#in the belly of lent

[ohcaptains]

knuckle velvet

synopsis. he walks you home, then lets himself in.

pairing. logan howlett x f!reader. tags. [18+] dubious consent, vaginal penetration, female receiving oral sex, spitting. honey don't feed it, it'll come back type beat.

Some deep part of Canada, where everything was white. Snowstorms that swarmed through the sky, and the only warmth you could find came from the bottom of a bottle.

The wood floor of the sticky bar you worked in was soaked from frost covered boots – haphazardly scraped across the welcome mat, owners preoccupied with getting their first drink than keeping the place tidy.

You existed there, behind the bar that patrons lent against, like a metal cage with leering onlookers. They paid in drinks, but you took the money home as tips, your warmth stoked in a fireplace.

How you’d ended up there in that forgotten part of the world, you didn’t know.

Perhaps you’d followed a narrow path, one strung out with thorns and rubbish, but the money was okay.

When it got slow, and there wasn’t much else to do, your boss let you read a bit, too, while you sipped on your endless supply of Coca-Cola.

At the end of your shift, your teeth were fuzzy from all the sugar. 

An easy existence, but some nights, the patrons got too friendly.

They were fresh off their trucks, looking for some place warm to bury for the night, but you weren’t offering.

So, you’d peer at them, watch them make a fool of themselves as they spewed putrid words in your general direction – alcohol and lack of sleep causing the floor to sway from beneath their feet.

It was always the new boys who would try it.

Risk it all for a chance between your thighs, unaware of the hound sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a whiskey and a vendetta.

The first time he fought for you, the air had changed. Gone cloudy with the chance of a brawl – that sixth sense that all bartenders have switching on.

“Lady said no, ain’t she?” he bellowed from across the bar.

The voice thick with smoke and alcohol, you recognised him as the guy who’d been drinking whiskey all night, but he was as sober as a nun. No stumble to his step, or slur to his cadence, either.

He was built like an oak tree. You noticed when you served him. Slid him his drink and gazed at the sheer bulk of him. At the weathered, handsome age to his face, to the spray of grey in his brown hair.

His thick arms were snugly buried under a button up shirt, and you didn’t see, but rather imagined, the way his muscular legs were stuffed into jeans, and the way his size 12’s rested against the hardwood.

His eyes though, were hiding something. Milky brown concealing his curiosity – easily done with the hard panes of his face.

You imagined letting him take you home, and you thought about being friendly, before a whisper in the back of your cranium told you to back off.

Perhaps safer.

You didn’t know where this man had come from, let alone where he’d been. So, you continued to serve him drinks, and tried to ignore the quiet hum of his presence, until the hum turned to a crash.

The patron was scorned. He paused, and turned to the end of the bar, where the brown eyed stranger was waiting. “What’s it to you?” he slurred.

But the man with the whiskey wasn’t looking to him. He sipped his drink, and said, “she said no. You don’t remember your manners?”

The bar adorned an eerie quiet. Nerves sat low in your belly, heart picking up speed.   “This guy serious?” he asked you.

You went to say something, but he was already throwing words at the stranger.

“She yours or something?” “It matter?” “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” The stranger scoffed, and brought his drink to his lips, “whatever bub.”

“We got a problem?” the man uttered, stalking towards him, but his friend took him by the arm and whispered something in his ear, forcing him to deflate.

You wondered what he’d uttered. Whether there were rumours about the guy – a reputation you didn’t know about.

Brown eyes didn’t bat an eye when the man and his buddy slid out the door, cold filling the room before the door slammed shut.

The bar exhaled.

People went back to their business, and you thought about it, you really did. Thought about leaving him alone. Going back to your measly existence. Your home – the pit for all of your things.

But it didn’t win over in the end.

You topped up his drink. He took it, and glanced at you, brown eyes ringed with mystery.

“That happen often?” he uttered, voice a gruff grunt.

You put the bottle down, and looked away, thinking back to last week when you nearly fought a guy for staring for too long. You glanced back to him. “Sometimes.” “Your boss is an asshole for letting you work here alone.” “That so?” you laughed, shocked at his candour. He nodded and downed his drink, eyeing you from over the rim.

Finished, he put the glass down on the bar, and shrugged his jacket on. He got up to leave, and you felt a chasm begin to open up in your chest.

You went to say something. Anything, to make him stay. But he paused and looked over his shoulder.

His jaw was clenched when he tentatively offered, “be safe.”

When you locked up, he was waiting for you. 

It didn’t scare you. Really, it should, but when you left the bar and saw him standing there, toking on a cigar in the cold, all it did was make you pause. He stood there, gazing at you, eyes clouded by smoke. 

“You waiting for me?” you uttered, making it real, even if the light drift of snow was giving the world a dream like quality. 

He shrugged. “Just waiting.” 

You nodded, and put the bar keys in your bag, ignoring the chasm get wider. If he was going to rob the place, he’d have to get through layers of receipts and tissues to get in. But you knew the bar wasn’t what he was after. Something about his posture, the luring look in his brown eyes — curious, like he was trying to figure something out. 

You began to walk past him, but when he didn’t follow, you paused. You peered over your shoulder, and he was still looking at you. 

Taking you in. “Well,” you started, hitching your bag up your arm, “you gonna walk me home, or what?” 

He followed you in comfortable silence.

Just you, the night, and the crunch of dirt under his boots. His cigar smoke drifted by, and it wafted through your subconscious, followed by pine, and crisp scent of the snow.

He sounded like the noise of the woods — ever present in these parts. A comfort, if one had adapted to its unpredictability. When you got to your familiar walkway, you opened the gate, but he didn’t follow you through.

Instead, he stood by the entrance, watching you unlock your door like he’d just dropped you off from a date. it was when you were halfway through that he spoke up. “You work every night?”

“Yeah,” you started quickly, looking to him. “Apart from Wednesday and Sunday.” He considered you, then gave you a sharp nod, and turned to leave.

That’s how you ended up with a wolf at your door.

Every night, he was the last one left, then he silently walked you home.

Some nights, you’d find him leaning against the entrance, and he’d quietly peel away from the door and follow you. At first, he simply walked closely behind, a looming shadow, until he began walking beside you.

Then one night, you let him in.

Made him a cup of coffee to fight off all the liquor he consumed, and he sat at your kitchen table, and drank every drop.

Watched you in the low, fluorescent lighting, and you did the same. Curiously studied him. He looked different in your home. In your kitchen. Looked a little softer around the edges, even if he couldn’t relax completely.

It went like that for a while. It was on one of these nights that he gave you his name, followed by a shitty cup of coffee. Sometimes two. Maybe a biscuit, or a piece of cake. Leftovers turned into home cooked meals. Sat at the kitchen table and watched him eat. Roast beef. Mashed potatoes. Lasagna. Sipped at your cup of tea as he slopped up his pasta, using the back of his hand to wipe the sauce off his mouth.

You left him finishing off his plate to get ready for bed, and it was when you were sorting your hair out, that he came into your bedroom and began taking his boots off.

You stood at your mirror and watched him place them near your door.

Then he reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt.

One by one, you watched his thick fingers reach the bottom. He took it off, revealing a white tank off and broad chest, and hung the shirt up on your door frame.

Jeans next.

Popped the button and shucked them to his feet -- threw them with his boots and dragged himself towards your bed.  

You went to say something. Anything.

But he looked so exhausted as he crashed onto your frilly bed, that all you could manage was, “You lock the door?”

Logan nodded. His eyes were already closed, and he was hugging the pillow when he uttered, “you coming to bed, or what?”

You let him stay the night.

Maybe it was raining, maybe he was too tired – it didn’t matter. All that mattered, was that he was warm, and sometimes, when you woke and felt the terrifying ache of being alive, he’d be there to quiet the pain.

Hush you with the soft swell of his lips and wandering hands.

You’d come with a hushed whisper, hot and sticky over his calloused fingers -- drowsy from how high he took you. Then he’d kiss you, fix your clothes, and go back to sleep.

Always the middle of the night. When it was dark and quiet out, and it felt as if you were the last people alive.

His skilled hands bringing you to the brink, a soft kiss, then back to bed.

You would wait for it. Watch him nurse his whiskey at the end of the bar, the night dragging with every drink you poured. Then, he watched you lock up.

Waited at the door for you, so you could walk home together, wordlessly taking the familiar trail.

He’d eat, you’d watch, then leave for your room.

Once, you woke to his head between your thighs. The night was quiet, room dark – slither of moonlight from your window cutting a line through your bodies.

You were slick with sweat, and as you flexed your taunt muscles, they fizzled and singed. Hot heat pushed low in your belly, rooted between your thighs.

Logan hummed, and you reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, whimpering his name to grab his attention.

He had palm fulls of you. Fists of your thighs, soft of your belly, leaving marks with his desire – desperation. The first thing he did was apologise. Muttered a hoarse, m’sorry, into your soaking cunt, but continued tasting you.

You used his hair as leverage, and hitched your hips up an inch, causing his nose to bump into your sensitive clit, and you hissed, as if in pain, but the sound trailed off into something similar to his name, and Logan grunted, moving your hips further up so he could twist a thick finger inside.

You took all he gave.

Moaned into the pillow beside you as you rocked your hips against his face, soaking his nose and mouth. Said shit you didn’t mean, but meant all the same, and Logan got off on it.

This mysterious man who had taken over your life, grunted your name like it belonged to him. Made you come on his thick beard and puffy lips, then made you taste yourself as he kissed you.

You hugged his sweat slick frame to you, fingers scratching his scalp, mindlessly grinding against his clothed cock. You were content to just kiss him, until he dragged his fingers between your thighs again.

You startled, gasping into his hot mouth, but Logan hummed, near smiling against your lips.

“’think there’s another in there for me,” he drawled.

When he fucked you, there was so much of him that you went blind with it. Eyes half lidded, delirious as he pushed inside, making himself fit. Stuffing you full, then pulling out, just to feel it all over again.

Again and again. You moaned his name into his soaked, scarred chest. Felt yourself leave your body, so hot, so wet, that it was all sensation. Just the slap of his hips against yours, the feel of his hands on your tits, in your mouth, telling you to open wide.

He spat, and when he missed, he smeared the mess off of your chin and rubbed it into your cunt.

Made you come, then filled you with his own. Leant back, and watched it drip out of you. You were so consumed by him, that you didn’t have enough energy to feel self-conscious.

No, when he had his wild eyes on you, you reached between your thighs and stuffed it back inside.

The next evening, and he was back at the bar, waiting for you to bring him his whiskey. When you placed it in front of him, those wild eyes were on you again.

Waiting. Always waiting.

Waiting to play out your usual routine.

masterlist | ask | reblogs appreciated endlessly

[suskz]

JOCK!CHAN X NERD!FEM READER SMUT??🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

pairing: Jock!Chan x Nerd!Fem!Reader

t/w: smut ; breasts play ; clit play ; slight oral kink.

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: NO BC I actually love this idea sm 🙇🏻‍♀️ Hope you like it anon ♡

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

"Come over after practice?"

You adjust your glasses on your nose after sending the text and get up to change into your pajamas.

You don't expect an immediate response, but you're too bored because you have nothing to do and you can't wait for him to text back.

You receive a reply only two hours later.

"Of course, baby, I'll take a quick shower and I'll be with you."

Only half an hour passes before he's standing in front of the door of your dorm room, with dark curly hair still wet and dressed in his usual black pants and t-shirt.

Before you know it, his soft lips are on yours and without breaking apart, you usher him into the room and he closes the door.

"Your hair is still wet." you point out as if he didn't already know.

"I wanted to be with you as soon as possible." You blush slightly at his words.

"How was practice?" you ask him.

"Changbin missed all his shots today." he chuckles.

"He's too short for basketball, I've always said so." you laugh with him.

"What were you doing in the meantime?"

"I was reading a book Seungmin lent me."

That's why shortly after you're sitting on your bed with your boyfriend's head in your lap while you read aloud word after word.

His eyes are closed as he listens to your soothing voice, but at some point you stop and he opens his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asks you, and when you don't answer, he raises an eyebrow and gently lowers the book with one hand to see your slightly flushed face.

The story is getting a bit... hot, "Uh... I'm not sure if I should continue..." you admit, and he immediately understands what it's about. A smirk forms on his lips as he gets up.

"No, keep reading, I want to know how it continues." He has you sit in the middle of the bed and positions himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your body and keeping his eyes on the book, without reading, "Then?"

"Uh... he- he started kissing her neck," his soft lips immediately press against the skin of your nape, leaving slow, wet kisses, "As his hands roamed all over her body." And so does he, releasing the embrace and moving his hands over your body still covered by the light pajama shirt, running his fingers over your belly and higher, grazing the outline of your breasts.

"You're not wearing a bra?" He whispers against your neck, his breath lightly tickling you.

"I'm more comfy without."

He groans almost imperceptibly, feeling your hardening nipples through the fabric of the shirt.

"Keep reading." he orders, and you do as he says.

You read quickly in your mind, trying to get to the parts where it only describes his actions. "His- his fingers play with her nipples, squeezing them between his fingers and—" you pause as a yelp escapes your lips when you feel his fingers brush against your nipples and then squeeze them in between.

Before you realise it, his strong arms lift you from where you're sitting on the bed. One arm goes under your legs, while the other holds the upper part of your body, picking you up bridal style, and gently lays you with your head on the pillow.

Sometimes you still marvel at how truly strong he is.

He then positions himself between your legs. He lifts your shirt to uncover your breasts and plays with your nipples, pinching and licking them.

"Then?" His voice is low and sensual, causing a throbbing sensation in your lower parts, where his covered cock brushes against you through his pants.

"His- his hand travels down her body—" the movement of his hand sends shivers through your body. He swiftly removes your pajama shorts, and kisses various spots on your leg as he moves up to place his head at your level, locking eyes with you.

One of his hands takes the book from your hands while the other slips under your panties, feeling your wetness with his middle and ring fingers. A gasp escapes your lips before you can control it.

"You're so wet already.” he breathes on your lips, feeling all the slick that has come out of your hole. He gathers some of your juices and uses it to glide his fingers in slow circular motions on your clit, making you sigh. "This pretty pussy's begging for attention, mhh?”

He moans with you as his fingers slide into your hole. He moves them back and forth slowly, curling them upwards to brush against that sensitive spot inside you.

His breath is heavy as yours and his pants feel tight.

His thumb rests on your clit and moves as best he can to stimulate you more.

Your faces are so close. He looks into your eyes and can't resist the urge to kiss you. It's slow and sensual, your tongues meeting and your breaths mingling.

When you break apart, a trail of saliva connects your lips. Your boyfriend removes his fingers from inside you, making you whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

Your panties are soon on the floor next to your pants, and your shirt follows shortly after.

"You're so gorgeous." he compliments as he admires your exposed body beneath him.

It's not the first time he's looked at your naked body, but his gaze feels heavy on you.

He notices your embarrassment and leans in on you. "I can't wait to be inside you." he whispers in your ear.

"Then don't." you urge him.

And a few seconds later, his cock is inside your tight heat, making both of you moan in unison.

Soon he begins to move. You need more time to get used to the intrusion, but the desperation of both has taken over.

Despite it not being the first time, the stretch still hurts initially. But it only takes a few slow initial thrusts for you to get used to it.

His pace quickens and becomes more steady, and one of his hands has to cover your mouth to stifle your sounds.

Your moans come out muffled against his palm, and he closes his eyes, biting back a moan, "As much as I love hearing you, we don't want to get caught, now do we?" he whispers. You nod, and he removes his hand from your mouth.

You grit your teeth and throw your head back into the pillows —as much as you can without hurting yourself because of the ponytail— trying to be as quiet as possible, but it's difficult.

Your glasses are askew on your face, and just one wrong move would be enough to cause problems for them. That's why Chan carefully takes them off and places them on the nightstand next to the bed.

It's when his cock hits a certain sensitive spot inside you hard that a cry escapes your lips, and you're too taken by surprise to hold it back.

Two fingers are shoved into your mouth to try to stifle the sounds trying to come out, "You did that on purpose so I would put my fingers in your mouth, huh? You like being fucked like this, don't you?" he whispers in your ear, licking and sucking on the lobe.

Your tongue moves upward, wanting to speak, pressing against his fingers. At your movement, he throws his head back, letting out a pitiful moan; his hips falter for a second, and his cock twitches inside you.

You close your lips around his fingers and nod instead, unable to speak.

"You feel so damn good." His head rests in the crook of your neck. "Fuck." He breathes.

The sound of skins slapping together grows louder in the room. A drop of sweat falls from his forehead, and his hands grip the sheets tightly at the sides of your head.

"Baby, I'm close." He whines, warning you.

Your legs tremble, your limbs feel like jelly.

"Me too." You reply, "Chris, please."

He brings two of his fingers to your clit, moving them quickly, but the movements are not steady, distracted by his impending climax.

"Y/n, I'm going to cum—" he urgently moans, "You have to come now." It's an order, despite the slight desperation in his voice, like you could control your orgasm.

You place your fingers over his that are still on your clit and move them together.

Your breaths are heavy and loud. Anyone passing by your room would understand what you're doing, but in the heat of the moment you don't give it much weight. The only thing on your minds is reaching your highs.

And you do; you come first and he follows right after. His well-defined muscles, built from the gym he attends with his friends, twitch gorgeously as he cums into the condom.

It takes a few minutes for both of you to catch your breath. He pulls out of you and tosses the condom into the trash bin at the end of your bed.

He joins you again in bed and looks at you, perhaps a little embarrassed, "It won’t go down..." he admits, referring to his still somehow hard dick.

You prop your body up on your elbows. Your eyes shift to look at his half-erection and then back to his eyes, with a smirk.

"Round two?"

[mochinomnoms]

I'm curious about the dreams Idia was having about the reader.

(reference to this)

nsfw under read-more, minors DNI!

It's quite silly, really. Idia was never one to yearn for the touch, closeness, the affections of a person. He was fine, being alone. It was better this way. He could cope with his games and shows, online groups and friends filling the void. Besides, why would he want to drag another person into the Shroud curse? It already took one person from him, Idia couldn't stand doing it to another as long as it was up to him. Plus, he wasn't exactly prime boyfriend, let alone husband material (perhaps he did that intentionally).

So, Idia wasn't all too worried when he first started becoming friends with you. You were kinda weird, but a friend to introverts like him! Somehow always a wallflower, but always involved in the chaos of overblots and school. But, you were conscientious of his need for space and privacy; Ortho must have said something to you about his eating habits, cause you started bringing food other than chips, soda, and ramen cups for him to eat, like actual meals. You also liked to entertain Ortho, who liked when you drew silly designs on his plating, which is always a plus in Idia's book. You were sweet, like his favorite ramune soda. Despite having abysmal skills in gaming (which he was all too happy to make fun of you for) he liked having you as his support, watching him on the sidelines and being a cute cheerleader. In exchange, Idia lent you an old gaming computer and bullied tutored you in a few of his favorite games so you could be his squishy healer in raids.

But, he was a bit worried when he started feeling something more than platonic things for you. Then, he was exceptionally concerned when, at the first day of spring, Idia started coughing hydrangeas, which he managed to secretly keep under wraps from Ortho for a few weeks. No, he was downright mortified when, during those few weeks, night after night, he started having dreams of you.

They started off innocent at first: you on his lap, head on his shoulder, as he played the latest RPG. You murmured words of encouragement, sleepily nuzzling your head into his. Another, he was in the board game club, where you cheered him on as he won a match against Azul in some luck-based game. Idia remembers giving Azul a smug smirk as you threw your arms around him and pressed kisses into his cheek. He even faintly remembers one where you simply sat with him in class, fingers lacing through his in comfort as he dealt with the anxiety of being out and about.

It wasn't until he was a week in when the dreams, infested with hydrangea bouquets always at the corner of his eye, that he knew he was utterly screwed beyond belief.

It started off sweet, at first. This time, you were with him at Styx, though you looked a few years older and were wearing a similar uniform to his mother. He was wearing the uniform as well, though it more closely resembled his father's. He was now Styx head, and you, his precious little wife. The domestic stuff was fine, it made his heart rate spike up so much that Ortho questioned if he had a nightmare while sleeping, but it was fine he could deal. You did look cute… as you smiled up at him… leaned up to kiss his cheek… and whisper in his ear…

“Idiaaa~ What if I crawled under your desk and sucked you off? Do you think you could stay quiet? You can, can't you? For me~”

It was fuzzy, when he tried to remember it, but Idia remembers the heat pooling in his belly. Your hands trailing down his chest down to his hips. Your lips following after and pressing soft, slow kisses down and down until—

Idia's flames grew into a burning, hot pink as his face is in his hands the following morning. He'd actually gone to bed at a reasonable time (to him anyway, 3 am was reasonable), and woke up with that in his head? How was he supposed to function? How was he supposed to look at you, talk with you, when the last memory he had was a dream of you sucking him off???

It progressively got worse from there. It was a weird mix of erotically domestic scenarios. You, waking up to him in bed before work, riding him as you cooed sweet words. Another of the two of you heavy petting, his hands groping your ass as you curled your body into his, making out in his office before Idia had to run off to a meeting, leaving you pouting and telling him to, “Hurry back to your needy little wifey~” One of you cooking him breakfast in one of his shirts, before he bent you over the kitchen counter, after which you sat on his lap and hand fed him.

The last one that really freaked him out, which led to him further isolating himself until Ortho dragged him out to the nurse, was one where he woke up to you next to him in bed. You smiled the sweetest smile to him, whispering to Idia how much you loved him, moving over to press a trail of kisses from his lips, to his neck, down his chest and abdomen. Idia was anticipating the same follow-up from his first dream, especially as your hands reached to pull his briefs down before a soft whine, followed by a cry, interrupted you.

He had no clue what to think, as you make a surprised noise, smiling at him, as the following words left your mouth: “The baby's awake, guess we'll have to continue this later, huh?” Dream Idia giggled along with you as the two of you shared a kiss, watching as you rolled off the bed to the bassinet that he was just noticing. He watched as you cooed and murmured soft words to the small, blue-flamed haired baby, reaching their tiny hands for you. But it was the next sentence that bolted him from sleep into a dry sweat:

“Say good morning! Say, 'good morning' to your baba, my darling~”

Idia let out a screech as he flailed out of bed, tangled in his sheets. He was coughing up a storm of hydrangeas when Ortho flew in, panicked and already full of concern for Idia's health. It was then Ortho started insisting that Idia visit the infirmary, much to his chargin.

At least you'd never see him like this… right?

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

one order to be served by lewis carl davidson hamilton please!! oaty slice, english muffin, apple turnover and croissant with a side of tea, cider and pina colada 😁😁 reader is working remotely and having an online meeting but lewis is dying to eat her out and just do it while she was in the meeting 🥵💦

irresistible

order up!

hi lovely thanks for the request, i think this may be my longest story yet, i have been dying to write this and get back to writing after being gone so long, i hate promising to post and then not being able to cause of work, sorry for the late reply <3 your requested prompts will be bolded

pairing; husband lewis hamilton x female wife reader

blurb; working from home while trying to hide the fact that your married and pregnant is hard when your husband can't keep is hands to himself, he's just lucky you love him aka lewis eats his wife out while she's on a zoom call

warnings; oral fem!receiving, thigh kisses, belly kisses, semi public sex, body worship, pregnancy kink. [let me know if i missed anything]

tea; semi public sex cider; body worship pina colada; pregnancy oaty slice; "you smell like me" english muffin; "i could die between these legs" apple turnover; "can you keep it down in there" changed to "can you keep it down under there" croissant; "don't you dare"

words; 3.1k

currently playing; hands to myself by selena gomez "can't keep my hands to myself, no matter how hard i'm trying to"

"oh god dammit, boba no!" you scolded your two year old calico who sat on the stool next to your laptop, swatting at the screensaver you had set, picking her up you stepped out of the little home studio you'd made for yourself during the covid days.

"lew!" you called out waiting for an answer but after not getting one, you wandered down the hall and into the living room, as you carried boba into the living room, she squirmed in your arms, clearly displeased at being removed from her new favorite perch, you sighed, scratching behind her ears to relax her "i know, i know the pretty lights are fun, but mommy needs to work."

as you entered the living room, you noticed lewis sprawled out on the couch, completely engrossed in whatever he was watching on his phone. you rolled your eyes fondly, a soft smile decorating your face as you realized why he hadn't answered your call.

"lew..." still no response as his eyes remained trained on his phone "lewis hamilton" you scolded and that caught his attention immediately, looking up at you with soft eyes as he dropped his phone.

"am i in trouble.." he gulped, looking sheepish as he responded.

"not yet," you said, your tone softening as you took in his worried expression. "but you will be if you don't start paying attention."

you merely dropped boba onto his lap and crossed your arms over your chest "please keep her out of my studio... the album is due at the end of the month and i still have three songs to finish" you groaned.

he nodded numbly which made you feel guilty for scolding him over something so silly and so you lent down and placed little kisses against his lips "i'm sorry i called you lewis" you mumbled as your thumb gently traced over his cheek. "you'll always be my lew"

you left him on the sofa, shuffling to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge but before you could move and return to your studio, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, cradling your pregnant belly lightly.

"you smell like me bub" lewis mumbled into the skin of your neck, which sent shivers zipping up and down your spine.

you leaned back into his embrace, savoring the warmth of his body against yours. a soft smile played on your lips as you placed your hands over his, intertwining your fingers.

"i should hope so," you murmured, turning your head slightly to catch his eye, resting it on his shoulder. "i've been wearing your sweater all day."

he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your hair. "i noticed," he said, his arm tightening around you. "it looks incredible on you."

"well i unfortunately have to take it off soon" you groaned "stupid zoom meeting with my producer"

lewis sighed, running his fingers over your bump, the soft fabric of his over sized sweater rubbing on your skin gently. "can't you just keep it on for the meeting?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

you shook your head, a wry smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "not unless i want to explain to my producer why i'm wearing 'the' lewis hamilton's sweater" you giggled.

lewis chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "but i'd love to see see his reaction." his voice dropped into a whisper, your producer had always been flirty with you mainly because he thought you were single and lewis hated it.

you playfully swatted his arm, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at his proximity and tone of voice. "that's horrible lew"

"i hate the way he flirts with you, your mine" he growled against the skin of your neck, goosebumps rising on your skin. "and this proves it" his finger ran over the cold metal of your wedding band.

"your lucky i love you lew, your so possessive and you and i both know you like keeping this private, i like it being just us" you giggled, removing yourself from his grip, pulling his sweater up and over your head, placing it on the counter.

you stood on your tippy toes to peck his lips "love you, i should go" and with that you made your way back to your studio, almost waddling due to the size of your belly.

as you walked, lewis couldn't help but admire you in your white floral maternity dress, he couldn't stop the butterflies from fluttering in his belly or resist the surge of desire that simmered within him.

lewis had always found you irresistible but now that you were pregnant he could hardly ever keep his hands to himself anymore, working on your newest album was the only break you got from his ever wandering hands.

but unfortunately for you, it seemed that not even that would be enough to stop lewis anymore, he made his way to your home studio, feet padding on the hardwood floors as he went.

you wouldn't have even known that lewis was there, leaning against the door-frame had he not accidentally bumped the door causing the hinges to squeak.

"what are you doing lew" you mumbled, taking your seat in front of your mic, lewis didn't answer your question, he merely wandered over and dropped to his knees in front of you.

his head rested in your lap, hands holding your hips as he placed kisses to your swollen belly, each of them filled with love and a gentleness that only lewis had ever shown you, it was part of the reason you'd fallen for him.

"want to taste you bub" his words were mumbled but you understood him well enough, you shook your head "don't you dare even think about it" you softly scolded, hand cupping his cheek.

but lewis wasn't in the mood to listen, he wanted to taste you and he had to do it now, the desire simmering within him was pushing him to do so, you were beautiful and he just couldn't get enough of you.

his hands trailed up your thighs, his touch feather light and making a pool of desire simmer in your own belly or was that just the baby getting hungry again, most likely the latter you thought as a giggle escaped your soft lips.

"why do i even bother" you murmured as his fingers started pulling at the band of your panties, eager to get them off and thrown into the nearest corner as soon as humanly possible.

you lifted your hips knowing if you didn't that lewis would simply rip them off you and you couldn't afford to be down yet another pair of panties all because your husband couldn't keep his hands to himself.

you watched as his head disappeared under the skirts of your dress, hands gently parting your thighs to get a better look at your dripping cunt, the way this man could affect you so easily.

he nuzzled against the soft skin of your thigh, you started to get lost in the feeling when the facetime ringtone rang out through the room causing you to jump in your seat, you were so distracted by your god of a husband that you'd basically forgotten you were meant to be facetiming your producer.

"can you keep it down under there" you asked lewis and when he hummed against your skin, you trusted him, bad choice might i say and adjusted your laptop so that both lewis and your belly were out of view before clicking 'accept call'.

"there's the star i know and love" your producer; thomas's voice rang out, you glanced at the screen and smiled as best you could, with lewis currently between your legs, the last thing you wanted to be doing right now was talking to thomas.

"hey tom" you mumbled, voice quiet in order to keep yourself from moaning as lewis kissed at your thighs, slowly inching his way towards your dripping wet cunt with every kiss.

thomas began to ramble about the new album and the last three songs that were needed and while you tried your best to listen, your focus was quickly pulled away from the computer screen and was put into staying quiet when lewis's tongue licked your cunt from bottom to top, nibbling on your clit which he knew would make you squirm.

you nibbled on your bottom lip, struggling to keep your composure as lewis worked his magic between your thighs. you could have sworn you could taste the metallic tang of blood from how hard you were gnawing on your bottom lip in that moment.

thomas's voice began to fade into a distant buzz in your ears. your fingers gripped at the arms of your chair, knuckles turning white as you fought the urge to moan.

lewis's hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you in place as he continued his relentless assault on your senses. the thrill of potentially being caught only heightened your arousal. you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second, your body betraying your attempts to appear normal.

"taste so good" you heard lewis's mumbled voice and if you weren't so focused on trying to remain quiet and not draw attention to what was really going on, on your side of the screen you would've smacked him round the head.

thomas's face on the screen remained oblivious, still chattering away about chord progressions and potential guest artists. "what about olivia, we've been wanting to work together for awhile" you suggested when you managed to calm yourself enough to speak, your suggestion set thomas off on another tangent.

'good' you thought, that should hopefully keep him distracted for a while but you were once again pulled from your thoughts when lewis's tongue swirled around your most sensitive spots, making your thighs tremble around his head.

you were struggling to maintain your composure as lewis continued his ministrations. thomas's voice once again fading into a distant buzz as pleasure coursed through your body.

"that's actually a great idea," you managed to catch thomas say. "maybe we could arrange a writing session next week?" he suggested to which you merely nodded in return.

lewis's hands tightened on your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of your chair, the new angle sent a jolt of electricity up your spine, and you had to disguise the gasp that escaped you as a cough.

"everything okay?" thomas asked, his brow furrowing with concern, he was always concerned when it came to you, sometimes a little too much for lewis's liking.

"peachy" you squeaked, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "just recovering from a bit of a dry throat" you lied, reaching for your water bottle to make it seem real.

lewis's hands tightened on your thighs, he was going to leave bruises that was for sure but knowing your husband as well as you did, he would also make sure to kiss them better because he hated hurting you, even when you insisted you were fine.

you knew you were completely fucked however the moment you felt lewis's tongue slip inside your cunt, desperate to taste every bit of you that he could.

your breath caught in your throat as lewis's tongue explored you hungrily. every flick and swirl sending shock waves of pleasure radiating through your body, your hips began to involuntarily move against his face the best they could with your rounded swollen belly in the way, thank god it was still hidden from the cameras view.

"oh god, bub" you moaned softly, your head thrown back in ecstasy.

he growled quietly in response, the vibrations only intensifying the sensations you were currently feeling. lewis's strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as he devoured you with single-minded focus, you were his top priority in this moment and his focus would remain entirely on you, until you tipped over the edge of your release.

wave after wave of bliss washed over you as lewis worked you expertly with his mouth, you could feel yourself getting close, teetering on the edge of release, just a little more...

"ah y/n, you still with me" holy fuck!, you'd completely forgotten about your producer currently working on a melody on his side of the computer screen, thomas was the most oblivius man you'd ever known and today it was working in your favor.

the fact that he somehow hadn't noticed what was going on almost made you laugh, you bit your lip hard to stop yet another soft moan from slipping past your lips and despite everything that was happening, you somehow managed to croak out a reply to thomas.

"y-yeah, just concentrating," you stammered, struggling to keep your voice steady, thomas nodded absentmindedly, completely focused on the track he was currently mixing. "what do you think of this bassline?" he asked, pressing play.

a pulsing beat filled the room, providing the perfect cover as lewis picked up his efforts, he wanted thomas to know what was going on but you were not about to let that happen, not on your watch.

"it's good," you gasped out "maybe try... ah speeding it up a bit?"

as thomas began to fiddle with the tempo, you felt yourself rapidly approaching the point of no return, lewis's skilled tongue was soon joined by his equally skilled fingers slipping inside your tight hot cunt as his mouth started to suck and nibble on your clit.

all the emotions and sensations that you were feeling was making your head dizzy, you wanted to end the call with thomas right then and there so that you could focus on lewis and lewis alone but you knew that, that wasn't about to happen unfortunately.

as lewis's movements intensified, you were struggling to maintain your composure, your breath quickened as you fingers tangled in the fabric of your dress skirt and hiked it up and around your hips.

as you did lewis looked up at you with mischievous eyes, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you, his fingers curled inside you, finding that pleasurable spongy spot inside you as his tongue flicked rapidly over your sensitive bud, you swore you could feel lewis smile agaisnt you.

"is everything alright?" thomas asked, finally beginning to notice how quiet you were being on this call compared to all the other video calls you'd shared over these past few months.

"ah.. actually no" you stammered out. "i think i might be coming down with something" you lied to thomas for a second time today.

lewis increased his pace, determined to push you over the edge, you weren't sure how much longer you were going to be able to hold on.

your breath hitched as you tried to maintain your composure, thomas's concerned voice crackled through the phone, "do you need to rest? we can talk later if you're not feeling well."

"n-no, it's okay," you managed to mutter, lewis's fingers dug into your thighs, his tongue and finger's relentless rhythm threatening to unravel you completely.

"are you sure?" thomas pressed, clearly unconvinced. "you sound... strange." panic fluttered in your chest. you couldn't let him suspect what was really happening. "i'm fine, really," you insisted, your voice strained. "just a bit of a headache." you reached for your water once more.

lewis pulled away from your cunt, his fingers slipping out of your warm cunt as well, his breath was hot against the skin of your thighs as he whispered, "tell him you have to go” oh how you prayed thomas hadn't heard that.

you felt a shiver run down your spine at lewis's command. your mind raced, torn between the overwhelming sensations that your husband was making you feel and the need to stay on the video call with thomas and finish the album.

"actually," you gasped out, "i think i might need to lie down for a bit." you had caved, mind you with a husband like lewis, who wouldn't cave when asked.

"of course," thomas replied, his voice laced with genuine concern for you "get some rest. we can catch up tomorrow."

"thanks," you whispered, your finger moved the cursor so it was hovering over the end call button. "i'll text you later." as soon as the call disconnected, a low moan escaped your lips.

lewis looked up at you again "good girl," he murmured, his voice husky with desire for you, his beautiful wife. "now, let me hear you properly."

you finally allowed you restraint crumble and you cried out, no longer having to hide the pleasure coursing through your body. "your a fucking menace lew" you scolded your husband as he went back to work, tongue flicking across your clit with renewed fervor.

lewis chuckled against your sensitive core, the vibrations sending shock waves of pleasure through you once more, his strong hands which you loved oh so much gripped at your thighs, holding you in place as you writhed in your seat.

"you love it," he murmured "no i love you" you replied, fingers tangling in with his twisted braids "my handsome handsome husband"

"don't you dare stop," you gasped, your voice hoarse with need, lewis redoubled his efforts, alternating between gentle licks and firm pressure, he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just so and that's when you saw stars, your back arched as waves of ecstasy washed over you

"that's it, baby," lewis encouraged, your body trembled as he guided you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, his touch now feather-light and teasing, when your breathing finally steadied, he kissed a trail up your body paying special attention to your bump before capturing your lips in a searing kiss, you swore you could taste yourself on his tongue.

"you're so beautiful when you come undone," he murmured pulling away his voice low and husky, his hands rubbed at your thighs soothingly "i could die between these legs" he chuckled.

"i am so going to write a song about this" you teased with a giggle, hand cupping his cheek as you stared into the brown eyes you loved so much, that could be a pretty could be an interesting way to announce your relationship you thought.

he leaned into your touch, a soft smile playing on his lips. "oh yeah? what's it gonna be called?" he asked, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

"hmm," you pondered, pretending to think hard. "how about 'the ballad of lewis's talented tongue'?" you joked.

lewis could help but burst out in laughter, burying his face in your neck, "cheeky," he mumbled against your skin, pressing a soft kiss there. "i like it though but i might have to fight you for the rights to it."

you ran your thumb across his cheek, reveling in the intimacy of the moment. "we could always collaborate," you suggested, your voice softening. "i think we would make beautiful music together."

lewis lifted his head, meeting your gaze with a tender look that made your heart skip. "we already do, love,"

[multi-fandom-imagine]

❥𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 || Stanford Pines ||

Request:

It started out like any other normal night, minus the fact you were heavily pregnant. Ford swore he knew the exact date and time when your water would break even going as far to have some bags packed and ready.

So when your water broke during the middle of the night needless to say it came as a surprise to the man.

"My calculations must be off." Ford muttered as he tapped at his watch.

"Ford! Hospital ! Now!" You gritted your teeth, body hunched over, hand on your belly.

"Ah right away dear!" Ford gave you a weak smile as his arms wrapped around your waist as he guided you out to the car. "We'll get you to the hospital on time."

A cry tore from your lips, your nails digging into the seat. "Ford...you need to pull over and call an ambulance...I can't"

Ford parted his lipa, his hands tightening on the wheel as he looked at you then the road ahead of himself.

Maybe if he went faster then he might make, though hearing your pained cry he couldn't help but flinch hating that you were in pain. Fumbling with the phone, Ford did his best to stay calm as he pulled off on the side of the road.

He could do this, you were the love of his life, you were having his children.

He could do this.

Ford could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks as he held two of the squirming new borns in his arms. His heart leaping in his throat as the paramedic instructed you to push one last time and with that his little girl was born.

The paramedic's closing the door to the ambulance, driving off to the hospital with you, Ford and the triplets.

"I'm already failing as a father, I could have gotten you four killed...I should have gotten it better I mist have missed-."

"Ford." Giving him a tired smile, you placed your hand on his cheek. "You did a wonderful job, you were by my side...that's all that matters."

Giving you a watery smile, Ford lent over kissing your head then turned his attention to the new borns.

"I love you...I love you all so much...thank you...thank you for giving me a family." Ford whispered. "Thank you for choosing me, for loving me."

Smiling, your thumb caressed his cheek brushing away a stray tear. "I love you too Ford...more than anything."

[azzibuckets]

anything you want [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: fluffy blurb based off this moment last year when paige dressed azzi in her entire outfit at the sza concert then lent her her jacket

a/n: dedicated to @clairosrealwife for messaging me on 4 different places asking for a new fic like the overbearing annoying ass she is

word count: 1.1k

masterlist

“Yikes.”

Paige, Jana, and Aaliyah peered through the doorway of Azzi’s room, all exchanging glances at the sight before them. Azzi was slumped on the floor, face down in a pile of clothes while shirts and sweaters were strewn all over her bed, furniture, and closet.

They’d been eating snacks in the kitchen before muffed groans had pierced the peaceful silence of the dorm. Azzi had been in a mood all day, and no one on the team dared to bother her when she was pissed off. But it was becoming hard to enjoy their Lays when Azzi was huffing and storming around in the other room, so they made a mutual agreement to approach the girl together by having strength in numbers.

“Azzarae,” Aaliyah said gently, always having a soft spot for her younger roommate. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find anything cute to wear for the concert,” Azzi groaned. “This is literally the worst day of my life. I failed my exam in accounting this morning and then I got a smoothie to console myself but then I fucking spilled the entire thing-,”

Paige glared at her teammates as they slowly started to creep away from the door. “Your girlfriend, your problem,” Aaliyah mouthed before she and Jana took off, giggling as they returned back to their snacks.

Fatties, Paige thought bitterly to herself before entering the room and shutting the door. “You know the entire team is scared of you whenever you’re mad?”

A small smirk slid its way onto Azzi’s face. “I know. They leave me alone for once. I get peace and quiet.”

Paige rolled her eyes fondly. She grabbed Azzi’s hand and folded it between hers, rubbing soothing circles across Azzi’s palm with her thumbs. “I got some new shit in the mail a few days ago. Come over and try them on?”

Azzi nodded gratefully. On their way out, Aaliyah and Jana were still laughing like hyenas, fingers flying across their screens as they texted the group chat about how they’d left Paige to her own devices. But as soon as Azzi sent them a withering stare, they both immediately shut up. “You’re such a pussy,” Jana whispered to Aaliyah. “You’re literally older than her.” Without looking up from her phone, Aaliyah jabbed Jana in the stomach.

Azzi made herself comfortable on Paige’s bed as the older girl started rummaging through some boxes in her closet. “Here.” Paige tossed a pile of plastic wrapped packages at Azzi.

Azzi’s hands hovered over the clothes. “You sure? You haven’t even gotten the chance to wear them yourself yet.”

Paige leaned down and pressed a kiss to Azzi’s neck, letting her lips linger on the sensitive pulse point that she knew made Azzi shudder. “Stop being so unselfish all the time,” she murmured, “or I’m gonna start making out with you and we’ll never make it to the concert.”

A rosy blush fell over Azzi’s cheeks. “That doesn’t sound half bad,” she admitted, tucking an unruly strand of blonde hair behind her girlfriend’s ear.

Paige playfully bit down on Azzi’s shoulder, earning a squeal from the dark haired girl. Smirking, she drew back and punched Azzi’s shoulder. “Try the clothes on, dumbass.”

“A full Supreme outfit outfit? Really?” Azzi wrinkled her nose in the mirror as she experimented with her shirt, tucking it in and scrunching up one side to see what would look best.

“It’s gonna be cold.” Paige tossed her a puffer vest. “This would go nice with the sweats.”

Azzi shrugged on the puffer vest. Tilting her head thoughtfully in the mirror, she rolled her shirt up to above her belly button, making it look like a cropped top. “Much better.”

“You tryna make people faint?” Paige complained, eyes glued to the shiny piercing on Azzi’s stomach.

Azzi grinned, hand gesturing across her body. “You like it?”

“You know I think you look good in everything.” Paige approached Azzi from behind, hands sneakily sliding under the vest to make contact with Azzi’s bare abdomen. Paige savored the way Azzi’s muscles contracted at her touch. “But you look better in this than I would, trust.” She nestled her chin on Azzi’s shoulder, her gaze meeting brown doe eyes in the mirror. “You look so pretty, baby.”

Azzi turned and planted a kiss on Paige’s cheek. “Wanna match? You can wear your other Supreme shirt?” She smiled at Paige, that goddamn smile reserved solely for the person she loved most in the world, and Paige had seen that smile and that dimple almost every day for six years now, but she swore her knees still went weak at the sight.

Paige’s thumb brushed the expanse of Azzi’s skin, dipping just below the waistline of her pants in a slow circle. “Anything you want.”

*********

“You know I can walk just fine by myself?”

Paige’s hands ghosted Azzi’s waist for the hundredth time that night. “I know.”

Thankful that Paige was behind her and couldn’t see her face, Azzi smiled. She would never admit it, but she loved whenever Paige got unnecessarily protective whenever they were in public, guiding her through crowds with a hand firmly planted on the small of her back. Their relationship was private to the point where they could never kiss or show affection in front of other people, but this was one subtle way Paige reminded Azzi of how much she loved her, and Azzi appreciated it.

“You’re shivering.” Azzi hadn’t even noticed how cold she was until Paige pointed it out, but suddenly she could feel the late night chill in her bones despite the body heat radiating from the crowd pressed against them.

“I’m fine,” Azzi brushed her off. “I’ll go buy a hot chocolate or something later.”

“You’re gonna get sick,” Paige murmured, hand reaching out to steady Azzi as she zipped up her girlfriend’s puffer.

“Can you guys stop being cute for once?” Aubrey grumbled from behind them.

Both of them ignored her.

When she noticed how Azzi was still trying to rub her hands together for warmth, Paige immediately took off her jacket and pushed it into Azzi’s hands.

“No,” Azzi insisted, trying to give the jacket back. “You’re literally in only a shirt Paige.”

“Well, I’m not cold at all,” Paige said stubbornly, refusing to accept the jacket. “Are you forgetting I grew up in Minnesota?”

“I’m not cold anymore,” Azzi lied.

Paige cocked an eyebrow. “So your lips aren’t trembling?”

Sighing in defeat, Azzi hesitated before slipping on the black coat over her puffer. Paige smirked, adjusting the collar so that it sat comfortably on Azzi’s shoulders. “Better?” she asked softly.

Azzi nodded, glancing around before bringing Paige’s hand to her mouth and pressing a fleeting kiss to her knuckles. “If you start getting cold I’m taking this jacket off,” she warned.

“I’m actually pretty warm,” Paige said breezily. “But I wouldn’t mind some extra body heat, if you know what I mean,” she said with an exaggerated wink.

Azzi rolled her eyes, biting back a smile as she huddled closer to her girlfriend, pressing her entire body against the blonde’s. Her fingers fumbled around before finding Paige’s hand and tangling them together.

“See? Perfect.”

[veilofwinter]

But IMAGINE …

Abby coming home from patrol, sweat running down her face from the effects of summer coming around. Your body draped across the couch as you did your best to stay awake and greet her. She walks over to you, seeing that you were reading a book she’d lent to you for your birthday, her hands running over the cover.

“Couldn’t stay awake for me YN?” She ask quietly, blowing air into your face to see if that would wake you. You open your eyes, reaching out in front of you to pull her into a hug. Abby watches the tight tank top that hugs your body just right, sliding up your torso. The skin of your stomach causing her mind to stir. Maybe she just liked you.

“Are you still tired?” She asks softly, lifting you up off the couch slowly. You wrap yourself around her body, she carries you into her bedroom that you basically assigned yourself too as well. Laying you down slowly while she places sweet kisses to your neck and jaw. “I can do all the work YN, you can just sit and look pretty.” She says barely above a whisper into your ear, making a shiver go down your spine as you squeeze your legs together.

“Okay.”

Her hands on your belly to keep you down as she penetrates you with her fingers. Her big arm wrapped around you thigh to keep your legs open as you whine and Grind against her face. She licks and spits against your clit, her thumb pressing down against the nub causing you to arch your back into her mouth. “Feel good yeah? Just wanna put you back to sleep f’me.” She says softly, keeping eye contact with you as you sit up to watch her.

Her fingers plunging into you just right, curling to hit that spot that only she could reach with her big thick fingers. Her eyes never leaving you, your legs shaking around her face, your hands gripping that pretty braid she lets you take your time helping her do every morning. Your eyes low as you throw your head back, feeling the knot in your stomach coming undone.

“Gonna cum? Yeah? Cum for me sweetheart, I wanna taste you.” She talks you through it, still plunging her fingers into you as you fall over the edge. “Been thinking about you all day, c’mon.” She bites her lip, watching as your mouth hangs open while you coat her fingers in your essence. She slows her fingers down, kissing your cheek softly as you catch your breath. She leans down to lick it all up, not wanting to leave a drop of you behind.

“Okay pretty baby, let’s get some sleep.” She says as she caresses your face, your body falling limp next her as you fall asleep half naked and in her embrace.

an: early morning story cause I got time. 💃

@sorrowsblogworld @sorrowsideas

[gugapuppy]

Abortion - Part 6 (A!Ghost x O!Soap)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7

═══════════════════════════

Just angst and miscommunication, B!Price and A!Laswell too.

═══════════════════════════

Price was smoking a cigar and drinking a glass of whisky with Laswell, they had spent the whole day discussing future missions and mediocre terrorists who were popping up here and there.

Laswell was about to tell him about how his wife blew up the cooker when suddenly his mobile phone rang, vibrating in his pocket, he pulled it out and saw Farah's name on the screen.

He signals Kate to pause and answers the mobile, worried that Ghost might have been badly hurt on the mission.

"Commander Karim-"

"Price." The captain frowned, trying to understand why Ghost was on the other end of the line.

"Ghost? Why are you calling me with-"

"She lent me her mobile phone, I left mine behind." He cuts Price off again, who takes a deep breath, looking at Laswell who was looking worried.

"What's this about Ghost?" The other end of the line is silent for a moment.

There's a pause before Ghost continues. "How... how's Johnny?"

At that moment, Price looks at Laswell and puts him on speakerphone, not that Ghost will realise. "The sergeant's off duty, Gaz's with him. Why did you call me, Lieutenant?"

On the other end of the line you can hear Farah saying something, and then a deep breath before Ghost speaks. "Price, Soap, he's..."

——🧼——

A week has passed since the appointment with Gaz's sister, and the date set for the operation is in two days' time.

Gaz asked if Soap had changed his mind, and he almost thought about cancelling, but he didn't, he needs to put himself first. Even if sometimes he feels suffocated.

They were watching Netflix after eating lasagne. Soap was comfortable and almost asleep on Gaz's shoulder while purring furiously, when a knock on the door made him blink hard.

Gaz got up to open the door while Soap watched from the sofa, and he didn't expect to see a visibly worried Laswell and Price.

"Price, Laswell, what are you two doing here?"

"Where's Mactavish?" Price said, already looking inside and locking gazes with John. "There you are."

Soap got up from the sofa and approached, Gaz waited for Laswell to enter and then closed the door.

A scent of uncertainty began to exude from Soap, causing Laswell to cover her nose momentarily and move closer to Soap in an attempt to calm him down.

"How are you, Soap?" Price asked, giving Gaz a quizzical look.

‘’Fine, fine... Why are you here Price?"

Price swallowed dryly before saying. "I got a call from Ghost, and he talked about-"

"I can explain!" Soap cut him off quickly, knowing why they were there now. "I didn't cheat on him! I swear it! Captain, Laswell you have to believe me, please!" He begged hard, Gaz walking over to stand next to him.

He knew that Price would defend Ghost to the end, he was afraid that in Price's eyes he had become an adulterer, even though he had never done anything.

The fact that Ghost called him and not Soap also hurt, knowing that Simon really didn't want to talk to him.

"Soap, we know, calm down." Laswell put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Ghost called us just two hours ago, and he explained a few things."

"He said about your... pregnancy." Price says calmly, pointing to Soap's belly. "I should have pressed you about what was going on with you two, I'm sorry Soap."

"It's not your fault Captain, Simon made his choices, I tried, I swear I tried to talk to him." Soap's hands, which had been at his sides, now covered his stomach. "What... else did he say?"

Price and Laswell exchanged glances before continuing, as if they were in front of a bomb. Well, maybe they were.

"He wants to apologise to you when he gets back, he said he can't wait for the pup to arrive and raise him-"

A whimper and an angry grunt escaped Soap's mouth at the same time when he heard Price's sentence.

Now Simon has decided he wants to be part of the pregnancy?! Not at all. He's decided he wants to raise a ‘traitor's’ baby now?! Whatever Simon thought, it won't change anything now, it can't change.

Does Soap still miss Simon? Yes, maybe that's why his heart tightens and his eyes water at the thought, but if he stops now, what's the chance that it won't happen again?! He needs to keep himself first.

Soap will repeat this phrase like a mantra until the end, he can't lose himself.

If Simon wants to be involved in a pregnancy and have a baby, it certainly won't be with Soap. Apologies at this point are nothing but meaningless words, no, there's no going back.

Gaz shouting makes Soap refocus on the conversation.

"Do you really think he can come back as if nothing had happened?!" Gaz stands in front of Soap.

"Gaz, you don't know what Ghost-"

"What he's been through? What happened to him? Why he abandoned his partner when he needed him?" Each sentence is spoken with a finger sword to Price's chest.

"Sergeant, lower your tone."

"Or what? You'd rather carry on defending Ghost while it was Soap who was thrown to the wolves! Are you even listening, Captain?!"

"Stop!" Laswell roars, making them both shut up. Soap can smell the bitter odour of stress coming from Laswell, and the alpha tries to remain composed in front of everyone. "Enough arguing between you two, that's not why we came here Jonathan."

She turns to Soap, more composed. "I apologise Soap, this is not how our conversation was supposed to go." Soap snorts a little indignantly. "We came here to tell you that you're off work until you decide what you're going to do about your pregnancy, Kyle will also be off work for a while to help you with whatever you need."

Out of the corner of her eye, Soap sees Gaz's shoulders relax, even though he's still staring at Price. "And Ghost won't be allowed to come to you without your consent."

She puts a hand on Soap's shoulder. "Whatever you need, I'm here to help."

Soap nods a few times. "Thanks Kate."

She looks at Price, eyes alight with seriousness. "Let's go." Gaz escorts them to the door, bidding them goodnight.

When he returns Soap is already sitting on the sofa, hands covering his eyes, trying to rethink everything that happened in that conversation, why Simon has now decided after weeks to try and contact him.

He still has the nerve not to call him directly.

Little whimpers escape him, Gaz puts an arm around his head and hugs him, ruffling Soap's hair, making him purr after a few minutes.

"I'll always support you mate, whatever you decide." Gaz whispers in Soap's ear.

═══════════════════════════

Sad, really sad.

But anyway, Soap is starting to freak out, and Price and Laswell haven't told us about Ghost's exams, it's just a fucking mess!

[ravenshavenn]

snape would cum if you played w his lil man boobs

A pinch of pleasure

(Watch me give the people what they want - I'm sorry this has been in drafts for farrrrr to long)

NSFW - Snape X gender neutral reader (tw- scars, biting)

Summary - playing with Snape's "lil man boobs" and feeding my own obsession with sub Snape

Trembling slightly Severus hands made swift work of his robes. Pale, delicate fingers unclasping each button. Until finally his scar covered torso was revealed.  

His wand discarded on a nearby potions desk, out of reach as he sat slumped in his desk chair. However, today Severus was more than happy to do things the muggle way. 

"Your gorgeous like this."  

Your voice hurled Snape back into reality. His dark eyes snapping open to focus on you. Head spinning to try and find a reply. Thoughts to disorganized to even try and form words. Let alone a coherent sentence. 

With your skirt hitched up around your thighs you straddled Snape's lap. Hands gripping securely around his shoulders. The top buttons of your own robes undone to match. Continuing to press delicate kisses to his neck you almost growled at the mouth-watering site which was Severus bare chest.  

He was slender, as was expected. Although, you hadn't anticipated the harsh jagged lines cutting across his pale flesh. Trying to make sure your gaze didn't linger you instead focused on the trail of dark hair leading down into the professor's trousers. It almost made your mouth water. Delicately you ran a hand through the fuzz on his soft belly. Half curious half admiring him the touch was still tender either way. Severus took a deep breath. 

"Ticklish?" You teased with a grin. pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. 

Severus almost smiled.  

"Perhaps." He breathed out. Chest rising and falling rapidly underneath you. Practically quivering with anticipation under your gaze. 

You knew he'd look irresistible like this. Your underwear didn't even stand a chance. Already sodden and practically dripping. Making your head spin and the fire in your stomach burn. Your movements sporadic and needy in time with his.  

The feeling was clearly mutual as Severus let out a strangled whine when you gave a soft bite to his shoulder. That was sure to leave a mark. His pale skin already flushing pink under you. 

"Y/n-" His voice was almost as breathy as his desperate whines. Hot breath fanning out across your neck. 

You just chuckled lowly in response. Not even taking a second to respond your hands moved from around Severus waist to his shoulders. Using your position as leverage, grasping him as you ground down onto his hard member. Hot through the wool of his trousers. 

"Merlin's beard Y/n!" Severus practically shouted. Trying not to cum there and then. 

His hips bucking up wildly to meet your own. Almost knocking you off the chair. However, Severus didn't seem to notice. His head now thrown back, dark hair fanning out around his bare shoulders. 

"You seem to be enjoying yourself professor." You mumbled lowly, leaning in to nibble teasing at his jawline.  

Enjoying the blissed-out look on Severus face your eyes wandered lower. Admiring his bare chest again.  

Besides his jutting erection, practically leaving a wet patch on his trousers and his flushed features there was something else which told you about his clear state of arousal. Taking a gamble, you lent forward to mouth at Severus throat again while your hands trailed upwards. Tickling along the potion master's sensitive flesh. 

In an instant Severus eyes flew open, head snapping up to look at you, 

"What-t are you doing?" He gasped  

You only grinned wickedly watching his eyes darken. You fingers gently playing with the hardened peeks of his nipples. 

"Nothing, Severus." You mumbled innocently. 

A noise forced itself from Severus throat at your movements. Obviously enjoying the sweet torture. Absent mindedly you wondered if anyone had ever touched him like this before. Judging by his reaction you didn't think so.  

Softly you swirled a hand around the pink nub. Once again feeling Severus jolt underneath you. However, that only set a fire in your belly, feeling yourself grow even wetter if that were possible. 

Severus even seemed startled by his own reaction. Dark eyes flickering open every now and again to study your face almost anxiously between his thrusting.  

Both of you sweating and panting profusely now, your hands continued to brush over Severus chest, switching between tweaking and tracing them as you pleased.  

Severus whined pathetically as you gave them a particularly harsh pinch. That would have made you laugh if he didn't immediately buck his hips up to meet yours, drawing out a moan from you instead. Your head falling forwards to rest on his shoulder. 

It didn't take long until he gasped. Grinding feverishly against you. Trying desperately to stay still yourself, Severus's strength almost pushing you off the chair. Finally with a deep groan Severus slumped over. Resting his head against your chest. His breath coming out in ragged breaths. 

"Are you alright?" You asked, running a hand gently through his now tangled hair. 

All you got in response was a weak nod.  

You smirked, satisfied with your work. It took a lot to leave the infamous sarcastic potions professor speech less. Or so you had thought. Clearly all it took was a pinch of pleasure. 

[kingkestrel]

Come Put Your Lips On Mine and Shut Me Up

(rated e, 5.3k, Norapinto, pwp, excessive use of pet names, Lando is a whiny brat, Franco is a tease)

“You told Ted you’re good with your mouth,” Lando stated suggestively, “Did you just mean talking or are you good at other things too?”

Franco gave him a look, a smirk almost, “I can do many things.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking but Lando felt a tug of heat in his lower belly. “Like what?” he pressed, making a point of biting his lower lip and looking Franco up and down, making sure Franco noticed him doing so.

Franco’s smirk grew wider. He lent in a touch, pressed himself to Lando’s side, brought his lips to the shell of Lando’s ear. “You want me to show you?”

READ HERE

I also made a Norapinto PLAYLIST based on the vibes of this fic!

@slugesh @rocketinthesky

[james-whytermedwhy]

Moo-moo had been snoozing but was jolted awake by the bang of the barn door. Her stumps were still sore where the snug stall was rubbing but she was excited to see if Master was here. Yes he was! He came round the corner and stood facing Moo-moo. He checked the bloodied bandages were still secure, caressing each stump in turn. Moo-moo grunted and fidgeted at his touch. They're still sore, Master. Yes they will be but it's important that you are reminded why this was necessary. If you hadn't tried to run away so many times you would still have your limbs but alas I had to take this action. Master then lent forward and cupped Moo-moo's heavy udders. They were sore and the nipples leaked as Master tweaked and pulled at them. Moo-moo's big cow eyes glazed over at his touch. The hormones are working nicely. Is it time, Master? Yes Moo-moo it is. Master reached down for the milking machine and placed the teat-cups over Moo-moo's large puffy nipples. When Master switched it on, the gentle pulse of the suction cup eased the milk from Moo-moo's giant udders. He placed the headphones over her ears and turned on the hypnotape. He then moved around to her rear end, pulled out his huge cock and thrust himself deep inside her cunt. Moo-Moo cried out but soon assumed the gentle grinding motion taught to her by Master, and little soft moo's came from her lips as Master raped her. That's a very good cow, Master will breed you, and your calf will grow in your belly, enhanced by hormones, ready for birthing and stalling right away. Soon we will have a whole barn of breeding, milking cattle, all produced from your dumb, fertile womb.

[doing-something-unholy]

Didn’t want to clown directly on op's post but Real and True!! Ive been thinking about this with post canon Victor, finally letting himself relax a little, not worrying so much about "indulging too much" especially around lent.

Spoilers for that patreon epilogue‼️

Victor letting his hair grow out a little, wearing more colors than just solid black, getting a tan from sailing with Alistair, putting on weight from eating good for the first time maybe ever. Little belly and love handles and smile lines and crows feet from grinning so wide-- 🫠🫠🥰🥰😍

[zablife]

The Shirt

Author's Note: Still obsessing over Cillian's wardrobe. Can you blame me? 🤭 This fic is 🔞

You ushered in the delivery with a small wave of your hand. You were preoccupied by your phone call and barely paying attention as Cillian's stylist dropped off a few outfits for his upcoming press tour. "Thank you," you mouthed before returning to your call.

As soon as you were finished with your own work for the day, you slipped downstairs to unzip the garment bags, eager to learn what he would be wearing. Cillian's stylist always chose the most flattering garments. Her recent decision to outfit him with a gold chain was a particularly inspired moment. You had approved of it instantly.

You threw open the bag with a flourish, gasping at the sight of a sheer, black shirt and a dark suit. “Holy shit,” you mumbled, unable to stop yourself from dragging your fingertips across the delicate fabric. As you did, a wicked idea came to you.

—————————————————————

“Y/n” Cillian called as he entered the house. “Baby where are you?” he pondered, finding the downstairs empty.

“Up here,” you called, biting your lip with anticipation. Your heart beat wildly in your chest as you listened to his heavy footsteps on the stairs. In a moment he would open the bedroom door and find you like this. Your brain buzzed with excitement at the thought of it.

Cillian's hand wrapped around the door as he pushed it open and his face said everything he couldn't. His jaw dropped as he caught sight of you in a black thong and sheer black shirt, breasts bare to him through the thin material. A lamp lent a soft glow to your curves and he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip slowly and hungrily.

Your hands skimmed your body suggestively as you asked, "Do you like it?" You teased him, pinching your nipples and feeling them harden to stiff peaks beneath the black veil of the shirt. His eye drifted as you did so, feeling his trousers grow tight at the sight of your breasts straining against the fabric.

Without answering he strode toward you and brought your body close to him, feeling the softness of your tits pushed against him. Capturing your lips in a messy, open mouthed kiss, he hummed in obvious satisfaction. Hands traveling from the back of your head and south to your ass, he squeezed the flesh in his palms as a primal grunt escaped his throat.

You giggled against his lips at the reaction you'd been hoping for. "So you do like it," you whispered into his ear.

Picking you up and tossing you onto the bed, he climbed over you. Hovering above you with lust blown pupils he asked, "Want me to show you?"

You nodded as he carefully unbuttoned your shirt, kissing along your sternum as he went and pulling an erect nipple into his mouth to suck it harshly. You gasped at the sensation, a sharp cry escaping your lips as he bit down suddenly.

“Show me,” you urged, reaching for his zipper and freeing his thick cock from the confines of his trousers. Stroking him with one hand, the opposite hand caressed his face. Rubbing a thumb over his sensitive tip, you heard him hiss at the contact and smiled up at him with glee.

It only took a moment for him to rip your underwear away and sink his hard length into you. You sighed with the contented feeling of being filled and he brushed his nose against yours gently. It belied the powerful thrust that came next and your back arched off the bed in surprise. You cried out with pleasure as he pistoned into you, too overcome with lust to control himself.

"Yes, there," you cried out as he changed angle, thrusting against your g-spot. Your hips pushed up to meet his, the squelching sound of your wetness giving you away. You would cum soon like this.

“M close,” he huffed, warm breath ghosting over the side of your neck.

“M-me too,” you stuttered, feeling the coil in your lower belly snap. Your warm walls clamped around him in a vice like grip as you reached your high. A shiver of pleasure ripped through you as the aftershocks continued and Cillian filled you with his sticky warmth.

Rolling off you to catch his breath, he ran a hand through his sweat dampened hair. “Is that a new shirt?” he panted. “Fucking love it,” he mumbled as he leaned over to kiss you.

A girlish laugh bubbled up from your chest as you shyly admitted, “It’s your new shirt, love. Your stylist dropped it off today.” You looked away guiltily as he considered your reply. Then a hearty chuckle erupted, breaking the silence in the room as he asked, “And who on earth wants to see me in that?”

“I want to see it!” you exclaimed, barely containing your excitement. You reached over to pull the garment from your side, eyebrow arching at him mischievously. “Try it on!” you implored, tossing it at him. A wicked grin tugged at your lips as you added, “And I’ll show my appreciation.”

He didn’t hesitate, taking the shirt from you and rushing toward the en suite. It would have to be dry cleaned before his premiere, but you smirked to yourself as you imagined all the fangirls who would obsess over it on the red carpet, wishing they could have him in their beds. You kicked your feet gleefully as you thought of the fact that you were the only woman who would see it up close…and on the bedroom floor.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Dad!Alastor when you're uncomfortable during pregnancy / going into labour?

A/n: I need to write something small, decided to make this be about you being pregnant with the second baby.

Edit: I 100% read that wrong, I am so tired, it was meant to be Alastor, dont know how I saw Lucifer.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath to get in a more comfortable position. Edna frowned as she rested her head on your belly, her eyes looking up at you with a worried expression on her face.

"Are you okay mama?"

Sucking in some air, you forced a smile on your face as you placed your hand on your daughters head. "I'm fine...really sweetie, you have nothing to worry about."

Just as Edna was about to protest, Charlie lifted her in her arms giving you a light smile. "Dad will be in soon, I'll watch over her."

"Thank you Charlie." giving her a relived smile, you watched the two leave only for Lucifer to rush in. "Hello girls!" his attention quickly moving to you. "Are you okay? is he here?" chest heaving he moved to your side placing his hand on your belly, doing his best to sooth you.

"I'm fine...okay maybe I'm not fine per say but I am well enough." Letting out a breath, you closed your eyes for a moment.

Letting out a grunt, Lucifer moved so he was sitting behind you, to hold you. "Well...the person to help you with the baby so be here soon and then after that I will be holding my son and I am just."

Despite the pain hitting you thanks to the contractions, you couldn't help but chuckle at Lucifer's reaction. He was just to adorable, to sweet as you lent into his embrace. "You went through this two times before, how are you still nervous."

"To be honest, Lilith didn't want me in the room when Charlie was born." he grumbled. "And with Edna.." he paused pressing his face into your neck. "She was my second chance...you were my second chance and now our little family is growing and." Lucifer sniffled as he messaged your side then placed a kiss to the side of your head. "I love you, you and our family mean's so much." His voice wavered as he continued to message yourside.

Gaze softening, you looked up at Lucifer gritting your teeth for a moment as the contractions hit you again though you let out a soft sigh feeling warmth from Lucifer's finger tips take the pain away. "You're such a good father Lucifer, I couldn't have asked for a better husband...I love you too."

Smiling, Lucifer held you close then kissed the top of your head. "I can't wait to meet him"

"I feel the same way."

[endursent]

- God Shattering Star

【 content; morax | rex lapis x reader , slow burn , mutual pining , multi-chapter , archon war period , afab!reader 】

【 note sorry this is also late i had to redo this chapter like 3 times cause i wasn't happy with it, i should stop re-reading a song of ice and fire while writing this 'cause i keep comparing my dialogue skills with fucking george rr martin and feel sad ｡ﾟ(*´□`)ﾟ｡ | read on ao3 】

【 word count; 6.016 | previous chapter - next chapter | masterlist 】

- Chapter 8 - Consumption

You barely recognise life anymore—or anything for that matter. You feel sick, sticky and heavy, as if your body is full of liquids in every crevice. The world around you feels lighter than you yourself do, like you’re sinking below it and perpetually struggling to reach upwards to grasp at the people staring down at you from around the cot. 

  Ming Hui sets her hand on your stomach, and a pain so consuming you thrash and scream overrides any thought or consciousness. Hands hold you down to prevent you from hurting yourself or anyone else as the smaller girl tears (at least that’s what it feels like to you) blackened liquids and blood from the lacerations on your belly. 

  You throw up every day, most of the time several times a day, nights are filled with shivers and huddling under blankets when you try to close your eyes to sleep—and wake in the middle of the night, soaked with sweat and fever. 

  One night, you had a terrible dream—you’ve been having many bad dreams, terrible, suffocating dreams. Nightmares. You woke up to two pairs of hands shaking your shoulders, clapping your cheeks lightly in hopes of waking you before you hurt yourself. 

  Another night, you couldn’t sleep, you kept seeing dark snakes slither between beds—you told yourself that they aren’t real, there are no snakes so high in the mountain of Liyue… they are far more common between the mountains, in thick forests with plenty of opportunities for food for their size. 

  They never approach your bed, one circles around it before disappearing behind a shelf of ointments. Later the same morning, exhausted and dozing from a sleepless night, you thought you saw a white snake under the bandage around your left arm looking at you, you reached out to pet it, but it slid back inside. Into your bandages. Into your skin.

  The week drags on for what feels like several of them. Every morning, Ming Hui would perform a cleanse and try to purify parts of your body to keep the miasma from spreading into it, but you weren’t sure how much it was helping, at least, you didn’t start feeling better until a week and a half after the seven days of cleansing. 

  With a groan, you prop yourself up and get into a sitting position, fumbling to grab one of the seven or so books on the table next to the cot, you let it fall open onto your lap. Staring at the ceiling is impossibly boring, and you hope your body is giving you some energy to use your brain at least a little. The book doesn’t have a name on the cover, nor does it look like a printed book—it’s full of handwriting and for a moment you thought Guizhong might have accidentally lent you a diary… but as you squint and read further, you see that it’s something of a logbook. 

  Documentation of a crew’s trip on the sea, the management of resources and the direction of the winds… it’s a surprisingly soothing read, you craft the ship in your mind and imagine the soothing brush of waves against the wood, sun beating down and warming the skin.

  You open your eyes again as a healer touches your shoulder and asks to see your left arm again, you didn’t even realise you fell asleep. The prickly sensation of their fingers prodding at your arm is strange, like it’s felt through a few layers of clothing… you can feel it, but just kind of. You feel like you used to be able to tell what texture was touching you—a finger or a glove, the grass or floor. But now it all feels like the same kind of poking. You feel trembling, like the bed is trying to shake you off, but you're not cold.

  You feel a fragment of dread every time Ming Hui comes up to your bed, but thankfully the last few times, she’s just been bringing you things. Doughy snacks from the capital, some sesame balls from the kitchens, papers and ink to draw on, anything. Unfortunately none of the foods or snacks stick in your belly for long… but it’s nice to taste them, if only a small nibble with the front of your teeth and a poke of your tongue. 

  It has been a long morning, you had woken up early due to your back starting to hurt because you’ve been laying down for so long—you really wish you could start to walk around, but even just sitting up feels like you’re leaving half your organs behind on your mattress… you look up as you hear footsteps approach and see a familiar face, though not one you expected.

  Cloud Retainer—rather roughly—takes your arm and lifts it up vertically, you make a strange startled, as well as surprised sound and try to tug it back, but she holds it firmly. Ground Mender follows behind and sighs. “Be gentle,” she scolds. 

  “Hmph, a sound of pain merely shows there’s still feeling in the limb,” she moves it horizontally and squeezes the sides of your elbow, you have no idea what she’s doing. “Squeeze into a fist for me.” 

  You do as she asks, curling your fingers as much as you can—it’s not a very good squeeze, if any, but you manage to curl them into a fist with trembling fingers, your fist twitches from the effort. “Like this?”

  “Hm, good enough,” she nods and begins to undo the bandage. You look at Ground Mender, but she doesn’t seem to stop the other adeptus, so surely it’s okay… the bandages have been changed many times, but you’ve always been either been half-asleep or too out of it to pay attention to it. The white cloth falls away from your skin and reveals a rather uncomfortable sight—your arm looks like it’s been through the ringer. The skin is uneven and looks more like crumpled parchment stretched over bone than the arm you’re more familiar with, the deep wounds were beginning to close but you could still clearly see the raised edges where it separated, having been knit together twice. 

  It’s a mangled, uncomfortable thing, your fingers twitch and a dull tug pulls at your senses where you think your joints should be—as if the entire arm was misaligned, off-kilter.

  Cloud Retainer turns your arm wrist up and then wrist down, looks at it with a scrutinising eye behind those red-rimmed glasses. You wonder if adepti need glasses or if it’s just fashion. 

  “What are you searching for?” you ask, your arm is tired, being raised like that for so long. You want to let it lay down and rest. 

  The adeptus pokes your palm with a sharp nail and your fingers twitch again, your eyebrows furrow in mild annoyance… you can only tolerate being prodded at without explanation for so long. Finally, she graces you with an answer. “The miasma is concentrated heavily in your arm, most of what was in your stomach has been pulled out… but there is little to do with this part here.”

  You look down at your arm… it doesn’t look as rotted as you recall others’ bodies would become after as long as it has stayed in your arm. A bit discoloured, maybe… just, different. “Little to do? Extraction has never failed… can’t we just dig in and drag it out…?” you don’t have the energy or capacity to recount a lengthy process, but cleansing has never failed you—you have yet to find an object or person who was too far gone.

  And surely, you are not…?

  Cloud Retainer wraps your arm again carefully, you see the golden eyes of a snake staring at you from between the bandages.

  “Then… what do we do?” you ask as if there was something for you to do. You can barely hold your arm at chest-height for too long.

  Cloud Retainer holds her hand out to Ground Mender, who hands her the familiar wooden board someone is always holding when standing by your bed. “Observe for now, the miasma is contained below your elbow—” you look at the ink on your arm, locked. “—and it doesn't seem to be rotting the skin, it’s stagnant.”

  You were better for a while, and got worse again. 

  You could imagine the ship, high tides and low, rocking among the waving ocean—a peek of sunlight. Two suns, warmth and stability. A calm sea surrounded by raging waters. 

  The perpetual taste of bile stings the back of your throat, it’s a wonder if you aren’t in danger of malnourishment—you’re unsure you’ve kept down a meal in three weeks. Your head swims and you get nauseous if you lie down, you’re nauseous if you sit up. The world spins when you try to stand, even with attendants insisting you move your legs and body to prevent clotting from forming in your feet. You are practically hauled onto a cart of some sort that holds only your upper body, when strength slips between your fingers and you slide off—only just barely caught by the attendants and brought back to bed, they decide to just assign someone to apply pressure to your feet instead to promote blood flow.

  It’s strange… it’s all treatment and techniques you’ve familiarised yourself with over the last months you’ve been working for the capital. But it feels so foreign to be on the receiving end. 

  Like a rocking ship, you managed to down some foods one morning—and kept them down over lunch time, for the first time in… how long has it been? You feed some of the congee to a smaller snake by your bedside. 

  Everyone around you seemed very excited, but you didn’t have the energy to return it—you know in your heart and gut that it could change at any moment… your day moves slowly as you flip the page of a rather difficult book Cloud Retainer gave to you, it’s only about half writing and the rest is just numbers. Your eyes rise when you see Morax approaching your bed, and you straighten instinctively—he has something in his hand, a bamboo food basket with a long handle. “Good afternoon,” he greets evenly and takes a foldable table that’s used to prop on the bed to allow patients to eat there. He sets the basket on the table over your lap—over your book—and steps away again… Morax has been very quiet recently, and you’re unsure why. You would never say you know him well, you are just barely on greeting or chatting terms, but you still feel a sense that something weighs on his mind. 

  He returns again with a spoon. “Zhou’s son recently made travels to the west, and on my walk through the streets, the old man demanded I try some cuisine his son had studied there. This is supposed to be easily digestible,” Morax takes your right hand, despite it being very much healthy and mobile. His slender fingers slide below your wrist and lift your hand where he lays the spoon against your upturned palm, your fingers instinctively curl around the cutlery despite the fact that your eyes aren’t watching it. His expression is firm, stiff and stony. 

  “It’s not dinner time yet,” you’re not sure why you said it, perhaps the silence was uncomfortable, or you want his gaze to leave your torso and rise to meet yours. 

  He blinks, there are so many things on his mind that it gets pulled away even in the respite he’s taking in bringing you food. “Yes, my apologies. Master Zhou was rather insistent that I stop by and taste his son’s food no matter the time of day, he said finding me during meal hours is too complicated,” Morax lets go of your arm and his hand goes to the basket, he takes the top off and the dish out.

  While the congee you ate this morning was nice and light on your stomach—this dish was a pale yellow as opposed to the white of the congee. It smelled warm and comforting but mild, like a stone left under the midday sun, a hot spring on a cold winter’s day in the mountains where the flakes melt against your cheeks, but your body and shoulders are enveloped in a warmed watery blanket. 

  You stop staring at the dish and stick your spoon into it, it’s soft and moist, the rice separate easily as you scoop a small bite past your lips, careful not to have too much at a time—your stomach has traumatised you over the week by acting up over the smallest thing.

  “Ground Mender and Cloud Retainer surmised that though initially we thought enough of the miasma had been cleared from around your organs, your body is still too weak to push out the rest by itself,” Morax finds a stool to sit on next to your bed, not wanting to intrude on the mattress itself. In your convinced state, the bed is your only privacy space that only feels more confined when the curtains are closed around it. 

  The bite of food fills your mouth—and though your taste buds are extra sensitive now with not eating a lot of foods for so long… licking a sesame ball doesn’t count for much, it tastes very much like the warm embrace the smell and temperature brings. The rice is soft and nearly dissolves on your tongue, the creamy texture of the bite spreading in your mouth and down your throat—it’s five times more warming and powerful than a sip of warm water to smooth out your scrunchy stomach. It gets to work and you instantly feel a sense of ease. 

  Morax watches you as you lick your lips, dipping the spoon again. “What is it? It’s very nice,” you ask as you take another—now a fuller spoon—of the surprising dish.

  “Khichdi,” Morax says the word carefully, as if he were trying to mimic a pronunciation. “After master Zhou’s son returned, a lot of the dishes he learned to make have become very popular in the neighbourhood.”

  You hum, you can see why—the flavour is very unique, even if it’s not very strong, it’s likely made with ingredients not found in the Guili Assembly. “Some vegetables could add to it,” you muse to yourself, but quickly try and correct yourself. “I-I mean, it’s very good like this, thank you—”

  Morax, however, seemed sheepish for a moment. “Ah… there are vegetables in it… but master Zhou asked for your preference and I couldn’t answer, I deemed it safer to ask them to chop a chosen few of them into… miniscule pieces, in case chewing would be discomforting, or you didn’t like the taste.”

 You look down at the bowl, sure enough, there are specs of green and red—how small can you even chop a vegetable?! This looks like a crumb of salt, you think as you squint at a tiny flake of red on your spoon between two grains of rice… your taste buds are in shambles, even just the flavours of this was making it difficult to tell the ingredients, though there are some you have never tasted before. “Ah, thank you for your consideration,” you say before setting another—now spoonful—in your mouth. You almost wish you had bread now, when even two days ago you couldn’t even think about food without your stomach curling up. 

  Another silence lingers, but it’s not uncomfortable—not waiting or hesitant. You slowly eat while Morax sits, he looks around the calm ward, it’s usually only used in dire circumstances—when the usual infirmary tucked on the first floor on his side between the palaces is full, you’re the only patient being tended to now. “Perhaps you will soon be ready to go above ground,” Morax says absently, not turning his head to you yet.

  “Hm? Someone could surely carry me there now, I can try walking again,” you say after a swallow, realising you were eating a bit too fast, you slowed down; your grandmother wouldn’t have you consuming a meal made in kindness at breakneck speed without appreciating the flavour and effort. 

  “Though I’m glad you feel confident, I would rather avoid you hurting yourself,” Morax shakes his head slowly. “We will see what Ground Mender says in the morning, if you keep this down.”

  You better, you tell yourself. 

  Morax stuck around until you finished, and he helped put away the wooden board as well as placed the bowl back into the basket which had been set aside. You expected him to leave, but he walks around the bed to the side of your injured arm and extends his own right hand. “May I?”

  Raising your arm slowly, it stutters and jerks slightly, as if you were fighting against your own muscles for them to listen to your commands.Morax takes your arm kindly, treats it with a gentle touch you would expect from a seasoned healer… a soft glow emits from his hands and you feel their warmth seep into your skin, for a moment it is comforting, a taste of the khichdi from his hands to your skin.

  But suddenly, it’s too hot—it burns.

  You yank your arm back instinctively, as if you had laid it on a raging fire and not realised until the flames licked your skin. “Ah—” your right hand fingers dig into the bandage of your left arm, trying to squeeze away the pain, to inflict it differently and drain it out.

  Morax tenses at the sudden reaction, his eyes flashing with a strange emotion you didn’t see long enough to discern. “What is it?” he asks with urgency, but he doesn’t touch you again. Not if it was his touch that was the cause of your startling. “Did I hurt you?”

  “N-No,” you say quickly, but you’re not sure—it only happened because his fingers rested on your arm, but they were gentle, like leaves brushing against cobblestone in a drifting breeze. “What were you doing?”

  You don’t mean for your question to sound accusing, you hope Morax doesn’t take it as such. He looks from your eyes down to your clutched arm, eyebrows pinched in thought. “Does it still hurt?”

  “A little…” you mumble. Your arm tingles and your fingers tremble slightly, it has felt strangely cold—as opposed to the warmth that always emanated from corrupt skin, the miasma displaying symptoms of infections, because one corrupted is being infected. 

  “I was merely examining your energies, but as soon as I touched them…” he looked at his own hand. Your body had rejected his energies before—but they had not simply evaporated now, he was pushed back. 

  He does not like it. 

  You rub at your arm gently, nails scratching at the bandage now that you had the excuse. The bandage is wrapped so densely, your skin is moist and itchy. “Don’t scratch it,” Morax scolds as you do, and with a defeated sigh you look up at him again and tense. 

  There is an unmoving silence before you quickly look away again, but Morax saw the surprise and—fear? Concern?—on your face before you turned back to your arm. He says your name firmly, firmer than you’re sure you’ve heard before. “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing,” you say quickly. There was a snake around his shoulders. Writhing and wrapping around his throat. 

  They’re not real. You must just be malnourished, sick. Hallucinating. 

  Morax doesn’t react when the snake squeezes his neck.

  It’s not real.

  You pant, heart racing and pounding against your chest—you feel it so vividly you’re sure you could lay your fingers over your chest and pinch it when it presses between your ribs. You feel dizzy, and disoriented, eyes looking down to your left arm, it’s there—all fingers attached as usual. 

  Just seconds ago it had been red, open, you could reach out and touch the bone, you could wrap your fingers around it while your skin and muscles slipped off your arm and landed with a wet squelching sound on the floor.

  You’ve been having nightmares again. 

  It doesn’t have any comprehensive or predictable patterns, one night your head is in the maws of a beast, another you’re drowning under a tidal wave of iron-tasting water, unable to breathe or see as it stings your eyes and burns your lungs. You squeeze your eyes shut, running your right hand over your face tightly, squishing your nose slightly with your palm. 

  It’s exhausting. The day is tiring enough already, and you find no solace in sleep. You don’t even have the luxury of turning from one side or the other, any position other than flat on your back feels like your intestines are going to spill out through your belly button. 

  You glance at the breakfast laid out for you, sitting on the bedside table as it cools. Congee and some bread… but you don’t feel hungry. Not for what feels like the hundredth bowl of congee, you haven’t returned your meals in a few days, but yet Ground Mender denied you when you asked if you could be brought above ground.

  “We don’t have much space in the palace infirmary.”

  “Did something happen?” you had asked, you hadn’t heard of anything, but you haven’t heard much of the outside world in a while.

  Ground Mender changed the subject without telling you, and you were starting to feel that you were being kept alone in this massive hall for… what? You’re getting better, slowly, you managed to walk around your bed with some support, but you would never make it up the endless staircase leading to the sun-touched hallways. 

  It’s been a month and a half, according to an attendant that brought your breakfast. Your muscles have atrophied terribly and even just standing so someone can help you bathe is exhausting. 

  A hand touches your breakfast tray and you look up to see Moon Carver. It feels like every person you’ve met in the last months has been coming around to check on you… it’s strange. You’ve never stayed in one place for long enough for anyone to notice absent days of sickness, to inquire why you close your home off for cleansing for a week.

  You had returned to a small village that specialised in silk weaving and no one had remembered your face, despite the fact you had discovered the foul energies poisoning a part of the nearby forest, which caused a devastating number of lost silkworms over the span of three years. 

  You had seen your reflection recently and didn’t recognise yourself either. 

  “Time to stretch your legs, come on,” the adeptus tilts his head for you to get up. “The more you skimp out, the longer it will take to build those muscles up again.”

  If you don’t move, he’ll continue to pester you… you move the blanket off your lap and Moon Carver takes under your right elbow to help you stand. You’re steadier on your feet than you were before, but you always feel like your legs’ sense of balance is different from your mind’s. 

  “Starting to think you ask for babysitting duty,” you mumble, a poor attempt at humour as you take careful steps. You feel exhausted, but not like you would after running—there’s no burn, there’s no ache or cramp. You just feel like you’re going to slink down onto the floor like a dropped paper, swaying back and forth before gliding under a cabinet. 

  Moon Carver huffs, his grip is strong. “It’s not easy to say no to this one’s Lord.”

  “Would you if it were?” you wonder why Morax would ask Moon Carver to check on you, surely he has more important things to do. 

  He doesn’t answer, changing the subject. You’ve started to notice that when an adeptus doesn’t want to tell you something, they will just become quiet or dodge your question. “Let us go towards the stairs and back.”

  You frown. “All the way? It’s far…”

  It’s barely thirty steps, sixty in total there and back. You’ve walked this distance without a thought several times, so many you can’t begin to imagine how often. Light on your feet, walking briskly with tools, trays or heavy baskets you are sure you couldn’t try to lift up now. 

  It seems so far, yet you know it’s not. You just have to put one foot in front of the other, not think, not look at the distance, look at your feet, the floor. 

  You’ve had different nightmares. 

  Strange, different.

  Sinking below the claustrophobic, choking earth. Deeper into the iron water. Sinking. Watching the surface of the world like a reflection of sunlight from above the sea, blinding. 

  They’re vivid, but not scary.

  Just strange. Different. 

  Not nightmares.

  You wake and feel the warmth of the sun on your cheeks, it filters through oiled paper and you shift to your side. You don’t feel pain laying on your side anymore, but it’s not comfortable either… but you want to sleep, and the sun—though filtered—is in your eyes. You prefer to lay on your right side when you rarely roll, it’s easier if you have to sit up. 

  “Hmm, I would have thought you would be happy to see the sun?” Guizhong sets her hands on her hips, standing next to your bed suddenly—you didn’t hear her approach, but her preference to forgo shoes makes her footsteps very quiet. 

  You are happy to see it, Moon Carver helped Ground Mender carry you up the stairs last night. There’s less quiet in the palace infirmary, more patients coming and going and attendants rushing about… but as you don’t feel as sick as you did even just a week ago, it’s not as overwhelming to hear people wandering about, if anything, it’s comforting. 

  “I am,” you mumble, giving up on your prolonged rest to turn back on your back. “It’s warm.”

  “It won’t be for long, summer is coming to an end soon,” Guizhong approaches your bed and makes room for herself on the side of it next to you. “You should try and enjoy the warmth while it’s still here, do you want to go outside?”

  You do, you want to feel the warmth of the sun on your skin, to breathe in the fresh mountain air and feel the breeze ruffle your clothes. 

  But you don’t trust yourself to make it alone, even if you were to just stand by the walkway and hold onto the railing. “Will you help me?”

  “Of course,” Guizhong moves off the bed and straightens. “Let’s greet the fishes in the gardens.”

  You want to squat down and let the carps nibble on your finger, but you worry you might not be able to get back up easily, or you might pull on something. Instead, you merely stare longingly while Guizhong kneels down and feeds them from her hand.

  There’s not much wind today, barely the breeze you longed for—but even just the soft brush of air is more than you’ve had for weeks. You squint up towards the sky, a few clouds lazily drifting across the vast expanse as the sun hangs high above your heads.

  You hear the waters of the pond and small stream that cuts through the back gardens, a usually peaceful ambiance that makes you slightly uneasy now. You can’t imagine yourself stepping into a river anytime soon… you know that rationally, there is no danger in the small waters of the gardens, but the thought of touching the waters makes your skin crawl. 

  Footsteps approach the two of you and Cloud Retainer stops next to you—she has a floating bird crafted from bamboo and paper next to her, you hope it doesn’t shoot darts at the fish—with a flourish of her hair. “Your breakfast is waiting for you.”

  Ah. “I’m not hungry,” you turn your gaze away from the eccentric inventor, looking down to the Lord of Dust that pets every fish that comes to eat from her hand. 

  “You said the same thing last night,” she folds her arms over her chest. “You need energy.”

  She’s right, of course. “... okay, I’ll try.”

  You sit on the side of the road, a weary log under you and soft grass beneath your feet, the sun slowly sinks below the treeline as you stretch your legs and raise your gaze to the pink sky, your surroundings are peaceful and silent—a captured moment in time where you get to be alone with yourself. 

  Long, high trees line the road behind you and shield you from the rest of the world, the view before you is a comfort and home. Rolling hills, distant farms and fields of flowers spread over the land, coloured orange and pink with the reflective sky.

  A child runs past you, they trip on a rock and tumble to the floor—but no sounds of pain leave them, giggles and snickers as an older sibling runs past them, grabbing their shirt and hauling them up on their feet as they continue their sprint. 

  You don’t recognise them, but they feel familiar.

  You feel no wind nor the heat of the sinking sun, the sky is clear of clouds and birds, there is nothing but the wide scroll of the heavens furling across the air, opening up to reflect their blessings of fertile lands and fresh produce. You stretch your arms above your head and stand up, patting your clothes down to rid of any grass or dirt before continuing on your way. 

  You see him in the distance, and your pace increases. A flow of white robes and long brown hair, he turns off the gravel road and walks towards the thick treeline. Where is he going? You only see his back, the golden lines glowing in the darkening surroundings—as if beckoning you to follow, a guiding light. 

  But before you can leave the road and follow him into the forest, a hand grabs your elbow and stops you.

  You hear your name and blink—there’s no trees in front of you, there is a deep crater that is centred with a pool of water. Dry dirt crumbs fall down from below your foot and roll to the body of water, creating ripples in the still waters.

  Suddenly, you feel as if all the weight of the world is bearing down on your body, you’re cold, your feet hurt—you’re not wearing shoes. You stand at the edge of a crater, one step from tumbling down, and in the battered state you’re already in, it wouldn’t be a good tumble. You look back and see Morax staring at you, his hair is tousled and eyes strangely wide—you have never seen his face make such a vivid expression, one of surprise and concern. He tugs you backwards and you fall into him, your legs give out and tremble with strain. There’s a dull, agitating throb in your arm and stomach, a pulsing throb in tune with your heartbeat, in tune with the sway of the grass around you. Back-forth. Back-forth—

  You hear your name again, his arms hold you up and prevent you from sinking down to the ground. “Can you hear me?” 

  You can, but you find it difficult to voice your confirmations. You’re cold, it’s nighttime—how is it night already? The stars dot the sky with bright flickers and you try to stand, but your feet feel like heavy weights, a thrumming prick of needles rushes through them when you try to put pressure on them. 

  Why does it feel like he is always seeing you at your worst? 

  Sick. Injured. Hurting. 

  You would rather fall into the crater, he must think you a burden on—

  “You’re trembling,” his voice is louder than the brushing wind, louder in your ear than the sway of branches and rustling of leaves. “How have you found yourself here? In the darkness of night, alone and so far from the city?”

  He sounds different, urgent and more pointed—as if a front has been reached through, a hand through fog holding your arms as he steadies you against him. Morax’s body is warm. “You… it was you, I was following you,”you finally manage. But when did you start chasing him? You don’t remember starting a journey. 

  “Me?” he hesitates for only a beat of your erratic heart. “Are you certain?” Morax reins in his urgent tone, carefully choosing his words. “Word was sent to me that you had disappeared from your bed, it has been two days—do you know where you are?”

  “No,” it’s an easy question to answer, despite it being so difficult to think of what had just happened mere hours ago, days ago—a week ago. Your tense of time is ruffled, what had been the last thing you had been doing? Were you asleep before or after finishing the book Guizhong had left you?

  “The energies in your arm have spread again,” he moves—tugging your rather limp body along with him as he kneels on the soft ground. You feel the tickle of grass on your calves and realise you’re still wearing the short pants and shirt you were put in and made to use by the medical ward. Morax tilts you towards him as he unfurls the bandage on your arm, your side and right arm rest against his chest and torso, your head falling rather lamely against his shoulder—it’s a strangely intimate position that neither of you consider given the circumstance, it doesn’t feel intimate, it only serves the purpose of not having you fall over while his hands are occupied.

  The ink that had been sealing the miasma below your elbow was smudged—this type of ink doesn’t smudge for this specific reason. Blackened veins travel up your arm, so stark against your skin that they might as well be drawn on. They rise up your bicep and fade just below your neck. Morax’s eyes are focused and firm as he turns your throbbing arm palm up to examine it further. “The seal has been torn,” his fingers ghost over the blackened veins on your arm, you’ve only felt his gloved hands before, you wonder if his fingers are softer than the texture of his clothes. “You said you were following me.”

  You were… or, you thought so. “It looked like you,” you say it more so to yourself than him.

  “Did you see its face?” he asks as he wraps your arm again,  your skin is ice cold to the touch—the weather has cooled as summer is coming to an end, and with the Guili Assembly’s elevated land, it gets colder faster. 

  “No,” you mumble, shoulders raised as a cool breeze brushes past your neck, raising shivers on your skin. 

  Morax doesn’t ask further questions, but it doesn’t leave his mind either. He believes what you say, what you saw… real or not, it only serves to drive his concern for your well-being, physical and mental. 

  His hand raises, and you feel something touch your head. You squint your eyes open—you didn’t even realise you had closed them—and tilt your head to look at his face. Morax’s face is so close you can feel the warm brush of his breath on your cold chin, it blooms over the bottom half of your face. “What are you doing…?”

  His fingers halt and lift from your head, Morax blinks down at you. “I… heard it is a sign of comfort.”

  He was patting your head, trying to comfort you—it was… rather cute, that he tried even while struggling to grasp whether it would be appreciated or not. “Oh… thank you, it’s okay,” your torso doesn’t feel as cold anymore. Morax seems to take your waiting eyes as permission, and his palm rests on your head again, carefully. He doesn’t stroke or scratch like one would do with a pet or animal, his palm and fingers lift slightly and touch back down a few times. 

  You never thought you would be petted like this by a god, had you told yourself a few months ago, you would have found it funny—silly maybe. But… now that his warm hand touches your head gently, you find that it is comforting.

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return Part 3

Chapter 26: Thereafter

Start From Beginning | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1k AN: This is more of an epilogue of sorts. There's not a lot of dialogue, but it does kind of wrap everything up. I really have enjoyed writing this, and I hope you have enjoyed it as well :) thanks for a fun time and a great ride. I could say 5,000 more things about this fic and how much I love you for supporting it, but let's finish this up :)

It had taken Ace a few days to make the house liveable, but plenty of people had opened their homes for you to stay in while you all finished the essential repairs. They never made you feel like a burden, and even though you tried to keep to yourselves, they were eager to get to know you.

You had expected to pay for all the tools you needed, but the townsfolk on this island were kind and generous. Several families had lent Ace tools, and some had even come by to offer their help. Even though you were on a hill outside of town, people dropped in throughout the day, bringing baked goods or hand-sewn linens as welcoming gifts. 

So much for privacy. You had more of it in your shared bunkhouse on the Moby Dick. 

But you didn’t find yourself irritated by the townspeople’s check-ins. While most of them asked basic questions about your past and eyed Ace’s scarred back, they never pried. And even better, they always seemed to know when it was time to leave. 

After a few weeks, you had fallen into a strange pattern of familiarity. Even as your belly grew bigger, you tried your best to help Ace as much as you could every day. In the morning, you would get up and make him coffee. He would always scold you, claiming that you were the one who was supposed to be pampered right now, but he continued to allow you to do it for now. 

You all would eat a quick breakfast, and then begin to work on house improvements. The morning was the best time to work, since it was still cool out. The two of you patched up holes in the walls and began to decorate the inside of your little two-bedroom cabin. The projects never seemed to end.

And every morning while you worked, Mr. Cheddle would deliver a newspaper, and you would invite him in for breakfast. If he declined, you would send him some kind of snack to thank him for bringing the paper up the hill. You knew he didn’t mind, but you still felt obligated to send him away with something. 

You’d leave Ace to go make lunch, and usually find some variety of baked goods on the counter from someone welcoming you to the town. You often found yourself wondering if people would ever stop sending you things, or if you would become someone who baked for your neighbors just for the hell of it. 

At lunch, you would read the paper and update Ace on anything interesting. Afterwards, the two of you would typically walk to town together to find something to do. Some days you would shop, others you would go your separate ways. Whether it was tea with Arabelle, or a walk in the park with Crilly and her three dogs, or even sitting at Sellie-Tien’s shop and catching up on gossip, you always found something to do. 

And as the sun set, you and Ace would walk back up the hill, talking of your time spent apart, and even stopping to chat with others along the road. 

What a strange life you were living. How mundane it all was. And yet…perfect. 

On one particular day it had been too hot for you to work, even in the morning. And with nothing to do, you decided to read the News Coo early. You kept your eyes peeled for any words of Luffy, but there had been no news of him since his stunt at Marineford. 

However, today there was far more interesting news on the front page. One you had been waiting for. 

One about Portgas D. Ace.

“You’re dead!” You cheered, holding up the News Coo to show Ace. 

Ace dropped his tools and ran over to you, reading it over quickly. 

“They made a grave for me and everything,” he said. “Impressive.” 

“It helps that they took your hat,” you mentioned. He pouted at the thought. 

“I’m gonna miss that hat.” He handed the paper back to you. “What about you?”

“Still nothing.” You read through the article once again just to make sure you hadn’t skipped anything. “I doubt they’ll officially say I’m dead.”

“Really?” Ace asked. “Why’s that?”

“Because they reported it wrong once,” you admitted, setting the paper down. “They can’t do that again. Can you imagine the embarrassment?”

“But they won’t bother us here.” Ace looked out over the ocean. “They don’t have jurisdiction.”

“That’s why Marco chose it for us,” you said. “It’s quiet. Out of the way. Nobody will bother us. It’s perfect.”

“Seems like a more than fair trade off,” Ace said, and you nodded in agreement. 

“We finally get to have our happily ever after.”

Ace smiled at you, kissing your cheek. “And I can’t wait to spend it with you. Our perfect little family.”

---

Sengoku stared long and hard at a small piece of paper with little hearts doodled all over. Against everything that he knew and had been told, the card sat between his fingers in perfect condition. 

Garp walked into the room, full of drive and purpose. “Listen Sengoku, I need to tell you something. I-“

“I know,” he said. “You’re going to retire. But before you turn in that resignation letter, I want to give you something.”

Sengoku handed off the piece of paper covered with hearts. “Do with this what you will. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never seen it.”

Garp examined it, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the name written across it in perfect cursive. Ace. 

“Where did you get this?”

“We took it off Portgas D. Ace when he arrived at Impel Down.  We thought it belonged to him, but that must not be the case, since he’s dead now.”

Garp held the card in his hand carefully. The paper slowly inched away from him. “So who’s it belong to then?”

“Probably nobody,” Sengoku shrugged. “I’m about to retire myself, and that little scrap of paper seems like a lot of paperwork and a lot of personal investigation. I just don’t have it in me. Especially for some pirate who we all saw die. Take it off my hands for me. Do something with it, just don’t tell me what. As a favor.”

“Yes sir,” Garp said, tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“No Garp,” Sengoku said. “Thank you.”

--

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