#it chapter one reader insert

[pochipop]

＃HOMICIPHER !! ♡ — DWELLING, ROTTING, SURVIVING (MR CRAWLING X READER).

#. synopsis! — speaking isn't the only way to understand, and he's oh so gentle .

#. characters! — mr crawling .

#. warnings! — canon-typical dark content + setting .

#. word count! — 1.7k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — hi, i posted, please stop bullying me in my inbox :(( - all jokes aside, thank you guys for all the nice messages and compliments! & happy pride to my lgbt followers! funnily enough, don't think i've ever "come out" on this blog, but if it's not obvious, i'm bisexual lol so there's that!

You found yourself pressed against a cold, damp wall in what you could only assume was a room close to the belly of this labyrinth-like building. Breaths came in shallow, frightened gasps as the lights overhead flickered ominously, like they were trying to warn you of impending danger. . . Danger that you felt sting your chest like needles poking through your skin. The oppressive silence surrounding you was broken only by your intakes of air and the soft, almost imperceptible sound of something —or someone— (or maybe a mixture of the two, in this God-forsaken place) nearby.

Squinting into the gloom, a familiar shape emerged from the dark hallway, slipping into the room with you and pausing in the doorway. You felt relief take hold of you.

Mr Crawling. . .

That, of course, likely wasn’t his real name, but you didn’t speak in the language of clicks, noises, and chirp-like sounds that he did, and he didn’t speak with your tongue either. It was for that reason in particular that you’d bludgeoned his head with a crowbar not long ago, to which he sulked in a corner, bleeding and whining, and you were left to feel terrible for hurting the first entity that had tried to go out of his way to show you true empathy in a way you understood.

Apologizing didn’t even begin to feel like enough. Probably because you were at least ninety percent sure he didn’t understand what you were saying anyway. Helping him with the wound perhaps made it slightly better. . . But also not really, because even now as he skims across the ground to where you are, there’s a sense of guilt that weighs heavy on your heart.

Pale, grey-skinned and moving like any non-human mammal of sorts, his face is mostly obscured by the long, stringy black hair that falls in vine-like, clumped strands all the way to the floor from his hunched position. There’s an unsettling, animalistic grace to the way he approaches, but you don’t flinch this time when he puts the flat of his cold palm against the crown of your head, as if trying to soothe your breathing. All of that initial fear has been replaced by a strange comfort of sorts, and you look up at him, thankful for his presence now more than ever.

He tilts his head, as if listening for something, and you watch him warily with the same crowbar clutched in your fist. A part of you felt bad carrying it around like that with his blood still smeared on it, but here, you knew it was foolish to venture around without a weapon of some sort. Not protecting yourself for the sake of his feelings was, unfortunately, not an option as far as you were concerned, but thankfully he didn’t seem to have any opinion on the matter.

“Mr Crawling,” you whisper softly, reaching out to take his hand into your own.

He seemed to really respond to physical touch, and if language was always going to get in the way, you figured it was best to bridge the gap in another manner. This was the next best thing you could think of.

His head raises, and you suppose he’s trying to meet your gaze, though you can’t see his eyes through the mess of his hair.

“I need to understand you,” you say.

Ironically, that’s a bit of a hopeless endeavor in this sort of environment. It’s not like you have all the time in the world to pick up a new, completely unrelated language to yours while fighting for your life. Still. . . Gesturing had been helpful previously, especially for directions. The hooded figure you ran into first was quick to point around, that severed hand that had guided you for a bit was just as poignant in that area, and the silver-haired entity with a blindfold over his eyes had also tried to communicate with you in that sense as well. So why couldn’t you do it vice-versa?

“Me,” you point to yourself, “you,” you point to him.

He stared blankly for a moment, then seemed to come to an understanding. His had retracted from your head to point at himself, then to you, a clicking noise coming from the back of his throat. You smile. It was a small victory amongst a series of devastating losses, but you were keen on taking it and running with it as far as you could stretch it.

“Okay,” you breathe, talking more to yourself than to him. “Let’s try this then. . .”

Feeling a surge of determination, you touch your stomach and then mime eating.

“Hungry. Eat.”

At this point, you were still too anxious to have an appetite, but you knew you’d need food eventually. You were hoping he’d be able to help you with that somehow. Up until this point, you hadn’t seen any evidence of there being food around here, —no containers, boxes, or wrappings, but he seemed to understand your gestures and mimicked you; sitting back on his knees to rub his stomach through his filthy t-shirt, then nibbling on an imaginary item.

He looks back to you, as if seeking approval. You smile, hoping he understands that to be a sign of good will, then nod your head to drive home the association. Beneath his swath of hair, he smiles too, and you catch a glimpse of his eyes through the curtain of black strands; dark and thoughtful.

“Good,” you murmur, feeling slightly relieved. 

If nothing else, this was progress. You spend a while longer trying to communicate basic needs and warnings: things like yes, no, stop, come, drinking, sleeping, and a thank you in the way of patting his head. You’re not sure he understood the depth of it by any means, but he did seem to enjoy it. . . Like a puppy. The thought made you smile genuinely and absentmindedly, if only for a moment. The clicks and chirps he makes are mostly lost on you, but the noises are comforting nonetheless. This rudimentary bridge of understanding soothes you just a little, and you find yourself feeling very thankful that he’s here in the first place.

He has your face cupped in his hands now, as if he’s inspecting you. . . Or perhaps admiring? That is, until you feel his body tense and all his little sounds abruptly come to a halt. A small growl reverberates from the back of his throat and his wide smile droops into a frown. Suddenly, he’s roughly dragging you along, tugging urgently on your arms, to which you comply and follow along with him, scooting across the floor until you reach a shadowed alcove. You hadn’t even noticed it before, but he seems to know his way around this place like the back of his cold, grey hand.

He covers your mouth for a moment, then shakes his head. You cover your mouth, take your hand away, then shake your head no, just to ensure to him that you’ve understood. He pats your head then crouches in front of you, using his own body as a makeshift shield for yours. His long, spindly arms cage you against the wall. Fear rises inside you once again, though not because of him and his actions. Rather, the faint, rhythmic thuds of footsteps have begun reverberating through the hall just outside, and you recognize the harrowing pattern they click in.

Mr Scarletella.

You encountered him once before and felt every hair on your body stand on end. The way he moved through the halls with a menacing flow that sounded almost eerily melodic, and the strange, unsettling red glow that seemed to exude off him that nearly drew you in like a moth to a flame. The steps echoed off the walls of the building and your heart began to hammer against your ribs. Mr Crawling moved closer as he came into view through the doorway that lacked any actual door to close, his long, black hair tickling your nose ever so softly. Dressed in scarlet and carrying his ever-present umbrella, you decide quite readily that you’ve seen enough, closing your eyes and focusing on the cool feel of Mr Crawling’s skin, on his musky scent (like mildew and a bit of rot, which isn’t necessarily pleasant, but it’s not like he can really help it down here.)

Though you’re no longer watching, the entity dripping in scarlet moves with an unsettling, almost predatory grace, glancing about the corridors as if he’s searching for something. Or someone.

Once again, Mr Crawling presses closer to you. Now, you’re able to feel the way his body trembles with fear, and you realize that he’s just as terrified as you are, though you can’t tell if that fear is for himself, for you, or for both of you at once. And it’s not like you can ask. Still, you open your eyes just long enough to look up at him, Mr Scarletella in your peripheral as you force a smile and touch the crown of Mr Crawling’s head, offering what little comfort you can. He still quivers, but seems to appreciate the gesture, though he doesn’t risk a happy chirp.

The danger passes as the man in scarlet disappears down the hallway, then turns the corner. You let out a silent sigh of relief and Mr Crawling relaxes after several moments of continued tension, finally going limp and releasing you from against the wall. He slumps onto his knees, which seems to be his most comfortable position, and he looks at you clearly through the darkness. In that moment, it feels like you’ve understood one another perfectly. 

“Thank you,” you whisper sincerely, though you know he can’t really understand you.

You’re just hoping the gratitude comes across somehow, but at the risk that it won’t, you touch your chest over top of where your heart’s still beating like a drum, then touch his chest in the same place. It dawns on you that you don’t feel a heartbeat at all, and you almost pull your hand away. . . But something stops you. Something that says even if you’re right and he’s something less (or more) than human, —it doesn’t matter as much as the kindness he’s shown you. So your hand lingers until you softly pull away.

He grabs your cheeks again and holds them delicately.

[writeyouin]

Oo I got something for TFO

If possible would you be open to doing a human s/o with D-16? Like the human came from another planet that was destroyed and they got stranded on Cybertron and somehow managed to end up in Iacon city?

D-16 (Megatron) x Reader – The Creature From Another World - Part 1 of 2

A/N – This is so much longer than I thought it would be. I think it may be the most fun, silly fic I’ve ever written and I am so happy that I got to write it. Also, SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE TRANSFORMERS ONE MOVIE IN THE FINAL SEGMENT!

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

It was all Orion’s fault. Everything that was likely to get D-16 in trouble was his fault. It was always, ‘Hey, what if we searched the tunnels for something even more valuable than energon?’ Or ‘You want to come into the archives with me? Of course, I have a permit. It’s not like I would try breaking in… again.’

This time, the line that was sure to get D-16 into trouble was, “Hey bud, don’t tell anyone but I got us a pet!”

D-16 rubbed his helm exasperatedly, “A pet, Pax! Why can’t you just obey the rules for once.”

“Hey, there are no rules against keeping pets,” Orion said excitedly, heading over to his locker to retrieve the creature in question.

“Of course there aren’t! Because no one would be stupid enough to keep one!”

“You just haven’t seen it yet. It’s really cute.”

“I hope your spark eater tears off your face, Pax. I really do,” D-16 deadpanned.

“Not a spark eater,” Orion chuckled, then he began whispering into his locker, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt ya, little cutie. That’s it, settle down now.”

D-16 shook his head, “You’re gonna get demoted all the way down to the 40th sub-level and when you do, I’m not gonna save your sorry aft. Besides Pax, there isn’t enough energon to go around as is. How’re you gonna feed a pet?”

“That’s the thing,” Orion said eagerly. “It doesn’t fuel up on energon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What kind of thing doesn’t need energon?” D-16 asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him as he tried to peek over Orion’s shoulder at the so-called ‘pet’ he was trying to grab.

He heard some scrabbling, Orion said some more soothing words and then Orion turned around, holding a creature half his size around the waist in both servos.

“D-16, meet our new pet, Minitronus.”

“Minitronus!” D-16 said excitedly. He knew Orion had only picked the name to foster his attachment and ensure that he kept the creature a secret.

D-16 got close to Orion’s pet, resting his hands on his thighs as he bent down. “Whoa, what is it?”

“C’mon D-16. If you don’t know, I’m not gonna tell you.”

“You have no idea, do you.”

“Not a one.”

The creature chittered angrily, pushing at Orion’s servos.

“It looks angry,” D-16 observed.

“It’s just getting used to us. That’s all.”

Orion began stroking at the creature’s head.

“Okay Pax,” D-16 said, resigning himself to Orion’s crazy new pet, as he knew he would from the start. “C’mon then. Tell me all about it. What does it eat? Where’d you find it? And most importantly, how’re we going to keep it a secret?”

“Hey! I said HEY! YOU UP THERE! STOP PETTING ME! I’M NOT AN ANIMAL, YOU BIG DUMB IDIOT!”

The giant metal man smiled at you affectionately, opening his mouth to say something you couldn’t understand. It all sounded like scraping metal and electrical noises and you couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Ever since the Quintessons had abducted you, your life had been nothing but trouble. You were their prisoner but when they found out your planet had nothing of worth, they decided it would be better to experiment on you. The only consolation was that you could at least understand the Quintessons, who had multiple translator devices on their ship.

You were very fortunate that the Quintessons didn’t view you as a threat since they didn’t bother keeping you in any kind of high-security prison and so you managed to escape before they did anything too terrible. The worst you suffered were a few zaps from a weak cattle prod, probably testing your nervous system.

Yet, having escaped the Quintesson ship, you had landed yourself into deeper trouble. You had found yourself on a living metal planet, and though a few plants grew on the ever-transforming surface, the pocket computer you had stolen from your captors informed you they were poisonous.

Fortunately, you had thought a few things through regarding your escape. You had managed to grab a backpack, stuffing it full of provisions and interesting gadgets. The food was stored in dehydrated cubes so with proper care, it could last you months, maybe even an entire year. The backpack also contained a device to keep you warm, a cube that turned into a forcefield when thrown to the ground, and most importantly one of the translators that had allowed you to understand the Quintessons along with a few other gadgets.

However, despite your planning, things hadn’t gone very well for you. After touching down on the planet, you boarded a train that you hoped would take you to civilisation, and while it did take you to a city underground that was more beautiful and advanced than you could imagine, it was clear that the alien life-forms there had never seen an organic creature before.

The few you tried to talk to initially screamed as if you were vermin and tried to blast, stab, and crush you in succession. As you scrambled for your life, you took a kick to the back, saved by your pack which had broken your much-needed translator.

You ran and hid, keeping out of sight and soon you started feeling like the vermin the metal people viewed you as. You learned quickly to keep out of sight and made your way to where there were fewer bots, spending many quiet hours either sleeping in vents or trying to repair your translator with the limited knowledge you had.

Yet, your luck couldn’t last forever and eventually, you ran into a vent that turned out to be a transportation tunnel to and from the mines. It was there that Mr Big-Red-Idiot-Bot caught you and took you to the charging bays. At first, you thought your luck was turning around and that he was going to take you to someone who would be able to understand you since he was obviously trying to be gentle with you. Then it became clear that he just thought you were some kind of stupid animal in need of care and he adopted you as his pet.

“What are these things?” D-16 asked, gently lifting your top.

You slapped at his servo, swearing at him even though he couldn’t understand you. Orion laughed, “I don’t know, but that’s how it reacted to me too. I think they’re to keep it warm. Either way, it doesn’t like it when you touch them. Oh, and hey, check this out, it does tricks.”

Orion shoved you back into his locker where your bag was. You ran to your pack, hurriedly grabbing your broken translator and showing it to the new grey bot. You had tried repeatedly showing it to Big Red, but he didn’t get what you were trying to do and always just laughed at you.

“What’s it holding?” D-16 asked.

“Playing with some scrap metal. Isn’t that cute? It has a favourite toy! I think Minitronus might have belonged to someone else once because it has all these adorable toys in there and it can make its own fuel.”

You sighed. Clearly, the grey bot was no better than Big Red, but at least he wasn’t trying to kill you. You shook your head and began searching your pack for some tools to repair the translator. Upon seeing you grab a screwdriver, Orion took it from you.

You yelled a few more insults, demanding it back but Orion just teased you, holding it just out of reach.

“Aww does Minitronus want the toy? Do you? Do you? That’s it, reach for the toy. Grab it.” He cooed.

D-16 rolled his eyes, amused by both Orion and his new pet. He snatched the miniature ‘toy’ screwdriver from his friend, handing it back to you. “Don’t tease it, Orion.”

You nodded gratefully at D-16 and he ruffled your hair. This time, you didn’t bother insulting him since he had given you what you wanted.

The work alarm went off overhead and Orion slammed his locker shut just in time for the influx of workers to come through the shared stasis bunker on their way to work. D-16 tried to fight against the crowd to stay by the locker but Orion pulled him into the fray, muttering that it would look suspicious if he wasn’t at work on time.

“But what about- Will it be okay in there?” D-16 whispered as they headed into the lift.

“Sure,” Orion said from the corner of his mouth, trying to be quiet. “It’s been in there for days and it's been fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Now be quiet and act normal.”

D-16 smiled and gave a small awkward wave to a bot in front of him who was observing the pair with a raised optical ridge. Over the years, Orion had caused more than his share of trouble so D-16 was used to the scrutinising looks from others, though he always got nervous when they both had something to hide.

You sighed and rested your hands on your hips. It was awful being constantly stuffed in a locker, especially since Big Red didn’t seem to think things through. He shoved you in your new ‘home’ whenever other bots were around or when he went to the lift which you assumed meant he was working. The problem with that was that his species didn’t tire easily and could work a very long time, and with this being what you could only assume was the poorer part of the city, there were always other bots around. You had to get your translator fixed quickly, or else you would spend the rest of your life in the locker. Still, things weren’t all bad. It was warm and safe. You often used your backpack as a pillow, sleeping through the first few hours before getting back to your repair work. You had privacy and a personal collapsable service suite that pulled moisture from the air so you could drink or shower - it even took care of your waste by vaporising it; alien inventions sure were convenient. Besides, now the other bot knew about you too, and perhaps he could help you. Resignedly, you set about keeping to your normal routine and began some light repair work, too awake to rest now. You only wished you knew what you were doing and that you had even the faintest idea on how to fix alien technology; your life depended on it.

Orion and D-16 were the first up and out of the elevator, avoiding the usual crowds by skipping the last few minutes of work with a lame excuse about being called upstairs. Honestly, the pair got into so much trouble they were often called up to meetings with higher-ups for tellings-off, which Orion usually tried to talk his way out of, and so nobody so much as batted an optic when they left.

Upon getting up to their quarters, Orion and D-16 were both relieved to see that the rotation team had already filed out, presumably having taken one of the other lifts to a different mine. Orion ran to his locker and hurled it open.

“Aww, look,” He pulled D-16 close to get a good look at you. “Minitronus is recharging. Hey, do you think it’s dreaming of us? Pets do that, right? Dream of their owners?”

“I mean, if Minitronus is thinking of me, that’s a dream. If it’s you, it’s a nightmare.”

Orion elbowed D-16 in the chassis then reached in to grab you.

D-16 pulled him back, “Whoa hey, don’t wake it.”

“We have to. It’s time for walkies and this is the only time we can get out of here quietly before the others catch up.”

Reluctantly, D-16 let Orion go.

You jolted awake, terrified until you remembered where you were and that you were now the ‘pet’ of an advanced alien. You settled groggily in his arms, wondering what he was going to do with you now.

He proffered you some words that sounded like two lawnmowers smashing together, but by his expression, you could tell he was happy. Then he jostled you, miming something you couldn’t understand until it was too late.

You scowled at Big Red with your arms folded, too insulted to even try yelling as he tugged you along an empty alley on your new wire lead.

This was a new low.

“I don’t think Minitronus likes walkies,” D-16 commented as you dug your heels into the floor, trying to hold your ground.

“Nonsense,” Orion said, trying to be gentle as he pulled at your lead, making you stumble forward, “It’s just not used to it yet.”

D-16 patted his thighs, “C’mon Minitronus. That’s it. Here Minitronus. Minitronus.”

After a few more attempts, you realised that the gentle electrical hum Grey kept repeating must be his name for you. Huh… Well, at least the repetition meant they had a stable language.

You listened again and tried to mimic the sound, making both bots pause to look at you.

“Did it just…?” D-16 asked, pointing at you.

You mimicked the sound again.

“It did,” Orion agreed. He ran over to pick you up, spinning you in his arms, “Who’s a smart Minitronus, huh? Yes, you. You are!”

Although your mimicry had been good, it wasn’t quite enough to convince them that you were sentient. Rather, they were looking at you like a parrot who had picked up a new phrase. Instead of repeating your name, you had managed a babyish mumbling somewhere close, that sounded more like Mini–Tron.”

D-16 beamed and petted your head, quickly coming to love his new pet. Orion was right, it was smart and cute.

“That’s so cool, I wonder if we can teach it more words.”

“I’m definitely teaching it swears,” Orion laughed.

Eventually, the pair headed back to the underground, with Orion heading in first, making sure everyone was recharging, before signalling for D-16 to follow with you.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t put me back in the locker,” You whined as you were placed on the top shelf.

“Oh no, don’t cry,” D-16 begged, listening to you pitchy chittering. He held a digit to his lips, shushing.

“You two will be gone for ages, what between sleeping and working, and it’s dark in there,” You continued, even though he couldn’t understand you.

You only stopped talking when he held you against his chassis, petting your head. You sighed in understanding. He was trying to keep you safe; this was all for your own good.

‘Okay,’ You thought, feeling strangely comforted by Grey’s actions. ‘If this is how it has to be for now… Okay.’

Orion gave an enthusiastic thumbs up to D-16, glad that he had managed to keep your mewls under control.

“Goodnight, Minitronus,” Orion whispered before shutting the door.

“We love you,” D-16 added.

You shook your head after the door shut; life was going to be interesting with those two.

“PAX!” Elita-One shouted, jetpacking up the empty elevator shaft to catch up with Orion and D-16 who had stolen away from work early for the third time that week.

Orion held you behind his back, hiding you just in time before Elita got in his face.

“Captain, what a surprise!” Orion grinned cheekily, already trying to smooth-talk his way out of the situation. “Me and D-16 were just saying what a great and wonderful leader you-”

“Can it, Pax!” Elita glowered. “I’ve had just about enough of you. It’s bad enough that you’re a troublemaker but now, you’re dragging D-16 down with you and- what’s behind your back?”

“My back? Nothing at all,” Orion shoved you into D-16’s open arms, and he in turn hid you behind his leg, trusting that you wouldn’t run away if he wasn’t holding you.

Elita grabbed hold of Orion, slamming him into the lockers, her eyes narrowing when she didn’t see anything worth hiding. She glared at D-16 who held up his servos in a shrug, gesturing to Pax who was already babbling about how strong she was and how no other Captain had had the strength to throw him so hard.

While Pax created a distraction and Elita-One continued her tirade against him, D-16 shuffled backwards, sneaking you out for your daily walk.

You had grown used to the routine now, learning the building’s alarms that marked the beginning or end of a shift. When it was coming time for Orion or D-16 to take you out, you always hitched on your backpack, just in case you needed anything, though you had long since learned not to work on your translator in front of Big Red, since he kept assuming it was a toy and continually threw it for you to fetch. Honestly, he was doing even more damage to the already broken machine, and it stressed you out constantly whenever you were forced to catch it before it hit the ground.

When you and Grey were alone, you always did repair work at the end of a walk, since he would take you somewhere quiet to rest for a while.

You had been living with the pair for just over two months now and in that time a few things of note had happened.

First, they had entrusted knowledge of you to a few of the others in their ‘platoon’ or whatever the group they worked in was called. This had happened after an incident wherein you had escaped your locker to explore and a silver and blue bot with a passion for dance stumbled into you and squealed. Big Red, and Grey hurried to your rescue and had to explain their ‘pet’ to him.

This led to you being the worst kept secret in the mining facility, though it was bound to happen eventually with so many bots living in close quarters. However, all the mining bots found you sweet enough and they all had a code of honour that meant they kept you secret from anyone with authority like Elita-One or any of the other captains.

Yet, while everyone knew about you and you were generally allowed out of the locker most of the time, it was still only Orion or D-16 who took you out, and they still tried to get out of work a tad early to check on you.

One of the other changes in your life was the delivery of a big bundle of wires as ‘toys.’ That was another word you had learned to mimic since Orion kept bringing you play-things and repeating the Cybertronian equivalent.

This happened after you kept picking up pieces of scrap wire on walks, taking them with you so you could use them in your repair work. At first, Orion and D-16 took them off you, afraid you would hurt yourself somehow, but when you kept collecting them and fought hard to keep the few you had, they assumed it must be a normal nesting behaviour and brought you a great deal more than you needed.

You were delighted with the gifts and hugged both bots for it. Then, after saving the few you needed for your translator, you weaved the extra wires into a new over-shirt. It was uncomfortable, but quite practical since your jumper was wearing away and you needed a new one to keep decent when you were washing your actual shirt.

Another problem to occur was your hair. In your time with the bots, it had grown very long, and much to your bemusement, Orion had tried cutting it. The whole thing had gone disastrously, and you suddenly understood those dogs that got terrible haircuts because they tried to escape their groomers; you could only be thankful that the bald patch was beginning to grow back.

The final change was Grey’s idea. He felt confident that you were well trained since you now responded to your name, paying attention when you were called through the miners’ hab-suite. Because of your actions, he often let you off-lead, which you were immensely grateful for. He rarely put the lead back on you unless he thought something was unsafe, so whenever it went on now, you clambered onto his shoulder, trusting that he would take you home and away from danger quickly.

It wasn’t a perfect life, but things were slowly improving. You could only hope that your lucky streak didn’t break and that you would be able to communicate your needs fully before the year was up.

D-16 sighed, sitting on the side of a tall building overlooking the city with you in his lap. You were content to let him pet you while you toyed with your translator. You went in an almost trance-like state whenever you tinkered with it now, honestly not expecting anything to come of it but needing to work all the same.

He continued speaking in his gentle, rhythmic noises and you hummed as if you understood, pressing a wire down with the flat of your screwdriver.

“- and that’s why I know what we’re doing is important. Even Sentinel says so. Us miners, we’re keeping Cybertron alive,” D-16 said proudly.

“Who’s Sentinel?” You asked absentmindedly.

D-16 screamed, accidentally throwing you off his lap.

“Hey, be careful!” You scolded. “You could have dropped me over the edge.”

You picked up your translator and brushed yourself off.

“Minitronus, you’re talking!” D-16 accused.

“Yeah, well so…are… Oh my God, I did it!” You breathed. Then you punched the air excitedly, “I DID IT!”

“WHAT IS GOING ON? HOW ARE YOU TALKING?!”

“I fixed my translator,” You squealed ecstatically, waving it in front of D-16.

“Your- Your toy?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, practically bouncing on the spot.

“This is impossible. You- You’re our pet!”

“No. Not a pet. Not anymore. I’m (Y/N). Okay, (Y/N),” You repeated your name slowly, trying to get it through to Grey who still looked panicked.

“Primus, this is insane.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You’ve got to explain everything to me, right now.”

“Okay, sit down,” You patted the ledge.

D-16 did so, and you jumped back into his lap.

“What’re you doing? You can’t sit there now. You’re not an animal.”

“Hey,” You pushed against his servo, staying stubbornly in place, “I’m not going back on that ledge, I could fall.” “Fine,” D-16 relented. He went to pet your head again then stopped himself, keeping his servos stiffly by his sides. “As long as you explain yourself, you can sit wherever you want.”

Having told D-16 everything and had him explain a few things in return, things thankfully changed. Initially, things between you and all of the mining bots were awkward, with haunted comments from some of the bots like, ‘It saw me in the wash racks,’ or ‘I can’t believe I tried to rub its belly… No wonder it slapped me. Oh. Oh no.’

Once everyone got used to the idea, your life improved. You were still kept secret since none of the miners knew how the higher-ups would react to an alien species, but with some ingenuity and a few favours exchanged for information about your species and planet, they all came together to transform your locker into a proper living space, complete with all the amenities they could manage to scrape together. They even began forming a plan to try and have you off-planet and en-route somewhere you could survive before your supplies would run out.

After D-16 and Orion were over the weirdness, you still had them take you on your daily excursions, sans the lead since you were no longer their pet. Orion managed to laugh about the whole thing, but D-16 grew to be even more strained around you. However, you didn’t get to ask him about it till you were next alone with him, which was a long time afterwards.

“So… Do you hate me now?” You asked him one day while he walked a few paces ahead of you, keeping an eye out for anyone who he would need to hide you from.

“What?” D-16 sputtered. “I- I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” You smiled easily. “It’s a strange situation.”

D-16 felt his insides squeeze. He had held onto you while you slept. At the time, he thought you were cute. Now though… You were still cute when you slept, but it was a different kind of cute – Softer, somehow.

“I told you everything,” He sighed, defeatedly. “My life, my dreams, my fears.” He shook his head, continuing mournfully, “And you didn’t understand any of it.”

“Not true,” You contradicted, running to stand in front of him.

He watched you warily.

“I might not have known what you were saying, but I did understand you. Your tone, expressions, the sound of your voice. I understood more than you think.”

D-16’s spark pulsed.

“Let’s go home,” He said quickly, turning on his heel and walking away from you.

The two of you had to go where you wouldn’t be alone or things would change again.

D-16 was falling in love with you and he couldn’t let that happen. There were too many unknowns and he had his planet to think about. He was a miner – the life force of his planet. That’s what Sentinel Prime always said, and work came first.

Besides, you weren’t going to be on Cybertron forever. You couldn’t be. Once your supplies ran out, that would be it for you.

D-16 couldn’t get attached. It wasn’t like you were a pet anymore. You didn’t belong to him, even if he wanted you to.

You ran through the destruction of Iacon City, terrified by everything that was happening. Honestly, you had missed most of the events leading up to it, having been stuck in Sentinel’s tower, but you had seen the so-called Prime torture and brand D-16.

Afterwards, you tried to find him or Orion, but you were small and Iacon was big and the city was collapsing around you.

You screamed as you were grabbed seemingly from nowhere and looked up to see D-16, though he looked slightly different thanks to the new infusion of Megatronus’ T-Cog which you hadn’t seen him take from Sentinel’s corpse. Also, there was one other change – his angry red optics, which bore into you.

“D-16,” You shouted, “What’s going on? Where’s Orion?”

“Orion is dead,” He growled. Though he had made a promise that nobody else would be deceived, you needed to hear that lest you side with Orion over him. Besides, it wasn’t a lie. Orion was dead – Dead, and replaced by Optimus Prime. “And my name is Megatron.”

“Orion- Orion’s dead,” You repeated, too shell-shocked to even cry at the moment.

“Yes,” Megatron glossed over your emotions, far too focused on his rage as he transformed around you, keeping you safe inside his alt-mode. “And we’re leaving.”

“Where are we going?”

“To war!”

Yet, even as Megatron burned with hatred and his desire to bring down the corruption that fuelled his planet, he was already reading the intel sent by the disgraced High Guard, informing him of several nearby planets where you would be able to get the organic fuel you required to stay online.

Megatron had lost everything. He was not about to lose his beloved pet too. You were his, and you always would be.

A/N - Hey, I worked really hard on this so please comment, or at the very least reblog. Likes aren't enough anymore guys, they just aren't.

[heavenlyraindrops]

“ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | { ɪ }

☆ Warnings: profanity, sports!photographer!reader, fem!reader, afab!reader, for future chapters: social media au, eventual smut

☆ 1.3k words | Available on: Tumblr, AO3

A career in sports photography was never something your parents wanted for you- they had decided your career path since the moment you were born. A surgeon. Bound to make them plenty of money, to make them proud. They wanted it more than anything else, and…

You decided that wasn’t your problem. 

You researched the job, the career path, and began building a portfolio. Taking pictures of athletes at games, major ones and others such as college games. Mostly baseball. In fact, it was almost all baseball.  

Oh. College games. Baseball.

You’d attended college in the States, attending the baseball games and snapping pictures. And, for some reason, you seemed to gravitate towards one specific player. 

You had no idea what his name was.

You didn’t share any classes. You saw him around campus occasionally, but you weren’t one for parties so you had no chance of running into him at one of those. Your circles barely even touched. You didn’t know each other at all. 

Correction: he didn’t know you at all, and you only knew him as the hot athlete guy you took pictures of. 

-

“Another one?” Your friend, Taika grumbled, another one of your posts coming up on her feed. “[name], this is the fifteenth time you’ve posted this guy.”

You rolled your eyes, laptop balanced on your thigh as you edited a picture. “I’m just building my portfolio.”

“No one’s gonna hire you if your portfolio is just a million pictures of the same guy.”

“It’s not, there’s other pictures too.”

“Yeah, like, two.”

“Hyperbole much?”

Taika sighed aggressively, setting her phone-face down next to her as she leaned forward, face turning serious. “[name], is this some weird fetish? Kink?”

“What?” You almost threw your laptop at her. “You’re so dramatic. Obviously it’s not. What kind of kink would that even be?”

“Just admit you think he’s hot.”

You pressed your lips together, slamming your laptop shut. “Okay, get out.”

“But-!”

“Out!”

-

And that was that. You kept taking pictures of Mysterious Hot Athlete Guy,, eventually veering away from him in the end to expand your name. Your portfolio grew, you gained jobs, and your parents got increasingly frustrated until the point where they threatened to cut contact with you. 

You didn’t care. This was your passion. You’d much rather be on a pitch, capturing the essence of exhausted yet still exhilarated camaraderie than in a sterile surgeon’s scrub, brandishing a scalpel, cutting into flesh to expose your patients innards. 

Unfortunately they went through with the threat. Oh well. 

With the little savings you had, the weight of college debt for a degree you’d never use on your shoulders and your rather expensive camera equipment for which you’d somehow managed to scrape together the money for, you decided to follow Taika back to Japan.

“There’s plenty of opportunities for you there,” she told you.

Taika, being a trust fund baby, had more than enough of her parents' money to support herself, and you in Japan. You slowly grew your career and by a couple of months, you could afford to move into your own apartment. 

And now you were a- somewhat-well known sports photographer in the industry, despite never actually having a stable job, and… that was that. 

That was your story. 

But not the end of it.

Because after a good few months deep into your path of sports photography, a baseball player rose to stardom. 

Kenji Sato.

-

“Oh my god!” Taika grabbed onto your arm, nails digging into your skin and making you yelp as she thrust the phone in your face. “Dude! That’s the guy you had a crush on in college!”

Your face burned with embarrassment, and your voice was grating. “I didn’t have a crush on him.”

He just had a nice… bone structure.

Maybe I should have taken pictures of models for magazines or something. 

You looked at the article. Newest player on the field sparks talk of the rise of a new baseball legend. 

Oh damn. Maybe he should have been a model. 

“Kenji Sato,” Taika read out the name. “Dude, I swear this is the guy.” Pulling up your instagram account, she scrolled all the way to the bottom, at your earlier days of shooting. “Dude. That’s him.”

“It’s him,” you said weakly. She grinned at you, a knowing smirk that made you want to tear her hair out. 

-

Another stretch of time passed, until the days where your life was immediately thrust into a direction it did not give consent into going. 

Firstly, Ken Sato made headlines by coming back to Japan. Secondly, you’d landed a job at a baseball game in the Tokyo Dome. Thirdly, it was the game which the Yomiuri Giants were playing. 

You were now on the corner of the pitch, equipment set up, game in full play. The heat of the crowd pressed down on you as you angled your camera at a figure all too familiar. 

Fucking focus, [name].

The ball whizzed through the air. He hit it, arm and bat lashing out, and-

“Fuck!”

You cursed, jerking away from the camera set up and throwing your hands over your head. It fell to the ground, shattered, and the ball rolled across the ground, hitting your knee. 

You looked up. The crowd was roaring. Your head was ringing, feeling faint as you stared at the broken camera lying on the ground. Oh jeez, you were going to faint. Fuck, those players hit the ball hard.

You looked up and saw Ken Sato hurrying towards you. 

And that was when you fainted. 

-

Kenji Sato was going to fucking jump off of a bridge.

Pacing his living room, he dragged his hands through his hair, muttering a string of curses under his breath. “Mina, I’m so screwed.” He paused, looking at her hopefully. “Am I? Screwed, I mean.”

“That would be an interesting topic of debate, Ken.”

“Give me a proper answer, dammit!”

“You’ll be fine.”

“What about the girl?” He stopped suddenly, freezing in place. “I feel awful, you know.” Mina stared at him. “Yes, I can feel regret. Shocker.” He ran his hand through his hair, again. “I already replaced her broken stuff, right?” He looked sick. “Should I apologize? In person? Over text?”

“You could apologize over text,” Mina said.

Kenji immediately fell into the couch, pulling out his phone. “What’s her instagram account name?” Pulling it up, he scrolled through the photos. “[name] [surname], sports photographer,” he read aloud, eyes flicking down to the pictures. 

“She has taken photos for teams, articles, and even major sports magazines.” Mina flew down, hovering near his head as he scrolled curiously. 

“How many photos do you bet she’s got of me?”

“Would you like me to run a search?”

Ken looked up, surprised. “I was just kidding.” He dug his nail beneath his other nail, considering the offer, but Mina was already doing it. 

“Approximately ninety-seven out of two-hundred and twenty-nine images posted on her professional account include your face,” Mina concluded. Ken stared at her blankly. She remained silent for a few more seconds, letting it sink in, then spoke again. “I suggest scrolling to the very bottom of her account, her earliest days of photography, Ken.”

“Ninety-seven?” He asked incredulously, and Mina simply repeated her previous statement. Scroll down.

He did. It took him a while, but he finally managed to hit it, and-

“I’m in college in these.”

His eyes scanned the pictures on the screen- most of which were of him. College games, every one of them. He’d never noticed her in the crowd. Had he?

And there were so, so many.

He could feel heat creeping up his neck. He didn’t find it creepy, or stalkerish- not at all, but instead dared to feel a tiny bit flattered. 

Oh, she was obsessed with me. That’s kind of cute. 

He wondered if she still was. 

Taglist: @moonjellyfishie, @lovingyeet, @aise-30, @scarasw1f3, @v1ennie im only doing taglist this once but I’d prefer it if people just followed me instead because they’re such a hassle

[neg4tivecre3p]

I draw him too much to not include myself with my husband sometimes

I also started this the day of my birthday (which is the last day of the international clown week, yay) but I forgor

[my-status-single]

The One Where Peter Parker Has a Baby: Chapter 1

He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s with Happy. They won’t let him run to him. He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s with Happy. He can’t go to him. He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s safe with Happy. He’s safe. His name is Ben. He’s four. He’s Peter’s.

She had been pregnant. 

It had been early. 

So early that it had been months before she even realised. Half of the universe disappeared, Peter included.

And months later she had given birth to their son.

Their son.

Ben.

Fic Summary: Mostly canon compliant fic that centres around the relationship of Tony Stark's daughter and Peter Parker.

From the Author: This is a Peter Parker/Reader fic. It jumps back and forth between the "present" (after the blip is reversed) and the past (pre blip reversal). The main focus is Peter and our girl Y/N, but there will be exploration into other relationships as well. These include but are not limited to Tony/Steve Peter/Harley Harley/Harry Peter/Harley/Harry Steve/Bucky Tony/Stephen. Each chapter will have content warnings listed that are specific to the chapter just for added security, there will also be a summary of the chapter if the content is something you don't want to engage with but would like to continue to the next chapter. There will also be a comprehensive list of warnings. The severity of these topics varies from very intense to simply implied. Be sure to check the individual chapters for more detailed descriptions of how these themes are used.

Fic Content Warning: Underage sex, unplanned pregnancy, teen pregnancy, polyamoury, child abuse/neglect, parental death, suicide, self harm, Tony Stark in Endgame Chapter Word Count: 1743 Chapter Summary: This chapter sets up the premise of the story. Touches briefly on Peter and Y/N's relationship, as well as introduces us to Y/N's powers. Chapter Content Warning: Teen regnancy/unplanned pregnancy-We discover that Y/N was pregnant during the blip. Peter and Y/N are in high school at this point. Blip-The Blip is a part of this series, the way Peter was blipped is mentioned Mentions of anxiety/depression-It is implied that Y/N struggled/struggles with mental health Parental death (not Tony)-Peter has dead parents Descriptions of injuries-After the battle with Thanos many characters are injured, Tony and Y/N's are discussed Medical themes-Tony and Y/N are in a medical centre, Y/N is in a coma

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Please, if there is ever something in this or any of my fics that you feel needs a content warning, feel free to message me and I will make sure to add it. I want this to be a safe place for everyone.

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Ao3 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

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May 2023

Peter has known her for as long as he’s known anything. 

Back before his parents died, they had been prominent members of the Oscorp Foundation. They worked directly with Norman, and so Peter grew up spending a lot of his time with Harry Osborn. Occasionally, though, there would be a collaboration between Oscorp and their largest competitor, Stark Industries. With S.I. came Tony Stark, and with Tony came his daughter. 

She was about a year younger than him and Harry but she held her own just fine. She was smart as a whip and full of fire. 

He’d been in love with her for longer than he knew what love was. 

They had taken such a liking to each other that Tony made the effort to get them together as often as possible. Eventually, moving them to New York full-time after Peter’s parents died. Tony made an effort to keep up the relationship even then. He did it for his daughter; she’d become so attached to Peter. And he had done the same. 

The sun rose and set with Y/N Stark as far as he was concerned. 

The bond between them grew as they did. They became halves of the same whole. One rarely without the other. He held her when she sobbed, broken and exhausted, after spending the court-ordered time with her mother. She calmed his overloads after he was bit. They knew each other instinctually. Better than they knew themselves in some ways. 

And yet, there was never anything romantic.

Until there was.

They both knew. When they’d grown old enough to understand what love, marriage, and dating were, they knew it was inevitable. That there was no Peter without y/n. 

And that is a very daunting thing to face at such a young age. 

And they understood that there would be no going back once they crossed that line. 

They knew they would cross it eventually. 

But they had all the time in the world to cross it. And now, when they were so perfect as friends, neither wanted to risk what they had. 

And so they didn’t.

There was flirtation that couldn’t be helped. There were touches that toed the line between platonic and romantic, touches that lingered. Nights where they would fall asleep next to each other and wake up in a state where you couldn’t tell where one started and the other ended.

But it never went further.

Until it did

They were good kids, really. Good students, excelling in their studies, involving themselves in extracurriculars, making a difference in their community. They were good avengers as well. They weren’t officially on the team, certainly were never put in harms way. But Tony allowed them to patrol the city in the evenings, and to train with the team at the compound on the weekends. They excelled there too.

But everyone has times when they just need a break.

It happened the first time during one of those breaks

.

They had finished midterms, Natasha had been kicking their asses in training for the last month, they were tired.

And so they snuck into the hangar and hacked one of the jets. Because she could override her father’s protocols without even blinking. Spain. She had wanted to go to Spain. He’d remembered her talking about it, so he puts in the coordinates and settles in for the ride.

They’ve shared a room, a bed, countless times at this point and yet somehow this is different. Somehow this leads to their mouths on each other and their virginities lost to each other.

Things change after that.

It takes a while for them to get over it. To admit “I want you” and “I always have” and “I don’t want to wait anymore”. But once they do, once they allow those walls to be broken down they are inseparable.

The funniest thing about the whole ridiculous situation is their behaviour barely changes. 

They simply kiss now. Because they already spent nights in the others bed, they already were always touching the other somehow, they already could read the others mind and anticipate their needs. So at school, no one noticed they were dating until Peter gave her a quick kiss before running off to some sort of internship activity.

Its been years now. They are perfect. Ideal. He loves her with everything in him. 

And that’s why, when the invasion starts, he webs her to the bed so she can’t follow after him as he goes toward the battle. 

Why he goes to the battle despite her screams, her begging, her pleading. Why his last words as he disintegrates in Tony’s arms, after pleading whispers of “I don’t want to go” are “I don’t want to leave her.”

He spends five years living a life with no memory of his previous one. No memory of her, of Tony, of Spiderman. 

When the dust finally settles after that final battle, he’s the one screaming, begging pleading. Because his girl, his brilliant, beautiful, reckless girl, simply refused to let her father die. 

She’s always had them. The powers, the enhancements, that were so graciously forced upon her by her mother. 

She hated them, hated why she ended up with them. But they gave her the ability to save Tony’s life, despite it being at nearly at the cost of her own.

He’s held back, not sure by whom. He hears Steve yell for assistance to get them both off the battle field and to get them immediate medical assistance.

Her powers are…complicated. 

Her ability to heal is incredible. Whether it be herself or others. But it comes at a cost. 

Healing takes energy. She’s able to choose, when healing injuries, whether to use the injured person’s energy or her own. The severity of the wound would usually influence her decision. 

She was comfortable using someone else’s energy for smaller things, scrapes, bruises, most of Peter’s injuries because of his own accelerated healing. But bigger things…she would use her own “Because I heal better” she would say. 

Like after he’d taken the weight of a building their sophomore year, she’d used her own energy to heal that. He watched the colour drain from her face, watched slashes and bruises come and go across her skin, watched her exhaust herself right in front of him as the pain eased from his body.

After a fight like this neither had the energy to heal something as severe as this. But she did it anyway.

She does heal better. Quicker, more efficiently. It’s hard to leave any kind of mark on her because her body just rids itself of it.

So she lay in a hospital bed, half dead, as her body begins to repair what should be fatal.

Tony was exhausted, on the brink of death, he’d had nothing left to use up. She herself had been spent. So she took, and she gave. She gave what little energy she had left to Tony and took as much pain and damage from him as she could. Took as much as she could until her body gave out.

Tony woke later that night. Exhausted. Badly scarred. Weaker than Peter had ever seen him. 

But alive.

Peter is sitting at her bedside now, holding her hand in his. Needing to feel that it’s warm, needing physical proof that she’s alive. He’s fading in and out of consciousness. Fighting sleep because he can’t risk something happening while he’s asleep. It would be a restless, nightmare filled sleep anyway.

“Tony, we shouldn’t be arguing about this; you’re exhausted; you need to rest. We can talk about this la-“ He can hear Steve’s voice in the next room.

“We’re talking about this now.” Tony responds. 

Peter, even with his heightened senses, can barely hear him. He tries to tune them out, focusing instead on her heartbeat. A comforting, familiar sound that lulls him into a sense of security. 

But the next words he hears make his blood run cold, and his head snap up.

“He’s my grandson. He’s likely scared. He can’t have his mother, so let me see him.” Tony sounds angry despite his severely weakened state.

“Tony…” Steve says gently. “Look at yourself. You’ll only scare him more. He’s my grandson too. Let me look after him.”

Peter takes a moment. 

Grandson. 

Tony has no biological children other than y/n. There is Harley…a boy Peter’s age that Tony had taken in when they were thirteen. They’d been fast friends. And…maybe Harley could have had a child in the five years Peter had been gone…except he’d been in the same place as Harley for the last five years, and there was no child. 

So…so that must mean that y/n had…that she’d had a child. 

Sometime in the last five years she’d moved on…gotten pregnant…had a baby? He shakes his head, his chest aches. His feet move before he’s fully aware of it. He walks into Tony’s room. He stands there silently, until Steve notices him.

“Peter.” He whispers, a sigh in his voice.

Peter laughs weakly, tears on his cheeks that have no right to be there. It had been five years, he had no right to have expected her to wait five years. “I um…” He clears his throat, sniffing. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…it’s just so quiet here.” He says quietly.

“Kid ther-“ Tony starts but Peter holds up a hand.

“Don’t…don’t. It’s okay. You don’t need to defend…just…if there’s a way I can help? I could call his father, if someone hasn’t already or…or go pick up anything that he might need…or…or I can fuck off if you think that would be bett-“

“Peter.” Tony says as firmly as he’s capable of. Peter looks up. “Come sit. We need to talk.” He says, gentler now.

He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s with Happy. They won’t let him run to him. He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s with Happy. He can’t go to him. He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s safe with Happy. He’s safe. His name is Ben. He’s four. He’s Peter’s.

She had been pregnant. 

It had been early. 

So early that it had been months before she even realised. Half of the universe disappeared, Peter included.

And months later she had given birth to their son.

Their son.

Ben.

[quinloki]

This newest manga chapter is really giving my mind more Yandere Shanks material - intentionally or not, but damn.

I always figured what would be terrifying was that no one on the crew knew the captain was twisted (and I do like that set up), but now I’m thinking about a crew that supports their yandere captain openly, and even does the disciplining so that the darling(s) doesn’t come to fear Shanks compared to the rest of the crew >.>

/chew chew chew/

[yandere-toons]

Yandere Henry Bowers (Platonic & Romantic Headcanons)

Warnings: Child abuse and neglect (physical and emotional), intense violence, death, bullying, implied alcoholism, reference to divorce, emotional manipulation, toxic mindset.

Platonic:

As soon as his father drinks himself into unconsciousness or throws him out the door, Henry stalks down the street to where he thinks his friend might be. Explaining nothing of his sullen demeanour, he places himself in the middle of whatever they are doing, dragging them into a more private area if their current activity is too public or not to his liking. From there, the hope is that his friend will act in a way that comforts him without him having to ask for it and risk further humiliation.

There are two possible outcomes here, depending on how his friend treats him and who else gets involved. If they accept his presence without prying, Henry will shut down and remain silent for a while, riding out the emotional storm around someone he now has a reasonable chance of trusting. If they stonewall him or others interrupt, Henry will revert to his hostile bully persona and never mention the event again, as it has become a new source of shame for him.

Henry reveals a watered-down version of the truth when pressed for answers, but even then, he refuses to tell the whole story out of a desire not to relive it, not to be seen as a whiner, and not to show how profoundly it has affected him. After all, a history of cruel reactions from his father and the small-town mentality of Derry have taught him that emotional vulnerability is a dangerous mistake of the stupid and weak.

Despite this, it becomes increasingly clear that Henry is stalling for time when the subject of going home creeps up on him. He would much rather stay out all day and night with his friend and the gang, cruising town with Belch at the wheel, forgetting what awaits him when he sets foot on the family farm. But Henry knows only too well that Butch's wrath will double if he has to go looking for him.

Henry will threaten and, if sufficiently provoked, maim anyone who shows an interest in his friend. His worldview is more than a little misanthropic, as his good memories are few and far between, and his father and the community at large have taught him to hate anyone who challenges his idea of the norm. As such, he sees this as a favour to his friend, ridding them of all the scumbags who would inevitably trap them in an unwanted relationship.

But deeper down, in the places that have never quite healed, the places he never talks about, Henry is afraid of powerlessness. He despises the thought that his friend would abandon him because of someone else, as his mother did, so he does not give them that option. Anyone who tries to plant the idea in their head that they should cut ties with him, or worse, leave town, he beats as if it might save his life.

As far as Henry is concerned, no one offers a better source of companionship than he. He is fond of yelling this supposed fact and more at his friend when they refuse to drop everything and join him at a moment's notice. Seeing this as an affront to his authority as well as a personal insult, Henry cannot take it, especially when it happens in front of people, and tries to hector them into submission.

If any of Henry's accomplices disagree with his methods, none will be too honest about it. Henry displays an unabashed willingness to hurt anyone and everyone who comes between him and his friend. Other bullies have required stitches courtesy of Henry and learned to turn tail at the sight of him or them, and the last concerned citizen to intervene was left with a concussion.

Although Henry is a little more lenient with his gang, he still has rules about what kind of interactions are acceptable. Some of these rules go unspoken until one of the other boys crosses a line he did not know had been drawn. On the first day, Patrick Hockstetter lost his right to be alone with Henry's friend and incurred a death threat from Henry after Patrick made advances towards them and asked if they would like to share Henry with him.

Spending time with other people sounds like a waste of energy to Henry, but spending time with the Losers is so inexcusable that he expresses it in the only language he knows: violence. His need to anticipate his father's unstable emotions has made him sensitive to any sign of displeasure in others, which Henry receives in abundance from one of the Losers, Richie Tozier. Tozier calls him an obsessive freak when he cuts one of the kids for staring at his friend.

Romantic:

His only frame of reference is his parents' disastrous marriage, now separated, and the couples at school he enjoys breaking up with shoves and jibes. Henry can be demanding in everything he asks of his partner, putting them in the untenable position of bearing the brunt of his emotional hunger. It is an overwhelming and confused mess of mixed signals and frustration that has built up over years.

Much of Henry's attention-seeking behaviour and unpredictable aggression stems from the fact that he is both ashamed of his struggles and less and less successful at repressing them. When he still tries, it manifests itself in violent outbursts and, in the context of this relationship, defensive anger when his partner does not immediately and completely fulfil his needs.

There are few things Henry would hate more than being compared to his father, so he refrains from using this level of violence with his partner. However, he retains a distinct bullheadedness in the many arguments that do break out, usually over Henry's desire for them to give up any part of their life that distracts from him.

Under no circumstances is Butch to know that Henry has a partner, let alone meet them. He would rather die than have them see what a so-called coward he becomes around his father, and the thought of them being caught in the crossfire of one of his father's explosions makes him want to stick the knife in Butch's throat a little sooner.

At the first sign of Butch's approach, Henry pulls away from his partner and tells them that if things get heated, they should go with Victor and wait for him at a distance. Victor is disturbed by Henry's extreme view of the relationship but is wise enough not to say so to his face.

Watching his partner suffer abuse at the hands of a family member ignites a rage in Henry that stems from his unfulfilled desire to take revenge on his father. He flashes back to when Butch similarly hurt him, reopening the last wound he tried to numb by avoiding his home and seeking out his partner. Every punch Henry lands, every slash with the knife, is almost like getting back at his father for all the scars he gave him.

Henry refuses to feel remorse for those he attacks, as Butch would never apologise for the damage he inflicts and once even rewarded Henry for his violent actions. After making his partner drop a science project in the hallway, the child he forced to eat dirt had it coming. The classmate who sat next to his partner at lunch — a seat reserved for Henry, regardless of whether anyone else knows it or whether he feels like taking it that day — deserved to be thrown to the floor and humiliated in a way that will haunt them forever.

Competition, real or imagined, is unforgivable and will be met with swift, if not disproportionate, retaliation. The first line of defence is a barrage of verbal abuse, escalating to physical assault unless the pest flees the scene and swears an oath never to speak to his partner again. From there, Henry will order his cohorts to hold the person still while he carves, stones, drowns and breaks whatever he finds most offensive.

Part of a community that frowns upon physical closeness between friends, Henry seeks in this relationship the emotional intimacy and affection that his father never provided. He denies having such needs when anyone suggests otherwise, insisting that he only stays with his partner for superficial reasons and would not miss them if they were to disappear one day.

Despite his claims of indifference, Henry displays a violent resentment towards those who befriend his partner, perceiving these individuals as a threat to his importance in their life. This fear speaks to his underlying insecurity of not being in control, the same insecurity that drives him to suspect the worst in people and defend or assert himself accordingly.

[spookyxsprinkles]

if there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks, then i’ll follow you into the dark [chapter 1/?]

hayakawa aki × shy fiend f!reader

-> safe for work (for now) // 4.9k words // AO3. -> warnings: smoking, blood, cheesy, friendship, romance, discrimination, fluff, angst, pining that may or may not be mutual, soft aki, protective aki, eventual smut, eventual romance, canon divergent, fic will get into darker topics as the story progresses but i'll update the warnings as i go, chainsaw man part 1 spoilers.

Devil hunters use devils to kill devils.

The irony was never lost on you. This was a use or get used world, after all.

In the distance, your ears picked up the sounds of a fight. Explosions, rubble falling, metal crunching. It sounded far enough away for you not to worry about closing the convenience store early (not that your boss would’ve let you), but it was still close enough for you to stay alert as you stood on a flipped milk crate, stocking the fridge. The situation seemed to have settled by the time you finished and you allowed yourself to relax.

You were behind the counter reading a romance novel when the smell of dust and blood assaulted your nose, making you look up at the source. The sliding doors let out a melodic chime as a tall man with a top knot dressed in a black suit entered the store, walking straight for the freezers in the back. Your eyes stayed glued to the sword strapped to his back until he was no longer visible from where you stood.

You took a sip from your water bottle before returning your attention back to the book in front of you. Two pages later, you realize you weren’t actually processing the words on the page and, with a sigh, you flip back to try again. You struggled reading the same paragraph over and over until the sound of aluminum cans clanking against the counter top startled you. The man with a top knot (with a sword strapped to his back) had placed canned coffees and an apple in front of you.

“Cigarettes, too.”

Before he could finish pulling out his wallet, you set a white box down on the counter between the two of you. He stared down at the box of Mevius One KS cigarettes with a furrow in his brow and his eyes moved to meet your own.

“I-I have a good nose.” You anxiously look away from him and quickly scan his items, placing them neatly in a plastic bag. “That’ll be ¥4,570.74.”

The man eyed you for a moment, as if studying you, then pulled out his card to insert it into the machine until he noticed a sign with messy handwriting stating that the card machine was out of order. He returned his card back into it’s place in his wallet before pulling out cash and placing it into your outreached hand, his cold fingers brushing against yours as he did so.

“You’re good,” he says quietly.

You suck in a breath at his comment and nod, feeling unsure of how else to respond so you simply thank him for shopping at the convenience store and to have a nice day. You watch his dark form disappear down the street before letting out a sigh of relief as you adjusted the crochet beanie on your head.

+

Two or three times a week, he would come in to buy canned coffee and cigarettes. The two of you never spoke much beyond pleasantries. (“hello,” “good afternoon,” “have a nice day,” “you too.”)

Currently, he was in the back of the store by the freezers. You tried to keep your attention on your book as you absent-mindedly fidgeted with the sleeve of your over-sized cardigan.

It had been a few short months since you started working here, since you first noticed him. The convenience store wasn’t the closest one to the Public Safety office in Tokyo, but it was still frequented daily by people who worked there, including other devil hunters.

Every now and then you’d stop seeing a face come by the shop and determined that they must have been killed on the job. It wasn’t a secret that devil hunters didn’t have very long lifespans, it was the nature of the job. However, you recently found yourself feeling relieved whenever he stepped over the threshold of the sliding glass doors and greeted you in return.

You weren’t entirely sure why you felt that way. He was obviously attractive, though you doubted that was reason for your feelings.

Still, relieved as you may be, you found it difficult to focus whenever the two of you shared the same four walls.

To you, devils had an acrid smell. The stronger the devil, the more offensive the smell was. You were sure the devil hunter was human, but the scents that lingered on him were the strongest you had smelled in quite a while. The smell was stronger on him than it was on most of the devil hunters you encountered.

He must have worked closely with strong devils and the thought of that frightened you. You once heard a group of devil hunters mention a special division in Public Safety that made devils work for them without free will.

You cautiously cast glance his way as he flipped through a magazine, and you wondered if this devil hunter (your devil hunter) was involved with something as awful as that.

+

By now, he must have noticed the way you always avoided eye contact with him. You're sure of it.

You try to read but you simply could not focus and you found yourself looking in his direction every few minutes. He walked around the shop, aimlessly browsing, rather than going straight for what he came for like he usually did. You’re tempted by the opportunity to strike up a conversation with him, to get to know him a little (for better or worse), but you bite your tongue.

You wouldn’t know what to say. The majority of your social skills were learnt through reading books.

You notice that sometimes, when the store gets empty, he stares at you for a few moments, as if he wants to say something, before thinking better of it and exiting the store, leaving you to watch him from behind.

+

You felt your hands shaking more than they usually did whenever he was around. You hoped he didn't notice, though when you looked up at him, you could see him watching you. Your eyes briefly look over at the sword on his back before returning your attention back to the monitor and reading him his total.

You took his money and shakily hand him the receipt, which he takes. You quickly look away and feel his lingering gaze, followed by the small intake of breath. You get the impression that he's about to say something.

You do your best to look busy organizing your space behind the counter. Your hands were trembling, causing you to knock over a candy display. Rolls of mints clattered around your boots and you bend over to pick them up.

You hear the chiming of the sliding doors as they opened and closed and you peeked over the counter to see that he was gone.

+

A few days later, you’re stocking the freezer with drinks. Despite wearing your cardigan and beanie, you shivered as you struggled to reach the top shelves. You forgot to grab the milk crate from behind the counter to help you reach higher, but with the devil hunter in the store earlier than usual, you decided to quickly wrap up stocking so that you could get back to the counter.

Large, pale hands grasp the can from your hand, making you flinch in surprise. You look over your shoulder and see the devil hunter helping you place the remaining drinks on the top shelf. You swallow hard and avert your eyes from him.

“Thank you...” He nodded then went on his way to continued his shopping. You walk back to the register to wait for him. You felt his gaze on you but you didn’t dare look up away from the register you were pretending to clean. Your head hurt from overthinking.

You checked out his items when he brought them over to you, faster than you usually did. You were eager for him to leave so that you could focus on anything other than him right now.

"A box of Mevius One KS, please."

You were too distracted with your own thoughts that you forgot to give him his cigarettes. You apologize and turn in a hurry to reach for them on the shelf, stepping onto the milk crate, but in your haste you lost your balance. You yelped as you fell onto the cold tile, boxes of cigarettes raining down on your head.

The next thing you knew, he’s behind the counter kneeling beside you, scanning you for any injuries before returning his gaze to yours.

“Are you okay?”

You couldn’t help but notice the concern in his voice. It was a stark contrast to the stoicism he usually exuded whenever he was in the store.

You nod, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment as you looked up at him. You look away again, sitting up despite your butt aching from the fall. You ran a nervous hand through your hair and realized your beanie had fallen off and the devil hunter was staring—right at the pair of fluffy ears on your head.

“You’re…” he pauses, looking at you in a way that was hard to read.

You panicked. You grabbed your beanie from the floor, clumsily hopped over the counter, knocking over the candy display in the process as you ran out of the store.

“Wait! Come back!”

He continued to call out after you, his voice growing more and more distant until you could no longer make out the individual words. Your feet feel like they’re going to give out from underneath you as you sprint along the sidewalk hoping to never see him away.

+

The following day was your day off, but your boss called you in. He fired you for leaving the store unattended and withheld your final paycheck. When you timidly tried to stand up for yourself, telling him that he couldn’t do that, he said he could because you had no human rights as a fiend.

There was nothing you could do about it.

You managed to find another job in a grocery store on the other side of town. It was farther away from your home, but safer since it lessened the risk of running into the same devil hunter again.

A few weeks later, you were working the register when you recognized his scent. Your eyes widened in horror when you realized he had found you. The two of you stared at each other.

His expression was stern and focused. There’s no trace of the gentleness he’d shown last time. A depressing reminder that this man wasn’t just a man and you weren’t just a woman.

He was here to kill you, or worse.

You were frozen in place. It’s only when he begins to approach you that you remember to breathe. You trembled fearfully as he stood in front of you.

“Hey—”

“P-Please don’t hurt me,” you sputtered out from behind the register.

His expression softens, but his eyes are steady, resolute. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s trying to convey some sort of message to you.

“I’m not going to kill you, don’t worry,” he replies calmly. “I’m not here to harm you in any way.”

"But you're a devil hunter... are you here to capture me and force me to work for Public Safety?"

"No."

You don’t believe him and flinch away when he pulls something from his inner suit pocket.

An envelope.

"I realized you were probably scared of being hunted, so I didn’t chase you. I went looking for you back at the convenience store the next day. Your boss said you were fired. I found out he illegally withheld your final paycheck, so I've been searching for you to return it."

Your brows furrow as he places the envelope on the counter. You weren't sure if you could trust him or not. His eyes never left your face as you looked down at the envelope then back up at him. You're not sure what to say or do, but his quiet, patient composure is a stark contrast to his intimidating presence earlier.

He gestures towards the envelope. “You can open it. I’m not trying to force you to join Public Safety. I’m simply making sure you get what’s rightfully yours. You can’t exactly sue him.”

The fact that he seemed so confident that this was going to change everything, that you're going to trust him, sends your brain into overdrive. You don't know what to do.

“Open it," he says quietly. Gently.

You hesitantly reach for the envelope and open it, finding the money your former boss denied you of. You expect him to demand something from you in return, but he quietly walked out of the store.

+

A couple of weeks later, you pick up his scent again as you’re stacking a table with cans on sale. You noticed he was accompanied by two others with inhuman scents. Both strong and familiar smells that you’ve smelled on him in the past. Devils. In the grocery store? Their casual-wear made it seem like they weren’t on official business and based on the way they were acting, the three of them seemed close.

You were nearly finished with stacking the can display, when the devils accidentally ran their cart into the table, knocking over the cans. The devil hunter turned at the sound and came over.

You’re on your knees, picking up cans and placing them back on the table to get them off the floor. The devils snickered, until the devil hunter scolded them.

"Can you two knock it off and help pick those up?"

For some reason that makes you feel embarrassed and you tell him that it’s okay. “It was an accident. Don’t worry, it’s my job to do this...”

His gaze meets yours.

“Hey," he says quietly as he approaches the knocked over cans. After taking a quick glance at you, he begins to clean up the mess while the devils continued to bicker and argue as they stacked, making a competition out of it. The way they carried themselves, like bickering siblings. Not that you would know personally, but it reminded you of siblings in the stories you’ve read. You were wondering how old they were when you realized just how tall the devil hunter actually is; he seems to dwarf the other two.

"Are you alright?" He asked, looking at the fallen cans lying on the floor. You could feel his eyes on you, looking over you as though checking to see any sign of injuries. You sneak a peek at him, noticing his eyes glancing at the beanie on your head. The beanie that covered your devil ears.

You nod, your timid and nervous nature getting in the way of the moment. He scolds the others and eventually gives them the task of doing the rest of the shopping and offering them a snack reward. They run off excitedly with the cart as he helped you stack the cans. The two of you worked quietly.

He continued helping you for a bit longer, his presence soothing rather than intimidating like before. Then, once you finish stacking the cans on the shelf, he steps back for a moment as though hesitating.

You glance at him nervously, nodding as you chewed on your bottom lip. You wondered if it’d be rude to walk away right now. Probably.

"Are you busy after work?"

Your eyes widen, and you can feel your heart beginning to beat faster. You can hear the others laughing in the distance, clearly not paying attention to the conversation taking place.

"Yes," you lied.

He made a face, as if he could easily tell that you had just lied from your tone and nervous body language, but nodded anyways. He offered to buy you something to eat as an apology for the cans and for being the reason you lost your previous job at the convenience store.

"Will I... owe you?"

"No."

You weren’t sure whether or not you should trust him. So far, he seemed to have your best interests in mind, though you knew that could also be a trick. You decided to take a leap of faith.

"Apples. I like apples."

His expression remained stoic and you felt vulnerable under his watchful gaze. People who knew you were not human treated you differently, saw you differently. To them, you felt invisible and disposable. Like something to be used and tossed away when it became too much trouble. The way this devil hunter looked at you now was different than how he used to look at you when he thought you were a human like him, but it also didn’t feel like he thought of you as something less than him. The way he was looking at you right now made you feel like your heart was in your throat. You try to swallow it back down.

“Apples?” He gives a small nod. "Then I'll buy you some.”

+

He buys you a bag of apples.

It becomes routine.

Whenever he stops by the grocery store, he would leave you with a bag of apples.

It was the kindest thing a human had ever done for you.

You craved speaking with him, not really getting much positive attention from others. You felt lonely and wondered if he could tell. You didn't trust humans but you wanted to trust him. You really wanted to trust him.

So, you tried talking to him a little bit. It was awkward and you were as clumsy with your words as you were with your body but in a few months, the two of you were able to have casual small talk. You were so happy to be able to joke with him, even just a little bit.

Your relationship with him grew over time with these simple interactions, these little moments of kindness that he showed you.

This is a stark contrast to the way devil hunters and civilians had treated you in the past. Their disdain for devils would get in the way of your interactions, but you didn’t have that problem with your devil hunter. Seeing him with his devil friends gave you hope.

You looked forward to his visits. His presence is a quiet one. He doesn't expect anything from you, nor does he ask much about you yet here you are, talking almost like... friends.

"Th-Thank you, Mr. Hayakawa." You speak his name for the first time, a bit timidly. You learned it a couple of months ago when he asked to be signed up for the grocery store’s rewards program, but you never said it out loud until now. He had just bought you apples again and you wanted to thank him.

His expression was as gentle as his voice. "Just Aki is fine."

The way he holds himself seems to have loosened up considerably. His shoulders, once stiff and tense, now hang loosely by his sides. He no longer seems quite as intimidating. And you're not sure how exactly, but it almost seems as if his presence becomes... softer.

You nod, feeling your face heat up. "Sorry, th-thank you, Mr. A-Aki..!"

You can't tell if there's a small hint of amusement in his eyes, but then again, he's hard to read.

"Why 'Mr. Aki'?" He asks you curiously.

"Did I say something wrong? Would you prefer a different title?" You nervously fiddle with your fingers.

His eyebrows knit together slightly, as though thinking. “It’s not really needed, I guess. You don't need to call me by any title or honorific. Aki's enough..." He trails off.

"O-Okay... A-Aki..."

You felt your face heat even more from being allowed to refer to him so informally. You have never spoken someone's name so casually before. You distract yourself by stiffly scanning the rest of his items.

He eyes the bag of apples sitting at the end of the register’s moving belt. "Did you want anything else?" He asks, his eyes looking back to you. Your eyes widen and you shake your head furiously, knocking your beanie off balance, slightly revealing the bottom of one of your fluffy ears. Aki eyes it, wondering if you’d notice it in time to fix it before anyone else saw it.

"No, no I'm okay! Really! The apples are good. I love apples. I-I... Thank you, Aki."

"Are you sure?" He asks and from the way his eyes were staring at your cheeks you knew he was aware you were feeling very flustered right now.

Aki’s eyes return to your visible ear. You were beginning to feel self-conscious when he leaned over the counter of the register and adjusted your beanie. “Your ear was showing. Sorry.”

You flinched at the sudden contact and as he pulled away, you grabbed his wrists without thinking. You hold onto him for a moment.

The air around you seems to heat up slightly, the intensity of your gaze rather palpable. You feel a shiver run down your spine at the closeness of the situation and notice his eyebrow raising in confusion. He seemed a little surprised by how close you are to him, but he doesn't back away. The sound of someone sneezing snapped you out of your daze and you released him.

You back away from the register, avoiding his eyes and mumbling a series of apologies before making up some excuse about needing to unclog a toilet.

(Aki watched you run off towards the back. He could still feel the warmth of your hands around his wrists as he left the store).

+

The next few times Aki went to the store, you weren’t around. He asks the manager about you and she said that you took a few weeks off.

Aki wondered why and if it had anything to do with what happened.

+

As the days passed, his curiosity over why you weren’t around grew. He doesn’t know if your last encounter with him had anything to do with that, but he hoped that it didn’t.

Your absence brought about a certain sense of loneliness, and though he’s never admitted it to himself, he starts to miss you and the moments that you’d shared with one another.

+

You return a month later, avoiding Aki's eyes as you scanned his items. You were quiet today.

As you return to your old routine, you feel Aki’s eyes trailing you. He keeps to himself and gives you space, but he’s still observant as you worked. Something had changed in your demeanor. You're being polite but distant, keeping your distance from him and not speaking unless absolutely necessary. You’re not like yourself at all. He doesn’t know why and it makes his curiosity grow even more.

"Is something wrong?" He leans forward a bit, wondering if he'd done something wrong.

"No..." You say quietly as you handed him his change, careful not to touch him.

The way that you speak makes him certain that there is something wrong; he's known you long enough to tell. Your avoidance is what catches his attention however.

You bag his items and another customer sets their items down on the belt for you to scan. There are plenty of people lining up behind Aki, so you turn your attention to the next customer as you bag his items.

“Is this about me?” He asks, once the customers have cleared the line-up. He’d been watching you interact with the other customers and noticed that you weren't behaving this way with them. Only with him.

"Yes," you say hesitantly, "But you didn't do anything wrong. It's me that's the problem..." Your face burns red. "Please don't worry about it."

"Well, now you've got me worried," he replies, his usual stoic expression giving way to genuine concern. "You've been acting a bit strange. Like something happened."

"It-It doesn't feel appropriate to say, so I'd really rather we didn't get into it." You say as you fiddled with your fingers. "It's nothing worth worrying about. Nothing bad happened and I don't think ill of you, Mr- I mean, Aki."

If he wasn’t so worried, he would've quietly laughed at your little slip up. Aki watches you as you fiddle with your fingers, a bit more concerned now. He doesn’t like not being able to figure out what’s been on your mind this entire time.

You’re keeping things vague, and it’s driving him crazy.

"So, this has nothing to do with our last interaction?" he asks you, genuinely curious.

Your face reddens even more, "It... it may have something to do with that..." You look at the clock on the wall before timidly looking at Aki. "If it's okay with you, can we talk about it after my shift ends in 20 minutes..?"

He nods, still trying not to let any emotion appear on his face.

"That’s fine. I'll be waiting for you outside if that’s okay.”

+

Fifty minutes later, you run outside, panting heavily.

"S-Sorry for taking so long. You didn't have to wait." Your hands squeezed at the strap of your cross body bag.

"I don't mind," he tells you. You notice the way his eyes scan your face, as if he's looking for something in particular. Like he's trying to figure something out. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be okay. Thank you, Aki." You chew on your bottom lip as you look at him. It all suddenly feels too real and you look down at the ground again. "I-I'm not being weird because you did something wrong. I've been acting strangely because I've recently realized my... my feelings. I'm sorry." You say quietly.

"Ah..." Aki replies softly, his attention glued to you as you nervously chew on your lip. "Can I ask you something?"

You nod. (In your head, you were mentally preparing for him to tell you to work at a different store so that he never has to see your devil face ever again.)

"You said that you've recently realized your feelings, but..." he pauses. "How long have you actually liked me?" There's a teasing smile playing on his lips.

Your ears perk up on your head, shifting your beanie slightly. "Not long! I swear, I promise it's only recent. It wasn't until I went home after the last time I saw you, when you were fixing my hat, that I realized there might be some feelings from my end. I promise I had no ulterior motives during the last ten months."

"Just how recent are we talking?"

"...Actually, maybe I did have an ulterior motive. No, not maybe. I did have one."

Your ears moved under the beanie, knocking it off of your head. Your ears lay flat against your head, like if you did something wrong.

“Really?” Aki raises an eyebrow, "What was your ulterior motive?"

"I…” You spoke quietly while staring down at his shoes. “I wanted to be your friend."

There’s a long moment of silence.

“...That’s an ulterior motive?” he asks, a hint of amusement returning to his voice. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

"Of course it is..! It was something I wanted that you didn't know I wanted. That's the definition, right?" Your face is red and your ears twitch but remain flat. "You were always so kind to me and whenever I saw you and Power and Denji behaving so familiar with each other I-I wanted that too." Your voice cracked and your eyes welled with tears.

Aki’s kindness meant the world to you and you wanted to be a part of his world, too.

He picked your beanie up off of the ground and dusted it off before placing it back on your head, carefully covering your ears for you.

“It is technically an ulterior motive,” Aki admits. He looks away from your eyes, to the ground between the two of you. “Is that really the main reason you kept talking to me?”

You nodded while trying to make yourself look at his face,

"I like you, in both senses of the word, but the platonic meaning is what I value the most. You've treated me with kindness and patience, even when I pretended to act like I was bad at my job just so I could have a few extra seconds of time with you."

Aki's expression softens.

“Do you want to come over my place for dinner?”

“Huh!?” Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at his sudden question, “Where did that come from?”

“Denji and Power will be there, too...” He trailed off.

“No, it’s okay. Thank you for the offer, though. I appreciate it but I don’t want to impose.”

“You won’t be imposing.”

He walks you to his car and when he unlocks it, you open the door to the backseat. He says you could sit up front if you wanted to. So you do. He helps secure your seat belt since you weren’t doing it quite right.

“Sorry. I’ve never used a seat belt before.”

“Never?” He asks as he maneuvers the car around the parking lot.

“Never.”

He stops, waiting for a chance to safely enter the street and takes that moment to glance at you from the corner of his eye. “You can open the window, if you want.”

Your ears perk up, pushing the beanie off of your head and onto your lap. Aki tells you which button to press and soon enough, your window was all the way down.

“Thank you, Aki.”

He nods, making a noise of acknowledgment as he turned the car onto the street. You stuck your head out the window to feel the wind whipping at your grinning face. And as Aki drove the two of you to his home, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t mind getting used to this.

[strawberriemarswrites]

CHAPTER EIGHT

Chapter Summary: You've made a harrowing discovery, and you can't shake the suspicion that someone you trust is behind everything. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ for the story, referenced NSFW) TW: none in particular this chapter, mentions of the stalking that's going on but that's about it. Ao3 Link: Chapter Eight (4.036 words)

Your heart thundered in your chest. Bartolomeo promised he’d look out for you. He hadn’t mentioned seeing or hearing anything since you asked him to start. How did this get past him? How long could this have been getting past him? You really didn’t want to think that he was failing to keep his promise, so maybe whoever had been getting in stopped for a time, and they were picking back up again now that the weather was warmer. You had to tell Bartolomeo what you found.

The racing in your mind should have ended there. You should have closed the window and just hoped that the fan being on would be enough and wouldn’t blow around stale, hot air. You should have gone back to bed, ready to talk to Bartolomeo in the morning.

Instead, you leaned out the window, peering down the fire escape, wondering how someone could even get up to your floor without anyone noticing. Though it was hard to tell for sure, the ladder at the bottom looked too high off the ground. The average person would need to get a little creative to reach it. Although, on the subway commute you’d seen pretty tall locals, so it wasn’t that it was impossible to reach without having one’s own equipment or by exerting a bit of effort. Just unlikely.

As you leaned back in and closed the window, a tiny voice in the back of your mind piped up: Barto could reach that ladder.

You froze. No. No, that was highly unlikely. Bartolomeo wasn’t the type to do something like that. No way. He was kind to you, protective even, and... and he knocked that guy’s teeth in today!

He showed up with pretty convenient timing.

He could have just been out running errands. It was lucky that he showed up like that.

Your stuff stopped going missing for a little while after you asked him to help. How long was it before things got weird again?

Bartolomeo tricked a creep into drugging himself, he wouldn’t stoop so low as to be a creep!

Unless he was protecting something he thought was already his.

No. No, no, no.

You slowly sank to the floor, your face in your hands. There was no way that all this time, Bartolomeo had been stalking you. You felt nauseous at the thought. He’d been so kind, and supportive — he was your friend for fuck’s sake! No. You just weren’t thinking straight. You were panicking over some fucking debris on the floor, that could have come from anywhere.

Luffy hopped down from the bed and approached, purring and nuzzling your ankles. In his little kitty mind, he was trying to ask why you hadn’t come back to bed, because since you weren’t going to the kitchen to feed him, it was obviously still bed time. Then, when he leaned into your palm as you reached for him, he gradually became aware of your distress. You started making sniffling sounds, like the ones he’d done when he had gotten a little sick. He began to purr louder — purring always helped him, maybe it would help you.

You scooped up Luffy into your arms, petting him against your chest. His purring softened for a moment before picking back up, and you gradually felt the panic leave you. There was no way Bartolomeo was the one who’d been breaking in. It couldn’t have been him.

Right?

...It was too late at night to keep dwelling on the thought. You set the fan against the window — if it opened, surely the fan would be knocked over — and turned it on, carrying yourself and your cat back into bed.

Your paranoia would have to wait until morning to be sorted out. You needed a clear head to do so.

Vivi snapped her fingers in front of your face a few times. “Hello? Anyone home?”

You jumped, shaking your head free of the image of the debris in your bedroom. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

She propped her elbows up on the table and placed her chin in her hands. “I asked if you’re okay. You’ve been extra quiet today.”

You nodded, picking at your takeout lunch. “I’m fine. Just... distracted.”

“Over Bartolomeo again?” Drake asked, sipping at his coffee.

“No,” you said a bit too quickly, turning pink. “Sort of.”

Vivi cocked her head. “What’d he do? I thought you guys were doing the ‘just friends’ thing.”

“We are. He didn’t do anything.” You tapped your fingers on the table. “Or he did... guh, I dunno.”

Vivi stared at you expectantly. Drake eyed you suspiciously over his glasses.

You sighed. “After I moved in, someone started breaking into my apartment.” You scratched the back of your neck, avoiding their surprised gazes. “Barto said he’d keep an eye out, and it seemed to stop for a while. I figured he had it handled. But just last night I noticed something that makes me think the break-ins didn’t stop.”

“Do you think he’s been missing whoever’s doing it?” Vivi asked.

Before you could answer, Drake read your mind. “You think he might be the one doing it, don’t you.”

You shrank back, putting your face in your hands. “I don’t know what to think.”

Drake took another drink of his coffee. “Well let’s start with why you would think that.”

You sighed again, running a hand through your hair. “He seems kinda protective of me, the more I think about it. Like what he did at the bar, and then yesterday...” You again avoided eye contact. “He might’ve. Beaten some guy to a pulp for harassing me.”

Vivi’s brows ticked upward. “Wow, really? I would’ve thought that would be more reason not to suspect him.”

“That’s the thing,” you continued. “It was when I was going home. Bartolomeo and I — we weren’t even hanging out. He just... happened to show up.”

Drake’s frown deepened. “Sounds a little too convenient, if you ask me.”

You nodded. “Exactly. And when I think about it, the times I noticed that something was off in my apartment line up with times when he’s been home.”

“Then that settles it!” Vivi jumped up, her hands splayed out on the table. “It’s gotta be him!”

“Slow down,” Drake said, putting an arm on her shoulder to coax her back into her chair. “What would make you think it’s not him?”

You fidgeted in your seat. “Well, he’s been so nice. He comes across as this tough, scary guy, but you should see how he plays with Luffy. He even calls him ‘Mister Luffy’ in this tiny voice I didn’t even know he could do. He’s been helping me keep him secret from the landlord. And he works at that bar partly because he’s helping out his friend’s grandmother. He’s kind of... tender, y’know?”

Drake cocked an eyebrow, silently prodding with a look that said “That’s the best excuse you have?”

You relented, “He doesn’t seem tall enough to reach the fire escape. I haven’t had a chance yet to look at it from the ground, but it looks pretty high up.”

Drake nodded. “All right. How far off the ground do you think it is?”

You leaned back in your chair and twisted your lip. “Eight feet? Maybe nine?”

He pushed out his chair and stood. “How tall is Bartolomeo compared to me?”

You eyed him up and down, tilting your head. “Almost the same height. Maybe a little shorter.”

“But that’s just from your memory,” Vivi said as he sat back down. “Maybe Drake could come by and see if he can reach it? Just to make sure.”

“It’s probably best that I don’t,” Drake said, though with a tint of reluctance in his tone. “If he’s the one behind the break-ins, and if he was stalking you home yesterday, it’s better not to let on that you’re on to him. Not yet, anyways.” He finished his coffee and added, “We also don’t know how he’ll react to other people in his territory, for lack of better term. You said he beat someone to a pulp yesterday?”

You flushed at the memory of Bartolomeo’s shirt and knuckles splattered with blood, quickly nodding your head to dispel the image.

Vivi piped in, “Didn’t you say Cavendish stood you up?”

You blinked, furrowing your brow. “I did, but what does that have to do with this?”

She leaned forward, glancing around as if anyone aside from the three of you were in the breakroom. “What if Bartolomeo had something to do with that, too?”

After a beat, you shook your head. “That’s too far.”

“No, no, think about it!” Her voice was suddenly hushed. “What if he figured it out somehow? If he’s as protective as you say, then someone going on a date with you would absolutely be a threat to ‘his territory’.” She then sat back, her voice returning to normal volume. “Come on, tell me you don’t see it.”

You turned the thought over in your head for a moment, and it sent a sickening shudder down your spine. You knew if you said “no” that Vivi would call you out on the lie, so instead you moved on. “What should I do? I don’t have enough to prove it’s him to go to someone about it, but I also don’t feel like I have enough to prove to myself that it’s not him.”

The three of you sat in silence for a moment, before a phone alarm chimed. Vivi sighed and stood, silencing her phone with an annoyed grumble. She was stopped from leaving when Drake put his hand on her shoulder again.

“I think for now,” he said, “we should keep this between us. No need to worry anyone else until we know more.”

Vivi’s look of annoyance turned serious, and she gave a short nod. “Right.” She then turned to you, making a zipped-lip motion. “Just keep me posted, okay?”

With that she hurried out of the breakroom, just as an alarm went off on your phone to signal the end of your lunch. As you stood, Drake did as well, though he looked deep in thought.

Finally, as you were both leaving the breakroom, he said, “Test him.”

You frowned. “How?”

He slipped a hand in his pocket, leaning against the threshold. “Get him to say something he shouldn’t know about you. Or get him to do something that needs the fire escape. See how he reacts.”

You thought for another moment then nodded. “Thanks, Drake.”

“Any time.” He pushed off the threshold and gently patted your back. “Keep us in the loop. You know anyone here will come running if you need help.” He then smiled, adding, “That’s what friends are really for.”

Bartolomeo was getting nervous. Something was off about you — you weren’t distant or anything, still making time to chat with him and texting him, but you seemed more... tense. He’d asked a couple of different times if you were okay, and you always answered with a shrug and a smile, saying you were just tired from work. Though he could tell that definitely wasn’t the full story, he didn’t want to push.

His patience seemed to pay off, as one evening you invited him into your apartment again for dinner. You’d said you wanted to repay him for knocking the one jerk’s lights out, and who would he be to resist a chance at dinner with you? Let alone a dinner made by you.

Bartolomeo showed up at your door right on time, again wearing a flannel he’d forgotten about. He wondered if he should invest in some nicer-looking clothes, before shaking the thought away — he never before cared about the way he dressed, and he’d only start caring if you said something.

When you answered the door, his heart melted, seeing you again in the blue sailor dress he liked when you... when that Pretty Boy attempted to go out with you. His heart melted further when you hugged him before leading him inside, his stomach doing backflips at the contact.

“Thanks for coming on short notice,” you said, beaming and heading back into the kitchen.

“No prob,” he said, sitting in the dining chair closest to you. “You don’t have to go through all this effort for me, though.”

“I want to,” you said, again making his heart weak. “I’ve actually been wanting to give you a proper ‘thank you’ for a while. Honestly, probably since I got stood up by...” you paused. Your back was to him as you stirred the pot on the stove, and you tipped your head back in thought. “Shit, what was his name again?”

Bartolomeo’s posture stiffened, and he bit down on his tongue. Pretty Boy. Cavendish. But he wasn’t supposed to know that. “I dunno, you never told me.”

You shrugged before returning your attention to the pot. “Well, either way. You put up with me then, and then you saved my ass the other night. I think that’s more than enough reason to go through the effort.”

He smiled. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Something in the back of his mind, however, began to gnaw at him. He started chatting your ear off to stop thinking about it.

Part way through your conversation about the difficulty of mahjong in Yakuza 0, it started pouring rain. You cussed, taking half a step away from the stove before freezing, then looking over your shoulder. “Can you do me a favor? I don’t wanna leave this alone.”

Bartolomeo jumped up from his seat. “Sure — you need me to watch it?”

“No, no, that’s fine,” your eyes then flicked toward the hallway. “I just left my fan in the fire escape window. Do you think you could pull it in and close it?”

He nodded, turning his body instinctively toward the hall and taking a step toward your bedroom, before freezing. His brow then furrowed — would it be weird that he already knew which room the fire escape was in? By process of elimination it wouldn’t be hard to figure out, but... something felt wrong about immediately going for your bedroom.

“Which room is it in?” he asked, trying to ignore the hairs standing on his neck.

And then he saw it. Your shoulders sank just slightly, and your gaze softened. Like you were relieved that was his response. “It’s in the bedroom. Just down the hall and to the left.” You then pointed accusingly at him with a slotted spoon and grinned. “Don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Bartolomeo nodded again, heading for the bedroom and being careful not to trip over Luffy on the way there. He opened the door and hesitated, glancing around. It was the first time you’d willingly let him into your bedroom, and he tried not to think too hard on how you’d looked at him — maybe you were just relieved he was doing you a favor.

As he pulled the box fan out of the window frame and slid the pane shut, something falling to the floor caught his eye.

Flakes of chipped paint and bits of rust, littering the floor by the fire escape.

Fuck.

“Everything okay in there?” you called.

“Yeah, just. Distracted.” He quickly set the fan down over top of the debris and hurried back out, looking just a hair paler.

You cocked your head at him. “You feeling okay?”

He nodded, sitting back down. “I’m fine. You’re room’s just... cute.”

You gave him that thousand-sun smile, a faint blush in your cheeks as you continued cooking. “Thank you. Food’s almost done.”

The rest of the evening went surprisingly smooth, especially considering Bartolomeo was now paranoid that you were catching on to something he really didn’t want you catching on to. He didn’t think that you noticed the debris — after all, it could have been something that just happened. But that little gnawing feeling in the back of his mind told him that it may have been happening for a while, and he wasn’t as good at covering his tracks as he thought. Then it hurt him a little, to think that if you did notice it that you didn’t bring it up to him. He pushed that thought aside quickly, deciding that you were far too good to keep something like that secret from him.

Nevermind that the gnawing feeling tried to convince him you were trying to trip him up.

As Bartolomeo laid in bed that night, after jacking off for the umpteenth time since he’d started stalking looking out for you, he worried at his lower lip, his teeth dangerously close to digging in and drawing blood. The solution was easy — just. Back up off the break-ins again.

Far easier said than done.

Meanwhile, your dreams about Bartolomeo ramped up in frequency. Sometimes he came to you as the beast-like creature, his mouth dripping with blood and drool. He always brought gifts, your tired mind’s way of accounting for the weight of a kitten on your chest. He’d so far brought a heart, a hand, and something that shifted between being a head and a liver. 

There was once when he appeared normal, grinning at you like he’d just seen the sun for the first time. It was a smile offset by the broken skin on his knuckles, and the red stains on his shirt and the cuffs of his jeans. It was arguably a more unsettling dream than the monster ones, as he then approached and talked to you like nothing was wrong.

And those were just the dreams where he wasn’t fucking you. Over the kitchen counter, on the couch, in your bed, in what your brain could only imagine as his bedroom. Always moaning “mine” in your ear and leaving bite marks on your shoulders. To your immense frustration, you always woke up before you came.

Apparently, the efforts you had made to try and prove his innocence weren’t enough for your nerves to settle down. You decided to try one more idea.

After much further deliberation, you had a plan. It was pay-day, but you already declined to go out for the usual drinks. You were texting Bartolomeo when he told you that, by some miracle, he didn’t have to work, and you were going to try something a little riskier. That morning you made sure Luffy’s gravity feeder had enough food and his water fountain was still running and full, so you knew he’d be okay by himself for a little longer than usual. Then, during your shift, you pulled Robin aside. After explaining the situation to her, with only the slightest bit of judgment that you didn’t come to her sooner about the part where you worried about a stalker in the first place (though she figured you had your reasons), she listened to your plan.

“I need you to hold on to my apartment keys.”

She nodded, holding her hand out. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to see if Barto’s tall enough to reach the fire escape.” You shuffled through your purse and handed them over. “If he can reach it and unlock my apartment from within, then that might be enough to prove he’s been breaking in this whole time.”

“What if he says no? Or it turns out he can’t reach it?”

“I’ll text you and ask if you can swing by the archives to get them when you guys are done with drinks.” You shrugged, blushing faintly as you added, “I’ll hang out with him until then.”

Robin considered for a moment, before nodding again and dropping your keys into her purse. “If he does agree to help, what’ll you do then?”

You paused, frowning. You hadn’t thought quite that far ahead.

Robin could sense as much, and gently took one of your hands. “If he does it, still text me. I’ll come get you and you can stay with me for a little while until we figure it out.”

You stared at her with wide eyes, then tears began to prickle in your periphery. Without much warning you hugged her. “Thanks, Robin.”

She laughed, lightly hugging you back. “You don’t have to thank me. If this will bring you peace of mind, I want to help you. Rooster’s been good to you, so I hope he’s not behind all this.” She then held you back by the shoulders and gave you a look that sent chills down your spine. “And if he is, I’ll castrate him.”

Bartolomeo heard loud cursing right after the elevator ding. He looked out the peephole to see you digging through your purse, cussing up a storm and bemoaning, “How the hell did I lose them?!”

He opened his door a crack and leaned out. “You good?”

You huffed, frowning. “No, I’m not. I can’t find my keys.”

“Oh, shit.” He fully stepped out and shut his door, trying to subtly lean over and see into your purse. “Where’d you last see them?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned. “I think I forgot them in my work locker. Fuck.”

He couldn’t see them either, not from the angle he had. “Maybe the landlord can let you in?”

“And risk him finding Luffy?”

“...you got me there.”

“So, short of breaking and entering, I’m not getting in until I find my keys.” You pulled out your phone and started texting, before you paused. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to lockpick, do you?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I might. But it’ll risk messin’ up your lock and you’ll have to pay for a new key.”

“Damn,” you huffed, then eyed him up and down. “...Do you know where the fire escape is from the outside?”

He froze. “Uh—”

“Maybe you could climb up and get in for me? Open it from the inside?”

Fuck. Shit. Shit shit shit FUCK. Panic slithered through Bartolomeo’s veins, and he tried to look anywhere but your face. You were on to him. You had to be. Why else would you ask him this? No — no, this was innocent enough. You did say short of breaking in, so maybe you had — what was the word? an epiphany? — or whatever. But... if you were on to him, and he did as you asked, how long would he have before you left him high and dry? Or worse?! After all the work he’d put into knowing you — shit, he was taking too long to answer!

“I dunno,” he said. “Those ladders are pretty high off the ground. I’m pretty sure I can’t reach them.”

You deflated. “Well, how tall are you?”

He swallowed. “Seven-three.”

“Come on, that’s plenty tall enough!” You looked up at him with puppy eyes. “Please? Can’t you try?”

Bartolomeo almost cursed you for having such pretty eyes. How dare you use them against him like this? With every ounce of resistance he had, he shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Even if I could, I don’t wanna break the window tryin’ to open it from the outside.”

You stared at him for several long seconds, your eyes searching his face. He really hoped you couldn’t see the sweat forming on his brow. Please stop lookin’ at me with those eyes. Please, please, please I’m beggin’ you.

You sighed, finally looking down. “Okay, fair enough.” You then returned to texting. “I’ll see if Robin can bring them to me. I think she has keys to the archives.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding, passing it off as a sigh of his own. Another few seconds and he would’ve broke. His mind then circled back around — you couldn’t be on to him. You just couldn’t be. And if you were, how was he going to gain back your trust?

“Shit,” you hissed. “That’s right, it’s pay-day. I wanted to skip out on drinks tonight, but Robin’s still going. She doesn’t know when she’ll get to the archives.”

After a moment, Bartolomeo realized the opportunity before him. Not only could he regain your trust, but maybe... just maybe... 

“You wanna hang out at my place for a bit?”

[novasintheroom]

013. Recommendation (pt. 4/5)

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1.1k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description - Vash finally caves and sees you again.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3.

Part 1 ---- Part 2 ---- Part 3 ---- Part 4 (you are here!) ---- Part 5

So it goes for the next nine years. Letters are constantly exchanged between you two. Trinkets and baubles pass between envelopes, too. Vash’s pockets fill with the papers you send, and he pulls them out on lonely nights to thumb over the ink and laugh at the bad jokes. Some letters fall apart from bullets he dodges, and he mourns their loss every time. It’s like losing you all over again. But, he reminds himself that he chose to leave, not you.

He wonders if you look older. If you’ve cut your hair. He still expects you to write one day, telling him you’ve found a partner, that you’ve started a relationship, that your partner doesn’t like that you’re constantly writing letters to another man and you’ll have to cut contact. He dreads those thoughts, those days. A secret part of him hopes it never comes to that, selfish as it is.

 He tells himself he hopes you find happiness wherever you go.

Your latest letter is long, filled with anecdotes of your days and funny stories. Near the end, your letter takes a turn:

I’ve also heard about someone taking the Plants, too. Several towns have been wiped off the map recently. Do you know anything about that? It’s crazy, what some bandits will do to get money or power.

                One of my towns was hit, actually. Henna. I rode to it one day and just found it in fresh ruins. Some of it was still smoldering with fire. Most of everyone had left by then, and those who hadn’t…I had to leave quickly and sent word for help to go to them. I couldn’t do anything, not without outside help. They tried to take my bird. I think they planned to eat her. Desperate people do desperate things.

                 Please be careful out here, birdie.

You end with a joke, as always, but Vash barely reads it. He looks up, around at the small camp he’s made for himself that night, the bottle of alcohol sitting by his hip. A sinking feeling settles in his chest. He’d heard about the Plant thefts, too. It was part of the reason he’d travelled to the southernmost part of the region. The other, well…he can’t admit it to himself, but he wants to be close by in case something goes wrong for you. Bandits, bullies, robbers – they just get more numerous the further from cities one gets. Not that he’d get there in time. He wouldn’t even know something happened to you until your letters just stop coming.

That thought settles something in him. He’s known, of course, that there’s no way to help you unless by chance. But maybe it’s the alcohol, or a fierce want to just see you again that finally, finally takes over. He pulls out his pen and paper and writes a simple letter he’ll send tomorrow:

                ______,

                Do you want to meet at the town Gregarious for dinner sometime soon?

Vash

Of course you say yes.

Gregarious is a bigger town, up-and-coming on its milling and water production. They even added a third Plant to their arsenal recently. Everyone is in high spirits, and Vash receives friendly nods when he walks in.

The Mom and Pop’s is crowded for dinner. He’s happy, seeing so many people out and about. But there’s one person he’s looking for. His eyes scan the room in quick flits, jumping from one person to another. Have you dyed your hair? Cut it?

Someone taps him on the shoulder, and he turns, and his breath leaves him. It’s you. You, with your hair in a braid, the same color it’s always been. You look hesitant, even with recognition in your eyes. “Vash?” your quiet voice asks.

Without preamble, Vash opens his arms wide. Your face breaks into a grin, and you hug him just as tightly as he hugs you. He can smell the apple lotion on your skin, along with the dust of the day, the suns in your hair.

Dinner isn’t awkward like he feared it would be. Nine years of letters will do that, he supposes. You both chatter to each other about your day, how you got here, where you’re staying, how each of your goals are going. It’s nice. It’s so nice. Vash can’t keep a smile off his face the whole time. Your cheeks turn red with your own smiling.

“So what are your plans now?” He asks, taking a sip of beer.

You push your vegetables around on your plate for a moment. “Well, the library exchange program is pretty well set up. A lot of young people – especially girls – are reading and writing and going to college, or planning on it. HQ has been so impressed with my progress that they want me to move to Octovern and be on the board.” You push a carrot around on your plate. “I turned them down.”

Vash gawps and leans forward. “What? Why?”

You smile. “I like being out here. I like seeing people, strange as that is to say. I usually hate people.” You and he share a knowing laugh. “But I like seeing how I’m actually making a difference, and I don’t want to sit in a stuffy board room giving orders to other librarians, where to go, whatever. That’s just not the kind of work I like. Plus, I…was hoping to travel with you again.”

You look up to gauge his reaction. He tries to school a neutral face, but you see right through it. “It wouldn’t be forever! I’d still hand out books and set up routes, just in a more sporadic way. We have several librarians that do it that way, travel wherever they want and switch books out when they come through a town. It gives people something to look forward to when they see us.”

You were already using “us” again. Vash feels torn. On the one hand, you’re doing exactly what he left you to do. You aren’t as safe as he’d hoped, but it’s better than traveling with him. On the other…Sigh. On the other hand, he really, really misses you.

You’ve carried on, not noticing his thoughtful look. It almost feels like a job interview – as if he needed your recommendation that you were reliable. “I’ve gotten much better at defending myself with my knife! And I’m good at making getaways on foot and on tomas. And I know you miss my cooking, you’ve said it a thousand times in your letters – “

“One month,” he hears himself say. “One month, and we see how much you still miss traveling with me. Alright?”

Your chair screeches from the force you jump out of it, and you’re on him, squealing with excitement and shaking his shoulders. Vash laughs at your enthusiasm. He’s missed it. He’s missed you.

He just hopes it isn’t a mistake to invite you along again.

[penkura]

Here is your small preview of ch. 3 of where you belong! 👀 It's almost done, I just have a little more to do, it's going on 5k words again whoops. I probably could've given this more chapters and made them shorter but ehh, oh well. I can't wait to share this with you all!!

Preview is under the cut in case you want to wait. 💚

The gifts you’ve given him, the kiss you shared, he doesn’t know how to fully process all of it. It’s so foreign to him, he doesn’t think he’s felt so happy since the time he spent with Cora, he’s sure he hasn’t felt this loved since then either, even though he’s sure you’re not in love with him yet.

~~

After he makes it back to his office, Law nearly collapses on the ground, his energy spent and his emotions going haywire.

Law sets your gifts on his desk, he’ll put them away in the morning, placing his face in his hands to try and stop the blush he knows is there and the smile that he can’t seem to wipe off no matter how much he tries to. He tries to calm himself down, tell himself this isn’t a big deal, maybe you will come by in the morning and tell him it was a mistake, but he hopes and prays you don’t.

I can’t believe she kissed me. I didn’t expect that…

“Heeey, Law, I’m heading up for night watch,” Penguin knocks on the doorway a bit, stepping into Law’s office as his captain just nods, making him raise an eyebrow, “Something good happen, Cap?”

“Yeah…yeah, something good happened.”

[pochipop]

＃HOMICIPHER !! ♡ — IN THIS SUNLESS MAZE, I'VE GIVEN MY TRUST TO YOU (MR CRAWLING X READER).

#. synopsis! — you hit him with a crowbar in a moment of fear, but he cares and cares and cares .

#. characters! — mr crawling .

#. warnings! — canon-typical mentions of violence, spoilers for the homicipher game prologue/chapter one . (if you haven't played at least the prologue, i fear this will make absolutely negative sense.)

#. word count! — 1.9k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw), @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. a/n! — come join my discord server? // i know this is not the content anyone is asking for from me but unfortunately i am in my dark and scary lover era and university is eating me alive, so pls go easy on me i am sensitive!!!

The halls of this strange place are dark and dreary. The air is perpetually moist and it smells musty no matter where you go. Around every corner there’s something that makes your nose turn up in disgust, be it the cobwebs littering the ceilings from above, and subsequently the spiders resting all about them, or any of the other unsavory attributes this hell-hole has managed to acquire after being seemingly left to rot away for so long.

But you know you’re not alone here. Though you’re certain the residents you’ve come across aren’t truly human at all, —you know you’re not the only sentient creature here. For the sake of simplicity (and easing your weary mind of one thing, at the very least) you’ve taken to referring to them all as what they appear to resemble most: men. One walks the halls dressed in nothing but scarlet, carrying an umbrella to match his attire. You only caught a glimpse of him as he passed by, but a strange feeling overcame you when he sauntered through the dingy walkway, head facing straight forward like he was hyper-focused on something unseen just up ahead.

Though he was likely the most outwardly human-seeming of them all, you kept the farthest distance from him. If there was anything you had to rely on down here, it was your intuition, —and going near him was the exact opposite of smart decision making, according to your gut.

Another wore a grimy hood that smelled faintly of mildew and covered the entirety of his head, so much so that his face was completely shrouded by the shadow it cast down on him. . . If he even had a face at all, that is. It was an unsettling thought, but he was helpful in spite of your hesitancy, and he seemed to be guiding you in one direction or another. His voice was gravelly, sounding like he hadn’t used it in a long time. He made no move to accompany you past the small room you’d awoken in, but after encountering a plethora of oddities soon after leaving, you began to understand why.

Some were worse than others, like the man dressed in piercing red who made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Others spoke to you in spite of your inability to answer them in whatever native tongue they were using, appearing kind enough on the surface. You even half-heartedly followed the directions of a dismembered wrist and took the severed head of an auburn-haired male down a flight of janky stairs, almost tripping down the second flight when the lights flickered on and off overhead. It was a wonder the bulbs were still working, or that electricity still flowed through any of the wires of this place. Presumptuous as you may have been for it, none of those you encountered seemed like the type to work on circuitry. . .

Surprisingly expressive for being little more than a lowly head, you traded him off to a man with ghostly pale skin, silver-white hair, and bandages over his eyes that moved around just fine in spite of them. You sat with the two of them for a bit, receiving a lackluster language lesson that you didn’t retain much from, but thanked them for anyway on the off chance they might understand you somehow.

And then you high-tailed it out of the lowest level you’d been on thus far, narrowly avoiding an injection to the arm that you may or may not have accidentally agreed to. When you stopped to catch your breath, you found yourself concerned for the safety of a chopped head, —something you never thought you’d be worried about in your lifetime. Still though, the two of them had seemed cordial enough. . . Friendly, even, but a part of you feared you were anthropomorphizing entities much unlike yourself a bit too much.

Worse off, you barely circumvented the swipe of a strange hand with fingernails dirty enough to have colored themselves black that reached for your chest, —or, for the organ inside of it, rather. All that because you offered a weak smile to a creepy half-face peeking through the gap of a doorway.

Needless to say, you were done being naive by the time an oddly moving silhouette rounded the corner of the room you were hiding away in. After heaven knows how long of slipping between rooms and making generally poor choices, you’d come to the conclusion that enough was enough. The next thing that tried to test you, be it human, monster, or something else entirely, you were going to make them regret it. So you armed yourself with a rusty crowbar left behind in the rubble of the building and you tucked yourself away into a little cavern just barely wide enough for you to squeeze inside of. From the quick look you stole of it before slinking away inside, you could only assume it was the result of a half-finished wall demolition.

Steps came nearer, as if smelling you out like a bloodhound. Instinctively, you held your breath, hands shaking wildly, even as the hunched body rounded the corner and seemed to look at you through a mess of long, greasy, black hair. He only stumbled back slightly as you clipped his forehead with the crowbar. All things considered, it wasn’t much of a strike. It drew some blood, but had he been anything like you feared, he’d have clawed you to pieces there and then.

But he slumped back a little awkwardly, almost seeming dejected by your violence. When his forearm raised to his injured head, he mumbled something you couldn’t understand in a quiet, somber tone. A small amount of blood trickled down his forehead and he shuffled away just out of sight to sulk in the same corner you’d snagged the crowbar from. Now you just felt bad. So much had happened within your short time here, and you’d gone and taken it out on the only creature who didn’t seem to have any ill intentions toward you. And perhaps worst of all, you didn’t even have the vocabulary to properly apologize.

“Um. . .” you utter nervously, crouching down to his height, “I’m sorry. I thought. . .”

And then you trail off, realizing that it doesn’t really matter what you say anyway. It’s not like he understands you, and it’s not as if you’re in any position to be asking for forgiveness from someone you just bludgeoned with a rusty crowbar.

The way he turns at the sound of your voice nearly causes you to jump out of your skin. It’s not that he’s ugly, —his appearance is just. . . Alarming. Pair it with the location you’ve found yourself at, the inability to navigate this god forsaken building to any degree of efficiency, and recent previous encounters with those much like him, and you have yourself a recipe for disaster.

He’s responsive to the softness of your tone in a way you hadn’t expected, shuffling around until he’s facing your direction. His features are hidden behind the mess of his hair, and he moves toward you again, almost like he’s trying to figure out if he can trust you or not.

When you shift a bit, he shrinks back, but you utter another apology and do your best to remain still thereafter so as not to frighten him away. He wipes some blood from his forehead and slathers it onto the dirty floor, then comes close enough to touch you, leaving some smears of crimson in his wake. His placement is firm against your thigh, but it doesn’t feel salacious in the slightest. His hands are cold, but there’s a warmth he exudes that you can’t quite explain nor put your finger on.

Maybe it isn’t the smartest move you’ve ever made, —but you’re going with your gut again, and it’s telling you that this time it’s okay to test the waters.

There’s no malice in the way he kneels before you, head tilting up so he can see your eyes through his stringy hair. He smells faintly of metal from the blood on his forehead and hand, but it’s nothing that won’t go away after he cleans himself up. That lingering scent of mildew that the hooded man also had might stick around, though. . .

In a place like this, you’re sure it can’t really be helped.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, even if he can’t make sense of it. “You scared me, is all. I shouldn’t have hit you.”

There’s nothing in particular he does to indicate that he understands what you’re blabbering about, but he moves a bit closer again, invading your space to touch your shoulders. Thankfully, that wound you gave him seems to be superficial at most.

He says something, but you can’t make sense of it, so you stare at him blankly. He repeats it, a bit louder this time, and you shake your head.

“I don’t understand,” you reply.

He likely doesn’t either, and you’re playing a game of cat and mouse, but he doesn’t seem to mind much. His lingering touch is more curious than anything else, traveling from your shoulders down the length of your arms, then fiddling with each of your fingers on either hand.

You find yourself wondering what he is, —how he got here, what he’s thinking, what any of his unfamiliar words might mean. All things considered, he’s being exponentially gentle with you. Somehow, you come a little undone as a result. All the adrenaline has faded and you find yourself tearing up, the realization of your situation sinking you under all at once in a way it somehow hadn’t before. When you were moving through the halls and the stairways, there’d always been something to focus on, but now that you’ve come to this standstill with him, it’s impossible to keep yourself from unraveling a bit.

A soft sniffle makes his head snap upward, and he cups your cheeks in either of his cool hands. His nails are long and they sit against your skin so gently, though you know he could use them to rip at your flesh at any moment if he really wanted to. But he doesn’t.

His head tilts to the side like a small, confused animal, and he mumbles something that you obviously can’t comprehend.

He’s a bit rough as he wipes the tears from your eyes, but you’re almost certain it’s unintentional. Though he’s strange and you don’t understand a lick of what he says to you, —you find yourself feeling grateful for his presence. It’s the first time since you found yourself stranded here that you don’t feel so alone.

One of his hands moves away from your face, instead planting itself on the crown of your head. He stills for a moment, then drags his hand along your hair, as if petting a kitten or a puppy dog. You don’t complain, instead offering him a sad smile, which he returns (although his is much more unsettling.)

“Thank you,” you say, even though he can’t decipher it.

After a moment longer, he shuffles back toward the room’s opening and gestures toward the hall. You can only assume he’s trying to lead you somewhere, and you make the decision to trust him for the time being. Though he’s odd-looking and moves only by crawling on all fours, there’s something comforting about the idea of being less lost at sea with no one to help guide you through the maze that surrounds you.

Thus, you pull yourself to your feet and move toward the doorway, readying yourself for whatever comes next.

[writeyouin]

D-16 (Megatron) x Reader – The Creature From Another World - Part 2 of 2

Chapter 2 – Megatron or D-16?

A/N – Finally, it’s ready. Here’s hoping this holds up to part one.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Megatron held you at your request. He didn’t know why you wanted to be up, only that you did and he was only too happy to comply, and that he had to hold onto that feeling. You were the only thing he had left that brought him any shred of happiness. Everything else was a toxic poison coursing through his body, leaving only hate and anger in its wake.

You stood in Megatron’s palm, trying to see the D-16 you knew before in his optics. They were a violent red, leaving no trace of the warm amber glow his eyes used to have. Moreover, Megatron used to laugh and relay stories back and forth to you or Orion. Now, he mostly frowned.

You reached out to touch him, your hand falling to his chassis where a brand new Megatronus insignia had been branded onto him, covering over the one Sentinel had burned him with. Megatron had claimed the symbol, owning it for the new Decepticon army.

At your touch, Megatron vented a soft gust of warm air, wondering what you were thinking as you pawed at his insignia. He wished that you could see it as the symbol of a new age as it was supposed to be, but he guessed that you would always remember the one that Sentinel had marred him with. He would remember too. He had to.

After disappearing on his life-changing quest with Orion, D-16 had worried about you, but he figured that the other miners would take care of you. In that, he was only half-right.

When the miners were told that he and Orion had died from their injuries in the race, they panicked, scared that they wouldn’t be able to help you leave the planet since they were the lower class. So, one of them had taken you to Sentinel, explaining what you were and coming up with a cover story for how you had gotten on Cybertron.

Sentinel, having guessed that you were once a Quintesson prisoner, pretended to believe the story, and reassured the mech that he would see to it that his top-bots found you a way home.

After that, he kept you prisoner in a gilded cage, his pet now since you wouldn’t give him any information on the missing miners' whereabouts.

When D-16 and the High Guard were captured, you met D-16’s eyes and he became even more furious, wondering how you had gotten there and what Sentinel had done to you.

Before that day, you already admired D-16, but your admiration turned to complete adoration and contrarily, fear as he kept standing up in the face of adversity. He wouldn’t be kept down, no matter what they did to him. You cried to see your friend hurt, but you didn’t scream or do anything further to draw attention to yourself, afraid that if you did, Sentinel would torture D-16 further.

Now, you were here, on one of Cybertron’s moons in a base that the Decepticons had constructed very quickly, being efficient builders, and the war with Cybertron was about to begin.

Megatron lifted your hand with his free servo, gently rolling his thumb pad over it. He wanted you to see him, not the person he used to be behind the insignia. You stared up at him.

“Talk to me,” He told you, gently.

You took a minute to think about what you needed to say.

You understood why the Decepticons had to go to war. It was like Megatron said; when he tried to talk to them, they had clung to the old ways and a new leader had arisen to take Sentinel’s place. Another false Prime – Optimus Prime. He had attacked Megatron and the high guard and then banished them from their home under the threat that they would not be left for long.

Still, knowing why the war was happening wasn’t enough. You needed more than that. You glanced outside the windows of the command centre, seeing the High Guard working ceaselessly.

One more look to Megatron and you knew what you had to say.

“Is this the only way? To fight? To kill?”

Megatron was saddened to see you so upset, but he clung to his resolve, no mercy left within him.

“Yes. There is no room for a peaceful resolve unless those on the surface join our ranks.”

“Are you scared?” You asked in a very small voice, indicating that you were terrified for him.

Megatron stroked your cheek, “No, and nor should you be. I will keep you safe.” And he would. He would do everything in his power to protect you from harm, including lying to you to save you from anything that might hurt your feelings. You were his precious pet and Megatron always took care of what belonged to him.

Some of the High Guard wondered about you, a human among their ranks. They would have tried to research you, had there been any information about something so alien. But without their records from Iacon, they had little ability to look into your kind and simply decided to leave Megatron with his pet. Later in the war, they might have rebelled against you, but after Megatron’s victory against Sentinel, they trusted their new leader. It wasn’t yet time for schisms, underhanded plots for mutiny, or general scheming; those would come much, much later.

As it was, Shockwave was responsible for providing you with a home, and the process didn’t take him long. It was less of a room built for you, and more like furniture your size based on your descriptions that had been put into Megatron’s hab-suite.

When Megatron took you to see it, he enjoyed the way your expression lit up. He had almost reacted the same when he saw that he had his own room for the very first time in his life. Yet, he hadn’t been able to find enough joy in his situation. So, he had a room that he didn’t have to share with a few dozen miners. What did that matter when a war was brewing?

But holding you… Seeing you happy? That was worth something.

“Is this-” Megatron almost said to your liking, but decided instead to focus on functionality, “Is this adequate?”

You hopped off his palm and onto the desk that held just about everything you needed, which was a relief since you had lost most of the items in your pack at the Battle of Iacon. Trailing your hand gently over a bed, very robotic in design, but comfortable and made from repurposed cleaning cloths, you smiled.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Megatron ran a finger down your cheek, “No need to thank me.” He watched you as you moved things about, perfecting everything that you needed, and then later he watched you recharge. How perfect it was, giving you exactly what you needed. He would make you dependent on him; you would never need anyone else ever again. He would make you love him. After losing everything, he needed that much.

“Excuse me, Shockwave?” You said, feeling small. By now, you usually felt confident around Cybertronians, but you found Shockwave and some of the High Guard unnerving.

The Cyclops-Bot stared at you, saying nothing, and generally making you feel more uncomfortable.

“Um, Megatron told me to come to you if I need anything…?”

Shockwave didn’t know why you were saying it like it was a question. You were either told to come to him or you weren’t. Life had no place for statistical fallacy.

Seeing as he didn’t reply, you pulled your pack off your back, opening it for him to see the contents as you withdrew them.

“Each of these dehydrated cubes is a meal. I need to consume two or three a day,” You explained. “As you can see, I’m running low, and even if I wasn’t, this isn’t the best state for my food to be in. I need food. Real, fresh food, or- Or I’m going to die.”

Shockwave didn’t seem alarmed by the statement. He didn’t seem to feel anything. Instead, he glanced at your dwindling supplies, noting exactly how long you could survive. He didn’t understand much about your fuel, though he thought it inefficient as he scanned the contents, finding many perishable components, had they not been dehydrated. 

Finally, after a long and stressful silence in which he examined both your pack and you, he relented. “I shall take care of it.”

You were so happy that you didn’t think to ask about the details of Shockwave’s plan. Instead, you smiled and bounced on the balls of your feet, “Thank you, Shockwave.”

Shockwave watched you walk away. He generally didn’t understand the concept of pets, but you were cute enough, he supposed.

Turning back to his newly set up data console, Shockwave began researching the nearest planets that were home to organic species. Seeing how small you were, he believed that organics would be easy enough to subjugate. With that in mind, he began drafting the first invasion plans. Not only would the Decepticons take the fuel you needed but they would also strip the planet of all its valuable resources, giving the Decepticons a technological edge over the Autobots. Later, Megatron would tell you that the Decepticons had made trade deals with several organic planets, never revealing that you were the starting cause behind his slave empire, and you would be spoiled with lavish gifts, ignorant of their origin.

Starscream stared at your sleeping form and then back to Megatron.

“I can’t look after this thing,” He argued.

Though Megatron had bested Starscream once, he hadn’t yet grown to fear his master and as such, was testing his limits.

“You can and you will,” Megatron ordered.

There were arguably better candidates to care for you, especially Soundwave who was used to smaller beings from playing host to some Cassettes. But this wasn’t a question of who you got along with or who would be best suited to watch over you. It was a test of allegiance. Besides, the more bots that Megatron kept on rotation to ‘pet-sit’ you, the more would know how to care for you when he was away.

Megatron needed to see you taken care of, even if he didn’t like leaving you with others, especially if he thought of them touching you. He shouldn’t care this much, but the last person he had entrusted with you had been the very one to betray him. He didn’t want to think of you trusting anyone like that traitor Orion… Optimus. He didn’t want any kind of bond like that in his life again, not for himself or you.

Standing his ground while Starscream prattled on about being the Commander of the High Guard, Megatron snarled. He pointed his cannon at Starscream which was enough to make the weaker mech backtrack, begging for his life.

“You will do as I say.”

Starscream nodded, holding his hands out in surrender, “Yes, of course. Your pet will be well cared for, Megatron.”

“That’s Lord Megatron to you.”

“Of- Of course. Lord Megatron,” Starscream bowed, humiliation coursing through him; it was a feeling that would one day transform into loathing. Megatron left his subordinate, satisfied with how easy it was to subjugate another to his will. He wondered how you would look bowing to him, then turned his mind against such thoughts. He didn’t want to frighten you into worshipping him; he would become someone worthy of your adoration.

You mumbled D-16’s name, waking from a deep sleep. Had you been more alert, you might have thought about how worrying it was that you had come to rely on Megatron so quickly or that you had called him by his old name and that he was no longer that bot you met just a short while ago.

Instead, your thoughts were disturbed by Starscream throwing you some new clothes that Shockwave had acquired from another planet. They were the vestments of the Royal Family until Megatron had ordered their deaths; now the clothes were yours, and far superior in quality than your previous garments. 

“Put those on,” He ordered, not caring whether you did or not.

You blinked owlishly at Starscream, having never been left alone with him before.

“Where’s Megatron?” You asked, despite being somewhat used to his leaving regularly to attend meetings, start trade deals with other planets, or draft new battle strategies.

Starscream rolled his optics, “What a clingy pet. Can’t you be away from Megatron for a few kliks before whining?”

You scowled at the mech, “I’m not a pet.”

“And I’m not a pet-sitter, but here we are,” Starscream griped.

You shook your head and got to work tinkering with some little projects you had started. During the Battle of Iacon, most of the items had been damaged when you fell on your pack. Fortunately, having worked on the Translator for so long, you weren’t bad at mechanics now, though a lot of your tinkering was mostly experimentation. So, rather than waste any time conversing with the bot who treated you like an unwanted mutt, you continued your work on your new shower unit, since your collapsable service station needed some repairs in that department and regrettably, you were starting to smell.

When Megatron returned he was injured, having lost to Optimus Prime for the second time. The loss enraged him, but it didn’t worry him. Optimus may have had the power of the Primes, but Megatron learned a lot from that battle, and in the end, he was certain that his strategy and cunning would win over Prime’s strength.

Besides, it hadn’t been a total loss. The other Decepticons had managed to spread their message through Iacon, and there were already a handful of bots who had returned to the Luna base with Megatron. With the new recruits all ready for an uprising, Megatron was preparing to send some of them back undercover, so they could further spread the message of the Decepticon cause.

Before entering his hab-suite, Megatron straightened up, hiding most of the damage behind bravado, despite the energon that leaked from his side. There could be no signs of weakness.

He expected to see you in his hab-suite, but you weren’t there. So, Starscream had taken you elsewhere. Megatron was about to begin repairing himself when he heard you cry out. It was faint, and more of a shout than a scream, but it sent him spiralling all the same.

He ran to find you, following the sound of your voice.

“GET OFF,” You shouted.

Megatron ran faster.

“STOP SQUIRMING!” Starscream yelled back.

Megatron burst into the wash racks, finding you soaked in Starscream’s grip, the water washing over both of you. Starscream was tugging at your old clothes, partially victorious as the seams ripped, uncovering your arm and part of your chest. You gritted your teeth and slapped at his hand.

Seeing all of this, Megatron gritted his dentae and smashed into Starscream, being careful to grab his arm and pull you from his grasp.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Starscream demanded.

Megatron held you against his chassis possessively, “When (Y/N) says stop, you stop. Their commands are my commands. Now, I demand to know what you were doing to my pet!”

You stared up at Megatron, shocked that he would call you such a thing. He knew what you were now, so why would he treat you like an animal? You didn’t like it.

“I’m not a pet,” You murmured, but neither mech seemed to hear you, glaring at one another in a silent power struggle.

Losing his nerve, Starscream bowed his head.

“I was merely washing your precious pet,” He sneered. “It stank.”

“Not a pet,” You repeated, but your words fell on deaf ears.

Starscream got up from the floor and sauntered out of the wash racks. Megatron’s optics tracked him, all the while a seed of hatred forming for his Second in Command. When Starscream was out of sight, Megatron held you up for inspection. You had your arms crossed to protect your chest, and you were staring angrily down at the floor. The water made the remains of your outfit cling to you, making you feel even smaller and more vulnerable.

Honestly, Megatron had little right to be so furious at Starscream. He too didn’t understand the significance of your clothing, only that the coverings were important to you.

“Are you okay, pet?” He said, gently stroking your cheek.

You pushed his hand away, “I’M NOT YOUR PET!”

Megatron stared at you, open-mouthed. You’d never yelled at him before.

“Do you get that?” You asked, brow furrowing. “You used to, but it’s like you’ve forgotten. I’m a person, just like you. Do you understand?”

Megatron thought back to the person he had been, comparing it to who he was now, and who he wanted to be in the future. You wanted D-16 back, but he wasn’t that anymore. Yet… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be D-16 around you, just a little bit.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I never meant to imply-” He sighed, “I’m sorry.”

For the moment, it seemed that D-16 was back, and things were just like they had always been. You were about to say something equally sentimental, until you saw the trickle of energon, washing down the drain.

“You’re hurt!”

Megatron shook his helm, “It’s nothing.”

“No,” You cried out. “It’s not nothing!”

“I’ll patch it up in our room. You can take care of yourself there too.”

You were staring at him. Megatron couldn’t help smiling a little at your concern. As promised, he had patched himself up with a welding iron. It had been painful, but he hadn’t shown any signs of it.

You meanwhile, were in your new clothes, having sorted yourself out and dried off.

Megatron stood from his chair, leaving the tools he had used for self-repair on the desk.

He scooped you up, holding you to his face, “I’m alright. I promise.”

You shook your head, unwilling to believe him. Megatron chuckled, supposing that you couldn’t believe it since such an injury would have been fatal to your kind. Yet, he was wrong in trying to guess your thoughts. Physically, you knew Megatron would recover easily, but to recover psychologically? You wondered if he ever would.

Maybe it was because of everything he had gone through before you met, being a slave to a corrupt system, or maybe it was because of Orion’s death, but despite his apology earlier, you couldn’t help seeing the difference between D-16 and Megatron.

Still, he hadn’t abandoned you, and you wouldn’t abandon him. Megatron was going through something traumatic, and as he said, the war was inevitable. It would be hard on anybody, and you wanted to help him through it.

You glanced down to his welded side which he would undoubtedly buff out later to make it look as if nothing ever happened.

“Does it still hurt?”

Megatron couldn’t help adoring the soft melancholy lilt of your voice; the concern that was all for him.  

He tilted your chin up so you were looking into his eyes instead of at his failure, “It hurts less when you’re here.”

Your eyes flicked towards Megatron’s lips and you felt your cheeks start to burn. Lately, you had begun imagining things. You wanted to be closer to Megatron, to share some intimate moments with him, but that was impossible; you two weren’t the same.

Seeing your flushed skin and your darting eyes, Megatron smiled, looking the closest to being D-16 that he had in a while. You were so easy to read.

Perhaps it was time to show you the little trick he had been practising; it would leech him of his energy but he was certain that it would be worth it.

Megatron lowered you to his desk.

“Close your eyes,” He requested.

Although you had a lot on your mind, you did as he asked; at that moment, you knew you would have likely done anything for him.

Megatron mass displaced so he was closer to your size. It was difficult to become so small, but he managed to shrink down to around nine feet. Originally, mass displacement was taught to working-class Cybertronians so they could shrink down and enter the Underground to make repairs. Everyone was told that it was more energy-effective than using mini-bots, but the truth was that mini-bots were kept as slaves, being seen as even lesser than the worker-bots; they were hardly worth keeping online, and nobody in the Senate wanted to risk giving them repair tools for larger jobs in case they started a rebellion.

Now, Megatron had also learned mass displacement, for you.

He placed a servo to the small of your back, giddy when you opened your eyes in shock. He traced down your jawline with his other hand, lightly thumbing over your chin. How perfectly you fit against him now.

Dipping down, he pressed his lips to yours. Metal against flesh; two different worlds colliding.

You gave yourself over to him.

Little was right in your life since you were taken by the Quintessons, but this moment was perfect… Or it would be if you could fight the niggling in your mind that warned you all was not right with the Decepticons. Megatron’s servo bunched in your hair. You moaned against him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You could ignore those thoughts. You had to. Needed to. What else could you do when you had foolishly let yourself fall in love?

As Megatron’s paramour, you were given more freedom as Decepticon successes rose. Or rather, you were given the fragile illusion of more freedom. You were taken to the few organic planets that Megatron had made ‘trade deals’ with thus far. The threat of their destruction kept the people in line, and you were treated with all the respect of a visiting dignitary. If you tried, you would have seen the terror in the faces of those conquered, but with Megatron distracting you as if you were on a date, you chose the easy path. It was easy to run from suffering when you didn’t want to believe in it.

You were given a communicator which Megatron told you had been built for you, but it had actually been ripped from a now deceased Autobot’s helm. You were provided anything you needed, and more beyond that. However, all of it ceased to matter on the day you saw Orion Pax, alive and well.

Orion Pax, now Optimus Prime had received word that Megatron had conquered a nearby planet and enslaved its people. Fully believing that you had perished in the Battle of Iacon, the Autobot leader vowed to free the planet your name, knowing that it’s what you would have wanted for your organic kin.

That was when you both saw each other, Optimus lowering his blaster and you standing atop Megatron’s shoulder.

“Orion,” You breathed his name, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, yet Megatron heard; how could he not when you were standing right next to his audials?

Megatron glowered at Optimus, feeling extra possessive of you since the Prime had stolen everything from him and banished him from his home. He wouldn’t be allowed to take you too.

Megatron grabbed you roughly, partially transforming his chest cavity and shoving you inside. His pet, his lover, his possession, his captive; you were his! Optimus glared at Megatron. Keeping you captive was not an option, he would not allow it. Pointing at his ex-friend, Optimus gave the command, “AUTOBOTS, ROLL OUT!”

Megatron shook with rage, fear, sadness, hatred.

He held your lifeless body in his cupped servos. Granted, Optimus Prime had held back in the fight, but his damned Autobots hadn’t, and now you were gone.

You were the last thing Megatron had and you too had been ripped away from him.

That was it then. No more mercy, no more holding back. No more attachments.

All Autobots would be scrapped, and all the worthless organics of the universe would be destroyed or enslaved. Megatron refused to ever get close to an organic ever again. None would ever make up for you and he would not risk opening his spark to another being.

Ha, that was a joke. He couldn’t offer his spark to anyone anyway. It had been snuffed out. He was hollow. Just a shell for the seething rage to fill.

He was Megatron, and he didn’t need anybody.

He left your body to burn in the ashes of the organic planet, but Optimus picked you up, determined to give you a proper burial. To the Prime’s surprise, he saw you take in a tiny breath of air. You weren’t dead, but you would be if he didn’t get you away from the dying world. You needed air, you needed a doctor, you needed freedom.

[preciouslandmermaid]

of songbirds, swords, and spice (2)

pairing: Opla!Zoro x Opla!Sanji x Fem! Reader (no use of Y/N or L/N)

tw: this chapter contains blood & violence (makin' the live action more realistic lets goooo)

🏴‍☠️ read on AO3 🏴‍☠️

(masterpost)

(<- previous chapter)

Sanji blinked. The beautiful voice was gone, but the enchanting woman stood before him, her shocked expression morphing into simmering anger. Lovely and vicious. She and Nami would get along. One of the bandits fired into the air and there’s a surge of rapid movement, as fierce as a hurricane, as guests scramble to their feet. Tables and chairs went upturned, drinks spilled on the floor, alongside shattered plates and silverware. They fled. There were glimmers of gold here and there between flashes of streetwear as the staff directed citizens to the back exit. Usopp sidestepped into the flow of fleeing bodies and nervously looked behind him.

“Honestly.” Sanji stood. “Does no one have respect for the arts anymore?”

“Show was getting borin’ anyways.” Zoro unsheathed his sword.

Nami gripped her staff and looked at the crew before she nodded and jumped over the table. A scimitar whistled through the air, its silver blade glinting, and Sanji flattened himself to the floor. A single sweep of his leg knocked the bandit off-balance before he could strike Nami. There was a second of respite – as there often was in battle – and he used it to check on Nami and the performer.

Crack! Nami’s staff landed against a pirate’s jaw. Where’s the performer...he swiveled toward the exit. You were near it, but you weren’t running away. Wait. She’s not running?!

The sheer, billowing fabric of your performance robes trailed your movements. You held your microphone stand and thwacked a bandit in the stomach. The bandit grunted, doubled over, but recovered quickly. He leveled his pistol at your head.

No!

He ran toward you, but Zoro slid into his field of vision. His blade arced upward and cut through bone and muscle as if were warm butter. The bandit’s arm dropped onto the floor. A heartbeat. The bandit screamed, fell, clutched his bloody appendage to his chest, and desperately tried to halt the gushing fountain of blood from his elbow. Splotches of wet crimson saturated the front of your robes in sticky, and shiny dark patches.

“I had him.” Sanji huffed, swiping his blonde hair out of his face.

“Sure,” Zoro said sarcastically.

He flicked his blade outward and the excess blood splattered onto the floor and on your robe’s navy and white skirt. You didn’t flinch. Interesting. How often does this establishment get overrun with pirates? He wondered.

“You should get out of here,” Sanji said to you, “we can handle this.”

“No.” You lifted the microphone stand and rested it over your shoulder. “Duck.”

Sanji didn’t think twice. He ducked. The rounded base of the stand smashed into a bandit’s face, sending her reeling backward and clutching a bloody nose. He bounced back to his feet and offered you his most charming, most grateful smile. Your pretty face was freckled with blood and glistened with sweat. He can’t afford to get distracted by your beauty, however. The Cupidon Doré – the golden cupid – was still under threat. He remained close, avoiding your wide swings of the microphone stand. He roundhouse kicked a bandit. They crashed into a table, breaking it in half. One of Usopp’s ammunition whizzed past his head and ricocheted off a golden cherub before it struck a bandit in the eye.

He followed Usopp’s attack by dropping into a one-handed handstand position and – “Oof!” the bandit cried as Sanji’s kick slammed into his ribs. He used the momentum, spun in the opposite direction, and the second blow hit the bandit’s lower back. The bandit sprawled onto the floor beside broken plates and glass, dazed and groaning.

“Gum Gum Punch!” Luffy shouted, sending the leader of the blood bandits' through the wall. The Sheetrock crumbled and fell in large dusty chunks and exhumed a cloud of dust and debris. Whew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stood in the middle of the destroyed dining room, heart pounding, your clothes sticky with blood, and muscles throbbing from swinging the microphone stand. You and these strangers managed to thwart the bloody bandits. Estella’s gonna be pissed.

“Did you seriously have to break our wall?” you asked between gasps of air.

“Sorry,” Straw Hat replied bashfully, “who were those guys?”

“They announced their name,” you said, placing the microphone stand back on the stage. “The fearsome bloody bandits.” You glanced at the cloying pool of blood and abandoned dismembered arm. Yikes. However, you couldn’t muster any sympathy for the poor bastard. He was going to shoot you. If not for the green-haired swordsman, you weren’t sure you’d be here. Although—the blonde one was right behind him. Maybe your luck wasn’t so bad.

You said, “They wear red so their enemies cannot see if they’ve been injured.”

“That’s stupid,” the swordsman said.

“Yeah, they’re not the most creative.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” Straw hat interjected.

“Do they bother you a lot?”

You didn’t have time to answer the staff-wielding woman because Estella shouted your name. She wheeled into the room, crushing shards of glass, plates, and splinters of wood along her way.

“I’m okay, grandma. I’m okay,” you assured her, “the blood isn’t mine.”

Your gaze lifted from Estella’s worried, wrinkled face to the swordsman. He stood with his arms crossed, his clothes dappled in blood, though nowhere near as badly as yours. Should you thank him? No. That wouldn’t be right. It wasn’t only him who saved the golden cupid.

“Thank you,” Estella said before you could, “I am in your debt. You may call me Madam Estella and this is my granddaughter--” she introduced you and you awkwardly bowed your head. As politeness demanded, Estella asked for their names, so she could thank them properly. The one with the red vest and straw hat was the first to speak.

“I am Monkey. D Luffy,” he said, “captain of the Straw Hats and future King of the Pirates.”

The future king of the pirates? Despite the dubious tone of your thoughts, you caught yourself smiling at Luffy’s earnest and determined expression. He believes it. I can see it all over his face.

Estella said, “You’re better pirates than this group of brainless jellyfish.” She shot a disdainful glare at one of the unconscious bloody bandits.

The Straw Hat pirates introduced themselves as Nami, Usopp, Sanji, and Zoro. You wondered if Estella viewed them—and you – as fools for their bravery or if she was truly grateful because the golden cupid was saved. You hadn’t been thinking about bravery during the fight. At first, you fought because you needed to ensure Estella evacuated safely. Then, Zoro saved your life and you kept fighting out of instinct, not bravery.

“Allow us to thank you properly. I assume your dinners were cut short? Come and have dinner at our home, stay the night if you wish, and tomorrow I will compensate you for your service.” Estella reached out and took your hand between hers.

Nami repeated, “compensation?”

“What?” You pulled your hand away. “Grandma, are you serious?”

“You need a bath.”

“They’re strangers!”

Estella tutted, pushed her wheelchair toward the door, and said, “All friends start as strangers, dear.”

You pressed your fingertips on your temples. Clearly, Estella had forgotten all the rules from nine years ago. We aren’t supposed to have strangers in the house. You lamented her decision, but you couldn’t overrule it. It’s her house. If she wanted to have guests then you couldn’t stop her. You collected your blood-stained skirts between your hands and walked briskly to catch up.

The palm leaves rustled overhead beneath a sky without stars—the full and bright moon—had stolen the show and outshone them.

Luffy fell into pace next to you and tucked his hands into his shorts’ pockets. “You know, I saw the waiters stealing from the VIP section.”

“They must’ve needed the berry,” you replied.

“Nah, I don’t think it was that.”

“Are you telling me that you’re a pirate who doesn’t steal?”

“Well,” he drawled, “I wouldn’t say that.”

You shook your head. “If you have questions about the performance then you can ask Estella. She’s in charge. Not me.”

“Okay!” Luffy’s long strides had an easier time catching up to Estella than you did. “Madam Estella, I have a question.”

You doubted she’d tell him about her longest-running con. The performance on every full moon was a front, a ruse, for you to use your devil fruit ability and clear out the pockets of Nightingale’s richest tourists. In the early days, before you settled on Nightingale Island, you used your voice to help you and Estella out of a dozen—no, a hundred—different situations. You had beguiled ship captains for free passage, slipped from Marine arrest, and incited brawls among rival pirates. Thankfully, that part of your life was over. You lived a quiet, comfortable life now. You sighed.

“Are you alright?” Sanji asked.

“Huh?” You blinked, surprised by his genuine tone. Who are these people? They were unlike any other pirates you had met.

“Not everyone walks away from a fight like that without shaking.”

“It’s not the first time they’ve come around,” you explained. “The three bird islands; nightingale, sparrow, and heron, they visit them every six months.”

“There isn’t a marine base on this island.” He placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. “So, what happens usually?”

“Estella pays them off.” You frowned at the back of Estella’s head, her long silver-white braid swaying behind her chair. “I guess she forgot to do it or...something.” Your frown deepened.

Estella always remembered her payments. The bloody bandits were punctual and came to the island at the end of the six-month mark without delay. Estella put their payment inside a marked tree hole near the port. Did someone steal it? Or did Estella want the bandits to arrive?

“I doubt they’ll return anytime soon,” Sanji said, exhaling smoke.

You’re more than inclined to agree with him. The bloody bandits wouldn’t return to Nightingale until they had regrouped their forces and stitched their wounds. You hoped they wouldn’t seek retribution and worried, not for the first time, how safe this island was. You and Estella used to spend no more than a year in one place. You weren’t sure why she chose to place roots here, but you had your assumptions.

As Sanji had said, Nightingale Island lacked a military presence which allowed for more freedom. But, more than that, the local community of the island was close-knit and supportive. The tourists came to the island to walk the beaches of black sand, witness the migration of massive sea turtles during mating season, and explore the multiple caverns and caves scattered throughout the island’s wilderness. The three bird islands were known for their impressive networks of caves and the East Blue had no shortage of daredevils seeking their claim to fame or bored rich people.

Your two-story home was built next to the orphanage. At the gate, Estella stopped in front of a statue of a kneeling woman surrounded by children and she – as she always did – kissed her fingertips and touched the statue’s face. A bronze plate on the statue’s base read: ‘Thus you shall go to the stars’.

“Celesta?” Nami said, “is she someone famous from here?”

“No.” Estella’s brown eyes were glassy in the raw, sharp moonlight and she gazed upon the countenance of the statue with longing. “She was my daughter.”

Usopp’s expression was painfully sympathetic. You were tempted to look away, but you forced yourself to meet his tender gaze. These pirates are so weird.

“Your mom?” he asked.

You said, “No.”

Celesta was like a big sister to you, but you didn’t miss her like Estella did.

“I built the orphanage for her,” Estella explained, “I may have failed her as a mother, but I promised myself that I wouldn’t fail again for any other child in this world.”

A heavy, melancholy silence fell over the group and it felt like wearing an oversized itchy sweater. You stepped ahead and said, “I’ll get cleaned up and start dinner. Maybe you can give them a tour, Grandma?”

The sorrow on Estella’s face dimmed. “What a lovely idea, dear.”

There that’s better. You hated to see Estella haunted by her regrets. She was a good person. What happened between her and Celesta wasn’t her fault, but you had had that conversation before and it led to dead-ends and tears every time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A warm huff of steam fanned your face. Your tongs, holding one of the lobster tails, dripped with hot water as you fished them out to let them cool.

Estella’s kitchen was a myriad of colors. The children liked to draw and Estella never told them ‘No, children, you can’t draw on the furniture’. The light wood counter was decorated with ugly chickens, girls holding hands, and flowers and snails. The support beams were scratched with measurements of height and hearts and turtles and clouds.

When the children first started, you hated it. You told Estella to tell them to stop and she had looked at you with so much sadness in her eyes that you stormed off. Later, she had said, ‘My dear, you can draw on the walls too.’ and you argued that you weren’t a baby anymore and Estella had stroked the side of your face and said ‘Don’t let him take your joy away, don’t give him that power.’

It had taken you a while to realize that you were angry at the young children because you were jealous. You never got to draw on the walls as a child and it wasn’t fair that they could. But, you grew up and stopped caring about the conglomeration of artwork that decorated Estella’s kitchen.

Someone knocked on the door frame and said, “Would you like some help?”

Sanji leaned onto the doorframe, hands in his pockets, a soft curl of his blonde hair falling artfully over his brow.

You dropped a spoonful of oil onto the cast iron pan. “You can cook?”

“Did you miss my introduction?” he asked, “I said I was the chef on the Going Merry.”

Huh. You had to have missed it. You were too busy thinking about Luffy’s declaration and his fierce determination reflected in his eyes.

Sanji was framed in the colors of summer and misty plumes of vapor shrouded your line of sight. You swallowed. Normally, cooking on performance night was unheard of. If the bloody bandits hadn’t attacked, then the kitchen at the golden cupid would’ve made dinner for you and Estella. Fuck it. You wouldn’t mind his help.

“I’m making seafood paella,” you said.

“What can I do?”

“The onions, tomatoes, and garlic need to be chopped.”

“Aha.” He smiled. “Easy enough.”

You picked up a wet, slimy shrimp and began to devein it with a small knife. You didn’t look at Sanji beside you, but you felt his eyes flickering to you, the weight of words unsaid lingering in the air between the scent of cooked rice and lobster. Chop, chop, chop – Sanji’s hand was steady and practiced, and his technique was precise. He’s doing a better job than I ever could.

“What herbs are you using?”

You gestured with your knife to Estella’s recipe pinned to the wall. It had been your saving grace for years because you were hopeless without her explicit directions.

“Saffron, paprika, cayenne, pepper flakes, salt,” you replied, “and I’ve got fresh parsley to serve it with.”

“Do you like to cook?”

You laughed and the rhythm of Sanji’s knife against the cutting board stuttered.

“Not really.” You picked up another shrimp. “I learned because Estella doesn’t want to hire anyone to cook for her.”

“Why not?”

Because she trusts four people in this entire world and I’m one of them.

“You’re a curious bunch of pirates,” you said instead of answering his question.

“Curious as in strange,” he said, tilting his head, “or curious as in nosy?” He smiled and the light caught a flicker of silver beneath his tongue, well-hidden, but noticed by you.

You clarified, “Nosy.”

“You and Estella are an interesting pair.” He added rice to the pan without your instruction and you were grateful you didn’t need to walk him through it. “She reminds me of someone – someone I used to work for.”

The fondness in his tone surprised and intrigued you. You met Sanji’s clear blue eyes. Wild blue, you thought, the color of the cloudless sky while at sea…so much blue that you could stare and go mad. The aromatic, earthy spices flooded your nostrils, the shrimp was cold between your fingers, and your heart did a funny, backward somersault.

“Your dynamic is familiar,” he said, adding tomatoes and green beans to the dish and increasing the heat. “And perhaps it’s made me a little homesick.”

Homesick for what? For who? You wondered.

“It’s a long story.”

He wiped the countertop and said, “We have time.”

Too bad, you thought, I’m not telling you anything. Your history with Estella wasn’t meant to be shared. It was safer that way. Yes, the straw hats were pirates who saved 'the golden cupid', but that didn’t mean you trusted them. Trust had to be earned and fought for.

“Who does Estella remind you of?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, stirring the rice.

Your heart repeated its funny, little somersault. You shook your head and took the parsley from the herbs hanging off the wooden rack. Your knife work was much, much clumsier than Sanji’s and you roughly chopped the parsley before setting it aside in a small bowl.

Sanji cleared his throat. “Didn’t you say you were using parsley for the garnish?”

“Yeah, why?” You asked while wiping the knife clean with a rag.

His eyes remained on the paella when he replied, “Because you chopped oregano.”

Your jaw was unhinged and a warm, prickly heat clawed its way up your neck. You dumped the bowl’s contents into the trash.

“The fresh herbs aren’t labeled!” you retorted, embarrassment sharpening your tone.

“Here”–he reached over your shoulder and plucked the aforementioned herb free– “It’s this one.”

His lanky arm brushed against your shoulder and you caught a whiff of vanilla with a spicy undertone, wholly unrelated to the seafood dish cooking nearby. I think I’m having a heart issue, you thought worriedly, maybe I’ll see a doctor tomorrow.

“Thanks.”

“Normally I wouldn’t say anything. It’s not my kitchen, after all, but…” He pushed his hair out of his face, smiling. “I couldn’t let a wonderful dish like this be ruined with oregano.”

Your eyes connected through the misty clouds of fragrant steam. Once again, you were baffled by these pirates—by this man in particular—who fought nearest to you and offered his help in a stranger’s kitchen. It doesn’t matter how interesting they are, you reminded yourself, they’ll leave tomorrow. No one stays on Nightingale Island. Pirates especially weren’t known for their desire to stay put.

“Is dinner ready yet? I’m starving,” Luffy asked, bounding into the kitchen. “Neat drawings. Are these yours?”

You broke eye contact with Sanji.

“No, they’re from some of the children next door.”

“I like this one,” he said, pointing at a child’s rendition of Gold Rodger. “Do you think they’ll draw me once I’m King of the Pirates?”

You smiled. “If you’re lucky.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When dinner was served, Estella said, “Oh good, you didn’t burn the rice this time.” You covered your face with your hands and groaned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After dinner, Estella ushered everyone into her ‘trinket room’. Zoro didn’t know why the old bat didn’t show this room during her tour, but he wasn’t going to ask. The tour had been a waste of time and consisted of everyone else asking a dozen questions to which Estella answered with long-winded stories and unrelated anecdotes. He wished, more than once, that he was back on the ship taking a nap. The chilly room was as large as the dining room and filled with...junk. Old paintings of beaches lined the wall and glass display cases contained rocks and jars of dirt.

Nami’s face lit up at Estella’s collection of brass telescopes and Luffy smeared his face and palms against a glass box at the center of the room.

“Noticed those, have you, Luffy?” Estella asked.

Zoro peered around Luffy’s shoulder. It was a glass box with more boxes inside. There were four stands, although one was empty. A jade box, an onyx box, and a lapis lazuli box were stored within the glass. The boxes were etched with lines, like impressions, and Zoro scratched the back of his head. What’s the big deal?

He asked, “Do you have any swords?”

“No.” She shook her head. “They’re too expensive.”

He exhaled shortly through his nose. She wasn’t lying. He hadn't found a swordsmith yet, but his broken blades were a lost cause. He would need to buy brand new ones before they entered the grand line.

You draped a blanket over Estella’s lap and stood next to her. She’s protective. His eyes trailed across your shoulders to your arms. She’s strong, though. He wouldn't have guessed it on his first impression. You had stood on the destroyed remnants of wood and glassware, drenched in blood, and didn’t waver.

“Have you heard of the great pirate Pandora?” asked Estella.

“No,” Luffy replied eagerly, “who were they?”

“It’s said that Pandora hid her treasures inside these puzzle boxes.” Estella smiled. “It’s my dream to someday have all four.”

“You should find them. You’ve already got three,” Luffy said, pointing to the case.

“Grandma is a little too old to travel the East Blue hunting fairy tales,” you interjected.

“I don’t think so,” Luffy said, “if you have a dream then you should go for it. Your age doesn’t matter.”

Estella smiled again, but you didn’t object to Luffy’s bold optimism this time. This – at least – he understood. Some people heard Luffy speak but they didn’t listen to what he was saying. Even if I’m old and graying...I’m going to be the world’s greatest swordsman. Hopefully, he would hold the title until his death.

“Where did you get all this stuff?” Usopp asked.

A chubby black cat strutted into the room and Estella patted her lap.

“All over,” she said, “my granddaughter and I explored quite a bit of the East Blue before we settled here.”

That topic gathered everyone’s attention but his. You sat on your knees by Estella’s lap and scratched the cat behind the ears, offering gentle corrections to Estella’s story, but otherwise remained quiet.

Hmph, he thought, this is weird. When you had performed, Zoro forgot to breathe, to move, every nerve-ending was alive and buzzing at the saccharine sound of your voice. But whatever happened within the golden cupid had faded. Now, the only person on the crew who was affected by you was Sanji and that was because the shitty cook couldn’t tie his shoes if a beautiful woman was nearby. Idiot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You paced. Your bedroom was bathed in pale moonlight. There was no hope of sleeping tonight. The joyful songs of crickets and calm ocean waves fell on deaf ears. You couldn’t sleep with strangers in the house. Estella offered them the guest bedrooms which were upstairs with yours’. Every creak of the floorboards and every clanging interior pipe brought your hair on end. You scooped Mimi up and the overweight cat purred in your arms, but wouldn’t be held for long before she jumped free.

“I see how it is,” you grumbled, “you’re my best friend when I’m slicing tuna, but you won’t keep me company tonight?”

Mimi pawed at your closed door and looked over her shoulder, her big eyes flashed, reflective in the moonlight.

“Spoiled.” You opened your door. Mimi sauntered into the dark hallway, her tail curved into a question-mark shape and twitching. I’m not sleeping so I might as well take a walk. You tightened the sash on your robe and followed Mimi down the stairs. When you first moved to Nightingale Island, you walked at night because you were afraid that someone from your past was inside every shadow. You walked to ease your nerves and prove to yourself that no cutthroats or bounty hunters were hiding in barrels or waiting on the black beaches. The weathered floors welcome your bare feet in gentle familiarity. You skipped the second to last step on the stairwell—knowing it creaked like a gunshot—and you didn’t want to wake Estella who slept on the first floor. Mimi pranced by your legs, demanding your attention, and you gently nudged her away with your foot.

“Traitor, I’m not feeding you.”

Mimi, who you were convinced understood human language, made a soft ‘mrrow’ chirp before she abandoned you and darted toward Estella’s room. You better not wake her you little rat. You quietly opened the backdoor and silently closed it behind you. The brackish night breeze stirred your silken robes and teased your exposed ankles. You inhaled deeply and found a semblance of peace in the quiet freedom of being outside. The backyard wasn’t large, but the bordering underbrush led to narrow pathways created by the tiny, traversing feet of children straight to the ocean. I walked these paths first, you thought, pushing a branch aside before the children came to live next door.

The closer to the ocean you got, the lighter your steps became, and the tension in your shoulders relaxed. I should check the drop-off tree, you remembered your conversation with Sanji. There’s no way Estella forgot to pay them. You hadn’t wanted to ask her while the Straw Hats were visiting because you didn’t want them to start asking for payments, too. You had seen Estella’s accounting books. The golden cupid fared well, but there was a reason she continued her long-con with you. The berry stolen from wealthy tourists helped provide for ‘Celesta’s Home for Lost Children’.

A swordsman drenched in gossamer light and made ethereal stood beneath the arching palm trees. Your heart bounced into your throat. They’ve found me. They’ve finally found us. Your lip wobbled. The swordsman had to have heard you—although you didn’t recall making a sound—because he turned his head. The three golden earrings dangling from his earlobe caught a fraction of moonlight and glinted.

“Zoro?” You rubbed your palm against your terrified heartbeat.

“Hey,” he greeted you like it was normal to stand around in the middle of the night.

The cool sand threaded through your toes as you walked towards him.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was apprehensive and a foreboding sense of doom gripped your lungs. What if he isn’t part of the Straw Hats? He infiltrated them, and earned their trust, but his true goal was to come here and kill us. It didn’t matter how friendly they all appeared whilst at dinner. Maybe all of them are bad. They’re all hired killers. A memory of warm blood squirting onto your robes, the bandit’s fingers twitching on the floor, and Zoro’s intense, focused expression as his dark eyes met yours through the arcing spray of blood. Your heart skipped and you resisted the urge to run back home. If Zoro was dangerous, then you needed to kill him first and then secure the house.

He said, “’m looking for the kitchen.”

You looked around in case this was a strange stress-induced dream. Or maybe you had missed the creaky step and tripped over Mimi and you were unconscious on the floor.

“You are outside.”

“I got turned around,” he replied nonchalantly, resting his wrist on his sword hilt. “You?”

“I was taking a walk.” You adjusted the front of your robe to ensure it was closed. “I like walking.” Why did I tell him that? He didn’t need to know.

Zoro looked away to the rolling dark blue waves and glittering black sands. The tide was going out, pulling seashells and seaweed with it. Maybe Zoro was drunk. That would explain how he managed to wander out of the house. Great, he’s just a drunken swordsman. Nothing to be afraid of. As much as you wanted to leave Zoro here and let him find his way, you knew Estella wouldn’t be happy if she found out that you abandoned her guest. Drunk or not—you had to help him.

“Can I walk you back to the house?” you asked, “and I’ll even show you where the kitchen is.”

Zoro shrugged. “Sure.”

Your eye twitched. Deep breath, you said to yourself, he’s drunk and lacks social manners.

There was a strange phenomenon that always occurred whenever you took your nightly walks when the walk to the ocean was shorter than the walk home. However, tonight, that phenomenon didn’t happen. You were hyper-aware of Zoro’s nearly silent steps in the sand behind you. The palm trees whispered secrets overhead. The ocean’s lullaby grew quieter and quieter. Every few steps, you wanted to check over your shoulder and ensure he was upright and coherent and didn’t get lost again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You tell Zoro to help himself to any food or drink within Estella’s pantry. ‘She won’t drink it all,’ you had said. You stopped before leaving him and gripped the doorframe—a red sun was doodled near your thumb. It was as bright as blood. You swallowed and turned partway to see him. If you were going to say it, then you might as well face him when you did. He leaned against the countertop with the beer bottle’s neck dangling between his long fingers. You couldn’t read his expression. Bored, maybe? He was nowhere near as animated as the rest of his crew. The kitchen light muddled his mossy hair, making it appear a sickly yellow-green.

“Zoro?”

“Hm?” His dark, pensive eyes jumped from a spot on the floor and locked with yours. Now or never, your other hand flexed into a relaxed fist, I would be dead and gone if not for him. You thought of Estella building a statue in your honor, kissing her fingers and pressing her wrinkled palm against your stone cheek.

“Thank you for saving my life.” The words rushed out of you, jumbled and earnest. You blinked back your tears, tilting your face from Zoro before he could notice the telltale glossiness of your eyes. Your heartbeat echoed a lonely thrum in your ears.

The silence stretched, elongating like the streaks of moonlight through shadows of palm leaves. Why hasn’t he said anything? He was drunk, probably, and maybe didn’t hear you. But you couldn’t say it again. It would be mortifying to say it twice.

Your forearm and elbow trembled as the edge of the doorframe bit into your tightly curled fingers.

“It wasn’t personal,” said Zoro, finally breaking his silence.

You nodded, curt and short, and left Zoro to his lukewarm beer and quiet contemplation—or perhaps it truly was boredom.

You skipped the second step on the stairwell because it creaked like a broken ship’s hull and you definitely didn’t want to wake Estella. You were afraid everything would spill out of you if you saw her: your confusion and curiosity about the Straw Hats, your present fears, the tense moments you had shared with Zoro, and the quiet ones shared with Sanji, and the light you saw in her eyes when she shared her trinket room and talked about Pandora.

Your heart was pounding by the time you reached your room and closed the door, leaning your knobby spine against it. You rubbed your tired eyes with your fists. How could one day feel like ten years?

“Mrreooow!” Mimi called from the other side of the door.

“Rat,” you said affectionately, opening it, and following her to your bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: this chapter was supposed to be so much shorter lmao. i hope u are all having a lovely time <3 thank u for reading

[softestqueeen]

✧*̥˚ bbc sherlock masterlist *̥˚✧

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❤️‍🔥 smut 🌸fluff ⛓️ hurt/comfort 🖤 dark ✍🏻 request

-> back to my main masterlist

sherlock holmes x reader

i can't do this anymore! ⛓️🌸 When Sherlock overhears you talking on the phone, he thinks you're going to leave him.

let the light in 🌸 After a particularly frustrating case, all the consulting detective needs, is closeness.

misty mornings 🌸 When Sherlock Holmes awakes on his birthday, he doesn’t expect anyone to remember it. But of course, you do.

don't you forget about me, sherlock part 1 ⛓️ When Janine forces Sherlock to choose between being in a relationship with her and living with you, he has to make a tough decision. How will your feelings for each other be affected by it?

don't you forget about me, sherlock part 2 coming soon...

sherlock requests open! also for other characters within the universe like john or greg (also queer ships or queer x reader)

[pastaxandria]

The Red Thread: Chapter 158

The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its shelves: Chapter 158 of The Red Thread.

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

You froze, your blood running cold. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck— Karen slowly spun to face you. There was a triumphant light in her eyes, the gleam of it fiery and merciless. There was only one way out now. “I’m having an affair with Daredevil!” you blurted out. Or: in which you and Karen have a Very Important Talk

Wordcount: 9.8k so a NICE MEATY CHAPTER, LET'S DO THIS

Warnings for this chapter: some metaphorical descriptions of the deep ocean (I'm sorry to thalassophobia but it's for plot purposes), and a joke about pregnancy (the pregnancy is not a plot clue either, I say that seriously this time).

Read me on AO3 to find out why Matt is basically a sperm whale