#and the way rosie keeps a hand on him it’s like a lifeline in a storm | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

betweenstorms · 1 month ago

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Chapter 2/2 of Skin Of Thunder Veins Of Longing (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

“I never wanted this, but now I can’t remember what it feels like not to want you. It’s more than want—it’s a need that crawls beneath my skin, and I’m drowning in it, in you.”

The cantina buzzed with the low murmur of personnel on break, the clatter of cutlery against metal trays filling the air.

Task Force 141 had claimed a corner table, where Soap and Gaz tucked into their meals with the enthusiasm of men who rarely had the chance to eat without interruption. Ghost sat across from them, his body language as closed off as ever.

He wasn’t there for the food, he never was, more out of the bond of camaraderie that held them together. His hazel eyes, hidden behind the balaclava, constantly scanned the room, his body never quite relaxing even in these moments of downtime.

And then, like clockwork, his gaze caught on someone again—you.

You were standing near the entrance, talking with a small group of senior HR officers, the tablet in your hand clutched like a lifeline. Your yellow-and-black striped sweater looked absolutely ridiculous with the tacky silver charms on it's collar.

Ghost’s jaw clenched involuntarily at the sight. You looked like a bloody bumblebee, buzzing around like an insect he couldn’t swat away. Always on the periphery, always distracting him.

He didn’t understand how or why, but no matter where he was on the base, his eyes seemed to find you, like clockwork.

It was as if you existed on a different frequency, a subtle hum beneath the noise, always drawing him in. It didn’t matter if it was across a crowded room or a passing glance in the hall, somehow you were always there, threading through his sharp awareness like a shadow he couldn’t outrun. Deep down he knew that he would be able to pick you out of any crowd, no matter how large, no matter how far. Among a million faces, yours would be the one to pull him in, as if some unspoken gravity bound you to him.

An invisible force he longed for but was wary of at the same time.

Soap, who had been watching his lieutenant with that sharp, teasing edge of his, didn’t miss a beat. He nudged Gaz with his elbow, a smirk already forming on his lips. “Aye, look at this. Caught him in the act again. Can’t seem to help yourself, can ya, Lt.?”

Gaz let out a barely disguised chuckle, passing it off as a cough.

Ghost tore his eyes from you, irritation flashing across his face beneath the balaclava as his icy gaze fixed on Soap. “Got nothin’ better to do than run your gob?” he said, the warning in his tone crystal clear. Soap wasn’t about to back down, though.

“If you’re gonna keep starin’, might as well do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

Before Ghost could fire back, the sergeant leaned back in his chair, calling across the room.

“Oi, HR assistant! Yeah, you, in the rank sweater. Fancy joinin’ us?”

You paused mid-conversation, clearly caught off guard.

You glanced back at your seniors, who gave you a quick nod of approval before you started making your way over to the men at the corner table. There was a noticeable uncertainty in your steps, heels clicking slowly on the linoleum floor as you approached, holding your tablet in front of you like a shield.

By the time you reached their table, your cheeks had bloomed into a soft, rosy hue—whether from embarrassment or nerves, Ghost couldn’t quite tell. His instinct was to bolt, to disappear into the shadows where he belonged, to let the ground swallow him whole before your eyes could lock onto his. But instead, he held his ground, as always. He met your gaze with a steady stare, but beneath the facade, he felt an unsettling pull, like a tremor beneath stone.

He immediately tensed as you neared, the soft, sweet scent of your perfume, something floral he couldn’t quite place, cutting through the sterile air of the room. The fragrance wrapped around him, and it took all his control not to react.

“Afternoon, sirs,” you greeted them, your voice polite, though tinged with the awkwardness of someone out of their element. “Is there something you needed from me?”

Soap, with his usual lack of formality, waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Drop that formal bullshit, will ya? Sit down and join us for a bit. Take a load off, yeah?”

Your brows furrowed slightly, clearly unsure of what to make of the invitation.

“I don’t wanna impose,” you mumbled, eyes darting between them.

“Not a chance,” Gaz said with an easy smile. “C’mon, take a seat.”

You hesitated for a moment, eyes shifting nervously to Ghost, who remained silent, his gaze unreadable behind the mask. However, when Gaz—ever the gentleman—pulled out the chair next to him, you finally relented and sat down, placing your tablet carefully on the table. You glanced around at them, still blushing deeply, uncertainty palpable as you adjusted the sleeves of your sweater.

Soap leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “So, how’s HR treatin’ ya? Keepin’ you busy, assistant?”

You blinked at him, then shook your head, feeling the flush of embarrassment rise again.

“Actually, it's Dizzy,” you corrected softly, your voice almost apologetic. “I mean, everyone calls me that around here so…” You paused, glancing away for a second. “Silly nickname, I know.”

Soap gave a quick nod, flashing a smirk. “Dizzy, eh? Why’s that?”

“I guess it stuck because I’m kinda, well... all over the place,” you said with a sheepish smile, shrugging lightly. “But, I don’t mind it. Dizzy kinda suits me, in a weird way.”

Dizzy.

It really suited you, Ghost thought, in a way he couldn’t quite explain. There was something in the way you moved, like a leaf caught in a restless breeze, always spinning, never still, as if it was a dance only you could perform. But it wasn’t just your movements—it was the way you seemed to orbit around things that didn't care about you, never quite touching down, always slightly out of sync, like a distant star flickering in the wrong sky.

“And how’s life in the paperwork jungle, Dizzy girl? Herdin’ officers and keepin’ the place in line I s’pose?” Soap asked, circling back to his original question.

You managed a small, nervous smile at his teasing, though your fingers still fidgeted slightly with the sleeve of your sweater.

“Yeah, busy enough I guess,” you replied, trying your best to keep your tone light. “But I doubt it’s as busy as what you all deal with.”

Your eyes flicked toward Ghost for a split second, as if seeking his reaction. However, when you caught sight of him staring intently, his body rigid, you quickly looked away, the tension radiating off of him clearly palpable. The air seemed to thicken between the group, and Ghost couldn’t help the flash of irritation that ran through him. He was this close to rip Soap’s head off his thick neck for making the situation this awkward for all of them.

The idea of making a quick exit was appealing, but he couldn’t leave now, not with you sitting at their table.

Soap, though, seemed to revel in the pure awkwardness of the situation, his grin widening as he leaned back in his chair. “Ach, you’re doin’ fine, lass. Just relax. We’re not interrogatin’ ya,” he teased, a playful edge to his hoarse voice.

You huffed nervously, your eyes dropping to your hands resting in your lap. “Yeah, I know, but—well, no offence, but you’re all a bit intimidating up close.”

Soap’s laugh rang out, sharp and loud, sounding almost like a dog’s bark. He leaned forward as if gearing up to make things even more uncomfortable. “Intimidating? Us? Aye, you’ve no idea, Dizzy girl.”

Ghost rolled his eyes beneath the mask, the irritation creeping up his spine. Soap was pushing it, and the lieutenant’s patience was wearing thin. He didn’t need this kind of circus at their table. He’d rather be anywhere else than stuck in the middle of this nonsense.

His cold gaze flicked toward you, catching you nervously wringing your hands and looking like you wanted to disappear into the floor, watching how you fumbled through the unbearable awkwardness Soap had caused. A kindred spirit, Ghost thought. The whole scene was starting to grate on him too. He barely tolerated small talk on a good day, and this was worse. Far worse.

Gaz, also noticing your discomfort, was quick to step in, trying to salvage the situation.

“Don’t mind him,” he said with a lazy half-smirk, his tone softening even more as he turned toward you. “Johnny’s all bark, no bite.”

His voice held a comforting warmth, like he was genuinely trying to put you at ease.

“No, it’s okay, really,” your voice held a slight tremor of nervous humour, your eyes flicking towards Soap. “I probably need to get used to the teasing anyway. That’s what my dad would say. Toughen up, kid. Don’t let it get to you.” You paused, imitating your father's deep voice for a beat, as if weighing whether to continue, but then added, “He was military too, you know. Retired now. This job is sort of my way of… making him proud, I guess.”

Your words seemed to hang in the air, the lightness in your tone contrasting the sincerity of your confession. It had an effect none of them expected. Soap’s grin faltered slightly, Gaz’s relaxed posture straightened as he glanced over at Ghost. Even the lieutenant, usually unreadable behind his mask, seemed to tense immediately in a way that was different from his usual stoicism. For the first time, Ghost’s sharp gaze softened as he took in your words.

It was obvious that you hadn’t meant to drop something so personal, but now it was out there, hanging in the air like a thick fog.

The silence dragged on, fragile as glass, so you laughed awkwardly, realising the unintended weight of your words and trying to ease the tension. “Yeah, sorry, I’m oversharing again, aren’t I? It’s, uh, kind of a bad habit of mine. Sorry.”

The stillness finally broke with Soap’s snort of amusement. He crossed his arms, his piercing eyes flicking pointedly to your sweater. “Oversharin’? Nah, that’s not the problem, lass. It’s the fashion choices, really. That sweater alone is enough to make anyone talk.”

His tone was playful, but Ghost could feel the subtle shift in your demeanour. As if you were trying to keep up with them, but Soap wasn’t making it easy.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you muttered. “I guess I don’t exactly fit the military aesthetic, huh?”

Another long silence settled between the four of them, thick and suffocating, and Ghost found himself pulled unwillingly into the depths of his own past. A military family—he never would have pegged you for that. It stirred something in him, something dark and tangled, a knot of memories he had buried long ago.

His thoughts swirled, a dark storm gathering at the edges of his mind, memories like shattered glass cutting through him. He didn’t want to think about it—his pitiful childhood home, the chaos, the bruises that marked his mother’s skin like silent screams, the uncontained, blind rage in his father’s dull eyes.

The mention of your dad had stirred something deep within him, old wounds reopening with the faintest touch.

The memories rose like black water, threatening to pull him under, but he refused to go there. Not again. Not now. His eyes flickered toward you, and for a moment, he fixated on the faint scent of your perfume, sweet and delicate, imagining what it would be like to drown in you instead. He could fill his lungs with you, let you consume him, swallow him whole. And he would let you do that.

You were already under his skin anyway.

Then, out of the blue, you spoke and the gasping for air stopped.

“Uhm, I’ve got a meeting soon,” you said, checking the time on your tablet. Your voice was steady but hinted at your eagerness to leave. “I should probably head out.”

But Soap wasn’t going to let you go that easily. “Don’t tell me you’re leavin’ just cause Lt. here’s givin’ you the silent treatment.”

The comment earned him a threatening glare from Ghost, who sat rigid, his patience with this entire interaction nearly depleted. He was already annoyed with Soap’s relentless teasing and the way the whole situation was spiralling into awkwardness. But now, the suggestion that you would leave because of him—that was a step too far.

You blinked, fingers tightening around the tablet. “Oh no, it’s not that, no…” you quickly reassured, your eyes flickering nervously toward Ghost.

The way you said it, like you were afraid you might upset him, made something twist in his gut. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as the reason you were uncomfortable and Soap making him the villain in this little social debacle. His razor-thin patience finally snapped, his low, gravelly voice cutting through the tension like a blade, carrying an edge of finality.

“Don’t let Johnny distract you.”

It wasn’t much, but to you, it was an escape.

Ghost’s words gave you the out you needed. The moment he spoke, you seized the opportunity, offering him a small, grateful smile as you rose from your chair. Relief washed over your features, though you tried to keep it composed.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” you whispered softly.

Gaz, already halfway through another bite of his food, waved you off with a quick nod, his attention quickly returning to his plate.

Soap, on the other hand, wasn’t done. He called after you as you turned to leave. “Don’t be a stranger, Dizzy girl. Next time, wear a new sweater. Maybe somethin’ with polka dots, eh?”

Ghost watched you slip away, his eyes narrowing, tracing the delicate arch of your movement like a lonely shadow chasing the sun. You moved as if the world bent around you. The space between you stretched, and yet it felt as though you were still there next to him, threading through his awareness, brushing against the edges of his thoughts like a whisper he couldn’t quite catch. You were like a ghost of your own, drifting just out of reach, and he couldn’t help but feel the tug of something raw and unnameable within him.

“Well, that was fun,” Soap quipped, his grin widening as he turned to his lieutenant. “You’re a real charmer, Lt. Could barely keep the wee bee from buzzin’ off, eh?”

Ghost’s eyes snapped to Soap, sharp as the crack of gunfire, and in that moment, Soap knew. Oh, how he knew that if he let another word escape his mouth, there would be nothing on this earth that could stop his lieutenant from putting him six feet under.

The weight of that silent threat hung heavy in the air, like a blade poised just above his neck.

Soap, wise enough to catch the flicker of warning, quickly clamped his mouth shut, his playful bravado dissolving under the coldness in Ghost’s gaze. He lowered his head, pretending to find his lunch suddenly fascinating, chewing as if he hadn’t just tossed a match onto the fragile tinder of his lieutenant’s restraint.

But even as he bit into his food, Soap couldn’t help but smirk beneath his feigned ignorance.

He had seen something, something Ghost would never admit aloud—well, not yet, anyway. A forming soft spot, the Achilles tendon of his cold heart, if the lieutenant even believed he could have such a thing. And you were the epicentre of that shift, the silent pull that had drawn Ghost’s focus more than any battlefield ever could.

Maybe, when the storm had passed and Ghost finally stopped fighting whatever it was rising inside him, he’d thank Soap. Maybe, just maybe, he’d appreciate this well-intentioned, if disastrously timed, intervention.

But for now, Soap would stay quiet, as the air between them bristled with the raw, unspoken tension Ghost wasn’t ready to face.

“The ache of you is relentless, a burn in me I can’t put out. I try to steady myself, to pull away, but the way you look at me is enough to tear me open, to leave me standing here, dizzy with everything I would never say.”

Skin of Thunder Chapters

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storiesbyrhi · 11 months ago

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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: A non-linear and incomplete series of vignettes. 3635 words.

I: Once upon a time

1986

Once upon a time, there lived a little witch. A very special kind of witch, in fact. Where her coven viewed the world in black and white, she not only saw shades of grey, but an entire rainbow of colours. Where her sisters saw an enemy, she saw an ally. Where the witches who walked the earth before her saw danger, she saw people in crisis.

Oh, yes, you are a very special kind of witch. The kind of witch to fight tooth and nail to heal a bat, save a town, and rip your memories from the locked away part of your mind straight back into consciousness.

When you were made whole again, you and Eddie slipped into a warm bubble of rosy oblivion. For hours, you didn’t talk, didn’t think, didn’t do much of anything except hold each other and press featherlight kisses to lifelines on palms and blue veins on wrists.

It would have been easy to waste days there. You could have withered away, happy at last. Alas, Eddie was far more attentive to your biology than you were, so you left the bed bubble and made your way back into the real world.

Here lies a non-linear and incomplete series of vignettes of that real world, once upon a time.

II: Did it foretell of fate?

1986

Eddie’s hair seemed to shimmer as you twirled a lock around your finger. “Your hair is more normal now, like, in the 80s, than it was when we met.”

He was upside down on the couch, legs running up the backrest, and head hanging off the seat. You were lying on the floor, face to face with him.

“Do you think it means something? Is it an omen? Did it foretell of fate?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes. “You make fun, but I know you are totally in awe of witchcraft,”

“Being awesome doesn’t make you immune to my wit,”

“I think it’s cute that you think you’re witty,” you mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I said be careful or I’ll turn you back into a bat,” you stated, loud and clear.

“You wish you were that powerful, but it takes at least three of you to do that.”

It made you think. As you sat up and peered off into the distance with glazed over eyes, Eddie huffed. You launched into action, pulling grimoires and moon dust, parchment and white baneberry out from boxes and bags.

To avoid being told to hush, Eddie left you to your work. He tried to distract himself with television. Then, with eavesdropping on Forest Hills. Eventually, his curiosity couldn’t be put aside.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen bench turned apothecary.

“I think I can do it,”

“Do what?”

Instead of an answer, Eddie got a sickly-sweet smile and a sly shrug. He knew what it meant instantly.

“I don’t want to be a bat!”

“Oh, but you were so cute,” you cooed.

He was nervous, despite having the upper hand. Witches may have found the cure to vampire death, but you didn’t keep the magic dust on you at all times. He could rip you apart before you had a chance to conjure witchfire. Still, he took a step away from you, trying to act casual.

“What are you actually doing?”

It was always fun to mess with him, you thought. But in this case, you were telling him the truth. “Seriously. I think I can turn you back into a bat. Not permanently. And not in the way the curse did. You’d still be you. You’d be in total control. It’s just… shapeshifting… really…”

Eddie thought on it for only a moment before deciding he still didn’t like it. “I don’t like it,”

“It could be useful,”

“It could go wrong,”

“Eddie, think about it.” You put the vial of bat claws down. “Sunlight didn’t burn you when you were a bat. That alone is enough reason to try.”

There was little function in it. Eddie didn’t see how being able to go out during the day as a bat would be any more advantageous than not going out at all. However, there was a sparkle in your eye he adored, and you had been right – he was entirely in awe of your magic.

“If it makes you happy, my little witch,” he resigned.

You beamed, wrapping yourself around him in the type of hug that made Eddie feel alive.

III: Glass houses

1986

“Too bad the library was destroyed. There so much I want to show and tell you about,”

“I have been watching the television while you sleep… I’m learning.”

You looked up at Eddie from where you were studying maps and ley lines. “Yeah? Equipped to walk out that door and be a twentieth century man?”

“Naturally. Watch.” Eddie stood from the couch and began to mime. He opened the door to an invisible refrigerator, pulling out a can. He cracked open the tab and chugged. He then pulled a face akin to disgust. “This New Coke is not as satisfying as the original!”

You burst into a fit of laughter, much to Eddie’s happiness. “Oh, shit, Eds. You might even be ready for the twenty-first century with that type of scathing satire.”

Eddie dropped back to the couch. “You may joke all you want, but I can hear what the humans out there are talking about,”

“And New Coke is what the residents of Forest Hills are concerned about? Not the huge craters running through the town center or the constant attacks from supernatural creatures?”

“They also spend a great deal of time talking about the Chernobyl disaster and how it never would have happened here in the U.S., and in the same breath lament the demise of the Space Shuttle Challenger as if it were not another manmade horror.”

You glance up at him again, his gaze is on the television screen. “We haven’t escaped that, you know…” Eddie looked to you, tilting his head. “The hypocrisy. The contradictions that are just so… human. Neither you nor I can look at the humans and judge them for being that. We aren’t better than them.”

There was a flicker of amusement on his face. The vampire in him disagreed. Eddie’s heart conceded, and at the very least he conceded that - “Those in glass houses,”

“Something like that,” you nodded. “What else have you learned about the world?”

“There was a war in Australia,”

“You mean the World Wars?”

“No. Although, I do know about those, and I’d like to hear more. But the one in Australia was human versus emu.” Eddie delivered it so casually that at first you thought he was trying another joke. When you didn’t reply, he looked to you. “Do you not know about the Great Emu War?”

IV: Without you, I’m nothing

1986

Eddie lounged on the floor, back to the couch and legs spread wide. You settled between them, letting him take you by the hips and pull you close enough that your spine was pressed to his chest. His hands found a resting place around your waist.

Candles lit and incense burning, you shuffled the tarot deck while speaking your intentions into the atmosphere. “I ask for guidance in making this decision. I need to confront my coven, but…” You paused, choking on a feeling. “But I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know what’s the smart thing to do.”

Laying out four cards in a row, you continued, “Option A is I go alone. Option B is Eddie comes with me.”

You felt Eddie’s hands move against you a little at the mention of his name. Turning to him you explain that the first two cards represent the pros and cons of option A, likewise the last two are the pros and cons of option B.

“And this one…” you said, placing a single card above the row of four. “…is the advice we seek.”

Eddie snaked his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. “Do we leave that to last?”

You nodded then took a deep breath in, holding it until you flipped the first card over. The Emperor sat on his throne, golden crown upon his head. “He represents structure and stability. He rules with force and strength, but is also a sign of protection. As a pro for me going alone, it’s signifying that the safety and stability of the coven won’t be jeopardised. I won’t be seen as a threat to anyone’s leadership or authority…”

“That seems to be a very valid point,”

“Yeah,” you agreed with Eddie as you turned the next card over. “Well fuck.”

Eddie picked the card up and studied it. “He looks… calm,”

“He is… He’s there by choice, or at least, by the choices he has made. He has a different perspective from his position but his future is short. This card represents surrender or sacrifice. Being a martyr. Sacrificing yourself for the greater good.”

Eddie put the card down then held you tighter. “Next one,”

“Next one is the pro of you coming with me.” A man wore a victory wreath and rode a white horse. “Six of Wands,”

“Is he a king?”

“No. But he has been successful in his adventure. His accomplishment is being celebrated by these people here,” you explained, pointing to the image. You consider the card. You don’t feel self-assured as it suggests, and cannot see a version of events that lead to public recognition, as it foretells. You move on.

You almost laughed when the Five of Wands was revealed. The people fought each other, sticks raised but no blows hitting, chaos ensuing.

“Violence?” Eddie guessed.

“No, pointless chaos. See how their weapons aren’t actually hitting each other? It symbolises a lack of purpose in the conflict. It represents how people come from different backgrounds or perspectives, or have different history, and that makes it hard to find common ground. It breeds tension and disagreement and conflict.”

There was a clear narrative forming, the cards guiding you in a way they never had before. You wondered if renegade fate had shared a helping hand yet again.

Hand hovering over the final card, the ultimate advice in the reading, you closed your eyes for a moment. Please, you thought, please.

“This one looks… important,” Eddie commented.

“Well, it’s one of the more detailed images,” you replied. A snake, a sphinx, Typhon and Anubis. An angel, eagle, a lion, and a bull. And at the center of all this rich symbolism was a wheel.

“Esoteric.”

You snorted, nodding. “Very. The Wheel of Fortune is so open to interpretation, but its core message is that life has a hum. It moves forward, in seasons or cycles. There is both good and bad. And there is little to do to stop any of this. Luck may play a part. As does our friend fate,”

“That does not seem helpful,”

“Not in terms of helping to make a decision between option A and B, but it does prophesise a turning point, so…” You shrugged, taking one last look at the hand before collecting the cards and shuffling them back into the deck.

Getting up, you walked around the space blowing out candles. Eddie watched you, recognising the expression on your face. He stood and opened his arms, inviting you to him. Like a moth to flame, you immediately stepped into his embrace.

“Have they told you a story?” he asked.

You looked up at him, surprised.

“You’ve told me before. About the cards. How not to read them in isolation. There is always a larger picture. A story.”

The feeling of regular forgetfulness was soured. It sent an icy chill of fear and grief through you. Every single thing you couldn’t recall would be scrutinised. Did I just forget that because I have lived hundreds of years? Or was that memory cut out of me?

“You’re coming with me,” you said definitively. “I’ll tell Kelsey I’m coming, but nobody else,”

“Okay,” Eddie whispered. He would have followed you anywhere.

Letting go of Eddie, breaking the hug, you looked at him. “This is dangerous. You understand that, right? You’ve never seen the real damage witches can do to vampires. Witchfire isn’t the worst thing they can yield anymore,”

“I know. But to… level with you…” Eddie was doing his best to pick up modern phrases and colloquialisms; it made you smile. “Without you, I’m nothing. If I die, so be it. I’d rather death than any sort of life separate to your.”

He pulled you back into him, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then a trail down the bridge of your nose, to your lips.

You kissed him back hard and felt yourself float as he picked you up and took you to the bedroom.

V: A benevolent spirit

1986

The intersection of science and magic is where you and Eddie often found yourself. A union between creatures who had never walked alongside each other often meant new discoveries in the natural and unnatural worlds. For example, a witch and a vampire walk into a graveyard…

“I recall you, on multiple occasions, dismissing superstition as myths,” Eddie tried to argue, pulling at the ill-fitting clothes he was wearing.

You had forbidden him from dressing in one of his new Walmart outfits, citing lore. “It is disrespectful to the dead,” you’d said, making him wear whatever was lying around the trailer. “Do you want to be haunted?” you asked him, now in the old cemetery out on the edge of Hawkins.

“Vampires can’t be haunted,”

“Are you sure?”

Eddie shrugged.

“Because that is a bad sign,” you noted, pointing at the wildflowers that were dying under Eddie’s bare feet. The rot was coming from him, drying out petals and killing the plants.

Eddie looked down, seemingly alarmed. Every step he took away from the decay only started a new outbreak. “Make it stop,” he demanded.

“I can’t,”

“But I’m not wearing new clothes!”

“No, but you did sit on the headstone when I told you not to. And refused to hold your breath when we came in. Actions have consequences,”

“I don’t have a breath! … This has never happened before,” he whined, speeding up to trail close behind you.

“You probably just never noticed before,”

“I would have,” Eddie said, but you both knew it to be a lie. Before you, Eddie wouldn’t have cared about graveyard etiquette. It was in a vampire’s nature to laugh at the laws of the here and the after. They existed somewhere between and beyond those states, cheating death and laughing in the face of life.

1836

The village had buried Faely at daybreak. She had died before her first birthday, born into the world with a sickness beyond the repair of witchcraft. Though, rules had been broken trying.

You held vigil that night, leaving an offering of rosemary at the cemetery gates, then sitting at the foot of Faely’s grave. Eddie had watched you, deciding if he should approach you or not.

“Here, where the dead rest, a witch will smell fresh roses when a benevolent spirit is near,” you spoke out loud. “But if it is something else, then the scent of death comes, as if none of these bodies were buried at all.”

Knowing you were speaking to him despite never turning around, Eddie moved. He knelt on the dirt next to you. “Something else being me?”

“Or anything malevolent,”

“I mean you no harm, little witch,” Eddie said quietly.

You looked over at him. You had yet to cross the line with him. No secrets or kisses yet shared. It would happen and you knew that, even then.

“I know.”

Eddie held out his hand.

The wildflowers already blooming around Faely’s grave were dying under Eddie’s presence. Yet, you let him entwine his fingers with yours and keep you company.

1986

Eddie watched you locate the oldest headstones in the cemetery as if you had some sort of innate homing device for them. You spoke to the dead and asked for permission to take some of their graves’ dirt with you. Small jars filled, you looked up at Eddie and smiled.

The lightning rolled in, splashing bright but silent bolts across the sky. You stood up, felt the lack of humidity in the air. No rain would fall. No storm would come.

“What is it?” Eddie asked, walking back through the grounds with his eyes firmly in the sky. “That’s not normal lightning,”

“No,”

“It’s happened before,” he remembered, the scene slowly losing its fogginess in his mind.

“Normally, I’d say twice is only a coincidence and three is a pattern, but… I guess this is what happens when we’re both here at the same time.”

When you passed back through the cemetery gates, you left rosemary. Sitting in the car, you looked up through the windshield to the dark and settled sky.

“I don’t think we should do this again,” you told Eddie. “I don’t want to know what the universe does if it thinks this is a pattern.”

He stifled a laugh but shut up quickly when you frowned at him.

“We have pushed our luck so much… Do you think fucking with it all is funny? Like being careless hasn’t ruined us before?”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s… Of all the things to break the world, it is simply a vampire and a witch being near dead bodies at the same moment in time? That’s what makes it mad?”

You started the car and pulled onto the road. “There is nothing simple about a vampire and a witch doing anything together. Being anywhere together. We need to be more careful.”

1836

As spectacular as it was to watch, and no matter how comforting having Eddie with you to hold vigil was, lightning without thunder felt wrong somehow.

When you returned to the village in the morning, the coven had assembled. The light in the sky had caused anxiety. “Something against the laws of nature has happened,” Gillian announced. Her expression wasn’t one of fear, but it wasn’t set in certainty or peace either. “We need to be more careful.”

VI: The mess of you

1986

It was strange how you could miss something you didn’t know you had and lost. You felt so homesick for Eddie, so touch starved, and empty that rediscovering sex with him was making you cry. The first few times, Eddie wiped away your tears. That was short-lived.

You were on your knees, bent forward with your face hidden in your folded arms. Eddie’s hips collided with you at a mercilessly slow pace, drawing out both pain and pleasure from your insides. With each thrust, your tears came faster and faster. He ran his hand down your spine, the pressure forcing you to arch, contorting your body more.

He folded over the top of you, mouth to your ear. “Why are you hiding from me?”

The only response you could give was a string of babbling sounds. It felt so good. He felt so good.

“I want to taste your tears,” he whispered. Eddie kissed at your neck, scratching his teeth along the surface of your skin. “I want to see you cry.”

In a blink, he had you flipped onto your back, legs wrapped around his waist. His hands were clamped around yours, pinning you down. You couldn’t hide. Couldn’t cover your mouth. Couldn’t maintain any poise, even if you had wanted to.

The wetter your face, the harder Eddie fucked you. It was something about the mess of you, the release, the vulnerability. He set a perfect pace and didn’t let it fall until you were growling like an animal and begging for softness. Then, he gave you softness.

VII: Slit the throat of fear

1986

“I’m so…” How to quantify your emotions… “I don’t know. I don’t think there are words to describe… this.” You racked your brain for the right sounds and syllables. “And, I don’t want to say it wrong. I don’t want to make all these feelings seem smaller because there aren’t big enough words, you know?”

Eddie knew. He was going through the same process, except there was no imperative for him to come to an eloquent conclusion. He didn’t need to explain to anyone else what was happening inside his mind.

You continued, “Part of me wishes it was just anger. If I was just pissed off beyond belief that would be easy to handle. They would understand that. But… It’s not that…”

“You are sad,” Eddie said softly.

Hearing him say it made it worse. Your face pinched into a deep frown and he took you in his arms again. “It’s all so sad… This is fucking miserable for everyone,” you agreed, mumbling into the crook of his neck. “It feels like someone died,”

“Grief,” Eddie stated. “You’re in mourning. And grief has many faces. Misery. Hopelessness. Anger.” He wasn’t especially wise, but now armed with his memories of his human life, he spoke from experience.

You sat up and let Eddie’s words seep into your own understanding of the situation. “It’s not just different faces… It’s… different shapes. I thought this once before but it makes more sense now. This feeling, this grief, it’s been shaped by what I know, the betrayal and the hurt and the… fuck… the paralysing fear of what I have to do now… It’s shaped and sharpened it into a blade.”

Eddie considers your metaphor. “Well then, my little witch, let us use your grief dagger to slit the throat of fear and bravely face your coven, and the world if we must."

End Note: This chapter took me so long to write. I just couldn’t figure out how I wanted it to go, so a huge thank you to @courtingchaos who workshopped some ideas with me, ultimately leading to the little change of pace structure. Also thank you to @jo-harrington, @munson-blurbs, @vintagehellfire, @rip-quizilla, @pastel-pillows, and @word-wytch for giving me historical, fluffy, and tarot ideas. And @vintagehellfire, for the graveyard scene.

Full disclosure, “slit the throat of fear and be brave” is a lyric from Let Me Down Easy by Gang of Youths. I had already written the grief as a knife metaphor, and when I listened to the song again it kind of just fit.

For those of you who celebrate during the holidays - I hope it is joyful. To those that cannot or do not - I hope you have a peaceful time. I appreciate you all so much and will be thinking of you and this safe place we have built together. xo Rhi

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Witch!Reader

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hephaestn · 8 months ago

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Bucky’s chest felt hollow, like his insides had been ripped out with a single sentence: “He went down swinging, John.”

As soon as he returned to Thorpe Abbots, he felt nothing but sympathetic looks and smiles directed his way. His fellow companions and friends, all telling him how sorry they were—like they all had accepted it. As if they all were convinced Gale was dead.

He wasn’t. He couldn’t.

The coldness of the cockpit barely mattered as he gulped down the hard alcohol; it burned down his throat, falling directly into that dark hole in his stomach. He was trying to fill in the empty space that had taken over him since he made that call back in London but nothing was helping.

He would know, wouldn’t he? If Gale was dead. He would’ve felt something; a piece of his heart being torn apart as the other man drew his last breath. It couldn’t be. Buck had to be alive.

John hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, trying to remove the imagined flashes of Gale’s possible demise. His mind had always been like this, too vivid, always trying to show Bucky scenarios that hadn’t happened yet, that maybe would never happen—but even if he knew that it was nothing but foul play from his own head, he couldn’t remove the asphyxiating pressure in his chest.

He gulped down some more alcohol, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. If he concentrated hard enough, John could still make out the soft texture of Gale’s skin under the early morning sunrise. His eyes would glint in the soft light, cheeks rosy from the cool English wind. John would stare sometimes; would catch himself absorbed by the movement of Buck’s mouth as he spoke.

How could he be dead when Bucky still had to tell him he meant everything for him; that he was his lifeline, keeping him whole in this terror?

John felt like shouting.

#masters of the air #clegan #buck x bucky #mota fanfic #bucky egan #buck cleven #john egan #gale cleven #tv: masters of the air #lu tries to write #w: ficlet #oop… would you look at that #i suddenly felt very sad for bucky okay #and this just came out of nowhere #i haven’t proofread it much so sorry if there are any errors <3

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shallowoak · 7 months ago

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Little Words in the Small Hours

>> Or read on AO3 here! <<

Summary: Finding himself as Law’s guardian and father figure, Rosinante ponders the nature of parenthood through his own experiences. With thanks to @lunarforrest for proofreading! ❤️

Word Count: 6.9k Rating: Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante, Trafalgar D. Water Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Sengoku The Buddha, Donquixote Pirates (One Piece), others mentioned - Character

Additional Tags: Rosi-centric, rating is for themes and explicit language, descriptions of physical abuse, descriptions of childhood trauma, Canon-Typical Misery, Canon-Typical Violence, Pre-Canon, One Shot, Character Study, Introspection, spoilers for dressrosa, both Rosinante and Law are autistic, it was just going that way, Autistic Trafalgar D. Water Law, negative views on the military, though this is OP so I don't suppose you were willing to accept authority anyway, but just in case, headcanons galore, what can you do when your fav is taken away 5 mins after being introduced, yes I'm fine thanks for asking, yet another excuse to write a blonde man having a crisis, use of Den Dens as assistance animals, we love worldbuilding, Medical Inaccuracies, (X Drake drowning in the pool) this ain't about him

Through the gap in his cabin curtains, Rosinante watched as snow fell. Aboard passenger ship “The Mixer”, the gentle sway of their overnight crossing should’ve rocked them to sleep hours ago.

Swaddled together under his feathery coat, Law’s breathing was barely visible. Sat upright, one arm supported the small of Law’s back, the other gently petted his hair. Head limply resting against the cabin wall, the scratchy boat-issued blanket was used instead as a foot warmer for Rosi’s too-long legs. Staring unseeing into the dark, unable to find rest, Law clutched Rosi’s unwashed nightshirt as though it were a lifeline.

Not many moons ago, he would’ve craved a journey like this. No knots to tie, no Marine business, no family matters. Just quiet days for reading and long nights for chain smoking with a stranger. Enjoying the easy sounds of a cheap musician as the crew changed over. The liminal space of getting to know a ship, people, the bottom of a glass he knew he’d never see again.

Now, he despised that quiet. The pair could only hold one another as the boy’s laboured breathing filled the room. Quiet gave intrusive thoughts leverage, the pain and lethargy seeming worse at night. Free from the day’s rush of route planning, hospital visits and running, all they had to think about was reality. The increasingly rapid deterioration was more apparent as Law’s skin became less and less his own. The kid scratched it compulsively, wanting to be free of his discomfort, to somehow peel away the poisoned flesh and see himself underneath. He’d tried to teach Law to ground himself, to hold something comforting when he felt the need to itch. His little body had no extra energy to keep stitching up his arms.

An early night had turned into all night.

Nearing thirteen, most kids Law’s age would recoil at the idea of cuddling as the awkwardness of puberty set in. Too proud, too independent to need his love. On the surface, Law was certainly no different. He left a strong impression on everyone he met, unafraid to challenge the world and every blind adult who inhabited it. He’d sooner carve a hole through Rosi’s coat than admit he wanted to be underneath it.

The dark, the relentless cold, the long, fruitless search and endless hours of travel… These things had an effect. One that even Law was not immune to. As extraordinary as this kid was, he was still just a child. A child who had seen and been through things that would leave an adult scarred. A child who needed a gentle hand and comics as a reward for visiting the Doctor.

Over time, his beautiful brown skin had become ashen and cold, all the warm tones cruelly drawn away as the poisoning progressed. White spots-turned patches became increasingly prominent. All but impossible to ignore in the low light.

So, they did the only thing they could do. Wordlessly try to comfort one another, afraid to speak the truth. It did precious little to stop the long note in the back of Rosi’s mind filling him with dread.

Public transport and cosy overnight cabins were a luxury the pair could ill afford. Too traceable, far cheaper and easier to steal a vessel. Between being a Marine and a pirate, manning a small one single-handedly should be a cinch. Equally, it would be easier and safer to leave Law to die. For him to carry on undercover, to not cause a fuss. To let fate take her course and let Law succumb- or live his remaining years believing dying for Doflamingo was ‘love’.

As the deadline loomed, Rosinante’s heart grew fonder. Softer. Determined. It wasn’t justice nor kindness to leave Law to the wolves. It was unbearable to leave Law alone overnight while he manned a stolen boat.

He wouldn’t go down without kicking and screaming, even if he failed. If they couldn’t secure a cure, Law would pass peacefully by Rosi’s side, knowing he was loved. Safe from having to commit atrocities to live. If his brother got hold of Law, he’d sooner shoot the boy himself. He’d choose Law over himself in any situation.

The easiest option was rarely the right one. Rosinante tried to tell himself he deserved to sleep in a bed.

Until a year ago, Rosi had never imagined children in his cards. He’d never enjoyed being a kid, let alone seen the appeal of raising one. He’d never even entertained the idea of a girl -or boy- friend. Before all their strife; Law had been one of two. Rosi was one of two. He did not doubt that Doffy had fathered many more kids than he adopted. People chose to do this all the time. But it never crossed his mind that it was something for him.

A small part of him wished he had a better childhood, a normal one. A small part of him yearned to understand what kind of life Law had led before the disease ravaged his homeland. Maybe then he’d feel more ready for this. Others his age had tried to kill him, just as their parents encouraged. The brothers had been hunted down and punished for their father's and their community's sins rather than their individual actions. He only had Doffy for guidance, a boy brutalised by their ordeal and forced to turn to violence to cope.

They were both changed for the worse. What part of that experience was supposed to help him here? There was so much to fuck up with child development. So many ways to permanently damage a young psyche. So many of Doffy’s learned, twisted ideals he didn’t want anywhere near Law at the most impressionable time in his life. Rosinante hardly felt better. He didn’t feel as though he’d ever truly recovered from his childhood traumas, and now he was tasked with guiding Law through his own. Poor kid had already been through so much. Rosi couldn’t afford to lead him astray.

He’d known a few families in his life, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of any of them. There was a memory of his birth parents trying to provide Doffy and him with a real life. With more than what they had. To try to give Law more than what he had wasn’t saying much- yet still felt like a mountain to climb. Sengoku had made it look easy, taking in someone so young and vulnerable with only the simple job of raising them on the line.

As a child, he thought Sengoku was awesome. The shit, invincible. He was like a Dragon, rich and powerful with the world at his feet- but he got to blast bad guys, too. He got to go wherever, command whoever, have whatever. For all their birth parents wanted Rosi and Doffy to lead a normal life, he had fallen on his feet with Sengoku. After months of abuse, mouldy food, loss and sleepless nights in drafty shacks, he’d been comforted to find a familiar home with hot water and soft sheets. In the end, what he knew was luxury.

As an adult…? He wasn’t so naive as to think a family had to be nuclear to work. A family could be a single father and his adopted son. That was his normal; lived it. If he had his way, he’d be reliving it for many years to come. But nothing about his life with Sengoku was normal, really. An admiral for a father figure, almost twice Rosi’s current age when he’d chosen to adopt. He was wise and sound, and he had access to the most powerful support network in the world for anything he needed.

Except… Many of Rosi’s first months were spent not in his care- but in that of a hospital or visiting specialist. After that, he was often away on duty for weeks or months at a time. Even at home, he worked long hours, hardly seeing Rosi as he chipped away at his desk. With Sengoku, he’d been shielded from so much of the world he’d known on the streets. That had been nice at first, but he came to miss someone to play with, regular schooling, and unlimited family time. There was good reason why any sensible Marine took leave or retired to raise their family.

But one of the things he’d never wanted for was medical care. Having found a random child on the street, Sengoku had been wise in getting him checked out. The fleet of Navy Doctors had returned him billed with a long receipt of new diagnoses.

A catalogue of the extensive wounds from his clear history of abuse. Horrific, ugly, burned into the memory of the physicians who saw them. But easy enough to identify and begin to treat. Physiotherapy for his torn shoulder muscles, from where he had been strung up for hours on end. Careful reintroduction to food after malnutrition, a specialised diet to build mass and strength. Extensive grafting and liberal use of creams for his burns. Bedrest for his angry bruises and burst eardrums. He was littered with so many cuts, holes and scrapes that just needed respite and time to repair themselves. For months, he’d looked like a moth-eaten quilt while he recovered. Sengoku amused him, studying the diagram on how to wrap bandages on awkward areas of skin like he would a battle plan- hunched over his desk with his brows furrowed.

Then, there was the acceptance of the permanent hearing loss brought on by prolonged -close-range- exposure to gunfire and explosions. His left ear now heard nothing, whilst the right teetered in the 40-50% range. Therapists helped him learn to live with the difference but there was no cure for clumsiness, only fuelled by the new lack of balance.

He’d been offered something special, a then-experimental surgery. A surgery Vegapunk’s team had been fine-tuning for public use by implementing it in Marine hospital trials. An implant into his left cochlear would allow him some hearing back. A specially shaped Den Den Mushi earpiece would sit on the shell of his ear and act as a receiver and interpreter for sounds. The telepathic snails were billed to provide an overall clearer, more stable sound to the internal components -adapted from the telephone originals- than using electronics alone.

At the time, he’d been sick of surgery. The seemingly endless cycle of groggy pain, tubes, and check-ups. Being stuck inside, summer days wasted with their melding together. Adults looked at him with concern as they kept turning up shrapnel in his scans, time and again. Phrases like ‘implant’ and ‘clinical trial’ had been too much for him then, and he’d been quick to turn down any added grief. The Snail solution was also not a perfect one, as it needed rest and to be fed. It would be closer to working with a service dog, and he’d need to learn how to look after it. He wasn’t sure how to look after himself. No, the old wounds were enough.

Perhaps he would’ve taken it now, having felt the impact of hearing loss in his day-to-day life. Perhaps he’d been a stupid, rash kid. He’d often looked back on himself that way. Though if he had taken it… He couldn’t have cheesed the Marine health check. The external components were much too obvious for even Sengoku to be able to hide on his record. He never would’ve gone through basic or field training, never deployed to spy on his brother. Never would’ve come to meet Law. If he’d made the choice he’d always scorned himself for? His dad could still probably swing him a desk job for the Marines: pencil-pushing anti-scurvy fruit deliveries. Safe. Sonless.

On the mental side, there were long-term conditions to contend with. The aspects of Rosi that were harder to pin and even slower to treat. Hordes of unprocessed grief, paranoia, generalised anxiety, insomnia. It culminated with a healthy topping of PTSD. Rosi’s schedule of pills and appointments rivalled Sengoku’s business calendar for a time. Finally, the one that stumped his father the most. Autism. He’d always remember the look on his father’s face as they sat in that office.

In time, it would be something he’d come to learn he shared with Law, although the two experienced it differently. Rosinante’s own was sensory-biased, his social symptoms negligible before the abuse exasperated them. Noise, light and touch. All things he struggled with. Some days, he’d shriek in the bath, find the hospital too bright, or try to bolt when Sengoku hugged him. It had taken a monumental amount of trust and gentle convincing for the hair to be removed from over Rosi’s eyes. He’d resented the sharp, unfamiliar equipment, the feeling of little prickly hairs against his skin, and the prospect of more light hitting his eyes. Audio processing issues combined with hearing loss made calming explanations difficult to understand. Things often needed to be repeated and for a time, the world only grew more terrifying. Sengoku didn’t recommend him for undercover work because he was good with the sounds of battle or because he could process new information quickly. In battle, there was a real chance he’d be stabbed long before he noticed the wielder’s approach.

From what he could gather, Law’s experience was more socially skewed. He struggled to both display and understand emotions. He took things literally and spoke bluntly, the heart on his sleeve sometimes seeming unforgiving to the uninitiated. Law tended to fixate, tunnel visioned for months on end. He could tell you in (literally) nauseating detail about his favourite medical processes. Or his favourite writing techniques used in the comics he liked.

They both found change hard, their new circumstances confusing. Their lack of routine or stability, the constant new faces and towns, made Law antsy. As their journey continued, Law had less to say. Less patience to spare. As a self-conscious teen, Doctors often assumed Law was brought in to be referred for counselling- that he needed help accepting his Autism or ‘Vitiligo’. He probably did, but it was never the main issue. After a while, Law stopped correcting them and stopped speaking up. He let his dad run him through the motions.

It was hard for Rosinante, too, to see and understand that pain. Not being able to do anything to alleviate it. Forced to carry on with the only option they had. He was starting to resent himself for the quiet his power created. For taking Law into a place which made him uncomfortable. For feeling like he wouldn’t be enough.

Sengoku was neither detached nor the most gentle of hands. His job was to be confident and turn the neurotypical into soldiers. He represented the World Government and expected others to fall into line. But even when he wasn’t sure what to make of Rosinante’s behaviour, he’d always been enough. A warm hand to hold, a secure home, a steady job.

Despite his choosing to tackle Rosinante’s trauma response with navy indoctrination. Despite his belief that regardless of Rosinante's disposition- discipline and structure were sure to yield results. That in Sengoku's mind, it was business as usual.

Despite his numerous faults, Sengoku had been a good father to him. He diligently and often single-handedly took care of Rosi when he was around. Rosi had been a quiet, sensitive child, and Sengoku had always been firm enough to slowly push him out of his shell.

Once he’d been deemed old and fit enough, he’d been allowed to accompany his father on safer voyages. Time on the sea had been presented to him as part of his recovery, that it would be good for him to get fresh air and see some sights after being inside for so long. Whilst not untrue, both father and son knew it was cover so they could spend more time together.

His days as a glorified ship’s mascot had been a blast. He had no official job, but he spent his days soaking up information, experiences, and affection from his crew. He got to see his dad daily and get tucked in every night. They played board games in their quarters and identified sea mammals together. When the cannons were tested, Sengoku comforted and taught him how to protect his ears. And why Marines needed those loud sounds he was so afraid of. How they could be used to protect. They bonded, truly, as father and son.

The books and globes in the map room showed him the world, the navigation crew was only too happy to show off what they knew. Having only known sunny, moderate climates, places like deserts and tundras seemed like that of myth. Watching the cadets work by day, he got a good feel for terminology, knots and drills. During mealtimes, they'd chat about daily life back home and regale him with fanciful tales of mermaids and adventure. Being with them was the closest he got to normality his parents dreamed of.

Hanging around with his Dad gave him exclusive access, too, to explore the private areas of a ship without being summoned there for punishment. Eventually, he even learnt what it was that his Dad actually did.

He'd never thought of it as conditioning, but at 16, with a gentle push from dad, he’d signed up for basic training to join the crew full-time on the other end. And sure, he did turn out to be a decent Marine. He never fought back on Sengoku’s ideas. Eventually, they even put him in charge of others, which had always seemed like a mad decision to him. Being a Marine gave him something to do and a way to make his father happy. Being with Law now was the first time he’d ever carved his own path.

Rosinante still felt young in the only way he had left. Even after years of therapy, he felt no closer to true normalcy. Too much to reflect on, much more to learn- and precious little time. His kid couldn’t afford for him to be lost in his head, reeling from the past- wondering if Sengoku was any parent worth replicating. Wondering even if he could. Law needed his guidance, his support, and his answers now. Could Rosinante be trusted to provide a good life for Law- where professionals had failed him?

Thinking back, he was starting to feel that Sengoku had been this way, too. He’d loved Rosi unconditionally but hadn’t really known what to do with him. Nor had he the time to learn. For all his good intentions, it had been easiest to put Rosi into a box of his ideals and call the job done.

Bringing his mind back into the present, he held Law closer, resting his chin on the crown of the boy’s head. As if he wasn’t already too late to shield Law from anything.

Maybe enlistment was the only way Sengoku could think of to keep an eye on his vulnerable son. Maybe he was actually insane, thinking the military was any autistic person’s first career choice. His head spun listlessly. What the hell did either of them know about raising kids?

Shifting at the pressure, Law looked up at Rosinante.

“Toilet.”

Right. They’d been lying here awake for four or five hours now. He should probably go himself. Smiling gently, Rosi shifts the arm supporting his back to scoop up Law, his rear now resting on his arm. Law clings to him like Koala joey as they leave the cabin.

He thinks it sweet that Law still wants his security. That a kid so willing to kill still doesn’t want to walk an unfamiliar hall alone at night. He has to have hope that there’s still time to fix this. Law might not have his sea legs yet, but Rosi isn’t much better. Thank goodness it’s a calm night; he’d rather not go ass-over-hat with his kid in hand. That clumsiness never failed to amuse his fellow seamen. He traces along the wall with his free hand until they reach a small communal washroom.

The pair leave each other to their business, taking a stall each. He takes a longing look at the showers, knowing he’ll have to take a bath stool to fit under the shower head. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. He’d been putting off washing and using the laundry service so their clothes would stay clean for longer once they were back on dry land.

Eventually, the two finish washing up, and Rosi scoops Law back up to pad back to their room. Even if Law wanted to walk, Rosi couldn’t reach down far enough to hold his hand. Somehow, he feels more tired after having gotten up. He’s thankful every night that Law came into his life not needing to be fed at 3 am.

He lifts the feather coat left on the bed, gently depositing Law underneath it. The small lump on the mattress doesn’t move. Rosi stares blankly at the dozing lump before tucking it in and arranging the sucky boat blanket as a pillow on the floor. For such an underdeveloped kid, be sure does take up a lot of space. He doesn’t mind, though. He’d known this was coming; he’d been too tall for the standardised mattress from the start. Besides, Law had the rule of cute and couldn’t be moved.

Only as Rosi shifts to curl up on the floor does Law stir, shuffling the coat to stare at his dad. Rosi stares back. A little hand appears from under the fluff, patting the bed and making a grabbing motion. His whole body then scoots closer to the inside of the bed, up against the windowed wall.

How can he say no to that? He’s so proud of Law for considering him!

Feeling sufficiently sleepier, Rosi opts to lie down facing towards Law, his knees bent and feet hanging out of the covers. The position isn’t optimal but it makes Law happy. His arm finds Law’s hat and passes it to him before loosely resting on the coat in a gentle hug.

Like them, that hat had been through a lot. It was the one thing Law still carried from his home island. He used it as a plush toy at night and thumbed it during the day when he was nervous or needed to itch. Frayed patches in the brim were already starting to appear. If it wasn’t being held, he wore it as though he’d crumble without its presence.

When Law joined the family, they’d tried to prise it from him. Tried to burn it with the rest of his old, corpse-stained clothes. There was no way they’d ever been clean, healthy enough to wear again. He wouldn’t say exactly how many days he had hidden in the corpse pile, let alone how long ago they had been fresh on. The rest of his wardrobe had been replaced, and Giolla and Baby 5 loved the opportunity to start fresh and dress Law in the same fun patterns as their Corazon. But taking the hat crossed a line. Even for the eccentric family, that hat was disgusting. It still had old, caked in blood on it. It reeked of sweat, bile and death. Turns out Law liked the stench of death. That was what home smelt like.

Law had bitten Diamante several times for trying to take it, threatening to eat his fingers so that Doffy couldn’t sew them back on. Ultimately, Doffy had to oversee an ‘intervention-negotiation’ to sort the matter out. Gladius tried to convince him a replica could be made, as his own clothes often needed replacing. Pica suggested some form of resin encasement. Baby called him a rat boy. No dice. Eventually, they’d reached the compromise that Law could keep the hat after a thorough washing. Sugar was picked as most suitable for the care of materials, and her soul was bored by gold eyes during the entire process.

After the washing, Law wasn’t happy for days. Not until the hat smelled right again- if a little less like death this time. But much to Rosi’s horror, Doffy’s intervention on Law’s behalf had only strengthened their bond.

There was real irony in how Law and a surprising number of other kids liked Doflamingo so much. A man equally damaged by his past as Rosinante and Law, only his trauma had manifested itself in a far more dangerous way. The way Doflamingo dealt with his issues made self-destruction look preferable. It was endlessly worrying to Rosi that these strays found care and support from an adult, he would argue; was the worst he knew. That Doffy would radicalise these kids like Trebol and the others had done to him all those years ago. He could see that cycle beginning to continue and it horrified him.

In trying to appear ruthless, to protect them, there hadn’t been any room for bonding. Even for their safety, he couldn’t allow himself to slip. But being so close to Doffy did allow him to learn the patterns.

He'd never anticipated this many when he’d agreed with Sengoku to ward off kids and stop the crew from growing. For all his brother did underground, he was far from subtle with his daily persona. Dressed loud, laughed loud, dreamed and dealt loud. Where he went, people took notice. People got ideas.

Kids whose parents had chosen the pull of the tide over them. Brave, stupid kids who egged each other on to test their mettle talking to a real captain. Desperate mouths who needed feeding, thinking they could learn his underhanded methods. Those were the ones who were easy to scare off, to knock sense into.

It was the ones with nothing to lose and everything to gain that were dangerous. Doffy was drawn to the ones with strong ambitions and no inhibition. He had been that child. He knew how to exploit brave souls who ignored all the red flags for personal gain. Letting Rosi scare off the ones with sense was an effective screening method, cutting out a lot of legwork for Doffy. Anyone who stuck around after being beaten by the ‘half-giant brute’ was the most vulnerable. The easiest to manipulate.

Easy to manipulate… Diamante's harsh criticisms of Rosi being 'damaged' and 'unintelligent' rang through his mind.

Mariejois was a strange place. Eerie, dreamlike. Nightmarish. It stood perpetually in the witching hour of the Gods, within the veil of unreality. A confusing place. The inhabitants were supposedly the freest, most powerful, most important people in the world. But still, they had to conform. Rosinante and Doflamingo had been expected to dress the same way as their parents and attend the same functions from birth. They were expected to live outlandishly, frivolously, in the same manner as everybody else. Their personalities and futures had been decided from the start.

Their father had been cast out for his sensitivity, for thinking differently. For wanting differently. Ultimately, he had died for it. Doflamingo didn’t think differently. At first, he had wanted back in, more than anything, to ascend both figuratively and literally. Even for a choice the child didn’t make, Doffy’s bubble of conformity burst. Forever outcasted and angry, he was going to destroy them.

Even if Rosinante had never left, he would’ve never truly fit in. No matter how many years passed, there would be no closure as to whether his emotional sensitivity was natural or an effect of his abuse. Attuned over the years to look for imminent threats, the slightest changes. If his difficulty speaking -the ease with which he slipped into his role- was a product of being unsocialised as a child or through trauma. Could even his clumsiness be a mask? A learned behaviour to appear less threatening, less deserving of abuse? He was frequently described as aloof. Off-putting. People thought of him as abnormal, unhinged, and incomplete. Lacking in personal style. That was before he put on his undercover persona. He was still adjusting. He’d never stop adjusting.

It was neither here nor there. Being autistic was not the prescribed way to be a Dragon. There would be no understanding or adjustment. Not if the material of his clothes made his skin crawl. Not if the frequent parties burnt him out or tripped him into social faux pas. He’d be laughed out without ceremony, and for all the power his father didn’t hold, Rosi may have found himself as a servant or even a slave.

For what it was worth, those loyal to Doffy were supported and accommodated. He’d never let anyone talk shit about Pica’s voice or show discomfort around Trebol’s mucus. He happily facilitated Diamante’s weird need for both approval and bloodlust. The kids he took in were provided for and protected by their elders. Despite popular belief and countless reports, he’d defended Law’s right to exist without hesitation. With his countless connections and eye for cutting through bullshit, he’d learnt the truth and dispelled fear from the family. Just once, he’d used his powers for good. But it was useless to imagine his ways ever changing as he welcomed Law’s nihilistic ideals with open arms.

For what it was worth, Doffy had always defended Rosi. From when they were small and Rosi could do nothing to defend himself. To now, riddled with afflictions, real and fake, even if Doffy saw through them- he still accommodated all of them. He never assumed Rosi could do or be less. Didn’t assume Rosi wasn’t listening just because he couldn’t speak. Always checked in after a briefing, explaining things slowly and giving Rosi time to write. He kept the other members off his back and ensured he was comfortable.

It was easy to see why troubled kids liked him, really. To come from nothing and find sanctuary, understanding- and power. To not be dissuaded but enabled. To be pushed to new heights was to serve his needs. Most troubled adults still couldn’t see past his platitudes. But that was how he got people. He lured children, Law, further and further into this underground world of terror, from which they would never be able to escape. Doffy’s latest scheme, to groom Law to die for him as another cog in the Donquixote machine, was perhaps his most heartless yet. How little another Human life meant to him.

Manipulation had always been one of Doffy’s strong suits; he knew what buttons to push. Try as he might to mask it, he had not returned unscathed from their ordeal. It was an open secret among the family that their head was legally blind. He saw in tunnel vision, the dark surround of which flashed with half-processed light. Though his fashion sense was widely regarded as worse than Rosi’s own, the bright colours were easier for his eyes to detect. For a time before his Haki was fully developed, he used the parasite puppet to see his new members. Not accommodating other’s needs would be hypocritical of him.

Physical health aside, that plague-drenched rat of a man had been more apparently damaged in his psyche. He could no longer truly care for anyone except himself and would never be able to put another before him. The last time he had done so, he had lost his entire family. Never again would he be controlled or outplayed. Understanding his people was only a means to an end; allowing them to work harder for him. Making them believe they couldn’t live without him. Trust Doffy to put sanctuary seekers under his thumb. Those with issues were just easier to manipulate. They both knew that from experience.

He knew from the first utterance of ‘family’ that there was more to the dynamic than met the eye. He and Doffy were thankfully dissimilar in all the ways that mattered, but in the end, they both still value family. Doffy had always yearned for what he had lost, forever unable to escape the past fully- and what that companionship and validation meant.

It was foolish to expect it to be innocent. True, you could take the reading that ‘family’ was perhaps more fitting for a crew who largely did not sail. And yet. Whitebeard rather famously referred to his men as sons. Germa was publicly a royal family but presented itself as an army and force first. What his brother had was not a family. It was a collection of people who ate his lies and believed the hype. It was a crime den more akin to a cult than a family. A ring of false promises and safety in numbers, impossible to leave once entered.

In becoming a family, he’d tapped into something more akin to the mindset of Big Mom. With family came loyalty and expectation. It was much harder to betray a family member than a disembodied leader. Not that he’d have any experience with that. He had no doubt he was doing the right thing by running off with Law but ‘family’ always left niggling doubt. No matter how far they ran, the Marines and Donquixotes would always be his family. It would always hurt more to think he was disappointing Sengoku by running. To disappoint mother by harming another. That was a sick power only madmen like Doflamingo would think to wield.

For all those doubts and feelings of self-hatred, Rosi was proud of how far they’d gotten. So far, Law was safe. In another life, he’d take Law further. Keep him safe forever. Truthfully, he knew there was no way they could both survive this. Not for any extended length of time. Even if he cured Law, there was no way Doffy would let Rosi live to see it. He wouldn’t take kindly to his scapegoat being influenced by outside forces or his plans being ruined. Doffy was the type to hold grudges, even if he had to hunt them down for years to come. If Doffy couldn’t live forever, he would at least take Rosi’s years down with him.

But seeing Law peacefully asleep, he allowed himself a small moment to imagine their future- how he’d establish them. A timeline in which this accursed boat wasn't taking them to some dark, Arctic recess of the North Blue.

Naturally, they’d hide in the East Blue. Skip seas to be far away from the family’s eyes. With any luck, the fabled ‘safest sea’ would have a lessened military presence. He’d pick some relatively safe, nowhere island where they wouldn’t be recognised. This meant nowhere too noteworthy or prosperous, lest it attract the attention of pirates and Marines. They’d be poor but happy; nothing wrong with that. He’d known rock bottom before and it wouldn’t be that way again. He wasn't a Dragon now. He was safe, could hold a job and had military training. He could protect them.

Somewhere completely average for a perfectly normal family.

Requirements aside, he wasn’t looking for much from the island itself. All he really wanted was other kids for Law to learn and play with. His mind’s eye chased the fantasy. A quaint schoolhouse of just two classes. Well-used blackboards and slightly rocky seats, old names and jokes scratched into the desks. A quiet, undemanding school where all the parents and kids knew each other. Surrounded by friends and well-meaning adults. Seas, he hoped Law would be able to make some nice friends. How lovely would it be for him to be influenced by normal kids? Kids who hadn’t grown up like Rosi and Law had? Kids who shared games, got messy outside and would copy Law’s homework…

A library or bookshop would be nice, if not a formally organised school. Law had already come so far with self-study; he’s sure they could make a form of homeschooling work. By the time Law was old enough for medical college, they should be safe enough to move island.

His boy graduating. All grown up and helping others. Successful in keeping a heart full of love and compassion. A prodigy who would continue to research new methods of recovery. This fruit could change everything. How nice it must be to be a parent with normal ambitions. He’d love to be there for as long as Law would have him.

As for himself? Well, he’d need a new identity to start. He’d seen enough witness protection procedures to know that much. Easy. Just become someone new. Someone far removed from the records, the bounty posters, the divine descension. Trafalgar Rosi had a cute ring to it. Rosey. Rosy. Rossi. Rosie? Rosie. Then it would look different on paper, enough to deter anyone who didn't already know the name Trafalgar Law.

Of course, it was only practical to change his name if he were to be inconspicuous as Law's father. Father... the thought made him giddy. Maybe he'd finally try growing that beard Sengoku had always warned him off.

As for his career… hm. He’d need something very ordinary for that, too. After burning down so many hospitals, he could definitely have a future in demolition. The medical circle probably wouldn’t want to see his face as a nurse. But then, what peaceful village would have steady work for him? Equally, they were unlikely to need his skills as a trained gunman except as a game hunter in Autumn. There was always childcare; after the kids of the Donquixote Pirates, nothing these ragamuffins had could phase him.

He could set up a Den Den switchboard and direct calls. Plenty of islanders didn’t keep them due to the care and set-up costs weighed against the usage. A small fee to use one when needed was preferable to most. Communication was at the crux of his role as a spy, so he may as well lean into his training. Plus, he’d get to take care of lots of cute Snails. He could see himself whiling away an afternoon painting one or making up the accessories.

Maybe there would be some kind of neighbourhood watch or council? Then he could do all these odd jobs. Get involved with all the news- a good source of information and an easy aid for his sense of security. Sounded peaceful enough.

A peaceful life was all he really wanted. Having tasted freedom from The Family and Marines put things into perspective. Travelling with his son and making his own choices, it becomes harder to want to return to work. Risking his life was a thankless task, one he likely wouldn’t see the benefit of whilst he still drew breath. He’d be excited to be a homemaker. Get to know some people his age and settle into a community. Share fruit and books and make-up tips whilst their kids hang out. Feel his presence in a space. To truly matter to people.

If only they lived in a world where all they had to worry about was where to settle down or which school to send Law to. The worries everybody else had-

Rosinante wiped the growing tear from his eye, holding Law ever so slightly tighter. Enough.

There is nothing material he can guarantee. As with his own parents, there is no home to return to. No money, no power, no community. For better or worse, there is no one to fall back on but themselves. Like Sengoku, he cannot magically fix what is broken. He succeeds or Law dies. Like Doffy, he cannot force Law’s hand. It must be guided.

But. Equally.

Like his own parents, he can hope for a better future for his child. Like Sengoku, he can offer all that he can within his power. Even, like Doffy, he can open Law’s heart to the concept of family once again.

There is no guarantee that he’ll be able to undo the damage done, but there’s hope. Maybe, like Rosi, Law will always be recovering. Maybe that constant growth isn’t a bad thing.

The only promise he can make is that his love will never waver, that he will always try his fucking hardest for his son. With an open mind and heart to go forward in their relationship, with whatever time he has left.

For that, he can't be as bad as he thinks. Surely.

Increasingly tonight, he was getting the impression no one knew what they were doing. That all anyone could do was try not to repeat the mistakes of those before them. To treat each other as equals. They were both different to the others around them. But in that way, they understood each other. And through each other, they found the other was every bit as deserving of love as they were. Rosi would be happy if Law came out the other side of this with even an ounce of love and humanity left in his heart. He would’ve succeeded.

Being around Law brought out the best in Rosinante. Law gave Rosi the courage to follow his idea of justice and choose a path for himself. For Law, he would betray everyone he’d ever known. Start a new family. Law gave his life meaning and purpose and made him smile again. Around Law, Rosi knew no bounds.

Rosinante brought out the best in Law. Rosi gave Law energy and brought out the kid in him again. For Rosi, Law would smile and talk about his fixations for hours. Would show compassion and trust. He would give people, and life, a second chance. He’d hope- and dream of a future. Around Rosi, Law was happy.

Together, they were free.

#There are not enough Cora fics here OR AO3 #So here one is :3c #one piece #one piece fanfiction #donquixote rosinante #rosinante corazon #donquixote doflamingo #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #sengoku one piece #sengoku the buddha #donquixote family #donquixote pirates #corazon one piece #corazon #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #long post

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cyborg-franky · 2 years ago

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Hi hi Franky! Can I please have Shanks or Corazon for prompt K or L (horror themed movies)?? Thank you so much, I always enjoy your work ❤ have a nice day!

Yesss I decided to go with Corazon, I hope you enjoy this <3

Corazon x GN Reader Prompt: Getting lost in the middle of nowhere SFW HORROR THEMES Word Count: 543

“I can’t even see the hand in front of my face.” You said as you gripped his hand tighter, the darkness and the cold gobbled you up without care nor thought as you trudged through the snow, the crunching of crisp white underfoot did little to comfort you as the darkness wrapped around you, unforgiving as you held onto him for dear life.

Law was bundled up warm on his back, cuddled into the coat, a blanket over him. Both you and Corazon desperate to keep him safe and warm even when icy panic clutched your hearts and sent dread through you. No idea where you were, had you been turned around? The lantern had fallen, broken, its oil spilling on the snow and its pitiful flame had been long extinguished.

His lighter had done almost nothing in the pitch black, he’d tried in vain to light the way but all that stretched ahead of you was the black night and the white snow. You wished there was a tree or a rock or something but you started to lose hope, it just being a mess of nothing.

“Are we on the right track?” You asked though you knew the answer deep down, his hand the only warmth you could feel, like a lifeline among all of this awfulness, something that was keeping the fear at bay.

The creeping, gnawing fear that snapped at your ankles and pulled at the corner of your sight, thinking you saw something approaching from the sides, coming after you, wanting to cause you harm when you didn’t know if it was really there or your exhausted brain making up more problems for you.

“I-” Corazon wanted to lie, he wanted to put some sort of hope in you, Law was asleep, he could tell you the truth without worrying the boy but he didn’t have it in him to suger coat the dire situation He wanted there to be hope, not a false one he’d lied about..

Before he could reply to you, a sharp wind rushed over the snow, chasing you, hitting you like a brick wall and knocking you off your feet, your hand slipped from his, falling forward, your palms embraced in cold wet snow as you cried out his name.

You glanced up, where was he? The cold bit your skin, the wind threw spiteful flakes of snow into your eyes and stinging them, vision blurry as you put your head down, wanting the wind to stop attacking you.

A voice, why was it so faint? You couldn't make it out but you swore it was your name. How did you get separated so fast? He was here just a moment ago! “Corazon!” You called into the wall of ice and solitude that draped over you as the darkness and snow had the land and the ground you tread, looking around with sore eyes and a sore throat, feeling like you'd been calling, screaming his name for hours, not mere seconds.

Falling forward you felt the snow rush to meet you, your face against the packed snow, your hands gripping it, fists balled up in the white as you let out another breath. “Rosi..” You called again, just howling wind as your answer.

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tooweirdforyou · 4 years ago

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How The OP Boys Say “I Love You” To Their S/O

How You Know He Loves You- idk man

A/N : enjoy.

includes » Ace, Sabo, Luffy, law, Sanji, Zoro, Marco, Rosinante, Kid, Shanks, Mihawk, Katakuri, Izo, Koby, Cavendish,

Summary : the boys’ own way of saying “I love you”, with their own words and ways. Or, how you know he loves you.

? Wait did I do this before? I don’t even know. also these aren’t GREAT, but they aren’t HORRIBLE. Yk? Honestly tho, some of these seem like they’re all over the place, which yes, they might be. UGH IT WAS SO HARD THO.

Monkey D. Luffy

Luffy loves you like an adventure. Everything is new and always fun to try with him, and no matter what happens, you don’t ever regret it, because you’re doing it with him.

He’s persistent in staying with you everywhere, he wants to do everything with you. He tends to invite you ( by pulling your hand ) to do crazy things with him and away from the others so you’re alone.

He’s always showing off his skills and stupidity in order to make you laugh, because your smile is the best thing he’s ever seen and giggles are the beautiful sound he treasures.

His actions are genuine when he holds your hand and pulls you to his side all the time, with the warmest, loving grin.

Luffy always makes sure to remind you to never give up hope.

“Let’s go on an adventure together, [Name].”

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro loves you like you’re his one and only. No one has priority over you, ( except maybe Luffy ), and you will always be his, if you’ll let him.

Zoro is not a man of many words when it comes to his own emotions and feelings, so he shows it through his actions.

He always has an eye on you, so wherever you are is where he ‘sleeps’ so he can keep you close, his swords at his side to protect you from danger, ( but he knows you can handle yourself. )

Zoro is the perfect person to lend a comforting shoulder and ear. He will listen to every single one of your problems intently and if he can, will offer the best advice you’ll hear, even if it’s a bit harshly. However, whatever got you so down, Zoro will bring you back up.

Zoro is always reminding you that you are strong, no matter how tough things get.

“Oi, come take a nap with me. I could use a body pillow.”

Portgas D. Ace

Ace loves you like a gentleman, respecting boundaries, bowing to the elderly you pass by together and always ready to pick you up for your date at seven, bouquet of flowers in hand.

If Ace is good at anything, it’s knowing how to distract you with a good time. He knows the best way to bring a beautiful smile to your lips and can easily make sure to avoid the thoughts that brought you down in the first place.

He’ll share stories that will make you die of laughter or feel so wholesome that you literally melt at how sweet it is.

The few times he expresses and shares his insecurities to you, something he hides within him because he trusts you enough to do so. He loves your understanding and comfort for him.

Ace always reminds you that you’ll be okay, even at the worst times.

“You are the light of my life.”

Chief of Staff Sabo

Sabo loves you like a prince. He holds the door for you, takes your hand so you don’t fall, has the most charismatic smile on his face and is just so charming.

Sabo will remember the littlest things, the smallest details that you yourself don’t even know until he reminds you, and because of this, you are often gifted the most memorable and cherishing gifts, like the scarf you two bought for your perfect snowman, to the necklace you were staring a little too longingly at on display.

He’s always busy, but he doesn’t hesitate to drop whatever he has just for you. He will run through fire if it means you’ll stop crying or if you’ll be happy to see him. You are his lifeline, his soul, his love.

He may not know how to properly cheer you up like his brothers can, but he knows that he wants the best for you. If you need space, you got it. You need some tender loving cuddles and buckets of ice cream while watching Disney movies? Vanilla or chocolate ice cream?

Sabo reminds you that you deserve happiness and peace.

“Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.”

Trafalgar D. Water Law

Law loves you like you’re his savior, someone who’s always there during his time of need and insecurities, by his side when he needs you most.

He’s a little blunt and straightforward occasionally, but he’s honest somewhat. He won’t ever tell you his feelings until he deems it the right time, but you can tell he has feelings by the change in treatment.

He’ll keep you closer to him, making excuses by saying that he needs you to help him with the supply run, or that he needs your assistance with a particular menial task.

He’s awkward and shy about it at first but he cares and that’s all you need to know. Especially once you catch him during one of his weaker times, the anniversary of a particular someone rolling around, where he’s locked in his room. He needs you beside him, so please don’t leave him when he needs you.

Law reminds you that you are human, that it’s okay to be vulnerable.

“Just stay here with me.”

Vinsmoke Sanji

Sanji loves you like a god/goddess. He will treat you with the utmost respect and care and offers you everything you could possibly want or need, just say the word.

His genuine, endless daily compliments are given to you with pure love and passion, his daily refreshments and snacks to keep you energized and hydrated keeps an eye out for your health.

He makes sure you know the true meaning of flattery, chivalry and love, because that is all he can show you.

However, under that chivalrous exterior, is his calmer, understanding loving self, where he shows his true self and when he finally shares this side with you, where he holds his insecurities, it’s the true honor and love you can receive. And it’s even better, when you become the one who loves for him in return during this time.

Sanji reminds you that you deserve to be and are loved.

“You are my world, my everything.”

Marco The Phoenix

Marco loves you like a married couple who grew old together, still playing jokes and having fun to life’s fullest, no matter your age.

He’s constantly lecturing you for the smallest things repeatedly, since you always seem to forget. His lectures lack any annoyance or malice though, he’s just kind of done with you sometimes.

Nonetheless, he’s taking care of you more than you think, always the first one there whenever you need help. He’s always prepared for whatever you need so you don’t have to look for it and get worried.

He’s stern at times but he loves you more than you could ever know, often questioning himself whenever he’s beside you. He half-lidded eyes watching you with warmth and admiration because you always look so determined.

Marco always reminds you that you are free. To live life to its fullest and however you wish.

“Let me fly you to the moon.”

Donquixote Rosinante

Rosinante loves you like a husband, he treats you like his wife, either you or him welcoming each other home after being gone for so long and greeting each other with a loving kiss each time.

He knows just how tough things can be and as much as he tries to make things right, he knows how bad situations really are and no matter how much he wants to cry or get angry, he always holds a smile, in front of you. To assure you that things will be okay.

He gives the warmest hugs, and knows that, so whenever you’re angry or sad, or just randomly at times, Rosi envelops you into a large hug, waddling you back and forth a few times, you feel instant relief and content, which makes him smile.

His priority will always be you, even if he’s hundreds of thousands miles away, he will find his way back home to you. He surprises you with the littlest gifts; being flowers, jewelry, candles, or more.

Rosi will always remind you to smile, even during the hardest times.

“I will protect you.”

Eustass Kid

Kid loves you like a game, it’s unexpected, unpredictable of what will happen and it’s exciting and thrilling. For you both, one wrong move, and the other is gone for good, but perhaps, second chances/rematches are available.

He can be brash and a bit much, but Kid has high respect for anyone who actually makes it onto his crew and can actually tolerate him, you included.

He’s loud and wild but that only makes it part of the fun. With such a short fuse, as long as you play your cards right and pick your moments to bite back, it’s kind of fun knowing how dangerous it can be with a guy like Kid, and he also loves it equally, because your feistiness is attractive.

Being a bad bitch that doesn’t play by the rules is so incredibly attractive and Kid knows how to reward and punish so tread carefully. ;) however, he has his down moments and as annoying he can be, he does appreciate the effort you give if you try to comfort him. He’ll be harsh about it but eventually, he just wants you to be with him in the end.

Kid reminds you to rebel, take risks and enjoy the thrill of getting in dangerous situation every once in a while, breaking a few rules doesn’t hurt anybody. Most of the time.

“Don’t fucking ever leave me.. okay?”

Dracule Mihawk

Mihawk loves you like you’re an empress, only the finest and highest quality for you, nothing else can compare.

Mihawk will buy you the most expensive dress that suits you, with an equally expensive matching jewelry to go with. Not to mention the heels, and, tch, how could he forget the roses you require? Despicable.

As much as he loves to show you off, he despises the stares of awe and admiration you receive whenever you go out, so his possessiveness takes over and he has an arm around your waist at all times, successfully showing you’re taken and to back off if they don’t wish to be cut into oblivion.

He trains you to handle yourself, obviously, you should know at least some basic skills. He’s not too hard on you but does push you to keep going until you truly wish to stop. It’s only because he’s worried that one day, he won’t be there and won’t be able to protect you.

Mihawk reminds you that you are a queen/king, a strong person who shall hold your ground and never back down from fear and show your bravery.

“Come here, mi amor.”

Red Haired Shanks

Shanks loves you like you’re his future. It’s an unknown journey, but he’s there for the ride and whatever may happen, he’s there staying and won’t be going anywhere, unless it’s with you.

The red head is a goofball, he drinks, parties and messes around but he is an incredible captain and genuine to a fault. So when he expresses kindness, it is purely from his heart and not out of manners.

He is extremely playful and yet when down to business, he is calm, collected, and cool. He knows just what to say in tough situations and great comforting advice, so he’s the one to go to when you’re feeling down. And as laid back as he is, disrespect to those he loves is the one shit he won’t take.

He’ll hold you close and with his signature grin, compliment you and tell you how much he appreciates you and as soon as someone lays a finger on you, his hand is on the hilt of the sword and he waits three seconds for an explanation before he cuts them down. No one messes with his beloved.

Shanks reminds you of loyalty. To always protect and care for those close to you, and keep that built up trust and bond you created with them.

“Trust me. I won’t let go of you.”

Charlotte Katakuri

Katakuri loves you like you’re glass, he’s careful, protective, cautious and treats you like you’re fragile, because he’s afraid of hurting you.

He’s larger than most, he’s aware of that, so he always takes the precautions to be aware of his surroundings, especially when you are around. He wants you safe and he will be devastated if he is the cause of your pain.

His large stature is a blessing to you though, because cuddling is so comfortable and comforting, it’s amazing. You can curl up and relax and just be at ease with him, because he’s so protective of you, even from his family members. He often keeps you away from Cracker and Perospero, in the slightest chance that they try to take you away from him.

He’ll be extremely heartbroken if Big Mom doesn’t approve of you, but his love for you is stronger, so he’ll keep it a secret if he has to but eventually, he’ll pray and wish for her blessing, asking the help of his siblings to convince her.

Katakuri reminds you of family, that even friends or crewmates are family and love you all the same.

“I will be here for you.”

Captain Koby

Koby loves you like a typical high school crush. He’s all shy and blushy, and evidently embarrassed when the pretty one at school is talking to him, ( that’s you. ).

He’s like the wallflower type, who tries to blend in but somehow, he sticks out in a way that lures you to him, like he’s hit the jackpot.

He is incredibly sweet, and his shyness is so adorable. You can’t help but coo whenever you see his red cheeks and soft smile of care he offers.

Always helps you with everything, will take the blame whenever you get in trouble, takes the suffering and pain when guys try to mess with you, and no matter how tough things get, he’s holding a brave face for you.

Koby reminds you of kindness, treat everyone with care and kindness, and it goes a long way.

“If you fall, I’ll be there to catch you.”

16th Division Commander Izo

Izo loves you like you’re a painting, he thinks you are true beauty, inside and out, you are a work of art, a true Mother Nature masterpiece born. One to be admired.

The type to be there. He’ll hold your hair while you vomit, rubbing soothing circles on your back while you cry, painting your nails while you complain about Ace, assure your perfection when you’re feeling insecure.

Best advice giver, holds no judgements at all. He’ll help with anything, because you need him. Romantic advice, friendship, sexual advice ;), he will help you any way he can.

He truly admires you, not because of your beauty, but your strength to be able to cry. Crying doesn’t mean weakness but rather, strength to be able to move forward even in the worst of times.

Izo reminds you that you are beautiful, no matter what anyone thinks or says.

“You are true beauty, my love.”

Cavendish Of The White Horse

Cavendish loves you like you’re a princess, and he is your handsome Prince Charming.

Every thing he does it like from a fairytale, if it involved a rather.. bit of a narcissistic Prince Charming. But he means well, because he still treats you like a real princess.

He gives you daily horseback rides, teaching you with his strong arms wrapped around yours and his black fancy hat on top of your head, as you two ride around and share laughs and memories.

And even through his big ego, he still makes sure to compliment you, tell you how proud he is of you and how much he truly admires you for your strong will and determination, because he really does love you. More than you know.

Cavendish reminds you that dreams can come true, sometimes it just takes a leap of faith and effort.

“I will treat you like the princess you are and deserve to be.”

A/N : 15 fucking people and having to think of different things while I’m distracted is so HARD. 😭 please tell me you enjoyed though ;-;

but did I do this already? God I can’t remember a thing, especially since I still haven’t updated my masterlists- and I’m terribly sorry if this really is all over the place ;-; also apologies if this is repetitive for some of them! It really is difficult yk ;-;

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years ago

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bb and vampy going somewhere and bb just holds only one of his fingers🥺

Wait that’s cute 🥺

Imagine them going to an outlet mall and they’re looking through a store and she wants to go one way, but he’s still looking at something where they’re standing, and she doesn’t want to let go of his hand or bother him, so she stretches for it and ends up holding his index finger with her whole hand in order to be able to reach what she needs. And when he glances over and sees what she’s doing, he gets the softest look on his face because she’s just casually inspecting the product she’s interested in while clutching his finger like a lifeline to keep their grasp from slipping 😔

“Baby?”

She doesn’t glimpse up, humming at him distractedly as she continues to feel up the fabric of the shirt before her. “Mmhm?”

“What are you doing?”

She looks up at him with a blank expression on her face, her brows slightly pinched in confusion. “I’m looking at a shirt…?”

Harry juts his chin downward to bring attention to their hands. “I’m talking about that.”

Y/N’s eyes follow his direction, and when she realizes what he’s referencing, he can see her features slowly melt with sheepish timidness. “Oh, I…Well, I wanted to look at this sweater, but I didn’t want to drag you away from what you were looking at, and I didn’t want to let go of your hand either, so I just…compromised, I guess.”

The vampire stares at her silently for a moment with a certain overwhelming fondness flooding his irises, a gentle, smitten smile twitching the edges of his rosy lips.

Y/N blinks at him curiously, her voice quiet and tender. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just really fucking cute.”

#ysijwa!ask #ysijwa!blurb

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themand0lorian · 3 years ago

Text

FLUFFTOBER DAY 30-FALL ASLEEP IN MY LAP

FLUFFTOBER MASTERLIST

Summary: The child is sick, and has both you and Mando worried.

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: G

Words: ~850 (AO3)

Tags: The baby is sick with a lil baby cold :(

Notes: Almost there!

“You should get some sleep.” Mando’s voice startles you from your thoughts; you had been intently staring at the Child, asleep in his little pram. “Don’t want you getting sick, too.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, stifling a yawn. The truth was, nothing felt fine. The kid had come down with something a few days ago; starting with a little cough and a sad “patu.” Then he got the sniffles, then—you think, you’re not a medical expert on small green aliens—a fever. He seemed to only be getting worse; more and more miserable as his little body tried to fight it off. His skin turned pale and sickly, his cheeks extra rosy. His ears hadn’t risen past his shoulders in days; when he refused an offer of a freeze-dried frog, you knew he was in bad shape.

Unfortunately, you and Mando didn’t really know what species the kid was, or what kind of illnesses they can get. Any doctor you took him to wouldn’t either; you had yet to find someone who did. The holonet returned no results. So you resorted to the tried and true—fluids, rest, and comfort.

The kid refused the first two until his body gave out. He wouldn’t choke down his broth, throwing it back at you when you tried to get him to sip at it. He hadn’t slept through the night in cycles, waking colicky and snotty every few hours with loud wails. The only thing he did seem to accept was comfort; he constantly wanted to be curled in yours or Mando’s arms, soothed, quieted, fists gripping your shirt like a lifeline. It had been a struggle to get him into the pram tonight, and you knew it was only a matter of time before he would begin his cycle of sobbing and snuggles again.

More pressing, though, was that you were worried about him. His fever didn’t seem to be breaking, he didn’t seem to be getting much better despite how much you had doted on him. Despite the helmet, you knew Mando was worried, too; he was always asking after his little boy, quick to wake to respond to his cries. You had both run yourselves ragged, new parents out of their element as you tried to soothe the sick bean.

So you sat at his pram, watching his breath move his little chest up and down. At this point, you needed the comfort—needed to know he was still breathing, no matter how labored it was. Even if you tried, you wouldn’t have been able to sleep without checking on him, and Mando seemed to realize this too.

You two were practically one in the same, no matter how much it pained him to admit it. Fiercely loyal, stubborn. Harboring feelings for the other that they were convinced weren’t reciprocated. So, Mando followed your lead; he sat down next to you, large frame bent into twisted knees.

“Any progress?” “No,” you sigh. “But he’s sleeping. That’s good, right?” “Yeah,” Mando replies after a moment. You both keep your eyes on the child, but his gloved hand approaches yours, fingertips barely touching as he leans back. “That’s good.”

The two of you sit in silence for who knows how long; just watching the child breathe. At some point, you both must fall asleep; Mando leaning against the side of the hull, head tilted back, and you, curled at his side, your head in his lap. It takes a moment when you lull awake for you to come to your senses—to realize you’ve snuggled into the Mandalorian, to feel the buttery leather of his glove rest gently over your scalp. As your faculties come back—you must have needed the sleep more than you thought—you hear it; a giggle, the only possible source from a small green child.

“I know, buddy. They’ll be happy you’re better.” Mando whispers through the modulator; the child must have made his way out of the pram, as it sits empty in front of you. Mando’s behind you, still unaware you’re approaching awake. “But you need to let them sleep. Your buir was worried about you.” The child hums; you can practically see the knowing look he gives Mando. “I was, too, kid.” With that, Mando runs his hand over your head gently, cradling it like the most precious gift. “About both of you.” You still lull between sleep and wakefulness; groaning when two strong arms lift you to an armored chest.

“Sleep, cyare.” Your eyes follow Mando’s low command, letting him carry you into his small bunk, his own broad body warm and pliant behind you. The child immediately burrows under your arm, and Mando’s arm comes around you both, his hand resting gently on the child’s back as he begins to go back to sleep.

“Why’d we move? You were comfy,” you mumble.

“Back was killing me,” he whispers; even half asleep, you release a small smile, happy to have your found family safe and sound, happy to be in Mando’s arms; under the helmet, Mando’s face matches yours.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

TAGS: @ophelialoveshandsomemen @ksd24670 @rosiefridayrogersunday @evelynseventyr @ajeff855 @thewintersoldierswife @knowledgefulbutterfly @amneris21 @sarahjkl82-blog @hellovanessax @rebel-fanfare @tobealostwanderer @randomness501 @farfromjustordinary @outlawedmando @agirllovespancakes @pedrostories @solemnlyswearss @mandocrasis @raspberrymama @pjkimrn @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @marydjarin @eri16 @curiouskeyboard @frankiemoraleswifexo @dream-visual-51 @fangirl-of-randomness @aquilacorvinal @notagamersdey @castleamc @folklord @heavenseed76 @dessinemoiunehistoire @bella-law @bluevxnus @ohlawdthebirds

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elitepokepeeps · 3 years ago

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Softening the Blow (Adaman x Reader/MC)

Summary: After Volo betrays you at Spear Pillar, you are unsure if you can trust again. Adaman, who helped you gather the red chain, is there to comfort you and reassure you of his loyalty.

You stagger your way back to Jubilife Village as the sunset spread shades of rosy pink across the sky. You weren’t sure how you made it this far with all your Pokémon fainted. Perhaps it was a blessing from Arceus after the evening you’d just endured.

Your heart felt like an anchor in your chest. You were still in utter disbelief at the fact Volo had betrayed you after everything he’d done for you. It was all an act, just a way for him to reach his goal of meeting the true creator of the universe. Giratina’s arrival resulted in you being battered and bruised on your way home. You had barely managed to defeat the creature, along with Volo’s remarkably powerful team. You were at least grateful to still have the plates you’d gathered.

You needed to tell the commander, you told yourself as you trekked home. Sure, Volo had left willingly after his defeat, but who knew what the deranged merchant would decide next?

Your feet ached with exhaustion as you padded up the dirt path to the galaxy hall. You stopped in your tracks when you saw two familiar, brightly colored figures at the hall’s door. Adaman and Irida, and with them, Commander Kamado. Each had a worried look in their faces.

“Y/N!” Kamado was the first to catch sight of you. He ran down the steps of the galaxy hall to meet you, a stern yet concerned look on his face. “Where have you been? We each saw that dark rift on the mountain!”

“Dark rift?” You repeat numbly, quietly. “Oh…yes….” They must’ve seen the portal that Giratina appeared from. You bowed your head, not wanting to discuss the monster that Volo had summoned.

“What happened, Y/N?” Irida gasped, coming up behind Kamado. “You look terrible…”

You opened your mouth, still too shocked and saddened to respond. A lump was in your throat, it felt like a ball of lead. “I….I….”

Adaman was the last to approach you. Out of the three, you definitely felt closest to him, after he’d helped you gather the red chain components. He was your lifeline in your exile.

His large brown eyes swam with emotion as he took in your scratches and bruises—injuries you sustained trying to dodge Giratina’s vicious attacks. You’d been hurt by wild pokémon before, of course, but he could tell by your grave mood that this was more serious, more personal. His brows knitted over his eyes as he frowned.

“Who did this to you, Y/N?” He demanded.

It was too much for you. You felt your bottom lip trembling as you fought to keep tears of anger and pain away. You hated that everyone’s eyes were on you. You refused to look at them, instead hugging your arms, trying to prevent your shoulders from shaking.

“Y/N?” Adaman said, much more softly after a moment of your silence. He crouched himself to your height, gently placing his hands around your upper arms. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“V-Volo,” you finally managed to choke out. At the same moment, the tears could not keep themselves contained. They began rolling down your cheeks, soaking up in the galaxy uniform scarf you wore.

“Volo did this?” Adaman said, lifting your chin to look at him. He searched your eyes for some sign you were lying, because he, too, could not believe it.

Through tears and gasps, you explained what happened over the next few minutes, even how Volo had used Giratina. It felt like the wounds were reopening, and by the second you were becoming more upset. Adaman did not leave your side, even as you had to pause to compose yourself from time to time.

“I....never thought Volo could be capable of something like that,” Adaman said when you were done. “We all trusted him—he helped us!”

Those words hit you hard. Suddenly, you felt your sadness shifting into something hotter—rage. This pain, this betrayal, was not a new feeling. You recognized it from when Kamado exiled you, when you sought help from the clans and were initially refused. You didn’t think they were capable of that at the time either. You felt your breath grow fiery hot in your throat as Adaman took his hands off of you, turning to the other leaders to discuss the next move.

“We need to find Volo,” Adaman said. “He can’t get away with this. He tried to kill Y/N.”

“Agreed,” Irida said, shaking her head. “Vast Hisui cannot be safe with him roaming free.”

“I can send the security corps immediately to begin searching,” Kamado huffed, grabbing his belt at the waist as usual. “This is unforgivable, how he treated you, Y/N”.

“And you think you’re any better?!” You spat. “After you ran me out of town, exiled me from the community I worked my ass off for?” Before he could respond, you snapped your heads to the two clan leaders next. “And you two, too afraid to openly aid me because you thought you’d get dragged into a scuffle? This is not the first time I’ve been hurt by someone I trusted!”

You screamed at yourself mentally to stop. You knew you were being irrational, that you were acting ungrateful for Adaman and Irida’s eventual help, but you couldn’t stop the pot from bubbling over now that the water was boiling. You thought it was all water under the bridge, but deep down, the event with Volo was just the icing on the cake.

“I can’t trust any of you!” You snarled. “Just leave me alone!”

In the moment you said it, you instantly regretted it. You caught a glimpse of Adaman’s expression shattering with devastation, Irida covering her mouth in a gasp, but you turned around and began running towards your quarters. You ignored Kamado calling after you to return.

You slammed the door to your quarters shut, tearing off the scarf that felt like it was suffocating you. You grabbed your pillow and screamed into it as loud as you could.

—

Adaman’s heart ached with pity and sorrow for you. He knew that what you said was out of anger in the moment. Surely...surely you didn’t really distrust him?

He sat on the steps of the galaxy hall, too worried about you to eat at the Wallflower, where Irida and Kamado had gone to discuss things further. He held his head in his hands and sighed. Leafeon nudged him with his head again and again, trying to cheer his partner up.

“Maybe...maybe I should go talk to Y/N,” he said aloud, petting the grass-type’s head. He’d wasted enough time as it was brooding on the steps of the hall. As he made his way towards your quarters, he was stopped by the haunting sight of a small rift opening before him. His eyes widened as the blue dragon Dialga emerged from it silently, stepping onto the ground in front of him. Its red eyes seemed to pierce his very soul.

“Mighty Dialga,” he whispered, bowing his head in respect. He realized that you must have let Dialga out of its ball, letting it roam its dimensions and timelines freely. The dragon held its head high, turning towards your quarters.

“I was just about to visit your trainer, and see how they’re doing,” Adaman explained to the Pokémon. “After everything that happened today....”

A low rolling growl came from Dialga’s throat, almost like a purr of approval. Adaman smiled and turned on his heel, and knocked on the door of your quarters.

“Y/N?” he asked. “Can I come in?”

After a pause, he repeated your name, but heard no response.

Adaman turned to Dialga, who watched him intently, waiting for him to enter its trainer’s home.

“I don’t think they’re home,” he sighed. Dialga, however, was not satisfied with this answer, and with its head, nudged Adaman back to your door. It was clear the ruler of time wouldn’t let him leave without him trying a bit harder.

“I hope…I hope it’s okay if I come in?” Adaman said through the door. Still hearing no response, he took a deep breath and decided to slide the entrance open.

His brow raised in confusion as he noticed an empty room. You weren’t there, but your shoes had obviously been kicked off and were strewn about.

“Y/N?”

That’s when he noticed it. The door to your closet was just slightly ajar. His heart skipped a beat as he realized you must’ve been hiding in there. He quietly entered and shut the entrance, and took off his shoes.

His breath caught in his throat, heart skipping beats as he approached the closet. He knelt down to the floor, before swinging the door open further.

You were sitting tucked in the back, your legs drawn up to your chest, head buried in your knees. Adaman’s heart sank when he saw that you were still quietly sobbing.

“Y/N....” Adaman whispered. He shifted himself to sit cross-legged in front of you. “Hey. I’m here.”

You said nothing in response, instead hugging your legs tighter, burying your head further in refusal. Adaman’s stomach twisted with apprehension, and he thought maybe he should leave to give you space. He knew, however, that Dialga was still on the other side of the door and would probably use roar of time in his face for leaving you.

There were no words he thought he could say in the moment to make you feel better. Instead, you felt his arms reaching around your shoulders and legs, pulling you from your dark shelter. Your head shot up in surprise, and for a moment you made contact with his soft brown eyes. You saw how they swam with worry, and his desperation to see you at peace. You were torn with guilt over the terrible thing you had said earlier.

You thought he might say something, but wordlessly he drew you close. One of his hands cradled your head into his shoulder, the other was wrapped around your back. The sudden feeling of warmth brought forth a new surge of emotion in you. You threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tight as you began crying into his haori.

You weren’t sure how long he held you. It felt like hours, but you relished the feeling of his contact and warmth. He rocked you back and forth, letting you cry to your heart’s content, all without a word.

“I’m sorry, Adaman,” you whispered after an eternity, when you could finally control your tears. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I know,” he replied softly. His fingers gently ran through your hair, and he pulled your head even closer into his shoulder. “And it’s okay. I don’t blame you for being so angry. Can....can I tell you something?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

“On Mount Coronet, when Mighty Dialga spoke to me in my mind, I felt more than that. It was as if I could feel it looking into my heart,” he explained. “It saw my every desire and intent, deciding if I was worthy before it chose to speak to me. What I’m trying to say is that if the Mighty Dialga can trust me...then you can, too. I know that doesn’t take away the pain of what you’ve just gone through. But...if you need someone to rely on, I will always be loyal to you.”

Your heart seemed to melt in your chest like snow in the presence of the sun. You lifted your head, looking into his eyes. You couldn’t help but breathe a great sigh of relief. Although your hand shook, you cupped his cheek. His eyes sparkled as he looked at you, despite your face looking red and puffy from the flow of tears.

He was there for you in the way you needed it most. You felt safe, and you knew then that out of everyone in the world, Adaman was someone you could trust. His touch communicated everything. He adored you. And you adored him right back.

“Thank you, Adaman,” you whispered.

He held you close for the rest of the night, until you fell into a blissful sleep.

#adaman #pokemon adaman #legends arceus #pokemon #pokémon legends arceus #diamond clan

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aetheternity · 3 years ago

Text

So sweet, just for me

Synopsis: Just some stories where reader takes care of Virgin! Armin.

Disclaimer: Unprotected sex, blowjobs, Sub Armin and sexually experienced Y/N are all present in this. Minors exit now.

☆☆Just Summer Things☆☆

Sweat coursed down the expanse of every inch of your body. Or maybe it was water you weren't really sure. A set of carefully trimmed nails shivered and shook beside your head, digging into the grimy tree bark. Locks of sun kissed blonde hair stuck to parts of your neck, face and collarbone as you coaxed Armin's breathing down. Forehead resting uncomfortably against the bark and your ass firmly seated against his hips.

"How do you feel sweet boy?"

"I-I.." He panted, pulling his face back a little. Blue doe eyes full of lust and the sweet shine of tears.

His cock currently pressed delicately against your g-spot during what started out as a normal water balloon fight. Between the boys and the girls of course. You guys had all come out during late afternoon, Sasha and Connie started tossing water balloons and teams formed accordingly.

At some point you'd run off to what you thought was a safe zone only to find Armin perched in the bushes. Contemplation etched into his soft features.

"Move slowly ok." You encourage. You were surprised by how big he was sure but the warning was more so this could last for a while.

He nodded where you were still holding the back of his head. His nails cautiously unlatching from the tree moving instead to sink into the fat of your hips while at the same time his once snugly nestled cock began to move. The sweet drag forcing your toes to curl and your eyes to shut. A small exhale cresting off your lips.

A breathy moan fell from his trembling lips as he pulls you in closer. Wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing around you like a lifeline.

You'd met Armin only two years ago through Jean and continued to crush on him for the entirety of those two years. Until today when he'd admitted to you that he was a little ashamed of being a virgin while consistently having to listen to Eren, Connie and Jean's conquests.

You told him they were probably lying about at least half of those stories but it only got you a small smile. So you decided to do him one better and offer to take his virginity.

It wasn't selfish. It was a win win. He would receive a conquest story to tell and you would get what you'd been craving since you'd first seen him in Jean's apartment shirtless and trying to help fix the messed up drain.

"Feels good?" You chuckle huskily

"Oh my God.." He huffs into your skin.

His hips worked themselves up a little faster. A slightly clumsy pace forming but he was new at this so you weren't mad.

"Armin slow down baby, I don't want you to get ahead of yourself."

"I-i'm sorry.. j-ust feels amazing.."

One of his hands hesitantly snaked up your shirt. Skittish in the way he palmed at your breast. Though he quickly eased up when you replied to the affection with a little mewl.

It felt surprisingly amazing for you as well. Considering the situation and the fact that Armin had never done this with anyone. This really was his first time.. What a weird thing to tell people. My first time was at a water balloon fight against a tree.

You hummed when the pleasure started to sit in your stomach. Legs trembling a bit as he pumped inside you a little faster. Any other time you would've just thrown your head back and relaxed, especially since his dick was so perfectly filling right now but-

"Armin, slow down." Your breathing was a little raspy.

He replied with a whimpery moan, thighs shaking against your sides. You reached an arm around grabbing his hips with your hand to slow them. It seemed to catch his attention because those soft doe eyes were wide.

"You'll get to cum baby I promise you, ease up a bit it's not a race." He nodded in affirmation and you smiled warmly.

Silk strands warm under your guided fingers as he pulled all the way out and slowly eased back in. A collective united moan exiting both your mouths. You'd shut your eyes but they worked themselves back open at the almost unnoticeable twitch of his cock head.

Your favorite part.

"Mm baby so close.." You whisper, your lip coming to tuck itself under your teeth.

A small chorus of yes's and little gasps fall from his open mouth. His skin somehow easing out of tomato red and into surface of the sun red.

You pull him close making sure his eyes were open. "I need you to cum for me ok? But make sure no one hears you." You say, and fuck is it gorgeous watching him come undone. Just like you'd imagined so many times before.

The tears once welling in his eyes spilled over like a faucet. Choked moans and harsh gasps worked their way off his lips. One of his hands flew back up to the tree where his nails soon dug the bark clean off. His hips stuttering through his entire orgasm. You were almost worried when his climax ended. The way he went silent except for his wild breathing.

"Armin?"

"Fuck.." He sighed

You couldn't help but giggle. "How was your first time?"

He gasps and rolls his eyes still stuck in euphoria. When he pulls out you take the opportunity to turn around. Working your panties up over your hips and pulling your fluttery skirt back down.

"Please, please let me do that again sometime.." He huffs finally managing words. You bring his lips to yours in a chaste kiss that honestly doesn't last long enough for you.

"Only if you promise to stay my good boy." You reply pulling his shorts up till they rest comfortably on his hips.

"I promise." He remarks, almost too eager. "Oh! Wait you didn't get to c-"

"Hey, where did you guys go?" Armin practically separates from his skin as Connie and Jean round the corner. Water guns tucked in their grasp.

"When did you guys get those?" You asked nonchalantly.

Jean shrugged, "We made the game more interesting."

Connie shook his head running back around the corner as Sasha's battle cry sounded.

"Hurry and get back we need you out there Armin." And with that Jean was gone too.

You picked up Armin's discarded water balloon, placing it in his open palm. "See you out there, lover boy."

☆☆Showing Armin how to do Yoga☆☆

"Why's Armin coming over here so early again?" Sasha asked rolling over onto her side. The bag of cotton candy once perched on her thighs flopping over and nearly spilling its contents.

"To do Yoga!" You replied with a laugh sitting the bag upright next to her.

She groaned dramatically. "But it's six thirty am on a Saturday."

"No one told you to get up with me." You remark, pushing the coffee table to the edge of the room.

She holds her once displaced bag up for you to see. "It was calling out to me." She sighs, hugging it to her chest.

A knock on the door takes your concentration. As you pull it open you call back to her, "Well since you're up, you might as well join us."

"Nope!" She quickly scurries away with a wave of her hand. Cotton candy stuffed under her arm.

You shut the door behind Armin as he stares down the hall that Sasha had disappeared down. Your grin is bright almost devilish as it slowly spreads across your face.

"Seems like it's just the two of us." You mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

You watch as he thickly gulps with a nod. Bite able Adam's apple bouncing but you pretend you don't notice. Your mat is already laid out on the floor but you can't stop yourself from bending over to smooth out the corners. Barely paying attention to Armin until you hear a small cough or maybe him choking it's not very clear.

He's holding his mat in his arms defensively across his chest. Silk strands of blond hair fluttering when he blinks. His cheeks a beautifully vibrant pink.

"I-I wanted to th-thank you.." He says, blue eyes trained where they stared at your mat. "For.. the- um.." He gestures and you can't help but giggle.

"The sex?"

Now his eyes find you. Blown wide as his pink lips part over a word that never succeeds in leaving his mouth. Your feet pat over the floor as you close the distance between the two of you. His cheeks warm under your delicate grasp and you hold his face almost as though you're sure he'll shatter.

"You're so cute, please never change."

You're almost scared it sounds condescending but the soft rosy color trudging up to the tips of Armin's ears says he doesn't agree.

You turn back to your mat with a smile but just before you sit on it you add, "And you never have to thank me for sex, I'd do it with you anytime."

He nods once as if responding to you and then twice as if he's confirming that you did indeed say what he heard. The soft plap of his mat on the floor reminding you of what you were both here for.

"Ok, let's begin then." You take a deep breath, adjusting the scrunchie holding your hair in place. "First we wanna stretch alright, so I just need you to reach up above your head with both hands and reposition your feet."

You demonstrate using yourself and Armin awkwardly copies. Slender fingers curling towards the sky as he slowly relaxes his shoulders. You can't help but let your mind wander a little as a glint of light flickers off the steel rings decorating three of his gorgeous digits.

You had fingered yourself last time the two of you were together and now you were craving him. Wondering what the warmth of just one of those inside you would feel like.

"Spread your legs more." You encourage, meanwhile it nearly has Armin doubling back. "Dirty boy." You tease

You stand in front of him gently kicking his legs apart. Easy enough. And he responds to every bit of your touch like he craved you too.

And well you wanna tell yourself that you had actually had completely innocent intentions when you'd invited Armin over here today. He genuinely had never done Yoga before and you knew Sasha was gonna be here. So yeah, you'd love to say you wanted nothing but to relax Armin in this encounter.

But you couldn't even keep a straight face while thinking it.

"Can you bend your knees a little?" He squats, carefully coming back up. Arms reaching out on both sides as you coaxed him. "A little lower sweetie." You say as his ass hovers inches over the mat.

And oh to be the mat.

You step back until you're completely back on your mat. "I'm sure your arms are tired, you can put them down now." You wave him off and he lets out a smooth exhale. "Feel relaxed yet?"

"A little." He replies with a confident smile.

"Then you're ready for the next part." You clap "I need you to bend over and touch your toes alright."

He shuts his eyes, pretty lips parting over your choice of words. What you wouldn’t give right at this second to be a mind reader. His back arches, ankles locking together as you demonstrated. "Good, good boy. Back straight." You sink your thumb into his black athletic shirt to touch his spine. And he hardens with your touch. "Don't be shy, it's just me." You mutter, breath heavy.

Fuck! Touching his back muscles this up close and personal made you wanna sink your nails into them. Leave lines up and down his soft supple skin as a mark that you'd always be his first. No one else would ever get that privilege.

"I-I.."

Shit.

"Ok, you can stand."

You pretend not to notice the way he shifts his sweats as he stands. This time you vow to actually stay on your mat.

"You should know this position." Your legs spread on one end of the mat while your hands came down to lay flat near the opposite end. "Try it."

Carefully he gets into the position you're currently doing but not without peaking at your figure. His blond hair dipping towards the mat and you can't help but smile at how cute he looks.

"Now we're gonna slowly curve our bodies down until our pelvis touches the floor." You say, head curving up toward the ceiling. For once Armin has immediate trouble, hips dangling weirdly over the ground. His arms trying and failing to steady himself.

"What's the matter? Wanna try a different position?"

"N-no it's nothing.."

You plop down on your mat, crossing your legs and gesturing for him to do the same and even without his reluctance you already know what's wrong. He slowly but surely rotates his hips, spreading his legs. His hardened dick print on full display.

You don't even try to hide the slow slither of your tongue wetting your lips. You quickly turn your head before crawling your way over to a very very flushed Armin. Sweat glistening perfectly over his pale skin.

"W-wait Sasha!" He panics, his arms flailing a bit as he backs up slightly.

"Shh it's ok, she definitely fell back asleep the second she went back in her room." You reply crawling towards him again.

"But you know I c-can't keep q-uiet. Wh-what if she h-hears!"

Your hands inched past his now loosened sweats to gently squeeze his hardened cock through his boxers. Both his hands flew to his mouth giving you a new gorgeous view of those pretty rings.

His eyes roll unfocused with every sweet glide of your hand. Tears already starting to brim along the edges of his warm eyes.

“Do you always wear those rings for physical activities or is it just for me?”

“I-I just forgot to take them off..”

“Did you?” You can tell your smile is shitty. Just from the way his eyes dart away from yours "You've never been blown either have you?" You ask getting back on topic.

"N-no." It's a muffled response but it hits your ears loud and clear.

"Another story for the growing journal then." You tease

You honestly can't help yourself. Lips curving and confining his tip like a vise. Precum salty where it stains your tongue. His gasp bouncing off the wall so elegantly. So fucking perfect. But even though Sasha is a heavy sleeper you were still worried she'd wake up before you finished.

So as much as you wanted to tease.

"Can I pull these down baby? I know your dick wants some relief."

He complies, oddly quickly. And you pull his sweats and boxers down just enough to hug the tops of his thighs.

And his dick is gorgeous. You hadn't actually seen it before but fuck was it pretty, standing tall and leaking before you.

You inch forward spit dribbling from your lips to be collected in the hand that was working his slender shaft. It had Armin's hips bucking up to greet you. His sweet whines egging you on.

And slowly but surely.... "Oh my fucking god."

It was an adjustment. Not as smooth as you would've liked because of the weird angle but you'd taken a little more than half of his dick in your mouth. A mildly painful fit made up for by the angelic cries of Armin just above you.

"Pl-please.. oh God please.."

He couldn't tell what he wanted to hold, hands shifting to the top of your head, the floor and his rolled up sweats all in less than a minute. You swore you could hear his heartbeat through his chest every time you swallowed his cock again.

You wanted to speed ahead so bad, see him just as flustered as he had been last week when he had his cock buried deep inside your pussy but it was obvious he wasn't going to last long either way.

Disorganized syllables flooding off his lips with the occasional whimper of "thank you" and "yes". His throat heavy with every curse word he knew stuck in it. Breaths quick and uneven as you coaxed him down your throat. Vibrations coursing past your lips to meet his already sensitive sex.

"I-i'm.. gonna cum.. mmm soooo close! Gonna cum!"

His choked breaths fell over your forehead and in the next second he was emptying every bit of his stress into your mouth. Eyes clouded like Armin wasn't even in there anymore. And you drained him of every drop, reaching between his legs to squeeze his balls.

When you pulled off of him he let out a deep exhale. Body still shaking as he looked at you.

"Thank you so much." He grinned hazily

"God, I wanna be as many of your firsts as possible." You breathe out a laugh.

☆☆The one where Eren walks in☆☆

It wasn't often you came back to the same guy. Every now and then you had one night stands and that's all it ended up being. You'd always been fine with that.

But Armin made you stay. His shaky fingers, nervous tongue and tear stained cheeks so oddly addictive. Intoxicating in how innocent he stayed despite having two sexual encounters with you.

And now here you both were having your third in his bed. Bodies melded together in the heat of both your sweat. Eyes fixated on only each other as his head tilted up like a hungry baby bird to pull you back in every time you fled.

And you indulged him as much as possible because fuck he was the cutest thing. Your hands gliding over his back and up to his shoulders to pull him impossibly closer. Spine curving deliciously when he grazed over your g-spot.

"Armin.. there." You breathed

Your free hand slid between your bodies making space for those slender fingers to work over your clit.

"Flick it." You encouraged, he immediately did as he was told earning a moan of approval.

"Good boy." You hum, lip trembling where it curves under your teeth.

The once soft pink of his face deepened with the compliment. A little smile decorating his gorgeous features. Just another thing to add to your growing folder of mental images.

"There honey.. keep going." You cooed over the little whimper fluttering off his lips as you hugged his cock. "You remember that spot right? The one that you hit when we were outside?"

"Yeah.. I think it was.." His hips remained delicate as he slid right into place. One leg up as he slotted his cock inside you. Heat pooled in the lowest depths of your stomach with the hesitant prodding of his tip to your g-spot. Eyes curving up to yours for further instruction.

"Mmhm that's it.. hit it a little harder ok."

It was all sorts of clumsy but he rammed your g-spot full force. An apology made its way to his throat but eye contact and the choked gasp that left your mouth soon proved it wasn't needed. You spread your legs a little further for him and he grabbed your waist smoothly working your hips over his dick.

"You're doing so well." You giggled taking a hold of his face. "And you're holding out much longer this time."

"Y-yeah but I'm almost there.." He sighed, fingers working at your clit a little faster. Right in time with the faster tempo of his hips.

"Fuck, you feel soooo good." He drawls

His lips parted, eyes flying north. You hugged him a little tighter as his chest pushed you up and down with each thrust. The once gentle drag of your nails now much rougher. As you let it slip just how much you were enjoying this.

Let your mouth fall open for the words circling your brain. Stomach heavy as Armin fucked you with intention. You brushed beads of sweat back from his face. His hair going up with it, clumping together atop his head.

"Mm gonna cum.." He moaned, head lolling with the intensity of his full body tremor.

"Hey Armin-"

"Eren!" Armin nearly shot up as Eren pushed the door open with zero warning.

Armin's free hand stayed on your clit completely stagnant. Tip twitching inside you, he didn't even have time to cover his mouth. Moans and whimpers pouring out from his still parted lips. Every bit of your fifteen minute effort now seen and heard by Eren who stood in the doorway with a raised eyebrow.

"Hey Eren.." You greeted, pulling your hand away from your upturned lips. Meanwhile Armin's face is buried deep in your shoulder blade. Where you already assumed he'd be staying for the next hour.

"Uh huh.." Eren replied, slamming the door shut. "Mikasa, he's busy let's go!" You heard him call as his boots clicked down the hall.

You don’t say a word till you hear the front door open and close, “You ok?”

“Any chance Eren didn’t hear that?..” He whispered

“Not in hell or on Earth love.”

‘Then no..”

#aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #snk smut #armin arlert x reader smut #armin smut #armin x you #armin x y/n

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duskholland · 4 years ago

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prompt idea if it vibes with you... frat!tom and y/n are close friends at a party and Tom accidentally drunkenly tells her how he feels about her. this could be followed by her making sure he gets home and sobers up and in the morning they talk abt it (smut could ensue, if the mood so strikes). wishing you good writing vibes 💞

no smut, just a lot of fluff! thank you for requesting--this concept makes me feel :’)) cw: alcohol

frat!tom !!

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You’ve never seen Tom this drunk before, and you have to admit, it’s quite cute.

There’s a rosy flush to his face, and his eyes are even warmer than usual. He’s incredibly affectionate, clinging to your arm like it’s his only lifeline, kissing your cheek every time there’s an opportunity to. It’s not that the gushing behaviour is unusual—Tom’s always been a flirt, for as long as you’ve known him—but you’ve never seen him act this enamoured. Not around you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You whisper into his ear.

Tom looks up at you, movements jerky and tired. You’re sitting beside him on the sofa. You’d been playing a game of truth or dare with the rest of the group, but they’d all scattered as soon as it finished. Now it’s just you and Tom, sitting side by side.

“Definitely,” he mumbles, voice slightly slurred. He yawns loudly, stretching out his arms and giggling when he accidentally hits your shoulder with a soft fist. “S’rry, love.”

You snort, reaching out to pat his arm. You’re tipsy, but you’re nowhere near as trashed as your friend appears to be. He curls into your touch, and you watch, smirking, as he collapses down over the sofa, stretching his legs out along the cushions as he rests his head in your lap. Your fingers move up to find home in his hair, and you stroke his strands softly as he moans.

“God, that feels good,” Tom whines. His eyes flutter shut and you continue to massage his scalp, tugging lightly on his hair when you figure out he likes a bit of pressure. “Fuck… I love you.”

You chuckle, leaning down to gently kiss his forehead. “Love you too,” you reply.

Tom’s eyes shoot open, and his jaw falls slack as he blinks. “Do you?”

A confused smile finds your face as you nod. “Yeah. You’re one of my best friends, Tom.”

A line forms between his brows. “No, no, that’s not… I didn’t mean it like that.” His nose scrunches up as he pouts, and Tom reaches up to grab your hands. He grasps your fingers firmly and stares into your eyes. “I love you.”

You tilt your head to the side, suddenly feeling a little light headed.

“I love you?” You try again.

Tom chuckles, eyes flickering down to your hands intertwined with his. He clumsily kisses your knuckles before sighing.

“I’m in love with you,” he repeats, voice slanted. “‘M too much of a coward to tell you when I’m sober, but I guess it’s easier when I’m fucked.” He glances up at you, seeming nervous. “It’s um… it’s fine if you don’t feel the same or—“

All of a sudden, Tom breaks off, and he goes very still as he groans. His cheeks pale, and you startle when he sits up suddenly, looking around, startled.

“Don’t be sick,” you warn, heart beating rapidly in your chest. You reach out to the table beside you and pick up your bottle of water, flicking open the cap and passing it into his hands.

Tom downs it quickly, and you soothe your hand over his back as you try to make sense of his confession. You want to believe him—fuck, you’ve been in love with him since the moment you met him—but you also watched him down four shots in a row and do a keg stand, so you don’t know how much you trust his woozy words.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, wiping at his mouth as he passes back the bottle. Tom goes to lie down again, but you gently coax him back up.

“I’m taking you upstairs,” you decide, after a quick glance at his watch to confirm it’s gone three.

Tom pouts, but it’s quick to disappear as you stand

and carefully pull him up with you. “Wait, are you coming too?”

“Yeah. I don’t trust you to climb all those stairs without me.”

He wiggles his eyebrows, slumping against you as you slowly lead him towards the grand staircase.

“If you want to come into my bedroom, you could just come out and say it,” he slurs. “No need to tease, baby.”

You scoff. “How are you still such a flirt when you’re drunk?”

“It’s in my DNA. I’m programmed to appreciate pretty things, and you, love…” He reaches up and boops your nose. “You’re very pretty.”

You decide you quite like Tom when he’s drunk like this—affectionate and loving.

“You’re cute,” you reply. You sigh contentedly as you finally finish dragging him up the stairs. “Go brush your teeth,” you urge, gesturing in the direction of the bathroom. You’re on the top level of the frat now, reserved for the members of admin. As president of the frat, Tom’s lucky enough to have his own room.

“Come with me,” he whines. He blinks at you with those warm brown eyes, and you find yourself melting.

It takes a while to get Tom ready for bed. First it’s his teeth, then you have to pull him out of his incredibly tight skinny jeans, then convince him to drink some water. By the time you’ve got him back into his room and into bed, he’s dead on his feet, and honestly, so are you.

“Sleep with me,” Tom mumbles, holding out his bare arms. He’s burrowed into his double bed, staring up at you with a boyish smirk on his face.

“I should probably go,” you say, sighing slightly.

“Please stay, Y/N.” His lips roll into a pout. “I want your cuddles. Promise I won’t do anything weird.”

You nod, as a quick balancing of positives versus negatives decides you’d much rather stay with Tom than trudge home in the rain.

After flipping off the lights and pulling off your outfit, you rummage through one of Tom’s drawers and find a large rugby shirt. You slip into it and tend to your makeup as best you can before collapsing into bed beside him, immediately finding his buff arms encircling your waist. Tom curls into you like a koala, and as you gently card your fingers through his hair, you’re reminded of his confession.

“Did you mean it?” You whisper.

“Hmm?”

You swallow. “Do you love me?”

Tom peels away from you, and even in the dark, you know he’s looking at you.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Had a crush on you ever since we were partnered together for that study group last semester. Tried to tell you a few times, but couldn’t ever get the words out right.” Tom sighs dramatically, and pulls you closer. “Jus’ don’t wanna lose you as a friend, Y/N… Would rather never tell you so you can’t reject me.”

You release a soft breath, then lean down to kiss the top of his curls.

“Go to sleep, Tom,” you mumble. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Night… love you.”

You hope that he’s speaking from the heart, and not from the blend of alcohols swirling through his system.

“Love you too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You’re woken by Tom, when he groans and swears and flings his arms around as he wakes up. When he accidentally bashes you in the side, you curse too, turning over and grumbling incoherently as you try to ignore the ache in your side and the pounding in your head.

“Y/N?” You hear him say, voice confused. “Why are you in my bed?” His words crack with fatigue, and Tom moans again. “Fuck, what did I drink last night? I can’t remember shit.”

You begrudgingly turn back over, the duvet rustling. Tom’s sitting up against the headboard now, glass of water in his hand, and you watch as he downs the pills you’d left out for him last night.

“You had way too much,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. “You wanted me to stay, so… I stayed.”

Tom hums, letting one of his hands come down to rest on the back of your head. His eyes skim your face and a gentle smile works out across his lips.

“You’re in my shirt,” he mumbles. “Looks nice on you.”

You bite back a smile, shrugging bashfully.

“Do you really not remember anything?”

Tom hesitates. He slowly puts the glass of water down before sighing, using that hand to ruffle up his hair.

“I remember bits,” he says. His eyes narrow. “Do you remember everything?”

You think for a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”

Tom nods, and you almost hear him swallow. “And… you’re still here.”

You smile softly. “Yeah.”

“So that means…”

“Yeah.”

He hums, and then reaches down to tug you upright. Despite your complaints at being pulled from the warm embrace of his duvet, you can’t find it in yourself to complain when Tom pulls you into his lap and wraps his arms around you. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, and his hair lies messily across his forehead, but you think he looks beautiful.

“I meant it,” he admits, voice soft. His fingers gently roll over your waist. “I mean, I would’ve liked to say it more, uh...eloquently, but… it’s true, Y/N. I love you.”

He seems to be holding his breath, and the sight of him so nervous makes your heart race. You reach up and wrap your hands around his neck, smiling as you bring him in for a very soft, gentle kiss. You feel him grin into it, and you realise this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“I love you too, Tom,” you tell him.

“Oh.” He kisses you again, growing more confident as you pull yourself nearer and nestle further into his arms. “Really?”

“Mmm.” You let your fingers play with his hair as you hum, pressing your forehead to his and closing your eyes. “You’re really funny when you’re drunk.”

“I’m a disaster,” he complains. “‘M so hungover now, too.”

You hum in agreement, then pull back and yawn.

“Can we go back to sleep now?” You ask, drawing a chuckle from Tom.

“Fuck yeah,” he mutters. He pulls you down with him, and this time, it’s you that curls into him. He wraps you up in his arms and holds you close, kissing the top of your head with care. “Love you,” he chimes, and despite how unfamiliar the words are, they sound right, filling his accent like that.

You press a soft kiss to his chest, and let your eyes droop closed.

“Love you too.”

#tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland #frat!tomfic #tomblurbs #myblurbs #tom.sfw #queue

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dickwheelie · 3 years ago

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Touching 18, squishing the other's cheeks, for Jmart?

this one kinda got away from me, ended up longer than intended, but whaddayagonnado. hope you enjoy oran!

______________

The first thing Martin does when they finish unpacking is make tea, which doesn't surprise Jon. He sits on the worn sofa and watches Martin plug in the kettle, drop tea bags into the mugs, portion out the sugar. He watches Martin watch the water boil.

Jon doesn't particularly want tea. He's never particularly wanted tea; it's never been his favorite. But when he'd come in for his second day as head archivist, there had been a steaming mug sitting on his desk along with a note that said, Really sorry about yesterday. Hope this helps make up for it. --Martin B. And so Jon had drank the tea, and he kept drinking it every time Martin brought some. He's never known why he didn't just tell Martin he didn't like tea very much. Martin would have understood. He probably would have just asked if Jon would prefer coffee instead.

But Jon's never said anything. And now, staring at Martin stare at the steeping tea bags, his hair ruffled from travel and the corner of his lip red from anxious biting, his eyes so, so tired, Jon thinks he knows why.

Martin blinks, and apparently deciding that he's stared for long enough, removes the tea bags and brings the mugs over to the sofa. Jon lets him set his on the end table, but doesn't reach for it. Martin sits on the sofa's far corner, just out of Jon's reach. It isn't on purpose, Jon knows. It's just what Martin is used to, now.

"Thank you," Jon says.

"Sure," Martin says. He smiles at him, over the lip of the mug, and Jon wants to rub away the bags under his eyes. "You should have some before it gets cold."

Jon finally reaches for his mug and takes a few sips. It's just the way he likes it, which is to say perfectly serviceable, but nothing Jon would get excited about. It doesn't matter what it tastes like, really. It's never mattered. It was never about the tea, anyway.

"It's good," Jon says.

"Good," Martin says, nodding.

Martin drinks his tea. Jon can't stop staring at him. Martin keeps glancing up and meeting Jon's eyes, shooting him awkward little half-smiles before looking quickly away again. Jon doesn't blame him; he knows he's acting weird. This is weird. But he doesn't know how to stop. It isn't the Eye. It's just Jon's momentary inability to look away from Martin's hands curling around his mug, so wide that they cover its surface entirely, or the practiced little sips he takes to avoid burning the roof of his mouth, or the way his lashes hide his eyes from view when he stares down at his lap.

By the time Martin's finished his tea, Jon's is almost untouched and gone cold. He holds it, inert, in his hands, as he stares at Martin's hands tapping patterns on his empty mug.

Martin must notice his cold tea, because he says, "Didn't like it much, huh?"

His tone isn't accusatory or sarcastic, just melancholy. A pang of guilt goes through Jon. "N-No, it's good. I'm just not in the mood, I suppose."

"Oh." Martin laughs, but it's hollow. "Didn't know it was possible for someone to not be in the mood for tea."

Jon laughs too, trying to make Martin feel better. "Yeah. Guess it's just been a . . . weird day."

"Yeah." Martin keeps staring down at his empty mug. Jon could stretch out his legs across the sofa and touch his thigh. He could put them in Martin's lap, easily. But Jon remains pressed to his side of the sofa. "Well, if you want me to make a fresh cup, just say so."

I don't, Jon thinks. More tea isn't what I want.

But he doesn't say no when, later that night as the sun goes down and the temperature drops, Martin offers to make him a nice hot cuppa. Once again, Jon watches from the sofa, a blanket around his shoulders, not wanting tea. Martin's hands are so practiced in their movements. He's done this so, so many times. He knows exactly how much sugar Jon takes. Jon wants nothing more than to reach out and still his hands. I don't want it, he thinks, staring at Martin's thumb as he wipes a drop of tea from the countertop.

Martin carries the mug to him in both hands, one on the handle and one under the mug, keeping it steady. This time Jon reaches for it. He's not done that many times, he realizes. Usually it's placed on his desk before he gets the chance to reach out. But now his hands slide over Martin's, which are pliable and warm, and achingly familiar, though they've never held hands. Jon's hands itch when Martin pulls away, leaving him holding only the piping hot mug of tea that Jon doesn't want.

Jon is about to take an obligatory sip, but then for whatever reason, Martin lingers by the sofa, standing over Jon, just inches away. They stare at one another. Very slowly, Jon lowers the mug from his lips, and sets it gently aside, on the end table. Martin's eyes follow it, and his expression twitches with confusion, and he opens his mouth to ask a question, but before he can make a sound Jon is sitting up, pulling his knees up onto the sofa to lean over the armrest so he can reach up towards Martin, placing his hands on his shoulders and then on either side of his face, gently tugging him closer, and Martin follows, leans down to meet Jon's gaze, bracing his hands on the armrest on either side of Jon's elbows. Jon pulls their faces close, their foreheads nearly touching, and seeing Martin's still-puzzled expression, Jon tightens his grip on his freckled, chubby cheeks, which fill his palms perfectly, and squeezes. It's a gentle but insistent action, a kind of impulsive affection that Jon doesn't know how else to express. Martin blinks at him, his face distorted a bit comically with his cheeks pressed inwards by Jon's hands, but he huffs a laugh and doesn't pull away, and Jon thinks he might be beginning to understand. So keeping his grip on his cheeks Jon pulls him closer, closes his eyes as he taps their foreheads together, and their noses follow suit, squishing against one another almost painfully. Jon doesn't know what to do after that. All he wants is to get closer to Martin, but they're at an awkward angle, and he can do nothing except raise himself up further from the sofa and nudge their faces closer together.

His heart leaps when, a moment later, Jon feels Martin's hands slowly come up to hold either side of his face in turn, his broad palms so gentle as he pulls Jon further up towards him, supporting his weight as Jon kneels up on the armrest and throws his arms around Martin's neck. Yes, Jon thinks, sinking into Martin's soft, assuring weight, this is what I want. Martin's hands and chest are warmer than any cup of tea Jon's ever had.

"I don't like tea," Jon tells him then, leaning back slightly so they can look each other in the eye.

"I--what?" Martin's completely thrown. His hair is ruffled, and his cheeks are still rosy from Jon's hands on them.

"I mean, I don't hate it, it's alright," Jon says. "It's just not one of my favorites."

"But you . . . you like my tea."

"Not really, no. You make very good tea, Martin, I don't think that's disputable. But I just . . . don't like tea very much."

"I--" Martin still looks utterly confused. "But you drink my tea. You always drink it. Until today, apparently."

"I don't like tea. But I like you." Jon bumps their noses together for emphasis. "I didn't want you to think I didn't. And for a while your tea was all I had of you. And it is good tea. But today I guess I just . . . I guess I realized there was no reason to pretend anymore. Because now you're here, we're both here, and we know how we feel about each other, so . . ." Jon drifts off, some of his steam lost, but judging by the look in his eyes he thinks Martin understands.

"You like me, huh?" Martin says, and there's a twinkle in his eye that Jon has missed of late. "Could've made it more obvious."

Jon, who is clinging to Martin like a lifeline, huffs. "I thought I was being obvious."

"Jon," Martin laughs, and he says nothing more, just holds him close as Jon's tea, forgotten on the end table, gets colder and colder.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #gwyneth writes #thank u for the prompt oran!

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