strength to your wobbly legs. "I need to see him."

Ikkaku steps in front of you, blocking your path with a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder. “No, not yet, Tulip," she insists. "You need to rest and recover more before going anywhere. I'd suggest taking a shower first, it'll make you feel better and the gentle heat will help the synthetic material bond better to your bone and tissue."

“I’ll take a shower,” you murmur, your voice tinged with reluctant resignation. “But I’m seeing Luffy afterward.”

Ikkaku’s eyes narrow, a stern glint in her gaze. “If you refuse to rest, I’ll tell Law,” she warns, her tone a blend of concern and frustration. “You know how he gets when someone ignores medical advice, certainly you.”

A small smirk tugs at your lips. “Go ahead,” you retort, your voice steady despite the pain radiating through your back. “Law isn’t my captain.”

Ikkaku sighs, shaking her head slightly. “You’re impossible, you know that?” You hold the lab coat tighter around your body.

“Law knew what he was getting into when he decided to take me on as a patient,” you say, glancing at Ikkaku. Your voice carries a hint of defiance mixed with resignation. “It's not the first time we've been through this.”

Ikkaku’s expression softens slightly, though she still looks concerned. “You’re right,” she concedes, stepping aside to let you pass. “But don’t push yourself too hard, Tulip. Law—you know how Law is.”

You nod, appreciating her concern but knowing that nothing will keep you from seeing Luffy. You promised to take care of him. The narrow corridor stretches ahead, its metal walls reflecting the dim lighting. Creaking from water pressure and humming from technology.

You shuffle into the bathing room, a sterile, tiled space with several communal shower heads lining the walls. The lab coat slips from your shoulders, revealing the smattering of bruises and cuts that paint your body. You had been high on adrenaline at Marineford, only now do you feel the full extent of what you've endured. Every movement pulls at your skin, every shift of bone alters you to bruises you didn’t know you had.

You glance at a mirror set into the wall. The sight stops you cold. Your back, once mostly unblemished, is now marred by a large, fist-sized black patch crusted with blood and other fluids. Akainu would forever be imprinted on your body. The edges of the wound are inflamed, the skin around it angry and raw, a stark contrast to the rest of your flesh.

Swallowing thickly, you step closer to the mirror, eyes tracing every jagged line and swollen contour of the wound. "Dammit," you mutter under your breath, your fingers trembling as they hover over the injured area. The strange synthetic material replacing your skin. You don’t touch it—can't even reach it—but just seeing it up close is enough to bring the memory crashing back.

You force yourself to look away from the mirror and hobble over to one of the shower heads. Each step is a battle against gravity and the needle like pain prickling at your spine, but you make it. Reaching out, you turn the knob with a shaky hand. Water bursts forth in a cascade, steam filling the room almost instantly.

The water hits your skin like needles at first—sharp and unrelenting—but soon morphs into something more tolerable. You brace yourself against the wall, letting the stream wash away layers of grime and dried blood. Red-tinted water swirls around your feet, vanishing down the drain in ribbons.

You tilt your head back, closing your eyes as you let the warmth further seep into you. It’s not comfort—nothing can be that right now—but it’s something. The heat softens some of the tension knotted in your muscles and eases some of the ache radiating from your wounds. Ikkaku might have spoken about the heat helping the synthetic material bond to your spine, but it also lessens the sharp prickles.

Your hands move slowly, carefully scrubbing away the dried blood crusted on your chest and arms. The water turns a murky mix of black and red at your feet, swirling down the drain. Each stroke is mechanical, as you try to cleanse yourself of the battlefield's remnants. In an almost detached way, you are sure not all of the blood is yours alone. The metallic scent of blood mixes with the sterile smell of the soap. It only makes your stomach roll in your belly.

The heat from the water softens the grime but not the memory of Akainu’s searing attack. You grit your teeth as you attempt to turn your back against the shower spray, but the sensitivity is too intense. The water pressure feels like swords stabbing into your raw flesh.

You sigh in frustration and resort to using your hands, gently swiping around the edges of your back. Despite your best efforts, you can't reach all of your back—let alone the wound itself—without twisting painfully. Cleaning your back isn't going to happen.

The shower room door creaks open, and you hear footsteps approaching. You glance over your shoulder to see Law entering, a towel wrapped around his hips. His expression is a mix of concern and irritation. And exasperation because he is not the least bit surprised.

“You're supposed to be resting,” he says, voice firm but not unkind.

You bite your lip, glancing down at the murky water swirling around your feet. "I'm covered in blood, Law," you murmur, frustration edging your voice. "Not just mine—dead Marines, dead pirates. I need it off."

He doesn’t respond immediately, just steps closer, the towel slipping from his hips to pool around his feet. You quickly turn away, focusing on the cuts riddling your chest and arms instead of the sight of his naked body. Painfully as beautiful as you remember. Your fingers itch to trace the tattoos on his chest.

Law’s own fingers brush against your shoulder, wiping away some blood that clings stubbornly to your skin. You suck in a breath, feeling the warmth of his body so close behind you. The sensation sends prickles throughout your body, mingling with the residual pain.

"You’re never going to get all the blood off at this rate," he remarks, his fingers still ghosting across your shoulders.

You fire back almost instantly. "I was in the middle of washing it off when you came in."

A heavy silence falls between you two, filled only by the steady stream of water hitting the tiles and swirling down the drain. Your muscles tense as you feel Law’s forehead gently rest against your shoulder.

"I had to rebuild part of your spine, Tulip," he confesses quietly.

"I was trying to save my captain's family, Law," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of the shower. The weight of your words hangs in the air, the enormity of Marineford pressing down on you both. But you don’t argue further. You know there’s no point. The damage is done.

Law remains silent, his forehead still resting against your shoulder. You feel his breath, warm and steady, as he takes a moment to compose himself.

"I know," he finally says, his voice a low murmur that reverberates through your body. "But now you need to let me take care of you."

You nod slightly, not trusting yourself to speak. Law’s fingers move again, this time more deliberately, as he begins to carefully wash the blood from your back. His touch is gentle but firm, each movement measured and precise. A reflection of his medical side.

His fingers graze the edges of your wound with an almost reverent care. You feel every stroke, every slight pressure as he works meticulously to clean the area without causing further pain. The sensation is both soothing and agonizing—a reminder of how carefully he can yet so close to what you silently wish for the darkest of nights.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” Law mutters under his breath, though there’s no real anger in his tone.

You let out a soft laugh that quickly turns into a wince as his fingers brush against a particularly sensitive spot. “Look who’s talking,” you retort weakly.

Law’s lips curve into a small smile that you can’t see but feel against your shoulder. “Fair point,” he concedes.

As the last of the blood is washed away, Law’s touch changes subtly. His fingers linger longer on your skin, tracing patterns that have nothing to do with medical necessity.

Law’s hands slide around your hips, one settling against your stomach while the other trails fingers down to your pelvis and against your inner thigh. His fingers are slow, as if savoring every moment. The warmth of his palm against your thigh sends a rush of heat through your body, and you lean back into his embrace, your breathing growing heavier.

“Don’t start anything you’re not willing to finish,” you whisper, your voice almost muted by the spray of the shower.

Law’s lips press against your neck, his breath warm and steady. He begins to kiss and nibble at your skin, each touch igniting sparks that radiate outward. You squirm against his chest, a soft groan escaping your lips as his fingers slide between your legs to glide through your folds. The sensation is electric, each stroke drawing out more and more gentle bursts of pleasure that fight to overtake lingering aches.

Your hand moves to cover Law's, pressing against your stomach. Your fingers clench around his, feeling the strength and warmth that are so intimately familiar. Each touch from him sends waves of sensation through you, both comforting and electrifying.

"Law," you breathe, your voice thick with emotion and something deeper, something only he could bring out.

Law's grip tightens slightly in response, a silent acknowledgment of your words. "You better tell me if it becomes too much," he warns, his voice low and husky, tinged with concern and desire.

A moan escapes your lips as his fingers continue their gentle exploration, drawing out sensations that make your body hum with pleasure. You twist your head to look up at him, your eyes meeting his with an intensity that speaks volumes. "Law," you breathe out again, this time more insistently.

For a brief moment, your shared and murky past is swept away to be forgotten. His dark eyes lock onto yours, filled with an unspoken promise. The connection between you feels almost tangible, charged with the weight of everything left unsaid. Always unsaid, but never forgotten.

Then he bends down, closing the distance between your lips and his. The kiss is fierce yet tender, filled with a hunger that matches your own. His lips move against yours with a rhythm that leaves you breathless, his tongue exploring your lips and mouth as if he intends to discover you all over again.

Your free hand reaches up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss. The taste of him is intoxicating, each movement of his lips sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His fingers continue their journey between your legs, the slow, deliberate strokes driving you to the edge.

"Tulip," he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and ragged. "I need to know if—"

"Don't stop," you cut him off, your voice raw with need. "Please, you won't hurt me."

His response is immediate; he kisses you harder, his fingers quickening their pace. Swirling around your clit with precise strokes. You shudder in his embrace and whimper deliciously. The shower's spray mingles with the heat between you two, creating an atmosphere that's both steamy and electrifying.

Your body arches into his palm as waves of pleasure build within you, each touch from Law pushing you closer to release. You can feel the tension coiling tight in your lower belly, ready to snap at any moment. Gods, he knows how to play your body just right.

Your fingers tighten in Law's hair, your nails grazing his scalp. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. His tongue laves against yours, each stroke igniting drunken sparks that race through your veins. The intensity of the kiss consumes you, leaving no room for anything else but the sensation of his lips on yours and the relentless rhythm of his fingers between your legs.

Your gasps and whimpers become more frequent, each one escaping into the space between your lips. Law devours every sound you make, his mouth never leaving yours. His fingers slide deeper into you, their movements confident and unerring. You can feel the slick heat building inside you, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

“Law,” you moan against his lips, your voice trembling with desire. “Please…”

His fingers quicken their pace, each stroke sending you closer to the brink. His other hand slides up your stomach, caressing the sensitive skin until it cups your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. The dual sensations make your breath hitch, a soft cry escaping your lips.

Your body responds to his touch instinctively, hips moving in time with his fingers. You’re lost in the sensation, the steamy room narrowing down to just you and Law, the heat of the shower, and the intense pleasure coursing through you.

His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, “I’ve got you.” His words are a promise and a command all at once.

Your fingers dig into his hair, holding on as waves of pleasure build inside you. The tension coiling tighter with each stroke until it’s almost unbearable. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation.

“Law,” you gasp again, your voice breaking. “I’m so close…”

His response is a low growl of encouragement. “Let go,” he murmurs against your skin. “I want to feel you come around my fingers, flower.”

With that final push, the tension snaps, and your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your body shakes against his chest as pleasure radiates out from your rippling cunt. Your muscles contract around his fingers, drawing them deeper as wave after wave of sensation floods through you.

You sob his name, the sound echoing off the tiled walls as he continues to work you through your release. Each tremor of pleasure is heightened by his relentless touch until you're left gasping for breath, completely spent.

Your legs feel weak beneath you, but Law’s strong arms hold you up, supporting your weight as you come down from your high. He’s there with you every step of the way, holding you firmly against his body to keep you steady.

As the last shudder runs through you, he slowly withdraws his fingers from your clenched thighs and wraps that arm around your waist. You lean back into him, breathing heavily as you regain your bearings.

When you finally feel steady enough to stand on your own again, you reach out to turn off the water. The sudden silence feels almost deafening after the rush of the shower and the sounds of your shared passion.

You slowly turn around to face Law, water dripping from both of you onto the tiled floor. His eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. One of his hands comes up to cradle your bruised face gently.

“You look like you had the ever-loving shit beaten out of you,” he mutters, his voice a dry mixture of concern and amusement.

A strained laugh escapes your lips, raw and unrefined. “You should see the other guy,” you manage to joke, despite the pinpricks still stabbing away at your spine.

Law’s thumb traces the scabbed-over cuts on your face with a tenderness that contradicts his harsh words. Each touch is careful, as if he’s trying to memorize every line and curve marred by battle. The pads of his fingers glide over your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“Does it hurt?” he asks quietly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Not as much as it did,” you reply, your voice softer now. You lean into his touch, savoring the brief moment of intimacy amid the chaos.

His fingers continue their exploration, tracing the contours of your face with an almost reverent care. How aggravating that you missed it this much because now all you wish for is more.

"Are you going to leave me hanging?" you ask, your voice carrying a playful edge despite the exhaustion weighing down on you. Law lets out an exasperated sigh, his breath warm against your cheek. You never change.

"Maybe later, flower, you've got a lot of healing up to do."

Date Published: 9/5/24

Last Edit: 9/5/24

Trafalgar D. Water Law Masterlist

[writeforfandoms]

Waking Lions 24

Find the series masterlist

Here we are at the second to last chapter! Next chapter is the last one. Eek!

An important conversation is had, and you begin to navigate your new normal.

Warnings: Swearing, emotions, emotional talks, offscreen death.

Word count: 1.2k

“Ace,” John answered just after the second ring. 

“John,” you greeted. You swallowed, suddenly uncertain how to proceed now that you had him on the phone. “How is clean up going?” 

John huffed, a soft mostly amused sound. “As well as can be expected,” he murmured. “How are you?”

You paused to consider the question. Normally you'd deflect, joke, answer in riddles. But… Well. You didn't need to anymore. Not with John, at least. “Working through things,” you admitted, soft and slow. 

He hummed. “Suppose we have some things to talk about.”

“We do.” You didn't particularly want to. In fact, you'd much rather run. It was easier to run. You didn't have to deal with any of these complex things. But it also isolated you.

And for once, you'd rather not be isolated. You didn't want to run from John, not really. 

Silence held between the two of you for a few long moments, stilted and awkward, as things hadn't been before. You kind of hated it. 

“I don't like that he's still alive.” That hadn't been where you were going to start. Dammit. 

John breathed out slowly, crackling down the line. “I understand that,” he said, speaking slowly, weighing his words. “But he has more to tell us still.” 

You clenched your jaw, pushing down the irrational anger. “I know,” you managed. “I know you need him for evidence. But I can't relax until he's dead.” 

John was silent for long enough that you thought about checking if he was still there. “Understood,” he grunted finally.

Your heart leapt. You knew that tone. That was the tone of a man willing to do whatever it took to fulfill his mission. Was he saying…? You swallowed. You couldn't bring yourself to ask. “So, where does this leave us?”

“Was going to ask you that, love.” John huffed out a short breath, a little rasp over the line making you think he was rubbing his beard. 

You sighed softly. “Not sure,” you admitted. “How much longer are you here?”

“We leave tomorrow night.”

“Oh.” Your heart ached for reasons you didn't want to examine just yet. “No rest for the weary, hm?”

“Or the wicked.” He chuckled with black humor. 

“Well.” You breathed in slowly. “Suppose you're not allowed to tell me where you're going?”

“Nowhere you should be,” he said sharply. You could all but see the look he'd aim at you. 

Your lips quirked. “Alright, then, don't tell me this time.” You paused, considering. This was well outside the rules, but, well. You'd already broken so many rules for him, for Kate. The rules didn't matter anymore. “Tell me, when you can.” 

By the sudden, absolute silence on his end, you knew he caught the significance of your words. “I will,” he agreed in a low rasp. “Not staying with Kate?”

“I will, for a while,” you murmured, tipping your head back to look up at the ceiling. “But I'm sure my feet will start itching again soon.” 

“Think they ever won't?” The question was light, teasing. But you could hear the genuine inquiry beneath. 

“That depends.” You swallowed. 

“On?”

“How long Gray lives.” You breathed in deep for courage. “And if someone wanted me to stay.” 

Price was silent again for a few moments. When he did answer you, his voice was rough. “Well, then. We'll see what happens, eh?” 

“We will.” You smiled, choosing to be hopeful that he'd said “we”, not just you. “Do you need to go?”

“Not yet,” he said quickly, and you smiled at the ceiling. “Tell me what you've been doing.”

So you did. Not that you'd done much. He seemed amused and understanding at how much you'd slept, commenting only that sleep was good for you. In return, he gave you the edited version of catching up with his team after they'd all gotten back from their assignments. He wouldn't give you any details, and you didn't push for any. 

It was a fragile sort of peace, talking around some things, but it worked. The two of you made it work. 

It gave you hope, for later. Down the road. Once you were less of a mess.

When the two of you finally hung up, it was late. Late enough that you felt bad for keeping him. But you knew he wouldn't accept an apology, wouldn't want to hear it. 

But you were surprised to find a text from Gaz when you woke. 

You're a bloody miracle worker. 

You laughed to yourself, shaking your head. I didn't do much.

Gaz replied immediately. Either he was bored or not busy. Don't care what you did, keep it up. He's almost mellow today.

You snorted but didn't reply to him. You didn't need to. 

Instead, you spent the day doing housework and debating what you wanted to do, long term. Not your most productive day. Oh well. Not every day could be productive. Or even good. 

You did check with Kate about when the team was leaving. You sent John a text shortly before they were due to leave. 

Safe journeys, John. I'll see you soon.

You stayed with Kate another week and a half before the urge to go grew too strong. But you didn't run. You told her where you were going, and left in the morning. 

You weren't going anywhere for work, not yet. You didn't need to work just yet. Instead, you traveled just to wander. To find some new favorite restaurants. Moving had always helped you decide what to do, and this time was no different. 

You also kept up with texting John. He didn't respond right away, sometimes not for days. But he always responded. 

It was… weird. But nice. 

Two weeks into your leisurely travel, you finally started to consider work again. You could probably reconnect with enough contacts to start over, or switch entirely to giving information to Kate. Or you could try something else, maybe. 

But you did like the freedom afforded you with travel and gathering information. 

Hm. Something to think further about, certainly. You did have some options. 

You'd just settled back in your hotel for the night when your phone rang. Kate. That was surprising. 

“I don't have bail money,” you answered in lieu of a proper greeting. 

But Kate apparently wasn't in the mood for your jokes. “Sit down,” she said firmly. “Now.” 

You sat on the bed, swallowing hard. “What happened?” Dread spread icy limbs through your chest. 

“Gray's dead.”

The world swayed even as your heart stopped. “What?” You didn't recognize the tiny wheeze as your own voice. 

“He was found dead this morning. Single gunshot wound to the head. No security footage,” Kate told you, matter of fact and as close to inflectionless as you'd ever heard her. 

You breathed in deep as your heart restarted, pounding along. “You're absolutely sure.”

“Yes.” Kate sounded grimly satisfied when she said, “Gray is dead.” 

You sat there for moments that stretched an eternity, absolutely no thoughts in your head. Gray was dead. He was finally dead.

Wait.

“Single gunshot wound?” You confirmed, the world snapping back into hard focus. “No footage at all?”

“Correct.” 

“I need to go.” You hung up, scrambling off the bed to start throwing your things back in your bags. You spared one minute to send off a text, and then hailed a cab to the nearest airport. 

You had a plane to catch.

[unhappy-last-resort]

Only In Aphotic Hours

Fandom: PTN (Path To Nowhere)

Genre: Yandere, smut, angst

Main Characters: Cinnabar, GN Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Dub-con, fingering (reader receiving/giving), oral (reader giving), lesbian situationship, reader has a vag, Cinnabar is being weird, pre-established relationship

It's cold.

That's the thought that echoes in the empty halls of your tired mind as you stare at your ceiling fan spinning tiredly above your bedroom. There's a metal rattling sound from the other end of your apartment, probably someone going up the rusted stairs. You rub your eyes more roughly than you should and turn to look at your alarm clock, red numbers glaring 1:10 A.M. at you and reminding you that you had work in a few hours, and more annoyed at your early wake-up.

Your fingers tap at the duvet cover as you consider what to do. You stayed up too late this past weekend- waiting for someone who never showed- and you really, really need your sleep. Tea. You'll get some tea, it'll warm you up and hopefully relax you enough to go back to sleep.

With a grumble, you sit up pull a blanket around your shoulders, and stand, wincing as your feet hit the floor and the chill spreads into bone. Sure, you could, in theory, turn off the fan, but you know if you do, you'll wake up covered in sweat—the joys of living in a shitty apartment building.

You hobble down the narrow hallway, the only thing that stood between your bedroom and your kitchen— save for the tiny bathroom tucked into the end of the hallway and right in front of your bedroom door— really, your "apartment" was just a straight line with squares attached to it. You ignore the AC that you knew wouldn't do anything no matter how you fiddled with it, and enter your kitchen; flipping the switch and blinking as yellow light floods your vision.

The one thing you could be thankful for is that the cramped living situation allowed you to see everything immediately. The kettle waiting on your stove, the tea you always use sitting on your counter and tucked against the wall, the coat rack crookedly screwed into the wall, there were no hidden surprises in your place. Everything is as it's presented to you, as you last left it.

You flick the stovetop on and huddle back into a corner of your cramped kitchen, staring absentmindedly at the darkened sky that shows through the large— too large, in your opinion— square window on your door. Maybe if you lived high enough to see over the neighboring apartment building, you wouldn't mind it so much, but you don't and you hate how you sometimes get the feeling of being watched when you're in here. Actually, you've started noticing the peculiar itch of eyes on you even in your bedroom too. When did that start?

There's another, subtle rattle of the metal stairs outside and you still, the quiet buzz beneath your skin telling you to listen. There's a rumble of laughter in the distance that seeps through the walls, and the sound of someone's AC kicking on, but not that distinct rattle of rusted metal you'd come to know. Sure, it could be someone in your building staying out late, maybe getting a breath of fresh air, or looking at the deeply unpleasing view of the dirty street and alleyways below.

You're probably overthinking.

You stared at the tiled floor, it's uncomfortable and icy to stand on, most of the year you don't care, but as you start to smell the snowy tendrils of oncoming winter in the air, the sinking dread of facing another winter alone in your apartment, trying not to freeze as you shiver beneath every blanket you own consumed you. What you wouldn't give for an escape from that torment.

Huh. Escape.

You always dreamed of escaping Syndicate, of going to better, higher places away from the filth and violence that permeated your life like swelling warts, but maybe you've already given up on that dream, or maybe you didn't. Maybe that's why you latched onto her the same way a drifting soul in the sea latches onto a piece of rotted, broken wood from a ship. You believed she could bring you to safety with her loving smiles that brightened the world, her strong arms that held you tightly in the night, her eyes that glimmered like ocean waves, mysterious and gentle as they wrapped around you and coaxed you into the depths of warmth.

You hated the way life would freeze and dull when she wasn't around like spring flowers breaking from the Earth only to realize it was still snowing. You lived for the momentary warmth and unspoken promise of care and safety she brought into your world. You ached for it like a sunflower aches for the sun to shine its light over the horizon.

A loud slam of a door comes from beneath your feet and a tremor runs up the walls. Water bubbles inside the kettle and the metal stairs creak and shake with each heavy step the person on them takes. The man who lived below was old and angry, you'd always hated going down the stairs each morning after a certain incident. You still remember what it felt like, standing on the stairs, hand gripping the railing as you gaped at the window, a black box where hatred and anguish had coalesced into a person staring back at you, the surroundings unfurling like a blooming rafflesia, simultaneously drawing your attention to the-

Door knob rattling.

It's slow, the swing of the door followed by the cold sweeping in and wrapping around your ankles, the boot landing heavily on the small bit of wooden floor that marked a difference between the entrance and kitchen. The tall figure slouching through the doorway, yellow, cracked goggles flashing in the yellowed kitchen light. Matted, wet, black and blue hair sticking to each other; dirty jacket, white shirt, stained brown.

It's her.

Warmth is undercut with the prickly cold of fear, bunching in your veins beneath joy and settling over your shoulders, crawling up your neck, and wrapping upwards to meet your ear. It's different, something's wrong. It whispers feverishly, tugging at your nerves to run back into the box of your room- away from warmth.

She yanked off her goggles and dropped her shield on the floor, the loud thud making you flinch before she started tugging off her jacket. This is…Well, normally, she knocks and says who she is and almost tip-toes her way in, like she was afraid of disturbing the air you occupied despite your attempts to break the delicateness that wove itself between you. She always treated you like something that could be easily destroyed without her realizing, like carefully crafted lace that could fray if rubbed the wrong way, like the very bedsheets you rested on were holy.

This- as you watched her drop her gloves onto her jacket on the floor instead of putting them on the coat rack- was, careless. The most reliable member of Serpent Eye, who always did her job, who was always sweet, and kind, and warm, and cautious to the point it hurt; was being careless. The cold around your neck held tighter and your heart sent a shudder that ran to the pit of your stomach, blossoming into warmth that bubbled in your veins.

"Cinnabar!" She looks at you instantly, her blue eyes wide, and your voice comes out unexpectedly loud and excited. You wince, but she just smiles and you continue, being careful to set a casual tone this time. "I didn't know that you were coming." Is everything okay?

She pauses, sticking her tongue in her cheek before leaning down to untie her boots. "I had an errand to run here and thought I'd make up for the missed date." She glances up at you with a sheepish smile, shy and cheeky- mostly the latter. "It was last minute so I couldn't text you."

You hum, rubbing your thumb into the flesh of your upper arm as you watch her. She'd usually at least knock before coming in, in fact, there was only one other time she ever showed up unannounced and it wasn't like this with her boots printing reddish-looking mud on your floor.

Maybe it was the shitty apartment lighting or the midnight sky that shone through the door's window and framed her face, but her eyes seemed to share the unending darkness of the night- and you are at its epicenter.

She smiled, the corners of her mouth upturned in a familiar way, the stretch of her lips that you'd seen before, the crinkles around her eyes in their expected place; but something about it settled unnaturally in your stomach.

"Hey," She says softly and takes one step forward, one step closer to the threshold between the entryway and the kitchen. "I'm sorry if I startled you." She dropped her shoulders and bent her knees slightly, quirking her head with a wry smile as she carefully stepped her way toward you. Maybe she was trying to appear smaller to you, but it feels like you're about to be pounced on. "I just...really wanted to see you." She's past the kitchen sink now. Her fingers twitch as she drags them over the countertop.

She's close enough to smell now, smoke, gunfire, and something tangy that tickles your throat. You don't know when you were caught in the corner where the counter and wall meet, but Cinnabar's in front of you, the sheen of sweat highlights the muscles flexing beneath her arms as she places them gently on either side of you, the wall creaking behind you.

Your breath is caught in your throat the same way your eyes have been captured by hers. You can feel her breath brush against your skin like a bubbling inferno that spreads throughout every inch of your skin and ignites with an ache to burn.

"Is that alright?" She whispers, but it's so loud it's the only thing you can hear. It's the only thing that rings through your mind, ricocheting off walls and silencing the cold that was on your shoulders, sealing it somewhere deep beneath your skin.

You can feel one of her hands inching toward you as she tilts her head to the side, her smile patient, gentle, and a little needy as it always was in the moments before you'd find yourselves tangled in each other. Yet you could tell something was interwoven in the texture of her skin and the fire behind her lashes, something that seemed insatiable and greedy. "I don't…know?"

She chuckles, her Adam's apple bobbing in her throat. "Flustered?" She leans in and cups your cheek, glancing at something off to the side for a moment. "Don't worry, just think of it like last time."

A tense beat of silence and then the kitchen light is snuffed out with a click and her lips are on yours in the same instant, feverish and sloppy and unlike any other time she kissed you. You're left reeling, grabbing at her shoulders as she drags you out of the kitchen.

Her kiss is rough and consuming, suffocating in ways you didn't know she was capable of. Her starting kisses were never like this, never did she part your lips with her tongue so eagerly, never did she hold you, hostage, against a wall with her fingers prying at the edges of your shirt with too much eagerness for precision. It was never like this, but it has never been more intoxicating than now.

You could stop her, you could pull away, but as you push her into the closet door of your hallway, you feel her smile against your lips as your hands drift and squeeze at her ass and thighs- why should you stop?

She pushes you in the direction of your bedroom, finally slipping a hand beneath your shirt and wrapping it up your back to keep you upright as you both stumbled your way in the dark, reluctant to let your lips separate farther than a breath as if you might disappear if she can't hold you and keep you close.

Your knees catch the edge of your mattress and your lungs are burning for oxygen as you both crash onto the bed and she finally lets you breathe. You stare at the fan spinning overhead, perpetual and ordinary, as Cinnabar's calloused fingers hook the band of your pajamas and pull it down. You hear her sigh as you come into view and she swipes two fingers over your wet folds, before dragging them up to tease your clit. That's not ordinary- it's a special occasion, it always was. You wish it was ordinary.

She leaned over you, resting her forehead against yours and despite the bubbling pleasure that slowly spread through your veins- your hips bucking into her hand, you found your eyes solely focused on her face, on her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, and the oceanic blue of her irises which were usually gentle and patient had a frayed sense of restlessness you couldn't place your finger on.

She didn't let you think of that for long as she slipped her fingers down, pushing into you gently and curling your fingers, before dragging them up to your clit again, her lips pressing kisses into your neck.

She moves to suck at a spot just beneath your jaw before she lifts her head and kisses you softly. You hold each other's gaze as soft moans fall from your lips and your hands wander to cup her breast, kneading and pulling at the soft flesh. Her other hand drags up your arm and intertwines with yours, pulling it away from her breast to kiss your fingers, her eyes staying locked on yours as she leans in to gently bite into the tender flesh of your wrist.

She tore her gaze away from you to her fingers, smiling softly. "You always feel so nice to touch." She looked at you again and you were rendered breathless with how much adoration she held within her eyes, like it was pouring out of them in a thick sludge that threatened to choke you.

"I've never stopped thinking about you since we met." Her pointer and index finger move in a slow, circular motion, now she suddenly wants to take her time to appreciate you. "I was just…"

She takes a deep breath, her voice sounding unnaturally frail and small. "I was worried you'd get hurt." She shifts, cupping her free hand against your cheek and tracing your features. "I couldn't stand the thought of that, but I also couldn't live without you."

"Are we doing this now?" In a way, it's everything you ever wanted from her and it also couldn't be farther from it. You had tried so many times to have a meaningful discussion about this and she always answered with a sigh and a kiss before leaving your bed cold.

Her eyebrows twitch downwards, bunching the skin on her nose, her lips forming a sad, thin line. She looks like she wants to say a lot, but instead, she forces into a smile so painful looking, you don't want to look at it.

"Look, I…" She waits for a while, choosing her words carefully before sighing. "I know I haven't been the most transparent." Her fingers rub your bud languidly. "But, I promise things are going to be different from now on." She slips her fingers down in between your folds, pushing them as deep as they can go and spreading her fingers apart. "Trust me, okay?"

She smiles as she pulls her fingers out, lifting them enough for you to see them glittering with your arousal in the moonlight before she pushes them back in again and rubs your nub with her thumb as you gasp and squirm on the sheets beneath you.

She leans in and you feel her breath, hot against your skin, before she closes her lips on your neck and bites into it. You tug at her tank top mindlessly, wishing she would've taken it off earlier as your hand's fumble upwards, feeling the soft firmness of her abs, one hand tangling into her hair as the other pulls her shirt up. You can feel her muscles shift beneath your touch, her heart pounding so loudly you can feel the tremors through her skin.

Your head rolls to the side, catching your own hazy eyes in the mirror, watching as the muscles in her neck flex as she works to leave a hickey on your skin- something she always does when she visits you and that you always admonish her for when you have to go to work the next day.

You watch as she pulls away from your neck with a wet pop and turns her head to look at you through the mirror, a mischievous grin on her lips.

She leans forward, lips ghosting your ear as she keeps her eyes on your reflections. "Keep your eyes on the mirror, baby." She whispers huskily. "Don't look anywhere else."

You squeak out a hum of approval and she chuckles airily. She drags your pajama shirt up until your chest is exposed, you watch her lick her lips before she leans down and flicks her tongue over your nipple. You gasp with a jolt and you feel her smile against your skin.

You swallow as you watch her lips close around your nipple, and her fingers begin to slide in and out of you, her thumb brushing your clit as she goes up to her knuckles in you. Her tongue rubs against your nipple in a circular motion as she sucks on it as if it's her favorite thing in the world.

Your back arches and your hands find themselves in her hair as her teeth drag over your nipple, her fingers curling to reach that spot at a brutal pace that puts stars in your eyes, the coil in your stomach tightening until your thighs start to shake and-

Your arms wrap around her, feeling the warmth of her body kiss your skin through her tank top. She releases your hardened nub and moves her hand up your back to cradle your head, making you look at her in her dilated eyes and wetted lips, feel her hot, shallow breaths on your face as your hips roll to meet her fingers as she curls them to hit that spot.

The dark room gives way to a blinding all-encompassing, white, accompanied by the press of her lips on yours as your orgasm stains her fingers.

She only pulls her fingers out when your breath evens and puts them in her mouth, sucking them clean. "You did a good job." She whispers as she pulls you into a hug and lays down.

Your breath softens into quiet, heavy breaths as your consciousness is returned to its body. You feel the dampness in the sheets beneath you, the smell of sex in the room, the brush of air from the spinning fan, and the distant sound of cars somewhere outside.

Cinnabar lingers, nuzzling into your neck as if she felt the same euphoria you did. Slowly, reluctantly, she slid her fingers out and you watch as she pushes them past her lips and sucks them clean.

She smiles at you again, teeth peeking through as she lays down next to you, a kiss on your cheek and a red glint hidden in the depths of her pupils. "I missed hearing you like that." She thumbs your cheek, breaths mingling together in the small space between you.

Warmth, joy, and safety, are what you choose to associate her with in your mind, and you want nothing but to embed your roots in her skin and sear yourself into her heart. Entwine your existence with hers so she can't leave you frozen and alone-"Then why don't you stay?"

Her smile falters for a fraction of a second and another hairline crack goes through your heart and creates another rift in your soul and her warmth retreats faster than you can stop her.

"I forgot something." Your hand misses her arm as you reach out. She disappears into the darkness beyond your doorway without another word, the cold air stings you and dives beneath the skin to ripple through bone.

You plop your head against the pillow, staring at the ceiling fan as it continuously spins as if nothing happened. As if you weren't just left alone again by the only person you'd ever shared your bed with.

Every time she leaves, you feel a part of you goes missing, like each time she visits she carves into you and doesn't give back the pieces. Maybe you should just end things. Cinnabar is the description of a perfect potential partner, but ever since she came into your life it's been rough waters, choppy seas, and stormy nights that leave you empty in its wake.

You weren't sure what you were hoping for when you…well, now that you think about it, you never really agreed to this, did you? Maybe that's another reason you should-

"Hey, sorry for leaving you." She whispers and you hear something heavy and metal being set on the floor- right next to the bed. "I just really needed to get something." she nuzzles back into your neck and sighs.

Your fingers twitch at your side, tiny fractures sting your fingerpads, hesitation filling their gaps as you slowly raise your hand to reach over her side and you turn until you're both facing each other.

Your fingers ghost over her cheek and trace her faint smile that grows a little wider at your touch and down the center of her neck- Adam's apple bobbing with a swallow- and down the divet of her chest, over her abs, and stop at the belt of her pants. She watches your hand as it slowly undoes the belt, her hand drifting to squeeze your hip while you work to open the fly of her pants.

You bite your bottom lip as you get a peek of hair splayed in every direction and her white, low-rise panties. You tug, revealing the divet where her hips and stomach meet, leaning down to cradle the small mound hidden between her legs.

You slip your fingers down, watching them disappear as you follow the heat and dampness leaking through her underwear, you can feel your finger parting her folds and you curl it slightly, smiling as she sucks in a breath next to your ear.

You roll your finger, feeling that hard little nub through the fabric, a growing itch in your throat to bury yourself between her legs until she shakes and cries for you. Until she begs for you not to stop in that heady, breathless voice until she tugs your hair and pulls you in deeper with her legs until you almost suffocate from her.

You sit up and her grip tightens on your hips. "Stay close to me." She tugs you forward until you almost fall on her, a hand gliding down to your thigh to push your knee in between her legs. "I wanna hold you."

You sigh and watch as your hand drags up the side of her hips and latches around the hem of her top. "Fine," you lean in until your noses brush against each other, her soft pants brushing over your lips. "If that's what you want." This time, when your hand travels up the expanse of her stomach and cups her breast, she doesn't stop you. Instead, you feel her hips softly grind against your leg.

Her lips feel soft against yours, she opens up and allows your tongue to slip inside, tangling in each other as you palm her breast. You can hear her breath get heavier between kisses, feel her heart race in your palm, and taste her hunger on your tongue.

She's hot, her skin is hot with a light mist of sweat as her hips roll more fervently. You kiss from the corner of her lips to the cut of her jaw, to the tender flesh of her neck. Her pulse beats in your lips and you catch it with your teeth as Cinnabar writhes in delight beneath you.

Her fingers grab at the plush of your thighs, your name on her lips as her fingers find your folds once more.

You gasp as her slender fingers toy with your bud and your hands move to rub her clit through her clothes. You find yourself grinding on her leg as you suck languid spots of her neck, feeling the fabric dampen with each movement of your hips.

Her breathing starts to run ragged and she pauses her ministrations with the slightest hesitance to yank her pants off, finally growing tired of the barrier between you— which you gladly assist her with.

You move back and slip your hands beneath her knees, holding her legs apart as you take her in. Her half-exposed chest rises and falls with every breath, her eyes now half-lidded and completely clouded in a smokey haze that watches you with a barely restrained eagerness, the divets of her hips that glide down to the band of her white panties.

You lean in, eyes locked on each other as you place a kiss on her clit, watching her breath hitch as you slowly drag your tongue up the velvet part of her folds.

Your lips close around her bud as two of your fingers slip inside. "Oh my god…" She gasps and throws her head back, writhing her hips. "Yes, please, right there!"

You thrust your fingers in sharply, smiling at the stilted moan she lets out and her pleading, watery eyes. You swirl your tongue around her clit as you set a fast pace with your fingers.

Your name falls from her lips, the pitch getting higher each time as she mindlessly grabs at the sheets and pillows.

"Please, please...Yes!" Her hips jerk up, eager to draw more pleasure from you as slick builds on your fingers. You curl your fingers upwards and watch her eyes go wide before her lashes flutter as her eyes roll.

You feel her muscles twitch and pull away just enough to see how her swollen folds glisten. You pull your fingers out and replace it with your tongue, pushing it as deep as you can go, grinding your nose into her clit as she grabs fistfuls of your hair, her body curling upwards as her moans and whimpers of your name become more desperate.

You feel the telltale stutter of her hips and tremble of her thighs before she even says anything and you bury yourself further in her, lungs beginning to cry for air as you work your tongue further and further in until she suddenly jolts and a new, warm liquid coats your tongue.

You pull away, panting as you lap up her climax. Sweet and salty, just like you remembered. Did you taste the same to her? Or would she know certain notes and undertones about you that no one else would?

"Oh…" She mutters under her breath, slowly blinking at the ceiling. "Thank you. Fuck I needed that so much."

You hum, more entranced with how her muscles would twitch whenever your tongue brushed over a certain spot.

"Hey," She grabbed your hair again and gently tugged you up to look at her, her hair a mess and lips bitten raw, voice raspy between her chuckles. "Let me breathe for a moment?"

You wipe your chin and cheek as you crawl forward, ready to spend the night cuddling until she— you don't wanna think about that. You just want to savor this moment, this moment that wasn't infrequent enough to be rare, but is just far enough apart to make you crave her presence, her voice, her touch. Her very existence has been memorized on your heart, little engravings on the muscle that ached constantly.

She caught your lips in a kiss so slow and soft and deep you felt your thoughts scramble and shatter, only focusing on the dance the dance and pull she invited you to indulge in. You open your eyes as your lips separate for a moment and find hers looking back at you, watching you, drinking you in as if she can't get enough of what she sees. Does she always kiss you with her eyes open?

She breathes into you, soft and melting as if you were made for each other as if the place you belong is in her arms and on her lips. A hum, a final note in your union as she rests her head on your shoulder. Your fingers comb her hair, gently detangling it as you pray for sleep not to take you— to allow you these few hours of the night to relish in her arms around your hips so tightly it almost hurts. It almost hurts.

It's a slight numbness that's accompanied by the distant hum of cars that draws you to sleep in her arms. Praying once again, that this time— this night, she'll stay until you wake.

Golden rays shine into your tiny bedroom, lighting up the otherwise bland room in a hue of yellow that invites you to stay conscious for just a moment. To appreciate the new day before you remember to dread it. You groan and stretch your arms, hissing when you move too much for your sore muscles.

Like every morning, you reach for your phone and mindlessly scroll through your various social media. Nothing unusual, but a post catches your eye.

It's a public announcement. It says,

Warning all civilians, wanted Sinner—

Cinnabar's lips find your neck as her hand covers the screen, turning your head toward her only allows her to find your lips, her hips pressing against yours. Unlike last night, the kiss is gentler, still eager and still speaking of an appetite not yet fully sated, but she was taking her time in tasting you.

"What do you say," She mumbles between kisses. "We go on a trip somewhere? Together?" She pulls back just enough to let you talk, not enough to let you see anything else but her.

"A trip…?" Going on a getaway with her. It's a dream come true all too suddenly, but letting the dream go feels like eating coal.

"Yeah, just the two of us." She smiles forlornly. "Maybe a nice cabin in the woods for a few weeks?" She traces the side of your face and you see that restlessness again in her eyes. "It'd be nice to be surrounded by nature."

You thought about it. About the life you've lived amongst concrete dirt and brick trees, of the people who treated you like a rat more than a human, and about the life you could live, with her— if even only for a few weeks amongst dewy air and crunching leaves. Alone with no distractions.

"Sure, just let me pack—"

"No need." She smiled and placed a soft kiss on your nose. "We'll have everything we need there, you don't need to bring anything."

"But—"

"Shhh, relax. I'll take care of you. I promise."

More kisses, more gentle touches, but her nails dig slightly into your skin and her teeth nip at your lips. When she sat up to press your wrists down into the sheets, fingers bruising, you saw that night in her eyes again. The endless, wanting, encasing, drowning, darkness that eclipsed her pupils—

It was a thing beyond love, beyond care, a thing that seemed not to hold you, but to own you. To encase itself inside you and rot your heart until you cannot tell where love ended and obsession began.

Perhaps what's worse than that, than the subtle thought she communicated through her blunt nails painfully pressing into skin, is that you went lax and doe-eyed, that you returned her rewarding kiss with fervor, that you let her mark and marr your skin again.

Perhaps the worst thing of all is your loneliness.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 2,835 Words

Summary: Eclipse's found family finds him.

Warnings: Robot Gore, Injury, Amputation, Cursing, Near Death, PTSD, Panic Attack, Trauma, Surgery, Sibling Bonding, Angst with a serving of Fluff, Bathing Together (platonic, neither have bits down there), SFW Tickling, let me know if I should add anything else.

Found Family

Eclipse groaned pulling himself from the ball pit. What was left of him, at least. His left arm had had the hand ripped off and his right leg was missing from below the knee, his internals were attempting to pour out the deep gashes of claws in his stomach.

His right side upper faceplate had been ripped off along with right eye having been torn from its socket and wires. There was a deep gash down his left leg, leaving the limb half numb. And his chest and back had most of its casing mauled off, leaving his scratched endo and frame exposed and vulnerable.

He’d barely finished crawling his way from the ball pit before he saw a figure standing over him like a sadistic god and the blue he saw told him that this wasn’t the best person to find him this injured.

“So ya fucked up?” Moon asked, crouching before him and Eclipse glared with his remaining eye, this was all Moon’s fucking fault and Eclipse seethed at him.

“I went to kill him and he tried to destroy me!” Eclipse crackled out his half-broken voice box.

“Sad little worm, huh? Welp.” Moon stood up, slapping his thighs as he did so. “That’s a problem taken care of. I’m gonna go out and celebrate. You try to die quietly if you can.” Moon patted his aching head and Eclipse growled to keep him off, attempting to grab Moon’s hand and bite it since it was all he really could do at the moment. But Moon was quicker and got his hand away.

“Hey everyone, I’m buying shots! It’s celebration time!” Moon called through the daycare as he left to the upper level of the daycare as everyone followed him out of the daycare, shutting the lights off as he did so, leaving Eclipse in the darkness with just the ceiling of glowy stars illuminating barely to the top of the play structures.

Eclipse’s engines whirred on high as Eclipse used his remaining hand and the forearm of his left arm to crawl his way away from the ball pit and to the security desk, dragging and pulling down the emergency med kit and haphazardly dumping it on the ground with his right hand so he could get the contents.

His first grab was an ACE bandage, which he tried to put on his stomach with his one hand to some success. It looked sloppy as hell but his insides would stay inside. Eclipse’s processors whirred on max, fans turning slowly because they were half broken so they couldn’t fully cool him down and coolant was leaking out of him, having made a trail from the ball pit to the security desk already.

Eclipse secured the ACE bandage and then began packing gauze into his right knee where it had been ripped off and used another ACE wrap to keep pressure on it so the oil lines wouldn’t be leaking out. He repeated the same process to his left wrist and sighed as he rested one of the instant cold packs onto his processors, relaxing into the feeling of the cold pack helping his half-broken fans to cool him down.

Eclipse saw errors flashing that coolant and oil was low and critical machinery was damaged. Of course it was, he had lost body parts! He growled in annoyance at his creator. They had basically torn him to shreds and Moon didn’t give a single damn about it.

Eclipse hadn’t been able to get a single hit in on them. It had all simply been a blur after they had admitted that they made him and to them attacking him like he was a glorified punching bag. Eclipse hadn’t had a chance to even defend himself and the thought of it, even now, was terrifying.

He shuddered just thinking of the sound and feeling of his wires and endo creaking and cracking when his creator had snapped his right calf off the knee joint and torn it off of him. And the agony of having his left hand ripped off at the joint had been horrifying. The sick crunch the joint had made had made Eclipse throw up. He wasn’t even aware he could throw up, but he had at that sound of his endo crunching and snapping.

Eclipse felt lightheaded, his breaths were coming slower and he knew this was some kind of a panic reaction. Of course he would have a panic reaction. He had succeeded at getting his creator to take out the directives but at what cost? His body nothing more than scrap metal? His mind in shambles and panic? It didn’t feel worth it. Maybe he wasn’t worth a chance.

This train of thought absolutely didn’t help the panic. He was shaking. Why was he shaking? Was the daycare shaking? No, it was him. What was this? Eclipse hadn’t ever felt panic before, not this badly. It felt worse that when he was waiting for Moon and Sun to come kill him. It felt like it was all-consuming and crushing him.

The dark didn’t help either, he hated the dark just like both of his predecessors. He knew there weren’t monsters, there weren’t, but the dark was…scary. It felt like emptiness, like being abandoned again. And it felt cold. He light lights, the stars on the ceiling just weren’t enough light. Especially since solar models didn’t have very much eyesight in the dark. It felt like being stuck into a black box with holes poked in for air but even the air felt like it wasn’t enough.

----------

Blood Moon had finally gone prowling around with Stitchwraith. A joy! Prowling with their acquaintance! It was a ball to finally be out of that bunker place! Blood Moon had begun their prowling in the main entrance and were now going through the daycare, which had its lights off for some reason.

Blood Moon liked the dark, it was a warm place to them, it was comforting, but the sound of staticky sobs coming from the lower daycare wasn’t all that comforting. It was quite annoying actually. They hated crying! Hated it! It was weak!

Blood Moon wanted to snuff out that incessant sobbing and the annoying attendant the crying undoubtedly came from. So they went down to the lower daycare and sniffed around for it. Thankfully, they didn’t have to look for long, finding the sobbing’s source was a curled up and mangled Solar? Was this Solar? No, the dents on the rays and the scratches on the faceplate weren’t present. Could this be…?

----------

Stitchwraith followed Blood Moon to the sound of crying and gave a small gasp seeing the torn down frame of the animatronic they had been slightly amicable with, at least for gaming they had been. But what the hell did Eclipse deserve this for? To be torn to shreds and left to die? He hadn’t even done anything too bad yet, he hadn’t killed anyone at least.

“Eclipse?” Stitchwraith asked, crouching by him but it seemed to go unnoticed. Was Eclipse having a panic attack? “Eclipse, hey.” Stitchwraith knew they’d get hit but they had to shake Eclipse by the shoulder to even get a slight bit of a response.

Once they did shake Eclipse’s shoulder, Eclipse whipped his left arm at them, which was missing it’s hand and was instead bandaged with gauze and an ACE bandage. The hit from Eclipse’s forearm connected with Stitchwraith’s faceplate but didn’t so much as put a scratch on them from how weak Eclipse seemed to be.

Eclipse looked up at them after, eyes wild with panic and pain, breathing going a mile a minute and extremely defensive and scared. Stitchwraith felt Blood Moon tugging on their cloak and waved their hand off to keep Blood Moon behind them. Eclipse was a more pressing matter than answering Blood Moon’s question at the moment.

“Eclipse, it’s Stitchwraith. I need you to breathe slowly for us.” Stitchwraith instructed him. Eclipse’s motors shuddered as he tried to take slow breaths for Stitchwraith. “You’re safe. Can you point to what’s scaring you the most right now?” They asked. Eclipse wordlessly pointed his shaky right pointer finger up at the lights.

“Blood Moon, go turn on the lights.” Stitchwraith instructed the twin hellions, who scampered off to go do just that at his request, the lights turning on row by row until the daycare was illuminated completely, which looked to ease some of Eclipse’s panic.

“Are you able to tell me what happened to you or is it too hard right now?” Stitchwraith asked.

“Creator…mauled me…” Eclipse’s voice was staticky and a weird echoed pitch but he could decipher it still.

“The person who made you mauled you?” Stitchwraith asked to confirm and Eclipse nodded softly. “Why did they do that?” Stitchwraith asked.

“Went to get…directives out…” Eclipse admitted.

“Your creator is a bunch of bull. That’s really all you went to do and he left you like you’re in a scrap heap?” Eclipse nodded and Stitchwraith bristled with annoyance at the audacity of Eclipse’s creator. That was downright cruelty for absolutely no reason. Eclipse didn’t deserve to be mauled over a simple ask like that. The way Eclipse’s simple ask was treated was absolutely bullshit.

“How about this, if you let Blood Moon carry you, I’ll fix you.” Stitchwraith reasoned. Stitchwraith would carry Eclipse back, give Eclipse probably couldn’t walk with a missing leg and fragile machinery desperately trying to escape Eclipse’s frame, but their arms still hurt from Blood Moon using them as a scratching post this morning as if the small bot was a damn cat.

“Okay…” Eclipse agreed and looked to Blood Moon as the red and white faced bot came scampering back down to the lower daycare and sat on the floor, looking over the situation with their head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Blood Moon, you’re going to carry him home. I need to repair him.” Stitchwraith told them.

“Aaaawwwwww, why do we have to carry the Sunman!?” Blood Moon began their usual spiel of complaining about the simplest of tasks. This bot could pick up a full cement truck but complained at picking up an animatronic that probably barely weighed more than them.

“Because our arms still hurt from being used as scratching posts. Now pick him up and be careful. Make sure you keep his stomach level, his internals are trying to be externals.” Stitchwraith sighed. Blood Moon whined a bit more but inevitably picked Eclipse up and thankfully held Eclipse as though he were some princess. It was embarrassing for Eclipse, sure, but it kept Eclipse’s insides inside him.

“Okay, come on, back home.” Stitchwraith told them and began leading Blood Moon back to their bunker and into his lab, instructing Blood Moon to gently place Eclipse on a table so he could work on him. He had most of the parts from misships and scrounging but he knew full well Eclipse would look different than he used to.

“I’m going to turn off your pain sensors but just stay awake and talk to Blood Moon for me while I work on you.” Stitchwraith told Eclipse as he got the necessary parts and tools together to fix him.

“Blood Moon?” Eclipse asked as Stitchwraith turned off the bot’s pain receptors and began to patch up and put on a replacement left hand for Eclipse.

“Yes, unholy creator?” Blood Moon sat like a cat in the chair near Eclipse’s legs.

“I’m not your creator, I never made you. That was…the original me. Before the backup in your head, before I was even a spot on the wall.” Eclipse grumbled.

“So you didn’t make us but you are an Eclipse.” Blood Moon cackled.

“I don’t know what I am.” Eclipse admitted. “I may as well have been made in a fucking petri dish in a lab. I have no clue who I am or what I am, just that I’m here and apparently my name is Eclipse and I’m the asshole everyone hates.” Eclipse huffed as Stitchwraith finished up the hand replacement and moved onto Eclipse’s right calf and foot replacement.

“You are…like us? A copy?” Blood Moon asked.

“An incomplete copy, yes. With directives and pasted memories from other points of view and a creator that rips out my directives and leaves me to the mercy of people who will just let me rot in a hole.” Eclipse was angry but he wasn’t panicking at least.

“We are incomplete as well. Memories from other people and bloodlust enhanced with less free will. Bullshit it is.” Blood Moon grumbled. Huh, odd that the two who hated each other agreed. Eclipse sighed and put his head back down on the table.

Stitchwraith finished replacing his lost calf and foot and moved onto Eclipse’s mauled open midsection and began patching the endo cage that contained Eclipse’s insides that had been ripped open. It was easier here because it was taking out the broken bits of old endo and welding in new pieces of the endo. He was also replacing broken innards as he came across them.

“We’re in the same boat then. I…I could remove it. I think. I have the original’s pasted memories too, I’m sure I could sift through and take out the bloodlust.” Eclipse told him, watching Stitchwraith more than Blood Moon now as Stitchwraith was working of Eclipse’s faceplate, fixing the wires and socket and putting in a new eyeball and replacing the half of the faceplate that had been torn off.

“Take out? You can take that out?” Blood Moon asked.

“I think so. I could try at least.” Eclipse told them, sighing now as the only thing left was his body casing, which was something easy and much less surgical. It was akin to putting on a new outfit to animatronics, especially daycare animatronics, who sometimes had to take off their casing to clean it after days in the daycare.

A calm quiet settled in the lab as Stitchwraith got Eclipse into a purple and white casing, replacing the ribbons on Eclipse’s wrists with new purple ones that weren’t stained with coolant and oil and laid out new pants and a new shirt for Eclipse to get dressed into.

“Alright, go get clean. I have a sanitizing station here, it’ll get you clean. Blood Moon, you need to get cleaned too.” Stitchwraith told him, helping Eclipse stand up and turning back on his pain sensor since there wouldn’t be as much pain to feel. He could fix minor things like Eclipse’s half-broken voice box later. What was important was getting Eclipse to feel better and not take an entire day just to fix him. Plus he didn’t have a new voice box for him just yet.

Eclipse struggled sitting up, his endo aching from what a human would consider bruises. He could feel the stiffness in his new parts and his eye was still adjusting, making him blink that eye more, which was uncomfortable but bearable because he had full sight back again now. He just let Stitchwraith help him to his feet, grateful for the help from his brother? Cousin? Acquaintance, Eclipse was going with acquaintance with the weird family tree he didn’t want to deal with.

Eclipse was passed to Blood Moon so the smaller bot could help him along and Eclipse happily used them as a sentient cane for his new stiff foot and calf that was making him limp a bit  with how little the new ankle could move yet. Blood Moon supported him, which was surprisingly actually helpful.

“But brother goes in the cleaning tube.” Blood Moon and maneuvered the both of them into the tube, helping Eclipse get off his dirty old clothes and Blood Moon threw off his mud covered clothes and stayed with his brother so they’d both get cleaned like Stitchwraith asked.

Blood Moon giggled at the sanitizing mist and roared with laughter at the brushes that came to scrub off the worst grime. Eclipse only needed the sanitizing mist to heat the coolant and oil on him enough to drip off into the drain in the floor. But Eclipse liked seeing his little brother laugh. It was nice to have this moment.

Eclipse never got to have this with…the others. But it felt nice to watch his brother laugh at the brushes going after the ticklish spots on his back. He kind of liked this, it made him feel warmth bloom in his chest that one of his siblings wasn’t scared of him or wishing him death or even leaving him to die.

Once Eclipse was clean, he left the tube while Blood Moon was still giggling up a storm getting scrubbed because he rolled in dirt from what it seemed like. Eclipse pulled on the new clothes and smoothed his hands over them, they were actually comfortable and not itchy like his old clothes. He liked being here. It felt like home.

[sabo-has-my-heart]

hii! i saw your post where someone requested a fluff and cuddles fic because of the reader’s insomnia with sabo , ace, law and sanji

i’d like to request the same but with sir crocodile, fluff and cuddles :0

sir crocodile would definitely stay awake until Y/N falls asleep, maybe humming them to sleep and going through their hair with his hand, holding Y/N in his arms like a cocoon

i can imagine Y/N also gets comforted by hearing Sir Crocodiles breathing

maybe in a cold winter night ? (more reasons to cuddle, body warmth hehe)

i hope this gives you some ideas to write - i’d be really happy to read another crocodile x reader by you

thank you for your awesome stories, can’t wait to see more ^^

have a nice day!! :D

Hey, so this wasn't long enough with just Crocodile so I included Cora-san as well. I hope that's okay, but it's still fluffy with lots of cuddles, I promise.

Word Count: 920

     This was nothing new to you, you’d had insomnia for years. Endless hours laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to sleep, wishing to sleep. All you wanted was to get to sleep without issue, but things never seemed to work out for you. Slowly getting up, you headed out of the room you shared with your boyfriend. He had other things to worry about that weren’t you and your inability to get to sleep. The man loved you dearly and would have done anything for you without a second thought, including staying up with you, but that didn’t mean that you wanted to wake him up. 

     Walking out onto the terrace, you sighed, leaning against the railing. You might not be able to sleep, but at least you could enjoy the silvery glow of the moonlight dancing on the petals of flowers. Closing your eyes, you let the cool night air blow through your hair as the moon cast you in the same silvery light as the flora below you. Maybe it was because you were always awake, but you’d come to enjoy the chill breeze and bright moon. Even on nights of the new moon, when everything was cast in darkness, there was something ethereal about it all. 

Crocodile

     A pair of large arms wrapped around you the metal where a wrist and hand should be immediately tipping you off to who it was. As always, he removed the hook before sleep, not wanting to hurt either of you in the middle of the night. 

     “What are you doing out of bed?” his gruff voice asked, clearly still sleepy.

     “Couldn’t sleep.” you said softly, enjoying the feeling of being in his protective embrace. A few seconds ticked past before you noticed it, a slight hum. You turned to look at the man, his eyes closed as he continued to hold you close. Most people thought of Crocodile as a monster, an evil pirate, someone to be feared and avoided; and while he was a pirate and somebody strong enough to be feared, he wasn’t the evil monster that people said. At least not to you. Taking a moment to just listen to him, you didn’t notice him picking you up, becoming sleepier and sleepier with each passing moment. Crocodile laid you down in the bed, getting in as well and curling up with you. The barest hint of musical notes left his throat as he wrapped his large arms around you once again, pulling you close and stroking your hair. Cuddled up to his chest, you could hear the song better, it was one you’d heard before, a small, sweet lullaby. Slowly, you began to drift off, something about the lullaby and his large, protective arms lulling you to sleep. Maybe you could get him to do this again, you’d have to admit that it was more than just a one night thing, but it would be worth it to fall asleep in his arms like this.

Cora-san

     The sounds of someone tripping and falling had you chuckling as you turned around and walked over to your blond lover. As always, he’d tripped over his own two feet and had hit the ground right at the door to the terrace.

     “Careful, my love.” you said softly, helping him up.

     “Sorry, I wanted to find you. You weren’t in bed.” he said softly. You smiled at him, feeling a little bad for leaving the bed and waking him.

     “I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m just…” you looked away as you bit your lip, “I can’t sleep.” you said softly, making the man chuckle.

     “You know you could have made tea or something, it’s cold out here.” he said with a large, goofy smile, grabbing his feather coat and wrapping it around your shoulders. Giving him a sad smile, you shook your head, pulling the warm coat around you.

     “I don’t just mean tonight, Rosi, I mean every night.” you said, using his actual name and not the name he was using at the time. His brow furrowed as he looked at you, you always had troubles sleeping?

     “Is there anything I can do?” he asked worriedly, pulling you close. Shaking your head, you wrapped your arms around him.

     “I don’t think so, it’s just something I deal with. It’s okay, don’t worry.” you said, taking a deep breath. Cora picked you up a moment later before heading inside. Even with his coat wrapped around you, he was afraid of you getting too cold. Sitting you down on the couch, he put some logs in the fireplace and, after setting his hat on fire twice, managed to start a fire in the brick alcove. Once again picking you up, he pulled you close to him as he laid on the couch, letting you lay on top of him, his coat somehow covering the both of you. Staring into the fire, you felt a sense of warm comfort wash over you. Laying here in his arms, the warm fire and coat bringing you comfort and safety, as if nothing could touch you in this moment. Glancing down at you, Cora smiled, you were fast asleep in his arms, your soft breaths making him drowsier as well. As much as he wanted to move you to the bed, he knew he’d probably trip, so he held you close, falling asleep with you on the couch, more than happy to help you get to sleep for once.